A/N: Well, hello. For the two or three of you out there who didn't just throw up your hands in exasperation and give up on this story, here's chapter two. Life, in all its messy, exhausting glory got in the way. I hope you can enjoy this despite the ridiculous time between chapters (it'd probably be a good idea to reread chapter one and refresh your memory), and I hope you have the time and inclination to leave a review. I adore these characters and this pairing, but somehow they manage to make me doubt myself more than any other I ever wrote before. Proof of their greatness, perhaps?
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling could have rewritten Deathly Hallows in the time it took me to churn out this chapter. I'm definitely not her, just playing in her sandbox.
"We never actively remember death,' Odenigbo said. The reason we live as we do is because we do not remember that we will die." Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Half of a Yellow Sun
She was avoiding him.
Sirius didn't claim to be the most emotionally intelligent of men – quite the contrary, if he's being honest – but it didn't take a genius to figure out Hermione might not want to be in his presence after confirming his impending death. Perhaps she was afraid he'd blame her. Or maybe she just didn't want to give him the chance to ask any more questions. Whichever it was, Sirius did not intend to let her vanish into thin air every time he came near. It was his house after all, one he'd been sequestered in for almost half a damn year. Hermione was a distraction, and he was in dire need of distractions. Especially now.
He left Buckbeak's room and padded down the stairs in pursuit of his quarry. Deciding on a coffee break after several rooms were investigated and discarded, he headed to the kitchen. He'd barely taken his first sip when he heard a crash from the first floor. Mug in hand, he wandered back upstairs.
"You found the library, then."
Hermione – or what he assumed was Hermione, he could only see a dust-covered forehead from behind a mountain of books– made a little sound. Amusement or impatience, Sirius couldn't quite tell. "Did I? I was starting to wonder if I'd ended up in Buckbeak's room. Or a pig-sty."
"So, maybe it's a little dirty. Big deal. We decontaminated the place already, so you won't be eaten alive by any book, snuffbox, or other similarly wrathful Black relics. Where is your gratitude?"
"Unlikely to be found until I take a shower," she gave him a small smile and turned to the half empty shelves. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yeah, actually. You can stop pretending I'm not here."
She didn't turn, but he could sense her stiffening. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lose your brain cells in the past – next – nine years, do you?"
The look she threw him reminded Sirius of her teenaged self. He almost smiled. "I see getting through a war didn't kill your temper."
"You don't know my temper."
"Harry mentioned it in a letter or two. I figure it's only got worse. You don't strike me as the type who mellows with age."
"Is there even a point to this?" She was going for boredom. Gods, had she always been such a miserable liar?
"See, the war did mess with your memory. I already told you the point. I want you to stop acting like I'm already dead."
The stack of books she'd been putting together almost came crashing to the ground. He was relieved to see she had the presence of mind to put them back on the shelves before they fell – a shouting session from his deranged mother was the last thing he needed. "I'm not doing that. Damn you, I'm not."
"You sure about that? Because it sure seems like it from where I'm standing."
She turned now, annoyance, guilt and frustration coalescing into anger. "Go to hell."
"Who knows? Maybe I will. But in the meantime, it'd be real nice if the few people who know I'm innocent treated me like a human being, not a potential Inferi. And yes, honey" he said, this time overriding her objections before she had a chance to make them. "That's exactly what you're doing. I may be dead in your time, Hermione, but I'm not now."
Complete silence ensued. Sirius half wondered if she was about to hex him. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought. A duel would be a novelty in the tedious days of this new type of incarceration.
He was entirely unprepared when tears started sliding down her cheeks. "Oh shit. Hermione, I'm sorry. C'mon, don't do that."
"I'm fine," she said hastily, turning her back on him. "I'm OK, really. And I'm sorry for… for that. I didn't mean to. I didn't realize I was doing it."
He nearly groaned aloud. If he'd known this would be the outcome of their confrontation, he would likely have gone to great lengths to make it easier for her to ignore him in the first place. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Hermione?"
"I'm fine," she said, and this time did turn around. He saw, with intense relief, that she'd got the tears under control. She even managed a smile. "Really. Sorry about the waterworks."
"Well," Back in his Hogwarts days, humour had always come to his rescue. It had been – Christ – eighteen years ago, but he tried to think the way he would have back then. "It's not every day a pretty woman cries at the thought of life without me."
He could tell that almost set her off again, but she kept the smile in place. "Well, I'm done with that," she looked down, winced at the mess of books spread throughout the floor. "But not with this."
"D'you need any help?"
She started to refuse. Then seemed to think better of it. "You know what, I do. I don't even know what I'm looking for yet, so I was going to run a search on time-travel and Department of Mysteries references. I could cut it down in half if you helped."
"Done. Are we looking for something in particular?"
"Yes. I'm hoping to luck out and find precedent for this. Whatever this is."
"At least half of these books are either pureblood rhetoric or treatises on dark magic, Hermione."
"Good, since I have to consider that my being here may very well be due to dark magic."
"Yeah. There's one thing I don't get," he waved her sardonic expression aside. "Among other things. You said you were in the Ministry. Why did you end up here? Shouldn't you have landed in the same room?"
"I've been thinking about that. I have no answers yet. And it's not even the most pressing question. That would be why I travelled to the past in the first place. Everything I know about time-travel says, if anything, I should've travelled forward. Time-turners are the only artefact I know of that can go back, and that's forty-eight hours at most." And time-turners didn't exist anymore, not in her time. But he didn't need to know that.
"Oh. Well then. Let's get to work."
Nearly four hours after she'd started, Hermione had, with the help of Sirius, gone through one third of the library. They'd found a single reference to time-travel, the ever-familiar warning that terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time.
"Useful," she growled, closing the book with a snap. "Because that isn't common knowledge or anything."
"You're the one who said it would be like finding a needle in a haystack," he reminded her. With a poorly disguised smirk on his face.
She threw him a look.
He raised his hands in mock-surrender. "Just saying."
She huffed out a breath. "Don't make me laugh when I'm cranky." But she smiled. "I appreciate the help, Sirius. Merlin knows how long it would take me to do this on my own."
He gestured the sentiment away. "Hey, I'm not on the verge of death by boredom today. I owe you."
The rest of Hermione's smile vanished. He was on the verge of death, largely thanks to her. No matter how affable he seemed to be these days – and why he was so different from the man she remembered, she did not care to wonder – she knew she would carry the guilt for the rest of her life.
His own smile dimmed. "Shall we continue?"
Hermione pushed her thoughts aside. "Let's."
Remus found them several hours later. He poked his head through the door and chuckled. The sight of his best friend and his former student covered head to toe in dust was a welcome amusement in a day that had dragged on endlessly. "Dinner in twenty minutes. You two might want to clean up a little before joining us."
"More like a lot," Hermione said with a grimace. "I don't think I'm fit for group dinner tonight."
Sirius threw her a sidelong glance. "I'm sure they'll wait for us. Right, Moony?"
"For her, absolutely. For you? I don't know that we would."
"With friends like these. See why I can use you here, Hermione? Nobody appreciates me in this house."
It was a joke, she knew. But it struck a little too close to home. She wasn't sure she'd appreciated him herself back in the day. "You poor thing. OK then, I guess I'll go get cleaned up. It might take me a little longer than twenty minutes, but I'll be there."
"Take your time," Remus said easily. "She's not the only one who needs a shower, you know."
Sirius chuckled. "How about I go to dinner like this? That should give Molly another reason to lecture me."
"Can't you two stop antagonizing each other?" His friend demanded. "You don't have to like each other, but you're allies, for heaven's sake. Act like it."
"Give it up, Remus. I had a surprisingly pleasant time today, and I'm not in the mood to discuss a woman who happens to think I actually chose to abandon Harry just so I could end up in Azkaban."
The little wrinkle on the bridge of his nose was a sure sign that Remus was about to argue, but seemed to think better of it. "A pleasant time? In this house?"
"Crazy, right? Turns out a time-traveller is enough of a novelty that even this pile of bricks can't destroy it."
"Hmm. That's good. And pretty damn amusing that it's the girl whose lectures annoyed you almost as much as Molly's that's responsible for keeping you entertained for once. Between her and Dumbledore, I doubt that she'll be here long though. So soak it up while you can."
Sirius blew out a breath after Remus walked out. No, Hermione wouldn't be around for long. But apparently neither would he.
People often asked what you would do if you only had a week, six months, o one year to live. He had wondered himself. He'd just never thought he'd be in a position to find out.
Hermione lined up her toiletries with the precision of a potions master choosing his ingredients. She meticulously chose the fluffiest towel she could find, stripped slowly, and stepped into the shower stall. Her movements were automatic, as though she were operating on autopilot, until she was beneath the stingy spray of water. Then she let herself cry.
Asking Sirius for had seemed a positive thing to her. He knew enough about the future that she didn't feel like she was deceiving him. She hadn't taken into consideration that would make every word he said to her, every look he gave her, somehow worse. He knew he'd end up dead, he knew she'd do nothing to change it, and yet he didn't seem to hold it against her.
Why?
Leaning her forearms on the slippery shower tiles, she tried to bring her memories of him into focus. He'd been reckless, moody and harsh, qualities she could identify in him still. But he'd also been bitter, hadn't he? Resentful and angry, eager for an actual life. The man she'd spent a good six hours with that day didn't seem bitter. Angry, yes. Resentful, absolutely. But save for the occasional flash in his eyes, he seemed entirely resigned to his circumstances.
It didn't seem like the Sirius Black she knew. Then again, she wondered if she'd known him at all.
Perched on his bed, Sirius flipped the pages of yet another magazine Kingsley had sent him. This time, there were claims of sightings of him in Lebanon. Maybe the search would move far away enough to get him some freedom, perhaps go for a run as Padfoot. He wouldn't hold his breath though.
He looked up at the soft knock on the door. "Come in," he said, figuring it was Remus, as he was the only one who had the patience to deal with his moods these days.
Hermione poked her head through the door. "May I come in?"
His brows winged up. "Sure. What's up?"
"I could use some company, and figured you might as well," she lifted the two steaming mugs she held. "I brought hot chocolate."
"Wow. I haven't had hot chocolate in," he trailed off. "Since Hogwarts, I think. There's company downstairs. More cheerful company."
"I'd actually rather be here. Everyone tries very hard not to ask me if they're alive in my time, and I'm tired of pretending not to notice."
It sounded plausible. And yet… the look in her eye was a little too crafty for his liking. He'd bet a year of his life that Hermione was just feeling sorry for him and trying to keep him company.
He didn't want her pity.
But bugger it all, he didn't want to be alone tonight. He didn't want to be alone knowing that his time was running out.
"Are you planning to stand there all night?"
Her face relaxed. "No," she handed him one of the mugs before padding to the clunky chair across his bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "What were you reading?"
"Warlock Today. I got the cover."
"Ooh. Anything interesting?"
"I'm in Lebanon this week. I scared a year out of a little kid's life."
"D'you think he's telling the truth? He actually thinks he saw you?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just crying Grim. Either way, it takes attention away from here."
"Whatever works."
"My thoughts exactly. You were quiet at dinner."
"So were you."
"I believe the term the others use is broody," he said dryly. "Nobody blames you, Hermione."
She looked at him for a second, then quickly glanced away. "Somehow, that makes it worse."
He shrugged. "We all have our crosses to bear. Yours is guilt. Mine are Azkaban and death."
The no-nonsense answer tickled her even as it added another layer to her guilt. She'd been making this about her when it wasn't really. At the end of the day, she lived. He didn't. It was as simple as that. "I was thinking earlier you're not what I remembered. Good to know some things are the same."
"Not what you remembered?"
"Let's just say I used to think the word "broody" in conjunction with "Sirius" a lot. And bitter. You haven't been broody or bitter."
"Give me time. It's been barely a day."
"True. You always were one for mood swings."
"I'm a man. Teenagers and pregnant women have mood swings. Men are just emotionally unstable."
Hermione laughed. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humour, either."
He smiled. A real, unguarded smile that somehow made her breath catch. "Ditto."
Her sudden jolt made the forgotten mug on her lap wobble dangerously. She'd have ended up with lukewarm chocolate all over if Sirius hadn't had the presence of mind to cast a quick Petrificus Totalis in the direction of the beverage. Hermione stood, squeezing her cup with trembling hands.
He looked at her quizzically. "Something wrong?"
"No. Well, yes. Kind of. I have to…" Oh dear. "Go to the bathroom."
Sirius barked a laugh at her rapidly spreading blush. "Thanks for the chocolate. Leave your mug, I'll get them to the kitchen."
She managed to express thanks, all while her mind screamed at her what have you done?
