Chapter 28- The Catalyst

They stayed there until the bell rang, signalling the last lesson of the day. Luckily, James and Sirius were both in her class, and they all meandered through the halls, dejected and unfocused, and neither the bustle of students nor provocation of Transfiguration could sway them from their thoughts.

Hermione entered the classroom, trying hard to let the buzz of school overwhelm her. It was strange. The stark contrast between this happiness and the hollowing feeling that had bubbled in her stomach at the realisation that something was starting here.

Something bigger than everything else.

oOoOoOo

Sirius stared at the back of her head.

His eyes couldn't seem to look at anything, anyone, else. His head was dark but light, and it was giving him a migraine, but he didn't want to focus on whatever it was McGonagall was talking about.

His lips tingled. Sirius still felt shocked, almost disengaged from the world. She had kissed him. Hermione had kissed him. Her lips had touched his, and he had held her, closer than usual. And he hadn't wanted to let her go. Not ever.

She must be something.

Sirius closed his eyes.

He'd never told anyone about Isabelle. How could anyone understand? It wasn't that important to other people- why would a muggle girl who died in a house fire mean anything to anyone else? But to Sirius, she meant everything.

She was one of those people that you remembered like she was from a dream. He couldn't remember her fully. He couldn't remember the colour of her eyes, or her favourite thing in the world. But there was something distinctive about her, something real. Where Isabelle was supposed to be in his memory, there was a red haze of smoke and ash, and the fringing of the moment was strained and angry. When he looked back on it, Sirius didn't see it as anything other than the death of a little girl who didn't deserve to die. A little girl who died because of him.

But now, after letting the story drip from his lips for the very first time, he wondered whether it was the moment where everything began to go wrong. The catalyst, the starting point, for his life of sorrows.

He stared at the back of her head, eyes tracing the curls. He didn't know why he'd told Hermione about Isabelle.

He had never even told James.

He didn't know why she had kissed him.

But he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

The ghost of her lips, warm and tender, on his, eliciting feelings Sirius hadn't even known that he had, lingered still. He wanted to kiss her again.

She must be something.

And Hermione was something. She was from the future, for Merlin's sake! As if that wasn't reason enough! But she was also real. Too real that it hurt sometimes, and just being near her scorched him. There was something so magical about her, like if he got close enough, she would electrocute him with everything good inside of her. Sirius wasn't sure whether this was just his imagination.

She sparked to him, like fireworks, or explosions.

"Isn't that right, Sirius?" McGonagall's voice cut through everything, wrenching him back into the present. He blinked at her, and Hermione trickled through and out of the sieve of his brain.

But Sirius was a professional with these things. He always switched off in class, and somehow, every single time, he managed to play it off. He nodded his head wisely and said, "Oh, of course. Absolutely. 100% certifiably correct."

"What is?"

Sirius paused. "What you just said."

"And what exactly did I just say?" McGonagall asked archly.

His eyes widened. "You weren't listening either?"

Her lips pursed and she turned away from him, admonishingly. "Do try to pay attention, next time, Sirius."

He tipped his head back, letting it dangle over the back of the chair in defeat. James kicked him under the table, eyebrows furrowed and questioning. Sirius shrugged.

Remus stared at him from the next desk over. He mouthed, cocking his head, "Where did you go?"

Sirius offered a soft half-smile and mouthed back, "Nowhere special."

oOoOoOo

The corridors swarmed with students, and the five of them were spread across the span of the hallway. Hermione walked between James and Sirius, and she was laughing at something Peter had said. They walked slowly, dawdling and cherishing the end of the school day. James was strolling casually, hands lingering in his pockets. Sirius was grinning, but his eyes kept glancing to the girl next to him, and every inch of space separating them was an inch too much. He saw her hand, the one closest to him, dangling by her leg and he wanted to reach out and hold it.

But he didn't. Sirius licked his lips.

All of a sudden, James went flying into Hermione. His arms waved above his head wildly, catching on her hair, and his glasses spun off his nose. A sickening crack could be heard. He winced.

"Watch where you're going, you dick."

Hermione steadied James. Sirius turned to look at the culprit, and glared at the boy. He looked to be in his fourth year, with a blue Ravenclaw tie. His face was narrow and long, and he was pale with straw coloured hair. Brown beady eyes scowled at the Gryffindors and Hermione thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"You walked into us," Remus said steely, jumping in to reply before Sirius could.

The boy sneered, turning to James, who was squinting blindly. His glasses were somewhere on the floor. "Control your pet, won't you James?"

Hermione looked between the two of them carefully. Peter scuttled off to retrieve the glasses, which had skidded down the corridor.

"He's not my pet," James said, and his voice was calm. He didn't take the glasses that Pete offered, merely stared at the Ravenclaw. "His name is Remus and I'd appreciate it if you treated him with respect."

"Oh my god," the boy groaned scathingly. He glared at James. "You're so full of shit!"

James sighed and said with force, "Barty, just stop."

"Crouch, why don't you fuck off, huh?" Sirius said, anger applying an edge to his words.

Barty? Crouch? Hermione frowned, her head spinning.

The answer hit her suddenly, and it felt as though she had been winded. She knew exactly who Barty Crouch was.

"Keep out of this Black! It has nothing to do with you!"

"To hell with it has nothing to do with me!" Sirius replied, almost as if what Crouch said had been the stupidest thing he had ever heard. "James' business is my business, Junior. Get your little fourth year brain around that, won't you?"

Crouch's eyes widened, and he looked livid. His face was white as he gritted out, "Don't call me Junior."

Holding his arms out wide, Sirius asked mockingly, "And what are you going to do about it? Junior?"

Hermione wanted to slap a hand to her forehead. Even she could see the warning signs, flashing every colour under the sun. It seemed like Sirius sometimes asked for confrontation. Like he had a sign on his forehead that was flashing and singing, saying "Fight me."

Crouch started forward, rage booming from his pores. His eyes were locked solely on Sirius, and as he lifted his wand up, an undoubtedly nasty curse forming on his lips, he missed the second boy coming towards him.

James raised his arm, fist clenched, and propelled it around, punching Crouch straight in the cheek. He whipped his arm back, howling in pain and swearing like a sailor. Hermione's eyes widened at his choice of language.

Crouch staggered back, clutching his face. When he brought his hand down, his shock was evident. The hatred was almost palpable in the air. Face contorted, he snapped, "You're just a bragging, pompous little rat!"

"I never brag!" James gasped.

Remus frowned at him and said, "You once called your face the proof of God's existence."

"It's not bragging if it's true!"

Remus sucked his lips in, as if he couldn't quite believe his friend sometimes but he chose not to reply as this really wasn't the time to have that conversation.

"This isn't over, Potter," Crouch drawled, backing away.

James spread his arms wide. "Hey, anytime, mate. That one black eye looks a little lonely."

Crouch snarled at him one last time, before spinning around and striding down the corridor. His shoulders were slightly deflated, but there was a signature cockiness to his walk.

"Just cause his dad's a big hotshot in the Ministry, he thinks he owns the place. Look at his strut!" James pointed out, sulking. His face slumped. "He's not even doing it right."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Sirius' face was tense, and he commented, "I hate that prick."

She shot him a look for his language, and he muttered an apology, turning away from her.

"What's your relationship with him?" She asked, redirecting her attention to James.

He frowned, finally taking his glasses off of Peter, and staring at the cracked lens. Hermione raised an eyebrows before tapping the glass with her finger. It smoothed over immediately, looking as though it had never been broken at all; seven years with Harry had that spell imprinted in her brain. James slid them onto his nose, blinking a few times as he said, "We have a love-hate relationship. Only minus the love."

"I meant how do you know him?" Hermione said, shaking her head.

"He's like a- a second cousin, twice removed," James replied, and his distaste was pungent in the air, and made obvious by the wrinkle of his nose. "Figuratively of course."

"That's funny. In my family, you're removed literally," Sirius said mildly.

Hermione shot him a look. He didn't seem upset by this information, but said it as though he were commenting on the weather, with a refreshing outlook on life, as though it had been promising to snow for days, and had only just delivered.

They all continued walking once more.

"This is exactly what I meant," Remus commented suddenly, to no one in particular. They looked at him.

James sighed. "Great. C'mon then, Moony. Bestow upon us the thing you were yet again right about."

Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, he elaborated, "When I said you go in fists flying when things don't go your way."

Sirius gaped. "I didn't go in 'fists flying'! James did!"

James cringed, rubbing his knuckles and he leaned forward to peer around Peter. "Yeah, and it bloody hurt too!"

Pete shoved his head, and James toppled backwards. There was another recognisable crack and his face dropped miserably. Hermione held her hand out, biting back a smile at his bad luck, and he obediently handed her his glasses for her to fix once more.

"Today is just not my day!" He wailed. "I honestly don't see how it could get any worse!"

oOoOoOo

Naturally, every time that sentence is spoken, whether it be aloud or in one's head, the universe conspires to prove just how worse the day, or thing, in question could get.

For James, it took all of the ten minutes for them to walk back to the Common Room. He forgot to savour the happiness of his best friends. Maybe he should've done.

They stepped over the threshold laughing, but the silence inside swamped them instantly.

Peter, eyes wide, said jokingly, "You'd have thought someone had died in here."

There were no chuckles. No smiles. Hermione felt everything go cold.

The world drained of colour, and Marlene, ashen and washed out, stood up from her seat on the sofa. The Daily Prophet was clutched tightly in her hand. When she got close enough, she held it out for them.

Hermione's eyes scanned the front page. Her mouth dropped and her heart stopped beating.

Five Ministry workers had been found hanging from the golden statue in the Ministry of Magic. They were a mixture of men and women, young and old. And they were dead.

She wasn't a stranger to war. She knew the build-up, the slow, almost agonising months of attacks, becoming more and more frequent, closer and closer to home. She knew the terror; the unnecessary anger, the fear that infected like a fever, running through bloodstreams, drinking people dry of anything, everything, else.

Yes, Hermione knew what war was. She knew how it started, and she knew how it went. The only thing she never knew, was how it would end.

She could feel it now. Now that she had become aware to the situation, Hermione could feel it in the air everywhere she went. The tension, the flickers of suffocation that threatened to engulf everyone. She couldn't see it before; she had been so blinded by her own problems, by the aching of her heart for Harry and Ron, by the sheer happiness the Marauders gifted her with, by the colossal weight of the world on her shoulders.

Hermione had completely overlooked the apprehension on the students' faces, and the deep lines that all the teachers had come to wear, and the way that an eerie hush would fall over the Great Hall every morning when the mail came.

She missed the future. She missed her past. She missed Harry's eyes and Ron's grin and Ginny's stubbornness and Neville's bumbling. Hell, she even missed Luna and all of her stories on Wrackspurts!

But by God, Hermione thought, with a sinking feeling in her gut... She did not miss this.

"No!" James uttered. His eyes were wet, and his voice was broken. "No, this isn't right. This isn't coincidental! They're going after the Ministry- after people in the Ministry, high up people." He stressed every word, and the veins in his neck pulsed. He was so close to sobbing. "My dad works there! He could be next! He's worked with all these people! He could be-"

"James," Lily cut through everything. She moved towards him, and he broke off abruptly, staring at her with an avid desperation. She didn't take her eyes away from his, as she slipped her hand into his hand, interlocking their fingers. "C'mon."

Lily led him out of the Common Room, and the place seemed silent without them. Hermione hadn't realised they were so close, but she supposed the Heads Meetings had helped improve their friendship. She was glad that Lily, at least, would be able to make him feel better; the girl with the red hair sprouted flowers from her lips.

Nobody seemed to know what to do, or how to react, of even if they should.

Sirius was staring at the floor, and his face was precariously blank. Remus noticed.

"Padfoot?"

The boy (and in that moment, he looked very much like a boy- young, and vulnerable and scared) looked up and then he looked away, before disappearing into their dormitory.

Remus followed without hesitation.

As soon as the door closed behind him, blocking out the ringing silence of grief, his eyes located Sirius. He was sat at the bottom of his bed, staring at the floor.

"They're like my parents too-"

"I know."

Remus moved to sit beside him, and they both stared at nothing, feeling their hearts and souls and very beings heavy. He glanced at Sirius. His dark eyes were smudged with tiredness, something that was becoming more and more predominant with youth, and his face looked sallow and skull-like. Something inside of his stomach twisted.

He patted his lap. Sirius looked at him carefully, and Remus sighed, ensuring to be gentle as he pulled him down to lie across his thighs. He threaded his fingers through Sirius' hair.

"I thought you didn't like petting me," Sirius mumbled, closing his eyes.

Remus nearly scoffed, but he let his fingers continue their ministrations. "You're a spoilt puppy, you know that?"

"You love me."

Remus didn't reply because it was true. He did.

There was nothing but quietness, and the sound of two broken boys' hearts, breaking into even more pieces.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Sirius said quietly.

The sentence was so childlike and simple that it made Remus' throat dry, and he didn't know what to say. He just continued playing with his hair.

"I don't want to fight."

This one was said slightly louder, with a wobbling conviction. Remus found this hard to believe, although he didn't voice it. Sirius loved confrontation. He loved winning. He loved conflict. Sirius and Chaos walked hand in hand.

"I don't want to go to war!"

Sirius' voice rose to a loud, desperate and forceful volume. He meant this. Remus could feel it in his bones. But there was something more to it, something he wasn't saying.

"I don't want to die…"

And there it was. Sirius' voice broke, cracking into the whispering truth. Remus almost wished he'd shouted it. Maybe that would make it hurt less.

Because, Remus thought as he wiped away a tear leaking from Sirius' eye, he didn't want him to die either. Hell, he would go out of his freaking mind, he would lose the very last shred of his sanity, if anything, anything, happened to his friends.

To his brothers.

AN:

Disclaimer: As always, I still do not own anything here, all credit belongs to the absolutely astounding mind of JK Rowling.

Hiii guys! So what did you think? I tried to add a bit of a lighter tone to this chapter, as it's been very dark recently and it's just going to get darker!

This is where I really need your opinions and ideas- I love updating. I love writing this story, for you guys, for me, for everyone who loves Harry Potter, for the characters who deserve to be fleshed out and explored. The only problem is, I am fast running out of ideas. A Halloween Ball is coming up soon (I haven't forgotten) and so is Sirius' birthday (3rd November). But other than that, I don't have any inspiration!

If you want me to continue regularly updating this story, then please please please PM me or leave a review or direct me to some inspiration because I'm stuck!

I LOVE WOLFSTAR SO MUCH! Like, I just feel like I should scrap the Hermione pairing and write Wolfstar to be honest!

I'm joking, of course. Although I would if I could.

Favourite line? Favourite character so far? Favourite chapter out of the whole fanfic?

Please remember to tell me what you want to see and help me so I can update either tomorrow or Thursday for you!

Everliah