Chapter 152: I've Got You

Music Suggestion: "Familiar", Agnes Obel

Hermione had already faced Sirius and Harry. Kreacher, in comparison, wasn't bad at all. When they went down to dinner that evening, he didn't rebuke her. He did mention he'd noticed she'd eaten some of the leftovers, but that was in the form of, 'Kreacher thought something different from shepherd's pie for tonight!' as he presented them with a very vegetable-laden soup. He also served Hermione some of that green drink he used to. Making up for lost time spent trying to nibble the occasional crisp, she assumed: he was going to feed her as many nutrients as he could. Hermione wondered whether Sirius had told Kreacher not to pressure her too. She was fairly certain he had.

They carried the shampoo and conditioner up with them to the fourth floor. Hermione, as well, carried her razor. Turning to face Sirius as they entered the eccentric bathroom, she brandished it.

'Can I… tidy myself up first?' she asked.

Sirius looked at her razor.

'No,' he answered simply.

Hermione lowered the razor.

'If you really want to be alone, Mione,' he went on, 'I'll leave you alone. But I don't care if you're hairy.'

Well, Hermione supposed, that answered that question. It was more the bruises she was concerned about, however. Chewing the inside of her lip, she considered Sirius.

'I was thinking,' she said eventually, 'I'd… try to Heal the… bruises myself.'

Sirius was still for a moment. Then he swallowed, his face stiff, nodded, and turned back for the door.

'Not that –' Hermione called after him, feeling like she was pushing him away all over again. 'I was just thinking,' she pressed on, 'that it's unfair to have you do it – unfair to make you go through that again. Not that… I want you to go.'

Sirius had stopped in the doorway. Slowly, he turned around. For a moment, he considered his words, then said, 'I don't want to be shut out, Mione.'

She'd shut him out of a bathroom enough for one week. Hermione nodded hastily, hurried toward him and, Sirius stepping into the room, closed the door behind him. She pulled a quick smile Sirius didn't really return, and nodded again.

'Okay,' she said, dumping the razor and her wand beside the recessed shower. 'I just… I'm sorry…'

It felt like it was the first time she'd ever undressed before him all over again. Sirius just stood there, watching, as Hermione lifted the hem of her top. She turned her eyes to the floor as she deposited that and her bra aside, not liking the stoic staring he was doing. Her hands had started shivering by the time she went for the close of her jeans.

Hermione was pretty sure she could work out part of why Sirius didn't look happy: a week ago, she hadn't been able to do up these jeans. With a full stomach, they didn't fit well now, the button popping, relieved, open when she undid it. But she'd gotten them on easily enough.

And he wouldn't look any happier once she got them off.

Maybe, if she could have gotten a moment to herself beforehand… she could have tried to Heal the bruises then. But Hermione knew it was a foolish thing to think. Perhaps the ideal would have been that. Yet she had had time to herself, using the loo. And had thought all three times she had that she hadn't any ability to feel love for herself right now, away from Sirius. If she couldn't even like herself, her chances of Healing herself were next to nil.

It seemed, with him there, she floundered in that area anyway.

Slipping down her jeans and panties, she shoved them aside and grabbed her wand. She knew, from the moment she did, that she had no hope of managing it right now. Her wand tip shook with her hand as she tried to point it at a yellowish bruise on her thigh. Hermione wasn't even sure she wanted to try. Damaging herself more with a miscast spell wouldn't help.

'Hermione…'

Hermione stood straight, her wand in her fist, and pressed her fingers into her eyes.

He knew she couldn't do it too.

And Hermione felt more than exposed. Like she hadn't with Sirius for so long, standing there naked before him just made her feel shame and humiliation.

She felt Sirius take her wand out of her hand. Opening her eyes, she saw him squatting, then kneeling down before her.

'This was what I wanted to avoid you doing,' she whispered, as Sirius pointed her own wand at her leg.

The green light of his spell left her thigh looking a thousand times better – like a clean spot in a patchwork of awful. Never mind her hairy leg. Months ago, even Sirius seeing her be hairy would have been embarrassing – would have been something Hermione recoiled from, desperate to rid herself of it.

That past worry paled in comparison.

Like he had after that awful inquiry, Sirius just leant in, silent, and pressed a kiss to her thigh.

Hermione caught his head, feeling even worse that this time – this time – it was only her who'd made him do that.

But Sirius didn't stop. He took care of every bruise, then stood back up and mutely handed Hermione her wand.

She stared up at him, worried. Scared she'd upset him more.

Sirius's jaw clenched, the muscles in his cheeks appearing.

'It's okay,' he whispered, proffering her wand again. Automatically, Hermione took it. 'I don't mind helping.'

Hermione's head tipped, and she planted it in the centre of his chest. As they always did, Sirius's arms rose to encircle her. He pressed a kiss to her hair.

'You look thin.'

Hermione shuddered. That was exactly how Sirius could sound when he wasn't happy about something.

She drew a deep breath, held it, then said, 'I can't possibly have lost that much weight in a single week, Sirius.'

His grip loosened a little. Hermione pulled back to look up at him. Sirius's jaw had clenched again. He swallowed.

'You look like you have.'

Hermione's teeth caught the inside of her lip, worrying it between them.

'Did you eat at all?' Sirius asked, more quietly.

'A – a bit,' Hermione admitted, on a tight breath. '... Not much stayed down…'

She was very glad she had eaten something the night before. She'd been more out of breath climbing the stairs than usual that evening, but it was nothing compared to how she'd been last night. Chances were Sirius hadn't seen much of that, and Hermione was more than grateful for it.

He took the admission with a nod, and rubbed her arms.

'… It's probably mostly water weight,' Hermione offered.

Sirius nodded again, and tried a small smile.

'I shouldn't make a big deal of it,' he said quietly.

'But it bothers you,' Hermione whispered.

Sirius acknowledged it with another small, sad smile.

'It makes you look fragile,' he said, earnest. 'And…' Not with a smile, the crinkles around his eyes appeared as they tightened. 'I hated this week Hermione.'

Stretching up, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. She was pulling him down to her, but, for all that, it felt like the embrace was for his benefit. Sirius treated it like it was: gripping her close and pressing his face into her shoulder.

It was actually relieving, that he did – that he sought her comfort. Maybe this was how he felt he'd pushed her to be okay for him, before, but… what was a way around that? It had hurt him. It all had upset him. And he wouldn't feel okay until she was fine.

What a mess they were, Hermione thought, slipping her fingers into his hair and trailing tender scratches over his scalp. Interdependent, to a level, perhaps, that wasn't healthy.

But how, in all honesty, would putting barriers between their dependence help either of them? Hermione needed him as much as Sirius needed her.

She kissed his cheek, gently and tenderly, feeling the prickles of his stubble.

'I love you,' she whispered.

Sirius drew back enough to say the same. What he added on the end was, 'More than anything,' and then lifted her a little off the floor to press his lips to hers.

He let her go eventually, and when he did the concern had eased, somewhat, from his face. He didn't leave her the only naked one in the room either.

Stepping down into the shower to turn it on for them, he was as glorious as ever. It would take Sirius more than just a week to start looking ill, Hermione figured. It'd taken him an entire Azkaban sentence last time.

But he still looked to her a picture of his own history. The fine white scars that caught the light in places as he moved; the contrast of those ink black tattoos on his chest and arm… And his tired eyes, ringed with lack of sleep.

For Sirius, it'd be a history interconnected: the scars would be some of his worst memories, him forced to relive them every day for twelve years in Azkaban. And Hermione was sure, over all those nights she'd spent avoiding him, she'd left him alone to the memory of Azkaban.

To Hermione, it was a sight that made her feel deeply guilty. And beneath that, it was one that inspired great admiration. Sirius, standing with an upturned hand feeling for the warming spray of shower water, was like an icon of survival. Survival he'd faced head on. That he'd come through with such love and forgiveness still in his heart.

Yet the way he was watching her still didn't look happy. Hermione supposed he didn't want to joke – to pretend all was fine. But she wished he'd help add a bit of levity to the situation.

She pulled a small smile.

'You're amazing,' she told him.

Sirius considered that, a small twitch between his brows.

'Why?' he asked.

Hermione shook her head, pulling another, more touched smile to her face.

'Just… everything,' she said. 'You're everything.'

That didn't make Sirius look any happier.

'It's hard to believe you're really human,' Hermione added, trying to inject that levity herself.

It worked, just a little. Sirius quirked an eyebrow, stepping under the stream from the shower.

'You and Harry,' he said, wry, 'what is it with thinking I'm not human?'

Her razor listing in her hand, Hermione watched Sirius douse his hair, then grab up the shampoo bottle. His head became a sudsy mess under scrubbing fingers.

'I think,' Hermione answered belatedly, watching Sirius rinse the shampoo from his head, 'it's because you're perfect. Right now… I'm thinking you'd make a great advertisement for a shampoo brand.'

Sirius shoved suds out of his eyes, rinsed his face in the falling stream of water, then wiped the water off as he stuck his head out of the shower to see her.

'Because my hair is long and glossy?' he asked, runnels of water trickling down his face – and there was some of his usual innate humour in it.

'That,' Hermione agreed, 'and you're sexy as hell.'

It did surprise a short chuckle out of Sirius.

'Biggleworth's,' he said, the pitch of his voice deep and the cadence one that made Hermione think he'd seen a variety of TV advertisements, 'tough enough for a man, soft enough for a woman.'

That made Hermione chuckle.

'It's Wattleflower and Bentley, Sirius. Have you never looked at the bottle?'

'Not that closely!' Sirius called back, as he stuck his head back in the spray to get the last suds out of it.

'You'd have to wash your hair more luxuriantly, though,' Hermione pointed out, going back to her shaving. 'It won't be as pretty an advert if you just scrub it and rinse.'

Under the stream, though his hair was now sud-free, Sirius slid luxuriant fingers into his hair, combing it until it was all on only one side of his head, the falling water making it shimmer.

Hermione smiled at him, glad he'd indulged her.

The humour dissipated, but, at least, when it did, it was into a companionable silence. Around her shaving, Hermione glanced up at him, unable to keep her eyes away. On a number of occasions, she caught Sirius watching her back. He did it openly, and, though he looked like he hadn't forgotten his concern, with gentle affection.

How lucky she was – those were the thoughts that absorbed Hermione as she sat on the side of the recessed shower, rinsing off her razor again and again. It was the big things – it was Sirius not giving up on her, no matter what. Doing anything to be there for her.

And it was the smaller things. It was him not caring at all that her body hair had grown. For so long, Hermione realised, she'd thought just her having hairy legs and armpits would repulse anyone. Make her socially unacceptable. It seemed the least of Sirius's concerns.

It was that she had a husband who could watch her with affectionate eyes, even though she'd put him through hell. That bruises she'd given herself had been things he could forgive her for – that he could still gaze, caring, at her after that.

That, no matter what, he'd still be there. Just glad to be with her.

Feeling great tenderness towards him, Hermione looked up from the very unsexy task of shaving her armpits to see Sirius looking back at her.

He'd held her hair back every time he'd been around while she vomited with morning sickness. He'd heard every single one of her worries, reassured her on all of them. He'd gotten her something to eat; gone out to buy her craving food. He'd read those pregnancy books. He'd been there for every appointment – reassured her through all of them.

Hermione had thought, when the pregnancy had first been confirmed, that she had one big thing to be grateful for: Sirius would never stare over her shoulder at a woman he found more attractive. She saw it confirmed before her – had seen it throughout the week. Sirius never would. It didn't matter if she got to be the size of a house in five months' time. It wouldn't matter if she needed him to help her out of the bathtub. It wouldn't matter if she just sat on the floor, disgruntled in panties and one of his t-shirts, with nothing else that fit.

Or lost her mind entirely, and spent days stuck in self-pity locked in a bathroom. He'd be there. He'd see only her…

Though…

'Sirius,' Hermione said quietly, 'wh… what do you think about when you masturbate?'

Sirius had been soaping his foot. Slowly, he put it down and looked up at her.

The question had discomforted him. Hermione could see it. She shook her head and tried a smile.

'It's okay,' she said quickly. 'I just… I saw you… And – I probably shouldn't have asked.'

'Your legs around my head.'

'Oh…'

Sirius made a small motion, like an uncomfortable shrug of admittance.

'That's what I was thinking about,' he went on. 'It makes me feel dirty, Hermione,' he added, more quietly, 'doing that.'

'Oh…' Hermione said again. '… Why?'

Sirius dug finger and thumb into his eyes.

'I don't know,' he muttered. He dropped his fingers and blinked at her. 'Maybe it's… it's only okay if you're there. Otherwise… it's creepy.'

'I don't think so,' Hermione said. 'I don't mind – I… like that you think of that.'

What she'd minded was how guilty it had made her feel, knowing things weren't right between them, and she was the cause of it.

She'd been a terrible wife to him. But from here on out, Hermione decided, she'd make sure he knew he was appreciated.

Hermione didn't think Sirius wanted to talk more about it, though, so she just offered him a smile and propped a foot up on the side of the shower, readying the shaving cream to take care of the pubic hair she'd never before seen on herself. Not this thick, at least.

For a long moment, Sirius just watched her. It wasn't quite arousal in his features, Hermione thought, but the look did grow more interested.

'Does it bother you as much, anymore?' he asked, setting the soap on the side of the shower. 'Not having it shaved?'

'Not as much,' Hermione said honestly. 'I still… don't really like the look of it, but I'm not as… repulsed by it as I was.'

In the past, she reflected, seeing the growing stubble of her pubic hair had felt… obscene. Revolting and confronting. Now it just felt she'd become desensitised to it, not focusing on what she didn't want her pubic hair to be, and instead just focusing on making it how she did want it. The little patch she, once again, shaved around, had been something she'd originally left as some kind of concession to Sirius's sensibilities, and an acknowledgement of her adulthood. Now Hermione left the area of longer hairs with more appreciation for them – thinking the small area actually looked sort of cute: trimmed and neat.

Everything else still went though, Hermione ridding it all before rinsing off her razor for a last time and joining Sirius under the showerhead with the shampoo and conditioner.

Combing out her hair took copious amounts of conditioner, and pained application of the comb. It was a task that had Hermione seating herself, frustrated, on the floor of the shower, her front slick with conditioner as she tried to comb it from the lower parts first.

They hadn't turned on the bottom taps that would fill the rock pool, but the water was collecting around Hermione's legs all the same. Droplets from the shower danced a raucous party above the stone pavers.

Shifting behind her, Sirius sat down too. He caught her hand when Hermione gave the comb a more irritated yank through a bunchy knot, hearing a few hairs shred. With a mute kiss to her shoulder, he took the comb from her fingers and scooped the mass of her hair to hang down her back.

'Maybe I just need to cut it off,' Hermione muttered, despondent. She leant forward against her knees as, much more gently than she'd been, Sirius started easing the knots out with combing fingers.

'Mm…' Sirius hummed quietly. 'You might need to trim it,' he added, his voice soft, 'but I don't think you'll have to cut it off.'

Primarily, Hermione thought as the silence returned but for the pattering of water, because he had far more patience than she did.

And that he did became meditative. His knee was up against the side of her back. With a gentle spray of warm droplets on her shoulder, Hermione leant against it, feeling herself calm as Sirius combed, slowly and surely, through the knots in her hair. It felt like he was methodically erasing from her the final sign of the terrible week with trailing fingers and dedicated untangling of knot after knot.

It was something he liked to do: run his fingers through her hair; watch curly tendrils that had slipped free… More and more, he was able to get his fingers through it, until he left the comb to the sudsy water, using just his fingers now as Hermione leant in under the shower head's steady downpour.

From top to bottom, Sirius's fingers combed, scooping back the sheeting drape of Hermione's hair from the sides of her face; aggregating and squeezing it out in a long rope down her back. Her hair was nice when wet, Hermione thought – when tamed by the stream of a shower. It fulfilled her childhood ideas about mermaids.

Wrung out for a last time, Sirius passed her hair to hang over Hermione's shoulder. She leant back against him, Sirius's face lowering to her neck, treating it to an intimate and open-mouthed kiss. Hermione's fingers found the firmness of his thigh; found their way into his wet hair.

He was hesitant, but only initially. A hand that made its cautious way to the side of Hermione's breast was met with her back arching against him, turning into him; realising then how much his intimate touch had been missed. And so he grew bolder, scooping her breast, it looking bigger and heavier than it ever had before in his long-fingered hand. He brought thumb and forefinger to her nipple, rolling it very gently. He traced the inside of her thigh, swirling against it; his arms familiar and forward on Hermione's body.

It was a wet, slick, warm undoing, like a natural extension of the process of untangling her hair. Sirius's fingers traced down between her legs, exploring and tantalising. He cupped her with his hand, fingers rolling, one at a time, to press into her sensitive flesh, Hermione's arm hooking around his head to hold his lips to where he was sucking and nibbling just below her jaw.

Sirius let go of her breast, reaching behind her. Hermione leant forward, giving him space to ease his erection out into the greater comfort of resting against her back. Then she squirmed back against him, feeling that hard need as Sirius's hand returned to be warm and gently kneading over the responsive hill of a boob. His middle finger delved past his tightly cupping hand and pressed itself into her.

He knew her buttons well. Sirius pushed them, loosening Hermione's insides into swelling, soggy mush. He had the knuckle of a finger against the deeply tender, pleasurable space between her clitoris and opening, rubbing it; his thumb stroking above that electric bud higher up; his finger crooking inside her; mouth and breath hot on her throat. He rolled, just gentle enough, a hard nipple that twanged feeling down to where his other hand played her like an instrument he knew perfectly.

Breathing heavily, Hermione twisted in his arms, scrabbling her feet around and over Sirius's leg; corralling his eager mouth to hers.

There was Sirius's erection when it was stiff and brilliantly useful. Then there was Sirius's erection when he'd been denied sex for a couple weeks. An inadequate layer of taught skin over a rod of steel. Bigger, almost – jutting aggressively up. An angry red.

It was as though massaging it was releasing that same hardness to spread through Sirius. With every lingering revolution of her thumb over its velveteen head, his hands lost more of their give: hard and unrelenting on her head and side; his teeth gritting off centre, his kiss stilted, and when responsive, bruising.

Hermione knew the change. In her mind, she had a clear picture of the anger in him. The smouldering of hurt and frustration she'd caused him that she was drawing from him now. In a curious way she needed him to let it out – to let her feel it. Needed to address it and know the rawness of it.

Hermione pushed down, catching Sirius's nipple with demanding teeth, his hand tightening then releasing in her hair. She pushed further, pressing his leg open, and got just the head of his penis in her mouth.

'Stand up,' she told him, lifting her head away. Her hand was firm on his chest, getting onto her knees. And she met Sirius's eyes. She'd known he'd been breathing hard. The look in his face was ferocious.

He did stand up. And then, a second of hesitation, before he caught her arm and pulled her up too. He shut off the shower.

When Hermione saw Sirius's face again, it was like the switch had flipped right back. The ferocity was gone. As though he'd buried it all over again.

He left her at the side of the recessed pool, stepping up out of it and striding over to where they'd left their towels. He spread them both on the floor, one over the other, then dropped back into the shower beside Hermione.

He caught her against him, his mouth finding hers in a deep kiss that had Hermione pressing as much of her body tight to his skin – absorbed by that hot, long, rubbery feel of him. And then he turned her toward the towels, easing her back until she lay down on them, him bent over her.

Sirius dropped to his knees, Hermione wincing for him at the sound of it against stone. She pushed up on her elbows to see him – to see no flinch in his face, his hands on her thighs.

'Ooh – Sirius –' she breathed. 'Your knees!'

'Don't worry 'bout them,' was Sirius's short response. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her thighs as he spread her legs and leant in.

Hermione eased herself to lie back down, her fingers going instinctively to curl into his hair.

It had been what he'd imagined – this being something he missed enough to think about it while he pleasured himself. And it felt like he needed it. Sirius's fingers tight on her thighs, he sucked her labia into his mouth – sent his tongue down to probe right into her. He pulled away only to spread her folds open for him, then he was holding her legs open again, his mouth a sucking, tonguing need.

Hermione mewled, and then, knowing it was what he wanted, wrapped her legs around his head, locking him against her.

Sirius grabbed her leg, but he didn't pull it away. He held it to him.

More giving than taking – perhaps that was why Sirius loved doing it. Or just a part of why he did. It made him feel he was being considerate.

He'd said before he thought this the most intimate act. The way he did it, it certainly felt that way. He gripped her hips and tilted them up for a better angle, he held her still as Hermione twitched and jerked against him. He looked up at her when she grabbed his hand to hold it; trailed his fingers over her torso, just feeling her; spread her folds open again to run his tongue right the way from opening to clitoris – to lap firm pleasure at places he knew made her writhe, tangle her fingers in his hair, and moan a long 'Oh god…' Pressed his tongue deep into her opening, the intrusion so insanely intimate Hermione locked her listing legs right back around his head and cried out.

He took her right to the brink, before pulling away. The towels bunched under Hermione as she shifted around to make room and grabbed for him as he came above her.

Sirius didn't give her a moment. His eyes fixed on her face, he fit himself to her, and shoved one hard, unforgiving thrust the entire way into her, his pelvis hitting, then pushing harder against her, Sirius rising with the force over Hermione's head, his teeth grit. He looked down at her, giving Hermione the barest second to gasp, invaded, stretched, and ridiculously full – caught between Sirius's pressure on her swollen and tender flesh, and the barely-cushioned floor – before pulling almost his entire way out, and doing it again, and again, and again – harder and faster, as punishing as Sirius would get.

The switch had flipped again. The ferocity was right back, intense in Sirius's face. Hermione caught the sides of his head, stroked his hair back; pinched her knees to his sides, wanting to stave off him ending up feeling bad about it after.

'Christ – Sirius!' she panted. 'Yes! Go for it!'

Too good and too much all at once. A wild, stretching, bruising, friction of a feeling. Hermione hung onto him. He'd been gentle. He'd been understanding. That was far from all that was inside Sirius. She could stroke him, push him, taunt him, and hurt him. Until he reached his end. Before he shoved back.

She'd wanted him to be angry with her – to rail at her. He was, finally, and it felt, gloriously, like an end for them both.

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut, her arms trying to pull herself up against Sirius to feel his torso against hers, that bruising pleasure abruptly acute and overpowering. She wasn't sure if she was screaming or sobbing – or both, but she broke hard and frantic, gripping at him as that great pleasure shot through her body in a maddening rush.

Breathing hard, her muscles easing, Hermione's eyes blinked open. They felt both dry and watering. She looked up into Sirius's stark gaze. Her arms raised, wrapping around him, her legs doing the same, squeezing his latest thrust in.

And Sirius's drive cracked.

He dropped to his elbows over her, Hermione catching his head and kissing him, sure she was feeling every panful ounce of his own torment in his slowing body. He rocked with her close between his clutching forearms. He got his hands under her back and shoulders. His anger was gone, the hurt and need in its place. Sirius's mouth hungry on hers, Hermione combing his hair away, time and time again, to see his face through brimming eyes. He was barely pulling out of her, pushing in rapidly, again and again, as though close and inside was all, now, he wanted.

'Don't doubt me again,' he said, and his voice was thick and breathy, pathetically vulnerable as such pleas made a person. His hips pushed into her, insistent and desperate, grinding a circle tight against Hermione's flesh. 'What you feel for me – don't – don't doubt it.'

Hermione's hand tightened in his hair, holding his forehead down to hers.

'I won't.'

'We're… even. I tried to push you away. You did – and… I can't –'

'I know,' Hermione's eyes squeezed shut against welling tears. 'I know.' She gripped him close, gulped, tensed at his latest demanding shove, and whispered, 'I've got you.'

Hermione's arms and legs tightened, holding him as hard as she could, pulling Sirius down, deep into her, on a shoving thrust that rubbed past an aftershock of pleasure that made her legs jump and abdomen convulse.

And Sirius helped. He forced a forearm under her shoulders, cradling the back of her head, supporting her neck as his other arm worked under her lower back, bowing it from the floor, his fingers digging into Hermione's hip.

This part was for him. Hermione held him close. Not for her own salacious enjoyment, but to keep him close as he made it towards his. As his body tightened up again, his face pressed into her neck, and he sought to be as deep inside her as he could reach – some kind of instinct, and, Hermione thought, just a way to feel as close to her as possible when he hit a peak of emotional vulnerability.

Slowly, she felt every one of the muscles in Sirius's back ease. With every one, he rested her further back on the towels, and with the last, sunk down, heavy atop her.

Kissing the side of his head, Hermione whispered just how much she loved him.