A/N: There are not enough words in any language to apologize for the two-year delay between updates on this, so I won't try. Needless to say, I've had a few dreadful years of Real Life, culminating in a hospital stay this past March. I mentioned this in the author's note of What Harm Indeed, but I figured I'd reiterate it here.

As I said there, I'm not mentioning it for sympathy. I'm merely addressing my absence as the consequence of a lot of different, frustratingly-unavoidable events. I'm not abandoning anything. Updates will come.

In the meantime, enjoy this update. My next one should be for Playing the Players, then Gli Amanti Immortali. I have a lot of work ahead of me, so please, be patient.

Chapter Twelve – Circumstances and Brutal Honesty

Sirius sat alone in the library, gazing unseeingly into the fire that glowed and crackled and popped in the hearth. He contemplated on his jealousy of those bright, carefree flames. How little they needed to dance merrily amidst the logs; merely oxygen and a little kindling was all it took for them to start their tuneless playing. If only humans were so simple.

He had taken to sitting quietly by the fire most days, choosing to numb his depression in whisky-fuelled solitude rather than out in public, or in seedy pubs amidst the pipe smoke and scantily-clad booze bunnies. It seemed only right that he punished himself thusly, now that he was officially the sole occupant of the cavernous house. He was almost certain this was how Fate had intended his life to become; to die alone and unloved in a house he hated nearly as much as life itself.

Remus had moved out the week prior. An owl from Mandy—which he was certain had been surreptitiously sent since Remus would have had both their guts for garters had he known the two were still in contact—told him his friend had relocated to her Hampshire house in order to, as she put it, "cool off." Sirius had always thought the idiom rather trite, but given the circumstances he was impressed by her gift of understatement. It would take more than a jaunt in the English countryside for Remus to sufficiently "cool off." With everything that had happened, Sirius wasn't even sure a well-executed lobotomy, or a freak case of amnesia, could calm his friend.

He had made such a mess of things. That moment in the McKinnon library—almost two weeks ago now—had solidified the thing he had always known was true but had never been strong enough to admit: he was a master at misery. Everything he had ever cared about, everything he had ever loved, had all been destroyed due to his selfishness and his intolerably bad judgment.

If he had left Mandy, Hermione, and Marlene well enough alone, Remus would still be in his life.

If he hadn't insisted he go along with the Order to the Ministry of Magic that fateful night years ago, he wouldn't have gotten trapped behind that bloody Veil.

If he had just been patient, and explained the truth to Hagrid about why James and lily were really dead instead of going after Peter on his own, he would've been spared all those years in Azkaban.

And had he just accepted his responsibilities as secret keeper for James and Lily, Harry would have been able to grow up with both of his parents. Sure, Sirius himself would have most assuredly been dead, but in hindsight, his death would have spared so many people so much heartache.

Destiny, it seemed, was righting itself now.

"I had a feeling I'd find you in here."

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice, whipping around with wild eyes to see Hermione standing in the doorway. He stared at her, wondering if she was real or if he had, finally, consumed just the right amount of alcohol to pitch him into the deep, inescapable abyss of insanity in which he had always secretly expected to find himself.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't know which he hoped for more.

"Hermione?" he heard himself say, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he cleared his throat and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Mandy told me what happened between you and Remus. I came to…I guess I came to apologize."

His brow furrowed, barely understanding her words. "Apologize?"

"It's all my fault. I should have…that is to say, we shouldn't have…" She trailed off and exhaled softly. "I didn't consider what my actions would do to your friendship, though obviously I should've known."

He blinked, still uncertain whether he was in the midst of a psychological break or not. "Are you…are you really here? I…" He trailed off, and gestured to the empty bottles of firewhisky around him. "I'm not sure what's real right now."

She surveyed the room for the first time, and he saw her hazel eyes soften to pity. Pity, and regret.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," she breathed.

He made to stand, deciding to investigate closer to make sure he wasn't talking to air. His legs, however, seemed shakier than he remembered them ever being. He wondered when the last time he had eaten was. He couldn't remember.

"Hermione."

It was the last thing he said before his legs gave way and he passed out cold.

Hermione had never seen Sirius look as bad as he had when she walked into the library. Even her fifth year, when he had taken to brooding sullenly at all hours, there had still been a hint of the playful, charming Marauder they all knew him to be. That day, however, when she had come upon him, he was a broken shell of the man she knew.

The guilt of it tore at her.

Once he had passed out, she decided she needed to do what she could to bring him back from whatever dark place his demons had driven him to. Putting him to bed with a vial of Sober Up potion on the night stand, she spent the next few hours cleaning, shopping, and cooking. From the looks of things, the pureblood hadn't put any effort into any of those activities for several weeks.

"So…it appears you aren't some apparition sent to haunt me."

Hermione nearly dropped the chicken she was trussing, spinning around to see Sirius leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. He had recently showered, and his thick black hair hung damp around his handsome face. Though he appeared to have consumed the sobering potion, his eyes still held the dark, melancholy hue of a man deeply embroiled in a number of deeply painful, conflicting emotions.

"You say that now, but it's been awhile since you've been at the mercy of my cooking," she joked, determined to lighten his mood. "You may prefer a haunting apparition. They're less likely to give you indigestion."

"I can think of worse things," he mumbled darkly.

"I hope you don't mind a simple roast chicken," she continued, ignoring his moody comment. "Aside from spag bol, I'm afraid it's the only thing relatively edible I can cook."

"Why are you here, 'Mione?" he asked softly.

She hesitated slightly, trying to decide how to answer. Deciding to continue the pretence of levity, she said, "To cook dinner, of course. You look as if you could use a good meal. Or at least a hot one. Can't promise it'll be good."

"No," he pressed, and she heard him walking closer. "Why are you really here?"

She sighed, turning to face him once more as she realized he wasn't in the mood for niceties. "I honestly came to see if you were…to see how you were doing considering…circumstances," she replied.

"Did you check on Remus first?"

"Not physically."

"Why not?"

She sighed again, turning back to the chicken to put another pat of butter on it. "He and I are no longer together."

"After four years, you're just going to let him fend for himself? That's cold, even by my standards."

"He's not alone. He's with Mandy."

"So you did check up on him first."

Rolling her eyes, she carried the chicken to the oven and deposited the fowl before slamming it closed in frustration. "You can either be jealous that I checked on him before you, or you can be indignant that I'm less concerned with him than you, Sirius, but you can't be both."

"I will be whatever I damn well want, kitten, if it's all the same to you," he snapped.

Reigning in her annoyance, she nodded. "Fair enough. I came here to apologize. It's what civilized people do when they've made rather a mess of things. But if you'd prefer I go, then I will. Just…don't forget to take the chicken out in an hour. I'd hate to compound my behaviour by accidentally burning your house down."

She made to leave, but he side-stepped her and grabbed her arm. Gone was the flinty defiance of the moment before, and in its place was a softer, more vulnerable pleading. "Don't go, please," he asked quietly. "I…well…you're not the only one who feels the need to apologize. And for the record, I've always liked your food." He smiled slightly. "And I honestly wouldn't miss this place if it did burn down."

Gazing up into his stormy eyes, Hermione was reminded all-too-quickly why she had been so drawn to him in the first place. The heady combination of masculine charm and boyish helplessness spoke to her, intrigued her, and made her want to mount him and comfort him in equal measure.

"Every time you look at me like that, I feel I could do the worst thing in the world and you'd still be by my side," he added, his voice a mix of awe and relief. Then his eyes darkened. "Though, I suppose I have committed the very worst kind of crime."

"Don't shoulder that burden on your own, Sirius. I was equally culpable in the committing of it…perhaps even more than you," she replied.

"Maybe," he acquiesced. "But I should have known better."

"We both should have," she insisted.

He smiled slightly. "You won't grant me even a little bit of self-pity, will you?"

"Not if it means you're going to drink yourself into unconsciousness, no."

He cringed at this, and moved away to sit heavily at the worn-wood table. "I regret you saw me like that," he said. Then he chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "So much for control issues."

"Yes, well, as recent events have painfully revealed, nobody's perfect," she deadpanned, and moved back to the counter to continue her dinner preparations.

Sirius was content to watch her for a moment, then he asked, "What exactly did Mandy tell you?"

A fresh wave of guilt hit her. "She said Remus walked in while you were hugging her good-bye. She said he took it the wrong way and attacked you before…before ending your friendship."

He scoffed. "That's one way to put it."

"I figured saying he broke up with you was a bit on the nose."

"Appropriate verbiage, though, considering." Then he sighed. "Honestly, 'Mione, I've never seen him like that before. He was like a man possessed. I think, if I had given him the opportunity, he would have killed me."

She swallowed hard. "I'm pretty sure that's more my fault than yours."

He chuckled. "Oh no, kitten. On this particular point, I'm relatively certain the blame falls entirely on me."

"Not…necessarily."

"How do you mean?"

"Before he was at Mandy's, he was with me. In Wales."

"Right. You had invited him 'round for tea. I'd nearly forgotten, though in hindsight that had been the predominant reason I'd sought Mandy out in the first place. I'm afraid I…I made some assumptions about their relationship. Awfully hypocritical, in retrospect."

"But not without merit. Had I not met Mandy myself, I would've thought the same."

"Well…to be honest…I had met her beforehand. Er…socially."

Hermione smiled slightly at the bashful tone of his voice, remembering her conversation with the brilliant analyst in the corner of the Dragon's Club. "Yes, I know."

"You know?"

"Your name came up in conversation."

"Well that's…alarming."

She laughed. "Nothing too detailed, Sirius. She is, after all, a class act."

"Hmm," he mumbled noncommittally. He remained quiet for a few more moments as she finished peeling potatoes, then asked, "So…how did tea with Remus go? Not well, I suspect."

She tensed slightly, hesitating. "I…no. Not well."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She gave him a curious look over her shoulder. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Before all of this started, we were friends. And…well…friends seem to be in short supply nowadays."

Her shoulders slumped as she dropped the last of the potatoes into water. "I am dreadfully sorry for that, Sirius."

"No, I didn't mean…that wasn't a dig, love. I just…I suppose I've missed talking to you, is all."

She covered the potatoes and turned back to him, leaning against the counter. "I've missed talking to you as well."

"So," he said, kicking the chair across from him out in silent invitation. "Let's talk."

She hesitated again. "I…do you think that's a good idea?"

He frowned. "Talking?"

"About Remus and I."

"Oh. Well…it's not like I'm gonna run to him with it."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"I suppose…I suppose I don't know how honest I can be with you." He looked affronted, so she hastily added, "It's not a trust thing. It's more a…details…thing."

He arched an eyebrow. "Details?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said, still looking slightly confused. "If it makes you feel better, you can pretend I'm someone else. Like Harry."

She blushed. "I wouldn't talk to Harry about this."

He smirked. "Ah. Those types of details. Okay, Ginny, then." He rested his chin on his palms, elbows braced on the table and batted his enviably-long lashes. "Ooh, 'Mione," he squealed in a comedic attempt at Ginny's feminine soprano. "Harry did the most adorable thing the other day."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself, and sat down in the empty chair across from him, saying, "I'll do you a favour and won't tell Ginny about your impression of her."

"Most obliged. I'm quite fond of my manly bits," he said gratefully, his voice back to a masculine baritone. "Now…what happened?"

By the time she had related the encounter to him—carefully glossing over the more intimate details far more than she actually would have with Ginny—the potatoes had bubbled to a mashable consistency and the chicken was ready to come out of the oven. As she stood to finish preparing the meal, Sirius sat back, casually locking his hands behind his head.

"Well, that explains a lot," he said, watching her replace the pot of potatoes with a waiting pot of green beans. "Remus has a…complicated relationship with his wolfish side."

"So I discovered," she drily replied.

"Walking in on Mandy and me must've been the last straw. No wonder he was so aggressive. I daresay Moony was doing more of the driving than Remus was."

"That seems logical."

"It actually gives me a little bit of hope for our friendship. Hopefully Mandy can talk some sense into him."

Hermione sighed. "I think you should tread with caution down that line of thinking, Sirius."

"Fair point. I'll maintain a cautious optimism."

"That seems wise."

"In the meantime, are you okay? You said…you said he bit you."

She rubbed her shoulder self-consciously, knowing the mark would scar but considering the amount of battle wounds she already possessed, she was hardly vain about that sort of thing anymore. "Yes, I'll be fine."

"You're…sure?"

"I'm sure. No lasting damage. Nor any niggling stirrings of lycanthropy. I still like my meat as well done as possible."

She heard him chuckle, but he remained quiet. In the silence, Hermione could almost hear him thinking. She had been candid about how the visit had ended—with her telling Remus she was open to pursuing a sexual relationship with Sirius, whether he liked it or not—but if the man in question had been surprised by the admission, he didn't show it. Instead, he had looked pensively at her until the oven timer sounded.

The silence made her edgy.

"I suppose I should tell you," he finally said. "For the sake of full disclosure, that Mandy and I talked about you when I was with her."

Mandy had intimated as much during their conversation. She had surprised Hermione by stepping through the floo of her cottage as Hermione was midway through pacing her living room, teetering between extreme guilt for her treatment of Remus and overwhelming relief at the feeling of freedom the break-up had given her. A bottle of elf-made wine in hand, Mandy had sat her down and told her about the resulting fracas in her drawing room. Hermione's relief had been quickly snuffed out by her guilt, in spite of Mandy's constant assurances that it was a showdown twenty years in the making.

Halfway through the bottle, they came to the topic of the reason for Sirius's visit, but Mandy had been spare on the details. Instead, she suggested Hermione speak to the aristocrat himself. Hermione now admitted her curiosity had been a driving reason behind her return to the house.

"And?" she finally asked aloud.

"And…I admitted to her that I was in love with you."

Hermione froze, unsure she had heard him correctly. She swallowed several times and cleared her throat a few more before saying a stuttered, "Wh-what?"

"You heard me. I'm in love with you."

She slowly turned to face him. "Sirius—"

"Please, love," he said, his eyes once more taking on the haunting sadness she had tried to dispel earlier. "It would be insulting to both you and Remus for me to ask the same of you. I just…I wanted you to know that, for me at least, anything that happens between us won't be a mere fling. Not that that should stop you," he added, throwing her an easy, flirtatious grin.

"I…I don't know how to react to this."

"I'd be incredibly impressed if you did."

"I don't want to hurt you too, Sirius."

"One of the advantages of being me, kitten, is that my personal history has crafted me out of pretty stern stuff. I bend. I don't break."

"But…what if…what if I can't…reciprocate your feelings?"

He smiled slightly. "I don't expect you to. Another advantage of being me. I'm an exceptional realist."

"But—"

"Hermione," he said sternly. "The only reason I told you is because it would be grossly unfair of me to let you walk into an arrangement without knowing all the facts. That said, I'm also self-aware enough to know my own shortcomings. I'm realistic about what I can give you, and I know that what I can give you isn't something you could tolerate long-term. I can't promise fidelity, or monogamy, for the rest of my life. As I told you before, playboys don't reform. They're playboys for a reason."

"Considering our history, Sirius, I could hardly protest at that," she reasoned, though she did feel a bit hurt at his brutal honesty regarding his character.

"But you want monogamy, kitten," he continued. "And while I'm happy to give it to you right now, if we do this, you'll have to be prepared for an eventuality where that may not be possible for me anymore."

She nodded quietly, knowing better than to romanticize anything that might happen between them. Especially after everything that had transpired over the past few months.

"Additionally, even if you could love me in spite of my roving eye, I can't have children. Nor do I really want any."

She frowned at that. "You can't have children?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Mandatory vasectomy. Curtesy of those lovely Azkaban so-called healers."

"But…vasectomies are reversible."

"You're missing my point, love," he said, standing and walking over to her. "I don't want to reverse it. I'm content as I am: damaged, stubborn, immature at times…but it's me. It's part of the package. You once said you thought I was Prince Charming. I'm trying to tell you, I'm not. Well…maybe the Viscount of Charming," he added jokingly.

Then he sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her close to him. "My point is: I know I'm not husband material. I know I'm not father material. And whether you acknowledge it or not, you will want a husband someday. And children. So I know that…whatever happens between us…there's an expiration date on it. And I'm…I'm going to have to be okay with that."

She placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him. "And…will you be?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. All I know for sure is that I love you. And I'm willing to have whatever part of you you're willing to give me. Whether it's friendship, or sex, or platonic companionship, or sex, or mild tolerance, or sex…" He trailed off with a playful grin, and she laughed.

As she stood there, looking up into his gorgeous, smiling face, she reflected on his candour. It was a refreshing departure from the hesitance she had become accustomed to with Remus. While Sirius's admissions gave her pause when it came to pursuing anything sexual with him, his upfront, open demeanour and transparency highlighted exactly what she had been missing.

And she realized, with some astonishment, that she had received more emotional intimacy from Sirius in the past few months—or mere hours, if she excluded their interview sessions—than she had from Remus in four years. It both deeply saddened her and gave her a strange sense of hope. She didn't know why she felt hopeful—her romantic situation being relatively bleak—but somewhere deep within her, she felt something stir.

"Can you give me time to think about all this?" she finally asked him.

"Of course," he replied easily, releasing her from his embrace even though it left them both feeling somewhat empty. "And in the meantime, feed me, woman, because that chicken smells too divine for words."

Hermione smiled as she watched him resume his seat, his casual arrogance returning to his gait and posture. As she turned to prepare their plates, she got the strange feeling that, for the first time in months, her life was now heading in a direction she could live with.

If you didn't read the author's note, I'd suggest you do so. If you have read the author's note, or if you read the author's note for What Harm Indeed, feel free to ignore this suggestion.

As always, any non-constructive criticism or troll-like flaming will be met with staggering indifference and more than a little judgment.