Little Black Journal

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.


'I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I swear” she squeaked, backing away slowly from the disgruntled looking man in front of her. She watched feebly as the right corner of his eye began to twitch.

“You're...sorry?” He was beginning to feel the faint ache in his neck that warned of an oncoming tension headache.

“It was an accident!” She backed around the desk and quickly, unthinkingly, reached for the leather bound journal. He beat her to it, slamming the tome shut, the thin red ribbon peeking out marking her last page. He towered above her, face incredulous, right eye still twitching. “Spilling ink on the floor is an accident, Hermione.” His voice was a low growl. He took a step to the left reaching for her arm. “Tripping on the stairs is an accident.” She backed away, circling the other side of the desk just out of reach.

“Finding and then studiously reading my old Journal from Hogwarts is not an accident. It's an invasion of privacy.” He saw her eyes wander around the room seeking the quickest escape route possible and quickly lunged over the desk to grab her. She barely escaped his grasp, shouting one more “I'm sorry” as she fled the library and locked herself in her room opposite the hallway.

She really hadn't meant to invade his privacy, she told herself pacing her heavily warded rooms. She had found the diary while cleaning out the attic and only meant to peek inside...just to see if it was even written in or if it could be tossed out with the rest of the rubbish up there. It wasn't her fault that he kept a sexually explicit diary from his reigning marauder days. Nor was it her fault that the page she happened to turn to contained so much fire and passion that her cheeks burned...and...well...her underwear was soaked in less than five seconds.

She hadn't even thought it was possible to be turned on so quickly, or so all consumingly. So what if she held on to the diary for a couple of days? She fully intended to return it to him, she just wasn't finished yet. I mean really, how was she supposed to resist such well-written and knowledgeable words? Who else better to learn the sexual desires and workings of men from than the legendary young Sirius Black? If anything, he should be flattered that she considered him a scholarly worthy source on the subject.

Suddenly, she felt an all consuming sense of panic well in the pit of her stomach. “Oh Shit!” She left the diary in the library. The diary with copious quick-quill notes in the margins that she hadn't yet transferred to her own parchment. The diary that now contained comparison notes with her own experiences, fantasies, and impulses. The diary which made it woefully clear just how disappointing her sex life has been, and just how far she would be willing to go to change that.

She had to get that diary back before he opened it, but did she really want to face his wrath by storming back in the library right now? For all she knew he hadn't even opened it yet. No, knowing Sirius he probably threw the diary in a robe pocket and sat down with a bottle of fire whiskey to stew in his anger.

It would be best to wait and approach him calmly and rationally in the morning. Or to stow into the library and sneak it out of his robes when he inevitably passes out drunk. It wasn't that Sirius was a regular alcoholic, no, but he had been known to overindulge when his anger was provoked to an extreme level. He was not an angry drunk at least, it actually calmed him to an almost childishly affectionate version of himself. Yes, waiting until he was drunk to beg forgiveness and quickly remove her notes from the diary was the best possible plan.
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Sirius' anger was slowly dissipating as he indulged in his second tumbler of fire whiskey. Shit, what had Hermione been thinking reading his old diary like that? It was hard enough trying to do the “right thing” and keep from fantasizing about his roommate, his young Godson's best friend, the “golden girl” of the golden trio who exuded an innocent, almost virginal charm that teased him daily. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to corrupt her, to transform that innocence into a self-confident sensuality.

Now, every time he looked at her he'd be wondering what she thought of his sexual experiences. Whether she read them for pleasure or with a sense of amusement or abject horror.

When he returned from the veil last year, he first set eyes on his beautiful savior and vowed to have her. When re-introductions were made he felt like a dirty old man for all the thoughts that were flying through his head. How could the Goddess in front of him really be the 15 year old child he remembered as if it were yesterday? Of course, yesterday for him was nearly 10 years for her.

For a few months he shared Grimaldi place with Harry, Hermione and Ron. Ron moved out to play professional Quidditch and Harry was rarely home as he climbed the ranks of the Aurors department. Various members of the DA and Order moved in and out over the year, and Sirius was grateful for the company. After so many years alone, he needed the constant company and personal connections. Through all the comings and goings, Hermione always remained, working from home as an independent researcher contracting out to the ministry and various Wizarding companies.

He had noticed her eyes trailing him over the past week. At first he was amused watching her blush and stammer, barely able to stay in the same room alone with him. Then, he noticed her looks turn to fervent stares, like a hawk about to swoop down on her prey. He was used to overt sexual flirtations from women, but from the taboo Hermione Granger the looks were enough to leave him stammering and blushing, unable to stay in the room. Suddenly, he found himself wanking after every conversation and meal with her. And then he had to walk into the library to find her pouring over his old journal.

He quickly got up from the couch and strode over to the desk, hesitating only briefly before opening the journal to the page marked by the the thin red ribbon. His eyes widened instantly at the sight of her small sprawling notes in the margins, and for the first time that day his face broke out into a gleeful grin. “Oh really Hermione? I think that can be arranged....”

Journal Passage:
Oh Merlin, how her hot wet mouth felt around my cock. I was about to beg for more tongue, more suction, just...more...when I heard Filch's footsteps outside the cupboard door. I bit my lip to keep from groaning and looked down. Her eyes met mine, wide with shock, her mouth still around me, and I swear the little minx ran her tongue slowly to the base of me, and, oh, down her throat. The footsteps retreated just in time for me to cum in her mouth. “20 points to Griffindor” I said, catching my breath, remembering fleetingly that she insisted on role playing. I wonder if she was imagining a specific professor when she was on me. Hell, she could imagine Dumbledore himself for all I cared, so long as she...

Hermione's notes “deep throat good? I'll need to practice, Ron never gave me feedback. Tongue and suction important. Sirius seems more into sex than role-play. Pity, seems like role-play could make it more exciting sometimes”

“Noted role-play again on pages 6, 12, 25-28, and 35. Possible ideas/Kinks to try out: Student/Teacher, Master/Slave-shows promise...could I call him “Sir” instead, “Master” seems a bit too extreme, Strangers/Different languages- I should brush up on my French, let him pick me up in a bar “Je parle francais, Voulez vous coucher avec moi?,” Magical Bondage-Hot Hot Hot, should research incantations. Exhibition/voyeurism-seemed turned on at possibility of getting caught. Wonder what he'd do if I caught him on his own sometime?

Sirius does not describe returning oral favor, maybe Ron's right and most men don't like it...”

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Sirius murmured a quick wandless spell to clean his hands as he tucked himself back into his robes. All his intentions to remain platonic and respectful were now wiped from his mind and he found himself pondering exactly how he should punish her. After all, she had been torturing him all week, the little minx. She had all these wonderful ideas but failed to seduce him with them. Too bad payback would inevitably torture him as well.