"I'm okay!" I sound too high-pitched, unnatural, and I have to calm down, to stop the blood thundering through my veins like crazed horses, or I won't be able to make him leave, and he has to, oh Merlin he has to.

"Sweetheart, you sound awful. What's happened? Is it Remus?" The concern in his voice, in relation to Remus, makes my head spin, and I know it's wrong, his concern doesn't fit, it just doesn't, there's a reason, and it's almost within my grasp, but as he knocks again it slips away, and panic replaces it, ripping through me, making me collapse against the door, trying to stop him coming in, but it spurs him on, making him think I am ill or gives him the excuse to-

Excuse to what? The rational side of my mind is beginning to resurface, fills me with warm memories of Sirius, with anger over the unfairness over the deck he has been dealt, a thousand positive emotions that I have never doubted.

I grasp the door handle and fling open the door, just in time for Sirius to catch me as I faint.

I'm lying on a bed, surrounded by warm muscled limbs, an inviting masculine scent fills my nose and I nuzzle instinctively and habitually closer, murmuring appreciatively under my breath, and then something stirs in the pit of my stomach and I lurch, and my mind lurches too, half formed memories crashing on me again, hands on me, pinning me down, hands, aristocratically long fingered, but strong and large, encircling me, pressing me closer, forcing kisses from me, but then I am kissing him, straddling his lap, candle glow illuminating his Azkaban haunted face, suddenly alive and bright, free of the dark thunderous cloud that normally sullied his good looks, and then I'm here, now and he's here, liquid silver eyes consuming me and I don't know what to think, and before I can stop myself I kiss him, kiss him to see if a sense of sweeping déjà vu will wash over me, if it will make me remember everything, make me understand and make this damned mist in my mind dissipate, but it makes my head swim more, my breathe grow so shallow I feel sure I will pass out, and my stomach burn with I don't know what, but it is as if I'm possessed and I don't like it-

But that's a lie, I love it, deep down somewhere in the pit of my stomach, of my soul, of Merlin knows where, I love the feeling of danger, of the darkness lurking behind his eyes, the stubble grazing my skin, his scent filling me up, encircling me and trapping me to him, his body bearing down on me, his hands, those hands from half forgotten memories, pressing me down into the bed, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, my neck, the scent of cigarettes faintly lingering on him, and firewhiskey, of cologne and him, of that smell that almost sent me spinning back through my mind, but I clutched at his shirt, clung on as if my life depended on it, or if not my life, my sanity.

And then the shirt is gone, and I can see the scars from Azkaban, the tattoos, the serial number branded across his torso, and the familiar anger at what had happened to him filled me, rising in my chest like bile, and the thought of questioning why it was familiar, when had I seen Sirius' chest so intimately was squashed down and beaten by the aching between my thighs, the way my stomach muscles twitched as his hand brushed the skin below my belly button, the low growl Sirius emits in my ear as my hand rubs him through his jeans. The low growl I know I have heard, in a situation a polar opposite in so many ways to this one, but I push it away, the déjà vu that nudges me towards an awful memory, because this is easier, closer, because this makes me breathless with excitement.

And Sirius is on top of me, kissing me, pinning me, his hands are fisting in my hair, red now, and his eyes are darker, and I catch a glimpse of something, something that sends me flying back no matter how hard I try to cling to the present, and I'm-

In the kitchen, alone with Sirius, and they're all in Diagon Alley, picking out school things, and there's no hope, no hope at all, and he's shouting, waving his hands around, one swinging dangerously close to my face, and panic is rising and rising in my throat, I can see the hinge coming loose, the wrongness of the timing, Harry is imminently leaving for Hogwarts and he is trapped here, useless and-

He's towering over me, calling me a slut, calling me everything, and he's right, and then my face is stinging, and I realise he's hit me, and then so does he, and he's revolted with himself but it's too late now, he's thrown himself over the precipice now and there's no going back, and he's kissing me, kissing me hard, not like he used to, but with a malice, a desperation that's frightening and-

I'm under Sirius, in my bedroom, and he's stroking my face, kissing me, asking me where I've gone, if I'm alright, and he's rolling us over, and I'm lying on his chest, staring up into molten silver, wondering, wondering if it can be true, if these glimpses are memories, or just torturous echoes from the curse I was under, and I want to believe, I have to believe that's what they are, I have to.

Because sometimes it seems there is no good to be gleamed from knowing the truth, and I hate myself for saying it, for thinking it, for burying my flashbacks, and I knew really that's what they were, but I wanted... I wanted him, as I had before, and I knew something was missing, some feeling or event other than whatever happened in that kitchen was missing, but I chose the easy option instead, and I am ashamed at how easily I did so.