At dinner, Sirius and Hermione came face-to-face for the third time that day.
Sirius had been scavenging for food of the edible sort in Hermione's kitchen for about five minutes when Hermione entered.
She stopped in the doorway. He was half-buried in the pantry, and had not noticed her there yet. She thought about turning around and walking out, and was about to do so when she realized she had no rational reason to. She gulped and held her ground.
Sirius turned around, holding a piece of bread in his mouth like a dog would hold a newspaper. He smiled at her through the bread, and she snorted, with a little smile.
"'Ow you ooing, 'Ermione?" He asked, speech slightly hindered. Hermione laughed.
"I'm alright. How have you been holding up?"
He began to reply, but then, seeming to think better of it, set down the box he had been holding in one hand back onto its shelf, and replaced it with the piece of bread, freeing his mouth. "Alright. There really isn't much food."
Hermione looked over at the counter by the bread box, where a bag was still lying out. "There are two pieces in there, why don't you eat those?" Hermione asked. She was a little surprised that he had single-handedly managed to eat practically all of her bread during the course of one day.
"I don't like the heel." Sirius said, jumping up slightly to sit on top of the counter across the kitchen.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Just like Ron. She thought irritably, on her way over to the bread to get herself some. She paused, grimacing a little at her thought. Her heart suddenly felt very heavy, and a wave of animosity towards Sirius practically bowled her over.
She swallowed it, however, and put on a smile, for Sirius was observing her with a curious expression on his face. She continued walking to the counter, and picked up the bag. Setting herself down at the table, she began tearing passively at one piece of bread, popping the pieces into her mouth slowly.
"We should go get more food before long." Sirius said, having finished his piece and begun looking around with a thin smile on his face, and Hermione choked on the piece of bread she had been eating. Had he just said 'we'? How long was he planning on staying with her?
Not that you'd mind if he stayed. A voice inside Hermione hit her with the force of a speeding train, and a guilty look floated across her face.
Misinterpreting this, Sirius said, "No, it's alright, I've been eating well enough. I just think… well, besides that loaf, there really wasn't anything…."
"No, I do think we should get more food." Hermione agreed quietly.
"Good!" Sirius said, jumping off the counter and onto his feet. "Let's go."
Hermione shot him an incredulous look. "Now?"
Sirius just smiled back, and bobbed his head. "Yes, now, when did you think?"
"Well, maybe tomorrow morning or something…."
"Why? I haven't had a proper dinner, and you're too skinny just to eat two wimpy heels of bread for supper. We can still grab something and take it back. I can cook something for you, if you'd like."
Hermione just let her jaw fall open slightly.
"Oh, come on, Hermione, don't be a spoilsport." Sirius said, opening his eyes. Now that she noticed, he really did have more puppy-like qualities than was conventional in the slightest. She almost smiled.
"But… don't you think it's a little… late?" She finished lamely.
"Late? For a Marauder and a member of the Wonder Trio?" He gave a swoon-worthy, reckless grin. "Nothing's late for us, Hermione."
Hearing none of her protests, he tucked his arm into hers, and barely gave her enough time to grab her purse before dragging her out the door.
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They were talking and walking along the path, and Hermione had just begun to walk instead of be dragged, but Sirius had not let her arm fall from his. It was quite comfortable, Hermione thought, being escorted by Sirius. She allowed her mind to wander—within limits—as the two chatted amiably about the town Hermione lived in, and the stores and restaurants there.
Suddenly, however, just when they were in sight of the small village below, Sirius stopped, raising his head as if sniffing the air. His eyes were wide.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, stopping in the middle of her sentence. "What's the matter?"
Sirius was silent for a moment, then said hesitantly, "The people… won't remember me, will they?"
Hermione blinked very, very slowly, and then realized what he meant. "No, I don't think so. It's been over a decade since you were on their news, remember? Besides, this isn't a town prone to gossip."
Sirius did not look remarkably reassured. Hermione patted his arm, smiling warmly.
"You'll be safe. I swear." Hermione said soothingly.
He gave her a weak smile, sliding his touch on her elbow to her hand, until their hands were in the holding vicinity. "Swear?"
Hermione grinned back, allowing Sirius to interlace their fingers. "Swear." She said assuredly.
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The bell on the door tinkled merrily as Sirius and Hermione stepped through, still holding hands, and Hermione was loathe to let go, but Sirius was looking anxiously over at the meat section of the store, so she let him go off, telling him not to choose anything too expensive.
He grinned recklessly. "I'll pay you back somehow; maybe I can get into my Gringotts account—"
"Shh." Hermione politely cut him off with a reminding smile, as the cashier had begun to look them over curiously, and waved Sirius away, hooking a shopping basket on her newly freed arm.
Hermione took a leisurely stroll down the canned food aisle without grabbing anything, and then down the pasta aisle. She stopped silently by the spaghetti and grinned a little. She had not eaten that particular meal in a long, long time. She sighed to remember that the last time had been with Ron and Harry, and wondered if she had been avoiding eating it all this time.
Ridiculous. You haven't—
"Hey, Hermione."
Hermione gasped and jumped, empty basket clattering to the floor, turning around and had already plunged her hand instinctually into her wand pocket before she realized it was Sirius, standing back a little and raising both eyebrows at her in surprise.
"I'm sorry." He said slowly.
"No, no, it's my fault." She said, shaking severely. "I've been jumpy for years."
He just gave her a warm smile that would have stilled her pounding heart, except that it sped it up reasonably for some reason Hermione preferred to ignore. Sirius began looking around the aisles.
"Pasta, eh?" He asked, with another smile, this one secretive. "I'm quite well-known for my pasta, you know."
"I can only imagine." Hermione said, allowing herself a smile.
"Is that what you want for dinner?" Sirius asked, not looking at her; he walked over to the shelf and picked up a bag of spaghetti, balancing it easily on one finger.
"Er…" she said, and her voice trailed off. Is that what she wanted? She was unsure if she wanted to break the long spaghetti-less string or not; stupid though it seemed, it was almost like something sacred for her, like saving herself for Ron.
She shrugged with a halfhearted smile when Sirius shot her a questioning glance. "What else can you cook?"
Sirius just smiled. "Well… all kinds of pasta." She could tell he was not going to drop the idea, and sighed a little.
What was the point in holding out? She was just being stupid.
"Pasta it is, then." Hermione said with a smile.
Sirius's face lit up considerably, and he threw a bag of the long, thin noodles into the basket.
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The blond man fell back onto his bed. He had never felt older than he had today, walking around the Ministry of Magic with all their new, fresh-from-Hogwarts employees. He sat upright and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was not yet fifty, but he felt that and more in the ache in his sides and his head. He placed a hand at his temple.
"I will find him." He muttered to the room at large, letting a sigh escape his tired lips. "I can and will find him."
The man had been obsessed with this notion for so long, he had no idea what drove him anymore. He needed to feel closure; he always had in his life. It made him feel useless how desperately far away his goal seemed from where he was at the moment. Wormtail being in his servitude made little to no difference… the man was so very inept at everything, except being particularly nasty.
After running his hands restlessly through his hair—which looked almost brown in the dim lighting—he lay back on his bed, kicking off his shoes.
He went to sleep and dreamed of the wonderful life he used to have… all torn from him in one terrible moment. The man could not remember the life, really, only snatches from it, or the feeling he had while living it. He supposed he had taken things for granted. In his pre-deep sleep, he scratched a little at a scar on his forearm, and memories of a troublesome black-haired boy rushed back before he slipped away completely.
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