Chapter 2:

Despite the close proximity in which they lived, Sirius saw neither hide nor hair of Hermione Granger for two days after the incident with Ron. When their paths finally did cross, she looked, if possible, worse than before.

The red rings around her eyes indicated she had been crying recently, her wilder than normal hair hinted she might not have left her room since they had last spoken.

She visibly swallowed, a copy of Hamlet held loosely in one hand, as she realised her chosen reading spot was already occupied. The porch at the rear of number twelve had long been a favourite of both Sirius and Hermione, not that she knew that. He tended to sit out there in the very early hours of the morning, sometimes heading upstairs with only an hour or so before breakfast, but more often than not falling asleep out there. She tended to sit out there until about midnight. He knew because it was the reason he stopped heading out quite so early.

He met her gaze wordlessly.

She swallowed again, and he could already see her eyes filling with tears as she stood framed with an amber glow, the firelight in the kitchen behind her spilling out from the doorway. He thought then that she looked rather like an oil painting he had seen in an art gallery in Paris once, a pale beauty bathed in light.

He did precisely the same as he had done before: he opened his arms to her and she, as before, rushed to him and dissolved into his arms. She cried quietly this time, more because she couldn't stop than because she was upset.

After a while, she sighed and rubbed her eyes. She did not withdraw as she had before, however. Instead, she leaned into his warmth, snuggling into his chest.

It was his turn to swallow now. Her weight against him was like torture. How long has it been, he silently asked himself, since a woman has draped herself over me quite so readily?

At least six months, his brain supplied. He clenched his teeth together in a bid to repress his desire. God, he hated the little smug voice that answered his own rhetorical questions. It sounds like Remus, he thought distantly.

In a bid to divert himself, he decided to put the plan he had so painstakingly constructed two nights ago into action. He began to gently trace circles on the thigh she had curled towards him earlier—nothing presumptuous or even inappropriate, but enough to subtly begin to plant the seed.

"Thank you," he heard her breathe softly.

"Hey, don't mention it, chick," he whispered.

She didn't say anything for such a long time he thought she might have fallen asleep.

"You never asked what he did," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not my business," he responded honestly.

She chuckled softly, sending delicious vibrations through his chest.

"Mind giving Ron some tips?" She requested humourlessly.

"Where would I start?" He asked in the same tone.

She buried the tip of her now cold nose into his collar, unknowingly exposing a little more skin, her soft flesh now flush against him. This was, he decided, something akin to blissful agony.

"Hm. You could start with teaching him when not to stick his nose in, and when not to be an insensitive git." Her voice only cracked a little at the end.

He chuckled darkly.

"That isn't something taught, my chick. You've either got it or you don't."

"Well he certainly hasn't." She sniffed.

He sighed softly, rubbing her leg comfortingly.

"The thing with boys like Ron is they don't know what they've got 'till it's gone. They take people for granted, and they just don't get it. The thingwith Ron is that he doesn't want to. He wants the world to form around him, and it'd take a miracle to make him realise he's the one with the problem."

"Is he though?" Her voice shook.

"Hey, you're talking nonsense now. Take it from a man of the world, chick. He needs to grow up, and quickly, too." He looked down at her, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

She smiled a little and then looked up, meeting his eyes once more. He felt a jolt run through him. Her eyes are breathtaking, he thought. How the stupid git had ever thought it was a good idea to risk losing this, he didn't know. But then he probably, in reality, didn't realise how close he had come-or that he had competition.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. "And I'm sorry about..." She began to gesture at herself as he cut her off.

"If I minded, I wouldn't be here, hmm? Sometimes all you need is just a shoulder to lean on." He smiled.

She smiled in return, nodding and settling back down almost hesitantly to her previous position.

After a long time, she spoke again.

"It was a book, you know. Stupid, isn't it? Of all the things..." she trailed off.

"What was the book?" He asked gently.

She swallowed. "How to please your Wizard, 25 easy steps to learning what he wants."

"You're joking, right?" He demanded, leaning back to look at her again.

She smiled bitterly in response.

Sirius suddenly laughed softly. He felt Hermione jerk away as if stung, her eyes confused, hurt and angry. Realising what was about to happen he tightened his grip, clutching her against his chest.

"Let me... if you think this is so funny, then...!" She wriggled in an attempt to break free.

"Listen to me, Hermione," he growled. She stopped moving, her eyes suspicious but responding to his tone.

"I was laughing at him, not you. A man does not idly rile a witch like you, especially if he wishes to survive the encounter. I was laughing at his stupidity." He still held her tightly, watching her face as her eyes searched his.

She relaxed again and sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to it," he replied, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back.

Eventually, Sirius realised the sun was rising and he must have fallen asleep. Looking down at Hermione, he surmised he had not been the only one. Her small, delicate face lay half buried in the thick wool of his jumper. Her breathing was deep and slow, the unmistakable rhythm of sleep. He registered that her hands were ice cold with a frown. He shifted slightly, intending on carrying her to bed, but she began to stir.

"Sirius?" She mumbled.

"It's me, chick," he whispered softly, stroking her hair.

She sighed and drifted back into sleep.

He painstakingly shifted her so she was propped up against the back of the wooden swing seat they had occupied, and quickly removed his jumper to wrap around her in an effort to ward of the chill. Picking her up, it was not long before they were at the top of the stairs and Sirius was faced with a dilemma. If he took her back to her room he would almost certainly wake Ginny, and therefore almost certainly earn an interrogation from the girl-not something he was in the mood for. But if he took her to his room, she might flip at him come morning. Deciding to risk it, he carried her to his bed and tucked her in.