Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any characters therein.
Title: Space
Rating: General
Setting: Post-Order of the Phoenix
Pairing: Hermione/Sirius
Summary: (SiriusxHermione) Hermione takes a trip to number twelve Grimmauld Place after Sirius's death. Some memories never heal.
A/N: My first attempt at a Harry Potter fic, although I've been tinkering with a SiriusxHermione fic idea for a while now. Just thought I'd get some ideas out, and possibly I'll be writing a longer story once I piece together all my rambles. ;) As for established HermionexSirius stories, the best one I've ever read and the best romance I've ever found is without a doubt Ssergit's "This I Shall Know". If you haven't read it, and you're a Harry Potter fan her characterizations are incredible I highly recommend you read it. ;) Thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy!
Space
By: Adrianna
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Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
- Cold Play
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He was gone.
Hermione closed her eyes as tears swelled in her throat, the memory of his words floating along the surface of her grief.
'It's not death I fear now...'
Her body tingling with a deceptive numbness, she slowly walked through the long entrance hallway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Her eyes swept over all the familiar things which seemed undisturbed.
A chair, a window...
All still there.
Yet it was not the familiar things that Hermione sought-- it was those things which were now so tangibly absent.
A laugh, a face, a song.
All gone.
The kitchen, where he would sit at the table like a careless school boy, feet propped up on the table (much to Molly's annoyance) and roar with easy laughter at Ron and Harry's antics.
The front window, where he'd stood within the graying afternoon light and spoken her name in quiet amusement because somehow he'd guessed she'd been watching him.
The empty hallways which had once been filled with his raspy, off-key singing as he'd strode around the house with an irresistible spring in his step-- spangled Christmas decorations blooming in his wake.
The table where they had sat countless times and had tea, talking about things they shouldn't have been. It had been during one of these impromptu conversations that he'd leaned forwards in his chair and, chin in hand, gazed at her with an odd expression.
'I've become very fond of you.'
Hermione remembered the simplicity of his words-- spoken with a quiet thoughtfulness that seemed to both fulfill and deny all her most secret desires at once. She remembered staring down into her teacup, ashamed that she suddenly felt too embarrassed to meet his gaze.
All at once, she felt very young and selfish. Pushing past the heavy curtain of hesitancy that had weighed so heavily between them, she had set the cup down and looked at him.
His eyes were moist, and not for the first time Hermione felt a twinge of sadness at the dark circles under them.
'You know what they say; no rest for the wicked...' he'd once told her, a knowing grin on his face. Hermione had been startled, astounded that he could have come across such an old muggle saying.
He was always full of such contradictions.
A stray lock of dark hair hung restlessly across his eye, and without a second thought Hermione stood and closed the distance between them. His gaze followed her, looking up into her face with an expression of surprise and--fear?
Tentatively, as if reaching out to a feral animal Hermione gently smoothed the wayward strands of hair out of his eyes. Her fingertips brushed the skin of his temple, and with that simple touch something changed. It was a visible change that swept over his body, his expression questioning, beseeching, warning...
Warning her that he could no longer contain the changes that propelled him to reach up and catch her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, his eyes never left hers as he placed a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. Though there was nothing but affectionate innocence in his gesture, his breathing gave him away.
His chest was heaving slightly, and his lips were parted.
Hermione felt certain that the feel of his skin against hers was what she'd wanted all along. Fingering tea cups absently as he spoke animatedly to her was no longer enough. His hand still holding hers just below his chin, Hermione carefully moved closer and began to climb into his lap.
His arms balanced her in a tender gesture of approval as she settled herself sideways on his thighs, and leaned against his chest. Tucking her head beneath his chin, she'd let herself be carried like a feather clinging to the surface of a deep ocean that swelled and heaved beneath her.
Slowly, tentatively, and as though he'd never quite done it before, Sirius Black wrapped his arms around the girl who had helped give him freedom.
His hand found the crook of her neck, where he gently stroked her curly hair.
'I'm scared, Sirius. I feel like I'm never going to see you again.'
Her voice had been soft and tearful.
Sirius's caresses became more defined, and bolder as he brushed his palm across her cheek.
Hermione buried her nose in his chest, unaware that while she inhaled the scent of his body, he was inhaling the scent of her hair.
'Please, promise me no one else is going to die...'
It had been a childish need. Yet Sirius had managed to make her feel as though not only was her request reasonable, but that he owed her an explanation.
'It's not death I fear now, Hermione. It's living in all the empty spaces death leaves behind.'
Raising her head, Hermione let his fingers guide her chin upwards. His kiss had felt impulsive, and untidy--just like he was.
Never in her life had she felt such a mixture of love and lust, desire and grief. Hermione now knew that she would never feel it again; his hands cupping her face; his touch slightly shaken; her senses overwhelmed by his nearness. It did not matter that it had been unexpected, and that afterwards instead of promises or revelations she had to be content with stolen glances and fleeting touches. His gaze told her that he would kiss her again, but his rigid control told her that it would not be until she was ready.
Hermione's eyes clouded with tears; she would forever remember her first and most precious kiss.
Standing in the hallway that lead to rooms where his voice remained silent, Hermione closed her eyes as tears drenched her face. Memories throbbed in her temples painfully, causing her to sink to the floor.
He was gone.
How would she live in all the empty spaces he'd left behind?
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High up above or down below Lights will guide you home
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
- Cold Play
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Any comments or suggestions are most welcome.