Chapter 10: The Truth
He thought he had worked it all out so perfectly.
Sirius frowned as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He knew he was stewing as he got ready for his evening with Hermione, but he felt helpless to stop the stinking thinking flowing through him. Flicking a piece of non-existent dust away from the shoulder of his midnight blue frock coat, he shook out his hair and peered at his reflection to make sure that his cravat was full enough.
Imagining Remus in an outfit like this brought a half smile to the pureblood's face. Moony would have died in these clothes but, for Sirius, they were just a bit of extra oomph: the highly-subtle paisley pattern on the threads of his dark coat, lapels, and trousers catching the light when he moved, while the piping and waistcoat reflected an eye-catching metallic blue. His cravat pin was a roaring Gryffindor lion's head, matching the rampant lion that decorated the end of his watch-chain, now threaded through his buttonhole. He had debated whether or not to complete the look with a top hat and walking stick, but decided the former would be a bit too much without having warned Hermione earlier and the latter too Malfoy-esque.
His eyes might have been following his reflection going through the actions, but his thoughts were very far away.
In his mind, Sirius had already imagined how the evening would go, where they would sit, how they would look at each other.
Then, before he could do anything else to complicate their lives, he would tell her the cold truth and admit to being a right bastard, albeit someone who still cared for her deeply. Intensely. His flaws laid bare, they would agree to step back, to be sane about how their friendship had changed in the past few days, and then return home – sober, wiser, always close, but secure in the knowledge that anything else was simply not meant to be.
He had been all over the place since they had gone to meet Redwine. This was the night to bring that kind of behaviour to a close. If he could.
No, he would.
Sirius was unnerved. He could admit that – to himself, at least. That feeling of being drawn to Hermione, of knowing her on some granular level ever since that night he had been saved and seen her across the room, only to remember who she was once it was too late to stop the emotions from roaring through him – that was discombobulating in the extreme. That joy of having a special bond with her he couldn't quite define, but which he constantly felt throbbing between them, connecting him to her every time he let his feelings rise up through his inner defences. It was a lot, especially for someone like him.
He hadn't been a true cad when he was younger. A scoundrel, maybe, but he'd never intentionally hurt any witch he'd been with. He just happened to have been with quite a few of them in a relatively short period of time. Redwine had reminded him of that back at the Union Tavern and he had felt ashamed. Over the years, Remus had called him a git and a prat more times than he cared to count, but only now, with Hermione involved, did the words sound derisive rather than jocular. Male posturing had no place in this now, which Remus had been at pains to show him yet again during the quidditch match this afternoon.
Sirius wasn't a total idiot. He knew he was courting disaster.
Aurora Sinistra was exactly the type of witch he used to go for: smart, gorgeous, and ready to call out any shenanigans on his part, which she had quickly done when he had first chatted her up at the Three Broomsticks.
That night hadn't quite gone as everyone thought. Rosmerta knew what had happened, but landladies were as silent as the grave when it came to the flirtations bubbling away at their pubs. Rosie was no different, thank the gods.
The bewitching female professor had looked at him with one eyebrow raised as she told him her name and then nodded when he asked if he could buy her a drink. Her G&T had arrived within moments; then Professor Sinistra had straightened up on her bar stool, appraising the rake before her.
"So, you're the great Sirius Black."
"Great?" He grinned wolfishly. "My reputation precedes me."
Her eyes matched her tone: disdainful. "Not necessarily. 'Great' can mean a great many things."
"I tend to think of it as a synonym for amazing," said Sirius, resting an elbow on the bar.
"Or terrifying."
"How can you be afraid of me?" he scoffed. "You don't even know me."
"I know about you. That can be more than enough. You were in…sixth year, I believe, when I arrived at Hogwarts. Oh, don't worry," she assured him, "I was far too young then to register with someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"You were already a cautionary tale, if I remember correctly. 'Be careful, or Sirius Black will look at you and break your heart.'"
He took that in, along with another sip of his beer. "You were a Gryffindor?"
"Ravenclaw," said Aurora.
"Of course."
"Do you have a problem with Ravenclaws?"
"I adore Ravenclaws," he purred.
She reared back. "You need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Please. Someone could go blind from the fumes coming off you."
Rather offended, Sirius shrugged. "Fine. Your loss."
"No, Mr Black. This—" she said, standing up and pointing to herself, all the way down the ground, "—is most definitely your loss."
There was dismissal there, he knew, but also a hint of flirtation. He decided to focus upon the latter. "Care to prove that?"
Her dark eyes flashed. She really was quite striking, he thought, focusing on the high cheekbones and flattering sharp angles of her shoulders. Why had Remus never told him how beautiful the Hogwarts astronomy professor was these days?
Probably because Remus knew he was already entranced with someone else. Someone who this very minute was on her way to meet Colin Redwine…
Sirius shut down that line of thought immediately, banishing swotty Gryffindor witches to the back of his mind as best he could. Aurora was speaking again, so he forced himself to pay attention only to her lips as they formed around the words slipping from her mouth.
"I really should prove it to you," she said pointedly, "if only to show you why you should never treat another witch like this ever again. Drunk flirting at your age is…well…rather tired, don't you think?"
"You're going to give me my comeuppance?"
"Only if you're very lucky."
Sirius blinked at that. This witch was something else. Maybe that was what Rosie had wanted to warn him about.
Aurora Sinistra leaned against the bar, mirroring Sirius' current posture, and ran her fingers along either side of the highball glass containing her drink. "If you can even remember this conversation later on, then meet me back here tomorrow."
"And if I don't?"
She smiled silkily. "Then every bad thing I ever heard about you will be true."
Sirius straightened up. "Now, wait just a moment. There have been a lot of bad things said about me, none of which are true."
"I'm only referring to your libido," she answered, brazenly eyeing his crotch.
"Merlin," he whispered. "You don't take any prisoners."
"What's the point in being coy?" she asked. "Especially with a wizard like you?"
"Be careful, Professor. I like a good challenge."
"And I like a good wager. If you meet me here tomorrow night and are intellectually capable of holding a sober conversation about actual adult things, I will happily tell every witch and wizard I meet that the 'great' Sirius Black really is that amazing."
He leaned in. "And if I don't show?"
"Then everyone in Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, and – well, Britain, I suppose – will know that your reputation has been well and truly lost. Shame." The last word lingered between them as she pouted dramatically and looked up at him through wide eyes.
"You don't even know me," said Sirius. "Why would you go out of your way to ruin me?"
"It's not ruining you. I'm not going to make you an outcast. It would just be a bit… sad… if a famous wizard like you proved to be all talk and no action."
That was the final straw. He could feel every muscle in him tightening in response to such a tease.
"Tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow night. Prove me wrong. I don't think you're capable."
"Professor Sinistra? You're on."
"Lovely," she said, sashaying away from the bar with a final glance over her shoulder. "You have nothing to lose, Mr Black – just your reputation."
Saying yes to that dare had been one of the last real things Sirius remembered from the rest of the evening. Aurora had soon left with her friends, Hagrid had arrived and begun to order them Hagrid-sized firewhiskys, and then the gamekeeper had flown him home on the most turbulent, ham-fisted, nightmarish ride Sirius had ever experienced.
Once, long ago, he and James had joined Lily at a place called Blackpool. Sirius remembered thinking the name was brilliant, but the amusement park she'd insisted they go to left something to be desired. She had warned them about a ride called the Viking Ship, which had been like waving red flags at a Minotaur. He and James had gotten on, been thrown forward and back, higher and higher in the long, lethal fake boat; afterward, they had promptly vomited all of their stomach contents off to one side of the ride and not been able to walk properly for hours.
Hagrid's driving had been worse.
Sirius had been sick as a… well, he'd been very sick and only Hermione's sober-up potion had saved him from the world's worst hangover, and when she had asked him about going out together that night, he had told her the truth: he had another date.
But it wasn't… it was different from…
Disgusted with himself, Sirius tugged jerkily at his waistcoat and glowered at his reflection. He hadn't been able to say it to her: hadn't been able to admit that he was still just a nineteen year-old wanker trapped inside this older man's body, unable to turn down a dare, especially from a witch in pub, and most especially from a witch in a pub who seemed to have no problem badmouthing him from here to kingdom come if he didn't follow through on his end of their deal.
It wasn't that he'd really hit on Aurora – well, maybe a bit – but that's what he did. Flirting was like breathing to him: natural and necessary. When Sirius got angry or spooked or jealous – and he was jealous; he'd just been half-way decent at hiding it from Hermione so far – he fell back on his worst habits. He became a show-off and a conceited jackass, pretending he was the smoothest, most charming, most irresistible wizard alive; catnip to all those hungry pussycats.
But knowing his flaws made it even more important to keep up the act, and in keeping up the charade, he only made things worse, and then the cycle started all over again: same him, new witches.
So predictable – so pathetic – so him.
At least, that had been the usual pattern until he had looked into Hermione's eyes yesterday morning and seen, not amusement or exasperation, but cold disappointment. She had only factored into the barest glimmer of his deliberations when bantering with Aurora… and that was a sin he most definitely had to pay for tonight.
The second meeting with Aurora had made two things crystal clear to him: Hermione needed someone without demons, and that person should be someone her own age.
"I must say," said Aurora as they sat at a table a fair distance away from Rosmerta's bar, "I honestly didn't think you would appear tonight."
"I keep my promises."
"Evidently."
They toasted each other and then began the type of small talk that bored Sirius – who knew who, what had happened to whom and when – so he was quite intrigued when Aurora swiftly brought the conversation round to someone actually important.
"I hear you're living with Remus Lupin these days."
"Indeed, I am."
"As a couple?"
Ah, Sirius thought, here it is. That particular rumour had proved enduringly popular since their Hogwarts days.
"Not at the moment," he replied, a wicked smile playing about his lips. "He is rather tremendously in love with my young cousin. Nymphadora Tonks?"
Aurora's mouth made a tiny moue. "Oh, I see. That's lovely for your cousin, of course, but, still – shame."
"What's this? Are you telling me you fancied Remus back when you were a young Ravenclaw?"
"Not exactly," she said, her eyes sparkling. "He is quite… alluring, of course. But I always had the impression there was more between the two of you than met the eye."
"I never said there wasn't."
Her eyes flashed with interest; in return, he raised his eyebrows dramatically. Then they both began to laugh.
"I'm not telling you anything more," he said, still chuckling, "but I'll be sure to pass on your regards."
"Please do. Remus was a lovely colleague. I was very sorry he couldn't stay in the position. I suppose it really was a cursed appointment."
"So I've been told." Sirius stretched, spreading one arm along the back of his chair. "But, to answer your question, yes, I live with Remus and Tonks and Hermione Granger. The company is a nice change after my… well… my time away."
"Hermione Granger…" Aurora looked as though she was trying to remember something important, which Sirius found a bit odd. Hermione wasn't exactly an unknown quantity in their world. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Yes, I remember her doing fairly well in my classes," Aurora said at last. "She was very good on certain constellations and their movements, although less taken with some of the more predictive applications I proposed."
"Hermione's not one for fortune-telling," said Sirius before taking a drink of his firewhisky. "Divination is not her calling."
"Although I hear mysteries are. Quite the appointment she received from the Ministry. I'd give my eye-teeth for that kind of support for my own research. Teaching does take up a fair bit of time," explained Aurora. "And to get that Department of Mysteries position at such a young age!"
"She's not that young."
"Of course, she is! She's, what… twenty?"
"Twenty-one," Sirius corrected. "Her birthday was in September."
"Good of you to keep track of those kinds of things."
He smirked. "Time is one of the things I value most now. I tend to notice more than others when special occasions occur."
"Of course," she smiled politely. "She was always off with your godson and that Weasley boy. She didn't end up with either of them?"
"No." He hoped that his one-word answer might steer the conversation somewhere else.
No such luck.
"That's a surprise. Married to her work, I suppose, like so many of us. She should enjoy herself, though. After all that she went through with Harry Potter before they were even of age, and now the demands of a fulltime career. She's too young to give up everything for the Ministry."
Young, young, young… The word rattled him.
"She gets around. No, wait, that came out badly," he quickly self-corrected. "I just mean, Hermione does not lack for company. We all get out together a fair bit."
"I can see Nymphadora liking another female around – I was hired at Hogwarts just when she was finishing, so I don't know her that well – but, do you mean to say that Remus doesn't mind socializing so much with a former student?"
"Not at all. She hasn't been his student in years. We've all been good friends for quite some time."
He left out the fact that Hermione had helped to save his life the first night he had ever met her, or that she had probably broken more school rules in her day than he and Remus put together.
"True," said Aurora. "I suppose she's one of those who was always more mature for her age. That must make it less awkward when you three feel like doing something a bit more adult."
"Are you asking me about threesomes now, Aurora? And here I thought I was the one at this table with the sordid reputation."
She took his joke in the way he hoped she would – with a grin and a laugh rather than throwing her drink in his face.
"Now then," he said, leaning in. "Let's talk a bit more about you, shall we?"
Nothing more had happened with Aurora that night, but the possibility was definitely there. She was smart, beautiful, and fun – and he could do with a bit more fun in his life.
But she had gone on at length about the age disparity between himself and Hermione, or had he just heard it that way? And if he had, what did that say about him? Regardless of his own vacillations, Aurora's feelings were clear: Hermione was brilliant and needed a life without darkness or friends who were too old.
That was the normal course of things, he reminded himself. Most witches and wizards didn't entertain tremendous age gaps with their lovers or spouses the way they once had. The fact that he hadn't dwelt on that before now was just another sign of him being too old-fashioned and behind the times.
Sirius could self-analyse with the best of them. He knew he was being an indecisive prat about wanting Hermione and then buggering it up – he'd said so to Remus on his way out the door. He just couldn't stop himself from making the worst possible choices. It was an addiction, part of a self-loathing he'd never been able to shake from his earliest memories. He could blame his shitty behaviour on being a Black, or being different from every other Black, or having lost so much of his life before it had even started…
But those were all still excuses.
Hermione deserved a man in her life who didn't exist on hollow arrogance or self-deception.
As much as Sirius didn't want to admit it, he wasn't that man. Not yet. Probably not ever.
Being around Hermione these past months had made him feel alive again. Arguing with her this past week, and then having those arguments spill over into crazy lust, had made him feel like a man again.
But it had also shown him that he was a total mess.
He had to protect her from that. It was the only decent thing he could do.
Hermione's request had been for Sirius to surprise her – and she wasn't disappointed.
Her wizard had appeared outside her door looking every inch the dashing gentleman: a steampunk fantasy with touches of the goblin king from Hermione's childhood, wrapped in dark blue, old-school romance, and threaded magic.
Few men were as handsome as Sirius Black when he decided to lean into it. Even fewer could wield his level of charm.
Hermione knew she had to keep her wits about her if she was to get through this night in one piece, especially since her plan for the evening would take her so far out of her normal comfort zone.
He had bowed to her outside of her room, letting her take his arm before whisking them away into a gilded dream of red velvet, yellow-lit sconces on the walls, frosted-glass windows, and long, tapered candles.
"Where are we?" Hermione whispered once they appeared in the restaurant's foyer.
"Rules."
"Really? Rules is a magical restaurant?"
Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "You disapprove?"
"No! I just… it's not what I expected from you."
He chuckled. "What did you expect? A rock concert and matching tattoos?"
She rolled her eyes at her own presumption. "Well…"
"You're surprised?"
"Very much."
"Good."
She became even more amazed once they were led away from the main dining room, past walls of antlered adornments mounted on the walls – the deer heads, she supposed, being rather preferable to house-elves – and up into a private room, elegantly prepared for just the two of them.
Once they were seated across from each other on their throne-like padded chairs, Hermione indulged herself with a slow look around the opulent room: the crystal chandelier above their heads and richly decorated carpet below their feet; the carved panels that framed the opaque, etched windows; the way the hardwood floor reflected the soft, yellow light in the darker corners of the room.
It was a magical cavern of delights.
"You look very beautiful tonight," said Sirius.
Her smile brought out her dimples. "A beautiful lady with her gentleman?"
"Hmmph." His returning look was caught somewhere between smouldering and something she couldn't name. Was Sirius being serious?
Hermione waited while their champagne flutes magically filled themselves. "Does it feel odd?" she asked.
"Does what feel odd?"
"To have been out with two different women in less than twenty-four hours?"
Sirius paused for a moment, then lifted his glass as he spoke. "Since you're only working on forty-eight hours between your men?"
"Touché."
"Pax?" he asked.
"At least until the mains are done?"
"That seems fair."
Hermione stared at a tiny chain of bubbles streaking through the champagne and fingered the stem of her flute without lifting it off the table. "I suppose, since we're friends and we never set any ground rules, we can get away with that."
"Thank the gods," Sirius exhaled. "You had me on tenterhooks, princess."
"Is this our first date, then?" she asked tentatively. "A real one?"
Looking every inch the Victorian prince, he looked around the room. "It seems to have all the trappings."
"Well, then?"
"Yes," he agreed. "Our first."
Hermione thought he was about to say something else, but instead he looked down at the elegant menu scrolls that had appeared at their elbows, and the moment passed by.
The food was divine. Cascades of champagne and then goblets of deep, rich, red wine twinned with the most succulent seafood, salad, filet mignon, and sides. Hermione was deeply impressed.
For the first hour, they had kept to their accord, restraining their conversation to remarks on Ron's progress with Charlie's dragons, Ginny's latest quidditch triumph, and Sirius' recent discovery of a particularly choice hiking trail through Buckinghamshire.
"Will you take me some time?" she asked after he had waxed on about the lychgates and forested paths in between grand country estates.
"If you like."
"I would. Very much."
Sirius nodded towards the decanter. "More wine?"
"Red or Colin?"
He rolled his eyes. "Peacetime is over, then, is it?"
"We should at least talk about what's been happening, don't you think?" she asked. "I mean, neither of us has any dates for weeks on end – months for me, if I'm honest – and then this week just…happens."
Sirius looked away into one of the corners as he rubbed at his bearded jaw. "That's true. Are you going to see Redwine again?"
Hermione nodded. "He's going to help me with my work."
"Of course, he is."
"No, he really is!" she insisted. "He's an ex-Auror. He knows things."
"He knows bugger all," Sirius muttered.
On cue – Hermione knew it had to be that way because otherwise the timing would have been far too coincidentally perfect in averting another argument – the music in the room swelled just enough to grab their attention. Standing, Sirius held out a hand.
"Dance with me?"
She looked around. "Here?"
He nodded. "Here."
Pulling her up out of her chair, he led her to the other end of the decorated suite, away from the plush Indian carpet that had been underfoot. It wasn't a large dance floor, but with only the two of them in the room, they didn't need anything more.
Sirius stood still for a long moment, holding her hands apart as his eyes raked up and down her dress. She watched him watching her, thoroughly intrigued. The slim ivory gown she wore was strapless with blue lace applique, falling to the floor at her feet. She had wanted something different, but also a bit sultry. This had seemed like a decent kind of compromise with the way it was both regal and risqué, plumping out her chest and narrowing her waist without looking too silly. What she hadn't expected was for her dress to match so well with his own outfit. They hadn't coordinated anything, and yet…
Hermione couldn't remember if she had ever worn something so revealing in front of Sirius before. There had been low-cut tops in her wardrobe for work that he'd seen in passing, and a few close calls in the hallway after her shower, but this much skin on display was something new.
He couldn't stop staring at her breasts.
"You said to wear something glamorous," she whispered, suddenly feeling a bit out of place.
"You look entirely delectable."
Slowly, he took her in his arms. His movements were soft at first: hints of a slow waltz. Her hand rested on the back of his shoulder, her fingers sliding over the satiny fabric of his jacket. The hand holding hers felt warm as he squeezed her fingers gently.
The music swelled. His hand ran down her lower back, teasing her with more pressure. Sighing, she folded her arm into his chest, trapping their hands between them. Briefly, their eyes met, and then she felt him move even closer, the hand at her back now pressing her firmly to him, so that she could feel the tight muscles of his body moving intimately against her as they danced. He held her to him as he moved her around in circles; she revelled in it, the need they both apparently had to feel each other.
There were things to be said about a private dining room.
Frankly, she was surprised he didn't kiss her as they danced, but Sirius was being uncharacteristically restrained. His body was reacting to hers – with how tightly he was holding her, that was impossible to miss – but he really was surprising her in more ways than she had expected.
She decided to do the same. Time to unfurl her plan.
"Sirius."
"Hmmm?"
She leaned back so she could see his face as they swayed slowly to the music. "I don't want to lose you again. I can't."
He gave her a puzzled smile and then tried to shake off her serious tone. "To the Veil? Hermione, relax. You know Harry already adores you. You don't need to be safeguarding me through your research to make sure that he's all right."
"I'm not doing this for him."
"For wizarding-kind, then," he whispered, twirling her with him in a tight circle one last time as the music faded away.
Hermione came to a standstill and simply looked at him. "Wizarding-kind can go hang for all I care. You know what this is about. Don't you?"
Stiffening visibly, Sirius dropped his hands away from her body. "Maybe that's enough dancing for now," he said.
Back at the table, they slowly sipped their wine. Hermione was determined not to let another moment slip past them.
"Sirius, look at me. Please."
"What is it, love?"
On the edge of saying everything or nothing at all, she thought of Colin and how easily the words had flowed for him. Time to see if she was made of the same stuff.
"I decided something the other day," she said, "thinking about what we might say to each other tonight. What I'm telling you now isn't coded or half-hidden in innuendo. I'm just going to tell you how I feel, and I don't want you to interrupt me or try to distract me. Just listen."
Exhaling slowly, he lightly gripped the sides of the table. "Fine. Tell me."
"I like you."
"Is that it?" he grinned. "Well, of course, you do. I'm very likeable."
"Shut up, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sitting up taller in her chair, Hermione revealed herself. "I've always liked you, even when I didn't approve of what you were doing or things you said when I was younger. Back then, we… we didn't get on."
"No, we didn't." She shot him a look and he shut his eyes briefly. "Sorry."
"But, despite that, I was still very… taken with you," Hermione continued. "I thought about you. I thought about you all the time when we were in your house, before you fell and after. I thought about you when I really shouldn't have."
She could see that he was about to say something sarcastic and she held up a single, warning finger. "Wait."
Obviously holding back, he flattened his mouth into a thin line and said nothing.
"Since you came back, I've felt… I've felt more like myself when I'm with you than when I'm not. I can't explain it, but something… changed… inside of me when I saw you again. If I had more time, I'm sure I could study it and find some useful terms for what happens in the human brain when that kind of an emotional or psychological shift occurs. But, that's not the point."
Her nerves were starting to sizzle now, so she took another sip of wine. Bolstered by the liquid, she purposefully met and held his gaze.
"As soon as I realised that I felt differently – that you were the catalyst to something I hadn't anticipated – I needed to find a way to keep you with me. I focused on the spell. I know I became obsessed with it. I've spent the last six months trying to puzzle it out, and I'm still trying. But this last week… now I finally know why I'm doing it."
"Because you want to save me," said Sirius in a tired voice.
"No. Because I want you."
She had said it so simply. So sweetly. No artifice. No slyness or irony in her tone: just Hermione, saying that she wanted him.
Sirius nearly knocked over his wine.
How was he supposed to—
How could he now pretend that nothing—
Gods, she was making this more difficult than he could have ever imagined. He adored her for it, even knowing that he had to break the spell she had cast over him since… well, since he found her in his kitchen.
The time had come.
"Look, Hermione – what are we doing here?"
"I'm sorry?"
No doubt she had expected a different reaction to her declaration. Regretfully, Sirius pushed forward.
"Love, I'm nearly twice your age. You're twenty-one and I'm… well, I'm older than that."
She sniffed dismissively. "You are fifteen years older than I am. My father is sixteen years older than my mother. My grandparents had twenty years between them. Age is just a number and any gap between us does not faze me in the slightest. Try again."
That was all news to him, but he wasn't exactly reassured. "You think I'm like your dad?" he asked.
"No, I do not."
"Good – and thank you."
She tilted her head. "For what?"
"Not all the women in our house count the way you do."
"Right." She smiled softly and looked down at her lap.
"Still though…"
When she did look up, her eyes skewered him to the wall. "Haven't you been the one flirting with me for the past few, I don't know, months?"
"I know," said Sirius. "I—I shouldn't have."
"What's this? The great Sirius Black is apologizing for flirting?" He paled at hearing the word 'great' again so soon. That was what had gotten him into trouble at the Three Broomsticks.
"Well, I…"
"Apologizing for making me blush all the time? For making me feel—" Hermione broke off.
He had to know what she was going to say. "Making you feel what?"
"Wanted, I suppose."
"I am not apologizing for that," he said vehemently, gripping the table again. It kept him anchored. "I would never apologize for that. For making you feel that way. Don't you know that?"
There was a silence, thick and heavy, that filled the space between them. Sirius wanted to throw the table out of the way and just reach for her. Maybe, in a different world, he would have. As it was, he ate her up with his eyes, desperate for her to know she was not the one at fault here.
"I do want you, Hermione," he whispered. "That should be clear to you, if nothing else."
"You do?" she asked. "How much?"
As she asked, her fingers began to play with the line of her cleavage that had been entrancing him all evening.
His mouth was suddenly dry. "What – what are you doing?"
"You tell me," she said, not stopping. Her fingers continued to brush in long slow lines across her breasts, just where the fabric met her skin.
He shut his eyes tightly. "I'm just… I'm trying to be good, 'Mione. I'm trying – very badly, I know – but I'm trying to be noble."
"The Noble and Most Ancie—"
"Stop," he interrupted. "No. This… this is a problem." He pointed quickly to her and them to himself. Her hand slipped away from her skin and back to the table.
"For you?" She scoffed. "I don't believe it."
"Try."
She said nothing, so he tried another tack. "What would Harry think?"
"If he has any issues, he can grow up and get over them. And, just so we're clear," she said, leaning towards him, "the rest of our circle has already weighed in on this. Ginny thinks you're a sex god and Tonks… well, I think Tonks wants me to be with any wizard who will make me happy and get me out more and she knows you do that. Did that." Hermione shook her head. "This week has been a nightmare, hasn't it?"
He nodded, marking the first moment of levity between them in far too long.
"Remus wants to kill me so many times over."
"He asked me to be careful with you," she admitted.
"Bloody wolf asked me to do the same with you."
"He likes us," they both said together. The soft laughter that came after was so healing, so needed.
These were the sorts of times Sirius adored with her – when they could just laugh together and be.
Then the smile slipped off Hermione's face, replaced by something far more seductive. Breathing in slowly, he tried to brace himself against every instinct racing through him. He didn't know how much longer he could resist her come-hither glances, but he had to try, even if it killed him.
"Sirius." She looked at him while biting her lip in that way that went straight to his groin. "I don't want you to be noble. Not with me. Be Sirius. Be the Sirius Black I've always heard about."
She couldn't have known how much her words were an ironic echo of his conversation with Aurora. But he did. Few things could have made Sirius feel worse, but somehow, Hermione was right on target.
"Really?" he sighed. Bracing an elbow on the table, he closed his eyes and hid his face in one hand, already ashamed of his old reputation. "What exactly did you hear?"
If he could have watched a replay of the next few seconds, Sirius would have sworn on every holy wizarding text and sacred object that Hermione's voice dropped an octave as she spoke. That she had been overtaken by an entirely sexual creature – some succubus who knew his every fantasy and secret desire. That had to be what made his blood thrum through his veins as he sat across from her, hypnotised by her voice and the erotic words she was saying to him.
"Be the Sirius Black that I was told not to think about. The one I imagined in my room with me when I was too young to know what that really meant. The one I thought about when I began touching myself, late at night. Lying in my bed. In your house. Thinking of the way you looked, how I imagined you would feel. Thinking of you looking at me and feeling myself getting wet."
Sirius' elbow slipped off the table.
"Circe wept, 'Mione!"
She didn't move. She just kept talking.
"I thought of you then. I think of you now."
"When you—?"
She nodded.
Sirius forgot how to breathe.
"I always think of you," she whispered. "Every time."
He stared at her, his eyes dangerously wide. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I haven't done," she agreed, matching him look for look. "I haven't known much this past week. I have been more confused than I ever thought possible. But I've also done a lot of thinking – last night, the night before, the night before that. I'm telling you how I feel so that there won't be any more confusion. So that you'll know exactly what I want. Who I want."
Even with the image burned into his mind of Hermione touching herself while whispering his name, Sirius desperately sought for one more reason that would make her stop.
"If this were to go badly," he said, "it wouldn't just destroy us. Everyone we know would get pulled into it."
She leaned across the table. "And if it were to go well?"
"Has it gone well so far?"
It was amazing to him how she could switch gears from seductress to sage so quickly. She was doing it now. He almost saw the wheels spinning in her mind, reviewing all of their time together since he had asked her to join him at the Slade.
But she didn't have the full picture. He needed her to have it, even if that extra information spelled his own doom. And it would – he knew it would.
Hermione did not suffer fools.
"You need to know what really happened on Thursday night – and last night. Then, after that, you can tell me if you still feel the same way as you do right now."
Gracefully, but perhaps with a hint of doubt, she slowly retreated to her former position, her back perfectly straight, formally sitting across from him: gorgeous, wise beyond her years, and thoroughly judgemental.
"Tell me."
So, he did.