2. Memento Mori
"Harry," - the sound traversed the space between them, obeying some other law, for a moment ago he was standing beside her, but now the future Auror was pacing right behind her in nervous circles, continuing to ignore her request. - "Harry! Please, this is important..."
"Yes, all right. Go on," - sighed the visibly grown-up friend after the war.
Hermione moved forward, drawing runes in the central square of the amphitheater, where once upon a time benches diverged to the sides and perhaps the most unseen magical rituals were performed. But now. Now the air here was saturated with despair, reverberating with death and pain long closed somewhere in the depths of their minds. The archway was still draped in a thin, translucent material, like a billowing haze, from which came a barely perceptible whisper, now audible not only to Harry Potter, but to almost everyone in this room of the Ministry. Death Chamber.
"Memento mori," - the runes on the stone floor that Hermione had been working so hard on for the past month read. How she'd managed to combine her studies at Hogwarts with her internship at the Department of Mysteries was a mystery, even to her. But today was the last day and night before Samhain, and she couldn't miss the moment, and Harry could help with access to the secret writings with just his smile and a brief conversation with the library guards.
"Okay, well, I think we're all set," - the girl took a step back, revealing pale runes in front of her, similar to those depicted around the edges of the Arch.
"Are you sure? Will it work?" - Harry asked her with frowning eyebrows and a face that clearly expressed disbelief in her research methods.
Hermione smiled before continuing:
"The main focus of the manuscripts is the Death Chamber and the process of finding between the World of the Living and the World of the Dead. It is a portal of sorts, connecting the two. It is believed that he who steps through the veil is trapped, but there are several ways to return to the World of the Living," - the girl chided for the second time that day, convincing not only her friends but herself of her theory.
"Hermione, I still don't think that ghost was anything special. Look, the Aurors can figure it out on their own, and we don't need to get into trouble again. I've already had my first warning, and now this..." - Ron rose from his seat across from them, pointing to the door. - "You know, maybe we should just go home and have one or two pumpkin juices and cut off Mom's pie and forget about this weird event in London that has nothing to do with us". - Ron was as verbose as ever, showing that he didn't want to be here.
"Forget it? Does Muggle death mean nothing to you, Ron? I'm sorry I was on that mission with Harry a month ago. And it clearly wasn't a magical outburst, the girls had nothing to do with it. Something happened there. Something the Ministry doesn't want to deal with," - she went on, tracing the runes over the writing with a sharp wave of her hand. Her trembling hand touched Harry's.
"It's okay. I believe you. Let's just get this over with. I still feel bad that we're so close to this place. To a place where..."
"I know, Harry,» - she raised a little to look him in the eye. - "That's not why we're here. It's already attracted a lot of media attention, and we'd only be in the way," - she sighed deeply, as if she were going back a few months in her mind. - "That outburst of magic clearly wasn't the first incident that's been mysteriously kept from the press and from us. I showed you the paperwork. It's recurring. And it repeats at regular intervals, like in a circle. Same intervals. The same house. Again, two little girls hearing knocks, strange movements, voices. And those murders, God... Have you ever seen that? It's been two months, and the Aurors haven't moved on. And by murders, I mean five dead Muggles".
"It's weird, I agree. That's why I'm here. That's why Ron's here, even though he won't admit it. We can't have another adventure, can we?" - Harry tried to put some cheer into his words, but clearly he wasn't succeeding.
"The night of Samhain is the most powerful night for rituals. What I found in the 1977 Prophet means that the spirits have returned. But according to the records of Millennium Magic, this is only possible if they were in some sort of suspended state. Not necessarily dead, but also unable to return to the world of the living. They needed the help of a wizard who clearly had the knowledge of how to bring souls back and go through a series of... complications".
"What kind of complications?" - asked Harry, who still had no idea what Hermione had concluded.
"There's a difficulty crossing the line to draw or lock a soul in the Arch of Death,» - Hermione hugged herself by the shoulders, exhaling icy steam into the void.
"And you figured out how to solve it, of course?" - Ron nudged her to continue the conversation.
"Yeah. I mean, not really. Anyway, the reason we're here is no accident. The Death Arches activate at regular intervals. The spirits in that house appear at regular intervals, and it all started, if I understand correctly, in 1977. That's where we need to seal the vortex."
"Seal it up?" - Harry sighed again, ruffling his dark hair. - "What does sealing mean?"
"One of us will go to the Arch, close the gap and come back. No, no, it's perfectly safe. I've already done some experiments and calculated the likelihood of someone getting stuck between worlds. And, yes, I didn't tell you before because you would have said no. But I can't wait any longer. We won't be able to get back to this until a year from now," - she continued laying out the ingredients for the potion in front of her, her hands still shaking.
"Hermione..."
"No, Harry. Listen to me. We can shut it down. They've just always been afraid to touch something so uncharted. Afraid to even get close to these Arches that are all over the Earth. Though years ago they studied their runes and state, even sent people there, can you imagine?" - She held her breath while her friends listened intently to her.
Harry nodded to her with tired eyes. Ron looked at them with confusion, but proceeded to cut through the slices of snack beans in front of him.
"So, who's going?" - Ron asked, rather as a matter of propriety, though he knew the answer himself.
"You don't know half the spells I've learned over the months. That would be me. No discussion. I need you to bring me back," - Hermione seemed quite determined for such a spontaneous decision. She still didn't understand where this was going to go, but the precautions were ironclad. At least that's what she'd convinced herself.
Hermione couldn't send Harry there, because he was just starting to get his life together after so many years of denying himself, fighting for the entire Magical world, but not for his own personal happiness. He had Ginny. A new family. A new job. He was happy, he looked happy.
Ron. He'd found his calling a long time ago, helping his brother at All Sorts of Magical Damage, and spending his evenings at the bar discussing Quidditch. He'd sort of gotten a girlfriend, and he'd recovered from their breakup, which, by the way, had been the right thing to do in her life.
What about her? Hermione continued her studies at Hogwarts, combining it with her research, because she already knew the school course by heart and returned only for McGonagall and a check mark on a paper. She felt as if there was something or someone missing all the time. Her parents never got her memory back, attempts to regain it she had lost back that summer. The girl rented a small room on the outskirts of London, she was predicted a great future, a career as a Minister, but she still didn't know what she wanted to do.
Now Hermione wanted to do what she was sure she was going to do. And she wasn't doing it for herself, but for the two little girls who kept appearing to her in her dreams. She was willing to take the risk, they weren't. Hermione would never risk them, all things considered, and they just didn't know everything she'd managed to find.
That was her advantage now. But for how long?
The candles around the perimeter of the runes lit up, giving off a cold glow and sending shivers all over her body. Hermione stood right in front of the Arch, facing her death. She gave them a fifteen minute lecture on exactly how to complete the ritual and what to do in case of an emergency. Hermione took one more look at the guys who would trust her with their lives and began whispering a spell to herself.
"Did you hear that?" - Ron turned excitedly toward the same door.
"Looks like we've got company," - Harry rose from his seat and began to draw a rune to seal the entrance and buy time. Rumble. Several aurors attempted to infiltrate the Death Room, clearly forcing the guys to go to plan B or even C. Hermione continued to say the words quietly, opening her eyes and looking clearly ahead, seeing the outlines of familiar faces. Faces that she knew she recognized, but couldn't name who was in front of her. Faces that were clearly disturbed and saying something to her, but Hermione couldn't hear a single sound, drowning them out with her whispers. Faces that were clearly unhappy with her choices.
«Bombardment" - and the splitting sounds of apparatus cutting through the air were heard from the other side, a red spell beam was clearly flying directly in her direction and she would have had time to notice it if not for her eyes fixated on the other blue eyes. If it hadn't been for Harry, who had spit on the plan, abandoning his post and casting another spell in her direction. If it hadn't been for her, stepping forward just as the beam split the curls of her dark hair. Hermione was pulled right into the Arch - and that wasn't their plan.
Hermione.
A genius like Dumbledore cannot be fooled by a silly trick like an aging potion.
That's the beauty of it.
Her head was splitting, and her eyes were still unfocused, as if trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel so often told about in books. But she couldn't see anything now.
Hermione. Come on, Hermione.
You've come forward twice without permission, Miss Granger. Can't you contain yourself? Or do you pride yourself on being an insufferable know-it-all?
She reached forward, trying to reach for such familiar voices that enveloped her, tossing her from side to side.
Hermione. Hermione, can you hear me? Follow my voice, Hermione.
Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and especially those who live without love.
A transparent yet warm haze touched her arm, and her eyes felt as if they were signaling her brain to open, presenting such a vivid picture before her that she had to squeeze it shut again. Hermione still couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet, being suspended somewhere. She still couldn't feel her hands. But someone's hand touched her right at her heart, continuing to speak:
Hermione. Those who love us are always with us, you can find them right here!
Sirius? Yes, it was Sirius. She could finally make out someone's voice and tried again to open her eyes, seeing a visibly rejuvenated Godfather Harry in front of her. How had she found him here? Was his soul still between worlds? Was it between worlds? Where was it?
"Sirius?" - Her voice sounded a little hoarse, and there were tears in her eyes.
She could make out the distinct outline of his figure. Sirius Black. Alive. And so... different. Dark, slightly long hair framed his face, in stark contrast to his alabaster skin. The curls were as wild as if she'd seen him again on the battlefield, his lips folded into a strange smirk, and he coughed. "Incredibly handsome," she thought then, still unaware of anything around her, just staring into his blue, interested and troubled eyes.
Hands. She was still holding his hands, Hermione realized, and pulled back sharply, wobbling and losing control of her body, regaining her former position after a firm hand moved her into place. Her body tensed as she waited for his reaction, the girl immediately thought of her wand, which was always at the ready and in the special pocket of her jacket. She was wearing her jacket. Hermione gradually began to regain not only her eyesight, but her other senses as well, and then she looked slightly into the distance, noticing that she was in a room. In Gryffindor Tower, to be exact.
What's going on here? Is she asleep? Did she die and see a young Sirius Black in her last dream?
"How do you know my name?" - Still carefully holding her elbow, Sirius asked. Or did he not? She didn't understand anything. Hermione tried to lift up sharply to finally feel the ground beneath her feet, but lifting her head, her eyes met with... Harry? No. Someone else, very similar to Harry, and next to him were two other guys familiar to her mind. A sharp turn to the left, and a crowd of uniformed students piled into the living room, pointing directly at her. What. Here. Happening.
Her gaze once again lost focus and orientation as to who exactly she was looking at, Hermione felt the light touch of a hand at waist level and closed her eyes.
"Fuck, get her to the Hospital Wing," - was the last thing that came to her already visibly tired mind before it finally sealed everything around her.
A moment later, or so she thought, the enchantress had already opened her eyes, her head still throbbing, and daylight was already streaming through the curtains to her right. What had happened? Where is she? Was she alive?
The familiar smell of mint and green tea, mixed with something pleasantly sweet, hovered around her. It was the way she remembered the Hospital Wing smelling the last time she'd been there, helping Madam Pomfrey with preparations for the new school year and giving her some Muggle herbs, just to erase that smell of death hovering around her.
It took her a month to stop flinching at every rustle. A couple more weeks to stop seeing the bodies of long dead friends and members of the Order in front of her. A week to realize that she would never hear her parents' voices again, never feel the warmth of the embrace that had gripped her body so tightly when she was a child. And that smell, the smell of peppermint, reminded her of home. No wonder she'd spent so much time at Hogwarts in the Hospital Wing, where she'd sealed it herself.
Hermione raised herself up on her elbows, pulling the white cotton a little higher and concentrating all her energies on the simple act of looking around. It was a wing, she wasn't wrong, but something was different here. These weren't at all like the curtains she'd recently smoothed out with her new household charms. The arrangement of the beds here was different. And there wasn't that heavy atmosphere that sometimes broke through the notes of mint. Peppermint. Hermione reached for the nightstand where there was a mug of tea, clearly brewed by Pomfrey, and took a sip. Another. It wasn't Pomfrey's. She'd never brewed tea like this, or Hermione's sanity was playing another guessing game with her.
It was quiet. There were no sounds here, no students' footsteps behind the large wooden door, no professors' voices arguing around the corner. Only the dimly lit room, the faint light of the rising sun pointing toward the bed next to it. That's when she spotted him - the guy who lay across from her, wrapped up almost in a ball. His wand was in one hand, the other resting carelessly on the pillow beside the dark locks of hair she was already familiar with. Him again? Sirius? Or someone who looked like him.
Hermione tried to reconstruct the events of last night, appealing to the memory that stretched so far. Far? That's where she was now from Harry and Ron. What had happened in the Arch? So she was dead after all. Dead and in Hogwarts from young Black's time, so she was familiar with the eyes of Potter, who was clearly James and two other guys, one of whom vaguely reminded her of the former professor. Well, Hermione, you clearly should have read The Prophet less, because your mind interprets the events of the past perfectly, recreating a picture so realistic that any child would envy. More. She needs more information.
She reached for the memory again, which was slipping away from her at an incredible speed, as if forbidding her to invade her own mind. Ritual. White chalk right in the middle of Gryffindor's Drawing Room. Chalice. The cut up beans around it. It reminded her of something, only it was clearly not happening in this room, but in the Ministry. In the Ministry, where she had thrown Harry and Ron into the clutches of the obviously disgruntled Aurors, who had done ... what? Someone had thrown a spell at her, and not a harmless one. Was it the Aurors? Think back, think back. There's something else missing.
"Are you awake?" - The safe silence was broken by a hard male voice that reduced the space between them to a few centimeters, because he was no longer across from her, but right in front of her face.
Hermione put her hands out in front of her as if to hint that it was time to step back and no longer look at her like she was some alien in his world. The boy clearly didn't take her hint.
"Would you... back off?" - she tried to speak politely, surprised again at her voice, which trembled treacherously.
"I was just checking your temperature, beautiful," - his hand touched her forehead, pushing back the bunched locks of hair slightly, and his appraising gaze burned into her pupils. She still couldn't move normally, as if paralyzed by his actions.
"Look, I don't know who you are... But I'll get Madam Pomfrey, and she obviously won't approve of you being in the Hospital Wing with a girl in the same bed, will she?" - Since they're playing Hogwarts students, she'll stick to that role.
"Who? Pomfrey? Well, then I'll call Professor McGonagall, and she'll write you a fine for using some kind of hardware spell overnight that's clearly forbidden inside the school. What kind of secret? There was a door, wasn't there? Did Peeves tell you that?" - He was still holding his hand on her shoulder, where she'd been lying after she'd taken her temperature.
"McGonagall? Is she here? Can you get her?" - Hermione decided to use all her charms and composure not to slap her hand over his head, but to politely ask him to leave the room. She needed to think. And remember what the hell had happened.
"Do you think loudly, you've been told?" - The Muggle-skinned Gryffindor finally seemed to take her hint and rose from the bed, reaching up with his long arms. - "You're safe here. I've already arranged with the professor to be allowed to stay here... overnight, though I had to shake out a stash of one interesting potion from Remus, never mind. I'll get Dumbledore and you stay here, okay? It's been a long time since I've carried a girl in my arms," he was about to walk out, but he turned around at the last phrase and winked at her, slamming the door behind him."
Safe. The Hospital Wing was hardly a safe place, given the circumstances after which she had been brought here again and again. Albus Dumbledore. Was he talking about Dumbledore? Her Headmaster, who was... dead? As dead as she was. Had to be dead.
Although Arca's properties are not thoroughly understood, she clearly didn't expect to fall into such a realistic dream or dream state, perhaps a borderline between life and death. She needs to get to the library. Urgently. There's a library here, isn't there? Could she even move around the Castle?
The door opened again, no sooner had Hermione counted in her mind all the books she knew about the subject that could potentially be at Hogwarts, than the tall, elegantly dressed Professor Dumbledore appeared, with those familiar glasses on his face, but such an unfamiliar expression to her. What in Merlin's name was her subconscious tucking her in?
"Professor Dumbledore," - Hermione decided to start first, testing her theory that those voices were in her head as well. Now she tried to imagine the phrase the Headmaster would give her to her question, obviously pointing out her illness.
"Do you know who I am, Miss... ?" - he asked kindly, studying her with bright blue eyes with caution rather than interest.
Hermione stared at him in shock.
"You don't know who I am?" - she whispered. He didn't recognize her? But why?
"I'm afraid we haven't met yet, miss," - the professor continued steadily.
Hermione closed her eyes, counted to ten, exhaled, blinked, and returned her gaze to Dumbledore, clearly rejuvenated and continuing to study her. Not knowing how to continue their conversation, she decided on the simplest and most logical question:
"What year is it, sir?" - he smiled at her, showing his whole appearance of continuing. But what was there to go on about? - I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Granger. It's 1977. You're at Hogwarts. I'm the headmaster. Yesterday you found yourself in the Gryffindor drawing room under, ahem, strange circumstances, if Mr. Potter's words are to be believed, you appeared from the other side of the world. And, of course, you're a ghost," - Albus said, clearly amused by his students' theories.
"I don't understand," - she said quietly, more to herself than to the professor's ears.
"I have to say that I'm curious to hear your side of the story, because it's not easy to get into Hogwarts. But given that you're clearly a wizard and clearly familiar with me, it's not going to be an easy story". He was about to leave, but Hermione stopped him with a single phrase.
" I'm from the future," - the words flew out so fast that she didn't have time to think through all the possible ramifications. - I don't know how I got here, and I still think I'm dreaming, but I'm definitely not from 1977. I wasn't even born yet."
The professor threw a spell at the door, which slammed shut with a rumble, and the curtains behind Hermione sharply closed, blocking out all the sunlight.
"How much?" - He asked a simple question, but the girl knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Twenty-one years. I jumped back twenty-one years," - she was beginning to realize the possible consequences of revealing her secret herself. But she needed an ally, and there was no one better than Dumbledore to suggest that. - "It wasn't a flywheel," - she decided to clarify.
"Well, that's interesting. And how did you end up here, Miss Granger?" - Dumbledore was clearly intrigued and even concerned. Hermione had already mentally scrolled through all the memories and knowledge available to her about 1977, about Voldemort, about the first impending war, about a fairly peaceful time, for now. A shiver ran down her spine, causing a spasm of nausea as she remembered exactly how she had ended up in that time.
"It was the Arch, sir. I stepped into the Arch of Death," - she said confidently.
"But that's impossible, Miss Granger. You do understand, don't you? I'm guessing you're about 18 years old, which means you've already finished school and know all the laws of time travel. Especially using such ancient artefacts as the Arch of Death. And who let the students into the closed secret room of the Ministry, - well, clearly not the violent and indignant reaction she had expected from the headmaster. Dumbledore continued. - If everything you say is true, then I daresay Mr. Potter was right after all..."
The pause lingered too long. It was as if she could physically feel the pieces of the puzzle adding up in her head at this time as well.
A borderline state between life and death.
Way to draw the soul out.
Samhain night.
Ritual.
Runes in the living room.
"It was Black, wasn't it? Mr. Black was the one who pulled your soul? He's your anchor," - they both tacitly came to the same conclusion, comparing all the facts they knew about moving souls. - "Your bond must have been strong enough for such a young wizard to draw your soul back from its borderline state. To draw it out at a certain point. You're in luck, Miss Granger."
"I know," - she said quietly, wringing her hands and knuckles, remembering the eyes she'd seen through the haze of the Arch. Sirius was always there, how could she not recognize him? She bit her lip restlessly, contemplating how her appearance here might affect events in the future. Could she change the past? Was she dead in her time? Would she be able to go back the same way?
"Oh," - said the headmaster, surprised, coming to some sort of conclusion. - "I have an acquaintance in the Ministry, we'll get in touch with him. In the meantime, settle in at Hogwarts. We can't have you lying around here with nothing to do. Besides, Mr. Black is already guarding you outside the door," - Dumbledore glanced at her strangely, as if reasoning with himself again, and held out his hand to her. - "You need to get up, Hermione. You are safe. You are alive. And you have no influence over events. That's all you need to know for now."
"But, what about...?" - Before she could finish her question, Dumbledore interrupted her with an answer.
"There are two possibilities, Miss Granger. Either you've always been in this time and appeared on this day, then vanished without a trace. Or... am I looking at a ghost? And I'm still sane. "
"Can I go straight to the library, Professor?" - Hermione was already shifting from foot to foot, feeling the hard floor beneath her feet. As if she hadn't been on her heels in ages.
Dumbledore merely nodded at her, telling her in closing that she needed to visit the Great Hall and have lunch first, since she had already spent half the day in the Hospital Wing.
She's a ghost? Bullshit. Ghosts couldn't feel other people's touch, couldn't smell, and certainly their hands couldn't touch the door and open it.
Always been in this time? Even more unrealistic version of events, because she would have remembered it. Wouldn't she? Hermione took a full breath and closed the door carefully behind her, turning abruptly on her heels and ducking into someone's shoulder.
"Ouch!" - she shouted in surprise, grabbing the spot of the blow and looking up.
A very interesting picture appeared before her. One guy, the taller one, who still reminded her of Professor Lupin, was holding the one that reminded her of Harry with his left hand. His other hand, or rather his elbow, went straight into the stomach of the lowest one in their company. He gripped the bruised spot as if in a fit of laughter rather than pain, but his face expressed no emotion. James? That was what the professor had called him, body almost falling on Sirius, and his hand had just about grazed Hermione's. Sirius. What about him? He threw his head up, pushing the curl away from his face in the process, holding the cigarette in his lips with the fingers of his right hand and watching the little fight from the side, leaning against the doorjamb. So that fourth man was Peter. So the legendary Marauders were in front of her?
"Hello, oh terrible ghost of Samhain," - James chanted rather cheerfully, who still reminded her of Harry in some way that made her itch somewhere in her chest.
"Prongs, shut up," - Sirius said sharply, taking his hand slowly away from the door, scrolling the already extinguished cigarette in his other hand. He was still standing back.
"I'm Remus, Remus Lupin," - the professor, a, stop, student extended her hand kindly, but it didn't reach its destination.
"Slow down, slow down, I'm not ready to accept that reality where her hand won't go through yours now. You do realize how upset our Padfoot will be, don't you?" - James intercepted Remus' hand, casting a wicked glance in Sirius' direction. There seemed to be something going on between the two of them.
"Fuck, James. I told you to shut up. Not now," - Black kept looking away, not even paying attention to her. He nodded briefly to Peter, who knew with half a glance that it was time to go. Pettigrew moved toward the exit of this wing, followed by Sirius. James shrugged, as if apologizing to Hermione, and caught up with the rapidly retreating group as well.
"Don't take it personally. They were having an early morning girl fight. No one's won yet, so it'll last until tonight or so, until Quidditch practice starts," - Remus pointed her way out, nudging her forward slightly, touching her forearm. - "So, what's your name?"
"Hermione," - she said confidently, still surprised. This was not how she had planned to start her day. Her plans, however, were turning out to be a complete disaster lately.
"Dumbledore told us to walk you to the Great Hall, so I'll show you the way,» - Remus said quickly, as if explaining himself to her. - "You don't mind, do you?" - he looked at her strangely, putting some strange undertones into words that Hermione hadn't yet grasped. Maybe Lupin thought she was wary of him? Because of his condition? Did the other students at Hogwarts know that he was a werewolf? Was he being so... careful and delicate with everyone?
Her head was just exploding with questions. Her temples were still heavy, her eyes still adjusting to the new reality that seemed more... warm? Warmer than the familiar Hogwarts that Hermione had last seen. He seemed to ask her something.
"No, no," - she mouthed. - "Show me the way. I'm sorry, I'm not used to this kind of attention".
"I've been avoiding him, too," - Remus told her for some reason, probably without expecting it. There was something about him that was keeping her thoughts occupied.
"What about Sirius?" - It felt so strange to say his name, in a completely different context and in a completely different time.
"James caused a scandal because he thought Padfoot, and I'm sorry, Black had introduced his new girlfriend to the world in this way. James thinks he should have found out first,» - Remus pointed her to the table where the Gryffindors were sitting. - "Also, James called you pretty, but really after he dramatically muttered that he was "disappointed in your introduction."
"I'm not his girlfriend," - Hermione objected immediately, looking around and noticing the slight changes in the Great Hall. There were more students than she was used to seeing, the tables were completely filled with the already familiar dishes, and the ceiling still retained the decorations of last Halloween night. Only the eyes of the Gryffindors were directed in her direction.
"You know, you're scaring everyone, aren't you? They think you're a ghost, and I mean that in all seriousness," - Remus winked at her, inviting her to the table.
Hermione sat gently on the edge, still feeling out of place and wishing she could sooner be in the library to hide behind stories about the Arc and ... ghosts. But another part of her thoughts lingered on Dumbledore's phrase about exactly who had 'pulled her from the other side'. Sirius. She glanced in his direction again, making absolutely no secret of the fact that she was examining his trim figure, still in his school pullover, raising her gaze just above to the elbow line where the sleeves were rolled up, revealing a view of the strong arms that fell to Peter Pettigrew's shoulders, and the long fingers that somehow magically held a cigarette and a chicken leg in the same palm.
He noticed her. Noticed her as soon as she entered the Great Hall, because Hermione could feel his gaze on her too, but rather on Remus. There was something about them that reminded her of Harry and Ron - the way they looked at each other, understanding each other half-heartedly without saying those words out loud. Remus moved slightly away from her, while James visibly flinched and turned to face her:
"Do you have nightmares? I have. The girl in the white dress, you know, the one from the horror movies they play at London Central cinema, remember, Padfoot? Then she slowly turns around and... "
" ...and says it's time for you to go to Lily's crib, because she's the only one who can comfort you, right?" - Sirius quipped back, interrupting his friend. I wonder where his playful morning mood had gone? He still hadn't said a word to Hermione.
"Do you want to talk about it?" - Heard from the other end of the table, where a redheaded, beautiful and radiant girl... Lily, was sitting five people away. Harry's mom. Unbelievable.
James was immediately silent, as if pondering the answer more than usual, before shaking his head, feigning agreement and pulling his hands out from under the table, folding them under his chin.
"Hey! What the hell?" - Sirius shouted indignantly. - "I haven't finished eating yet, and you're being calfish".
"You're killing me," - Remus added, reaching for his portion of salad.
Hermione only had time to run her eyes across the table, from one Marauder's face to the other, then to the Gryffindors, then to the Slytherin table, where Sirius' ridiculous phrase to his brother was thrown. Regulus. And he was here, which meant he was somewhere around... Hermione caught the dark wink of the former Potions professor, who was writing something in his textbook, oblivious to the chaos going on around him. Or was it only to Hermione that it seemed like chaos? Noise, voices, shouts, cheerful conversations, too many people, too much emotion, too much... everything. Panic washed over her. She began breathing deeply, resting her face in her palms, continuing to scroll through her friends' names and her own in her head as if it was about to slip from her memory. A sharp pain pierced her temples again, igniting some kind of wild flame, or even a scream that just kept rushing out. A cry for them to stop.
She wasn't used to seeing such happy and relaxed faces of people in the Great Hall, wasn't used to seeing no one discussing another attack, or missing people, or another Rita Skeeter article, or seeing those very faces so radiant and carefree, or...
"Hermione? That's your name, isn't it?" - She was addressed by someone she didn't want to have a conversation with. - "I'm Peter! Welcome to Hogwarts."
She didn't extend her hand back to him, but she nodded and turned towards the door, deciding to leave right now before she gave away all her thoughts about this man at the table. Hermione had already thrown her leg over the bench when someone's hand gently stopped her:
"Need any help?" - Remus was, even now, the most understanding of the bunch. She just shook her head from side to side and said quietly that she would go to the library.
"Hey, is she all right?" - James turned to Remus after a moment's pause, noticing the new girl's absence from the table.
Lupin is rather caught off guard by the fact that he is the only one paying attention to her and the only one noticing the flash of guilt on Sirius' face. Remus continues to stare closely at Sirius, as if searching for some answers written in his eyes, but only notices the blind sadness and lack of other emotions, the ones he has locked away so deeply, unwilling to open up even to his friends right now. He knows his friend hasn't had the best summer, which isn't surprising given the crazy family he was born into. But Remus thought that James had helped his friend get over it, helped him breathe again, and find... calm? He'd never seen such a focused side to Black.
Sirius shrugs and tells James, "That's it, tonight." He gets a light chuckle in response.
Laughter was another way for them to vent their emotions. Emotions when they wanted to, but couldn't yell, say to hell, or swear at each other.
Remus' smile fades.
His gaze shifted to his friend's slightly trembling hands, which he tried to hide as he reached for another cigarette. It was his fifth this morning. He couldn't tell exactly what was making his hands shake, whether it was internal anxiety or a stupid habit from last year, but it was at that moment that he caught Sirius' gaze. A frown.
"Fifth, really?" - Remus decided to voice his question right away, more of a complaint.
"Why, are you worried, Mommy?" - Black continued to sneer, still hiding his true motives. What was it about this new girl Hermione that had gotten him so worked up that he hadn't been himself since this morning?
"Oh, you got a new mommy?" - James joined in their conversation, his head resting on his friend's shoulder.
"My deepest apologies, Mommy Potter," Sirius theatrically stretched out in a rather James-like manner. - "I swear it won't happen again."
"Hey, is everything all right?" - Remus tried again to break through his armor.
"Fuck off, Remus," - Black stood abruptly from his desk, tossed his school bag in his hands and literally stormed out of the Great Hall.
Such scenes were used to all the Gryffindors, who, without even blinking an eye, continued discussing the upcoming Quidditch match. James was the first of their company to change the subject, voicing a question that had been screaming in Remus' head for a long time:
"What do you think the chances are that he'll listen to us and stay away from Hermione?"