A note from Serade Black: Just a quick note to say that this chapter is still one year earlier (where the last chapter ended). Thank you so much for the strong reviews, they're wonderful. I truly appreciate all your words. Enjoy. SB
Chapter 3
"Back from the Veil (still one year earlier)"
Like an industrial library, the archaic room fell silent at the cold sound of Hermione's voice. Pulse rates rose, quills dictated and the wispy curtains that fell under the Veil like thin silky netting even slowed down their excitement.
The brunette witch had mentally transformed. She was concentrating on her mission and the goal she so badly desired to achieve. Like blood on her tongue she could taste the iron fear that swept through the air, representing all those that had done battle there in her youth and those that had met their untimely early death due to errors, accidents and punishments.
Hermione spoke an incantation and Macnair slowly stood hypnotized at her command. Like a broken rag doll, his arms flopped to his sides, his body moved against his wishes and he relieved a menacing growl to vocalize how disgruntled he was over this entire ordeal. His chains were freed by the two orderlies, knowing full well that Hermione had complete control by the flick of her wrist and the guidance of her wand. He appeared like his body was filled with sawdust as he moved sluggishly like a free zombie.
Made with many magical woven fabrics, a rope with steel fibers was tied like a harness around the front of the prisoner. It was to be used to anchor him to the living side of the Veil and at the slightest tug; Macnair would be yanked back from dark unknown abyss. The objective was for him to take along any souls that had remained right behind the tattered fabric, rescuing them and taking them along to return to the real world.
The echoing voices seemed to be louder than ever before as sensitive ears heard the calls and conversations through the stone archway. Closer and closer Macnair crept to the sweeping black curtain, unknowing what was behind it. Like ill milk settling in his stomach, the former Ministry executioner felt uneasy, nervous and overall sickened with the mirror of his own death. He could not stop, he couldn't even argue with the young brunette that controlled him like a marionette. He looked down and watched as his numb legs moved along the crumbling floor and felt the sweat over his brow trickle down the bridge of his crooked nose. In the distance, a small mouse scurried away as if knowing the terrible outcome once they would attempt to "jerk" someone back out.
Finally, the Death Eater passed through, causing a serious pulsing in Hermione's ears. Her eyes blinked, her lips parted and she waited with heavy anticipation. "Watch that rope!" She commanded her wand at the ready and standing about thirty feet from the mystery curtain. "There! Retract!" she yelled. The golden stiff rope had indeed made a move and with four wands aimed at it, she pulled it back with great force.
Macnair's limp body flew out from behind the curtain, collapsing in a heap on the cold damp floor; the rope was tied to his waist like an anchor. He lay unconscious, but the twitching of his fingers reaching for his forehead indicated that he still lived. He moaned under his breath, less threatening than a growl.
Hermione raced to his side with half a dozen research agents in tow. Each one had a medical tool out, testing him for his stats, removing hair samples from his legs and retightening the rope to ensure that they would not lose him. Hermione dusted off a bit of debris over his shirt that was picked up by his heavy exit and leaned over to survey him herself.
"Macnair, what did you see?" Her voice was not merciful.
He squint his eyes painfully and blinked like one does after seeing the sun when hidden away for long durations. Finally, his sight was coming back to him and his head wavered like a drunk. His legs were in a mangled position due to the way he was pulled back out with such force; he had small scrapes on his skin that were beginning to bleed.
"You almost broke my legs, bitch!" He snapped with anger, now that he could see the young brunette leering over him.
"It might be unethical, but at least you're still alive. Now, tell me what you saw!" Hermione threatened the guilty man. She had finally touched on the outskirts of a historical breakthrough and she wasn't about to take any slack from a man who's former hobby consisted of killing illegal beasts.
"People, witch. Lot's of our kind," he managed to grumble. His lip developed into a slow sneer like he'd smelled something foul.
"What were they doing?" Hermione pressed on, periodically glancing over at the Veil to see if it had changed at all. Instead, it still blew lazily by a mysterious wind from the other side.
"Waiting, it looked like. Some sleeping, crying, I don't know, waiting."
Hermione stared so hard at the criminal, it was almost as if she was trying to extract his visions, but that was not her talent. With a firm grip on her wand, she yanked him up off the ground with a ferocious flick of her wrist and dragged him back towards the billowing mystery. The research team immediately backed away with how fierce her eyes were as she barely allowed the specimen to stand on his own two feet.
"All right, Macnair, we can get this done quickly. Go in there and start grabbing people and drag them out kicking and screaming if you have to," Hermione instructed. Her wrist was held high and with a spotting hand, she shoved him back behind the Veil with such force, she never touched him.
She stared at the ancient archway leading to nothing. Dark shrouds of death danced listlessly before her, hypnotically luring her towards their mystery. Her eyes glanced down at the rope that laid still, no sign of movement. Macnair had been behind there for a full two minutes, so far.
Finally, Hermione saw the rope move, then again, then more fiercely and she was commanding her team to act swiftly. Aiming her own wand, she grasped her commanding wrist and pulled back with the beam like she was pulling a big fish out of a lake. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun and it fell wildly around her shoulders.
With a uniformed pull, Macnair came stumbling out from behind the curtains with four staggering bodies that writhed around breathless and blinded by the light. Their voices tried to call out, but they sounded hoarse and worn out. Their skin was pale and light, like one does when not receiving the nutrients from the sun. Overall, they appeared to be in decent health, but she noticed that they reached out for something and when they caught a bit of Macnair's leg, they appeared comforted, like human contact was what they longed for.
Hermione's mouth remained open as she watched the witches and wizards warming up to such a beast, that it pained her to believe that however long they'd been trapped in there dying to come out, they were living an afterlife of loneliness. They were sated just by the research team members running to assist them, placing hands on their pale faces, cooing them that they were back and that they were safe.
Like a shot, Hermione flicked her wrist before Macnair even got to his feet and tossed him back behind the Veil as if time was racing against them. Her hair fell in her face, her pulse raced and she could feel her heart pumping through her throat. A minute later, the rope tied to Macnair was moving again and he was abruptly pulled back, this time with three people.
Two of the new Returned tried to stand up on their own, but immediately collapsed from exhaustion. Hermione requested that they be taken to hospital, rather than beginning tests for the lab. Overall, they appeared to be fine, but just like Macnair they were all trying to focus on their vision and reached out to the person next to them. It appeared that they desired contact from someone. Once touching another's hand or arm, they would shrill with happiness that they were no longer alone.
Like a manic scientist, Hermione was driven with the number of people they could pull out of there. There was no time to rejoice in her discovery, because to her, time was of the essence. Flashbulbs went off around her, Quick Quotes Quills soared around her head hoping to catch something brilliant muttering from her lip and her research team worked too fast to stop and talk to the press.
Two, sometimes five at a time would hold onto Macnair as he retreated from the Veil. Hermione's arm was working overtime as she'd call the commands on when to yank the Death Eater out and how hard to drive him back through. Like a short chain gang, he would come barreling out, shake the bodies off of him and then go running in like an American Football player on the front line.
As they worked, Hermione would quickly glance at all the faces, to see if she recognized anyone. Some had older clothes on, most had attire that matched this century, but all of them appeared unaged, untouched and unmoved. Young witches still wore detailed threads of their time, showing no wear or tear on either their clothes, or themselves; flawless skin kissed their pale faces.
After nearly two hours of driving the specimen beyond human control, the research staff, Macnair and Hermione were all beginning to feel the toll of the energy the experiment was draining from them. Several of the last few trips into the Veil, Macnair had come out empty handed, barking at the witch that no one else was around in the "waiting area". A few stragglers had come to investigate, he said, but then he gave them no time to ask and grabbed them so he wouldn't come out empty handed for the commanding brunette witch. The physical work was grueling enough, he wasn't about to try the lab coat witch, or else she'd put him up to doing something worse than rescuing people he remembered pushing in.
Out of all the hundred and fifty-two people Macnair single handedly dragged out from behind the Veil, only one face was familiar to Hermione. That face belonged to an old German janitor that disappeared about two years ago when she was just starting her work in the Department of Mysteries. She remembered him always offering her butterscotch muggle candy and reminding her not to tell anyone he had those, or else everyone would want one. No one knew where he went one night after his shift, but what pleased him more than anything was to see Hermione standing over him smiling and he reaching out to touch her face, calling her an "angel of the darkness".
Hermione smiled to herself upon hearing his broken English try to pronounce all those syllables through a voice that sounded like it hadn't drank water in years…or so he hadn't. It warmed her deep, but as she looked up at the sheer curtains ahead of her, Macnair on the floor by her feet, she still felt incomplete. Her heart still felt heavy and she felt like after all those people rescued that currently were coming back to life through different transfusions, she had not succeeded for personal reasons. Sirius was not one of the Returned.
Finally, Macnair had been yanked out from behind his draped enemy for the fourth time alone. He growled like an irritated lion over his state of exhaustion. He knew that his will was long gone to fight the potion that flowed through his blood and yelled over and over that the area he was pulling from was vacant, dark, and empty. Hermione refused to listen to him and flicked her wrist again, pulling his back straight with an invisible string. Her lower lip trembled and she knew he had to go on, even if his legs were bruised and bleeding from constantly being scraped along the gravel floor.
"Hermione, he's done," Said a fellow researcher. His hair was swept to the side and his breath panting from running back and forth between Hermione's commands and the new arrivals Macnair had brought them.
Hermione's drive for the mission shone through the outer exterior of a bright witch beyond her years. Her hair was completely loose from her clips, her face was flushed and she held her wand arm high like a conductor in the middle of a crescendo. She was beginning to get manic with numbers. There weren't enough people out, she kept saying, and like an uncontrollable machine she was ready to whip Macnair back into the Veil, even though he griped, complained and came back empty handed. Like fishing in a populated lake, it appeared that they were all done biting.
Hermione's lip quivered and she shook her head, staring at the flowing black cloaks, "No! I need more out, they need to get out!"
She felt her throat drying out from yelling about the room, but she felt so incomplete as she stood there in her dirty lab coat. The ancient archway was centuries old and all they were able to pull out where just over a seventy lost souls…and not the one she wanted. Not the man who represented this entire project in the back of her mind hindering like a gold medal about to be presented. A tiny thought in the back of her mind believed that if she could bring Sirius back, bring him back to Harry with a bow around his neck like a long awaited present, she could do anything. Thus, an entire year's worth of research was devoted to this piece of rock.
Nearly defeated after Macnair came back out, again, with no extra bodies, Hermione just watched him with a frown and a heavy heart. The sounds around the room were finally flowing into her ears, having gone on around her the entire time, but only now when she was smelling the sour scent of defeat did she hear the people sobbing. Turning her head slowly she saw a woman in a late fifties floral dress hugging a small child, dressed from the same period. Next to them a man sat alone, looking exhausted, with a slight smile over his lips as he just looked down at the ground. Their sobbing interested him and he reached out to place a hand on the woman's arm and she immediately stopped. They looked like polar differences, two different time periods and it was obvious they did not know one another. Once the man touched her, she slowly broke into a smile, turned to him and pulled her daughter closer as the three embraced like they were warming for heat. It appeared by just being touched, just being acknowledge that they were no longer lonely made all the difference to them.
She tuned in her sense of hearing towards anyone of the Returned having conversations amongst each other, curious to how they were viewing her kind. All were the same, extremely grateful, desiring nothing more than a hand to hold. One woman said that she was a bit bewildered at first, but once someone made contact with her, her vision cleared and she felt safe and warm.
A young girl with brown hair and freckles, about Hermione's age, was speaking to a researcher about the state of the "room" that Macnair was pulling them from and she stepped over slowly to hear her speak.
"No, the room is very dark and very very cold. It's like a weightless, empty void with no meaning. I never wanted to lose hope that I could get out, because I figured there was a way in. There were quite a few of us that waited for a long time, some several hundred years by the "opening", but nothing really happened. We only sensed that new ones were coming in," Laura was her name, as she spelled out her unusual last name for the researcher.
"Could you see anyone?" Hermione asked, approaching her like a fragile piece of glass that could shatter any moment.
"No, but you could hear voices. Sometimes you would hear the same voice for a long time, believing that you could touch them, but when you reached out, no one was there. Just voices everywhere."
"Why aren't there more of you? There has to be more in there," pressed Hermione.
"There are, but many of them go ahead and cross over," the girl reached out to Hermione. They reacted to touching another, like a baby to a pacifier. They would go for only so long, before they'd blink quite a few times and then reach for the nearest person, usually a stranger or researcher in a lab coat, sating themselves for minutes at a time. Taking it for granted, Hermione was happy to oblige such a minor gesture and knelt down closer to her to hold her outstretched hand. "Crossover…like going on. The Veil is, essentially, the gap between life and death; just some of us aren't ready to leave yet. Some of us go on, because they don't want to wait forever. No one has ever known anyone to come out, before. I heard this voice that yelled, made demands and reached out with strong rough hands and the next thing I know, I was yanked back here and for that…" Laura looked up at Hermione in the dirty lab coat, believing her to be a big part of whatever had just happened to her. "For that, I am grateful. Thank you."
Hermione just smiled shyly for the girl. There was nothing she could say, only hundreds of questions to ask, but she knew then was not the time. There were going to be plenty of others, just like Hermione, poking and probing her enough, the least she could do was make her feel welcomed again.
Slowly, she stood. She glanced a sly eye back over the Veil. Her upper lip grimaced, as if believing it was a battle between her and the shoddy pair of curtains that taunted her with the real apple she desired. Like staring at an impossible puzzle, Hermione was not finished. Not yet. Taking a deep breath, she refocused and held her wand arm up in the air once again and Macnair rose to his feet from the collapsed position he had left himself in. Her ears tingled, as if one of the voices she could still hear behind the Veil belonged to a barking laugh, taunting her to best it.
Sirius Black was not a quitter and she knew that if there was a rumor that some might come out; he would surely be disappointed if he wasn't the first one to do it. Like a moth to the flame, Sirius would always jump into the unknown adventure, fearless and stubborn. She didn't feel like he was amongst the angels and spirits, watching her make foolish mistakes. No, he was teasing the devil, biting his thumb in jest and smirking as he waited for a crack to show itself.
Hermione heard Macnair protesting another run, but this time he revealed a small glimmer of fear to the driven witch. She pushed the tip of her wand against his stubbly throat, careful not to poke him in the Adam's apple, but still violent enough that he knew she was very very serious.
"You go in there one more time and scream. I don't care what you do; you just better bring at least one more person out. You understand me?" A vein in Hermione's brow twitched and she changed faster than Jekyll and Hyde with red flashes in her eyes.
She had a feeling; she had a strong connection to whatever she felt was calling out to her. The voices could still be heard, but Macnair had said the area was empty. It chilled her skin to believe that if she could still hear the whispering, that meant there were still people fighting to come out. Unless, the voices that she heard were merely afterthoughts and what Macnair said had been true. Perhaps they even belonged to the souls that had crossed over.
With a magical shove, Macnair went stumbling back into the black abyss. The surrounding sounds began to drain out again and her eyes focused. Her wand arm flicked in the gesture that though he was already behind, she might force an extra push to him to reach out further.
Her eyes started to burn from keeping them open and she forced herself to blink. Light tears formed at the corners of her lashes, swallowing the knot in her throat hard. Her mouth felt like cotton as the anxiety tingled her skin with the anticipation of one more person coming out. Just one more missed soul whose family wanted to embrace him, love him, and look up to him.
Just like routine, the rope started to tug and pull and in a shot, Hermione called out for her subject to be pulled back out. She helped with the rope too, letting down her hold on Macnair and pulled with all her might like she was reeling in a big fish.
With a thud, Macnair came tumbling back out onto the stone floor. With a grunt, so did another dusty character. The two men groaned in agony, the Returned trying to stand on the front of his hands as the wind was knocked out of him the second he followed with the tethered one.
Hermione's face flushed, the tired tears inched their way down her heated cheeks and her heart raced with a flutter that could only mean success.
"Sirius!" Her whisper was loud to her.
In a shot, Hermione raced to the hovering man with the dark blazer, dark slacks and boots. His dark locks fell over his shoulders as he bowed his head from lifting himself off the floor and like a prisoner released from incarceration, he raised his face to the warming light. He was so well preserved from the way he went in, it was like he never aged a day.
She approached him carefully, unsure if he knew where he was. Seeing his face lifting to the sound of his whispered name, he squint his eyes, appearing like the light in the room was burning. His chest rose heavy, like after running a marathon, but it was the brink of emotions he was teetering on. Like all the others, he blindly reached out for someone, any kind of contact and Hermione was there. Catching her breath, she immediately touched his hand and he squeezed hard, with his other hand she gently placed it up on her cheek and her hand vice versa.
"Sirius," she whispered again. She swore she saw his lips quiver at the sound of his name, so she got closer as his hand released hers and ran up her arm like he was searching for more comfort. "Sirius, its Hermione."
Sirius's hands stilled over her upper arms and he affectionately squeezed her, unconsciously pulling her to him. Hermione opened her arms and pulled him to her tightly, feeling a free hand coming around to hold the back of her head to him as he nuzzled himself into her neck. He held her tightly, saying nothing, just holding her in his arms without any intention to letting go. He made a few small sounds, but his voice sounded like he hadn't drank for years…which he hadn't.
Mostly, he was quiet. But he chanced to run a hand over her cheek again, slowly opening his eyes for her. Chocolate brown eyes welcomed him like seeing an angel in the heavens and the corners of his mouth began to lift into a slight smile. Emotions welled up in his chest, too heavy to let go, but managed to allow a slight tear escape and slowly slide down his chiseled cheek.
"Hermione? It is you," he whispered gravely, staring into her eyes like he'd never seen her before. So rosy cheeked, so flushed, so absolutely beautiful. As cliché was it was, she was sincerely a sight for sore eyes.
For a moment, she forgot herself and reached up around his neck to hold him tighter as if to embrace him romantically. She was so elated to have him back; his cologne still lingered on his skin after all this time, that he immediately was her new favorite thing. He represented that gold medal after running the furthest distance. He was a walking, breathing, murmuring miracle that held her tightly in his arms, as if his life depended on it.
"Sirius, you're home!" She whispered to him.
