She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, sitting on the steps outside Grimmauld Place. The sky had faded to black, the snow drifting lazily down from the blanket of clouds. The moon would not show her face tonight.
The brief conversation with Lucius had left her reeling. She hadn't intended to become friends with the man. To receive a Christmas note. To tell him just her first name was enough, as if the pretense of their actual statuses had been shattered. He was a reformed Death Eater. She was barely more than a school girl, filled with fancies of bringing a dead man back to life.
It felt wrong, to lower another boundary between herself and Lucius. This wasn't supposed to be more than a business transaction, supplemented with the occasional banter or academic discussion. But during that minute in which she stood in his study, pink-cheeked and smiling, she could not ignore the fact that it was the happiest she felt all day. Even Harry's proposal, while beautiful and joyous, had not given her the same satisfaction, settling deep in her chest. Perhaps it was Lucius's attention she craved. The idea that a man as wealthy and dangerous as him had chosen her to help, chosen her to send a hand-written note to on Christmas day. It was silly. Maybe she deserved something silly.
Sirius would know what this all means, she thought sullenly. A piece of snow landed on her cheek. She let it melt into her skin, unflinching. Maybe that was silly too—thinking Sirius would come back to life and fall into her arms and heart. But as long as he was dead, and she was alone to imagine, Sirius would be exactly the loving partner and friend she thought him to be.
Once her fingers and toes had grown numb enough to consider a warming charm, Hermione hauled herself inside. The house's heat flooded her, the spiced scents of Christmas still heavy in the air. All was quiet as she crept up the staircase. Everyone had fallen into their assigned rooms. Only Sirius's had been left untouched after Hermione told Molly that Harry preferred no one stay there. It was a lie, of course. But neither Molly nor Harry were none the wiser. Hermione longed to fall into Sirius's bed, but her wits begged her to keep climbing to her own room. If she was found crawling out of Sirius's bed in the morning, if Ron found out, she'd have to come up with an excuse that didn't make her seem mad.
Not that it mattered what Ron thought. She would just rather they held off on another row, before the family all left.
As Hermione begrudgingly went to her own bedroom, the thought of their breakup pressed at her mind. She was sure, now, that it was a breakup. He had snogged a French girl. She had…well, she did lie about being at Lucius's, but that was all. Ron didn't need to know she'd been dreaming about yet another older man for weeks now. She wondered what he would object to more—a friendship with 'The Enemy' or a relationship with Harry's dead-turned-not-dead godfather. The age gap worked against both, but Hermione supposed Ron might finally understand about Sirius. He was Sirius Black, after all. He couldn't be tacked down by silly things like age gaps and convoluted social norms.
After a quick shower and dressing, Hermione slipped into bed. No doubt her nightmares would be dreadful tonight, spurred by the emotional spikes she'd been experiencing throughout the day. It was a good night to try Luna's suggestion. With a resolute sigh, she called out, "Kreacher?"
The elf appeared with a pop!, hunched over by the door. "Mistress Hermione called?" he croaked balefully. Harry had instructed the elf to treat her as a member of his own household, banning words like 'Mudblood' and 'Scum' from the elf's vocabulary.
"Please find a dream potion and bring it here," she instructed. There was no way she was getting out of bed now and risk running into Ron on the second floor on her way to the basement.
"Dream potion?" he asked, before humming something under his breath.
"Yes, from the Order's potion stock in the basement. Snape marked the expiration dates, just take whichever one is still unexpired."
Kreacher nodded once. "Kreacher will get the…Mistress's potion."
He disappeared, and Hermione sank back into her pillow. Another pop!, then she looked over to see the blue vial sitting on her nightstand. Hermione let the liquid slide down her throat, sighing as her eyes fluttered closed and the potion worked its magic.
She was running through the manor's halls, bare feet slapping, arm streaked with blood. Bellatrix had gotten halfway through carving the word when a voice pulled Hermione to her senses.
"I'm here," Sirius had whispered, his voice nowhere and everywhere. It was enough to break Hermione from her complacency. She wrenched the knife from Bellatrix's fingers, plunged the blade into her stomach, and ran. Hermione had never run so fast.
She darted left and right, sprinting down hallways, searching for a way out. But each door was barred, refusing to budge as she rattled the handles.
"Hermione."
Roaring in frustration, Hermione tore away from another door, whirling around until her eyes landed on a window. Had that been there before? It towered above her, the sky white behind the bubbling glass.
She ran to the window, not stopping, not slowing. She expected pain and shut her eyes. But as the panes burst and the shards rained down, Hermione felt nothing but peace.
Her eyes blinked open. Her knees buckled. "Sirius," she breathed out. There was nothing outside the manor's window but a startling brightness, the faintest sound of lapping water, and him. Sitting on the ground, not facing her, his legs dangling off some invisible edge. Her heart told her to run, but she forced herself to pad slowly towards him. Crimson footsteps trailed behind her, but she didn't think Sirius would mind.
He looked up as she stopped beside him. Grinning wildly, like he'd just won the greatest prize. Curls tumbled down his shoulders. Lines carved his handsome face. He was unchanged. Beautiful. More hypnotizing than the embers of a dying fire. "I was wondering when you'd find me."
She sat down beside him, afraid to touch, but it was Sirius who moved first. He wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her close until her head rested in the crook of his neck. She sank into him, breathing him in, listening to the water she could not see. "How long do we have?" she asked softly, a thousand questions in her mind.
"Minutes, for now," he answered simply.
"For now?"
"Yes, kitten. For now."
So she held her questions back, and she sat, and she felt. The peace was intoxicating, even if it would not last. Hermione let herself drown in him, in the brightness, in the water touching the silence.
And it was enough, for now.
She woke into a heavy calmness. It lasted seconds, before the realization set in. Hermione sat bolt upright, heart drumming, sweat coating her skin. She had been there—seen him. Surely, this dream was different. Just like she'd hoped, Sirius had played the host. Now she was certain; Sirius was in the Edge, not the afterlife. And now, she had just one destination to research and reach. But why did I dream of it now?
Hermione's gaze slid over her tangled sheets to her nightstand. Her eyes widened as she grabbed the potion. It was unlabeled, of course. Back when Snape brewed for the Order, he insisted on labeling the shelves rather than the potions themselves—to preserve the integrity of his glassware, he liked to sneer when the subject was broached. She sniffed the blue vial, but it gave nothing away. Whatever it was, it led her to Sirius. She had to find out what, and how, and if it was safe to take again. Even if it wasn't, the accidental dosing had solved that little piece of parchment.
Sirius was in the Edge.
She could hardly keep a grin off her face as she threw on fresh jeans and a cream jumper, flying through her freshening up and down the stairs. Kreacher was likely working on breakfast, and she wouldn't have a good excuse to take him aside until everyone returned back to the Burrow. She knew Harry and Ginny planned to stay in London…though they'd probably be too preoccupied to wonder what Hermione wanted with the Black family elf.
Hermione paused halfway down to the second floor. She could wait until after breakfast to ask Kreacher. Even if she wanted to go check the potion stores herself, the basement door was in the kitchen—she didn't need Molly or anyone else wondering why a perfectly healthy Hermione needed a potion she couldn't just ask Kreacher to retrieve.
Her steps were much slower as she continued downward. Voices and laughter drifted in from the kitchen, the mouth-watering scent of bacon following shortly after. She smiled as she stepped inside, finding Molly, George, Charlie, Fleur, and Luna already sat at the table with their laden plates and steaming mugs.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Molly sang, barely looking up from her wandwork over the stove. "Take a seat, I'll have the bacon done in a minute."
"Thanks, Molly."
"Hermione!" George called out, waving her towards the empty seat between himself and Luna. "I've just been embarrassing these two over how many times they happened to get caught in the mistletoe," he said, waving a piece of toast at Luna and Charlie. Both reddened.
"It's dangerous magic, you know," she said lightly, turning her disapproving gaze on George. "Forcing people to kiss when they don't want to."
"Oh, kiss someone you didn't fancy?" George shot back, waggling his eyebrows. "Ron wasn't around to save you from my glorious invention?"
Hermione met Fleur's eye across the table, and the French woman smirked. "Zat is none of your business," Fleur drawled, sipping daintily from her tea. "Besides, zat is only for Christmas—half ze people are drunk enough to not even notice who ze kiss."
George put his hands behind his head, tipping back in his chair. "Au contraire, my friend. Seamus and I seemed to hit a snag in the product's production—can't find a way to remove the mistletoe until the charm runs out on its own. You all are just lucky I only put a few in the Burrow and not twelve like I did here."
He and Molly began bickering about the testing of WWW products on the family. Charlie and Luna not-so-secretly grinned at each other, while Fleur excused herself to go wake Bill. Hermione just sank lower into her chair as a plate was levitated in front of her. Until the charm runs out…If she wasn't careful, she be trapped kissing Ron for days, maybe weeks if George's magical abilities were any indicator. At least Ron wasn't here to find out about the lasting mistletoe—"Where is Ron?" Hermione asked, looking up from her food.
Molly sighed. "Work, dear. Apparently Proudfoot needed a few hands."
"Harry left too?"
"Nah, he's just upstairs shagging my sister." Molly whipped him with a tea towel, but George just sniggered. "Ron said Proudfoot only needed one of them," he said with a shrug.
Hermione chewed slowly, half-listening to Luna asking George about the details of the mistletoe. Ron had left for France, obviously. Either for work like he claimed, and he'd volunteered just to get away from her. Or he left for his French girl. The amount of unbothered she felt was quite astounding, really. In fact, Hermione felt rather thrilled, even if she did feel a bit selfish for wishing him gone. Then again, Ron never seemed to care about that. Neither should she, as far as her ex was concerned.
Really, the worst part of their breakup would be telling Molly. The woman had always been so sure they would end up married, surrounded by little witches and wizards with bushy red hair. The thought had always frightened her, though Hermione had chalked it up to being nineteen. Now she wasn't so sure that the fear lay more in Ron as the father and husband, rather than the children themselves. It would be nice to have a large family, coming from just her parents and later finding a ridiculously large one in the wizarding world. I wonder if Sirius would want kids…if he'd want to do that with me, once he's back…
"Hermione?"
Her eyes darted over to Luna, who was staring at her with wide, unbothered eyes. "Yeah?"
"You didn't borrow my self-blooming blush, by any chance?"
"Self-blooming…" Hermione's hands flew to her cheeks. They only grew hotter under the touch. "Oh, no, just a bit hot is all." She took a gulp of tea. Her blush only worsened.
Luna nodded understandingly, before reaching for Charlie's hand. "Clever bit of cosmetic magic," she said lightly. "The blush grows brighter as the wearer's thoughts grow more sexual in nature."
Hermione nearly shattered her teacup. She managed to set the cup back in its saucer before pushing back from the table. "Excuse me, I've got…bedding to fold." No one acknowledged the fact that a wand could complete the task in a second, thank Merlin. Hermione strode from the room, cooling her cheeks on the backs of her hands as she wandered out into the hall. To her surprise, Kreacher was at the foot of the stairs. "Excuse me?" she said, stopping short.
The elf regarded her suspiciously. "Weasley woman insisted on the cooking," Kreacher grumbled. "Mistress Hermione must ask her for the breakfast."
"No, er, I wanted to talk to you," Hermione said quickly, kneeling down beside the elf. Kreacher looked positively scandalized that she drew so close, scampering two steps back.
"Talk to Kreacher?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "What was the potion you gave me last night?"
His eyes roamed her face, like he was searching for something to insult her on. "Mistress Hermione asked for the unexpired dream potion. Kreacher gives her the unexpired dream potion."
"The Dreamless Sleep?"
"Kreacher gives the Boosted Dream Dose." Her lips fell open. At her shock, Kreacher looked positively gleeful. "Mistress asks for the unexpired dream potion. When Kreacher is not told which one, he gives the unexpired Boosted Dream Dose. Kreacher thought the Mistress wanted."
"I did, but—why would you think I wanted that one?" she whispered. "Tell me the truth."
"Kreacher sees, and he hears, and he smells," he hummed indignantly, as if she'd insulted him. "Mistress Hermione is leaving her filthy scent all over dead Master Black's bedroom. Mistress screams at night, and Kreacher hears even if other Masters don't." The elf's lip curled into a waxy sneer. "Kreacher hoped that if Mistress Hermione had bad dreams, she would stop leaving her filthy scent in Kreacher's once noble house." He darted away as fast as his stooped little frame allowed. She let him go, falling back to sit on the step.
Kreacher had been attempting to make her miserable. Instead, he'd given her a key to bringing 'dead Master Black' back. The potion, though…Boosted Dream Dose was highly illegal and took months to brew. Snape must have made it in case the Order wanted to torture without physically harming or using magic—given the circumstances of the war, anyone taken prisoner would likely experience garish nightmares while under the potion's effects. In theory, the potion opened the taker's soul into unknown dimensions, usually allowing unimaginable creatures or scenarios to run rampant. It was also highly addictive, after more than one or two doses. The taker would crave the potion even as his or her nightmares grew worse. The illegality, combined with the dangerous side effects, would keep her from taking it again.
It was enough, though. Through accident, and a muggle-hating house elf, she had finally gotten her first breakthrough in so long. She had gotten to touch Sirius, to have him hold her close, even if it had been just a potion-enhanced dream.
Soon, she prayed, it would be real.
She was eating dinner with Harry and Ginny in the kitchen when Ron barged in. Two days had passed since Christmas. Maybe he was doing more than snogging after all.
Hermione fell silent with her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down, meeting Ron's eyes from where he hovered at the threshold. Harry and Ginny's wedding chatter died out.
"Hello," Hermione said. Better to break the ice than wait for it to crack later. Harry and Ginny echoed her greeting.
Ron swallowed. "Hey." He took a step forward, eyeing the huge bowl of spaghetti still steaming at the center of the table.
"How was Paris?" she asked.
He froze. "Amiens, actually."
Harry looked up from his food, frowning. "Proudfoot took you out of the main office?"
"No, um, I was just…a friend lives there," he said with a tense shrug. He averted Hermione's hard gaze, dipped inside to grab a butterbeer from the fridge, then walked briskly out, mumbling about unpacking.
Silence filled the kitchen until Ginny let out an indignant huff. "Git. He could at least have the decency to owl, if he was just going to take off without saying goodbye to you."
Hermione twirled her fork in her spaghetti. "Actually I didn't mind." She glanced up to see Harry and Ginny sharing a perplexed look. "We broke up. At Christmas." Harry's mouth fell open. Ginny's lips were pressed tight. "Probably best he was gone, really. We would have been walking on eggshells all weekend. You're not upset, are you?"
Ginny blinked. "Upset? About you ending it with Ron?" Hermione nodded. "Honestly I think we're all surprised you two lasted so long. Even mum wondered if something was up."
Hermione blew out a long breath. Maybe Molly wouldn't be so angry, then. "Oh…we were that bad?"
"No, just…" Ginny started, looking to Harry for help.
"Strained," Harry offered. "Seemed both of you were too distracted for the other."
Hermione snorted. "Yeah, if you want to call his French girl a distraction."
Ginny's eyes widened. "He was cheating! Harry? Did you know about that?"
Harry looked just as shocked as Ginny—and Hermione knew he wouldn't keep that a secret, if he really did know. "No," Harry said, scratching at his neck. "Proudfoot kept me at the Paris office while Ron was sent into the field. I had no idea…shite." His hand froze, dropping back to his side. "There was a girl he mentioned being assigned to during his first field mission. Audette, I think."
Audette. The name meant bird, she was pretty sure. Ron had his French bird after all. A twinge of jealousy settled inside her. Now that the girl had a name, it felt real. Hurtful, but only in the stinging way. It would wear off soon enough, once she was back into the swing of research. And the swing of being at the manor. Ron was always the farthest from her mind, when she was thinking about Sirius or speaking with Lucius.
"Hermione?"
She looked over to Ginny, then to where Harry was clearing his dishes. "Hm?"
Ginny waited for Harry to kiss her cheek and head out. As soon as Harry's footsteps had faded, she leaned in close. "Now that you and my dearest brother are done, do you think you'll try dating? After you take some time, of course."
Hermione smirked. "What, have I been depriving you of an adventurous dating life to gossip over?"
"Uh, yes! Between you shacking up with my brother and me being with Harry," she said, waving her left hand. The diamond glinted in the low light. "I've been dying to play matchmaker."
Hermione studied the girl's eager grin. Couldn't hurt, even if it was just for a bit of fun. "Okay fine. Who should I date, oh wise Ginevra Weasley? Soon to be Potter," she added with a grin.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "It doesn't work like that. We're adults now—bigger pond than just Hogwarts boys we've known since we were kids. You give me a list of what you're looking for in a man, and I'll come back to you with some names."
Hermione laughed. Ginny would bring back the names of half the men in London under thirty, if she let her. "I'll get back to you on that," she said, rising from her seat to clear her plate.
"I'm holding you to that!"
Hermione shook her head as she hand-washed the dish. Tall, handsome, and witty would go on the list. 'Dead' she'd have to leave off.
Lucius sipped from a mug, his eyes downcast on the newspaper spread over the cafeteria table. It was a bit of a thrill, watching him wait for her. The whys to that thought were better left undetermined.
Plastering a collected expression on her face, Hermione pushed through the glass doors. Lucius looked up instantly, meeting her eyes with a faint smile. She waited patiently by the entryway as he folded the paper with a flick of his wand.
"Hermione," he said in a low voice, indicating his head.
"Lucius."
They walked side by side into the atrium. "Have a good holiday?" she asked mildly.
"I did. An unexpected visitor was the highlight of the break."
Me? But that means…Horror crossed her face as her faux pas. "I—I didn't mean to remind you. I know the holidays must be difficult, and—"
Hie touched her arm, quieting her. "Like I said, I did have a good holiday, despite the lack of other…visitors." They stepped into a fireplace, his fingers still on her as they were transported to the manor. Stepping out, Lucius released her. "How was yours?"
"My what?"
A smirk twitched on his lips. "Your holiday."
"Oh." She began moving towards the hallway door, so he couldn't see her cheeks color in embarrassment. "It was eventful." She quickly elected not to mention Ron—she highly doubted Lucius cared about her Weasley ex-boyfriend. "I had a breakthrough, actually," she said, as their footsteps echoed down the hall.
"What on?"
Hermione spun around when they reached the library's doors, too eager to even step inside. "I know where he is. S—Snape. I had determined that the first course of action, so I wouldn't be running in circles, would be to find definite proof of where Snape is. The Edge, or the afterlife? And I found it," she said, heart swelling. She did her best to keep the emotion off her face. "He's in the Edge."
Lucius's eyes sparkled with something that looked like amusement, something she hoped was more like pride. "And how did you determine this?"
Hermione pressed her lips together. "A dream," she admitted, turning once again so he wouldn't see her reddened cheeks. The memory of Sirius was startlingly strong, even days later. She could almost feel his arm around her. Hermione opened the library doors, waltzing inside to her usual table. Lucius lingered just a few steps from the door.
"You dreamed of your potions professor?"
"With the help of a potion. Boosted Dream Dose."
Lucius chuckled. "I see. Was Severus proud that you found him with a clever potion?"
Hermione huffed. "Snape wouldn't be proud of me, even if I cured death." She slid into her chair, smiling wryly. "Actually maybe he would be, at the end of this all." She looked over at Lucius. He was still watching her, hands in his pockets. Faint smirk on his lips, though she couldn't quite pinpoint its reason. "Thank you for the coffee and biscuits," she said suddenly. "I realized I never thanked you. I was reminded after meeting Fisby on Friday."
Amusement danced in his eyes. "I figured even a devout researcher needs a break."
"I suppose I ought not to tell you I often read while on the coffee break. With a mess-banishment charm, of course."
"Well," Lucius said lightly. "If you were in need of a real break, I could tell Fisby to set the tray for two."
"I—yes. I would like that. Better to bounce ideas off someone in the middle of the evening, rather than the end."
"Of course." He bowed his head, bid her farewell, and left in a sweep of grey robes.
Hermione stared at the door long after he'd left. She had a sinking feeling that he had caught on to more of her true research than he was letting on, and he now wanted to supervise more of the work. That, or Lucius Malfoy really did want to have a coffee with the muggleborn in his library.
She wondered if she ought to feel more alarmed.