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Noir is the summer of our discontent	By : Goldspoon Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Sirius/Hermione Views: 2005 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: My story is a work of fan fiction. It is not affiliated with JK Rowling or WB. I do not own the characters, settings or world of Harry Potter. I do not make, nor intend to make in future, any money from my story.

Chapter List
- 1-Noir is the summer of our discontent
- 2-Kiss me senseless
- 1
- 2
**WARNING - this is an evil author story... A lot of built up and no orgasm!**
We remember our first, or those of us who were lucky do anyway. To hear it be told, my mother would swear it was true that Aunty Nancy lost her virginity at a college party and the only reason she knows is because she was only in her top, she had blood on her thigh and someone had scrawled 10/10 on her thigh with lipstick. Aunty Nancy says it isn't true, she lost her virginity to the neighbour's boy and mother only tells me that story to scare me. I had the whole talk at 13 - beware of older boys, beware of men, especially men who have the same vibe as dirty uncle Len who's not actually anyone's uncle but is just one of Aunty Nancy's ex boyfriends who keeps inviting himself to Christmas. Don't trust any man who wears hawaiian shirts as formal wear and leaves the top 3 buttons unbuttoned. Don't leave your drink unattended. Don't let anyone go get you a plate from the buffet. If someone gets you a yogurt, look at the foil for pinholes. Keep condoms in your purse but make sure you get new ones every 2 years. Get boys to wash their hands and willies before you do the deed. Get them to wash their armpits too, you're quite short comparatively so chances are your nose will be stuck there if you're in missionary. I don't know what the equivalent of drink spiking is in the wizard world, so you better ask your house mistress for some tips about that.
"Mother! I'm 13!! What do you think I do when you're not around?"
"Well obviously I would hope you don't become sexually active until you're 21 but parents are living in la la land if they put off the talk til then. Don't you worry, you'll be getting this talk every year. My secret hope is that you'll be sufficiently horrified that you'll become a spinster librarian."
"Gee, thanks mum."
But I digress. At 16 I was virginal and unkissed but by no means was I completely naive. My parent's dental surgery followed protocol in subscribing to all the weekly trash magazines for the foyer and every movie that came out had a sex scene. If I waited until they left to fast forward to the sex, well, it was educational and teenage curiosity, can you fault me for that? And if my parents liked to be "cultured" and took me to film festivals, why would they raise an eyebrow if my video selections came from the arthouse aisle? Arthouse... otherwise known as blue movies for snobs.
Perhaps if I'd never gone to Hogwarts I would have had sex earlier. The reality of Hogwarts being the only school around for miles was that there was zero chance to hook up. I didn't want to have to encounter an ex-lay and their circle of friends every day and night after the event. Especially if they were dud, or realistically, thought I was dud.
I can look back on it now with a grain of salt but at that tender age I was acutely aware I was not the sought after type. In my callow mind I was thankful to not be hideously ugly or deformed, but spent inordinate amounts of time grabbing and squeezing my panniers... that is, a rather fleshy area making my butt and thigh resemble a leg of lamb instead of a pert P. How I wished there was some accidental magic, I'd look down and had somehow massaged it away. My legs were short but my back was long. Sometimes I felt like an ape, a gorilla. Self consciously I held books to my chest or clasped the cross band of my bag so that my disproportionate arms wouldn't swing and draw attention. My breasts pointed outwards, away from each other, as if polar magnets, with one areola ovoid while the other perfectly round. Both nipples were nut brown and solid so I constantly wore padded bras to hide them. Something I began after Uncle Len wouldn't stop making jokes about them when I wore a halterneck dress that couldn't do a bra. Speaking of nut brown, that was all I saw down there. I never possessed a plump pink pussy and it was never a slippery slit or a tiny tight hole. No, It was a roasted meat. I had the joy of realising I possessed an intimate area never used in Playboy. I had two fat brown beef curtains of different lengths, and the flesh between was dark pink bordering on red. Hair grew all over the outer labia and some of the inner labia, and a trail of hair grew in that crevasse that led to my arsehole. In fact, there were a few wispy hairs that grew around my rosebud as well. Even more mortifying was that sometimes the pubes on my labia were quite long. I frequently plucked 6cm long monsters from there. I was mightily displeased with my body for doing this. The hairs on my mound usually grew to 4cm and being front and centre it was easy to trim them anyway. I was deathly afraid of ingrowns on my tender region so never shaved. But hairs on my labia and perineum were out of sight, out of mind, until I remembered in the dead of night when fondling myself in my pyjama shorts. My inner thighs were brown too, which mother said was chub rub. Aunty Nancy ordered some talc for me from Avon which was an absolute abomination - not only was it the cloying musky floral allegedly favoured by the housewife set but this was a limited edition extra sexy one with mica added for sparkle. I suspect to this day Aunty Nancy intended me to die from shame instead of taking the role of "the fun mum" that she once claimed.
My early Hogwarts days did me no favours. With bemusement I recognised the same hob nobbing in both my private schools and here. On the train platform parents with an obviously more fashionable cut of robes circulated selectively and gave the side eye to others. At school, some first years were immediately tucked under wing though unrelated by blood. I was fit to puke if I heard another, "Oh yes, you're Reginald's boy! Come sit over here, no need to hang at the end of the table!" I was muggle born and unconnected, and then I made friends with two boys with similarly handicapped social standing. Perhaps if there had been another muggle born first year girl in Gryffindor we could have drooled over Ethan Hawke and Leonardo di Caprio and swapped Chapsticks. It wasn't for lack of interest in girly stuff, I just didn't know what the hell Lavender and Pavarti were on about and they very politely declined sampling any of my Body Shop soaps and lotions. There was no hot for teacher either. Aside from Lockhart, the staff seemed octogenarian. Well except Snape I guess but he smelt of the wrong kind of danger, sort of child-in-a-shallow-grave. How did a nobody like me end up with a date with Viktor Krum? I'll tell you how. He saw me constantly pep-talking Harry, he saw I could say hello to him without running into a wall or a planter or giggling instead of speaking. He thought it would give Harry an ally at the champions table since he wasn't really meant to be there. Very considerate. And also very non sexy. The whole dance had me treated very much "little sister". I was hotly horny all night, after all a well built stud in uniform's very warm hands on the hips and back is basically foreplay to the average teen virgin but it led to nothing but unfulfilled dreams by bedtime.
So I was on a desert island it seemed. I knew too much about my two best friends to want to fool with them. Honestly, inside or outside the wizarding world, 13 to 15 year old boys are the same. You can give them deoderant, teach then sweat nullifying spells, order them to take a shower and for gods sake put on a new shirt, but they will never fathom why they need to. A whole swathe of upper years avoided me - I was an Other and I was a beacon for danger. When Umbridge came along, getting interested in a muggle born was basically asking for scrutiny. And no, no one saw me any sexier by virtue of the risk.
I was too smart, too knowledgeable, too overlooked by the time I was 16. I was on the cusp of adulthood (cut me a break... all 16 year olds feel like an adult) and everything my elders were telling me was wrong. I was a rebel with a cause but hobbled at every turn; by the Umbridges, the Malfoys, the Dumbledores and the Weasley's of a godforsaken Middle Ages society. Yes, at first I felt I'd landed in a quaint Victorian cosplay but I opened my eyes. I felt embarrassed defending wizarding customs and laws to my parents. To be told the adults were having a meeting and "you kids just go upstairs and play" when they were essentially meeting about guerilla tactics in the kitchen, the very same kitchen that all of us would be having pineapple upside down cake with custard later on... it was enough to make me scream.
When I met Sirius properly, I had him pegged immediately. He was a middle aged man with tickets on himself, quite unaware he was surfing the wave of his yesterday. If he was a bit more together, he'd be able to have a midlife crisis. I'd only been repressed for the past 4 years but here he was, 12 years on, locked in his parents' house, no access to his money or liberty, told to sit with the kiddies upstairs, all piled on a mind with a compromised passage of time and ageing.
Sirius would often tell the three of us how he was able to avoid a lot of the pain and misery by being in dog form in Azkaban. The more he talked, the more it seemed to me that he didn't feel or remember being jailed for as long as 12 years. Perhaps experience registered differently to dogs but often times his opinions and memories were raw and crisp, like he was only jailed yesterday. He'd speak of the Potter's murder in contemporary tones, talk of Harry as if he were still his toddler-self. Harry was rapt to hear anything at all but I was annoyed that Sirius was uninterested, in fact somewhat avoidant, to ask Harry what he'd been doing between the ages of 2 and 15. And the way he would speak to Remus made me annoyed as well. Remus was manic depressive for sure and simply indulged Sirius who neatly disregarded that Remus may have changed in any way. He overrode any of Remus's wishes or denials in such an insensitive way. At first Remus would tell Sirius, "I don't anymore" but gradually that faded to something he would mumble to himself. I don't think he realised all the times I heard him, nor witnessed me frowning, hoping for Remus to jump up and snap at the man.
Between my idealistic outrage and pressure-cooker libido I decided I must fuck Sirius. It was the only thing I had any power over.
I know what you're thinking. You see a predator, and that predator is a 16 year old me. I was clear minded, he was not. I won't deny it. I was lashing out and I lashed out in the way that was safest for me.
I knew Sirius would not say no. He was smashed half the time. He was cocky and used to an audience. As a teen he was hot property; good looks which he somewhat retained, as mercurial as singer turned actor good boy/bad boy Marky Mark Wahlberg, old monied, Establishment level name and linage. His poor fortune plucked him from this life and in a way froze him in time. He still believed this was what he was and his ego and his broken mind painted over the reality of three teen faces brightened by candlelight in a drafty haunted house, his only adorers, his only ears. The more I listened, the more I confirmed my guess that his morals were elastic, with heavy weighting to factors that favoured him. He was brash and heard only what he wanted to hear. I was confident that even if he turned me down, he'd spend all his time inflating his ego than tattling to another adult what I'd asked.
It was calculated and I used him. He used me too, and despite the times I wanted to strangle the man-child, I had affection for him and an experience I have never regretted. Most of the Weasley's know now, as does Harry, but I've never told them what was going through my mind leading up to the affair. Strangely enough, it was not the older generation that gave me any grief. Remember I said Victorian? Well that was the way, wasn't it? A man made something of himself and then he would get himself a young bride able to spawn a few kids. Harry couldn't reconcile for a while the dirty uncle image, but Ron and the twins were mainly angry that oldies were snatching away their women. There is gossip as well and even now so many years later someone will ask me or Ginny, "Is it really true? Hermione got between the sheets with Sirius Black?"
Being three of us was handy. There's accuracy in the idiom the third wheel. Ron and Harry frequently hung together or were put to task together. There was a chessboard and backgammon and not any of us were content to watch while two played. While I got along with Ginny, I was not pally. She was sporty and besotted with Harry. I had no patience to girl-time with her in our room when it would be to hear Quidditch or what Harry had done lately (I already knew - chances were I was with him). She was perfectly content to sit near Harry even when she had nothing to contribute to a conversation whereas I would feel antsy and excuse myself to do something worthwhile. Thus I often found myself alone and it raised no questions if I were not seen with them.
I don't think I was ever subtle and my observations spelt out I had no need to be. My very first approach was careful timing, seeing Sirius head to the bath and getting myself there just in time for his exit. As Sirius still felt it was his halcyon days, he happily swanned to and from his room in stages of undress and this night had been no different. I made no excuses about wanting to see the library or asking a study question he might know the answer to. Instead I merely told him how nice it was to see him. With a blinding grin, he propped himself at an angle against the door frame, no doubt making the most of the backlighting to cause the droplets in his hair and on his skin to shine, moving his hips to encourage his towel to slide a little lower. "It's nice to see you too, Hermione."
"Walk you to your room?" I nearly rolled my eyes from the lack of reaction from him - how often in his youth must people have baldly propositioned him?)
As I walked up the staircase in front of him, I felt his hands settle upon my ribs and direct me to his room. He closed the door softly behind us and I seated my bum onto his dresser.
"Where do you want me?" he asked cockily.
I thought I should inform him up front, so I said, "I want you to be my first time. Or times if you like it."
Turning his grin to high beam, he sauntered over, saying, "You've come to the right place. And it will be times - there's nothing I don't like about women."
"How about men? I had you pegged as a libertine."
"Well, you are right, anything that moves really. What do I need to show you?" He'd put one of his hands above my head, his other was massaging his package. Again I could have rolled my eyes but I forgave him that, since he was so pretty, though his body was gaunt with hollows around his eyes. Both Iggy Pop and Axl Rose hadn't seen enough pies at dinner, but I could appreciate waif-chic with the rest of them and Sirius' current body mass index didn't hamper my libido in the least.
"I need to learn everything and it's a long list. You seemed to be someone who might have a lot of experience?"
"You'll find I'm a dirty dog, darling," he said crowding me and brushing his nose tip against my cheek, "I've probably done everything on your list at least once or twice."
"Are you just saying that because you know I'm inexperienced so it's unlikely to be very unique or...?"
"I'll let you draw your own conclusions. What do you want to do first?"
Drawing a finger down between his pecs I said, "Surprise me. Show me what breaking in a virgin looks like to you."
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Noir is the summer of our discontent