Broken glass crunched softly into the dust-covered floor as Hermione stepped into the dark attic of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She should have been scared. The house had always felt somewhat menacing, even when filled with Weasleys and Order members years prior. The cleansing charms had only kept the darkness at bay so much, and now they were alone – she, Harry, and Ron. And the old mansion seemed to lord its generations of darkness and blood mania over her.
Oh, she'd been scared. Too scared to sleep, again.
But up here there were memories. Memories tucked deep away in the secret corners of her heart, memories of arms that made her feel safe and cherished. Here there was no 'darkness' other than lack of actual light.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the door was locked, Hermione turned to the huge slanted panes of glass. They'd been filthy with age and soot then, and now they were so obscured that not a thread of light peeked through. With a wave of her wand, they swung outward, letting in starlight and the cold night air. Closing her eyes, Hermione inhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around herself as she remembered the first time.
She couldn't sleep. Slipping out of the room she shared with Ginny, Hermione started towards the kitchen but jumped when a sudden bang sounded from high above her. After a moment, when no one else stirred, she decided to investigate, creeping silently up the stairs to the source.
Sirius…
Even then, she'd worried for him, despite feeling powerless to help.
He'd been standing almost in this exact same spot, his face upturned to the open window as if he'd been starving for the sky…
"Can you hear it?" he asked without even looking at her. "The music…"
Hermione fidgeted in the doorway, uncertain if Sirius was drunk or having a fit of madness. She wondered if she should call one of the others, but when he turned and smiled at her, she stopped. No, there was no madness there, no drunken stagger in his walk as he approached her with an outstretched hand, either.
"Godforsaken house," he muttered with a rueful smirk. "Used to hear it everywhere. In the wind... in the air... in the light. This is the only place where I can hear it now, though…"
He'd given her no choice but to let him lead her in a silent dance. At first she'd been clumsy, shy, uncertain. But with enough practice she'd almost believed she could hear it too.
The night before they'd left, however, their dance was different. Slow, forced out of need despite the dread of being alone once more.
"I can barely hear it now," he whispered sadly against her cheek, the tickle of his lips causing her heart to race despite the 'safe,' platonic distance he always kept.
"No," Hermione insisted, "it's all around us. All you have to do is open yourself up. All you have to do... is listen."