7
Breathing

No sunshine glared through her eyelids. The duvet swaddled her comfortably, and the room was cool and quiet in spite of the annoying voice tugging her from the warm swath of unconsciousness.

"I see your eyeballs spinning around under those lids, woman. Wake up."

Hermione peeled open her eyes and blinked to adjust to the weariness that saturated her muscles and made her very bones sore. Even breathing took a concerted effort. Blurry at first, but sharper the longer her eyes were open, she came to recognize first her darkened bedroom, dimly lit by the hall light peeking in through the slit of the door, and then the man standing at the foot of her bed and the other sitting on the mattress by her hip.

The platinum-blond head of Healer Draco Malfoy was unmistakable, even in the darkness, but the shaggy-haired, recently-resurrected, to-be-reinstated Lord Sirius Black was practically a shadow at her side. Until he leaned forward, grinned, and—

"Morning, sunshine!" barked Sirius, proving he'd been the one to demand she wake up. Pleasant.

As her eyes continued to adjust, she noticed that Malfoy looked a bit less put-together. He'd shed his outer robes in favor of his buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the faded and blurry form of the Dark Mark. His normally slicked-back hair was mussed. She could count on one hand how many times she'd seen him look this bedraggled, but the barely-bottled anger in his eyes was new. It wasn't tinged with petulance or soured by a sneer, and if she wasn't so sore, she would've been more worried.

Groaning, she tried to sit up, but her arms were liquefied lead for all the good they did her. Thankfully, Sirius came to her aid, pulling her up so he could situate her pillows and help her lean against the headboard. He handed her a glass of water and made sure her grip was secure before releasing. The warmth of his fingers around her hand gave her pause, but the humor on his lips and the stern rise of his left eyebrow didn't give away a thing.

"May I?" growled Malfoy impatiently, his stance misleadingly casual as he stood with his hands in his well-tailored trouser pockets.

"Proceed," answered Sirius.

"Granger, when I told you to avoid death before you could discover how to reverse it," began Malfoy bracingly, "it wasn't a by-your-leave to die as you made said bloody discovery!"

"Malfoy, I—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you're woefully unaware that you were clawing on death's door!"

"To be honest, you were just sort of leaning against it," amended Sirius with a shrug, "with a bit of drool and all."

"You blacked out because you're not getting proper rest and nutrition, you're in constant interaction with an ancient bloody artifact, you exhausted your entire system, and you stressed your magical core beyond belief by yanking his arse out of limbo!"

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Hermione, lowering her trembling hands so her water glass could rest on her lap before it spilled.

"Are you going to blame your stupidity on him? Is Merlin why you decided it'd be a brilliant idea to conduct a ritual in your state?! Your body couldn't recover by itself anymore! By the time we got you here, you were a hairsbreadth from dying. Woman, if you weren't so set on committing suicide, I'd kill you myself!"

Hermione grimaced and swallowed. "Draco—"

"Don't you 'Draco' me! Do you have any idea what would happen if you died under my watch?! The entire world would disintegrate, and I'd be lambasted and labeled the harbinger of the Apocalypse!"

"Why are we here?" asked Hermione, shaking her head. "Why aren't we in St. Mungo's?"

"Because I wasn't about to haul your unconscious body and a resurrected man through St. Mungo's, Granger. I wouldn't just be a pariah, I'd be labeled a bloody necromancer!"

"All right! That's enough of that," said Sirius, standing. "Neither of you have eaten—one because of unconsciousness and the other because of a dying patient to be discreetly healed. I'm getting food."

He flicked on the lights as he headed through the door, making Hermione jump and pour her water over herself in her attempt to shield her aching eyes. As she fumbled with her glass, her pillows, her wet sheets, and her limbs, Malfoy suddenly wrenched the damp duvet off her and pressed his hand to her shoulder, holding her still.

"Listen intently, Granger, because if you think for a second that you can wrench another person out of the Veil and survive it, I'm going to have your Unspeakable status revoked and have you thrown into the Janus Thickey ward. Do you understand me?" he growled, quicksilver eyes flashing.

Now that he was close and the room was lit, she could see the bags under his eyes and the extra paleness of his skin. There was something new, palpable in his demeanor, and it kept Hermione silent.

"The Veil is not to be trifled with. Something that can commune with your own bloody soul that doesn't have a soul of its own, Granger? Isn't that something you learned about early in Unspeakable training?"

Hermione blanched—forgetting the cold wet clothes and sheets, forgetting the bone-deep ache of being drained. "It's stealing from my soul."

"And how many times have you tried that ritual before actually being successful?" growled Malfoy. "How many times has it used your damned soul to fuel your little experiments? And what about now? Is it using your soul to keep Black alive? Are you his tether to this world?"

"All right, sugarplums, you've got three options!" barked Sirius, kicking open Hermione's door again with a tray in his hands and two more following close behind his shoulders. "Scrambled, sunny-side-up, or soft-boiled eggs. Hermione, do you have anything else but eggs in your icebox-thing?"

Malfoy had leapt back from the bed and waved his wand, drying everything with a subtle wave of his wand. "I'm going home."

"Take the soft-boiled eggs then. You haven't eaten, and they seem more like your type," said Sirius, levitating the left tray to the younger man's chin. "You know? Hard shell outside, big softy on the inside."

Malfoy scowled and grabbed the tray before it could keep bumping his face. "And, what? You're the sunny-side-up, you obnoxious bastard?"

"No, fool, I was in Azkaban and limbo," answered Sirius, pushing past him to plop next to Hermione again. "I'm scrambled."

The blond rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, hesitating just long enough to say, "Happy Christmas, you idiots."

Hermione's eyes widened, mentally calculating how long she'd been out. She'd pulled Sirius from the Veil on the Winter Solstice, and if it was Christmas already, that meant—

"I've been asleep for three days?!"

"Two. It's Christmas tomorrow," called Malfoy, probably from her living room. "That's how long you were out last time too."

"Right, so eat up, woman," said Sirius, nudging the plate of eggs in front of her. "You need to regain your strength before the Potters' Christmas dinner, which you've been receiving nonstop owls about for the past two days. I've had to fake your handwriting to respond before they come storming over here and spoiling their Christmas surprise. Should I wrap myself with a bow and nothing else?"

Hermione grimaced. "Thank goodness I bought everything already then, but I didn't even wrap—"

"You have magic—"

"Merlin's sake, Black! Did you understand a word I said?!" screeched Malfoy.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Fine, I will wrap your bloody presents. They're in those paper bags by your tree, right? Thank Merlin you're so bloody organized. Eat your damned food. You need to show up to this thing."

Throughout the course of the near-twenty four hours between Hermione's awakening and the Potters' Christmas dinner, Sirius fed her more eggs and whatever else he could scrounge up from her stylish but nearly-empty cupboards until he went behind her back and called Malfoy back in with supplies and subsequently harangued his young cousin into coming with them to Grimmauld Place for Christmas dinner.

Sirius's rationale, when prompted, was that the Potters were the pathway for Malfoy's reform—acceptance by Harry Potter and therefore the Weasley clan—and if there was ever an opportune moment for such a thing, the aiding of Hermione in the rescue and resurrection of Sirius would be it. And he'd already alerted Ginny (via faking Hermione's handwriting) that Hermione would be bringing two guests, so the places would already be set, and it would be so rude not to come after that. What kind of upbringing would that reflect?

"Alive again for less than a week, and I'm already sick of you," had been Malfoy's response.

After a hefty dose of Pepper-Up Potion and a thorough and meticulous checkup, Hermione, Sirius, and Draco—as she'd taken to addressing his person in her mind—stood in her living room, waiting to enter the Floo.

"I can't believe he's still living at Grimmauld Place," grumbled Sirius, dressed in a pair of nice black trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a leather jacket he'd Transfigured to look like his old ones 'til he got his hands on the real thing again. "The bloody hell's wrong with the boy?"

"Probably too many Avada's to the face," said Draco.

Sirius turned to him with a look that clearly showed he was bordering on glaring or laughing at his cousin. He cleared his throat instead. "So how do we do this? Should I magic a ribbon around myself?"

"Circe," hissed Draco from where he sat on the armchair.

"There will be a lot of hands grabbing at you—whether in excitement or fear, honestly—a ribbon would more than likely function as a noose," said Hermione, adjusting her cream knit sweater.

"Wow, no to the ribbon then."

"Draco and I will go first and try to ease them into the surprise so no one has a heart attack."

"You mean another heart attack once they see me stepping through," grumbled Draco.

Hermione winced. "We'll have them sit down first." She patted her pockets to secure the shrunken presents. "All right then. Let's get on with this." She reached up into the ceramic bowl of Floo powder and tossed a pinch into her fireplace as Draco heaved himself off the couch to join her.

"Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!" she called. The green flames roared to life, and she and Draco stepped in.

The first face she saw upon their appearance in the sitting room of Number Twelve was none other than Arthur Weasley's, whose immediate grin at Hermione froze in place when his eyes slid over to Draco.

His mouth moved around different words, but the noises didn't match. "Her…mio…ne?"

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione as brightly as she could, keeping up the plastered grin as she threw her arms around his waist.

"Happy Christmas, sir," said Draco, with perfectly crisp enunciation and properly respectful eye contact.

His delivery seemed to break the ice of Arthur's shock and confusion and bring a genuine, albeit tight, smile to Arthur's face. He patted Draco's shoulder. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy. How is St. Mungo's?"

"It's going well," answered Draco stiffly. He pulled out a shrunken bottle of elf wine and brought it back to size before handing it to Arthur. Hermione caught the label and swallowed. That was a bottle that sold for seven-hundred-and-fifty Galleons. Per glass.

Arthur obviously knew the value of the bottle as well as he accepted the gift with more care than he would take a newborn. "T-Thank you! Erm, dinner's almost ready. Hermione, you said you were bringing two?" He was practically hugging the bottle at this point.

"Yes, he's running a bit late," she said, glancing at Draco. "I'd actually like to talk to you all before we get started."

"Is everything all right?" asked Arthur.

"Dad, is Hermione he—" Charlie came around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Draco.

"Hermione!" cried George, who followed his older brother and paused as well, but he recovered quicker. "Hullo there, Malfoy! Hey, Charlie, looks like your break from dragons is temporarily suspended, eh?"

"Malfoy?" echoed Ron, who poked his head around. His eyes froze on the blond behind Hermione before he asked in the most blasé tone, "You two aren't suddenly together, are you?"

George looked aghast. "I don't know whether to be disturbed by the idea or disturbed that you said that without any indignation or rage."

"No! We're not together!" cried Hermione, blushing darkly.

"Say that with a little more offense, why don't you?" sighed Draco from behind her.

"This is turning into a train wreck," said Hermione, rubbing her forehead. "Everyone's in the kitchen, right? Let's get the bigger commotion out of the way."

"Gladly!" said George brightly. "Oi! We've got a baby Malfoy incoming!"

"A baby what?!"

"I told you! Fifty Galleons, Potter!" crowed Ginny.

"Ginny, calm down, please—my ear is less than a foot away from your mouth," groaned Harry.

"Draco Malfoy?!" shrieked Molly above all.

Hermione grabbed Draco's arm with one hand and added her hoard of presents to the massive pile of gifts under the ornament-laden tree with a swoop of her wand. Ginny and Harry had gone all out with their decorations again so Number Twelve was a veritable maelstrom of Christmas.

Practically buoyed on either side by Charlie and George, Hermione and Draco followed Arthur into the kitchen, where the table had already been set, packed with huge dishes, including several tureens and platters still floating in the air, trying to find a free space.

"Happy Christmas!" cried Molly, almost barreling over Hermione. The older woman swooped her up in a huge hug and then set her sights on Draco, whom she caught up in a less aggressive embrace, but with as much warmth and care regardless. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Weasley," he said awkwardly, patting her back gently. The pink that grew on his ears spread further to his cheeks. He spotted Ginny and Harry by the stove, in the midst of fifty Galleon exchange. "Thank you for having me."

"Not that we really knew what we were having—"

"George," growled Angelina.

"—but it's like a Christmas cracker! Little bit of a scary pop, but then it's all fun and games."

"Don't you normally exchange what you get?"

"Ron!" snapped Molly, hitting him with a wooden spoon.

"Oh, Ronnie. You swap what you've already had before so everyone gets a taste of something new," said George, clapping Draco on the back. The blond looked more worried than reassured.

Bill came charging in from the back door, a squealing Victoire on his shoulders, snow dusting their fine, long hair. Fleur followed, slamming the door shut behind them, her cheeks pink from the cold. Jamie, having spotted Hermione and her curls from his high chair, was attempting to wriggle his way out of his confinement, tiny teeth on display through his grin. Ron circled the long table, filling up glasses with pumpkin juice with a bread roll wedged in his mouth. Angelina followed close behind, setting down utensils. Percy stood off to the side, conducting the remaining food dishes to a better place.

Luna, however, drifted over to Draco and patted him on the forehead with a dreamy smile. And then she walked away without a word.

Charlie handed him and Hermione tumblers with two fingers of firewhiskey. "You don't ever really get used to that, by the way."

"Even when you readjust your expectations to brace yourself, it never quite makes a difference," added George.

Hermione took that as her cue. "If I could have everyone's attention, please, before we begin!"

All eyes swiveled to her, and her stomach flipped. The gravity of what she'd done had begun to sink in, and the previously-mouthwatering smells of Grimmauld Place seemed to dry up. In fact, most of her senses went offline as her fingers froze and a sweat broke out down her back.

"You're not transferring to someplace with better magical architecture, are you—"

"Ronald, if you could please shove another bread roll in your mouth, thank you." Hermione turned back to the rest of her extended, adopted family as George, Charlie, Bill, and even Percy stifled their laughter.

A loud whoosh signaled someone's arrival through the Floo, and Hermione immediately stopped Arthur, who'd motioned to see who it was. Instead, she shot a pointed look at Draco, who rolled his eyes and retreated to stop Sirius's potential dramatics.

"I know I've been distant these past few—well, for a while now—but my distance has meant I've been reaching elsewhere. It was a long, long shot, but with Draco's help, I managed to find what I'd been looking for," she said, catching Harry's eye for a long second.

"So you are together?" asked George.

"Shut up, George!" chorused Ron, Charlie, and Percy.

She opened her mouth again, but an unseen force clamped over her throat. She sighed and shook her head. "There is an Unspeakable," she said pointedly, "who works in the Death Chamber that found a loophole in the stipulations of what denotes death."

"Just to clarify, you are the Unspeakable," said Ginny, eyes narrowed.

Hermione shrugged, but she hoped her eyes screamed yes. "She discovered that there has only ever been a handful of people who have fallen through the Veil, and the same handful was not—could not—actually be classified as 'dead,' but rather 'missing.'"

"Hermione," said Harry softly, stepping closer. "Hermione, what are you—"

"She tried to find these missing people, but considering the time spent in the Veil and the feasibility of bringing them back, there was only one viable candidate," she continued. "Because the candidate was missing or rather 'lost,' the Unspeakable had to find a way to locate and stabilize the candidate in order for him to be pulled out."

Ginny had her hands clamped over her mouth, eyes glassy. Fleur grinned, shaking her head. George, however, had his eyes fixed on the ground. Bill and Percy simply gawked at Hermione.

"That's where Malfoy—Draco—came into play. He was a tether on this side of the Veil, while a mirror blood relative tethered the candidate from the other side." Hermione took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "And she succeeded."

Draco returned to the kitchen and gestured at Ginny. "Lady Potter, if you could take a seat, please. Mrs. Weasley, perhaps it'd be best if you sat as well." Surprisingly enough, both women obeyed.

"Hermione, I understand, but it's not registering," said Ron flatly.

Harry, though—Harry locked eyes with Hermione, and she knew it registered. "Hermione, you didn't—"

"I didn't break any laws, Harry," she said. "It was an exploitation of small, nuanced loopholes, and it worked."

"You brought back Sirius?"

"Happy Christmas," said the man himself, coming 'round the corner with a huge smile and a Santa hat atop his head.

Thankfully, Molly had already sat in her chair since she promptly fainted. Ginny, on the other hand, shot right back up. Ron screamed. Arthur stumbled back and set his hand in the dish of mashed potatoes. Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Angelina's wands were at the ready, and Hermione leapt in front of Sirius before any spells were fired. Draco, on the other hand, stepped off to the side, out of range.

Harry, however, stepped forward, jaw clenched. "I don't—I don't understand—"

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head and slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "You don't understand a lot of things. That's what she's here for, eh?"

"Is that something Sirius would normally say?" asked Bill, wand still held aloft.

"Not sure," said Arthur, holding a clump of mashed potato in one handed his wand in the other.

Harry shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes and fogging up his spectacles, still taking tentative steps toward Hermione and Sirius. "This isn't real."

Sirius laughed thickly through his own building tears. "I'm a little insulted, you know—expected a warmer welcome after being dead for all this time."

"That's a little more Sirius," said Arthur.

"I think he was joking," said Charlie, brows furrowing even deeper.

"I mean, that's his name," said Arthur exasperatedly.

"You are dead," said Harry slowly, glancing back and forth between his godfather and his best friend.

"Don't let me be the last to know, mate," laughed Sirius.

"Pretty sure that's Sirius."

"But he was laughing…"

"I meant his name!"

Harry looked at Hermione and then at Draco, who simply gestured to Sirius as if to say, See for yourself.

But Sirius beat him to it. He grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and hauled him into a tight hug, cradling the back of his godson's head like he still hadn't completely reconciled the baby he once held and the man he now embraced.

"Am I real enough for you now, mate?"

Hermione felt a nudge at her elbow, and she turned to see Draco, who was long-sufferingly offering her his handkerchief, and it was then that she noticed her own tears.

"Bloody weepy Gryffindors," he muttered as she accepted the embroidered cloth and dabbed at her eyes.

"Better to counter your dry humor, cousin," laughed Sirius, wiping his face as he and Harry pulled apart.

"More like drown me," muttered Draco.

"Shut up, Malfoy," sighed Ron, having recovered from his screaming fit with the bottle of Ogden's Finest, which he tipped into Draco's tumbler.

"Cheers, Weasley," toasted Draco.

"It's a bloody Christmas miracle," sobbed Ginny, furiously swiping at her eyes. "Someone pour Mum something strong for when she comes 'round."

"I would've thought I'd be enough of a tall sip of something strong," said Sirius.

"Yep, he's definitely back," said Charlie. He, Bill, Percy, and Angelina finally stowed their faltering wands.

Arthur chortled, stowing his own wand after cleaning off his hand and coming forward to greet the newly-resurrected Marauder. "In all seriousness—"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Merlin's sake, Dad."

"—it's a welcome shock to have you back, my friend," continued Arthur, hugging the other man tightly. "Though I daresay you'll have quite a time getting your affairs back in order."

"We'll work it out, I'm sure," said Sirius, squeezing Harry's shoulder and winking at Hermione and Draco.

"Oh, I'm sure," said Ginny, coming up to Hermione's other side. "If I wasn't pregnant, Granger, you can be sure I'd be on my third shot already."

"Third?" Hermione sniffled and cleared her throat again. "You're losing your touch."

Ginny wrapped her arm around the older woman's shoulders as her voice dropped. "And here we thought we only lost touch with you."

Hermione's lips disappeared into a thin line, but when she looked at the other woman and saw only a tearful, thankful, and worried expression, Hermione's indignation faltered.

"Thank you," said Ginny softly.

"And this? Who is this?" cried Sirius, and was immediately answered by high-pitched squeals of excitement as Jamie was hoisted out of his high chair and tossed into the air.

"He's going to throw up all over you," said Ron from the background.

Hermione smiled at Ginny. "If there was one more thing I could do for Harry, I wanted it to be this. It killed me seeing him lose someone he thought to be the closest thing to his old family and blame himself for it."

"Is this my little namesake? My legacy?"

"Don't put that kind of pressure on him," said Angelina. "Or on McGonagall's nerves."

"Pressure builds character, forms diamonds," countered Sirius, nose in the air as he tickled the squealing baby.

"Diamonds," scoffed Draco. "Pretty to look at, but ultimately best used for bartering."

"Malfoy, I don't know if you're implying that the only thing Sirius is good for is whoring himself out, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it whilst my son is still attached to the topic," said Ginny. She kissed Hermione on the cheek and released her to fetch her son before he actually did spit up.

Hermione watched as Ginny pulled her son out of Sirius's exuberant tosses, and Sirius himself was roped by the two eldest Weasley brothers who proudly showed off the tattoo they'd coerced a drunken Percy into getting. Even Draco had been pulled aside by Molly, a plate between his hands being steadily piled upon by the matriarch.

The loss of Ginny's warmth and physical support had Hermione retreating from the kitchen for a breath or two in the empty living room. The voices of her friends and adoptive family weren't much louder than the crackles of the fire as she leaned against the arm of the sofa and threw back the rest of her firewhiskey, the burn and cinnamon a welcome reprieve from the fluttering panic in her chest—a feeling she couldn't quite explain. She took a shaky breath as she lowered the glass again, staring at the two leftover droplets of amber liquid clinging to the corners of the tumbler.

The neck of a bottle of Ogden's Finest suddenly tapped the rim and tipped to pour another two fingers.

Hermione looked up and met George's soft smile. And there—right there—was what brought the fluttering back to her chest and the cold into her fingertips again.

She could only imagine her expression because the smile had evaporated into a frown as he swiftly set the bottle down on the coffee table and gathered her into a tight embrace—one as warm and comforting as his mother's.

"Now, now, love," he murmured softly into her hair. "No need for that."

The words spilled from her mouth as she clutched both his sweater and the tumbler. "G-George, I tried—"

He pulled her back and cupped her face, squeezing her cheeks together so her lips jutted out. "Well, let's not try anything anymore, all right? I don't know what you think you've been hiding from us, Granger, but you've got to stop killing yourself to bring back the dead."

She tried to shake off his hands, but he just caught her face again. "Sirius wasn't—"

"But he's just the start for you, isn't he?" asked George, a glint in his eye she hadn't seen in many years. He took a deep breath and relaxed his grip on her cheeks. "Now's not the time for this, but, Granger, for Circe's sake, let this be the end of it, eh? You've made enough groundbreaking discoveries—any more and you'll split the earth itself. Leave some for the others."

Hermione pulled him into another hug, tucking her face into his shoulder so what she said was muffled into his sweater. "I'll pass on the message to that particular Unspeakable."

George chuckled and stroked her hair. "And tell her she's now got even less of an excuse to miss out on dinner or the occasional group excursion."

Hermione forced a chuckle and pulled out of George's embrace, wiping her eyes. "Duly noted."

"Now, come on, Granger. You've got to help me wring all of Sirius's pranking secrets from him. Maybe he can do a stint at the shop, inventing some new stuff. Can't bloody believe he and old Lupin were Padfoot and Mooney—that summer of seventh year was an utter waste with them!"

Hermione returned to the Death Chamber after dinner, if only to clean up her mess. It was a bit of a low note to end such a momentous day, but it was a quiet note that felt right.

As she stepped in, she realized she'd forgotten what the chamber had been like—what it was like without Cedric's company. The silence echoed even louder than his familiar voice.

Hermione rubbed her hands together and flexed her fingers, trying to shake off the tremble in her extremities. She picked up the discarded canvas bag and began plucking candles from the circle. Typically, Hermione enjoyed a comfortable silence that left her to her thoughts, but for the first time, it was too much.

Almost instantaneously, the whispers of the Veil, which had paused when Sirius had been spat out, quieted once more in its telltale way, signaling the return of her partner-in-crime. Cedric leaned against the side of the stone archway, grinning, and began to clap.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but gamely acquiesced to a single curtsy. "Thank you, by the way," she said, "for helping me with all this."

"You must be joking," said Cedric. "No right-minded soul would pass up the opportunity to work with the Brightest Witch of Her Age to defy the laws of death itself by exploiting a loophole. I feel like I'm part of your team."

"My team?" echoed Hermione, cocking an eyebrow as she continued to collect the candles.

"Yeah, you and Ron and Harry, running around the school, always caught up in the weird shite that happened my last four years there," said Cedric. "I wish I could've gotten to know you better, if only to have an answer for all the rumors that flew around about you three."

She stowed the last candle in the canvas bag and turned to the bloodstain in the middle of the circle, marked only by circular wax residue. "Merlin forbid you befriend me for my personality and companionship."

Cedric winked. "That'd just be a pleasant bonus."

Hermione shook her head, smiling. But she couldn't put all of her heart into it. She scuffed the dried blood with her heel, hoping it'd chip off like the wax, but the stain had set into the stone.

"You know, if I had the chance, I would've asked you to the ball."

Hermione blinked, but was otherwise unfazed as she continued to kick at the stain. She didn't even bother to look up at him. "Of course you would've," she said indulgently.

"Really, though," he insisted. "If I'd been properly introduced to your brand of humor earlier—"

"What difference would that have made?" asked Hermione, briefly roused from her hushed solemnity to stare at him incredulously.

Cedric crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd know that I would've enjoyed any amount of time with you and that you wouldn't have glowered at me and jinxed me out a high window just for asking."

"No," said Hermione, scrounging in the canvas bag for the old rag she remembered leaving in it. "I would've just laughed at you."

"You're not laughing at me now," he said.

Hermione sighed and pulled out the rag. "Whatever your inclinations to ask me, you were a bloody Triwizard Champion of Hogwarts. Harry took the crowd's need to stigmatize, so the pressure to be perfect was on you," she said, turning back to the stain and scrubbing what she could. "You were fortunate the girl you wanted to be your date was someone everyone thought you matched with—not Harry Potter's swotty best friend, who could barely be considered feminine."

"You let Viktor Krum consider you feminine."

Hermione stopped and just looked at him.

He looked right back.

And then she could no longer hold back the grin, dropping her chin and shaking her head at the floor as Cedric burst out laughing. For the first time since she woke up, she felt better, even if it was only marginally. Despite the elation of Sirius's return, her anxieties over his welcome had taken precedent in her mind. Easing the other's into his return, hoping they expressed the most minimal disappointment that she wouldn't be able to bring anyone else back, knowing the implications of her work in general…

"Granger, are you all right?" he asked, his wry smirk disappearing as his eyebrows drew together.

"Of course," muttered Hermione, feeling the smile fade and the light feeling Cedric's idiotic joke had brought. "Just feeling…a bit off, I suppose."

"Off?" he echoed.

Hermione leaned closer to the stain, scrubbing a bit more vigorously. "Don't worry. It's just been a long day."

"Hermione," said Cedric, his voice more serious than she'd ever heard it. "Hermione, stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Why aren't you using magic?"

Hermione paused, frowning, but then continued scrubbing again. "Don't worry about it."

"Hermione."

She finally stopped, straightening up and huffing impatiently. "What, Diggory?"

He met her irritated stare with his steady gaze. "Let go."

Hermione looked down at her trembling hands. The longer she watched the minute shakes, the dry cracks on her knuckles, the pale sheen of her skin, the phantom sting of old cuts she'd had to make for previous rituals…

She unsteadily sank down to sit on the floor, letting the canvas bag slide from her shoulder. She took a deep, tremulous breath.

"Why are you crying?" asked Cedric softly, crouching down to her level, though she was still several feet away.

The stained rag slipped from her fingers as Hermione reached up to feel the wet tracks on her face, wondering when that had begun. Lifting her arm, she wiped her tears on the sleeve of her Unspeakable robes. "D-Do you know why I did it?"

Cedric shook his head, swallowing and watching as she tried and failed to stem the flow of tears and only making them fall faster until she was crying full-tilt.

"For Harry," she murmured. "I did it for Harry."

"And you did do it," said Cedric. "You brought back his godfather and gave the man a third chance—a real chance—at life. So why are you upset?"

"Harry was an absolute wreck fifth year," she said, shaking her head and sniffling. "And when Sirius died… He was just so angry and so sad, and I couldn't—" She wiped her nose. "I couldn't stop feeling so guilty."

"Of what?! Did you kill him?"

"He just—" She gritted her teeth and growled, her hands tightening into fists. If it was out of irritation at him or anger at herself, she wasn't sure, "—annoyed me so much, this man who was twenty years our senior and somehow still fundamentally younger than us, and Harry was supposed to look up to him as a father figure?"

Cedric grimaced and shrugged. "An understandable sentiment, I'm sure, but a man who spent nigh on twelve years in the most detestable prison on the face of the earth would hardly have the best parenting skills…"

"And I should've had the empathy to at least consider that!" cried Hermione, wiping her hand down her face as the tears—just—wouldn't—stop—falling. "Harry had lost his family all over again, one of his last connections to his father, and it nearly broke him. And I tried to console him whilst hating myself because the last words I exchanged with Sirius were over an argument! He was always trying to be Harry's brother, to be a friend, as if he was working off muscle memory from what it was like when he was with James.

"When he died, I hated that I resented his position in Harry's life. I tried to be happy—really, I did. And in the moments where he protected Harry and let his paternal instincts come through his immaturity, I was pleased, but then he'd go and do something stupid like instigate a fight with Professor Snape or brood in his room or drink about how he couldn't get out and be more useful, and I'd be so annoyed. And I hate myself for that. I hate myself for not thinking on his terms—"

"Yes, all right, but he's here now," interrupted Cedric, ducking down a bit so he was within Hermione's line of sight, cutting her off from where she'd been glaring at the floor. "You've got all this time to sit down and talk with him and patch things up."

Hermione shook her head, hiccuping. "You don't understand."

"Then make me."

She looked up at him—at the face that would've remained wholly unchanged if it weren't for the age reflected in his expressions. "I'm afraid that my attempt at fixing the future to patch up the past is going to backfire, and we're going to lose Sirius all over again."

Cedric dragged a hand down his face as he stared at Hermione despondently.

"Having him back reminded me of what it felt like to lose him—does that make sense?" she asked, her voice dropping to a pained whisper. "I'm stuck in this in-between of remembering the pain, being happy that he's back, and losing my mind in worry that he'll be gone again."

"Hermione—"

"I'm so tired," she murmured softly through the fresh wave of tears. "Being down here is limbo for me, Cedric. I poured myself into my work to bring him back, but I'm not even going to lie to myself anymore. If I could haul out Remus and Tonks and Fred and Snape and you—I would. In a heartbeat. And because I held onto that prideful, hopeful, little string of thought, I didn't let go. I didn't let go of any of you. I've been stuck down here, trying to keep the dead alive, and now…I think I am dying in the process."

She shivered, pulling her robes closer around herself. And even though there was a spirit right there with her, one that she'd never imagined being able to talk to again, even though she'd spent years by herself in that chamber in far more haunting circumstances, even though she'd just managed to defy the laws of life and death, she felt cold and scared and alone.

In the depths of the Ministry of Magic, in the dark recesses of the Department of Mysteries, Hermione Granger sat in the middle of the dais in the Death Chamber and felt the icy whisper of death, her magic drained and leaving her just a touch away from being a Muggle. And she wondered, long after Cedric's desperate reassurances faded into the moments of yesterday and the days after, exactly how long she'd been dying in that room.