Title: No More Hiding
Author: ceredwen
Characters/Pairings: Sirius/Hermione, ensemble cast
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Humiliation
Other Warnings: AU
Word Count: 3,183
Summary/Description: Sirius is tired of being Hermione’s dirty secret.
Author's Notes: Major thanks to my beta whitmans_kiss. Mods I couldn't find the theme: humiliation tag.



Her dark woolen cloak pulled tight to ward off the winter chill, Hermione stamped her feet on the mat in front of the backdoor to the Burrow and shook off the snow. She took the moment to brace herself for what lay inside. Muted laughter and talking from within was carried by one voice in particular, the source of her tension.

A hand clad in a leather glove reached out from her cloak, turned the knob and opened the door. Warmth and sound enveloped her as she stepped across the threshold, a forced smile on her face. She breathed a small sigh of relief as only Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were in the kitchen. Ginny, bent over and opening the oven door, looked up and grinned at her.

“You made it!” said Mrs. Weasley, pulling Hermione into a warm hug. Behind her mother’s back, Ginny mouthed, ‘He’s here.’ Hermione delivered a glare to Ginny over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. The voices from the other room had already told her as much.

“I’ve never missed one of your dinners, have I?” said Hermione to Mrs. Weasley. “Is there anything I can do to help in here?”

“We’ve got it under control,” interjected Ginny. She gave Hermione a wink. “Go on and say hello to the others.”

“Yes, you’re a guest, dear,” agreed Mrs. Weasley. “Now, take off your gloves, give me your cloak, and go relax.”

“Here,” said Ginny, pushing a mug into Hermione’s hand once her cloak and gloves were collected. “Drink this; it’ll warm you up and give you a bit of courage.”

“You’re a bit too pleased about this,” hissed Hermione under her breath, watching as Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen with her things. She took a sip from the mug and could taste the rum under the cocoa. “I should never have told you.”

“And you should quit fighting it,” replied Ginny. “You were wrong for breaking it off for such a flimsy reason, you know.”

“It wasn’t flimsy,” said Hermione. “And I’ll thank you for letting me know my own mind better than you.” She gave Ginny a last glare, took a deep breath and stepped toward the living room, standing under the lintel and letting her eyes adjust to the softer light for a moment. There was a well-stoked fire crackling in the hearth and several candles set about.

She wasn’t noticed right away, which was fine with her. The room, full of worn couches and chairs, was packed with people. Harry and Ron were too busy laughing with Fred and George to see her surveying the room.

On the couch next to theirs, Fleur and Bill were talking with Dora and Remus, four-year-old Teddy squealing with laughter as he was bounced on Remus’ knee. Two-year-old Victoire slept somehow in Bill’s arms amid all the noise. Arthur and Percy, each in a chair, chatted quietly with Kingsley, who was seated on the only free couch.

Hermione frowned, confused because there was someone missing from the room. Ginny had told her he was here - they had argued about him in the kitchen. The tension he generated coiled just a little tighter, disconcerting her, because she lost a bit of control over the situation if she didn’t know where he was. There was barely space to find a seat; the only bit of room left was on the couch next to Kingsley - just enough space for two in a tight squeeze.

No one outside of Ginny knew about her – mistake. She was starting to regret telling Ginny anything about Sirius -- damn. She’d been trying so hard not to think his name. As though thinking his name was a talisman to call him into being, the man himself stepped off the stairs into the living room.

Hermione’s brief glance at him sent her pulse racing. Handsome as ever, his dark hair was pulled into a neat queue, he wore his robes open, exposing the dark trousers and white oxford underneath. He wore the oxford open at the neck as well, revealing the intricate tattoo work that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She took a second glance, bit her lip, and looked away - reacting to him in the same infuriating way she always did.

Sirius took a step toward the couch where Kingsley was seated and caught Hermione taking a third peek at him, heat filling her cheeks as their eyes met.

“Hermione, you came. I wasn’t sure that you would.” Even from across the room, his deep baritone slid down her spine and settled somewhere in the region of her groin.

To Hermione’s very great relief, this set off a chain reaction. She was suddenly the center of attention with Harry and Ron leaving their seats to greet her, pulling her into warm hugs. The others kept their seats, but offered up warm welcomes, beckoning her to come in and take a seat. Hermione looked desperately around for a safe place to sit, but ended up sitting next to Kingsley. Just as she had feared, Sirius took advantage and claimed the seat beside her, squeezing his body into the leftover space.

“Must you?” said Hermione under her breath, moving her lips as little as possible. Sirius’ warm body pushed so close to hers was familiar and welcome, despite her better intentions.

Sirius’ shifted his body and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “I’m afraid I must,” he replied, just as quiet and unobtrusive, though with far more calm. “Nowhere else to sit.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she accused. Sirius chose that moment to trace the back of her neck with a finger.

“Indeed I am,” he replied, tilting his head in, closer to her. His warm breath ghosted across her cheek, dissipating as it slid down her throat. “The question on my mind is, why aren’t you?”

Hermione rushed to her feet, standing awkwardly for a moment. “Excuse me,” she managed to get out before hastily stepping toward the stairs. She hurried up to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a click.

Placing her hands on the counter, she looked at herself in the mirror. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her brow; her face was flushed, giving her a fevered look. Clearly, Sirius wasn’t going out without a fight. How could he toy with her like that where anyone could see, open themselves to speculation about the nature of their association?

She should have told him in person, but she had feared her resolve would fold the moment he touched her, spoke to her. The letter had been cowardly; she had known that even as she was writing it. He had told her he was tired of hiding their relationship, that he didn’t want to be her dirty secret any more. What choice did she have but to break it off? He was twice her age, could be her father; she could just imagine the things that people would say.

Not that she had written that in her letter. She could just imagine him laughing as he read such a thing. He didn’t put stock in the opinions of others, but Hermione did. True, she had done her share of rule breaking in her life, but there had been extenuating circumstances, a world in peril, all of that. What they did together, the difference in age between them – it was naughty; it was dirty; it was wrong.

What she had written was that she needed a change, that she wanted to date other people. She told him they weren’t compatible, too different, that in the long run it would never work. She came close to the heart of the matter and wrote that Harry would never understand, though she knew that to be a lie. She’d been desperate, though on reflection this might have been her mistake. She had sent it a few weeks ago, and Sirius had never sent a return letter. She had hoped that this meant he had accepted her decree. Apparently, she had been wrong.

Hermione wet a flannel and looked at herself in the mirror again. She had calmed down, lost the fevered look, but could still use a bit of freshening up. The flannel was cool and moist on her face, giving her a brief reprieve from her worried thoughts.

“You are no coward, Granger,” she said to her image. “You are going to go back out there and make it through the evening. You’re stronger than this.”

“You know, I have to disagree with you,” said Sirius from the other side of the door. “Let me in, Hermione.”

Hermione felt a sudden spike of adrenaline. What if someone could hear him? Did one of the others know he had come up here after her? She pulled open the door and yanked Sirius in by his shirt, shutting it as quietly as she could.

“What are you doing? Did someone see you?” hissed Hermione. She took a step back to give herself a bit of space between them.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said. “I offered to check on you. Interestingly, Ginny thought that was a great idea.”

“That meddler,” muttered Hermione. “Look, Sirius, I said everything I had to say in my letter.”

“Yeah, that was interesting, too,” he said, stepping closer. “Even more so that it came right after I said I was tired of hiding.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” she said, frustrated at how unconvincing she sounded. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, heaven forbid that you have to explain yourself ,” he replied mockingly. “Don’t ruffle Mother Granger.”

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly. “I need a change.”

“Like what, for instance?” he asked, taking another step toward her. “What is it you need changing – perhaps I can help.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she struggled to find an answer. She wasn’t actually unhappy with him – quite the opposite. They complemented each other nicely; she enjoyed his spontaneity, his quick mind, and the differences in the way they each saw the world. She loved to spar with him about politics, had been pleasantly surprised that he enjoyed art and literature, and despite his energetic persona, he was someone she could sit in comfortable silence with.

“I think I understand the problem here,” said Sirius after a moment of waiting for her to answer. “I also happen to think it’s utterly ridiculous. We’re good together, which is a simple fact and not something I’m going to explain. This is about the difference in age, isn’t it? You’re afraid of what they’ll all think.”

“Stop it,” said Hermione quietly. They had never discussed it, and she didn’t want to start now.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, closing the final bit of space between them. His hands on the counter pinned her so she had no where to look but at his chest. He had first caught her eye with the tattoos; the ink was far from fresh, but the intricate designs were fascinating to her. She had found herself looking at his chest whenever she had the opportunity and was apparently far less subtle about it than she had thought. He had called her on it, which had led to the start of their relationship.

The explanation for each piece of the pattern had come at three in morning after a marathon session of lovemaking. Spent and sated, she had traced the ink with her fingers, listening as he described when and where he had gotten them, and what they meant. So much of his pain and personal history was permanently etched into his skin, as most he had done in Azkaban. Her fingers itched to touch them now, to trace them again like she had so many times before.

“I’m going to have my say and you’re going to listen to me,” he continued. “Because you’re not the only one who gets to -”

Hermione heard the words, but she wasn’t paying attention; not until he paused did she look up at him. She quickly replayed what he had said, irritated that it was so obvious she was distracted. “I’m not the only one who gets to what?”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” The smirk told her he was more amused than he was angry. “If this were reversed you would be livid with me. You’re fine with breaking it off because you don’t want your friends knowing you’re fucking a wizard twice your age, but get us alone in a room and you actually have the nerve to ogle me.”

“Ogle!” she said, mustering as much indignation as she could. “I most certainly was not!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hermione,” he said, grinning. “I’ve seen that look in your eye too many times to be fooled by a pathetic protest of innocence.” He leaned in and kissed her neck just below the ear. “You want me.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep any reaction from escaping her lips and squirmed to get away from him. “We’re over, Sirius, and we’ve been up here too long. They‘re already going to ask questions.”

“Which I would be more than happy to answer.” He tightened his arms closer, effectively trapping her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, that you’re not falling as hard for me as I am for you.”

Hermione raised her chin once again, prepared to do just that. His piercing grey eyes held a challenge, demanded nothing short of the absolute truth from her. “I…” she tried, but found she couldn’t lie quite so boldly.

Sirius released her, bringing his hands up to cup her face. “Hermione,” he said, his voice rumbling just above a whisper. His lips brushed against hers, surprising her with how tender he was. “You want this.”

“Sirius,” she said, and then paused before shaking her head. “Don’t you know how hard it will be? Don’t you know what they’ll say?”

“I don’t care what they’ll say.” He kissed her again, this time her neck, but didn’t stop at just the one. “They don’t matter. And to tell the truth,” he murmured against her skin, “I know what you’re like, love. You like to pretend that you’re swotty and a goody two-shoes,” his teeth scraped against her throat, “but I know better, don’t I?”

Hermione’s teeth dug into her lower lip to stifle the whimper. “They’d all judge me.”

“They wouldn’t, love,” he assured her. “Most of them wouldn’t care as long as we were happy and those that would, well, they’d blame me.”

“They would?” she said on the end of a gasp. His fingers were on her thighs, tugging her dress up.

“Yeah, I’d definitely be the one to take the blame.” He kisses turned insistent as he pulled the collar of her dress to the side to suck her clavicle. “You’ll always be the good girl you want them to think you are.”

“Sirius,” she moaned, as his fingers brushed the front of her knickers.

“You’re not, though, are you, love?” He grabbed her by the hips and turned her so she had to face herself in the mirror.

There were red marks on her neck and throat from where he’d been sucking, and her dress was hitched up around her hips. Sirius met her eyes in the mirror as he slid his hand into her knickers. She could see and feel what he was doing to her, gripping her hands on the counter when his fingers stroked her clit.

“No,” she admitted, and turned her eyes down, blushing at just how dirty the confession made her feel.

Sirius pushed her legs apart and slid his other hand into the back of her knickers. “They’re all down there waiting for us. They might send someone up anytime, maybe one of the boys. Ginny can only hold them off for so long.”

“Oh, god,” she said. His fingers teased the opening to her cunt. She pressed back, wanton and needy, willing him press in.

“You don’t care, do you?” he said, yanking her head back by the hair so she had to look at herself again. “You want me to fuck you right here, right now, don’t you?”

Every word he said was the truth; they had been up here together for a very long time, in the bathroom, no less. It was only a matter of time before someone came up to check on them. Forced to look herself in the eye, look at the state she was in, she had to admit what she wanted.

“I haven’t heard footsteps on the stairs yet,” she whispered, ashamed by her own willingness.

Sirius gave her hair another hard tug, bracing her body against his as her head was pulled back. He kissed her hard on the mouth, all restraint gone. “You’re just a wicked little witch,” he said as he released her. With one hand he bunched up her dress. “Hold this,” he ordered.

Hermione grasped the material tightly, spreading her legs wider of her own accord, a tremble of anticipation shuddering through her at the light snick of Sirius’ zip lowering. A light touch between her thighs slid up to her knickers, pushing them aside. Next she felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock, insistently pressing against her cunt.

“Come on, Sirius,” she whined.

“Want something, love?” he teased, pushing just the tip in.

Hermione looked into his eyes, in the mirror. “Please, Sirius.”

Sirius grinned back at her image, gripped her by the hips, and snapped his pelvis, entering her in one hard thrust. Hermione let go of her dress to grip the counter, mashing her lips together to silence the moan. All care about getting caught slipped from her as one hand slid from her hips and into her knickers. Her fingers tightened on the counter and she couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away, watching Sirius keenly in the mirror.

“Any minute we could hear someone on the stairs,” he murmured against her throat. “Better hurry or we‘ll be found out.”

Hermione let go of the counter with one hand to muffle her cries as pleasure coursed through her. Sirius followed a moment later, and then turned her swiftly around, pulling her into his arms. They sunk to the floor together, holding tight to each other. Sirius brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her lips, her cheeks.

“No more hiding, Hermione,” said Sirius quietly. “It’s not fair to either of us.”

Hermione nodded and kissed his neck. “No more hiding.”