Author's Note: I have other stories under another penname on this site, but this is my first Sirius/Hermione story. This is a dimension-travel story, set a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts. The M-rating is for scenes of a sexual nature, and slightly dark situations in future chapters. English isn't my first language, so the writing may be slightly different than what native English-speakers are used to.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. I own nothing.
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The Darkest Black: Chapter One
Throbbing.
Her head was throbbing, paining as if someone was drumming it vigorously.
Hermione let out a groan, wondering over the cause of the headache. Had she been out for a drink again, last night? Merlin! If Rita Skeeter got wind of it – like she had, the previous time Hermione had gone out to a pub after an argument with Ron – she was sure she would have to face yet another bout of staring and whispering at work.
She groaned again, deciding she badly needed a glass of water for her parched throat. She opened her eyes, only to snap them shut when they met blinding white light.
Damn Ron and his incorrigible habits! How many times had she told him to shut the bloody windows before he slept? But he kept them open every single time… just like he kept his clothes lying around, expecting her to clean up after him, put his unwashed dishes in the sink, expecting her to wash them, refused to help her with cooking and kitchen chores just because she was the woman and he thought it was her job to do all the household stuff—Merlin! It was no use thinking about that, she decided, knowing that if she began to point out matters over which Ron and she bickered, it would take her the better part of the next hour…
It was a new day, she thought firmly, deciding that she would try her best to avoid getting into arguments with Ron. Granted things between them weren't good recently – especially on the marriage and kids matter. But they were together, weren't they? She had to make it work, at least give it her best shot…
She opened her eyes again, only to shut them yet again, her head throbbing even harder as her eyes met the bright sunlight (she was definitely having a bad hangover, she noted absently). She groped around blindly, hoping her hand would meet the bedside table, where she usually kept a pitcher of water. But her fingers only met empty air.
Damn it!
She decided that her thirst wasn't great enough to merit her getting out of bed and walking to the kitchen to get some water; her poor, aching head would certainly be unable to stand that.
She turned to her left instead, idly noting that her bed seemed very, very fluffier than it usually did. But she was too irritated with her headache to dwell on that.
"Ron," she said, her voice sounding all hoarse.
It was a new day, she thought again; a new start.
"Ron," she repeated, moving leftwards towards Ron's sleeping form with a groan, deciding to wake him up far more romantically than she usually did.
She moved her hand forward, and her lips touched the nearest part of Ron she could feel. But she froze abruptly, when her lips met a stubbled cheek, while her hand touched what felt like a soft, silky cloth over a rather firm arm.
Ron was always clean-shaven—and—and he definitely didn't wear a silk night-robe!
Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the sunlight.
Next to her lay a man who certainly wasn't Ron!
His arm lay over his eyes, covering the upper part of his face. But his hair—his hair wasn't ginger-coloured, but jet black!
He wasn't Ron!
There was a stranger in her bed!
"No!" she gasped, sitting up quickly, feeling disoriented as her head screamed at the sudden motion. Had she slept with him? No, no, no! This wasn't happening! She couldn't have slept with another man and betrayed Ron – no matter how drunk she had been.
She looked around the room, a shiver running up her spine when she realised that it wasn't her room! It wasn't the room she shared with Ron, which she'd recently painted a peaceful blue. Instead, it was a very lavishly-decorated room, with green and silver being the most prominent colours.
She wasn't home!
She was in some weird unknown room, which wouldn't have been out-of-place in a bloody palace. And she was next to a black-haired (and rather nice-smelling) man who wasn't Ron!
She ran a hand through her hair, only to freeze again!
It wasn't her hair! It wasn't bushy and wild and tangled! It was silky—and—and blonde!
"Are you alright?" came a deep, although cold, voice from the unknown man she had been sharing the bed with.
Her eyes snapped to him, widening as they fell on his face, an older version of which she had once been very familiar with, on his eyes which were dark grey.
He was Sirius Black!
She was sure he was! A younger version of him, though…
She inched away from him, mouth dry, heart hammering madly in her chest, head throbbing in agonising pain.
"What's wrong?" he asked her, grey eyes searching hers.
And Hermione tried – she tried very, very hard – to suppress her scream. But when he moved his hand forward to touch her, she couldn't hold it in anymore, and she let out the loudest scream she had ever screamed.
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A/N: Phew! My first attempt at posting a story of my own – my other fictions have been co-written with other authors.
Feedback is very much welcome, so that I know whether to continue this :)
Thank you for reading!
