Chapter 28: The Lioness
The smell of the house. As soon as she stepped out of the fireplace at 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione's olfactory senses were filled with the familiar scents and smoky odours of the creaky old manor.
She'd missed them.
She'd missed being home.
A quick look at the clock on the wall surprised her: almost midnight. The house was shrouded in darkness. There were no sounds of rustling in the kitchen or movement on the stairs or creaking floorboards overhead.
With a determined air, Hermione quietly made her way up the flights of stairs, past Remus and Tonks' room – no light shone behind their closed door – and up the last few steps to the landing on the third floor.
The last time she had climbed up those stairs in the dead of night, Sirius had been holding her hand. Moments later, he had dared himself to kiss her, to prove to both of them that he could stop. And then he hadn't.
Stopped, that is.
He'd done much more than kiss her.
For a moment, Hermione paused, not quite sure of what to do next. The lights seemed out in Sirius' suite of rooms as well. Just to be sure, she knocked softly on the heavy wooden door.
No answer.
He wasn't there. Even when deeply asleep, Sirius was always the type to hear a knock and react promptly.
The door also wasn't latched properly. At the last rap of her knuckles, it swung slightly open.
An invitation?
Biting her lip, Hermione decided to go inside. She had never been in Sirius' rooms before. She knew there was a sitting room first, and then presumably his bedroom proper somewhere further inside.
No bath, of course, otherwise they never would have had so many run-ins on the landing with one of them wearing only a towel.
True to form, she could tell just after entering and half-closing the door that Sirius' decorative choices reflected his Byronic personality: old wooden furniture, dark colours, heavy drapes.
"Lumos," she whispered, using her wand to guide the way.
The walls were a deep burgundy, matching the dark oak chairs and table. But as soon as she raised her arm higher, Hermione's attention was captured by the number of paintings hanging on the walls. There were so many of them. Each depicted vastly different scenes: battles, forests, intimate dining clubs, long empty galleries, a throne-like chair… There was nothing abstract or impressionistic; all of the canvases were peopled. The sleeping faces of different witches and wizards met her eye, and she quickly lowered her wand so as not to wake them. Some of the frames stood empty, which made their backgrounds appear strangely prominent. Hermione knew that meant their subjects were off elsewhere in the room, or in a different place entirely.
One wizard, however, was awake, albeit not saying much. A rascally-looking gentleman with silvery-black, curling hair and a rather dashing green cape stood in a full-length portrait that took up one entire wall. She could see instantly how such a man would dominate any space around him.
He smiled down at Hermione as she neared his canvas and she immediately recognised Sirius' well-known smirk: this had to be a relative. And since there were so few of Sirius' ancestors that he didn't loathe, she felt fairly certain who this must be.
"Uncle Alphard?"
The smile deepened and the charming wizard winked at her – another Black inheritance – but then he put a finger to his lips, keeping them both silent. Alphard's gaze travelled over to a different wall on the opposite side of the room. He raised his brows and nodded towards it. Hermione took the hint.
Slowly, she wandered over to the slightly recessed alcove across from Alphard's portrait. A large painting hung there, too, all on its own. Unlike any of the others, however, this one was hidden, its canvas covered by a dark blue curtain.
Hermione's stomach dropped.
She knew what this was.
What this had to be.
Barely aware of her own movements, she waved her wand to move the curtain to one side… and found she was staring at herself. Her nude doppelgänger in the portrait wasn't moving tonight the way she had done in the gallery when Colin had presented his creation to the wizarding world; instead, she held one relaxed pose close to the edge of the frame, her nakedness seeming rather ghostly in the pale blue glow of Hermione's wand.
The Lioness tilted her head just a touch as the two women regarded each other. One smiled; the other most decidedly did not.
Hermione's fingers gripped her wand until they turned white.
How could he—
A loud crash echoed through the room, spilling light in from the now-illuminated hallway. Hermione jumped and spun around.
Sirius stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette framed against the brighter light behind him.
"What the hell is this?"
Hermione's eyes grew round. She'd been caught. "Sirius! I—"
"What are you doing in here?" he snarled, cutting her off.
"Wha—?"
"Answer me!"
"Prying, obviously!" she fired back, not knowing what else to say.
"Get out," he growled.
"I'm sorry?'
"GET OUT!"
"No!"
"For fuck's sake, woman!" he bellowed. "I don't want you here! Have some sodding self-respect and leave!"
"If you don't want me here, then what is she doing here?" hissed Hermione, pointing at The Lioness.
Sirius swung the door shut behind him with a bang and snapped his fingers; all the lamps suddenly came to life, lighting the room. Hermione shaded her eyes to adjust, missing as Sirius walked straight up to her, stopping only a few inches away. His furious face filled her vision.
All thoughts of why she had come here disappeared. There was only the portrait. Again.
Eyes blazing, she glared at him. "Why do you have this here?"
"Don't you remember?" he snarked. "I bought it."
Hermione blew past that. "Well, what's the real reason?"
Sirius' eyes narrowed into small triangles. "What do you think? Merlin's beard! You're supposed to be the smart one!"
"You're just in here, watching me whenever you want? You couldn't have me, so you'll have my nude instead? That is beyond creepy. It's disgusting!"
Outraged, Sirius leaned further towards her. "Are you dense?" he spat.
"Hardly! Why else would you be hiding me away up here? How could you do something like that?"
"How could I—" Sirius' nostrils flared. Then he thundered, "LOOK AT THE GODDAMN PAINTING, HERMIONE! It's covered! I don't look at it. Ever. And neither does anyone else. That's the bloody fucking point!"
Straightening her spine, Hermione refused to back down. But even while doing so, her eyes couldn't help but gorge on him: the days' growth of scruff along his jaw and the way his wind-tousled hair framed his hauntingly silver eyes. Sirius looked as if he had just walked in from prowling a windy heath or debauching young virgins in the moonlight.
For a moment, all Hermione could think of was the feeling of him lying next to her in the darkness of her room; the way his mouth had playfully nipped her shoulder while he thrust behind her; the way his thumb made tight circles on her clit while his fingers delved deep inside her, making her arch up into his touch.
Those beautiful, perfect hands.
Her heart pounding in her chest from both the memory and her current fury, Hermione snapped, "I don't understand. Why would you cover it? Because it's like you said? You're finished with me?"
"No!"
She paused. "No, that's not why you covered it, or no, you're not finished with me?"
But Sirius didn't answer. His eyes were too busy roving over her face.
They both were breathing raggedly. The more he drank her in, the more she felt a sinful sensation pulse between her legs.
Goddess, the things that man could do to her body without even laying a finger on her.
Taking a sharp breath, she picked up Sirius' signature scent: smoke in the autumn and evergreens, a note of firewhisky instead of coffee, but still that hint of spicy cinnamon at the finish. He smelled so good. The thought made Hermione bite her lips even more, smelling something so delicious in the midst of feeling so riled.
And he still wasn't answering her.
"Sirius! Why is it here?"
He kept staring at her mouth as he quickly repeated her words. "Why is it here?"
"Yes, why?"
His gaze rose back up to hers. "Don't worry," he growled. "It's not mine." His voice vibrated like a cello – full and intense.
"What?" she asked.
"It's not mine. You are not mine. You spent long enough telling me that. It finally sunk in."
Hermione swallowed as she took that in, but she still wasn't satisfied. "Then why is that painting here?"
"Because it's yours!"
That was the very last thing she expected to hear. Hermione blinked furiously. "I'm sorry?"
Sirius let out a long breath, clearly trying to control his temper. "The painting is yours. Don't you see?" His voice almost broke on the final word.
Her brows rose on her forehead. The painful ache she felt from the closed-off bond echoed through her bones.
"I bought it for you."
"You never said that before."
"You didn't give me a chance, did you?" he countered. "Not when you could snap at me instead!" Tilting his head up to the ceiling, Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I had always intended to give it to you. I wanted to tell you that at the gallery as soon as I did it, but I was too angry. Then we started yelling and then you were gone and then… then everything else happened."
"Sirius."
He moved away from her, looking up at the painting. Hermione couldn't see, but she somehow knew that he was gazing into The Lioness' eyes rather than at her body: that version of her who listened, and smiled, and was happy.
She wanted to scream.
"I wanted you to have the painting so that you'd have full control over what happened to it. To her. Two words with Redwine after the reveal told me you hadn't thought of doing that yourself, so I snapped it up, then and there. For you – and to stop anyone else from having her, either. I told you that. Then I got up on that damn stage and… you know what happened next."
Sirius moved closer to the wall, fingering the soft velvet of the painting's curtain with one hand. "Redwine will want to display it, of course – if you're willing – have it go on tour. Totally understandable, really. It's his best work. She's stunning." He turned to look at her over his shoulder. Hermione felt him stare at her hair, at the one bared shoulder showing in the overlarge sweater she'd been wearing all day, and then lower, across the rest of her body, all the way down to the ground.
"You're stunning," said Sirius. "I couldn't bear the thought of someone else owning her, someone else looking at you without you knowing when or why." He shrugged, adding, "I didn't think it was right. That's what I was trying to tell you – very ineptly, I know – when we talked at the gallery. Before everything went to shit."
"Before," she agreed. "Sirius."
Luna's voice sounded in her head, the memory crystal clear: "I've never really talked to Sirius that much before, but he seems like the kind of man who might drive someone out of their house – or make them want to go back in."
So true, thought Hermione, as she watched him watch her.
She had craved for Sirius to look at her the way he was right now – like she was something he wanted to gobble up. But, somehow, she couldn't move.
"I didn't buy you, Hermione," he said plainly. "I never meant for you to think that, but I was also a jealous prat that night because… well, because I am one. I'm sorry for what I said, for the way it came across. No one owns you. No one ever could. Least of all me."
Clearing his throat, Sirius turned away and began to pull the curtain across the canvas once more with his bare hand. The cough seemed to break whatever spell had been holding them briefly in thrall. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and detached.
"Now that you know, you can take her with you. Even a painting this large should fit in that mad bag of yours, yes?"
Hermione shook her head. "Sirius. Stop. Look at me."
Leaving the painting only half-covered, he did as she asked. Hermione came closer and glanced up at the canvas. Her nude twin was mostly hidden by the blue cloth, but the man in the bed behind her was still slightly visible. That determined feeling that she had internalised at Harry's cottage, that had pushed her through the Floo network and up the stairs into this forbidden room – Hermione felt it flowing through her now as she looked at the painted, shadowy version of Sirius in the portrait, and then at the real man standing before her. She looked again at the canvas.
The Lioness' mate: the man that she'd asked Colin to paint in the shadows as her grand gesture to Sirius about how she felt… but it had been too understated. Too subtle.
Time to be direct.
"I'm not here about the painting," she said.
"No?"
"No," she confirmed.
"Then why…?" Sirius rolled his eyes with impatience. "Can you just get on with telling me why you're here? It's late."
"I know that. I know it's late. But I had to come."
"Really?"
"I did."
"But why?"
"I—"
"Damnit, 'Mione! Why did you come? Tell me!"
"From the beginning?" she clarified.
"From wherever will let me get to bed already." He waited, scowling at her.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione began. "I know I have a lot to apologise for. I might be too late, I don't know. I should never have behaved like that at the hospital. I was—" She paused, looking around the room for inspiration. Her eyes briefly rested on Alphard, who seemed to be listening with a fair degree of interest. "I was wrong. I know you didn't invoke the soul bond to save yourself. You did it for us. Somehow, I think I always knew that—"
"You gave a good impression otherwise," he snarked.
"—but it was easier to be angry at you, rather than to accept that something like this was even possible. So, first off, I'm sorry. For everything. Truly."
She took a step closer.
Sirius watched her approach with a wary expression on his face. "You should be sorry," he said. "You were horrid."
"I know. I was." Feeling just a bit defensive about being so humble, she couldn't help adding, "You're not always perfect either, you know."
His face was like stone.
Despite that, Hermione pressed on, knowing that Sirius wouldn't give her forever to explain herself. No man should. Not one that she'd want, anyway.
"That night last spring – in the kitchen," said Hermione, haltingly. "When I first saw you, I had no idea what was happening. I couldn't accept what my eyes were seeing – that you were back. You were home. And then, you looked at me. I hate not having the words to explain what that was like. I've read a hundred romance novels, but they've always been fluff. I never thought… I never really believed anything like that could be real. I think that's what's been throwing me from the start: you make the impossible real. I've never done well with the impossible."
Sirius raised his eyebrows briefly.
"You know I was unsure about everything," she continued. "That's why I had to leave after… after we'd slept together. I thought I knew how I fit into your life, and it killed me to mean so little, and then you said it wasn't that way, and I—I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe you. I wanted to, I wanted to desperately," she emphasised. Her cheeks suffused with colour. "Sirius, you have to know that. But I always sabotage myself with doubts. I have so many of them. They're my worst fault."
"Anything else?" he asked coldly.
Biting the inside of her lips until they almost turned white, she looked around his room, hating the light that wouldn't let her hide anything flickering across her face.
"I wanted to go to you when we were apart. I ached to – but, deep down, I still thought you didn't want me. That maybe you were swept away by the romance of it all – and it was so romantic, Sirius, it truly was – but that those feelings wouldn't last for you. I was scared it would fade for you, but be forever for me. So, I thought I would do something a bit daring, to show you that I was willing to take a risk, too. You see, it still… unnerves me to feel this way about you. To feel so much."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself.
"At the gallery, I wanted you so badly – and then you were there, wanting me, too. I don't know if I've ever been so happy as when you led me away to that cloakroom. I'd been so hopeful about the portrait and what it would tell you. Colin had never planned on it being a nude, you know."
Sirius tilted his head, intrigued.
"It's true," affirmed Hermione. "It was my idea to change it all. I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to go crazy until you simply had to have me. I was that full of myself." Her small laugh had no warmth as she cast her eyes down to the ground. "I thought, after those letters, we were on the same wavelength. I never dreamed about the other possibilities with the painting – all those things you worried about as soon as you saw her."
Hermione cast her gaze back to The Lioness. "I'm quite jealous of her, you know. Have you ever heard of anything so foolish? I just don't think she would have made as many mistakes as I have."
"Hermione."
"Please, let me finish," she said hurriedly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to say any of this again."
"Fine," he said. "Go on."
"The Veil…" She tilted her head back, remembering.
"What were you thinking?" asked Sirius sharply. "What in Godric's name would have made you go there, of all places?"
"You," she whispered immediately. "I went there for you. We'd fought. We'd said those things to each other. You didn't understand about the painting."
"I did," he said grudgingly. "I didn't at first, but then, when you pointed it out – I did."
"I left that room after fighting with you and I just wanted to disappear into the floor. I felt so lost – like some vital part of me had snapped and was bleeding inside, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. And then Colin came and showed me Corrine's letter… and I knew what I had to do."
Sirius's stare shot through her. "What were you thinking?" he demanded again.
"I wanted it gone."
"The bond?"
"No. The Veil."
"Why?"
Hermione looked straight at him. "I'd pull that archway down stone by stone if it meant I got to keep you with me. Then you would have known. You'd told me again and again how you felt. That was me telling you. You hadn't understood the portrait, even though you're right there," she added, pointing up at the canvas. "I think some part of me hoped that, if I could save you this way, you'd have to know. You'd know how I felt. Feel. Felt. I don't know."
"There were other ways," muttered Sirius.
Hermione shrugged. "I did what I thought I had to do. What I wanted to do. I'd still do it, given half a chance. When I realised the Veil was dragging you back, I had to stop it. Then, when I'd wrecked it all, I had to take your place. I was ready to die for you. I would have done anything to keep you safe and here and alive. No matter how furious I was with you, no matter how much we always seem to hurt each other. It was worth the risk. You were worth the risk." Her shoulders rose up to her ears, a totally lost look on her face.
"I thought I knew what I was doing. I didn't. I was wrong. And then when I realised you were there in the Chamber – that you'd come to rescue me – that I'd put you in so much danger because the Veil wouldn't stop until it had you back – I realised that I had killed you. I've never been so terrified in my entire life, and I couldn't even say a single word to warn you. I'm so sorry for that, too, Sirius. So sorry."
Her face crumpling, all Hermione could suddenly see was that split-second when Sirius had looked at her just before the torture of Colin's spell and the Veil pulling him in opposite directions had begun: the way his eyes had been so full of silvery mystery; the way she had suddenly felt known.
"I have this problem," she sniffed, fighting for composure. "I can't think straight when I'm around you. All this time, that's how I wanted you to feel about me."
Hermione so wanted to be poised right at this moment, to be strong and alluring and everything he would ever desire. Instead, a sob fought its way to the back of her throat, making her almost choke on her words as she kept talking. "I—I can't take in that you really want me. Me. I mean, why would you? You're Sirius Black. I was never the popular one, like you were. I was never like Ginny or Lavender or Parvati, having the boys chase after me."
"I'm no boy, Hermione," he said stonily.
"I know that," she said, her eyes huge. "What I mean is, I had no forerunner to you. Not really. No one who truly touched me or drove me crazy. And then, one look from you on a dark night, and all I could think of was you. Needing you to want me. To need me. No matter how we were together all those years ago before you fell. My life was suddenly only about you. I know you've said we're done now, but before – when there was still a chance for us – I couldn't understand why you'd bother to flirt with me or tease me or make me get all flustered. And it never seemed cruel with you or just a lark. But, still. You're you and I'm… me. I've never felt the way I did when I was with you. I didn't know what I was doing. I still don't."
He quirked an eyebrow. "And I'm some expert?"
"Maybe not, but you give a very good impression of it."
For a moment, she thought Sirius almost moved towards her, but then she blinked, and the moment was gone. His nostrils flared, but he stood stock-still, his face impassive.
"I know the soul bond exists, Sirius," she said slowly. "And, if it's there now, it's because it was always there, all this time. Before St Mungo's. Before the Veil. Neither of us would be alive now otherwise. That's why I came here tonight. Once I realised that, I had to get to you, straight away. And then you weren't here, and I found her" – she waved towards The Lioness – "and I didn't know what to think."
Sirius crossed his arms, still silent, observing her. Hermione waited, holding her tongue.
At last, he spoke: "At the hospital. You hated me. I knew you'd be angry, but I didn't think you could hate me like that. Not after everything else."
Hermione bit her lip and looked down, ashamed. "I didn't hate you," she whispered. "I never could. But I was a spoiled brat. I was angry and scared and confused, but that's no excuse for how I behaved. For what I said. But, since you left, I've had my head screwed back on again."
"Sounds painful."
"I think it needed to be," she admitted. "Remus was quite blunt: he told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and grow up. Getting furious because life didn't work out exactly as I had imagined it would… that was just about the silliest thing I could have done."
"He said that, did he?" mused Sirius, raising one eyebrow.
"Not those precise words. His version was rather more elegant."
Sirius snorted. "It usually is. And now?"
Twisting her fingers together, Hermione fought for the right words. "I'm asking you to forgive me, Sirius. Please."
She looked at his remote expression, the way his arms were casually crossed, and something inside her began to shatter.
His mouth twisted slightly. "Accepting that the bond exists will make things less painful for both of us going forward," he said coolly, "so thank you for that. But it doesn't let me read your mind. It just lets me show you what's in mine – not that I'll be doing that again any time soon."
"Oh, Sirius – I'm so sorry."
Sirius, however, was unconvinced. Flattening his mouth into a thin line, he shook his head slightly. "That's not enough. I begged you at St Mungo's, Hermione. I pleaded with you to understand – but you were so cold."
"Please."
"Saying 'please' means bugger all!" he snapped. "It's just a word! What's changed so much for you in two days that would make you come here now in the middle of the night?"
She swallowed. "Everything. Nothing."
Sirius rolled his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "Always the infuriating answers with this one," he muttered before turning gruff. "Talk. Now."
"Do you remember," she asked, "on our date, I said I wished I had been the one to find you? Not to keep you, or own you, or anything like that, but because I thought, if I had been the one, it might have created a link between us, something that would explain what I felt. What I feel."
"Be careful what you wish for," he said softly.
"But that's just it. I did wish for this. For the soul bond. After the Veil, I was so upset, I'd forgotten, but then it came back to me and I knew it was true. I wanted that connection with you then. I craved it. And I want it now. But, before, I thought I was talking about symbolism, not… reality. Knowing the soul bond really exists – it upends everything I thought I knew, and that's so jarring. But it also seems so obvious it was there all the time, that I feel like a complete idiot. At the hospital, I felt so guilty about almost killing you, and so angry that I could have been so wrong… and you got the brunt end of all of that. I was awful. But finally admitting all of it to myself also made other things so clear, so sharp in my mind."
"Such as?" he said, his eyes unreadable.
"How I feel about you. How I want you to feel about me."
Sirius didn't move.
She waited… and then waited a bit more.
"Well?" asked Hermione. "Are you going to say anything?"
When Sirius spoke, his voice was a low growl that made her instantly fear the worst. "You made it very clear at the hospital that I was not wanted." His eyes burned into her. "So, I'll ask again. Why are you here? What is it you want from me?"
She met his gaze with all the heat and passion inside of her.
"Do you hear me, 'Mione? What do you want?"
"You." Her voice held no trace of doubt, no hesitation or wavering.
"It's not that easy."
"I know that. I know you need more than just words and promises. But I have to know: am I too late?"
Sirius looked at the floor and exhaled slowly.
"Sirius, please! You have to listen to me!"
"I did," he said. "You told me to leave. Now I'm saying the same to you. I'm tired and it's late and I can't keep doing this."
She grabbed at his shirt front. "You have to forgive me, Sirius! You have to forgive me!"
"It's late," he said again, grabbing at her hands.
Hermione peered up at him, suddenly suspicious. "It is late. Very late. And you just came back. Sirius? Where were you?" She twisted her hands out from beneath his grip. "Where?"
"Out," he replied.
"Where?"
He looked down. "You should know – I've been seeing someone."
Hermione thought she might drop straight through the floor. The sudden wave of shock coursing through her was absolute agony. "Aurora?"
"Not her."
"It's… it's been TWO DAYS! How—?"
"It's not what you think," he said quickly.
"I've heard that before. Who is she? WHO IS SHE, SIRIUS?"
He swallowed. "Katie Bell."
Hermione staggered backwards, her mind racing so quickly, she couldn't take anything in. Just that name. "Katie…? Katie Bell? But, but she's—"
"Hermione."
"Oh, Merlin," she breathed, closing her eyes. "Gods, I am such a fool. I thought… I thought there still might be time. That I could tell you that I want you and that I need you and that I lo—" She cut herself off, covering her mouth with her hands. Sirius made a move towards her, but she shied away. "I shouldn't have come here. I have to go."
"No!" barked Sirius.
Heading straight for the closed door, Hermione shook her head. "I'm leaving."
Strong arms grabbed her back just before her fingers reached the handle. "You're not going anywhere!" he shouted.
"Let me go!"
Sirius pulled her back to the centre of the room, holding her struggling form as she kept trying to escape him. "'Mione! Stop it!"
"No! I want to go!"
"I'm not fucking her, Hermione!" yelled Sirius. "I'm talking to her! She's a healer!"
With one great tug, Hermione wrenched herself out of his arms, glaring at the dark-haired wizard blocking her from the door. "I don't need to know any more!" she cried out.
"Yes, you bloody well do! Listen to me! I just talk to her! She listens. Katie's a soul-healer. For people like me."
"She's a… what?"
As suddenly as Hemione's temper had flared, it died away, leaving her dizzy. Reeling, she suddenly felt Sirius at her side. His arms came around her again, to hold rather than restrain.
"Hermione."
"Yes?" she answered, still dazed.
"I would never… gods, woman…" Sirius' eyes were fixed on her lips. Out of instinct, Hermione licked them. She felt the groan leave his body an instant before she heard it echo in her ears.
"Circe wept," he rumbled.
She had been so afraid of touching him all this time, throughout her entire confession. Now in his arms, she carded her hands through his hair, tipping his face to hers, searching for the truth. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me that you're not—"
"Never."
She glanced away and one of his hands came up to cup her jaw, turning her face back to him. "Look at me," said Sirius. "Look, damn it! I am not lying to you. Believe it!"
Biting her lip, Hermione asked in a high voice, "I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm jumping ahead—"
"Damn right, you are. Stop it!"
Bringing both of her hands down, she cupped Sirius' face in palms. "Sirius."
He shook her slightly. "Tell me, right now: do you want to be soul bonded to me?"
"I—"
"Answer the damn question, Hermione!"
"Do you want to be soul bonded to me?" she blurted back.
"I asked you first," he pressed.
"I asked you second!"
"Answer me!"
"Just let me—"
"No, tell me!"
"Nox!"
Hermione felt Sirius stiffen against her as all of the lights around them went out. Darkness consumed everything.
"What are you doing?" he asked harshly.
"I don't want any more misunderstandings," whispered Hermione. "I don't want to argue – at least, not as much. Not when it hurts. I can't use words for this, so I'm not very good at it. But you have to know. I came here for a reason tonight. For this."
"For what?"
"Close your eyes," she murmured.
"What are you doing?"
"Please," she whispered, drifting her hand down across his face so that she could feel his eyelashes flutter closed against her palm. Her fingers danced further south, across the bare skin where his collar stood opened, and down along his arm until she could take his hand in hers.
"Hermione. Don't."
"Please. I want to try."
Because it was completely black, she heard rather than saw Sirius take a short, sharp breath.
"What do you—"
"It was too much before. I tried earlier, but it wasn't right. You weren't there. But we're both here now," she explained, taking his other hand, so they were fully linked. "So, please – can we? Try?"
Sirius' fingers flexed and tightened against hers. His voice hit a spot at the very bottom of her spine. "What do you need me to do?"
"Find me."
When Sirius lifted his side of the bond, the first rush of feeling from him to her was like an oil strike booming out of the earth, or a hot-water geyser shooting straight up into the air. The force of the connection rocked Hermione backwards. For a moment, she panicked, but then the darkness and Sirius' grip on her hands helped her to centre… to feel… to be found.
Sirius took in another shocked breath as he felt her projecting in return. Their hands locked together.
"'Mione," he whispered. "Gods."
"Please," she begged. "Don't hold back. Don't hold anything back."
And then the emotions crashed over her, filling her up. It was like plunging into a freezing pool or stepping into a tub that was one shade too hot: they both stiffened at the first sensations, and then slowly relaxed into them. The more they breathed together, the more manageable the connection became: the feelings swirled and soared but didn't choke them. Hermione could feel Sirius through the inky blackness, far beyond where she was holding onto his hands.
She felt him.
Everything inside of her was on fire. Pure light, burning her up in the most delicious of ways. Every part of her shook – she could feel him throbbing, too. She felt everything – nothing – infinity. An awareness – a knowing – deep down in her chest, that everything from that moment on would only feel real if she kept touching him, kept herself open to him.
All of the blinding light and searing dark of Sirius' soul was there for her to explore; she could reach out and taste it, touch it, feel it brush up against her face and smooth itself down the curve of her back.
And she knew it was the same for him.
Single words weren't enough to begin to describe what that sharing of souls was like in Hermione's mind and body and heart. Her ordered brain did not like it – not one little bit – but she recognised that this was just a beginning. There was so much more. She knew she could get used to it, channel it, control it: this extra knowledge rippling through her veins, this divine heightening of her empathic sensibilities, this way of knowing one other person.
The other person.
Goddess, but she wanted him. She wanted to crawl inside of Sirius and stretch, filling him up the way he had filled her time and again, pulling her hips flush against him, delving into her depths, making her love him.
Merlin, she loved him. She loved him so much. And this absolutely amazing feeling could be hers for the rest of her life… but only if Sirius was at the other end of the bond.
If he still wanted her.
She had to try.
Still not quite sure of the mechanics behind what she did, Hermione opened up herself even more to her lover, leaving nothing hidden, giving him everything.
Sirius made a sound low in the back of his throat.
"Gods, 'Mione. What are you doing to me?"
"The same thing you're doing to me," she whispered back, leaning in so her mouth danced over the place where his shirt showed bare skin. "What you always do to me – every time. I want this, Sirius. I want you. Us. Everything."
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to turn the light on."
A worried line appeared between her eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yes. I need to see you. I need to see you when I say this."
Looking down, she began to fear the worst, and she winced when she heard his voice clearly ring out: "Lumos."
But when she looked up into his silvery-grey eyes, she saw her future in his face.
"Witch. What have you done?" he asked.
"I thought—"
His arms tightened around her, his fingers threading through her hair, tilting her mouth up to his. Sirius looked ready to devour her.
"We need to talk more," he said firmly.
"I know that."
"Without yelling."
"Of course."
"But I need to do this first. I have to."
"What?"
"Have you." His heady stare was an inferno of heat and want and arousal. "I need you. Now."
Hermione felt herself melt even further against him. "Oh. Yes. Gods, Sirius, yes!"
She felt his fingers softly teasing her scalp. "I missed you," he breathed.
"I'm here," she answered.
"Good," he said, his eyes crinkling with delight, "because I'm never letting you go."
"No," she agreed. "Don't."
Worry suddenly crossed his face and she brought a hand up to his cheek, her eyes wide. "What is it?" she asked.
Sirius bent forward so that their foreheads touched. "'Mione—I—Gods, I don't think I can be gentle. Not this time."
Mimicking his hold on her, Hermione let his dark hair fall through her fingers as she cradled his head against hers. "I can't be, either. I don't want gentle. I just want you."
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.
"Sirius, look at me." She waited until his eyes were fixed on hers, brown and silver swirling together. "You won't hurt me."
"I could."
"That's not possible," she vowed. "I know it. Please. Make me yours."
They both made a small, soft sound as they finally gave in to the power that had been guiding them both for longer than either could remember. Hermione's hands fell from his hair as her arms wrapped around his powerful frame. Sirius teased her mouth, promising a kiss and then retreating, making her lunge for his mouth.
At the first real touch of their lips coming together, they both reared back as if hit by an electric shock. Hermione brought one hand up to touch first her lips and then his, not understanding the sudden sharp current.
Sirius scowled. "Right. This bloody bond means business. Brace yourself."
This time, as he passionately slanted his mouth over hers, the world opened up before them.
Filling with fire, their bodies pressed against each other as their magical connection raced to bind them fully together.
He sipped at her lips, begging entry. Hermione let him in, tingling all the way down to her toes. The dramatic rush of feeling and sensation from the soul bond as Sirius kissed her changed from a violent explosion to the all-consuming roar of a tidal wave, bringing them higher and higher as it gathered strength and speed.
Their tongues tangled together. One leg slipped between hers and she rubbed up against it, needing the pressure, bucking her hips to feel more. Sirius growled low in his throat and she responded in kind, keening softly as he plunged deeper and held her tighter. Hermione could feel him getting hard against her belly, his fingers moving firmly through her hair – and if she left herself go, she could almost take his place and feel their embrace through his eyes, his touch.
A sudden image came to her mind of how Sirius saw her: that reflection of them in the cloakroom mirror at the gallery, his arms wrapped tightly around her and his jaw resting on her shoulder. She had been trying to smooth out her dress after he had rucked it up and then had his wicked way with her. Their escape from the others had been so naughty and furtive; she thought of that encounter as more fucking than making love, and the devilish twinkle in Sirius' reflection seemed to agree with her. But the arms wrapped around her spoke only of love.
He loved her.
That was what the bond was letting her see.
Hermione wasn't aware that she had been gasping and making soft cries until Sirius moved from her mouth to the side of her neck. "Like that, do you?" he teased. But he didn't give her time to respond before sampling the delicious flavour of her skin. The bond, she realised, could tell her what she tasted like. The profound intimacy of it all made her groan.
Then Sirius swept her up in his arms, crushing her against his chest and plundering her mouth as he carried her the length of his rooms to his bed. Rather than tossing her on the mattress as she thought he might, he slowly slid her down the length of his body, making them both shudder.
"Now?" he asked.
"Now," she agreed, before her mouth became preoccupied with the salty, captivating skin at the side of his neck and down across his collarbones. Her fingers were fumbling madly with the buttons of his shirt, her normal composure completely shot.
Sirius grabbed her hands to still them, and then tipped her chin up with one finger so that he could look at her. His face was dark with desire. "'Mione," he said, the gruffness in his voice making her back arch sharply with arousal. "If we do this, there's no going back. If I make love to you now, if I fuck you the way I need to" – she whimpered loudly at that, and he drew his thumb down across her mouth, pulling her bottom lip slightly open as he went – "then we're in this together. Do you hear me? No regrets. No pretending tomorrow that this didn't happen tonight. After this—"
Then they spoke together, knowing what the other was going to say, the words shivering down the bond even as they echoed in the room: "You're mine."
Hermione smiled coyly at him, and then leaned up to kiss him fiercely, holding nothing back. Every touch returned to her twice over as the bond flared and pulsed in time with their aching bodies, the physical and mystical connections feeding upon one another. She felt Sirius scrabble at the hem of her sweater, briefly pulling away from her mouth to strip her bare, her bra quickly following the sweater to the floor.
Jumping up, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Sirius' hands framed her bum, keeping her tight against him. Hermione couldn't stop the rocking motion her hips had already started against his erection, desperate to feel him buried inside her.
With a dark growl, Sirius kissed her deeply, climbed onto his bed, and sank down into her arms.
She was killing him with every word, every gesture. Sirius Black stood in front of this woman who had dared to trespass in his rooms in the dead of night, betraying every instinct in his body not to just pick her up and take her against the nearest wall.
That wouldn't do, no matter how much he wanted it.
Because, first, he had to hear what Hermione came to say. It would determine everything.
She had a lot of explaining to do.
Sirius knew, regardless of what was happening now, that he would always want to bury himself between Hermione Granger's thighs. He would always want to wake up with her at his side in the morning, and tease her until she blushed, and revel in her brilliant mind throughout the day, and explode with desire for her each night.
But what she said in the next few minutes would decide for them both if those dreams were only ever a handful of memories for Sirius, or what he got to do every day for the rest of his life.
And so, he listened, and held his temper, and refused to give her any quarter until she was done.
He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled for being so dreadful before and so childish, and then he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her close, drinking in the smell of her hair, her skin, her tears… He wanted to thrust himself so deep inside of her, he could already feel his cock twitching at the thought, and then he wanted to shout at her until his voice grew hoarse and rough, so that she would know on some cellular level how much she had scared him, hurt him, driven him to a point of despair he hadn't thought possible, even after Azkaban.
Wounded, he still adored her. He always would. He'd known that, even when he'd disapparated from her hospital room and then raged around Grimmauld Place, yelling at every portrait in the manor, not resting until Remus had arrived hours later and gotten him so drunk, he couldn't walk.
"Give her time, Padfoot," the werewolf had said. "She needs it."
"She needs a good bollocking."
"That, too. In time."
"Gods," Sirius had muttered, resting his head in his hands as he sat at the wooden table in the kitchen. "She's killing me, Moony."
"Do you want her back?"
"Only if she knows what it means."
Remus exhaled deeply. "Time, Pads. Give her time."
He'd done that. He'd given her time.
Nearly two whole days of it.
And thank Merlin, his girl had come through. This was his Hermione standing in front of him now, not that harridan from the hospital.
And then she'd asked him to try the soul bond again with her, and he thought his heart might burst. All through her apology, Sirius had thought of his own contrite confession to Harry, out by the rock wall. Harry had listened, and then he had forgiven him. Sirius so hoped he would be able to do the same – and it had worked.
It had been total panic on his part, finding Hermione in his rooms, her eyes wide as she stared up at The Lioness. If it had all gone to hell, right then, he'd at least have known he'd finally had the chance to fully explain himself, and to give the portrait to its rightful owner.
Now, however, he felt there was a better than fleeting chance that he'd be able to keep one goddess on the wall and the other in his bed.
When Hermione's side of the bond had hit him, all thoughts of paintings and curtains had vanished from Sirius' mind: there was only her – only Hermione – only the beauty of her sweet, dangerous soul waiting there for him to discover.
He'd been right – it did feel good to have the bond fully connect them. So good. Almost too good. It could become an addiction, this thrilling sense of total completeness, and then the torrent of her emotions flowing towards him, bathing him in passion and heart and brilliance – and just a little bit of trepidation thrown in at the end.
Sirius knew that would get better in time: her nervousness about showing him everything. He, meanwhile, held nothing back from her. He met her mind and embraced it through the darkness of the bond, letting her play where she wanted, showering her with desire and need and love.
So much love.
At least, he hoped it came across that way. Knowing him, there was a half-way decent chance that his rampant desire for her had drowned out everything else. Sirius didn't know if he should laugh or cry or howl, or maybe some mad combination of all three.
He could do anything – he had his Hermione back.
And, once more time had passed, he would absolutely taunt the bejesus out of her that she, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor House, had been caught red-handed breaking and entering into his rooms in order to win him back.
The girl was almost pure Marauder.
For the moment, however, Sirius was decidedly more focused on the entering part of that thought than anything else.
He made short work of her sweater and plain, white bra – making a mental note that a trip to Madame Malkins was required after the Solstice for some new bits of satin and silk – and then he began to unbutton her jeans, all the while still kissing her, still letting her grind herself against his thigh. Anything to get her to that point of no return – to where they would finally and irrevocably belong to each other
Pulling back from her tantalising mouth, Sirius allowed himself the wickedest grin of his life as he gazed at his witch lying back on his bed, her pale, white skin contrasting so beautifully with his wine-dark sheets. With rough, urgent moves, he stripped her jeans down her legs and then made short work of his own. All that separated them now was a little bit of cloth covering her core, and he knew just what to do with that.
In one, slow, prowling move, he covered her again with his now-naked body, his cock already searching blindly for her tight heat.
"Sirius," she whispered, pushing his hair back from where it hung about his face just above her own. "I need you."
"I know what you need, love. Trust me."
"I do," she said simply, and Sirius thought his heart could never feel more full than it did in that moment.
But he was still Sirius Black, and this was still the love of his life stretched out before him, and he needed to savour that.
He was going to feast on her and make her his in the only way that truly mattered, fucking her and loving her and taking her to a place neither of them had been before.
Smirking like a pirate, he slid down her body and buried his face in her knickers. Gods, the scent of her! He could live and die a happy man knowing the singular scent of Hermione Granger. His mouth began to water; if he had thought he was already painfully hard, he proved himself wrong, as he grew even more impatient to be inside her.
Then he flipped her over onto her stomach; Hermione shrieked at the sudden move and the corners of Sirius' mouth flickered in amusement. He heard her breath hitch loudly as he began to kiss her from behind, running his teeth along the damp gusset of her knickers.
"Sirius!"
"Busy!" he muttered back, his mouth enjoyably occupied.
"You won't be needing these for a while," he said as he pulled the knickers off and threw them somewhere far off in the distance. "Days, most likely."
Like some practiced coquette, Hermione looked over one shoulder at him, her eyes getting hazier with each passing second. Biting at her lip in a way he was sure she knew drove him wild, she brought one of her knees forward, opening herself even more to his lusty gaze. Sirius wanted to look at her face – sweet Circe, he truly did – but the temptation was too great.
He watched his hand stroke her, and then tested her opening with two fingers. "Fuck, you're wet," he whispered harshly. The awe in his voice was completely genuine.
"That's what you do to me," she answered. "Every time."
The musky scent from between her legs became just a hint stronger as she softly rocked her hips before him; Sirius pulled her back firmly with both hands before bending forward and running his tongue up her slit.
Pure heaven.
After several long licks, hearing and feeling her arousal spiral higher, Sirius dug his fingers further into her hips and tipped her onto her back once more.
His irises darkened to a stormy grey as he loomed over her, taking in her questioning look. "I swear to all the gods, 'Mione," he vowed, "I'll be slow next time. I do anything you want and have you screaming my name all over this house. But now, I need to be here." His hand palmed her, cupping her, one finger sliding quickly into her slick channel, replacing where his tongue had been moments before.
Hermione moaned and pushed herself even more into his hand. "I know you do," she said, grinding down with her hips. "I need it too. I need to feel you. I need you to—" She broke off, her cheeks flaming red.
"What do you need?" he asked, curious. When she blushed further, he said more strongly, "Tell me."
"What?"
"Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
"I can't."
"Do it."
"Sirius! I'm shy!"
Slowly, so that she moaned at the loss, Sirius let his finger slip out of her. Without a moment's pause, he licked it clean, watching her closely while savouring her sticky-toffee taste. Then, with a jerk, he pulled her hips up so that they rested on the tops of his thighs. Spreading her legs, he began to play.
"Shy?" he teased, his voice rough and deep. "You? I don't believe it. Isn't this the Hermione Granger who told me once to picture her lips around my cock, fucking me with her hot little mouth?" Hermione moaned at his words, her eyes snapping shut. Sirius didn't stop. "How tight she would feel when I pushed myself inside her? The witch who told me to tell her all the ways I wanted to fuck her, before I'd ever even touched her?" He grinned as she opened her legs further, revealing herself in the soft light around his bed.
Biting her bottom lip again, Hermione raised her eyebrows at him knowingly and then blushed.
"Gods, woman! How can you be the sexiest of sirens one minute and then such a bloody innocent the next? I feel I'm corrupting you every time I touch you!"
Hermione shrugged one shoulder against his bed covers. "You are. Every time you touch me, it's the first time. You make me yours all over again every time you look at me. And when you're inside me…" She sighed dreamily. "I don't know where I stop and you begin. You make me come alive, Sirius – and if we're apart, it's like I reset, just so you can seduce me all over again. Or so I can seduce you."
Hermione's eyes danced at her final words. Shy, my foot, he thought. He grinned wickedly back at her, spreading her wetness over the broad head of his cock. "And now?" he asked.
She took a deep breath, and Sirius saw his brave lioness come to life before him.
"Now? Now, I need you to love me," she said. "I need you inside me. I need to have you in my mouth and suck you down deep. I need your weight on top of me. I need to be rising above you, your hands on my hips. I need everything you have – and I'll never stop needing it. I'll never stop wanting you."
She paused, and his heart stopped.
"I'll never stop loving you," she whispered.
The deepest of growls rumbled its way out of his chest. "'Mione." It was almost a warning; he wasn't sure how much longer he could restrain himself – not if she was talking to him like that.
"I need you to fuck me, Sirius," she ordered. "And then I need you to love me. And then I need to wake up tomorrow morning and have you do it all over again and know that neither of us is going anywhere. I need to know I'm home."
His hands slid up her body as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you, witch."
Her chin tilted up to the heavens as he teased her entrance with his hardness. "Prove it," she breathed.
Sirius pressed his rigid length into her tight, hot core and his eyes slammed shut. "Seven fucking hells."
"Gods, yes! More, Sirius! More!"
It was their magic word and he acted on it, sheathing himself fully inside her in one hard, long thrust.
Sirius knew this coupling wasn't about finesse or romance or the relief of being together again. This was about the bond. This was about giving himself to her utterly, about losing himself inside of her body in order to discover his true self, about letting her take everything he had, offering it up to her for her pleasure and his, sure that she was doing the same, and finding her with every stroke, pushing them both past eternity because now, with each other, they could.
He slammed his hips into hers, trusting that she had said she could handle him, that she wanted him like this, at his most wild and impetuous. He impaled her time and again, heard her sharp cries of pleasure as he filled her up, and then fell forward into her waiting arms, his hips snapping, hitting the mouth of her womb every time.
He was rough – he knew he would be, Merlin forgive him – but Hermione was just as fierce, just as ferocious in how she took him into herself, raising her hips as their bodies slammed together, raking her nails down his back and biting at his shoulders and neck as their speed increased, needing their joining to be primal, to mark them both so that they would know, on some elemental level, that this was no dream.
For a brief moment, she held Sirius' face above her, gazing into his eyes, and ghosted a kiss across his lips.
Then his head found the curve where her shoulder met her neck and he pressed his face to her sweet-smelling skin, hearing her cry out, losing himself, finding her, taking and giving everything either of them ever had. Driving himself into her, Sirius lost the memory of ever being with any other woman. He held Hermione close like a drowning man clinging to a spar of driftwood, his hips pumping faster, chasing something they both could almost see and taste.
The bond flashed and pulsed and roared through him, sending Sirius spinning in a thousand directions, ending with her at every point. His Hermione – truly his, in this most holy of ways.
This fuck was an anointing – he could feel it – a magical, all too human way of showing the world that she was his choice as witch and bonded mate and, gods be thanked, he was hers.
She wanted him. She had chosen him. She loved him.
And with that thought, Sirius came harder than he ever had before in his life, crying out sharply as he finished, knowing that there had barely been enough time to begin to build her pleasure, and vowing silently to himself that he would make her come a dozen times and more in the following hours, because he was hers, and she was here, and he was lost in her arms, and he was finally, totally, and forever complete.
Then he heard Hermione's soft finishing cry in his ear, and felt her inner walls clamp down on his ever-so-sensitive cock as she found her bliss, and he knew he had not been found wanting.
The last thought before sex-induced oblivion rolled over Sirius Black was that this witch was more than a match for him. She was everything for him.
"You," he whispered in Hermione's ear, kissing it softly, "you're my life." He sent his undying love swirling across the bond between them, and then the brightness behind his eyes burnt down – and dwindled – and darkened – and then went out – and they were one.
AN: So, was she able to win your forgiveness, too? I'd love to know!