Warning: Rated M for explicit language and sexual content. This story is Canon Divergent. For further disclaimers and warnings, make sure to read my profile. To read the unedited, rated MA/E version, please check out this story on Archive of Our Own under the same name: ShayaLonnie. [Updated Jan 2017.]

Baby It's Cold Outside

"Harry? Ginny? Sirius?" Hermione called as she walked through the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Covered in snow and her arms full of Christmas gifts for the residents of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, she struggled her way down the long entrance hall until she felt the burden of weight being lifted from her arms.

"Happy Christmas, kitten," a husky voice said, and Hermione flushed pink at the sound, peering over the numerous boxes at the pair of flashing silver-grey eyes staring back at her. All these years and it was a thrill to see him every time she walked into the house. Sirius had been inside the veil for so long that when he mysteriously reappeared years after the end of the war, it had taken some time to adjust to him being around once again.

"Hello, Sirius," she said, smiling brightly. "Where is everyone?"

"Pup and Ginger went to the Burrow for the big family to do," he said as he moved into the drawing room, setting the many boxes down by the large Christmas tree in the corner, covered in ornaments and twinkling fairy lights. "Left a few hours ago."

"Good thing they stayed ahead of the storm. It's getting bad out there." Hermione moved to a nearby window to watch as white sheets of snow blanketed the ground. "I only stopped by to drop off the presents. I'm supposed to have dinner with my folks, but the storm has made Apparition a little difficult." Having Apparated from her flat to Grimmauld Place, Hermione had nearly splinched herself upon arrival, a rare occurrence as she was quite adept at Apparition—weather permitting.

"I bet. It's freezing out. Come have a seat by the fire and warm up." He smiled, patting the seat beside the sofa next to him and winking up at the little witch.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his flirting. "I really can't stay."

"Sure you can, kitten." Sirius stood up and moved behind her; hands on her shoulders, he directed her to the sofa. "What kind of terrible host would I be if I let you go back out into the storm to freeze. Harry'd hex me. Besides, it's always good to see you. I'm glad you dropped in."

"Well," Hermione began with a grin as she caught the gleam in his eyes—God, but it was hard to say no to the man, "in that case, be a wonderful host and get me a drink."

Sirius grinned and bounced off to the other room, returning moments later with two thick crystal glasses in hand filled pumpkin cider. "Here you go, love." He made to hand her the glass, and his fingers brushed up against her knuckles sending a chill through his skin. "Merlin, your hands are like ice!" He frowned and set the glasses down on a nearby table. "Come here," he insisted, tugging her forward by the hand and removing his wand from the pocket of his robes where he then cast a Warming Charm on her hands.

"Oh that's better." Hermione let out a sigh of relief, embarrassed that she hadn't thought of casting the charm herself. "Thank you, Sirius."

"Anytime, Hermione."

"It's nights like these that I wish I'd connected my parents to the Floo Network," she admitted, reaching for the pumpkin cider and smiling as she took a sip from the glass. "My mum will be worried if I'm late. I can already see my Dad pacing around the living room, thinking I'd gone and got stuck in traffic in this storm. They still don't really understand magical transport."

"Obviously."

Hermione smiled thoughtfully. "You hear that?"

"What's that, love?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fireplace." She closed her eyes and let out a pleasant sigh. "I love the roar. Rarely take the time to appreciate a fireplace being used for anything other than travel and communication these days. It's relaxing to just sit and enjoy it for a moment." Opening her eyes, she immediately noted that Sirius was closer than he had been before; and he was staring at her. "Too bad I can't stay," she admitted nervously.

"Yes you can, beautiful." Sirius licked his lips, drawing her attention to them.

Suddenly, she had created a collage of moments over the past few years where she and Sirius had collided just like this: alone, together, staring at one another with hunger and need. It was overwhelming, and addicting, and hard to tear herself away. "Well . . .maybe just a half a drink more," she conceded.

"I'll get us the refills." Sirius took her small glass from her. "Why don't you see if there's anything other than Celestina Warbeck on the wireless," he said, gesturing to the small box in the corner.

"I can hear Christmas Carols coming from your neighbours." Hermione smirked as she moved toward the wireless, turning it down to listen closely up against the wall. "Can they hear through your walls?"

"One way Silencing Charm," Sirius explained with a grin as he walked back into the room, this time carrying mugs of steaming red liquid. "Helps a lot considering old Walburga's portrait," he added, handing one of the warm mugs over to the witch.

Hermione smiled after taking a long sip. "Oh wow, this is delicious. What's in this drink?"

"Just Mulled Mead."

She rose a suspicious brow. "And?"

"A shot of firewhisky," Sirius confessed. "Come on, it's Christmas, Hermione."

She laughed. "You're terrible."

"I'm wonderful," he corrected her and moved to stand a little closer, letting her scent wash over him completely.

When coming back from the veil, Sirius had struggled to readjust to normal life. Being cleared of charges against him, he'd taken small steps to get back out into the world, but in the end all he really wanted was to stay at home, develop a relationship with his godson, and catch up on all the missed years. It was brief moments when Hermione came by that Sirius was reminded he was still a young—though not exceptionally so—wizard with blood in his veins. Her scent triggered something primal in him that woke him up anytime she breezed through the door.

"It's getting pretty bad out there," Hermione said to herself. "I wonder if I should just get a Muggle cab."

"I don't even think the Muggles will be out in this storm, kitten." He stared at her, wondering exactly what kind of magic the witch had that possessed him so greatly.

She turned and looked up at him, seeing the twinkling fairy lights from the tree reflected in his eyes like starlight. The sight caused her to grin.

"You're staying until it calms down a bit," Sirius insisted, taking the mug once again from her hands and tugging at the scarf she still had wrapped around her neck. "Give me your scarf, jacket, and any other items of clothing you'd like to part with," he said with a wink.

"No, sir." Hermione blushed and smirked at the older wizard. "This will not be a repeat of last New Years when you challenged me to strip poker."

"You won," he said, waggling his eyebrows as he remembered all too well how that game had played out. All it seemed to take was one glass of champagne, a deck of cards, and a naked Sirius by the end of the game to have the witch panting eagerly, straddling his waist and making him feel nineteen again.

"And you actually doubted me." She laughed as he moved ever closer to her. "If Harry asks, I fought off your advances quite well until you plied me with drinks like the horrible lech that you are," she said, licking her lips. There was no denying the obvious attraction she felt for the man.

"Ouch, my pride, kitten," Sirius said with a grin. "As though I'd need liquor to put that pretty blush on your cheeks."

She rolled her eyes. "Considering how pleased you are, I'm half tempted to accuse you of causing this terrible weather."

"I'm half tempted to invite you upstairs."

"The answer to that is a resounding 'No'," Hermione insisted and stepped away from him.

"No?" Sirius questioned.

Hermione exhaled. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

He already knew she would give in; she always did; she had no reason not to.

Her brown gaze raked hungrily over his body, starting from the bottom. Bare feet and then pyjama bottoms hung loose on narrow hips, an old black Quidditch shirt that had been worn so often that she could not tell what team it was supposed to be for. On top of his well-worn ensemble, he wore his everyday robes, which were of finely-made materials—clearly from Twilfitt and Tatting's. It only made the fact that he wore them over a shirt and pyjamas that much more amusing. He was the very image of disheveled and unkempt, though clean and always smelling like parchment and fresh cut grass. His lazy appearance should have turned her off, but it always did quite the opposite. Where she was uptight, he was loose. Where she was tense, he was relaxed. Where she was controlled, he lacked any sense of the word and somehow had the ability to make her snap and lose what little sensibilities that she retained from her overly-scheduled school days.

"I really should go," she said, one last attempt at an excuse to leave. "Thank you for the lovely welcome."

"It's still storming out." Sirius gestured to the window. "But thanks for dropping in, I suppose." He shrugged his shoulders and began walking back to the sofa in the drawing room. "Look out the window and tell me that you can Disapparate in that properly."

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Sure it would be dangerous to Disapparate in the weather, and there were Anti-Apparition wards within the house. But if she was going to stay, she had to at least attempt to appear unaffected by his advances; although his walking away from her was less of an advance and more of a come hither. "If Ginny comes home, she'll be suspicious. She's a lot more observant than Harry is," she pointed out as she made to follow Sirius, stopping with a squeak as he turned on his bare feet and caught her hips in his hands.

"I can't hear you love; too busy staring at your lips." He grinned wolfishly at her. "Can't help but wonder if they're as delicious as they were the last time I kissed them."

She hid a small whimper in the back of her throat as he advanced on her, not taking her lips as he had implied, but pressing his own against the side of her throat, placing open-mouthed kisses up and down the lines of her skin, pausing to linger at the spot just behind her ear where she keened softly in response.

"Oh . . ." Hermione moaned as she wound her fingers through his thick, black hair, remembering the wonderful way he grunted when she tugged on it anytime she found herself riding him into oblivion. "Sirius," she groaned when she felt his tongue licking along her jawline and then moving down, hands parting her robes and the blouse beneath it, kissing the space in the valley between her breasts. "If Harry comes through that door—"

"I'm not afraid of Harry," Sirius growled defensively, nipping the soft mound of flesh beneath her blouse, eliciting a whimpering cry from her.

"Mrs Weasley, then?" Hermione closed her eyes as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her back to the sofa in front of the roaring fire. "She can be quite vicious when she needs to be," she cautioned with a smirk as she looked up into his endless grey eyes.

"Kitten," Sirius said with a grin, "I'm not afraid of a bloody dragon right now. The only thing that's going to stop me from fucking you until you're screaming my name is a firm 'No'." He licked his lips, sitting back a bit on his knees as he waited impatiently for her reaction.

Her breath caught in her throat at his language; words that she would scold and slap Ron or Harry for. However, when Sirius said them, instead of feeling anger and embarrassment, she felt heat swell between her thighs and moisture pool in her knickers at the sound of his voice. "Yes," she said on an exhale, and no sooner than she took another breath, Sirius had begun tearing her clothes away like wrapping paper on his very own private Christmas gift.

God help me, I should have just worn a bow, Hermione thought to herself as she watched his childlike enthusiasm at the reveal of his favorite gift.

His lips came crashing down on hers with searing heat, and she tasted more of that mulled mead on his tongue as it greedily invaded her mouth. She surrendered to his every movement and ministration, knowing that Sirius liked to dominate, and though she had always deny it, Hermione loved to submit to him.

"That was brilliant. As always. Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked minutes later when they were half sprawled on the sofa covered in sweat and what little of their clothing remained. He stood and reached for the pack of cigarettes he kept on top of the mantle.

Hermione eyed him disapprovingly. "Can you do it somewhere I can't smell it?"

"Buzz kill." Sirius chuckled and put the pack down, returning to her side where he picked his robes up from the ground and threw them over himself before leaning down to button up her blouse for her.

"I should get home," Hermione muttered quietly once she was almost fully dressed.

"It's still freezing," Sirius pointed out. "I wasn't just trying to seduce you. You could just stay the night."

"Where'd you put my coat? And my knickers for that matter?" Hermione asked, ignoring his offer entirely.

"Would you look at that? At least four feet of snow I'd wager," Sirius said, ignoring her questions as he turned and looked out the window.

"Fine, ignore me, I'll find them myself." Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up to search for the scrap of red lace that she was sure he had tossed. Knowing Sirius, there was a real chance that he' had pocketed them as a trophy. It wouldn't be the first time, she thought to herself. Aha! Hermione spotted them on the floor near the Christmas tree, wincing at the sight before slipping them back on. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Sirius."

Before she had a chance to move, Sirius reached out and took her hand within his own, and the simple contact sent a short thrill through her. "Don't go."

Hermione bit her bottom lip nervously. "Sirius . . ."

"Can't you see what you do to me, love?" He moved in closer, pressing his body against hers. Fully sated, there was no chance that he was offering for another round, not so soon, but the feel of him was alluring, comforting, and she wondered what it would be like to wake up beside him; wrapped around him.

"If I stay, people are going to talk."

"Let them talk."

Hermione frowned. "You've had enough people gossiping about you I'd think." They'd had the discussion before, and it always ended this way. Sirius had been framed for murder, locked up for twelve years only to be freed and then thought by Order members to be a lazy, reckless, lecherous drunk. Dating Hermione would only cause him problems, she was sure of it.

"I think in a long life of sorrow, I'm allowed anything that brings me an ounce of happiness," he said before kissing her sweetly.

"We've talked about this before. If I stay the night, it implies that we're in an official relationship. That was our rule."

"Well, I guess I'd rather risk my own safety in a relationship with you, little witch, than let you go out in the freezing cold and catch your death." He smiled wryly, hoping that she would finally relent. It was Christmas after all.

"Every bit of logic is telling me that I can't stay," she said quietly before letting a smile creep across her jaw.

Sirius chuckled, taking her sudden smile as a good thing and he kissed her in celebration. "You'll get over that."