This is a series of six drabbles that wound up being related. The drabble prompts are shown before each section.
"Purple"
The dull quiet of early morning is broken by the squeak of flesh against wet glass as she uses her forearm to wipe away the post-shower fog from the mirror.
Hermione stares at her reflection, the barest suggestion of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
Oh, what have we done now? she thinks lazily, though the pleasant ache between her legs and the tired muscles in her back give no hint of remorse.
Her eyes fall on the first of many marks – this one situated right at the edge of where she knew it could be visible even clothed. Two red crescents surrounded by a faint purple that would only darken throughout the day. She should cast a healing or concealment charm on it, but the softer side of her wants to keep that souvenier.
Her thoughts wander pleasantly to the older wizard on the other side of her bathroom door. She'd left him sprawled in her bed, snow-white sheets stark against his tattooed skin and raven hair.
The slight smirk on her lips widen into a mischievous grin as she thinks of how best to wake him up. When she opens the door, however, her smile falters as she finds an empty bed. Eyebrows furrow as her gaze searches the room and finds no trace of him – gone are the heavy leather boots he wears for his motorcycle. The faded denim jeans tossed on the back of her grandmother's rocking chair in the corner – also gone. No shirt, no socks, no jacket – not a trace of him is left.
Her lips press together in a thin, cold line as she turns back to the bathroom to continue getting ready for work.
"Omelet"
Crookshanks looks up lazily from his perch in the window as a burst of green flame fills his mistress's fireplace. He lays his head back down with a satisfied purr at the sight, sound, and smell of his familiar old friend.
The crinkle of paper against take-away boxes intermingles with a cheerfully whistled tune as Sirius Black steps out onto the hearth, brushing any stray soot from his clothes. With a flick of his wand, two breakfast places are set on Hermione Granger's small dining table. Another flick, and the plates are filled with far more food than is necessary.
Of course, the dark-haired wizard thinks to himself with a satisfied grin, we did work up an appetite last night…
He conjures a sprig of parsley and dill, and carefully garnishes the fat, fluffy omelet on her plate and stands back, assessing the layout with approval. Then, certain she'd be finishing her shower by now, he stealthily creeps down her hallway and back into her bedroom.
He's met with silence, and his stomach drops.
"Hermione?" he calls hesitantly, and is answered by more silence.
The bathroom door is open, still somewhat damp from her shower. His eyes travel the room and find telltale proof that she's gone.
"Excuses"
"He's selfish, arrogant, condescending, manipulative, immature, irrational, a womanizer, and a perv!"
Hermione's face grew redder with each word she angrily spat out at Luna and Ginny as she stormed around her bedroom. The two witches watched as their friend took out her anger on the basket filled with laundry.
"He gave Grimmauld Place to the Mission for Orphans of the War, you know," Luna said off-handedly.
"HA!" Hermione answered, flicking her wand at her wardrobe so hard the doors flew open with a loud bang. "He always hated that house – it was just an excuse to make him look good!"
Luna and Ginny traded glances.
"Hermione," Ginny began cautiously, "those are all valid excuses I'm sure, but… well, I could probably list just as many problems with Harry…"
When she was met with silence, the redheaded witch nudged Luna with a pointed look.
"Oh! And, of course Ronald has dozens of faults, too… I mean, he does tend to attract the worst sorts of Wrackspurts," the blonde witch chimed in.
Hermione whirled around and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes," she said with a smirk, "but neither Harry nor Ron hold a candle to… to that… that…" She gave an aimless wave in the direction of her door. At a loss for the right word, she shook her head in frustration and gave an angry huff before turning back to her wardrobe.
The two witches on the bed shared a hopeless look.
"I mean, honestly," Hermione continued, punctuating her words with the slamming of drawers, "if Sirius Black thinks that one sodding, lousy, drunken shag is grounds for… for whatever it is he was implying…"
"Hermione - "
"…well, I'm not stupid, am I? How utterly insulting, how – how patronizing to think I'd be taken in by that…"
"Hermione, he's not - "
"…and if I can openly admit it was just a casual one-nighter, then he bloody well can, too! 'Date,' indeed – just because I'm his godson's best friend…" Hermione grumbled, then added, "He can own up to his mistakes and be an adult, for once!"
"HERMIONE!" both Luna and Ginny exclaimed from the foot of their friend's bed.
"What?" Hermione snapped, whirling around.
Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Listen. I've had to listen to Harry whinge and cajole me for the past seven days to come over here and talk some sense into you. And after spending one evening in the company of Sirius Black at his self-pitying worst, I can't honestly say I blame my husband. For as 'adult' as you're claiming to be, it's one sodding date, and if it was really as casual and meaningless as all that, then I'd suppose you'd just suck it up and go."
"The lady doth protest too much?" Luna quoted lightly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I told Sirius and Harry I'd have you ready by seven. It's six fifty-five now. Just put on the bloody dress and we'll go, yeah?"
"Nervous"
Sirius jerked on the bottom of his leather jacket and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curling in a miserable sneer even as his gut twisted for the fiftieth time that evening.
Bloody fucking ridiculous – get a hold of yourself, man, he thought derisively. He was Sirius Black, damn it, and Sirius Black did not getnervous. Certainly not over some bossy little bird, he mentally added.
Even still, his mouth went dry as age-old parchment as the doors to the restaurant's main entrance swung open once more, this time admitting three familiar figures. His godson – looking all for the world like James with that messy shock of black hair and spectacles, Ginny Potter – looking nothing like Lily, really. The colour of her hair was lighter, her complexion freckled, not that pale cream of Harry's mother. And then there was her.
He felt his pulse kick into overtime, hammering in his neck and temple like an angry drummer on cocaine. The remains of the whisky he'd been nursing went down in one fiery gulp as the three guests were shown to his table.
Sirius bit back a groan, his eyes following the long, shapely legs and slightly curvy figure in a 'little black dress' that would have been boring on anyone but her. He noticed she was almost the same height as Harry this evening, and his eyes wandered back down to catch a glimpse of black, strapped heels that would make any man develop a fetish.
The door to the private veranda swung open, and suddenly they were there and he was standing, pulling out a chair for her just as Harry did for his wife.
"Sirius," she greeted him, her lips curving into a cool smirk.
The faint but familiar scent of jasmine wafted past him for a brief second and he was reminded of the last time he saw her. It was that scent, mixed with the salt and musk of sex and heat that he remembered from barely a week ago. And then the smirk on those delectable lips had been not cold, but beautifully smug, satisfied, cat-like.
Oh, he had it bad.
Sirius swallowed and offered a weak smile in return.
"Hermione," he answered with a nod before taking his seat.
"Sunshine"
Hermione stabbed at another tortellini, pretending it was her friend's head. This was all clearly a set-up, as Sirius was obviously even less thrilled about their 'date' than she was. The evidence of that fact hung over them in a miserable cloud of tension and awkwardness. From his bland, almost pained smile when she'd arrived, to his refusal to take off his sunglasses at the table, his disinterest and discomfort with the situation was more than clear.
Despite the fact that it all tasted like sand to her, Hermione chewed and swallowed another bite of food, smiling forcefully at something Harry said that was supposed to be humorous. She refused to sulk, refused to appear the least bit bothered by this whole debacle. So she had sex with Sirius Black – so what? So not a god damned thing. His cowardly little disappearing act the morning after made it apparent where he stood on the matter, and it wasn't as though she had asked for this ridiculous dinner date.
On perfect cue, Hermione let out a casual laugh at Ginny's response before bringing her wineglass to her lips. She indulged in a brief glance at the raven-haired aristocrat who had barely touched his food, but was lounging sullenly in the fading afternoon sunshine as he nursed his drink. She couldn't help the tiny thread of superiority that wriggled smugly inside of her. She supposed he'd expected her to be crushed, or worse – earnestly attentive and needy. At least, that was what usually remained of his 'victims' in the past.
Perhaps it wasn't such a bad date, after all.
"Razor's Edge"
Dread slipped in and created a slow leak in Hermione's balloon of smugness as she watched her two friends walk out to the dance area of the restaurant, leaving her alone with Sirius.
The silence dragged out uncomfortably until they both spoke at the same time.
"Hermione - "
"We really don't have to do this - "
"Do what?" Sirius asked, his eyes narrowing.
At least he's finally taken off those ridiculous sunglasses, Hermione thought irritably. She hated not being able to see his eyes or read what little expression he allowed to flicker in them. With a sigh, she placed her napkin on her plate and looked at him levelly.
"Act like this is more than what it is, Sirius," she answered, struggling to keep her tone casual. "You made things perfectly clear when you left - "
" – To get us breakfast, Hermione," he interrupted with a smirk. "You were gone by the time I got back, and who the bloody hell works on a fucking Sunday, anyway?"
"I - "
"Dance with me," Sirius growled impatiently, grabbing her wrist and hauling her to her feet before she could protest.
She already was dancing with him. She'd been 'dancing' with him for months, actually, perhaps even years if she counted the hopeless little crush from her youth that had never completely gone away. It was easier then, of course, because she'd been 'too young,' and he'd been 'too broken,' and there was no flirting, no heated glances or casual brushes that lasted a moment longer than they should have.
Now, however, it was a constant ballet on a razor-thin edge whenever she was around him, a never-ending balancing act to keep her poise and pride in tact. And finally, after one too many drinks on an unexpected outing with Sirius, her footing had slipped. It had taken the better part of the week to get it back, and as his hand slid around her waist to press intimately against the bare skin of her back, she felt that footing slip once more.
Hermione told herself she simply didn't want to cause a scene, so rather than pulling away and fleeing from the restaurant, she let him take her hand as she slid her other hand up over his shoulder. A stray lock of glossy black had fallen from the short ponytail at his nape and brushed the backs of her knuckles. A flash of recollection made her gasp inwardly, memories of that hair, fisted in her fingers as he slid between her legs.
She closed her eyes as he pulled her closer, leading her in a slow, rhythmic almost-tango. A sigh escaped her, mingling with his own as his rough jaw grazed her cheek. When the song ended, he pulled back slightly, but didn't let her go.
"Come home with me," he murmured, his grey eyes searching hers, but not pleading.
"Why?"
"Because you owe me breakfast."