~oOo~

As the last image of Hermione naked and crying out his name beneath him faded from behind his eyelids, he gave one final shudder beneath the hot streams of water, rinsing any evidence of his desire down the drain.

Sirius heaved a sigh, opened his eyes, and jumped with a start at the large silvery apparition of a stag waiting patiently just outside the glass shower door. He swore softly, grateful that a Patronus could neither see nor hear its audience. When he opened the door and looked directly at the image, Harry's excited voice rang clear.

"Sirius! Hermione's awake – she came to shortly after you left, and she's… well, she asked for you. They're checking her over now, and Mrs. Weasley and the others are already on their way, but yeah – as soon as you can, I guess!"

He watched the stag disappear in a wisp of light and stared into the now empty space in front of him. She was conscious, and, dear Morgana, he was utterly relieved. But she was not - would never be - his. She belonged to their little circle, the circle of Weasleys and Order members and Hogwarts friends, not to him.

Unhappiness and shame at his selfishness curled into a miserable black knot in his stomach as he stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed a towel to dry off. Walking over to the sink and staring into the mirror, he suddenly felt old.

Cowardly old fool, he thought, his lips curling downward at the grey-eyed face that stared wretchedly back at him. Never in all his years had he given up on a conquest.

But she's not a 'conquest', he reminded himself. That was the problem. He knew, had known for quite some time, that she found him attractive. Attractive enough that with the right words and right moves, he could have had her almost as easily as any other woman he'd bedded. Never mind that there'd have been a line of witches and wizards waiting to hex his balls off had he tried it, the truth was, he didn't want her 'that' way. Well, not justthat way. He wanted her in ways he wasn't used to. Ways he used to tease James mercilessly about, ways he once believed were not for him. Ways no one seemed to believe were 'for him.'

Now, as his eyes took in the evidence of his years, he wondered how different his life might have turned out had he taken it a little more seriously in his youth. What if he'd tried to actually love someone instead of just fucking around the way he had? If he hadn't been so careless, so reckless not only with his behaviour, but with people's feelings, would he have lost so many years to Azkaban? Surely someone would have spoken for him?

He never completely forgave the remaining members of the original Order of the Phoenix. Azkaban prisoners had practically zero visitation rights, but Dumbledore surely had enough pull and influence to bypass that. And yet no one ever questioned Sirius' arrest, not even so much as a suggestion to the old man of something as simple as a goddamned sip of Veritaserum.

Granted, Sirius wouldn't have given two shits but for the fact that meanwhile, that filthy little rat ran around free after handing James and Lily and Harry to Voldemort. Sirius knew his poor judgment was just as much to blame for their deaths, and he'd had every intention that night of becoming a murderer to avenge them, so Azkaban had seemed ironically fitting in the heat of the moment. Of course, he'd been incredibly arrogant and stupid, thinking he didn't care about the terrors that awaited him in the middle of that cold stormy sea. By the time he'd experienced enough of the Dementors to change his mind and cry to be heard, it was too late.

Not even Remus had spoken to Dumbledore on his behalf. However, where it used to be an irritating little thorn in his side, now Sirius only wondered what kind of person he must have been for no one to have cared enough to bother.

He frowned suddenly, his thoughts distracted by the sight of silver peeking through the jet black of his hair. With an irritated sneer, he mussed it just enough to hide those few grey strands. He couldn't erase the lines that showed around his eyes and mouth and brow, however. He stared unhappily, indulging himself in one last moment of self-pity before shaking his head in disgust and reaching for his razor.

~oOo~

As he rounded the corner near Hermione's room, the door swung open briefly, letting out a small wave of voices. Sirius could make out Molly's fussing over top of everyone else. He imagined she was scolding them all for being too loud, too boisterous, and too many at once in the small room. It was one of the very rare occasions he would actually have to agree with the redheaded matriarch.

The healer's assistant, whom had just exited the room, spotted him.

"Hello again, Mister Black," the pert blonde witch said in a sing-song voice, smiling winningly up at him. She couldn't have been much older than Hermione, but she'd been less than discreet about flirting with Sirius every chance she got. He'd only been annoyed at this before, but now he wondered with a bitter resignation if he shouldn't chat her up for her floo address on his way out.

"Hullo again to you too… Inger," he said with a forced smile, surprised he even remembered her name. "How's our patient?"

Her perfectly-shaped eyebrows shot up slightly. "Actually, she's made a remarkable recovery. Your godson is filling out her release papers now. I hope this doesn't mean we'll never see each other again," she added with a playful pout.

Sirius bit back a smirk. She was a cute little thing, but about as appealing as candy fluff, with just as much substance. "Now, now, love," he teased. "You never know when I might cut my finger or stub my toe," he said with a half-hearted wink and turned to the door he was dreading.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to compose himself, pulling together a cool mask and that flippant air that was apparently a Sirius Black trademark. The muted sounds of laughter seeped through the heavy steel door just before he turned the knob and pushed it open.

The first acknowledgment of his presence was Molly's soft but unmistakable cluck of disapproval.

"And here they already said we were over capacity," she chided.

"Yeah, but Hermione's special," George answered with a grin.

"Sirius."

His eyes fell on the slight figure now propped up against several pillows. Her gaze was filled with so much warmth, and he felt an ache in his soul as her lips curled into that secret smile she only ever gave him. He wanted so badly to run to her, wrap her in his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He wanted to tell her how sick he was with worry because she was more precious to him than life itself.

But he didn't. He dropped his gaze to the foot of her bed and composed himself as quickly as possible.

"No worries, Molly, I'm only popping in for a second. Glad to see you're up, Hermione," he said easily, impressed with how casual he really sounded.

"Yeah," George teased from his perch at the window. "He's glad to see you're up so he can finally get a break from starin' at ya."

Ginny nudged her older brother with an admonishing frown before casting a glance at Hermione. "He kept watch over you every minute that Harry couldn't be here, you know," she said in a quiet but frank tone.

Ron snorted. "That's just because he's the only one of us without a job or responsibilities," he said, his words followed by a tense silence.

Sirius clenched his teeth and stared at the blanket covering Hermione's feet. He could barely breathe for all his stifled thoughts and feelings. He had to get out of there. Of course, storming out would cause almost as much confusion and drama as gracing the derisive comment with what he really wanted to say to the sore loser. Instead, he took a breath and quirked his lips into what he hoped was a careless smirk.

"Well, you know me," was all he could say, not quite keeping the steel out of his voice.

"Oh, hey, Sirius," George piped in, changing the subject, "I ran into Celeste Goldstone the other day. She wanted me to pass along that you still have that rain check to settle." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Fighting the urge to sneer in distaste, Sirius grabbed his opportunity. "Speaking of, I should probably get going," he said coolly. "Hermione – glad you're getting better," he added with a short nod.

Hermione had been silent this whole time. When he hazarded a glance at her, the hurt and confusion was clear as day in her soft brown eyes. He knew it wasn't even the mention of the upper-class socialite who'd been subtly chasing Sirius for months. It was the coldness of his words and actions in those few short minutes, where only weeks ago there was always an undercurrent, a secretive wink or a warm glance. Feeling his gut twist unhappily, he figured it was just as well – hurting her feelings now would help put up that wall again, making it easier to stay away long enough to get over her.

As he turned and pulled the door open to leave, he heard her say in a small, bewildered voice, "Sirius?"

His pause was almost imperceptible before he straightened his shoulders and forced himself out of the room, hearing Molly gently remind Hermione that it was Friday night, after all, and Sirius probably had a date.

Forcing himself not to slam his fist into the wall, he strode angrily away from the room filled with Weasleys, Order members, and Hermione, focusing his intent on a very large bottle of booze and a long night alone on his rooftop. When he reached the lifts, he punched the button so hard that the assistant exiting the restrooms down the hall gave him a sharp look.

"SIRIUS!" a male voice called from behind him.

"WHAT?" Sirius snarled, turning just in time to see Harry stop in his tracks, startled at his snappish reply.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "I called after you three times and you didn't answer."

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. Just – tired I suppose."

He felt his godson's strong hand squeeze his shoulder and opened his eyes again to find a deeply worried frown on the younger wizard's face.

"No. I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry replied. "I know this has been hard on you, too." He paused and ran his hand through his hair. It was a gesture Sirius had come to know well, one that meant big news, or heavy conversations, and never were they pleasant.

"What is it?" he asked, his ire and self-disgust dissolving into concern. "New developments?"

"Let's find a room to talk," he answered, jerking his head toward one of the doors lining the hallway.

When they found a vacant examination room, Sirius leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, waiting. Harry sealed off the door with high security locking and silencing charms before turning to his godfather.

"They're releasing Hermione tonight," he began, and held up his hand before Sirius could speak. "The press has already been sneaking around, and I saw one of the assistants talking to Skeeter not long ago."

"Where is the Auror department on those leads?" Sirius asked, tense with protectiveness.

Harry shook his head. "They were all a dead end. One of them literally – the Creeveys got hit last night. Both parents were killed, and they hit Dennis with something that stripped his magic. It was only temporary, but they've been spreading rumours that they can strip Muggleborns. If this gets out - and it will - maintaining public calm is going to take almost all of our resources."

"But we already have evidence that that's impossible. Hermione's research - "

"Which is why we need to get her out of the country," Harry interrupted. "The minute it hits the papers that she's been released, they'll be back in full force. You have no idea how many cursed gifts we've blocked since it went public she was here, Sirius. They just kept coming, not because I think they were really trying to sneak them through, but to keep us distracted and to send a message. They were letting us know they have no intention of stopping until they take her down."

"Where are you going to send her? She's not fit to travel tonight, you know," Sirius said, conflicted. The idea of sending Hermione away was sound and really seemed to be the only option. He was furious that she was being released so soon, however, and now that her attackers were bound to know of it in less than twenty-four hours, he felt they were trapped.

"We don't know yet. I'm going to talk with her about it – she'll probably have a better idea of where to go. In the meantime, I was hoping she could stay at your flat. It's the only place they have no idea about yet."

"Of course," Sirius answered, despite the dull ache forming between his eyebrows. The idea of Hermione staying with him, now, turned his thoughts and feelings into an unpleasant whirlpool. Like the idea of getting her out of the country, however, it was a valid request – both Harry's house and the Burrow were unplottable as well, but their general locations had become known over time. All one had to do was make a simple blunder, Apparate a hair off target, and they'd be found. The location of Sirius' warehouse was so secret that not even Order members could get there by Apparition.

"There's one more thing, though," Harry said as Sirius straightened to leave.

Sirius didn't like the sound of this.

Harry took a deep breath. "Listen, Sirius," he began, his voice deep with sincerity. "I – I know how you probably felt, being asked to stay behind and keep watch. If it was anyone but Hermione… Well, there's nothing I'd like more than to have you out there with us, with me, helping to hunt these fuckers down. We could really use you. You, and Padfoot as well."

There was a 'but' coming, Sirius knew, and a really huge one at that. "Harry, I know how much she means to you, to everyone. I probably wouldn't have been happy with just anyone keeping guard either," he said.

"Which is why I'm asking you…" Harry gave a tense sigh. "I can't – won't have her go alone…"

When Sirius comprehended what Harry was talking about, a wave a panic came over him and he shook his head without thinking. He couldn't do this – pretending he didn't have feelings for her was hard enough when they were surrounded by 'the pack'. Being around her in general was like walking on a tightrope without a net. While drunk. He needed to eradicate these hopeless emotions for the young witch, and he had already planned the means, and they involved copious amounts of booze and multiple witches.

"Please, Sirius." It was a statement, not a question. "I know I've already asked a lot of you, and I can't say there's anyone else I'd be willing to trust now regardless. But we have everyone we can afford on this case - "

"Don't be daft, Harry," Sirius interrupted tiredly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right – there is no other way to do this. Even if there were, I wouldn't say 'no' to you."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. Kingsley's already got someone drawing up the necessary documents and Muggle ID's to get you both out. Once the Healer has checked Hermione over again and supplied her with her follow-up potions, we'll floo to your place. If we can, I'd like to have you both on a plane by tomorrow. She might need your help – physically, depending on how well she's recovered. Are you going back to your flat now?"

Sirius shook his head. He needed a drink. Several. And a hard, easy shag if possible. "Get her to make a list of things she needs from her flat, and have Molly or Ginny pack them. I'm going to see Ollivander – find some way to get her a wand before we go."

Harry beamed at him then. "Brilliant. She was bloody furious about that bit in particular."

Sirius couldn't summon the will to even fake enthusiasm. He raised an eyebrow. "Are we done?"

At Harry's nod, he drew himself up and headed to the lifts, his heart heavy and cursing himself for falling so hard for the impossible.

~oOo~

Karma.

It was something Lily used to preach to him periodically, usually right after she'd caught wind of some bird who'd mistaken a good time for something meaningful with him. He always laughed it off as another silly religious concept designed to keep the flock in line. 'Do something bad, and something worse will happen to you.'

Now however, as he gazed into the inky night waters of the Thames, Sirius wondered if there wasn't something to it.

He couldn't stop thinking about it all evening. He thought he'd left those hurts behind – it was so long ago, and nearly everyone who had turned their back on him had passed away, most in one of the two wars. It wasn't something that could be changed or fixed, and having lost so many years already, Sirius knew that life was too short to dwell on such things.

But it wasn't his anger over it that haunted him now. Rather, it was the sickening thought that after all this time, what if he genuinely deserved it, what if they had every reason to turn their backs on him?

He wasn't a bad person - he knew that. He'd always fought the 'good' fight, and he was always willing to die for those he called 'friend.' But when it came to simple, day-to-day life… well, he was selfish. Self-entitled.

Even before Azkaban, his shitty home life and his family's rejection of him spurred him to flaunt and rebel all throughout his school years and beyond. His belief in what was good and right he felt gave him the prerogative to be an arse to those who didn't follow the same path. Not that Snivellus didn't deserve much of what he had coming to him, but Siriushad nearly gotten him killed. And look where that had led. It had been a harsh betrayal of Remus' trust, and had set in place a permanent vendetta with the greasy little bat.

After Azkaban, Sirius had outright admitted he felt entitled – yes, entitled – to people's respect, as well as their trust. Life 'owed' him. With the exception of Harry, he'd been so bitter and self-involved - angry at the world. And while perhaps he had every right to be, looking back now he realized that he'd done next to nothing to endear himself to anyone. Even after the second war, returning from the front lines at Durmstrang where Dumbledore had sent him while faking his death, he'd felt it was enough – he had sacrificed half his life to war and unjust imprisonment, and he owed no one a thing.

Was it any wonder they all seemed to have a less than stellar regard for him? Even Harry seemed to assume he didn't care, didn't really want to help. The boy had practically begged him to protect Hermione before Sirius even had a chance to say yes.

Off in the distance, he could hear the Clock Tower chiming. It was two in the morning. True to form, he'd left everything in Harry's hands while he went off to drink and fuck and brood. The only one of those he'd actually managed, however, was the third. After double-checking the security on his flat and making sure the spare bedroom was in decent shape, he'd left, not planning on returning that evening. He wanted to avoid Hermione at all costs. She would want to talk, if not about his poor behaviour then about their travel plans, and he just couldn't, not yet.

Once she was settled in, Sirius met up with Harry, who relayed the details of their plans and handed him a packet of forged identification and tickets. They would be travelling to America, Hermione had decided. She had family there, on a farm in the countryside. They weren't to use any magic between Sirius' flat and her aunt and uncle's farmhouse. Once there, they'd have to put up a complex series of wards around the house, which would allow them to practice magic within the perimeter undetected, as well as keep them off the radar, should these bastards track them that far. Harry made no mention as to whether or not Hermione seemed upset about anything, and Sirius didn't ask.

After sorting out the details, Sirius made his way to a familiar Muggle bar, intent on drowning his sorrows in whisky and women while he could. From the sounds of it, he'd be spending more time around Hermione than his defences could possibly handle. Perhaps staying with her relatives would help him keep his distance, he hoped.

Unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately), the slow numbing effect of alcohol only made him feel worse about himself. The flirting and body language games that were once as easy as breathing felt hollow and embarrassing, and the minute he felt those foreign fingers slip rather brazenly up his thigh, he thought he was going to be sick. He could almost hear James' derisive chuckle, Lily's disapproving 'Again, Sirius?' and Remus murmuring about how he'll never change. He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Fucking brilliant - that's exactly the bullshit that got you here in the first place, Pads, he'd thought to himself as he stormed down one darkened street after another, a jumble of emotions roiling inside of him. After what must have been hours, his steps slowed, his thoughts settling into a crystal clear introspection. And now he was here.

His eyes stared out across the water, the lights of London twinkling prettily as the steady murmur of cars and city life whispered a muted backdrop of sound. He wasn't good enough for her, would never have her. If he was going to bear that pain, Sirius thought, he'd make certain it was worth it.

He would change.

~oOo~