Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. All characters, places, descriptions, etc. (unless original and created by me) belong to her.
Summary: It was a small pack, of course, just the five of them, but together they were something wild. Hermione finds herself in the Marauder's Era with four new best friends.
Chapter 74: Descensus in Cuniculi Cavum*
17 June 1979
The Leaky Cauldron
Regulus Black was a dead man walking.
The Leaky Cauldron was filled to the brim of newly dubbed Hogwarts graduates, and the room swelled with noise and booze and freedom and life. His friends were laughing around him, well on their way to very, very drunk, and Regulus just felt numb.
He felt like he was walking through a dream as he watched his friends breathe levity into the night. He was watching his friends celebrate their last moments free from total entanglement in this war. He was watching his friends live.
Regulus had sunk into himself, eyes hooded as he haunted the realm of the living.
A pair of blonds, standing a head above the crowd on a set of benches. Whiskey and wine spilling from their glasses. Their perfected airs of propriety let down for this moment in time.
And a man with furrowed brows, dark focused eyes, and surprisingly, the beginnings of a beard. The cut edge to his face softened with a rare boyish smile.
Regulus watched them as if from behind a pane of glass. He wondered if they would hear him if he screamed.
"Лев."
Regulus' eyes came back into focus to see Antonin settling beside him, offering a bottle of something that smelled suspiciously like lighter fluid. Regulus shook his head. Antonin smirked and brought the bottle to his mouth, flames dancing on his skin as the liquor hit his lips. Regulus reached out to clap him on the back.
He could still touch them.
Regulus pulled the bottle from Antonin and threw back as much as he could stomach before coming up for air. The burn of whatever liquor swam in the bottle barely broke through the numbness that had settled in his bones.
"Лев. Are you going to come out and join the party?"
Regulus avoided his eyes. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"Нет." Antonin grabbed his face roughly, forcing Regulus to meet his gaze. "You are hiding inside for some reason. Why? I don't know." He gestured around to their little group of Slytherins. "You're friends are all here. Why aren't you?"
"I'm here, Toshka." Regulus pulled his face away. If it had been Yax or Narcissa he would have faked a smile, but not with Antonin. "Just overwhelmed, I think."
"Yes. No. Good. You're already thinking ahead." Antonin took another flame-laced drink and looked out at the crowd. "They are too young, I think, to feel the weight of it, yet."
"We're all the same age."
"Not in here." Antonin brought two fingers to his temple. "Or here." He brought them down to his heart.
"How old does that make us then?" Regulus wanted to drink again, but he needed to keep his head clear. He still had things to do.
"Well, I am as old as the shadow that lingers when sun comes up." Antonin nodded to himself before looking back at Regulus to assess him. On anyone else, these drunken musings would sound pretentious and indulgent, but the words held their full weight with Antonin. "But you are not that old. Not even close, my friend."
"So what? A hundred? Two hundred?"
Antonin laughed. "Нет, нет. A number? No, no, no. But if you must have one—" He narrowed his eyes and prodded at Regulus' face, running his finger by the corners of his eyes. "Not yet 40."
"That young?"
"You asked for a number, Лев, and I would not deprive you of too many years."
Regulus could only nod and take the bottle for another drink.
How do you spend your time when you know you're going to die?
The numbness was starting to fade, and Regulus had already begun to feel too much as he looked out at his friends. The hour was late. It was already a new day, the last day. It was time for him to leave. He pulled Antonin into a hug, pounding his fist on his friend's back to keep from clinging to his side.
"I'm heading out, Toshka. Tell the others I said goodbye."
"When will we see you again, Лев?"
"I don't know."
Antonin nodded. He put a hand on the back of Regulus' neck and pulled his head down until they rested forehead to forehead. Eyes closed and for just a moment the noise dimmed around them. With a kiss to the temple, Antonin let him go.
"Goodbye, Regulus."
18 June 1979
12 Grimmauld Place
He apparated to the back garden first, bracing himself on the fence before vomiting bile into the bushes. His fingers twitched at his side. Regulus took a deep breath and then turned once more, landing in the darkness of his bedroom.
Reaching under his bed, he pulled out a small satchel Hermione had charmed for him and paused. For the first time since the choice had presented itself, Regulus had doubts. Not about taking the horcrux, or trusting Hermione, but—
He was scared, frightened.
He looked around his room, this fortress he'd cultivated, and he felt lonely. This was his home, but it was giving him nothing in this moment. He was alone. In the hidden recesses of his heart, a little boy cried out for his family, but the house around him was silent. He would find no comfort here.
"Kreacher," he whispered, taking a breath to try to recapture the numbness. He had never been good at occluding.
"Master Regulus." Kreacher appeared before him and fell into a bow.
Regulus knelt down to meet him eye to eye. "It's time to go to the cave."
Kreacher shivered and fingered at the hem of his tunic. His eyes slipped from Regulus, but still he held out his hand for the young man to take.
The Cave
The numbness returned, and Regulus wrapped himself in it as he stood at the mouth of a cave on the edge of an angry black lake. Mist and fog covered the land, and all Regulus could see was the threat of rocks and waves behind him and the dark unknown of the cavern before him. The air was wet and cold, but it had a thickness to it that made it hard to catch his breath.
Regulus followed Kreacher silently. The house elf trembled as they made their way inside, and Regulus cursed himself for involving Kreacher.
They stopped at a small door, and before Regulus could question, Kreacher stuck out his hand, pulled a fingernail across his own palm, and pressed it to the stone, pressing until blood slipped down to drip on the ground below.
"Why did you do that?" Regulus immediately pulled the house elf close, running a healing spell over the wound. When it didn't close, he ripped away part of his shirt to tie around Kreacher's hand.
"To help young Master Regulus."
Regulus sighed and closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw and steeled himself before standing again. He followed Kreacher until once more the house elf stuck out his hand.
"There is boat, Master Regulus."
He could hear the boat coming, could sense it in the air, but he couldn't turn his eyes away from the lake within this cave that stretched out before them. The waters were black, the depth immeasurable. The surface sat undisturbed, a mirror for the darkness that enclosed the space. But the tension was taught across the water. And he knew what lurked beneath, waiting. Regulus turned away.
Kreacher grasped for his hand and pulled him toward the boat. And Regulus followed. He held his breath until they landed at the rocky island, and only when both feet were on solid ground did he reach again for air. Kreacher hobbled his way up to the basin, while Regulus paused behind. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small items.
The first, his coin, twinned with Hermione's. He ran his thumb across the face and watched the letters appear one after the other.
At the cave. See you soon.
He waited just seconds for her reply.
Be careful. Be safe.
Get here in one piece.
He brought the coin to his lips in a silent prayer and tucked it away into the satchel before turning to the second item he'd pulled. He held a small bundle of blue handkerchief, careful not to reveal the small medallion nestled inside, the portkey Lycoris had gifted Hermione. And the first key to his new life. Regulus made sure to keep it wrapped so as not to trigger it with his touch as he dropped it back into his pocket. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and followed Kreacher to the highest point of the island.
"Kreacher," Regulus began when he reached the basin. "I'm afraid have a couple more things to ask of you."
"Of course, Master Regulus." The house elf bowed.
"I need to get this horcrux, Kreacher. We must not stop until I have it. Do you understand?"
Kreacher shivered at the memory of the potion sitting before them, but he looked at Regulus and nodded. "Yes, Master Regulus."
"If anything happens to me, you must leave here and destroy it."
"But Master Regulus—"
"That is an order, Kreacher."
"Yes, Master Regulus." He bowed again.
"And finally," Regulus began. He needed to ask this to protect her. If anyone had questions, if anyone had doubts—he needed to keep her safe. "Kreacher, I need you to forget you ever met Hermione Granger. Forget everything you know about her. About us being friends, about her coming to Grimmauld Place, all of it. Forget it, ignore it. Hide it in the back of your mind, but do not tell a soul anything about her."
Kreacher nodded.
"This is also an order. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master Regulus."
Regulus exhaled. "Okay." He knelt at the basin, strengthening his occlumency walls. "Let's begin."
It had started in his chest. A slight chill, as if the poison was ice cold. It took Regulus three cupfuls before he noticed the burn. The ice and fire met at a singular point, sinking into each other before skittering out within his body like roots. And there was a hunger to it.
The agony was excruciating, the fire and ice fighting a millennia of wars within his body. His mental defenses had been torn down at the first drop, and now his mind was ripped in two. One part crying out in desperation as Kreacher poured more of the poison down his throat. He cried and sobbed, begging for forgiveness, for leniency. He spoke secrets and confessed wishes he hadn't even admitted to himself, and still the horcrux lay out of reach. And still more poison remained to be drunk. And still he begged.
And the other part of him slipped deeper and deeper into a hell of his own making. There was no salvation here. No ladder or light. No hope or mercy. Just all the darkness that had ever touched Regulus' life.
It wasn't a pain he could name or point to on his body. It was a rounded sort that cut to the quick of him, that sliced through his being until it reached his soul. For another man, it may have been shame that was found at the deepest pit. Or anger. Or jealousy. But the thing that lay at the core of Regulus, the aftermath left behind by too many who had touched his life, was loneliness. A wound so deep within that Regulus clawed at his chest, hoping it would cave in to fill the void.
His vision splintered into every moment he ever felt alone, diminished, left behind, forgotten, neglected, unwanted, unneeded. Every moment that was stolen, predetermined, shoved down his throat, torn away from his hands and given to another. The moments when he was cast aside. The spare son. The moment he was forced forward. The replacement. The moment he was marked. The damned. And the moment he killed. The unredeemable.
And when these moments seemed to run out, they replayed themselves over and over and over and over and over, until they seared themselves into the meat of his body laid bare.
And yet—
Despite the fear and the pain, Regulus felt the chains he wore burn away at his sides. Despite fighting each sip and each swallow, Regulus opened his mouth willingly to drink this poison, understanding it would only bring more pain. But this mission of his was too great, too important, and for this, he kept drinking.
Each sip brought new sacrifice which he offered up, both hands grasping the cup through Kreacher's in holy surrender. Each sip killed a part of him, and Regulus welcomed the dying of his former self.
He was choosing his fight. He hadn't chosen the war he was marked to serve in, but he would choose his side now. And that is who Regulus Black would die for. The life he'd led, the weight of it all, he slipped from it, shedding the past away. He reveled in the pain of his decision, happily paying the price for this choice. He would reclaim this body.
"Master Regulus, Master Regulus." Kreacher's voice, repeated and insistent, filtered in through the pain.
Regulus blinked, but still his eyes were unseeing. The torture throbbed at his mind, pulsing through its roots lazily like a heartbeat.
"Master Regulus."
He tried to breathe, tried to speak. His mind fumbled trying to raise walls against an enemy that was already inside.
But slowly the roots retreated, the pain centralized and Regulus could make out the island and the cave and Kreacher. And the locket his house elf now held in his hand.
"Master Regulus, is this what you were looking for?"
It was grotesque. Regulus could feel it, reaching for him. His marked arm moved on its own to grab ahold, and the second it touched him, his tattooed skin squirmed like a beast trapped. Regulus stared at it with horrified curiosity. Was it—Was it whispering?
His body shuddered from the effects of the poison. He shook his head. He needed to focus.
He pulled out his wand. "Gemino." His voice was ragged and weak, but it did the trick. The locket folded over itself to reveal a copy. The magic could only go so far, though. Regulus could see the imperfections, and the copy certainly didn't have the burdened weight of the Dark Lord's soul.
He threw out his hand toward Kreacher, letting the house elf pry apart his fingers so he could take the original. Regulus panted and looked back at the cursed basin. He staggered forward, bracing himself against the edge before opening the locket. Hermione had mentioned a letter, something that would lead her to him later, but she hadn't disclosed the contents. He'd troubled over it for days, but when he sat down to write, the words had come easy.
He'd signed it R.A.B. He hoped it would be enough.
He pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and shoved it inside before dropping the locket into the now empty basin. The moment it touched the bottom, the poison refilled, sloshing against the sides. Regulus' body shook.
"Master Regulus." Kreacher once more came to his side.
"Kr—" His voice dried up in his throat as another tremor shattered through him. Regulus fell to his knees, a whimper escaping his clenched jaw. He pushed himself up and began to pull forward, crawling and falling, to the edge of the island. Water. Water. He needed water. He would die without something to drink. The thirst was invigorating, all-encompassing, forcing him to find the strength to rectify it.
"Master Regulus?" Kreacher's voice fell to the distance as Regulus pulled himself over sharp rocks, ignoring the blood being drawn from his flesh.
And finally, the lake. It stretched out before him like salvation. The cold, cool surface, untouched and inviting. He only needed to reach out and drink.
Regulus pulled a hand forward, struggling to rest himself on his elbows. He was so close. He stretched out. The water began to ripple. And as Regulus reached for the lake, the lake reached back.
Hands of bone and rotted flesh snatched at his arm, twisting his wrist and digging under his fingernails. And then they pulled, the cold of the water hitting Regulus' eyes first as he sank beneath the surface.
Hands reached out to touch and grab and pull and yank. Jagged fingernails tore at his clothes and skin. They pulled at his hair, poked at his eyes and sank their teeth into his flesh. But it was enough. Enough to wake the flame of self-preservation that had sat waiting. Waiting. Regulus thrashed below the water, trying desperately to reach the surface, but these hands kept pulling, kept pushing him down. The light was fading. His chest burned. He kicked and clawed and fought his way along his own skin to find his pocket, fingers searching and grasping for the blue handkerchief. He could barely see a thing.
A bite landed on his ear, tearing a chunk away. Regulus spasmed, throwing his head back in a drowned cry. The handkerchief unfurled. A gold medallion floated, catching the last stretch of light for a moment before it started to sink. Regulus' eyes grew wide and he scrambled, clawing over bones and matted hair, his fingers breaking into loose muscle as he fought to reach the coin. He stretched out a hand. His vision started to darken. So close, he was so close.
He couldn't breathe.
As the water stilled once more, a crying house elf clutched a locket and apparated away.
18 June 1979
The Death Chamber
Hermione wrung her hands together staring at the presentation she'd laid at the base of the Veil like an offering. Potions and salves and elixirs she'd had no business getting her hands on waited for a patient to treat. It had taken the last of her monetary reserves to acquire it all, but it would be worth it. When Regulus arrived, it would be worth it.
She stood and started to pace again. She'd arrived at the Ministry hours ago, long before Regulus was meant to be at the cave. She wanted to be ready, in case of anything. She needed to be ready. So she organized her healing supplies and she paced, and she laughed at how a few hours of waiting was already too much for her to handle. Waiting. Lycoris had arrived at some point, stopping in to observe her for a few minutes before disappearing back into the shadows of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione had no doubt he would make himself known again the moment Regulus returned.
So she was left to wait. Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Wait—
His body slammed to the floor in front of her. Wet and freezing cold, shivering and whimpering, his clothes torn and skin bloodied.
"Regulus!" Hermione ran to his side and got to work.
Her wand danced over his body, hands shaking all the while. She massaged potion after potion down his throat until his body threatened to undue her help. She closed his cuts and scratches, cleared the blood and mended his clothes. She dripped dittany on the worst of him and brushed his hair while she muttered under her breath.
And all the while, Lycoris Black watched from the shadows.
When she'd done all she could, Hermione held him in her arms, praising him and soothing him. "I'm here, Rabbit. You're okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay. You're safe. I've got you. You're going to be okay, Rabbit. You did so well. You did so well. I'm so proud of you, Regulus. I'm so proud."
She held him until he stilled and his breathing evened. His eyes opened slowly and Hermione broke out a sob when he smiled up at her.
"Hey, Granger."
"Hi, Rabbit."
"I did it." His eyes were wet with tears. Hermione brushed them away.
"You did it." Her words were like a balm to his weary soul. Regulus closed his eyes. He started to move, but Hermione held him down. "Not yet, Rabbit. Just—Just wait a moment."
"Granger, we can't—" Regulus fought against her to sit up. "We're not done yet. If Kreacher sees the tapestry, if he sees I'm still alive…" His voice trailed as he turned to face the Veil for the very first time.
Hermione got to her feet, closing her eyes and turning from him. She busied herself with her potions, picking through them for the right ones. "I know. I know. But—I—Rabbit." She sighed.
"I know." Regulus returned to her and took the potions from her hands. The strongest invigoration elixirs they could find. Enough to keep his body going for hours without the rest it so desperately needed. It was reckless, with the potions already at work on his body, but Hermione had insisted on it, still afraid of the world he'd emerge to find.
She stood before him and unstoppered each, watching Regulus closely as he drank. Each potion brought back light to his face. He closed his eyes and she reached out to touch his cheek. When Regulus looked at her again, he looked with bright eyes. He smiled and laughed, and his eyes shone.
"I did it," he breathed out. "I got it. Granger, I did it." He was high off the victory. Hermione could only smile weakly as he wrapped her up in another hug. "I knew I could do it, but-but I did it."
Tears started to track their way down Hermione's cheeks. She buried herself in Regulus' arms as Lycoris' footsteps echoed across the stone.
"Kreacher will destroy it," Regulus whispered into her ear, the edges of his smile brushing her hair. "This part's over."
He pulled away from her and nodded at Lycoris. The elder Black stepped up to meet them. He stuck out a hand as if to greet his great-nephew, but then he turned it over to reveal a small vial sitting in his palm. Hermione's eyes shot to his face.
"Ms. Granger, surely you didn't think I'd just allow this to happen."
"What is that?" She put one foot in front of Regulus.
"Veritaserum." Lycoris held up a hand to stop Hermione's protests. "I will only require a few drops."
"I'll do it." Regulus smiled down at Hermione and reached for the vial. He held it over his tongue, letting one, two, three drops fall before he pulled away. He turned and nodded at Lycoris.
"Are you here of your own free will?"
"I am."
"And you know what the Veil is, what it means for you?"
"I do." Regulus' smile never dropped.
"And you are choosing to enter it of your own free will?"
"I am."
"And you trust her?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Regulus looked at Hermione. For a moment, she thought he would tell Lycoris the truth, that she'd come from the future with the knowledge of his fate. From the gleam in Lycoris' eyes, it looked as if he was thinking the same. But when Regulus responded, that was not what he said.
"Because she saved me."
Hermione could no longer ignore her tears. Lycoris looked between them and nodded, satisfied. He put a hand on Regulus' shoulder, barely touching him. And then wordlessly, he left, leaving them alone in the echoed silence of the Death Chamber.
Watching his great-uncle leave, Regulus dug into the satchel at his side. When his hand emerged, he held in it a sealed letter. Reaching for Hermione's hands, he placed it on her palms.
"It's not much, but I hope it can be useful."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, turning the letter over in her hands.
"Your vow with Dumbledore," Regulus started. "I found a loophole." He nodded toward the letter. "If you ever need anyone else to know, give them this."
"Oh, Regulus."
"Like I said, it's not much. It will only help if the person you're giving it to has reason to trust me. So, limiting, I know, but I hope it can still do some good."
Hermione ran her fingers over the parchment before tucking it away at her side. She hesitated to look back at Regulus. "How long do you think the veritaserum lasts?"
Regulus chuckled. "Not long. I can feel it fading."
It was selfish and unfair, but she had to ask again. "Do you ever regret befriending me?"
"Hermione." He waited until she looked up at him. "I thought—that night in the Astronomy Tower, Sirius' birthday? I thought you were meant to help him. I never—I never thought—Hermione, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Hermione reached for Regulus' hands. "Rabbit—"
Regulus smiled, not the potion-drunk smile of victory, but a smile just for her. "I think you've managed to instill a little Gryffindor bravery in me after all. I don't know if it makes any sense, but I know that I can do this." He glanced at the Veil, at the shadows that lied ahead. "It makes it easier, walking into this, knowing you'll be waiting for me. That you'll be there when I step out."
He started walking toward the Veil, the black draping reaching out as if hungry to touch him. Hermione lunged for his arm.
"I don't know when I can bring you back. Be—Just be prepared for anything, okay? "
Regulus pulled her into a hug, granting her his strength when her knees threatened to fall. He pulled himself back, his hands moving to frame her face before he dropped his lips to hers, her tears catching in his smile.
"Rabbit, I—"
"Stay safe, Hermione. I'll see you on the other side." He kissed her forehead and met her eyes one last time before walking into the Veil.
Regulus Black fell into the shadows like he'd always been a part of them, the space he'd occupied now bereft, empty. He was gone.
Regulus Black was deathless.
The Shelter
She apparated to the gate, as far as she could get from the door. The night still blanketed the sky, the stars and crescent of the moon staring down at her. She was too numb to face the house now. Remus was away for the weekend, visiting his parents, but the thought of entering the house still felt too much. So she waited at the gate.
Waiting.
The cottage sat before her. But Sirius was home. Probably asleep, but home. She didn't have to be alone.
Hermione ran to shelter.
She snuck inside, slowly and carefully, ears focused on Sirius' sounds as she escaped to her bedroom down the hall. Once safe behind her door, she silenced her room. Hermione ripped off her clothes, throwing them haphazardly wherever they landed. She reached for her beaded bag, diving both hands inside in search of something, anything that could help her. She pulled out an old ratted t-shirt. Whether Harry's or Ron's, she couldn't remember anymore. She pulled it over her head, bringing the fabric to her nose. She needed—she needed—It wasn't enough.
Her mind falling blank, Hermione left her room. She knocked on Sirius' door. When he opened it, it took him a moment to remember how to speak and yet still no words would come.
She stood there, steps outside the door, in a t-shirt that barely fell past her thighs. Sirius gestured inside and she moved forward past him, eyes glazed. He shut the door behind her. He turned around and they just stared at each other, the momentum of her suddenly showing up lost.
He asked if she wanted to sit down. She shook her head. He asked if she wanted to talk. She shook her head again. He stepped away to give her some space, pausing when she reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat on his dresser.
He asked if she was cold. She said she wasn't. She said she couldn't feel anything right now.
"If there's anything you need…"
And then her eyes cleared and she looked at him. "I just need to feel something."
He reached for her then, hands brushing oh so lightly up her arms. He stepped closer until their noses almost touched.
Hermione sighed, her eyes closed. She raised up on her tiptoes to nuzzle into Sirius, her lips ghosting his in silent prayer. He looked down, and it seemed like they simultaneously realized his current state of undress, chest bare, a black pair of pants, and sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes.
He looked at her in time to see her eyes dragging slowly up his chest.
"I should—"
"Stay."
Had his voice always been that rough? She didn't know. Her mind had been fuzzy since she'd left the Ministry. All she could do was nod. He asked again if she was cold. She nodded this time.
He stepped away, taking the heat with him, but she didn't move. He reached for the whiskey she held, taking a sip for himself before handing it to her. To help warm her up, he said. She took a sip, eyes never leaving his. And then he was pulling the bottle from her lips as if he'd suddenly changed his mind. He set it down not even caring that it wobbled because in that moment all he could see was her mouth and her lips and her tongue as it darted out to catch the last of the golden liquor. His eyes darkened.
He asked if she was cold. She nodded, mumbling something more, but neither of them was listening.
And then she finally moved. Hermione reached for the hem of her shirt but her fingers fumbled. She tried again. And then his hands were on hers and she could have sworn his touch was scorching her skin as his fingers brushed across her thighs. And then her hips. And then her stomach as he pulled her free of her shirt.
And then his fingers were back, rubbing at her bare skin, mapping out her chest and collarbones like he was charting constellations. And when he finally looked up at her, the thunder in his eyes met the lightning in hers, and the floodgates opened.
She threw an arm around his neck and pulled him down, crashing her lips against his. Her other hand reached up, nails scraping against his chest at the shirt that wasn't there. His hands fisted at the scrap of fabric covering her before abandoning her hips to encircle her waist and pull her flush against him. Her hand, trapped between them, thrummed with the feel of both their heart beats.
She felt the heat of his hands burning her skin as he mapped her body. One hand, a steady pressure at the small of her back while the other snaked up to cradle her neck. His fingers dove into her hair before grasping and pulling, eliciting a needy whimper from her lips as her head tilted back.
And then his lips were on her jaw and her neck, licking and kissing and sucking and nipping just enough to smart. She tasted like lavender and whiskey and something just inherently her. But the taste of the delicate skin at her neck and the feel of her body curving under his touch wasn't enough. He needed more.
He gripped once more at her hips, and his lips returned to hers in a bruising kiss as he started to move her backwards. The hard line of him pulsed against her, urging on the heat pooling below her waist. The back of her knees hit his bed, and she pulled herself away, mouth already opening to preempt whatever he was about to say. But then she saw the blown pupils in his eyes and the way he stared hungrily at her. Hermione had never felt more like prey.
"Is this happening?" His voice, rough and heady. Hermione almost moaned at the sound.
She stared at him, her eyes drinking him in like a fine wine. She clenched her thighs together as a whimper escaped. "Please, Sirius."
He wrenched off his pants while Hermione settled herself on the bed, just a moment before he descended upon her once more. Sirius' hands got to work warming her skin as his lips trailed across her jaw line.
"Anything you need. I'll give you anything you need." A growl erupted from his chest as Hermione brought her hand to his, guiding it to her breasts. He nipped at her lip, keeping it between his teeth for a moment while she shuddered with need beneath him.
"Sirius, please."
She was a hurricane dipped in fire wrapped in lace. And he needed to unwrap her. Sirius released the clasp of her bra, pulling away the lace and letting it drop to the floor before taking a step back to look at her. She'd never seen him so hungry. A fiery gold erupted in her eyes. She could see him hard and waiting. Waiting. Waiting. A part of her shivered at the thought, but she shoved it away, hiding. She didn't want to think right now.
"I just need to feel."
Sirius stepped forward, his fingers hooking into the lace at her hips, pulling it away from her as he fell to his knees. He looked up at Hermione in benediction. In this moment, she was holy, and he would worship her.
END OF PART II
Chapter Title Translation: *Down the Rabbit Hole
A/N: And now we've reached the end of a big part of this story, but rest assured there is lots more to come. I would love to hear from you all on what you thought of this chapter and the story so far. To those reviewing, thank you so much. It means the world.