Chapter 33: Piper at the Gates of Dawn

Please scroll down to the very end of this chapter for the trigger warning. I didn't want to spoil it at the top, but do want to provide a trigger warning.

Though the week that followed full moon wasn't bad, nothing seemed able to raise it to the joyous heights of the previous one. Hermione and Sirius's uneventful watches on Edith MacDougal's and Frederick Nott's homes held moments of easy conversation that left it a pleasant enough day, but Sirius's remarkable good spirits seemed to have disappeared. He didn't sulk hidden away though. He was there, most of the time, to help out when NEWT students turned up in Number 12 for study sessions, and he never minded when Hermione joined him in his potion room to continue work on the very complicated antidote.

They'd finished it Thursday night, and none of the other students were around on Friday. Sirius had been out for one of his runs that morning, and Hermione had felt the absolute silence of the house keenly. He'd returned a little while ago, but Hermione hadn't heard him come up to the second floor. The isolation wore on her until she gave in and left the library in search of him.

She'd barely started down the stairs to the first floor when she heard the quiet strains of a song she recognised, but hadn't heard in a very long time. Hermione trod quietly further down the stairs, listening hard. The room across from the bottom of the stairs was usually shut up and, as far as Hermione knew, disused. Today the door was ajar.

The song changed as Hermione reached the landing. Her heart underwent a soft pang. She wasn't able to name the first one, but she did know this song. She had never met anyone outside her family who listened to Jethro Tull.

Hermione crept closer and peeked through the crack of open doorway. She could see a record player, made of brittle old plastic and wood-look veneer, set up on an end table, a record revolving on it, its label in yellow, black, and a touch of red. Neither the record player, nor the thigh-height speakers on either side of it, were wired to anything at all, but they were obviously working. Hermione leant forward and spotted the edges of several records stacked upright beyond a speaker.

He once owned a Harley Davidson

And a Triumph Bonneville.

Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs

And prays that he always will!

Too Old to Rock 'N Roll… "and too young to die"… Hermione's eyes shut. For that moment, she could feel like she was home listening to her father's old records. She stayed like that until the song ended and, with a quiet shush and crackle, the needle tracked on to the next one. Hermione's eyes peeled open when she heard movement within the room. Sirius moved into sight, a new record in his hand. Retrieving Too Old to Rock 'N Roll, he set the new one in its place.

Hermione watched as Sirius put the Jethro Tull album away, handling the vinyl disk delicately. Leant over, his hair had fallen in front of what little of Sirius's face Hermione could see. He was consulting the back of a different album cover. Hermione thought she recognised this one too. Turning his attention to the record player, he positioned the needle, letting it drop onto the spinning record gradually.

Hermione did know it. Everyone knew it. In the Muggle world at least. And Sirius. He stood over the player, watching the record spin.

'…Find a girl, settle down… If you want, you can marry…' Cat Stephens sung, and so did Sirius. 'Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy…'

A lump had risen in Hermione's throat. This was a song her father only rarely listened to. On a lone occasion – an early memory of Hermione's – he'd given her a sad smile, ruffled her hair, and told her the song reminded him of his own father. Hermione had never pondered that much until now.

She'd leant even closer to the door, only noticing she had when she accidentally nudged it. It creaked a couple inches further open just when the record grew quiet. Tea for the Tillerman began as Sirius looked over his shoulder and met Hermione's anxious stare.

'Sorry!' Hermione said hastily. 'I… heard the music. I know it…'

Sirius looked away. She thought he nodded as he lifted the needle and removed the record.

'You can stay,' he said, replacing the record in its sleeve, then its cover. 'If you want.'

No part of Hermione wanted to leave. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. Sirius had squatted by the leaning collection of old records and was looking through them. Taking up much of the centre of the small room were scattered photographs. Hermione could see the place Sirius had been sitting. It was the empty spot, the photos fanned out as though he'd been placing them for viewing from his seat on the floor.

Sirius found a record and set it up. Hermione stood there until he sat, cross-legged, back in his place, then joined him on the floor, taking a spot at the outskirts of the photographs.

Music drifted from the speakers in an eerie and very gradual build. This one Hermione didn't recognise. She thought it wouldn't sound out of place as soundtrack for the opening sequence of a movie about interstellar travel… a spaceship slipping silently through black space as stars twinkled in the background.

Sirius's face had that look of darkness clouded inside him again. The song, seeming endless, didn't do anything to stop Hermione feeling uneasy.

'What is this?' Hermione asked, voice barely above a whisper. 'The… music?'

Sirius glanced at her.

'Pink Floyd,' he answered. 'Used to think it was a bit maudlin… before.'

It wasn't any Pink Floyd song Hermione knew. She cast her eyes down. The moving wizarding photograph nearest her held an upside-down image of Sirius doing an exaggerated waltz, grinning and laughing, with a small black-haired baby in his arms. Harry was gurgling with laughter. His mouth held only about four teeth. Hermione reached for the picture next to it and turned it right way up. It was a photo of Sirius and James, both asleep on a sofa, lying with their heads to the other man's toes. In a curl of blankets was Harry, sleeping, his thumb in his mouth, with the two adults: on his father's lap and prevented from rolling off the sofa by the rise of Sirius's side.

'Lily particularly liked that one,' Sirius said, looking at it. 'She took it. She liked to suggest we'd make good parents together, if we had greater stamina.'

'Judging by Remus and Tonks,' Hermione said, 'no one has the stamina to match a baby.'

A brief almost-smile flitted over Sirius's features.

'Lily had something close,' he responded quietly.

Hermione's eyes trailed over to another photo. This one had an entire side ripped off. What was left showed James, Sirius, and Remus, the three looking very young, grinning at the camera and holding up frilly golden lace and glittering pink streamers. Remus's face held only a few scars, his sandy hair without greys and a little longer than he wore it now. Sirius had a red feather boa thrown stylishly about his neck. He looked very pleased with himself. He had the same appearance of careless elegance about him the man in front of her did, and only slightly shorter hair, but Hermione thought there was something rather less handsome about this younger version of Sirius.

He'd been slimmer, at about fifteen or sixteen by Hermione's estimation, with the long and stretched-looking neck Harry and Ron had developed at around that age. But it wasn't that. There were no crinkles around the eyes of the Sirius in the picture. As much as Hermione had seen those crinkles to deepen when Sirius was in pain, she also knew them to be very visible when he smiled. And they added something else to his face… Kindness, maybe. Understanding.

She looked back to the first photo. Sirius had matured a lot between the two. Counting the years Sirius had been alive, he was currently thirty six. He'd been around twenty in the first photo, and there was less difference between the man watching Hermione and the one in that photograph than there was between a sixteen year old and a twenty year old Sirius. The most glaring difference was that the Sirius across from Hermione, who'd just pulled out his box of cigarettes, wasn't happy.

Instead, as the smoke curled out before his face in delicate whirls… He looked like the subject of a portrait in gelatin silver titled "To Remember".

Looking away, Hermione fingered the torn edge of the photograph. She didn't know for sure, but she guessed Peter Pettigrew had once been in the picture.

She leant over to look at another photo. It showed Harry in his high chair, his mother laughing raucously next to him as James reached out and pushed a piece of orange into his son's mouth. Harry sucked dutifully on it, watching his father with innocent eyes, before ejecting the bit of orange onto his little table. James laughed, picked up another half-sucked crescent of the fruit from the table littered with them, and slid it between Harry's pursed lips. Harry sucked for only a moment, then shot the piece back out again. He clapped his hands and laughed as a chuckling James, sticking with the mission, picked up a new bit of orange.

Hermione hadn't known Lilly and James. It didn't seem she needed to to feel nostalgic watching these old memories. Lives that had been well-lived before being cut short.

And it was only on the surface, Hermione thought, that Harry greatly resembled his father. Were she to see both wizards only in static pictures, she could note easily the same hair, the same shape of their faces, very similar noses and mouths, and the same poor eyesight, though James's eyes were hazel and his glasses squarer. The pictures gave her an animated view of James, however, and James Potter and his son were animated by quite different spirits. Hermione wondered whether that wouldn't be as much the case if James had been able to raise his son.

Remember when you were young

And shone like the sun?

Shine on you crazy diamond!

Hermione's back stiffened. She'd long given up on the song having lyrics. To hear them took her by surprise.

The room was getting smoky. Hermione wouldn't complain. She had an inkling of the mood Sirius was in. That he was willing to let her in seemed significant. It wasn't just not wanting to irritate him… Hermione couldn't muster any annoyance, right now, with his bad habit. If cigarettes were the crutch he needed to lean on, confronted with memories that must be painful, that wasn't so bad, really.

The record played on, Sirius getting up to turn it when side one finished, as she looked through the photographs already laid out and he fingered through ones in a stack, placing some on the carpet with the rest. The more she looked at the pictures, the longer the music played, the more Hermione felt as though this room, slightly foggy with cigarette smoke, was outside of the normal continuum of time; somewhere between the now and the then. She could sense a lulling, somewhat reminiscent of their marijuana experience two floors up, but more contemplative… slower.

A song began with muffled chatter, as though through a tinny old television speaker, before moving on to the strains of a wistful guitar. Sirius lit his third cigarette from the end of his second. He was sitting with legs crossed. One knee started lifting and dropping slowly to the beat.

'…We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl… year after year…' Sirius sang softly to his lap, barely audible over the louder vocalist on the record. 'Running over the same old ground… What have we found? The same old fears…' Smoke escaped in swirls as he sang, leaving his lips to float up as delicate and contemplative wisps.

Sirius laid down a new photo. It was a simple one: the picture of a happy family waving at the camera with a very young, soft-faced and dull-eyed Harry propped unsteadily between his parents.

'He could've brought them back,' Sirius said, so quietly Hermione almost didn't hear. 'Instead.'

'Instead?' Hermione repeated, watching the man warily. She could guess Sirius was talking about Harry and his parents. 'Instead… of you, Tonks, Remus, and Fred?'

Sirius didn't answer. A muscle had grown prominent in his cheek.

'I…' Hermione said tentatively. 'I don't think he could have, really. He… didn't know them. It sounds awful but… no one remembers things that happen when they're a baby…' Hermione swallowed, thinking through her words. 'Harry… the people he brought back were people… he knew and loved. I think… that was all he could do.'

'I know,' Sirius said.

'You four…' Hermione went on. 'Your deaths hurt him the most… Teddy… growing up without parents – that was far too close to home for him. The Weasleys… well, they're like his surrogate family. He couldn't bear them losing someone. And you…' Hermione shook her head. 'Your death was so hard for him, Sirius! You're… you're like big brother and trusted guardian to him all in one… The… closest thing to a very dedicated father he's ever known.'

Sirius was staring into a corner of the room. His cigarette was rapidly shortening.

'A poor excuse for one,' he muttered.

Hermione shook her head, defying it, even if she'd thought something similar herself on occasion. She'd overheard some of Harry and Sirius's talk over the chess board – seen the easy comradery between the two wizards and the improvement in Harry's mood lately. She wasn't stupid. She knew Sirius had a lot to do with that.

'No!' she denied forcefully. 'I… I can't imagine how things have been for you – they're beyond my imagining. But you were there! You – you broke out of Azkaban – lived in a cave to help him! Who else would do that? No one else has been able to do that! Do you honestly think, were Lily and James brought back instead of you, that they'd be able to do a better job, everything having changed radically in the intervening years, than you have?'

Sirius didn't look like he wanted to answer that.

'I think,' Hermione said determinedly, 'that Lily and James knew what they were about when they made you his godfather! No, things didn't turn out the way they'd have wanted, but no one else could have jumped through the impossible hoops you have to be there for their son – and I think you're forgetting that!'

He was doing it again now, Hermione realised, watching the morose man. Or, at least, he had been, before he'd shut himself away in this room. Harry's mood improved when Sirius was around, being fun; taking an interest. Sirius's good moods were as infectious as his bad ones. Hermione was fairly sure Sirius knew that.

Sirius stubbed out his cigarette on the lid of the box it had come in.

'He might have been able to bring back more people,' he said, 'if he hadn't brought me back.'

'What?' Hermione said, surprised.

'I was dead for two years.'

'You…' Hermione frowned at him. 'You think that broke the Hallows?'

Sirius wasn't in a mood to indulge her. He was silent for a long moment, then said, 'Harry thinks someone else could have done better… with the Hallows.'

'Well, that's just stupid!' Hermione met Sirius's eyes as he finally looked back at her. 'Both things! The Hallows overcame the magic of the Veil! Countered it, for a short moment – it was binary – it wouldn't have made any difference whatsoever how long each person was dead! And Harry was master of all three Hallows – something only he'd been able to achieve. Of course no one could have done better – it's not like his was the first attempt anyone has ever made to get the Veil to spit people back out into the living!'

Sirius kept Hermione's eye. He didn't look angry. He looked like he had no idea. It was a hopeless sort of look Hermione didn't like seeing on his face.

'That doesn't stop Harry feeling so.'

'And I'm sure,' Hermione said confidently, 'you tried to put him straight.'

Sirius looked away. In fact, Hermione knew Harry felt he shouldn't have brought anyone back at all, though Hermione doubted that was something he'd have told Sirius. Something Dumbledore had said to him that had left Harry with the sense he was no better than Voldemort trying to defeat death; choosing who lived and who died. Coupled with the feeling he shouldn't have yanked back people at peace into lives they'd finished with. And Sirius, unfortunately, had spent the first few months he'd been back in the world of the living proving that second one true.

'You'd have raised him, wouldn't you?' Hermione said. 'If you could have.'

Sirius met her gaze again and the answer was obvious.

'Of course I would have.'

Hermione gave him a small smile.

'He'd have liked that.' She looked around at the photos. Some were of just Harry and his parents, some of mischievous schoolboys having fun, a few held other members of the Order and people Hermione didn't recognise, a couple had Tonks as a child and her parents in it, and a good few of them were of Sirius and the little baby his godson had been. 'I think you'd have risen to it, and the both of you would have had a great many good times. You should show Harry these. He'd like to see them.'

Sirius watched her for a time. The record had finished. He got up and relieved it from its quiet skipping. Hermione hesitated, then followed him to his record collection.

The Pink Floyd album that had been playing repackaged, Sirius slipped it away between two others. Wish You Were Here, Hermione read off the spine.

'I know this one,' Hermione said, touching the corner of The Wall. She flipped to the one beside that. It was Dark Side of the Moon. 'And this. I don't think we had that one though,' she nodded to Wish You Were Here.

Sirius had crouched next to her, his hand in his hair to keep it from falling into his face.

'It's not as much fun as the other two,' he said. 'The Wall came out too late, though. We'd left school already.'

It took Hermione a moment to put it together. '"We don't need no education",' she said, nodding. She could see the grinning boys in the photographs wanting to have been able to play that while they were still at Hogwarts.

'This one got us started on them.' Sirius slid out another record. Its cover was patterned in a kaleidoscopic image of dissected faces. 'Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Bought unheard… James was paying and… you can't turn down a title like that.'

Sirius stood up with the record and moved over to the player.

'So it's… good?' Hermione said uncertainly.

'I think it's great. Bike is brilliant.'

When the song started, Hermione wasn't so sure she agreed with Sirius. It was spoken word and psychedelic noise.

I've got a bike you can ride it if you like

It's got a basket, a bell that rings

And things to make it look good!

I'd give it to you if I could

But I borrowed it!

The crinkles had reappeared in Sirius's eyes. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but Hermione didn't think it was pain this time. He joined in with the singer.

'I know a mouse and he hasn't got a house – I don't know why – I call him Gerald! He's getting rather old but he's a good mouse!'

'Well…' Hermione said. 'I'm glad he likes his mouse…'

Sirius cast her a look, and Hermione thought some of his darkness had lifted.

'I used to think it was supposed to be a tripping child,' he said, as the song digressed into mere clanging noise. 'But Dora talked like that when she was a kid – just tell you… whatever she was thinking.'

The song did remind Hermione of Tilly, the hamster she'd had as a child.

'Did you see them much?' she asked. 'Tonks's family?'

'Not much, but, a bit, for a few years after I left home.'

Hermione turned her eyes back to the records as Sirius slid away Piper at the Gates of Dawn. There was the expected collection of Queen albums, eight of them standing together, though nothing from after 1981. Beside these was the Jethro Tull album Sirius had been playing, with Aqualung beside it, and, surprisingly, even Songs from the Wood.

'My dad,' Hermione said, 'has every Jethro Tull album. This Was was the first album he ever bought, when he was about eighteen.'

Sirius slotted the Pink Floyd album away with its brothers.

'How old is your father, Hermione?'

'Erm…' Hermione had to think about it. That she did gave her dual pangs of guilt and sadness. 'Forty eight.'

Though he'd asked the question, Sirius didn't acknowledge the answer. Hermione looked at him and was disappointed to see the strange darkness she'd thought was going away was back in the shadowed look in Sirius's eyes, his mouth a firm line.

'Why?' Hermione asked.

'Just wondering,' Sirius muttered.

It gave Hermione no answers, but she thought maybe she'd avoid mentioning her father.

'Tell me about these?' she prompted, indicating the records.

'What do you want to know?'

'Well…' Hermione didn't want to know anything in particular. She just wanted to divert his attention. 'Did you and James get them together?'

'James bought me a lot of them…' One of Sirius's long fingers touched the corner of an album with a black cover. He didn't pull it out. 'Then… I bought a lot more when I got a bit of money…'

Hermione picked a record at random. It was a smaller one – a single.

'I know this,' Hermione said, recognising one of the men on the cover – the floppy-haired, white-suited gentleman was obviously Mick Jagger, just quite young. 'Paint it, Black… I like that one…'

'The Rolling Stones,' Sirius said, 'are about as rock and roll as you can get. They never sound like they put much effort in, yet all their stuff is great. I got the album that's on eventually,' Sirius found it from a collection of other Rolling Stones albums and singles and showed Hermione. 'James got me the single. My mother really hated that song. That one, and Jumpin' Jack Flash.'

Hermione cracked a smile. She could see it far too easily.

'Muggle filth!' Hermione shrieked. 'Besmirching the name of Black!'

Sirius's head turned sharply to face her. He stared at her for a moment, surprised.

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'Like that.'

Hermione smiled.

'Did you play it just to annoy her?'

'Nah,' Sirius said. 'I played it 'cause I liked the songs.' He looked away and slipped out another record. 'That it pissed her off was just a perk.'

Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. She saw a small twitch in the corner of Sirius's lip.

'James got into the idea of getting me anything with "Black" in the title.' He showed her AC/DC's Back in Black. 'Black Betty, Ram Jam…' Sirius had found another single, this one by a Uriah Heep. 'Stuff by Black Sabbath… I don't think you'd enjoy that… but…'

Sirius got up, slipping the record out. Even from the steel string guitar intro Hermione thought the song did sound nice.

'Know it?' Sirius asked.

'No…'

The song built from a trudging pace, telling a beautifully worded but intangible story. Hermione moved off her knees to sit properly. Sirius's adroit fingers were tapping the top of one of the speakers. Hermione didn't mind at all when Sirius's voice joined in. He had a lovely low baritone that suited the song nicely.

But she would not think a battle that reduces men to animals

So easy to begin and yet impossible to end.

For she the mother of all men

Had counselled me so wisely that I feared to walk alone again

And asked if she would stay.

'Mum didn't like that one either,' Sirius said when the song sung itself out and he lifted it off. 'I had to hide them all to stop her chucking them out. So she locked me in my room. No great discipline move there. I preferred it in my room, and she never took my wand away, so it wasn't as though I couldn't get out.'

Hermione stared up at him. He'd said it so casually. It wasn't as though being locked in your room was… torture, but… Hermione remembered that his old bedroom door swung outwards and shuddered.

'You… liked being shut in your bedroom?'

'Better than not being shut in my bedroom,' Sirius answered, more gruffly. He squatted beside Hermione and slotted the single away. 'I had food in there. And I snuck out at night.'

The subject of his mother suddenly seemed much darker; not at all funny. A silence fell, Hermione at a loss for what to say, for too long: the subject falling too far into the past for Hermione to revisit it. Sirius was just squatting there, looking through album covers.

'What about Wizarding music?' she asked.

'Boring,' Sirius answered. 'There were a few songs that were all right, but it all lacked inspiration. They were either love songs or something bouncy to dance to.' He pulled out a record and handed it to Hermione. 'Muggles had something to sing about – or just bothered to sing about them.'

It was a thick and heavy album, containing more than one record. The picture on the front was of a man balancing a guitar case, covered with stickers, on his head. "DECADE" was written across the top, the name Neil Young inside the "C". Hermione thought she knew the name but didn't recognise the album. She flipped it over and read the list of songs. When she reached the title Ohio she linked it to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Heart of Gold meant something to her too. Nodding, Hermione handed it back.

'Do you have a favourite album?' she asked.

'Not really.' Sirius said, but he located an album. David Bowie, according to the words on it, though Hermione knew what David Bowie looked like, and he must have changed a lot since the album cover was made. 'Zeppelin III is good… Creative buggers… Hunky Dory… I've always liked this one a lot…'

Sirius flipped Hunky Dory over, his expression contemplative.

'Starman…' He said. 'I couldn't always visit the Potters… Order missions… I missed Harry's first birthday.' Sirius's thumbs rubbed at the badly worn edges of the cover. 'James used to sing Starman to him. You know… There's a starman,'Sirius sang softly, 'waiting in the sky… he'd like to come and meet us but he thinks he'll blow our minds… We'd do Kooks, too, to Harry. Changed the lyrics a bit… And if the homework brings you down then we'll throw it on the fire and take Sirius's bike downtown…' Sirius's eyes smiled a little. 'Lily wasn't impressed. She wanted Harry to develop an appreciation for the disco music she liked. Played it a lot. James would go nuts. He hated disco. But I still walked in on him laughing his arse off once when Lily was trying to teach Harry to boogie.'

Hermione smiled.

'They sound like they had a great time.' She was silent for a moment, then prompted, 'You… remember all the lyrics…'

Sirius frowned at Hermione.

'Have you…' Hermione watched him curiously, 'listened to these a lot recently?'

'No.' Sirius turned to put the record away. 'I haven't heard them in… decades.'

'How do you remember them so well?'

Sirius was going through T-Rex albums.

'I don't think songs ever leave your head,' he said. 'They always pop back into it.'

It wasn't something Hermione had experienced much. At least, not enough to retain every song for about two decades… Through Azkaban, especially.

But then, she didn't think she'd met anyone quite as passionate about music as Sirius was. He'd unsheathed a new record, flipped it to the side he wanted, but didn't get up. He could reach the turntable of his player from where he was squatted, and it didn't seem he needed to see it to switch the rotation speed for the LP and set the record up. There was no musical intro to begin the song.

'Oh mama I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law…' Sirius sung, voice low, with the song. His eyes had slipped shut. 'Lawman has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home… '

Lulled into the expectation of a peaceful ballad, Hermione was startled when a voice yelled and electric guitar whined into the soundscape. Sirius had been waiting for it though. His eyes opened. Somehow managing to not fall over, his knee bounced with the song where he squatted, still singing along.

'Ooooh mama I've been years on the lamb and had a high price on my head!' Sirius sang, moving into an impressive falsetto, his eyes crinkling as they scrunched. 'Lawman said get him dead or alive, now it's for sure he'll see me dead!'

His teeth were definitely whiter than they had been, Hermione thought, distracted. And his knee had picked up into more buoyant bouncing… She had no clue how he was still in that squat, let alone managing to stay balanced.

'Styx,' Sirius answered when he retrieved the record and put it away. 'Renegade. Great song.'

Hermione found a single by Billy Squier called The Stroke in Sirius's collection, but didn't think it had much to do with hemispheric paralysis. She found The Kinks and stopped.

'Do you have Stairway to Heaven?'

Sirius thought about it, finally getting out of his squat and sitting down.

'You'd know if you did,' Hermione told him.

'Then no.'

'You should,' Hermione said. 'I think you'd like it. What about anything from the Rocky Horror Picture Show?'

'The…' Sirius treated her to a confused grey-eyed look. 'No, I've never heard of them.'

'It's a movie,' Hermione provided. 'We don't have electricity… but,' she gestured to Sirius's record player. 'Maybe I'll get a TV and VCR sometime and you can make them work. If you like The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I think you'd like that too. There's… a song about a sweet transvestite.'

The firmer patches around Sirius's mouth appeared.

'About… a sweet transvestite?'

Hermione met his eyes. She didn't like singing, she wasn't very good at it, but she sensed it would make Sirius smile properly.

'Don't get strung out,' she sang quietly, 'by the way I look – don't judge a book by its cov-er-her… I'm not much of a man by the light of day… but by night I'm one hell of a loveerr-her!'

Sirius did crack a smile. He chuckled as Hermione flushed hotly.

'I would like to see that movie,' he said. 'It'd be nice to be Muggle-born,' he went on. 'You get the best of both worlds.'

'When no one is hunting us,' Hermione added ruefully.

Sirius nodded, sobering.

'So, then,' he said, 'what's your favourite?'

'Song?'

'Song or album.'

Hermione considered the collection.

'I don't know… You have Songs from the Wood… I really like that one. It was one of my mother's favourites… is – I mean. And Broadsword and the Beast, but…' she watched Sirius for an answer. 'I don't think you know that album.' Sirius shook his head and Hermione went on. 'There's a song on that one I like… Broadsword is… amazing. Or… Down at the End of Your Road. '

'Sing it?'

Hermione was flushing all over again. But she found some of the words.

'I am your neighbour… I seem most respectable. But underneath I'm an iniquitous toad…' Sirius was watching her interestedly, so Hermione carried on. 'So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you… down at the end of your road.' She couldn't remember what came next, so moved on to another bit she knew. 'Designing a system to reverse your plumbing, welling up as you sit on your private throne… all kinds of vile and despicable nasties, you would rather not have in your home – and I live down the end of your road! It's about…' Hermione said, sitting up straighter and wishing she wasn't overheating as Sirius watched her with raised eyebrows, 'an estate agent who sabotages his neighbours to sell their properties…'

'That's your favourite song?'

'Well… maybe not,' Hermione said as Sirius looked amused. 'But it's a clever one.'

Sirius retrieved Songs from the Wood from his collection and handed it to Hermione.

'You can have it,' he said. 'I thought it'd be like the other Jethro Tull albums, but they went another way with that one and it's not really my thing.'

Hermione looked the album over. She knew the cover well. No, the frilly sounds of the songs on it wouldn't be Sirius's thing. But the album meant a lot to her.

'You're sure?' she asked, looking up at him.

Sirius didn't address the question. He watched her, then asked, 'You miss them a lot, don't you? Your parents? You don't talk about them much…'

Hermione's eyes started to well. She blinked the tears away and nodded.

'I'll get them back,' she said. 'That's more than most people can say about missing loved ones.'

Sirius nodded.

'Yes,' he said belatedly, 'I'm sure. Keep it. I have another one around here I need to give to Harry. ABBA. Not sure he'll like it, but Lilly tried to make me listen to it, and I still have it.'

He'd never had the chance to give it back. Hermione pulled a smile onto her face.

'Disco isn't your thing either?'

'Not in the slightest.'

Hermione thanked him for the record and tucked it under her hands on her lap. The sudden silence lasted until Hermione spoke up.

'Sirius… I… Can you help me with Healing? I… well, I guess it's not my thing. I'm no good at it at all. But you… you're very good.'

Sirius had been tidying his records so they all leant against the speaker.

'Sure,' he said easily.

Once again he hadn't answered the question Hermione had had for a while.

'Why,' she started uncertainly, 'are you so good at it? I know it's useful, but… Molly had seven children and Healing would be useful there too, but you're much better at it than her. Was it… Remus? To Heal him after full moons?'

Sirius's fingers stilled momentarily on the records.

'Partly Remus,' he said, voice oddly gruff, restarting his tidying. 'Partly my father.'

'Your father?' Hermione said, surprised. 'He taught you?'

Sirius let out a short laugh that didn't sound at all amused.

'If you count using a fist as teaching.'

Terrible shivers shot down Hermione's spine. She could see those two words his mother had written again and again in her mind's eye. Inform Orion. She swallowed.

'You don't talk much about your father…' she said cautiously. To her credit, her voice was steady.

'What's there to talk about?' Sirius muttered to the records. 'The man was a bastard.'

'He… hit you?'

Sirius stood up abruptly. The quiet companionship they'd shared now seemed very much gone.

'Don't be surprised,' he almost snarled, headed to collect the photographs. 'Dad was very adept at teaching. Funny he chose to do it the Muggle way.'

Hermione got hastily to her feet and stood facing him. The cold shoulder Sirius was giving her, snatching up photograph after photograph, told her he wanted her out. She stood where she was.

'Muggles,' she said softly, 'don't routinely hit their children.'

'Not the nice ones,' Sirius muttered.

'No, not the nice ones.' Hermione knew she was out of her depth, but she couldn't stop. 'But he preferred his fists to his wand?'

Sirius whirled around.

'You want to hear this, Hermione?' he asked cruelly, little more than a foot from her. 'Yes, he preferred his fists to his wand – he liked it! Why the fuck do you think I was so eager to leave this place?'

'I didn't need to know that to understand why you were eager to leave,' Hermione said, her voice quavering now. 'Things were bad here regardless!'

But the floodgates had opened. Sirius's stare was brutally intense, his face white.

'He hated everything about Muggles,' Sirius went on harshly. 'Everything – just not the power a fist held over a twelve year old! You get pretty bloody good at Healing when you have a broken nose, broken ribs, and a dislocated elbow – trying to get back to your room after being shoved down the stairs – your father shouting at you to be a man!'

Hermione quivered. Sirius wasn't done.

'And when you get sorted into Gryffindor,' a sick smile spread through Sirius's features, 'and dad's there when you get home for Christmas, things get worse. Was usually just a single hit before then – when mum gave him the run-down of all my crimes. Or being thrown against something. After Hogwarts – ' There was a frightening, shiny quality to Sirius's eyes. 'His ring left a nice hole in your cheek when he backhanded you. He used a knife sometimes. That was great for Healing practise – pity I hadn't the skill then.'

It was so hard to keep looking at Sirius's eyes. He looked lit by some cold fire deep within.

'Knew I wasn't a squib because sometimes things healed overnight. Gave me one less thing I knew I wouldn't be punished for. Took me a long time to fight back. Dad was big. Bigger than me. Wished I'd done it earlier, even if he'd have gone too far. At least then I wouldn't have been a coward!'

'You weren't!' Hermione shouted desperately. She blinked to clear the veil tears had laid over her vision. 'You were a child!'

In Hermione's mind, the man standing ramrod straight in front of her wasn't an abused child. He was well over six feet tall and strong. It was a collision of one impression bulldozing her vision of the man she knew as Hermione worked to keep staring at him; the afternoon she'd been in very much replaced by one quite different. But it wasn't hard to believe. Not really.

A tear dropped onto Hermione's cheek and Sirius looked away, staring over her head.

'Save your pity,' he muttered.

'No!' Hermione cried. She stepped forward and gripped him tightly around the middle, the record he'd given her still in her hand as her other grabbed its wrist.

You break my heart, Sirius. You always have. Poppy's words ran through Hermione's head. She'd known. Why hadn't she done anything?

'No!' Hermione repeated, her cheek pressed into his t-shirt. 'No one who could face years of that is a coward! I don't understand you – I didn't – no one should be able to survive twelve years in Azkaban unless they're downright evil – except you! I get that m-more now!'

Sirius didn't move. He was absolutely still, his body so hard in Hermione's arms; unrelenting. Hermione wouldn't let him go. Right now, the comfort of holding him was more for her benefit than his, but she felt the turmoil in his muscles – she'd seen it in his eyes.

'Why did you tell me?' she asked softly.

Sirius didn't answer. He was barely breathing. Hermione would know. Her head was pressed up against his chest.

'Why… Sirius?'

'I…' he said finally. He swallowed hard. 'I don't know. You… asked.'

'Have… you told people before?'

'… Some people knew. James and his parents… Remus has a good idea.'

So he hadn't.

'You needed to tell someone,' Hermione said quietly. There were scars somewhere on Sirius, but Hermione couldn't see them. She turned her head and rested her forehead against his shoulder. 'I admire you, Sirius,' she went on, shutting her eyes tightly. 'You've done this for me. Heard all my stupid worries… You've seen so much more than I have. I… think you're amazing. I think your parents were morons. Anyone smarter would have realised they had a remarkable child!'

Sirius gulped against Hermione's temple.

'Don't, Hermione.'

'Don't what? Don't tell you what I think? That you're remarkable? Don't try to be there for you? You're there for me, Harry, and Remus. I know you try to put a smile on Harry's face. I know the hours you've put into the Wolfsbane Potion. I saw you carry Remus home. And I know you won't turn me away when I need a shoulder – and you've done more for me than that! I don't know how you can have such a big heart after everything, but you do – and it's amazing!'

Sirius was utterly still and silent. Hermione glanced up at him. His jaw was tightly clenched, his Adam's apple jumping sporadically. She felt a rattling breath pull into Sirius's chest, and then his arms were about her, one hand tipping Hermione's head back down and pinning it against the crook of his neck.

Sirius was a whirlwind of a personality. Tough, powerful, and gentle. If he was crying and didn't want Hermione to see, she could respect that. She rubbed his back and felt a bit more give in it. She slid a hand up and felt his hair come under her fingers. It was silky… somewhat wavy. Sirius's head tipped and he rested his face in her hair. Hermione thought, maybe, she felt a single tear drop onto the top of her head.

They stood, not speaking, Hermione's fingers sliding into his hair and holding him to her. She'd never associated Sirius with needing comfort. Not even with fear. She'd long thought reckless defined him better than brave. Maybe it was both. He'd have needed both to choose Gryffindor when he knew what that would mean for him.

Sirius's arm left Hermione's back. She was sure he'd wiped his face. He returned the arm to her back and his hand cupped her shoulder. Hermione tried to lift her head and Sirius let her, his grip sliding down her neck.

Hermione's hand had moved to the side of his face when she looked up at him. Sirius swallowed quietly and pulled a small smile that was no more than a brief pinch of his lips. It made his eyes crinkle for a second, though. Hermione's thumb found the fine wrinkles. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but not red. Though… perhaps more shiny than usual.

Sirius let her touch him. He just watched her as Hermione's thumb travelled over his cheekbone and found, by feel, the short bristles on his cheek; travelling down to a well-defined jawline.

Hermione's eyes followed her thumb. When she looked back up, Sirius's eyes weren't on hers, and she knew what she wanted to happen.

Sirius bent his head. His eyes closed. Hermione's hand felt the stubble of his cheek in her palm, the fine wrinkles on her thumb. Her fingers slipped into his hair again and Hermione held him to her as his lips met hers.

She'd kissed him before. But it hadn't felt like this. Hermione's eyes squeezed shut, her arm clenching his torso to hers.

Sirius… was a good kisser… Hermione's insides were trickling into warmth… She'd never realised before. Sirius's mouth opened and Hermione's innards zinged madly. Her top lip was between his – then his lip was grazing over hers, his mouth reclaiming hers –

Hermione felt the shove warp her body backwards from her shoulder. Sirius had yanked away, his eyes huge with a look of such horror –

Terrible rejection flooded Hermione. She turned on the spot and ran. Through the door, up two flights of steps, and Hermione was in her bedroom, Songs from the Wood on the bed next to her, looking like a reminder of far too much.

The room was wishing and washing under her – the pleasant zings she'd been enjoying sparking into tingles in her fingers. Hermione twisted her wedding band. She could take it off. Throw it across the room. The only thing stopping her was the slim chance the Ministry would notice and question a sham marriage. It wasn't as though she was doing everything she could to avoid that anyway.

He'd held her – his arm around her, a hand cradling the back of her neck. He'd kissed her. Had he just been using her for comfort? He hadn't seemed like he was – Hermione wouldn't have thought Sirius would do that. But then, if the rumours were true, he hadn't previously minded using women for his own ends before moving on.

Hermione didn't care if her sobs were loud. No one would hear her in this damn silent house.

She tried to tell herself it was what Sirius had told her about his father that hurt most, but it was a thin attempt. That had put a shaky horror in her bones. It wasn't what had caused her to feel so gut-wrenchingly awful.

And why did she? She hadn't sought his affection – she hadn't been planning anything that had happened that afternoon!

But it didn't matter. The rejection hurt. So much more than Hermione ever could have expected it to.

She didn't go down to dinner. She couldn't face Sirius if he was there. It wasn't dark yet when Hermione crawled into bed and lay there, wishing for sleep.

Author's Note

I rather feel bad about this chapter, knowing how much people are waiting for things to be better between Hermione and Sirius… Soon soon, and my apologies!

I've got quite a few notes here, so I've put them in headings for people to be able to just read what interests them.

A note about Sweet Transvestite from the Rocky Horror Picture Show: beyond that song, I avoid referring to anything or anyone with the word "transvestite", because I know very few contexts in which it is not offensive. From what I do know, however, it's not offensive in the context of that movie/song. Please correct me if I'm wrong!

Below is a tribute to one very loved creature… and I so hope I don't write another like this soon. Thankfully, today, Crookshanks's inspiration, as well as Wiggy's (you haven't met her yet), are still with me, and I'll keep them as long as I can. The gorgeous grouchy gits they are. One of which just turned 19: my oldest best friend and a tough old boy.

To a Beloved Dog (don't read if losing such is raw for you)

To me, it is fitting to write a tribute on this story to the most beloved dog. We put her to sleep a couple days ago, but I wrote this on the day we did. It helps me, when all I have left to love is a memory, to share that memory in the hopes others will love that memory with me. Often, people do that by remembering their own lost loved ones, and I think that's only right. Misery may love company, but loving those lost adores company more.

Perhaps it's strange, but the dog-like aspects of Sirius, as well as his Animagus form, were informed by a real big, black, beautiful dog. Sirius's characteristics of boundless energy, the biggest heart, exquisite intelligence, lust for life, loyalty, daring, and a dedication to mischief, were all inspired not just by the books that created him, but by a puppy who had been there, with me, when I began writing this. That grin, which you'll see Sirius have in his dog form, is her grin. A mischievous, kind-eyed grin, where the skin folded back around the corners of her mouth in that way that just made us smile. You'll find her inspiration, likewise, in the dog Hermione's neighbour had.

But this beloved dog was so much more than just a pet that kept me on track with a character. She had a heart of the purest gold, so much to give and no hesitation in doing so, amazing exuberance, and an unrivalled joy in any small thing.

I miss seeing her stare back at me, knowing it's coming but waiting for that treasured word "swim!", before racing off at full tilt to leap into the water. It was me who taught her she liked swimming, back when she was a frightened puppy, and I treasure that knowledge. I miss seeing her grab three sticks in her mouth at once, refusing to listen to the word "drop", with that goading look in her eye that begged us to chase her. I miss watching those clever dog eyebrows twitch as she paid attention to me, or the cock of her head as she tried so hard to understand what I was telling her. I miss her pointing with her nose, body tensed and ready, at the stone she wanted me to play with; and having a laugh as we questioned, once again, what the rules for this game she invented were. We still don't know. She knew what you were asking when you said "Is so-and-so home?". She'd go check, and, if they were, she'd grab one of her prized stones to serve as a welcome toy, stand by the door, tail wagging fit to burst, waiting for them to appear. And I miss being greeted that way.

For every one of the days we knew you, you beautiful girl, we loved you. We saw your brilliance and brightness, and we adored it. For seven of your eight years, you were a puppy. And watching the disease, no matter how hard we tried to stop it, wither you away, was like watching that brilliance be stripped from you, day after day. It hurt us, and it hurt you. But you are no longer in pain, my sweet one. You are no longer suffering, waiting to die. We were with you at the end, and we will love you for every coming day, even if you're no longer here.

Rest in peace, my good girl. You will always be loved.

Posting Schedule

I've had a few people ask me what my posting schedule is, so I wanted to let everyone know. My usual posting day is Sunday, at a time when it's Sunday for most of the planet (can't get it for all time zones as, I recently learned, they cover 26 hours).

TLDR: At the moment I'm posting only one or two (occasionally three) chapters a week, on Sunday, but I hope to increase that to some extent soon, and I might split this story into 3 volumes for posting (but that won't impact posting schedule).

I'm currently doing the second draft of chapter 163, and I expect there to be, perhaps, 190 chapters all up. This story was never planned out when I first started writing it, so I never expected it to be what it's become, and didn't have an ending until I got near it. Which, of course, means that going to do the second draft, there was a fair amount of stuff needed for the ending I had to go back and add. The closer I get to writing the second draft of the climax/final of the story, the less I worry that there's more stuff I'll have to go back and insert into the story. I don't want to put out a chapter that I later think "bugger… I really needed to change that…"

My other two reasons for having these chapters come out slowly right now are that I do go through them before posting, giving them a final consideration, and that I only go back to write this story at times now. For the first, you can imagine with about 1 mil or more words in this story, there is a lot my imagination has to try to stay on top of, remembering this thread and that thread – I don't just check the chapters for quotations I didn't italicise (I've noticed that oops! Trying to catch them all now!). I also check them for whether I've changed my mind about this or that, or if something I wrote is clear on a last pass. For the second, that was more of an issue when I was at chapter 149. I'm having a crap month, for a lot of reasons, so I've recently recessed deeply back into this story for its escapism and catharsis. Once I hit the actual climax, I'm currently thinking it doesn't need too much of a rewrite from the first draft, so I think I'll be less worried about not finishing this story before I post right up to the end of what I've got written in a well-edited form. The epilogue chapters aren't written yet, but I have a feeling writing that won't be too hard – might do some as supplementary one-shots.

To add: when I started writing this I was a downright shite writer. I was really awful. I will never let anyone else see my first draft, because it is embarrassing how crap a writer I was.

So, being that I've been making progress recently, I'm expecting that once I do write the second draft of the climax, I'll be able to speed up my posting to a degree. I was kinda hoping that I'd be able to align the Christmas chapters with next year's Christmas, but, honestly, I'll likely put those out early, before Christmas, and then just… apologise lol. Missed aligning the Halloween chapters with Halloween this year anyway.

But don't think that will mean that it will take until Christmas for Hermione and Sirius to get together. I'm far from that cruel.

I do, though, usually (not this month, I'm toast) write a lot of other stuff, and have my fingers in a few pies, so I can be pressed for time when it comes to giving the chapters a final edit, and I probably still won't be able to get out too many chapters a week, but I will look to hopefully up the pace soon!

Also, while this does flow as a single story, it can probably be broken into maybe three "books". The early book, ending with one "semi-climax" and something of a mean cliff-hanger, the middle book, ending with another sort of "semi-climax", and the late book, with the big finale. That's rather how I'm viewing the part I'm writing now: as the "late book" where so much has happened and the characters have developed a lot. The tone and focus of each "book" does change a little, like how the first couple HP books had that sparkly new charm to them, the middle books were both more serious and an established fun, and the last two had a harder edge to them.

I'm wondering, actually, whether to post the full story as volumes, with what I'm currently posting being "Volume 1".

The music in this chapter is as follows:

Jethro Tull, Too Old to Rock and Roll.

Cat Stephens, Father and Son.

Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here (the album), especially Shine on You Crazy Diamond, all of it written in reference to Syd Barrett. And Bike (from Piper at the Gates of Dawn, where this chapter gets its title from).

Pink Floyd used to be fronted by Syd Barrett. It is unknown what mental health concerns he developed, though it is speculated perhaps LSD-induced psychosis was part of it. In 1968, he left/was ousted from Pink Floyd, and in time was replaced by David Gilmour. Barrett died of pancreatic cancer in 2006 – the same illness that killed Johnny Clegg in 2019, whose music I'll reference later. Barrett's mental illness was significant in terms of inspiration for Pink Floyd. There's a story that relays, while they were recording Wish You Were Here (1975), written about Sid Barrett, Barrett was actually there, but looking so different they took some time to recognise him.

The black album Sirius touches is Electric Warrior, T Rex. It's the one James scratched "Happy Birthday Mate!" into.

Uriah Heap, Lady In Black – often described as the "alternate version". This is hands down one of my absolute favourite songs of all time, and it's one of those songs where my dad and I can agree on music.

Styx, Renegade.

Jethro Tull, Broadsword and the Beast (album). Hermione references Broadsword and Down at the End of Your Road.

And, of course, more. Though, unless I'm missing something, I think I referenced the others well enough in the story…

In the first draft of this chapter, The Stoke by Billy Squier included Sirius doing quite an inappropriate hand gesture I feel goes well with that song: "Put your right hand out, give a firm handshake, talk to me about that one big break… first you try to bed me, you make my backbone slide… give me the business all night long… stoke me stroke me" just screamed handjob to me. On second read, it was a bit too far for Hermione at this point, so I cut it out. The image of Sirius doing that gesture while very much enjoying the song still looks right to me, though, so I thought I'd mention it. I debated whether to add it instead to a later chapter, while Remus was there and Sirius argued the meaning of the song with him, and that, considering Remus, made me laugh. But, alas, I couldn't work it in a way that was more funny than just crude, so I think it's better if I don't include it anywhere other than in a self-indulgent author's note.

Responding to reviews:

Dear Rosa,

You are beautiful. What you wrote in your review is genuinely spot on what I hope people will feel reading this. And I can't tell you how touched I was reading what you wrote – you truly made my week. Your review made me just sit there, stunned, for a time after reading it. It was almost as though you were looking straight into me and seeing exactly how I engaged with this story.

I did put a lot of thought and effort into reflecting the characters as they appeared, to me, in the books; keeping aspects of JK's style; delving deeper into the characters in the context of a more mature plot; dwelling in those things I felt I hadn't gotten enough of from the books… At times I felt that, while I've titled this "Unashamedly", what, instead, I spent a lot of my time doing was justifying why I thought this was how everything would go in this situation. That it is convincing is simply music to my ears. I wrote something that I could be absorbed by, and that you can too is just brilliant!

My day job… is about as far away from creative writing as it's possible to get haha! But I ended up using it to help inform this story, in part – and used this story, in another part, to address some of the thoughts and feelings I get from my day job. So I think, knowing my own context, that my job is definitely part of this story, in as oblique a way as I am. And I can thank this story for serving as my catharsis and escapism in a lot of things, my job being one of them.

Frankly, I was having a little cry while shouting along angrily to a great song when I saw your review come in. This month has invited the crap to come down. So reading that was just… so damn needed right then!

I've got to thank you, massively, for taking the time to write that – to let me know. I'm honestly so touched, and so glad I chose to share this story!

Dear Guest,

With this week just being the pits for me, I can't tell you enough how brilliant it was to see your review come in, and give me the bolstering pick-me-up that just couldn't have been provided at a better time! Thank you so much for taking the time to write that, and give me a smile! You are wonderful, and it's so appreciated!

I loved digging in deeper with these characters, adored picking out their strengths and weaknesses, playing with them, and developing them, and I'm really glad it works for the people reading this! This story is my first and only romance, but for most things I write, a strong focus is on the development of relationships, whether it's with an abandoned house, a ghostly grandmother, or the strange people in a strange town, haha! So hearing you say that it's believable and that Hermione and Sirius getting closer is well captured… Just heavenly to hear!

I will absolutely continue to write, and I can promise, barring extreme events, that I'll finish this story!

Thank you again! I'm more than grateful!

Trigger warning: remembered child abuse, described in pained detail.