Closer

Skanky Frankie

Disclaimer: I own nothing, ever, except for original characters.

Rating: M - if you can't handle it, please do not read it!

Author's Notes: I've been tinkering with this idea for a while, and finally, it had to be done. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it, and get ready from some angst/lemony/fluff to come. Its what I do best :] Also, please R&R! Keeps me writing!

Chapter 1 - Discovery

I'd lock my hands behind my head

I'd cover my heart and hit the deck

I'd brace myself for the impact if I were you

-- "Am I Missing?" Dashboard Confessional

Hermione Granger was panting. She could hardly get enough of the man beneath her, and as she ground her hips against his, watching as a wave of pleasure rippled over his handsome, though admittedly lined features, she knew that he felt the same. Her heart was tight in her chest, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and her breath was coming out in harsh gasps. Her little hands pressed against his tattooed chest, nails biting into that flesh and leaving tiny crescent moon marks. He was grasping at their crisp white sheets, his breathing hurried and uneven as hers, and she repressed the urge to smile in satisfaction. A direct shift of his hips only reminded her more that she had yet to fully receive that kind of satisfaction yet. His hips thrust up into her, his long, thick length driving the sweetest of moans from her wet, open lips, and it was not long before she felt the pressure that had been building since she first woke to Sirius Black's tongue pressed firmly against her clit, waking her in the most pleasant of ways... That pressure seemed to finally reach its peak, and she felt herself convulsing around him in waves of pleasure that she had never known before him.

He had his moment quickly after, shouting out and burying his length in her for a final time. She fell against his chest, nestling in the crook of his neck, waiting for her heart to slow down. Sirius took a long, shaky breath, before chuckling.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said, stroking her wild, curly, honey-colored locks lazily. It was a Sunday morning, the kind of day that Hermione treasured. Nothing to do but laze around, drinking tea and reading and indulging herself in warm baths and her lover's skin. She didn't have to work until Monday morning at eight sharp, but it was the furthest thing from her mind that day.

"You're not that old," she said, lightly raking her nails over his chest. He was twenty years her senior, of course, but that meant nothing to her. She was twenty one, he was forty-one. She was the wisest witch of her age, he was perhaps the least mature man in the whole of the wizarding world. But they were perfect - the fit together as well as any two people could hope to. Snuggling into his chest, she let her eyes drift shut, fully prepared to have a nice post-coital nap.

"I'm too old," she heard him breathe, barely loud enough for her to hear. Hermione hated when he got like this - his sadness, guilt, or whatever reservations he held for their relationship was apparent on his face and in his tone. It made her heart ache with unbearable sadness at the truth he presented her - he was ashamed. Embarrassed to be dating someone so much younger, so less experienced. She also knew that he was guilty himself, feeling as though he was keeping her from experiencing normal twenty-one year old things - such as going to the pub with Ron and Harry, or dating, or sleeping with random blokes any night of the week. Like he had, when he was twenty-one...

But whenever Hermione tried to broach the subject, it never ended well. She would wind up crying, him shouting and storming out of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, acting as though he were truly never coming back. But what typically happened was that Sirius would apparate back, drunken and thankfully not splinched, and Hermione could pull him into bed, kissing away whatever worried his mind. She was awfully good at distractions, she was coming to realize, but when it came to Sirius, she could never be sure.

She loved him so much, so entirely, that it nearly consumed her. When she was at work, her mind was not far from what he was doing. She knew he felt trapped, even after all the things that had happened - the final defeat of Voldemort, his warrant dropped, Dumbledore installing faith in his name and clearing him of all charges... He was a free man, no longer needing to whole up in his family's depressing old estate. But there he remained. Hermione wasn't sure why.

Wrapping her arms tightly around her lover, the man that she wanted to some day marry and perhaps even have children with, the one she wanted to share her entire life with, Hermione sighed. There would be time to worry about what was happening in that strange brain of his later; now, she was content to be near him, enveloped in his scent and skin. She kissed his stubbly cheek lightly before drifting off to sleep.

***

"Hello there," Ava Black said, tucking a strand of bright, orange-red hair behind her ears. The man sitting at the small table outside of the quaint, somewhat dingy looking inn - The Leaky Cauldron, Ava read (she was so charmed by the strange things the British did, and this place was completely enchanting, in her opinion) glanced up at her in surprise. She did stand out a bit, she realized - her bright red hair, the short little white slip-dress and metallic gladiator sandals. She thought that London was supposed to be one of those fashion hubs of the world - so far, at least in this part of London, folks seemed to be mainly wearing strange cloaks and plain, boring old things. She had to admit slight disappointment at that.

"Hello," the man said. He was older - maybe in his mid forties - with neat, sandy brown hair and warm, hazel eyes that locked on her's. She felt her heart begin to beat quickly in her chest. He was handsome, wearing a white starched shirt with the sleeves pushed up, a Navy tie and grey wool trousers and nice shoes. Maybe a bit shabby, if she looked closely, but the overall aesthetic was pleasing.

"I was wondering," she said, slipping into the seat across from him, crossing one long, slender leg over the other beneath the table - not noticing the brief flicker his eyes took at her limbs. She flattened her map on her side of the table, careful of his tea and the weathered old book before him. "How does one get into Diagon Alley?"

"Its quite easy," the man said, flashing a smile. "Not from around here, huh?"

"I know, my accent totally gives me away," she said, shrugging lightly.

"It'll definitely stand out in Diagon Alley. What brings you over the pond, anyway?" He took a quick swallow of tea, and Ava did notice that his hands had started shaking. She wondered if he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Why would he be? Though she definitely had exquisite fashion taste, she was a medium height, somewhat simple looking girl. She had porcelain skin, flawed with a heavy dose of freckles over her shoulders and chest and nose, and an un-proportioned body that constantly made her self-conscious. Her breasts were average sized, perhaps a bit small, and her bum was full, round, and she felt out of place on her frame. A girl with her kind of looks - fair, simple, with brown eyes and full, red lips, should either have curves or nothing.

"I'm searching for someone," she said, smiling playfully. "I have an address, but when I tried to find the house - yesterday, and it was raining! And I didn't have any "Wellies" or anything like that..." He chuckled at her air-quotations, obvious to any on-looker, enchanted with the girl.

"It always rains here, love," he said. "You had better get used to it."

"I thought that was some kind of cliche," Ava replied, shrugging. "You know, like you guys and your tea."

"Oh, tea is sacred here," the man said, beginning to relax in his seat. "It's a daily routine for our entire country!"

"Well, I don't have a taste for the stuff, I know that much," Ava said, giggling.

"I wouldn't spread that round, they might kick you out," the man said, leaning forward as though telling her in confidence.

"Well, it has been very pleasant talking to you," Ava said, wanting to cut the conversation short before they grew into an uncomfortable silence. "But I really must be going."

"Well, perhaps I could help you find this person," the man said, and Ava felt a blush creep over her cheeks, pleased. "My name is Remus Lupin. And if you're looking for someone in Diagon Alley, you're definitely going to need a guide."

"Well Remus Lupin," Ava said - what a peculiar name! Then again, her father's name was particularly strange as well. So many British-y things were, she was discovering. "My name is Ava, and I'm looking for my father."

"Well, let us get on with the hunt," Remus said. He had paused for a moment, after that admission, to search Ava's eyes. He was probably realizing that she was someone's daughter, that she was most likely young enough to be his daughter. She secretly, silently prayed that he was not disgusted by this realization. She would very much enjoy his company, and he was so attractive - she wouldn't mind being seen on the streets of Diagon Alley with someone like him...

They stood, Ava folding up her map and tucked it into the purse she had - though it was a bit large to be called a purse, as it hung on one strap across her chest, hanging on her hip - and followed Remus into the inn. It was definitely different from any bar she had been in, but then again, it wasn't a bar - it was a pub. There were old wooden tables with benches, and a rickety-looking stairway that lead up to the rooms. She doubted that she would have wanted a room there...

"Right, so you just take your wand out, and tap -"

"Wand?" Ava asked, arching an eyebrow. "Isn't it a bit quick in our budding friendship for those kinds of things?" She flashed a playful grin, and Remus chuckled.

"I'd expect that from some of my friends, but definitely not from you, Miss Ava - I'm sorry, what did you say your last name was?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't," she said, shaking her head. "It's Black - and my father's name is Sirius Black, if thats any help... Oh, Remus, you've just turned very pale - are you all right?"

***

"Fuck," Sirius grunted, he pounded inside of the small witch before him. Bent over their kitchen table, her body bare and slick with sweat and delicious before him. He would never grow satisfied, never be sated. She was the kind of woman that he needed, but had never thought to want. She had a know-it-all attitude that he didn't enjoy, a way of rubbing his nose in things (though some things he definitely did not mind rubbing his nose in) that could really get under his skin... But at the same time, he was his little witch. It amazed him, constantly, on a daily basis, that such an amazing woman would have him. Brightest witch of her age, curvy and soft in all of the right places, and she only moaned his name - and had only moaned his name for well over six months. It was bliss.

"Please," she moaned, flicking back her thick mane, gazing up at him with lust-hooded eyes. She was so turned on, so completely, unabashedly wet and willing and needful of him, that she could barely breathe. He loved when she was like this - it only confirmed his heart's true desire, that they really were made for each other, and that he truly belonged to no other witch. He never thought that day would come.

"Please what, my love?" he asked, before slowing his pace to a lazy, shallow thrusting.

"Oh no," she moaned, trying to buck her hips back against his. "Please, Sirius, I need you - harder -"

He complied, but only because she said please. She could be so well mannered and polite.

It wasn't long until her passage was squeezing his dick, making his eyes want to roll back in his head. He couldn't help it then. He lost all sense of control, and was bucking into her unevenly. He panted, grunted, rasped, until she cried out again, lost in another wave of pleasure, and he could no longer bear it. He lost himself inside of her, spilling his seed while grasping her hips tight enough to bruise. He collapsed against her slick back, trying to catch his breath.

"I do so enjoy Sundays," Hermione said, once she back to breathing evenly.

"Of course you do," Sirius agreed, still not quite in his right mind. "Biscuits and crosswords."

Hermione giggled beneath him, before letting him know that he was crushing her. On that note, he carried her swiftly into their bed, depositing her gracelessly, before curling up against her. She smelled amazing - a mixture of strawberries and himself. He was nearly asleep when he heard an annoying crack! Who would arrive without prompting like this? When he was in bed with his amazing little witch?

"Sirius!"

"Bollocks," Sirius grumbled. Hermione was up and pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, tossing clothes at him and pulling on her own. Of course, she would be more than eager to have company. Her work load was so heavy that she rarely saw anyone but himself, and the fact that his best friend, Remus Lupin, was dropping in was sure to send her into a friendly frenzy.

"He's your best mate," Hermione pointed out, giving him an accusing look. Sirius sighed heavily, very much like a pouting child, before pulling on a pair of trousers and a Cannons T-shirt. He wasn't shaven, still glistening with sweat from their latest love making session, and surely, the kitchen that Remus was standing in reeked of their sex. Serves him right, Sirius thought with a smug smirk.

The couple quickly hurried downstairs, finding a distraught looking Remus standing edgily way from the kitchen table. Trust his wolfey senses to know too much.

"Hello," Hermione said brightly, hugging the stressed looking Lupin and kissing his cheek briefly. Sirius repressed the urge to rip Remus' limbs off, knowing that she was simply fond of the man. The two were kindred souls - bookish, too smart for their own good, and quiet people. Well, Hermione was only quiet when her mind was occupied. Sirius grinned at that thought.

"What brings you here on this lovely summer afternoon?" Sirius asked, flopping down in his chair at the head of the table. Hermione busied herself making tea, bustling around the kitchen to gather cups and things.

"Well, I just had a particularly strange run in," Remus said. He did look shaken, Sirius had to admit to himself, though a bit younger looking than he had seen him in a while. The defeat of Voldemort did that to everyone, he reasoned. He ran a hand through his dark, somewhat graying locks, then gestured from his friend to go on.

Remus glanced at Hermione, looking unsure - but whatever reservations he had, he tossed out the window when he said, "I think I've just met your daughter."

The cup Hermione was holding hit the floor, shattered, startling them all.

"Moony," Sirius said, smiling uneasily. "I do not have a child."

"Well," Remus said, sitting down at one of the benches at the table. "I realize this, of course. And you see, I wouldn't have believed her had she not... Well, she had a picture of her mother and you from after graduation, and she also had your last name, and you know that in the Wizarding world -"

"So she's a witch then?" Hermione asked, turning to face the two men.

"Well, thats the thing - I think I frightened her a bit, she asked me how to get into Diagon Alley - American girl, I thought that she just didn't know - but then she made some remark about my wand..."

"Mate, you are not making any sense," Sirius said, somewhat amused. It wouldn't surprise him if some witch - a random woman he had had a one night stand with, but who grew too attached and somewhat obsessed with him, would tell their daughter that he was the father. He was ninety percent sure that he had never produced a child, a regret that haunted him his entire life until he and Hermione had gotten together. It seemed plausible, possible now, that the two were together...

"So you're saying that an American girl turned up at the Leaky Cauldron, found you there, and asked for directions to Diagon Alley? Muggles can't see the Leaky Cauldron, so obviously she's a witch -" Hermione was chewing her lip, as she often did while in thought, and Sirius had to remember that they were discussing the question of whether or not he truly had an offspring - he was tempted to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back into bed.

"Right - which was why I just assumed she was a witch." Remus nodded his shaggy blonde-brown head, following Hermione's logic. "But then when we got to the wall, and I said to pull out our wands, she made some Padfoot-esque joke that truly startled me. And then of course, she revealed that she was looking for Sirius Black of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and wasn't it cute how we British did our addresses?" Remus shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. "She said she'd come by yesterday, but it went from eleven to thirteen, and simply assumed she had the wrong place."

"Merlin," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Where could she have gotten that information?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, mulling things over. It wouldn't be hard now, for someone in the Wizarding community, to find him. But if this girl was who she claimed to be, it might have been a different situation.

"So... where is she?" Hermione asked, just as the pot began to whistle.

"Well, I told her that I knew her father, and I had for my entire life, and that he definitely did not have a daughter of any kind," Remus said, glancing sheepishly at his hands spread on the table. "And she kind of... well, she fainted. So I got her a room at the Cauldron, and left her a note with instructions not to move an inch until I got back with word."

"So you're saying that you left a poor girl alone in the Cauldron, who was raised as a Muggle and has no idea what world we live in?" Hermione asked. Sirius was surprised at her reaction - normally, a woman would pose jealous threats at the man in this situation. At least, that was what Sirius would have expected. Instead, she was concerned about the girl's well fare.

"What was I supposed to do? Say, "Oh right, well Diagon Alley happens to be part of the Wizarding world, which you are apart of but have no idea that you are, but you know... Surprise!" I don't think so," Remus said, shaking his head.

"What did she look like?" Sirius asked, curious. He didn't feel like this whole situation was real, so he wasn't truly thinking. It was the first thought, aside from who the mother could possibly be.

"Well, she's bloody gorgeous," Remus blurted, making Hermione arch an eyebrow suspiciously. "But she's got this crazy red hair, which isn't quite orange and isn't quite red, and wonderful brown eyes. Dark like yours," he added.

"Well," Sirius said, nodding his head. "I suppose we're going to have to go meet his young girl, don't we?"

Silence fell over the three in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, as they each contemplated this new mystery.