Give Them Triumph Now

Chapter 23: Dungbombs and a Feather Duvet

A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."
"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again."
—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling

"Remember the experimental potion I told you about?" I whispered as I pushed open the door. "This is it."

The Room of Requirement was hot—positively sweltering, the air thick, catching uncomfortably as I inhaled.

A distinctly woodsy and now familiar scent overwhelmed my nostrils and coated my throat. A thick-bottomed cauldron sat proudly on the dias in the center of the room, a blue-tinged fire roaring steadily beneath it and steam rising from the top in the expected characteristic jagged shards.

Sweat pooled on my upper lip.

I reluctantly released Sirius's hand.

He followed with slow, apprehensive steps, the soles of his worn trainers nearly silent against the flagged-stone floor. As the door scraped closed behind us, I hastily pointed my wand to the back wall, silently charming the blackboard so my scribbled notes could be read by me alone.

If he caught a glimpse of the potion instructions, he didn't let on.

"Where are we?" Sirius asked, blinking about in confusion. Both sides of the room were covered in wall-to-wall shelves, the one to the right fully stocked with a variety of potion ingredients and supplies and the left wall filled rows of reference texts.

It was impossible to suppress my smile as realization dawned.

"Oh Merlin, I completely forgot you wouldn't know about it," I said as I tried but failed dismally to suppress hold back my laughter, which quickly grew to a hysterical giggle. Sirius raised his eyebrows, and the panicked look in his eyes made it clear he thought me mad. "I'm sorry—" I gasped, grappling for a grip on myself, "but honestly, how often does one have the honor of revealing a Hogwarts secret to a Marauder?"

Sirius's expression morphed from one of concern to frank curiosity, exactly as it had been after he'd caught me watching Regulus.

"We're in the Room of Requirement," I said with relish, still smiling, my lips tingling with the utter thrill of sharing the secret. It was an honor I'd never expected. "It's an impressive bit of magic: a room that only appears when a person is in need of its services."

"Services?" he repeated.

"If you're nearby and wanting, it will appear and provide whatever you're in need of." I paused, then added matter-of-factly, "Within the limitations of magical theory, of course."

Sirius rotated slowly on the spot as he surveyed the room, face scrunched in silent thought.

"I'm fairly certain I found a case of dungbombs here in second year."

I help up a hand. "I have no need to know why you were in such desperate straits for dungbombs."

Sirius chuckled softly, but I could sense his apprehension.

"But how did you find it?" he asked with uncharacteristic caution. "You've only been here…" He paused, then blinked rapidly, "A month? Has it only been a month?"

I shrugged noncommittally.

He frowned, searching my face closely. In that moment, I knew why he'd make an extraordinary Order member: it may be obvious and unrefined, but had a Poirotian sense for reading people and situations.

He just needed a few years at the Auror Academy, a bit of time spent in Undercover—

I rolled my eyes. "Aren't men meant to fancy women with an air of mystery?" I asked coyly, bunching my hands into the sides of my robes. "That's what Mum always said, at least."

"Love, you've long crossed the 'air of mystery' line," he said with a snort of subdued laughter as he walked forward and leaned to examine the contents of the cauldron. "You've been in 'bloody insolvable conundrum' territory for weeks now."

"Didn't you say you liked how I kept shit interesting?" I retorted.

"Never said I liked it," he quipped teasingly, still peering into the cauldron. The potion simmered slowly, tiny bubbles rising in rings from the center. He raised his head and inhaled deeply, pausing momentarily with his eyes closed.

Ah, shit.

I stepped to his side and peered over at him apprehensively,

"Are you going to tell me what this potion is or not?" he said, slowly turning to me with an accusatory stare.

I shook my head. "No, not yet." He seemed to inflate with frustration. "But only because I don't want to get your hopes up!" I added quickly. "If it doesn't work—"

"It's something that would matter to me?" he interrupted sharply.

After a momentary silence, I shrugged again.

He groaned, suddenly turning away and kicking frustratedly at a discarded vial on the floor. I jumped as it clattered off the dias, the echo bouncing unsettlingly off the stone walls.

I hadn't remembered leaving any behind.

"Damn it, Hermione!" he said, not kindly, running both hands through his hair and tugging at the ends in frustration. I shrank back, folding my arms across my chest defensively. "Why is it so easy to let you get away with shit like this?" he asked, back to me still, but tone softer than I'd expected.

I swallowed heavily. Regretfully.

He turned, taking unnervingly slow steps toward me until he was only inches away.

"If it were anyone else," Sirus said quietly, "we wouldn't leave this bizarre fucking room until you gave me some goddamn answers."

I smiled grimly as I straightened my posture so that my face was closer to his.

"It's because you know my answers are worth waiting for," I all but breathed in response.

His smile was reluctant, but unmistakable.

I couldn't believe I was getting away with this so easily.

Then suddenly, he twitched in a way that was almost instinctive, from the tip of his nose, reaching his arse before his feet.

I took an unwilling step backward.

It was undeniably canine in nature.

The atmosphere of the room shifted.

He rubbed a hand over his face before coughing roughly.

To clear his throat.

Suppressing the bark.

"I know that scent," Sirius said sharply as he closed the gap between us and placed his right hand lightly on my upper back, fingers toying with the ends of my hair. He raised his hand higher, wrapping his long fingers tightly near the roots. Not painfully, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Every muscle I had tensed, poised to strike—

He bowed his head slowly toward mine until his mouth was a mere inch from my right cheek.

"I have no fucking clue how, but you know," he breathed into my ear, saying the last two words with the proper significance we both know they requried.

"Know what?" I repeated in a whisper, goose pimples erupting all over.

He scoffed derisively, body still motionless.

"Do you honestly think we hadn't already considered Wolfsbane?" he said in a low, blunt tone.

I inhaled sharply and leaned away as he dropped his hands.

What?

Here I was, thinking I had the solution from the future.

The answer to help Remus.

"I get The Practical Potioneer," Sirus said in the same sharp whisper.

Oh.

I took a step backwards, nearly stumbling off the dias.

I resented how manipulative he was being. But, honestly, who was I to complain about manipulation? Wasn't I nearly 85% composed of lies at this point?

But really, a subscription to an academic journal?

Sirius?

It didn't pass the sniff test.

I raised my eyebrows sceptically.

"Okay, fine," Sirius said, one corner of his mouth twitching upward reluctantly. "James gets The Practical Potioneer." I suppressed a snort. "Left them in the loo since second year. But we've tried it. We've fucking tried Wolfsbane. All four of us, together. It didn't work. It was a foul sludge by day three. Impossible. No correcting it."

I blinked at him, mouth a thin line. "I'm at a week and two days."

He grimaced. "An improvement, but still not enough. You could show up tomorrow to a room stinking of sulphur and burnt cedar."

"So you know the ingredient list?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"Haven't you been listening?" he said harshly.

I opened my mouth to respond, but was distracted as he abruptly froze.

After a few moments, he ran both hands through his hair. "Ah, fuck!" he groaned. "You've got to be bloody joking. Fucking Occamy shells? I had no bloody clue they were part of it."

He'd finally put the puzzle pieces together.

"That must be new. Well, have you gotten them yet?"

I shook my head, frizzed-out fringe falling over my eyes. "No, not yet."

He swallowed heavily and narrowed his eyes.

His thinking face.

"Okay, let's set aside the massive, albeit lovable, werewolf in the room," he said as he began to pace in a circle around the dais. "Because honestly, I don't give a fuck if your uncle gave you tips for a potion that's still in the research stage." I blinked, keeping my expression emotionless. "Remus, however, might think otherwise, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Well, that was a massive leap, but not an unwelcome one.

The less I had to explain, the better.

However, the obvious problem hit him, and he groaned animatedly. "Ach!" And with that exclamation, I knew he had spent far too much time in Scottish pubs. "How on earth do you plan to get them? It's not like normal silver, kitten. Occamy egg shells are extremely rare, nearly impossible to find."

"Of couse I fucking know that," I said defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest. I was truly offended.

But I couldn't deny that I was comforted by his use of my pet name.

He didn't completely hate me.

"Not yet," the voice of Tom Riddle purred.

He snorted at my aggressive stance.

"I have a meeting on Wednesday," I said, twitching slightly to shake off the scratchy chill that had just enveloped my body.

"Not now!" thought fiercely.

And then Tom was gone, as if he'd never been there at all.

"A meeting?" Sirius repeated slowly as he digested my words. "With whom? Can I help?"

I took a moment to consider.

It wasn't a terrible idea.

"I suppose," I replied, and his posture straightened instantly, "A wingman wouldn't hurt." He grinned broadly. "It's… well, I'm meeting, er—" I paused.

Sirius raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

"Newt Scamander," I finished, searching his face.

"Newt… Scamander," he reiterated, eyes darting around the room as he tried to place the name. He mouthed it silently again before stark realization washed over his face.

"Oh, fuck me backwards."

I anticipated at least a mild sense of awkwardness between Sirius and I after that encounter, but I was categorically mistaken.

I threw my left arm up to check my watch and grabbed his hand as we sprinted through the Entrance Hall, dragging him along behind me as we skirted the door leading to the dungeons.

We were late for Potions.

I paused, panting, a few feet from the classroom door, checking the time again. Six minutes, but I knew it was too much for Slughorn.

The professor gave us a disapproving paternal frown as we entered. Sirius strode to his seat with his head held haughtily, while I pulled my bag closer to my side and stared down at the floor as I skulked to my seat.

My cheeks burned as I slid silently onto my stool. Severus licked the tip of his quill and frowned deeply at it before dipping it aggressively into his jar of ink.

"Good morning," I whispered as I pulled out my textbook, a fresh roll parchment, and my new favorite quill from my bag.

Severus didn't respond, choosing instead to scribble rapidly into the margins of his textbook.

I frowned.

"How's our potion?" I asked, so low I was practically mouthing the words as I set up my jar of ink and poised my quill, prepared to take notes on a simple Headache Elixir.

"It's best left alone to the end," he said flatly. "Which, of course, you know." He was silent for a moment, eyes steady on Slughorn as the professor droned on, then shooting me a furtive glance. "There's a subtle trick for the Headache Elixir," he began, almost tentatively.

"Dry the willow bark overnight before adding," I interjected in a whisper. "Makes it far more potent."

He blinked rapidly as he repressed a smile.

"Fuck—"

I stumbled clumsily over a half-hidden rock at the edge of the lake, catching myself and doing an undignified half-skip to avoid the ground. Gideon had promised that the path would be clear, but that proved to be a lie. My toes were numb from Mary's borrowed trainers. My hair was damp with sweat and morning dew.

—mostly sweat.

"This—"

I heard Gideon chuckle from far too many paces ahead of me. My lungs were about to explode.

"Shit!" I shouted as I finally gave up. I could do nothing but bend over and grasp my knees with both hands as my vision tunneled.

"Aw, love, you've been doing so well," said Gideon cheerily as he rounded back to check on me, legs still pumping up and down in place in a thoroughly mocking manner.

I finally fell out, sprawled out on the ground, the bottoms of Harry's practice kit rolled up to my knees and an old vest stuck in uncomfortable places, staring up at the pink dawn sky.

"I hate it," I said through a slight wheeze.

A Muggle doctor would have prescribed an inhaler.

Gideon gave me a pitying look before plopping down beside me. "Deep breaths," he advised as he stretched his long leg out onto the patch of dirt I'd claimed as my own.

I made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey for a charm for asthma as I focused on expanding my diaphragm.

"Gorgeous morning, innit?" he added as my breath finally steadied. "Hard to get these sort of mornings in Scotland. Much more common in Devon."

I smiled, my respiration rate finally back to normal. "Where do you prefer? Devon, London, or the great north of Scotland?"

"Is 'all of the above' an option?"

I leaned back into my chair, absolutely spent.

I took three deep breaths before turning my head upward to Dumbledore. My grimace remained unchanged as he buffed his half-moon spectacles slowly on his sleeve.

His expression was deliberately blank.

Gideon had wrenched his hand from mine the moment my memory concluded and was now vomiting violently onto the floor in the corner of the Headmaster's office.

He had just seen half his family slaughtered.

"Fuck," I breathed, scrubbing my hand over my face. I was oddly calm. I'd gone through the entire Final Battle without so much as a flinch.

I had thought I'd be the one struggling with the memories, but I was mistaken.

"I knew I shouldn't have started at the end," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, blank, though I was trembling all over. "It's too much for any wizard to face."

Dumbledore caught my gaze, his blue eyes soft as satin as he stared sympathetically.

I gulped harshly, but no tears appeared as I registered the emotion behind Dumbledore's eyes.

"Gideon," I said softly, as he stood up and wiped his mouth. I vanished away his emesis as he walked back to us. "Please, let me give you some of the good stuff first." My voice was soft, hopeful and beseeching. "You need to know how we got there, the horrible stuff will make no sense…" I trailed off.

He swallowed hard and blinked, grinding his teeth.

He'd just seen the worst of it. I knew we shouldn't have started there, but Dumbledore had wanted to know.

"Auror Prewett, if you would like to step out—"

"No, I promise, just watch our first year..."

Dumbledore and I had spoken at the same time, flustering Gideon.

But then Gideon's eyes met mine. They were stricken, but captivated. I gave him an encouraging nod and held out my hand, a pleading look on my face.

Please, just see the happy memories…

He obliged.

My hands met his, soft against rough calluses.

I reached out for Dumbledore, and his long fingers were perfectly comforting.

I gave them the good:

Our first awkward meeting on the Hogwarts Express ('Are you sure that's a real spell?). Harry mounting and taking off on a broomstick for the first time, standing up for Neville and daringly catching the Remembrall. Halloween night and the troll, the first night I'd known friendship.

Then, I dove into our foolhardy protection of the Philosopher's Stone.

I ended with our triumphant and heart-wrenching reunion in the hospital wing.

Gideon refused to let go of my hand.

Uncle Albus gave me a pained look before closing his eyes. "I assume there was an ultimate agenda. I don't know my future self. I don't know his prerogative." He folded his hands on his desk. "But it must have been for the greater good."

The room was silent. I knew they were waiting for me to speak.

"Do I have to do this for every year?" I asked, voice strained.

Gideon slowly shifted his hands so that our palms were flush, fingers intertwined.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, gazing upward to his office ceiling.

I'd always thought that it was the same as the Entrance Hall—a magical representation of the current weather. But, after a moment, I realized that it wasn't.

I was looking through roof lights, clear to the true Scottish sky.

"But not tonight," Dumbledore concluded. "We'll meet again in a week. Your mind requires a rest."

We were halfway to Gryffindor Tower before the questions began.

"That was your first year?" Gideon said quietly. Our fingers were still laced. Neither of us had yet attempted to pull away. "You were fucking eleven years old?"

"Yes," I whispered, aware we were walking through the corridors and anyone could hear us. "Well, twelve. I turned twelve in September."

"Fuck," he said simply.

We were silent as we climbed a staircase.

"There's six more years—"

"Well, not exactly," I interrupted quietly, "We were on the run…"

And then I collapsed.

"We... On the run—" I said through wheezing gasps, sat on a stone stair, my knees drawn to my chest. "We didn't have a seventh year—"

He wrapped his arms around me gently for comfort.

I knew it was exactly what I needed.

"Oh God, Gideon, I'm so sorry you had to see—" I gasped. "It—Oh, fuck, it gets worse. I'm so, so sorry."

"Shut up, Hermione," he said, saying my name clearly and strongly. "This is about you. This is your story, and I'll be there for every second of it. I'm the one that should apologize. I shouldn't have left your side. It was just so—"

I threw my hand over his mouth as it still moved. I wasn't sure when we'd become this comfortable, but we had. He placed his hand on mine, softly folding it with my other in his lap.

"It's not my story," I said quietly, eyes downcast, focused on our hands. Both of his were now enveloping mine. "It's Harry's."

My eyes met his.

Cornflower blue.

He nodded. The knowing look on his face unsettled me.

"Let me take you back to the tower," he said kindly.

In that moment, I realized that there was absolutely no way I could face Lily.

Or Alice or Mary or Marlene and their late night chatter.

"No," I said firmly. "Can…" my tone became tentative. "Can we go to your quarters? Just for a bit?"

"Of course," he replied simply.

"Cheers, love."

I downed my shot of Firewhiskey and gave a small cough. He grinned as he finished his own, blue eyes sparkling as he gazed at me.

We settled comfortably into either end of the small leather settee in his sitting room, a soft crochet afgan thrown over our legs. He poured healthy servings of wine into two long-stemmed glasses, and I examined the label on the bottle as he passed one to me.

"A fan of Muggle wine?" I asked.

A fire crackled steadily in the grate in front of us. The painting over the mantelpiece was of a fierce, rocky British coastline, and I was reminded of my time at Shell Cottage.

"I mean, who wouldn't be?" Gideon chuckled lightheartedly. "You'd think it'd be difficult to find, but Aberforth keeps a stock for professors. Especially those of us accustomed to life in London."

"My dad, always doing a public service," I giggled softly, sliding a finger down the stem of my glass.

Gideon smiled indulgently, "Yep, your dad." he started laughing and had to set down his glass. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm not sure how anyone believes you're related."

I gasped animatedly. "You're saying you don't see the resemblance between us? A curmudgeonly old barman—"

"And you," Gideon interrupted, an edge to his voice.

I swallowed heavily

I wasn't sure how I felt about where this was heading.

"So, you spent time in London?" I asked, taking a demure sip of wine.

"Yeah," he said, blinking rapidly as though clearing his head. "You already know where we come from. Southern through and through. My parents had an old cottage a bit north of the Burrow. Lived there for years, I guess my fourth year," he trailed off before clearing his throat. "Then they went to a small wizarding village on the outskirts of Falmouth… Wasn't much, but it was all they could handle. Fabian and I went straight from Hogwarts to the Academy. We had a flat in Muggle London."

I was taken aback by how upfront he was about his scarcity of funds. Ron had always been ashamed of it.

"Where in London?" I asked.

"A small flat near Russell Square," he said, with a sly smile.

I stared, mouth agape. "Bloomsbury?"

Never mind, then.

"We'd never have afforded it," he said, correctly reading my expression. "A retired Auror rents out a bunch of glorified bedsits on Guilford Street."

I couldn't help but smile.

"How much time did you spend at the British Museum?" I asked, slightly envious.

He smiled, eyes fixed over my shoulder reminiscently. "Do you have any idea how much Wizarding history they have? Without even knowing it? Ancient Greece, only to start—"

I listened contentedly, taking a sip of my drink. Our feet met beneath the afgan, legs slowly intertwining as he continued.

I set down my glass as he ran a socked foot up my shin.

"Gideon," I said softly as he leaned forward.

He fell silent and smiled warmly.

Affectionately.

"Hermione," he responded in the same tone.

I swallowed heavily. He had weakened my defences with his talk of wizarding history.

"You know this is inappropriate," I said, entranced by the blue of his eyes, falling into them...

"You're nearly my age, Hermione," he all but whispered, "It's not like I'm pulling moves on a student."

"But I am a student," I retorted. "A complicated student, but nonetheless your student."

He slid a few inches closer and searched my face.

"Oh, fuck me," I breathed, without thinking.

My resilience failed. I leaned closer and saw freckles and ginger and the comforting warmth and familiarity I had once fallen in love with.

I wasn't sure who went in for it. It was certainly a mutual attraction, so I imagine it was a mutual kiss.

Our lips met.

And it was fire.

I had expected hesitance, but there was none. I suppose my only experience with this sort of thing had been with, well, boys. Young men who were too eager or fumbled about or my recent ordeal that was full of tentative hopefulness. But this was different. He was confident, as if he had been waiting for this moment and was euphoric he'd finally reached it.

It was a new experience, but I certainly wasn't opposed to it.

It was as if we'd done it a million times. My hands around his neck, his on my waist, strong hands pulling me closer. The afgan bunched between us. We leaned deeply into one another so effortlessly that before I knew what I'd done, I was straddling his lap, my legs pressed hard into the sofa.

I momentarily broke away, dying to know what was going on in his head.

He gazed up at me, eyes soft and longing.

Was it the Firewhiskey making me so bold?

No.

This was all Hermione.

His hands inched up the back of my blouse, running soft trails down my spine.

I wasted no time before diving in.

This time our kiss was deeper, and I instinctively helped him tug his jumper up his torso and over his head. I placed light kisses along his neck as he unbuttoned his shirt. The moment he finished, my blouse was gone, tossed carelessly across his sitting room. The bra I was wearing was nothing special: an off white, slightly too small number with lace trim, something poor Mimsy had scrounged up for me from a trip to the lost-in-found because I'd felt far too uncomfortable to tell Hagrid I needed unmentionables during our shopping trip.

I knew that if this was going to happen, I would have to be the one to make the first definitive move.

And I was feeling bold.

I reached my hand round to my back and swiftly unhooked my bra, letting it fall away and rolling my hips as I sank on his lap. I chanced a second coy roll, grinding softly, feeling him pressing into me. He groaned contentedly as he slid his right hand up my side to cup my breast, fingers slowly inching across my skin to pinch my nipple softly. His other hand went to my left breast and he squeezed them both, simultaneously kissing me, tongue intertwined heart-stoppingly with mine, before suddenly—

He pulled away, panting.

"No," he said, voice loud and clear.

I blinked confusedly. I froze in place, my face inches from his. His expression was pained, conflicted. I crossed my arms over my bare chest and sat back onto his knees.

"Merlin, no. That's not what I meant," he said softly, pulling me flush to his body and swiftly turning us both over so that my back was pressed into the settee. He gave me a firm, decisive kiss, running a hand up my thigh before pulling away again.

"We're going to take it slower than this," he whispered, placing small kisses across my collar bone.

"Why?" I breathed.

Because I'm inexperienced?

I had… well, I'd done a lot with Ron on the bottom bunk of the tent whenever Harry was on watch. And then together in the small washroom, both nude, my back against the magically-enforced canvas wall, hands clumsily but happily exploring. Outdoors near the tent, leaning against the trunk of an oak tree. On the bank of the creek while meant to be fishing, my knees digging into the mucky clay.

Not that Harry would have known, but it had been everything but…

So, maybe inexperienced, but not completely.

"Because you've only just got here," said Gideon, sliding me down so that I was lying next to him.

I settled my head on his chest.

"Oh."

He slid his hand slowly and carefully up and down my side.

"You've had enough to deal with already," he whispered into my ear, stubble tickling my cheek. "Let's not add more to it."

I suddenly felt immensely tired. Overwhelmingly.

The memories, the emotions…

I fell silent and closed my eyes, sliding my arms around his neck.

Gideon tangled one hand in my hair and the other reached to the floor for his wand. He summoned the afgan, transfiguring it to a fluffy down feather duvet covering us both.

I felt comfortable.

Happy.

Safe.

"Just sleep, love," was the last thing I heard him murmur before I drifted off.

"Come on baby, don't fear the reaper.
Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper.
We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper.
Baby, I'm your man."
Don't Fear the Reaper — Blue Oyster Cult

This chapter is unedited and unbeta-ed. It's been far too long since I've published anything, so I wanted to just get it out. For anyone who remembers why I originally was a sporadic poster, (aka med school, no time, studying constantly): Well, I'm a doctor now. Which means I'm now in my residency and writing is my stress relief.

Major thanks to everyone that has commented, favorited, and followed. I hate that I've kept you waiting, but I've found my groove and hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter out soon!

You may hate me for this chapter, but fear not, this is not the end.

Love always,
Liz