Chapter 77: Don't Stop Me Now
Music suggestion: Don't Stop me Now, Queen
Sirius woke the next morning from an odd – but thankfully not too unpleasant – dream into a softly pillowed world where his face was mere inches from the half profile of Hermione's sleeping one. He watched her peaceful features in the thin, milky light that came before daybreak on a lightly clouded day, his rousing brain piecing through what his dream had been about.
The earliest point he could remember involved him standing on the Gryffindor table, James cheering him on emphatically. That, in itself, wasn't bizarre. Standing on the Gryffindor table had happened at least twice in Sirius's Hogwarts career.
He'd been announcing with whole-hearted pride that he was engaged to one Hermione Granger, Sirius remembered. This announcement hadn't ended well. A hoard of mad girls had chased him all the way to the edge of the lake where, this the odd part, a basket was floating. Inside the basket was a tiny brown-haired baby Sirius's unconsciousness had known, without any indication, was Hermione. And just as the age gap had been dawning on his pseudo-teenage dream self, more baskets had floated into existence, each with another baby inside. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville, Sirius had known. The rest, however, he'd felt oddly like he needed to take care of them even though he had no idea who they were.
And that… was where the dream had become even more bizarre, as then Sirius had become first a teacher of little children, instructing them how to spread their wings and fly like dragons, and then a ballet instructor… And Neville, interestingly enough, was very good at a plié – and… all the other moves Sirius hadn't a name for. All of them being done by Neville in a glittery tutu.
He probably wouldn't mention the dream to anyone, particularly not Neville. It was cruel enough that Sirius's brain had automatically orphaned the young wizard, but that Neville had been the one dressed in a sparkling tutu while the rest had worn purple leotards was just uncalled for. Nope, it was better to let that dream drift off and dissolve away into the land of unremembered dreams.
Sirius shifted a little higher on his pillow and his brain immediately changed tack. Or, more accurately, was partially overtaken by a lower, less thoughtful brain. That inconvenient gift bestowed upon him for simply being born male had skidded its uncomfortably sensitive side along Hermione's soft skin.
Sirius grunted, shoving his nose into his pillow. Before he'd started sharing a bed with the chocolate eyed witch, the worst he'd had to contend with was being dragged from slumber by the call of his bladder, stumbling, half-asleep to the bathroom, and only realising that he was hard as a directional rod in the same moment he'd finally managed to relax that disobedient sphincter. And the worst of that had been the first time it had happened after he'd moved in with the Potters. In his shocked-awake desire not to make a mess in his friend's parents' bathroom, he'd made a very sharp and clumsy downward correction in his aim, and had spent the next twenty minutes attempting to ascertain whether he'd broken himself.
If man had a creator, it was a woman, and she was far more frugal than she was compassionate. Sure, it meant only one pipe was required, but sending that pipe through a prostate, round the bend a couple times, and then down the inside of an unreliable organ was just mean.
James's dad – who'd had a fantastic sense of humour – had pinned up a poster on the wall of James's bathroom. Depicted on it in illustrations were some suggestions for how to achieve adequate aim when hampered by an erection. Some were more helpful than others. Sirius had attempted most of them, more out of self-amusement than anything. Hanging himself upside down by his ankle above the loo was, understandably, no aid at all in terms of directing a projectile flow. Lying forward straight as a plank over the seat (while it had been a workout for his back) had the disconcerting effect of having his bell end come into contact with something he didn't want it to. And sitting down was only helpful if he leant far enough forwards that, really, he might as well do another suggested position that involved pushing himself up on all fours. The most helpful position was the one his sleepy self adopted naturally: forehead against the wall, leant forward and pointed down.
Of course, there was always the option of transforming into a dog and lifting his leg against a tree. Problem with this one (ignoring the awkward but, Sirius could assure anyone, very real issue of canine erections) was Sirius's lack of a desire to christen any tree in the Potters' back garden, the Hogwarts grounds, or the square across the street outside in such a way.
Sirius grinned into his pillow. Anyone who thought toilet humour wasn't funny had obviously never had to run around a forest with three other blokes, all of which weren't presently human or wearing trousers. Absurdity, regardless of the subject it was attached to, was very funny.
But nothing he'd experienced in his none-too-normal life, thought Sirius as Hermione squirmed a little in her sleep, wiggling warm, soft skin against him, had prepared him for the more normal dilemma of morning wood and a bed partner he was conflicted about waking up. Despite the appeal of it, a "Surprise! Wake-up Penetration!" didn't seem the most morally acceptable thing to do.
At least she wasn't squashing it with her knee, as she had done once before. And at least, however insane his dream had been, it wasn't a nightmare he'd woken up from like this. To come awake with a stiffy was a thousand times worse when his unconscious mind had been showing him horrific image after horrific image.
Sirius pulled his head out of his pillow and considered Hermione's face. Small bouts of sexual frustration were well worth it for sleeping with her right up against him every night. He'd had thirty-something years' experience of sleeping alone to compare a nightly cuddle to. The cuddle came out well on top, and, frankly, were Hermione and him to keep to two different sides of the bed… Sirius would find that more upsetting than he'd like to admit.
He already had an arm over her. He slid it back until he could feel the dip of her waist with the more sensitive skin on the pads of his fingers, stroking feather-light touches along her middle. She was as naked as he was, neither of them having bothered to climb into their pyjamas the night before. And memories of the night before were a good whet to his appetite.
Sirius eased forwards until he could reach the rise of her shoulder with his lips. Hermione had beautiful skin, smooth and creamy, peeking out at Sirius from a sea of rougher linens and the mad waterfall of Hermione's hair. Her skin felt as it looked, Sirius's lips trailing it as his fingers did the same below the covers: feather light, up and down the sweet curve of her waist. He slipped his fingers further, over her buttock and down her thigh, stopping and tracing back up, finding the jut of her hipbone and the more delicate skin of her lower belly.
Hermione made an inarticulate, sleepy noise, and her hand moved to rest lightly on Sirius's chest. Not pushing him away, just lingering there for a bit until she shifted, allowing Sirius to move his lips down her collarbone. Her hand slid up, first to the side of his neck, then, tracing higher, to his cheek.
'Sirius?' she murmured.
'Mm?'
Her round buttock fit nicely in one of Sirius's hands. It was a good handful, enticing him to knead it. The high pitched noise Hermione made in response had Sirius smiling against the throat she'd tilted her head away to give him access to.
'G'moring,' she whispered amusedly.
Hermione's skin slipped away under Sirius's fingers. The softer surface of her areola didn't. It clung to his finger as he circled it, taking the round mound of her breast along with it until his ministrations tightened it, texturing the surface as it pressed a hardened nipple up into his fingers. A deep blush rose, Sirius thought, watching the nipple spring, spritely and eager, under his fingers.
'Morning,' he responded softly, Hermione's arm moving out of the way as he lowered his lips to the skin just above her breast. 'Want me to stop?'
Her other nipple was already poking out at him when Sirius reached it with his thumb.
'No,' Hermione said definitely, making Sirius smile against the squishy top of one pretty boob. 'You can keep doing exactly what you're doing.'
That, Sirius was sure, meant she was waiting for him to take her nipple into his mouth. He wouldn't. Not yet. The more her hand slipped through his hair, encouraging him, the more he wanted to make her want it more. Maybe she'd try to force him to do it. Stuff maybe – she would try to force him. Sirius waited for it.
It didn't take long. She even pushed herself up on one arm to do a better job yanking his head to her. Sirius didn't resist. Gravity could be unkind to breasts. When Hermione got her torso more upright and presented one to him, it made one grand exception for her. Hermione didn't lift the pillowy delicacy to him with anything other than a sexy arch of her back. Sirius loved that arch. Loved it more when it presented things to him. There was a perfect snooty snub to that boob, like a Hermione that was acting proper and dignified, but would soften and sink into a kiss the moment Sirius gave her one. Would strip, bend over for him, and cry out like a wanton minx if he pushed her to.
She didn't cry out when he obligingly latched on, but she did coo low in her throat, her hand flustering in the hair at the back of Sirius's head. He drew away – all the better to see the puckered nipple standing at attention for him, wet with his saliva. Hermione pulled futilely at the back of his head. Sirius grinned, grabbed the presented breast and sucked it into his mouth until he could feel the bouncy squishiness against his lips as he roamed the texture of her nipple with his tongue. She liked that. Liked it more when he suckled off then latched determinedly back on again. Loved the twiddle he gave her nipple deep in his mouth with his tongue. She was murmuring encouragements Sirius barely heard to him; clasping him to her, moaning as he shifted her until her other nipple was being as well treated as the first. Groaning as he went harder, pinching around a taught areola with his lips and sucking at her.
Suckling on her torturously springy boobs was always good, but the dedicated abstraction it fuelled Sirius with was somehow greater this time; his lips more sensitive, his tongue absorbed, the delicious weight of her breast obvious to him. He peeled his eyes open, looking up at Hermione's face, pulling her nipple out from her chest with his mouth as he did, adding tension to the small but pretty peak. Her lips slightly parted, she was gazing down at him, watching every motion of his mouth with the same sort of focused absorption he was treating her to.
'Oh…' she breathed, her fingers fidgeting against his scalp, 'you're good at that…'
It was good. It was very good. Pressing her breast back against her chest with his face, Sirius's lips and the hard but gentle brush of his teeth went to town, and Hermione's head tilted back, the long sound she made carrying a slight warble. Good enough that she made no complaints about his stubble. Instead, she told him again just how good it was – moaned it as her hand went for his penis. Much harder than it had been when it had been rubbing against her sleepy skin, she gripped it in a fist, knowing as well as he did just how aroused he'd quickly become. Hard, hot, and needy – Sirius's hips jerked involuntarily, shoving it towards her: making her give it her attention.
She tried, stretching to grip it better – to stroke it, her thumb straining to find its head and landing amidst precum she swirled around the glans. But she was more interested in keeping his mouth busy, and, a second later, in sending his hand where she wanted it.
Sirius's hand landed on her thigh, clasping it and refusing to budge higher however much she pulled.
'Sirius!' she groaned, trying another tug to bring his fingers where she wanted them.
Sirius pulled away, looking up at her. He pulled further away, disengaging entirely, thumping back onto the bed, his erection standing straight and proud, and flashed her a quick grin.
'No,' he told her solidly, smiling more as she glowered at him, her breathing satisfyingly heavy. Sirius didn't really care whether that was more because of frustration or arousal – the mixture was nice. She could climb onto him if she wanted. She was free to take him – fit the head of his cock to the deceptively small opening between her legs and sit straight down on him until he was buried to the hilt. He probably wouldn't let her stay like that for long – he had opposing interests – but she was free to.
But Hermione didn't. She sunk onto her heels and glared at him.
'Why not?' she snapped, irritated.
Because when I slip anything into you, the randy voice in Sirius's head drawled, it will be with something that fills you properly.
'Pick what you want,' he said instead, enjoying watching the increased focus Hermione treated him to when he spoke. 'If you want to be in control, take it. If you want me to be, pick that.'
There was something marvellous about watching an aroused and frustrated Hermione make up her mind. Her hair a wild mane around her shoulders, her brown eyes seemed to darken, watching him closely. Her mouth closed irritably, and moved, catching the inside of her lip between her teeth. She shifted her focus down his body, flashed a spicy look – like chilli flavoured chocolate – up at his eyes, then moved back.
'I want,' she told him, turning, 'this one.'
Sirius would never tell her the names of the different positions. It was far better to leave her with no other recourse than to show him. And show him she did: bending over, she got her lithe body onto four slim limbs. Were Sirius behind her he'd be presented with quite the view.
So he moved. Doggy-style. It was her choice, and he couldn't have hoped for her to have made a better one – this suited his mood perfectly. When she did finally learn what it was called, Sirius would be in for a wealth of teasing.
He cared little about that now. Gravity was even kinder on his woman in this position: if there was one that really showed off the smooth curve of Hermione's waist; the flare of her hips… this was it.
And it left her open and vulnerable. It was her asking for it.
Sirius probably needed a run. His heart was pumping with more energy than it should. But he had his self-control – appreciable self-control – and he used it to take hold of her buttock in one claiming hand. He moved nearer on his knees, letting her feel the head of his cock as it pressed into the back of her exposed thigh, bending over her bare back.
'So you,' he said softly but pointedly, 'want me in charge.'
Hermione's breath hitched. It gave Sirius a shot of satisfaction. And a wild drive to make her do more than that. She didn't respond, but her head dipped nearer her arm. She pressed her cheek into it, waiting.
'You want me,' Sirius dragged his hands down her sides, pulling her body more against him, 'to do whatever I want to you.'
Hermione drew in a deep breath, then, abruptly, fell to her elbows. Hastily, she repositioned herself on them and dropped her forehead to the bedclothes, gripping them in both hands.
She liked this. She liked him being out of her reach. She liked feeling available under him; at his mercy. Sirius knew it. Knew it from each of the times she went hot and yielding under him. Sirius could play that game. He could play it well. And it was all the more enticing with an open invitation.
He moved back, his hand, flat on her skin, trailing the slope of her spine until he was on his haunches and his hand was on her buttock. Grasping it, he shifted the globe aside, revealing more of the secret places hidden between. His other hand followed a similar path, stroking down, but then up again, on her opposite buttock. In another sweep down, in passing but lingering, Sirius pressed a fingertip against the tight dimple of her anus. Not to do anything to it. Just to make Hermione feel dirty.
From her squeak and stiffen, he'd certainly made her feel something. But she didn't push up to turn on him and ask what he was doing. She didn't try to twist around or wriggle out of his hands. She left Sirius to it, and that said enough.
It said about as much as the wetness making her labia shine did. Gripping both buttocks, Sirius spread them. Hermione knew he was having a look. Even if she didn't, she'd have no uncertainty about it when he thumbed those labia open, pulling them until he was treated to a pink ellipsis that looked as welcoming as a flower in bloom. She was even wetter there, between those folds that tried but did little to preserve modesty.
Sirius told Hermione so, and got little more than a muffled whimper back. Funny the differences between men and women. Were she to sit there staring intently a moment too long at his erect penis Sirius would feel more and more like a gilded hero about to perform an amazing stunt. Do it to a woman, however, and they get wetter and wetter in anticipation, while, all the while, they feel more and more indecent. Perhaps feeling indecent, then, was a good thing. It did seem to be for Hermione. Her arse gave a delightful little wiggle in his hands.
'You,' Sirius told her, purposefully moderating his voice, 'have a delectable arse, Mione.'
He didn't wait to hear her muttered 'Oh god…'. He leant in and caught the flesh of her buttock in an open mouthed kiss. He'd take a while getting to that spot she'd learned she wanted his mouth. He had all morning. And he'd taught her she liked his mouth there. It was his choice when he treated her to it and when he didn't. Plus… he liked to make sure she really, really wanted it before he did.
Very gradually, Sirius kissed down to the back of her thigh, taunted her for a moment on the inside of it, then made his way back up, skirting her inviting labia by an inch. Braced for her indignation, Sirius skipped that part on his way over to her other buttock to begin his taunting anew. He was sure she could feel his grin against her rear end when she made a groan of disappointment.
'What do you want?' he asked her.
'I – Sirius!' Hermione huffed her irritation into the bedsheets. 'I… want you to lick me!'
Sirius extended his tongue and gave the back of her thigh a short lap.
'You know what I mean!' Hermione cried, twisting in Sirius's hands. He held her steady.
'Where do you want me to lick you?'
There was a pause, and then a fervid whine from a very stiff Hermione. Maybe she couldn't say it yet. That wasn't a possibility Sirius had been ignorant of. He opened his mouth and went to suck, just a bit, where her thigh met buttock. But, as he'd expected, his lingering teasing couldn't last.
Shifting, powered by righteous indignation, onto one arm, Hermione clawed the other back to snatch at him. Forget an otter, her Animagus form would be a wildcat. Or a naughty little minx. Sirius dodged the hand easily, grabbed it by the wrist, and shoved up on his knees to lean over her again.
'No,' he instructed, planting Hermione's arm firmly back on the bed below her. He rested a warning hand that carried some weight between her shoulder blades, forcing her to get herself back on both arms to stay up from the bed. 'You wanted me in control.' Sirius gave the back of her neck an admonitory nip that lingered until she stiffened. 'Let me,' he murmured, speaking straight into her ear, 'do whatever I want to you. You,' he swept her hair aside to bare one side of her neck, 'just enjoy the ride.'
Under Sirius's hand Hermione's back quivered. He turned his fingers until his nails just rested against her skin and, drawing back, ran his fingernails the length of her back. It arched instinctively, making a point of lifting her rear end towards him. Hermione cursed and shuddered, and Sirius didn't give her a moment to recover – not even a second. He dropped to his heels and fixed his mouth over the entirety of that pretty little pussy; swiped his tongue from side to side over her protruding clitoris.
'Oh – Christ Sirius!'
Involuntarily, Hermione jutted her backside more towards him. Sirius indulged her, releasing suction and spreading her open with his thumbs to sweep his tongue from clitoris up towards her opening, going faster and punctuating with mindless mouthing and sloppy sucks. He could taste a bit of his semen on her, but Sirius was too far gone to give a toss. That wasn't why he gave her finger-sized opening only the barest of brushes with his tongue.
He pushed her forward with one hand, forcing her to lean more on her arms, and arched over her. This time the top side of his penis felt her, lewdly caught between her legs. Hermione could feel it too. Sirius was sure as he moved over to cover her back it rubbed against her clitoris. She was mewling – pressing back against him like she was seeking it.
Sirius could take her now. His forehead pressed into her shoulder blade. His cock was crazy hard and uncomfortably hot – just in a way that wanted an ice bath a hell of a lot less than it felt desperate to be seated somewhere hot, wet, warm, and clinging. But he could wait just a bit longer. He was sure of it when Hermione moaned his name into her arm, her hands tight on the bedsheets. She was ready for it. Sirius wanted a few more minutes.
Or just one minute. Sirius caught her breasts even as Hermione's back bowed, begging him with profanities he rather liked hearing coming from her. He gave her nipples a tug, pulling them down. They were stiff before he touched them. They turned to little pebbles the moment he did – and Hermione panted below him, rubbing her very wet crotch against one hell of an erection; no longer showing any attempt to maintain dignity. She was wild, wet, and crying at him. Sirius's hands clenched all on their own, groping the gravid mounds of her tits hard enough for her to feel it, not hard enough to hurt her; squishing them up against her chest to feel them – their weight, their roundness; like sexy little balls of dough.
He'd considered rubbing the head of his penis between her folds – taunting her just that moment longer. Watching the debauched image from above. Even smacking his cock against her clitoris, just to add that bit extra. It would be a bloody nice sight. But Sirius no longer had the patience. Go fast or slow? She'd cry out if he went fast. It was first thing in the morning though, and, as much as he'd teased her…
It didn't even take a hand to line his erection up where it wanted to go. It found that spot all on its own. And then, as Sirius watched and Hermione raised her hips as high as she could, the head pressed into her, tugging those thin, pink labia with it – making them sink as though they wanted to push into her too as she stretched fantastically around him. Slow, Sirius decided. He hardly felt like doing it fast would hurt her now, but he wanted to watch her take every inch.
And she could – she could take every single inch. Absorbed them, even as it felt like Sirius was pushing against resistance; a deliriously hot, cloying, grasping resistance that did nothing to make him want to pull out. Hermione pushed back against him. She sighed out heavily, then caught her breath and did it again. And she would feel every damn inch. She did – Sirius would make sure she did.
Pretty, responsible, good girl – and she begged Sirius for it; pushed him into it. She went to mush and loved it when he filled her. Fuck her being small, young, and innocent – that was far from what she showed him. What she showed him was an arse raised for him – that pushed back against him until, by her own direction, he was seated deep inside her and she was grinding herself back against him. No little girl could take him balls deep. No, he hadn't always found pride in the size of his cock. Yes, he loved it in this moment. She felt it. She was filled by it. And she loved it.
Sirius caught her shoulder and slid out just enough to make her very aware of the firm knock back into her.
'I like you like this,' he muttered to her.
'… Horny and – ah!' Sirius had given her another deep thrust. 'Asking for it?'
Yes. That.
'Trusting,' Sirius responded, withdrew almost all the way, and went for that fast entry he'd denied himself. Hermione did cry out, and she did so again and again as Sirius went for the same action, loving the rapid reclaim. She met him every time, never moving away, but bracing herself or rocking back with abandon to meet him. And every time he pulled out it was like the lips of her sweet pussy were hanging onto him: reluctant to let him go.
He told her just how sweet her pussy was – likely growled it to her in some guttural monologue. How wet, pink, and hot it was. And if, in her right mind, Hermione would have found that a distasteful thing to hear, she didn't now. She moaned, and cooed, and mumbled his name like he was the most perfect man in the world.
Sirius leaned over, slowing just a bit in his thrusts, to find her clit with his fingers. They scissored around the flesh surrounding it and, deciding that was a decent way to go about it, Sirius gave her a ruthless wiggle, her flesh pinched between his fingers. He was rewarded with an explicit cry and a writhe from Hermione's body. She was close. Sirius slowed down.
'Oh – for fuck's sake Sirius!'
Yep. That was what he wanted to hear. He let up on the sensitive nub, stroking slowly into and out of her; taking a breather he realised he needed. And then he sped up again, vicious, wiggling her clitoris determinedly. Hermione lost it. She was face down in the bedsheets, her arms barely supporting her, but her hips full of energy – shunting against him, crying for him just not to stop. So Sirius didn't, until she gasped, sucking for air, her hips freezing and then flinching a bit away from him. Sirius slowed to little more than a gentle tidal rock, leaving her clitoris be.
'Hooo – ohww…' Hermione huffed, her cheek against the bed.
He'd told her to just go along for the ride. When had he ever disappointed her? Sirius was pretty sure he suffered sexual frustration rather more than she did, and that said bloody good things about him as a man: he kept his wife very satisfied.
She deserved a break. Sirius watched her as he made sure he stayed gentle. Just a short break. Then he picked up the force again and reached softer fingers back to the area around her clit.
'Owh – Sirius – I –argh…'
Sirius stopped, leaning over her to speak into her ear.
'You going to come a second time?'
Hermione drew a deep breath.
'I'm not sure – ah!'
No protesting. Sirius was wary of her clitoris, but his assault on her deeper regions was vigorous. He let Hermione grunt and pant for a bit, then slowed down, staving off his own climax. She picked herself back up onto her elbows, steeling her body as though she knew she wasn't done – and Sirius gave her no more mercy. She'd come again, he told her she would, and as hands frantic with feminine surrender to the inevitable grasped for a pillow and dragged it down, stuffing it under her head, Sirius's fingers strummed over her clitoris, it so wet his fingers slipped, unhindered, over it.
'Oh you can,' Sirius muttered, jaw tight, into the back of her neck, her body yielding under him and in his hand as she yowled into the pillow. 'Come again for me. One more.'
And, as fuel to his fire, her body was doing a lot to prove him right. She'd clamped down on his cock, every muscle in her body tight. Sirius was too close, a blinding horizon beckoning, his prick on fire. He slowed up – just little prods, very wary of a poorly-timed tip over the edge, and Hermione snarked at him like an admonished tiger.
She panted into the pillow, but she didn't ask what had gotten into him. In a drawn moment of silence Sirius expected her to – had little other answer for it than "I want to fuck you senseless". Bus she didn't ask, she just tried to catch her breath, grumbled at him for teasing her, and then yelped as Sirius resumed an unapologetic onslaught on her clitoris.
'Better,' he huffed breathlessly, 'than me coming too soon.'
'You'd better,' she bit out, her hips juddering under his rubbing hand, 'recover soon!'
Which Sirius did, demonstrating so to her without warning – and it didn't take her long to devolve from swearing at him to just panted yowls that rose in pitch as she clamped back down on Sirius's penis – and he gave up on any sense of decorum.
Her clitoris could do its own thing. Sirius straightened, grabbing her hips tightly and went for it. Hermione was always noisy on orgasm, and this one seemed particularly long and worthy of yells. Her noises warred with the bawdy sounds of his hips and balls smacking against her swollen flesh – and damn it was good. There was nothing better, in those last moments that felt larger than life, than being as deep as possible – making sure she got every last drop of what his balls sent her. That she took it, Sirius grinding deep into her, keeping her there, then a short jerk away on a teetering moment, and back in as far as he could get – until he was empty and, slowly – grudgingly – the bedroom and Hermione's panting body, hanging onto the pillow, was what he was aware of again.
'Whoooo… Merlin's balls…'
That was Hermione, and male body parts seemed things she had an easier time referring to than her own. Her back was still arched, but it no longer looked like something she was purposefully – or unconsciously – maintaining. It was so largely because Sirius hadn't let go of her.
Sinking down onto a bracing hand, Sirius did, and Hermione slumped, his softening penis slipping out of her as she sprawled down onto the bed, leaving it to hang at half-mast above her spent body. Sirius wasn't complaining. He didn't think the poor organ could take much more. He lowered himself to lie down next to her and asked, 'You okay?'
She was splayed out over the bed, around her head a decadent mess of tumbled hair, arms, and a much-abused pillow. Hermione lifted her head to turn it towards him, propping it up on her forearm. He cheeks were pink in a look that screamed of satisfaction.
'You can stop asking me that… Sirius,' she said breathily. 'When am I ever less than okay after?'
And her eyes were dancing. For all they took more wiggling and juggling, a woman's orgasms seemed preferable to a man's. For one thing, in his experience – and it was something Sirius thought with a sufficiently stroked ego – they happened more often. For another, they only sometimes left Hermione drained of energy. She looked like her body was singing.
Sirius pushed at her shoulder.
'Roll over.'
Hermione took that as a request for a cuddle. She did roll over, and then squirmed towards him. Sirius got a look at her before he wrapped his arm around her back, her arm sliding across his middle as she snuggled into his chest.
'Did I hurt you?'
'No,' Hermione answered readily – almost exasperatedly. 'You never do, Sirius.'
And he hadn't even seen red marks on her breasts. He'd mauled those pretty hard. Breasts bruised easily. But he'd never seen a bruise he'd left on Hermione – well, not from sex, at least.
'Except maybe between my legs,' she added on an amused afterthought. 'That might be tender for a while.'
Sirius was okay with that. It was inevitable, and Hermione hardly asked him to be gentle there. She'd even compared it once, waking up in the morning, to feeling like she'd been plundered by a battering ram. It was probably an apt description. Especially as the night before she'd egged him on to "fuck her harder" a good many times. Her fault there if it hurt after. He gave the top of her head a slow kiss.
Hermione stretched luxuriantly against him, pulling a knee up and resting it over Sirius's legs.
'I wish I could have seen your face,' she mused aloud.
Sirius scrunched his head down to look at her. She repositioned hers to look up at him and smiled. The symbol that called him a traitor peeked out from under her cheek. Those pink cheeks appled as she smiled impishly at him.
'You look…' she said thoughtfully, then paused to consider it. 'Ferocious,' she decided, not comfortingly, as far as Sirius was concerned, 'when you're like that. Your jaw goes hard and you look… intense – predatory.'
So that was one step on from asking him what had gotten into him. Hermione seemed to have graduated well beyond that apparently unnecessary question into indicating she enjoyed watching him look like he was hunting her.
'You like…' Sirius said slowly, 'me looking at you like you're prey?'
Hermione broke into a wide smile. It didn't look at all self-conscious.
'Well,' she said, 'it's hardly like it won't end well for me, so: yes, I do.'
Well she had a far easier attitude towards that than Sirius did – obviously because she trusted him. Trusted him a lot. He had absolutely no desire to know what he looked like when he was "like that". He didn't even want to imagine it. His mind's eye offered him an image of a look he'd seen on his father's face.
Sirius turned his eyes toward the ceiling. Yet, just how much she did trust him was a large part of why the lines between what he would and would not do were as stalwart as they were.
Hermione's hand was now over the tattoo that identified Sirius as a mass murderer; hiding it from view. Delicate arms, hers. They looked even more delicate when crossed over the black lines that decorated him permanently.
'I love you,' Hermione said softly, and Sirius's eyes shut.
But then, as he'd told himself before, were he a mistake, he'd be one of the scant few she'd made in her life. Her arm was under his hand a moment later, her forehead against his lips, and he was saying it back. Hermione didn't really make mistakes.
With her curled up against him, sated and peaceful, the concerns that shadowed Sirius's mind slowly ebbed from it, not becoming unfounded, but just not needed in this moment.
'Do I make a lot of noise when I orgasm?' he asked.
Hermione snickered and repositioned her head on his chest.
'No, not really,' she said. 'You're generally just guilty of manly grunts and growls. Then you do this… sort of…' She imitated the noise and, taken aback, Sirius twisted, rolling her back onto his arm, to look at her. Hermione giggled when she saw his expression.
'That sounded,' Sirius said dryly, 'like a wild boar being knocked out by a screaming yo-yo launched through a digeridoo.'
'Is that something you've heard?' she asked, eyes bright. She laughed again and added, 'And in what country was it?'
Sirius jiggled an itchy nose before resting his hand over her waist.
'Heard something similar in a pub in Brighton,' he said. 'I can only imagine tremendous charity or nepotism was in the band's favour, 'cause I'd never have let them play in my pub. Terrible band name too. Called themselves "Flick Knife". I'm sure I could come up with a hundred better band names in two minutes.'
It caught Hermione's interest. She grinned at him.
'Go on then,' she prompted.
Sirius took a breath to think.
'Lick me Tardy,' he began and Hermione snorted. 'Nundu Fondlers,' he went on, 'The Pendulous Hag – possibly more of a pub name, that one – The Hermit Crab Conspiracy, Crustaceans of the Lambs…' Hermione's eyebrows twitched upwards at that offering. 'Badger on a Pole, Kneecap Moisturisers, How's Your Father – that'd be a good one to hear off the wireless: "And now, how about a bit of How's Your Father?"'
Hermione had started chuckling.
'Psychoactive Toothpaste,' Sirius continued, starting to near the bottom of his creativity barrel, 'The Malicious Curse of Plaited Ear Hair… Flumadiddlers, Inappropriate S-Bend, White Fluffy Duck… Devilish Harvey Dispenser…'
'They're actually getting more ridiculous!'
'Which just goes to show you,' Sirius said significantly, 'just how pathetic "Flick Knife" is! They were about the same age as I was at the time, and even I had enough sense then to know it wasn't cool to try that hard to sound dangerous.'
Hermione shook with silent laughter, eyeing him astutely.
'I don't think,' she said, 'you've ever had a hard time with knowing how to look cool.'
Sirius flashed her a grin.
'It's all in the hair,' he told her. 'If long hair suits you, you're golden.'
Hermione laughed – without a hint of reservation – and the warmth that had been trickling back into Sirius's heart picked up to a pour. Then the corner of her mouth twitched and she grew thoughtful.
'Dwarf Erumpant Knob Gobblers?' she said.
Not quite what Sirius had expected her response to be. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
'Is that your suggestion for a band name?'
'No…' Hermione said, a small frown appearing between her brows. 'Did you… ever tell me about making a compartment of the Hogwarts Express look like a brothel?'
'No – but, bugger it, that would've been a good one. Why?'
'I thought you had…' Hermione shook her head, the frown disappearing. 'It seemed a thing you'd do. Must have been a dream, then.'
'We did though, once,' Sirius said, 'decorate the prefects' compartment with suggestive pictures and posters that said "Lust for Power – Casting Call".'
'Of course you did!'
'Lilly didn't take it very well,' Sirius went on, enjoying the memory even if dredging it up did give him a chill between his shoulder blades. 'She gave James and me detentions – after rather a lot of shouting at us. But Remus was the best. He tried to take them down – which, to his credit, he did eventually achieve – and, being Moony, this backfired with a few girls thinking he was the one putting them up and was serious about the casting call… Poor bugger never did figure out how to come across as devilishly un-accusable…'
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but she was smiling.
'How mean were you two to poor Remus?'
Sirius grinned back, then laughed as Hermione prodded him admonishingly.
'He did it to himself!' he defended. 'Most of the time,' he added. 'Amazingly capable of getting flustered, Remus, so he'd just bumble when he should have had a good deflection or excuse ready.'
Sirius rolled more to face her, their repose becoming an intimate cuddle on muddled sheets that excluded the rest of the room. Hermione squirmed to match him, accepting his leg between hers.
'Is that what you dream about?' he asked. 'Bizarre and vaguely dirty scenarios?'
'Not usually,' Hermione said. 'I dream about my studies… Or talking animals, or some fascinating concept I deciphered and understood in the dream but have no chance of remembering when I wake up. Sometimes I get frustrating dreams where, however hard I try, I just can't do something properly – can't see something I need to properly, can't move faster than a sluggish stroll when I really need to get away. That sort of thing. It's only when you invade my dreams that they degenerate into something absurd or dirty.'
'Oh yeah?' Sirius waggled his eyebrows at her. 'You have dirty dreams about me, do you?'
Unembarrassed with only him there to hear it, Hermione smiled back.
'A few,' she admitted. 'You're a very good lover in my dreams.'
'I seem to be able to make you moan well enough when you're not asleep.'
Hermione grinned back at him.
'I'm not going to deny it,' she responded. 'You have quite the fetish for making me moan.'
'I wouldn't call that one my kink, Mione.' That was probably better described as being in command of her body in exactly the way she was asking for.
'No,' Hermione agreed comfortably. 'Pulverising jelly seems a better term for it.'
'So tell me about one of these dreams?' Sirius prompted.
'Hmm…' Hermione considered him amusedly. 'Well, in one,' she said, her fingers trailing Sirius's chest, 'we were swimming… in this beautiful little river. I swam to you, and… well, you can guess.'
'I turned into a giant Arithmancy problem?'
Hermione laughed, the sound carefree and beautiful.
'Not in the slightest,' she told him.
Smiling, Sirius stroked her rounded cheek. Funny how far things had come with them. Hermione watched him peaceably as he slipped her hair back behind her head. It had taken her hardly any time at all to lose that tentative way she'd previously approached him. Looking back at her, Sirius could see that first time she'd climbed into his bed to spend the night with him. She'd been wary, but going for it, her drive as thoughtless and single-focused as his. Now she gazed back at him with such a stark admission of love it tickled Sirius deeply.
'I wondered…' Hermione began her thought slowly. She broke off, starting to look uncertain. 'Odd that Molly didn't ask Kreacher if he minded them staying here.'
Sirius didn't think it was odd. Reprehensible, from Hermione's perspective, maybe, but not odd. Few, if any, witches and wizards would naturally consider a house elf as one to look to for permission to be house guest. And Sirius rather doubted Hermione thought it odd, either.
'You angry with her?' Sirius asked.
'No…' Hermione said. 'No,' she repeated more certainly. 'I just…'
'However not right it may be,' Sirius said, 'Kreacher would never have thought he should be consulted.'
'No – I know… And that's not right, but…' Hermione wasn't looking at Sirius's eyes now. She was focused on his shoulder. It piqued Sirius's curiosity. 'Good of her to include Harry in it too, though…'
Sirius frowned at her, shifting to see whether that would bring her eyes back to his. It didn't.
'Are you angry with me,' he asked, 'for –'
'No – of course not.'
''Cause I just assumed you weren't bothered by –'
'I'm not.'
Sirius could have groaned.
'What is it?' he asked directly. 'What's wrong?'
'I… don't know…' Now Hermione did look back into Sirius's eyes, her focus alternating between them. 'This…' she said tentatively, 'was Harry's house for a while. And it's definitely yours…'
Sirius's mind churned. Then the cogs locked into place. Ah… His impression had been Molly had included all of them in her request to stay.
'You've called this your home before,' he said. 'Why is it weird for Molly to think so?'
Perturbed eyes gazed back at Sirius's.
'There's… calling somewhere home,' Hermione said quietly. 'And then there's… having some kind of ownership over it. Making decisions…'
'You've done that too. You chose the paint colours.'
'That wasn't just me,' Hermione protested. 'And if we'd left it up to you the walls would be scarlet and the ceiling bright yellow!'
'Not necessarily. Only if that's what my finger landed on when my eyes were closed.'
Hermione didn't smile. She stared at him.
'Sirius,' she said seriously, 'we've never talked about… how this works – us… with… the house and things…'
And Sirius hadn't thought they needed to. He studied her, thinking, then nodded.
'Well, technically,' he said baldly, 'with those papers I signed, you… well you have no rights at all.' For all he'd decided to talk about it, that resolution didn't stop Sirius's apologetic grimace. 'When it comes to ownership… the house and investments are still in my name only, you haven't been made my next of kin, and I can't change that right now. I…' Sirius paused uncertainly, then centaured on. 'Frankly, I own you and everything you have.'
Hermione nodded soberly. This wasn't news to her. She'd read those protection papers properly, then.
'Gringotts, however,' Sirius went on, 'unless the Ministry has imposed their desires on the goblins, if you have the key to the Black vault and the right surname, they'll probably let you in.'
Unlike the previous, it was this point that made Hermione's eyes widen slightly, focusing more stiffly on Sirius.
'If I'd thought about it, I'd have changed my will already,' Sirius went on. 'So, at the moment, it still leaves everything to Harry. But I can change my will without consulting the Ministry, and I will. I can try to override those papers that way – how well it would work, I don't know though. They could try to contest it. But…' Sirius shifted, frowning at the growing look of unease on Hermione's face. 'As far as I'm concerned, marriage doesn't mean what they've made it with the Act. When that's been overturned, we should make a joint will.'
Hermione swallowed.
'The problem, Sirius,' she said, 'is that you bring… rather a lot more to the table than I do.'
'No way.' Sirius smiled in the face of her disquiet. He'd long been sick of the tension that came along with inheriting a veritable fortune. 'Crookshanks is priceless and I want half of him.'
Hermione smiled only weakly.
'Oh, come on, Mione,' Sirius complained. 'I already have to deal with Remus being touchy about it – not you too. I have a record collection – anything else I got because people who would have gotten it went and died. I didn't work for any of it!
'And how do you think I'd like to have things be if I died?' Sirius went on forcefully. 'I'd want you to have a home to live in – not have to worry about money. Why would you think for a second I'd want it any other way? I'd like to leave some gold to Remus and Tonks too – buggered if I'd let them starve, and they'd probably only accept that much gold if it was forced on them by my death. But there's more than enough –'
'Stop it!'
Sirius stopped. Hermione had shut her eyes very tightly, her chin lightly dimpled as she squeezed her lips together.
'I'm being practical,' Sirius said, more gently. 'You wanted to know how I saw it. This is how I see –'
'I don't want to hear it Sirius!' Hermione cried, digging unhappy fingers into his side. 'Going on about money – you dying – why would I want to hear about that?'
Because it wasn't an impossible inevitability. But, for now, Sirius would just put it all in his will, then.
'I just,' Hermione went on, a slight warble to her voice, 'wanted to hear whether… you saw us as partners.'
'Of course I do,' Sirius responded, surprised. 'I was of the impression I'd indicated that when I said I didn't want these rings,' he touched the back of her left hand with one finger, 'to mean nothing.'
She was squirming nearer him. Sirius tilted his face down, meeting the top of her head in a slow kiss he was sure she was after. Hermione gripped an arm around his back, cramming herself in close to him. Rubbing her tense back, Sirius pressed another kiss a bit further down her forehead.
'Are you comfortable with that?' he asked, because she didn't really seem to be – at least, not in some areas.
Hermione took a breath.
'Crookshanks would want to stay with you if –'
'Hang on,' Sirius interjected. 'Why're you allowed to talk about it if I'm not?'
Hermione made a little noise. She gave him a squeeze, and that seemed the only response Sirius was going to get.
'Well you'd better get comfortable with making decisions around here,' Sirius told her. 'Because furniture needs to be chosen, and buggered if I'm doing that alone. If you hadn't noticed, this place has a lot of space to fill, and my ancestors had terrible taste.'
Hermione chuckled, though a little feebly.
'You don't care for silk damask?' she asked ironically.
'No,' Sirius said flatly. 'And no chintz either – that may work in the Gryffindor common room, but otherwise it's hideous. And no paisley.'
Hermione moved back and treated him to a quizzical look.
'Chintz I get, but what's wrong with paisley?'
'It's…' Sirius sought for a word. 'Kak,' he went with. 'Simply kak.' It brightened Hermione's expression. 'No check either,' Sirius continued. 'No tartan. No floral of any description – especially not on curtains. No velvet… nothing frilly, or floofy – no doilies, or lace, or taffeta…'
'So the floral Queen Anne chair with a ruffled skirt is out?'
Sirius answered that with an exaggerated expression of distaste.
'Are there any patterns you do like?' Hermione asked.
'Mm…' Sirius ran through patterns in his head. 'I'm not against that sixties one women used to wear. The black and white wonky thing.'
'Houndstooth?' Hermione grimaced. 'Not in a house, Sirius.'
'A big houndstooth pouffe?' Sirius suggested exuberantly, more to see her face than out of any real desire for it. Hermione didn't disappoint. 'Right then, how about that whirly one – no flowers – that's usually light coloured swirls with a dark background?'
'Like…' Hermione frowned thoughtfully, 'a… vector pattern?'
'Sure – or tie-dye! Tie-dye rugs! And curtains – and bed covers, bed hangings; drape tie-dye sheets from the walls and ceilings!'
With a narrowed gaze, Hermione eyed him suspiciously.
'Obviously I do need to have a say in the decoration,' was her response to that, and it was the one Sirius had been aiming for. He grinned widely.
'Anything geometric,' he warned her, 'is a no.'
'Houndstooth is geometric!'
'Oh… Why do I like it then?'
Hermione started laughing and didn't stop.
'Because you're you!'
'What's that mean?'
'What you choose to be particular about,' Hermione chuckled, 'is hilarious!'
'Is it?'
She nodded.
'There's no system of commonality,' she explained. 'No organisation whatsoever…'
'My organisation has a system,' Sirius contended. 'It's very simple: I put the thing where there's a space to put the thing.'
'And if I try to put the thing where there's a more logical space for it…'
'Then,' Sirius said pointedly, 'instead of just going back to where I put it, I have to try to figure out where logically it would be. I have a very visual memory, Mione. Quite literally: where I see it is where it makes sense for it to be.'
The humorous twinkle was back in Hermione's eyes. Behind Sirius, Crookshanks preceded his hop up onto the bed with a greeting meow. The bed sunk under his paws as he walked towards them, then, with the brazen disregard of his kind, Crookshanks stepped up and onto Sirius's side and considered the gap between the humans' naked bodies.
'Hi my gorgeous boy,' Hermione murmured, smiling up at the squashed ginger face and stroking a hand down Crookshanks's back.
'Heya!'
Hermione blinked, looked at Sirius, then rolled her eyes.
'I meant my furry little man, Sirius.'
'Bit affronted you'd call him that,' Sirius remarked. 'His home may be on the furry side, but it's unfair to tar him with the same brush. And "little" – he's just tired!'
The light smack to the top of Sirius's head came at the same time Crookshanks flopped down, purring, in the toasty crevasse between them. Hermione ruffled the happy cat's fur, scrunching down to pepper the back of his neck with kisses. Her hands knew that cat instinctually. She treated Crookshanks to the expert scratches of a dedicated, long-time owner that made Crookshanks's third eyelids roll into sight and his body go floppy.
'How old is he?' Sirius asked curiously, joining the effort with his own less expert back scratching.
'I don't know exactly,' Hermione answered. 'The witch at the Magical Menagerie wasn't sure, but thought he was just shy of being an adult when he'd been dropped off at the shop. I expect he's about seven now.'
That was good, Sirius thought. Kneasles could live a good thirty years, so Crookshanks's lifespan would sit somewhere between fifteen and twenty-something years. Watching Hermione coo and lave attention on the cat, that was a fateful day Sirius didn't want to see any time soon. He still cringed at the memory of dropping a bookcase on the little furball.
.
Along with Fred and George, many of the other temporary residents of Number 12 were moving back home that day. Every non-Burrow resident, thus, was in even more of a tousled hurry that morning; and, adding to the tension, Molly was in a sow-burn temper that culminated with her sending Arthur – none to gently – back to bed with the red-faced tirade, 'No – I refuse to be a widow, Arthur! I've let you have your way time and time again – but I'm putting my foot down! You will rest and recuperate lest stress and exhaustion be the end of you!' It was a mark of, euphemistically, respect that no one decided to point out in that moment that Molly herself should probably seek to check her own blood pressure.
The cause of Molly's (until that point) quiet smoulder was not, in fact, Arthur, but rather, Sirius figured, stemming from Fleur's decision to join her, Percy, and Leonora in their disinfestation of the Weasley orchard. Breakfast had been spent with Molly fielding questions from the other Mrs Weasley about what, exactly, "dress in practical clothing" meant (after Molly had made the mistake of suggesting Fleur wore such clothes for their beetle-fighting). Eventually, Molly settled on 'Wear something you don't mind being burned to bits', and Fleur hurried off home to drop off her and Bill's overnight bags and change.
Sirius, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Ron were setting up potion equipment in a kitchen containing only them and the Burrow-bound party by the time Fleur returned. The part-Veela had a battered old cloak over one arm, and that was the most understandable choice she'd made fulfilling Molly's directive. Her legs were clad in a (very) tight pair of sequin-covered trousers (perhaps some sort of armour? Or did she just not like the trousers?) and she'd tied what Sirius assumed to be one of Bill's button-down shirts up into a shape that revealed both ample cleavage and her flat, elfin midriff.
Lifting his eyes from the even-more-dazzling-than-usual woman, Sirius shut Ron's mouth for him (his girlfriend was right there); Ginny redirected the head of a staring Harry and shot a grumpy look at a Hermione who was smiling with satisfaction. Hermione met Sirius's eyes and he gave her a grin that said, on his side at least, "yup, I am the one who can look away." Obviously pleased, Hermione tried not to titter.
'Right,' said Molly with barely concealed ire. 'We're off then. Have a lovely day with your potions.' She caught up cloaks and flung one neatly over Percy's gawping head.
'How do they not affect you?' Ron muttered frantically at Sirius once Fleur had left with the others and the wizard had shaken his red head free of her influence.
'Who, women?' Sirius asked deliberately. 'They affect me.'
'Veelas!' Ron corrected on a pained moan.
'Just don't look at them long enough to be affected,' Sirius advised.
'Bully for your willpower,' Harry grumbled, cowering slightly under the glare Ginny was sending his way.
Ginny's eyes flashed.
'If Sirius can ignore her,' she snapped, 'you can!'
'Yeah, well,' Harry muttered, 'I'm not entirely sure Sirius is human…'
Sirius is human, Sirius thought. Sirius has just had the disconcerting experience of actually shagging a Veela. He'd compare it to bedding a woman you thought was beyond amazing while drunk out of your mind, only to lose the beer goggles afterward. Being mesmerised to the point of delirium was the only reason Sirius had thought the experience a good one. Looking back afterwards, his stomach had – and, to some extent, still did – done a discomforting belly-flop at the memory of how the pamper-spoilt Veela had just lain there, unresponsive as a log with a knothole. Bill, in Sirius's opinion, was barking up one deceptive and unreliable tree. He couldn't imagine that pairing sparking a natural, loving relationship when every time she took her clothes off he was likely affected in a similar way to what a love potion would do.
None of this, however, would Sirius say aloud. He was pretty certain Madam Rosmerta would pale in comparison to revelations about a Veela. That, and Sirius just really didn't want to revisit the experience. He liked to be able to trust his own self-control and perception at least that much. He wasn't comfortable with feeling creepily taken advantage of.
It was slow going, but by early afternoon the NEWT students (barring Hermione, who was doing most of the explaining) had started (operative word) to gain some idea about deciphering ingredients needed in antidotes to various blended poisons. For now they were working off descriptions of different muti-faceted poisons, largely as Sirius would rather they had that part down before he created an unknown, complex poison for them to decipher the contents of and test the antidotes they created on.
'No – no, not armadillo bile,' Hermione was saying to Ginny, having paused in scribbling down her own antidote to a blend of Angel's Trumpet Draught, Bloodroot, and Fly Agaric poisons.
'Well what is it then?' Ginny asked irritably. She'd already found and marked the antidotes to each separate poison in her potions book and was now flicking between them and shooting random suggestions for the binding agent of a keystone ingredient to Hermione.
'No bezoars, Ron,' Sirius said and tugged the case of bezoars down the table away from his reaching hands.
'This one's hard,' Ron grumbled. 'And a bezoar would work – wouldn't it?'
'No it wouldn't Ron,' said Hermione, now shielding her work from Ginny's peeking gaze. 'Like I've said a thousand times: bezoars don't work on everything.'
Ron groaned and buried his head in his arms, knocking his currently unused cauldron stand with his elbow.
'Okay, so,' said Harry, tapping his quill on his piece of parchment, 'flower, flower… fungus…' He grumbled something inaudible.
'Think effects,' Sirius offered, trying to lead them in the right direction. 'Impedes neural function and hallucinogenic, escharotic, and psychoactive.'
'Sounds fun,' Ron grunted sarcastically to the table. 'Let's make it and take a sip.'
'A sip would give you a terrifying, incredibly painful, and nauseating two-hour death,' Hermione said contemptuously. 'Think about it, Ron: toxins that play with the chemicals and receptors in your brain and a toxin that destroys animal cells.'
'Butterscotch,' Ginny supplied with a huff. 'When all that's being stuffed with you're gonna want butterscotch.'
'Not butterscotch, no,' said Sirius, repressing a smile as Harry snorted and Hermione lifted an amused look to Ginny.
Ron straightened back up and peered around Sirius to get another look at the long list of potion ingredients between him and Harry. Ginny and Harry went back to flicking between antidotes and their ingredients as Hermione reset her cauldron and lit bluebell flames below it.
'Oh – hang on!' Harry exclaimed, squinting one last time through his potions book. 'Billiwig stings! They're not already listed in the antidotes. And the floating thing on the cells, and the giddiness thing on the mind – that's mental enough to work, right?'
The floating and giddiness "things" might not be how a scoffing Hermione would explain why it worked, but from Sirius's perspective, the entire, lengthy, technical answer was neatly contained within Harry's terms. He may not be able to explain it, but Harry did seem to have some grasp on why it would work as the keystone ingredient that made the separate antidotes combine synergistically.
'So when would you add the stings?' Sirius asked once Hermione had finished explaining why Harry had made the right choice.
'At the beginning,' answered Harry in the same moment Ginny said, 'Last thing.'
'After you chuck the whole thing across the room in a fit of rage,' offered Ron.
'Billywig stings need to marinate,' Harry pointed out, 'so you have to –'
For the second time in a few days they heard the sound of the front door slam closed and quick footsteps pound along the corridor above them. Though Molly could have lost it with her de-beetling helpers, it didn't sound like her feet, and a weird sense of foreboding sent unease down Sirius's spine.
'Down here!' he called out.
Footsteps turned from the direction of the sitting room and, in a moment, they were clattering down the kitchen steps. Brian appeared, striding into the room like a player onto a pitch, but looking, for the first time since Sirius had met the man, worried into a rush.
'What's up?' Harry asked, twisting around in his seat.
Brian didn't even glance at him. He looked from Hermione to Sirius. It was a look Sirius didn't like, and not for his usual reasons.
'They're calling you two in,' Brian delivered in a rapid stream. 'Part of their investigation into mistreated Muggle-borns. Tomorrow morning. They're only going to owl you just before. Before a full court, for an inquiry. And you'll be under suspicion for not adhering to the stipulations of thet Marriage Act.'
'What suspicion?' demanded Ginny. 'They haven't done anything!'
She'd caught on a lot faster than Ron and Harry. They were still staring at Brian like he wasn't making sense.
Brian gave his head a little jerk – like an admittance it was stupid. But he didn't look amused. He was looking bluntly back at Sirius.
'You hevn't reported a pregnancy,' Brian answered frankly. 'They've decided you're either covering one up, are opposing their recreation of the nation by purposefully not getting pregnant, or are mistreating Hermione.'
'So it's illegal not to have kids?' Harry inquired, incredulous.
'They've decided thet's what the law says, ja.'
And it made sense to Sirius. They'd made their move – it was always coming, and this was the way they'd chosen to do it. He moved, rounding the table and taking the stairs three at a time, ignoring Harry's furious yell after him.
Two more flights of stairs to the second floor passed under Sirius's feet with an increasing speed that nevertheless felt inadequate to the energy building in his entire body. He swung into the library and came to restless halt. Where had he seen it last? It had been years. The library had been reorganised since then; the bookshelves returned to the room in a different orientation.
Sirius closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. The book had been in one of the shelves with its right side to a wall, but not at the far end of the room. He could picture it, picture the whole lot being piled up outside of the room for painting – picture where he'd put that bookshelf back. Hermione, thankfully, hadn't complained about his placement of that one bookshelf. She'd let its placement establish that of the others.
Sirius hurried forwards, passing other bookshelves and heading straight for the one with exactly the reference books he was after. The book had been just below his head height…
There. Sirius yanked the black and silver bound tome from the shelf.
The Select Effectology of Biological Brews by Reactus Prip. So that's what it had been called. Sirius shook the book open in his hand and started ripping through pages.
Fuck this. Sirius's hand had started to shake a little. He held it over the book and paid attention to that damn sparking of energy that felt far too insistent.
'Invenio Purging Potion.'
And it worked. Parchment fanned by under Sirius's hand for a second that felt like a bloody hour until the book fell open on a page.
Before the pages had fully settled Sirius was trotting back out of the room. He scanned the recipe as his feet took him to and then banging through the door to his potion room. Green flames – so crucible and iridium cauldron. Sirius had those. He'd needed them for the Wolfsbane Potion. Pruned Deadlyius… Deadlyius, yes. Pruned, no. But Sirius could prune it adequately in three minutes.
He dropped the book on the workspace. Most of what was listed in the recipe was downstairs already, but they hadn't been using green flames, Deadlyius, or lionfish spines –
Lionfish spines – Do I have –?
Yes, Sirius did. A small balloon of gladness grew and burst in Sirius's chest as he snatched the box off the shelf. In the shelves he'd stocked so well months ago he had everything he needed.
Taking the supplies with him, Sirius's feet hit a sprint back in the corridor.
'What's happened?'
It was Arthur, in pyjamas but out of bed, peering out at Sirius from the door to his bedroom.
Sirius answered him succinctly, his bare feet slapping on the steps as he continued his hurried decent; Arthur following after him. Harry had left the kitchen. He was stood, obviously angry, before the front door as though suspecting Sirius was about to try to run out of it.
'You're not leaving!' Harry declared crossly, glaring at Sirius.
'Why would I be?'
'Well – what the hell do you think you're –'
'She can't be on the Contraceptive Potion!'
'Oh…'
His feet hitting the ground floor, Sirius left Harry to work out whether that quashed his indignant rage – that the boy had thought, even for one stupid second, that Sirius was going out for a one-way paper run pissed him off pretty righteously.
Eyes were waiting for Sirius the moment he returned to the kitchen. Brian was still there. Hermione met Sirius's gaze with a frightened stare he didn't want to see.
'What are you playing at – running off?' Ron roared at Sirius. His arm was around Hermione's shoulders.
Anger was unhelpful right now. The more Sirius felt it the more his body twitched with an insane need to run or punch something – hard. He dumped what he'd brought on the table and focused on setting things up.
'Way I see it,' he said, 'we have two options. The first is to run or hide – which carries consequences, and likely not just for Hermione and me. It's playing into their hands, defying them openly – giving them an opportunity to go after us. The second is to go to this inquiry, which we have a chance of coming through okay if they can't find fault with us – and the one thing they can find fault with is avoiding kids.'
The cauldron set up on its stand, Sirius looked round at Hermione.
'It's what they'd achieve if we'd only heard of it right before this inquiry,' he told her. 'A Purging Potion will pull remnants of every potion you've ever taken out of your system. It takes an hour to brew, and hours to work – which will be hell for you. The earlier you take it, the less you'll look like you have tomorrow.'
The look in Hermione's eyes was a wild sort of silent terror that far surpassed even the panic Sirius had seen there in times past. It took far less effort than usual for Sirius to see what she was scared of – he'd barely questioned it before it was there, obvious to him; staring back at him. And it wasn't just ending up in a situation they'd find hard to get out of that terrified her.
But Hermione's lips compressed and she gave Sirius the small nod that turned him back to his potion preparations. His hands were shivering – the longer he stood still the more they did. His wand was unsteady in his hand. Flinging it onto the table, Sirius concentrated: the energy had to go or he'd mess everything up – they'd have to hide, people they loved becoming targets for questioning; that tent Hermione was so loath to return to; be found guilty of something; he'd see Azkaban again; Hermione would be left to –
Gripping the edge of the table, Sirius focused, the room drowning out in perfect tunnel vision – but delicate magic was hard to control; it was like forcing back a gush of water suddenly released from behind a detonated dam with just the skin of his chest. But it would work.
His unblinking eyes started to burn. It centred Sirius. The distillation flask set itself on a righted tripod, glass piping and stands shifted into place over it and the cauldron, and, on a great rush and a snap of his fingers Sirius's body told him to do and felt like an explosive spark, green flames lit brightly right before his eyes – not too big, not where Sirius didn't want them, but inside the crucible under the cauldron.
Panting, Sirius steadied himself for a moment against the table. It was harder to hold back on excess when there was too much than to just let it all out. The room was silent, and not, now, just because Sirius was ignoring it.
But his hands were now steady, his body feeling clearer. Sirius went for the jar containing Deadlyius mushrooms and wrenched off the cap.
'We can't run, Ron,' Hermione said, sounding like she was reprising an argument. 'What's –'
'You can't possibly be seriously considering going to this – this thing!' Ron interjected hotly. 'That's about as stupid as it gets!'
Sirius's teeth grit, but he wasn't about to get caught up in an argument now. He kept his focus on the Deadlyius under his wand.
'And if they run,' Ginny argued for him, 'they'll get caught!'
'Sirius hid away for ages!' Ron countered. 'They'll be careful –'
'Hermione's not an Animagus – Snatchers with training, Ron, that's what Hitters are!'
'They're not stupid! They won't make a mistake –'
'So? They've already come up with answers to find them! They'll just Taboo everything until they do! And when they are caught they'll definitely be in for it! We all will – Hermione is Secret Keeper to Yaxley!'
'The Fidelius Charm,' Harry broke in, 'I can –'
Sirius opened his mouth, but Hermione had gotten there first.
'No,' she said, and her voice was uncomfortably high pitched. 'How do you think that'd make us feel, putting you in their path?'
'So I'll go into hiding too!' Harry declared, making Sirius's heart clench terribly. 'Or someone else will and they'll think I'm Secret Keeper!'
'That's not how it works!' Hermione cried. 'Magic can't be made to be perfect, Harry! Aim in circular flawless perpetuity: Whispwinder's Paradox. You can't have a sole Secret Keeper be as well-hidden as those they're hiding! No – NO!' she shouted as Harry made a noise. 'What's the end result of all of this? So we get away and they can't find us for a bit, what's that going to do? We've pushed them and pushed them – I've pushed them! We hide or run and we'll just push them that bit farther – it'd be the best outcome for them! How long do you think it'll take Umbridge to come up with some damning reason why we're on the run from the Ministry – and even if they don't, guess who they'd go looking to to find where we are – just hoping for some other idea or opportunity to silence anyone they want to silence!
'Remus,' Hermione went on determinedly, and, to Sirius's ears, a bit hysterically. 'He'd be a great option to go after – he's close to Sirius and they've already laid down legislation that makes him at least able to be kicked out of his own house! Where does that stop? With them telling the world the hated werewolf fought back and that's why he's dead? This is what Umbridge has wanted all along: create conditions to set us up for failure and watch us do what we always do and defy them – let us walk straight into their hands! And then Sirius won't be here to help if anyone gets hurt when the domino effect goes off – and the Order becomes little more than a group of people hiding out hoping for something – like it was before! And we're nothing compared to the Ministry! We're tiny!
'But if we keep our heads down and do what they ask then we're putting that off for just that bit longer,' Hermione continued, somewhat winded, winding down into a voice near tears. 'Keep this stalemate going long enough, maybe, for people to start really realising other things they don't like about Umbridge's Ministry. They underestimate Sirius but he can lie under questioning! That's the better option!'
And she thought so… because she trusted Sirius. It made him burn painfully somewhere deep inside all the while it had Sirius standing straighter.
'Kingsley's one of their dreaded Aurors,' Ginny said, sounding more resigned than heated now. 'He's married to another Muggle-born. And he was – is – Umbridge's political opponent. She wouldn't be kind on him. Brian would be a dead man if they found out he was linked to us. They already hate dad. And if they tried,' she said, more quietly still, 'they'd get any information they wanted out of me. I can't keep my mind shut.'
'It's Hermione and Sirius's decision what they want to do,' said Arthur calmly. 'We cannot force them one way or another.'
'So – what?' Ron snapped, his voice cracking. 'We just let them walk into some courtroom and that's the end of it?'
'It's not a done deal,' said Brian. 'It's Sirius they want to find guilty, not Hermione. They don't want to turn Hermione over to the Dementors –'
'No,' said Harry roughly, 'they want to stuff her away somewhere where they can experiment on her!'
It had been Hermione's guess, that the Muggle-borns were being experimented on. They still had no proof of it. They'd gotten a few "no"'s from Phillip Coles, Petal Finnworthy, and Wayne as to whether they'd been interfered with in this way, and as yet nothing from a close-lipped Penelope. Sirius didn't need that proof. He didn't need proof of anything. He could see what would happen to Hermione just fine.
'If you can lie under questioning,' Brian went on, and Sirius could feel the man's eyes focused on the back of his head, 'then you heve a chance.'
Sirius lifted his wand and tested the mushroom with a finger. It was just firmly pliable enough to be considered "pruned". He pulled another piece of fungus from the jar.
'I can,' he said, with quite a lot more conviction than he felt.
'They do know,' Arthur said slowly, 'that we have Skeeter and Xeno working with us. They do know that there is a possibility we can work against them without exposing ourselves. And they must know there is some discord among members of the public regarding Ministry services; international pressures to face – a degree of issues sufficient to warrant caution. I can't think they'd have already completely given up on being careful. What do you think, Brian?'
Brian took a moment to respond.
'If you disobey this summons,' he said finally, 'you'll start something. I don't kno' what, exactly, but something. If you go, and walk free at the end of it, you'll make Umbridge angry, but that will be mitigated by the stroke to her ego you give her by showing you acknowledge she has power over you. You could pecify her by doing so – she could be convinced what she's succeeded at with this is to silence you guys all over again. It wouldn't be the best outcome for her, but it's not a bad one.'
And Sirius trusted those words. He'd turned around to look at Brian as the man spoke them, and Sirius trusted it. He couldn't say why, other than the fact that the weird external sense of another's thoughts he could sometimes achieve was much sharper at the moment: there was just something there in Brian's eyes. The ability wasn't quite Legilimency – not the way others did it, at least. It was more like an unexplained outcrop of what certainly felt to Sirius like his wild magic. And he trusted, more, that what Umbridge could be convinced of could be aided along by Brian himself – or, at least, that the wizard would try. He nodded to Brian and went back to his mushrooms.
Hermione took an audible breath.
'We'll take the password-activated Portkeys,' she said robustly. 'They don't know that's something we have. If we need to, we'll use them.'
So running would only be Plan B. Sirius liked having a Plan B.
'I'm coming with,' Harry said stolidly.
'We're all going, Harry,' said Ginny, rather tiredly. 'I'll trade watch with Fred.'
'I'll…' Ron trailed off. 'We need to tell Remus. I'll send him a message.'
The Deadlyius hissed faintly under Sirius's wand. The calling of a Patronus behind him gave him a wash of cheery emotion that left Sirius as absurdly disconnected from life as it was possible to feel.
'If you didn't see or hear, Arthur,' Brian said softly, 'they think you're dead.'
'I saw. Thank you, Brian.'
Brian gave a short hum of acknowledgement.
'I heve to go,' he said after a moment. 'Told Flint I'd help write up the applications for part-human evictions.'
'Have any complaints been made?' asked Arthur.
'Ja. A few vampires or half-vampires – suspected more than known… Several people believe they have neighbours with troll or hag blood, and like as not they're just ugly or uncompromising; couple reports on neighbours harbouring werewolf children.'
Arthur sighed.
'You should stop for dinner more often, Brian. Disguised, or we might ward our home to be invisible from the outside… Come 'round, rant a little.'
'… Let myself have more than two drinks.'
'Have a bottle.'
Brian gave a small, humourless laugh that, were Sirius in a better mood, likely would endear some sympathy out of him.
'Right,' said Brian. 'Well, I'll come beck later.'
There was the sound of a light clap to a shoulder in the vaulted room, and then Brian headed for the stairs.
Sirius set the second mushroom aside and finally began on the actual potion. His fingers fell easily into their precise task: setting up leeches in syrup of Hellibore above a moderated flame to extract their anticoagulation properties; pouring two drams of vinegar into the searingly hot iridium cauldron; wielding the sliver knife to julienne valerian root… Another small bubble of gladness expanded and burst inside of him: he was good at potions, rarely failing with them, and his younger, more selfish self had been interested enough to learn them well.
But they were definitely running low on supplies. To be caught needing an ingredient and not having it on hand – if Sirius hadn't had everything ready today… The idea was enough to sour the back of Sirius's mouth and wrench his stomach upwards – that one simple fact, ability to create a potion – it meant they had a chance.
It was Hermione who joined Sirius first, looking to help. But if Sirius's hands had been shivering, hers were downright shaking. He couldn't look at them directly. To work out whether or not she was on a Contraceptive Potion – to know anything related to that aspect of their relationship – she'd need to submit to an examination. Sirius couldn't think about that. He'd have to try to steady those hands later – she'd need all the comfort she could get when the potion took effect.
He pushed her the mortar and pestle and, when Harry stepped up to Sirius's other side, handed his surer hands over the knife. Right now, Sirius couldn't look directly at either of them; couldn't be distracted by what his eyes could see. There was a vague sense of percussive comfort in the sounds of Hermione crushing Laotian Giant Huntsman cymbia and Harry slicing the pruned Deadlyius into strips thin enough to be translucent. If Sirius hadn't been informed and seen otherwise, he'd think Harry had inherited his mother's natural talent with potions. Hermione's skill, despite those unsteady hands, was all her own and well earned.
In a break between stirring the growing mixture in the cauldron, Sirius swallowed hard. His throat felt thick.
'Harry,' he said quietly, 'don't do anything stupid. If we don't come out of the courtroom, we'll get away. Do not,' he said with more emphasis, 'get yourself locked up.'
Harry didn't respond. His precision with the knife was as sure as it had been before Sirius had spoken.
'Harry,' Sirius prodded.
'I'm not losing either of you.'
The pure, frank simplicity of the statement shook at a core of self and memory within Sirius. He'd gone and said something pretty bloody similar to Lily and James. And he'd had twelve years in Azkaban as a result. He understood just fine. It was why he'd warned Harry off.
'Neither am I,' Sirius responded pointedly.
Harry stilled for a minute.
'You wouldn't leave,' he muttered very quietly. 'I know that.'
Sirius just shook his head and answered it was fine, scraping the prepared root into the cauldron and sweeping it to congeal evenly with his wand. True to her form in better situations than this, Hermione's pounding with the pestle had grown gentler and quieter as she listened, but neither Sirius, nor, it appeared, Harry, had anything more to say.
Author's Note
... Sorry!
