Morning broke too soon.

A wand's alarm rang out as a voice grumbled incoherently, and Hermione cracked open her eyes. Through the window's split gauzy curtains, the pink fingers of dawn stretched out, the moon like an opal ring hovering between them.

At the gentle stroking of her likely disastrous hair, Hermione grinned and whispered, "Good morning," before rolling onto her side.

Dark grey eyes gazed back. "Can you even call this morning?" Sirius asked wistfully.

Hermione's smile faded. Of course, she was thrilled to find Sirius's beautiful face beside her in bed. She cared so much for him—even her magic thrummed in his presence. But she could not ignore her twinge of hope that it had been the man who put her so sweetly to bed to wake beside her too. Casting aside her thoughts, Hermione sat up and stretched, laughing when Sirius's eyes hungrily tracked the motion. "It's morning enough."

Then it hit her—the punch that today was, if all went well, the last day chasing the prophecy.

Her last day with Sirius.

His last day on Earth. For good, this time.

"Oh, God," Hermione whimpered as her smile disappeared completely. "Oh, Sirius, please tell me you and Harry didn't get what we're supposed to be traveling with." Her tear ducts tightened, but when she waited for the tears to spring, nothing happened. Maybe she had finally cried herself dry after all.

Sirius shook his head, but he still wore a sad smile. How he could smile, she did not understand. "Shh, kitten," he comforted, drawing her into his arms with her head tucked under his chin. "Harry and I were successful, but please don't think of what will happen."

"How can I not?"

"Because what will happen will happen." He pulled back while capturing the nape of her neck, forcing her to look at him when all she wanted was to collapse into his chest and bury herself away. "You and I both know that Fate is a very real thing. We have lived through enough hardships and triumphs to know that, in the end, we are helpless to the outcome."

"I've told you, prophecy can change—"

"No." His firmness startled her. After a moment, his expression softened again, and he drew her in for a kiss. "Sorry, love, I don't mean to frighten you." Their foreheads met, their chests rising and falling in unison as he was quiet for a long moment. "We thought the prophecy could change, but look where we are. What we did to get here. I'm afraid there are some things even your will cannot withstand."

Hermione kissed him again. She wanted to kiss every part of him, but she was afraid there wasn't time. Instead, she pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth, then the other, then the center, before drawing reluctantly away. "I feel like this isn't even happening," Hermione admitted, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Sirius chuckled as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "You'll feel a bit different when you see what Harry brought us."

Hermione frowned. She didn't like the sound of that. Still chuckling, Sirius slid out of bed, and she realized he was already dressed in jeans and his Weird Sisters t-shirt, half of his hair pulled back into a bun. She'd never seen him like that, with his strong jaw so exposed, the sides of his neck bare before the mass of dark curls closed in towards the back.

"I thought we were on a schedule?"

Hermione flushed and quickly slipped out of bed too. She pulled on her own jeans, a thick emerald turtleneck, and her well-worn boots before ducking into the bathroom to freshen up as best she could. After half a dozen attempts at taming her wild mane, Hermione gave up; apparently this day had it out for her in more ways than one.
As she followed Sirius into the sitting room, her eyes landed on Lucius sipping from a streaming mug at the table, but otherwise they were alone. "Good morning, Lucius…Sirius, where's Harry?"

As Lucius hummed his greeting—and his stare drank in her wayward curls—Sirius crossed over to the linen closet to the right of the stairs. "Back at his flat, I believe. He had to do some tinkering with the compass last night, but he'll meet us on location in about…" He waved his wand with a muttered Tempus charm. "Half an hour. Better eat something, love—Harry gave me money for those Muggle pastries," he said, nodding towards the table. An open box sat waiting, and she now saw that Lucius had a saucer sporting a half-eaten croissant.

"The compass?" She was still trying to work out what he meant when Lucius snorted.

"What?"

Lucius dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before saying in an amused voice, "I'm not sure that's the best idea, Black, if you want Hermione to keep anything in her stomach."

"Oh, come on, the witch can't be that inept."

"Inept!" Hermione scoffed, but the two wizards ignored her.

"My son saw Miss Granger during their First Year lessons and described her as the worst in their class. Besides Longbottom, naturally."

"I was the top of my class everywhere else!" she chimed in indignantly.

"And I'm sure that had nothing to do with my dear cousin's hatred of Muggleborns," Sirius shot back.

Lucius held up his hands, before waving at the pastry box in an obvious act of surrender.

Hermione stared between them, her mouth slightly open. Then it clicked—and so did her stomach as it flipped violently. "Merlin," she whispered, sinking down onto the couch. Suddenly, the fresh pastries didn't sound so appealing. The answer was so bloody obvious, her swotty school-girl self would have been shamed to not have realized it sooner. She had hoped their transport would be something like the Weasley's enchanted car, or perhaps a de-commissioned version of the Knight Bus, left in Ministry storage. "We're not flying, are we? Please tell me we're not flying."

Lucius sipped nonchalantly from his coffee, and though his back was to her, she knew he was probably smirking. During one of her visits to the manor, they had fallen onto the subject of Quidditch. She had revealed her loathing for the sport, much to Lucius's haughty delight. Flying had been just as ingrained in his youth as it was in Draco's.

While Hermione contemplated her fate—and the fate of her stomach, should she attempt to eat something—Sirius shut the door to the closet with his boot. He clutched the handles of two glossy brooms. Expensive ones, she guessed from the polished wood and neat, tapered ends.

"No."

"Oh, come on, kitten."

"No." She frowned as her curiosity got the better of her. "Why are there only two brooms?"

"Harry thought you might feel safer riding double, since it's a fairly long trip," Sirius answered easily, setting the brooms up against the wall.

Hermione hated that Harry was right, even if it was rather insulting. She was a full-grown witch—a vanquisher of darkness, and all that nonsense! Hermione Granger was perfectly capable of wielding a broom.

She just didn't want to.

But when did this prophecy ever consider her wants?

Hermione rose to her feet, hands on her hips as she scrutinized the brooms. They looked safe enough. Better than the school's supply, anyway; kindling was a better use for those blasted things. "Fine," she said tartly. "I'll do it."

"That's my girl." Sirius gave her a wolfish grin. "We're meeting Harry at a nearby park, once we're all set here."

Though her stomach was still waffling with its queasy protest, Hermione forced herself to take one of the almond croissants. While Sirius left to tidy up the bedroom, Lucius rose from his seat, then she was pleasantly surprised when he carried over a mug of coffee. The earthy scent wafted up, and Hermione inhaled deeply as she lowered her lips to the rim.

"Thank you, Lucius," she said as he sank back down beside her. "I thought we only had the tea I packed."

"Yes, well, when Black said he was popping out to the shop, I thought it time he was made aware of your fondness for the stronger stuff."

Hermione smiled as she set the cup down and pulled apart the flaky pastry. "You always seemed to know just how I like my coffee, even from the start," she mused, putting a bit of croissant in her mouth. It practically melted, and her fingers came away sticky with the sugary filling. As she raised her hand, about to stick her finger in her mouth to clean it, her eyes caught Lucius's. The heat pooling in his pale irises was nearly palpable.

Oh Merlin. The man did ungodly things with just one look.

Then he said, in a low, teasing tone, "Don't stop on my account," and Hermione wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Feeling all-too warm, Hermione grabbed the nearest napkin while Lucius smirked at her reaction. They went back to eating in content silence.

Both their mugs were drained, their saucers bearing only crumbs, when he asked softly, "How do you feel?"

Hermione toyed with her plate, letting the porcelain scrape against the wooden tabletop. "Like I should be crying, but I'm not. Or like I should be running away…but I can't do that either." She let out a shaky sigh and raised her eyes to meet his. All of the earlier amusement was gone, replaced by tender sincerity. "We're all so bloody calm. It doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps this is what happens when we play so nicely with Fate. We've stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting the prophecy. Now we just…wait." Lucius took her hand, folding her fingers closed within his. His thumb stroked the back, coaxing out a small sigh. "But if it helps, you should know that if I wasn't so practiced at tempering my anxiety, I too would be crying or running or whatever else you think we ought to be doing in this moment."

Hermione nodded. Lucius had spent a great deal of his life performing acts that frightened him in the name of the Dark Lord. Still, his calmness both unnerved and settled her, like Sirius's did. Like they knew something she didn't.

But then again, they've both been pawns in wars for longer than you've known about magic. They're simply more practiced at this sort of thing. The thought reassured her as she settled her hand above Lucius's. He gave her a smile as her own thumb stroked its way across the broad back of his hand.

"We don't know for sure what will happen when we go to Cap Blanc-Nez, but I—I know myself, and I know that there will come a moment when my logic and reason is overshadowed by…by this," she admitted, touching her fingers to her heart. "Will you stay with me when that happens?"

Lucius's thumb stilled. "Until the very end."

Just as she began to smile gratefully at him, Sirius's footsteps returned. Hermione pulled away and pushed to her feet. "The bedroom is clean, and the bagpacked to the best of my shit abilities," Sirius said, holding up her beaded purse. When Hermione held out a hand, he tossed it to her, then slipped on his leather jacket. Sirius stepped over to the brooms, picked one up, then held out the other.

"Cheers," Lucius muttered, accepting the gleaming handle.

Sirius slung the broom over his shoulder, regarding them both with a glint of anticipation in his grey eyes. "Ready?"

Hermione set her jaw. "Not especially."

"Hardly," Lucius drawled.

The corner of Sirius's mouth quirked up. "Good enough. Let's go save the fucking world."

Hermione's boot cracked the frosted grass as she stepped into the park. It was a good location to depart from; the ring of trees gave good cover on all sides, though the sky above was open and blue. Besides the cold and wind, which only served their cause by keeping onlookers away, it was a gorgeous, sunny day.

As the wizards stepped up behind her, scrutinizing the park in silence, Hermione's mind drifted to all those beautiful days in her short life that had gone so terribly wrong.

The night of Remus's full moon and Sirius's narrow escape.

Harry's final, tragic event at the Triwizard Tournament, when screams filled the clear black sky.

Bill and Fleur's wedding in the first curls of Autumn's cold.

And the final battle, most of all. Hogwarts had never looked so brilliant as it had that day, the castle's ancient stones framed against the pale sky of morning.

It was a cruel joke, to make the world so beautiful when it was always set on destruction.

"Harry's here," Sirius's low voice called out, and Hermione turned to see her friend striding towards them across the stretch of grass. Hermione pulled out her wand and dropped the Disillusionment charms on both men. With a waver of magic, the brooms in their hands re-appeared, and Harry grinned.

"What do you think?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her.

Hermione scowled before relenting, "The brooms were a good idea. I can't believe I didn't consider it before."

"Hermione Granger, admitting she couldn't figure out the answer?" His smile widened as he reached out and tugged playfully at a stray curl.

"All right, all right!" Hermione snapped, noticing Lucius tense beside her. "Thank you, Chosen One, for your constant brilliance." Her lips pursed, and she added kindly, "We wouldn't get this far without you."

Sirius stepped forward. "Did you bring the compass?"

"Oh, right." Harry dug into his trousers' pocket, then showed them the object resting in his palm. It was a golden, metal disk with a seam through the center. When Harry touched the edge, the lid popped open, revealing the dial of a Muggle compass. "It's charmed to point only towards your destination," Harry explained, before snapping it shut and handing it to Sirius. "Since you're flying quite a distance, I figured you could use all the help you could get. Wouldn't want you three to end up flying to Spain by accident."

His thoughtfulness pulled at her chest, and Hermione quickly pulled Harry into a tight hug. "You really are brilliant, Harry," she whispered. Hermione kissed his cheek, then pulled away.

Harry flushed as he raked a hand through his hair, rumpling it further. He took a moment to meet the eyes of first Sirius, then, to her surprise, Lucius, who gave a slight nod. "I guess this is it, then?" Harry asked, shoving his hand back in his pocket. "It feels kind of odd to not be involved in saving the world for once."

"Afraid so, son," Sirius murmured. He too hugged Harry, this one even more crushing than Hermione's. How neither man managed to cry, she didn't know; surely Sirius had discussed what would transpire while they were together last night. It seemed that the uncanny calmness had infected Harry too.

When he was free again, and even more flustered, Harry said, "I'll be apparating over to the coast late this afternoon to collect the brooms. They have a locator on them for security purposes, but I've nicked the papers and locked them up in my flat."

"Good man, Harry. Whatever the door's wardings are…they should be gone, by then."

"And the people who disappeared?"

Hermione sighed. "I suppose we won't know until the door's gone. Maybe they'll all come back, good as ever."

"Maybe." Harry agreed, before stepping back.

Taking it as a sign they were to mount, Hermione turned towards Sirius as the wizard slung one leg over the broom.

"Wait, kitten." At Hermione's questioning look, Sirius met her gaze and said softly, "I think you should ride with Malfoy."

"What?" She twisted to face Lucius, who wore an indiscernible expression. "Why?" She met Harry's eyes too, wondering if he knew what the hell they were talking about, but Harry only shrugged.

"I figured that being the only actual Quidditch player in this trio, I ought to keep look-out. Fly ahead and circle back occasionally, to make sure we're not being followed. Which we won't be with Auror Potter on our side," he added, winking at Harry.

Suspicion made Hermione bite her lip. Ever since finding out they were bloody flying, Hermione had anticipated having Sirius behind her to keep her safe. She hadn't even considered Lucius on the broom, his broader chest flush against her back…

"I admit, the looping and twisting will make for a more exciting ride—"

"Okay, okay!" Hermione exclaimed, tossing up her hands. "If you insist."

She stepped over to Lucius instead, blushing when he positioned the broom to allow her to climb in front of him. "Wait," he ordered as her leg slung over.

"What now?"

He didn't answer, but when he gestured for her to take the broom, then two hands came up to gather her curls into a low ponytail, she threw her head back with laughter. "Are you trying to tell me something?" Hermione teased. She handed him the scrunchie already on her wrist.

"Only that my tombstone shall not say death by suffocation."

Once her hair was secured, Hermione had to stay on her tiptoes while Lucius's arms wrapped around her, hands planted at the front of the handle. "Good?" he murmured into her ear.

Hermione cast a warming charm, then heard Sirius do the same. "Good," she whispered, still shivering.

She could tell from his chuckle that he felt it too. She set her eyes on Harry, who was assessing them like his players on the Quidditch pitch. "Now, these are nice brooms, but they're still Ministry brooms," Harry said sternly, with a pointed look at Sirius. "Trying anything too fancy on these is only going to give you one more problem to worry ab—"

CRACK!

Hermione whirled around at the sound of apparition, nearly toppling sideways if Lucius hadn't thrown an arm across her collar bones. Her eyes widened on the man now standing in the tree line. Wind licked at his flaming hair.

"Ron," she whispered, horrified.

He had already seen them, though Ron seemed frozen on the spot as he took in the details of the scene before him.

Lucius curled around Hermione—both of them fugitives of the wizarding world.

Sirius Black, alive and ready for take-off by their side.

His best friend and auror standing watch, clearly in on whatever was going on.

Ron's hand dipped into his coat pocket. A startled cry flew from her lips, and Hermione whipped out her wand on instinct. Movement blurred as Sirius did the same.

"Ron, no!" Harry bellowed, but it was too late.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione and Sirius cried out, before Ron even had his wand in hand. Jets of cool light burst forth, slamming simultaneously into Ron's chest. His eyes widened as the spells threw his body backwards into a tree, head thrown with a sickening crack against the trunk. Ron slumped unconsciously to the ground. His wand slipped into the thawing frost.

Oh my God. Ron. Ron! Hermione began to climb off when firm hands held her down. "I have to—"

"We have to get to the door," Lucius growled, shifting closer as Hermione continued to struggle. He wrapped an arm more securely around her waist. "Potter?"

"Go." Harry's voice trembled, and Hermione finally tore her eyes off of Ron. Worry etched into his face, but he looked determined. Harry nodded at Lucius, then Sirius. "I—I don't know how long I can hold him off. We're both aurors, and if Ron takes this back to Proudfoot—"

"You have to hold them off, Harry, or we may not get another chance." Sirius told him.

"Yes. Okay. Okay, I can do that."

Sirius stretched out a hand. Harry stared at it for a long moment before letting Sirius draw him into a one-armed hug. It was quick, and firm, but a goodbye nonetheless.

"Let's go," is all Sirius said, before he dug his heels into the grass and kicked off into the sky. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the broom, bracing for their own ascent.

"You're safe with me," Lucius reminded, his arms brushing hers as he took hold of the handle. "Just breathe."

So she did—shakily, and feeling like she was half-drowning in adrenaline. As soon as her chest caved with an exhale, Lucius tilted the broom and pushed off.

At first, they rose with a steady, slow pace. But as Lucius leaned his weight back, and the broom straightened out, the speed kicked into overdrive. Hermione yelped, her body suddenly pushed back into Lucius's chest as bitter wind tunneled around them. But Lucius only chuckled, and kissed the back of her neck, and only then did Hermione dare to open her eyes.

"Oh," she breathed out, though the roaring wind didn't let the word hang on for very long.

Hermione had flown before. She had sat with a broom between her legs, hung on for dear life, and prayed to every god she knew the name of that gravity would not be her demise. But this?

This was soaring, and Hermione had never felt so dangerously alive.

With Lucius warm and secure behind her, and the smaller figure of Sirius up ahead, Hermione dared to glance down. Her stomach rolled as she took in the patchwork of the city. Greys and blacks and greens blurred into one river of color.

"Look over there," Lucius murmured, lifting a hand.

She followed his finger, then gasped. The Eiffel Tower was like a toy beneath them, the sight making her feel so startlingly small in comparison. "It's beautiful."

"Yes." He pressed against her back, urging her to flatten more against the broom handle. "Breathtaking," he added softly as they picked up even more speed.

Eventually, Sirius looped back just as he'd promised, passing close enough to give them an appraising nod before zipping away. "How in Godric's name did you convince him to let me ride with you?" Hermione asked.

"I will admit Black can be unexpectedly amenable, given the right bargaining chips."

"And that is…"

His nose pressed into her hair, and even with the howling wind, she could hear him inhaling her scent. "I threatened to knock you off his broom, whisk you down to some forest, and invite you to share my bed before we save the world."

Heat laced through her. Hermione bit her lip to keep from whimpering. "It would hardly be a bed," is all she could think of to say, being fairly sure he and Sirius had discussed nothing of the sort.

Lucius laughed. One of his hands left the handle, instead looping around her front, across her collar bones. Hermione sighed as he drew her more upright, giving him access to her jaw. "Bed, forest floor—I care not, witch. I'd have you in the sky, if we had the time."

Oh my. Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut as his mouth descended on her skin. This is going to be a very long trip.

It was only a few minutes later, however, that they had to dive beneath some clouds, and Lucius pulled away to steer the broom with more focus. She kept her gaze on Sirius up ahead, watching him pull out the enchanted compass every so often to check their path. Though Lucius had been joking about the reasoning for their arrangement, she wondered if there was some truth in the matter. If Hermione had been sharing a broom with Sirius during the two-hour trip, she would have worked herself into such a state of worry and grief over the prophecy's end, relaxing would be impossible. At least with Lucius, she could pretend they were simply two people out on a fly over the countryside.

Not two people on their way to send one half to his death.

As the morning drew onward, her mind cleared just as the clouds did. By the time the glittering sea came into view, and Sirius waved to indicate their descent, Hermione felt like she had just woken up from a soothing bath; the kind where her mind finally wandered out of its own machinations, and she could breathe freely again.

They touched down on the slope of a green hillside, Lucius helping her off the broom when her legs began to tremble. "Thanks," she muttered, latching on to his arm until her balance returned. When she felt steady enough, Hermione turned slowly, taking in the spot where they'd landed. A pebbled pathway cut into the slope, and she saw more crisscrossing the countryside to the east. When she turned west, where the cliffs were, her gaze landed on a stone monument in the distance. The obelisk shot up against the brilliant blue sky, starkly man-made against the otherwise natural landscape. Though the rise of the land cut off the view of the sea, she could smell the salty water.

The entire place was empty, save for them. Hundreds of people had disappeared at this point, and yet their bodies—their presence—had vanished along with them. The desolate land…the peaceful quiet…it tickled at Hermione's senses, as if there was something amiss in all that emptiness.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Sirius teased.

Hermione gave him an apprehensive look, though it quickly faded into a grin when he held out his arm, and she slung her arms around his neck. "I've had worse," she told him, pulling away.

"What now?" Lucius asked as he looked around. His hair blew against his cheeks like strands of silk, and she watched, quietly amused, as he tried to pat them back down.

Sirius stepped up to her side, his fingers finding her own. "Do you feel that, kitten? I think I can sense the wards."

Hermione focused on his hand, now cold in her own. She closed her eyes and let her magic draw upwards into her chest. It pooled inside the cavity of her ribs, then with another determined push, it broke free from her body. Fingers of magic trailed out into the air. She felt them pulling forwards, towards the cliffs beyond the obelisk. But when she concentrated, and tried to nudge the tendrils of magic beyond the crest of the hill, they came up short. The wards, she realized. It was like some invisible wall. "There," she said, opening her eyes and raising her other hand to point.

"I feel it there too."

"The door?" Lucius asked.

"It has to be." She glanced up at him. "You can't feel it?" When Lucius gestured towards his ankle, Hermione's eyes widened. "Sorry, Lucius, I wasn't thinking—"

"That's quite all right." Lucius gave her a small smile. "Besides, it's likely that only the two of you can feel the wards due to your time beyond the Veil. With any luck, that fact will keep us hidden until Weasley and his auror friends show up, or the door falls and the wards drop. We ought to move quickly."

"Harry will keep them away," Sirius said dismissively. "We have time to investigate first; see what we're up against."

Hermione's brows shot up at his lack of impulsiveness. She was about to comment when Lucius strode closer, saying coolly, "As much as you adore your godson, Black, he is an auror now, not the wayward schoolboy you knew. Hermione couldn't even tell him the truth of her quest for fear that he'd stop her. Do you really think he won't fold under the pressure of losing his career if he keeps our secrets?"

Sirius pressed his lips together, studying the blond wizard. "What do you think, Hermione?"

"I think both of you are right," she said, and their gazes swiveled down to her. "What?" she asked, plucking at the collar of her jumper, feeling too warm under their duel stares. "Lucius is right that we may be protected for now, but we must hurry. Harry will try to help us, but he won't last forever. Not when Ron knows. Did you tell him about the illegal ritual?"

Sirius hesitated. "Yes."

"Then Harry will cave, as much as he hates himself for it. There's no time left, Sirius," Hermione said. The words felt stuck in her throat. Each second that passed was another with him, and yet she knew they must hurry.

"Fine," said Sirius stiffly.

"Good," Hermione nodded curtly. "We go now. Head for the wards."

Lucius dipped his head in acceptance. "I'll follow your lead."

Nerves began to settle back in her stomach, swirling with the magic churning already there. She dropped Sirius's hand to follow him, while Lucius remained just a step behind.

They walked in silence for several minutes, just listening to the crunch of the brown grass, the wind rippling off the sea in the distance. Hermione wrapped her arms around her midsection, trying to suppress the sour taste in her throat. When it grew too unbearable, her pace slowed. "I think I forgot something," Hermione said suddenly. It was odd—like she was hearing herself speak the words, but didn't feel them on her tongue.

Sirius chuckled. "I know I left your bag a little disorganized, but I swear all of your stuff is in there."

"No." Hermione planted her feet. "No, we…we have to go back." She turned, ignoring Sirius as he watched her, frowning.

"Hermione?"

"We have to go back!" she cried, marching down the hill. Her eyes flickered to Lucius, who was already waiting for her several meters back. Relief flooded through her—just for a moment, before he hurried to catch up and blocked her path. "Hermione, what in Godric's name are you saying?" He took hold of her shoulders, forcing her still.

"Stop!" She tried to jerk away, but he held fast. "Sirius, you're hurting me!"

"You're not making any sense, love!"

"We have to go back," she insisted, trying and failing to wiggle free. "We have to go—"

"Oh fuck me," Sirius cursed. "The bloody wards—they have more of an effect on you—on both of you," he added, twisting around to where Lucius had also begun strolling away.

"No, Sirius—"

"Hold tight, will you, kitten?" He grabbed her hand, ignoring her pleas to be let go as they spun around. Sirius practically dragged her towards the other wizard. Hermione ran along, stumbling over the uneven ground, her body numb except for this bubbling elation that they were going back, away, far from this place.

"Thank you!" she cried happily as they slowed to a stop. "Now we can all go home."

Sirius barked a laugh. "I'm sure that would please you, wouldn't it?" Before she could respond, Sirius lurched forward, latching onto Lucius's wrist.

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius snarled, trying to pull away.

Sirius grunted but held tight, shoving the wizard's arm behind his back. "Do you need a reminder on how the ropes feel, Malfoy?"

"Fuck you, Black, I'm going home. Hermione, come—"

Dragging her hand down with his, Sirius drew out his wand, reeled back, and cried, "Silencio!"

Lucius's mouth kept moving, but no words came out.

"Sirius!"

"Silencio!" He said, his wand aimed at her.

Hermione gasped, clutching at her throat. I can't believe he just did that! She tried to yell, and judging by Lucius's furious face, he was trying too—but Sirius gave them no time as he tightened his hold on Hermione's hand, and Lucius's wrist, and proceeded to pull them both back up the hill.

"Sorry, kitten!" Sirius shouted as the wind picked up, and Hermione tried in vain to get away. "You'll thank me once we're past the wards!"

Though they both struggled, neither one seemed to find the power to pull free. As the air cut across her cheeks, whipping out curls from her ponytail and sending fistfuls of hair into her silently protesting mouth, they only moved closer to the exact spot Hermione's mind was screaming to get away from.

"I am going to bloody kill you!" she screamed soundlessly as they approached the crest of the hill. The obelisk loomed into view, towering some twenty meters over their heads.

Sirius glanced down at her as he tugged a much-heavier Lucius forward with a grunt. "What's that?" he teased with a wink.

Rage boiled inside her as the slope flattened out. Hermione ground her heels into the grass, but to no avail—Sirius tugged her forward with a heave, the sudden shift in balance sending her collapsing to her knees. She heard the whoosh of a wand being drawn, then a muttered spell as her palms hit the scraggly grass, barely saving her from diving nose-first into the ground. "I tried to say," Hermione screeched, "I'll bloody kill you if the door doesn't first!"

Her words echoed through the hillside.

Hermione gasped at the sudden return of her voice, as well as her guilt that the door's magic had coerced her into saying such a horrible thing. But as she lifted her head, the breath was stolen from her lungs. Lucius fell to the ground beside her, cursing in the most indecorous manner she'd ever heard him utter.

But despite the surge of welcomeness for their returned voices, and the sudden lack of a desire to turn around, her mind could only fixate on what lay straight ahead.

They had passed through the warding and into hell.

What had been just seconds prior a landscape painting come to life was now the very manifestation of dark magic. The kind she had only seen a handful of times before, when the Dark Mark had been branded into the sky. Only now, instead of a serpent and skull, it was an archway.

The door.

It sat at the very edge of the cliffside, where earth met a writhing grey sky, and the sea around it churned, black waves soaring and crashing. The door was at least the size of Grimmauld place and curved, save for fissures in the crackling, scarlet frame of pure, energized magic. And in between the nearly blinding, red light of the boundaries was a darkness so black, so devoid of life, that a terrible cold settled through her body at the mere sight. Muggles would have called it a black hole. Hermione knew better. What lay between the edges of sparking, spitting magic was Death itself. Sucking, luring, calling out for life.

Death was hungry.

And Death was not alone.

Figures to her left and right—more than a dozen in total—popped free from the invisible barrier surrounding the door like a half moon. Witches and wizards proceeded silently forwards towards the cliffside, towards the endless pit of blackness and the magic raging around it like a ring of fire. Their arms hung limp. Feet shuffled on their own accord. Eyes looked only forward, glazed and empty.

"Stop!" Hermione screamed, scrambling to her feet. A boy who couldn't be older than twelve was closest. She rocked towards him, shouting, "You have to stop! It'll take you!"

"Hermione!" Sirius shouted, bodily forcing her back. Beside them, Lucius was pushing to his feet, his eyes wide on the horror spread before them. "You can't save them like this."

"I can't? Sirius, this is my fault! I made this happen. I opened the door."

Sirius bent down, cupping her cheeks, forcing her to look away from the boy now halfway to the archway. "Whatever happened to open it, it's our job to close it now. All three of us," he said firmly, his gaze sliding momentarily up to Lucius. "The right way. The prophecy's way."

Oh God, he's right. Hermione swallowed the thickness in her throat. She focused only on the warmth of his hand's and the other man beside her, his arm brushing hers to let her know he was still there. Still with her. "Only when the Givers forge themselves in Future's flesh, and the third gift is given, may the tunnel collapse," she recited in a hoarse whisper. "Only when the collapse is imminent, may the gift be given. Imminent…" Hermione straightened up, and Sirius's hands fell away. "It's been like this for weeks, how…" She stepped to the side to observe the door once again. The boy was at the edge now. He took a step towards the darkness. As his foot sank inside, like there was no cliffside fall at all, the crimson archway flashed brighter, talons of magic crackling through the swirling sky. Then he was gone, sucked through the darkness. Others followed, disappearing through the black door. Each one without a trace. "We have to weaken it. But how…"

"Dueling spells," Lucius said suddenly.

Hermione clasped his hand. "Yes," she agreed. "At least, we have to try." She locked eyes with Sirius. "Ready?"

He nodded.

In unison, they turned and stepped forward, Lucius remaining by her side, fingers laced tight. It was a comfort, knowing he was still there as the other mindless witches and wizards continued their march towards the doorway to Death.

They stopped halfway to the cliff's edge. "On three," Hermione ordered, her voice lifting over the crackle of magic as more souls stepped through the archway. "One." She took a sharp breath in.

"Two," Sirius said, lifting his wand. She did the same. Whatever bond—whatever shared magic there was between them shivered with anticipation. Her hand shook. Lucius tightened his grip, and the tremor disappeared.

"Three," she whispered. Hermione exhaled as the magic poured out.

"Bombarda!" A jet of orange light streamed forth from her wand.

"Deprimo!" Sirius yelled, red light streaking out.

Hermione watched, horrified, as her explosion detonated only for a second, before the archway swallowed it hole. Sirius's spell had no more luck; the ground at the base of the door quaked under the blast's attack before the crimson doorframe snapped like lighting, and the earth ceased its movement, unharmed.

"Again," Lucius commanded, giving no time for hesitation. Hermione didn't even look at Sirius before they raised their wands once more.

"Confringo!" she shouted.

"Expulso!" he cried.

Her white stream collided with his blue one against the door. An explosion so bright—so angry as the archway seemed to snarl and fling out arms of scarlet light—erupted. A ringing filled her ears as she shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to see.

"It's working!" Sirius shouted excitedly. Hermione forced her eyes open to see just a sliver of the blackness had receded at the base of the towering archway. Now she saw the dark sea beyond it, like the curtains had been lifted just barely back. The sight thrilled her.

"We don't have time for sightseeing," Lucius snarled, pulling at her hand to snap her attention back. "Again!"

"Reducto!"

" Confringo !"

" Expulso !"

"Bombarda!"

"REDUCTO!" they cried in unison. The force of their spells ricocheted into her body just as light and magic clashed like two cymbals, sending vibrations rocketing through the ground, the air.

Hermione reeled backwards into Lucius, but this time, she didn't take her eyes off the door as the explosion faded away. The red frame was gone. Only threads of the magic remained like cobwebs, hissing and sputtering weakly in the sky. The darkness had faded into the center; it had pulled away from the sides and top of the doorframe, leaving behind an archway of pure black a single person could walk through.

Or a single man.

No, no, no…

Focus.

Her vision blurred, like her body knew it was time. And it didn't want to be around to see it.

You have to focus.

Focus!

Hermione fell to her knees. She first looked up at Lucius, who was watching her with some mixture of awe and revelation, then to Sirius, who had his hand over his mouth as he took in the sight of their spellwork. Finally, her gaze swept the space. The grass was scorched and blackened with the streaks of their spells. The scent of burnt soil and charred plant-life hung heavily in the air, mixing with the stinging salt. Most astonishing of all, the sky had completely cleared—the storm of dark, wrathful magic was gone, and the sea beyond the smaller doorway had calmed into tranquil blue.

But even better, the witches and wizards were gone—either through the door while they'd been blasting it apart, or hopefully safely on the other side of the warding, which she still sensed remained. It would take complete destruction of the door to take it down. "They're gone," she forced out through gasped breaths.

"For now." Sirius's voice was strained as he offered her a hand. Hermione took it and was hauled to her feet. She felt weak—woozy. Drained of magic even while her veins still pumped with adrenaline. "But it's time to finish this. The last gift to be given."

Hermione went still. Wind whispered across her cheeks. "One of future," she said to the quiet. "One of family. One of life." She wasn't sure why she was repeating what she already knew, but the words tumbled out, and neither wizard stopped her. With her eyes on the depleted door, she continued, "I gifted my future. My career. My freedom. Lucius gifted his family when he chose to return to me, instead of finding a way to flee London after the ritual—"

"Stop." Sirius's voice had an unfamiliar quality. A strain he never let show.

"What?" Hermione asked, turning to him.

His eyes bored into hers. "You know that your interpretation of the prophecy can't be right."

"What?" she repeated weakly.

"Think it about it, love. How is Malfoy giving up his family?"

"He—he could have found a way out of the dampener cuff. Out of the prophecy. And now he'll be in Azkaban, his family gone—"
"I'm asking you how."

"I don't know!"

"You do," Lucius said gently.

Hermione sunk her fingers into her hair. Lucius's hand came to the small of her back, but she flinched away—they weren't making any sense. "Okay, okay, let's say the prophecy applies before we resurrected you, Sirius. Lucius gave up his family after the war. Helping me with my research sealed his fate in that he would end up in this bloody quest, and then he'll be sent to prison and—and he won't have his family again."

"I lost my family long before I ran into you in that Ministry lift," Lucius told her. "You are ignoring the obvious, as you have from the start."

Ignoring the obvious? "Fine, then!" Hermione snapped, whirling on him. "Then you gave up your future by setting yourself up to be in Azkaban after this, and I gave up my family by ensuring my place in a cell by your side."

But Lucius only shook his head, strands of silvery hair brushing his cheekbones. "The givers forge themselves in Future's flesh. We both had sex with you, darling, not each other." He strode towards her, grasping her chin before Hermione could flinch away. Her eyes flew to the side, but he only sighed and said, "Please look at me, Hermione."

"No, no—"

"Please?"

She couldn't ignore him—that low, silky voice that she had grown to rely on. Lucius's pale eyes flickered over her face as he said quietly, "You are the Future in this prophecy, Hermione. And when Black decided to marry you, he gave up the ties to his family's house, and its wealth, and even its very name to become Mr. Granger. He has gifted his family."

Her throat was too dry, the sun so inescapably hot. Sweat trickled down her spine. "That can't be right. It's not enough for the prophecy."

Sirius circled in front of her as Lucius released her, straightening back up. "You have always said that there are different ways to interpret prophecy," Sirius said. "I may not have given up the chance to be with my family, as you thought Malfoy had, but I am giving up my family in every other sense."

"What about the key? The prophecy, it says…it says that one side holds the key. You literally came from the Veil, Sirius! You have to be the key!"

Sirius gave her a soft, sad smile. "Do you know what else came from the Veil? Your relationship with Lucius. It brought you together."

Hermione let out a cry of frustration, spinning around so she didn't have to look at either one of them. They were treating her like a child. Like they had—had conspired up to this moment. The idea was laughable. She did laugh—a short, bitter bark with no humor. "You told me you were going to die, Sirius. You kept telling me and telling me that!" Anger slithered into her belly as the realization sunk in, and she rounded on the wizards. "You decided this without me, didn't you? At the bar. I knew, I knew something happened that day."

"No one decided, kitten, it's just—"

"It was discussed," Lucius cut in, and her eyes snapped back to his face. "And while it is possible that your original interpretation of the prophecy may work to close the door, it is not the best option. Sirius is gifting his family. And I will gift my life."

"Best?" she echoed in disbelief, refusing to entertain the rest of that awful sentence. "I'm just as much a part of this as you are. Don't I get a say?"

"You want a say?" Lucius demanded, his eyebrow arching incredulously. "Do you want to decide that Sirius, the man you love, has to die?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, then, we are giving you an out!"

"But…"

"But what!" Lucius roared.
"But I don't want to decide you have to die, Lucius!"

The wind picked up her words. It carried them out to sea. At least, it seemed to take that long before she could breathe again.

A sob scraped up her throat. It wracked through her chest like it could snap her ribs in two. "I don't want you to die, Lucius." She said his name like it was the first time she'd truly understood what he meant to her. Lucius. This man who had broken her and put her back stronger. She should resent him. Hate him.

But instead, she only loved him.

And she did not want him to die.

A hand settled on her shoulder. "I'll give you two a moment," Sirius said tightly. "But then you must hurry before the door grows stronger." His footsteps scuffed away.

She gazed at the door. The archway was still weakened, the darkness smaller, but the scarlet tendrils were brighter now. She knew Sirius was right. That in time, the magic would writhe back to life.

"Please look at me, Hermione."

There were those words again. But somehow softer, more desperate. Even harder to ignore. Hermione wrenched her eyes back to him. She tilted back her head and took him in fully. Even with his wind-chapped skin, and tousled hair, he was just as beautiful as the day she first laid eyes on him, all those years ago. Only now, she knew the beauty underneath. It had taken digging through layers of long-resting rot to find it. But she had found it, in the end. She had found him.

"Lucius?" Hermione whispered.

"Oh, my dear." He strode towards her. Arms encircled her shoulders, guiding her into his chest. Her cheek pressed against his thudding heart as he stroked her hair.

"Why does it have to be you?"

He sighed, and the breath ghosted over her skin. "Prophecy aside…I knew that it had to be me before Black and I spoke in that Paris bar. Before you welcomed me into your bed. I knew that of all the mistakes I have made in my life, hurting you was the most unforgivable."

"Lucius, you shouldn't—"

"None of that, now," he soothed, brushing the hair from her temple. "Hurting you was unforgivable. Perhaps not to you, my dear Hermione, but it was to me. And I had never felt that before. Like the pain of hurting you would consume my very being. What's more," he continued, reaching between them to tip up her chin with a finger. His face was watery, warped. Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears. To see his beautiful face again. "I knew that if Black were to die, and I were to live, I could never survive seeing you suffer. To watch you wither away under the agony of the broken marriage bond."

"I don't care about that," she choked out.

Lucius cupped her cheek, thumb stroking away the tears. "It is my gift, darling, to take away all the pain I have brought you, as well as the pain you would have should I live, and Black die."

"I don't want you to die."

"No," he agreed with a weary smile. "I don't want to die either. If I could, I would grow to know you. I would have a family with you. A life of our own, away from this world that hates us so. But now," he said more firmly, pulling back to rest both hands on her shoulders, "you can have all of that and more. Whatever you want, Hermione, I want you to have it. I want to give that to you. So when you leave these cliffs, and the aurors find you, you must blame me."

Hermione startled. His hands skimmed up to cradle her face once more. "Blame you? We did this together."

He chuckled and said lightly, "But that is not what the world thinks, now is it? The Skeeter article was proof enough that I can still be the Big, Bad Death Eater to your innocence. Use that, my dear. Blame this entire quest on me. I don't care what they will say, or think, or write about me. Only one opinion matters, and frankly, I have absolutely no power over what that witch thinks."

"Lucius, please don't."

His fingers tightened into her curls. A look of longing slid over his face. "Time has not afforded me many courtesies in my life," he began softly, his voice barely a whisper. "But the days I spent knowing you, caring for you...that was the most precious gift in the world. And that I wasted what little time we had on my own selfishness...it was a mistake. But it will be my last. I only ask that you put the mistakes we made together this winter on my shoulders instead of your own." His fingers trembled as they pulled away. Cold sank through her at the sudden loss, rooting her to the ground with its numbing weight. "Let's do this, shall we?"

"Lucius?" Hermione whispered, but he was already turning, already striding back towards Sirius. She ran after him, but he ignored her. "Lucius!" she cried again. And again, he ignored her.

"Keep her safe, will you?" Lucius asked as he stopped short. "Keep her happy."

Sirius nodded. "Of course," he said, placing a hand on Lucius's shoulder.

Lucius clapped Sirius's shoulder. One final, first embrace. Then the wizard turned to face the door. The remnants of the crimson frame crackled, like they sensed Lucius's presence. His choice.

His gift.

His death.

Lucius began to stride forward.

"No!" Hermione screamed as an arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back into a a hard, unyielding chest.

"Shh, love," Sirius whispered as she struggled in his hold. "It's decided. You—we have to let him go."

Lucius kept walking. His hair billowed out behind him, glistening like silver in the sun.

"Lucius!" Hermione sobbed. She threw her weight forward. Sirius's hands tightened.

The wizard paused. Hermione knew in her gut this was her last chance. That couldn't be their goodbye. It couldn't.

With all the force left in her body, Hermione rocked backwards, slamming her skull into Sirius's throat. He cried out, startled, but she hardly heard him. She was soaring forward, sprinting, stumbling, as Lucius turned back around.

"Herm—"

Her name was cut off as she collided into his chest. But he caught her, and he held her tight. "Lucius, you can't!" Hermione said, tears streaming down her cheeks, into his shirt, his hair. She clutched to him. Smoothed her fingers up his arms, his chest. "I'm not ready."

"You are, darling."

"No, no, no. I'm not ready for you to go," Hermione choked out through the stinging and snot and the sob breaking free. "I'm not ready for you to go. I'm not ready for you to go. I—I—I'm not ready for you to go."

Lucius's eyes flickered. With regret, maybe. But it didn't matter—a second later, he was kissing her. Soft and warm and desperate.

It lasted only seconds. And it was enough, because he kissed her like he loved her; he kissed her like he knew she loved him.

But still, she had to say it. Had to make sure he knew. "I love you," Hermione whispered.

He smiled. "I love you," Lucius said, like it was the simplest, most painful thing in the world. He touched her cheek, just once more, before pulling away. "Now off with you, my dear, or Black will have me before the door does."

He turned, and this time she let him go.

It took seven steps for Lucius to reach the cliff's edge.

It took one more for his foot to leave the ground, and for his body to dispear into the darkness.

The black swallowed him without a sound. Then the archway began to hiss and spark. Hermione waited for another explosion—for the door to collapse in on itself in a display worthy of all the havoc it had wreaked.

But after a long moment of listening to the lazy gusts of wind, the red curls of magic disappeared without a sound. The darkness faded until there was only blue sky.

Quiet took over the cliffside.

Then a cry of hope that Lucius had survived—that he had simply fallen into the sea down below—ripped free from Hermione's throat just as the CRACK! of multiple apparitions went off like fireworks behind her.

She ignored it. She ignored the voices—the sound of Sirius calling her back and the other, familiar voices shouting her name too. Hermione ignored them all as she sprinted forwards where the door had stood just seconds ago.

He's alive, she thought, heart pounding in her ears. It was mad, but it made sense, didn't it? Fate had torn their lives apart, but maybe, maybe this was the reason. The door would collapse, the wizarding world would be saved, but Lucius would live.

He has to.

Hermione had magic, for God's sake. She had saved magic by destroying the door. What was the point, if not to use it in a time like this? She could heal Lucius, save him, figure out all the rest later when he was back in her arms.

As the emptiness of the sky loomed up, a mere hand-stretched away, Hermione skidded to a halt, falling to her knees at the very edge of the cliff. Trembling hands grasped the lip so she could lean over. Pebbles loosened, scattering, skating along the sheer wall of white rock. Hermione stared down. Her vision spun. The tide was high. Foam broke against the cliffside.

She waited.

The waves began to recede.

She waited.

But the sea was empty.

And the man she loved was gone.