Hello, again, Anon Reviewer! Thank you for your understanding. I just want to clarify, I didn't take it as you being pushy, nor was it me being 'protective' of my fancasts. I simply don't have a desire to reconsider. If I were not wholly satisfied, or felt "meh, this person is 'close enough'," but didn't quite fit the role for whatever reason (as does happen for some writers), I'd be happy to consider every suggestion. Your comment simply pinged on something that's a bit of a raw nerve, because quite often fanfic writers find ourselves told we need to do things this way or that based on other people's personal preferences and with little or no regard for what we want. It can be frustrating and exhausting. I'm a 'to each their own' sort of person, and people can get very tense about their choices, so it can rub me the wrong way when someone insinuates (however unintentionally) that I should look elsewhere for inspirations for mine. Honestly? The only reason I even started listing fancasts was because somewhere along the way, fancasting became a thing and I was constantly asked about it.

Chapter Ten

Hermione'd never been frightened of 12 Grimmauld Place . . . . Until today.

Oh, sure, it wasn't the grand gothic townhouse, itself, that frightened her. She was actually pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't very different from the version in her old life. Though, Kreacher not spouting the word Mudblood with an angrily pointed finger upon sight of her was more disconcerting than it was refreshing. Certainly not hearing the angrily breathed slur was a pleasant change, but that was the problem—it was another change, and despite seeming like a small thing, it was a perfect reminder of how different this world was.

The atmosphere posed the problem. Since that lengthy heart-to-heart with her, well, with her wizards—plural—last night, everything seemed to take on a sinister air. Some dark, half-veiled layer just beyond the edge of her perception, but that she was aware existed, nonetheless.

Now that she knew someone hadn't simply left her for dead, but had actually tried to kill her—and still might make another attempt if opportunity and circumstance suited their purposes—had her jumping at every sound. She glanced over her shoulder constantly, aware the sensation of someone standing close at her back was her imagination, yet was unable to banish the creepy feeling regardless. Nearly every person she spoke to, her mind seemed to conjure ulterior motives for their striking up a conversation with her in the first place. Were they really interested in what she had to say or were they digging for some clue, some hint that she'd revealed sensitive information to someone she shouldn't have?

And now, as she stood on the staircase, staring into the rowdy group in the parlor—and the corridor alongside the staircase, the drawing room, the kitchen, pretty much wherever the party guests could fit themselves—she found herself terrified of what could be hiding behind each pair of eyes that looked over at her and smiled. She doubted each glass lifted toward her in congratulations of her birthday.

She wondered if this wasn't how the characters in spy dramas felt when they knew some mysterious figure lurking in a crowd of familiar faces had learned their secret.

Her first suspicion, unfortunately, had to fall on her fellow Muggleborns. Oh, she hated suspecting them, but they appeared a fairly tight-knit group, and here she was the one going against the grain. Could that be it? Could everything else she'd discovered, or thought she'd discovered, about the circumstances of her 'switch' been a red herring? Could it all be as simple as her not being part of their clique? She could imagine any version of herself in any reality would've been easily lured down into those tunnels by the mention of finding some enigmatic magical artifacts the world might not be aware existed. Perhaps that was all this was.

But perhaps it wasn't one of them, at all. This Hermione Granger didn't appear to have any enemies, so it didn't seem anyone made the list of who wanted her dead . . . . Which meant everyone was on the list.

Except for her wizards, of course. She'd refused to let herself be shortsighted about them, however, and so had checked their whereabouts at the time of her attack. All three could be accounted for, Sirius and Severus by the students they'd been teaching, Lucius by Madame Pomfrey who'd been assisting him in tending the nasty ankle fracture Astoria Greengrass had gotten during that morning's Quidditch practice. Headmistress McGonagall was still looking into the whereabouts of all 7th and 8th year students during the estimated timeframe, there were simply too many of them for the task to be quick, or simple.

As she knew she should've expected, everywhere she looked, party guests were openly engaged in the very same amorous activities that had been one of her first clues there was something wrong with her perception of the world. She knew at the time, given the evidence at her disposal then, she couldn't have imagined the truth of her situation. Now, though?

Now, she recognized clearly that what Pansy, Harry, and Luna were up to in that corner of the parlor would never have happened in her home reality. And even if by some chance it could, it certainly wouldn't be out in the open like this. The Creevey brothers wouldn't be sitting with obvious amusement over the gaggle of pretty young pure-blood witches vying for their attention. Justin would not have his head tipped sideways against that high-backed chair, a smile curving his lips at what the girl seated in his lap had slipped her hand into his robes to see to—the movement beneath the folds of fabric was not at all subtle.

She was perfectly aware of Sirius coming down the stairs to stand just behind her then. "This is really so different from what you know?" His voice was a whisper in her ear as he rested his chin over her shoulder.

Hermione couldn't help a faintly abashed half-grin. "Very."

He straightened up and circled her to meet her gaze. "I told you, if this is too much for you—too much of a change too soon—we don't have to—"

"No, no! I told you I want to." Shaking her head, she shrugged. "Just as I wanted what happened the other day in the library with Lucius, and what happened yesterday on Severus' desk. It seems to me that somehow—"

"Yesterday on Severus' desk?" There was a twinkle of pure mischief in Sirius' blue-grey eyes. "Ooh. Intriguing! Tell me."

The breath went right out of her at the thought of actually describing the scene to him. Yet, as a flush of embarrassment filled her face, so, too, did she feel that sweet ache stirring low in her body at the thought of telling him.

Watching his expression, that captivating gaze of his so intent on her face, she realized she wanted to tell him. Scraping her teeth against her bottom lip, she leaned close. Her lips against his ear, she told him, just as he wanted. Told him of seating herself on Severus' desk, of the way he leaned her back and drew his mouth down over her . . . described the feel of his teeth and tongue working against her through the fabric of her knickers. She ended it with her fingers curled in Severus' hair, with being unable to stop a hushed scream as she came.

When she pulled away enough to look at Sirius once more, he only stared at her, silent amid the din of the party. His voice a bit breathless then, he asked, "What were you going to say when I interrupted you?"

"I was saying it seems to me that these . . . private moments with you three are somehow helping us to acclimate to the situation we've found ourselves in." She smiled almost bitterly as she went on, her words only loud enough for him to hear. "I'm not your Hermione, and none of you expect me to be her. Strangely, there's a comfort in that. I don't expect you to replace, or distract me from, the world that I lost and all of you know better than to try as though I wouldn't know. There's a comfort in that, too."

Hermione shook her head, reaching up to trail her fingers along his bearded jaw. "We're not ignoring the truth. Not just filling a void for each other. We're helping each other heal. Healing can be a painful process." She shrugged, then, aware some of his near-constant, and infectious, mischievousness was reflected in her expression. "So, I think maybe it's a good thing that we've . . . got a way to take the edge off that pain for one another, hmm?"

"I love the way you think." Sirius held his hand out to her. "Ready for your present, then?"

She slid her fingers into his. "I think I just might be, yes."

A truly wicked half-grin curved his mouth as he turned and started leading her up the staircase.

For a flickering second, she felt something . . . unsettling at her back. She felt the weight of a gaze lingering on her. Aware it could be her imagination, she didn't look. She thought perhaps for a moment there, she was afraid to look. Afraid the person behind those eyes would find something they deemed suspicious and dangerous in her catching them.

But equally afraid that she'd discover her paranoia was making her imagine enemies lurking where there were none. For all she knew, the culprit at the heart of her fears wasn't even here tonight.

Tightening her grip on Sirius' hand, she determinedly focused on the man before her.

His eyes closed for a moment, a sweeping blink before returning to the very dedicated face of the dark-haired witch in his lap. She'd begun pressing ravenous kisses to his throat as her hand moved over him, still, in ever quickening strokes. She was good, not the best who'd ever slipped her fingers around his cock, of course, but she did have skill, he'd give her that.

He was imagining someone else, entirely. But Marian—Matilda? Miriam? Oh, her name was M-something, not that it mattered, or that he could rightly recall just now—didn't need to know. She seemed pleased enough with herself that he could've been sitting here with any other witch, but he'd chosen her.

Aware of attention on him, Justin searched for the source. Colin and Dennis were glaring at him in open disapproval. Glaring right back out of reflex, he knew they'd seen the direction of his gaze a moment ago. That momentary glance toward the staircase. Momentary, but it had clearly been long enough to be noticed.

The brothers exchanged a look and shook their heads at one another, sighing before returning to their attentive gaggle of pretty witches.

He was already well aware the others disapproved of his continued infatuation, of the things he'd done. But he disapproved of their actions right back, so they were even as far as he was concerned.

Determined to keep his mind on more pleasant matters, he caught M-something's chin between his fingers and lifted her head from his throat. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes hazy. Nearly as though she was the one getting off on this exchange instead of him. Oh, well, then if she enjoyed sating others so much, she was going to really like his next suggestion.

Trailing the tip of one finger along her lips, he grinned. "What say you show me how talented this pretty little mouth of yours is, hmm?"

She drew in a quick, shivering gasp and nodded eagerly. M slipped from his lap to kneel before him, her long dark hair sliding from her shoulders to obscure the act—though there was no true shielding of what she was up to.

Better this way, he thought as he let his head fall back against the chair, once more. Easier to imagine that sweep of hair was a lighter brunette shade.

Easier to imagine she was someone he could no longer have.

"This is lunacy."

"This was your idea," the pale-haired wizard reminded Severus.

"And I now realize it's lunacy."

Lucius rolled his eyes, holding his wand out before him. The illumination of a Lumos charm guiding them along the dark and winding space. "Stop your grousing. You're just upset because you're not there to stop Sirius from being alone with her."

Severus rotated his shoulders uneasily, his own wand clenched tight in an unforgiving grip. "Mock me if you will, but that's not it at all."

The taller man halted a moment and glanced back.

"All right, perhaps that is part of it, but that's not all of it." Even before she'd been discovered clinging to life down here, he'd hated these tunnels. Surely, the idea of what long-lost magical treasures might be hidden in the depths of these passageways was alluring, but it did not blot out the sinking impression of something else, something more, something dark down here. Something beyond imagining that crept about just out of sight.

Just beyond the edge of truly being seen or heard.

"Something about this place has never felt right to me," he said, fixing his gaze beyond the other wizard, along the dark expanse ahead of them.

"I know, hence why we are exploring it together. We are two of the most skilled, capable, and quick-witted wizards residing in Wizarding Britain. Should something go wrong, we will be able to handle the situation."

Severus nodded, his expression grim as he followed Lucius further into this narrow bit of hell, with its alternating tones of deafening silence and tinny echoes. "Spoken like a man walking into his own death."

"Thought you were braver than this, Sev, I truly did."

Scowling, Severus now shook his head. "Bravery is not the lack of fear, but doing something in spite of fear. That being said, though I'm loathe to admit fear, I am being quite brave right now. Can you really not feel it?"

Lucius answered with a distracted air, his gaze fixed firmly upon the looming darkness before them. "That pervasive sense of being watched, followed, breath upon? Of course I do. However, knowing what we all think we do about what's in these tunnels, I've assured myself it's merely the work of some repelling charm meant to keep all but the most stalwart curious parties away."

Severus paused a moment, casting a pensive gaze toward the too-close-to-their-heads ceiling. "Oh, that does help."

"I thought it might."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"She can't remember what she saw, so I'm not certain what you hope to find."

Reaching the place where Hermione'd been discovered, unconscious and sporting that nasty head wound, Lucius stilled. Increasing the illumination of his charm with a whisper, he scanned their surroundings.

"This not the end of the tunnel," he started, accentuating his puzzled tone of his voice with a graceful shrug. "This is, at best, some middle ground space and the walls are bare. She remembered seeing something. Some sort of emblem, something that might've been knocker on a door—something. So, I have been pondering that perhaps she was leaving her discovery. Maybe out of fear, maybe to go get one of us, but I think whatever she saw that she wasn't supposed to see is further down, and she was leaving it behind her for any number of reasons when she encountered whoever tried to kill her."

A more terrible notion occurred to them both in that moment as they stared at one another in the wand's light. Yet, despite his awareness that Lucius had that same understanding in that same moment, Severus felt voicing the thought necessary. "Or she was being chased away by her would-be killer and they caught up with her."

Swallowing hard, Lucius nodded. He drew in a deep, steadying breath of the rich, earthy air down here and started along the tunnel, once more.

Hermione smiled at the sight of candlelit bathroom. The air was thick with the scent of the flowers scattered about and there was still steam rising from the pink tinted water in the tub, obscured here and there by sudsy pale-rose bubbles. She'd not realized before how large this particular tub was—it could easily fit the two of them comfortably.

Sirius circled her, as he had on the stairs a few minutes before, his eyes on her face. "I ask again. Are you sure?"

She broke into an easy grin and laughed. "Yes, positive."

One of his brows flicked upward for half a heartbeat as he grinned back. "All right, Little Love."

His gaze was steady on hers as the humor left his features. Brows smooth, expression unreadable, he undressed. God help her, she could only watch him. Well, she didn't watch him disrobe, her attention remained fastened on his eyes the entire time, but she felt all too aware of his nakedness in her periphery when he straightened to stand bare before her.

She thought perhaps she was afraid. His face, alone, was so beautiful. She thought maybe taking in the entirety of him would be too much. That it might actually hurt to look at him.

A quick, faint smirk plucked at one corner of his mouth as he stepped closer. Hermione found her eyes drifting closed as his fingers moved over her, pulling her clothes from her in gentle movements. As he undressed her, he spoke in a murmur, his hushed voice as beautiful as his face in the silence of the room, as he reminded her it was in her power to stop this at any time. If she felt uncomfortable, if she didn't feel safe, it didn't matter what. If she changed her mind at all, he wanted her to say so.

He was eager to do everything she wanted, and nothing she didn't.

When she was just as bare as he, Sirius stepped into the tub. Once more offering his hand to her, he kept his eyes on hers again as he waited.

Hermione accepted, stepping into the steaming pink water. She shivered a bit from the contrast of the cool air against her skin above the suds.

As she watched him, he lowered himself carefully to sit down and rest his back against the basin. He was rather sure that she liked waiting for him to give signals or make a suggestions of what he meant for her to do, because although it was obvious, she didn't move until he gave her arm a delicate tug.

Steeling for the heat, she sank into the water before him. Dear Lord, it felt good. Even better when she followed his urging to lean back against him.

"So is this it?" she asked, grinning as she rested her head back against his neck, beneath his chin—the height different between them wasn't as great as with her other wizards, the only time she could tuck her head beneath Sirius' chin was when they were seated. Or lying down, but they'd not gotten there, yet. "Your big surprise was sharing a bath?"

He didn't answer, instead sliding his hands along her arms beneath the water to begin massaging her muscles.

Uttering a breathy laugh, she barely held back a moan. With everything she didn't know about what was going on, she hadn't realized how much tension she was carrying. His skilled fingers and the heat of the water sinking into her bones was a combination nothing short of divine.

"Good God," she managed, her voice strained and nearly inaudible as she leaned forward a bit, allowing him to work his hands along her shoulders. "It's a wonder I didn't fall in love with you sooner."

Sirius chuckled. "Yes, well, if it helps, I'm a bit aware of just how lovable I am."

His hands moved lower, down to the small of her back and then around her hips. He shifted forward, his chest pressing against her as he stroked his fingers along her thighs. Starting at the tops of her knees, he slowly kneaded her skin beneath the water. Slowly worked his way up.

He shifted to lay against the basin once more, and she moved with him as his hands massaged her thighs and eventually came back to her hips.

Her entire body was tingling, above the water, beneath the water. She felt as though every bit of her was screaming for more of him—more from him. Turning her head, she nipped at his jaw.

Tilting his head to catch her gaze, he only stared back at her for a moment before asking. "More?"

Forcing a gulp down her throat, Hermione nodded. She could feel how hard he was behind her. The sensation of him pressing against her like this was setting off that sweet, throbbing ache between her thighs and she nearly laughed.

He had all but warned her he was good.

Sirius' fingertips trailed across the line where her hip met the top of her thigh. Followed that line downward, to where it naturally led. He adored the way she jumped in his embrace just a bit when his hand dipped lower, still. Adored the eager little sound rumbling in the back of her throat as he started rubbing against that little bundle of nerves with the tips of two fingers.

He didn't expect what she did next.

Unable to handle the anticipation any longer, Hermione lifted herself in the water. "Don't you dare stop," she snapped as she moved, the words halting and edged with a moan. Slipping one hand between their bodies, her fingers circled him.

"Oh, God," he said in a whisper, chuckling breathlessly as he felt her position him, just the head of his cock entering her.

He must've paused a moment, he realized, because she stilled and cast him a scathing look over her shoulder. "Sorry." Though the murmured apology held a hint of humor, he immediately returned to rubbing his fingers against her.

Hermione sank her teeth hard into her lower lip to hold in a scream as she lowered herself down over him. The water was sloshing out of the tub all around them to splash on the floor and she didn't care one bit.

Instead, she let out an airy giggle as she braced her hands against the basin for leverage and started rocking her hips. "We're going to have to be so careful getting out of the tub."

Sirius groaned, letting his head fall back as he lifted himself, grinding his pelvis against her movements. There it was, the way she halted for a heartbeat, shuddering at that motion. He took over, then, using her momentary lapse to his advantage. Slipping his free arm around hips, he lifted her before him and got his legs under him, kneeling in the tub.

Hermione wasn't sure how, exactly, it had happened, but when she snapped back to her senses, he had her on knees in the water, her hands gripping the edge of the tub. And, with the delicious, sharp thrusts of his hips while those two fingers still worked between her thighs, she decided she honestly didn't care how it had happened.

"There's not going to be a drop of water in here when we're finished," he said in a rushing whisper.

She could only laugh, unable to speak for how good he felt. Her eyes closed and she tightened her grip, allowing her head to fall forward as she let herself focus on the sensation of him sinking deep into her and withdrawing, again and again. On the sensation of his hand working her in rough, quick circles as he pushed her toward orgasm.

"Are you ready to come, Little Love?"

Managing a pleading whimper, she nodded.

Sirius grinned, quickening his pace at her response. There weren't words to describe the feel of burying himself inside her—the strangely exquisite torture of pulling back, far enough that he nearly slid free of her, the sweet shivering rush of pushing forward to fill her, once more. The telltale ripple of her body clenching tight around him.

A fine tremor wracked her, then, quaking through her tensed limbs as she let out an ecstatic scream. She moved as much as she could in that moment, tilting her hips and pushing back against his motions to feel him deeper.

He uttered a groan, an almost pained sound. Even in her blissful haze, she thought he must be right on the edge, now. But he held on. He stayed focused on her, the fingers between her thighs moving faster, almost clumsy now, as she came.

He was waiting for her to be finished before he worried about himself, and she truly thought she just might love him for it. Sirius Black a selfless lover, who knew?

As it ebbed, she gave into the shivers of sweet aftershock rolling through her. Only then did he slip his fingers from between her thighs, and she gave into his urging as he gripped her hips with both hands and pulled her against him in quick, jagged motions.

Oh, sweet lord! She honestly thought she was about to come again just from that last hard thrust that stilled him. Just from the way he froze, trembling while he was buried inside her as he spent himself.

For a sweet, shuddering moment, she could swear the entire world had stopped around them. There was nothing but Sirius' body against hers as he came, nothing but the feel of him sliding into her and withdrawing with her own motions and the sound of his short, ragged inhalations filling the air.

She stopped when that trembling ceased, but didn't move beyond that. Catching her breath, she simply let herself enjoy the way he leaned over her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her to him. Let herself enjoy the feel of him breathing against her.

"You're not going to be able to get your legs steady under you for a bit, are you?"

Hermione laughed, surprised at the question. Then again, the other day Lucius had chuckled at her attempt to jump up and run after Severus just after an orgasm, so she supposed she and the other Hermione had that in common.

"Probably not."

He snickered, his mouth close to her ear while he was curled over her like this. "Give me just a moment and I'll carry you to bed."

"Are we going to sleep already?"

Sirius laughed harder as he straightened up and stretched, keeping one arm around her to hold her steady. "I don't recall saying anything about sleeping."

Severus and Lucius exchanged a look of utter disbelief. Here, flat against one of the tunnel walls was a door. Just as Hermione'd thought she had seen! But there was no knocker, no emblem of any sort adoring it, just smooth, flat wood, dark and red as old blood.

Moving as a unit, Severus held his wand at the ready as Lucius extinguished his light charm and stepped back, pulling open the door. When they were met with only more darkness, Lucius recast his Lumos, and Severus illuminated his wand, as well.

The wizards entered the room on slow, cautious footfalls. Soon enough, they found sconces on the walls and made short work of lighting them. Once more extinguishing their charms, they looked around.

"My God," Severus said, his voice a mere thread of sound in the silence. He moved closer to the crammed bookcases that lined the far wall. Even from here, he could glimpse titles he'd never even heard of before. "It's a library."

"Yes." Lucius nodded as he stepped over to the lone desk. Drops of dried ink dotted its weathered surface, though there was no ink, quill, or parchment here, now. Schooling his features, he ran the tip of one finger across the surface.

Turning to meet Severus' gaze, he held up his hand, showing his perfectly dustless fingertip. "And someone's been using it."