Title: The Truth about Soulmates
Author: Caitlinlaurie
Rating: M, for Language
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hermione/Sirius
Summary: She waits for him to come, just as she always will. Death cannot stop true love, all it can do is delay it for a while.
Warnings/Notes: This is a twist on all those marriage law and soulmate fics I see out there. I wanted to explore the idea of what happens if those spells used for compatibility backfire. This is canon through DH, but is EWE.
Disclaimer: All characters and their canon histories are the property of J.K. Rowling. Nor do I own the song Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers.
A/N: Sort of Angsty, sort of Romantic…definitely outside my usual fare.

***

The Truth about Soulmates

Stupid fucking Weasleys. Stupid fucking Weasleys and their happily ever afters. Didn't they know that not everyone wanted to attend an infinite amount of weddings, congratulating their never-ending children on their matches? At least, Hermione told herself, this was the last. Looking past the bottom of her glass and out towards the couple dancing on the dance floor, Hermione grinned at the sight of Ron awkwardly dancing with his wife Demelza Weasley née Robins. It was sweet that he made the effort, even though he couldn't dance for anything.

But really, why did they have to rub it in every one's faces? Hermione thought that Molly had never been more annoying than now, seeing the last of her children wed. She was superciliously holding court over by the punch bowl, nodding regally to anyone who came up to congratulate her. That would have all been well and good, but Hermione could swear that she saw a glimmer of triumphant victory in Molly's eyes when Hermione looked in her direction.

Bitch.

And to make it worse, Hermione had all but been abandoned by her supposed friends. Luna was off bending the ear of Rolf Scamander, her fiancé, Neville was twirling slowly in circles with his wife Hannah, Harry was off doing Merlin-knew-what with Gabrielle Delacour, and Ginny was chasing around one of her many children while her husband, Zacharias Smith, talked with Percy. Even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were with people, Anthony Goldstein and Justin Finch-Fletchley, respectively.

It was enough to make her want to take the knife from the wedding cake and begin decapitating all the flowers in the decorations.

"Hey there, love."

Hermione turned at hearing the voice of the man who had settled beside her, as a large smile lit her face, before she forced her mouth back to an indifferent line. "You're late," she said coldly.

"I know," he confessed. "You don't know what a bitch it was to get here." His lip pouted out in a petulant manner. "Am I forgiven?"

Hermione stood, grabbing two highball glasses and a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey which she had nicked from the bar earlier in anticipation of this moment. Walking to the edge of the tree line, she looked back, a mischievous smile playing about her lips. "Well, are you coming or not?"

Standing from the table, his body stretching with leonine grace, Sirius smirked at her. "Lead the way, love."

Hermione laughed, and then began running down a dark path that she knew led down to the pond the Weasleys frequented in the summer. Her heels made a clicking sound when the landed, but they were soon drowned out by the sound of her giggles echoing on the wind. Hermione knew that Sirius was behind her, and she was so happy that he showed up that she gave no thought to how silly she must have looked to observers. Soon though, they left all the guests behind and were in an isolated glade near the water.

Sirius arrived right behind her, not the least out of breath. Smirking at her, he said, "I think we know who is the superior athlete here."

"No fair," Hermione declared. "You're an Animagus. That's cheating."

"Such is life, love." Sirius said with a laugh. He then tilted his head to the side, amusement all over his face. "Well? Are you going to put that alcohol down and come give me a proper hello? It's not every day I make the trip to see you after all. I think I deserve a reward."

"Oh, do you?" Hermione asked. Laughing, she put down the Firewhiskey on an overturned log, along with the glasses, and sashayed her way over to where Sirius was standing. Lifting herself up onto her tiptoes, Hermione grazed his lips with a gentle kiss. "Hello, my love."

Sirius growled low in his throat and yanked her to him, his lips ending any protest on hers. Roughly, but lovingly, did he assault her mouth, making Hermione moan and move closer so that their bodies were perfectly aligned.

His kisses felt like whispers on the wind.

"You taste just like I always thought you would," Hermione confided, pulling back slightly to look in Sirius's eyes. "Sometimes, when I am lying awake at night, I try to remember what you tasted like that time you kissed me under the mistletoe when I was sixteen." Her eyes were sad and full of sorrow. "I wish I had been paying better attention."

Sirius smiled sadly at her, brushing a lock of hair back from her face. "You couldn't have known, love. None of us could have."

"I should have known to savor it though, shouldn't I?" Hermione wondered, tears gathering in her eyes. "It was only my second kiss. Shouldn't I have been more conscious of what it felt like, what it tasted like, what you smelt like? Instead, I was so wrapped up on the fact that it happened, I didn't stop to think of the important things."

Sirius used his hands to cup her face, but the tears remained. "Don't think on it, angel. Try to only think of the good."

Hermione nodded, sniffing delicately.

"Now, Miss Granger," Sirius said, cocking his head to the side as if he were listening to something. "I think you owe me a dance."

Wiping the tears from her face, Hermione gave a wet laugh. "But there is no music!"

"I can hear it," Sirius whispered. "Can't you?" Taking her hand in his, Sirius pulled her against his chest and began singing in her ear. "Oh, my love, my darling."

Sirius moved her in little circles, their feet moving easily in tandem as he sung lightly to her. "I've hungered for your touch a long, lonely time." Their bodies melded easily, as if they had been dancing together their entire lives. Hermione sighed, giving herself over to the dance, the magic in the air, and the feeling of being exactly where she wanted to be.

"Time goes by so slowly and time can do so much. Are you still mine? I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to me."

"You have a nice voice," Hermione said, sighing into his chest. "I remember you singing those made up Christmas carols that holiday at Grimmauld Place."

"Made up?" Sirius scoffed. "I'll have you know that those were famous Black Family carols."

"Right," Hermione snickered.

"They were," Sirius insisted, before twirling her and singing, "Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea; Lonely rivers sigh, 'Wait for me, wait for me', 'I'll be coming home, wait for me!'"

"I don't believe you," Hermione laughed. "You're having me on."

"Does this look like the face of someone who would lie?" Sirius asked, giving her his most innocent expression, the one he had perfected after endless detentions with McGonagall.

"Yes," Hermione declared with a chuckle.

"I'm hurt," Sirius said, his voice full of mock pain. Spinning her back into his arms, he continued, "Hurt, and frankly sad, love. Do you believe me so little?"

"What a drama queen," she said.

"Oh, I am so put upon," Sirius declared, spinning her again.

Hermione grinned, and settled her head against his chest. "You'll recover."

"La belle dame sans merci," Sirius called her, causing her to grin into the folds of his robe while the music played on. Hermione rubbed her cheek against the soft silken material of his dress robes, wishing for all the world that he could always be with her.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," Hermione murmured.

"I know," Sirius said sadly. "One day, love," he promised. "One day, we can spend every moment riding across the country on my motorbike, and exploring all the libraries that you never seem to have time to see now. We can live on the beaches of Ibiza, and swim in the currents along the Great Barrier Reef. We'll dance in front of the pyramids at Giza, and walk barefoot along the Great Wall of China."

Tears gathered in Hermione's eyes. "That sounds lovely."

"We'll make it happen, I swear it, love," Sirius said, his voice caressing her ears. "You'll be mine, and I'll be yours."

"I'm already yours," Hermione said, her voice firm.

"Don't say that," Sirius said, suddenly sounding slightly angry. "Don't waste your life waiting for me. I'm not worth it love." He then hummed, "I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to… me."

Lifting her head, Hermione met his lovely grey eyes in the moonlight. "What if I think you are?"

"Hermione!"

Yanked out of her imaginings, Hermione suddenly found herself alone in the glade, someone calling her name in the distance. Turning, Hermione smiled when she saw Harry step through the trees.

"There you are!" he declared. "I have been looking for you for nearly an hour. Why are you hiding yourself away here?"

Hermione shifted uneasily and then gestured to the forgotten bottle of Firewhiskey. "I was just about to have a drink as I watched the stars." She then went and sat on the log, looking up at the sky. "Join me?"

Harry plopped down next to her, taking the untouched highball glass from her hand and then swallowed a large gulp of the bitter liquid. "So, Ron and Demelza, huh? That was one I never would have guessed."

Hermione shrugged. "It makes sense in a weird way. Both love Quidditch, both devoted to the Chuddley Cannons. Gryffindors, middle of their class, come from big families." She took a gulp of the burning whiskey. "There is an odd sort of perfection to them."

Harry grimaced. "I guess. It's just, Ron used to make her cry during sixth year."

Hermione laughed. "Relationships have been built on worse."

"True," Harry said, tossing his head back for another sip.

"What about you?" Hermione asked, nudging him in the side. "I saw you dancing earlier with Gabby. Kissed her yet?"

She swore that she could see Harry turn red, even in the darkness, but he just shook his head. "No, I told you. I'm not touching her that way until she turns seventeen."

"Well, only four more months," Hermione said cheerfully. She then cocked her head to the side. "If you don't touch her, what do you two do together?"

"Well," Harry said with a self-deprecating grin. "Let's just say I have gotten very proficient in Exploding Snap, Gobstones, and Wizard's Chess."

Hermione laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet of the glade. "Ron will be glad to hear of the latter." She then shot him a teasing smile. "And French lessons?"

"And French lessons," Harry confirmed.

"Those Delacour girls," Hermione tittered, "they say they're just giving French lessons, but really they are ensnaring their prey."

"Oh, piss off," Harry said, causing Hermione to laugh harder. "Besides," he continued, "I happen to know for a fact that Bill was checking out Fleur during the Triwizard Tournament. She'd already ensnared him. French lessons were just an excuse for those two to get together."

Hermione butted her shoulder against Harry's. "Sure, mate, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"What about you?" Harry asked, turning the tables on her. "Why didn't you come with a date tonight? I happen to know a couple blokes in the DMLE who think you are cute."

"Harry…" Hermione said warningly.

"No, really Hermione. You need to date. This isn't healthy. It makes my stomach ache when I constantly see you alone. I know I made a mistake, I know I ruined everything for you, but why do you have to let it define you?"

She sighed, looking up to the heavens as if they had the answer. "Don't do this to yourself, Harry. It's not your fault; it's mine."

"Yours?" Harry asked incredulously. "How the bloody hell do you figure that?"

"Don't you see?" Hermione asked, tears filling her eyes. "I tried to quantify love. I tried to make feelings and emotions into something that could fit neatly into an Arithmancy formula. I thought myself so bloody superior." Hermione roughly wiped the tears from her cheeks, wishing she didn't feel so alone. "When Kingsley came to me about the population problem, I thought myself so clever. All people needed was incentive to marry, right? So who better to make it a magical one? I thought about love as something that could be quantified. And I was bloody successful, wasn't I? Look around the wedding tonight, Harry. All you need to see is the smiling faces of everyone present to realize the depth of my brilliance. Too bad it never occurred to me that it would eventually come back to bite me in the arse."

Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder, unable to deny the truth in her words. When the announcement had come out that the Ministry had a way of finding and identifying soulmates, there had been various reactions. People like the Weasleys had been curious, and people like Harry had been furious at the thought of their privacy being violated like that. It hadn't been mandatory of course—like they could enforce something like that—but so many people had been curious that it sort of took off on its own. Soon, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been attending weddings of former Hogwarts classmates, each couple seeming to be happier than the one before it.

Of course, Harry had refused the spell, saying love couldn't be measured. Ron, following his friend's example, said the same, but there was undeniable curiosity in his eyes. Hermione had preformed the spell for herself, but no match had been returned. She supposed that was because who ever her soulmate was, he simply hadn't been tested yet. It didn't matter to her, Hermione was enjoying having a career and she had always figured that love would find her when the time was right.

The spell itself was a rather simple thing. All that was needed was a single strand of hair. Hermione had calculated that DNA, something nearly impossible to explain to wizards, contained more than just genetic makeup. It also contained preferences, personality, magical strength, and magical potential. Much in the way a single strand of hair could make a person assume another's form through Polyjuice, the test examined a person's genetic code in the same way. The spell measured for compatible personalities (for example, it was rare for purebloods to be matched with Muggle-borns unless they lacked blood prejudice), magical potential, and the magical likelihood of future offspring. It also examined magical cores, taking into account the soul it was connected to. It should have been impossible to measure—Hermione knew that when she created the spell—but somehow the intent of the caster made the spell actually identify a person's soulmate, if they had been similarly tested.

There was even a book in the offices of Magical Repopulation that added soulmates as they were identified.

Even now, it made Hermione cringe to think of the night that her brilliant creation had gone up in flames. It had been a long day, and Harry was more than a little upset. Earlier that afternoon, Ron had come to them and said he had gotten the test done. Then, he started talking about Demelza and how great she was. Harry had been so upset, that he had taken Hermione out to a pub where he had proceeded to get pissed drunk. They had sat in the pub for hours, Harry moaning about their childhoods ending, until they eventually found their way back to Grimmauld place.

"This whole thing is so…hic…so stupid," Harry was saying, swaying on the floor despite the fact that he was sitting down.

"Sorry, Har-wy!" Hermione had declared. "I never should have done it! Bad Hermione!" she giggled drunkenly.

"No, you were just being Her-minny-nee," Harry said with an exaggerated nod. "It's all Kingles-ley's fault. He was the one who told…hic…the Wizarding World about your discovery."

"That's right," Hermione said, nodding along. "We'll blame the government!"

"Yep," Harry said. He then gasped, as if an amazing idea had come over him suddenly. "Kreacher!"

Kreacher appeared with a CRACK! "Drunken Master Harry calls?" he said in confusion, bowing low.

"Yes!" Harry said, laughing now in earnest. "Go get me one of Sirius's hairbrushes."

Kreacher disapparated with another CRACK! before reappearing and handing Harry a brush.

Hermione had been too drunk to connect as to why Harry wanted a brush of Sirius's. She simply watched as Harry pulled a hair from it, waving it around with glee. When she finally realized what he was about to do, Hermione opened her mouth and screamed, "No, stop!"

But it was too late. Harry's wand had already been brandished, and he said the incantation with a flourish. "Locus Animus Materia!"

Forever after that moment, Hermione would curse her own brilliance. But no more so when the incantation produced a golden light, running Sirius's DNA against everyone else on file with the Ministry and coalescing into a blue light which inscribed letters in the air.

Sirius Orion Black – Pureblood Wizard

matched to

Hermione Jean Granger – Muggle-born Witch

Utter silence had reigned between them at that moment, as they both realized the enormity of what Harry had done. Guilt has suffused his face, along with regret and sorrow. They both were suddenly very sober.

"Hermione…" he managed to say. "I…"

"Don't," Hermione had whispered. "Just don't. We won't say anything. No one ever need know."

"Won't it show up in the book?" Harry asked. "And I thought a letter was automatically sent when there was a match."

"All the information goes in the book, but only me and my staff see it. And the letters are only sent if that person is not there at the time of the incantation," Hermione said, her voice turning bitter. "And I was sitting right here."

Harry looked so guilty that Hermione almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"There's nothing to say, Harry," Hermione finally replied. "Just forget it."

"But—"

"Forget it!" Hermione snapped.

Harry had quieted and done just that, but Hermione simply couldn't push it from her mind. How could everything have gone so wrong? She had simply assumed that her soulmate hadn't been tested yet, or was living outside of England. But dead? How the hell was she supposed to be okay with that? Not to mention the fact that, really, she knew so very little about Sirius. Honestly, they had only ever shared one kiss under the mistletoe and it had been so innocent that Hermione scarcely remembered it. Other than that, to her mind Sirius had always been that man who never seemed to want to grow up, who tried to replace James with Harry, and who she had fought with over Kreacher. Merlin! What was it she had once said about Sirius? I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did…and so did Sirius.

How was it possible that she had said that about the man who was her soulmate? No, it simply wasn't probable that he could be. There must be a mistake with the test. Perhaps it simply worked incorrectly on samples from the dead. Or maybe the sample was too old. Millions of thoughts raced through Hermione's mind, and she was determined to prove it was an error.

With Harry's guilt-inspired permission, Hermione arrived at Grimmauld the next day and immediately began her search to prove her theory that it had been an incorrect matching. She went up to Sirius's room, determined to find some evidence that she was right. What she found instead was nothing as to what she had expected.

It had been years since she had set foot in Sirius's Gryffindor-inspired room, but it looked better now that it had then. Obviously, Kreacher had been through in the meantime and cleaned it. Now, all that remained was a perfectly preserved shrine to a fifteen year old boy who had once lived there. Gone was the dust covering the chandelier, pictures, and headboard, along with the large spider web that had once dominated the room. Hermione repressed a snort, looking around at the bikini wearing models in the pictures on the wall. There was simply no way that she was soulmates with someone so superficial.

Her initial search returned nothing. Everything was in exactly the same place it had been when they had looked through here on their search for Horcruxes. Hermione had walked to the door, annoyed at the wasted time, when her eyes caught that large wardrobe once again. It was etched and carved with various runic and animal images, reminding her strongly of what she had always imagined the wardrobe from the C.S. Lewis stories to look like. Walking over to it, she opened the doors with a mighty yank, gasping at what she found. Inside was the only proof that a grown man had once resided there. Long robes hung inside, varying in degrees of wealth and luxury, from dress to casual. His shoes rested on the floor, made in materials that Hermione knew to be expensive; from dragon to basilisk hide. She didn't even want to think about how much it had all cost.

Hermione then noticed something odd about the wardrobe. It seemed much shallower on the inside than it looked from the outside. Moving her hand around inside, brushing against the paneling, she finally found a lever and pulled it downward. Immediately, the clothes moved to the side along with a wood panel, and Hermione could see the back of the wardrobe. Four dilapidated boxes were neatly stacked in the negative space, and Hermione's curiosity at once was overwhelmed.

With a gentle swish and flick, Hermione silently thought Wingardium Leviosa! causing the boxes to fly from the wardrobe and assemble on the floor. Written on each box was the terse phrase "From the flat of S.O.B." Hermione couldn't help letting out a little surprised chuckle, recognizing Remus's handwriting. The inscription must have been written after Sirius had been taken off to Azkaban.

Taking the lid off the first box, Hermione was delighted to find neatly stacked books. Like much of the ones in Hermione's collection, they seemed well loved and their leather covers spoke of many readings and deep studies. Hermione frowned. These couldn't have been Sirius's, could they? Many of the titles were ones that she had in her own collection: Advanced Rune Translation; Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?; The Dark Arts Outsmarted; Guide to Advanced Transfiguration; Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré mes Pieds; Quidditch Through the Ages;and Hairy Snout, Human Heart.

Curious, Hermione took out the last book which she had read in her third year after discovering Remus was a werewolf, opening the cover. Just on the inside was written, in elegant script:To Mooney, I read this book this summer, and I thought you might want your own copy. Just so that you always remember that you are never going through this alone, and that there are more than three people in this world unafraid of werewolves. Your best mate, Padfoot.

Blinking back tears, she then pulled out the advanced Transfiguration book, finding it covered in writing and suggestions for faster and easier spellwork. Hermione spent many minutes pouring over the loopy words, only now realizing how brilliant Sirius must have been. She had always thought that Remus and James were the real brains in their little gang, with Peter being the tagalong. Now she saw that Sirius pulled his own weight easily, and according to this book, he had been the one who sped up their Animagus transformations by at least half a year.

Hermione was still shaking from her discovery when she opened the next box. Inside was a leather jacket, along with leather gloves and boots. Also, neatly folded, was a red shirt with a golden phoenix emblazoned across the front of it. She hadn't realized they had t-shirts for the original order. Hermione smiled to herself, thinking it had probably been something the Marauders had created for each other as a joke. In that box were also several pairs of jeans, and some more shirts with Muggle rock band logos on them. Equally represented were the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Doors, Led Zeppelin, and Queen. Hermione especially loved the one of Freddie Mercury that showed him striking a pose in black and white checked lycra. Thus she was not surprised when below the t-shirts she found several vintage albums of all the above, also including Simon and Garfunkel, the Beatles, John Lennon, Elton John, the Police, Aerosmith, Bob Marley and the Wailers, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Ramones, the Sex Pistols, and Pink Floyd.

The next box contained several legal papers, including a will made in 1980 that left everything he owned to "any and all children of James and Lily Potter." There was also a Gringotts embossed letter that detailed an inheritance Sirius received from an Alphard Black, listing the money he was to receive along with a hunting lodge in the Lake District and a home in Devon. Hermione vaguely wondered if Harry knew about those. Below those, Hermione found a stack of letters sealed with a leather cord. Curiosity took over her, and Hermione guiltily decided to take advantage of the carte blanche Harry had give her. Opening the first one, Hermione smiled to see the familiar handwriting of an old professor:

Dear Padfoot,

Can't tell you how happy I was to receive your letter. As you can guess, it is awful boring here. Living with werewolves is a singularly depressing task, though I understand the necessity of it for the Order. Much of the trouble that comes from the rest of the werewolves is their lack of education. Many of them can barely read and write (as Hogwarts wasn't so accepting for them), so I must seem like such an oddity when I sneak away to write letters to you, Prongs, Wormy, and Lily.

I have a theory about how to make them more sympathetic to our cause…

The next letter was written in a female script that Hermione couldn't place right away, but quickly became clear as she read on.

Dear Padfoot,

Do you take pleasure in provoking me? As if it wasn't bad enough that you sent Harry that broomstick for his birthday, now you send a mini snitch for him to chase! Well, one thing I can say for your master plan is that James found it deeply amusing. Of course, I am sure he rethought that while he slept on the sofa last night.

You silly boy, do you think sending presents is any substitution for you visiting? We miss you, Pads, and I know that James would gauge out his left eye for a visit from you. Be sure to come soon, Harry is growing so fast…

The next was from an unfamiliar hand which caused Hermione's eyes to widen as she read the letter from the traitor of the group.

Dear Sirius,

Thank you for your condolences regarding my father. My mother was much comforted by your attendance at his funeral…

Here it was sitting before her, long letters that were proof of his devotion to his friends whom he saw as family. Some letters were from Remus, some from James, but they were all obviously read more than once and appreciated enough to be saved. Hermione would never have thought Sirius one for sentimentality, but the fact that he had saved letters from his friends for years proved there was so much about him that she couldn't even begin to fathom.

It was thus, with an anxious heart, that she opened the last box. She nearly began to cry when she realized what she found. There, in perfect rows much like the books had been, were ten maroon leather-bound journals. On each cover was the year the writings were recorded, engraved in gold script. Hermione couldn't bring herself to read them then, but she did flip though each year, catching random phrases here and there.

…Just met the best bloke, James Potter, on the train…prank was the best one yet…Remus seems to be keeping secrets from us…Peter was sent off to detention by McGonagall again…hope Reggie gets sorted into Gryffindor…Hate! Hate! Hate my parents!…if James would stop chasing that Evans girl around…then finally transformed into an Animagus. Was the first, naturally…almost killed someone. Even if it was Snivellus, what was I thinking? Remus will never forgive me…O.W.L.s seem easy; don't know what all the fuss is about…I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE. I'M LEAVING GRIMMAULD AND NEVER COMING BACK…Wish I had been born a Potter…better, have to be better…it's called the Order of the Phoenix…into hiding, along with Harry…

The journals seemed like perfectly preserved accounts of his years from eleven until twenty-one. Hermione too could see why Remus would have found the last journal proof of his friend's guilt. There was nothing in it about the switch in Secret Keepers; in fact, many months would go by between entries, which was contrary to the daily entries that Sirius had followed in the years before. But the journals were so much more than simple diaries. They also contained prank lists, complicated spells that Sirius had learned in his spare time, and even lists of the various conquests he had made while at Hogwarts. Hermione practically expected that part to be wrought of sexism, but mostly the notations next to certain names said things like "no sense of humor" or "hates dogs" and even a "too stupid to hold an intelligent conversation. Might be nice for Peter, though." Aside from that, Hermione saw snatches of poems he had written down in the margins. She recognized Keats, Coleridge, and Shelly. There was also a whole page where "So, We'll Go No More A-roving"by Lord Bryon had been faithfully transcribed. There were also illustrations of random events or scenes from their years at Hogwarts. Hermione was particularly struck by a drawing of James playing Chaser and another of Lily riding piggyback on Remus. They were like perfect little scenes, captured from their lives.

It was clear to Hermione now that Sirius had been much more introspective and emotional that she had given him credit before. She wondered if he had kept up with the drawing and writing after Azkaban, but she thought not. Once, she had overheard Sirius saying bitterly to Remus that Azkaban had taken more than years from him.

After three hours spent immersed in Sirius's world, Hermione stood on shaky legs. She levitated the boxes down the stairs, leaving a note on top of three of them for Harry explaining about the letters and the books and clothes. At the bottom of the note was an explanation about the journals, saying that she was taking them and would return them to him once she was done. Hermione then spent the next three days closed up in her flat, reading through the chronicles of the life of one Sirius Black.

And she fell madly in love with the man he was. The man she had never known. The man who she had never bothered to see.

Her soulmate.

At the end of that time, she left her flat—tears all cried out—positive in the knowledge that the man she should have spent the rest of her life with was waiting for her… not in this life, but the next.

Which brought her back to the present, at the wedding of her best friend, with Harry's comforting arm around her shoulder. Eventually, his voice interrupted the silence. "No matter whose fault it is, you still need to live. Sirius would want that for you, I think."

Hermione blinked back her tears and said, "Of course, you're right."

They were silent for a moment, both their gazes directed towards the heavens. Hermione could easily make out the constellation of Canis Major, and its centerpiece…the Dogstar, Sirius. Hermione knew that for the rest of her life, she would always took to the heavens and feel comforted by the sight of the brightest star in the sky, her brightest star in the sky, shinning down on her in eternal perfection.

"'Arry! Where are you?"

The voice of Harry's future wife, Gabrielle Delacour, broke the sadness of the moment. Hermione gave Harry a silly smile and said, "You better go, Princess Gabby won't wait forever."

Harry grinned at her. "You shouldn't call her that. She told me she wants to be 'jus' like ze great 'Ermione Granger' when she graduates."

Hermione laughed. "Hopefully she will be much better than me."

"'Arry!"

"Go," Hermione said, laughing. "Run along."

Harry saluted her and then took off through the trees, following after the girl he never would have allowed himself to look at if it wasn't for Hermione's spell. In a fit of guilt, Harry performed it so that he too was matched. Only, his match was a live girl and a veela to boot. Needless to say, he wasn't complaining about the soulmate spell any longer.

"I thought he would never leave."

Hermione turned, smiling at Sirius as he came and took Harry's place, wrapping one arm around her. They sat in silence for a long while, and Hermione allowed herself to pretend that he was real.

That he was still alive, and she was in his arms.

It wasn't real. She knew that. And she was okay with knowing he wasn't actually there and that he would never be more than a figment of her imagination. Sometimes the fantasy was better than the reality.

And she had become very good at pretending.

So, if she just pretended a little longer, she could imagine that she could hear the song she danced with Sirius to, still playing, and the last verse from the orchestra, drifting over the wind to where she was sitting. Lost in the fantasy, it was easy to make out the last line of the song, believing Sirius to be singing along.

Time goes by so slowly and time can do so much. Are you still mine? I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to… me.

Fin.

***


Author's note: The song Hermione and Sirius danced to was Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. It is from the 50s, but it was made popular by the movie Ghost. I thought it deeply appropriate. Also, Sirius calls Hermione 'la belle dame sans merci', which is a poem by Keats and means "The beautiful lady without pity."