Back for Good

Sirius woke up first for the first time since they began their clandestine night-time meetings. Hermione was snoring lightly, something she never did while sober. Sirius marvelled at the fact that he knew her well enough to know that. But as soon as he thought that, he realized he did not really know her at all. What had persuaded her to bring him back, to never give up?

When they’d known each other before the Veil, they had tolerated one another well enough. She didn’t like him always taunting Snape, or his encouragement of Harry to have a little reckless fun. He hadn’t appreciated her know-it-all attitude or the way she took it upon herself to scold him like she was the adult and he the child. But they’d got on well enough, giving one another a wide berth and mostly communicating for Harry’s sake only.

Below the surface though, he could admit now, as he gazed upon her still form bathed in moonlight, that he’d respected her more than just about anyone he knew. She reminds me of Remus, he thought, and his heart ached for a moment. They were both so intelligent; they were both so good, always trying to do the right thing, and both always looking out for Harry. He’d actually entertained the notion of the two of them getting together, because if anyone could handle Remus’ lycanthropy, it was Hermione. But when Tonks made her desires known, Remus was lost, and Sirius shelved the thought.

On her part, though Sirius never knew it, Hermione had had her own impressions. She enjoyed his sense of humour when it was not directed at Snape or another victim. She loved his carefree attitude, all the more because she herself could never adopt it. But those feelings were buried beneath frustration at the exact same attributes: his cruel humour and lackadaisical nature.

Knowing what he knew about her, Sirius wondered why she was the only one who’d never given up. She’d always seemed so realistic, sensible to the point of coldness. What had kept the coals of his survival burning?

Hermione sniffed indelicately and shifted in the bed. He knew she didn’t have to be up for about an hour, and he intended to use that time wisely. He hadn’t perfected his plan to seduce her just yet, but the sensitive nature of his plot might just get thrown to the wind if she kept grazing her leg against his like that.

Though he couldn’t deny the fluttering of arousal the brief caress gave him, he pulled his body back. If he denied himself for a while, the relief would be even sweeter when it came; he also suspected she might not appreciate being molested in her sleep. He brushed her unruly hair away from her face, drawing his fingers across her silky cheek and over her lips. They were so soft, slightly parted, with the bottom lip sticking out precociously in a delicious pout. Sirius rested his fingers against the plump lower lip and her tongue came out to wet her lips, grazing his fingertips in the process. Sirius groaned and pulled away, turning onto his back and questioning the merits of his self-torture.

He was sure that if he just started kissing her, he’d be making love to her in no time. He honestly didn’t believe she’d pull away. He sensed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, even if she wouldn’t—couldn’t—face it. But despite the antics of his youth and his brief freedom after Azkaban, Sirius was wise enough to know when a woman was special. He’d met few of them, or perhaps hadn’t appreciated them when he had met them, but he knew Hermione was one. She was delicate, a little bird with hollow bones, ever fragile and timid. He would take his time because she deserved it.

She was special. She was different. She was touching him.

She was on her side facing him, and she’d snuggled right up to his side, wrapping both her arm and thigh over his front and pressing her face against his chest. She sighed contentedly, and Sirius’ self-control slipped a little. A lot.

She smells so good, she is so soft. Sirius never felt older than the moment her young flesh snaked across his skin, her leg coming dangerously close to his groin, and her hand grazing a bared nipple until it settled on his side. Merlin, he thought; if she makes me this hard in her sleep, what could she do awake?

With that treacherous thought in mind, Sirius left the bed. Good intentions weren’t worth a Sickle when the mere heat from her body flooded his cock with blood.

A cold shower and a self-reproachful lecture later, Sirius was gratified to hear Hermione awaken. A loud groan reached his ears, even though he was still in the bathroom. He grinned wryly; she must be regretting her indulgence now. He stood still, trying to hear what she was doing. A loud thump sounded, and he thought maybe it was time to go back and see if she needed help.

He approached the bedroom door and immediately wished he’d stayed in the bathroom, where it was safe.

Hermione was frantically pulling open drawers. She’d donned a simple pair of black underwear and a matching bra, but she couldn’t find the trousers she’d wanted to wear today. And to make matters infinitely worse, her headache was raging and she was certain it was not the result of a Sirius deficiency. This was why you never drink, she reminded herself harshly. Even if she didn’t get drunk, she always felt like crap warmed up the next day. She bent over, opening the bottom drawer and was about to smile in success when she heard a groan from the doorway.

She turned around quickly, her eyes falling upon an awake and blushing—blushing?—Sirius Black. She froze, knowing she should hide her state of undress, but really, he was the one watching her get dressed! And there was nowhere to hide, anyway. Taking a deep breath, she glared at him, mentally yelling at him to leave, since actually yelling might rip her skull in two. She hastily donned the pants, and found a red blouse to go with it. When she turned back toward him, his eyes were closed and his fists were clenched. Hermione worriedly wondered if he was wishing she had her own place and wasn’t living in his house, when her eyes were drawn to his crotch. He was definitely... awake, she noticed.

Gulping, Hermione finished dressing and thought about moving toward the door, but knew if she did, she would be closer to him, and she might even brush by... it, on her way out the door. So she just stood there. Thankfully, Sirius moved first. Not meeting her eyes, he crawled back into the bed, facing away from her. Well, if that isn’t a dismissal, I don’t know what is! she thought, a little hurt by his actions. She quietly stomped (because stomping to her satisfaction would result in her immediate demise, according to her head) and went to the bathroom.

Sirius was humiliated. His actions were that of his fifteen-year-old self; he hadn’t gotten that turned on by a woman getting dressed since he was a teenager. And worse yet, she’d seen. So much for being the suave seducer now he would be lucky if she saw him as anything other than a total pervert, a voyeur, a dirty old man. When he heard Hermione go down the stairs, his hand, of its own accord, moved under the covers toward his straining cock.

Gripping the length in hand, Sirius mentally pictured Hermione in her black panties and bra, smiling softly at him in the doorway. Instead of getting dressed quickly enough to win a medal, in his head she held out her hand to him. He crossed the floor, and she smiled wickedly up at him, before falling gracefully to her knees in front of him. Sirius groaned, and his hand began to move faster, his other hand moving towards his balls to speed up his release. Hermione looked up at him and lowered his pants. Still meeting his eyes, she slowly licked the precum off the tip of his cock, moaning softly as she tasted him. Sirius’ rolled back in his head, and his grip tightened on his member. A few more quick, brutal yanks and he bit his lip to keep his cry from escaping. He couldn’t contain his groan as he spilled himself over his belly, colour returning to his gaze, and heartbeat returning to normal.

They really needed to talk, Sirius decided.

Hermione finished making a lunch for herself and Sirius, putting his in the fridge like she always did, and looked up the stairs. Her feet deciding for her, Hermione made her way to the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. Sirius was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He looked a little flushed, and Hermione hoped he wasn’t angry at her.

“I’m leaving for work now,” she announced. Sirius started, raising himself slightly in the bed to look at her.

“Okay.”

“I’ll come home for lunch,” she informed him, though they both already knew this.

Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. “Okay.”

“And tonight...” Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to say this, but knew it had to be done. “Tonight we should talk about...what’s been happening. I don’t think our current way of dealing with things is working.”

Sirius demonstrated his incalculable knowledge of the English language by nodding and saying, “Okay.”

She nodded back, and left the room hastily. She’d wanted to go back in for one last touch before she had to leave, but something about his attitude held her back. He’d looked... angry, at first. But then she recognized the feeling not as anger, but hunger. And that scared her almost as much.

As the days were wont to do since Sirius’ return, this one trickled by, and every second on the clock was a distinct noise in Hermione’s ears.

Even the venture home for lunch did little to dispel her anxiety, and Hermione was glad they’d decided to talk tonight, because avoiding the problem was making her crazy. The respite they found from touch and proximity felt good for a minute, but the discomfort came back as soon as they parted. She chuckled a little desperately at the picture they must make, hugging one another desperately in the sitting room the moment she came through the Floo, holding hands to get their lunches, sitting on the couches, thighs touching, as they ate in silence.

She’d cast one more longing look over her shoulder at Sirius before she stepped through the Floo. His face had been one of pure agony, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

Now she was watching the seconds tick by, her body feeling like it had run a marathon, and her mind exhausted and disrupted.

Harry sent an owl saying he wouldn’t be by tonight after all, as he and his partner would be staking out the house of a notorious Death Eater. They were slowly rounding them up, but if anyone knew how to be slippery, it was Death Eaters. Hermione Owled back with an invitation to dinner on Sunday instead, telling him to bring Ginny. She was certain he’d told his wife about Sirius, and Ginny was probably beside herself in excitement.

Finally it was time to go. She gathered up her weekend work and fairly ran toward the Floos. She was not really looking forward to the talk with Sirius, but she was excited to see him.


Sirius had spent the day reading a pacing, thinking about what he wanted to say to Hermione when she got home. He wanted to tell her his plan for them to actually be... a couple? Together? Sirius frowned, wondering how he would propose the idea. He hadn’t thought much about the details, just the sex. She would probably want to date and stuff. Well, he could deal with that, he decided. It wouldn’t be so bad; she was bloody gorgeous, funny and smart. Young... his mind unhelpfully inserted. Too young for you... He quickly turned off his brain, annoying organ that it was, and thought about the sex some more.

Sirius was jolted from his licentious thoughts when he heard the Floo activate and saw Hermione come through. After a brief spell to cleanse her clothing of ash, she was crossing the floor to the couch where he was lounging, leaning back against the headrest, both legs stretched out on the seat, fingers laced behind his head. Tight jeans passably concealing erection.

Hermione stood in front of him, looking about ready to order him to move his feet for her to sit down. He pre-empted her by giving her a challenging stare and raising his eyebrow. She frowned.

Sirius didn’t move. If she wanted to sit, she would sit on him.

Locked in a battle of wills with Hermione hardly understanding what was happening, Sirius turned onto his side, moving so his back was pressed into the back of the sofa, leaving a little room for her, not enough to sit, but if she lay right next to him, holding onto him....

“Hermione love, come on. Lie with me. We both need you to.” His voice was at its seductive best, low and vibrating right through her.

Hermione took of her shoes and sat in the small space his body left on the cushion. Sirius wasted no time and pulled her down, her back snug against his front, her legs trapped beneath one of his. His arm snaked over her side to rest casually just below her breasts. He praised himself again for the choice of jeans.

Hermione held herself impossibly stiff, until the comfort of being in his arms took over, and she could only sigh. The tension melted from her body, and she put both her hands on the arm holding her against him. She could hear Sirius smelling her hair.

He nudged her bushy mane aside with his nose, and lowered his mouth to the junction of her shoulder and neck. He pressed his lips to her, not moving, just waiting. She didn’t make a move, not a noise, so Sirius regretfully removed his mouth.

“Time to talk?” he asked, not relishing it, but wanting it out of the way.

She nodded, removing his arm so she could sit up. He was loath to let her go, but he did.

They rearranged themselves to sitting facing each other. Sirius reached for her hand and held it in his lap. Having her body against him was better, but her hand brought relief as well.

She began, “I know this isn’t the ideal situation, and I assure you I had no idea it would be like this when I brought you back. But I think it’s in our best interests to try to bring some comfort to one another until we can figure out how to... make it go away.”

Sirius frowned. She sounded so official, so stiff. “So, if you’d known you’d have to touch me, you’d have left me there to rot... or whatever?”

“No, no...” she backpedalled. “I only meant... well surely, you—” She stopped abruptly. This wasn’t going well. “I meant that you probably wouldn’t have wanted to come back at all if you’d known!”

Sirius laughed. “I would have wanted to come back if it meant I had to snuggle the Dark Lord himself!” And as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he’d compared her to Voldemort. This could be bad.

Hermione looked appalled, and then her flashing eyes narrowed and settled on his. “Well, I could always send you back and you could go find him!”

He sighed. He had never been good at this whole “talking” thing, and she was not making it easier.

“Okay, Hermione. I didn’t mean it like that. Let’s just try to get through this talk without killing one another, because I don’t think I could live without you right now, you know?” Words meant to be casual were loaded with feeling, and Sirius kicked himself. He used to be so charming with the ladies, but this one had him confessing things meant to be hidden.

She looked placated, and said, “I know what you mean. So what it comes down to is that we need to be in near-constant contact.”

“That’s the crux of it, it seems,” he agreed.

“Why?” Her words were plaintive, and he realized it must be driving her absolutely barmy to not know.

“Hermione, maybe you should tell me exactly what spell you cast. Where did you find it? What were the precise instructions?” Sirius wasn’t sure he could glean more from the situation than she herself had, but he wanted to try to help her.

“I’ve already been over it, there’s nothing that would indicate a reaction like this.” She gestured between them with a pained look. “I’m so sorry.”

He gripped her hand tighter. “Please don’t be sorry for bringing me back. Please. I know this is... odd, but we can make it work. And maybe... I can make it good for you?” He had meant that last part to be sexy, but it sounded like a plea.

She looked puzzled, and Sirius seriously questioned the seduction techniques of her previous partners. He hoped he wouldn’t have to come right out and offer his cock, but he would if he had to.

“If touching me feels good, love, then I want you to touch me. Whenever you want. Wherever you want. However you want...” His voice fell so low she had to lean forward to catch the last part. She looked into his heated gaze, and his grey eyes were slate with desire. Her mouth fell open, taking in his words. He wanted her to touch him? Like that?

He leaned closer, placing one hand on the side of her neck, the other holding hers firmly within it. He tilted his head, and whispered against her lips.

“Hermione... touch me.”


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Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Things are starting to heat up! Please review and let me know what you think.

This chapter was beta'd by the indomitable kazfeist!