Chapter 4

Sirius Black laid on his comfortable but worn leather sofa, his legs crossed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling in boredom. It was mid-July. Remus had been gone about a month now, and despite his best attempt to keep himself busy, he was failing miserably. He'd grown used to the excitement of youths trying to learn and the hilarity that ensued as they experienced their growing pains, but as it was summer, he was without that entertainment. It'd be fine if he had his best friend to chat and create mischief with, but he didn't. So his mind continued drifting back to the young and supple body of Hermione Granger, a forbidden fruit he'd had and desperately wanted again. Unfortunately, she was also unavailable to toy with for a few days longer.

Sirius had heard through Harry that Hermione was with her parents in France, and he knew what that meant. Remus was doing what Remus didn't think he could do, but Sirius knew he could. Remus Lupin had something about him that attracted good girls - a calmness, a quietness, intelligence. Lily Evans had fallen victim to it before she'd become Lily Potter, but everyone had seemed oblivious to it for some reason. He knew there had been other women over the years as well, but the war had scarred Remus and beat down any remaining self-confidence. It was unfortunate, but Sirius had a feeling that he'd be regaining some of that through spending time with the Granger girl.

Of course, in the end, she'd be picking Sirius. He was sure of that. She'd wanted him for a long time, and the bout of passion they'd had their last night at Hogwarts left her wanting more. He knew that. She hadn't been coy about it and had sent him letters asking him to meet up afterward, but Sirius had kept true to his word and blown the girl off to give Remus a fighting chance. It made it more interesting for a little while.

He heard a pop from the fireplace, and he didn't bother getting up from his comfortable position.

"Sirius?" he heard a familiar but definitely matured voice call.

"Over here, Harry," he replied, yawning sleepily.

"You're getting old, if you're already taking daytime naps," Harry teased, as he walked around the couch and plopped down in a chair opposite of him.

His Godson was in full Auror garb - garb he no longer recognized at all, as it'd completely changed from his day. Instead of obnoxious and difficult to fight in robes, the uniform consisted of tailored black pants and a slim-fitting black T-shirt, with only the tiniest of Ministry insignias visible on the left sleeve. He wore leather gloves and a Ministry badge around his neck.

"I'm not taking naps, nor am I getting old, you cheeky prat," Sirius said, swinging his legs over the couch and using the momentum to sit up. "Although you look about ten years older. Hard day at work?"

"Something like that," Harry murmured, lifting up his shirt and showing Sirius a patch of red that spanned from below his right nipple, past his ribs, and grazing his pelvis.

"That's going to look nasty when it's bruised," Sirius said after examining the clearly fresh wound.

"This is after Ron healed it in the field," Harry said, lowering his shirt down. "His healing abilities aren't the best, but they're not too bad either, so that says enough."

"So what happened?" Sirius asked, with interest. "Or are you going to give me confidentiality rubbish again?"

"No," Harry said sheepishly, shaking his head, his cheeks flushing, "Wasn't a work-related incident."

This piqued Sirius's interest. His Godson had been out on assignment for close to a week. His extended missions weren't as frequent as they were in the years immediately following the war, but they still occurred from time-to-time, although he would always skirt questions on what he was doing. Even his wife was in the dark, so Sirius didn't feel as annoyed that he wasn't given information either. Now, however, he was back and with an injury he said wasn't related to his assignment. He wasn't sure what that meant.

"Get into a bar fight?" he asked gruffly, with a slight snort of laughter.

When his Godson looked away, Sirius's eyes widened. Harry had one hell of a temper growing up, but it was warranted back then. Since things had calmed down, Harry had done the same. He didn't think he'd live to see the day when he fought.

"You're taking the piss," Sirius said in disbelief.

"I wish," Harry replied, shaking his head, his green eyes, his mother's eyes, snapping back to his.

"What happened?" he queried.

"Well, we were in Bulgaria, helping out their ministry with some rogue anti-government loonies, when Ron and I ran into Viktor Krum and his mates from their national Quidditch team," Harry said, conversationally, "and all twenty or so of them had had quite an evening by the time we arrived."

"Krum still holding that grudge against Ron, even though he and Hermione aren't together anymore?" Sirius asked, quickly piecing together where this story was going.

"I think it's safe to say, yeah," Harry said, rubbing his stomach gingerly. "It wasn't easy to fight off twenty men in the type of shape they're in, even if they were pissed off their asses."

Sirius laughed in amusement and patted Harry on the shoulder. Harry mirrored his expression and then used his wand to direct over a bottle of beer from the refrigerator.

He caught the bottle in his hand and twisted it off easily. He came here sometimes before he went back to Ginny, as guilty as it made him feel, because it let him rest and relax before the grips of fatherhood grabbed onto him once more. He was lucky that he and Ginny had the entire Weasley clan to help with childcare, but it was still nice to be alone now and again.

"So, I didn't get a chance to talk to you before I left, but I got a letter from Hermione," Harry said, drinking leisurely in a way that told Sirius he hadn't been ousted by his Godson's best friend. Yet.

"What did it say?" Sirius asked. It had to be something Harry would think he would find interesting, if he was bringing it up.

"Have you talked to Remus lately?" Harry asked, avoiding his questioning and proposing one of his own.

"Not since he went to France. I don't think he can receive owls," Sirius said, frowning.

"Well, somehow Hermione found him," Harry said, his face appearing skeptical of Sirius's previous statement. "I'm not sure if it's in my place to say, but Hermione was so... well, you know Hermione. She's very open and honest about everything, and she's a terrific writer, so I got more detail than I needed to, before I realized the letter was meant for Ginny. Point is, Hermione is sleeping with Remus. Has Remus said anything? How long's this been going on?"

Sirius didn't spit out his beer, but he did lower his bottle away from his lips and stare at the wall.

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you about it," Harry said, noticing his shocked expression but inferring incorrectly that the shock came from the revelation instead of from the slight pang of betrayal.

The agreement was that Remus have a shot at her, and then he'd tell Sirius so that the competition was fair. But he'd been sitting on the fact that he'd fucked her for over a week. This annoyed Sirius severely. He hadn't gone out, hadn't tried to bed another woman. He could have, but he didn't. He was waiting to have Hermione again, waiting for his friend to give him the go ahead.

"I wonder if it's serious," Harry mused to himself. "Must not be, if Remus hasn't said anything to you."

Each time Harry mentioned his surprise at Moony's lack of information to Sirius, he felt increasingly annoyed, increasingly betrayed, and increasingly thirsty for a victory. If they were playing the game this way, then so be it.

"When's Hermione coming back into town?" Sirius asked, and when he got an odd look from Harry, he blatantly lied, "I want to go visit Remus, but I'm not going to do it while she's with him, am I?"

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Harry said, buying his lie without further question. Of course, why wouldn't he believe his Godfather? He'd never lied to him before. That he knew of. "I think she might already be back. We're all meeting at Neville's tomorrow for game night, and she never misses that."

Sirius changed the topic deftly and entertained his Godson for another hour or so, before the younger man shuffled to the fireplace and left. The entire time, his mind had been stuck on Hermione. She was back. That meant it was his turn, and he'd have that turn the second Harry left. And now that he had, Sirius followed him into the fireplace and threw in powder, speaking his location crisply.

He felt the familiar whirl that came with that method of transportation, as well as the normal security charm that prevented unwanted visitors from deciding to pay the war heroine a visit via her fireplace. When he arrived, he stepped out and brushed off the dust. She was home alright. The floo wouldn't have even allowed him to connect had she not been. And although he had only been here once before, he knew the layout of the house.

Hermione Granger had moved into the same neighborhood in which she'd grown up, down the street from her parents, in a suburb riddled with Muggles. It wasn't that Sirius hated or even disliked Muggles. He was apathetic toward them, as he was toward most wizards and witches as well, but the benefit of living in a wizarding community meant he could use magic freely. Here, even in the house, he was somewhat restricted.

"Is someone there?" he heard her call from up the stairs.

Yes, he was there, to have that for which he'd been patiently waiting.

He turned the corner and moved up the stairs deftly, toward the sound of her voice. He figured she'd been in the large game room which she'd wrongly turned into a library. Sirius liked reading more than the average wizard, he would bet, but to turn a room specifically meant for fun into a room for reading was... mind-boggling. He expected it from her, but it still didn't sit right with him.

He pushed the ajar door completely open, and he saw her on her feet by a comfortable, dark brown faux-leather sofa (because Hermione Granger would never have real leather). It was already approaching evening, and she had changed into a pair of short, cotton shirts and a tank top which wasn't even thick enough to mask the coloration of her pert nipples. It appeared she had just put down a book and was coming to check who had visited her, but he had beat her to it.

"Sirius," she said in surprise, confusion etched on her tanned skin. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"The tan suits you," he said, ignoring her questions.

She furrowed her brows further, and Sirius used the pause to close the gap between them, his lips on hers before she had the chance to ask him anything else.

Her lips were cool but heated up quickly, and they tasted of mint chapstick. He liked the tingle against his lips, liked the way her breasts heaved against his chest, the way her hair flowed down to her midback and tangled so easily between his fingers, the way her hips fit into his like a jigsaw puzzle. He kissed her deeply and moved his hands down her back to her bottom. Her shorts were so short that when he squeezed her cheeks, the hem of the material rode up, and his fingertips grazed against her bare bottom.

Her hands were bunched into his button-up, but as his fingers moved down and pushed the fabric of her shorts up further so he could grab a handful of the soft flesh, she let her fingers relax, and she beat lightly against his chest. He tried to ignore the rhythmic patting and focused on properly ravaging her, but when she shoved him a bit harder, he had no choice but to stop and allow her to take a step back. His hands drifted from her ass to her hips and up to her waist, unwilling to let go of her completely. She squirmed in his grasp but didn't attempt to take another step backward to completely break contact.

His grey eyes bored into her brown ones, which were looking down. She bit her lip and shook her head, as if the motion would physically clear her head. The gesture annoyed him greatly. His head was clear. Why did she need to clear hers? What did she have to think about? She liked him, they had a fantastic shag a month ago, and now he was here for a repeat performance. He didn't see the problem.

He stepped closer and bent his head down to kiss her again, and she let him, although this time, it only lasted a moment before she took another step back. At this rate, she'd back herself up into a bookcase.

"Sirius, what are you doing here?" she asked, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

"I thought it was fairly clear," he calmly replied, attempting for humor, although a smile was noticeably absent from his face. He was turned on, and he was annoyed. The time for jokes was not now.

"But... I haven't heard from you all summer," she stated, her voice tinged with hurt.

He flinched. It was true. She hadn't. It had been on purpose, but he was hardly going to tell her that. He had to come up with something else. He could feed her a number of lies that she would believe, despite being as intelligent as she was, merely because of the strength of her feelings for him. He could tell her that he felt guilty, because of Harry or their age or some other reason Sirius really couldn't give a rat's arse about. Or he could tell her that he needed some time to figure out his feelings. Or that she needed time to figure out hers.

He felt disgusted with himself that he was able to come up with these lies so easily. They flowed through his head as easily as the truth did, manifesting in a split second. Sirius had conditioned himself through his childhood and early adulthood to lie. It was a trait he needed to survive the circumstances in which he found himself. But since the war ended and he was free, he made a conscious effort to discard the lies and stick with the truth, no matter how blunt. However, he did find himself partaking in the art of lying occasionally (although not with women, as his status and his looks attracted women without the need to lie).

To Hermione, however, he could not tell a lie as destructive. He did not want to lead her on and eventually hurt her. Nor did he want to fight dirty against his best friend, even though his best friend had broken the introductory rule of their competition. He would give him the benefit of the doubt and find out why he had broken it before he made any crass decisions. Until then, he was still fighting fairly.

Sort of.

"I wanted to get together, but I didn't want to impede on your time with your parents, love," he said easily. "When I found out you were back, I came as soon as I could."

The latter part was the truth, at least.

Her eyes softened, and he took a step forward, this time slowly leaning in to kiss her, giving her the chance to pull back. His lips hovered over hers, and she was the one who connected, her kiss much gentler than his, much slower.

He wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged her body against his, adopting her pace as his own, even though he was anxious to move this along. He hadn't had sex since he'd had it with her, and he was impatient for it.

To his great annoyance, after a languid kiss, she pulled her head away, although she let her body remain firmly in his grasp.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she said, letting her head drop against his chest.

He allowed himself the benefit of her not looking to roll his eyes.

Women.

"Why?" he queried, preparing himself for a long, emotional answer.

He was surprised when he received a shorter, less melodramatic one.

"I slept with Remus," she said evenly. "Multiple times."

The admission made his heart surge with respect for her. It also left him, for the first time, at a loss for how to respond.

He patted her on the back and nodded slightly. The motion jolted her, and she stepped backward, looking up at him, then down at the floor. She looked pathetic, like a small child, and the sight of her like this bothered him. What he found interesting about her was the same brash nature that ran through him. She spat out the truth, regardless of the consequences associated with doing so. But now she looked small and weak. He could tell she felt guilty, and he could gander a guess that telling her not to feel that way would not work.

He sighed and pointed to the sofa she had previously occupied.

"Do you want to sit and talk, Hermione?" he asked her, already heading over to one of the chairs opposite the sofa.

She nodded and walked over, sitting down in front of him, her eyes jumping back and forth between him and the wall behind him. She was nervous, and he doubted she would be speaking first again.

"So tell me about what happened in France," he said, crossing his legs and ignoring the urge to express the rage boiling deep within him.

"I slept with Remus," she repeated.

Sirius couldn't help it - couldn't mask the laugh that poured out between his lips from deep within him. This girl - he didn't know what to do with her. "As you've said, yes."

"You're not mad?" she asked.

He laughed again. Oh yes, he was mad, but the anger he had wasn't directed at her. She'd done what any healthy woman in her mid-twenties would do. She succumbed to her primal urges, and she had done so with a man worthy of her affections. The issue he had with Remus was a completely separate issue. Why would he be mad at her? It wasn't as if they were married.

"You're not mad," she repeated, stating it this time instead of asking it. She seemed temporarily relieved, but then a touch of her true nature to over-think came into play. Her voice became low and hurt again. "Yes, of course you're not. Why would you be? It isn't as if - "

He cut her off by bridging the gap between them, kneeling on the floor in front of her, and placing his lips on hers. When she responded, he had to fight the urge to smirk. He pulled away from her and smiled gently.

"I know it's a very Granger-esque thing to over-think. I've met your parents, so I know it runs deep in your veins." He paused, allowing her to laugh softly. "However, I want you to try not to over-think this. I'm a simple man, Hermione. I don't speak in riddles. When I say I'm not mad, I'm not mad. It isn't because I don't care about you or don't value the friendship we have. It isn't because I think you're promiscuous, because I know how many men you've been with, and it's only a small fraction of the women with whom I've been. It's because life is too short to dwell. I like you, Hermione, and you like me. That's all that matters. Do you understand?"

She paused, and he saw her fight her own inner urge to analyze, but to his relief, she quickly nodded. He took this as a cue to lean forward and kiss her. She leaned forward into him, her arms snaking around his neck, her weight causing them to tumble backward onto the floor. He grasped her waist firmly, her hands running underneath his shirt, her bottom grinding against his groin.

He loved that tight ass of hers, and he imagined what it would be like to fuck it, but he tucked that thought away for another time. He wasn't sure if she'd had that type of experience yet, and in her current state of mind, he wasn't sure it would be ideal to bring it up.

He tugged the top upward, and her arms disconnected from his hair long enough to get it over her head. Her breasts hung there, so tantalizing close to his face that he had no choice but to sit up, jolting her into his lap. He ducked his head down and took an alert nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly. His left hand came up to her right breast and pulled roughly in unison. She groaned deep in her throat and arched away from him, but he didn't detach from her. She liked the little bit of pain. If the groan didn't give it away, her clawing at his back did.

She pawed at his shirt unsuccessfully for a few moments until he took pity on her and took it off himself.

"God, this body of yours," she moaned, clawing at the zipper to his pants.

Her frank exclamation of lust surprised him, but he smiled in satisfaction nonetheless. He was the type of conceited prick that was turned on even more by compliments, and the prim and proper Miss Hermione Granger making such a remark was even better.

He helped her out once more with his zipper while she swung her leg off to the side and tugged off her shorts. This awkward, frenzied moment did nothing to retract from his lust. He grasped her hips, lifted her up so that her legs were on either side of him, and thrust upward into her.

She swung her arms around his shoulders and hung on for dear life. He lifted her hips up as his dropped back down and lowered hers as his came up. She gasped with each slow, deep motion but quickly realized if she helped him, it was both quicker and deeper.

He watched her face, watched her alternate between hiding her head between his shoulder and head and lean back in ecstasy. She was lost in this. There was no overthinking things. Or even thinking at all. Hermione Granger was one hundred percent committed to being one of the best fucking lays he'd ever had. She looked amazing, her breasts bouncing, her hair swinging all over the place, her pretty pink lips parted slightly. And she felt even better. As she helped him, his hands moved to her ass, and he tugged her cheeks apart and pushed them together in glee. Tight but soft, just like her pussy.

As he heard her start to whimper and felt her walls contract, he knew she was close to orgasm. His eyes were drawn back to that mouth of hers, and a jealous thought flittered through his mind, something which he'd never before experienced. Had that mouth of hers stimulated his best friend to completion?

The thought bothered him enough to temporarily stall his own orgasm, even as Hermione moaned his name and came, blissfully unaware of what was running through his head. Before Sirius could help himself, he lifted Hermione up and pushed her off. She looked pleasantly confused, her mouth still slightly open. Sirius grabbed a hold of her hair and tugged her downward. He encountered no resistance as the woman on her hands and knees met his manhood with her cheek.

"Open your mouth, Hermione," he commanded, his hand loosening in her hair.

She looked up at him, then complied, opening her mouth and taking the head of his cock in her mouth.

He groaned and pushed her head down further so she took in more of him. The warmth of her mouth and the suction she provided felt incredible. To his surprise, she kept going until his cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged. Sirius shuddered in pleasure.

He kept his head in her hair as she bobbed her head up and down. It didn't take very long until he came, shooting his seed into her mouth. She gagged again, her eyes shutting, until she swallowed it all. It was only after she looked up at him with his softening cock still between her lips, that he realized he still held her head in place, preventing her from coming up for air. He let go of her and apologized, aware that maybe she hadn't meant to swallow.

She sat up and wiped spit off the corners of her mouth and chin. He once again couldn't help but be impressed at the kneeling naked woman before him, cum in her belly, juices dripping out of her pussy and leaking onto her thighs, tits bruised and nipples swollen.

"You were fantastic," Sirius cooed, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around her.

She let herself be swept up in his arms. "Is it weird that I felt turned on by you holding my head down?"

Sirius blinked twice, then smirked against her hair. "No." A million unsavory thoughts crossed his mind. "In fact, it's perfect."

She blushed, and Sirius squeezed her so tightly that she groaned in pain.

"Sorry," he apologized. He must not have realized how strong his grip was.

"No, it's fine. It isn't you. I'm just a bit sore."

He loosened his grip, and her words connected into his heart like a dagger. She was sore. And Sirius Black, for the first time in his life, was consciously jealous.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed. :)