A Study of Opposites

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, Remus would be real. Wait up, did I say Remus? I meant Sirius. Right. Sirius.

Part One

A/N- This story was originally a one-shot that ended up being the freaking longest chapter I've ever written. Siriusly. It was pretty close to 11,000 words. So I decided to split it. Gift fic for the amazing Worthfull1 because she wrote me an amazing RL/HG/SB called To Have Your Cake. Thank you my friend and I hope you like! I'll post the second part soon!

They were as different as chalk and cheese.

Sirius Black had been a wilful, disobedient, terrified child, who turned into an arrogant, restless, popular teenager, and was now a confident, congenial, semi-mature adult. Hermione Granger had been a respectful, well-read, intelligent child, who turned into a bossy, eager-to-please, frightened teenager, and was now a quietly poised, passionate, semi-contented adult. The war was over, had been for a few months, and both Hermione and Sirius were slowly learning to live in a world where blood and death weren't an everyday occurrence.

Their entire culture was learning. It was a long, drawn-out process; one Hermione and Sirius were doing their best to help shuffle along, albeit in different ways. Hermione was very vocal when it came to creature and muggle-born rights and getting Hogwarts open again for the coming year, even though she wasn't going to be one of the returning students. She had a job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and was moonlighting for the Department of Magical Education. She had no need to return to Hogwarts.

Sirius was helping see to the capture of stray Death Eaters, and once they were in custody, making sure they got a fair trial – whether they deserved one or not. He had been offered his old job back as an Auror, but had turned it down in favour of trying to change laws instead of enforcing them. It was very slow going, filled with long meetings and endless paperwork, but it was a process he was surprising enjoying.

They were working towards a common goal, but going about it entirely differently, and both were positive that their course of action was the right and most important one to take.

Sirius worked hard during the day and played hard at night. He spent a lot of time in pubs with a drink in his hand and a bird – or sometimes a bloke – under his arm. He justified his thrice-weekly jaunts by saying that he'd lived through and had been innocently incarcerated at the end of the first war, became a fugitive and died in the second, and then had come back just in time to help his godson kick some Voldemort and Death Eater arse during that war's closing years. He deserved to let loose and enjoy himself once in a while. After putting him through all they had, he felt the Fates owed it to him.

Molly was the only one who disagreed. Harry was happy for his godfather to do whatever he pleased, just as long as he didn't get into the sort of trouble that would remove him from his life again. And Remus was too busy with his wife and son to put up much of a protest, though he did shake his head indulgently when Sirius sat at his table and boasted about what he'd gotten up to the night before.

Hermione might have disapproved if she'd paid enough attention. As it was, she was much too involved her own new beginning to work up any ire about Sirius's. She was more than happy to come back to the Burrow after a full day, curl up with a good book and ignore the outside world. She enjoyed going out and meeting Ginny and Luna for a glass of muggle wine, or hanging out with Harry and Ron and listening to them talk Quidditch and their Auror training, but she was a lot more comfortable being a homebody then an adrenalin junkie. She'd had enough of that during her school years, thank you very much, and those weren't times she wanted to relive.

The two met and interacted occasionally, mostly when they ran into each other in the hallway of Grimmauld Place while Hermione was visiting Harry, or when Molly threw one of her famous get-togethers, but apart from a welcoming smile and the 'hi, how are you' that followed, neither spent any significant time together. Neither saw the need to. After all, the only thing they had in common was Harry. They were friendly acquaintances who, if it hadn't been for the war, may never have met. And as both remembered a suffocating summer at Sirius's ancestral home where tempers rose easily and lasting impressions were formed, neither witch nor wizard were particularly interested in changing the status quo.

That is until the ministry took away their choice.

~0~

It was an average Tuesday, the day their burgeoning worlds were tipped upside down. Hermione was sitting at the breakfast table, enjoying a cup of tea while Molly flicked her wand over the kippers frying on the stovetop. Miles away, Sirius was happily singing loudly and off-key in the shower, having just enjoyed a good wank. He'd gone out the night before but had come home alone, so didn't have someone to see to that morning ritual for him; not that they would've been in the shower with him anyway, that late in the morning. Sirius was friendly fellow, polite and courteous to his one-night stands, but that's all they were – fun for one night. If anyone stayed over, it was him staying at their place, as the last thing Sirius wanted was for Harry to have to deal with random strangers making themselves at home in his kitchen. He'd just stepped out of the shower and was drying himself off when Harry bellowed up the stairs that mail had arrived for him.

The Owl Post arrived at the Burrow around the same time, and Hermione looked curiously at the envelope addressed to her sitting amongst the pile in the middle of the table. It seemed everyone but Molly and Arthur had gotten one, all addressed in vivid purple ink. She picked it up and turned it over, but was interrupted in the process of opening it by Ginny clattering down the stairs.

"'Morning, Gin. You've got mail," she said with an absent smile, nudging the envelope towards the redhead, who waved her fingers in greeting while yawning widely and sitting to make her own tea, before reaching for the letter. Both witches ripped open their envelopes at the same time, and Hermione took a sip from her teacup as her eyes ran over the parchment.

In the sitting room, the floo activated with a roar and panicked shouts echoed into the kitchen; distracting Ginny from the letter she'd just started reading. Fred and George stumbled into the room clutching letters of their own, Molly swept over looking concerned as their words tumbled over top the other's, and the teacup in Hermione's hand hit the floor and shattered, spilling its contents all over the newly-clean rug.

"No," she breathed, staring blankly at the letter. Ginny looked over at her with a frown.

"Hermione? What's the matter?"

"No," she repeated, voice numb, the hand holding the letter tightening to a fist. "They can't."

"Can't what? What's wrong? Are you all right- fucking hell!"

"Ginevra!" Molly admonished, but was soon exclaiming profusely herself as her twin sons shoved their letters in her face. Hermione read her letter for the fourth time, her veins flooding with ice.

By decree of the British Ministry of Magic… marriage law… between the ages of seventeen and forty-five… unless already married or engaged… repopulate the species… a witch can choose between two approved suitors… married within a month of said witches choice… pregnant within a year of marriage unless proven infertile… regular check-ups… deliberately failing to comply will result in punishment ranging from a term in Azkaban to losing one's status as a member of the British Wizarding community…

"What's all the bloody racket about?" a voice grumbled from the bottom of the stairs. Ginny shot from her chairs and slapped Ron's letter against his chest. The air quickly turned blue, but Hermione paid no attention. Her eyes were fixed on the two names at the bottom of the parchment.

"Theodore Nott," she whispered to herself, a hand pressed against her churning stomach. "Theodore Nott and… oh God."

At the same time, the second name written on Hermione's letter was glaring at his own in absolute disbelief.

"Hermione Granger," Sirius muttered, teeth clenched. "I'm an option for Hermione Granger? And who the bloody hell is Theodore Nott?"

"What?" Harry barked, head snapping up from gaping at his parchment, "what did you say?"

"They've given fucking Hermione Granger me and Theodore Nott. Who the fuck is Theodore Nott?" the animagus growled. Harry's face hardened.

"Not someone she wants to end up with. He's a bloody Death Eater. I don't understand how they can… how can they… I'm going to the Burrow. You coming?"

He shoved his chair back and Sirius's mind spun. A Death Eater? Picking it apart, he finally placed the name, an image of a smug smirk and artic eyes running through his head. The little prick had gotten off on a technicality. And now…

And now they were giving him to Hermione Granger?

He couldn't let it happen. But then, he couldn't marry her either. Sirius didn't want to get married, didn't want to be trapped. Not again, and especially not to an uptight brainiac who was twenty years younger than him!

"Sirius? You coming?"

"Are you one of Ginny's choices?" Sirius asked, still staring at the parchment as his heart thudded unevenly. Thunk. Thunk, thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk, thunk. His voice sounded distant to his own ears. Merlin, he couldn't- but Azkaban!

"No, but I'm going to bloody well make sure I'm the only choice she has."

"Good lad," his godfather whispered. Was it getting hot in there? Where had all the air gone?

"You'll want to do the same, right? Hermione can't end up with Nott!"

"Yeah. Yeah," Sirius murmured, his chair slowly scraping along the floor as he got to his feet. Fuck, he needed some air. He needed to get out, he needed to process this.

He needed a drink.

"Just. Just not right now. Tell Hermione… shit. Tell H-Hermione I'll, I'll see her later. Yeah, I'll see her later."

He turned on the spot and apparated with a crack. Remus found him an hour later at a nondescript muggle pub, deep in his cups. He sat down beside his thoroughly pissed best mate with a sigh.

"So. Hermione, huh?"

"'Don't wanna talk 'bout it, Moony," Sirius slurred, staring broodily into his drink. Remus shook his head and squeezed Sirius's shoulder.

"It'll be all right, Padfoot. We'll get you both through this. I promise."

~0~

Two weeks later, Sirius sat in the living room of the Burrow, eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Hermione's other suitor touch her inappropriately for the third time since they'd both walked in the door. The ministry was insisting that the selection process be fair, so they had sent a representative to oversee the 'courtship', to make sure both suitors got to spend an equal amount of time with their witch. The easiest way to do that was to have both 'court' her at the same time.

No one, neither of the suitors, nor the witch herself, got a say in that process. So Sirius was sitting in a chair next to a very uncomfortable Hermione Granger, the representative was sitting on the other side of the room, and fucking Nott was invading Hermione's personal space, all but groping her every chance he got.

And there was not one bloody thing he could do about it. The only person who could do anything was Hermione, by making her decision. The witch beside him, however, didn't look like she was in a decision-making frame of mind. Going by the blankness of her features and the way she kept jumping, as if she was flinching, the only thing Hermione was concentrating on was trying to get through this meeting.

Why the fuck is she letting him do that?

Nott reached out to pick up his mug of tea, his hand 'accidently' brushing over Hermione's breast in the process, and Sirius had had enough.

"She's made her decision."

"Excuse me, Mr Black?" the representative said, looking up from the parchment he was studying. Hermione's head snapped around, her mouth open with shock.

"I said Miss Granger's made her decision."

"She has?" the representative and Nott asked simultaneously. Hermione gaped at him.

"Yes, she has. Haven't you, love?"

"Uh…"

"'Course, it was always going to be me she was going to pick, isn't that right, pet? Hermione and I go way back," Sirius said, reaching for the witches hand and squeezing it hard, grey eyes fixed pointedly on brown. "There was only ever really one choice when it came down to it."

"Miss Granger?" the representative questioned, and Hermione blinked, jolting when Sirius squeezed her hand again. Christ, the bloke had a grip!

"Er, right. Right! Yes, I, erm, I choose Sirius."

"Right, then," the representative said, putting his parchments back into his briefcase and getting to his feet. "I shall file this with the ministry immediately. You have thirty days for the marriage to take place. Come, Mr Nott, I'll see to it that you get reassigned."

They left the room, Nott shooting nasty looks over his shoulder, and Hermione and Sirius sat in silence, the ticking from the clock in the kitchen growing louder the longer they sat. Finally, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Umm, you didn't have to do that, Sirius."

The animagus laughed, zero humour in the sound. "You're kidding, right? Of course I had to do that. If you think for one second that I'd let you marry that vile little prick after what I just witnessed… no, you have another option and I'm it. Why were you letting him get away with that, by the way?"

A flush grew in Hermione's cheeks and she looked down. "I- I, umm, heard about the way you reacted when you saw my name on the bottom of the letter, and, er, I guess I was trying to give you an out." She shrugged. "At least one of us should have one."

Sirius sighed, then reached out and took her hand for the second time. "Hermione, lass, that didn't have anything to do with you. That had to do with marriage. I don't want to marry anyone, pet. But the fucking ministry's not giving us a choice, are they?" He ducked his head to catch her eye, smiling tentatively at her. "Besides, if I didn't marry you, I'd have to marry someone else, and believe me, I'd much rather marry someone I'm familiar with. You're my best option as well, Hermione Granger. So, thank you for choosing me."

The girl's head lifted, a faltering smile in place, and the two continued to sit, holding hands, for quite a while.

They were married three weeks later.

It was a small affair. The only guests present were Harry, the Weasleys, Minerva McGonagall – who had thrown a fit to rival Fleur Weasley when she'd found out about the law – Hagrid and Remus and Tonks. Hermione Granger became Hermione Black, and husband and wife shared their first very awkward, very chaste kiss at the altar.

Hermione moved into Grimmauld Place the next day. Harry had already moved out, bunking at the Weasleys until he and Ginny got married at the end of the week. Hermione found herself wishing that he hadn't left so soon as she stood in the hallway, eyes flicking from the door of her old bedroom to the stairs leading up to Sirius's. Her hands twisted anxiously over her stomach, her teeth gnawing her bottom lip. She didn't know which way to turn.

Why the bloody hell hadn't they discussed this before they'd said 'I do'? She knew she'd have to sleep with him eventually, they had to have a baby for God's sake, but she didn't want it to happen straight away! She wanted to get to know him first, wanted the chance to develop an attraction!

You're saying you're not attracted now? a little voice whispered in the back of her head, and Hermione frowned. Was she? He was very good-looking. Those eyes and those cheekbones, and that hair, and dear Merlin, that smirk of his-

"Hermione?"

The young witch gasped and spun around, finding Sirius behind her, watching her quizzically. She swallowed, face flushing, her thoughts making her take in the way the beat-up, brown leather jacket over a white muggle t-shirt gave him a rather rough, rugged look, and the way black jeans hugged muscled thighs, not to mention the sizable package between those thighs…

That was hers. All hers.

She felt herself get just a little bit wet, and Hermione's cheeks burned.

"Something the matter, love?" Sirius asked, studying her closely. On anyone else he would have said that he'd just been thoroughly checked out. But this was Hermione Granger, the bossy, sexless little know-it-all. She couldn't have been checking him out. His eyes lingered on the deep blush.

Could she?

Black, now. She's Hermione Black.

"No," his new wife squeaked, spinning away from him. "I'm just, erm, not sure where to go."

"To your room?" Sirius suggested, frowning when she shot him a startled look. "It's not your old one, I know, but I thought it'd be better if we were on the same level. Plus, your new room's nicer than your old one. More roomy, go figure."

"Oh," the chit breathed, and Sirius's frown deepened. What was her problem? "You don't, umm, you don't expectmetobewithyou?"

The animagus's mouth dropped open. That was her problem? She thought… for fuck's sake.

"Hermione Granger, I am not the lecherous old man you seem to think I am!" he barked, ignoring the way she jumped at his tone and mouthed the word Black. "Of course I don't expect you to be with me! I'd never do that to you! If you think that I spend my days going around defiling virgins just for the fun of it, this arrangement really isn't going to work-"

"I'm not a virgin."

"Huh?" Sirius blurted eloquently, abruptly running out of steam at her interjection. "You're not?"

"No," Hermione whispered, cheeks burning again. She wouldn't look at him. "I, umm, Ron and I, er, at Shell Cottage…"

"Love, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Sirius murmured when she trailed off. The witch shook her head and then turned to face him, determination in the tilt of her chin.

"No, I do. You and I, we have to have a b-baby eventually, and to do that, we have to have sex. You need to know. It was after the whole thing at Malfoy Manor and when I was… I just wanted to feel alive. I needed to feel alive. Ronald was there and, well… it happened. More than once, actually." Her chin tilted higher. "We were there for two weeks and Ronald spent most of those nights in my room."

Sirius pursed his lips, regarding the almost defiant witch. The information came in handy. She was right, they did have to shag eventually, and knowing that she'd have at least some clue what was going on would make it infinitely easier. Sirius didn't generally go for virgins, having found in the past that he enjoyed himself a lot more when his partner for the night actively participated. Though she was still clearly quite innocent – the way she'd had to gather her courage to start the conversation told him that – even some experience was better than no experience at all.

"I take it you kept Harry in the dark about that," he quipped dryly, smirking a little at the way Hermione deflated at the comment. She didn't actually expect him to be disapproving, did she? He wasn't going to judge her for what she'd gotten up to before their marriage. That would've just been hypocritical.

As long as she didn't get up to anything during their marriage. Unless it was with him.

Sirius didn't share.

"Er, yeah, we did," Hermione answered a bit sheepishly. She sent him a shy smile when he chuckled.

"Figured you would've. Love, you do whatever you feel most comfortable doing. You want your own room; you have your own room. You want to be in with me- so, your own room, then," Sirius grinned, thoroughly entertained by the blush and the wide, startled eyes.

Does that blush go all the way down?

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do," he continued, shaking his head at his thoughts. "We've a year, after all. That's plenty of time to get to know each other better before we take the leap between the sheets."

A bit of mischief popped into his head, and Sirius stepped up to her and leant down before he could talk himself out of it.

"Besides, pet, when I do get that lovely little body bare, I'll want Ronald Weasley to be that last thing on your mind, believe me."

He kissed her cheek and pulled back, smirking when he saw her dropped jaw, before turning and sauntering away.

~0~

They settled into a routine. Hermione would get up first and occupy the bathroom, spending exactly twenty minutes behind the closed door before going downstairs and starting breakfast. At first, she just made enough for herself, not sure if her husband (her husband) wanted anything, but she caved the very first time he walked downstairs to the smell of bacon frying and gave her his best puppy-dog eyes.

Padfoot indeed.

Since they both worked at the ministry, they left for work together, and then once they'd come home for the night, they spent the rest of their evening getting to know each other.

Sirius found that Hermione Granger (Black) had grown up. She was no longer the snooty, lecturing little princess you looked at him with condescending eyes and made him feel like he'd never be good enough. She read a lot, yes, but she was always up for putting her book down and getting into a rousing discussion about anything and everything.

Over time, she stopped being nervous and uncertain around him, and the animagus found he enjoyed the person she was once her shyness had disappeared. She was intelligent, opinionated and passionate, and she was fierce when it came to defending her point of view.

He adored it.

Hermione, in turn, realized Sirius wasn't the irresponsible man-child who encouraged Harry's reckless side she'd seen him as when she'd stayed at Grimmauld before fifth year. Yes, he was a Marauder and lived to create mischief, but after a week or so, she stopped cautiously checking every seat she sat in, or sniffing every drink he handed her. He loved to laugh, had a boisterous personality, and was supposed to be a flirt (why the hell wasn't he flirting with her?) but he wasn't a grown up carbon copy of Fred and George.

She really liked it.

Soon, it was as if she'd always lived at Grimmauld Place, and as such, Hermione began to treat the house like a home. She stopped rushing towards the bathroom every morning, casting suspicious looks over her shoulder; instead wandering towards it without even bothering with her dressing gown. And as Hermione didn't like to wear long, swathy clothing in bed, her pyjamas were a pair of tight shorts and a figure-hugging camisole – something that caused Sirius to choke on his tongue the first time he got up early and ran into her in the hallway.

"W-what are you wearing?" he spluttered, grey eyes slowly running over a slender waist, subtle curves and legs much longer than they should've been given his wife's short stature.

"My pyjamas?" Hermione frowned, looking down at herself. Yip, still wearing them. This pair was a little old and worn in places, but that just made them more comfortable.

"You wear that to bed?"

"Well, sure," Hermione answered, still frowning. She looked up, took in his scandalized expression and scowled, folding her arms under her breasts.

Her brows rose a little at the muffled groan.

"Something the matter, Sirius?"

"No, no, 'course not. I'm just going to… use the loo."

He turned and walked through the bathroom door, closing it behind him, before she even got a chance protest that she usually had first dibs. Hermione scowled at the door, grumbling to herself about men who got dressed and then decided to take a shower, lips pursing and head cocking curiously when the sound of the water cut off, every little bit of noise possible vanishing from inside the bathroom.

Was he using a silencing charm? Why?

Shaking her head, she trotted down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. She guessed she was making breakfast first that day.

The next morning, having decided that she quite liked puttering around the kitchen in her sleepwear, Hermione was standing at the stove, poking the bacon when she heard a ripe curse behind her. She turned, eyes widening as she saw a bare-chested Sirius wearing only a pair of Gryffindor-red silk trousers, gawking at her. Her blush rose furiously and she jerked her eyes away, turning back to the stove.

He has tattoos! How could I not know he had tattoos?

"Umm, breakfast will be ready soon," she said, voice unnaturally high.

"Mother of Merlin, I'm only fucking human!"

"What?" Hermione frowned, turning half towards him, only to find an empty stairwell. Her frown grew more pronounced and she huffed under her breath, making a mental note to scold him for his rudeness later.

Three weeks and one very rude Sirius later, Hermione was at the end of her tether. She didn't know what had gone wrong. Sirius seemed to be avoiding her as much as possible, and it annoyed the witch to no end to find she missed him. She bit her lip as she stared down at the eggs she was scrambling

Had her growing attraction to him put him off? She knew she wasn't being at all subtle when she was checking him out, but come on! The wizard was sexy, and it wasn't like she'd had much experience with this sort of thing! Ronald certainly didn't have a smooth, broad back she wanted to run her hands over, or lips carved specifically for kissing! And his hair! It wasn't her fault that she dreamt of it swinging around his face while he thrust into her, over and over and over! She couldn't help the way she felt!

Her ire rising, she spun around and pointed the spatula at Sirius when she heard his feet on the stairs, and then the squeak as he tried to hurry back up them, chocolate eyes blazing.

"Sirius Black, you stop right there! I'm sick of this! What have I done wrong? I thought we were friends! I live under this roof and you're treating me like the most horridly mistreated house-elf! I'm your wife! You better start explaining yourself right now or I swear I'll hex you until your bloody bollocks fall off!"

Her mouth snapped shut, chest rising and falling with her anger, and Hermione glowered across the room at her husband, who seemed to be paralyzed. He was watching her, closed-mouthed, grey eyes hooded. Hermione scowled and planted her hands on her hips.

"Well?"

"Fuck, I give up."

Sirius moved, striding across the room towards her, and then suddenly large hand were cupping her head under her hair and Hermione was squeaking as a mouth slanted firmly over hers. She gasped, the end trailing into a moan as Sirius proceeded to snog her within an inch of her life, his tongue gliding over hers, drinking her in in long, slow, shockingly intense gulps. Raw heat poured through her veins, pooling low in her belly and starting a steady, throbbing pulse as he opened his mouth wider and drew her tongue between his lips, sucking on it.

Hermione felt her knees give way. His hands were the only things holding her up.

Groaning, Sirius drew back a little, dragging his tongue over her bottom lip before parting entirely. He stared into her blurred eyes, hands still cupping her head, and Hermione eventually became aware of something long and hard pressing into her stomach.

"This, love, is why I've been avoiding you," he growled, his voice sending a tremble down her spine. "You are an oblivious walking temptation and I'm rock hard every moment of the day. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I couldn't be in the same room with you without imagining bending you over the closest flat surface and showing you how fucking desirable you are."

His hands tightened briefly and then he slowly stepped back, the sides of her face going cold without the heat of his hands warming them. She collapsed back against the bench and stared at him with wide, dark eyes, flabbergasted. Sirius stared back, then blew out a gusty breath and ran a hand through his hair

"So it seems, Mrs Black, you have another decision to make. Take as long as you like; I'll honour whatever you choose. Merlin knows this attraction isn't bloody going anywhere. Now, if you'll excuse me, the shower is calling."

He turned and headed for the stairs, Hermione watching him leave in mute bewilderment. A crazy, random question shot into her head and out of her mouth before her brain had time to catch it.

"Sirius, why do you put a silencing charm on the bathroom door?"

He paused on the stairs, then turned his head, cocked a brow and shot her a slow, toe-curling smirk, the palm of his hand rubbing along his thigh, precariously close to the swell she'd felt pressing against her.

"Why ever do you think, pet?"

Then he was gone, leaving behind him a witch whose lungs seemed to have seized up.

~0~

They were at an impasse. Hermione wanted him, by Christ did she want him, but she couldn't seem to make a decision either way. Her mind would flit from one side of the equation to the other, and whenever she thought she'd made a decision, the con list would rear up in her head and she'd be back at square one. And it didn't help that Sirius was no longer hiding his desire. His eyes were constantly hot, and constantly on her, and now that she knew why there was zero sound from the bathroom in the morning, she couldn't sit still while knowing where he was and what he was up to at that particular time of the day. She was getting very little sleep, as she was being tormented by heated, graphic dreams, and she could not, could not, look at him without picturing him nude and aroused and reaching for her, palm up and eyes inviting.

In the end, it was three things that turned the tides. A shower, a forgotten silencing charm, and Hermione's name falling from Sirius's lips as he stroked himself towards completion during his morning ablutions a month after he'd first kissed her, made her decision for her. The witch in question stood stock-still outside the bathroom door, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as Sirius called her name again and again, the word rough and full of need. She stood and swallowed, her hand fisting and pressing against her womb, and as curses began to pepper his speech, his tone turning desperate, almost begging, she suddenly found her hand curling around the doorknob.

Then she was inside the steam-filled room and her pyjamas were hitting the mat on the floor. Her hand reached out to draw the curtain back, and Sirius's head snapped around like a wolf catching a scent.

One look at the bare flesh of the witch he'd been fantasizing about for months had him coming hard, all over his rapidly moving hand wrapped around his cock, the tendons in his neck stretching tight as his head arched back and his hips jerked, a loud, throaty groan ringing off the walls. Hermione openly gaped, her heart beating rapid-fire in her chest, that pulse throbbing deep in her centre. Sirius sighed and sagged back under the water's spray, then stared back, speechless.

After a moment of inner scrambling, he regained his equilibrium. Cocking his head and flashing her that arrogant, sensuous smile, he said in a voice made from sin, "well? You've come this far, love. Are you in or out?"

With her brain playing images on repeat of the way her husband looked when he came, a slow sweep over tanned, wet skin, and a nervous lick of her lips, Hermione stepped into the bathtub.

"I didn't forget the silencing charm on purpose, you know," Sirius whispered to her later. They were lying on his bed with the sheet tangled beneath them, and his thumb was lazily strumming her clit while his mouth drew on her nipple. Hermione whimpered as Sirius ghosted his lips up her chest to nuzzle under her ear and nip at the skin, his fingers wandering down to circle and then abruptly push into her, knuckle deep. Hermione cried out, her hips canting sharply off the bed.

"I swear I didn't do it to coerce you," he murmured, rotating his hand and pressing his palm down, making his wife moan and buck again. "I really did forget it. You were walking around in those fucking shorts, and I wanted nothing more than to tear them off and lick you-"

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius, stop teasing and fuck me!"

His eyes darkening dramatically at the demand, Sirius rolled on top of her and did precisely that.