"How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found" By Meg

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter…I simply enjoy using the characters conjured up J.K. Rowling for my own sweet pleasure. Also, this AU.

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin.

A/N: I have posed a question at the very end of this chapter...please give me your opinion!

….

It was a dim, foggy morning when Hermione arrived on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, or rather, the non-existent doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Professor Dumbledore had been kind enough to escort her almost all the way. He had intended to take her in and speak to Sirius for a few moments, but it had been crystal clear to him that she wanted the transition from the Burrow to her new place to be as unspectacular as possible. When the old, brick building popped into existence, quite literally, it was completely unremarkable as Hermione had remembered. She didn't bother to knock, instead she simply let herself in the front door.

Her suitcases and things made a collection of soft thuds as she set them on the wooden floor, just past the threshold. The hallway was dark; even with the door open, the darkness inside the house was so thick that no light penetrated it, not that there was much light to being with. Hermione sighed to herself as she shut the door and when she exhaled, a layer of dust rose up into the air and caught in the dim light.

"This place is so..." She began, voice low and laced with mild disgust.

"Charming? Fantastic? The kind of place you'd like to be holed up in for years on end?" A deep voice emitted from down the hallway, each word smooth and yet gruff at the same time. Such a voice could only belong to one man, Harry's godfather, the infamous Sirius Black.

"Eh, it has a certain appeal." She smiled, surprising even herself, and even though Sirius could not see her face, it was easy enough to hear it. Suddenly, a great number of candles leapt into existence, tiny flames dancing in the wake of the magic that had given birth to them. Before her stood Sirius, arms crossed and face painted with a childlike smirk that betrayed his forty-something years on Earth. His hair was shoulder length and dark, black strands interwoven with a handsome amount of silvery grey. He was, to Hermione's private amusement, impossibly pale and while his facial hair was not long, it was quite unkempt and scraggly.

"Granger." he said in mock seriousness and nodded, lips pursed in an ever present smirk.

"Black?" she mimicked, playing along with their supposed years of familiarity. "My god, you didn't have to get so spiffed up just for me!" Hermione could hardly keep herself from laughing. It felt good to smile, and she knew that Sirius was the man to keep her smiling for as long as he could.

"Ah, haha, yes. Like the robes?" He pulled at invisible layers of non-existent fabric. He was merely dressed in dark jeans and a once-black-now-somewhat-black t-shirt. And completely barefoot.

"Lovely." She smiled.

….

It wasn't long before Sirius had helped her bring her things to the room that would be "hers" for a while. It was the room that she had often shared with Ginny while staying over before; she was glad for some sense of familiarity, even it was only with cobwebs and peeling, yellowed wallpaper. She wondered if Sirius ever bothered to come in these rooms when no one was staying over, and she could only help to think that he never did. She set up her books on a shelf, arranged a few pictures and quickly found herself bored with the whole process.

Hermione made her way down the creaky, dark stairs. She kept her ears perked, trying to ascertain where in the expansive house Sirius might be hiding. Compared to the bustling Burrow, the quietness was kind of relaxing. She felt like she would enjoy the personal space and long hours of alone time. It was then, however, that she extrapolated that feeling and wondered how Sirius managed to stay so alone for so long. The times when the Order convened at Number Twelve always seemed so hectic to Hermione, but now she realized that it must be like a vacation for Sirius. It must have been quite delightful to have so many people under one roof with him; his life must be terribly lonely at times. Poor Sirius wasn't able to wander out of his home much, being such a wanted criminal in both the wizarding and muggle worlds. Kreatcher couldn't have been very good company, so Hermione was left wondering. What did Sirius do with all of his time?

She found Sirius in the kitchen, with a pile of books spread out on his long, unfinished pine table. He had an uncorked bottle of Fire Whiskey, nearly drained, and and a tumbler filled with amber-stained ice cubes in front of him, as well as a particularly thick tome. Hermione was struck momentarily with a thought; she had never seen Sirius read anything, and actually have never stopped to wonder if Sirius was much of a reader. She would have noticed, if she'd cared to, that Sirius's home was practically bursting with books on many varied topics.

Hermione cleared her throat. "May I join you?"

His eyes shot up. "Christ!" he half yelped. "Wow, haha, Hermione, I completely forgot you were here."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." she bit her lip, wishing that she hadn't startled her new 'roommate'.

"No, no, you're fine." Sirius motioned to the chair across from himself. "It's just been so long since I had a visitor that it's easy to forget I had one at all...especially one as quiet as you, church mouse."

"Thought I was a ghost?" She posed playfully, after having taken a seat in the straight backed chair.

"Damn, girl. Don't joke that way. This place is full of 'em." He smiled and picked up his glass. He attempted to take a sip and was saddened to find it empty, his efforts being rewarded only with a sharp chink of ice on glass and a lone drop of Fire Whiskey on his lips. "I'm terrified I'll see my bitch mother one of these nights, come back from the dead to make my life a living hell...again."

Hermione smiled quite genuinely.

"Ah, ace. I made you smile." Using his wand, Sirius conjured another glass from the cabinet and poured himself a new drink and one for Hermione. "Have a drink."

"Oh, no, Sirius I really shouldn't. I'm underage." Hermione put one hand up to refuse the glass, but it had already found its way into the space in front of her.

"It's just you and me, girl. Who's going to tell?"

….

The fire in the hearth had grown sparse and nearly died by the time they were done talking. It had been so long since Hermione had had such a in-depth, yet light conversation equally full of intriguing thoughts and side-splitting laughter. She knew the same was probably true for Sirius. When her head finally hit the pillow, Hermione's mind was swimming with new experiences and thoughts she actually enjoyed. For one night, she didn't think about her parents, her friends or Remus. She was far from sober, but far from drunk. She was nestled in that creative space of having a nice buzz that makes all people fluid and uninhibited, without the worry of a hang over, or lack of control. She had an intensely warm feeling in her belly that radiated to every square inch of her body.

Hermione had climbed the stairs clumsily, still laughing fiercely with Sirius who continued on up the stairs to the floor above her. He was less toasted than she was, probably from years of drinking experience and tolerance. She didn't care; she wasn't acting stupid and if she was, she wasn't alone. Sirius was right there with her. She knew that he was trying to make her feel welcome and to make her forget some of the things that had recently transpired in her complicated life. She hoped that this wasn't a unique experience, hoped that she and Sirius would have such a fun rapport for the whole time she stayed with him. It felt uncomplicated. It felt good.

Hermione flopped onto her bed, still fully clothed and snuggled up to her over-sized pillow. She was so full of warm feelings that she was sure she could float right off the bed if she wasn't holding on. Her stomach was aflame, her endorphins bubbling up inside of her as if to tickle her ribs and maybe, just maybe defrost her stony heart a bit.

"Mmm. I want to feel this way forever." She sighed out, only to herself. As she settled into her new bed, in her new home, her mind began to wonder as the humming beta waves of sleep crept up on her. Was it the alcohol that made her feel this way? Or was it...something else?

….

Please R&R! Also, I desperately need your opinions, dear readers, on this. Love triangle? Or is that too complicated? You tell me!

Meg