Dirty Little Secret

The door creaked as it opened. Hermione was lying in bed unable to sleep. The sheets were twisted around her feet from her restless movements, and the room felt suffocating. She had been debating the possibilities of there being a curse on the house that affected Muggleborns which prevented them from sleeping when she heard the door.

She rolled over onto her back and blinked into the darkness, trying to make out the shape. When she saw nothing but shadows, she wondered if she’d imagined things. Harry had just arrived at Grimmauld Place a few days ago, and was the only person likely to disturb her this late at night, but he’d have said something by now. Ron would never come into her room alone nor would he be able to do so quietly should the need actually arise. Ginny was just down the hall so that was a possibility, but Ginny was a very sound sleeper and rarely woke once she was asleep.

Hermione finally decided that she must have been imagining it. This house had the ability to make her question even the most common things since there were curses and charms all over everything. It had been a long day full of cleaning and getting the house somewhat livable so she wasn’t surprised that she was now hearing doors squeak and shuffling footsteps outside her room.

Her skin was sticky with sweat, and she made a mental note to ask Mrs. Weasley to reinforce the cooling charms on her room tomorrow before she came up to bed. The ones that had been placed on it when she first arrived were no longer as strong, which meant the air was still and rather unbearable. She remained on her back and moved her arm over her eyes as she closed them, wondering if the change in position might draw her into sleep.

When she heard a floorboard squeak, she ignored it. She’d already looked around and seen nothing but shadows. House noises, no matter how unsettling, were not going to turn her into a frightened coward. Not only did she refuse to let the house and its past inhabitants make her look silly, but she didn’t want to give Ron any reason to tease her about not being able to sleep without getting scared.

After clearing her mind, she began to mentally shelve books, counting each one as she put it on a shelf. It wasn’t sheep, but she’d never been fond of farm animals. Of course, she ended up reading the titles of the imaginary books instead of shelving them mechanically, which didn’t help make her sleepy. Instead, it made her want to go down to the library to find something to read.

She was so distracted by her mental library that she was startled when the mattress dipped down as if someone had sat on her bed. Hermione opened her eyes and moved her arm, staring at the bottom of the bed as she tried to relax. There was a dark shape near her feet that hadn’t been there before. She closed her eyes again and counted to ten before opening them to find the dark shadow still there.

“Harry?” she finally asked softly, deciding that he’d been unable to sleep, too, and had come to see her. The shape was too big for Ginny and, really, for Harry or Ron, but it was the only logical explanation.

When the figure didn’t reply, she rapidly went through the knowledge in her mind to place what it might be. There was at least one boggart upstairs, she knew, and probably a ghost or two as well as a loyal to his previous masters House Elf, who was devious enough to play a trick on someone with ‘dirty blood’.

“You’re not scaring me,” she said far more bravely than she felt. “Do just go away and let me sleep.”

Hermione bit her lip when the figure touched her foot. She jerked away from the hand, as it was definitely a hand, and wondered if it was an elaborate prank from the twins to make her scared enough to scream. The figure was obviously human or a reasonable facsimile because the hand had been warm with long fingers and a rough palm.

“Shouldn’t be here,” the shape mumbled in a voice too low to place. “Need to go.”

The words confirmed that it was probably some scheme to make her afraid or even an attempt by Kreacher to make her leave. “This is my room,” she said firmly. “I should be here and have no intention of going anywhere.”

Maybe standing up to it would make it disappear.

“I know better. Shouldn’t be here,” the shape continued on as if she’d not spoken, its hand moving up her leg.

“Just go,” she whispered with a faint tremor of fear. She was tired of this prank. Its touch was disturbing because it felt too real. Hermione glanced at the table near the bed where she had left her wand, wondering if she could reach it and banish this thing, whatever it might be, before it could stop her.

“Such a pretty little thing,” the figure muttered. “Moony said not to look but I can’t help it. Moony said no touching but I have to. Want it, too, don’t you? See it in your eyes. Always watching and wanting. Gonna finally give you what you want.”

This time, the words had a different effect. Moony? The figure knew Professor Lupin. Saw what in her eyes? She felt the hand on her thighs and froze. For once, her bravery left her and she felt scared, really scared. “It’s not real,” she said softly as she closed her eyes and hoped this was just a nightmare that she’d wake from soon.

“So soft,” the figure said as it crawled further up the bed, its hand gripping her thigh too intimately.

The scent of firewhisky was suddenly really strong. Hermione grimaced as the hand moved higher. She squeezed her legs together to stop it. Warm breath blew against her face and she kept her eyes closed tight. The voice that had been just a low mumble and unrecognizable had been familiar with the last two words. She was now convinced it was just a really bad dream.

“Open up for me, ‘ermione,” he murmured, each word causing the scent of alcohol to become stronger.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered as she tried to stop what she realized seemed to be about to happen. “Sirius, you’re drunk.”

“Am not,” he denied despite the overwhelming smell of firewhisky. “Know you want it. Now be a good girl and let me in.”

“No,” she said more firmly than she thought possible. She opened her eyes, but it was too dark in the room to see anything except shadows. She reached up to push him away. “Go to bed, Sirius. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, little girl,” he growled as he pulled her legs apart roughly and rolled between them.

“Stop it, Sirius, or I’ll scream,” she threatened, trying to get through to him. She knew he drank a lot, had heard the adults discussing how unstable he was being locked up at Grimmauld, and didn’t want Harry to find Sirius like this. She tried to stay calm because she believed she could make him listen.

“Like it rough, don’t ya?” he asked with a low laugh. “Can be rough, ‘ermione.”

Hermione felt his hand slide further up her leg. When his fingers touched her knickers, she shoved him hard and scrambled to get off the bed. She cried out in pain as he grabbed her arm tightly and he pulled her back against the bed hard. Before she could call for help, his hand covered her mouth.

“Be a good girl and I’ll give you everything you’ve been wanting.” His hand moved back between her legs, which were once again spread open with him between them.

Hermione heard her knickers rip as he pulled them, her skin stinging from where the material tore. When his fingers touched her, she began to cry. She clawed at his hand in an attempt to get it off her mouth so she could scream. She kicked at him and tried to remember what she could on self-defense but her mind was blank. She was shocked and scared, and had no idea what to do.

“Stop it, little girl,” he said before he bit her neck hard. His fingers poked inside her. They were rough and big and it felt horrible. When he raised his head, he removed his fingers and gripped her chin hard enough to bruise, forcing her to look at him. It was too dark to see more than the shadow of his features. “We don’t want to wake Harry, do we?”

His words were like a bucket of shocking cold water. Harry. Hermione didn’t want Harry to see this, to know his Godfather, the only family he had, was doing this. It would devastate Harry, and it would be her fault. She was nearly sixteen, after all, and should have been able to stop this.

“Do we?” Sirius asked again, his breath making her cringe from the overwhelming scent of alcohol and tobacco. Hermione sobbed beneath his hand before she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. She could never do that to Harry. “Good girl.”

Sirius removed his hand and then kissed her. It was sloppy and wet and his tongue was in her mouth. She didn’t kiss him back but he didn’t seem to care. He murmured against her skin as he licked and kissed her neck and face.

She tried not to listen to him, knowing he was talking nonsense. She heard words like whore, tight, desperate, gonna have you, and pretty little girl. Unlike the few times she’d kissed Viktor last year, she didn’t feel warm and her belly wasn’t fluttering. Instead, she was scared and crying, biting her lip to keep from screaming for help because Harry would never forgive her if Sirius got in trouble because of her.

Her nightshirt was pushed up beneath her arms, and his hand moved over her chest. “Nice tits,” he mumbled before he licked one, sucking it into his mouth as his other hand moved between her legs again.

Counting helped. She loved numbers and order, could lose herself in formulas and Arithmancy problems. If she thought about numbers, she could ignore the feel of his tongue against her nipples or the invasion of his fingers. One plus one was two. The arc of the radius equaled the obtuse angle divided by two. A squared plus B squared equaled C squared.

His fingers shoved inside her hard, making her hips buck up as she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. She had never had sex before, hadn’t let Viktor do more than touch her chest while they were kissing, but she’d read books and knew how it worked. She wasn’t ready for him but he didn’t care. He was too far gone to care. She’d thought of what her first time would be like, which was one of the few times she’d given in to the need to really be girly about things. She had never imagined it would be with her best friend’s drunken Godfather in a suffocating room at a haunted house.

It happened fast after that. There was a brief moment of pain when he forced himself inside her. It was too tight and she was too dry, but he started to move anyway. Hermione kept her eyes closed tightly and tried to think about anything other than Sirius roughly thrusting into her body. When it hurt too much, she tried to push him away, sobbing as tears fell down her cheeks. He growled and gripped her wrists as he forced her arms above her head.

“Gotta be quiet, sweet girl,” he muttered whenever she started to scream. “Don’t wanna wake Harry, remember.”

Harry, Harry, Harry, she repeated like a mantra as she let Sirius continue. He bruised her, held her too tight and moved too deep, bit her and licked her chest with sloppy wet swipes of his tongue. The scent of firewhisky was making her sick, made her stomach roll as she prayed that he’d finish soon.

“Such a good girl. Giving it to you, sweet girl,” he murmured before he pushed her legs up until she whimpered in pain. He began to move differently, even deeper and harder. It wasn’t dry anymore so it didn’t sting as badly when he shoved inside her. “Just what you wanted.”

I never wanted this, she tried to tell him but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she sobbed before he kissed her again. His hair brushed against her collarbone when he nuzzled her neck, and she felt him suck her skin into his mouth as he marked her over and over.

Finally, he grunted as his body shuddered above her. She felt something warm spill inside her as his hips bucked forward. He kept moving, panting against her sweaty shoulder until he was done. When he pulled out, she could feel wetness dripping from her vagina. She was sore and it felt like she couldn’t breathe as she cried and trembled. His fingers moved back inside her, making her cringe at the ache and throb between her legs.

“I’ll always take care of you, little girl,” he muttered as he poked her and his thumb began to rub over the spot she’d just discovered a couple of months ago.

She tried to get away but his free hand held her in place. He began to murmur again as he licked her chest. Whore, you know you want this, such a good girl, great little fuck, and other things she couldn’t ignore even though she tried. His fingers manipulated her expertly. She was horrified when she felt a flutter in her tummy, crying silently as her body tensed before she trembled and came with a whimper.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered as he kept poking and rubbing her. When he pulled his hand away, she heard him suck his fingers, the sound making her close her eyes even more tightly. He kissed her then, tasting the same but different, and she wiped her mouth when he pulled back.

He rolled off the bed and she heard him zip his trousers. She didn’t move and just laid there with her eyes shut tight wishing this was just a bad dream. She was sore and ached all over. Her hair even hurt from where he’d pulled it. She tensed when she felt the bed move, but he only pulled down her nightshirt as if that would cover up what he’d done, what they’d done.

“Can’t tell anyone ‘bout this, Hermione,” he murmured before he gripped her chin and placed a sloppy kiss on her forehead. “Gonna be our little secret, sweet girl.”

She didn’t dare to breathe until she heard the door shut quietly. She reached for her wand as soon as the door closed and stammered out a locking charm before she leaned over the bed and vomited into the rubbish bin. After she stopped heaving and rinsed her mouth with the glass of water she kept on the night table, she reached in the darkness until she found the torn remains of her knickers.

Once she had them, she wiped herself between her legs, scrubbing hard as she tried to get clean. It wasn’t long before she fell back against her covers and curled into a small ball. Her body hurt, ached all over, and she smelled like sweat, alcohol, and sex. She could still feel him, still hear him, still smell him, and she could see him in the shadows of the room as if he were just waiting to take her again.

She was so ashamed of herself for not fighting, for not being able to stop him, for making him think, somehow, that she had wanted it. She cried silently as she tried to stop thinking about what had just happened. There was no need for him to worry because she knew that she would never tell anyone. She just wanted to forget it, wanted it to be a bad dream. It would be their secret, their dirty little secret. No one would find out what happened tonight. She couldn’t let them. Harry could never find out.

Hermione stared at the shadows, shaking as she thought she saw one move, counting quietly as she tried to find a brief escape from reality.

The End