Chapter 14: Dress Robes, Dragons, and Clocks

"Well?" Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?"
Harry considered for a moment. "Wet," he said truthfully.
Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.
—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,J.K. Rowling

In hindsight, I should have expected it.

The kiss began tentatively—a soft, questioning brush of his lips against mine. One of his hands left my waist to cup my cheek, and I stifled a surprised gasp as he nuzzled his nose to mine and lightly kissed the corner of my mouth. Who could blame me, after all? This was Sirius Black. It was as if slipping into an unexpected dream—the sort of blissful euphoria I'd only ever experienced during the nighttime hours. Or perhaps it was more like a moment stolen from another witch's life—someone who hadn't spent her entire adolescence fighting dark wizards.

Someone normal.

When I didn't pull away, his lips met mine once more, more intensely this time, and I surprised myself by responding earnestly. I felt a low hum of approval vibrate deep in his chest as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tilted my head to deepen the kiss. He closed any distance between us hastily, pressing me firmly against the brick wall, and ran his tongue along the seam of lips, requesting access.

How could I possibly refuse?

My lips parted and his tongue teased the tip of mine slowly, excruciatingly. Wanting more, wanting it all, I rose to the tips of my toes, attempting to pull him closer. He groaned audibly and responded with a desperate hunger, leaving me breathless, bordering on senseless. I lost myself in the softness of his lips, in the spearmint and tobacco taste of his mouth. The hand gripping my waist slid tantalizingly to my hip, causing me to moan softly against his lips. I would have been mortified by my wanton behavior if I hadn't been so distracted by the way his calloused fingers were toying with the hem of my blouse, grazing the strip of bare skin above the waistband of my skirt. My skin seemed to sear at his touch and an unbearable warmth spread throughout my body, settling deep in my belly.

His kiss, his hands... God, all brought sensations I never thought possible. His lips were expert, skills well honed from many hours of practice. This kiss was far different, far more arousing, than the ones I'd shared with Victor or Ron.

Ron.

Reality washed over me as if I'd been doused with icy water. My lips stilled against his and my entire body tensed.

The kiss was over, the moment ruined.

Bewildered, he pulled away, the concern on his face painfully obvious as his thumb brushed gently across my cheek.

"Hermione, what's wro—"

I shrugged out of his embrace and ducked away, trembling violently from head to foot. I bit my lip, looking to the heavens in panic. Tears pricked sharply at the corners of my eyes. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, terrified that the fault lines in my chest would begin to crumble right before his eyes.

"I—I can't, I'm sorry…" I gasped. I gave him one last look, barely registering his alarm, before turning on the spot and Disapparating with a soft pop.

Home, I pleaded. Take me home.

Sirius:
(A few hours earlier)

Sirius felt that Sundays were made for relaxing.

As a child, he'd gone out of his way to befriend the children of his Muggle neighbors in London, initially for the sole purpose of pissing off his mother, but eventually he'd found them to be far more interesting than the little pureblood tossers his family forced upon him. He would walk all the way from Grimmauld Place to Finsbury Park every afternoon to meet his two new friends, Laura and Dechlan. It made his stomach sick to think of them now thanks to his mother, but something Laura had said stuck with him ever since he was eight years old.

"I've always loved Sundays," she'd said with a contented sigh as all three children had lain in the grass, looking up at the fluffy cotton-wool clouds above them. "Our priest said that after creating the whole world, God rested on the seventh day, so we should too."

That was the last time he ever saw Laura or Dechlan, but since then, Sirius had reserved Sundays for nothing but pure relaxation.

Today was no different—or so he thought.

"My sister is getting married in a few months," said Marlene, breaking the silence. She was lounging on a settee in the common room with her feet in Sirius's lap, flipping through a copy of Witch Weekly while Sirius and James played a game of chess nearby. Both boys looked up as James's knight destroyed one of Sirius's pawns.

"Elise or Blair?" asked James.

Sirius knew that the Potters and the McKinnons had been friends for years. Both families were pureblood, but neither put any stock in the importance of blood purity. Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon had four daughters: Blair, Elise, Marlene, and Nora. Blair and Elise had already left Hogwarts, and Nora had just started her fifth year. James and Marlene had basically grown up together, so while Sirius had only met them a handful of times, James knew Marlene's two older sisters well. Actually, James had the privilege of knowing Elise very well—intimately, one might say. Few people knew the identity of the lucky lady to snag James's virginity, and Marlene certainly wasn't one of them.

"Blair, obviously," Marlene snorted. "Elise is far too busy kissing arse at the Ministry to care about men. Drives Mum mad."

"Who's the lucky bloke?" asked James, looking obviously relieved at the news. James had a bit of a possessive side—he in no way had residual feelings for Elise, but Sirius knew that James would dislike the idea of her dating anyone else.

Marlene wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Selwyn."

"Not the Slytherin prat that graduated a few years back?" asked Sirius. The Selwyns were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, like his own family, and just as focused on blood purity. Mrs. Selwyn was a regular at his mother's Sunday afternoon tea.

"Yep," Marlene replied. "He seems decent enough, I suppose, especially coming from a family like his."

James and Sirius shared skeptical looks over their chessboard, but both knew better than to respond.

"He works in the Department of International Magical Cooperation with Elise. That's how he met Blair, actually. Elise…"

But both Sirius and James were no longer listening. Sirius's bishop overtook James's knight, and he cheered silently while Marlene continued, knowing full well that her audience couldn't give two fucks, but plowing on just the same.

"So Sirius," Marlene said, nudging him with a toe until he looked up. "What do you think of these dress robes?" She held out her magazine and pointed to the ponciest set of men's dress robes he'd ever seen.

"Er, what?" Sirius asked, confused.

"For you to wear to the wedding?" Marlene replied. "I'll be a bridesmaid, so I can't have you looking like a total muppet."

Buggering fucking shit, Sirius thought, panicking. She honestly expected him to go as her date? But the wedding wasn't for months. How was he supposed to make plans so far in advance?

It was time, he decided. He'd been putting it off, avoiding conflict, but if she wanted him to commit to being her date months from now, he had to do it.

"Marlene, I think we need to talk."

Marlene narrowed her eyes, and James checked his watch conspicuously.

"Well, look at the time," James said loudly. "Sorry to abandon our game, Pads, but I've got to meet Delia." Marlene flashed him a dirty look. "Er—see ya," he finished before hurrying out of the common room.

As the portrait hole closed, Marlene turned to Sirius. "If you're trying to break up with me, don't bother. We weren't enough of a thing to warrant it."

Sirius slumped in obvious relief. "Thank Merlin," he sighed. "It's not that I don't like you, Mar. I think you're great and all, I really do, but maybe we should put a pin in it for now. Don't you think we work better as friends, anyway? I mean, we've been mates forever, ever since first year when James and I filled your cauldron with frogs. Well, at first you hated me, but then James convinced you that it was a bloody good prank, and... Shit, Marlene." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, talking himself into a panic once again. "I don't want this to fuck up our friendship. Wasn't this all just supposed to be a bit of fun to begin with? Neither of us are the settling-down type, and I just don't think I can commit to—"

Marlene laughed dryly as she held up a hand to silence him. "Stop the babbling, Sirius. You made it clear when we started that it was nothing but shagging. No harm done."

He gave her his best charming smile and held out a hand. "So… friends?" he inquired hopefully.

She shrugged as she shook his hand. "Friends. Hating you would stir up a lot more shit, anyway. It's not worth it."

He didn't know how to respond, but thankfully, Marlene stood first. "I'm going out for a fly. See you around." She turned and left through the portrait hole, hips swaying enticingly as she walked.

No, not enticingly, you randy wanker, Sirius chastised himself. There's a whole goddamn school full of witches out there.

But he knew that there was only one witch he wanted, and it wasn't the great arse that just walked away.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Sirius looked up from his copy of Quidditch Quarterly to find a very irate Lily Evans standing over him.

"Er, pardon?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Black," she snarled, snatching his magazine from his hands and whacking him over the head with it. "Why did you break up with Marlene?"

"So we're back to 'Black' now, are we?" Sirius said, somewhere between annoyed and amused. "I thought we were making progress, Lily-pad."

She threw the magazine back to him, pages fluttering as it landed haphazardly in his lap. "You don't deserve to be on a first name basis with me if you're going to screw over my best friend."

"Now hold on just one second," Sirius said. "Marlene and I left it on good terms. She said we were still friends and—"

"Of course she said you would still be friends!" she interrupted shrilly. "That's what all girls say when some bastard tosses them!"

"Well fuck me for thinking you birds actually mean what you say," grumbled Sirius.

"I just don't get it. Things seemed great between you two..." She paused, her eyebrows furrowed. "Please don't tell me this is about Hermione. "

"Oh, come off it," Sirius scoffed, rising from the settee. "We've known her for, what? Less than a week? It's got nothing to do with her." Lily rolled her eyes as Sirius continued. "And just so you know, Marlene and I weren't even dating. Everyone knows that I don't do the whole relationship thing. I only told her that I thought we should put a pin in it for now."

"Put a pin in it..." she repeated under her breath, shaking her head. "Well fuck us all for thinking you could be anything but a right git. God, will you ever grow up?"

"I think you're being a little harsh, Evans." James had returned and was now standing next to Lily, looking worried.

Lily snorted derisively and raised a hand to silence James. "Harsh? You think this is harsh? I had plans, Black," she said, jabbing Sirius in the chest with her finger. "All sorts of fantastic plans, but then you had to go and fuck it all up. Now how are we supposed to—" but she broke off, looking as if she regretted her outburst. James eyed her curiously.

"I don't know what's stuck in your craw, Evans, but you need to butt out. It's none of your business if Marlene and I ended it. Now, if you'll excuse me." Sirius threw the Quidditch magazine onto the ground and stalked away.

"What in the name of Merlin was that all about?" James asked.

Lily groaned exasperatedly.

Relaxation my arse, Sirius thought grumpily as he climbed through the portrait hole.

Hermione:

I landed on the outskirts of The Burrow, just outside of the gate leading to the garden. I wasn't surprised—my subconscious knew how significant the crooked little house was to me. Along with Hogwarts, the Burrow was the place where I had felt most loved. The home of the Weasley family was silhouetted beautifully in the pinkish glow of the setting sun, and I gripped the gate tightly for support as tears began to roll down my cheeks.

What was I doing?

Why on earth had I allowed myself to kiss Sirius? It was wrong, plain and simple. Of course, I was attracted to him—unbearably so, if I was honest with myself. How could I not be? But he was Harry's godfather, and in reality, he was twenty years older than me. I didn't belong with him in 1977. My rightful place was in the future with Harry and Ron.

Ron.

I couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that by kissing Sirius, I had betrayed Ron. Before the world had gone to shit, it had seemed like Ron and I might actually have had a chance—a chance to be together properly, a chance at happiness, a chance at normalcy. Not only had he been my best friend, but I'd been in love with him for years, far longer, I'm sure, than anyone had known, except for maybe Ginny.

But then he died. Ron fucking died, and I was whisked away by some fucked-up magical catastrophe to a time where he wasn't even born yet. If I was stuck here, as Professor Dumbledore had implied, then was it really a betrayal to be with someone else?

Even more than that, how could I live with myself if I allowed Sirius to be in danger? I was meant to be saving his life, along with so many others. If we became anything more than friends, would he become a target? Harry had ended things with Ginny for that very reason, so wouldn't it be wise for me to do the same before it even began?

But… God, was I reading too much into the kiss? I licked my lips, tasting the same familiar spearmint. I knew full well that Sirius had quite a reputation with women. Had he simply been vulnerable and I was the first witch available to console him? Had he just been hoping for a quick snog?

Of course he had, I decided. It hadn't meant anything at all. I was new—an interesting novelty to add to his collection.

Friends. It had meant nothing, and we were only friends.

This revelation made me feel even more wretched.

"Are you okay?" a small voice asked.

I looked up from my reverie, sniffling and wiping tears from my face with my sleeve, to find a young redheaded boy staring curiously at me from the opposite side of the gate.

A four-year-old Charlie Weasley—or at least, I assumed it was.

"Er—hi. Sorry, I think I'm at the wrong house. I'll just be going now…"

"Are you a Muggle?" Charlie interrupted.

I couldn't help but laugh at his naivety as I wiped a bit of snot from my nose. "You know, you can't just ask people if they're a Muggle or not." Charlie's ears went scarlet. "But for the record, no, I'm not," I said kindly. "I'm a witch."

"That's good, 'cause I'm a wizard," Charlie said with a lopsided grin. "Want to help me name my new dragon?" He held out a stuffed Norwegian Ridgeback with both hands. "Uncle Bilius just sent it to me today."

My hand moved to unlatch gate, but I hesitated briefly.

What was I doing? I shouldn't be here.

Reckless.

I opened the gate and stepped into the back garden. I felt a ripple of magic around me, and I thanked God that the Weasley's protective enchantments had allowed me entrance. I knelt so that I was at eye level with Charlie.

"Well first of all, do you know what kind of dragon you have?" He shook his head, red ringlets spilling into his eyes. "See these black ridges along its tail?" I reached out and ran a finger along the stuffed dragon. "That means it's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're a pretty rare breed—very hard to find in the wild. Is yours a boy or a girl?"

"A boy, of course. Why would I want a girl dragon?" Charlie asked, frowning in disgust.

"Girls aren't all that bad," I replied with a laugh. "You know, I met a Norwegian Ridgeback once." His eyes widened in amazement. "I watched him hatch from an egg and everything. The eggs are just as black as their ridges. He was a feisty little thing." That's putting it lightly. "His name was Norbert. Do you think Norbert might be a good name for yours?"

Charlie hummed as he considered it. "Norbert..." he repeated. "I love it!"

I laughed again. "So now that we know that your dragon has a name, what's yours?"

"I'm Charles Weasley," he said, puffing out his chest proudly. "But everybody calls me Charlie. What about you?"

"Pleased to meet you, Charlie," I said, reaching out to shake his small hand. "I'm Hermione. So do you like dragons?"

"Dragons are the best!" he exclaimed. "How could anybody not like dragons? They can—"

But before he could finish, he was interrupted. "Charles Florinus Weasley, didn't I tell you to wash up for dinner?" a very familiar voice called.

Both Charlie and I looked up to find Mrs. Weasley striding towards us. I stood up quickly.

"Sorry, mum," Charlie replied. "Hermione was just helping me name my new dragon."

Mrs. Weasley looked extremely alarmed to find a strange witch in her yard conversing with her young son. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Weasley," I said quickly as she reached us. "I seem to be a little lost."

"Charlie," Mrs. Weasley said sharply. "Go inside and make sure your brother has the table set." Charlie gave me a quick grin before scurrying away, and Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And you are?"

"Hermione Granger-Dumbledore, ma'am," I replied a little timidly, remembering the famous Weasley temper. I used my new surname in the hope that she would feel less wary of me if she knew I was related to Albus Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore?" she asked. "Surely not Aberforth's daugher?" I nodded, and when she saw my surprise, she added, "My husband works at the Ministry. He's heard talk of you. What on earth brings you to Devon?"

"I was looking for, er—" I floundered for a believable excuse. "Xenophilius Lovegood. I know he lives nearby, but I got a little turned around."

"Xeno?" she asked. "Well you weren't too far off. He lives just over the way." She gestured behind her to the rolling hills in the distance. "But Pandora—his wife, you know—was over for tea yesterday, and she said they were going on holiday to Sweden. Something for Xeno's loony magazine… researching Crunky-Snorhats or something of the sort."

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," I corrected, unable to help myself. She raised her eyebrows. "I had a friend that was a big fan of The Quibbler," I added hastily, not wanting her to think I was as wacky as the Lovegoods. As much as I loved Luna, her family was very eccentric, and along with Uncle Al's barmy-but-genius reputation, believing in nonexistent magical creatures wouldn't do me many favors.

"Anyhow, they won't be back for the next few weeks," she said, then eyed me sympathetically. "Why don't you stay for dinner, dear? It's getting quite late, so you can use the Floo after if you need to."

I was torn. I wanted so badly to say yes. The Burrow and Mrs. Weasley's cooking sounded wonderfully comforting, but I also didn't want to intrude or take advantage of her hospitality.

I was a stranger, after all.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but I shouldn't—"

"Nonsense!" she said brightly. "Any relation of Professor Dumbledore is a friend of ours. My husband will be home from work soon and we just love having guests over. Why don't you come inside?" I nodded silently as I followed her to the back door of the place I'd once considered something like home. "And call me Molly," she said as she opened the door. "We aren't too far apart in age."

My breath caught in my throat and I struggled to suppress the onslaught of memories as I gazed around the tiny kitchen. Charlie was standing on a stepstool, attempting to wash his hands beneath the tap, but much more water was ending up down his front than on his hands. Bill Weasley, six-years-old and with hair much shorter than I'd ever seen it in my future, was placing plates around the table. Baby Percy was sitting quietly on the floor, playing with a Muggle toy truck. All three boys looked up when we entered.

"You've already met Charlie," said Mrs. Weasley, nodding to her second-oldest son. Charlie gave me a watery wave, sending droplets flying around the kitchen. "This my oldest, Bill. Go ahead and add an extra plate, sweetheart." Bill gave me a grin, two front teeth missing, before going to fetch another place setting from the cupboard. Mrs. Weasley—wait, Molly, I corrected myself—scooped up her youngest son from the ground. "And this is Percy. How old are you, Percy?"

Percy struggled for a moment before pointing a finger to me. "Won," he said, waving his tiny hand around.

Molly beamed. "Exactly. One year old!" she said proudly as she slid him into a highchair near the end of the table. "Boys, this is my friend, Hermione."

My friend.

I almost cried again.

"It's lovely to meet you all," I said, looking around to all three boys.

"Hello, Hermione," Bill replied politely while Percy babbled incoherently.

"Sit by me, 'Mione!" Charlie shouted, pulling out a chair for me.

"Why, what a gentleman," I said, smiling at Charlie. "I'd love to sit next to you." I turned to Molly. "Mrs—um, Molly, do you need any help with dinner?"

"Don't be silly, you're our guest," she said, shaking her head. "Go ahead and sit, everything is almost ready."

"Molly, dear, I'm home. And what a day I've had. Mundungus Fletcher with those strangling neckties again…" Mr. Weasley was standing in the doorway, looking weary.

"Arthur!" said Molly happily as her husband closed the door. She hurried over to give him a quick kiss before saying, "We have a guest for dinner tonight."

Mr. Weasley glanced around the kitchen until his eyes landed on me. "What a surprise! I don't think we've met. Arthur Weasley."

"Hermione Granger-Dumbledore, sir," I said politely, holding out a hand to the man that had been like a second father to me.

His eyes widened as he shook it. "Aberforth's daughter from across the pond?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I'm so sorry to intrude on your dinner, Mr. Weasley. I know you must be tired after a long day at work."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, not intruding. Call me Arthur." He gestured for me to sit, and Charlie grinned widely as I took the seat next to him. "So, the word around the Ministry is that you were raised by Muggles?" Arthur asked as he took the seat at the head of the table.

Typical Mr. Weasley.

I grinned. "My mum was a Muggle."

"Brilliant!" Arthur replied. "Now, I have a few questions. I've heard that Muggles have something called cassette tapes. Some sort of ribbon with music..."

Home.

As I ate at my dinner, I studied the couple that in my nonexistent future, I'd considered to be my 'wizard-parents'. I'd loved my own mum and dad, of course, and we'd connected in our own way. However, they were Muggles, and as I'd grown older and more ensconced in the wizarding world, they had found it harder and harder to relate. After many summers visiting the Burrow (and Grimmauld Place), Molly and Arthur Weasley had essentially become a second set of parents to me.

When I was thirteen, Molly had been the one to buy me Magda's Magical Maxipads after I'd gotten my first period while staying at The Leaky Cauldron. "Don't worry about it, dearie. Magda makes the most absorbent out there. I'll get you a few boxes of tampons too, just to make sure you're set while at school."

At fourteen, Arthur had consoled me when my parents had been unhappy with me leaving for the rest of the summer to attend the Quidditch World Cup. "Sweetheart, they're only sad because they miss you," he'd said as I cried on his shoulder. "They feel like outsiders because you're magical, but they love you, and I promise, they'll never stop. That's what it means to be a parent."

At fifteen, Molly had given Ginny and me the 'sex talk'. We'd both cringed and giggled uncomfortably as she sat us down in the dark, dank bedroom we'd shared at Grimmauld Place. "I'm not going to be 'that mum,'" she'd said matter-of-factly. "You both know my opinions. I want you to wait many, many years for this, but I also want you to be safe. Now there are two potions and a charm you should know—"

At seventeen, Arthur had hugged me tightly outside of his shed a few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding. "I know you, Ron, and Harry are planning to leave soon," he'd said, voice tight with emotion. "And I'm not going to try to convince you to stay like Molly, but just know that we both love you very much. We've thought of you as one of ours for many years, so please, be safe. Take care of our two boys." He'd then pulled away and grasped one of my hands in his, patting it kindly with the other. "And I know Ron can be a bit thick, but my son cares about you more than he knows how to say."

I chewed my potatoes slowly, taking it all in. Bill and Charlie were arguing across the table about the most recent Quidditch match between the Winborn Wasps and the Appleby Arrows. ("Yeah, but did you see the new beater for the Wasps? Bagman can hit a Bludger harder than anyone in the league!") Molly was very pretty at twenty-six, slightly plump, but glowing with happiness. Her long, fiery red hair, exactly as Ginny's had been, was pulled back in a low ponytail. Arthur reminded me of a strange mixture of the Bill and Ron I had known—though still tall and thin, he was far from the balding wizard of my future, but instead rather handsome. I smiled as he gazed lovingly at his wife, who had just finished recounting her day.

"So Hermione," Arthur said after taking a sip of Elderflower wine. "What do you do?"

"Er, I'm in my final year of Hogwarts. But don't worry," I added hastily, seeing their shocked expressions. "I'm actually a year older than most seventh years, so Uncle Albus gave me special permission to leave the castle today."

"Goodness, you had us worried there for a second," said Molly. "So you must have met my brother! Gideon Prewett—he's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."

"Uncle Gideon is the best!" Bill interjected. "Always brings us sweets when he visits."

"I just had my first lesson with him on Friday," I said, smiling at Bill. "No sweets for us, sadly, but he seems like he's going to be a great teacher."

"Well of course he is!" Molly said proudly as she spooned mashed vegetables into Percy's waiting mouth. "He and Fabian were top of their class at the Auror Academy. I told him it was foolish to accept the position. Not many Defense professors last very long, but I reckon he's safer there than at the Auror Office…" she trailed away, looking distressed.

"Molly, you said it yourself. Gideon and Fabian are both brilliant at their job. They'll be perfectly safe," said Arthur consolingly.

"So what is it that you do at the Ministry?" I asked Arthur, accepting a refill of wine from him. Molly, I noticed, was drinking only water.

"I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department," he replied. "It's a small department, but I couldn't be happier. You wouldn't believe the sort of things Muggles get their hands on. Muggle-baiting is at an all time high these days…"

I sipped my wine contentedly as Arthur described a particularly exciting raid from the week before. Percy was babbling happily in his highchair, mouth smeared green with mashed peas. The two older Weasley children were slumped sleepily in their chairs, evidently knackered from their Quidditch talk and hearty meal.

"Time for bed, I think," Molly said, noticing her two dozing sons. Bill and Charlie both began to protest. "No, no, it's getting late, boys." She picked up Percy from his highchair before turning to me. "Won't you stick around for a bit longer, Hermione? I'll be back down in just a bit."

"Why don't I help you put the boys to bed?" I asked, hoping I wasn't overstepping.

She smiled gratefully. "That would be wonderful."

"Come on, Hermione, I'll show you my room!" Charlie said excitedly, grabbing my hand as I stood.

"Lead the way!"

Charlie's bedroom was on the first floor in the room that would one day belong to Ginny. The floor was strewn with books on magical creatures and a Pride of Portree poster was tacked over his bed. Once he had pulled on his hippogriff-patterned pajamas and crawled into bed, he yawned widely and said, "Tell me a story about the dragon you met, Hermione."

I grinned. "Which one?"

"You've met more than one?" he asked excitedly.

I laughed. "Well you know the Norwegian Ridgeback I told you about? Norbert?" He nodded. "Like I said, I got to watch him hatch from an egg, but you know what we found out a few years later? Norbert wasn't a Norbert at all, he was Norberta. Turns out we were mistaken and she was a girl."

Charlie frowned. "I sure hope that doesn't happen to my Norbert…" he said worriedly.

"I doubt it will," I said, tucking the little stuffed Norbert beneath the blanket next to him. "Now, close your eyes and I'll tell you about the time I rode a dragon…"

Not even five minutes later, I joined Molly and Arthur in the sitting room. The wireless was tuned to the Wizarding Wireless Network, and Molly was humming along to the music as she knitted what appeared to be a tiny indigo jumper. They both looked up as I entered.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble?" asked Molly.

"Out like a light before I even finished his bedtime story," I replied with smile. "He really likes dragons, doesn't he?"

Arthur laughed. "Obsessed, more like. My brother Bilius has been doing research at the dragon preserve in Wales. Charlie thinks it's the coolest job in the world."

"No wonder your brother never married," Molly said with a sniff. "A dangerous job like that…"

I had to hold in my laughter, knowing her son would have the exact same profession in the future.

"Have a seat," Arthur said, gesturing to an armchair. "There's enough wine left for one more glass before you leave."

"I'd love to," I said before taking the seat in front of the fireplace. He poured two glasses and levitated one to me. "Thank you for your hospitality this evening," I added as I accepted the glass. He waved his hand dismissively, but I shook my head. "No, really. You both have been so kind. Molly, I know it must have been a fright to find a stranger in your garden. I'm surprised you didn't hex me on the spot."

She laughed as she laid down her knitting. "I considered it, but our protective enchantments wouldn't have let you pass if you meant us any ill-will. Honestly, you looked like you needed a home-cooked meal and someone to talk to."

I smiled, reminded of how perceptive she'd always been. "You were right," I replied. "I—"

But I was cut off by a sharp gasp from Molly. "Arthur!" she shrieked, clutching her chest, her knitting falling from her lap as she leapt to her feet. '"Arthur, look!" She was pointing to the mantle, looking utterly terrified.

I followed her gaze to family clock, which was hung on the wall above the fireplace, just as it had been in the future. Like the one on the shelf in Gideon's office, the clock had nine hands, one for each member of the Prewett and Weasley family. My stomach seemed to disappear as I found the cause of her alarm.

The hand belonging to Fabian Prewett was pointing to "mortal peril."

(A/N): This chapter was so fun to write, especially the young Weasley children. I'm a huge fan of the Weasley family, and even in a Sirius/Hermione story, I felt like it would be wrong not to include them, especially seeing as how Gideon is already an important character. Please comment and let me know what you think!

-liz