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Title: Threshold.
Characters: Hermione, Sirius.
Rating: T.
Summary: 11.15 pm on 31st October. Hermione sits alone waiting for her visitor. The same man who has arrived at exactly 11pm Halloween night the past 6 years. This year he is late.
Music: 'Love Theme.' - Cinema Paradiso (Ennio Morricone).
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"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you." -
-- Khalil Gibran
~*~
A long cold hot chocolate, a skin formed on its mauve surface, sat abandoned by an open book. The pages fluttered, unnoticed, in each expired anxious breath. Her hazel coloured eyes were trained, unblinking, to the clock, the rhythmic ticking resonating about the warm kitchen. He was late.
The house, to her chagrin, remained silent except for the occasional creak as the structure settled for the night. With each welcomed sound, Hermione's eyes darted to the entrance expectantly. As of yet, there was no sign of him.
Sighing deeply, and not allowing for the possibility he wouldn't arrive, Hermione tipped the icy contents of her drink down the sink. A cool breeze blew across the nape of her neck. The tiny hairs rose instantly and thousands of minute goosebumps sprung along her forearms. Despite herself, a ripple of excitement flowed through her.
"You're late," she said contemptuously. She placed the wet mug on the draining board louder than necessary, and dried her hands. "Aren't you at least going to give me an excuse?"
He uttered no response only giving her an apologetic smile that achieved more than his words ever could.
"We shouldn't fight; we don't get that much time together and this year, even less. I look forward to this," she said sadly taking a seat at the table and offering him the one opposite out of habit.
He kindly refused but replied softly, his voice sounding distant, almost an echo. "I know Hermione; I looked forward to them too."
"I miss you when you're not here Sirius."
"I know."
"Can you see us?" Hermione asked wistfully.
"You know that I can't."
"Have I changed?"
"No."
"I must have," she said. "Twelve months is a long time. Have I wrinkles I didn't have last time, more grey hair?"
"You have neither," he reassured her for she had neither wrinkles nor grey hair. The trauma of his untimely departure had not left her unscathed. Her eyes seemed less bright, her stature smaller, her complexion paler.
"You haven't aged." Her words were soft, almost longing but thinly they veiled the true meaning of her utterance.
"I cant though, can I?" He voiced morosely but hesitantly as he paused for a moment. "You… Hermione I came here for a reason, to tell you… ask you to move on."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because I care, because I can see this isn't right and mainly because you need to live your life and stop waiting for me."
"But how could I look at you the same way knowing I'd been with someone else. How could you ever look at me? Besides, I love you." She declared simply as if everything was as clear as saying those last words.
"Love can't cross this barrier. It won't keep you warm at night."
"So, I'll get a hot water bottle," she argued wilfully. Slowly she rose reaching out till she almost touched him. "I don't want anyone else."
Her outstretched fingers skimmed the air above his arm, unable to touch him, she was all too aware of the icy cold burn if her fingers dropped an inch. The temptation too strong she dropped her arm "I wait all year for this Sirius."
"That's why I won't be coming back."
"No! You can't leave me – take me with you," she whispered imploringly.
"You have a life," he said dismissively.
"Not without you."
The temperature in the kitchen dropped a few notable degrees as Sirius' anger towards her statement became apparent. The ceramic mug wobbled audibly on the draining board.
"You don't know how lucky you are," he spat, "how good you have it." His voice was no longer soft but carried a dangerous edge. Each syllable echoed in the silent kitchen. "You can feel, touch… live."
"I want to be with you." Hermione argued her breath erupting in whitish plumes of condensation, notably absent when Sirius spoke.
Sirius sighed deeply. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't. You can't give that up, for me." The room warmed as his anger receded and slowly the metallic tapping ceased.
"I only live to see you," she said desperately. "My life is a game of waiting, with every moment that passes a moment closer to seeing you again, to hearing your voice. I'm only alive when I'm with you."
"I will not be the reason for your death, Hermione. I'm not coming back. I was selfish to think this could work. You have to move on. Get rid of my things."
Hermione turned brusquely away; the feeling of betrayal gripped her insides painfully as she absently played with her wedding ring.
"Molly was cleaning our room." She began, her voice adopting a distant air. "She knocked over your aftershave. My stomach flipped when I went in. For a fleeting moment I thought you were with me." She blinked a tear away. "Your clothes don't smell of you anymore, I thought... I thought if I put them in an airtight box, but the scent faded. It managed to escape."
"Her-my-"
"I've forgotten how you smell," she interrupted, her voice cracking from grief and shame and small amount of relief at finally saying it. Her head was swimming and her hands shook uncontrollably. She tightly gripped the edge of the sink to still them. Her head hung low over her slumped, despondent shoulders.
"Throw them away."
"They stopped making your aftershave," she continued oblivious to his words. "It's when it hit me. You were really gone."
"Hermione, Listen to me. You can't live like this. Keep something small if you have to. But promise you'll bin the rest. Hermione!"
"Yes," she said returning to his intense gaze.
"It's been six years," Sirius pleaded.
"I promise…" She couldn't help a small sob escaping because she recognised the mournful sigh in his voice so similar to the lament in her heart. He had sworn to her that their short time together would never be morose and yet her eyes were fogging with unshed tears. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand.
"In all the years you've been coming I never asked, can you go outside?"
"Yes," he said, "do you want to?"
His form was harder to see in the moonlight, he seemed more transparent, shimmering in the bluish hue of the moon's glow. She stood on the doorstep; he stood a few meters away. She realised how great the gap, not just physically, between them had really become.
She had been sensible once, almost clinically so. In the Tale of the Three Brothers, she knew to choose the invisibility cloak, but never had the prospect of the Resurrection Stone called to her more than now. She understood why he wanted to leave. Sirius just didn't comprehend it wasn't going to make her feel any happier.
"We were meant to have a great life together. I had so many plans."
"Really? What were they?" he asked playfully.
The dull ache that filled her throat made it hard to swallow. "We were going to have two kids, after I'd properly established myself at work. You'd teach them about Quidditch, I'd teach them to swim. We'd both show them how to ride a bike and take turns reading them stories at night. We'd grow old together. We would have it all, the park bench, the grandkids. And though my face would have changed and my hair gone grey, you'd still want me as much as you did the day we married."
"You had it all worked out."
"Now it's just a fantasy or a nightmare." Hermione mumbled the last part to herself.
"You still can." She thought she deciphered a slight shake in his voice, but he quickly masked it. "Have you spoken to Ron yet?"
"No!" she spat. "Why would I? He killed you."
"It was an accident, you know that. And anyway, I was driving." He reminded her. She flinched at his words. She hated to be reminded. "You have to stop blaming him."
"It was his idea to buy the car," she retorted petulantly.
There was such a concentrated look of hurt in his eyes that it made it hard to hold his gaze. And the silence. It was the silences that always bothered her. Sirius was hot headed; he said things and immediately wished them back. It was when he said nothing she worried. The quietness seemed to envelope them in a stifling atmosphere.
"Just talk to him Hermione. He was there, it might help."
His voice wasn't the deep and throaty sound of her dreams and she wondered how much of what she actually remembered was true. He seemed like an imprint, a mere ghost of what she knew. She couldn't even touch him. A deep seethed rage filled her being because all she wanted was to talk to him, the Sirius of her dreams.
"You left me and you presume to give me advice. What gives you the right? You're not even my Sirius, you're an echo. You're too calm and noble. Where's the real Sirius?"
"You want something real? Fine! You're not angry at Ron, you're angry at me."
"Yes!" she yelled painfully beating her chest with her tiny fist. "You left me. You. Left. Me… Why did you leave me?" She sank to the cold steps beneath her, her hands gripping, painfully, her curly hair as she tried to stifle the cries that caused her shrunken body to shake with grief.
She looked up her cheeks glistening in a shaft of moonlight. "Why were you late?"
He had feared she would ask this, but he owed her the truth. "I wasn't going to come."
"Not even to say goodbye?" Her voice was even, more clam than she felt.
"It isn't good for you."
Her eye caught something on the pavement. Focusing in, she noticed it was a dark green weed, the vegetation struggling to grow in the crack of a flagstone. The weed was fighting to survive in a hostile environment, but resilient all the same. It was like a light flicked in her head. Hermione rubbed her eyes and pushed the stray strands of hair behind her ear. She stood, purposely brushed down her clothes and without a glance at him she stepped past the form of her husband and into the garden; the droplets of dew wet the soles of her socks. She stood with her back to him, her eyes staring at the twinkling stars of the clear sky. The cool, gentle wind blew at her loose t-shirt, rippling the excess fabric across her small frame.
"Do you remember the rain?" she asked abruptly.
"Hermione don't," he warned.
"My heart was beating so loud, each diastolic thump filling my ears. I was sure you could hear it."
Sirius knew she was waiting for a reply and he couldn't resist joining in as his memory flickered to day in question. "It was a bloody hot day…"
"The sky just burst."
"You stood there, a warm blush spreading across your face; the soft rain soaking you to the bone."
"I felt so exposed."
"Thunder and lightning, they'd warned." He moved silently towards her.
"But you kissed me. The rain was streaming down our faces, mingling into our embrace." She moved closer to him.
"Your lips were so soft and slick with water."
"I wanted so badly to remain in that moment forever," she said. "That perfect moment of bliss and excitement. Only we existed. Our drenched bodies flush against each other, your warmth filling me. Just us…" Her eyes dropped to the dark, damp grass beneath. "Then the rain stopped."
"I wish I could touch you," Sirius whispered longingly.
His hand moved over her face with out touching. She could feel the biting, raw cold emanating from him, in waves across her face. Her eyes fluttered instinctively closed.
They stayed entranced in their moment as the clogs of kitchen clock prepared to strike. DONG! Its first shrill note rang out, through the open back door, bursting their moment.
"It can't be twelve already," Hermione said desperately.
Dong…
"You're not really leaving me?"
Dong…
"Hermione."
Dong…
"Please don't," she begged.
Dong…
"I have to."
Dong…
"Persephone did it."
Dong…
"She was a myth," he said sadly.
Dong… Dong
"Sirius…" Dong… "I love you."
Dong…
"I love you too…"
DONG!
The last ring echoed in her ears, before silence reigned once more. The clock seemed to have stopped ticking, there was no sound of traffic and the wintry air was still.
"Sirius?" she whispered hopefully but no-one answered.
~*~