~oOo~

Sirius had just finished packing the saddle bags with food, blankets, and towels when he heard the screen door of the Ross's old farmhouse slam, followed by the crunch of gravel under booted feet. He glanced up to see Hermione striding down the drive, her shoulders squared defiantly. As she neared him, she gave a bright smile that only he would know was forced.

For the umpteenth time since she'd awoken at St. Mungo's he cursed himself for his own idiocy. She was still angry with him, and he knew it. He deserved it, too. He'd spent the last two weeks trying so hard to distance himself from her despite their circumstance. All he'd managed to do, however, was want her more, and he wished like hell he could just talk to her again. He'd never so much as stepped a toe out of line with the young witch, despite his feelings. Why had it been so necessary to hide their friendship in the first place?

Louise Ross suddenly rushed out of the house, calling after Hermione, another small bag of picnic items in hand. For a moment he was reminded of the finer aspects of Molly Weasley, who always fussed and made sure there was two of everything for everyone. His smile faltered at the unpleasant reminder that followed. Molly, who – along with almost everyone else, had so little regard for Sirius and so much protectiveness for Hermione. They made it seem like a cardinal sin for them to be alone in the same room together, much less be friends or anything more. That was why they'd hidden their friendship, why their dinners and late night conversations and excursions around London had been secret, why he'd pulled away from her, and why now he was filled with shame for having done so. They were worth more than that, even if they were never anything more than friends, and he'd sullied that by giving in to whatever judgments the others might have placed on them.

Now, though, they were not only cut adrift from the familiar dynamics of their circle in England, but Hermione's American relatives seemed happily convinced that if there wasn't something going on between her and Sirius, it was only a matter of time. Jake harassed Sirius on a daily basis about her, and when Sirius finally retorted rather half-heartedly that he was old enough to be her father, Hugh Ross had been the one to speak up.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that," the older man had said as they sweated in the July sun. He nodded in the general direction of the house and continued. "Lou's seventeen years younger'n me. Besides, 'Mione always did get on better with older folks. Too smart and mature for kids her own age, even as a tyke."

"Too nerdy, you mean," Jake added with a snort.

Sirius felt a twinge of annoyance. "She's not nerdy, she's just out of her element here," he said in a slightly defensive tone.

Jake looked up from the fence he was repairing and quirked an eyebrow. "Told ya, Dad," he said smugly before turning to Sirius. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "There's only one place to go on a Friday night in this town, and that's Harlan's. Twenty bucks says you'll never get my little cousin to set foot in the place, much less dance," he challenged. "Girl wouldn't know a good time if it bit her in the ass."

Unfortunately, Jake had won that bet when Hermione declined Sirius' invitation. The challenge was set in the wizard's mind, however. Wager or not, he would pull the bushy-haired witch out of her shell. He knew she was more than capable. She used to go clubbing with the girls, and he'd even danced with her at Charlie Weasley's wedding. Sirius liked the Ross boy, but he was growing tired of watching him harass Hermione. Perhaps against his better judgment, he was determined to prove Jake wrong.

"Need a hand?" Sirius offered as Hermione approached him and the horses. He noticed her stiffen even more.

"I think I've got it," she answered brightly and approached Roslyn, the Ross's newest mare.

Sirius shrugged, knowing that falsely upbeat tone too well. "Suit yourself," he replied lazily. Sticking his foot into a stirrup, he hoisted himself up onto a large chestnut gelding named Hector.

Hermione licked her lips nervously. Then, clumsily mimicking Sirius' movements she threw her self up into the saddle, settling in with a loud exhale. Just as she was about to say something however, a squirrel ran across a weakened branch in the large oak tree above them, causing it to break and fall - squarely across the mare's dappled rump.

Before Hermione could grab the reins, they slipped far out of her reach as the horse reared in panic. The shriek from the witch on its back only served to frighten Roslyn further, sending her off in a run, her passenger clutching desperately to the saddle.

"Fuck," Sirius cursed as the terrified animal took off with Hermione on its back.

Hermione gripped the horn of the saddle for dear life and leaned forward, still unable to reach the reins that had somehow fallen over the horse's head, dangling precariously in front of its legs. Spurred by the booted feet flapping thoughtlessly against its flanks, the mare sped to a wide-open gallop.

Somewhere amidst her terror, common sense kicked in, preventing Hermione from screaming helplessly and further frightening the animal. Still, without the reins, she had no means of controlling the horse or stopping it. The horn dug into her stomach as she attempted to lay flush with Roslyn's neck, hoping to at least prevent herself from flying off and killing herself.

After what felt like an hour but was probably mere minutes, Roslyn slowed to a trot and finally stopped at the shore of a large lake.

Hermione sat up, panting and nauseous. Her hands that were frozen to the saddle were at war with the terrified need to get the hell off this animal and onto the ground.

Sirius arrived a short moment later. He dismounted and gently pulled Hermione from the back of Roslyn. His strong hands gripped her waist while she got her footing until she shoved him away, stumbling over to a clump of bushes and falling to her knees, retching.

As she expelled her breakfast onto the forest floor, Sirius rubbed her back and held her dishevelled braids out of her face. When she finally sat back on her heels, eyes streaming and breathing heavily, he chuckled and shook his head.

"You're a Gryffindor, alright," he said in an amused tone.

Hermione's head snapped around to glare at him. Humiliation and anger reddened her cheeks. "Nice," she gritted through her teeth as she stood up, jerking away. "Brilliant. As if I needed your sarcasm to rub it in, Sirius. Thanks so much."

She stormed to the edge of the lake, pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off her boots. Knowing if she stayed any longer she'd only make more of an arse of herself, Hermione shimmied out of her jeans and dove gracefully into the water, leaving Sirius to watch in confusion tinged with want.

Swimming vigorously towards the centre of the lake, Hermione sifted through her thoughts and feelings for the dark-haired wizard. She'd been rude to her only ally and link to her world. After everything that had happened, it was no wonder he'd wanted so little to do with her, and the one time he showed any friendliness to her, Hermione had bitten his head off.

She knew she was overreacting to his jibe about being a Gryffindor. And even considering her sensitivity to Jake's taunts, she knew her tantrum had more to do with Sirius than she cared to admit. His coolness towards her these past couple of weeks hurt more than she would ever let on, and not just for the loss of their friendship, but also for the little spark of hope for more that had been doused in ice water. Had he sensed that her feelings for him ran deeper than was appropriate?

Sirius lay shirtless in the sun, his mind fixated on the witch he'd evidently insulted. She obviously mistook his remark about Gryffindor bravery as a sarcastic taunt, but her reaction was the angriest he'd ever seen her. He couldn't help but admire how stunning she was when she was angry. The image of her face, flushed with rage as she began removing her clothes had immediately brought to mind other ways he might create a similar scenario with the witch.

Sirius' thoughts were interrupted as Hermione exited the water. He bit back a groan at the sight of her in her midnight blue, one-piece swimsuit. The garment was actually simple and fairly demure, but its wearer still looked like a goddess. Having freed her unruly mane from its braids, her wet hair fell in inky, springy curls around her face and shoulders, creating little rivulets of water that ran down the valley between her modestly covered breasts. A light breeze worked with the soaked material, causing her nipples to harden visibly through the fabric. Sirius licked his lips, grateful for the sunglasses that were hiding his eyes and their excursion over the witch's perfect body.

Sirius suddenly regretted his decision to come to the lake with Hermione as his desire for the brunette went into overdrive. He cursed silently. What the bloody hell was he thinking? This was the very reason he had distanced himself from her. Because as much as he missed her friendship, he still wanted her with every fibre of his being, and the slightly tense feeling now spreading through his groin was making it clear how bad he was at separating those two feelings. He gritted his teeth and tried to summon the image of Minerva McGonagall in a bikini.

Hermione's steps slowed when she saw Sirius' face. He watched her wordlessly from behind dark sunglasses, but his mouth was set in a narrow line, and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. She realized with dread that she may have underestimated how deeply she'd offended him. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for his ire as she came closer. She couldn't help but admire the sight of his muscled torso gleaming in the sun, his glossy hair shining blackly as it brushed his shoulders.

Hermione bit back a painful sigh. After harbouring what she once considered to be a schoolgirl crush on the older wizard, she'd finally decided the only way to cure herself of him was to get closer to him. She'd figured that if they managed to become friends, eventually her attraction would diminish as she got to know Sirius' flaws and irritating personality quirks. It was, after all, a simple matter of holding him in an unrealistic light. Perfectly natural, but terribly inconvenient when one found oneself fantasizing about a different wizard than one's own boyfriend. Particularly in bed. And especially when one very nearly let the wrong name slip from one's lips in the heat of passion. Hermione thanked Merlin she had only almost said Sirius' name, the slur of consonants unrecognizable to Ron, but clearly a blunder nonetheless. From that point forward, Ron had grown suspicious and possessive of Hermione until she'd finally had enough and ended it with him.

Unfortunately, her growing friendship with Sirius had only served to fuel her attraction to the older wizard. It was such a hopeless case, she'd simply resigned herself to hiding her feelings indefinitely. Times like this reminded her of how epically unfair it was, however. Why in Merlin's name did he have to be so bloody good-looking? she wondered, frustrated.

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted, after a moment of awkward silence. When Sirius only raised an eyebrow, she continued sheepishly. "I – I was just embarrassed, humiliated really, and… and I've never ridden a horse before and Jake always - "

"It's alright, Hermione," Sirius interrupted softly. "Believe me, I know better than anyone how stressful it can be to be around family."

"I had no right to take that out on you, though," Hermione said contritely. "You've already sacrificed so much, and now you're stuck here in the middle of nowhere with – with a boring, nerdy swot…" She shook her head miserably.

Sirius tilted his head, his expression still unreadable. He patted the blanket next to him. "Sit down. You're probably starving," he said and began unpacking the saddlebags.

Hermione grabbed a large fluffy towel and dried off before wrapping it around her waist and plopping down on the blanket a safe distance from Sirius.

"I wasn't being sarcastic, you know," he said without looking up from the picnic he was laying out. "I don't consider myself to be 'stuck' with you, and travelling overseas with a brilliant and beautiful young witch is hardly what I call a sacrifice. And," he added, his lips quirking with amusement, "I think you've more than proven you are anything but boring, Hermione Granger."

Sirius glanced over the top of his sunglasses at Hermione, handing her a sandwich and some napkins. She was blushing, frowning, and chewing on her lip all at the same time. Anyone else would have looked utterly ridiculous, yet she only managed to look adorable and sexy. When her confused brown eyes met his, he smiled teasingly. "A nerdy little swot – yes, but we've long since established that, and it is one of the many qualities I find so very charming about you, love."

He laughed as her mouth fell open in mock indignation and she swatted him. "You're just lucky we can't use magic outside the wards, Sirius Black," Hermione said, chuckling and suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks.

"Yes, yes I am," he said playfully with a sinful grin. "Otherwise I might find myself suddenly tied and bound, helpless to whatever horrible things you might think of doing to me, and that would be terrible."

Slipping easily into their usual banter, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Perv," she accused, despite the blush that coloured her cheeks.

"Perv?" Sirius gasped. "I would never think such things, much less say them! I think you'rethe perv for twisting my words around, you scandalous little minx. I was only referring to your treatment of me when I first came back, of course." He grinned cheekily as he continued setting out their food and supplies.

"I've missed you," she sighed unthinkingly.

Before she could backpedal, Sirius answered softly, "I know the feeling." She glanced at him again. He was still hiding behind blackened lenses, making it impossible to read him.

She licked her lips and asked, "What did you mean, 'you weren't being sarcastic'?"

"About being a Gryffindor," Sirius explained while unwrapping a sandwich. "I wasn't teasing, you know." He took off his sunglasses and looked directly at Hermione. "Plenty of people have irrational fears, but rather than letting it defeat you, you hauled yourself up and rode the living hell out of it." He gave a little chuckle and shook his head incredulously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, that was really brave of me," she said sarcastically. "Roslyn took off after a branch fell on her, and I just held on for dear life until she stopped long enough for me to be sick."

"You got on the horse, Hermione," he pressed. "Most people avoid their fears at all costs. Do you see Ron making friends with a tarantula?"

Hermione snorted and reached for the container of iced tea. "And you?" she asked, "What's your irrational fear?"

Sirius stiffened. "I don't have one," he lied. "I didn't say 'all people' have irrational fears…"

Hermione laughed. "I hope you don't play poker with that face! I would have never taken you for such a terrible liar." She unscrewed the lid of the tea container and took a sniff, smiling at the familiar smell of Aunt Lou's recipe before filling two plastic cups and handing one to Sirius. "Tell me," she urged.

Sirius pressed his lips together and considered her briefly. Slowly, a smile spread across his features. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "Come dancing with me tonight at Harlan's, and I'll tell you."

Hermione blinked, then laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'm not joking," he said seriously. He took a large bite of his sandwich, then a swallow of the sweet, minty iced tea that had become his new favourite non-alcoholic drink.

Hermione fumbled with the sandwich in her lap and frowned. "I don't know, Sirius…"

"Oh, come on," he urged. "It'll be fun. The music isn't half-bad, and Jake won't even be there to harass you. Just you and me, hey?"

Hermione gave a nervous laugh into her plastic cup before taking a drink then asked in a sceptical tone, "Why would you want to take me dancing?"

Because I think you could stand to get out more and have a little fun… "Because ever since we danced at Charlie's wedding I've wanted to feel you in my arms again." The truthful words spilled out of his mouth before Sirius was even aware they'd been spoken. Only when he saw Hermione's eyes widen in shock and confusion did he realize what he'd said aloud.

"Sirius…?" she asked softly.

"I – I mean," he stammered, grasping for anything to say that would rectify his blunder. "Well – er… why not? Why won't you?" he demanded.

Hermione looked down. Because I hate country music, because I'm a terrible dancer, because I don't bloody fit in with these people… "Because I want to, very badly, and I'm afraid if I do I'll just keep falling for you."

As soon as the words escaped her, she gave a squeak and covered her mouth. Slowly her eyes met Sirius' as they realized something was horribly, terribly amiss. However, where Hermione felt panic at the notion that someone had either cast a spell on them or poisoned their lunch, Sirius saw a beautiful moment of opportunity.

His slate coloured eyes narrowed and he gave a calculating smile. "You're falling for me, you say?"

No matter how hard she pressed her lips together, they wouldn't hold the word back. "Yes," she mumbled miserably. "But Sirius, don't you understand? There's obviously someone else here, someone who knows magic, or potions, or - "

He held up his hand to silence her. He'd had his suspicions about Hermione's aunt from the start, and now he was nearly certain. If it was her doing, though, it was more likely to be a mischievous bit of matchmaking than anything truly diabolical. He'd been force-fed Veritaserum as a child more than once by his own family, and this did not feel quite the same. "Tell me a lie, Hermione. What's your favourite book, for example?"

Hermione thought of the least likely title. "Quidditch Through the Ages." She was genuinely surprised when the words came effortlessly. Not Veritaserum, then. But then what?

"Ask me something – something unrelated to us," he said.

Hermione considered for a moment. "Who was your favourite cousin?"

Sirius grinned wryly. "Why, my darling Bellatrix, of course."

Having proved his point, the dark-haired wizard smirked and slid closer to her. "We have our wands, Hermione. I won't let anything bad happen to you," he whispered silkily. "Now, what were you saying about falling for me? How long has this been going on?"

She grimaced, feeling distinctly like a cornered rabbit. "Years," she said hopelessly. At his arrogant and triumphant grin, her temper flared. Two can play this game, damn it, she thought. Tilting her chin defiantly, Hermione asked, "And what's this about wanting to feel me in your arms? Why is that, Sirius?"

Sirius swallowed nervously, then grabbed his tea and took another drink in the ridiculous hope that it might drown his words and force them back down his throat.

"I thought it was just – just appreciating a pretty young witch, but I kept wanting you more and more," he answered gloomily.

"For how long?" Hermione asked, her voice a near-whisper.

"Ever since I got back," Sirius admitted miserably, surprising both of them. He couldn't look at her. Suddenly their little game wasn't so much fun anymore. "I'm sorry," he added softly.

"Why?" The question came sharply from the young witch's lips.

He silently cursed her for the question that he'd be forced to answer. He closed his eyes and let his mouth do to the talking. "Because no one at home will understand. Because Harry entrusted you to my protection without realizing he was putting you in the hands of a man who is old enough to be your father, who has impure, unhealthy, and obsessive thoughts about you. Because to them, it's wrong, and even if that shouldn't be important, it probably is, and I don't know how to change that. Because you deserve so much more," he added finally, his voice almost a whisper.

Hermione fell silent and Sirius' frustration welled. His head spun with truths he hadn't even admitted to himself, and that feeling of being on a tightrope was back tenfold. He took it out on her with his own question. "How do you feel about that, Hermione? What are you thinking now?" he demanded.

"How do I feel?" she replied, almost calmly. "I feel angry that their opinions should even matter when I've struggled with wanting you for so long, Sirius. I feel – shocked, and incredibly turned on that you've been having – impure thoughts about me, I'm nervous and scared that you're going to walk away from this without ever giving me the chance to feel you - all because of what they might think. And I'm thinking that I don't know whether to curse or kiss whoever poisoned us," she answered. "Do you feel it's wrong?" she volleyed before Sirius could get another word in edgewise.

Her words were still sinking in, spreading through him like an aphrodisiac. Wanting you for so long…. The chance to feel you… His instinct was to answer her question with a flirtatious quip about his own sense of right and wrong, but his words came out thick and sincere. "Everything about you feels right."

Hermione got to her knees and closed the space between them. They were both on their knees, face to face now, as close as possible without actually touching. "Is this why you've been avoiding me?" she asked.

When he nodded and answered, "Yes," she sighed.

"What do we do about this?" she muttered, unintentionally asking yet another question he'd be forced to answer.

Everything he'd been telling himself was wrong or right fell silent as the soul-deep truth slipped from his lips.

"We tell the rest of the world to sod off and spend our remaining time here not worrying about what they'll think of us. I think you should let me kiss you now," Sirius murmured in a low growl, his eyes darkening to the colour of gunpowder. "And," he added softly, "I think I should make love to you many times right here on this blanket until the sky opens up and the rain comes."

"Would that be alright with you, Hermione?" he asked with a smirk, his lips ghosting across hers.

"Oh yes, please," she whimpered, shivering as he finally touched her, just a light caress of fingers on her arm.