Hermione blinked wearily into the morning sun. It shafted through the sliver between the curtains, piercing the sitting room's chill air. Yawning, Hermione cast a warming charm and tugged the leather jacket tighter over her shoulders.

Her whole body felt like it had been shoved through a blender. Didn't help that she had spent the night on her mum's stiff couch, or that it had taken her hours to fall into fitful sleep. Lucius had been contained to the upstairs guest room, levitated and re-bound to the iron bedframe. Hermione was restless with his presence, like he was an infection seeping into her skin. She hated him. She hated keeping him. And yet she needed him.

Prophecy was a bitch.

Magic's end…Lavender had said those words in her strange, hollow voice. The end of magic itself was at stake. If she had to string a backstabbing wizard along to stop it, then so be it.

The house was still quiet when Hermione eased her stiff limbs from the couch. She grabbed her beaded bag and padded up the stairs, to the bathroom. When her eyes fell on the sink counter, she stiffened. Three toothbrushes remained. One blue, one orange, one bright pink—the brush she had used during summer holidays. She wondered, vaguely, if her parents had chosen the same colors wherever they were now. Somewhere hot and dry and happy. Merlin, she hoped they were happy.

Cleaning herself was a tiring mix of magic and bathwater charmed to stay warm. The runes carved into her thigh were puffy and red, the streaks of blood so crusted, she winced as she scrubbed the skin clean. Lucius was no doubt still in pain, with his unhealed rune and arm tied up all night.

Hermione told herself she didn't care and scrubbed harder.

When she was dressed in jeans and a turtleneck jumper, Hermione finally dared to check on both men. Lucius remained asleep, half-sitting against the bedframe with his chin tucked to his chest. Mouth open slightly, chest rising and falling with the easiness only sleep could bring. He was beautiful, really. Like the man she'd danced with. The man she'd kissed.

Hermione shut the door, before her brain could betray her with any more thoughts.

Sirius was gone from her childhood room, though the sheets had been tangled, and when she sank down to run a hand over them, she found the fabric stiff with snot and tears. No one should find out like this, she lamented, tears threatening to spill out. Part of her wished that instead of bringing Sirius back, she had pushed him forward. Beyond the Edge. At least there, he would be with Remus. Tonks. Fred and Moody and Dumbledore and everyone else who had died before he got to say goodbye.

"Hermione?"

She sniffed and hastily wiped her eyes. She turned to find Sirius in the doorway, carrying a tray set for one. Oatmeal, it looked like, paired with another mug of tea. She wouldn't bother to tell him she preferred coffee. "Thank you. But what about yours?" she asked, as he strode inside and set the tray on the bed.

"Already ate."

She looked up as he leaned against the windowsill. He'd freshened up too, now wearing faded jeans and that Weird Sisters t-shirt she spent weeks sleeping in. Hermione blushed, realizing he probably smelled her on it, with that Animagus nose of his. His red-rimmed eyes were all too noticeable. "I'm sorry," she said weakly.

His brow creased. "What for?"

"Bringing you back. Trusting Lucius. Dragging you into this terrible mess when you had no choice. You—you hardly even know me, and I…I…" She clamped her lips shut as tears pooled in her eyes. Again.

Sirius blew out a long sigh. "Oh, kitten," he murmured, joining her on the bed. Hermione pushed the tray away and climbed backwards, so they could both lean against the headboard. Not quite touching, legs splayed out across the crumpled sheets. "I'm not upset. Just shocked at what happened. It's not every day you're dragged from the dead, you know." She let out a hiccuped laugh. "And I am certainly not upset that it was you who did the dragging." He put a hand in the space between them, palm up. Hermione laid hers inside, marveling at the warmth, the faint fizz of magic radiating from his fingertips. "But you're right that I did not really know you, Hermione. You were what, thirteen when we met?"

"Fourteen. I have an early birthday."

"Both of us were busy fighting a war. But that doesn't mean I didn't recognize the brilliant woman you would become. Now look at you," he whispered, gently taking her chin and drawing up her gaze. "You are more than the girl I knew."

Hermione's worry melted under his soft smile, his words. Her eyes fell on his lips, before flickering back up. She didn't want to press her luck, not when he was already surprising her with his easy acceptance. "You're not scared of me?"

He huffed and brushed her jaw with his thumb, before the hand fell away. Still, he clutched the hand between them. "Terrified, actually. A nineteen year-old necromancer has me stashed in her house." Hermione's face cracked into a grin, and he chuckled. "How on Earth did you do it?" he continued, expression sobering.

Hermione pulled her gaze away, staring at their interlocked hands. "It started with the research. I spent weeks rifling through the most awful books, trying to find out where you were and how to get there. Somehow, it worked. Slowly, with many dead-ends, but slowly it worked. Then the puzzle started to click together when…" She wet her lips. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, urging her to continue. "When I discovered a ritual used to tether wives to their husbands, in ancient times. That's how I got you out. I bound myself to Lucius before entering the Edge—that's the white, bright place you were stuck in. Lucius pulled us both out, before…" She forced herself to look back at him. Worry surged through her when she found him frowning. "I know, it was wrong to trust Lucius—"

"No, that's not…" Sirius pressed his lips into a line and stared absently into the bedroom. "The ritual you mentioned sounds familiar. Something my father used to drone on about, when he fought with my mother. What was is called?"

"The Ritual of Retinacula. That's the name of the book I found it in." Sirius grew still. Hermione pulled out of his grasp, shifting around so she was facing him. "What is it?"

"What did Malfoy tell you about Retinacula?"

She frowned, wracking her head for the memory. It felt like ages ago, when they had sat together in the library, and her mind had raced upon discovering the breakthrough. "Just that his pureblood ancestors used to use it. And that the book was cursed, before he removed it."

"Nothing else?" His eyes were suddenly very hard, his voice startlingly low and firm.

"No."

Sirius abruptly stood, striding for the door before she even registered where he was going. "Sirius!" she called out as he flew down the hallway. "Sirius, wait!" Hermione tried to catch his arm, but he batted her off like a gnat and wrenched open the guest bedroom's door.

"You fucking bastard!"

Lucius was already awake, watching them lazily. "Good morning, Hermione," he yawned, before setting his eyes on Sirius. "And her pet, all washed and blow-dried."

Sirius snarled and lurched forward, wand suddenly in his hand. Hermione snapped into action, jumping in his way with her hands pressed to his chest. "Sirius, you can't use magic!"

"Fine," he muttered, shoving the wand into his back pocket. "Then I'll use my fists."

"No, you won't," she snapped, shoving him lightly. "Tell me what this is about."

He seemed to cool, just slightly. His shoulders still heaved with rage and ragged breaths. "Ask Malfoy what else he knows about the ritual."

Hermione bit her lip but turned. Lucius's eyes sparkled with interest, and she narrowed her own. "Well?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "What else did you lie about?"

Lucius considered her for a long moment, gaze raking up her figure. Hermione blushed, itching to hide herself beneath the safety of Sirius's jacket. "Lie is a finicky word, my dear. Perhaps you just weren't clever enough to ask the right questions."

"You're pathetic."

"And you are so enchanting, my dear. All riled up. You'll never get that with him, you know."

It took everything in her to force the tide of frustration back to a simmer. "Just tell me, Lucius."

The wizard smirked and rolled his wrists inside their bindings. "I believe what Black is referring to is The Ritual of Retinacula's, how do I put it…prosecutable nature? There was a time, you see, only a century ago when every pureblood house had a copy of the book. I'm sure the Blacks had one too. Then of course, the Ministry got weak—let people like you two have more say in what was deemed acceptable domestic magic. The Wizengamot banned the book, as well as the practice. Manors were raided. Books burned. Sentences for possession or use of the ritual are quite steep, if I recall."

"Then why did you still have the book? I thought the Malfoys had more self-preservation than that."

Lucius huffed. "We also have a desire to preserve our customs. Our history. When the Manor was raided by those idiotic Ministry officials, I knew they would only be searching for objects bearing curses."

"So you had the curse removed," Hermione said bitterly. "And then you let me use the ritual, knowing it was illegal!"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "And so is breaking into Ministry property, and performing unsanctioned experiments, and the magic of necromancy, should any wizard ever achieve it. Or witch, I should say," he drawled, smirking. "I'm sure my ancestors would be quite surprised at that."

Sirius stepped up beside her. Hermione startled, after he had been so quiet. Now, as she took in the barely contained sparks of magic in his curls, she realized why. "What's the sentence for using the ritual?" he ground out.

Lucius's smirk stretched into a grin. "Why, Black? Want to take the blame? I daresay it's a punishment you're all too familiar with."

Sirius paled. "The Dementor's Kiss."

The dark wizard shrugged. "I'm sure they wouldn't prosecute Gryffindor's Princess to such an extent. And if you confessed now, claim I Imperiused you, you might get off with only a Skeeter tell-all. But if you wait…perhaps ten years in Azkaban, then a lifetime ban from any reputable work. No chance at all at positions in the Ministry, of course. Perhaps you could still put that mouth to use, though. I hear muggle broth—"

Sirius strangled the words from his throat, hands wrapped around Lucius's neck before Hermione could even gasp. "Sirius, stop!" she cried. Lucius's legs jerked, seeking purchase, but found none with Sirius still standing to the side.

"Do you want to die, is that it!" Sirius roared, slamming Lucius's head back into the iron bedframe. Magic crackled in the air, bright tendrils of white flashing like lighting.

"Sirius!" Hermione whipped out her wand. A spell was on the tip of her tongue, before she hesitated—if she engaged him like that, he might set off his volatile magic and set the aurors on them. Crying out in frustration, Hermione threw her wand to the side and flung herself over Sirius's back, arms wrapped tight around his chest. "Sirius, stop it!" she screamed, trying to haul him back. Lucius's face was bright purple, mouth gasping for air that wouldn't come. "Sirius, you'll call the aurors!"

The man slowly stilled in her arms. The magic settled back down, disappearing from the air. He sagged against her, and Hermione stumbled back to keep them both upright. She let go, hurrying to his front, blocking Lucius from view as he choked and sputtered behind them. Hermione cradled Sirius's face, forcing him to look at her. "I don't care what he says."

"But—"

"No!" she snapped, clutching tighter. "I don't care. And neither should you. He means nothing to me, okay?" she insisted, even when the tears threatened to well. "But if you accidently kill him, or use magic, it's not just my future that's doomed."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. "There's more to this mess than I had time to tell you."

Sirius had been quiet for too long. Hermione watched him from across the table, idly stirring her re-warmed oatmeal. He clutched the slip of parchment, then gently set it back on the table.

"Malfoy already knows of the prophecy?

"Yes," she answered in a small voice.

"Then you know he's involved, now. One of the three gift givers. I assume I'm the third?"

Her spoon stilled. "It seems that way. And it's clearer now, more than ever, that I'm the Future one. Even before we performed the ritual, I knew going down this path, the…the dark magic I was pursuing. Spending time with a former Death Eater. I knew it would jeopardize my future."

Sirius grimaced. "You could still try to stop it. Like the bastard said—you could walk away and claim Malfoy used the Imperius curse."

"Even if that was possible—if he had a wand and his magic back—I couldn't leave," she said weakly. "This is bigger than just my future. Magic's end. That's…well, that's quite cataclysmic, don't you think?"

He drummed his fingers on the table. "Poor word choice, maybe?"

"We both know it's not."

They fell silent. Hermione shoved her uneaten breakfast away. The prophecy's other words refused to leave her head, and when she glanced back to Sirius, he was caught behind a sheet of tears. "One of you has to sacrifice your family, and the other your life," she whispered. "Whatever that means. Prophecies can be interpreted different ways—they change details, depending on the choices we make. Maybe if we study the wording, and get some Arithmancy books—"

Sirius scraped back his chair, standing abruptly. "Stop."

She watched, blinking furiously, as he moved to stare out the window over the sink. "I've read that—"

"I said stop." His words stung. He must have noticed her scarlet cheeks, because the next moment, Sirius was sighing, slumped back against the counter. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I…I do not want you to get your hopes up. It is clear to me, and to you, I think, that I shall be the one dying in this equation."

"You don't know that!" she protested, jumping up to face him.

"Come on, Hermione. I remember you never caring for Divination, but you're still a clever witch. Cleverer than me. We read the same prophecy. One side holds the key. One side holds the lock." He glared at her, like he was angry at the world for making him say the words. "The Veil spit me out. I'm the fucking key, kitten. And Death wants me back."

"No, no you can't be."

"Need a second opinion?" He pushed past her. Hermione ran after, but he was too quick, pounding up the stairs, striding towards the guest room. The door banged open.

"Delightful, you two again," Lucius muttered, lolling his bruised face towards them.

Sirius didn't give him a moment of reprise, snatching Lucius's jaw, ignoring the man's protest. "Are you willing to give your life for this damn prophecy?" he hissed. When Lucius tried to turn away, Sirius snarled, "Are you?"

Hermione put a tentative hand on Sirius's back. "Sirius, be careful. Your magic." He reluctantly pulled away, still glowering at Lucius.

Lucius stretched his jaw. "I don't give my life to anything," he sneered.

"Not even to her?"

The dark wizard's eyes were cold as they settled on Hermione. "Not a chance."

Hermione expected Sirius to choke him again, but instead he just turned back to her and said quietly, "See?"

"I can't," she breathed out. Her hand came up, about to fist his t-shirt, when she forced herself to pull away. "Sirius, I can't lose you again."

He smiled. It looked broken. Half-hearted. He had already given up. "Think of it as borrowed time, love."

Hermione shut her eyes. Tears leaked out, hot on her cheeks. Apparently her resolve to stop them had shattered long again. "We should discuss the rest," she said, opening her eyes with a deep breath. Hopefully they could stay off the topic of Sirius's death for as long as possible. She would find a way. She had to. And she didn't want Lucius to see her sob. "It seems that there are two ends to this 'tunnel.' If we place one at the Ministry, as the Veil, then we likely have to find the other end. I'm thinking it's in France."

"France?" Sirius asked.

"Things have been going wrong there for months, according to Harry and Ron. People disappearing without a trace. And before Harry left for Paris again, he told me there was a sudden increase in the number."

"The same time as the ritual."

"We'd be stupid to think the two aren't connected. Magical coincidences are quite rare, according to the Arithmancers."

Sirius hummed his agreement. "That's it, then. Off to Paris. Always wanted to see the Eiffel Ladder."

She giggled sadly, but didn't bother correcting his lack of muggle knowledge. "You know, I hear that Paris is—"

Lucius cleared his throat. Loudly, and sounding like a dying cat after having Sirius's hands wrapped around it one too many times.

Hermione whirled around. "Yes, we're dragging you to Paris too."

He arched an eyebrow. "Wonderful. Now, before you two idiots get carried away, there's another aspect to this prophecy you're forgetting." He stared at them expectantly. "Oh, please. I know you've reached the same conclusion on Only when the Givers forge themselves in Future's flesh as I have."

Hermione ground her teeth. "We don't know what that means."

"What's he talking about, Hermione?"

A smirk spread slowly across Lucius's battered face. "You only refuse to see the obvious now that circumstances have changed. Now that your poor heart has been betrayed." He stretched languidly out, back arching off the bed. "I'm not usually an exhibitionist, or keen on sharing, but I'll make an exception in the name of prophecy. Do you want Black to fuck you first, or shall I?"

Merlin, not again.

Hermione waited for Sirius to launch himself at the other wizard. But Sirius only stood frighteningly still. She thought he had decided to control his reaction—for her sake—when she noticed the first spark.

A tiny flash of white-hot magic crackled between his thumb and forefinger. The air grew very warm and still, like time had slowed. Or maybe her brain simply had, the same way perception eased to a halt when you witnessed a car crash, or a killing curse. Hermione's mouth was still curving into a scream when the world crashed back to reality.

His magic burst.

A jet of brilliant, red light streaked forward as electricity snapped so loudly, so fiercely, Hermione stumbled backwards with her hands clapped to her ears. The spell ricocheted off Lucius's chest, slamming the entire headboard into the drywall. Dust clouded, the spell split off into a hundred directions, and it was all Hermione could do to throw herself to the floor. Chunks of wall and ceiling rained down like offbeat notes on a drum.

"Hermione!" The voice was muffled, far away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—I couldn't stop it." Ringing…why is the world ringing? She groaned. Tried to sit up. Two hands hauled her to her feet as she looked groggily around.

Her eyes landed on the bed. It had been blown backwards, and Lucius with it. His eyes were shut, head slumped forward onto his chest. "No!" Hermione cried, stumbling forward, ankle catching on what she thought was a piece of ceiling fan. She hardly registered Sirius's hands leaving her. It was just him, this godforsaken man who was supposed to help save the world. Who was more than that, even if she despised herself for it. Hermione cradled his face, examining him for damage. Finding none other than the old bruises, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing more than a strong stunner.

"Hermione," Sirius said in a low, urgent tone. "We're gonna have to continue this conversation elsewhere."

She reluctantly left Lucius's side, joining Sirius by the window. Hermione peered out at the sleepy neighborhood, still quiet in the early hours of the morning. "I don't…" The words dried up in her mouth. There, at the end of the street, six figures in robes were marching towards the corner house. "Oh, fucking aurors!" Sirius looked at her in surprise. "If you warn me about language…"

Sirius grinned. "If there's ever a time to curse, kitten, it would be now." He reached up and plucked a piece of drywall from her hair.

Hermione jumped into action, grabbing their things and food, stuffing them into her little bag as Sirius looked on in awe. "Extendable charm. I'll tell you all about how we defeated Voldemort with it later."

"Where to?" Sirius asked, when she was back in his jacket, bag slung over her shoulder.

Hermione checked the window. The aurors had only made it a few houses further. Like they couldn't track the magic outburst directly. Still, though, she didn't like how close they were. "We can't apparate with Lucius. We'll have to just make a run for it and hide out until they're gone. And it'll be harder to travel the streets with two adult men. If I levitate Lucius with the Invisibility Cloak thrown over, can you…" He was already a giant black dog before the sentence was over. Tail wagging, tongue lolling out. He panted up at her with a grin she swore she recognized. "Good boy."

They ran. Well, it was more hiding behind rubbish bins and garden walls, but an hour later, Hermione had managed to get the three of them to a park teenagers cutting class visited. Winter had driven them away, for now. It was only when she collapsed on the dry grass, Lucius's unconscious body beside her and Padfoot stretched over her legs, that Hermione realized how close the encounter with the aurors was. If Sirius was caught—if they all were—this whole thing would be over.

Part of her wished it was.

The rest, the part that had helped the Light win a war, that girl who spent her teenage years fighting battles, knew better. She couldn't give up. Not when the weight of the world had so inconveniently come crashing down on her shoulders.

A tongue licked up her face, coaxing out a weary smile. "Sirius…"

"Yeah, kitten?"

She shoved onto her elbows. At least he had rolled off her lap. "We can't go to Paris like this," she muttered, before casting a quick warming charm. She hoped he'd packed something warmer than just t-shirts, or she'd have to hand back the lovely jacket.

He plucked at the grass, spinning a blade between sure fingers. "I can control it. I don't know what got into me."

"Lucius got into you. And he's not going to stop. Neither are your…magical outbursts. Whatever happened to you, when you exited the Veil, it affected your magic. We can't risk that happening again, or we'll all be locked up and the world really will end." She flopped back onto the cold ground. Lucius stirred in her peripheral, and she groaned.

"Hey, now," Sirius whispered, joining her in the bed of dead grass. He nudged her shoulder with his own. "You're right. We'll find a way to plug up the magic. Or to stop them from tracking."

"How?" she said weakly. "Everyone I want to ask is either dead, or at Hogwarts, or going to throw us in a Ministry cell. We need someone who knows about magical signatures and tracing, but I don't have anyone left in my phonebook like that," she said bitterly.

"Phonebook?"

"Muggle thing. Doesn't matter."

Sirius sighed as he propped one leg over the other knee. He shifted uncomfortably, then dug beneath him. When the hand reappeared, the Applewood wand was twirling between his fingertips.

"Sirius, be care…" She trailed off as the wand dipped in and out of his fingers.

Maybe there was another name in her phonebook after all.