Prompt: Sirius & Hermione
It was, in a word, sick.
Yes, that was how he thought of it – how he thought of himself, these days. She was young enough to be his daughter. And she was too young and bright and pure for a bitter man who'd just crawled out of Azkaban. They'd both gone through this war together, but somehow she seemed less tarnished by it than he.
They all did. Maybe that was just the strange invulnerability of youth. Or maybe it was because they hadn't lost each other. The trio were as close as ever.
And Sirius was alone. Remus had died defending Tonks' cooling body and sometimes he could notbelieve how selfish his last act on this planet had been. He had a son to raise. He had a Sirius to keep company.
Her laugh drew his gaze, against his will. At the Burrow, life seemed a little brighter, and he enjoyed the family dinners there. Hermione leaned against Harry, her tanned legs seemingly endless from where they came out of those shorts. He found himself tracing the smooth expanse of her thighs with his eyes too many times and jerked his head away from her, disgust warring with desire in his belly.
She was only nineteen.
And as much as he resisted the path of maturity, even he could not ignore the fact that she was just a child, with her whole beautiful life ahead of her. He had no business trying to involve himself with it.
All he had were those lonely nights when he smoothed his palm over himself, eyes closing as he thought of her dusky eyes boring into his as she rode him, imagining those pink-petal lips opening up with a gasp and a moan–
And then after the sticky business was concluded, he got the pleasure of falling asleep with the shame, which was as endless as the girl's legs.
Sick. Twisted. Wrong.
She walked past him, bending over at the waist to grab a snack from a lower cabinet, and Sirius quickly diverted his eyes to the ceiling with a ragged, nasal sigh. Remus was probably enjoying his torture rather thoroughly from the other side.
Prick.
Quotes: None in prompt!