December, 1975.
Christmas came the next day, but Hermione didn't care to join anyone as they tried to get her out of bed—except of course, her brother. Even the voice of Granger didn't come out in her head.
Her and Sirius spent the next few days like that; sitting in each other's company with a bleak silence filled with a sense of grief they couldn't yet grasp on.
It was certainly hard — believing that someone like him died. And to think that Regulus believed the fact that an illness would've killed him, when the people who had hurt her were at the same place, at the same time.
Surely he couldn't be so brainwashed, could he? At least he wasn't in danger, considering how much Walburga loved him.
Her hands were clasped together, ears straining to hear Sirius's shallow breathing as he sat on his knees on the floor, in front of the bed. "He's dead."
It came out like a whisper of realization, like a strong gust of air blowing outside of the manor, reaching desperately to cause havoc to the peace in the house.
She couldn't bear to answer, choking on the thought alone, in internal tears and despair.
"He's dead," he repeated, his voice shaky but much stronger. The grief had finally hit him.
His eyes were glazed over and soon, she found her own blurring out—still desperate to give all of her attention to her brother. There was a growing terror that stirred and thickened every second he wasn't in front of her.
Sirius needed her. She needed him.
Hermione bit her lower lip, catching it before it could tremble and let out a whimper. She set her face as straight as she could, as numb as she could feel. Just like her father, she remembered.
Just as she jerked a nod, he moved to wrap his arms around her torso and buried his face in front of her shirt, allowing the bond to fill a small portion of warmth in her gut. She could feel the wetness of his tears on her stomach but she couldn't care less.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, until it turned into a steady stream, flowing heavily as she continued to hear his erratic mutters through heavy breathing.
She let him cry, she encouraged him. A hand on the back of his neck and another running through his hair, she was desperate to comfort him. She whispered sweet nothings, choking on them at the sound of his troubled voice.
They clung to each other's comfort like children clinging to their mother.
"It's not fair," she heard him say. "It's not fair that he — he died as soon as we found out he wasn't an arsehole." He let out a bitter laugh and she didn't care to reprimand him for his language.
"No it isn't," her voice quivered and she began to weep. Tears so quiet, but the grief so loud tickled down her cheeks. No, he was right. Orion Black was not an arsehole, not intentionally and not to them.
They hadn't even got the chance to rejoice that.
When had it gotten so complicated? Maybe, just maybe it would've been better never having to found out—letting an alternative ending take place where he could be an arse, but be alive. He deserved to be fucking alive.
But he wasn't. He was dead, gone. He was never going to surprise her by giving her random books or let a small smile take over his lips at the sight of his kids.
He was simply gone, but why did the pain have to remain?
"I'm so sorry," his voice trembled and Hermione held him closer, pain squeezing around her chest and choking the breath from her.
James found her standing on the patio. As he slipped out of the door, the biting cold crept around him painfully, forcing him to wonder how long Hermione had been outside — wearing no more than one layer.
When he'd found her thrown over the Floo Network for the second time, he hadn't had the chance to move because soon, she'd let out an agonizing cry.
By that time, his parents had gotten home and after that, it all seemed a daze. Healing their injuries, giving Hermione a Calming Draught, watching as blood dripped down the taunting lines.
Blood Traitor.
His eyes moved to her arm until he forced them back up. He couldn't let her feel worse than she already did, especially not over the scar that had been carved on her for forever.
For Merlin's sake, they were supposed to be just fifteen. She was too young; too soon for her to leave the safety of her books and the Marauders.
It felt as if he'd failed himself and his best friends at the same time — letting her get hurt like that.
He hadn't really talked to her over the past few days. Hermione didn't show it but inside, he knew she was grieving. He admitted he didn't know how to deal with things like that, so he gave her space. Unlike Sirius, who wordlessly begged James to distract him from brooding.
But when Mipsy told him she wasn't in her room, he'd all but panicked. Sirius had gone to Gringotts with his uncle Alphard and now, Hermione was supposed to be his responsibility.
Suppressing a sigh at her blank face, he carefully moved around to face her, careful not to startle her. Not that she would show it. He slid his glasses back over his nose and eyed her cautiously.
All of her face was blotchy red, a running nose and two almost-blue hands clasped together. The sight looked unflattering, but to him, it was more devastating than anything else.
He wanted to shake her shoulders and demand to have his Hermione back—the one that was always fierce but composed, one to never stay quiet and always looking to chatter on about something.
"Hermione, let's go," he told her quietly, but she made no move to follow him inside.
"Come on," say something, he wanted to implore, his voice filling with emotion as he moved closer.
They stood quietly, his soothing on her back, grounding her. He eventually pulled her into his arms, cradling her as tremors of cold racked her body.
James couldn't bear to see her like this. She wasn't even crying but somehow, it made everything even worse.
His hands took a hold of her wrists, until he slid them down to her hands, intertwining together to pull her back inside. They were freezing and if he could, he would've made sure to give all of his warmth to her. Let her take all of it.
As soon as they were hit with the comfort of their home, he steered her away from her room and instead, made sure she sat on the loveseat in front of the fireplace. He plopped down next to her silently, before shooting a concerned look at her.
"Put your head in my lap."
Her eyes dragged away from the crackling fireplace, her face illuminated with the bright light of the fire. Her head cocked in confusion, or disbelief. James never really knew what was going on in her head.
"You want me to put my head in my lap," she echoed his demand and she chuckled briefly—her eyes crinkling for a short second—and he almost pumped a fist in triumph.
Playing along, he pursed his lips in an adorable—or so he thought—pout. "You always let me do that, so I thought I could massage your head for once."
Hermione stared at him, her lips set into a straight line and he almost sighed in defeat, until she rose from her seat begrudgingly and sat in front of him on the floor.
"What are you doing?" he asked, looking at the back of her head and she craned it to shoot him a look he knew all too well. One that said, 'You should know this and if you don't, you're stupid.'
James pulled his legs up to his seat and crossed them together as he stared at the mass of frizzy curls.
"Well, I guess I'll manage with this," he muttered grumpily and his fingers drove to her scalp, moving them hesitantly. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do, but if her sigh was anything to go by, he was doing well.
"How are you?" he awkwardly tried to plow on, waiting for her to ramble on her answer like she always did.
He felt her stiffen and silence stretched between them.
"It's hard to grieve someone you believed you didn't love," she started, still holding her gaze locked with the fire. "Sirius and I both hated him, not the same as Walburga, but still. Maybe if . . ."
She trailed off, but he cut her off before her train of thought could take another turn. He didn't like the piteous tone of blame reflected in her voice. It wasn't like the Hermione he knew, and James was convinced he knew her well.
"Hermione, it's not your fault," he told her firmly. A loud scoff rang through the room and his hands stilled.
"The thing is that I'm not even sure I hated him even before. It makes things harder — so, so much," she croaked, ignoring what he'd said.
James wasn't sure how he should answer that. He needed to be more careful and tactful; something his mom made sure to remind him constantly.
First, he let her words sink in. Maybe, it was better this way? No. What if he wanted the suffering to end? Not at all. He's watching over you?
"Just because he's gone, it doesn't mean he has stopped loving you. No, I think he's learning more about you than he ever has and that just makes him adore his daughter even more."
When she didn't reply, he assumed she was pondering over one of the few wise sentences he'd shared over the years—he was a little behind Sirius—and his hands merrily tangled between the voluminous curls once again.
A little while after, a tap on the window drew his attention and he squinted at the owl warily. It looked exactly like the one he'd seen a couple of times in the Great Hall, flying towards his best friends to deliver disappointing words.
He thought he could distract her from it, but Hermione had become much more attentive to her surroundings. She was about to get up when he moved, allowing her to slump back on her seat as he walked to the impatient bird.
James reached the window to let it in and before he knew it, the owl dropped a note in his hands and wasted no time flying away quickly, dismissing any chance of a treat.
He thought he shouldn't read it, but he did need to know if it was safe for her. And as his eyes flickered over the curt words, his jaw tightened with a painful click, not fully registering that Hermione had sneaked up behind him and caught the message too.
It seemed like the mystery had been solved, but at what cost? It was a brisk walk to where the private rooms were organized.
The goblin stopped abruptly at one door in particular and motioned grumpily for her to get in. She hurried to do so when she heard Sirius's voice rising, making sure to still remember the purpose of her visit.
Uncle Alphard told them about the Will reading, how it must be done after the death of the Head of the House. His responsibility was left on Sirius's shoulders but according to her brother, on hers too as she deserved equal rights.
Though, Hermione hadn't been ready to read what it said, what he might've been feeling as he got it written.
"Miss Black," an older goblin, Sibook, greeted with a curt nod and she followed with a greeting of her own, standing next to the chairs where her brother and uncle sat.
"I'm afraid that we won't be able to read his Will, because we've been blasted off the tapestry," she stated quietly, wasting no time, and drew a breath every so often to steady the pain in her chest.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her in shock, but she kept her face straight ahead.
"I see," he drawled, letting his face scrunch in disgust over the sick behaviour of Wizarding families. Hermione found that she couldn't blame him for judging her mother. She almost thanked him for it.
After a couple of beats, her uncle leaned closer to the parchment on the table and looked at Sibook questioningly. "Perhaps we could try nonetheless? There could be a chance that the Will doesn't connect to the Black Tapestry."
—
Try they did, but after several attempts at reading the remaining words of her father, she allowed Alphard Black to apparate both of them home to Potter Manor.
As soon as her feet touched the white pavement, she swivelled on her feet, intent on moving away from the parlour and back to the safety of her room.
Stay in your room, Walburga had repeatedly ordered.
"Hermione," her uncle called out, making his way to her. Slowly, she turned around to face him with a frown. "We should have a talk with the Potters, don't you think so?"
Without waiting for her response, Sirius swiftly grabbed her hand and followed Alphard to where the family sat, looking quite hesitant when they saw her follow her brother with heavy steps.
Her eyes remained downcast until she caught Dorea's eyes shining in hope, and she forced her lips to quirk upward, though it may have come out as a grimace instead.
As they sat in the small room, she found herself uncertain on what she was doing there, among so many people all at once.
Before she could voice her thoughts on leaving, her uncle stopped her as he opened his mouth. "I appreciate all the help you've given to my nephew and niece. I admit I am rather embarrassed to not have known what was happening to them all these years."
"It is not your fault, Alphard. Everyone in this room knows who's to blame for what has happened," Charles said firmly and she was reminded of the conversation she had with his son.
With a nod, Alphard turned to look at her and her brother. His eyes flickered between the two as he said, "You two are welcome to come live with me or stay here, if you would like."
While Sirius immediately said he wanted to stay at the Manor, she took her time to really think over the request. Sure, she was grateful for what her best friend's family had done for her, but could she really burden them with her behaviour?
Just looking at them, she knew they were hesitant and they shouldn't be like that, not in their own house. Not like she used to be at Grimmauld.
On the other hand, Hermione hadn't seen her uncle often but she knew he considered the twins more like family than the rest of the Blacks. And for once, she needed someone who understood what living with them felt like.
And Uncle Alphard was someone who knew exactly that—being another member who was no longer mentioned by her relatives.
"I think I would like to spend the rest of the break with you," she muttered to him as quietly as she could, unable to take a look at the rest of the people watching her.
She knew they were surprised, but she wouldn't be able to bear to forget their expression, if they were to face her with disappointment.
When he held an unsure, searching look, she added, "Please."
A/N: I admit I may have cried a bit while writing the initial part of the chapter. I almost regretted killing Orion, but it needs to happen and you guys will see it soon. Anyways, I hope you liked the update and remember that you're free to tell me what you think!