Chapter Text
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She forced herself to focus on the parchment in front of her, despite the almost tangible feel of eyes boring into her from across the table. She would not look up, would not meet that angry, yet heated gaze, would not get lost in those hypnotic, mercurial depths…
It was wrong. It was so wrong, and they both knew it, and yet he insisted on pushing her, on giving her those looks that would make any witch with a pulse damp in the knickers. It was utterly out of the question, and instead of letting sleeping dogs lie (ha), the bastard had been tormenting her for weeks now. He just wouldn't let it go. Well, she'd finally pushed back, in the only way she knew how.
Fire with fire…?
No. That was not how she fought.
Then again, perhaps that was exactly how she was fighting. After all, Sirius Black was infamous for oozing sex. She, on the other hand… well, she was known for being intelligent and proper. She certainly wasn't blind to the less pleasant aspects of her reputation, either. She'd heard her fair share of muttered nicknames, both in society and at work. The Ice Queen… Her Highness… Frigid Bitch…and much worse. Of course, none of these had been helped at all by her break-up with Ron, who had been eating up the public sympathy with a spoon for going on a year now.
Still, if that was the persona she had to portray to shake the returned Animagus off her tail, then that's what she would do. She certainly wasn't going to suffer the same mistake twice. And if Sirius Black thought he could wear her down with his pheromones and leather and that gorgeous voice and sensual mouth of his - consequences and friendships be damned, he had another think coming. Just because he'd waltzed out of the Department of Mysteries a year ago, right as rain and not having aged a single day, didn't make it any less wrong. It wasn't the age difference that was the issue, anyway – being with Sirius was just as wrong as being with anyone in their close-knit circle. It was tantamount to incest, and guaranteed to bring nothing but drama and heartache.
Hoping it would act as a large bath of ice water for them both, Hermione had put on her swottiest, bossiest, most know-it-all, prim demeanour whenever she had to be around him. She'd even stooped to nagging him about his hair, his smoking, his drinking, his devil-may-care attitude, anything she could possibly think of to douse this ridiculous whatever-it-was between them.
There was nothing between them, she silently insisted to herself, even as she blushed at the sound of his voice.
"I'm sure Hermione already has that information neatly outlined and duplicated for us, isn't that right, princess?"
Her head jerked up at the hateful sneer she could hear in his words. She couldn't help the twinge of hurt that sliced through her momentarily before she swallowed and trained her face into a calm, professional mask of coolness. Too late, though - he'd seen her falter. The smirk on his lips and smug quirk of his eyebrows made that quite clear.
The satisfied glint in his eyes spurred her anger and she grit her teeth before standing. "How very perceptive of you," she retorted sweetly as she passed around copies of her notes. "Nice to see you're at least trying to pay attention, for once."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, his mouth curving lazily. "It doesn't take much to state the obvious and predictable, sweetheart."
Hermione's jaw clenched, frustrated that she could never manage a quick enough comeback where he was concerned. Inspiration struck, however, and she shook her head with a short, bitter laugh.
"Of course. After all, we can't expect you to extend your imagination beyond the obvious and predictable." She paused when she got to him and held out his copy. "Sorry," she added nastily, "I didn't have time to make pretty drawings for yours. Perhaps Remus can explain it to you once he's read it – there are a lot of big words in there, after all."
Hermione gasped when he grabbed her wrist instead of the parchment she held out. His long, graceful fingers held her tightly, possessively. Her eyes fluttered briefly as an image flashed in her mind of him holding her in place while he took complete possession of her body.
"Careful," he murmured warningly, soft enough that only she could hear.
Her eyes darted to his, and she saw that dangerous glint again, the one that never failed to send a liquid heat down her spine to pool in her stomach.
"Pads," Remus softly admonished from the other side of him.
A flicker of annoyance passed over Sirius' features and he acquiesced, releasing her as he plucked the papers from her fingers. He flashed a sudden quick grin at her then, and actually winked, as if to assure that this was far from over.
Hermione felt her cheeks redden as she gaped at him, flustered. The sound of Remus politely clearing his throat tore her attention away. When she reached the werewolf and handed him his copy of the notes, he smiled apologetically at her, his light hazel eyes filled with understanding. This only served to make her blush even harder as she wondered how much her former professor knew of her conflict with his best friend.
Suddenly she realized the room had gone silent. When she looked up, the other members of the Order made quick and obvious business of averting their eyes and shuffling the notes she'd passed around. Hermione groaned inwardly. This was exactly the type of thing she'd been trying so hard to avoid. She squared her shoulders and returned to her chair, clearing her throat pointedly.
"As you can see in the outline, the 'new' curses they're using appear to actually be hybrids of much older magic than what the original Death Eaters were using…" she began.
~O~
"I'm just saying it seems like there's an awful lot of pointless bickering. Maybe if you just tried to get along with him…" Ginny quietly insisted as she fastened her cloak around her neck.
Hermione sighed and tried to not roll her eyes at the redheaded witch. Of course there was no way to explain to her that "getting along" with Sirius Black was exactly what she was trying to avoid. Things had only begun to settle down after the uncomfortably long fall-out from her break-up with Ron. She liked to think she'd learned her lesson about sleeping where you eat – the hard way. Not everyone could be like Harry and Ginny, or Remus and Tonks.
Unfortunately, her body and heart had other ideas entirely. The remainder of the night's Order meeting saw her struggling to maintain her calm. Every time the dark-haired wizard spoke, something inside of her jumped. The few times she faltered and let her eyes slip over to him, her thoughts derailed completely. And the smug bastard always seemed to know, his heated gaze zeroing on her, his lips curving suggestively at the corners.
Then dinner rolled around. She had planned on excusing herself, making up some story to give her a reason to leave. However, she realized that leaving early from the traditional 'family dinner' where she was always present would look more suspect than simply staying it out. Never mind that infuriating part of herself that secretly wanted to be around him. Then, it seemed that everything Sirius wanted for his dinner was situated on the other side of Hermione, requiring that she hand him various items, their fingers brushing repeatedly and sending her heart rate flying.
I really need to get out more, Hermione thought, not even mentally wording the underlying fact that she hadn't had sex in over six months.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a large, warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of her friend and fellow Order member and forced a smile.
"Sorry about earlier, Remus," she said softly. "I know I shouldn't - "
" – let him get to you," he finished with a nod, smiling. "And yet you do. You know he means no harm, Hermione…"
"I know," she answered miserably. She felt a stab of shame for her insult earlier. Why was it that others could say such mean-spirited things and think nothing of it? "I suppose I'll have to apologize."
Remus merely smiled and helped a very pregnant Tonks into her cloak.
"Oh," the Metamorphmagus said suddenly. "I left my bag in the study. Remus - "
"Would you mind getting it, Hermione?" the werewolf asked. "There's something I forgot to ask Arthur…"
"Sure," Hermione answered and climbed the stairs to the Black study on the third floor.
~O~
Her eyes had not yet completely adjusted to the darkness of the large, old room before the door closed behind her with a subtle click. As it was, the soft, low voice of the wizard of the house caused her to start.
"Well, well, well," he teased softly. "Little lamb's come to the wolf on her own, I see."
"No, that would be Remus," Hermione answered without even thinking. The resultant laughter that rumbled from the older wizard filled her with an odd pleasure.
"Very true," he replied wryly, bowing his head. "Don't mind me, sweetness. I just left my book," he explained as he crossed the room to the door. He paused and leaned close to her, adding, "I do know how to read, you know."
Hermione felt her cheeks warm and she swallowed hard, preparing to apologize for her rude, albeit clever, insult from earlier. She was cut off, however, when Sirius attempted to open the door behind her and failed.
" – the fuck?" he muttered, jiggling at the handle. He pointed his wand at it and attempted several unlocking charms to no avail.
Hermione frowned and raised the lighting level in the room before turning to Sirius.
"Having trouble opening a simple door?" she asked smugly before waving her own wand at the ancient lock. Her confidence faltered after the third attempt, finding the door still firmly sealed shut.
By that point, Sirius had settled himself against the dark wood panelled wall and was watching her with a sort of pleased smirk on his face. When she finally turned to him, he raised an eyebrow.
"Satisfied, princess?" he asked.
"I wish you'd stop calling me that," she answered with a scowl. It reminded her all too much of the derisive insults she'd heard muttered under the breaths of others…
Sirius pushed off the wall with his shoulder and casually flipped his hair out of his eyes. "Sure," he replied. "For a price."
"A price," Hermione repeated and snorted.
"Mm-hm," Sirius answered with a nod, stepping closer to her.
Hermione merely swallowed, all wit and sarcasm lost to the predatory gleam in those pewter-coloured eyes.
"It's just one kiss, Hermione," he said, as if he'd been requesting the same thing for months.
Her back was against the old, cherry wood of the heavy door now. 'Just one kiss'? she thought frantically. He's mad…
Her failure to respond was her downfall. Before she knew it, his hands were pressed against the ancient wood at her back, his arms caging her in as his head dipped down, dangerously close. She inhaled and found her senses completely enveloped by everything that was Sirius Black as her eyes fell shut.
He tasted of tea and whisky and Sirius. His lips possessed hers with a slow, solid surety, as if she were made to be his, and he was simply taking what was his god-given right. Hermione's lips parted with a whimper – she was in no position to argue. At the touch of his tongue against hers, her knees gratefully locked. Otherwise, she was certain she would have simply dropped to the floor at his feet.
No! a small, impotent voice in her screamed, even as her hands slid up his chest to curl around his neck, drawing him closer. A low growl sounded from his throat, sending a wave of heat through her, effectively drowning out that pesky little voice of reason. Her fingers curled into those ridiculously soft ebony locks, her nails scratching against his scalp as his body pressed against hers. Everything about him felt perfect, tasted perfect, smelled and sounded…
"Perfect," he whispered raggedly as he broke away for air, one hand firmly grasping her hip now. He grazed his rough jaw against hers, his breath hot against her ear, causing a shiver to ripple through her. His other hand came down to cup her neck and draw her to him again.
"No…" Hermione pleaded softly.
Sirius paused. "No?" he repeated, a note of incredulity in his question.
"Please," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut, even as her fingers were still tangled in his hair.
"Why?" he demanded, his fingers tightening slightly.
"Hermione," he pressed, when she didn't answer. "Look at me."
It was the desperation in those soft brown pools when they opened that gave him pause. That was what made him truly wonder 'why?' instead of simply demanding it, or ignoring it altogether.
They'd been playing this little game of cat and mouse almost since the very day of his return. At first he'd thought little of it – it was 'practice' for him, someone to flirt with who was 'safe,' until he could get out into the public again and find a proper witch to bed. After all, Hermione Granger was technically young enough to be his daughter. Not to mention, the fact that they were both part of the very close-knit circle of Order members and friends dictated that anything more than flirting would be beyond foolish. It didn't take long for her to remind him of those facts, either.
He'd delighted in making her blush and stammer at first. After a while, however, she'd taken to scowling at his overtones and dismissing his advances, which, of course, only inspired him to push her further. It became one of his favourite pastimes. He openly enjoyed making the pretty little bookworm stumble and lose her footing with a well-placed look or brush, or a softly spoken endearment. Then, of course, there were the inevitable arguments…
As time wore on, however, Sirius came to realize that their clashes were borne of a different fire than mere disagreements or incompatible personalities. He really loved arguing with her. He loved the way her eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed, the way she bit that succulent bottom lip of hers, either because she was thinking or attempting to hold back her temper. More than that, though, he loved her intellect. He adored the fact that he could practically hear the wheels whirring in her brain at any given time. He hadn't known a witch that bright since Lily, but the truth was, Hermione reminded him of James. Lily had been brilliant, but always soft and kind-hearted. He could tell Hermione tried to be kind, but like James, she grew impatient. And, beneath her proper manners and rule-following, she was arrogant about her intelligence. Since Sirius couldn't have her, he'd taken to goading that side of her, simply to enjoy the glimpses of her temper and sharp wit.
That was as far as it would ever go, he'd thought. Until one night, after a particularly explosive argument following an Order meeting, Remus had pulled him aside for drinks. He'd expected his old friend to scold him for fighting with the pretty little brunette. Instead, his fellow Marauder had inadvertently let slip a most valuable piece of information…
"Padfoot…" Remus began.
"I know, I know," Sirius cut him off. "But it's not as though she can't stand up for herself," he said defensively.
"That's not - " Remus held up a hand and shook his head. "Sirius, what exactly is going on between you and Hermione?"
Sirius shrugged noncommittally. "We like to argue," he muttered against the rim of his tumbler before letting the fine, aged whisky trickle over his tongue.
"Argue?" the werewolf repeated skeptically, his eyebrows raised. "That's it?"
Sirius gave his friend a questioning look. "Is there something else that should be going on?" he asked sarcastically. He knew damn well that he wasn't just 'arguing' with the pretty little witch, but even his flirtatious overtones only managed to rile her up, so it still counted as the same thing.
Remus abruptly set his whisky on the side table and regarded Sirius directly. "Well, that depends," he said frankly. "You'll be doing yourself no favours if you're pursuing her just for the fun of it…"
"'Pursuing' her?" Sirius repeated with an incredulous laugh. "Moony, old man, I believe you've gone round the bend – where in Merlin's name did you get the idea - "
"Pads, I'm a bloody fucking werewolf," he interrupted sharply. "And the way you two have been prowling around each other for nigh on months now, you're like a couple of… of – well, let's just chalk it up to my 'keen senses,' shall we?" he said with a note of irritation. At that, the sandy-blonde wizard threw back his tumbler of firewhisky in one easy gulp and set the heavy crystal on back on the side table.
It took a moment for Sirius to register just what his friend had said, but he quickly realized the flush on Remus' face was not due to the alcohol he had just downed.
A pleased grin spread itself across Sirius' face. "And just what have your 'keen senses' picked up, pray tell?" he asked slowly, as he began considering Hermione Granger in a more serious light.
"Padfoot…" Remus growled warningly, but they both knew he'd already slipped.
Sirius had known he had an effect on Hermione, but hearing irrefutable proof of that fact had bolstered his confidence. However, it also put matters into a more realistic light. What were his intentions with the young witch? Was he "pursuing" her, or was he just amusing himself?
That night after Remus had left, he'd forced himself to really think about the situation. Sirius wasn't an idiot, and neither was he a pig. He knew full well what was at stake. He also knew that if his intentions were anything less than gut-deep sincere and true, Remus' little slip-up would have served as an ice bath to his libido, rather than encouragement.
And so it was - just that simple, his mind was made up. Hermione Granger wanted him. All he had to do was find a way around her defences and the rest should fall into place.
Unfortunately, she'd met his newly reinforced confidence by doubling said defences. Gone were the flattering, sometimes slightly revealing, feminine outfits she wore. In their place came prim little blouses and knee-length librarian skirts. Her previously unruly curls were now frequently pulled into what Sirius guessed was supposed to be a severe-looking bun. He found this change in fashion wildly amusing, since it only served as fuel for the filthy little fantasies he often had about the intelligent witch. Oh, how he'd wanted to sneak up behind her and nuzzle that delicate skin at the nape of her exposed neck…
He'd actually managed it, once. The tiniest gasp had escaped her, her head tilting forward, beckoning only for an instant before her heel came slamming down on his toes. The ensuing fight between them had set their entire circle of friends and Order members on edge for weeks afterwards. It really was endearing, the way she struggled with this… Or so he'd thought until now.
"Why?" he asked again, softer this time. She clearly shared his attraction – what was the problem?
The desperation that clouded her eyes cleared and a look of incredulity crossed her face as she shook her head and slipped out of his grasp.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you even have to ask that, Sirius Black," she snapped, whirling around to face him several feet away, her hands on her hips. "Do you ever think outside of what's between your legs?"
Sirius' brow furrowed. She'd frequently accused him of thinking with his dick before, but that was when they were bantering as usual. Now, however – he wanted to get to the bottom of this. They were locked in his father's old study, and while that fact should have been cause for immediate concern, he knew they'd get out eventually. In the meantime, he finally had Hermione cornered, and he was done playing.
"Maybe you should use that brilliant mind of yours to 'educate' me," he challenged with a dark scowl. "I'll give you five minutes to properly answer my question, Miss Granger."
"Five m-" Her eyebrows shot upwards with an indignant squeak.
"Four and fifty and counting," he growled in warning, slowly stalking over to her. "Why?" he repeated.
Hermione took several steps back and licked her lips nervously before squaring her shoulders. She tilted her chin with false bravado. "I don't owe you an explanation."
Sirius smirked at the faint quiver in her voice and narrowed his eyes as he prowled closer.
"Four and twenty, love."
Hermione took another step back, and Sirius grinned inwardly. She was headed right towards the small leather sofa in the corner. He almost hoped she'd hold out, just so he could dispense with all this talking and take what was rightfully his…
"A-alright, fine," she said, adopting a tone of reason. "Because we can't. Because it's wrong."
Sirius raised an eyebrow briefly before shaking his head and clucking his tongue softly. "That's your best? 'Because we can't, because it's wrong'? I'm disappointed, Granger. Try again. Three and fifty," he added with a glance at the clock on the shelf behind the desk.
Hermione made a small noise of protest that died as Sirius continued stalking her into the corner.
The problem was that the only answer she could come up with to the question of "why" involved laying her heart on the line to the older, handsome playboy. From the moment his lips claimed hers, every other excuse she'd been using to erect a wall between them had crumbled like a pillar of salt. And the one truth that remained was that if she let him in, let this happen, there would be no taking it back. Everything would change, and unlike the situation with Ron, Hermione knew in her heart that she would not have the upper hand if things went south.
"Sirius, please," she said with a small shake of her head. She took another step back when he continued his slow advance, as if she had any place to run. "How can you not see what a huge mistake this would be?"
"Three and twenty," he cautioned. "You're not answering my question."
Anger suddenly flared in Hermione at his smug, insistent tone. Why was she always the one who had to defend herself for being cautious? She was sick of having to explain and defend and care for everyone else's levels of comfort…
"Fine," she snapped. "In case you missed it, Sirius, I have spent the last year walking on eggshells and holding my tongue and playing 'nice' in an effort to keep the peace while I waited for some semblance of normalcy to return to our group after the last relationship I had fell apart. Maybe for you this would just be a simple shag to get your jollies off, but I happen to care about how my actions affect the rest of - "
"Wait," Sirius growled, stopping in his tracks. His eyes flashed with understanding, then outrage. "Do you mean to tell me that because that redheaded idiot wasn't man enough to keep his wounded pride to himself, I'm the one who gets punished?"
"Punished?" Hermione repeated with a short laugh. "What, because you're being turned down for sex? Sirius, you can have your pick of any witch out there, and just because - "
"I don't want any other witch out there," he interrupted fiercely.
"No, you just want the one you can't have," she answered tersely. She glanced over at the clock on the bookshelf. Her confidence now fuelled with a healthy dose of self-righteous anger, she looked at Sirius levelly. "Time's up. This conversation is over," she said, and headed to the door. She'd blast the thing off its hinges if she had to, manners and destruction be damned. She needed to get out of there.
As she brushed past him, however, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. Faster than she could react, he grabbed her other arm and quickly pinned both her wrists behind her back, holding them in place as he pulled her to him.
"You're right. There's nothing more to discuss for now," he said, just before his lips crashed into hers, obliterating her thought processes once more.