Author's Note:

This was a fic written for pod-together in summer 2017. It was a collaboration between me, the writer (luvtheheaven), and the podficcer/podfic reader marsmaywander. We discussed multiple potential fic ideas I could've written spanning 4 different fandoms and ultimately settled on this idea. marsmaywander's performance is wonderful and this fic was meant to be listened to, so please consider checking out the podfic on Archive of Our Own (aka AO3) - archiveofourown DOT org/works/11515962 or just search Google for "Archive marsmaywander loss night harry potter" or something like that should get you to our podfic & fic joint page...

Also, the "book cover" image I chose for this fic here on FFN was found via a very quick Google search, it's a simple quote about grief. Many would've fit this fic, this was the first one I came across that seemed formatted in the right shape for FFN's book covers and which also fit the story well enough.

Hermione groggily opened her eyes. Her body still felt like it was on fire. She must have been knocked unconscious. The most desperate thought in her mind was making sure she wasn't about to be attacked further…

One instant, she had been feeling impressed with Harry. She may have been complimenting him? But then there was an overwhelming burning sensation inside her body that had suddenly interrupted. After that, a feeling of monumental fright as she realized the unnaturally colored flame had pierced into her, feeling kind of like a knife as hot as a welding torch.

She looked ahead cautiously, finding herself in the Hospital Wing, back at Hogwarts. Sunlight filtered through the windows, and from far away on the grounds she could hear the echo of many students up and about. She could also hear a subdued voice, much closer to her. She blinked a few times, noticed how dry her mouth was, and swallowed. Then, she shuddered at how much pain the tiny movement had caused, and didn't attempt to swallow again. Squeezing her eyes as tightly closed as they would go, willing, herself to just listen, the voices came into focus. She stayed as still as possible, breathing her only movement.

"I shall be able to determine with more confidence that a trip to St. Mungo's is not necessary once this student is able to talk to me about her injuries. But from what I've gathered thus far, she probably needs plenty of rest, combined with a variety of potions which I will be able to provide."

The voice that carried the reply was unmistakably Professor Dumbledore's. "Very well. I'm also extremely glad to hear Mr. Longbottom and Miss Weasley have already been mended. Thank you, Poppy."

At this news, Hermione relaxed from the significant tension she was holding onto, and let out a heavy sigh—which did hurt her chest, but every other breath was painful too. She'd quickly concluded, back when she was in the midst of the battle, that Neville was one of the least likely of their group to make it out alive.

However, when she realized the headmaster had not mentioned her closest friends being alright, something deeper in her chest constricted with a new type of pain. In fact, Dumbledore had not commented about Ron or Harry at all. With great effort, she decided to open her eyes and look around, to check for their presences.

Luna was in the bed next to her, sitting upright against a few pillows and writing something. Hermione leaned a little further to get a better view and didn't realize she was overexerting herself until she found herself wincing. Rather than writing words, it appeared Luna was drawing a picture, periodically dipping her quill in fluorescent pink ink.

A few beds diagonally away, Hermione spotted Dolores Umbridge. The woman seemed to be in one piece, despite Hermione's ruthless trick. Hermione certainly was surprised to see her, but was—albeit reluctantly—glad. She couldn't deny it was ultimately ideal to learn she hadn't committed murder.

Turning, the most painful movement she had attempted thus far, Hermione couldn't prevent herself from letting out an audible groan. As she heard the nurse's footsteps quickly approaching her, she saw that Ron, too, was here in a bed. She couldn't see how badly off he was before Madam Pomfrey stepped into her view. Hermione missed whatever Madam Pomfrey was urgently saying, as all her thoughts were overwhelmed by the relief that Ron was certainly alive (plus, not hurt enough to need St. Mungo's extra capabilities for care).

"My dear! Why are you crying? Is it the pain?"

Hermione opened her eyes again in mild confusion, trying to concentrate on what was happening. She was blinking away tears before she even registered them escaping.

"Miss Granger," the elderly witch said, this time more softly. "Can you hear me?"

Hermione nodded.

"Your friend Neville Longbottom told us you were hit by a purple flame, in the chest. You never lost your pulse, but you have been unconscious since it hit you. Until now. Is this accurate?"

Hermione confirmed this. Following the nurse's prompting, she then did the best she could to describe what impact the dark magic had left inside her body, and how the pain was manifesting currently.

Muttering, scowling, and clearly offended on Hermione's behalf by the horror of the attack, Madam Pomfrey fetched a couple of potions for her to swallow 'as a start'. Hermione found herself beginning to drift off into a magically-aided sleep, but before she did, with a jolt she remembered something important.

She had not found out if Harry was alive.

Struggling to stay awake long enough to find out this information, she opened her eyes wide.

"Wait," she called, in a very weak voice.

Madam Pomfrey turned back with a look of caring concern.

"Harry…?"

The concern transformed into a small trace of a smile.

"Mr. Potter is sleeping in his own dormitory, my dear."

And satisfied by the miracle that Harry must be physically fine, she didn't fight against sleep for even one second longer.

Hermione didn't awaken again until one o'clock in the morning, according to a large clock on the wall opposite her. She'd experienced daylight only briefly, and now she was quickly calculating that an entire twenty-four hours must have passed since all that had transpired within the Department of Mysteries. She had just slept through an entire day for the first time since catching the reflection of the Basilisk in her second year.

Despite the very late hour, her former professor, Remus Lupin, was sitting between her bed and Ron's, staring blankly ahead. There was a candle illuminating the space just barely enough for her to be able to see his face. She began to wonder if he was sleeping with his eyes open. However, a second after she shifted to see him, he showed signs of being awake.

"Hermione," he said kindly, with a tone that also implied he'd been waiting for her to wake up.

"Professor—"

"I'll remind you that it is probably more appropriate for you to just call me Remus at this point of our acquaintance." The gentle way he said it made her sure, though, that he was flattered more than anything that she still thought of him as her teacher.

She bit her lip nervously, smiling a little. Unable to bring herself to just call him by his first name, she bypassed calling him anything this time and asked, "What… what happened?"

He broke eye contact for a long moment, defeat emanating from him with an added air of sadness. Her worry grew.

"That is, indeed, what I've been tasked with explaining to you," he finally informed her. "But first, Madam Pomfrey has entrusted me with the responsibility of making sure you take the next potions she's prepared. She apologizes that you need to take so many, but… Dolohov did quite a number on you."

Trusting that the sooner she consumed the concoctions, the sooner she'd get the answers she craved, Hermione wasted no time. She tried to hide her wincing as much as possible as she sat up and then drank from the multiple bottles laid out on the beside table. Lupin handed them to her so that she wouldn't have to reach. He kept a sympathetic watch over her as she grimaced a few times. She couldn't help it, with the combination of horrible tastes and the amount her insides burned.

When she was finished, Lupin resumed sitting in his chair, but took his time meeting her gaze again. She had the unsettling worry that maybe someone had died while she was knocked out, and judging by Lupin's somber attitude and hesitancy… in all likelihood it was not a Death Eater. She knew her five friends had been alright hours ago, but what if Ron or Luna had taken a turn for the worse?

Before she had a chance to check and see if Luna was still in the hospital bed on her other side, Lupin began speaking. "Professor Snape successfully notified the Order of what Harry had said. Professor Dumbledore checked in at Grimmauld Place as soon as he could. The information he obtained from Kreacher certainly explained… a lot."

Hermione tensed up. Something in her gut was telling her maybe in his case, she had been wrong to overlook the house elf's allegiance to all the wrong ideals.

She had wanted so badly to trust Kreacher, and to give him the benefit of the doubt. She'd encouraged everyone to pity rather than judge him. He had lovingly kept a portrait of Bellatrix Lestrange, and yes, Hermione had eventually learned the Lestranges had caused Neville to grow up without sane parents. Regardless, after knowing what Winky had gone through the prior year, Hermione found herself automatically sympathizing with absolutely anything house elves might do. Clearly, a non-negligible number had spent generation upon generation stuck serving the every whim of the most despicable wizarding families, barely ever leaving their homes. Kreacher worshipping a Death Eater hadn't seemed nearly as bad as someone with free will doing the same.

Lupin continued, "Kreacher injured Buckbeak enough so that Sirius would be both busy and well out of earshot when you checked via the floo network—"

Hermione cut him off. "Kreacher knew we'd go to Umbridge's fireplace?" she asked incredulously, before glancing nervously over toward where Umbridge lay in a bed.

Lupin gave her a half shrug. "He might not have known the specific fireplace within Hogwarts you kids would use. But he was aware that Harry would want to get in touch with Sirius. And more importantly, thanks to information passed on from Kreacher, Voldemort had already learned that Sirius was important to Harry."

Hermione let herself feel a surge of admiration for Lupin since he was actually willing to say the dark wizard's name. She had, by now, heard a number of Order members use it, yet every time she was surprised. This time, her focus on how rare it was for people to use the name was a symptom of something else, though.

The important thing to focus on was not Voldemort's name, but Voldemort himself—knowing about things he shouldn't know. She was not comprehending. Hermione was numbly attempting to translate what he'd just said into a scenario that made sense, as Lupin kept talking.

"As soon as we knew you all had ended up in the Department of Mysteries, a fact Dumbledore did succeed in obtaining from Kreacher—"

"Wait," she said. "Kreacher knew where we were going?"

Lupin shot her a brief smile of understanding. "Unfortunately, yes. As soon as The Order knew, a team of us headed down there. But you, and Ron here—" Lupin nodded in Ron's direction, "were already down. We were not as quick as I wish we could've been."

At this reminder, Hermione tried to look at Ron, but the Hospital Wing was far too dim at this hour for her to make out how well he did or didn't look. Lupin was still talking, so she resolved to ask about what had happened to Ron later.

"The prophecy Harry had been grasping was lost in the chaos, which we believe is what motivated Voldemort to enter the Ministry himself."

Hermione gasped. She was terrified to think that Voldemort had shown up. To think how much closer they'd all been to death.

Her subconscious caught up just enough to realize not all the pieces of this story were lining up. "How could Kreacher… wasn't he bound by House Elf magic to be loyal to Sirius?"

Lupin's body tensed ever so slightly at the mention of Sirius' name, but although illuminated only by candlelight, Hermione noticed.

In a softer tone of voice, she now posed a new question. "Did something happen with Sirius?"

Lupin closed his eyes and nodded once.

"He insisted on joining us for the fight." Lupin wavered for a moment. "He… He was killed."

Hermione's eyes widened. But she and her friends had escaped Hogwarts and broken laws for the sole purpose of preventing anything like this from happening to Sirius! They had been tricked into this whole plot by Voldemort, Sirius hadn't even been in danger, and in the end…

She couldn't imagine how deeply devastated Harry must be, now that this had happened.

"He had been dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange. She first severely wounded Nymphadora—"

Hermione cut in to ask desperately, "Will Tonks be okay?"

He nodded slightly. "Luckily whatever spell it was only grazed Tonks. She's the only one of us who's still in St. Mungo's, but she'll make a full recovery."

Hermione still hadn't wrapped her mind around Sirius being dead. There had been so many people she'd cared about in danger, but Sirius? She and her friends had seen he wasn't actually down there being tortured. They had found out it was all a trick! After that, she had so confidently thought he, of all people, was safe.

For several long, quiet moments, her thoughts raced over the details she'd just learned. She broke the silence by numbly asking, "Is Buckbeak okay?"

Lupin seemed shocked by this turn in the questions, and then let out a small chuckle.

"It's just… you said Kreacher…"

"I understand why you asked."

Hermione knew that he probably didn't fully understand. She was attached to Buckbeak because she'd spent so much time and effort in the library trying to build a legal case for the innocent creature's defense when she was in her third year. She'd taken one of the most memorable risks since her time here at Hogwarts while using her time turner because preventing both Sirius' and Buckbeak's executions had been worth so much. They had been given the opportunity to save two innocent lives that night. Now that one of those lives had been taken, she found herself needing to know about the other.

"Kreacher cut him, but he will certainly heal," Lupin assured her.

She saw deep sadness flicker across his face again. He was probably thinking about how the last thing Sirius ever got to do before this madness of a battle with Death Eaters was tend to that beautiful beast. She certainly was thinking it.

"He was really good with animals, wasn't he?" she half-whispered, fighting to keep her voice from breaking.

Lupin met her eyes with his own. He seemed on the brink of tears as he smiled slightly.

"Harry is going to need you," he then said somberly.

The weight of that crushed Hermione. It was all so extremely unfair.

She started to cry, real sobs that coursed through her, not remotely like when she'd been putting on a show for Umbridge and her evil squad. This crying hurt—a lot, given the current state of her health—and if she'd had a choice she wouldn't have started crying in front of an adult she respected.

A ridiculous memory suddenly popped into her head. She was picturing it so clearly: a month or so ago, when she'd been terrified by Grawp, and crying, and clinging to Harry from behind.

Each sharp pain that accompanied her sobs served as a reminder of her physical fragility, and that could've been part of why Hagrid's half-brother—who, to everyone's surprise, ultimately saved her from the centaurs—was intruding her thoughts.

But deep down she knew it was much more than that.

Both then and now, Hermione found herself emotionally overwhelmed. It was especially poignant in this moment how much stronger Harry could be than her, when it really counted.

She couldn't fathom what it would be like to face Voldemort directly. Or what it would be like to lose the only adult you considered real family…

Lupin didn't try to comfort her, which she was grateful for as she tried to calm down. She couldn't understand why she was so upset. Lupin, sitting there all stoic… he had far more reason to be heartbroken over this, didn't he? She had watched his interactions with Sirius—the glimpses she had the opportunity to see, at least—and she always had been intrigued by their friendship.

She hadn't quite been able to tell where the two of them stood with each other, but maybe that was because they themselves couldn't tell. She frankly couldn't put herself in either of their shoes. She would of course be beyond shocked if Harry or Ron appeared guilty of murdering a street full of muggles, and losing both of them as friends in the same instant would not be something she'd ever recover from. On Sirius's side of it, she likely wouldn't survive even one year in Azkaban, let alone twelve. What they had each been through had been of a different magnitude than anything thus far in her life.

But they had gotten each other back. They had somehow been rebuilding a new version of their relationship, despite everything. And then, in an instant, they weren't.

Lupin commented, after giving her a minute or two, "It's okay to feel... everything and anything you might be feeling right now. You were attacked by a Death Eater who didn't care whether you lived or died."

She shook her head. "You don't know that! I'm. I'm alive, aren't I?"

Lupin didn't seem to know what to say to that.

She started to think about Sirius again. How long had it been since he died? How long had Lupin had to sit with the fact he was gone? Had he even slept at all since then?

Timidly, she asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I don't know," he answered surprisingly openly, and he chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm sure the events are still catching up to me, but…"

Hermione nodded understandingly. Ron was still sleeping right behind him. If Ron had died, would she have been in any state to have a conversation about it only a day or so later? She wondered with concern if Ron had woken up at any point, and if not how severely wounded he must be.

"Do you know what happened to Ron?" she asked.

"He will probably be back to himself when he next awakes," Lupin said, sidestepping answering the actual question. "He found himself entangled with an unusually charmed brain, and the bruises from it will take a while to heal, but you kids are all going to be okay."

He could've been accusatory. He could've acted like they were lucky and should feel stupid to have risked their lives so needlessly. But he said it all very comfortingly. He had clearly accepted that a bunch of fourth and fifth year kids had just stormed in, wands at the ready, to fight Voldemort's army.

Hermione smiled briefly, her emotions very mixed. She was very glad that all her friends were going to be fine. Soon enough, Ron would undoubtedly share with her additional details about his injuries, but... he was going to be okay! Her relief, however, was so clouded. Regardless of the state of her school friends… Lupin's only remaining school friend was dead.

"Was Harry hurt at all?"

Madam Pomfrey had relayed minimal information.

"He probably is pretty bruised, and he hasn't been given any magical remedies. Voldemort was there, and you know that always... affects Harry, as well."

She thought about how badly his scar could hurt him even when he had been miles and miles away from the evil man. She thought about what he'd survived after the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament only a year prior; how the broken leg, cut arm, and other scrapes had been the least of it.

This time, the loss of Sirius would undoubtedly be the most lasting hurt for Harry. She looked back into Lupin's eyes, tears beginning to well up again.

"I'm really sorry about Sirius," she whispered.

He looked away, caught off guard. He replied almost inaudibly. "I am too."

Grief seemed to reverberate in the air. Eventually they each shifted their gazes to the clock, and seconds ticked by without either of them saying a word.

Time stretched uncomfortably. Then, he commented, "It's about time for me to give you the next set of potions, including another dose of that draft which helps you sleep."

A thought hit her about Lupin and Sirius. Lupin had probably grieved the loss of Sirius ages ago, when he'd had to deal with him going off to Azkaban. He'd already done this, and doing it again this time would be vastly different of course, since that time he'd thought Sirius had caused such horrible things, but grieving him probably wasn't entirely unfamiliar. She wasn't sure if that made it better, or worse.

He'd lost Harry's parents too, as well as believing Peter Pettigrew to be both innocent and dead for so many years. There had been so many tragic, truly devastating losses during the first war, so many of which had been people he'd personally grown up with or fought with. He must've grown accustomed to compartmentalizing and finding a way to function despite his grief.

He was already getting up to fetch the potions. "I will have to hear, sometime, what exactly you did to get past Dolores Umbridge," he said with a tone of forced lightheartedness.

She let out a very weak laugh, one that didn't even hurt, and smiled. "I'll be sure to tell you the story."

"I'd like that."

And before long, she was swallowing the medicinal potions and falling back asleep.

Standing nervously in the open doorway to McGonagall's office, Hermione rapped lightly on the doorframe. The professor was looking out her window, surveying the grounds, leaning on her temporary cane.

"Miss Granger, why hello. Have a seat." They both shuffled to their sides of the desk. "I assume you are not approaching me about something relating to school next term."

"Yeah, I'm… It's really great to see that you're okay," Hermione said, deflecting. This was a truthful statement—after four stunners in the chest, Hermione had feared the worst for her Head of House.

McGonagall eyed her. "I could say the same thing about you, yes? Yesterday was your first day out of bed?"

Hermione mumbled an affirmative response.

"As a member of The Order, I certainly have been made aware of most of the details of what happened that night," she said knowingly.

Hermione looked into her eyes as she fidgeted with the left sleeve on her robes.

"I just feel like… Like I should've been able to do more!" She hadn't intended to burst quite like this.

"Being friends with Harry Potter is, I'm sure, more than you ever would've bargained for."

"He should've learned Occlumency! We all should've." Lowering her voice significantly, she added, "Maybe then I could've helped him with the technique."

"I remain impressed by your eagerness to learn as much magic and magical theory as possible, but you should consider that you've barely turned sixteen, and this kind of magic… I mean, for Merlin's sake, I have never even learned how to shield my mind to the degree that would've been necessary."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she considered this. Rather than this being a comfort, everything just felt one degree more hopeless.

"So there's nothing we could've done? What about the fact that it was so horribly obvious that Sirius felt like that house was yet another prison for him?"

McGonagall's face hardened. "I can assure you that Sirius Black always tended towards behavior that carried a degree of risk. And the entire Order was sympathetic to—"

Hermione cut her off, a rudeness she'd surely regret later. "But Professor, with all due respect, I don't think you knew the 'him' post-Azkaban very well! That's the… that's the only him I knew. I helped saved him from the Dementor's Kiss two years ago, I knew what was in most of the letters he wrote to Harry, I…" her voice crumbled. "I am one of far too few people who knew he was innocent all this time, and I saw firsthand how hard this reality was for him."

McGonagall looked down by her feet for a few seconds, then shifted her gaze toward a bookshelf along one of her walls. After considering the books, she turned back to Hermione.

"You're absolutely correct that you knew a very different Sirius Black than I knew, and while most of the world believed he'd turned evil, you had the privilege to be well aware of how inaccurate that was." She got up and headed toward the bookshelf. "You have every reason to grieve more than people might expect, and every reason to feel the burden of remembering who he really was because of how few can." She pulled a book off the shelf.

"He isn't even going to have a funeral," Hermione said, hastily wiping away a tear. "Everyone deserves one."

"That is indeed another injustice in his life, one happening even in his death."

And her saying that, so matter of factly, helped Hermione feel a little bit better. It was confirmation that she wasn't completely crazy to think this all was excruciating—that there was some substance behind everything she was feeling.

McGonagall handed the book to Hermione while smiling very sympathetically. Grief Is Lonely, the cover read. "This book might help you. It's a very broad book meant for all types of loss people can experience, and ways to… get through it, and possibly make some meaning out of the meaningless."

Reverently, Hermione grasped it with both hands. "Thank you," she said, barely louder than a whisper.

Hermione read through all of Grief Is Lonely within the following two nights. Only a few weeks of summer holidays later, she headed toward The Burrow. She'd decided to pack the book in her luggage, and she cracked it open again her first night there, this time thinking less about herself and more about how it would apply to other people around her, including a surprisingly affected Tonks.

Both times through, it had helped a lot.

She'd never experienced a loss as personal as Sirius's before, so of course it was going to affect her. Ron had been constantly stopping her from talking about Sirius with Harry before they'd left school, and she somewhat begrudgingly realized that it had probably been what was best for Harry. She could bring it up with Ron or other people with more distant relationships to Sirius—in fact, much like she had broached the subject with McGonagall. That was all understandable and even had been encouraged by the book. However, she'd have to accept that feeling some degree of lonely and lost within her grief was to remain an impossibly difficult but typical part of the experience. As cliche and unhelpful as it sounded, time was often the only real thing that ever seemed to lessen these emotions.

As the summer progressed, Harry's lingering grief was clear at so many moments, although she never saw him cry—not even once.

She had noticed how lonely Cho seemed in her grief the entire previous year, and had on some level understood it. Now, although she'd been sympathetic then, she felt utterly heartbroken every time she imagined what Harry was feeling and thinking.

Hermione only gave into tears, herself, when she was in bed at night, away from anyone else's eyes. It was… easier that way, to really feel the sadness. It only happened on a handful of evenings. She was hurt, yes, but not devastated, and that was okay. She accepted this as what it was, and refused to feel guilty over anything—over having cried too much, over not preventing his death, over any of it. She accepted it all, and very slowly, over the course of that entire summer, the weight seemed to dissipate.

Little things, surprisingly, reminded her of Sirius from time to time. Just seeing Harry's Firebolt. Overhearing Fleur and Bill talking about getting a dog. Every time Azkaban was mentioned in the newspapers. Every seemingly insignificant moment hit her like a jolt, like these things were not insignificant, not at all.

She never would've thought the man would impact her so deeply. Somehow, the fact that Sirius Black had, despite everything, seemed to speak to what a brilliant soul the world lost, even if most of the world had no idea.

She found herself oddly proud to know she both could and would keep him in her memory, forever.