A/N: Welcome to any and all new Zest-y readers, and a cup of your favorite to all my regulars. :) Always a pleasure to see you. My curtsy today goes to Amora-Ellanore, who caught review #1200. Thank you!

And now, what many of you have been waiting for...Plans.

Chapter Eighteen: Plans

28 June 1997, Farecliffe Hall, Derbyshire

"Just what are your intentions towards my daughter?"

Sirius could still hear Doctor Granger's question reverberating in his mind as he accepted Hermione's guidance to the back garden of the Grangers' house in Lancaster Gardens. Hermione and her mother had been upstairs—perhaps for a brief "Do you know what you're doing?" talk, Sirius didn't know nor did he inquire—but had reappeared looking mostly serene.

Dinner—in a Muggle restaurant in London, which had been a quick change made due to the Doctors' Granger unfamiliarity with all things magical—had been smooth and polite, but Sirius had felt as if he were both on display and on trial. Still, they hadn't objected when Hermione informed them of her intention to "attend a post-Tournament celebration" at his Farecliffe estate.

It hadn't been an entire lie, exactly . . . he had every intention of celebrating Hermione and the Triwizard was over, so it was a "post" event.

"Doctor Granger, I consider your daughter the future Lady Black. Now I just have to persuade her," he'd said, causing the older man's eyes to bug out a bit.

"She's a bit young," the dentist had protested weakly. "And you're a man who probably has, er, the future to consider."

"I have an heir already," Sirius had assured the man. "We'll be seeing him at the celebration. If Hermione is amenable, I would like to invite you all up to Farecliffe to meet my son later this summer."

"Everything all right?" Hermione murmured at him as she waved goodbye to her parents. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and but was still wearing the red silk dress she'd worn for dinner. Merlin, the way it draped over her body had had him relieved there were tablecloths and dim lighting at the restaurant.

He lifted his wand, nodded his own farewell to her parents, and answered that things could not be better. Then, they Apparated.

"Connie!" he called when they'd arrived outside the gate. Hermione wasn't yet keyed to the wards, but he'd do so as soon as she had his ring on her finger. Any ring; he wasn't going to be particular. She was young, as her father had pointedly reminded him, and becoming Lady Black might not suit her for a bit. But he'd declare himself regardless, because she was worth it.

"Lord Black is calling Connie? Oh, Missy Otter!"

Hermione laughed, the sound low and pleasant in the long gloaming of the June evening. "Missy Otter? Connie, have you seen my Patronus?"

"Connie's be seeing it! And the solid one. The one Lord Black holds when he talks to Missy!" She held out her hand, small fingers beckoning expectantly. "Well? Connie needs Missy's bag!"

Half laughing and half dismayed, Hermione allowed Connie to take her bag. "Where will she put it?" she wondered.

"My room, unless you've objections?"

His room.

He said it so smoothly, that she might have been a bit put off by the assumption except for the way his hand sort of convulsed around her own and the way his eyes narrowed with insecurity. "No objections," she murmured after a moment.

He relaxed immediately and they stepped through the gate Connie had left ajar. He closed it with a casual wave of one hand. "Shall we Apparate or would you like to walk?"

Her heart started racing like a crazy thing. She had plans, yes. She'd been visualizing them, virginity aside, for quite some time. They hadn't taken place in Derbyshire, however. They'd all been, well, nearer to home. The library at his Kensington house. The library at Beauxbatons. Even the library at Hogwarts!

However, it appeared her plans were going to happen here and Hermione swallowed down her nerves and decided yes, she was the Triwizard Champion and she had seen the Dark Lord Voldemort and had affirmed his resurrection to many media outlets over the last few days and yes, yes, she could do this.

Right?

So she tugged Sirius around to face her and wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck. He smelled like leather and man and fresh air and she sighed into the small space between them. "I'd like to just stand here, if that's all right."

His grin beckoned one of her own as his hands slid and moved and pressed her silk dress between his skin and hers. Oh, the confidence of his hands. The knowledge of her they carried, the way they made her feel . . . hot and brave and beautiful and loved. "Anything for my soulmate," he whispered.

"Kiss me."

He didn't immediately claim her mouth, as she'd rather expected. Instead, he held himself utterly motionless, his eyes bright and intense in the darkening evening. Then he dipped his head and brushed her temple with his lips, moving to caress her face with them, making her shiver in the warmth he brought her with such a light touch. He moved his fingertips lightly over the sides of her breasts and she sighed against his skin.

"Sirius."

"I know you have plans," he said into the hollow underneath her right ear. "So do I." Heat was gathering between her thighs and she wanted nothing so much as to abandon all plans—his and hers—and just . . . surround him with everything she had. "I want to taste you," he murmured before the tip of his tongue slid on her skin. "I want to hear you." Her breath caught as he bit gently into her flesh. "I want to immerse myself in you." She felt how much he wanted that when he tugged her with a quick motion to press his hidden erection against her stomach. "But I know you have plans as well."

When he distanced himself slightly, she wanted to whine her displeasure. "I do," she managed to say clearly. "Where were your plans going to unfold?"

His smile was white and mischievous. "My room, of course. Harry won't be back until lunch tomorrow. Remus is with Charlie in Romania for a week, and no one else is here excepting the house-elves. Of course," he went on, surrounding her arms with his hands and caressing her with a possessiveness she found intoxicating, "my room includes a lot of space. Where do your plans unfold, mademoiselle?"

"The library."

The library.

Sirius blew out a breath, said the words on a whisper, and pulled Hermione tight against his body as he Apparated them directly to the library. He knew just where to take them, after all. That same bit of sturdy shelving they'd snogged at during her spring holiday. No elves would be there and if any sneaky soul had indeed moved furniture, it wouldn't be in the stacks of his own library. It was, he rationalized in the half-second he took to consider the matter, safest to go there.

"Your wish is my command," he quipped as she shook her head and settled her shorter curls about her shoulders. He still had one arm around her middle, and loved the feel of the silk heating up under his fingers. "So, the library?"

She blinked and leaned into him. "Indeed."

"And what did your plans entail, mademoiselle?"

Her skin darkened with a deep blush. "Well, you had mentioned oral exams, when I was last here. And then, there's the whole 'do new experiences make you nervous' issue I'd like to remedy." For all the smooth clarity of her words, it was obvious that she was rather shy about mentioning sex as such.

He didn't want to push that, either. Because playing with words was how they originally got acquainted and he considered it a playful part of who they were. "I had mentioned the orals, yes." With a quick shift of his feet, he had her backed against the shelf. Her eyes widened as she braced herself on either side. "I imagine, Miss Granger, that any professor worthy of the name would demonstrate appropriate levels of skill."

An odd sound keened from her and he watched her throat constrict as she swallowed. "That is sound educational theory, Professor Black."

He loved that her voice had lost the cool overtones. Smug? Yes, yes he was, rather. He'd brought Hermione Granger—the woman who'd pranked him effectively upon introduction, the woman who faced a dragon with a confident grin and a wand, the woman who'd demanded an accounting of the International Games Minister about the disaster of the Third Task of the Tournament—to a place where she was losing her composure. He wanted to make her lose it all.

"Let me demonstrate," he suggested toward that end.

And he did. He'd been wanting her, thinking about her, dreaming about her, imagining her taste on his tongue. Months, he'd been preoccupied by this woman. He fully expected that to continue, but with much better information.

He claimed her lips, loving how she welcomed him immediately, without coy hesitation or playful reluctance as might have been indicated by their wordplay. This was foreplay, which was an entirely different matter. "First, for an oral exam, we need to prepare our exam station," he murmured after he'd kissed the breath out of both of them. Skimming his palms up her body, he cupped her breasts through the silk of her dress.

She was not wearing any obvious lingerie and he went rock-hard in a heartbeat. "I may," she whispered thickly, "have started early on station preparation."

He had to laugh and he did, eagerly lifting her dress up and over her head. His mouth went dry. "A G-string. Excellent choice. I think if I'd known this was all you wearing at dinner . . . we would have all had take-away."

Her own chuckle cut off abruptly when he knelt and suckled one hard-tipped breast into his mouth. They both moaned as he massaged her other breast, and he could feel the heat rise from her body as the vibrations from his voice further stimulated her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and tugged, which made him shift enough to switch his attentions and she moaned again, her thighs loosening against his torso.

"Sirius, please…"

"I read somewhere," he murmured against the under-curve of her breast, "that a good teacher demonstrates technique." Nuzzling her, he also traced the muscles of her legs as shown to best advantage by the heels she wore. "Merlin, Mione, I don't know if I've got the patience to demonstrate any more."

"Then don't!"

"Fine. I hope you're taking notes," he managed to say before he gave up on any semblance of romantic delay for the nonce. Instead, he gripped her bum in both hands pressing his nose into the skin at the crease of her thighs, delighting in her carefully groomed mound as he inhaled her musky, spicy fragrance. "Red notes, to match your knickers," he said in an aside before he pulled hard and broke the damned things to get at her. Her.

And he paused, hearing her breath come in rasps, watching her breasts heave, feeling her hands linger in his hair, combing the strands restlessly. "You're beautiful," he whispered. His object for this "lesson" was merely to get her to come for him. Shouldn't feel so overwhelming, perhaps, for a man of his experience, but he was suddenly struck by the magnitude of what he wanted. "You're ready?" he asked, looking up to check her eyes.

They were hooded, molten pools and her lips were swollen and parted as she answered, "Teach me, Professor Black."

"You're comfortable?"

She moved against him, so much so that her own beckoning scent wafted up his nose. "Not yet, but I want to be. Please, Sirius…"

He wasn't going to make her ask again and, sliding one of her thighs to his shoulder, he bit lightly at the skin leading up to his goal for this "lesson". She panted, one hand on his head, the other clutching at her own leg. Closing his eyes, he dove in to her, brushing her clit with his nose whilst opening his mouth wide to send hot breath over her sensitive folds of skin. Skin that he could taste without even touching it, she was so very ready for him.

But he did touch it. With two long, luxurious strokes, he licked her up and down, tasting her, relishing her response to him. Feeling her muscles clench, hearing her voice climb with nonsense notes and gasps as he held her tightly to his face. When he moaned into her skin, she bucked against him. When he felt her tighten, he slid one finger into her, pressing, testing, and she clenched down all around him. And when he devoted his tongue to the sole worship of her center, his hand entirely occupied with her core, she screamed his name, coming with a vibrancy and flavor he could only delight in as he felt himself come likewise, in his trousers like a teenaged boy.

He didn't laugh, but smiled at his release, glorying in her and the way she made him feel as he gently disengaged from her, offering her full support as he rose on unsteady legs to wrap her up against himself.

"All right?" he asked.

She laughed a little, sounding overwhelmed, which made him feel ridiculously, stupidly proud of himself. "More than," she admitted. "And I'll have you know," she went on to say, slowly tilting her head up and catching his gaze in her own, "that I'm already trying to figure out how to demonstrate my comprehension of your subject matter."

"I adore you."

She shivered, a smile in her eyes. "I know."

She could smell herself on his lips as she pushed up to kiss him. Hesitantly, as she wasn't sure if she liked the taste herself or not.

"I love it," he murmured, sliding his hands up her naked body to cup her head and kiss her with a thoroughness that left her in no doubt as to his pleasure. She tasted herself on his tongue and he ground his hips into her, nearly growling.

The sound got her hot again. "Plans. I have plans," she insisted after tearing her mouth from his. When she licked her lips, he watched, his gaze focused as a hunter's. She was held there, poised between her plans and his for a long, heart-pounding moment. Then, she shook her head and acted. "You have far too many clothes on, Lord Black, for my plans."

He laughed softly and aided her in divesting himself of the Terrestre suit he'd worn for dinner with her parents. Off with the red silk tie. "Did you charm this to match my dress?" she wondered, briefly distracted as she wound the fabric through her fingers before draping it around her own neck.

"Er, no, but it looks perfect on you."

She quirked a smile at him. "Thank you." As he had tossed his coat over the shelves behind him, she moved to unbutton his gray-striped waistcoat and classic white shirt he wore. Then, she reached skin and felt herself grow a bit languid as she pushed all that fabric from his torso. "Ah, the tattoo. I want to see it."

The tattoo was not on his upper body; this much she knew from prior exploration. She suspected his bum, but he'd laughingly refused to tell her, before. "You'll have to look for it," he'd said airily.

"Keep looking," he advised in the library that evening.

"Challenge accepted." The more quickly she got him as bare as she was, the less self-conscious she felt. Shoes? Gone. Socks? Gone. Trousers? Gone. Black silk boxers? "Sweet Circe." Wet black silk boxers. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and breathed in the scents of his climax. Salt, that essence of Sirius that she could smell all over his body. Him. At his most primal. Soaking black silk. "I don't know why this is so hot," she muttered, "but it really is." With a quick breath, she blinked and looked up at him. "Maybe because it's the library."

He twitched before her eyes; his refractory period was rather outstanding. "It's a good plan," he said, his voice thick with strain.

She bit her lip and decided to just . . . do it. So she carefully slid his boxers down his thighs, making sure to brush his . . . Sweet Circe and all the Fae . . . thighs with her hair and cheek as she did so. He considerately stepped out of his underwear and she tossed them to the shelf where his coat waited. And then, she scraped her nails up the backs of his thighs because she loved how that felt and imagined he would as well.

He did. "Merlin, Mione." His erection sprang to rigid attention but she merely blew on it a bit. "Witch, you have an exam, don't you?" he managed to remind her.

She smiled impishly up at him. "Tattoo first."

Sighing, he actually stroked himself—right in front of her face—as he turned slowly around. "There."

On his right arse cheek was a set of three dark figures: a dog, a stag, and a wolf. There was also a patch of pale, hairless skin that seemed to be scarred. She traced the shapes she saw with her fingertip and, when he gasped and ground out her name, she grew brave and used her tongue.

"Going for top marks?"

"Do you need to sit down for that?"

"No, but turning around might . . . help."

Satisfaction welled within her, as well as a healthy lacing of curiosity. She guided him around and was relieved to see he wasn't stroking himself any longer. That was her job. So she did, ghosting her fingertips over the hot, proud length of him. His gasps were very gratifying as she blew a warm puff of air over his sensitive skin. She'd not done this more than once but she did her best, gripping him firmly she and licking a long line from the base of him to the tip, hearing him hiss and managing not to smile about it.

When she took him in her mouth in one deep effort, he swore. Loudly. And before she was really able to do more than get a fair start on making him swear some more—relishing the taste of him, the throbbing flesh she felt in her hand, the way his muscles clenched as he fought his probable instinct to thrust into her (her prior attempt at this had ended with a rather enthusiastic boy trying to do so)—he pressed her head with the tips of his fingers. "Stop. Or. Your plans are going to . . . come undone."

"Promise?"

He laughed a little. "Hermione!"

She smiled up at him and stood slowly, sighing aloud to feel the heat of his arms as they wrapped around her. Then, she gathered the last of her courage and met his bright, burning eyes. "My plan was to lose my virginity in a library, Lord Black."

"I'm on board with that plan, Mademoiselle Granger."

And he proceeded to show her how much he was on board. With a triumphant sort of sound, he swept her off her feet and strode—yes, he strode—to the large worktable in the main section of the library. The windows were not curtained, and the sky was dark. She hadn't noticed, as he'd managed to light candles where they were in the shelves. But now, without even a wand, Sirius closed the draperies and left them in a candlelit space that was suddenly much more intimate than the Black Library had heretofore felt.

Then, he Summoned his wand and cast a series of silent charms on the table, still whilst holding her, and she held tightly to him, loving the way his muscles moved under his skin.

"You're amazing," she murmured.

"You're worth amazing." He grinned at her and lay her on the table.

It felt nothing like a table. It was warm and soft and she sighed, relaxing and letting him do with her what he wanted, for her limbs went all soft and pliable. "Is it like this because you're my soulmate?"

He crawled up on top of her, his body's heat hovering over her skin, to kiss her with gentle possession. "Like what, love?"

"Feeling so safe. I'm not even anxious at the moment. I feel," she sought the right word, tracing patterns in the skin at his shoulders and thankful that all her wounds were free from pain at last. "Confident. Cared for." She paused and waited until his eyes met hers. "Loved. I feel loved."

"You are. And you'll feel even more so later," he promised with a grin that flashed white in the intimate shadows of the library.

His lips ravished hers, but he withheld his weight from her. Though her body yearned for a fuller, more complete contact, the part of her mind that was still thinking, still checking off her "plan" points, realized that she was on a table and, even charmed, it would not be wise to make her the willing center of a sandwich of that nature.

Then, her mind lost the ability to keep track of much of anything as his lips, tongue, and fingers worked magic on her. Literally. Spells she had no knowledge of sparked her skin to bring her pleasure, while his tongue was naturally magical when he slid off the table and once again feasted on her. Then, as she was climbing and seeking that edge, that sharp, shining edge of release, he stopped and stood, rubbing the length of his erection against her. She could hear the sounds they made together, the smooth clinging, the panting.

That was her. That was him. And all at once, she had had it. "Sirius! Please!"

"Spells?"

"Earlier today, good for twenty-four hours," she assured him, wishing they'd mentioned it sooner.

He laughed and looked a bit sheepish, but he still slid the tip of his heat through hers. Up and down, bumping her sensitive clit each pass until she was ready to throw him on the floor and mount him herself, virginal pain be damned. Her whole center seemed to be reaching for him, as if she could grab and hold him—there—and bring him into her.

"Easy, love. We'll get there," he said, catching her knees with his hands. And then, he lifted and separated her thighs and slid in without further fanfare. "Oh, Merlin. Hermione. You're . . . perfect," he said, his eyes half-closed.

She had steeled herself against anything from outright ripping agony to a painful pinch, but there was only the sense, for her, of a parting. He watched her face as he entered her. "All right, love?" he asked in a tone that conveyed respect.

"More than." She smiled as some tension in his shoulders eased and he pushed entirely in to her. "Oh . . . Sirius . . ."

His body was glorious. She watched the synchronicity of movement as he strove inside her. She had nothing to do but feel, as he held her legs captive and she couldn't touch him with anything save her toes. It was luxurious. And if she hadn't felt so safe in their relationship she might have felt laid out and vulnerable. But no. Not with him, not in any negative way whatsoever. Instead, she was treated to a most sensual experience with astonishingly minimal contact. He struck nerve endings inside of her that he wasn't even touching.

She rocked up to meet his thrusts, watching him keep her anchored so as not to fall. He held her in the crooks of his arms, his movements steady, then faster, watching her all the while.

Like a predator. A hunter. A Grim, perhaps.

She clenched around him, working her muscles the best she could to get him to gasp, to watch his eyebrows lift in shock as she surprised him. Wavy locks of hair danced at his jawline and he started to make the most wonderful, guttural sounds. "Mione," he said over and over. "Merlin, love, please come for me. I'm dying here."

She needed more, though, and his hands were busy so she used her own, which made him swear again as her own fingers reached her clit and worked it as she knew was most effective for her as the brand new sensation of being completely filled did the rest.

And then, as her tension peaked, she cried his name again and snapped. All at once, she came with the startling feeling of him within her and then coming himself, his whole body jerking erratically before tensing in a beautiful show of orgasmic pleasure that she vowed to remember for the rest of her life.

He tugged her down to him before rolling her boneless body up into the strength of his. She had no words, other than an inane "thank you" to offer him, so she said nothing. She merely pressed her lips to his heated skin and sighed.

"You have the best plans," he murmured into her passion-mussed hair.

"You have the best hands," she countered.

He laughed soundlessly against her and sighed with contentment. Sometimes, plans worked out beyond all expectations.

Morning didn't intrude too heavily on Sirius's awareness until he realized that the woman in his bed was actually his Hermione, not a figment of a vibrant, sought-after dream. He caressed her bare shoulder lightly, wanting her to sleep if she was so inclined, and watched her. Lips parted, hair in a riotous mass of curls about her head, she slept like a woman who had been thoroughly loved the night before.

And he wanted to wake up to her every single day for the rest of his life.

He'd lived for years with Remus in his bed, and that had been good. Comfortable, safe, passionate, loving, all those things. But Hermione . . . she made him want to be better. To see more clearly, feel more deeply, live with verve and enthusiasm and watch her do the same. He smiled, shifting to lie on his side and watch her face scrunch up when her hair tickled her nose. He could imagine her, round with their child, making faces in her sleep. He could see her waking up with a smile for him, or with that preoccupied expression she had at times when she was thinking hard. Their life could be centered here in Derbyshire if she liked, or in London near her parents if she preferred . . . A life filled with Important Things, undoubtedly.

A life of love and laughter. He could see it in his mind and wanted it with a power that left him nearly breathless.

Until he remembered that life would not be filled with love and laughter. Not while Voldemort was out there again. And he was. Likely that very day calling his minions to him and planning to kill Harry to handle that bloody prophecy.

Well, that would have to be handled first. Keeping his voice soft, he called, "Krinkle!"

His personal house-elf appeared, wearing a black tunic with white embroidery. "Lord Black?"

"Papers from the last two days, a pot of tea for me and my lady, and a quill and parchment."

"Yes, Lord Black."

Propped up in bed with a cup of tea, he perused the papers and saw that yes, the Ministry was all about preparing Britain to stand against You-Know-Who. Sirius had to get back to the Wizengamot. And the American investors would have to be assured that their money was safe. And the werewolves would need more protection in case Voldemort went after them as he did the last time.

He scribbled down notes in his less-than-careful script. He saved the studied calligraphic writing for poems and letters for his lady, and he enjoyed the process, but this was work. He had to make sure the Aurors were funded and reinforced. Get the Reserves prepared for the werewolves and any families. And find out where those bloody horcruxes were so they could destroy them and make Voldemort vulnerable.

Harry . . . he had to protect his son. There had to be a way to finish this without risking his son.

He hadn't been aware that he'd been muttering all of this aloud until he heard another voice.

"There is a way. Just get a sniper. Or something, right? Find him and take him out." Hermione had awakened whilst he'd been busy and she pushed her hair off her face with one hand and pulled a taupe colored sheet up with the other. "Good morning, love. What are you doing?"

He blew out a breath and decided to be honest. "Making plans. Because I realized something rather important whilst you were sleeping." He watched her face and caressed her cheek with the feather of his quill. "I want to wake up with you for the rest of my life, Hermione." She blushed, smiled, and scooted closer to him on the big mattress. "But," he said when she looked like she'd speak, "I can't even think of that seriously until we're safe. You, me, and Harry."

Her blush faded and her cinnamon eyes went into a hard focus. "Horcruxes. We need a plan. In addition to assassinating the Dark Lord Voldemort."

He handed her the daily papers, offered her tea, and the pair of them spent the next hour making notes, with supplies Krinkle and Connie brought to them.

Eventually, the little elf who was tasked to Hermione cleared her throat. "Missy Otter and Lord Black? Youse be needing breakfast. Enough plans!"

Plans. Sirius sighed, looked at the parchment scattered all over the bed, and laughed quietly. "Merlin. I honestly had one or two of my own I wanted to carry out this morning, Hermione," he said apologetically.

"We have time," she said, taking one hand in hers.

He dropped a kiss to the inside of her wrist and nodded. "Yes, yes we do."

A/N: Next time, Harry and Luna arrive and, well, you'll have to wait and see. ;-) Have a good weekend!