Hello dear readers !! wow, part II at last :) To be fair, this piece got me into some trouble... I first was far too faithful to be books... but then I do't think 'Mione would have brought Sirius Black wth a "By the way you're last Best Friend's dead but don't worry he died a happy man - married to your cousin and all. Anyway you're for Harry so who cares?" So this is slight AU as I took some liberties (being to author is just great^^)

Disclamer: nothing's mine - i'm not half clever enough!

Thanks to MR, Padfootsgrl79, cookiepirateface, sinwen, lilo and sweetmiracle for their reviews :) love you all!!! and thanks for the alters/fav adds!!

And a huuuuuge thanks to cookie pirate face, my beta, thanks to her patience and work you have a gramatically correct new part XD!!!


Beyond

°-Part II – Beyond the Past-°


"I tend to live in the past because most of my life is there."

- Herb Caen


Hermione and Sirius were both in the small, somewhat cramped living room of the witch's house. A mixture of muggle and wizard photographs was hanging to the right of an impressive fireplace, while comfortable beige sofas and a low table were arranged in the middle of the room. A spacious library occupied much of the remaining place. The decoration was simple – no display of kitsch trinkets, no paintings (though there were the photos) – but the furniture matched well and there was a warm sense of tranquillity in the room, which he found to perfectly match its owner.

After he had awoken, Hermione had been careful not to press him to see what he remembered, preferring that he be able to regain his memories in his own time (and without the added pressure of having to present to her a strong front). She'd only reminded him that she was only a room away, should he want any of his questions answered. After this, she'd taken care to show him around the house, and give him fresh clothes.

He stayed a few hours in the room, concentrating on the various memories and images flitting through his mind; he found that he remembered every significant event of his life rather easily – the different fragments still existing, simply waiting to be conjured.

What led to the most bemusement was his time in the Veil, and how it might have affected him. He had no idea how long he'd been waiting behind it. Nor did he know where exactly he was now, and he certainly didn't know who had opened her home to him so willingly. Though, he had to admit that he trusted her implicitly.

It surprised him at first, to so easily present his trust to an utter stranger, but there was something in the girl that looked familiar, something that told him he would not be betrayed. He assumed she was a friend of Harry's. Harry would likely have delegated to her the duty of looking after his godfather until he could do so on his own, and this alone told Sirius that she was trustworthy. His godson always kept good company.

Shaking his head of his musings, he eventually got up to have a shower; his movements were quite clumsy and slightly painful, which he assumed had something to do with lying nearly in the same place for days on end.

Feeling slightly more refreshed, he conjured all his Gryffindor courage, and went to the sitting room where the young witch was absorbed in a book.

Both were sitting still in silence, dreading the upcoming moment: each afraid of what the other would say and each afraid of the other's reactions.

Hermione was biting her lips, focused intently on her cup of tea, while Sirius simply watched her. Inhaling deeply, he began, knowing that he could not avoid knowing the whole story – and he wanted to get it over with sooner, rather than later.

"Where am I?" he began smoothly, wishing to first know the trivial details of the present before going back into a darker past.

"My house," she answered, smiling. " It's not far from London..."

As she answered, he was studying the room they were in, noticing the covers piled up in one of the armchairs. This led him to realize that he must have been occupying her only bedroom. He felt a flicker of guilt at the unquestioning generosity she'd given him.

She laughed lightly at the look of mild discomfort he'd assumed while looking at the blankets. "Sorry. I imagine this isn't the most grand of places, especially not compared to what you must be used to..."

He smiled apologetically, was rather surprised. How could she possibly know what kind of a house he used to have? How could she know of the pure-blood grandeur he'd grown up with?

"You don't remember me, do you?"

There was no disappointment in her tone, though she sounded amused. For Hermione's part, she realized that she'd changed quite a lot since her Hogwarts days; the bossiness had left her, and in its place rested a comfortable sense of confidence and self-assuredness. Her appearance, too, had matured.

He looked at her again, studying her more closely. Her hair was a rich, chocolate brown, but for a few white strands; the smooth curls cascaded down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a mahogany brown, and her nose was somewhat perky and slightly freckled. He tried, but he could not age her. Her skin was soft, giving her a youthful glow, but her eyes conveyed too much sadness, too much knowledge, for someone that young, as did the white hair. Very few people could have seen undergone enough at a young age to physically affect their appearance. They'd have had to go through some hellish experiences...

He was almost completely sure, though, that she was somewhere between twenty and thirty five, but then… she looked astoundingly familiar. He smiled, thinking that she somehow resembled a kitten...and then realization struck.

"It can't be…" he muttered to himself. "How-how old are you?"

"Twenty four," came her short, simple answer, along with that knowing smile she seemed to wear rather often.

He looked at her in awe, refusing to admit he might be right regarding her identity.

"Hermione? Hermione Granger?" he asked in disbelief "Ten years… It can't have been…"

"Eight, to be more precise. I was sixteen when you knew me… and I just turned twenty four."

His eyes widened slightly at the change, but he did not dwell on this, for his mind was being assailed by hundreds (thousands) of questions. He didn't know where to start. The war, he'd gathered from her reassuring whispers, was over. But what of the deaths? Harry? Tonks? Lupin? And what had they been doing since?

"Harry is fine," she said, answering the question he had not yet voiced. "But...I suppose you'll want a more detailed account?" He could only nod.

She told him that Harry was now married to Ginny Weasley, head of the biggest Auror department, and they were living not far from The Burrow. A rush of pride swept through him, knowing that his godson, James' son, had made a life for himself. And then came the pang of sadness, when he realized that he had missed it.

When he got around to asking about the war, the first thing she responded with was difficult to swallow. Dumbledore had died? He didn't want to believe it, didn't want his onetime mentor to be gone, but the sadness in her eyes revealed the truth in her words. Moving painfully from that subject, sensing his need for a bit of a distraction, she summarized the chase for the Hocruxes, the running, the hiding, the battles, the victory, and the long fight to find and imprison remaining death eaters. She did not go into details, something he understood, respected, and was secretly grateful for.

She then told him about the other member of the Order that she'd stayed in touch with – about what they'd become. About Ron working with Harry as an Auror, Neville and Luna's marriage, McGonagall becoming the Headmistress, Kingsley's rise to Prime Minister… She kept her voice as steady as possible when she informed Sirius that his best friend and cousin were married and had a son, knowing how much he'd be hurt that he could not witness their happiness. A lot of people weren't mentioned and he was afraid, and rather aware, that it wasn't because Hermione had become a forgetful person. Guessing again the wizard's silent request, Hermione forced herself to keep a cool expression before mentioning the death toll. Beginning with those Sirius wasn't intimate with, she eased him into the idea of having lost people he once held dear. Still, there was no escaping talking about the infamous Battle of Hogwarts.

A long pause fell between them. Sirius couldn't utter a single word and silent tears were freely falling down his cheeks. There was nothing she could do, and even though she had tried to prepare herself, knowing the moment would be inevitable, it required all her self-control and strength not to break down. She reached for Sirius and took him in her arms, needing his presence as much as he needed hers. They stayed that way for a while, remembering the darker moments they had been through, silently giving their respects to those they lost, and accepting that they had, at least partly, been defeated by the war. Hermione eventually untangled herself from his arms, allowing Sirius to have private time for his grief.

***

A few days passed, during which they talked about nothing but souvenirs of a better time, a Marauder's time, and remembered the very few pleasant memories from Grimmauld Place – from the late talks they'd have in the library when the house was asleep, to the Order's reunions, which everyone attended. The unbearable pain wrought from the burden of grief gradually faded into a duller ache, still making him aware of its presence, but he was now able to focus on other, happier thoughts. Hermione knew the older wizard was doing his best to overcome his pain in order to see Harry as soon as possible, and she greatly admired him for this. And also felt ashamed at herself for whining, when he had lost so, so much more than her.

She would stay with him at the flat, and they'd keep each other company, albeit they were often lost in the wanderings of their own minds. He didn't talk much, still in grief– not only because of the people he'd lost, but also because of all the life he'd missed, all the moments lost to him, the weddings of his best friend and of his godson at the forefront of his many regrets. Somehow, in these eight years, Harry had grown into a good man and a loving husband. Remus had found the love, respect and self-confidence he'd always denied himself. And Sirius had missed it.

Thoughts like this would occasionally make him succumb to a patch of depression, but Hermione was always nearby, a calming, soothing presence. Most of the time, they could be found in the living room, which was temporarily doubling as Hermione's bedroom, because of her adamant refusal to let her guest sleep on the couch. When not lost in their musings, they'd read one of the many books in Hermione's library, or would revert back to their days at Grimmauld place; times of late night chats and light hearted banter. He would make her laugh with tales of his Marauder days, his utter lack of modesty secretly amusing her. Her intelligence and maturity did impress him, but he took the most pleasure in the streak of mischief that led her to dream up grand ideas, only to dismiss them at the realization that they were either illegal or highly illogical. The warmth, hospitality and company had him slowly turning back into the Sirius they knew eight years ago –though, admittedly in better health and perhaps with a happier disposition. She was just waiting for him to say he was ready to get out of the house. They had already discussed it and the idea exited them: they couldn't help but imagining various ridiculous methods of announcing his return. Still, he had not told her that he was ready, and she was loath to rush him.

She noticed he'd sometimes assume a forlorn look. He never mentioned the Veil, and did not answer her initial questions about it. He was grateful that she wouldn't press the subject, and knew that on the day he'd feel the need to talk about it, she'd be there to listen. He still couldn't discuss that – not that he didn't trust her – but he worried that voicing his fear would make it more real, tangible, unbeatable. He suffered bouts of insomnia, and consequentially, they'd stay up until ungodly hours, just talking, until he retired to his room. Only to find that he could do nothing but stare at the ceiling; sleep refused to claim him. An unfathomable anguish would grip him; he was terrified that he would be unable to wake up, and would be forced into the darkness once more.

***

They were once again lounging on the sofas, steaming cups of tea in front of them, when the doorbell rang. Hermione hadn't had any visits, and had rarely left her home since Sirius' return. This had only served the illusion that her little flat was the world. She suddenly looked terrified, realizing she hadn't gotten around to telling anyone of his return. She gestured wildly for him to hide and he ran into the bedroom as she banished the extra cup of tea to the kitchen.

"Hermione Jean Granger, if you don't open up this instant, I'm blowing in the door!" an angry voice called out.

The witch obliged, and opened the door to reveal a fuming Ginny.

"I'd have opened even if you hadn't shouted. I was in my room," Hermione said, with a slight smile. Somehow, the redhead failed to find humour in the situation.

" 'Mione, you must be kidding me! Almost a month without any news! You could have died and we wouldn't know! I know you needed time for yourself but—look; I supported you when you quit your job at St. Mungo's but…only because I thought you'd do something to make yourself happy! Not – not—brood over here in your little flat!" she finished, without giving Hermione the time to defend herself.

"Er, Gin, I'm perfectly fine, and… I kind of had a project that kept me busy. I didn't want to leave until I'd finished...probably should have owled, though," she trailed off.

"Come on, you can't fool me! Have you taken a look into the mirror recently? You have huge lines under your eyes...you look exhausted!"

"Uh… haven't been sleeping a lot, I guess." She laughed when Ginny rolled her eyes, before adding quietly, "Well, honestly...I was working on something you all might rejoice upon."

"Yeah… what about thinking of yourself, for once? Wasn't that the plan after quitting the hospital?" Hermione nervously bit her lips, looking around her house, anywhere but at the fiery Weasley. "Anyway… that project being...?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"A surprise. I promise, I swear that you'll know soon!" she added, beaming and smiling like a maniac. Ginny's eyes widened.

"Oh, I see! Well, I hope he's worth letting down your family, your friends…"

"Of course he is!" then she paused when realising the implication, her cheeks flaming before she quickly added, "not in that way! Look, next time we have a 'family dinner', add a place setting, and you'll find out soon enough. But now I still have work to do. I'll keep you posted," she finished in somewhat of a rush.

"Are you trying to kick me out?" Ginny asked in disbelief, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine. Tomorrow, seven o'clock, my place. And that's not a question!" Then, before Hermione could say anything: "Oh, and please, have some sleep and for Merlin's sake! Take care of yourself...you've got no idea how worried I've been...how worried Harry's been."

"Tell him I am perfectly fine, but that I just got too involved in—what I was working on"

"Yeah… whatever you say. See you tomorrow, then!"

The witch disappeared with a pop and Hermione let herself fall into the sofa. Sirius came back into the room, smiling at the scene he'd just witnessed.

"That was your sweet godson's wife…" she told him, with an unconvinced smile.

"I have no doubt. I guess it's a Potter thing… being attracted to redhead furies," he answered with a wink.

"No doubt," she paused, "if you want to postpone though, if you're not ready to face them...I should be able to face her wrath."

"While I appreciate the gesture...I suppose it's time to go public anyway," he braved.

There was a long silence, while the implication of the next day's meeting was slowly sinking in.

"What about you go down the chimney dressed up as Santa?" Hermione asked suddenly, in an effort to break the uneasiness that had settled.

"Oh, well… It's a pity it's only November, but that's still a good idea. Not the best you've had so far, though." He made himself comfortable in the sofa and looked at her intensely, his gaze filled with concern.

"Another cup of tea?" she asked, standing up, and guessing from Sirius' look that he was about to broach a subject she wouldn't be comfortable with.

"Good try," he said with a smirk, but he only patted the place next to him. She came back, sinking into the sofa with a resigned sigh.

"You've told me about Harry and Ron's lives in detail, but haven't mentioned a single thing about you. I didn't even know you worked at St. Mungo's…"

"Well, I did tell you I studied magical care to help during the battles," she pointed out.

"Yes. But not that you actually kept working there and then quit. Is it true, what Ginny said?"

"Well, she certainly has the Gryffindor habit of exaggerating things… I just wanted a change; it's no big deal. Sure you don't want another tea? Toast, maybe?"

"Uh-uh, you're not escaping that easily, Kitten."

She smiled when he used that ridiculous nickname he'd recently bestowed upon her, and decide to make herself more comfortable, knowing this would be a long talk.

"So? What are your plans going to be?" came Sirius' opening question.

"Well… I—I guess I will have to find a job, there's no way I'm going to live on the ministry's reward for more than another few months… and I guess… ugh! Why is it so ridiculously difficult to choose? Most seventeen year olds know what they're going to be!"

"Well, maybe they weren't busy saving their best friends' lives, and actually got to ask themselves the question," he mused. He suddenly opened his eyes widely when he realised what the witch had said before that. "So, I've been depriving you from sleep in a proper bed for weeks, and happily making holes in your money? You should have asked—come on, you know better!" he was clearly vexed, evidenced by the mingled shock and hurt on his face.

"I'm sorry to tell you this but… you're broke, Sirius. I mean… we all thought you were dead so… your will…" she trailed off, before adding hurriedly, "not that I think Harry won't restore what was yours under his own initiative! But...I couldn't really ask you for help, could I?" she smiled as she knew she made a point.

"Yeah… not that I ever seemed to be of any help to you, did I?" he spat bitterly.

"Stop being ridiculous! And what are you going to do once everybody knows the great Sirius Black is back? Going to be up to no good? Break every heart passing your way?" she asked, in an attempt to change the subject, and laughing at the falsely shocked face he put on. But her laughing quickly subsided. She didn't know why, but she felt some twinge of displeasure at the idea of Sirius going about chatting up pretty witches. She knew he was aware of the fact that he was still attractive – especially now that he actually had time to take care of himself – and she'd heard his tales about his marauder's years; he'd been a heartbreaker. Although she didn't want him to feel that he owed her, there was a tiny aching thing she couldn't, or refused to, put a name on. Mentally shaking her head of these ideas, she looked back at him, waiting for his answer.

"Hmm… well, I wouldn't like to put too much thought on the future right now, but–I guess...I'll just do what I planned when I was a reckless seventeen year old bastard: I'll be an Auror.

"Then I'll be sure to spend time annoying Harry and Remus with "immature" pranks. I've gotta keep the Marauder spirit alive, you know. For the rest, come what may! If there's anyone who knows how useless planning your life out can be...it's me.

"Life will always reserve its fair share of surprises. I just hope next ones will be better than the ones I've had recently," he said, winking at the last part.

Hermione looked at him in speechless amazement. It all sounded so simple when he said it and it had a ring of truth. She knew that planning her whole life was ridiculous, but she needed something tangible to aspire to, and helping others had seemed to be a good one. Now though, she was willing to feel selfish and actual try being happy.

She wondered, now, how he could be so confident when he'd been through as much as he had. She'd had a comparatively peaceful (well, she hadn't died, anyway) life than he, but she felt so...lost. His barking laugh interrupted her ponderings.

"Stop thinking that much Kitten, it won't help, honestly! Now, there's surely something you like doing? Just selfishly?"

"Well… I—I thought about teaching… McGonagall told to me about the charm teacher post being free next year… so maybe…"

"I'd say you don't look the remotest bit excited at the prospect, so drop it."

"Research, then. Just…you know, the sheer pleasure of the enigma, the frustration of not knowing, the relief when everything starts making sense. Just being a free-lance researcher for the ministry."

"Now we're talking. Why haven't you tried it already?"

"Oh, I… I couldn't. They were things to do and… I mean, it's not...not a job that…"

"It's a job that will have everybody enthralled: the reason being quite simple, it'll make you happy."

She smiled. He had a point and she knew, much as she hated to admit it, that she was being a bit of a coward. Research had always somehow been her last resort and an option she cherished but never fully considered, terrified she'd lose interest. Then, she'd be utterly lost and that...that was a frightening though.

"Stop thinking!" came Sirius' voice, scattering her thoughts. "Now, go to bed – your bed – because if you still look that exhausted at the dinner, that 'sweet' wife of Harry's is going to kill me when she discovers I'm the cause, and if she's like her mother…"

"Ginny's nothing like Molly, you're safe...so's your godson, for that matter," she answered laughing. "But I can't go to sleep now – I still haven't finished the report."

"What report?"

"You don't think the ministry will be happy with you just being 'back' – so if we want them to leave us in peace, I'd better provide them with all the answers they might want. And since I have a medicomagus degree, I added a very precise medical report. I don't want them keeping you under observation." She taunted him with a smile that dared him to argue the reasoning of her effort.

"You are far too clever for your own good. But you'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow and I'll be more than happy to help with it. Now, humour me: get some sleep and...sweet dreams."

She went to her room after bidding Sirius a good night, her body being too tired to argue and actually grateful at Sirius' offer–her back had been killing her these last weeks.

He looked at her as she slowly made her way to her room and smiled sadly: he understood the witch's fear and, though she might not believe him if he'd revealed it, he often felt the same. He had been dreaming about a better life when he'd been locked up at Grimmauld Place, but a cynical voice constantly told him not to bother with those dreams, for they could be nothing than just that – dreams. Beautiful paintings that are pleasant to look at, but that are not to be touched, not to be handled.

And, fine, looking was nice. But touching was better. This was a personal philosophy that spurred him into wanting to help her out. After all, wasn't this the third time she'd put her own life on the line to come to his rescue? He wasn't a fool and knew, even if Hermione did not mention it, that she'd risked a lot when trying to retrieve him from the Veil. One does not play with such powerful force without hazarding a great deal of harm.

Hoping to calm his mind slightly, he went to the kitchen and helped himself a glass of whiskey. Three times she had saved him; the first two were clearly for Harry's sole benefit, but...he could not fathom her reasoning for the most recent. Of course, there was the 'enigma' she'd been going on about, but couldn't she have found an enigma that was a tad less dangerous to resolve?

He finished his glass. He didn't know her reason and found that he didn't need to. Things were rather clear: she needed help and comfort, and he would offer these to her. And anything else he could give. He owed her more than he could ever repay, so he vowed to at least give it a try. He knew there were memories that still haunted her, memories she wouldn't share, but he wouldn't ask questions on subjects she'd worked so hard on avoiding and forgetting.

Whatever her nightmares were about, he hoped his sheer presence could help ease her into gentle and peaceful dreams.

He sighed.

The next day was going to be difficult, but he was looking forward to it. He had begun to process the past, and was on the road to recovery.

The future looked brilliant from where he stood.


Yeah that' all for this chap, now next time.... lots of people and more action :) let me know if you have some ideas/desires/request... :)

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