A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Page count: 12

Potter Manor - Sunday 28th March 1982

"Can we talk to you?" Hermione asked Sirius just as everyone was about to rise from the breakfast table.

The look she gave him—fidgeting hands, pink cheeks, eyes refusing to stay still—made Sirius freeze mid-stretch. James cleared his throat. Remus arched a brow before scooping Harry up and disappearing to help him dress.

Sirius followed them into their favourite living room, dropping lazily into his usual armchair while Hermione and James sat opposite, stiff as schoolchildren caught out after curfew.

"What did you need to talk about?" Sirius asked, folding one ankle over his knee. He looked far too pleased with himself.

"Well..." Hermione began, then faltered, wringing her hands.

Sirius' mouth split into a slowly growing smirk—the kind that promised trouble.

"Oh Merlin," James muttered under his breath.

Sirius waggled his brows. "You had sex last night."

Hermione inhaled wrong, choked on air, and James had to thump her back.

"What!?" she managed, voice squeaking.

"You had sex last night," Sirius repeated, enunciating each word like he was teaching toddlers the alphabet.

"How—how could you possibly know that?" Hermione spluttered, mortified.

Sirius held up a finger. "One: I heard you in Prongs' room—before someone thought to put up a silencing charm."

Hermione turned scarlet.

"Two: I never heard you leave."

James sank into the cushions.

"Three: you did leave this morning."

Hermione groaned into her hands.

"Four: you're both acting weird—Prongs looks like he won the bloody Quidditch World Cup and Hermione can't look me in the eye without turning the colour of a Weasley jumper."

He leaned back dramatically, spreading his arms over the back of the chair like a smug king.

"And five—because I'm an Animagus with an excellent nose. You reek of each other. Honestly, Prongs, I'm proud. Didn't think you had it in you."

"Sirius!" Hermione squeaked, horrified.

James flushed a deep red and glared. "Padfoot—"

"What?" Sirius held up his hands innocently. "I'm simply observing. Professionally. Scientifically. As your friend. And an occasional relationship counsellor."

Hermione pressed her palms to her face and forced out, "Are you mad?"

Sirius stared at her like she'd just grown antlers.

"Mad? Hermione, love, this is a triad. Not a monogamous tea-and-biscuits arrangement." He snorted. "Why on earth would I be mad you slept with your boyfriend?"

"But you're my boyfriend too," she said quietly.

"Exactly," Sirius replied, softening around the eyes. "And I know exactly where I stand. And I trust both of you." He paused—then grinned wickedly. "I'm just surprised Prongs managed it first. Took the honourable git seven years to get a date with a girl."

"Shut up," James muttered, folding his arms and pouting.

Hermione patted his knee sympathetically. "It was amazing sex," she said pointedly, shooting Sirius a glare for good measure.