December 1979
Longbottom Hall
Hermione mourned.
For the first time, she really allowed herself to grieve the future that would no longer be. A part of her naively clung to the hope that she would be able to right the wrongs and get to keep that which was so dear to her. She knew now that was a fool's hope.
The mourning period was followed by a numbness that settled so deeply into her soul that even her perfunctory tasks seemed to be done by someone else's hands; as though she'd lifted from her own body, forced to watch as an observer in her life.
Then on December 31st, the fog lifted. An understanding washed over her: one life—even that of Harry Potter—could not trump the lives of the hundreds lost between the two wars. If she didn't end this properly, then it would all be for naught. And at this point, there was nothing left for her to do.
So, Hermione said goodbye.
Then, she'd pulled herself together and marched to the library with the book she'd purchased from Flourish and Blotts the other day: The Modern Witch's Guide to Symbols. There was a section on theory and practical use, deciphering the magical symbols found in the world, and there was an appendix. She'd flipped through the pages idly after purchasing it when the shroud of her despair had still been too heavy to shake.
When she was ready, she sought the help of Gemma, inquiring about how the library was organised. She'd collected a stack of books and then Floo'd to the house and requested Remus' help. It'd been days since she'd seen any of the Marauders—including James—and when her old Professor stumbled through the Floo shaking soot and ash from his clothing, she felt a wave of relief. Up until now, she'd taken for granted the luxury of her newfound friends.
"Hermione." His throat tensed as if swallowing was a difficulty. "Did you need something?"
Sitting tall on the sofa, surrounded by a wall of books, Hermione nodded and shoved her wand into the curly knot on the top of her head. "Are you busy? I could use an extra brain if you've got some to spare."
Remus dragged his hand through his hair and smiled weakly, finding a small area of the sofa to perch on. "Sure. Although, I'm just a few days from the moon now, and my friends seem to fit to tell me I'm being a bigger arse than normal this cycle. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm not all that cheerful."
"I don't need cheerful," she said kindly. "Just another set of eyes and someone to tell me if I'm being mad."
Folding his lips inward he nodded once. "That I can do."
Sorting through the tomes surrounding her, she aha'd as she found the book she'd purchased and her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "Do you see this?" Flipping it open, she pointed to the symbol she seemed to keep running into. "I've found it here but strangely enough, it was also on the cover of another book in Flourish and Blotts the other day."
"Which one?"
An angry blush blossomed on her cheeks at the memory of the encounter she'd had, and her lips pursed tightly. "Well, I don't have that one, and I can't seem to find it here in the library, though I've not exhausted my efforts. It was called Masters of Death; I don't remember the author. I had it for only a moment before Lucius Malfoy—"
"Lucius?" Remus baulked, eyes widening. "You ran into Malfoy? Why didn't you mention it?"
"No one seemed much up for talking after Lil—after Christmas. It was harmless; other than that he stole my bloody book. Theodore Nott was with him."
Remus sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and shook his head. "Well, glad you made it away unscathed. Those gits always give me a bit of pause."
"Well, I had the book, and Lucius summoned it from my hands and insisted on buying it even though Nott made it clear he probably had a copy. Anyway, this symbol, if you remember, was also the one embedded in the ring that we found—the Horcrux. It was worn by Xenophilius Lovegood at one point in time… I keep seeing it, and I can't help but think they are related in some way."
I've looked," Hermione continued. "I've spent all bloody morning in the pages of this book on symbols as well as runes and wand work—I can't make sense of it. It's close to the Wiccan sign for Air and Fire, but it doesn't match."
Humming, Remus plucked the book from her fingers and traced Albus Dumbledore's signature on the front page. "Well, you may be looking at it as a whole, where it ought to be viewed separately. What if it's not a single rune or symbol or whatever—what if it's several components combined into one?"
Her brow wrinkled and she sat back, gnawing on her lip. "That could be it… but the four instances I've seen the symbol don't relate. Not even close."
"Let's see," Remus said, hitching his ankle over his knee and resting his arm around the back of the sofa. "What was the title of that book Malfoy took from you?"
"Masters of Death."
"And where'd you get this?" He held up the worn children's book for inspection.
"It was a bequest from Albus Dumbledore." It wasn't until Remus stilled and his golden eyes shot up to hers that she realised that she'd let his death slip. "Oh, um, yes. It's okay—he knows. It happens a long time from now."
The tip of his tongue shot out, wetting his lips as he considered it. Then, as if the answer had been washed up with the tide at his feet, he shrugged. "Seems easy enough—you need to ask the man who gave it to you."
"Dumbledore," she breathed. "Of course."
"Problem is, he's gone. Won't be back until the start of term. Until then, we might try and find this elusive book you had stolen from you. If it's not here, ask Jamie." Her breath audibly hitched, and Remus grinned at his lap. "The Potter family boasts quite the collection. I hate to speak for my friend, but I'm sure he'd happily take you."
"Right… Right. I'll ask him next time I see him." There was a sombre inflection in the words she didn't intend, and she scrunched her nose at the sound.
"Come by tonight," Remus said with a tick of his chin. "We are keeping it quiet for the New Year, but you should come."
"For James?" she scoffed.
"For all of us. We could all use the night off, yeah?"
Hermione nodded. There was no point in arguing when she wholeheartedly agreed.
xXx
She spent the rest of the afternoon buried in the stacks at Longbottom Hall with no success. Surely the book couldn't be all that rare if it was left in the aisles of Flourish and Blotts; she'd just need to track the bloody thing down.
As the sun tucked below the trees, she gave up and readied herself for the night. Upon arriving at the house, she couldn't shake the nerves that had tangled in her belly.
The houseguests were jovial, if not a little quieter than usual. Easy music Hermione remembered from her childhood floated lightly through the room, and except for the furnishings and slightly questionable fashion in some cases, it felt much like the Gryffindor common room.
James wasn't there; apparently he'd been working with the Aurors on some unknown mission. Since Christmas, he'd rarely been around. It did nothing to soothe the queasiness she felt at not seeing him. She couldn't shake the idea that she'd spurned him somehow. Logically, she knew she'd done nothing wrong.
But she missed him.
Peter and Remus were doing an all right job distracting her, teaching her the inner workings of a game that seemed completely made up by the Marauders as it was really some sort of drinking game in which they insulted each other. They gained points by making the other laugh and then were forced into divulging a secret. They attempted to get her to sit in, and she quickly refused, settling in to watch and laugh at the pair of them instead.
Sirius arrived, palms flat on the table, and called them both names so abhorrent—and creative—that the entire table rocked in raucous laughter. He'd earned his secrets and then tugged Marley into his lap and demanded a new activity. Whistling loudly, he gathered the twins and their dates—witches Hermione had never met and still hadn't grabbed their names.
They fell into easy conversation, the wine and beers restocked easily, and she was so lost in laughter at the Prewetts wrestling on the floor like drunken fools that she'd missed the door hitching shut.
"Ah! Prongs, y'bastard. Where've you been?" Sirius roared, quieting the room.
Hermione stilled, feeling the presence of him before she'd even turned to greet him. The weight of his stare on the back of her skull made her feel unwelcome in his home. Maybe it'd been presumptuous to be here when he wasn't—but then, they weren't dating.
They were friends.
"Not having half as much fun as you lot it seems." James' throaty voice rumbled around her, and she couldn't help the way her gaze shot over her shoulder, searching for him. His stubble was longer than she'd seen before, his eyes a bit glassy and tired as he lifted a beer from the fridge and crossed the room. He stopped next to her, standing at the edge of the couch and winking down at her before taking a long sip. "Are we taking bets on which twin kills the other?"
"Now, that's not a half-bad idea!" Sirius shouted, and Marley laughed next to him and pressed her fingers to his lips in a vain attempt at quieting the drunken Marauder.
James looked at Hermione again and ticked his chin to the side. "Mind if I join you?"
Swallowing, she shifted towards the centre of the couch, allowing him the space to fall into the corner she'd been occupying. Her spine stayed stiff, and she sat tall as he made himself comfortable.
"Where were you, mate?" Peter asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. "Haven't seen you all week."
Hermione tried to keep her face passive, even if she was desperate for the knowledge.
"Ministry—working with Frank and Kings on something." James shrugged.
"That all you can tell us?" Sirius pressed, kicking his worn boots up on the coffee table. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gone and started pining for Lils. Wasn't sure who was moping more—you or Moony."
A soft growl vibrated from across the table, and Remus bared his teeth. Tension settled around the room and even Hermione could feel it like a blanket, one she desperately wanted to shrug off.
"You're a prat, Padfoot," James rushed. His hand came down on her waist and tugged her swiftly into the crook in his side. "Moony is free to pine to his heart's content; she's not my witch."
He pressed Hermione into his side like he was claiming her. She felt the instinct to admonish him but his hand came down on her hip, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles across her jeans and she had the strangest inclination that this was as much for Remus as it was for her.
"You guys are always so serious," Sirius groaned. "It's about to be 1980! This is our year, mates!"
Hermione rested her head back and levied a heavy sigh; she wasn't sure if this would be their year. But she'd be insistent on doing her best to make sure it was—for all of them.
xXx
It was nearing midnight and the music had gotten louder, their drunken laughter spilling over each song. She'd excused herself to the loo, and upon coming back, she'd found James missing. She waited awhile, but as she began shifting uncomfortably and absently looking over her shoulder for him, Peter nudged her with his elbow and gestured for the back door. With a small smile and a silent thank you, she summoned her coat and shrugged it on.
The back porch led out to a tiny garden skirted by the forest. The earth was still blanketed with snow, most of it untouched, and she was reminded just how much she loved the winter as the scene glittered in the light of the waxing moon. James was standing with his back towards the house, a giant, ethereal stag standing proudly in front of him.
Her breath caught at the beauty of the corporeal beast so starkly in contrast with the darkness and snowfall. She couldn't move, her eyes studying the pair of them with great intent. The stag dropped its snout and nudged James gently.
Biting back a grin, Hermione pulled out her wand and focused on a memory she had of her parents when they'd been to the Sea Life Museum when she was a child. It wasn't the most spectacular day; it wasn't full of magic and whimsy. It was, however, her eleventh birthday and one of the most perfect days she could remember before she found out she was a witch.
As the memory flooded her mind, she whispered a quiet Expecto Patronum and her own Patronus burst forward. While James' seemed to be quiet and stoic, Hermione's was wild and curious, fluttering through the air and curling around her. With a flick of her wrist, the small otter skittered over the snow and wound up James' body, earning a throaty laugh as it tickled his cheek and then hopped onto his stag's head.
Hermione giggled and descended the stairs, snow crunching under her boots as she crossed the space between them.
"This is your Patronus?" he gaped, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm surprised."
"Why's that?" Hiding a laugh, she nudged him lightly and stood at his side.
"I would have expected something like a lioness or an eagle—something ready to destroy its prey."
A bright laugh slipped from her lips, and she held her arm out, letting her otter scamper up her arm and round her neck before leaping to the ground and mirroring the action up the stag's legs. The stag huffed and shook his antlers, his hooves trying to scrape the snow as the otter annoyed it relentlessly.
"Yours is beautiful," she confessed. It wasn't the first time she'd seen the stag, but it filled her with awe nonetheless. The beasts silver eyes landed on her, and he stepped towards her, pushing his nose into her chest until she curled her arms around his head. The feeling of the magic was strange, not quite solid but tangible nonetheless—like running water.
"He is." James raised a hand and placed it reverently between the animal's eyes, which fluttered closed in comfort. "Yours is… energetic."
From the stag's neck, the otter popped up and canted its head to the side. "She's curious." Hermione laughed and turned to face the man at her side. "And fast and smart and adorable."
"Ah, I wonder where the little critter gets it, then." A dimple appeared, buried in his stubble, as he smirked and his eyes slid slowly over her features.
"I haven't seen you in a few days…" she said quietly, averting her gaze back to the stag still nuzzling her. "Was everything okay?"
James hummed. "Yes. I was helping the Aurors with the break-in on your flat. Trying to nail down more evidence and pulling some extra surveillance around the building in case anyone came back hoping to find you there."
"Really?" Her brow wrinkled. "Why? I've no intent on going back…"
Shrugging, James didn't take his gaze from hers, and the heat of his stare stoked the embers in her chest. "Just wanted to make sure."
The air shifted and stilled, and she dropped her hands away and turned to face him. "Why didn't you come to see me?"
"I didn't know you wanted me to."
The confession washed over her, clearing the cobwebs from the cavern in her chest and warming her from the inside out. Something inside her loosened, and she released a confession of her own. "Well, I did."
A fluttering leapt to life in her chest, and she took a step towards him, allowing everything else to melt away as she lifted her palms to cradle his prickly cheeks.
He didn't move, didn't so much as blink. He waited for her, and the moment stretched on like a cord pulled too tight.
Lifting onto her toes, she pressed her body gently into his, breathing again once his hands wound around her waist and pulled her tighter still.
Their lips hovered a breath away, and she chanced a glance up at his hazel eyes. A smirk worked all the way up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. With a soft laugh, she closed the distance, pillowing his bottom lip between hers as she slid her fingers from his cheeks to the messy wave of curls at the nape of his neck.
That was all it took for him to envelope her in his thick arms. Each press of his lips left her breathless.
Again and again, he slanted his mouth over every inch of hers, his tongue darting out to taste the wine still staining her lips. Around them, she felt their Patronues' fade, their magic far more intent on the moment at hand as they curled and twined into each other, lips parting and their tongues meeting in a delicate dance.
One of his hands travelled up the curve of her spine, burying into her mess of curls and cradling her skull. It never turned desperate, instead remaining slow and steady, like the constant thrumming of a gentle river, and when their lips parted, foreheads pressed together, they both erupted into broad smiles.
"I'm crazy about you. Did you know?" he breathed, both hands coming up to curl around her jaw as he pressed one more kiss to her lips.
"I figured as much… I'm quite keen on you too, unfortunately."
He laughed against her mouth, lifting her off her toes and kissing her deeply until the joyous sounds of the New Year spilled from the house and into the night air.
"Happy New Year, Hermione."
"Happy New Year." And then he was kissing her again, and she thought maybe she agreed with Sirius.
Maybe this would be their year.
A/N: Usually when I'm starting to piece together a story there are a few scenes that stick out that I work towards because I can't wait to write them. This is one of them! I so hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, reviewing, and following this silly thing. It means so very much to me!
As always thanks to my alphabet, Ravenlight, Mcal, and NuclearNik BUT I've been lucky enough to snag myself a Brit! Farmulousa is now the official Brit Picker of 1979 and I'm so grateful!
See you in five horrendously long days!