Back for Good

Hermione woke early and quietly the next day, preparing for work without a sound to wake Sirius. They had both slept like the dead the night before, and neither was bothered by the bond’s strictures. Hermione’s fairly regular bad dreams had given her respite for the night as well, the whispering sound she always heard just beyond the reaches of her consciousness having abated for the time being.

Hermione brushed a soft kiss over Sirius’ sleeping cheek, feeling a nice little jolt at the contact. She wondered whether she was blessed or cursed to be bound to such a handsome and sensual man. Blessed because he was obviously good in bed and seemed to genuinely care about her and like her as a person. Cursed because she would never know what it was like to have a man love her because he wanted to, not because he had to. She wondered if, if they never found a solution, Sirius could ever grow to love her.

Dismissing her thoughts as morbid, Hermione headed to work for another dull day.

Sirius woke up later than he’d ever admit to Hermione. Sometimes it was just too nice to sleep in, even if you weren’t sleeping and just daydreaming. He’d lain in bed for hours after he’d awakened, just using the time to think about his current predicament. Truth be told, things could be much, much worse. He could still be beyond the Veil in stasis, not knowing he was dead or as good as, not knowing everything he was missing.

He also admitted that he was grateful it had been Hermione to bring him back. She had grown into a truly lovely young woman, and she had such passion brewing just beneath the surface. He’d seen her incendiary side the day before when he brought her to orgasm. Watching her face had nearly made him come, and he’d had to hold back from wantonly thrusting against her leg to get himself off. The girl could make him embarrass himself if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he’d had a taste, all Sirius could think about was more. He wanted more. He’d pursued many women over the years, both before and after Azkaban, but no one had intrigued him like Hermione. He loved talking with her as much as kissing her. Okay, almost as much. But he was fascinated by her mind. There was something to be said for the only witch in history to ever successfully bring someone back from beyond the Veil. It was a true accomplishment, and Sirius was proud that he’d had a hand in it, even if his part was not exactly heroic (especially since she’d told him she’d bathed him like a child the first night he’d come back. Way to make an impression!).

Sirius prided himself on being one of those rare types who could sit around and do nothing all day. He didn’t need to work: Harry had told him the fortune Sirius had left for him was still intact, and he’d given it back to Sirius. He hadn’t wanted to take it, but he knew that Harry had more than enough money to last him several lifetimes in the manner to which he’d become accustomed. The Black fortune would last Sirius his entire life with more than enough left over to support his children and grandchildren, of which he hoped there would be many. So he didn’t plan on working, but he knew eventually he’d have to do something with his time. He’d always wanted to write a book, but could admit to himself he had no real writing talent. He needed a hobby.

Reclining on the sofa in the library, Sirius grabbed a couple books off the shelves and put them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. There was much more in the Black library than just Dark Arts texts, including a number of both Muggle and Wizarding classics he’d always meant to read. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. But instead of choosing one, Sirius rested on his back on the sofa, arms behind his head.

He glanced over at the pile of books, wondering where to get started, when he saw a very odd thing. The pile of books seemed to be floating. There was a space of about three inches between the bottom book and the coffee table. Sirius wasn’t unaccustomed to strange happenings in this library, but this seemed unusual even to him.

He picked the books up, and his fingers grazed against the empty space between them and the table, which wasn’t empty at all. Moving his books, he touched the space. Using his fingers to define its shape and perimeter, it was clear it was some sort of invisible or Disillusioned book. The cover seemed to be leather, and when he opened it, he got a very uncomfortable sensation all over his body, like ants crawling on him and biting him. He closed it quickly.

Sitting back on the sofa, Sirius wondered what it meant. Why was this book here, on the table? What did it contain? Sirius knew the best way to make a text such as this reveal its secrets was to give it a blood sacrifice, but he was completely unwilling to do that. Blood magic was Dark, and he had no intention of travelling that road, the road that had led just about every other member of his family to madness and death. He left the book where it was, thinking to ask Hermione if she’d pulled it out. He doubted it, since it would have been nearly impossible to find, but she might even know more about it than he did.

He plucked a Muggle novel up off the pile. He was sure he’d bought it in his youth, but he’d never read it. Northanger Abbey. Should be fascinating. He sighed, and settled himself in for a long day of nothing.

Hermione was ready to pull her hair out, but was loathe to make a bigger mess of it than it already was, thanks to the constant tugging and twisting she’d been doing all day.

She wasn’t going to be able to go home during her lunch break today. She wouldn’t even be able to stick her head through the Floo and talk to Sirius. Her project manager had rejected her team’s latest proposal on the grounds that the Ministry had no money in the budget for it. This was ridiculous, since Hermione had specifically researched the budget, found out how much was allotted every year to projects exactly like this, and made her proposal accordingly. But now with the deadline coming up, they had to rework the entire assignment, finding money in other places, and downgrading the entire thing to cost half the money they’d proposed.

So she’d be working all through lunch and most likely doing few hours overtime. Just the thought of being without Sirius that long made her stomach clench in fear. She had no idea what would happen to them. She was hoping that because of… what he’d done to her yesterday, it would tide them over until she got home. It was her only hope; there was just no way to get out of this project, especially with her team counting on her.

Around one in the afternoon, Hermione felt a little queasy. It wasn’t overwhelming, just highly uncomfortable. She rubbed her upset stomach and got back to work.

Around four p.m., Hermione’s head was aching, and her stomach was in constant clenches. Each thought of Sirius brought a wave of yearning so strong, she almost cried out.

At six in the evening, the time which she normally got home for her second dose of Sirius, Hermione was sweating, having blurred vision, and her skin felt clammy and twitchy. She’d vomited twice, and she could barely hear through the ringing in her ears.

When eight p.m. came, Hermione was sure she would die. It was no longer a matter of getting the job done; it was a matter of life and death. She had to get home now or she would surely perish. She couldn’t bring herself to think of what Sirius was going through, and she silently promised him she would never hurt him like this again. She already hated her job; it didn’t make sense to suffer this torture for a Ministry that resented her existence, as evidenced by the constant rejections of her hard work. The only thing that kept her in place was the knowledge that her teammates’ jobs were on the line as well.

Stumbling along the corridor, gripping the wall and ignoring the odd looks she got from other employees, Hermione made it to the public Floos. Her project wasn’t finished, but she’d no longer been able to read the writing in front of her, and making a cohesive thought was beyond her capacities.

Fairly screeching “Number twelve Grimmauld Place”, Hermione launched herself into the Floo, twisting and turning and nearly throwing up in the Floo system, before she was deposited, mercifully unconscious, on the floor of Sirius’ sitting room.

A loud thud awoke Sirius from an exceedingly raunchy dream. He had only a moment to contemplate his options (jerk off or investigate noise), before a sweeping sense of nausea assaulted him. His body was wracked with pain immediately, and he was able to see the dark sky through the library window. Merlin, what time was it?

Sirius tried not to panic, but the pain was as deep as his bones, and he was fighting to maintain consciousness. Heaving himself off the sofa and letting his momentum carry him to the top of the stairs, Sirius fairly slid down them. He paused at the bottom, hoping beyond hope that Hermione was okay, was here within his reach. Gathering what was left of his strength, Sirius crawled into the sitting room. He saw Hermione’s deathly still form in front of the fireplace, and got to his feet to get to her.

She looked awful; she was sweating and twitching. Moans were escaping her lips, and her face was deathly pale. He threw himself down beside her, gathered her in his arms with the last vestige of strength, and promptly lost consciousness.

Hermione woke up feeling extremely hot. She was so hot, she was sure her flesh was on fire. She tried to escape the heat, but she was pinned down.

Her eyes felt like they were covered in sand, but she forced them open anyway. She was looking at… something blue? It was too close. Pulling her head back, her entire body protested movement. But she was able to see that the blue thing was a shirt, and it was adorning Sirius, who looked a little worse for the wear.

She remembered getting into the Floo, but that was it. She must have fainted… oh, Merlin, she nearly killed Sirius! I am so stupid, to risk his life just to finish some silly project that doesn’t even matter, she berated herself. She didn’t want to leave his arms, but she was so very hot. She tried to get up, but failed. Sirius wasn’t hot though, so where was the heat coming from?

Hermione groaned. She was lying right in front of the fire. Today was not a good day for her brain; perhaps it had been completely fried.

Reaching for her wand, she put out the fire and snuggled into Sirius’ arms once more.

A sleepy voice sounded, “’Mione?”

“I’m here, Sirius. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think it would be so bad. I’ll never, ever do that to you again.”

“’S’okay, you’re here now.” He kissed her lips gently, but the effort proved too much, and he laid his head back again.

“Are you okay, can you move?” Hermione didn’t think she could, but she really wanted to go to bed.

“Yeah, I can move. We should head upstairs, it’s almost midnight.” Hermione was aghast; she confirmed his assertion by looking at the clock. She tried to prop herself up, but only groaned and flopped back down. Her joints were stiff and sore and her muscles felt stretched beyond reason.

Sirius pulled himself to his knees beside her and pulled her into his arms. It was a major effort to get to his feet with her in his arms, but he managed. Getting her to the bedroom was a Herculean task, and he nearly dropped her twice along the way, almost deciding that sleeping on the stairs would be as good as the bed.

Finally in bed, Sirius undressed Hermione, feeling nothing but exhaustion and a male appreciation for her lovely form, but no desire. He was too tired.

Pain and relief brought tears to Hermione’s eyes, and when Sirius got into bed, she clung to him like a lifeline, which, indeed, he was.

He stroked her hair back from her face. Her skin felt cold despite the blazing fire, and he was worried for her health. She was looking into his eyes, her whiskey orbs conveying her apologies, but Sirius wasn’t mad at her. He only wanted to make her feel better.

He started rubbing her arms, neck, stomach—wherever there was bare skin, he caressed soothingly. He avoided areas that would inflame him, since he absolutely could not follow through. Hermione sighed in something akin to contentment.

She pulled his head to hers, their lips meeting in a half-languid, half-desperate kiss. Relief spread through them both slowly, starting in their bones and spidering outward to their sensitive flesh.

Tongues grazing in a sensuous dance, Sirius and Hermione both revelled in the kiss and the relief it brought. It was almost enough. In the back of both their minds, they realized the only way to relieve the pain entirely, but neither had the energy nor the inclination. The kiss would have to be enough, for now at least.

Sirius tried to maintain the kiss for as long as he could, feeling better from it and wanting more, but when he moved his mouth to her throat, sliding his lips along her collarbone and ghosting over her neck, her lack of response made him aware that she’d fallen fast asleep. Her face was no longer pained, though she was still chilled to the touch.

He kissed her once more on the lips, trying not to think about how afraid he’d been for both of them and wondering how the hell he was going to live his life like this. He tried, and tried hard, to banish the thought that being without Hermione felt like being Kissed by a Dementor. He didn’t want to make comparisons, but try as he might, he still fell asleep with the uneasy feeling that he was horribly, horribly trapped.


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Author's Note: Oh, no! Trapped? *gasp*

Things start to get interesting after this interlude, so stay tuned! And please let me know what you think by leaving me a nice, fat review!

And this chapter was beta'd by the awesome and lovely kazfeist. Thank you!