Chapter 49 I'll Be Waiting

In the end it was just he and Harry in the room when she woke. The hours and the minutes had ticked by slowly and one by one their extended family had slipped from the room; babies to bed and Weasleys next door, to a bedside which was looking increasingly hopeless.

"Hermione?"

Harry's voice had woken him from his light sleep and it took him only a second to find his eyes meeting her own. It hit him with a jolt, once again, just how beautiful she was and how much he would miss her.

"Is she dead?"

Yes, he would miss her, because he knew for certain now that she would take the job, the challenge, the danger. Her first words in nearly three weeks and they weren't words of love.

He allowed Harry to fill her in, but she never broke eye contact as she took it all in, the list of the dead, the information they'd found out, the Death Eaters still out there. He was pretty sure she could read his gaze as well as he could read hers, and he was equally as convinced that the regret in her eyes was mirrored in his own.

They both knew what was coming; again. This time there wouldn't be shouting, no hurtful words and no bitterness, just pain on one side and, he couldn't think what on hers. Would she miss him when he was gone? Would it hurt her as much? He believed it would but he knew that her certainty that she was doing the right thing would numb the sense of loss.

She was lucky; he would have no such outlet. For him it was going to be crushing, shattering loss and heartbreak. He didn't know if it was forever but there was the chance, Merlin there was the chance she wouldn't even live through it, or him, he was an Auror himself after all. He knew all about fighting the good fight, but would he leave her for it? Could her leave her for anything? Yes, he could leave her now, would leave her now, he wouldn't watch as she crumbled away again. And she knew it.

How was it that they knew so much without words? They'd hardy talked in the big scheme of things, caught between one extreme and another, anger and passion, tears and tenderness, but rarely words. So many of the conversations they'd had seemed to have passed almost entirely without any sound at all, a few notable arguments notwithstanding.

It was the letters, it would always be the letters with them, they were both so much more comfortable expressing themselves with a barrier in-between them, be it written words then, or silence now. Right now they only needed to be in the same room and they spoke volumes to each other.

Harry finished his brief history of the last few weeks and lent down to place a soft kiss in her forehead;

"We'll talk later. Love you."



"Love you too." For the first time she broke eye contact with Sirius to smile at her oldest friend, she guessed she would be seeing a lot more of him soon.

He didn't know why he didn't move closer after Harry left the room, he seemed glued to his chair across the room from the bed. The splinter of light cast by the moonlight lay between them and illuminated them just enough for her to see his heartbreaking.

"Are you taking the job?"

"I have to."

"I can't stay and watch this."

She started to raise her arm, to reach towards him and then thought better of it and drew it back towards her body, cradling it against her chest as if the very action of nearly touching him had burned her, like she had burned him.

He realised why he couldn't risk getting any closer. One touch, just one little touch and he'd beg and plead and break as she remained immovable. She looked as if she may feel the same, and if he wasn't mistaken there was a definitely tremor in her hand as she drew it back. He almost felt guilty at the sharp stab of relief that rushed through him, these signs that this was so hard for her as well were the only thing that gave him any shred of hope that one day, however long it took; there might be a chance for them again.

"I know."

Her voice shook as he moved towards the door, turning back just once to hear her whisper;

"I love you."

I'll come back.

"I know."

And I'll be waiting.

The doorbell was swaying slightly in front of him and he once again congratulated himself on his decision not to apparate. Whisky and magical teleportation did not go hand in hand.

"Exactly how drunk are you?"

Remus' friendly, open face hovered in front of him and he could have wept with relief.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Yes, on the infamous Black scale of drunkenness what heights have you achieved this time?"

"That depends, Tonks and Teddy home?"

"No, at her mothers."



"Six."

"Bollocks."

"OK, eight, eight and a half. Pretty drunk." His face crumpled despite his best efforts and only a superhuman masculine pride defending effort stopped the tears from falling. Remus clasped his shoulders immediately and drew him into a comfortingly solid hug.

"It's all gone shit..." Sirius muttered into his shoulder.

"I know mate, I know. Come in."

Ah, thought Sirius, the kitchen table, the scene of many a breakdown over the years. This table had belonged to Remus' mother and had played host to all of the Maurauders doubts and whiskey fuelled meltdowns at one time or another. Contrary to popular belief James had not been the only one to have a family that adored him and Remus' house had played a large part in Sirius' adolescent years.

Since then the table had followed Remus from place to place, even residing in Grimmauld Place for a short time. The lives and loves of the years were scratched into its battered surface. Love in the literal sense of the word if Sirius remembered one Christmas Eve party correctly; Remus had never had the self control to remember the locking charms, as Misty Pritorius had learned to her cost the year after graduation.

He smiled at the memory of the look on her face as three drunken men had fallen through the kitchen door in search of more whisky to find her desperately trying to cover herself while Remus grinned sheepishly at her from between her legs and shrugged at her as if to say 'what can you do?' The action felt unfamiliar on his tired muscles, so used to frowning over the last few days.

"I'm your friend, so I say this with love. You look like shit." Remus placed a hot steaming cup of coffee in front of him and settled down across the table.

"And you've been staring at that table as if it's the answer to all your problems."

Sirius allowed himself a wry grin and said with a smile;

"I've been drinking for 36 hours Remus. Maybe this table is the answer to all my problems, this is where the plans are hatched after all."

"So do you have a plan?"

"Yes, quite an ingenious one actually."

"Care to share?"

Sirius took a large gulp of his drink and grimaced dramatically;

"Ugh, this coffee has no booze in it."



"No. That was my plan."

"Your plan is crap. Fix it."

Remus sighed and produced a hidden bottle from the chair next to him, adding a liberal splash to the coffee which was supposed to help sober his best friend up.

"So?"

"Well, first I'm going to run and then, and this is the brilliant bit, I'm going to hide."

"Right. Run and hide."

"Yes."

"Not your best plan is it?"

Sirius' head hit the table with a 'thunk' and it took Remus a minute to decipher his muffled tones through a the thick wall of hair;

"No, it's a fucking awful plan for my fucking awful life."

Remus patted his friend's shoulder awkwardly and cast around desperately for something comforting to say. In reality he knew there was nothing he could do, any words of reassurance would sound like meaningless platitudes when no one really knew what was going to happen over the coming months or years. Instead he settled for being there in comforting almost silence;

"The plan table failed didn't it?"

"Yes Sirius, the plan table failed."

"I'm such a loser."

"Don't worry mate, I won't tell if you don't."

"Our secret?"

"Yes, our secret."

And that was enough, all through the years these two friends had stood beside each other when possible and they knew, intrinsically the hows and whys of the other ones heart and soul. Sirius was in front of him in pieces, there was no anger, that's what really had him worried. Last time there had been anger and he'd been fairly comfortable with the idea that even if Hermione hadn't seen sense his friend would have been OK.

This time there was only pain and acceptance, he would wait while she followed whatever path she chose, he would wait and hope that the path she took would eventually bring her back to him, alive and well and ready to build a life together, to finally let him have the life he wanted. He would wait, and pray for her, and it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.