A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Page count: 10

Potter Manor - Tuesday 6th April 1982

Hermione woke from her magical exhaustion earlier that day. She'd gone to dinner, spent time with everyone, and now she'd just stepped out of the shower. A towel wrapped snugly around her, she padded into her bedroom—

—and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Sirius! Bloody hell, you scared the life out of me!" she snapped, hand flying to her chest.

He sat comfortably on the edge of her bed, shirtless, in nothing but pyjama bottoms, hands braced behind him as though he belonged there. His mouth tugged into that slow, devastating smirk.

His eyes dragged slowly down her towel-clad form, shameless and lazy. She huffed and marched to her vanity, dropping into the chair. With a flick of her wand, she dried her hair before reaching for her brush.

"Why did you take that stone from the ring before you destroyed it?" Sirius asked.

Hermione froze.

"You saw that?"

"I did," he replied, tone maddeningly calm. "So... why did you take it?" His gaze fixed on her in the mirror. "You're keeping something from us. I know you are."

She set the brush down and turned in her seat, meeting his eyes head-on. "Only because I haven't completely figured things out," she said quietly. "I need to make sure I'm right."

"Right about what?"

"I don't want to say anything until I have what I need. Until I know for certain."

"Mia..." he warned.

"Sirius, please." Her voice softened. "I'll tell you when I need to. I just... I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. Not yours, not James', not Remus'. Not mine."

His jaw flexed. He held her eyes for a long moment, then he sighed. "Fine. Then answer this: what are we going to do about Dumbledore? It's been weeks since the attack."

"We aren't going to do anything."

"What?" The word came out as a growl, sharp and furious.

"We're not," she repeated firmly. "Dumbledore will get what's coming to him. But I still need him. He has something that I need—something crucial to destroying Voldemort. I just... can't get it yet."

"You're not going to tell me what it is?" he demanded, full pout engaged.

"No."

He growled under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. And then—because he was Sirius Black and tact had never once been in his vocabulary—his gaze drifted downward. Slowly. Deliberately. From her bare feet... up her legs... over the towel loosely hugging her curves... to the exposed line of her throat.

By the time his eyes returned to hers, they were molten.

"Sirius..." she breathed, instinctively stepping back as he stalked toward her.

Step for step, he followed, unhurried and hungry, until the back of her legs hit the bed and she fell onto it with a soft gasp. His smirk was slow and wicked as he climbed onto the mattress after her—and before she could blink, he pounced.

She landed flat on her back, towel askew, his mouth crushing against hers. The kiss was hard, hot, and consuming—nothing held back, nothing hesitant. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and a low growl rumbled from his chest in response. He pressed his hips against hers, pulling a strained moan from her lips.