A/N: I know, folks, I know, I haven't updated this in an awfully long while, and for that I apologize. As it happens so often, life got in the way of things.

Now, let me just say that I do not, in any way, condone rape or other forms of sexual abuse. Please keep in mind that we are hearing this story from the perspective of a broken man who, during his stay in Azkaban, aged but did not mature, and is now socially inept due to his long absence from human and especially humane contact. As it is, he is now desperate for emotional and physical attention from the witch he believes himself in love with.

So just remember, this story comes from a very subjective and selective point of view, with many aspects missing in the overall picture. This story does not represent the opinion or values of the author - that is, me.

Most issues that were expressed in reviews I discussed with the reviewers via PM, and I hope that anybody who still takes issue or finds any problems with this story will come forward so that I may address those. As it is, a huge hole in argumentation was pointed out to me that I hope this chapter and the following one will deal with to the reviewers satisfaction. I did my best to fix it.

Lastly, some characters may appear out of character in this chapter and will probably not meet your expectations of them. But remember, everybody we get to know from JKR's universe we see only through their interaction with Harry. So we don't know how they might act, let's say, with close friends after working hours. ;) Also, the kitchen conversation may appear to go in circles, not really leading anywhere, but in my experience, that's exactly what happens when two people are persistent in their individual opinions and unwilling to see the other's point.

Another chapter will follow after this, and it will hopefully be the last as I plan to wrap up any and all loose ends then.

But now I should really let you get on with it. Enjoy!


I know I should go,

But I follow you like a man possessed.

There's a traitor here beneath my breast.

And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed.


For once, Hermione stayed true to her word and did not turn up at Sirius's room again for well over a week. Sirius tried to busy himself with keeping Harry company, even going so far as to throw himself into cleaning, so long as it kept his thoughts away from the little witch that had once more distanced herself from him. Every night he spent without her lithe body by his side, the underside of her breasts pressed against his arm wrapped around her torso, his manhood nestled into the crevice of her delectable bum, more coldness crept into his heart, locking away any feelings of warmth that she had brought into his life, and allowing the haunting memories of dark times spent in a grave in the middle of the North Sea back in.

Sirius felt that he was running out of time. September 1st was nearing fast, and with it the day that he would have to let his little witch go to the other end of the country. And so it came that one Friday evening, the last in the month of August, saw Sirius in the library, once more drowning his sorrows in firewhiskey. It was thus that Remus found him.

"Look who the cat dragged in, Padfoot," Remus called from the door. "I brought company."

Sirius perked up but visibly fell back into the armchair and himself when it was only Kingsley who followed Remus into the library.

"Evening, Black," he greeted, "Lupin here invited me to join your little gentleman's club. You don't mind, do you?"

You don't mind, do you, Sirius?

Sirius was transported back to a memory of his little witch, standing in his door, ready to be cuddled. Of course, that was before his (third) rejected marriage proposal and her visit to his room, only to vanish from his life as much was as possible when one was cooped up in a house together.

Only vaguely did Sirius notice that he was being spoken to. Not quite certain as to what had been said, he merely gestured towards his collected liquors.

"Help yourselves," he offered, and it seemed to be the correct answer as for the next few minutes all that could be heard was the melodious clinking of glass, the soft splashing as liquor was poured into tumblers, and the discussion over who would get the armchair by the fire. Sirius ignored it all.

He was forcibly ripped from his reverie when Remus spoke.

"What have you done to Hermione, Padfoot?" he asked.

Sirius started at the question that he had wondered about himself so often these past days. What had he done to her? Yes, the last time Hermione had been in his room she had left in tears, but really, all that had happened was that they had played a little rough and it had apparently proven too much for her. But would she go crying to Remus?

Cautiously, Sirius allowed Remus to elaborate.

"How do you mean?"

"Well," Remus drawled, "she hasn't joined us here in the library for quite some time, and I know I haven't done anything to her, as far as I am aware, so it must be something that you said that had her stop spending her evenings here with us."

Relieved that no real accusations were laid against him, Sirius went into the offense himself.

"What, Moony," he challenged, "is my company alone not enough for you anymore?"

"Obviously not, Padfoot," Remus chuckled, "else I wouldn't have needed to bring Kingsley along."

The three men laughed together.

"But seriously, Black," Kingsley finally interrupted their mirth, "I must say I'm a little disappointed. Lupin here promised there would be eye candy."

"'Eye candy'?" Sirius queried, confused.

"Muggle expression," Remus explained. "Something… delicious for hungry eyes."

Sirius was taken aback by Remus's explanation. Were they still talking about his little witch?

"Excuse me?" he said.

"Oh come on, Black, don't act all surprised," Kingsley countered. "Surely you're not blind to what a delectable little witch Miss Granger is?"

"I believe it is the shock, Kingsley," Remus said to the auror. "He's known her as a young girl and now has difficulties matching that image of her then with the stunning woman she is now."

"Well, you were the one to teach her for a whole year, Lupin," Kingsley objected, "but that doesn't keep you from ogling her delicious backside whenever she walks around in front of you."

"Oh, that bum," Remus's face took on a wistful expression. "Stairs have become the most common cause of too tight trousers for me. The way her hips sway when she climbs the stairs in front of me…"

"Not only you, my friend," Kingsley agreed, and the two men fell into silence, each of them drawn into their own memories of Hermione Granger's assets.

Hermione Granger. His little witch.

Sirius had allowed his friends' banter to play out for a little while, his gaze switching from one to the other and back again as he followed their conversation like others would a tennis match, and he had grown ever more incensed the longer their talked about his little witch's charms.

"Don't talk about her like that," he pressed out from between tightly gritted teeth.

"Come on, Padfoot," it was Remus's turn to try and placate his friend, "you can't forever ignore the fact that the girl has grown up a lot – and well, if I may add –", Kingsley nodded furiously, "over the past year."

"Don't talk about her like that!" Sirius snarled. His inner dog broke through and a low growl escaped from deep within his throat that finally had the two men opposite him snap from their mirth.

"Sit down, Padfoot," Remus said softly, but not without force. Usually, the quiet man would submit to his best friend, but in situations like these it became quite clear to both of them that the wolf was more powerful than the hound.

Sirius backed down and fell back into the armchair that he had been unaware he had stood up from.

"I'm sorry, Moony, Kingsley," he apologized, "it's just that –"

"It's just what, Black?" Kingsley prompted when Sirius made no move to continue his thought.

"It's just that I –" Sirius had to collect himself once more before he found the courage to finish his sentence. "It's just that… I love her."

Remus gasped as he hadn't done since fourth year, when Sirius had shared his secret of snogging Marlene McKinnon in the second floor broom cabinet.

"Padfoot," he queried, "what happened between you and Hermione?"

Sirius sighed.

"I proposed," he admitted.

"And?" Kingsley asked, when his host made no move to elaborate.

"What do you think, Shacklebolt," Sirius snarled, "she said No, of course, else I wouldn't be here, alone."

"But how did it happen?" Remus pressed on. "How did you fall in love with her?"

Sirius shot him an angry look that quickly morphed into one of profound sadness.

"You don't know how it's been, Moony," Sirius said. "I mean, a large part of me died when James and Lily were murdered, but Azkaban… I would have been better off dead, really. Those years – it was like looking up from one's own grave, waiting for the earth to fall and be buried, and be done with the horror of waiting.

"But then…" His face took on a wistful expression, and only a quiet clearing of Kingsley's throat brought him back to his story. "She came. And before I knew it, I was living for her every smile, her every glance of the eye in my direction, and Moony, I've never been so alive as when I'm with her, and –"

"Hold on for just a second there, Padfoot," Remus interrupted. "What do you mean, 'with her'? Surely you two haven't…?"

"She came to me," Sirius offered. "A few nights after she first arrived here, she came to my room in the middle of the night and asked to be held. Night after night she came to my bed, and things somehow progressed from there. It all started out innocent enough, but then she became more and more curious, until –"

"Stop right there, Black," it was Kingsley who interrupted this time. "Please be aware that I am an auror, and as such, I am compelled – both by my profession and by my conscience – to report any crime that comes to my attention. Now, if you choose to continue your tale, keep that in mind, will you?"

"But it's not a crime to be with her," Sirius objected. Then he amended, "not for me, at least."

"Why not for you in particular?" Remus asked. "Because you love her?"

"No, not because of that," Kingsley said, a look of realization now on his face. "She's a Muggle-born, isn't she?"

Sirius merely nodded, then continued.

"Well, there's not much more to say, I guess. I proposed, she said No, but no matter how often she pushed me away, she always came back. One night, she was waiting for me in bed, naked. I warned her that she was not prepared to play with fire, but she said – and I quote: 'Burn me.' Long story short, things got a little rough, and now she won't talk to me."

Remus looked confused.

"Didn't you care for her?" he asked. "I thought you were quite the considerate lover."

Kingsley's "And just how would you know that, Lupin?" went ignored by the other two men.

"I did, Moony," Sirius assured, as if the auror had never spoken. "And Merlin, you should have felt it. That sweet little bum, gripping me like a vice –"

"Her bum?" Remus asked, surprised. "That's quite the advanced play, wouldn't you say?"

"I thought so, too, but she wanted to save her innocence until marriage," Sirius explained. "And who am I to stand between a woman and her ideals?"

"So that's why you proposed in the first place?"

"No," Sirius objected forcefully. "Circe, Moony, why would you say such a thing? I'm in love with that little witch, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," Remus immediately backed down. "It's just that you were quite the playboy before, and to see you now so… so domesticated, it's a little much to take in."

The three men sat in silence for a little while, each lost in their own thoughts as well as their tumblers of Old Odgen's. It was Kingsley who broke the silence.

"Merlin, Black," he chuckled, admiration clearly audible in his voice, "who would have thought that you of all men managed to score Miss Granger's bum."

He stood up and topped off their tumblers, toasting to Sirius as he sat back down.

"Seriously though, Padfoot," Remus said, a look of concern on his face, "Hermione is only fifteen. Are you sure that's not a little – or rather, much – too young?"

Sirius fixed him with a pensive gaze of his own before coming to a decision.

"Tell you what, Moony, Shacklebolt – you two can keep a secret, can't you?" The two men in question nodded, and he continued. "Hermione used a Time Turner in her third year. Technically, it's very well possible that she's been of age this whole time that she's been with me."

"Merlin, Black," Kingsley said, astonished at that revelation, and that was probably what allowed his next words to escape his brain unfiltered, "you make a horrible secret keeper."

Sirius looked at him in shock, so taken aback by the auror's words that the pain that should have come with them did not register at once. Kingsley himself visibly regretted what he had said the moment the words had crossed his lips. Before either man could react to the situation, however, Remus seemed to have completed some mental calculations.

"I don't think so, Padfoot," he said, still talking about Hermione possibly being of age, "she would have had to age over fourteen months in a period of nine months."

"I know, Moony, but Harry said that she had up to three classes in the same period, so it's quite likely that she managed that."

"But that's only the daytime accounted for, Black," Kingsley cut in, following Sirius's lead in ignoring his slip of the tongue, "what about the nights?"

"Well, from what Harry told me, she always takes extra care in her homework," Sirius said, with Remus nodding in agreement from his personal experience with Hermione as a student. "Add that to preparation for the lessons, additional reading into secondary literature, and not to forget sleep – it works."

"No, it doesn't, Padfoot," Remus shook his head. "I don't think you're grasping the magnitude of this. Hermione would have needed to fit at least sixty hours into one day – it's just not possible!"

"Oh, don't say that, Moony," Sirius countered. "You forget we are talking about Hermione Granger here. I understand that it's highly improbable, I really do, but with her determination, everything is possible. Everything."

"Alright, alright," the werewolf finally gave in. "But that doesn't change the fact that in the Muggle world, this would constitute rape."

"Well, not in the Wizarding world, Lupin," Kingsley said. "Not with their blood statuses being as they are."

"Also, with as many crimes as I am sought for, Moony," Sirius cut in with a smile, "what difference would one accusation of rape make next to all those murder charges?"

It had been meant in jest, but Kingsley said, "well, maybe it wouldn't make a big difference in front of the Wizengamot, Black, but take care that no such accusations are brought before the leadership of the Order. You might be needed for now, but I don't think Albus would go easy on you in such an issue. Neither would I, for that matter. That girl is well loved, and Morgana help you if you so much as lay a finger on her."

Sirius was shocked. Hermione's words from earlier came tumbling through his mind, from when he had proposed to her on the couch in the library, how everybody would hate him should he ever force himself on her. But he hadn't, really, had he? They had merely played a little rough, maybe a tad too rough for his little witch as Sirius got carried away, but really… She wouldn't misinterpret what had happened between them that night, would she?

Remus had ignored their little dispute, still shaking his head, disgusted, though Sirius knew it wasn't with him but rather with their archaic law system.

"It's barbaric, isn't it," Remus said, "those medieval laws still being upheld in our society today?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Kingsley's ears perked up at Remus's words.

"'Medieval'," he echoed, "that's a word Miss Granger used, and quite abundantly, if I may say so." At the questioning look on Sirius and Remus's faces, he elaborated, "Miss Granger came to me a few days ago, asking my knowledge about and experience with how a crime of a Pureblood against a Muggle-born would be prosecuted."

"A crime?" Sirius repeated, wary of what Kingsley might reveal. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth, being that it is hard to prosecute a crime in such a constellation of perpetrator and victim in front of the Wizengamot, and that even with incriminating evidence it would be a hard case to win."

"And did she have evidence?" Remus asked the question that Sirius burned to have answered.

"Well, she said that her perpetrator had Vanished all physical evidence of the crime, though she wouldn't say what that was. She seemed deeply upset about that, so I told her that in some cases, memories were admitted as evidence. She perked up at that and said she would read up on that."

"What do you think happened to her?" Sirius asked none of them in particular.

"Not what," Remus said. "Who. Harry said that Draco Malfoy was still giving them trouble, especially Hermione. It had been like that when I was still teaching at Hogwarts, and it seems it hasn't changed a bit since."

"Lucius Malfoy's spawn?" Sirius replied to make sure he had understood correctly as everything seemed to click into place in his mind. Of course Hermione wouldn't have talked like that about their night together. She had enjoyed it, after all, if her mind-blowing orgasm around his hard cock in her back entrance was any indication.

"The very same," Remus affirmed.

"Then there is even less we can do about than I thought," Kingsley concluded. "With Lucius Malfoy's influence as it is, the boy is practically untouchable, no matter what the crime or the evidence."

The men sat together in silence for a minute, taking in that revelation. Then, Remus asked, "So what are you going to do about your relationship with Hermione, Padfoot?"

A sad smile formed on Sirius's face, though it spoke of a fierce conviction.

"I am going to shower her with my love, Moony," he promised. "I will wear her down and I will propose to her until she says Yes – or I will die trying."

"Of old age?" Kingsley jested. "That witch seems quite determined in anything she does, so if she decides to make you wait, Black, then wait you will."

"Of old age," Sirius agreed, "or of a broken heart. Whatever which comes first."


The evening had ended a little later. When he said his goodbyes to the two Marauders, Kingsley had set a deadline for Sirius that incensed the Animagus. The auror vowed that if Sirius had not secured Hermione by the time she left school, he would make his move on her, crudely jesting that he would find out then if her desire for Black men went beyond the family name.

Remus had stayed the night at headquarters and was making breakfast when Sirius entered the kitchen late the next morning. It wasn't as if any of them could really go out and party, but somehow all residents of Grimmauld Place were used to sleeping in on Saturdays. Harry and the Weasley boys were all already seated around the long table, happily munching away on the pancakes that Remus kept steadily coming, frying and flipping away at the stove with a skill that Sirius could never hope to accomplish after a night of emotional drunkenness.

Sirius had just fallen into a chair that Harry had insistently kept vacant just for him and was tucking into his first pancake, when the girls came into the kitchen. Ginny was happy to snap away the pancake that Remus had just finished, so Hermione had to wait for more. Sirius watched her as she made her way over to Remus, grabbed a cup from the shelf diagonally above the stove, and began preparing tea. The kitchen was noisy with five teenagers squabbling over breakfast, but Sirius's hearing was well enhanced due to his Animagus abilities, and he was easily able to follow the conversation Remus started with his little witch.

The werewolf leaned over towards her, so as not to be overheard by the breakfasting crowd, and whispered, "Go to him, Hermione."

Her head shot up, and Sirius could discern the surprise in her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Go to him," Remus insisted, "and whatever you think he has done wrong, forgive him. He is heartbroken."

"Whatever I think –! And he is –? Remus, you have no idea what you are talking about."

Sirius could see that she was desperate to end their conversation, but Remus was not so easily deterred.

"I know that you came to him," he recalled. "I know that you seduced him, and that you left after the deed was done, as if nothing happened, and now he is heartbroken."

"As if nothing –? As if –? Are you completely mad?" she raged, though her voice was still hushed, and she had to stop talking as Remus dished out more pancakes to the insatiable crowd. "Remus," she continued imploringly, "he is sick. Please, you have to help him, he is sick."

"He isn't sick," Remus objected, "he is heartbroken. He loves you. Yes, maybe he got a little rough, but that's only to be expected after going without sex for so long. He simply doesn't know his own strength anymore. But Hermione, he is heartbroken. Because you left without an explanation, and it broke his heart."

"I broke his –?" Sirius watched with interest and no little concern as Hermione once more appeared to choke on the words she echoed. "Remus, he sodomized me."

Remus seemed unfazed by the panicked expression gracing the young witch's face, and waved off her apparent distress.

"I know that, but –"

"He told you that?" Hermione asked, her shock bringing her voice to a volume at which Ginny raised her head, but more pancakes from Remus's skilled hand distracted the red-headed witch once more.

"Of course he did," Remus replied, "I am his best friend, so who else would he talk about the love of his life with? He also said," he cut off her objection, "that he did it only to respect your wish to remain pure until marriage."

"Pure?" Hermione raged. "There is nothing pure about me anymore, not after what he has done to me. And believe me, Sirius Black is incapable of love. Remus, please, he is sick. His perception is completely warped, and you have to help him before he destroys himself or anyone else. Please."

Sirius could see that Remus's attempt at a conversation was getting them nowhere, so he rose from his own conversation with Harry and made his way over to the two. When she saw him rise from his seat, however, Hermione went into flight mode.

"I have to go," she muttered, and made to leave the kitchen.

"Oy, 'Mione," Ron called from his place at the table, "what about your pancakes?"

"Thank you, I'm not hungry," she pressed out from between gritted teeth as she backed away from the approaching lord of the house, her eyes never leaving his form but not quite meeting his gaze either.

"So can I –?" the redhead gestured.

"Sure, Ron," Hermione hastened to reply, "help yourself."

And with a whirl of her beautifully short skirt, Sirius's little witch was gone from his presence once more.


Sirius did not manage to corner Hermione that Saturday. She either stayed clear of everybody, locking herself away in her room, or stuck close to Harry and Ron, knowing as well as Sirius did that his godson would be very outspoken in his confusion and hurt should Sirius ask for a private audience with Hermione in Harry's presence.

When it became clear to him that he would not manage to speak with Hermione in private during her remaining stay at Grimmauld Place, Sirius fell back to plan B: Ginny Weasley.

He caught the redhead alone when the boys had sneaked off to the kitchen in their search for more snacks. Beckoning her over to a corner, his air of secrecy had the young girl's full attention. Nobody lived with six older brothers for long without knowing when somebody had a secret plan.

Without much further ado, he handed her a box.

"Stow that away for me, will you?"

Ginny eyed the box with curiosity written all over her face. It was rectangular and rather long, though flat. She opened it carefully and gasped at the beautiful quill within. It was made from the feather Sirius had teased Hermione with, the one from Buckbeak, and he had Remus have a stunning tip fashioned, of dark smoky silver with elaborate carvings.

Sirius laughed when Ginny reached to take it from the box, and pulled her hand back, stunned by the sharp electricity that ran through her digit.

"It's not for you, I'm afraid," Sirius explained. "I'd be much obliged, however, if you would hand it to Hermione on her birthday, please. Letters may occasionally be sent from headquarters, but anything exceeding a tiny and tightly rolled scroll would be just asking for trouble."

"Sure," Ginny agreed at once, "I'll see that she gets it. But why did you ward it so heavily that I can't even touch it?"

"Well, I can't have you writing love letters to boys other than Harry, now, can I?" Sirius grinned.

"What?" Ginny asked. "How do you –"

"I just know," Sirius said. Then, with a serious expression, he implored, "he will come around, Ginny, never doubt that. Now, I don't expect you or even want you to wait for that to happen, but please, be there when he does. Alright?"

Ginny sighed, but her face told him everything he needed to know. She would be there, he could tell. Instead of answering, she asked, "Why didn't I get a present from you when it was my birthday a few weeks ago?"

"Oh, come off it, Ginger," Sirius teased, "you got a fun holiday at my house! What more could you possibly want?"

Ginny's shock was palpable, and Sirius had to do his best not to laugh out loud at her stunned expression.

"What?" she asked. "Cleaning is your definition of fun?"

Sirius grinned.

"No," he replied cheekily, and winked, "but sarcasm is my definition of humour."

And with an understanding smile, Ginny rushed from the room to stow away Hermione's present, so that the boys wouldn't eat all the snacks before she joined them in the kitchen.

Sirius remained, staring off into nothingness. Ginny possibly writing love letters with the quill was not the only reason nobody except Hermione could take it from the box, he pondered. He only hoped that his little witch would embrace the present that lay hidden beneath.


Sunday came and went far too fast for Sirius's liking. The morning was hectic as he had rarely experienced it, as everybody was storming and stomping about Grimmauld Place, looking for lost socks, lost books, or lost familiars. Molly Weasley was shouting commands up and down the hall, and Walburga Black accompanied each and every one of those commands with a tirade of insults.

Fortunately for him, in the confusion Sirius managed to escape headquarters with them, in the rugged-looking, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, four-legged, hairy other version of himself. He was happy to breathe some air outside of headquarters once more, even if it was only the dirty metropolitan air of central London. The teenagers giggled as the huge hound chased after pigeons and wove in and out of their legs, sniffing at this hand and that bag, yipping happily at everyone that affectionately stroked him.

The only one not amused by his antics, however, was his little witch. She angrily batted him away when he tried to stuck his nose up under her skirt on more than one occasion until finally Molly admonished him with an air that brook no argument. Sirius – or Snuffles, as it was – stuck close to Harry after that.

The goodbye with his godson was highly emotional, and his heart broke a little to see the image of a younger James board the train, without himself coming along. His little witch did not even glance at him as she went after Harry and the Weasley children, and he was glad that in his Animagus form he was unable to visibly cry, as that surely would have drawn looks from the Order members in his company.

As it was, Remus joined him for a drink in the library after they got back. Sirius felt locked up in Grimmauld Place once more, as dark as it had been a few weeks ago, as his little witch had taken away again all the light and goodness that she had brought when she first came here.

As he downed his third firewhiskey, his best friend sitting in the armchair opposite him, Sirius tried to take heart. After all, if everything went according to plan, he wouldn't be alone ever again once everyone came back for Christmas. He only had to stay sane until then.


If my heart could beat, it would break my chest –

But I can see you're unimpressed;

So leave me be, and…


The next few months were pure agony for Sirius. He had been looking forward to September 19th, when Hermione would open his present and find the surprise hidden underneath, but the day came and went, as did the weeks following, without a message from his little witch.

Furthermore, communication with Harry was even more difficult than he would have imagined, what with that Ministry bitch, Umbridge, at the school. Sirius took heart in the fact that the trio was forming a defence group, though the idea seemed to be coming more from Hermione rather than Harry. He was proud of his little witch and his godson, though he had to chuckle at her inexperience. Holding a supposedly secret meeting in the Hog's Head of all places; she really had much to learn. Lucky for her – and himself, of course – Sirius was just the man to teach her, and both of them would take much pleasure in everything he had yet to show her and introduce her to.

After a while of him practically climbing up the walls in his impatience to hear from Hermione, Remus attempted to pacify him by saying that he probably had not received a note from her because her communication was as heavily monitored as Harry's, her being as close to Sirius's godson as she was. The words held little solace for Sirius, however, they only made him worry more about his little witch, persecuted both by her blood and by her association with Harry, neither of which was really her fault. It filled him with pride, though, to know that his fierce lioness stuck close to her best friends and remained true to her convictions, wearing her loyalty and righteousness as the badges of honour that they were.

When December eventually rolled around, Sirius found himself counting down the days until he would be joined with his love once more. He spent the days leading up to Christmas decorating the house, singing in jolly. That was, until Molly Weasley let it drop that Hermione would spend the holidays away on the continent, on a skiing trip with her parents. Sirius's heart plummeted down to somewhere close to his soles at the information. She would not come to him? And she had not even told him that in person?

Determined not to let such a drawback ruin his days with his godson, Sirius attempted to keep up his mirthful Christmas spirit, if only for outer appearances. Even when Harry and the Weasley children arrived, shocked and scared by the attack on Arthur, Sirius remained in his outwardly cheerful mood.

What up until then had been a façade became real when two days after their arrival, on December 20th, the door to headquarters opened once more, and there stood a sight for sore eyes. Her hair was even bushier than usual from the strong December wind, and her cheeks were glowing red from the harsh cold outside. Sirius's heart jumped at her unexpected presence, but before he could do something unreasonable, such as rush forward and embrace her and never let her go, that was exactly what Harry, Ron, and Ginny did. Aware that he would not manage to speak with her alone that day, he decided to bide his time.

And bide his time he did. Hermione kept up her game of cat and mouse, her the ever so clever mouse hiding away from him; him the hungry cat, desperate to catch what he knew to be a divinely delicious taste of her.

It wasn't until Christmas morning that she couldn't escape his presence anymore.

All residents of Grimmauld Place sat together before the roaring fire, and presents were happily exchanged. Sirius noticed with no little disappointment that Hermione had gone from the silk chemise and lace knickers back to her oversized tee, though the skimpy shorts she used to wear underneath had been exchanged for long-legged flannel pyjama pants. To top it all off, she wore a thick dressing gown over her sleeping attire. Nevertheless, his little witch was beautiful to him, and his heart soared with the love he held for her.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest when Ginny handed him the little box that she had delivered to Hermione for her birthday. Her knowing smile told him that Hermione had, indeed, opened his present. If he guessed correctly, his little witch's answer lay within the same box he had gifted her.

He glanced at Hermione and found her staring at him. He could not quite read her expression, her face allowing no hint as to what her answer might be. Sirius was glad that he had sat down in a quiet corner of the room when he first entered, leaving the teenagers to excitedly fawn over and dig into the pile of presents in the centre of the room. As it was, he found himself quite undisturbed as he carefully loosened the bow that was tied around the slender box.

Opening the lid, he found the items inside composed much as he had placed them. Where their positions were the same, however, the items themselves weren't. Or at least, the custom-made quill wasn't. The beautiful hippogriff plume was cut up. The rachis was still intact, but along it, most of the barbs had been cut off. The remaining barbs formed two triangles on either side of the rachis, with a column next to each, and close to the end, a circle spanning the entire width of the once magnificent feather.

A feeling of dread spreading through his stomach and crawling along his spine, Sirius lifted the remains of the quill from the box. Underneath still sat the engagement ring that Remus had helped him buy, taking him out in his dog form on a quiet day and walking with him into Muggle London where he pretended to use 'his dog's intuition' to choose the perfect ring. It was instantly obvious to Sirius that the ring hadn't been moved, or even touched for that matter. It still shone from the high polish that it had been given before being placed in this box which the jeweller had found a rather peculiar choice, but Remus had insisted for his best friend's sake was perfect. Sirius knew that with Hermione's constantly ink-smudged hands, the ring wouldn't look as pristine as it did had she bothered to take it out of the box.

But what came next left him breathless. He had turned over the quill. Even though most of the barbs had been cut away, the remains still showed the gold paint that he had used to write the words 'Say Yes' on the underside of Buckbeak's plume. Instead of answering him with the written word as he had expected her to, however, Hermione had used the feather to convey her reply. What before had appeared as randomly cut out shapes to him now clearly formed one word.

NO.

His heart breaking all over again, Sirius did all he could to hold in his tears. When he had eventually composed himself enough to lift his head, he instantly met her eyes. He physically and emotionally shivered at the harsh coldness he found in hers. A second later, she turned away, joining the laughter about the rhyming homework planners she had gifted the boys, and not once giving him even a backward glance.

When she left the room to put away the obviously awful perfume that Ron had gifted her, Sirius finally managed to corner her on the top of the staircase.

"Why?" he croaked out, no control over his broken voice.

"You mean, why not?" Hermione corrected, taking a step backwards, away from him, and the motion hurt Sirius more than he could ever hope to express. "Why don't I want to marry the obsessive lunatic who fancies himself in love with me and takes that as an excuse to force himself on me? Why don't I marry the abusive bastard who raped me? Who goaded me all throughout the experience that nobody will ever believe me?"

Now it was Sirius who took a step back, staggered by her accusations.

"But kitten, you liked it, you came around me, I felt it," he begged. "Don't turn me away now, love."

"You forced an orgasm out of me, Sirius. I didn't enjoy that in the least – kneeling underneath you, chained to your bed, and you painfully pumping away…

"I disregarded your marriage proposals as insincere before, as sprung from sexual desire, but now…" Hermione drew a deep breath. "Now they are the incorporation of your rapidly waning insanity, and I beg you to desist. Please, Sirius, just stop."

And with a sob, her voice finally broke, and she fled downstairs to join the safety of the celebrating crowd once more.


Sirius worried. Hermione's words about how he had raped her played over and over in his mind, never stopping. His fears from earlier that year returned, when he had sat with Remus and Kingsley in the library drinking, and he now knew that should his little witch decide to approach somebody with her version of that fateful night's events, there was no way Sirius would win in a he-said-she-said situation. If it was her word against his, everybody would believe the darling little sunshine, the know-it-all sidekick, the innocent swot who could do nothing wrong in their eyes.

Then he remembered what the black auror had said about memories. He knew that the Order leadership would never drag him before the Wizengamot for an official rape trial; they were neither stupid enough to believe that Hermione had any chance of winning that trial, nor were they disloyal enough to rat out one of their own over such a rather minor issue when compared to a war. No, Albus would extract Hermione's memories, and whatever they depicted would probably find Sirius Black guilty, no matter what he said.

That left him with exactly one option.

Fortunately, Dung was only too happy to help him with that. The potion was extremely expensive, as it contained rare and dangerous ingredients, and was highly addictive at that. After having spent all his cash – that Remus had kindly had exchanged into Muggle Pounds Sterling – on Hermione's engagement ring, he had nothing left. Luckily, Dung was never one much for cash anyway.

"This is dark stuff, Sirius," he had objected, "difficult to come by, and pricey to obtain."

"Oh, for Morgana's sake, Dung," Sirius had exclaimed, "I have a full set of silver goblets, engraved with the Black sigil and everything. Just promise me one thing," and he had paused for effect, "those things are probably cursed, so please sell them to somebody who deserves quite a bit of pain, will you?"

And Dung had showed him his best black-and-yellow, mostly toothy smile, and was gone. Sirius did not hear back from him for several days and had grown impatient and increasingly nervous, when eventually, in the early hours of the last day of the year, Dung turned up again, handing him a very small vial. He gave a mocking bow when he received his payment, stowing the goblets away in a small sack, careful not to let his skin touch them through his holey gloves, and disappeared from headquarters equally fast.

Still happy from his success in procuring the potion, Sirius was less cautious than usual, and was quickly intercepted by his best friend.

"Padfoot," Remus began, his voice already taking on a patronizing tone, "what are you doing with that?"

"I need it," Sirius merely said, and attempted to push around Remus to head to his room.

His attempt was easily thwarted by the larger and stronger werewolf, of course.

"You know that's not for long-term experiences, don't you?" Remus asked, concern now colouring his voice.

"I know, Moony," Sirius replied "and I'm not trying to rid myself of Azkaban. It's just –" He broke off, then tried again. "She said No."

"Oh, Padfoot," Remus instantly offered his sympathy, "but do you really think that this is the best way to get over that?"

"Moony, she said No," Sirius reiterated, desperation creeping into his voice. "There is no way for me to make this right. And I want to start the new year on a blank page, so to speak. No past hurts getting in the way of things."

"But a Trauma Potion?" Remus tried again. "I mean, I know she hurt you, but is that the way to go? Just forget the whole thing?"

Understanding dawned on Sirius. Remus obviously thought that he meant to take the potion himself, to dull the pain at Hermione's rejection. That he in fact meant to slip the concoction to the witch he now realized he had wronged by ignoring her pleas to pull out apparently never occurred to Remus. This revelation simplified things.

"Yes," Sirius said with conviction, "I believe forgetting is the only way to work past this. And now let me through, if you will, please. There's a party tonight, and I'd like to get some sleep before that."

And that was how he found himself in the company of a happy crowd later that day, celebrating into the new year of 1996. What he was looking for still, however, was an occasion to share a drink with his lady love.

The opportunity presented itself later that night in the form of Ronald Weasley.

Molly and Arthur had long gone to bed, begging Remus to take care that the children didn't stay up for too long. Remus had followed soon after, leaving the teenagers in Sirius's hands, against his better judgement. The twins nicked a bottle of firewhiskey – not Old Odgen's, as that was a little heavy on the head, but a lighter bottle that their generous host recommended – and vanished to their room. Ginny left for bed a little later, followed by Harry who wanted to 'wish her a happy new year' in private. Hermione, luckily, was too polite to ruin the moment for her two friends, and Ron was reluctant to leave the never-ending supply of alcohol.

"Now, for one more toast," Sirius said loudly to capture Hermione's attention, "let us drink to the new year together, why don't we? I wish to commend you two for taking such good care of my godson during the times I can't."

Hermione determinedly shook her head.

"No thanks," she answered in icy politeness. "I think I will be off to bed now. Good night."

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron said. "You can't forever keep pushing the man away."

"Excuse me?" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. Sirius had to admit, he was more than a little surprised himself. What did the redhead know?

"You know, you argue with him over Kreacher so much, it's a real pain in the ass, and not just for Sirius," he continued in his alcohol-induced, brutally honest confidence. "Dobby is the exception, not the rule, and really, you can't save everybody. You saw where that road led with Winky last year. So please, just take a drink with the man, and let bygones be bygones and all that crap. Just, for Merlin's sake, get over it."

Sirius had never thought much of the youngest Weasley boy, if only for the reason that he never thought much about him, other than the fact that he was the constant third wheel whenever Sirius wanted some time alone with his godson. But in this moment, Sirius could have kissed him.

Hermione was still reluctant, but there was no route of escape for her, not this time. Instead, she took the next best option.

"Alright," she agreed, "alright. Just one drink. But no firewhiskey for me, please," she said, and a confident smile cautiously crept over her face, "I'd rather take brandy instead. I can see you have that bottle that Molly and Arthur gave you for Christmas? I think I'd like a taste of that."

Sirius smiled inwardly. He had to hand it to her, she was nothing if not clever, even in her sneakiness. Of course he still had that bottle of brandy, unopened and sealed as it was. It appeared his little witch was wary enough of him to fear that he would lace her drink with something, and would even drug Ron on the way, if he offered both of them a drink from the same bottle. In demanding that he serve her from a sealed bottle, she was certain to have worked her way around the attempt at drugging her.

It was of little consequence to Sirius. He gladly poured her a generous amount of the brandy into a glass. Little did she know that the glass itself came prepared. Sirius wouldn't spoil a good bottle of expensive firewhiskey only to fix some issue. No, he would rather coat the inside of a certain glass.

All that was needed for the Trauma Potion to remove the correct memory was for the drinker to think intently of the experience. Sirius knew that as long as he was close to her, Hermione was unlikely to be able to think of anything else but their fateful night together.

They toasted each other, Ron rather drunkenly, but Sirius had eyes only for his little witch as she contentedly and in a very self-satisfied hauteur drained her glass in a few sips. After she had finished, she excused herself to bed, and Sirius saw Ron off to the room he shared with Harry to sleep late into the new year.

His sleep-in was interrupted, however, by a frantic knocking on his door as early as 11 a.m. the next morning. Opening it, he found what he had so longed for: his little witch in the doorway to his room.

Leaning down to kiss her and draw her into his arms and, subsequently, his bed, was thwarted by two small hands shoving at his shoulders to keep him away from her face.

"Sirius Black," his little witch raged, seething in her fury, her curls almost sparking with uncontrolled magic, "what have you done?"