Author's Notes, Author's Notes, Author's Notes!

I know many readers skip over this section 'cause it's usually hella boring, so when I do have to leave notes, I will try to make them as fun as possible ;)

1) Readers unfamiliar with Crimson Spell, you don't need to know the manga to follow this story. In a nutshell, there's this prince who's cursed and when he sleeps at night his body becomes inhabited by this ferocious, demonic energy unless he's wearing these enchanted manacles, and there's a wizard aiding him who finds out his secret and starts 'helping' him by getting the demon to work off its energy (you can guess how). Interestingly, the wizard in CS bears a striking resemblance to the way the fandom imagines a First War Lucius Malfoy XD.

2) This story is largely going to be SwS (Smut with Substance [PwP's slightly plottier cousin]).

3) Some of the smut scenes (at least in the beginning) may be considered dubcon. If you're wary of where the line might be, proceed with caution.

Fancast:

(If you don't agree with my fancast, imagine whomever you prefer)

Jared Leto as Sirius Black.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

Chapter One

Sirius coughed out a ragged breath as he lifted his head from the ground. Looking back, he saw Harry tending an unconscious Hermione. The Arch was crumbled to smithereens between them. Within the jagged chunks of debris and rubble, he thought he caught a glimpse of glittering red and black symbols. But their placement . . . as if the writing was inside the stone. Maybe inscribed deep into the layers during its construction using some type of ancient magic? Was that how this passageway into that eternal nothing had come to be in the first place?

That was how his first night back in the land of the living had begun—spying the two children, who were clearly no longer children, through a dust cloud tinted deep crimson by those glowing symbols. Yet, as he'd fixed his attention on the pair, that glow vanished. By the time he was climbing to his feet to move toward them, the red had receded entirely, making him wonder if he'd perhaps imagined it.

He'd eyed Harry the entire time as he drew nearer. The young man looked even more James' double than he had the last time they'd seen one another. How long had passed since Bellatrix had knocked him through the Veil?

"Harry?" he said, closing the distance.

Snapping his head around to meet Sirius' gaze, Harry let out a laugh that was a mix of surprise and relief. "Oh my God, it worked! She did it!"

Sirius' attention flicked from Harry to the unconscious woman in his arms—she certainly looked like Hermione, the same hair, the same coloring, the same features, but the last time he'd seen her, she'd been a girl of 16, now she was easily in her mid-twenties—and back. "Hermione did this?" he whispered the question in something like awe, yet needing clarification.

"Yes! Though, I think destroying the bloody thing was a bit of an unforeseen outcome. You can't imagine how happy I am to see you!" Harry took an obvious moment to collect himself, this wasn't the time or place for lengthy, heartfelt reunion Harry felt they deserved. "Now, let's get you out of here before anyone raises a fuss and we never get to leave. Help me get her back to Grimmauld Place. Lord knows Kingsley will have questions. He can ask anything he wants after you've both had some rest."

"You're sure she's okay?" Sirius was never one to bother with formalities. He simply bent down and scooped up the witch, cradling her against his chest.

"Yeah. She warned me this might happen, like a twenty-percent chance of might, but here we are," Harry said as he followed along, half a step behind Sirius as they made their way out of the Department of Mysteries. Kingsley had known Hermione'd been experimenting, he'd signed off on the attempt to extract Sirius from beyond the Veil. But just as he'd mentioned, Harry was pretty sure neither his best friend, nor the Minister of Magic, had realized that getting Sirius back would result in blowing the Arch to bits. Honestly, he thought he should just be relieved that Sirius was out and neither Hermione nor himself had been tagged by flying debris. "I've um, I've been letting her stay at your house recently. I's a long story. Question is are you okay?"

"Everything seems in working order." Sirius looked into her face—so peaceful she might as well've only been sleeping rather than knocked cold from the backlash of breaking those antiquated enchantments. "How did she manage when that thing has been a mystery for so long?"

"The short version? She's Hermione. The long version? She's Hermione Granger, when in doubt, she goes to the library, and she's been going to the library over this particular matter for a few years now. She told me she finally came across something that led to a breakthrough. And she didn't want to endanger anyone else in case it didn't work, so she insisted on performing the disenchantment herself." Harry left out mentioning that she also insisted on working the complicated magic after the Ministry's typical hours of operation, so fewer employees would be about, and any who were still in the building had been advised to steer clear of the DoM, just in case.

"Of course she did." Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. That did sound like the girl he recalled. "Now, tell me everything. Are we still at war? How long was I gone? Where's Remus?"

Harry's face shut down as they reached the Floo Network Station. Before they stepped in—Harry warding off any curious Ministry employees stuck working after-hours with a flash of some bit of parchment signed by the Minister, himself, after all, many people were going to be interested to speak with Sirius once news of his reemergence went public—the younger wizard broke things down. Nine years, almost ten. Yes, they'd won the war, but it had cost them. Fred Weasley, Sirius' own little cousin, the adorably feisty Tonks . . . Remus . . . .

Oh, Sirius felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Hermione still in his arms, he sagged back against the wall beside the Floo chute.

"They had a son. Named him Teddy for her father."

Sirius' brows pinched together as he processed that. They had a son? But, before he'd fallen through the Veil, he and Remus had . . . . No, he supposed it made sense. They'd probably bonded over losing him. And it had brought them together. That was natural. Still felt a bit like someone was stomping on his heart. At least they'd had each other before they'd gone. There was some comfort in that, he supposed.

"Teddy?" he said, allowing a gentle smile to curve his lips. "Does he take after his mum?"

Harry snickered. "We weren't sure at first, thought he was simply born with turquoise hair as a byproduct of his mother's talents, but . . . by his first birthday, he'd figured out how to turn it magenta."

A more somber look colored Sirius' features, then. "And what about taking after his father?"

"Remus didn't pass on the curse. Teddy's not a werewolf. But . . . he is my godson. They made that happen before . . . . Yeah, before War's End."

Sirius nodded, pushing off of the wall as fluidly as he'd fallen against it. He understood Harry's thickened tone. It hadn't been enough time to not mourn just a little whenever the subject was brought up. No amount of years would ever be enough, not really. "Let's be on our way."

They exited into the parlor of 12 Grimmauld Place and Harry directed Sirius to the room she'd been using.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked again as he tugged aside the quilt and Sirius set her down delicately.

Sirius waited for Harry to remove Hermione's shoes and then they pulled the covers up over her. He ignored a glint of red and gold he thought he saw winking at him from beneath the collar of her shirt. "I'm fine. If it makes you feel better, have one of the Ministry's Medi-witches look me over when Hermione meets with Kings tomorrow."

"Have a Medi-witch look you over. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Sirius cracked a grin. "Well, now that you mention it . . . ."

"You'll keep an eye on her, though? Let me know right away if it seems like she's not doing all right?"

"Of course I will," Sirius said with an arched eyebrow. "And where have you been staying, might I ask?"

Harry knew what Sirius must've thought at first—the same thought everyone always had at some point or another about himself and Hermione. He held up his left hand, tapping the gold band around his ring finger. It was plainly obvious Hermione was not wearing its match.

"Gin and me. Got married last year. We alternate spending time here and spending time over at Andromeda's house to help with Teddy."

"And this is one of those times?"

Harry nodded. He unexpectedly threw his arms around his godfather in a hug. Though, under the circumstances, Sirius supposed it wasn't unexpected at all. Chuckling, he returned the embrace. Amazing how so much time had passed for him in a blink. But . . . .

"You may look older, but you certainly haven't seemed to have gotten any taller."

"Oi!"

"Sirius?"

Bloody hell, he'd nodded off. After the insane magical feat she'd performed for him, he'd felt obligated to sit watch and make sure she was all right. Which, despite Sirius swearing to himself that he'd not felt tired, had led to him dosing in the plush armchair by the window.

He looked over at the bed. She was sitting up, her chestnut eyes wide as she stared at him in question.

"It worked? You're really back?"

He smiled, rising to his feet and crossing the room. "You're not dreaming if that's what concerns you. Though," he paused, a smirk she'd best describe as 'saucy' plucking at one corner of his mouth as he gestured toward himself, "I can understand why one might think that."

The sleepy witch giggled, nodding. "Yeah, you're real, all right. Where's Harry?"

"With Ginny and Teddy. Apparently at least one of you thinks I'm responsible enough to mind someone while they're sleeping." He sighed, the sound pure feigned hopelessness.

"Okay, you've been back all of a few hours. Tone down the cheek."

Snickering he spread his hands. "Lotta time to make up for, little love!"

Sirius couldn't help but notice that as her gaze traveled to the window behind him, she suddenly looked frightened. She touched a hand under the collar of her shirt, immediately seeming calmed by the gesture.

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the night sky through the gauzy curtains. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

Sniffling, she nodded. "Just . . . reminding myself everything has consequences," her voice slipped from her lips in a whisper.

He shook his head, opening his mouth to ask what she meant, but before he could get the words out, she hurried on louder, with a forced smile. "And I think the consequences are that I am still completely exhausted. Proper reunion in the morning over breakfast? Kreacher still hates me, but he makes excellent coffee."

"That he does." Sirius leaned down, giving her a kiss on the forehead. Did he just imagine the way she trembled a little at his closeness? Straightening—and ignoring the notice—he pointed back over his shoulder at the armchair. "I'll be right there 'til you fall asleep."

Again, she touched at her collar before she responded. Nodding, she lay back down. "Good night, Sirius."

"Sweet dreams, Hermione."

If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was asleep, again, before he even made it to the chair. He tipped his head to one side as he returned his attention to her. She hadn't only fallen back to sleep, she was already so deeply asleep it seemed nearly impossible that she'd woken at all just now.

Shaking his head, he came back, righting her quilt. That glint of red and gold winked at him again.

Frowning in thought, he reached out a hand. Just as fast, he snatched it back. So what if she was wearing a necklace or something? None of his business what she wore under her clothes, now was it?

Biting hard into his bottom lip, he shook his head once more. That was really not the best way to phrase things if he was going to get his mind to behave itself; what had gotten into him?

Yet . . . there was something familiar about that red glint.

No. It looked . . . it looked like . . . .

Grumbling under his breath, he lifted a hand again. He winced as he pinched her collar between thumb and forefinger and pulled it down a bit. Staring back at him was a thick, flat gold chain, like a loose choker settled around her clavicle. But what knocked the wind out of him, what made him need to sit down right there on the edge of the bed before he fell down, was that red glow.

Along the gold band, those symbols he'd seen inside the broken stones of the Arch danced. She was bearing some burden for freeing him? Was that what she'd meant just now about consequences?

Destroying the bloody thing hadn't had as slight of a percentage of happening as Harry had been told. Hermione must've expected what was going to occur and thought they wouldn't let her perform the disenchantment if they knew. She'd clearly understood what she was getting into, channeling the Arch's enchantments into something new, siphoning off enough energy that it could no longer hold its form. But she shouldn't carry this. He should.

And he was willing to.

His frown deepening, he reached around her neck, unclasping the necklace and lifting it away from her. As he brought up the chain to loop it around his own neck, he realized her eyes had opened. From the corner of his own, he could see that she was watching him.

Meeting her gaze, he started, "Hermione, I know what you'll say, but you did this for me, and I can't let you . . . ." Started, but never finished.

Those were not the eyes of Hermione Granger staring up at him. Bright orange-red as they fixed on his face, the near-glowing eyes locked on his as a twisting pattern of red and glittering black appeared here and there on her skin.

The same red and black as within the Arch's stones. The same as her necklace, which was now blank metal in his hands.

"Shit," he murmured, aware of his own misunderstanding of the situation now. She hadn't channeled energy into a damned trinket, but into herself. The necklace must have an enchantment on it, making it the only thing keeping whatever that ancient magic was doing to her at bay.

She hadn't moved yet, and he took the opportunity to try to slip it back around her neck. Hermione wrenched out of the way before he could get it clasped, snatching the chain from his hand and throwing it aside.

Where the bloody hell was his wand, anyway, he thought as he tried to rise from the bed and back away toward the necklace. Not that he wanted to use magic on her, but maybe a stunner, something to temporarily subdue her without hurting her. But Hermione's wand was not far, set on the low shelf by the lamp. It wouldn't harm her much—certainly less than any wand should if he'd truly wanted to defend himself, which he really didn't, yet it might be just enough of a jolt to do the trick. He reached out his hand as he moved.

Oh, she did not appear to like sudden motions. Sirius halted as fast as he'd start shifting away from her, but it was too late. He crashed to the floor with her on top of him. The necklace was out of his reach unless he was ready to throw the witch off him, but as much as the creature looming over him now wasn't Hermione—with those glowing eyes, sharp claws and even sharper fangs visible between her lips as she emitted a low growl at him—this was still Hermione. He could always shift forms, but he imagined in her current state, she might view the sudden, mysterious appearance of a large black canine as a threat.

Maybe he could get through to her?

Moving cautiously, he raised his hand to cup her jaw. "Hermione, it's me!" He could absolutely feel a strange, raw magic ebbing off of her, but not near as strong as the shock of it that coursed through him when his skin came into contact with the marks on her cheek.

She shivered, just as she had when he'd kissed her forehead. Her lids swept downward in a drowsy blink and she pressed her face tighter against his palm, even as she continued making angry animal sounds deep in the back of her throat.

Fascinated in spite of himself, Sirius followed the twisting symbols down from her check and along the side of her throat with his fingers. There was so much magical power rippling off of her right now, he thought sure it might actually be dangerous for the young woman.

Yet, he could not seem to pull his hand from her. Could not seem to think around the delicious little shock of energy buzzing through him as he swept his fingers down, dipping beneath the collar of her shirt.

She stretched beneath his touch. Holding his gaze still, she seemed tentatively curious about what he was doing. Looking down at herself, she saw the buttons of her shirt, as though didn't know what she expected to find there—like she didn't know why his fingers weren't traveling any lower.

When he paused, she snapped those eyes up to capture his a moment. That was all it took. She realized he was making no move to stop her and she scrambled off of him, bolting for the door.

"Fuck me," he said in a huffing breath as he climbed to his feet and snatched up Hermione's wand.

Yet, as he took aim, he realized he couldn't strike her. Instead he aimed past her, at her target, and sealed shut the door just as she reached it. The magic, whatever it was doing to her, she was like a thing possessed. A monster. He couldn't let her get outside.

She whirled on her heel, her lips peeled back from those elongated canines in a snarl. Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, even as he blindly cast a charm over his shoulder, sealing the window in the same fashion.

"All right," he said in a gentle voice, moving slow and deliberate as he set back down her wand. He was supposed to contact Harry if she 'wasn't all right', but Sirius thought maybe this wasn't quite what the younger wizard'd had in mind. He doubted very much anyone but Hermione, herself, had known about the backlash she was going to suffer in freeing him. It seemed just like her to want to bear that weight on her own; he knew she'd meant to keep this a secret. "That's it. Just . . . just you and me."

The witch let out a sound that was more animal than human and launched herself at him. At the unexpected movement, Sirius found himself toppling to the floor beneath her all over again.

His hands around her wrists, he held her claws away from his throat, but just barely. Had she always been this strong? No, there was no way, he realized. This had to be the magic possessing her.

"Oh, Hermione, you've got to calm down. I'm a lover not a fighter, you might just kill me."

She showed no sign of understanding his quip and he cursed under his breath. Maybe she really wasn't in there, after all.

He glanced toward where he'd left her wand. "Although, if the situations calls for it, I can put up one hell of a fight."

Leaning down, she snapped her teeth in his face. But that was when he noticed the scar on her throat. It was half-covered by the red-black mark curling down her skin, but it was there. She hadn't had that before he'd fallen through the Veil, had she?

Oh, he was so stupid. This was a hell of a time to make the realization, but Hermione was a Muggleborn. She'd fought a war so that she, and those like her, could simply live as part of the world they were born to be part of. He'd seen the same thing with Lily, one of his dearest friends he still grieved losing—one of the reasons he knew so well that mourning never truly ended. That wasn't the only scar Hermione'd picked up since he'd last seen her, he'd wager, simply the most visible one.

"Oh, little love," he managed, his voice a low, rough tumble of sound. It was a struggle, but he managed to catch both of her wrists in one hand. As he'd done before—the only thing that seemed to calm her—he reached up with his free hand, trailing the tips of his fingers over the mark along the side of her throat. "I don't have it in me to hurt you. You've already been through so much."

She stilled beneath his touch, the sounds of anger escaping her settling into a quiet, uncertain rumbling. He rather thought it was a noise like a confused kitten might make.

He took a chance, loosening his grip on her wrists and letting them slip from his hand. Holding her gaze as he stroked those charged lines in her skin, he asked, "Is this what you want?" Maybe the creature possessing her didn't know what gentleness was?

She started shivering again, but this was different from the tremors that coursed through her at his touch. This was that uncontrolled power rushing around inside her. That foreign, terrifying magic that wasn't hers.

He didn't hate this. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the weight of her on top of him . . . . But he very much disliked that she wasn't her.

Cursing the heavens, he reached up his free hand, tugging at the buttons of her shirt to open it. He could get a look at just how far the marks went and maybe help her work off that energy in a way that wouldn't make him completely loathe himself in the morning.