TITLE: Wolf, Witch, Animagus.

SUMMARY: The werewolf, the Animagus, and the brightest witch of her age… That's one hell of a combination, and it's only going to get more intense…

PAIRING: Sirius/Remus/Hermione

WARNING: Slash, Threesome, heavy on the BDSM scenes. Even more remarkable, this actually has some plot.

RPOV

I stare at it. He stares at it. The computer stares defiantly back, as if challenging us to comment on the screen that is, incredibly, still lit. Hermione went tearing out the house not five minutes ago, late for a last-minute meeting. Passing by her study three minutes after, I heard the familiar hum of her computer. She brought it recently, not six months ago, to replace her old one. It's the latest model, she assured us, fast, huge storage capacity. LCD screen. Neither of us knew what the hell that meant, but we let it just wash over us as she raved on about it. She did manage to persuade us to let her teach her how to use the thing, but we only said yes to get her to shut up. Now she's done what she's never done before - left the house without logging out her computer. It's obvious what happened - the options box is up, saying "What do you want to do?" then giving the options of "log off, shut down, restart." She must have clicked shut down and just run out, forgetting the second step.

"We should shut it down," I suggest, still staring at it.

"We should," he agrees. "But we should probably close the window before we do." Sure enough, in the bar at the bottom of the screen, something called "Chrome" is running. I sigh, and go over to the computer. I mouse over to "cancel" and click on it, then go to the "chrome" and click on that to get the little red X. And I swear, to all the Gods and Goddesses, that that is what I meant to do, close it down and shut it off. But then I just thought it'd be open to a search page or a music site maybe, her "mails" at worst. But no. What is now staring at Sirius and I is very clear on that LCD display she talked about. It's a BDSM social site. It's discreet in black, red, and white, but it's still practically blinding us both. "A private site for trained Dominants and Submissives of the BDSM community" reads the tagline, casually giving us Hermione's greatest secret in three very tiny, supposedly insignificant seconds. I feel like I've read her diary or used Legilimency against her will. I feel like I've violated her. It's open to her profile page. A fairly chaste picture of her is her main picture, there are other's below it, smaller images I can't quite make out beyond noting that some of them seem a lot less chaste. She's registered as a "Submissive", and a list of her tastes appears below a short biography. I can't speak. Sirius, of course, is nowhere near as shell-shocked.

"I knew it. I always sensed there was something about her. Now it all makes sense."

"I know perfectly well what your train of thought is. We're going to close this down, we're going to shut off her computer, and we're going to pretend we never saw this and never found out something she's obviously intentionally keeping secret from us."

"Oh, Remus. Don't be such a prude."

"I'm not being a prude. We've invaded her privacy, even if it was by accident. Can you imagine how upset and angry she'd be if she found out we knew about this?"

"It's nothing for her to be ashamed of."

"I know that, I'm not saying she should be ashamed of it. But for whatever reason, she hasn't mentioned this to us. We must leave the decision about whether or not she will in her hands."

"Why do you think she never has?"

"Do you go around telling people you're a Dominant? Of course you don't, in the same way I don't announce to everyone that I'm your Submissive. If it's never come up in conversation, why would she mention it?"

"I wonder who trained her?" he muses. "If she has been trained, that is."

"The website says it's for trained members of the community. And she says she is."

"I thought you didn't want to invade her privacy any further?"

"I just noticed it."

"I think I should have a look. Oh, don't you look at me that way," he says. "She's on this site, and by the looks of things, this site is meant for people to find their partners. I, as you so astutely reminded me, am a trained Dominant."

"Are you thinking of taking her on?"

"Only if you have no objections."

"I don't, actually. But, if you'll take my advice?"

"This is a neutral area. Advise away."

"Be subtle. You can't just stroll up to her and invite her into the playroom. She'll know something's up, she'll probably guess that we've seen this."

"So, what's your suggestion?"

"If you're serious - and I can see you are - you should probably at least scan the checklist. And only the checklist, Sirius. And then, maybe we should let her discover our secret the same way we discovered hers - entirely by accident."

"Explain."

"Leave the door open. Take down all the wards tomorrow, and leave the door wide open. When she gets back from work, she'll see it. And we both know her curiosity will get the better of her and she'll go in and then voila! She knows our secret and we know hers, and we can suggest she stays."

"I like the way you think. But she won't go in if she knows we're in the house."

"We'll hide. Disillusion ourselves, wait opposite. When she's in, we give her a few minutes, then we go in, and you can make her an offer." He nods, and sits down in the chair.

"If you don't want to stay because of some wild idea about protecting her privacy, don't." I don't, and I go on down to the kitchen. Whatever she says on that site, she clearly doesn't mind people seeing, but it's not my place to see. I don't need to know. He does, because it's his business. He'll write up an agreement for her to sign based on the information he has there, if she chooses to take him up on his offer. I think she will. And I can't deny that it awakens something in me, a little crawl of lust in my belly. When Sirius rejoins me in the kitchen, I can see it on his face too. He must have seen her pictures too.

"Did you close it all down?" I ask.

"Yes, I did. Here," he says, tossing a print-out onto the kitchen table. "I want you to read it, it's her checklist."

Red:

Blood/bodily fluids

Amber:

Heat/Ice play

Caning

Green:

Anal

Oral

Spanking/whipping/flogging

Sharing/party exhibitionism

Machine/toy play

Shibari/Other rope play/Suspension

Threesome/Group

Clamps

Bondage

Blindfolding/gagging

Same sex play (specified by member: Female Dominant involvement only)

Public Humiliation

When I put her list down, I can feel the desire roaring in my veins. She's open to most ideas, willing to try others - only two absolute hard limits. I wonder about her aversion to heat/ice play, but as it's an Amber limit, perhaps she'd consent to try it with us. Party exhibitionism - by the sound of it, Hermione likes to be humiliated, and that turns me on almost unbearably. I look up at Sirius, see the desire I feel reflected in his eyes. His hands go to his belt, and he undoes it, opening his trousers. "Get on your knees, pet." I drop to the floor immediately, eagerly, waiting for him to relieve some of the tension that's built up. He does so magnificently, and we have to scramble into clothes and smooth hair hastily when we hear Hermione's key in the lock. One glance tells me she's in a foul mood. She slams her briefcase onto the table, yanking out papers, both printed and covered in her neat writing. Sirius pulls her into a chair before she can start rummaging around for parchment, rubs her shoulders.

"What happened?" he asks, soothingly. This is almost ritual. He invites her to vent about her day, as it stops her from running on a thousand-volt loop of energy and yelling at us all night. We learnt that about two months after she moved in.

"Goddamn Minister," she snarls. As she quite likes Kingsley, and as general rule they get on well and she normally calls him Kingsley, he must have really pissed her off. "Making me spend three hours of a Saturday sitting in a meeting with the Romanian Minster, a man who may quite possibly be certifiable. Stupid fool wants to get a cross-border permit to trade in goddamn dragons."

"Can't Charlie Wesley put him off?"

"Believe me, he's trying. He wants to reintroduce dragons to Britain, thinks it'll be good for our culture. Bloody Shacklebolt seems to think I should be able to explain why that's a fucking shit idea in terms of Muggle Relations." She sighs, and I see her shoulders relax under Sirius' hands, and I know she's got most of it out of her system. "God, thank you, Sirius. That feels amazing." A contented little moan escapes her.

"Mmmmm, someone's happy," he teases.

"Shut up," she says, lazily. They've been flirting for five years, more or less since she walked him over the threshold and announced she'd rescued him from the Veil. Never did get it out of her exactly how she managed that. Her head drops back, resting on his arm.

"Sirius, get off Hermione before she melts all over the nice clean floor. It's your turn to cook."

"So it is. Remus, I think she still needs a bit of a back rub. Why don't you take her into the living room, put those magic hands of yours to good use." Hermione's eyes light up. She loves my backrubs, that I know. And after the day she must've had, I bet she's probably crying out for one. I pick her up bridal style, carry her to the living room. She sighs, content, as I lay her gently on the sofa, slide her shoes off her feet, put a cushion under her folded arms so she can rest comfortably. I set to work, going for the small of her back, feeling the knotted tension there. She groans as soon as I start rubbing, and the sound goes right to my dick.

"Oh, Remus, God."

"No, just Remus. God had to cancel."

"I'd give you a smack for being sarcastic, but I don't think I'm capable of movement. I think I may have melted into the sofa."

"I'd rather you didn't, this is a nice sofa, and it'd be really very crap if you melted."

"Urhhhh…" she says, mumbling incoherently. I work out all that knotting in the base of her back, then work up to the backs of her shoulders, over her ribs. She twitches every now and then, but I know from experience that this is just because she's relaxed so much. By the time I've got her to the point of being unable to move her limbs under her own steam, so to speak, Sirius has rejoined us, dinner in the process of cooking. She doesn't move so much as a millimetre when my hands leave her, but I know she's still awake. Sirius drops a careless kiss onto her hair, and sneaks one from me behind her back. By the time she's managed to regain full use of all her limbs, dinner is ready, but she still talks Sirius into scooping her up and carrying her to the kitchen to eat.

On Monday, we put the plan into action. Five minutes before she's due home from work, we take down the wards surrounding our playroom, and Sirius props the door open. We Disillusion ourselves and get into position with not a minute to spare, just as she slides her key into the lock.