Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her: "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.
The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.
Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too.
It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch...
And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face, as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.
Harry heard Bellatrix's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing - Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second.
But Sirius did not reappear.
-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
"Huh?" As inarticulate as the thought was, it was the only one passing through Sirius' mind as his stared at Bellatrix, whose face was lit with glee. He knew not what curse she had cast, but it had thrown his body backwards, and he was pushed through the air seemingly in slow motion. He felt his body pass through a gentle fabric, the veil that stood at the center of the room, and his eyes widened in shock. His last glimpse was of Harry's frantic gaze before the veil fluttered shut again.
Thump, thump, thump… every beat of his heart echoed around his skull, each pound intensifying the throbbing headache located right between his eyes. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, still with his eyes squeezed shut, and sucked in a great lungful of air. Once he had regained his breath, he cautiously opened one eye.
All around him was white, and he seemed to be alone. He opened both eyes, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Although the entire room seemed to be giving off a white light, he could tell that he was lying on the rug in front of the empty fireplace in the Gryffindor common. Letting out a sharp bark of a laugh, he pushed himself to his feet, one hand clutching his pounding headache, and sank onto the couch. Kicking his legs out in front of him, he settled back and began to scan the room. It had a surrealist quality to it: the place was entirely devoid of color, and seemed to be glowing. There was less furniture in the room than Sirius remembered; the couch he sat on and a small table by the door were the only things filling the empty space. He took a deep breath and waited for the pounding in his skull to subside.
As his headache slowly dissipated, Sirius stood and began to explore the room. It was devoid of everything that had once made it home, and the state of the room left him remarkably lonely. He walked towards the stairs that led to the dormitories, but they seemed to fade into nothingness after the first step, so he didn't continue in that direction. Instead, he turned around and made for the door, twisting the handle. Just as he was about to open the door, he heard an all-too-familiar voice behind him.
"You might not want to do that, mate." Sirius spun to face the source of the voice and his jaw dropped in shock, for there standing before him was James Potter. James chuckled and said smartly, "And you might want to close your mouth too, Padfoot, you don't know what bugs might be flying around this place." Sirius snapped his mouth shut and walked towards he friend in a daze. He stopped at arms length from James and simply stared.
Finally he opened his mouth. At first nothing came out and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. "P-Prongs?" A grin lit James' face, and he stepped forward, enveloping Sirius in a brotherly embrace. Sirius clung to James' shirt, a hot tear running across his cheek. "I've missed you, mate," He said hoarsely.
James stepped back and said simply, "I know." They both smiled sadly, still clasping one another's forearms.
After a moment of silence, Sirius asked cautiously, "Prongs, where are we?" James sighed, and swung an arm over Sirius' shoulder. Leading him to the couch, he sat and turned to face him.
"What do you remember, Padfoot?"
Sirius sat back against the couch and began to search his memory. "Harry. I remember him very clearly. He looked devastated. And Bella, gods, I can remember her all too clearly. We were at Grimauld place. I was upstairs with Buckbeak—it's the only place I can really think, you know?"
James chuckled. "Something about hippogriff droppings and dead ferrets, right?"
Sirius laughed hollowly, before returning to the memories. "Snape. Snape showed up, said Harry was being reckless again. All your genes, I'm sure, Prongs." He quipped and James laughed again. "We were at the Department of Mysteries, in the veil room…" He paused, finally remembering enough to put the pieces together in his head. Slowly he turned to James, and looking him in the eye, asked quietly,
"I'm dead, aren't I?"
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
A high feminine voice echoed through Grimauld Place. Harry Potter cringed slightly and looked up at his girlfriend sitting at the other end of the bed. She had been looking through a small book until the shrill cry was heard, at which point, she looked up at Harry, and sighed, "What has my idiot brother done this time?" Harry smirked but did not respond. Instead, he cast a quick silencing charm on the door before returning to his copy of Quidditch Through The Ages. He looked up again, as he felt Ginny slide closer to his side on the bed and entwine her fingers with his. He smiled softly at her and squeezed her fingers in response before both of them returned to their reading.
Downstairs in the second-pantry-turned-washroom, a decidedly less endearing scene was taking place. Ron had trudged down the stairs reluctantly; bracing himself for the lecture his girlfriend was about to give him. He racked his brain, trying to think of what he might have done to deserve this next lecture. Being Hermione Granger's boyfriend was great and all—he had always loved her expected them to be together—but it certainly could be trying on a man's patience. Just last yesterday, he had received a lecture on the proper care of books, and the day before that on the slovenly condition of his room. For God's sake, woman, he had thought, I'm a man. I'm supposed to be messy; it's as unavoidable as having male bits or liking Quidditch.
However, slovenliness aside, Ron's main problem lay in that he could not tell the difference between Hermione's various stages of angry. Ron had never been good at reading people, let alone girls, and Hermione was no exception. So it was unsurprising that his nonchalant attitude and resigned slouch was very unwelcome to his positively seething girlfriend.
Hermione Granger was known for many things. To Ron, she was the girl he was supposed to end up with. To Harry, she was the witch he would have died without (even Ginny knew how much she owed to the older witch for keeping her boyfriend alive). To her parents, Hermione was their angel. To Draco Malfoy, she was the bookworm and the mudblood. To the majority of the wizarding world, she was the brightest witch of her age. But all who knew her would agree that Hermione's temper was about as strong as her love of learning, and no one, not even Draco Malfoy, enjoyed being on the receiving end of her anger.
So when Ron appeared in the doorway, slouching against the frame with a bored look in his eyes, Hermione went from royally pissed off to utterly enraged. Her entire body shook with the force of her anger, and if a look could kill, Ron would be nothing more than a pile of ashes. Through clenched teeth, she asked, "Could you, Ronald, explain to me what this is doing in our wash?" and she slowly pulled from the large basket of clothing, a small, lacey wad of black cloth. She shook it slightly, and it unraveled to reveal a skimpy, frilly piece of lingerie. It had garters and a scoop neck too low to cover anything, and, horror of horrors, buttoned at the crotch. Needless to say, only an idiot would assume it belonged to Hermione. However, many people have said over the years, that Ron was only one step away from being a classified idiot, and he next statement set him down as an imbecile for life.
"It's not y-yours?" he asked with a very obvious bob of his Adam's apple. This was the last straw for Hermione.
"MINE? Mine! Can you honestly imagine I would wear something like this? Don't answer that! You IDIOT! You JERK! You ASSHOLE! Who? Who was it? Was it Lav-Lav by any chance? She was all over you the other night. Did you decide to have a little fun because I wasn't putting out? I wanted to wait, but you just couldn't have that could you, you JACKASS! How long has this been going on? I'm not an idiot you know. I knew that "burn" last week wasn't really a burn. I was willing to forgive you, but now? While holding this, this, I don't even have the words! You know, I've had it, Okay Ronald? I'm done. We're done. You can go screw whoever you like right now, I don't even care anymore. Have fun, okay? Oh and by the way, she'll probably want this back." She flung the skimpy garment in his face and stormed out of the room. Throughout the entire speech he had been growing paler and paler, and his brain was now whirring with the implication of what she had just said. After a moment, he spun around and ran up the stairs, with the lacey lingerie still clasped in his hand.
"Hermione! Hermione, wait! Please! I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking!" But by the time he reached to top of the stairs, Hermione's cloak was missing from the coat rack in the hall, and the quiet of the house was interrupted only by the intermittent cries of Mrs. Black: "Mudbloods!" and "Blood traitors!" Hermione was gone.
Ron climbed the stairs wearily until he reached Harry's room, the one that used to be Sirius', and opened the door without knocking. Harry and Ginny looked up from their cuddling on the bed, and gazed in askance at Ron.
Realizing that they hadn't heard a word of the fight, he said with shock in his voice, "She left."
Harry's eyes widened, uncomprehending, but Ginny's had landed on the lace outfit in her brother's hand, and she glared at him, saying quietly.
"You did, didn't you?" Ron looked at his sister and then down at the lingerie in his hand. Warily he raised his eyes to hers, and the shame in her eyes caught him off guard. She continued softly, "You may be my brother, but you're an asshole Ronald Weasley." The realization of what he had done finally began to sink in, and he turned his gaze to Harry, searching for any shred of forgiveness. He found none. Seeing the disappointment in his best friend's eyes was too much for Ron, and he went to his room and locked the door.
As the lock clicked on Ronald Weasley's door, Hermione was pacing back and forth across what used to be her family's living room. Her parents had long since moved from the house, leaving it in Hermione's possession. It seemed forlorn without people to fill it, but she hadn't had the heart to sell it. Now, she was glad of her reluctance. Having the house to herself and not having to live off of another friend's charity was a blessing in and of itself. Of course, she would be returning to Hogwarts in a few days time to finish up the year she had missed during the wizarding war, but having the security of her own home was a significant plus.
And how she needed those securities just then. She still shook with rage at her now ex-boyfriend's behavior, and for once she thanked her lucky stars that he didn't like school. This of course meant that he would not be returning for his "eighth" year at Hogwarts, giving her a much-needed break from his idiotic behavior.
After ten minutes of alternating pacing and ranting, she calmed down enough to go to the kitchen and make herself a hot cup of tea. She sat at the kitchen table staring at her finger as it spun the spoon, magically stirring her drink. Remarkably, she felt no need to mourn the loss of her relationship-she was hurt, not sad-and belatedly realized that the two of them had been growing apart for months. She was letting this insight wash over her, when the pop of apparation startled her from her thoughts. Spinning around, she caught sight of bright red hair in the mirror in front of her living room and was about to start yelling again, when a cautious female voice called,
"Hermione?"
Realizing that it was Ginny and not her brother, Hermione returned her gaze to her tea and called back wearily, "In the kitchen, Gin."
Soft footfalls approached and the scraping of a chair against the tile floor made Hermione look up into the brown eyes of the youngest Weasley. Ginny took Hermione's hand, asking,
"Are you alright? Ron's an idiot…"
Hermione cut over her. "I'm fine, Gin, but can we please not talk about your brother?"
Ginny nodded quickly and replied, "Of course. I brought some of your clothes and a couple books. I think I packed Hogwarts: A History too. Figured you might need a little comfort tonight." Hermione smiled softly in response but said nothing. Ginny continued, "I'll bring the rest over tomorrow with Harry if that's alright."
Hermione nodded, secretly pleased that Harry was at last taking her side of the argument. "Of course, Gin, I'd like to see him. But for now, I'd kind of like to go to bed, if you don't mind." Ginny nodded, understanding at once. She stood and gave Hermione a kiss on the top of her head.
"I'll see you tomorrow, 'Mione," she said softly, and walked to the front door where she spun on her heel and dissaparated.
Hermione sighed softly and stood. Draining the last of her tea, she placed the empty mug in the sink and trudged up the stairs lethargically. She walked into her old room and a small smile lit her face. She crossed to her bed and climbed in, not bothering to shed any clothes but her shoes, and fell into a troubled sleep.
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