A/N: Once again, thanks Dave. Love you.

Silver

Afraid

The attacks started on a Tuesday and almost three weeks later, they had yet to end.

They were swift, well planned and the most violent to date.

Voldemort was relentless and every other day, the Daily Prophet held lists of those who had died or disappeared. Both Muggles and wizards alike.

Aurors were getting steadily outnumbered as Death Eater ranks grew and hardly anyone dared join the elite force. All the while, smoke and mist scoured the country as fires burned and Dementors bred.

Full moon nights tormented the countryside and throughout it all, the Order was growing tired and starting to lose hope.

Dumbledore had grown scarce as the days passed. His focus spread far too thinly as the war escalated. Eventually Mad-Eye handled Order meetings and the reports given did nothing for morale.

They were losing.

It wasn't stated- nor openly acknowledged, but the words were there. Edging their newfound reality, souring their every breath.

Eventually, he stopped attending meetings altogether. He wasn't given missions and though he should've stayed to listen, Sirius didn't care to find out whose names were added to the death toll.

Aubrey Bertram. Dan Stevens. James Woodcock.

All names from his past that he'd forgotten but had recently remembered. All his age. All dead.

All victims of a war that would eventually be lost.

At this point, Sirius doubted the Ministry would survive an outright attack. The seasoned Aurors said that wasn't Voldemort's style. Mad-Eye assured them that they too had informants on the inside. Wherever Voldemort was, the Order was there too.

People still died. Were dying. And nothing could be done about it.

The world was going to shit. So he drank.

Sirius raised his flask but before it could reach his lips, he lowered it. The Marauder frowned at the silver case. It wasn't becoming a problem and no matter how much Evans bitched about it, it was helping him.

It guaranteed a dreamless sleep at any rate.

His feet felt heavy. Each step a risk as the world tilted around him. Thoughts muddled and fleeting, he moved wherever his feet guided him and with a snort, he recognised the red door far too late.

'Pathetic,' he chuckled to himself.

His amusement building as he remembered Batty was still at the Potters. It'd been the reason he'd left.

Evans was one thing, but Mrs Potter's and Batty's judgemental eyes were another.

Sirius ran a sluggish hand through his hair, pushing back his fringe.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

Even his obsession with Granger was fine. He reached out, a fist pounding on the door as he leant against the frame.

'Granger,' he called. His voice perhaps a bit louder than he'd intended. He laughed again, his pounding growing desperate. 'Granger, open up!'

The door opening caught him off guard, as did the wand aimed at him.

He was too clumsy. It was far too late and he was way too drunk. He struggled to reach for his wand and stumbled as he moved. The night sky filled his vision, panic began to take over and his eyes moved before he did.

A wandtip flared with light, blinding him and a voice was ringing over the pounding of his ears.

Small hands grabbed at him and he struggled against them as he stood.

'Sirius! Stop!'

He did.

Her voice moved through the fog and he listened. The panic in her words, steadying him as his senses focused on her.

'Granger,' he breathed, chest heaving. His hands curling around her shoulders. 'It's okay. It's okay.'

Wild eyes, bright and beautiful, searched around them and he swore at himself as the Firewhiskey in his system burned itself out.

'I'm sorry,' he told her.

Granger stopped moving and confused eyes moved over him. She frowned, still not lowering her wand.

'I'm sorry,' he said again. And he was.

Fucking hell, he was.

He'd scared her and he was feeling every inch of that guilt as he looked at her panicked face.

'What's wrong?' she asked him, her voice shaky.

Sirius shook his head, mouth dry and throat locked as he struggled to think.

'I-I-I was drunk,' he admitted. 'I didn't think. I'm sorry.'

Granger frowned. Dark eyes searching his own and he swallowed thickly as he saw the look in her eyes shift.

The witch grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside. The door closing shut behind her shouldn't have scared him but it did.

She stared him down, arms crossed, making him feel about an inch tall. When she spoke, her tone was clipped.

'You were drunk?'

Sirius nodded, pushing back his fringe and letting out a breath. Her nose wrinkled and he couldn't really blame her- he'd smelled the alcohol too.

Shame.

It raced up his spine and he felt his face burn as her frown deepened. She was looking at him. Seeing him. And the guilt he'd felt multiplied.

Sirius moved further into the house. He wanted to leave actually, but also, not really.

Now that she was in front of him, speaking to him, he wanted to be near her. He didn't even care that she was going to yell at him.

He was pathetic.

'Sirius?' she called after him, as she entered the sitting room.

He couldn't look at her. His guilt and shame were too strong and seeing her disappointment was not an option. Especially after he'd frightened her.

'I'm an arsehole.'

'Agreed.'

He licked his lips, staring at the days old Prophet on the coffee table, its title mocking and insulting him. MINISTER: VICTORY IS NEAR.

'You shouldn't be reading that. The editor is under the Imperius.'

'I'll let Batty know.'

He nearly flinched at her tone. Granger was pissed off and honestly, he couldn't blame her.

They hadn't spoken in weeks, not after that little kiss of his and when they finally did, it was because he'd been a drunk idiot.

With a shake of his head, Sirius finally turned to her and he didn't move as her eyes darted over him.

He was embarrassed. Humiliated and disgusted with himself- but that shame had more to do with the fear he'd brought her rather than his current state.

'Granger...' he said, meeting her eyes. 'I was drunk. I'm sorry.'

'You were drunk,' she stated, hands on hips, eyes blazing and tone clipped-tempting as fuck all. 'Half a second ago when you scared me half to death you were drunk but not now? Do I look stupid Sirius?

'It's called magic Granger,' he replied, his eyes focused on her lips.

'Excuse me...? Are you being smart with me right now?'

He was. He couldn't help himself. A pissed off Granger was both terrifying and exciting.

'Sirius!'

The Marauder cleared this throat as he tore his eyes away from her delectable mouth. 'I'm not. Firewhiskey burns itself out when confronted with too strong emotions. Magical whiskey Granger. Otherwise it'd be no different than Muggle alcohol.'

She spared him a glance before sniffing. 'You stink.'

Yeah. He didn't doubt it, so he said nothing.

The witch frowned, squinting at his shirt and he bit back a groan. He knew what she was going to say.

'Is that vomit on your shirt?!'

Probably. 'No.'

Honestly, he didn't know. He'd been on a drunken binge for two days and he couldn't really remember if it was or wasn't. There was a sneaking suspicion that it was, but not his. Acknowledging it would only make the reality of it all the worse though so he'd chosen not to. Ignoring it was easier.

'Sirius...'

An ache in his chest burned as he recognised the emerging tone to her voice- the same that Mrs Potter and Batty and Evans had developed as of late.

'Leave it Granger,' he said, his hand pushing back his fringe. 'It's nothing.'

'If it's nothing, why are you getting defensive?'

'I'm not. I just don't want to hear this shit again, not from you.'

The brunette took two steps forward, close enough that he could see each of her eyelashes and take in her scent. Her eyes were beautiful.

'Hear what again?' Her frown morphed then, her suspicions changing and he wanted to run. She understood the situation before he was able to react however. 'Has your drinking been a problem?'

'No.'

She didn't believe him- he could feel it. The shame and self-loathing flared up again, somehow growing worse.

'Go upstairs and shower, the loo is the first door on top of the stairs.'

He looked down and away, staring at his shoes. At her bare feet. At the pattern of her pyjamas.

'I don't need one,' he lied. 'I should g-'

'Oh I'm sorry,' she interrupted, tone sharp and his eyes darted to her own. 'Was I asking?' She pointed to the stairs. 'Upstairs. Now.'

He thought about arguing. About telling her to fuck off as they glared at each other but in the end, be decided against it. There was no point in it, so he sniffed at her like she'd done to him and moved up the stairs.

Not because she'd told him to though, but because he did need to shower.

Sure enough, the shower had been needed. It'd also been fucking torture and he'd had to wank after the scent of her shampoo filled the room. Embarrassment after the fact had also been a problem. Not because he'd wanked to thoughts of her- but because she'd been within hearing range and it seemed that he'd had a problem with saying her name during and after.

She hadn't come calling so he'd taken that as a good sign. It'd also helped fuel the fantasy he'd used- him calling, her answering and helping when he replied that yes, he did need something.

He was pathetic and it was frustrating.

It reminded him of James during fifth year and he hurried his shower along for no other reason than he wanted to leave.

When he was done, he found his clothes had been laundered and neatly folded, shoes cleaned. Flask, missing.

He'd come down the stairs with a small amount of trepidation. His eyes automatically moving towards the front door, the need to leave threatening to take over but her voice stopped him.

'I'm in here!'

Grey eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen and for one moment, he considered ignoring her. But once again, that desperate need to be around her overwhelmed his every sense of self-preservation.

He stepped into the kitchen and before she could speak, his mouth opened.

'Where's my flask?'

Granger didn't so much as bat an eyelash. 'Gone,' she said simply. 'Got rid of it.'

'Why?' he asked her, an edge to his voice. His heart beginning to race, gritting his teeth as heat raced up his spine.

'Because you clearly have a problem.'

Sirius glared at her, taking a step forward. 'That's none of your damn business. Give me back my flask.'

'No,' she said. Her calm tone, unchanged. She kicked out a chair, with a poignant look. 'Sit down.'

'Granger,' he nearly growled, taking a deep breath, 'Give me my flask so I can leave.'

The witch remained unfazed from across the table, an eyebrow arched. 'No. Sit. Down.'

He'd had enough of this. The Marauder pulled out his wand as he glared at her. 'Accio flask!'

It didn't come and he tried again and again. Growing steadily angrier with each failed attempt. After his fourth try, he stopped and looked to the witch sitting on the kitchen table.

She didn't blink. Didn't move, just sat there, watching him and her ease made him snap.

'Hermione,' he bit out. 'Give me my shit now.'

'Or what?' she challenged. 'What will you do if I don't?'

Nothing. Not a damn thing. He knew it and she knew it.

The truth of that tasted bitter and foul, souring his mouth. As did the knowledge that if it'd been anyone else, he wouldn't have hung around as long.

Evans, he'd left her ranting and raving. Mrs Potter, her words had gone in one ear and out the other. Remus... he'd listened with determined stubbornness. Pete was in his own world of shit at the moment so he didn't really care. James didn't know and Mr Potter just watched him with a look in his eyes that he didn't pay much attention to.

But Granger... he couldn't ignore her. It'd be wrong. Like her opinions didn't matter and her concerns were nothing- which couldn't be further from the truth. He actually cared what she thought. And it pissed him off.

Fuck this.

He turned to leave and he didn't know what he was expecting from her, maybe he thought she would follow. Or plead with him to stay, but if that's who she was, he doubted he would've ever felt this way about her.

Instead, what she called to his retreating back was wholly unexpected.

'Coward.'

The word burned through him. It lingered in the air. It pierced his bones and rang in his head.

He froze. Blinking. Drowning in the word and he slowly turned.

'What'd you call me?' he asked, his voice eerily quiet. Unrecognisable.

She didn't reply and he roared at her.

'Granger!'

The witch stood. Anger and defiance in her pose. In the tilt of her chin and gleam in her eyes. He wanted to curse her. Both literally and figuratively.

To curse the day he'd met her. Because if she'd never come into his life... Sirius wasn't too sure of anything anymore. But he knew, felt it in his bones, that his life would've been easier without her in it.

'I care for you!' she shouted back, but he didn't care. Not then.

'Don't ever call me a fucking coward!'

'Cowards run,' she hissed, teeth bared and eyes bright. 'And you're running!'

His head was pounding as a rushing sound rang in his ears. He shut his eyes, shaking his head. A humourless laugh escaped his lips as he ran a trembling hand through his wet hair.

Against his will, grey eyes turned to the fuming witch. They drifted over her. Lingering on her parted lips and heaving chest before moving towards her glistening eyes.

He almost smiled and the burning ache in his chest swelled.

Granger didn't look at all sorry. Defiant to the end, she stood opposite him, glaring him down. Daring him to argue. To fight.

She was fucking glorious.

He licked his lips and felt his anger begin to ebb, edged by guilt and that other emotion which he didn't dare name. Never out loud and not even to himself.

'Drop it Granger,' he warned. Steely eyes boring into her own. 'Just shut the hell up and back off.'

'No.'

He was breathing hard. His fists were shaking and his whole focus zeroed in on her.

'You have a drinking problem.'

Those damn words echoed in the small kitchen. Accusatory as ever. As damming as before.

Shame flooded in. Guilt pounded his gut. Embarrassment as those words left her lips. And then the memories flooded in.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Remus half dead from a Werewolf attack. Pete's sobs as bright green spells flew overhead. James knocked out in a sneak attack as the Dark Mark glowed above. His arm- drifting away and almost welcoming it. Reggie. A glowing green wandtip.

Run! Run you idiot!

They were losing the war.

He couldn't breathe. He was burning up and the room was far too small. He had to leave, but he couldn't move. It was too hard and his rushing, pounding heartbeat settled in his throat and ears.

Then she was there.

Mad curls, creamy skin and understanding eyes.

A slender hand, curled around his bicep- above that scar, grounding him. Her slight touch, an anchor.

She was so close. Each of her eyelashes were clearly defined.

Granger's warm hand, lifted and paused. Hesitation in her eyes as they roamed his face, a frown and pursed lips before she moved.

She cupped his face and the feel of her soft touch against his heated skin made his eyes sting. He watched her- the worry in her eyes. The far too knowing stare.

The words came unbidden. Finally acknowledged.

'I'm scared.'

Granger moved again. Stood on her toes and he lowered his head instinctively.

Their lips met and the whole of his being focused on her.

What was she doing?

A rhetorical question obviously as she was very much, undoubtedly kissing Sirius Black.

It was wrong. She was in the wrong.

It had to stop. Yet, she didn't stop it.

His lips were soft. His tongue sweet. Everything else, his edges, all of him- hard. Right down to his personality.

The taste of him... this was dangerous. Wrong. If she allowed herself to just feel she'd be in trouble. So thinking, as his lips pushed and pulled against her own, was best.

Then things shifted.

He moved, retaking that control which he'd momentarily surrendered. One hand cupped the back of her neck as the other pulled her close and her brain shut down.

Warmth enveloped her, making her skin ripple. Sirius' hands moved over her as their lips locked. He was everywhere and everything. His scent- leather, Firewhiskey and now her shampoo, it made her head swim.

Plush lips teased her own. His heated mouth coaxed her, encouraging whatever this was to continue, sending shivers down her spine. Burning her up from the inside out as his hand curled around a breast.

He pulled her closer still and she felt him harden against her belly. A soft moan was ripped from her throat and he moved with an urgency that she equally matched. Desperation flooded her and she clutched at him when his mouth traced the curve of her neck.

'Sirius,' she whispered. Pleaded. Begged.

Slowly and with a final taste, he pulled away. Breathing heavily and eyes hooded, he watched her.

Hermione struggled to think. To breathe. To damn this and them. Her for not stopping it sooner and him for stopping at all.

And through it all, that question lingered.

What are you doing?

She didn't know. And that terrified her as much as it excited her. Her heart was pounding against her chest and her temples. Her stomach squirmed and she clenched her thighs together, trying to steady the ache he'd built.

This... what was she doing? Honestly. What the hell was she doing?

The room swam around her, she felt lightheaded and could feel the panic building. She wanted to both kiss him again and run away, but all she could do was watch him.

Beautiful, grey eyes. Kiss-swollen lips and flushed skin. He ran a hand through his fringe, a soft, unsure smile edging the corner of his mouth. He shoved his hands in his pockets and the image did nothing to stop the ache beneath her navel.

He laughed and it was a low rumble that set her nerves further on edge.

She was absolutely terrified. Of him. For him. Because of this. Because of the war.

I'm scared.

It'd been that momentary sign of weakness that'd made the walls come tumbling down.

The very same walls that had made her question that first kiss. Forcing her to ask herself: Why did you let him kiss you?

The answer had been simple at first. Easy and without problem- he was her friend and he'd needed it. He was sad and upset and needed comforting. It was nothing more than that. But then, her mind whispered, why didn't you let Harry kiss you that one time in the tent. When you'd both been low and in desperate need for comfort?

'What was the difference between this and that?' she'd asked her reflection, days after.

It'd been the Horcrux she'd reasoned- causing him to forget Ginny, if only momentarily. That was it. Harry had not been himself.

Then images of Sirius followed that thought. Of his laugh and the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke about his friends. Of his fierce loyalty and intensity that set her teeth on edge with anger and that other feeling she'd not been coherently aware of.

'Fancy a walk?'

No, she didn't fancy a damn walk. She almost said as much but the words never formed. Instead, her traitorous hand accepted his warmer, outstretched one.

The air hit her face and she had a momentary flash of panic as she realised they'd left through the front door. Alerting Batty and Dumbledore of her wanderings and yet, a small, reckless part of her didn't care. It was that very part that kept her holding onto Sirius- the one that'd enjoyed the kiss.

This was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Hermione had dissected this thing over and over again and it all came back to one inevitable fact.

She knew better.

Which did nothing to ease her mind when the realisation hit her: She fancied him.

Had done so for much longer than she'd been aware of. It'd crept up on her. Slowly building, moulding itself around her new self, to become a part of who she was.

Worse yet, she welcomed it. It thrilled and excited her. Scaring and scarring her every cell with dangerous truths.

That first kiss brought on knowledge. Self-awareness. This second one verified and validated.

She was so damn scared.

It took a moment to realise that they'd stopped moving and that he was watching her. A cool look in his eyes. Calm and calculating.

She looked away from him, to their surroundings while cursing herself for not yet stopping this.

Again, she knew better.

They were standing on the bridge, a mist beginning to pool around their feet. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't paid attention to where they were going and she mentally swore. Misplaced trust had been the reason she ended up here to begin with. It was further proof that she needed to stop this before it started because following blindly was not for her. Plans and structure were.

And he wasn't a part of that... except he was, she remembered with a jolt. In the long run, he had a large role to play and hadn't she'd sworn to see it through? This, with him, was jeopardising that. It was just another risk in an already dangerous situation. She knew better.

'You're right,' he said, breaking through her thoughts, eyes running over her face. 'We shouldn't do this.'

She froze, her eyes wide as her heart stammered at his words. Her throat got dry and panic flooded in to replace the thrill of excitement.

'I know what you're thinking Granger, it's written all over your face.'

Which was surprising because that thought was now the farthest thing on her mind. Blinded and pushed aside by him echoing her thoughts.

'I'm meant to be protecting you, not...' Kissing, grabbing, fondling. 'I'm sorry.'

She wasn't. Not even a little and that set her heart racing all over again as her face flooded with heat. But still...

'It's a bad idea,' she murmured. Dark eyes trained on his lips as she spoke. 'You have things to do. Next year you'll...'

She froze. Wide eyes darted to his own and her throat locked.

Sirius stared back. His jaw clenched as his hands opened and closed, his body taught. Suspicion and several questions in his eyes. All of which she wanted to know and answer.

Dangerous. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Ask me, she almost uttered. Ask me and I'll tell you everything. About why this is a bad idea and why changing the outcome is as dangerous as this.

The Marauder would understand and agree. She was sure of it. Because he was just as scared as her and he knew that some things were far worse than death.

He looked down and away. Taking a step back as he ran his hand through his fringe. Not asking, his demeanour letting her know that he wouldn't. It both angered and comforted her.

Hermione took a step away from him, turning around. Back to Batty's. He didn't follow her, or at least she didn't hear his booted feet trailing behind. Either way, she didn't dare look.

She cut through the cemetery, face hot and hands shaking. Eyes stinging with angry tears that demanded she run. Far away and without looking back. As far away as she possibly could. To get away from this temptation.

The sound of running feet pounded behind her, setting her further on edge and she almost turned to look when-

'Granger.'

She walked faster. The bright red door within sight. Desperation and fear and need flooding her lungs, making it harder to breathe. Hammering in the knowledge that she was endangering an unsure future. Because of a kiss.

For him.

Hermione ran. Her hurried steps pushed her through the door and up the stairs, into her room. She paced the floor, ignoring Sirius' voice streaming in from outside.

He was making far too much noise but she didn't care, not then. She just wanted him gone and the sooner he realised she wouldn't pay him any mind, the sooner he would leave. When his knocking stopped, her gut ached and regret, hot and heavy, moved her.

Her door opened and she turned to see him standing there, chest heaving and eyes bright with determination.

She found her voice. 'What the hell are you doing? Get out!'

'No,' he said with a shake of his head. Eyes trained on her. 'No.'

Hermione swallowed thickly, her body a jumbled mess of nerves and desperation.

She wanted to move. To run. To stay. To give in and to tell him no.

The Marauder stepped into her room, closing the door behind him.

'Sirius,' she warned, her throat impossibly dry. 'Don't.'

He stopped moving and a bitter taste soured her mouth.

The way he was watching her... it was the same way she'd caught him looking at her several times before. Her stomach ached as the ache beneath her navel grew.

Need. That's what it was.

Brown eyes traced a path from his lips to his eyes.

'Hermione,' he murmured, taking measured steps. 'Tell me to stop.'

She watched him move, struggling to breathe as he inched closer. The hunger in his eyes, bellied by an insecurity that he couldn't hide.

'Tell me to stop,' he repeated as he continued to move.

Her heart was beating far too fast and hard, threatening to give out or burst out of her chest. Making her scared. Making her feel alive.

He was there now, close enough to kiss or push away. His chest at eye level, his scent overpowering. She tilted her head, as he lowered his. His lips grazed her own, before trailing a burning path to her ear.

'Tell me stop,' he whispered, soft lips teasing. 'Hermione...'

With a sigh of surrender, she tilted her head and caught his lips.

A/N: I'm at work and posting this via my cell, during lunch. Please forgive my absence and kindly review.

x Erica