Wake up
This was her fifth day. A fifth day in a time where not only was she not finding herself, but she shouldn't be here at all. It was... exhausting.
She was still not sleeping well, trying to scroll through the events of the past day in her head so that she didn't miss an important moment-so that she wouldn't miss a moment where she might have screwed up. Every word she said, every look she directed at someone could have been the catalyst for something to be avoided. Hermione had never had any trouble keeping track of her words and actions, but here it was like she was constantly under high tension. Tension that could hit her at any moment, hurting the people closest to her.
She kept a journal to record everything that happened to her and unwittingly make up the connections, the patterns, the intertwining of destinies that were now under her power. Hermione hoped she hadn't forgotten the repulsive charms in the turmoil, because after reading all that was inside, someone would definitely think she was crazy. Especially if they saw her unvoiced responses to the overheard dialogues of each evening.
Since she couldn't talk to them, she wrote for them. It helped her at least a little... socialize? Although it was hard to call it that.
"Have you seen what he's wearing? My house elves dress better than that..."
"If you knew what fine outfits the housekeepers have in my time, your fashionable sentences would come to naught."
"There's a rumor that the Ministry wants him out..."
"Oh, and they can do it, after 20 years. Dumbledore has enemies in each of the times who want to take the headmaster's job away from him."
"You can use the climb if you still want to escape from this madhouse. Anytime..."
"And which of the places on the Map do you use to escape to every night, and more importantly, where?"
"Do you ever wish you could fly a dragon?"
"Someday I will steal Hippogriff for you to save you from death."
The lines flew from her lips, and her train of thought was unstoppable - and how could she sleep?
Hermione hardly ever came downstairs from her room anymore, lest she wake one of her roommates or call out to the night visitor again with the eyes of her future professor and with such a genuine desire to help her. Remus Lupin was proving to be the most... familiar thing to her at this time.
"Hey, ghost, have some candy. You were too frowny today at Transfiguration."
"Where did you get such a supply of chocolate? ".
He hadn't changed much, only his face was happier, calmer, though there was an occasional glint of unease in his eyes. But less often than the Remus Lupin Hermione had known. Looking at him was... painful. But worst of all was seeing James, who was too much like Harry, as was his desire to pay attention to her while others passed by. Or Sirius, who was still a mystery to her. In his time, he was like a fish in water, while in hers, he was something of a stranger in the ocean.
She'd spent almost the entire night making a plan, after a suddenly dropped phrase in the Marauders' company. This was definitely not part of her plan.
With them, her control was approaching the critical point of zero, and a smile was impossible to contain.
Now it was necessary to think through all the possible outcomes so that they didn't converge at an uncertain point that Hermione couldn't have predicted in advance.
It had been a mistake. Probably the first mistake since she'd decided to talk to Sirius alone that morning, which was definitely not to be repeated.
Her entire duel had been a mistake, but it had only become one because Dumbledore had assured her that the battle would be a demonstration, not going into the student count. Which meant that nothing would change among the winners who had been chosen by time before her.
She wanted to fall on the table and bang her forehead against the heaviest book she'd picked out in the library every night, because she could have said no back then. She could have avoided showing some of her power, or at least not looked at Crouch with such an exasperated look.
Did he notice? Maybe he did. Did he remember her? He probably did. (sighs) Damn it.
Each successive day brought her new challenges, not enough for her to see Pettigrew rat alongside those whose doom he would soon become. At times like this, things got... loud. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that here they were murderers, here they were traitors! They could all be with her there, somewhere in the future, but alive and happy and not as broken as she had been after the war that the children had arranged, clouded by someone else's false promises.
"Maybe not all Slytherins are so... narrow-minded, Sirius. Some of them are definitely..."
"Oh, holy shit. You got a crush on one of them? Since when does Wormtail speak well of the Slugs that threw him in the lake right off the bridge? Or have you forgotten how I punched those..."
There was only silence in response then.
But all in all, her time at Hogwarts in the seventies was like watching a movie and imagining herself in those plots to be remotely familiar to her. Funny, but it was the moments of anger, and the moments when she caught the glances of the Slytherins, among whom she couldn't yet recognize future Eaters, that echoed within her. The memories floated in her mind in a breeze that could turn into a hurricane at any moment if she let her emotions out.
On the other hand - she was constantly watching. Like the familiar and intimate faces from the Gryffindor table, for example. She often didn't engage in conversations, but she picked up phrases, sounds, intonations that were like a night call where she heard voices long forgotten. She scrolled through memories, touching faces, names, events.
- Friends, pay attention! I have a surprise!
- It would be a surprise if someone digested this James.
"Did you hear what Hat said about future exams? Easy for her to say, right? She's the Hat!"
- Which one of you James Potter's took my parchments from my desk with the Charms work for tomorrow?
- Fear makes people do terrible things, Lily.
But that call was just a long beep that she couldn't answer.
Everything here was half a dream or half a deception.
Evenings in the living room turned into silent meetings, where she was afraid to get a word in edgewise about her existence. It was funny, but she was really becoming a ghost here-that's what they thought she was.
A ghost... of the future? Is that possible? With her, definitely. And it was all her fault.
School lessons became for her a monotonous beating of the clock, when you are as if in a vacuum, hearing in the echoes of consciousness only a loud and familiar "tick", beating out the rhythm.
Was she bored? In places, yes.
But only when she listened to the ticking of the clock and not to what was going on in the offices. Otherwise, whenever she was distracted for a few minutes, Infusion of Wormwood, Powdered Root of Asphodel, sloth brain, and Sopophorous bean's juice folded into Draught of Living Death; the poisonous pods of tentacula reeked of purple; "Face to Face with the Faceless One" enthralled her with a forgotten and unfamiliar story about infernals, and Evanesco here was a not-so-sophisticated spell that was scary in her time on the OWLs.
The Library, the Great Hall, the corridors, the Gryffindor Lounge were places for her where the voices of the time sounded quieter, more melodious, more even and quieter. Time went on here and didn't think of stopping, the faces here were happier, the teachers more relaxed, the owls in the morning with newspapers clutched in their beaks didn't give off anxiety, and the students were simply children.
Everyone in front of her was eternal and alien.
Her passed life at such moments was a ghost in the dusky distance. In moments like these, Hermione realized how different the Hogwarts of the present was from the Hogwarts of the future. And she saw the people who had caused it.
That's why Crouch got what he deserved.
That was why Pettigrew was constantly under her scrutiny. Especially that day after the duel, when she'd noticed unnoticed, but not to her, the slip of paper held out to Crouch, who was standing in the crowd of Slytherins, indignant at the rules being broken. None of the Gryffindors probably noticed it, as they did on many other days. After all, Peter really was... inconspicuous.
Look! Well, look at him! This is the truth.
But Hermione was not allowed to interfere with the normal flow of that time, so all she had to do was watch the compressed letters scrawled on the sheet, which could have been the exact moment he stepped on the wrong track.
She was left to listen to the silence, like listening to the enemy. It was...aggravating. Here she was constantly ashamed of not wanting to be good. Here she could get embittered at the whole world, and her head was hammered with thoughts of revenge. Resentment was here for everyone, not even the closest one. But all that was left in the end was the ruins of her memories, her nibbled lips and the fingers constantly clutching at the edges of her sweater.
The musty taste of despair was keenly felt on her tongue.
It was then that she noticed the look in Sirius' eyes that searched her worried pupils. And even though he thought, once again, that panic rather than wild, all-consuming anger was overtaking her, she surrendered to his pressure and walked out of the office. He was followed by his loyal friends, which, funny enough, weren't always together. But in that moment, Hermione was grateful that Peter stayed somewhere with Crouch, and an admiring James, a proud Remus, and a surprised Sirius stood before her.
Now the truth was in her lies, which might have started here as a small drop of rain, or might have escalated into an endless torrent of downpour. In the other circumstances of this fortuitous moment, there was no way she would have voiced her request. She would never have asked the Marauders for a favor, or spoken to them at all.
But Hermione was not a foolish and naive girl who believed in her own strength and thought of saving herself at the cost of her own life. She was well aware that she could not handle this difficult task of life alone. So a new plan flew from her lips, thinking ahead that she would never let them near that house.
The Marauders would help her escape from the Castle, stay undetected, get into Muggle London, and then she'd leave them behind and ask them not to interfere again. Sounded like a plan? Definitely. What could go wrong? Absolutely everything. And by "absolutely," she meant Sirius Black.
Black was overly enthusiastic about her request to help her find a certain house in the suburbs, as if he was not telling her something or she was missing something. After voicing the request, which none of the Marauders refused without even asking her clarifying questions, Sirius threw questioning glances at her all day, tried to peek at exactly what she was writing in Transfiguration class; then watched her drive her dinner around the plate in the Great Hall; wouldn't let her go until the door to the ladies' room was closed.
But she'll figure it out.
That same evening there was another unpleasant conversation with Dumbledore - she returned to him almost every day in search of new answers, which he tried to find in books or learn from old acquaintances. One of his alchemist buddies, surnamed Dearborn, shared new knowledge about the nature of the mysterious Arches of Death and certain cycles:
- Miss Granger, please, let's...
- No! I'm not going to hear again about how I died in my time and that there are no options to return home. There's always a way. I mean, somehow I ended up here...
- We've been over this, Hermione. The place and circumstances were such that your soul was bound to...
- Yes, yes, we've talked about this dozens of times. I went through the entire library looking for references to this phenomenon. But there's still no result. So I would like to...
- It's not up for discussion. My answer is still no.
- But Albus, I don't...
- No, Hermione. It's too dangerous.
Too dangerous. Not the word the Headmaster had chosen to stop her, even in this time where she was afraid to take even a step aside.
She dreamed about the archway all the time. As soon as she closed her eyes with fatigue, the events of the day flashed before her, where she'd inadvertently jumped into the white, barely discernible shroud. She could hear voices, but she couldn't make out a single word, which only clenched her temples with irritation, as if she couldn't remember the simplest Alohomora when she found herself in front of a locked door. The door was locked now because Hermione had absolutely no recollection of who had spoken to her or exactly what she had heard then and whose voice she recognized.
And she definitely recognized someone. But who?
This morning, as always, prepared in advance for another repetitive day, she put on the skirt that the girls in her room had lent her and threw a robe over herself to cover up the post-war thinness that Dumbledore had reminded her of so many times or that she herself thought about, since she had hardly eaten anything here.
She didn't room with Lily, though she wished she'd gotten to know her best friend's mother a little better, because she'd already noticed those similarities in many ways. Her neat gait, the appropriately stern tone in her voice, the soft intonations in her conversations with her friends and junior year, and the simply incredible clear and happy eyes. Especially when she was around James Potter. Oh, it wasn't just Hermione who was definitely watching this couple, but half of Hogwarts as well.
No wonder, they were a very handsome couple. They weren't even hiding it.
She didn't know their whole story, but she could definitely see how James changed in Lily's presence. How his fingers touched her hand gingerly, as if timidly, yet confidently. How he spent evenings with her in the library, trying to pretend he was studying rather than examining the glare of the candles in her flaming hair. How he'd run out of the Castle with her toward the Lake on another date, wearing a jacket and picking up a plaid and something yummy to eat. It was all so... natural. So beautiful that I wanted to watch the love that was born right in front of her eyes as often as possible.
She missed him. For Harry. I wonder how many times he'd already killed her in his thoughts, trying to find excuses for her being so careless?
The days were getting colder, so it was time for Hermione to head to Hogsmeade or ask Dumbledore for help so that the wind wouldn't chill her to the bone when she walked to the right office, not through the corridors of the Castle, where it was sometimes so difficult to be without sinking into memories, but across the street. Or maybe it wasn't the wind at all. But who knew? With those demons inside her, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to wrap herself in.
She was already late for her next DADA class because she had taken a very long and inappropriate route.
She should have asked the Marauders for their secret to making a personal copy of the map by now.
But luckily for her, the teacher was running a little late, so when she ran into the office as one of the last, no one paid much attention or even turned around to rebuke her for not keeping track of time or to offer her a seat next to her. Everyone here remained a stranger to her. And that wasn't surprising - she was still certain that some of the students in even her department didn't even remember her name. She didn't answer in class, her hand was always left on her desk, assignments were always handed in on time, and the question was never voiced.
DADA for her was one of the most interesting subjects at Hogwarts at this time, as it turned out that a lot of information had been lost or destroyed in their textbooks.
I wonder who was in charge of revising the syllabus? I'll have to ask Dumbledore.
She was distracted by the sound of a falling body next to her, which came down sharply on the chair with an indignant sound. James?
"We'll sit together tonight, dueling champion. I'm not ready, and Lily's not in the mood," he looked annoyed, tapping his fingers on the desk and twitching his left foot to the beat of some music he only knew. His glasses were slightly off, and his torso was tense.
"Yes, of course," Hermione nodded at him, trying to speak as little as possible.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then glanced at Sirius and Remus, who were sitting off to the side while Peter stayed behind, and then back to Hermione.
"What?" She was surprisingly chatty today.
"You're surprisingly talkative," James told her, smiling.
"Prongs, it's just that people are taught to be polite from childhood, but you obviously missed the course," Remus interjected, looking much more chipper than usual today. It was a good thing that at least he of their oddly sleep-deprived pair had slept through the night.
"The love of your life stopped responding to the mistakes of her youth? Was that before or after she found out you were bragging about sex..." Sirius didn't have time to finish his quip, as he always did, because the Professor walked past him.
James only turned away sharply, stretching and staring ahead. He breathed loudly, as if a new fire was igniting in the ashes, hiding his sensitive heart from the girl, but throwing lightning bolts at his friend. He was a lot like Harry in DADA class at times like this, defending his point of view to Umbridge.
"She'll forgive you," Hermione addressed him quietly, giving him a slight nudge on the shoulder to draw attention to herself.
"Of course she will. She's got nowhere to go, champ," the Gryffindor winked cheerfully at her again, which a second ago was boiling with anger, but now it was as if he'd gone from it in a flick. A click in his mind that he could fix this situation himself.
"Just tell her the truth."
The pauses between them were getting awkward, but it seemed to be something they were used to in their company, so Hermione didn't mind and decided to remind herself of the plan that was swirling around in her spare moments.
"Have you thought about when we're going in pursuit?" She leaned toward James a little so that the other part of the Marauders could hear her phrase, but no one beside them understood the meaning of her question. She could only hope that at least they would understand.
"After your heart?" Sirius smiled at her, sprawled out on his desk and folded his arm so that it propped up under his chin. At times like this, he looked like a perfectly normal teenager flirting with a girl from his class.
"Ridiculous, Black. In London."
"On the hike to Hogsmeade," Remus answered her measuredly.
"This weekend, champ," James continued.
"But I'd combine the useful with the pleasant," said the one whose playful mood Hermione didn't understand today. Sometimes he seemed just unbearable, if she wasn't familiar with his future version.
"There's a house, in the suburbs, on Green Street. I need to get as close as I can. I'll talk to the tenants, and then we can leave. Five minutes is enough for me," she decided to discuss a plan of further action while she had the chance. And while one of them was clearly in the mood to listen to her, which she could not say of the other days in her company.
The boys looked at each other strangely, silently deciding something again. Sometimes she thought there was some sort of mental connection or occlusion between them, maybe the animagic form had affected them that way? Was it possible?
" You've got to be kidding me," James held his hands up in surrender. "You brought the new girl into this story so I couldn't say no?"
Hermione still didn't understand what was happening now. Sirius grinned evilly, and Remus rubbed the area next to his eyes tiredly.
"What are we talking about?" she decided to voice her question.
"Champion, at what point was this set up? Was Crouch in your plan, too? Although I wouldn't mind winning on a bet against him, but still..."
"Prongs, that's enough. She has nothing to do with this," Sirius interrupted him, who was now staring intently at Hermione. "How do you know about the house?"
"I read it in the paper," she thought of a plausible cover story beforehand and the likely questions they might have had.
"In the paper, then," James sighed again. "Before or after Sirius planted it on you?"
"I didn't tell her anything."
"I don't know about that. Must have whispered?"
"Prongs."
"Padfoot!"
"God, just explain the point to her already," Remus interrupted their argument. Even at this point, he seemed so much older than the rest of the boys.
"It looks like our plans are the same as yours. We'll talk about that later," Sirius assured her and turned abruptly in his chair, turning back to his notes.
James looked into her eyes, as if sending an invisible signal that she still couldn't pick up. So all she had to do was to stick to her notes, too, and continue their strange dialogue in her journal. Perhaps there she would get to the bottom of it.
"How old are you?"
Hermione blinked.
"Excuse me?" She turned her whole body toward James again.
"How old are you? You look sixteen, you talk twenty, and you fight like that for thirty years. It's amazing," James said, as if he were voicing his thoughts out loud, not even addressing Hermione.
That was... funny.
"I'm nineteen," she lied a little.
James reached for something in his pocket, pulled out a coin, then whistled slightly towards the desk where Remus and Sirius were sitting, and, waiting a moment while the professor scribbled a plan for the new project on the board, tossed it up. With a deft movement, Sirius stopped the coin in mid-air, clutching it in his hand, turning his palm towards himself, and then revealing it with a question in his gaze.
"You win," James said simply.
Hermione only chuckled at their antics, which now seemed set up to her, and went back to taking notes. The rest of the lesson was uneventful, except for the Slytherins' lunge at Remus when he was the first to give the correct answer, which Sirius sharply countered:
"Life is too short, Leistrange, and so is your dick...
"Mr. Black, minus twenty points from Gryffindor!" came the professor's ringing voice, but then he immediately turned around and proceeded to draw neat lines on his chart on the board. Sometimes, it seemed to her that the professors of this time encouraged the antics of the Marauders or even the Slytherins, with little regard for the unspoken declared war. Like, it was the order of the day. Like, it had been assured since the founding of Hogwarts that Gryffindor would never be friends with Slytherin. Period.
Her next contemplation was distracted by a slight reciprocal nudge on James' shoulder, who was trying to tell Hermione something.
"Class is over. Are you going to lunch?" he had already gathered his things and started to gather her writing utensils, stowing them in her bag. What's the nerve? But she didn't say anything. "You can sit with us. Sirius won't mind."
"Why would Sirius mind?" Such a remark couldn't help but hurt her, and she carefully took her bag from his hands, but continued to stand still.
"Well, you know..."
"Yeah...?"
"No...?" James came out quickly and immediately switched to another topic. "Hey, Peter, were you going to Quidditch today? I'm back playing the hunter position. What's up with your work," James jumped out from behind the desk just as swiftly, smiling guiltily at her, and ran after Pettigrew.
Hermione was stopped on her way out of the classroom by Remus, holding her bag slightly.
"A little more," he said simply. Sometimes the Marauders communicated in phrases so short and only they understood that Hermione wondered how others understood them.
He turned her back toward the corridor, where there was already raised conversations, one of which she recognized as Sirius. She squirmed a little in his arms, not entirely comfortable with not knowing what was going on behind her back.
"What...? - she managed to say before someone else's familiar hand took her elbow, which always pressed against her skin with the same, almost weightless force, slightly inflaming the spot where it had touched her.
Sirius Black flew completely unceremoniously into the office, turning her around, pulling her slightly behind his back, managing to whisper something to her that Hermione didn't hear. Outraged voices approached from the corridor, which only got louder. Several more people in Slytherin robes, whose faces she couldn't make out because of the ripples in their eyes, ran into the office.
Events were happening too fast for someone who was trying to be inconspicuous. Remus was still standing next to her, staring intensely ahead, his eyebrows slightly furrowed and holding one of his hands on his wand. Sirius, on the other hand, still wouldn't let go of her hand. The grip tightened slightly.
"What on earth is going on here?" She shouted, momentarily out of control as too many eyes were directed in her direction.
"I've got this," Sirius said sternly, glancing around the study as if looking for escape routes in case of what.
"No, let the lady speak," one of the Slytherins took a step in their direction, to which Sirius responded with a chuckle.
"Lady's with me, I'll do the talking.
"Barty only wants to talk, Black. No one will get hurt," the unpleasant looking student continued, in whom Hermione could not recognize the seemingly familiar features. Tall. Too nervous. With a slight French accent.
"Oh, fuck off, Rosier. You're acting like a mutt," Sirius pulled her closer, signaling with a single nod to Remus, who immediately stood behind her, as if to trap Hermione under his protection.
She still didn't understand what was going on, but she could only assume that Crouch didn't seem to like his defeat very much. Not surprising, though it was strange that he hadn't come himself. She had yet to figure out this whole Slytherin hierarchy of relationships.
Sirius continued to move forward confidently.
"We don't want any trouble, Black," Rosier continued.
"Hey, Granger, an audience is requested with you," the guy who was now crouched on the edge of the table, throwing his legs over the armrest of the back of his chair, spat out.
"Have her ask her again," Sirius was her voice today, "but on the knees. And then she'll think about it, Malsyber."
Oh, it looked like Hermione's mere victory and the timely throwing of Insеndio had caught the attention of a whole bunch of would-be or existing Death Eaters at once. Avery and Wilke were probably here, too.
That's weird.
She'll have to rethink her plan.
But for now she just kept walking forward, already in the corridor and still not pushing Sirius' hand away, which was something she should have done a long time ago. There was another obstacle waiting for them in the corridor, one with gray eyes and almost the same appearance as her protector.
"No casualties today?"
"You too, brother. What was that all about?" Sirius looked annoyed now.
"Came to remind her of the evening as the best son of our friendly family. Her father is very much looking forward to meeting her," Regulus Black, who Hermione had seen up close for the first time in those five days, stood in front of them. They really did look alike. The younger of the two was looking her over from head to toe, as if he were looking for something.
"Looks like I'm gonna disappoint him again."
"You must."
"I don't owe anyone anything, brother, which I wish you would understand. This conversation is over."
Regulus pulled some kind of book out of his bag, taking another look at the leather-bound cover, and handed it to Sirius. He remained motionless.
"You seemed to be looking for it," his younger brother's voice sounded a little softer and quieter. Hermione, on the other hand, tried to see the name from behind Sirius' shoulder. "Happy past."
A chuckle was heard behind her. Remus signaled that he was still in the hallway with them.
Past it. That's right. She completely forgot. It was Sirius' birthday yesterday. But why would anyone...?
"Tell your father I'll be there. Alone."
"That wasn't our agreement. You have to be with someone."
"Alone, Regulus. Either that, or I don't show up at this fucking party of old fanatics who want to hide the fact that their son left home long ago."
His brother nodded and handed him the book, which Sirius immediately tucked into his bag. All the while, Regulus kept his studying gaze on Hermione and the hand that restrained her behind Sirius. As he left, the corridor emptied and Sirius raised his hand sharply, loosening his tie and with the fingers of his other hand already searching through his bag for a pack of cigarettes.
He was an avid smoker, for his age. Hermione hadn't noticed that about the Sirius Black of her time. But this Sirius was different in many ways, too.
Still silent, he leaned against the wall, tilting his head up as he'd done a few days earlier in his conversation with her, clutching an unlit cigarette to his lips, and exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
"Walk her to the living room, Moony," his voice sounded tired.
"I can make it on my own. And will someone please explain to me what just happened?" Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer.
"The Blacks are hosting a dinner party for his birthday, but of course none of the purebloods know about their... marital status."
"That's not what I meant, but... okay. What's the condition of coming with someone? Can you take Remus?» Hermione decided to at least close that question for herself.
"Oh, imagine my mother's face when I bring another guy into the house."
"It's gonna be a scandal."
"I'd say the show."
"She already seriously thinks I'm fucking James, let's not fuel that fire with more rumors."
Hermione could only manage to catch their phrases and put them together into a puzzle to understand something of the relationship between the Marauders and the Black family. But it was Sirius himself who dispelled all her thinking:
"They expect me to bring a girl into the house. As my... girlfriend. I mean, usually in seventh year, everyone thinks about marriage, instead of running away from home to live with another pureblood wizard," Sirius put the cigarette away before he could light it, and stared straight at her.
"What happens if you come alone?"
"We're not discussing that."
"What happens if he comes alone?" She turned this time to the more loyal Remus.
"They'll burn him out of the family tree. That sounded like a threat."
But Hermione already knew this would happen. Had Black, after not bringing home his chosen one, been burned out of the family tree? It sounded like nonsense.
This event would happen anyway, but not in the same stupid way and for the same completely idiotic reason. And why did she resent it so much? She was willing to play along with him out of old friendship.
"I'll go."
"What?" their question sounded in unison, which was clearly the Marauders' habit.
"I'll go with you to this evening. Your parents will be happy, and you can get on with your life."
"No, not a chance," Sirius stared down at his feet, unaware of the look on her face. He'd been constantly avoiding being caught in her gaze lately.
"Look, it's a good..." Remus didn't have time to voice his sentence before Sirius exhaled, as if resigned to that option and replied. His mood was scaring her a little today.
" You're gonna need a dress. Can you find one?" Black asked simply, as if unwilling to admit defeat and express formal agreement with this, slightly insane, but plan.
"Yes," she nodded briefly, already thinking about how she would have to address Albus or Lily, which was more acceptable, plus it might serve her well as an introduction.
In the Great Hall, at James' invitation, she sat down next to them, to which no one ever paid attention except Potter himself, who sent her a satisfied smile. He was easy to surprise. All it took was defeating one of the Slytherins and accepting his invitation to sit next to him. It was... convenient.
On other days, she noticed that the Gryffindor table remained a place for the Marauders to discuss future plans or new gossip, nothing new, though. It was the same in her time.
"Black," James addressed her, again speaking only in single sentences.
She shrugged questioningly.
"Wear black," he told her with a playful twinkle in his eyes, to which Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You've never been to one of these, have you?" Peter, who was sitting across the hall, spoke to her for the first time.
Hermione was silent.
"You're a Muggleborn, aren't you?" He continued his interrogation, but all the Marauders were already reacting to that phrase, waiting for her answer. With four pairs of eyes staring at you, it's not easy to voice an answer. And just how does Lily communicate with them?
"Yes," she said simply, continuing to rummage through her salad.
"Wonderful," Sirius commented, stopping Peter's new question or indignation by sipping his drink afterward. "How did you survive the breakup of The Beatles?"
Well, that wasn't the continuation of her interrogation she'd expected. It was... strange. But intriguing, because the moment when that - her Sirius - was humming the melody of Let It Be at Grimmauld Place was instantly in her mind. She let a little air into her lungs and hummed it softly:
"Nothing's gonna change my world."
The boys looked at each other again. Sirius took the coin he'd won out of his pocket and tossed it to James.
"1:1."
"This is just the beginning of the day," Sirius parried.
"Did you make a list of questions to argue at me?" Hermione asked in surprise, even though she already knew their answer.
"Yeah," the two best friends said, not even embarrassed.
There were a few minutes left before lunch ended, which they spent discussing the tactics of James' new position on the Quidditch team. What was surprising was that Peter was the main instigator of it. She still wasn't interested in these conversations, so she continued to steer the salad leaves across her plate, occasionally glancing in the direction of Remus, who was moving a platter of fruit to her side of the table, then something of a dessert with a cherry filling inside, which you could tell by the cut and his last silently offered dish was a slice of bitter chocolate. She took a bite of it as well without a word, drinking the hot beverage. He smiled at her choice. It was strange that this strange bond had formed between the two of them, or that Remus simply acted that way on everyone - she hadn't quite figured it out yet.
But that book she'd handed him late the other night might be the key to finding the answers he could give her. At least, Hermione hoped he would understand.
"Be ready at seven," Sirius' voice, which she could already distinguish easily in the noisy Hall, pulled her out of her thoughts.
"All right."
"Are we getting Hermione together on a date? I'm Lily," he said, and I was sure she was going to be okay with that. "I'm Lily, nice to finally meet you," she held out her hand.
It was so strange that physical contact was important to everyone in this time, something Hermione was wary of. If intonations and phrases and images could still be forgotten, then the electrical discharges after tactile sensations would be... more painful to drown out.
"Yeah, I know. And I'm... pleased?"
"Well, let's leave the girls to discuss their business," the Marauders all got up from the table at the same time, lingering just long enough for James to leave a light kiss on Lily's cheek.
He seemed to take her advice. In fact, right after that, Hermione got an appreciative nod in her direction.
"You did that, didn't you?" Lily took her hand again, like the old friend that Ginny reminded her so much of now, and led her toward the living room. "I have a matching black dress, just below the knee. It's like a slip dress from the latest collection, but lighter and more airy, with a billowing skirt at the waist. It would definitely suit your interesting hair if we braided it."
Hermione didn't notice how time flew by in the company of Harry's mother as she whirled around her room, talking about James' antics as if she were sharing something personal with her friend, while dressing her up and picking out matching hair jewelry. It was... unusual. She looked like those girl models from the old retro magazines she liked to browse through with her mother as a child, cutting out the most beautiful images from there. Now her image was definitely beautiful.
They discuss future lessons for a bit longer, and Hermione learns that Lily likes Potions and that she would like to become a witch doctor if she enrolled in one of the academies. But only smiled quietly back at her, knowing at the same time that after school would be almost immediately followed by Eater attacks, then war, her joining the Order and having a baby. And she would never get into the academy she wanted.
The Marauders were already waiting for them in full force in the middle of the living room, which sometimes seemed to be their property. The Gryffindors avoided them, and the boys didn't seem to notice, taking up all the available space with their things without using the table.
"I'm telling you, it would be better to choose the attacking one," James stared at the mock-up of the Quidditch pitch in front of him that Peter had likely built.
He pointed to the group of flying little broomsticks in the center of the paper structure:
"You form an arrow-shaped group in this position, look," Peter waved his wand as they rearranged themselves in a wedge and flew toward the goal. "Just like Darren O'Hara of the Kenmare Hornets," Pettigrew finished admiringly, while the "players" threw the quaffle into the hoop.
But James was no longer looking at the tactics of his future victory at this point, but nudged Sirius drawing something on faded parchment, most likely a Map of the Marauders. He immediately looked towards the stairs - once again, three pairs of eyes stared at her like recent Quidditch players. Peter didn't look at her.
Now she couldn't say what was on her heart, what Black had asked her to share earlier in class. But she wanted to spout so many words and stories that nothing remained in her journal, where emotion hid behind the letters. All she had to do was wring her hands, adjusting to the circumstances that she herself had turned completely the wrong way. But at the same time, trying not to cross the line.
So her gaze was now hiding from his.
So she walked past, deliberately not accepting his hand.
So she nodded to Remus, who winked at her understandingly, as if to encourage her.
So she was still silent.
What if she falls?
What if she stumbles?
What if it breaks down and causes something inevitable?
That was Hermione's greatest fear. James whistled loudly, then was shoved on the back by Black, who, by the way, was already dressed in his unfamiliar pantsuit in the short time Hermione had had the chance to see him. Lily caught Potter by the arm and ushered him out of the room before he could utter a single word. Remus asked Peter something, catching his attention and setting up chessboards right on the living room floor. Sirius was just waiting for her to come to her senses and react in some way to his presence around her.
"It'll be all right," he said simply, in the measured tone that was so uncharacteristic of him. He nudged her a little on the elbow again, heading for the exit of the Tower.
"How did we...?
"I have the portkey. Official permission from the Headmaster of Hogwarts, at my kin's request. And yes, I warned him about you, too," she wondered how Albus would react to that, given his admonitions and advice to stay out of the story.
In total silence, they reached the apparatus point on the lawn in front of the Castle, and in no time they were in front of the entrance to the huge mansion. Hermione felt dizzy, not from the magic that coursed through her body, but from the feel of his hand on her elbow for about fifteen minutes now. She pulled away slightly and looked around.
Each subsequent step she took down the path seemed timid and indecisive, for she still had no idea exactly where they were. Hermione had expected to appear in the now familiar street in front of the Blacks' mansion, but it was a different house. Not a house, an entire estate.
She held her breath, finding herself in the hallway, where everything was aristocratic and distant and something... dark. Everything here was too pretentious and wrong. But she had promised to help Sirius with his problem, if that was what it could be called, so she pulled herself together just before the first hand outstretched as a greeting from one of the guests. The door slammed shut behind them, revealing a draught of several large window sashes that banged against the frames, and the corridor in front of it ended with endless steps up. Goosebumps just kept running under her skin.
Sirius noticed this as well, who took a deep breath and lowered his hand down, intertwining his fingers with hers and casting an exasperated look in the direction of that very first guest. A guest, to be more precise.
"Hello, son," his cold, confident voice cut through the silence between them. It belonged to Walburga Black. The woman looked younger than her age, though Hermione couldn't be sure how old she was. But her entire aristocratic pureblood look exuded the energy of the ancient lineage from the tips of her curled hair to the very depths of her soul. The stately look with the bright blue eyes on her snow-white face made her look like a Muggle fairy tale heroine.
If Walburga had heard her thoughts, she would have been furious. Hermione knew exactly how the woman felt about Muggles.
"Walburga," he only bowed his head slightly in greeting, not breaking contact with Hermione.
"Can you introduce us?"
"Hadn't Regulus already blabbed to you about who I was coming with?" his question sounded challenged, as if he were resenting and teasing his younger brother for something that remained only within this family.
"Hermione Granger, Miss," she decided to take the initiative and was the first to break the oppressive silence between the Blacks. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"I don't recall that last name..."
"Her parents are Muggle," Black said immediately. What an incredible habit he had of interrupting everyone, even her own, though unpleasant, mother.
To which Walburga only coughed, casting a glance somewhere aside, most likely in search of her husband to tell about another outrageous act of her son, but said aloud only:
"We've commissioned a portrait of you. We'll have it done a little sooner than after you graduate from Hogwarts, while you're still within our reach," she left, returning to her guests.
Hermione was still feeling a little tense. Yeah, this wasn't how she'd imagined the beginning of tonight. At least secretly she wanted to hide her origins, because now all eyes would definitely be on her. Sirius was just... an insufferable dumbass.
"Why would you..."
"It's the Lestrange Manor that my beautiful half of the family wants to intermarry with. Can you believe it? Inviting everyone to my birthday party on someone else's estate. What a fucking farce!" He finally lowered her arm, returned it to its usual place at the elbow, and moved toward the center hall.
Hermione wasn't breathing. And irritated more and more by the fact that he was keeping her from talking. I wonder if she'll meet Bellatrix here tonight.
"Breathe," he turned around now and stood directly in front of her, peering just below into her eyes. "You look beautiful."
She nodded and remained silent.
"A dance?" Black sounded nonchalant, not looking her in the eye, but stepping forward. "Or decided to watch the bunch of old fanatics who had gathered to discuss how much of their income they were donating to the Ministry for a little while longer?"
"A dance would be nice," she answered unilaterally, accepting his offer.
Sirius coughed out a laugh and swept his dark pupils from top to bottom.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, putting her hand in his while worry lurked in her eyes.
" It's all very much so," Black grinned as his eyes found hers and looked somewhere in the depths. "Come," he added, leading her to the center of the hall. Surprisingly, almost no one at the ball was looking at them. Or maybe Hermione was just riveted by the sight of only one of the Blacks on the evening.
"I don't believe you said yes," he said as his eyebrows furrowed and scanned her slightly flushed face with embarrassment.
"In fact, I'm the one who invited you," he paused for a moment, but then continued his movements in a circle, rocking them gently to the classical music.
Hermione just stared unceremoniously at the guy in front of her, memorizing his dark suit that matched his height perfectly, the pants, the fitted silhouette, the white shirt. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she coughed and looked away, staring at such an interesting floor.
She wasn't meant to be here. And yet, she was already here. And she wanted to be here.
Hermione wasn't sure how long it had been before Sirius spoke to her and looked a little more relaxed now than she did herself. She, on the other hand, continued to answer absent-mindedly, keeping up with the movements, because it seemed like six songs had already ended.
Perhaps the time flew by so quickly because she didn't have to worry about the attention on their pair, but she could barely keep up with the speed at which her mind was running, trying to come up with witty answers or hiding unspoken facts from her life.
Sirius, in her humble opinion, was incredibly sincere today and didn't try to hide his feelings, his surprise or admiration for her knowledge on certain topics. His face remained calm and steadfast during the conversation, even when he disagreed with her point of view. That said, he looked rather charming and amused in her eyes as he quickly inhaled and vigorously defended his favorite Muggle music groups. In the brief moments that their gazes met, she would catch his brilliant smile. So she almost missed the moment when he stopped, held out his hand to her and, forgetting all rules of decorum, simply ran out of the hall with her, up the stairs to the second floor, where they found themselves hidden from the dark eyes of Walburga and his father Orion.
Maybe it was because she saw before her a completely new and unfamiliar man she had known all these years. Or maybe it was because he seemed genuinely happy in her company that she felt more at ease with than she had with anyone in those five days.
She crouched on the edge of the wide windowsill, inviting him to sit beside her. His eyes continued to stare directly at her so intently that she became involuntarily nervous under the dark pressure that flashed through the conversation in places. It was as if Sirius felt like he was winning some sort of contest now, gaining more and more of her attention with each passing minute and counting her smiles, or so she thought, and she was doing the counting herself.
They were absorbed in discussing Greek myths, Shakespeare, and then moving on to the details of a future plan to visit the mysterious house when Sirius' eyes first broke away from her and he abruptly stopped talking, interrupting mid-sentence.
She glanced over her shoulder, as if searching for something in the far corridor, but didn't find any of the guests. Then she turned back to see the strangely sad expression on his face. Hermione could tell now that she recognized in those glares the same Sirius who was catching every moment beside his godson, remaining trapped within the walls of his own house. Before her thoughts drifted off into the distant future, she reached over and gently placed her palm on top of his.
He didn't take his hand away. He didn't even look at her, continuing to think about something, as if he were already far away from her.
"Are you all right?" she asked quietly into the silence.
He took a deep breath and nodded slowly before smiling at her.
"Thank you."
Hermione raised her eyebrow, not understanding what exactly he was thanking her for and giving him the opportunity to continue the sentence.
"This was the first time I'd spent such a quiet evening in the company of my family. Tonight would probably be another scandal, whether I showed up here or not."
Now he squeezed her hand a little harder, swapping them.
She kept looking at him and something in her now signaled that it was okay to share something that was sitting somewhere deep in her memories.
"My parents don't remember me," she paused for a long moment. "I wiped their memories, trying to hide them from our world, but later, when I came back, the memories could no longer be retrieved."
An evening of revelation was out of character for her, but she was so tired of holding herself back and keeping quiet that she wanted to share at least that.
" I'm sorry," he reached out with his other hand and lifted her face in a slow, clearly uncharacteristic motion.
She turned away, brushing hot tears quietly down her cheeks.
"Look into my eyes," Black continued to speak in a low voice, "all my demons lurk there. "Hermione pulled away slightly, but raised her head, staring straight ahead. "Careful, champ, it's too dark in there."
Maybe she did it.
Perhaps the past should go to the past.
Maybe she didn't need to sit and look into his eyes.
"You can keep quiet, I'm not offended at all," Sirius continued to speak without taking his irises off hers. "You can run away, but I'll let you know. You'll even miss me one day."
And he was close to the truth.
She missed him already.
I just wasn't sure which Black it was, the future or the present.
He also rose gently from the windowsill, motioning for her to follow him. Hermione jumped down and swayed slightly, finding herself in his strong arms, which immediately began to sway their bodies from side to side. As if in a dance. To just their silence.
She felt strange and calm beside him, in his arms, like she'd never felt before in this time. His palm rested on her waist, and her head was now on his shoulder. After a couple of minutes, he pulled his body back a little and folded his hand over her heart:
"Those who love us are always with us, you can find them right here."
She definitely needed to get some air or her heart would work its way out. She nodded toward the stairs, to which he also silently escorted her out. Once she was already after the apparatus in front of the entrance to Hogwarts, she took his hand herself and said quietly: "Thank you." They said their goodbyes and went to their rooms in the Tower.
Later, as Hermione lay in bed, her mind was somewhere far away in the hall, basking in memories of tonight's events and her time spent with someone who had delighted her with intelligence, kindness, and wit. And also the discretion with which he had treated her.
She spent hours pondering exactly what she'd said, what topics she'd asked first, where he was looking, until she fell asleep repeating Sirius Black's words.
Hermione knew a lot more was going to happen, since they were just at the beginning.
Today she didn't just fall asleep, she woke up.