Chapter 21: The Premiere
She hadn't spied him yet.
Hermione kept looking this way and that as she neared the entrance to the gallery, but there was no sign of Sirius. There were quite a lot of other people, just not the man she wanted to see.
Dark clouds seemed to be gathering overhead, threatening a gloomy December downpour at any moment. She had moved quickly from the apparition point to the building where Colin's artwork was on display, hoping the rain would hold off until she and her evening dress were safe inside.
The Cartwright was an art gallery that doubled as a space often used for major wizarding events. Less austere than the Ministry's meeting chambers and far less of a political minefield than the cold ballrooms of numerous magical manor houses, the Cartwright had long been a popular spot for mixing the arts and high wizarding society.
Hermione was quite taken by the gallery's grand staircase, sweeping down from the carved wooden front doors and atrium to a sunken hall below. The floor was a warm and subtle hardwood that let the art in the space to speak for itself without competing distractions.
Colin had given her a brief tour of the facilities the previous evening so that she would know where all of his various sketches and pieces could be found. There were two central rooms in the gallery and three smaller ones branching off in various directions. Colin's compositions of her filled them all, with her full nude portrait – mysteriously covered for now by a thick blue curtain – ready to be unveiled from its position next to main staircase.
One of the rooms was focused on collages he had made from various news articles about her in The Daily Prophet, the tiny words, headlines, and pictures from over the years reconfigured into larger renderings of her from various angles, but none that gave away her identity. Another room was full of his charcoal sketches of just her hands, neck, the small of her back, and even her feet. She hadn't been quite sure about that one, but Colin had laughed and said the arch of her left foot was entirely too fascinating to be left out of the exhibition.
A third room held his large impressionistic takes on the main houses of Hogwarts, the familiar colours of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin sliding across the canvases to become house mascots, then banners, then the founders themselves, and then swirls of light and dark. Every so often, a glimpse of Hermione would appear engaging with each of the houses, but she could be seen only from behind or in some obscured way: her hand resting on the Gryffindor lion's head, the slithering Slytherin serpent wrapping itself around her bare ankles, the Hufflepuff badger leading her on a chase through the woods with only her hair visible between the trees.
But the largest canvas of all – her nude – was the thing that would make the evening unforgettable. Hermione didn't think she'd been as nervous about an evening event since the lead-up to the Yule Ball during the Tri-Wizard Tournament in fourth year. She caught her fingers fidgeting mindlessly with the tendrils of her up-do just as she had done all those years ago, her nerves primed for what was to come.
For what people might think once they saw what lay behind that thick curtain.
A lot would be revealed tonight.
More than that, however, was the knowledge that Sirius would be here, or perhaps he already was. After all their weeks apart, she would finally see him again.
There had been no response to her invitation. Hermione honestly hadn't expected one, but she knew he had received it, and she felt sure that he would be there. All that was left to imagine was what would happen once they saw each other.
Truth be told, her mind had been quite inventive about that, especially late at night, when she was alone in her room at Luna's house.
The rain began to fall just before she made her way through the large, carved front doors of the gallery. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the dark, threatening sky one last time.
At least the bad weather had held off until after she was inside.
A gallery assistant took her wrap and then it was her turn to appear at the top of the stairs. With so many families from the Sacred Twenty-Eight and other notable houses in attendance, the Cartwright had gone old-school by announcing the names of attendees as they made their way through the main doors and down into the gallery proper. Every few minutes, a famous surname grabbed the attention of those milling about below amongst the works of art.
Despite this accolade, Hermione and Colin had already decided on not having her announced when she arrived, letting her slip in with just a tiny bit of anonymity. It was a rarity these days, and it would be again after this evening. They both felt the lack of presentation at the beginning of the night would just add to the delicious shock of the moment when her portrait was unveiled and then everyone would not only see her, but also realise that they had been looking at glimpses of her all night long on every wall of the gallery.
Hermione couldn't help the tiny smirk on her lips as she thought of how much Rita Skeeter would have enjoyed covering an event like this for The Prophet: all these famous wizards and witches together in one place, all the attention Colin garnered just by walking into a room, not to mention the fact that Rita's favourite most eligible wizard would be in attendance. And then the portrait's debut and the shock everyone would experience… It was almost possible to feel a bit of regret that the stick insect wouldn't show her face tonight, mused Hermione.
Almost, but not quite.
Still, as Sirius had written, Rita had served her purpose. Would this evening even have been the moment of their reunion if Rita hadn't published that simpering profile of Sirius? If she hadn't threatened Hermione with the nasty exposure of their love affair?
Closing her eyes briefly, Hermione centred herself. It was time. With one hand holding the thick wooden bannister and the other making sure she didn't trip on the edge of her long, slinky evening dress, she looked up and out at the chandelier dangling over the main room of the gallery, and then down to the sea of faces below, many of which began to watch her as she slowly made her way down the staircase.
But she couldn't see him.
Hermione looked right and left, slowly moving her head so as not to be too obvious. She found Colin, flanked by the owner of the gallery and several other witches. It was easy to pick out Harry and Ginny, getting their drinks from the bar and smiling up at her. A gathering of Weasleys stood over by a series of small clay models Colin had made of her neck and shoulders: Molly and Arthur, as close as ever, Charlie and Ron back on a brief break from Eastern Europe, and Bill with Fleur and little Victoire, all dolled up in a fluffy blue dress and black patent-leather shoes.
There were many wizards and witches from the Ministry that Hermione recognized, including several from her own department, and more than a handful of Hogwarts professors. She noted Flitwick and McGonagall and, yes, there was Aurora Sinistra, chatting amiably with Tonks and Remus. Hermione winked as she made brief eye-contact with Tonks. Then she saw Neville and Luna, the couple who had been a godsend to her since she had left Grimmauld Place. Their heads were together as they grinned up at her, knowing who she was really looking for.
There were, of course, dozens of faces that she didn't know, an event like this bringing out all sorts beyond her normal circle of friends and acquaintances. Even the Malfoys were present, their blond heads easily discernible as she continued to walk down the steps… but where—
And then, all at once, there he was.
Hermione's hand gripped the banister tightly, her knuckles briefly turning white.
How had she not seen him before? How could anyone – witch or wizard, Muggle or magical – not notice Sirius Black, standing in the middle of a room and looking like that?
Hermione briefly took in his dark clothes before noticing anything else: trousers that fit snugly around his hips, a matching jacket, and a dress shirt with the top three buttons left open, revealing his throat and just a bit of his tattooed chest. His clothes were as black as his name and he looked just as rakish as she had imagined him, all the times she had thought about their reunion.
But it was his eyes that were devouring her, eating up every move and sway of her body as she made her way down the stairs towards him.
Sirius Black had found her again.
Hermione felt she was falling into a pool of molten mercury-grey, the heat of his gaze burning fire along her skin.
Then, just as she made it to the bottom of the steps, a cluster of familiar faces immediately surrounded her, cutting him off: Luna and Neville, Oliver Wood, Fred and George, Cho Chang, Fleur… she smiled and gave quick, inane greetings to each one in turn, breaking away every few seconds to catch Sirius' eye again from across the room.
Was he talking with Professor Sinistra now? A not-so-small flare of jealousy raced through Hermione, making her eyes narrow.
But he hadn't written letters to Aurora Sinistra like the ones he had sent her. She knew that. She trusted that.
Hermione danced through more of the people separating her from Sirius, weaving her way towards him with some difficulty, unconsciously biting her lip when he was swallowed up by others in turn: different couples and figures that he, too, had to greet and acknowledge.
They smiled coyly at each other while still many yards apart. Moments later, a flirtatious glance was exchanged before having to break away to say hello to someone new. Time and again, they suffered the same frustration.
With each glimpse she managed to get, Hermione thought that Sirius' face was growing more intense, more impatient.
She could see him, and then she couldn't. The butterflies in her stomach threatened to break free at any moment, flooding her senses with too much excitement, too much anticipation.
Then, just when it seemed like the crowd would keep them apart forever, there he was.
In front of her.
Close enough that they could almost touch.
Her lips twitched, wondering who would speak first, what they would say. There was so much to say that she stayed silent, bathing instead in the warmth of his open stare.
That most important line of his last letter thrummed through her bones: I love you, Hermione.
Was it true?
Did he really?
Would he tell her now?
She would have taken a breath, but there didn't seem to be any air left in the room – the heat as he looked at her had burnt it all away.
So, in the end, she ended up speaking before she had actually decided what to say.
He looked up at the entrance to the gallery and felt the floor fall out from beneath his feet.
An absolute vision was descending the stairs.
"Good lord," said a prim, faceless female voice behind him. "Who is that?"
Sirius knew who it was.
How could anyone not know who that was? A part of him wanted to sneer at the woman who dared to fail in knowing the singular, gorgeous, brilliant form of Hermione Granger. But he was too busy being drawn towards her like a lodestone to bother with anyone else.
Every part of him willed her eyes to find him, to seek him out and discover him waiting for her. When they finally did, an electric current shot through his body.
She looked so beautiful.
Sirius didn't know how she had arranged things so that they would meet now, tonight. As he had gotten dressed earlier in the evening, his brain was still stumbling over why she had sent him an invite to this particular show when she could have just told him where she was a week ago and let him come to her then.
Why the wait? What was going on?
But, as he watched Hermione descending the stairs into the gallery like a queen, Sirius knew none of that mattered. Not one jot.
She was here.
She was his.
He just had to get to her to tell her that – which was exactly when more than half the bloody wizarding world suddenly seemed to stand between them.
Sirius couldn't believe it. He was left with glances, moments, mere seconds of seeing Hermione's face gazing back at him before someone else interrupted them.
Remus came up to him: "Did you see her?"
"Moony. Get out of my way."
"I'll take that as a yes," Remus muttered to himself, before slipping out of Sirius' line of sight.
He kept trying to get closer to her, but it wasn't easy. Social proprieties had to be observed, even though he chafed at every single one of them: shaking a hand, his eyes still fixed on her, thanking witches and wizards for their congratulations on the Wizengamot seat without ever really looking at their faces…
It was sheer madness.
He wanted her, damn it, not all these unimportant people in his way.
He did pull himself together slightly to shake hands with Colin Redwine, letting Hermione's face briefly fade away into the crowd.
"Sirius! I'm glad you're here," said Colin warmly. "I wasn't entirely sure you'd have time for this kind of thing anymore."
He smiled wryly in return. "Thankfully, 'this kind of thing' is exactly what Kingsley wants me to be more involved with. I'm the Ministry's special envoy to the art world, among other things."
"Lucky us," smiled Redwine. "Have any thoughts on the pieces yet?"
Shaking his head, Sirius cast a quick eye over the sketches closest to him without really seeing any part of them. "I'll be honest with you, Colin. I haven't noticed a bloody thing yet. I've… ah—I've been a bit distracted the past few days."
Redwine mumbled something. Sirius thought it almost sounded like, Don't I know it.
"What was that?" he asked.
Colin grinned. "I can only imagine what your days are like now. I'll catch up with you later this evening, yes?"
Already looking again for Hermione, Sirius nodded. "Of course. Just let me… yeah…"
His voiced trailed away as he clapped Redwine on the arm and moved past him. And then he was searching, needing to see that Hermione was real and here and looking for him, too.
When he finally did find her, it felt almost too abrupt.
There she was. There was no one else in their way.
She stood only slightly out of arm's reach, staring back at him. Sirius didn't say anything, letting himself drown in her chocolate-brown eyes while he madly sought for just the right words.
That cotton feeling in his brain that he'd had the last time they were together was back, slowing his thoughts. He knew what his instincts wanted him to do. He wanted to throw Hermione over his shoulder and take her away from all these people to where they could be alone.
He could have her then.
Fuck it, he could have her now.
Colouring quickly under his gaze, she bit her lip and he nearly groaned.
"What are you looking at, Mr Black?" she asked softly.
Mr Black.
Circe, when was the last time she had called him that? He had been Sirius to her for so long. He loved the way she would say it, caressing each syllable of his name so that something warmed low down in his belly when he heard it. He was 'Lord Black' to half the silly bureaucrats from the Ministry lingering about the gallery tonight and 'Padfoot' to only the tiniest number of loved ones. But Hermione had never called him that. Not once. There had been that one wicked night in her bed when he had been 'Professor Black,' and that had been its own naughty adventure.
But, Mr Black?
His mind finally rested on the very first time he had seen her, her eyes wide and her face pale in the dark shadows of the Shrieking Shack. She had been the first person in – what, more than a decade? – who had bothered to address him with any care; to see him as anything other than a murderous, half-mad escapee from Azkaban.
But the way she was saying it now – the way her mouth moved around the letters of his surname, and the coquettish smile flickering across her lips and eyes as she said it – this woman was not the girl he had terrified on a dark, unforgettable night. That had been the start of knowing she existed, but it hadn't been their beginning.
The real spark that had set them both on fire for each other had only come much later.
That fire was here now, filling the space between them as they stared hungrily at each other.
Drawing on that delicious tension, he half-nodded at her and then spoke: "I'm looking at you, Miss Granger."
Hermione's head went down, eyes on the floor. Then, after a long moment – when Sirius ceased to breathe – she raised her head again, looking fiercely back at him. The primal want and longing in her face matched his own.
He couldn't deny himself any longer. He wouldn't.
Sirius stared across the brief distance between them for one last beat and then ended it, walking forward, taking her hand, and leading her away in the same motion, regardless of anyone near them. He knew he wouldn't stop moving until he had found a place where he could finally touch her, hold her, and have her for his own.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He only knew that Hermione's cool, soft hand was firmly gripping his as he led her away.
"What are you looking at, Mr Black?"
"I'm looking at you, Miss Granger."
She had to look away. It was too much.
But, then, not looking at Sirius was worse. She was thirsty for him. She needed him with an urgency that throbbed through her entire body. She couldn't remember ever feeling like this before – not even on their one endless night together.
She wanted Sirius. More than that, she wanted him to be hers.
Now.
Accepting the depth of her desire, Hermione looked up and hid nothing from him.
She couldn't smile. It all felt too fraught. Her skin felt too hot and tight across her body. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room.
And then Sirius walked right past her, his body brushing up against hers as he moved away. Her jaw fell open. Was he leaving her?
But then his fingers twisted with hers, pulling her along with him, taking her away in one, long, smooth move.
She followed, drawn to him, not knowing where he would lead her.
Not caring, actually.
He could take her wherever he wanted, just so long as he didn't disappear.
Just so long as he didn't disappear…
Hermione felt an icy flash of intuition slither down her spine. It curled inside of her like cold, oily smoke, burying itself as a worry deep down that had nothing to do with the firm, warm grip Sirius currently had on her hand – and, yet, it had everything to do with him. For the past six months and more, everything always had.
So long as he didn't disappear…
He couldn't disappear…
Could he?
Then they were moving quickly through the crowds, pulled along as if they were gliding while everyone else stood still, and her thinking mind went silent.
They ended up in a small, elegant cloakroom: gilt-framed mirrors on the walls, shiny taps, and a wide, marble countertop. Sirius backed Hermione up against it.
His large hands bracketed her ribs just below her breasts, holding her still as she blinked, wondering what came next. She thought he might say something. She thought she might say something. But neither of them did.
His hands came up to her shoulders and slowly ran down along her bare arms, setting her on fire. Before he reached her wrists, Sirius' mouth was on hers, his head angled to make the kiss immediately deep and lush.
Gods, how she had missed this!
Hermione's arms came up around his shoulders as he plundered her mouth, kissing him back with just as much fervour. One of his hands tangled itself at the back of her head, pulling her even closer. She lost herself in the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of salt and champagne on his lips and tongue.
Kissing Sirius was always a delight. Being kissed by him was a total adventure.
More quickly than she expected, he broke off their first kiss. He cupped her face in his hands and pushed a few tendrils of hair away from her cheeks almost roughly. When he brought their mouths together again, it was as if he could never stop touching her. As if each kiss was a promise, a spell of its very own that he needed to whisper against her body.
In one move, he lifted her up onto the countertop so that she was looking slightly down at him, his mercury-grey eyes shining almost black with blown pupils. Hermione took advantage of her new height to kiss his temples, his cheeks, the line of scruff along his jaw – anything that would provoke a reaction. Her teeth lightly nipped the strong column at the side of his neck, making him hiss.
This is what it meant to want a man inside you, she thought. The hungry need to have him under her skin and filling her aching body swirled and raced through her blood and bones.
"More," she panted in one of the brief moments when their mouths were not linked. It was their word. Hermione hoped she knew what her saying it would do to him, and Sirius didn't disappoint.
"More," he agreed, his breath heaving slightly between long kisses. "Gods, you're amazing." He grinned widely, running his thumb down her cheek, before consuming her mouth again.
Now the tops of her breasts received his attention as he dipped his head to the low neckline of her dress. At the same time, he began to push up the fabric of her skirt so that the soft, velvety skin of her inner thighs became a playground for his beautiful hands. Hermione closed her eyes, her head tilted back.
Her knickers were down her legs faster than she thought possible, and then he was down, too, kneeling in front of her.
"Sirius," she began quickly, "you don't—"
"Stop it," he growled hotly. "Let me. Please?" Her shock at his tone melted away at the almost bashful look he was giving her, staring up from between her legs. "I was interrupted before," he explained, his fingers caressing the backs of her knees. "I won't be again."
"Oh, Circe" she gasped, as she felt his breath on her naked nether regions. Her mind ripped back to the short, hot minutes they had shared before Harry had walked in on them. When Sirius had her sitting up on her desk, just like this, his face pressed between her thighs, sweeping her away on a tidal wave of want. The memory made her whimper before quickly turning into a sigh and then a moan as Sirius spread her open and began to kiss her hot centre with his beautiful, wicked mouth.
One of her hands gripped the edge of the marble countertop while the other braced itself against the wall. She lost all sense of herself as Sirius made love to her this way, tenderly fucking her with his tongue, then his fingers, and then the most delicious combination of the two. He licked and sucked at her clit, making her back arch and her lungs forget to breathe. She had thought of this act with him before as art, but now it also had a thrilling, dangerous edge to it that she enjoyed immensely: the threat of being found like this once again, but in a much more public place.
Hermione had no idea she would like being naughty so much.
When she had the strength to look down, she saw that Sirius had his eyes closed while he loved her, but the lines of his face were upturned, as if he was smiling while his tongue flicked her clit and his fingers stroked lasciviously inside her pussy. Then he changed his angle and her eyes slammed shut. One of her hands fell from where it had been pushing against the wall to card through the dark waves of his hair, holding him close as he undid her completely.
The world might be about to see her nude, but only Sirius truly knew her like this – totally naked, her body and soul open only for him to see and touch.
Time and space disappeared, fragmented into different, heightened sensations: the wiry brush of his beard against her soft skin; the cool, hard edge of the marble beneath her fingertips; his warm breaths against her folds; the thrum his mouth created through her entire being as he slid and probed and teased, winding her pleasure higher and higher until she couldn't take any more. She felt pinioned beneath him even though he was the one on his knees.
Everything narrowed down to a single, bright, hot point of light… and then she exploded, her back arching, her fingers gripping whatever she could touch. From the sharp yelp against her leg, one of those things must have been his scalp.
"Merlin, 'Mione! Your nails!"
Her response, however, was slow and lazy, her mind broken into a thousand pieces. "What did you say?" she drawled.
Smirking broadly, Sirius shook his head at her obvious enjoyment of his ministrations. Rising to his feet, he ran his fingers down either side of his mouth and then licked them clean as she watched, refusing to give up the smallest trace of her pleasure.
"You are so bad," she sighed happily.
"You make me that way," he answered. "Minx."
Hermione could tell from the playful curl of his lips that he thoroughly enjoyed how much he could still corrupt her, even having tasted her before.
Reaching out, she pulled him to her, moving a few strands of hair away from his temples. "Thank you for the letters."
"You got them, I take it?"
She nodded. "I didn't know you could be such a poet. I'm not surprised, however."
"A poet? Hardly that, love. But I'm glad you liked them. I needed—" He broke off for a moment, staring at the floor briefly. "I needed some way to talk to you. You said talking was important, remember?"
"I loved them, Sirius. Every word of every line. They were beautiful. They were…" Hermione paused, searching for the right words.
"Hmm?"
Her voice was soft, but emphatic. "They were you." She sighed again, then whispered, "I missed you."
"You better have," he answered with a roguish wink. Then he kissed her soundly, archly pressing his hips between her still-spread legs so that she could feel what being near her had done to him. His arousal was glaringly obvious; he rocked against her for timeless seconds before moving to lower his zipper, and Hermione knew that she was lost, lost…
Had there ever been a wizard quite like Sirius Black?
Highly doubtful.
Then she was wrapping her arms around him again, arching to his touch, and any thoughts that weren't about Sirius' firm body grinding against hers quickly slipped away.
Tonks wandered up to her mate. "Where's Sirius?"
Remus tried not to chuckle. "I have a better question," he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Where's Hermione?"
The Auror looked up and quickly scanned the room, unable to see either one of them. "What's happening?"
"Can't you guess?"
Tonks looked bemused. "They left?"
"No."
"Remus, love. Spill. Where are they?"
As elegantly as possible, Lupin took a glass of wine for his mate from one of the enchanted trays that hovered nearby. Wrapping her fingers around its stem, he then tilted his head towards a closed door a few yards behind him before taking a long sip of wine from his own glass. "I think he's fucking her in the cloakroom."
Tonks nearly choked on the swallow of wine in her mouth. Coughing, she looked up at Remus with wide eyes. "Circe wept! Already? They couldn't even wait until after the gala?"
"Could you? If it was me?" he asked, a rather sly look on his face.
Tonks' eyes began to dance. "Is that a challenge?"
"No," he said hastily, catching himself. "Not this time."
"Really?" Her mouth made a small pout. "Why not?"
"Because we're supposed to be the well-behaved ones here this evening."
Tonks snorted. "Well-behaved? Hardly! Were you being well-behaved last night when you turned me over and fu—"
Remus' hand quickly covered her mouth. "Hush!" He then winced as Tonks nipped at the palm of his hand with her teeth. "Careful, my love," he warned her. "There's a full moon on Monday."
She grinned. "I know."
A yellow ring began to build around the green of Remus' irises as he gazed at her. "When we get home tonight," he whispered lowly, "I'm going to strip you naked and take you every way I want. And then every way you want. I promise."
"If we even make it home," she countered sassily. "I might have to have you before then."
Growling loudly, he nipped at her neck briefly. "I love you. But for now, we need to guard that door."
"Is that some kind of Marauder rule?"
Remus nodded. "In a way. I also feel that being walked in on once this year was enough for them. Don't you agree?"
Ignoring his question, Tonks sent the closed door a brief glower. "Does he even know how much he owes us right now?"
"He will," replied Remus dryly.
"That fucking mutt."
"Dora."
"Well, he is! Literally, as a matter of fact."
They both looked at each other for a long moment and then started sniggering. "Dora," said Remus, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. "Stop!"
"I can't!"
"Try harder."
"You first!" Her giggles grew worse as she watched Remus try and fail to look dignified, knowing what was happening only a few yards away. "Oh my gods. Make it stop!" she wheezed.
"How? I'm not going in there!" he protested.
"I'm bloody well not, either!"
Given how preoccupied they both were, neither of them noticed Ron Weasley walking up to them until it was too late.
"Hi, guys," he said, his face growing rather perplexed at the sight of tears running down Tonks' cheeks. "Have, uh… have either of you seen Hermione?"
"H—Hermione?" Tonks sputtered, trying to catch her breath. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Dora, stop it!" hissed Remus.
She looked as though she'd say something else, but then kept giggling instead.
Ron looked quite worried by this point. "Remus? Is Tonks all right? What's going on?"
Taking the situation in hand, the werewolf paused and tried to appear professorial – or at least somewhat adult.
It wasn't easy.
"I believe Hermione is off having a chat with Sirius. Don't mind them. She'll come when they're done."
"I bet she will," snorted Tonks.
"Behave."
"Sirius?" Ron looked befuddled. "Why would Hermione need to talk to Sirius?"
Her laughter finally died away as Tonks realised that Ron hadn't heard about what Harry had walked in on all those weeks ago. She smiled wickedly at her mate. "Do you want me to answer that one, darling, or will you?"
"Merlin," sighed Remus, rolling his eyes at the entire situation. It wasn't unprecedented for Sirius to need a bit of a rescue because of his shenanigans with the witches in his life, but it had been nearly two decades since Remus had needed to improvise this much on the spot. "Ron, I wouldn't worry too much about them. You know what housemates can be like with each other, yes?"
"I suppose so." Ron sounded utterly confused.
"Well, with these two, it's a bit more than that. Cats and dogs. Otters and dogs, actually. I'm sure you see what I mean."
"Not too sure, actually. They're in there?"
"In where?" asked Remus, innocently looking around the room.
Ron pointed at the closed door several feet behind his former professor. "In that cloakroom."
Remus looked at the door in question and then back at Ron. "Yes, I suppose they are."
"Why?"
"That's a very good question. Why are they in the cloakroom, Dora? Dora?" He looked around for real this time, but his mate was nowhere to be seen. "Right," he muttered, rather non-plussed at being left in the lurch.
Taking a deep breath, Remus put an arm around the younger man's shoulders, surprising him with his sudden closeness. "Tell me, how are you getting on with the dragons, Ron?" he asked, leading the youngest Weasley son away from the cloakroom in question. "Are you getting used to being in the line of fire every day?"
"Am I?" Ron laughed. "Definitely. Blimey, it's loads of work. You have no idea how intense it can get."
"You might be surprised," Remus replied wryly. Ron, however, seemed completely unaware of any double meaning in Remus' reply, for which the werewolf was extremely grateful.
Giving one last look over his shoulder at the still-closed cloakroom door, Remus silently vowed that Padfoot would owe him all the chocolate in Honeyduke's in recompense for this kind of loyalty, and then led Ron further away into the gallery.
"And the Norwegian Ridgebacks this season? Are they breeding yet?"
Hitching Hermione's leg higher up on his hip, Sirius thrust again into the woman he loved, making them both gasp.
He hadn't been able to resist her body now that they were together again, and Hermione hadn't tried to stop him. In fact, she had been the one to guide his rock-hard cock into her sweet, tight heat. He knew this kind of coupling couldn't last long, but he also knew there was nothing in this world he'd rather be doing.
The lush, musky scent of their shared arousal filled his nostrils. It overwhelmed him even more when he leaned his face against the crook of her neck and took her harder, her hands gripping tightly to the back of his shirt, urging him on.
At the same time, however, a small, nagging voice in Sirius' brain reminded him mid-thrust that this was not exactly how he had envisioned their reunion. Even a cloakroom as nice as the one at the Cartwright was still just a fancied-up toilet. Hadn't he spent the last several weeks imagining something much more epic? His fantasies had at least been more horizontal… and certainly without the cold-as-fuck marble pressed against their bare skin.
He'd planned to whisk Hermione away into a sinfully hot, unforgettably passionate night. Then, when they were both lying spent and naked in each other's arms, he would tell her with his own voice how he felt about her.
How he needed her.
How he adored her.
How he would want her forever.
But one look at her in the gallery had sent all those plans spinning into nothing. He'd needed her – Merlin, how much! And now, here they were, as if no time had ever kept them apart.
Sirius' index finger rubbed fast circles on Hermione's clit as he rocked up into her tight sheath; she stiffened under his touch and he brought their mouths together once more. His body and brain flew higher than he thought possible as she tightened even further around him. The rippling pulses of her climax dragged him down into his own harsh ending; he seized against her once, twice, and still a third time before his head fell against her bare shoulder, listening to her own muffled cries die away. Kissing her collarbone, he slowly tasted the salty sheen covering her skin.
With that tang still on his lips, the earlier wave of chagrin teetered over him and then crashed.
They had just fucked in the cloakroom, like a couple of randy teenagers or some half-drunk revellers at a Muggle Christmas party.
So much for romance, Lord Black, said a snarky voice in his head. He was quite discomfited with how much that voice sounded like Prongs.
Say something to her, you git.
Definitely Prongs.
"I'm sorry," Sirius began, not quite able to look at the woman in front of him. "That… that wasn't what I planned to do when I saw you again. Not right away, at least."
Hermione tipped up his chin, forcing his downcast eyes to look at her face. She was beaming at him. Squeezing her inner muscles against his still-hard cock, she made him groan as hyper-sensitivity flooded his spine.
"I thought it was amazing," she said proudly, "and pretty much exactly what I had been planning."
He blinked, slightly surprised, and then happily shook his head at her. "Brazen witch," he whispered, kissing her once more. They both sighed as he finally withdrew from her depths.
Not to be outdone in the brazen department, he knelt down and slipped Hermione's knickers off her feet entirely, pocketing them inside his velvet jacket.
"Sirius," she said warningly, "I need those."
"No, you don't. Trust me."
"You're incorrigible." Hermione glared at him, but her lips also pulled to one side, trying to fight the grin that he knew was making its way to the corners of her mouth. Defeated, she let the smile win out and then straightened her dress.
"Do I look at all presentable?"
"Eminently. Do I?" he preened, doing up his belt buckle.
"Not in the slightest. You look like a debauched pirate."
"And I have plundered booty in my pocket." He waggled his eyebrows, hoping to make her laugh.
She smacked his shirt, and he chuckled lowly as he wrapped his arms around her. Spinning them about, he held her back to his chest and let them look at each other in one of the framed mirrors above the sinks.
He was going to say it. The words were teasing the tip of his tongue.
"I missed you too, you know."
"I know," she whispered.
"And I want you more than ever."
"It's just possible that you've made me somewhat aware of that in the last few minutes."
"Good," he said, running his teeth gently across his spot on her neck. He smugly noticed that her skin immediately broke out in goosebumps.
Taking a deep breath, he made sure he held her eyes in the mirror. "Hermione. What I wrote in the letter. I—I didn't want to… I mean, I did, but I shouldn't have… Merlin, this is difficult. Look, I've needed to say this for a long time. Too long. I'm—"
A loud gong rang out, reverberating through the entire gallery, startling them both.
Sighing, Sirius bent his head to her shoulder. "Foiled again," he muttered.
He didn't want to tell her he loved her in a rushed way. He wanted it to be perfect, which meant he couldn't say it now. Knowing she was waiting for him to do something, he kissed the top of her head.
"What did you want to say?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Ask me again sometime."
Still looking at his reflection in the mirror, Hermione blinked solemnly and then squeezed his hand. "We should get back out there."
"But I like it in here," he said, his arms tightening around her.
"Play your cards right, and I might drag you into another cloakroom before the night's over."
"Two surprise seductions in one evening? You're pushing me to my limits, love."
Hearing a growing buzz of voices outside the door, she squeezed his hand again before breaking the contact.
"I'll go out first," she said. "Then you follow in a couple of seconds, okay?"
"I do know how to sneak out of a room, 'Mione," he answered, rolling his eyes.
"Stay close once we're out there?"
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he vowed. "Go find us a good spot for Redwine's unveiling. I'll be right behind you."
She gave him one last smile before turning to the door and slipping out. Taking a few moments for himself, Sirius ran his hands through his hair and tucked in his shirt, hoping like hell it wouldn't be too obvious to the rest of the world what he and Hermione had just been doing.
Moony would know, of course. Goddamn werewolf senses.
He patted the inner pocket of his jacket that held Hermione's knickers. That bloody gong couldn't have sounded at a worse time. Then again, he reminded himself, he'd already told her how he felt in his last letter. She had known what he was going to say, so it wasn't as if there were any big surprises in store for tonight.
As soon as Redwine revealed his hidden painting, they could do a few rounds of pleasantries and then Sirius would whisk his beloved back to their house. Then, finally alone in his bed, he would tell her and show her how much he loved her.
Running his hand over his jaw, Sirius gave his reflection one last look in the mirror and then opened the cloakroom door ever so slightly, making sure he wouldn't be noticed before escaping the tiny room.
Everyone else was gathered in the central hall before the blue curtain that hid Colin Redwine's masterwork. The artist himself had just walked onto a small stage that the gallery had set up for the occasion. Glass of champagne in hand, Redwine smiled out at the large crowd in front of him. Sirius thought the warlock glanced at him in particular as he joined the masses and began to slip in between the bodies to where Hermione stood with their friends.
As he neared them, Sirius heard Harry cut in with a loud whisper before Redwine began to speak. "Who do you think's behind the curtain?"
"My money's on Minerva McGonagall," said Tonks.
"Holy furies," croaked Ron, choking on his drink.
"Don't be an ass, Ronald. She's a legend."
"Is it you, Gin?" Harry asked.
Ginny Weasley bit her lip wickedly and tossed her long red hair over one shoulder. "You wish."
"I really do, you know. He's mad not to have asked to paint you."
"Last year his model was one of Ollivander's nieces," said Neville.
"I know who it is," whispered Luna to no one in particular as she gazed up at the ceiling.
Sirius moved a step closer so that he could stand behind Hermione. With the crush of people around them, he let her know he was there with a soft squeeze of his hand on her hip. He didn't think anyone had seen him touch her. The last thing he needed just now was Molly Weasley hexing off his fingers – or something else – because she thought he was up to no good.
The buzz of voices died way to nothing as Colin began to speak. "My friends. I am so delighted that you could be here tonight for the premiere of my latest work. It's no lie to say that creating every single one of these pieces has been a true labour of love. In fact, I can't remember when I last had so much fun or felt such a connection in the studio."
Sirius frowned. Why the fuck was Redwine looking at Hermione like that? Was that warlock incapable of not flirting with her, even now? His frown turned into a deeper scowl as Colin grinned at Hermione before looking back to the rest of his audience.
"I know that what you've seen so far tonight has been rather abstract. There's a reason for that. This," he said, pointing to the hidden painting behind him, "is the key that will then reveal my inspiration for everything else on show here tonight. Our partnership has been a meeting of the minds, and I'll be forever grateful to have this amazing person in my life. She hasn't just been a model – she's been a true muse, as well as a good friend."
Turning slightly, Hermione caught Sirius' eye. It was a rather sultry look she was giving him; so much so, in fact, that his own eyes widened in response.
"Is everything all right?" he whispered.
Her only answer was to take his hand in hers. Sirius glanced about, but everyone was still watching Redwine. Then again, maybe Hermione wanted people to notice. Maybe this was her way of telling him they shouldn't be a secret any longer. He cast a quick eye to place Molly Weasley in the jumble of faces about them… just in case.
"Are you ready?" Hermione asked softly.
"Ready for what?"
Her only answer was a tiny, secret smile as her eyes refocused on Redwine.
"Until now," continued the warlock, "not many in our world have known of our association – our friendship – and it took me some convincing to get her consent in the first place, but we both agreed it was long past time for something a little… unexpected."
Sirius was suddenly overwhelmed with the most curious feeling of déjà vu. His mind slowed down and seemed stuck in the moment. He felt lost in the movements and words swirling about him, and yet they all felt sharply familiar.
More than a bit confused, he shook his head, trying to fathom what on earth was going on. He knew he'd had a sensational time with Hermione in the cloakroom, but could his brain really become this addled from a shag? A spectacular shag with his witch, but still… Why did he suddenly feel like everything was slightly off-kilter?
Blinking furiously, Sirius tried to refocus by gazing at his favourite spot on Hermione's neck – that sexy, delectable patch of skin that always made her shiver. His eyes then moved from her neck up to one of Redwine's sketches near the bottom of the grand staircase, off to one side from where everyone else was looking.
It was an early draft, obviously, just a few quick strokes of charcoal and some smudging of a woman's back, but in such close detail that almost everything about her was lost in the rendering of it. The pencil's trace revealed a sweeping line from the back of her neck to the slightly pointed tip of her shoulder blade beneath the skin. The only distinguishing mark was a tiny cluster of red markings, so faint against her skin that it was possible the model herself had no idea they were there until Redwine had painted them.
The entire sketch was only the hint of a body, an early thought of something yet to be in focus.
For everyone else in the room, it was just a study of lines.
But for Sirius Black, it was his entire world.
Stunned, he screwed his eyes shut and then stared again, looking from the sketch to the shoulder just in front of him with its faint constellation of tiny red birth marks, and then back again to the drawing on the wall.
He'd first noticed the small cluster of red pinpoints on the back of Hermione's shoulder when they were at Rules. When he had stood behind her, trying to explain how he felt both lost and found whenever she was near him. When he had tried to warn her against wanting him, against being with him, because he was a Black. Because he was scarred. Because he was dark. She had turned away from him, furious, holding herself still with her arms wrapped around her torso, and he had stared at those red markings as he had come up behind her, his hands eventually running down her bare arms to hold her close.
The marks were the colour of an unopened summer rose: both faintly red and starkly pink. He'd meant to ask if she knew they were there, a lost constellation of blushing stars on a part of her body she might never have seen.
And then he knew.
He knew it as surely as if he had been in the studio with her while she had posed.
He knew whose face was behind that wide blue curtain; whose lithe body was captured in tiny details and half-glimpsed studies on every wall around him; whose naked figure had set Redwine's brush on fire.
Sirius' chest grew tight. His fingers sharply gripped Hermione's hand where she had been holding him sweetly only seconds before.
She looked back at him, sensing the difference. "Sirius?"
"And so," continued Sir Colin, "it is indeed a very great pleasure for me to introduce you to someone I think everyone in this room already knows on sight, but perhaps not quite like this. My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, witches and wizards, friends old and new – I give you the greatest witch of her age, my Lioness of Gryffindor… Hermione Granger."
The blue curtain fell, revealing all of its secrets in a sudden woosh of fabric and colour.
There was a loud gasp from the assembled guests, followed by a brief, sharp silence. Then the sound changed again. Just a trickling hum at first, before growing in leaps and bounds to become a loud roar of noise, a thunderous roll of excited, astounded applause that filled the gallery and echoed off the walls.
But Sirius Black heard none of it. He could only stare, completely overwhelmed at the sight before him.
Even as his wide eyes devoured every inch of the canvas, undone by the vision it presented, a wrathful frost erupted inside of his chest, choking him. It filled his lungs, chilled his blood, and froze the rest of his body with a cold, icy fury.
As everyone else in the room turned towards her, Sirius let his cold, stiff fingers fall away from Hermione's hand.