Chapter 145: Obligation

Music suggestion: "This Too Shall Pass", Danny Schmidt

Hermione felt Sirius's hands catch her, the broom in his left one knocking painfully into her breast. It struck pain, terror, and fury through her in a wild rush. Hermione cried out, shoving away from him.

'What?' Harry had turned to look back.

Hermione couldn't meet Sirius's eyes. He was so happy – so happy to have the kid!

There were tears in her eyes she hadn't noticed growing there. Hermione blinked them away, her head spinning as she gave it a shake.

'Sorry,' she forced out, eyes on Sirius's uncertain, hovering hand. 'It's just sore.' She gave her sore breast a convincing rub.

'Oh.' Sirius's arm fit back around Hermione's waist. He gave it a conciliatory rub. 'Sorry Mione. I didn't mean to. You okay?'

His clinging drove a wedge of panicked anger into Hermione's chest. She fought an insane urge to throw his arm away from her and sprint off.

'Yeah,' was what she said, pulling a smile to her lips; not meeting Sirius's eyes. 'Okay.'

The world was suddenly unsteady – rocking – around her. It took all Hermione had, once they got home, to sound normal telling Sirius she wanted a bit of quiet time alone after the eventful day. She made it at a moderate pace to the library, shut the door behind her, and sunk down to the floor.

Tears never lasted long. They died away and left her feeling drained, but better – more level-headed. More ready to cope…

These tears, ones Hermione put a lot of effort into keeping quiet, lasted a long time. When they did taper off and Hermione opened her eyes, the library was still wishing and washing.

Gulping, she looked down at her hands, watching them shake. She pressed her thumb against each fingertip in turn, feeling where, on the middle ones, they felt numb; the last two fingers on each hand shooting with tingles when she pushed on them.

It was as though a full jar of jumping beans was making a gleeful ruckus in her torso, them glad she'd stopped crying so they could ping more rapidly and viciously off her insides.

Anxiety was always a hundred times worse when it came back – returned to make a mockery of all those days without it she hadn't properly appreciated. Returned to remind her just how sick of it she was. But this didn't feel like just her normal anxiety.

Drained by tears, but not better. Hermione felt as desolate as she did anxious. Unsettled –

What was she going to do now?

Study, she told herself. You're going to pick yourself up, Hermione, and study.

Distract herself, Hermione thought, climbing her juddery body to her feet. She just had to distract herself, and everything would go back to feeling normal again. Like it always did.

Her copy of Ancient Runes for the Passionate Scholar was where Hermione had left it on the corner of the sofa. She'd been learning how to decipher ancient Healing jargon. Just because, really. It was very interesting. Early Healers had just four different terms to describe what was wrong with a patient or a specific organ, translated as closely as possible to: inflammation, degradation, corruption, and bizarrity. They'd managed to apply that to every condition then identified.

Hermione powered into the study, telling herself that the fact that she could focus, even for only brief bursts, was a good sign. She was too aware of the numbness and tingling in her fingers.

It was an exhausting task she'd set herself: pulling her mind time and again back to focus. Truly exhausting – something Hermione was glad for. Sleep was good for giving you a chance to wake up on a brand new day. It was also great for getting time to go by.

But the thought of snuggling into bed with Sirius… Of having him smile kindly at her, those eyes crinkled with softness – to ask her what was wrong – how she was –

Crookshanks wanting the normal evening attention. Purring in demand of it. Thumping his soft, purry body down against her to sleep the night in warmth…

Hermione's teeth clenched, a new, overwhelming wave billowing up within her; her heart thumping up to hummingbird speeds, threatening to jackhammer itself right out of her chest –

How could she be all right around them? How could she bring herself to be around Sirius's joy and unfaltering caring?

Hermione slammed her book shut. It was early still. She could make it unseen down to the kitchen, grab herself some food, and lock herself back into the library. That would give her more time to get back to being composed. She wouldn't have to sit with Sirius at dinner – she wouldn't be ready by dinner. She needed more time to return to normal.

Borne by rushing panic, disproportionately scared she'd meet anyone – particularly Sirius – Hermione poked her head out of the library door.

No one. She hurried out, grabbing the handrail as she ran down the stairs.

It was possible Sirius was in the kitchen, Hermione knew. Unable to muster enough of her mental faculties from the awhirl storm of her brain to reconsider her plan, Hermione hurried on, sparing little thanks's for every time a corridor was empty.

At first glance, the kitchen was empty. Hermione felt a little sigh of relief. No Sirius. But – Kreacher was there: cleaning the oven.

The rise of anxious fury was massive. Hermione battled at it.

Being alone was easy. You could look, act, do – feel – whatever you wanted when you were alone.

Around other people – people expected you to be normal – would berate you to explain why you weren't when you weren't.

Right then, Hermione hated people. Why couldn't they just not be around?

Kreacher pulled his head out of the oven and looked over at her. Hermione yanked forth a smile and hung onto it.

'I was just looking for a snack,' she said hurriedly. 'I don't think I'll want dinner, Kreacher, sorry – we had a big lunch…'

Kreacher's head tilted to one side, the tip of one bat-like ear drooping.

'Healthy meals are important,' he croaked disapprovingly. 'Mistress Hermione knows it.'

'I –' Her jaw clenching, Hermione bit back a snap. 'I'll make the snack healthy,' she said, keeping her tone moderated. 'Do we have any of the chicken salad from yesterday left?'

Kreacher frowned at her.

'Kreacher thought Mistress wasn't hungry? If Mistress wants a meal now –'

'I just –' Hermione forced her voice back to civil – why was she being analysed for wanting some chicken salad? 'Want something to nibble at,' she continued. 'So I don't get hungry, you know. I'm starting to think hunger makes me feel ill.'

Kreacher blinked owlishly at her. Twice. Then nodded.

'Certainly, Mistress Hermione,' he said, putting down his rag and heading for the pantry. 'Kreacher will get it. Why don't you sit for a moment?'

Hermione glanced at the table. She was far too keyed up to sit – sit in wait while any moment Sirius could come down…

'I'm just going to get myself some water,' she said, heading for the glasses. Keep busy.

She'd gulped down a glass and filled another by the time Kreacher had fixed her a bowl. She'd take the full glass with her.

'Thanks Kreach–'

'A fork, Mistress.'

Holding the bowl, Hermione forced herself to wait as Kreacher reached up and stuck the fork into it.

'Thanks Kreacher,' she said again. 'And – I probably won't come down for dinner,' she warned him. 'I'll be fine, though. Thanks.'

Kreacher staring after her, Hermione hurried back up the stairs. There, that was good. Now Kreacher could explain for her and she could hide, peacefully, in the library.

She managed to get, unseen by anyone else, back to the library. She shut the door and, because it satisfied some of her whirling anxiety, locked it.

Okay, Hermione told herself, putting water and salad on the coffee table, all done. You can relax now.

It didn't work that way. Being alone in this room felt safer than being outside it, but as the hours ground gradually by, it didn't matter how often Hermione told herself there was nothing to be so worked up about. Each of the four times she had to get up, peek out, and dash to the bathroom flooded her with quivery anxiety. Every time the thought occurred to her Sirius might come to check, any moment, whether she was done with alone time – every time she remembered she had to go up to bed later, smile, relax, and sleep beside him and Crookshanks – she felt swamped, jumpy and restless with flustered, frantic emotion.

Despite her earlier bursts of focus, as the day became evening, Hermione barely made any headway with either Ancient Runes or her wilting salad. She reread and reread passages of the former with hardly any of what was written filtering into her mind; was merely picking pieces of chicken out of the latter, nibbling on them, and putting them back down when the cold meat churned her stomach. Far from having interest and intense cravings, instead she had zero appetite for anything.

And when, once she'd battled her way to well past dark, Hermione realised she wasn't feeling any better at all, she burst into hopeless, hysterical tears.

Sirius didn't come to check on her. He didn't come to knock when she was mid cry and would struggle to sound otherwise. Perhaps schooled by her mood swings, he left her to it. That he didn't come was a mercy even if it added guilt to the sense of heavy dread and panic.

Her tears meant her face would be puffy. It had finally reached the time of night when Sirius was most likely in bed. But the puffy face would be telling. Hermione couldn't head up to the time-passing embrace of sleep yet. The tears meant Hermione had to slog on for another hour, staving off another onslaught of self-hating tears.

Finally, feeling very low and very tired, she steeled herself. Her insides sizzling no less with that almost-painful, all-consuming anxiety, she trod up through the silent house to hers and Sirius's bedroom.

It was very late, and, while Hermione had prepared herself with answers for questions Sirius could ask, she was more than relieved to see the lights in their bedroom was already out.

Praying he wouldn't make her turn him down for a cuddle, Hermione let herself in and slipped the door quietly shut behind her. Instantly, inside the comforting room, Sirius's breathing audible, she felt worse. It was a room of loving, joyful comradery she didn't feel a part of.

'Mione?' Sirius asked quietly, but not sleepily.

Hermione took a slow, deep breath. It wasn't easy in a chest that felt tight. Here it comes.

'Hey,' she whispered, trusting her voice better when there was no need to use its strength. She walked, in a very normal trajectory, to the corner where they left laundry and started undressing for bed.

'You all right?' Sirius asked, too casually. 'Kreacher said you weren't very hungry.'

He knew something was up.

But it'd be better in the morning.

'I don't feel well,' Hermione told him, still whispering. 'I feel queasy and I'm too hot.'

It was misdirection, but it wasn't a lie. It also set her up for denying touching.

'… I hope you'll feel better soon.'

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut. She turned her face, despite the near-black room, towards the wall.

'I've got Crookshanks on my side,' Sirius went on, his rich baritone too familiar – too considerate. Hermione heard the bedclothes shuffle, then Crookshanks's purrs start up as Sirius petted him. 'I think he'll stay where he is. So he won't smother you…'

There was a new lump in Hermione's throat. Big and painful. She swallowed as quietly as she could, focusing on pulling off her socks without falling over.

'Thanks Sirius,' she whispered to the floor.

He wouldn't crowd her, she thought, moving over to her side of the bed. All would be well in the morning. She'd have no reason to feel guilty in the morning. She'd get excited again about the coming addition to the family. Everything would be all right.

Hermione left most of her torso uncovered to vent off the extra heat. Sirius reached over and gave her arm a small rub. It made her entire body tense up. She caught his hand, holding it – finding doing so was worse than upsetting, but the idea of not doing so unthinkable.

She wished him a good sleep on a breath that managed not to sound constricted, and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come, Sirius's hand in hers like a hot, heavy weight of near unbearable obligation.

She'd done the right thing, Hermione told herself. This wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be.