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Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...
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Road to Redemption
Chapter Two: Dreams Reawaken
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Hermione Granger stumbled down the stairs from her dormitory. It was very late, closer to dawn than to midnight, but she had just been awoken from a restless sleep. She wasn't quite sure why she had woken, only that some compulsion had yanked her brutally from her not-so-sweet dreams. Stifling a yawn, she emerged into the empty Gryffindor common room. The fire was still blazing.
Over the summer, Hermione had grown up quite a bit. She was more closed about her feelings but more compassionate towards those of others, especially Harry's. He had had a hard summer. So had she, but that wasn't the point.
Physically, she had changed a lot as well. Her bushy hair was sleeker, silkier now. Fred and George had said she was more attractive now, but Hermione had shrugged the compliment off (coming from the twins, one could never be sure whether to take these things seriously). Either way, she wasn't very interested in how she looked. She had NEWTs to start worrying about, Harry to worry about, Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix to worry about, her own nightmares to worry about, Sirius's death to worry about (or to grieve about). Basically, Hermione worried. These days, it seemed to be second nature.
Now, she wandered slowly toward the armchairs by the fire and sank down into one. Pushing her tousled hair out of her eyes, she stared into the flames and tried not to think about anything at all. But of course, that was impossible. She resignedly let the thoughts flit through her head, one after another in a stream of endless memory, and tried not to cry. Then she heard a sound.
"Can't sleep, Harry?"
"How did you know it was me?" The green-eyed young wizard asked, rubbing his eyes as he put his glasses back on, and took an armchair close facing hers, also beside the fire. He looked tired.
Hermione smiled. "Women's intuition?" Her voice gentled slightly, and she studied Harry with a thoughtful expression. "You look terrible, Harry. If I didn't know better, I'd think you haven't eaten in days. Have you got a nasty case of insomnia or are Ron and Neville keeping you awake with their incessant snores?"
"Ron and Neville," Harry joked, laughing. It was typical of Hermione to pay attention to almost everything. Nothing escaped her notice. He felt better, just knowing that he wasn't alone. "So why are you here?"
"Something woke me up."
"Something – like a sound?"
"Oh no, nothing like that, Harry, so don't worry. I'm not sure what it was – some sort of odd feeling, I think, that stirred me from dreams. Not that I'm ungrateful. I wasn't dreaming about anything pleasant."
"Neither was I."
Hermione asked shrewdly, gently: "Sirius?"
"Of course, what else?"
She looked at Harry for a long moment. There were shadows in his green eyes, and she felt so very helpless. If only there was something she could do to allow him some happiness again. Oh, why had it been Sirius? If it had only been someone else ... if it had only been her instead. She would gladly exchange her life for his. So deep were her thoughts as she studied her best friend that she wasn't aware of his scrutiny, and Harry saw much more than Hermione would have guessed.
He saw the weariness and sadness in every line of her features, every glow of her eyes. He saw how much she worried about him, about everyone else, everything else. He realized that Sirius's death had taken much more from them – from him – that anyone could know. It had taken Hermione's youth.
"Oh, 'Mione – "
She was startled, but she smiled. "Harry, don't look at me like that. You couldn't have expected me to go on with my life as easily as I did before, could you? I adored Sirius, you know. I complained about his recklessness, but I admired the way he fought the blows life threw at him. He was someone special."
"Yes ... he was."
"It's hard to talk about him in the past tense, isn't it?" Hermione said softly. "It's impossible to believe he's actually gone. I mean – it was *Sirius*. He took life by the horns. He survived losing his best friends, he survived Azkaban."
"I know," Harry nodded, smiling slightly, "It just seems so bloody unfair that he wasn't able to survive the Veil. He went through all of that, for what? He lost everything all over again, and we lost him." A tear glistened in his eye, but he dashed it away angrily. "I swear to God, 'Mione, if I ever see Bellatrix Lestrange again – "
"You just worry about Voldemort, Harry. Leave Bellatrix to me."
"To do that – to another of her own blood – "
"Blood," Hermione said bitterly, "What does that matter in our world, Harry? Perhaps your Aunt Petunia's blood link to you protects you in Privet Drive, but beyond that, blood has no meaning. Sirius's entire family was dark. But look at what he was. He was a Gryffindor, and he was a good guy."
"Where do you think he is now?"
"I don't know ... I don't know at all."
Harry stood up. "Thanks for talking," he said quietly, reaching out to touch the top of Hermione's head, "I needed it. I think I'll go back to bed and attempt to brave Neville and Ron's snores. You should probably get some rest too. Goodnight."
"'Night, Harry," Hermione responded.
His footsteps drifted back up the stairs, until they faded away into the eerie silence of the night. Hermione remained in the chair, silent and still, listening to the whispers of her own thoughts, rustling like leaves in a gentle breeze. She thought about the dreams she had once had. She had dreamed of a future free of darkness, a future where they could live normal lives. Where Harry and Ron could become godfathers to her children, where she would be their kids' disapproving Aunt Hermione –
Dreams, dreams, so many dreams. Dreams of hope and tranquillity and escape from the nightmare that her world had become.
All her dreams had died with Sirius.
In just two short years, Sirius had become such an inextricable part of her life. If you had a problem, go to Sirius. If you needed someone to talk to or to trust, go to Sirius. Handsome, cynical, black-eyed Sirius with his ready bark of laughter and humour. Sirius with his humanity intact even after years of torture.
But Sirius was gone. They had laughed together about how he would one day carry her son on his back, how he would be a ceaseless annoyance to her because he would keep coming to her home – now a free, innocent man – and he would burst in unannounced just to wake her sleeping child up and tickle him or her. There had been so many things they had laughed about, so many futures they had all talked about, and to know that it was all lost to her – and to the others – forever ...
Yes, Hermione thought sadly, brushing tears away from her eyes. Their dreams and their hopes had died with Sirius.
She turned her head and looked out of the window, taking in the velvet sky with the stars in them ... Cannis Major with Sirius the Dog Star. She tore her gaze away from those stars bitterly, sadly, fighting back tears. She was furious, completely angry with herself for not being able to let go. But the anger covered up deep grief. It was so hard, so impossible to let go. Sirius had epitomized life to all of them. How could he be gone?
The moon was full over the Hogwarts grounds. Professor Lupin was probably having a bad night, Hermione thought sympathetically. A cricket rattled somewhere in the distance. Up in the boys' dormitory, Harry would be searching for sleep, Ron would be locked into his dreams. Somewhere else in the castle, Professor Dumbledore would be staring into his Pensieve.
Out in the grounds, Snape was probably walking. Hermione had noticed a slight change in him since Sirius's death. It was almost regret, as if he regretted the bitter words he had spoken to the Animagus. Hermione had heard all about it – sometimes she wondered whether it had been Snape's goading that had forced Sirius to the Department of Mysteries that fatal night ...
Somewhere near Snape, but far enough to remain in the darkness, there would be the bent frame of Hagrid, wandering, looking for Grawp or some other monstrous creature. For every person out there or in the castle, there was somebody, some presence nearby to offer a silent, unwitting comfort.
But inside this common room, Hermione was painfully aware that she was very much alone.
A sudden sound jerked her from her reverie. It was a rushing sound, and then a soft thud on the common room floor. Hermione blinked, startled, as she heard a groan. She was just about to stand up and turn around, when a familiar voice made her freeze:
"I'm going to kill that saint. Couldn't he have warned me it would be painful?"
Hermione gasped, and tremblingly, got to her feet. She turned around at the same time that the unexpected visitor turned around, and they stared at each other. Hermione felt the blood drain out of her face. How on earth was this humanly possible? It was downright ridiculous. It couldn't be – not –
"Sirius?"
"Hey, Hermione," the handsome thirty-four-year-old Animagus greeted, his voice a mixture of tentative greeting and cheerful abandon.
"You – you can speak!"
"Uh – " Sirius was unsure how to respond to this. Evidently, Hermione was not feeling quite all there in the head.
Hermione stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy. In front of her stood Sirius Black, attired in Muggle clothing that looked worse for wear. And he was standing in this very room. He didn't look like a man who has recently died, but more like a man who has been on a holiday to a spa! And he was standing in this room. With short hair, beard shaved off, slightly haggard but otherwise athletic look.
*And* he was standing here.
At last, Hermione understood the situation. Of course, it was glaringly obvious, wasn't it? She smiled tentatively at Sirius, rubbing her temples with the tips of the fingers. "I understand it all now," she said loudly, "I've gone mad."
Sirius personally agreed, but ventured not to say so. Instead, he spoke: "That's up to you, of course, but if you mean you believe you're going mad because you see me standing here in the Gryffindor common room, I can assure you, you aren't."
"I'm not seeing you?"
"No," he said, frustrated, "You're not going mad, because I *am* here."
"Hallucinations always say that," Hermione said loftily, eyeing Sirius with suspicion. Now that her initial shock had waned, she was angry that she should have such delusions, not to mention a stab of pain at seeing him. "Why on earth should I believe that you're a real – person – standing here?"
Sirius counted to ten, and then said, "Don't make me lose my temper, Hermione Granger!"
"But – but – you're dead!"
"I *know* that, thank you very much."
"But – " Hermione was baffled. "If you know that, how can you be here?"
"It's a very long story, and I see that I'm going to have to tell you all of it," sighed the wizard, rolling his eyes and sinking down into an armchair opposite her to explain the situation. "Being Muggle-born, you must have heard all about Heaven and Hell, and Hades/Satan and Cerberus and Saint Peter and Judas?"
If Hermione had thought she was losing her grasp on reality before, it had been nothing compared to how she felt now. She gaped incredulously at Sirius with quite unadulterated astonishment.
"Yes, I've heard all about them," she managed weakly, "Cerberus and Hades are the Greek versions of Satan and his minions. Judas betrayed Christ. Peter is said to manage the gates to heaven."
"Great," Sirius said, "Now that we've accomplished that, I can tell you that I met them. Well, not all of them, but I met Peter. He's not very impressive, but you have to admit, he's got a way about him, and certainly has some brains. That Cerberus fellow – heard him on the telly-fo – telephone – yeah, I didn't like him much. He whined."
"He's – uh – he's a dog."
"That explains it."
"Oh merciful heavens!" Hermione gasped, rubbing her head again, "I cannot doubt that I'm going mad. None of this could possibly be real. You," she pointed at Sirius angrily, "Are not a real apparition, but merely an unreal apparition."
Sirius held onto his patience with iron control. "How about if I prove it?"
"How will you do that?"
Good question. "All right, look," he said slowly, "I obviously can't prove it to you, because anything I tell you about yourself that only you can know, won't convince you because you'll think I got it straight from your mind because you think I'm from your mind. But I'm not. I'm really here."
"That's convincing."
"Listen to me!" He yelled. "I've been sent back. I died in that Veil on that night, Hermione, and I'm doomed to be sent to hell. But because of my good character – or some nonsense like that – the fates have decided to give me one chance at redemption. And that's why I'm here. To redeem myself."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but found that she couldn't find the words. Sirius, dead and returned from the grave to redeem himself? It sounded absurd, utterly wacky. Was she going mad or was he? No, wait. To ask whether he was the one going made would mean that she was admitting he was real, and that he was actually standing there. Oh, dear stars. Was Sirius actually *real*? Could this really be?
"Oh my God," she whispered, her intuition nagging at her, "S-Sirius? Oh, God ..." she sank weakly down into the nearest armchair, and continued to stare at him.
Sirius thanked his lucky stars that she was finally close to understanding. He looked at her, now really looking at her. She was startlingly pretty, but what caught his attention was the intense exhaustion and burden carried in her eyes. It was as if youth and life had been stripped from her, leaving behind a shell of hollow emptiness and feeling for others, but not for herself.
He moved closer to her and crouched down in front of the armchair, touching her hands with his. She stared, as if electrified. Apparently, he was solid to Hermione and inanimate objects, but not to anyone else.
"It's really me," he said softly, "They sent me back, Hermione."
"But – " she faltered, "– *why*?"
"I told you: I'm here to redeem myself. The only way I can save myself from hell is to complete a task here on earth. I'm still dead," he added gently, and said sadly, "And you're the only one who can see or hear or touch me."
"A task? I'm the only person?" Hermione managed feebly, feeling like she was sinking deeper into a pool of sticky molasses.
He nodded. "Hermione, there's no easy way to say this: you're in danger. Voldemort is after you. According to Peter, who we can assume is a know-it- all in all things on earth, Voldemort has formed an obsession for you. His main goal is still to destroy Harry, but right now, you're in more immediate danger. He doesn't want your brains or your power – he wants *you*. Do you understand that?"
She understood, but she didn't have a clue why Voldemort would be obsessed with her? Plain-Jane Hermione, attractive to the Dark Lord? She started rubbing her head again, unable to grasp this. It was a bit much to take in in one night – no, one hour – first Sirius appearing, Sirius being real but still dead, and now to hear that she was in danger because the Dark Lord was obsessed with her!
She was beginning to have a migraine.
"So your – your task is to – to – protect me?" she asked slowly.
"I knew you were smart," Sirius grinned, the old grin, "Yeah, Hermione, that's my job here. I'm here to watch over you – a sort of guardian angel, I suppose. If I can save you, I will be worthy of entering heaven."
"But – you can't be bad enough to warrant damnation!"
"I am a damned man, Hermione," he said gravely, "Surely you can understand. People who have seen the sorts of things I have, fought the kinds of wars I have – it scars their hearts, and black hearts take you one step closer to hell. The Dementors took a part of my soul out of me in Azkaban – a dark soul damns you surer than anything else. Besides that, Peter says I've got a bad reputation here on earth, and disregard for the way society views me is another mark against me. Then there's theft – "
"Where?"
"Hogsmeade, of course. Vandalism – Hogwarts grounds, other people's homes in my youthful days. Disregard for law and order – I'm well known for being a reckless marauder with no respect for authority. I think my respect for Dumbledore is probably my one saving grace, but that wasn't enough. And of course, there are impure thoughts." Sirius grinned. "Come on, he's a saint! Of course he counts impure thoughts as a sin. In normal people, that wouldn't count for so much, but I'm anything but normal, aren't I?"
Hermione groaned. "Oh, this is too much! I'm in danger because Voldemort wants me, you're here to protect me from that danger and only I can see or hear you – you're actually *here*! Oh, Sirius!"
Without warning, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Sirius nearly choked, but felt a flicker of forgotten warmth at the affection. He hadn't expected such a welcome. It was good to know she had missed him, that she had regarded – still looked at him – with similar affection to what he regarded her with. He hugged her back, and then gently disentangled himself from her.
"Now that I'm here," he said, smiling, "Maybe we can take some of those worries off your shoulders. Leave it all to me. Ghosts – or whatever I am – don't get tired easily."
"I wish Harry could see – "
"I know," he said, sobering up. "Listen, Hermione. Harry's heart is scarring. He doesn't have the essential purity you do – he's got a bit of James, a bit of me in him. If there's one thing you can do for me, it's to keep an eye on him, keep him from the edge. I don't want him damned when his time comes."
"I'll take care of him, Sirius."
"I believe that." Sirius moved back into the armchair and studied her like Harry had studied her just moments before Sirius had appeared. "You look drained of all energy. I think Peter sent me here for more than just to protect you from Voldemort."
"I'm fine."
"You've never been able to fool me with that, Hermione," he laughed wryly, "And you don't fool me now. I'm not Ron, to believe anything gullibly – he's an innocent, rare one indeed. I'm not Harry, who is too tormented by his own nightmares to look deeper than the surface. You're not fine."
"When you died – "
He understood. Wordlessly, he just looked at her, and managed to convey his appreciation for how much she cared about him, his compassion for how she had managed to cope, and his guilt for leaving her behind. His guilt for leaving Harry behind. His guilt for leaving Remus behind. Sirius realized now that if there were three people in the world who had really needed him, they were Harry, Remus and Hermione. And he had failed them by dying and leaving them behind.
Hermione felt her heavy lids droop, the compulsion keeping her awake now fading. She understood why she had awoken and come down here now. She didn't want to sleep; she was afraid that she would wake and find that it had all been a dream.
Sirius reached across and squeezed her hand. "I'll be here when you wake up," he promised, understanding her thoughts without even hearing them.
"G-Good," Hermione murmured sleepily, her word punctuated with a yawn. She curled up into the chair, tightening her grip on Sirius's hand, and allowed herself to fall asleep. And as she fell into dreams that were not haunted, she realized that, for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope for their future.
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TBC.
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A/N: Most of the reviews I've received have been positive, asking me to update and approving of the story! I actually like the idea, so I'm going to continue with it. Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you guys think of it. Please keep doing so!
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Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...
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Road to Redemption
Chapter Two: Dreams Reawaken
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Hermione Granger stumbled down the stairs from her dormitory. It was very late, closer to dawn than to midnight, but she had just been awoken from a restless sleep. She wasn't quite sure why she had woken, only that some compulsion had yanked her brutally from her not-so-sweet dreams. Stifling a yawn, she emerged into the empty Gryffindor common room. The fire was still blazing.
Over the summer, Hermione had grown up quite a bit. She was more closed about her feelings but more compassionate towards those of others, especially Harry's. He had had a hard summer. So had she, but that wasn't the point.
Physically, she had changed a lot as well. Her bushy hair was sleeker, silkier now. Fred and George had said she was more attractive now, but Hermione had shrugged the compliment off (coming from the twins, one could never be sure whether to take these things seriously). Either way, she wasn't very interested in how she looked. She had NEWTs to start worrying about, Harry to worry about, Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix to worry about, her own nightmares to worry about, Sirius's death to worry about (or to grieve about). Basically, Hermione worried. These days, it seemed to be second nature.
Now, she wandered slowly toward the armchairs by the fire and sank down into one. Pushing her tousled hair out of her eyes, she stared into the flames and tried not to think about anything at all. But of course, that was impossible. She resignedly let the thoughts flit through her head, one after another in a stream of endless memory, and tried not to cry. Then she heard a sound.
"Can't sleep, Harry?"
"How did you know it was me?" The green-eyed young wizard asked, rubbing his eyes as he put his glasses back on, and took an armchair close facing hers, also beside the fire. He looked tired.
Hermione smiled. "Women's intuition?" Her voice gentled slightly, and she studied Harry with a thoughtful expression. "You look terrible, Harry. If I didn't know better, I'd think you haven't eaten in days. Have you got a nasty case of insomnia or are Ron and Neville keeping you awake with their incessant snores?"
"Ron and Neville," Harry joked, laughing. It was typical of Hermione to pay attention to almost everything. Nothing escaped her notice. He felt better, just knowing that he wasn't alone. "So why are you here?"
"Something woke me up."
"Something – like a sound?"
"Oh no, nothing like that, Harry, so don't worry. I'm not sure what it was – some sort of odd feeling, I think, that stirred me from dreams. Not that I'm ungrateful. I wasn't dreaming about anything pleasant."
"Neither was I."
Hermione asked shrewdly, gently: "Sirius?"
"Of course, what else?"
She looked at Harry for a long moment. There were shadows in his green eyes, and she felt so very helpless. If only there was something she could do to allow him some happiness again. Oh, why had it been Sirius? If it had only been someone else ... if it had only been her instead. She would gladly exchange her life for his. So deep were her thoughts as she studied her best friend that she wasn't aware of his scrutiny, and Harry saw much more than Hermione would have guessed.
He saw the weariness and sadness in every line of her features, every glow of her eyes. He saw how much she worried about him, about everyone else, everything else. He realized that Sirius's death had taken much more from them – from him – that anyone could know. It had taken Hermione's youth.
"Oh, 'Mione – "
She was startled, but she smiled. "Harry, don't look at me like that. You couldn't have expected me to go on with my life as easily as I did before, could you? I adored Sirius, you know. I complained about his recklessness, but I admired the way he fought the blows life threw at him. He was someone special."
"Yes ... he was."
"It's hard to talk about him in the past tense, isn't it?" Hermione said softly. "It's impossible to believe he's actually gone. I mean – it was *Sirius*. He took life by the horns. He survived losing his best friends, he survived Azkaban."
"I know," Harry nodded, smiling slightly, "It just seems so bloody unfair that he wasn't able to survive the Veil. He went through all of that, for what? He lost everything all over again, and we lost him." A tear glistened in his eye, but he dashed it away angrily. "I swear to God, 'Mione, if I ever see Bellatrix Lestrange again – "
"You just worry about Voldemort, Harry. Leave Bellatrix to me."
"To do that – to another of her own blood – "
"Blood," Hermione said bitterly, "What does that matter in our world, Harry? Perhaps your Aunt Petunia's blood link to you protects you in Privet Drive, but beyond that, blood has no meaning. Sirius's entire family was dark. But look at what he was. He was a Gryffindor, and he was a good guy."
"Where do you think he is now?"
"I don't know ... I don't know at all."
Harry stood up. "Thanks for talking," he said quietly, reaching out to touch the top of Hermione's head, "I needed it. I think I'll go back to bed and attempt to brave Neville and Ron's snores. You should probably get some rest too. Goodnight."
"'Night, Harry," Hermione responded.
His footsteps drifted back up the stairs, until they faded away into the eerie silence of the night. Hermione remained in the chair, silent and still, listening to the whispers of her own thoughts, rustling like leaves in a gentle breeze. She thought about the dreams she had once had. She had dreamed of a future free of darkness, a future where they could live normal lives. Where Harry and Ron could become godfathers to her children, where she would be their kids' disapproving Aunt Hermione –
Dreams, dreams, so many dreams. Dreams of hope and tranquillity and escape from the nightmare that her world had become.
All her dreams had died with Sirius.
In just two short years, Sirius had become such an inextricable part of her life. If you had a problem, go to Sirius. If you needed someone to talk to or to trust, go to Sirius. Handsome, cynical, black-eyed Sirius with his ready bark of laughter and humour. Sirius with his humanity intact even after years of torture.
But Sirius was gone. They had laughed together about how he would one day carry her son on his back, how he would be a ceaseless annoyance to her because he would keep coming to her home – now a free, innocent man – and he would burst in unannounced just to wake her sleeping child up and tickle him or her. There had been so many things they had laughed about, so many futures they had all talked about, and to know that it was all lost to her – and to the others – forever ...
Yes, Hermione thought sadly, brushing tears away from her eyes. Their dreams and their hopes had died with Sirius.
She turned her head and looked out of the window, taking in the velvet sky with the stars in them ... Cannis Major with Sirius the Dog Star. She tore her gaze away from those stars bitterly, sadly, fighting back tears. She was furious, completely angry with herself for not being able to let go. But the anger covered up deep grief. It was so hard, so impossible to let go. Sirius had epitomized life to all of them. How could he be gone?
The moon was full over the Hogwarts grounds. Professor Lupin was probably having a bad night, Hermione thought sympathetically. A cricket rattled somewhere in the distance. Up in the boys' dormitory, Harry would be searching for sleep, Ron would be locked into his dreams. Somewhere else in the castle, Professor Dumbledore would be staring into his Pensieve.
Out in the grounds, Snape was probably walking. Hermione had noticed a slight change in him since Sirius's death. It was almost regret, as if he regretted the bitter words he had spoken to the Animagus. Hermione had heard all about it – sometimes she wondered whether it had been Snape's goading that had forced Sirius to the Department of Mysteries that fatal night ...
Somewhere near Snape, but far enough to remain in the darkness, there would be the bent frame of Hagrid, wandering, looking for Grawp or some other monstrous creature. For every person out there or in the castle, there was somebody, some presence nearby to offer a silent, unwitting comfort.
But inside this common room, Hermione was painfully aware that she was very much alone.
A sudden sound jerked her from her reverie. It was a rushing sound, and then a soft thud on the common room floor. Hermione blinked, startled, as she heard a groan. She was just about to stand up and turn around, when a familiar voice made her freeze:
"I'm going to kill that saint. Couldn't he have warned me it would be painful?"
Hermione gasped, and tremblingly, got to her feet. She turned around at the same time that the unexpected visitor turned around, and they stared at each other. Hermione felt the blood drain out of her face. How on earth was this humanly possible? It was downright ridiculous. It couldn't be – not –
"Sirius?"
"Hey, Hermione," the handsome thirty-four-year-old Animagus greeted, his voice a mixture of tentative greeting and cheerful abandon.
"You – you can speak!"
"Uh – " Sirius was unsure how to respond to this. Evidently, Hermione was not feeling quite all there in the head.
Hermione stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy. In front of her stood Sirius Black, attired in Muggle clothing that looked worse for wear. And he was standing in this very room. He didn't look like a man who has recently died, but more like a man who has been on a holiday to a spa! And he was standing in this room. With short hair, beard shaved off, slightly haggard but otherwise athletic look.
*And* he was standing here.
At last, Hermione understood the situation. Of course, it was glaringly obvious, wasn't it? She smiled tentatively at Sirius, rubbing her temples with the tips of the fingers. "I understand it all now," she said loudly, "I've gone mad."
Sirius personally agreed, but ventured not to say so. Instead, he spoke: "That's up to you, of course, but if you mean you believe you're going mad because you see me standing here in the Gryffindor common room, I can assure you, you aren't."
"I'm not seeing you?"
"No," he said, frustrated, "You're not going mad, because I *am* here."
"Hallucinations always say that," Hermione said loftily, eyeing Sirius with suspicion. Now that her initial shock had waned, she was angry that she should have such delusions, not to mention a stab of pain at seeing him. "Why on earth should I believe that you're a real – person – standing here?"
Sirius counted to ten, and then said, "Don't make me lose my temper, Hermione Granger!"
"But – but – you're dead!"
"I *know* that, thank you very much."
"But – " Hermione was baffled. "If you know that, how can you be here?"
"It's a very long story, and I see that I'm going to have to tell you all of it," sighed the wizard, rolling his eyes and sinking down into an armchair opposite her to explain the situation. "Being Muggle-born, you must have heard all about Heaven and Hell, and Hades/Satan and Cerberus and Saint Peter and Judas?"
If Hermione had thought she was losing her grasp on reality before, it had been nothing compared to how she felt now. She gaped incredulously at Sirius with quite unadulterated astonishment.
"Yes, I've heard all about them," she managed weakly, "Cerberus and Hades are the Greek versions of Satan and his minions. Judas betrayed Christ. Peter is said to manage the gates to heaven."
"Great," Sirius said, "Now that we've accomplished that, I can tell you that I met them. Well, not all of them, but I met Peter. He's not very impressive, but you have to admit, he's got a way about him, and certainly has some brains. That Cerberus fellow – heard him on the telly-fo – telephone – yeah, I didn't like him much. He whined."
"He's – uh – he's a dog."
"That explains it."
"Oh merciful heavens!" Hermione gasped, rubbing her head again, "I cannot doubt that I'm going mad. None of this could possibly be real. You," she pointed at Sirius angrily, "Are not a real apparition, but merely an unreal apparition."
Sirius held onto his patience with iron control. "How about if I prove it?"
"How will you do that?"
Good question. "All right, look," he said slowly, "I obviously can't prove it to you, because anything I tell you about yourself that only you can know, won't convince you because you'll think I got it straight from your mind because you think I'm from your mind. But I'm not. I'm really here."
"That's convincing."
"Listen to me!" He yelled. "I've been sent back. I died in that Veil on that night, Hermione, and I'm doomed to be sent to hell. But because of my good character – or some nonsense like that – the fates have decided to give me one chance at redemption. And that's why I'm here. To redeem myself."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but found that she couldn't find the words. Sirius, dead and returned from the grave to redeem himself? It sounded absurd, utterly wacky. Was she going mad or was he? No, wait. To ask whether he was the one going made would mean that she was admitting he was real, and that he was actually standing there. Oh, dear stars. Was Sirius actually *real*? Could this really be?
"Oh my God," she whispered, her intuition nagging at her, "S-Sirius? Oh, God ..." she sank weakly down into the nearest armchair, and continued to stare at him.
Sirius thanked his lucky stars that she was finally close to understanding. He looked at her, now really looking at her. She was startlingly pretty, but what caught his attention was the intense exhaustion and burden carried in her eyes. It was as if youth and life had been stripped from her, leaving behind a shell of hollow emptiness and feeling for others, but not for herself.
He moved closer to her and crouched down in front of the armchair, touching her hands with his. She stared, as if electrified. Apparently, he was solid to Hermione and inanimate objects, but not to anyone else.
"It's really me," he said softly, "They sent me back, Hermione."
"But – " she faltered, "– *why*?"
"I told you: I'm here to redeem myself. The only way I can save myself from hell is to complete a task here on earth. I'm still dead," he added gently, and said sadly, "And you're the only one who can see or hear or touch me."
"A task? I'm the only person?" Hermione managed feebly, feeling like she was sinking deeper into a pool of sticky molasses.
He nodded. "Hermione, there's no easy way to say this: you're in danger. Voldemort is after you. According to Peter, who we can assume is a know-it- all in all things on earth, Voldemort has formed an obsession for you. His main goal is still to destroy Harry, but right now, you're in more immediate danger. He doesn't want your brains or your power – he wants *you*. Do you understand that?"
She understood, but she didn't have a clue why Voldemort would be obsessed with her? Plain-Jane Hermione, attractive to the Dark Lord? She started rubbing her head again, unable to grasp this. It was a bit much to take in in one night – no, one hour – first Sirius appearing, Sirius being real but still dead, and now to hear that she was in danger because the Dark Lord was obsessed with her!
She was beginning to have a migraine.
"So your – your task is to – to – protect me?" she asked slowly.
"I knew you were smart," Sirius grinned, the old grin, "Yeah, Hermione, that's my job here. I'm here to watch over you – a sort of guardian angel, I suppose. If I can save you, I will be worthy of entering heaven."
"But – you can't be bad enough to warrant damnation!"
"I am a damned man, Hermione," he said gravely, "Surely you can understand. People who have seen the sorts of things I have, fought the kinds of wars I have – it scars their hearts, and black hearts take you one step closer to hell. The Dementors took a part of my soul out of me in Azkaban – a dark soul damns you surer than anything else. Besides that, Peter says I've got a bad reputation here on earth, and disregard for the way society views me is another mark against me. Then there's theft – "
"Where?"
"Hogsmeade, of course. Vandalism – Hogwarts grounds, other people's homes in my youthful days. Disregard for law and order – I'm well known for being a reckless marauder with no respect for authority. I think my respect for Dumbledore is probably my one saving grace, but that wasn't enough. And of course, there are impure thoughts." Sirius grinned. "Come on, he's a saint! Of course he counts impure thoughts as a sin. In normal people, that wouldn't count for so much, but I'm anything but normal, aren't I?"
Hermione groaned. "Oh, this is too much! I'm in danger because Voldemort wants me, you're here to protect me from that danger and only I can see or hear you – you're actually *here*! Oh, Sirius!"
Without warning, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Sirius nearly choked, but felt a flicker of forgotten warmth at the affection. He hadn't expected such a welcome. It was good to know she had missed him, that she had regarded – still looked at him – with similar affection to what he regarded her with. He hugged her back, and then gently disentangled himself from her.
"Now that I'm here," he said, smiling, "Maybe we can take some of those worries off your shoulders. Leave it all to me. Ghosts – or whatever I am – don't get tired easily."
"I wish Harry could see – "
"I know," he said, sobering up. "Listen, Hermione. Harry's heart is scarring. He doesn't have the essential purity you do – he's got a bit of James, a bit of me in him. If there's one thing you can do for me, it's to keep an eye on him, keep him from the edge. I don't want him damned when his time comes."
"I'll take care of him, Sirius."
"I believe that." Sirius moved back into the armchair and studied her like Harry had studied her just moments before Sirius had appeared. "You look drained of all energy. I think Peter sent me here for more than just to protect you from Voldemort."
"I'm fine."
"You've never been able to fool me with that, Hermione," he laughed wryly, "And you don't fool me now. I'm not Ron, to believe anything gullibly – he's an innocent, rare one indeed. I'm not Harry, who is too tormented by his own nightmares to look deeper than the surface. You're not fine."
"When you died – "
He understood. Wordlessly, he just looked at her, and managed to convey his appreciation for how much she cared about him, his compassion for how she had managed to cope, and his guilt for leaving her behind. His guilt for leaving Harry behind. His guilt for leaving Remus behind. Sirius realized now that if there were three people in the world who had really needed him, they were Harry, Remus and Hermione. And he had failed them by dying and leaving them behind.
Hermione felt her heavy lids droop, the compulsion keeping her awake now fading. She understood why she had awoken and come down here now. She didn't want to sleep; she was afraid that she would wake and find that it had all been a dream.
Sirius reached across and squeezed her hand. "I'll be here when you wake up," he promised, understanding her thoughts without even hearing them.
"G-Good," Hermione murmured sleepily, her word punctuated with a yawn. She curled up into the chair, tightening her grip on Sirius's hand, and allowed herself to fall asleep. And as she fell into dreams that were not haunted, she realized that, for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope for their future.
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TBC.
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A/N: Most of the reviews I've received have been positive, asking me to update and approving of the story! I actually like the idea, so I'm going to continue with it. Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you guys think of it. Please keep doing so!
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