Several days later, Hermione accidentally walked into the bathroom to find Remus already standing there, leaning over the ceramic sink to get a closer look at himself in the mirror. She excused herself and turned to give him some privacy, but Remus stopped her with a word. He was gazing into his own eyes, razor frozen in midair.

"Hermione, we've been here for what… three days?" he said. "And I still don't need to shave."

Indeed, Hermione had seen Remus shave almost every morning during their time together in the tent, bent over the small mirror he carried, a magic razor in hand. Other men might have thrown certain grooming habits to the wind in such circumstances—certainly Ron had his moments—but for Remus, it seemed very important to stay clean and well-groomed at all times. In their months on the run he had only missed a handful of days—instances in which they had to leave the campsite in a hurry—and always by the evening a five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw.

Today, though, three days into their stay at the cabin: nothing.

Hermione leaned against the doorframe, gazing carefully at Remus' profile. His skin appeared smooth and freshly shaven, as if he'd just finished his usual round of morning grooming. Remus continued to study himself in the mirror.

"Well, I guess it makes sense, doesn't it?" she offered, after a beat. "Sirius said he hasn't aged a day since he fell through the veil. So now we know that the cabin has the same effect on us; we won't age while we're here, either. For as long as the spell that's working on the cabin lasts, anyway."

Remus leaned closer to his reflection. "It's like our bodies are… suspended, somehow," he mused, tracing his jawline. "Like time has frozen within these walls, having no effect on us. As if we're living the same day, over and over."

He paused, leaned back, and looked over at her. His eyes held a strange excitement.

"Hermione… Do you think, then…" He stopped and cleared his throat, speaking very slowly, as if trying not to get ahead of himself. "Do you think that this might pause my cycle? That the change might not happen to me for as long as I'm here?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Didn't it make a kind of sense, if Remus was living the same day over and over—one that did not contain a full moon—that his body would remain in human form?

She looked back at him, seeing in that moment that against his better judgment, he was allowing himself to hope. Admittedly, of all the many thoughts and possibilities that had raced through her mind in the last few days, this had not been one of them. But of course his lycanthropy was always at the forefront of his.

"It would all depend," she said slowly, thinking hard, "on whether the change is externally or internally dependent. If you transform because there is a full moon in the sky, and only because of that, then you would remain human while we're here. But if the cycle is caught up in your own body, happening on a regular timeline, regardless of what happens around you… then you would still transform."

Remus turned back to the mirror.

"I've always wondered," he whispered. "But I've never had the opportunity to find out."

"When was the next full moon supposed to happen?" Hermione asked.

Remus thought. "Two weeks from today."

"We'll go through all the normal precautions, to be safe," she said. "And then we'll find out."


Though the initial reunion had been sweet, tensions rose fast between Sirius and Hermione.

As much as she was sympathetic to his solitude, how he had been trapped here for years, driven almost mad by snow and silence, it was hard to get anything done amid his barrage of questions and distraction.

She'd be cooking dinner or sitting in a chair with her pile of books and Sirius would waltz in, never offering to help, with questions that were either mundane or emotionally jarring—you never knew which was coming.

"Did the Order have a funeral for me?" he asked one evening while she bent over the stove, making dinner.

Steam filtered through the air between them as the soup came to a boil. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as he leaned lazily against the stove beside her—precariously close to the open flame—watching her closely.

Hermione stared into the pot as the broth roiled, trying to think of a diplomatic way to answer while her mind was split between him and the recipe.

"Well, there wasn't any body, Sirius," she said after a beat.

He jerked upright, almost hitting his head on the cabinet. Clearly, this was not the answer he'd wanted.

"Since when does that matter?" he said sharply, looking at her like it was her fault. Hermione could only gaze back at him helplessly. There was nothing she could do, after all, to change the past.

And this was just one such example. Sirius' reactions were often explosive, physical; the only thing that seemed to calm him when he'd worked himself up was Remus intervening, bringing him back down to earth. Sirius revealed himself to be easily irritated—a side of him that Hermione had not known very well at Grimmauld Place, though it had surely always been there.

He was also unimpressed by the explanation of the horcruxes and came to entertain his preferred plan instead: finding a way to escape the cabin and duel Voldemort to the death by means of his own wand and wits. It was plain to see he was disappointed by the fact that Remus and Hermione had come here with the sole intent to rest and research. Sirius wanted to take action. The last thing he wanted to do was read.

"I want to fight," he uttered for the umpteenth time one afternoon.

Hermione gazed at him over the top of her book as he paced back and forth in front of the comfy armchair she'd settled into hours ago, a pile of biographies stacked precariously at its foot.

"I know, Sirius," she said placatingly. "I'm sorry. But don't you see that we don't have a chance of winning unless we find—"

Sirius waved his hand at her dismissively, continuing to pace. "I heard you the first time, Granger."

Hermione's irritation flickered, wishing Remus was there to manage his old friend, but no—Remus was in the kitchen making food, a task the two of them had been trading off as Sirius mostly refused to cook.

She reminded herself, again, to have sympathy. To be patient. But with outbursts like this he was keeping her from her reading, which was even more of an issue now that they had multiple mysteries to solve: the location and identity of each horcrux, of which they knew precious little—likely tied to Voldemort's past, as well as the founders' histories, requiring a lot of reading biographies and dense genealogical books—and now the nature of the enchantments placed on the Potters' cabin, too.

Hermione assumed Sirius understood these hurdles intellectually, but he seemed to have trouble internalizing and processing their reality. He seemed not to understand that by holding up their research, he was extending the amount of time that would pass before he could actually leave.

If he could leave.

Sirius continued to pace, turning so quickly and suddenly this time that he knocked over Hermione's careful stack of books. The pile tottered and fell with a crash, cracking the spine of one particularly old tome and causing a loose page to flutter to the ground.

Hermione yelped in protest. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Sirius, if you could just sit and help read—"

"Do you not understand, Granger, that I've spent years with nothing else to do!" Sirius exploded, spinning to face her.

It's not personal, it's not personal, Hermione tried to remind herself. But it was beginning to feel like it was.

"All the while you've been gallivanting about, hiding out at my old house," Sirius continued, "losing track of my godson—"

"Hang on, Harry's not gone because of me!" Hermione cried.

She was on her feet now, eyes bright and blazing, because of course she kept telling herself it wasn't her fault, but hadn't she thought a hundred times, very late at night, looking at the sagging ceiling of the tent, exactly this: That it was her fault that Harry was gone, that he would be right there in the tent with them if she and Ron hadn't—

How did Sirius know? How could he possibly know the fears that plagued her, almost every night?

Sirius looked around mockingly. "Well, I don't see him here, Granger, so where is he then?"

Hermione was blinking very rapidly, her hands clenched at her sides. She looked down and saw that he was standing on one of her books, its pages splayed open.

Be patient, be patient…

"In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Remus might've found the horcruxes already if you hadn't tagged along," Sirius spat, "fucking his brains out, distracting him, reducing him to—"

Hermione's wand was suddenly in her hand, though she didn't remember grabbing it, wasn't even sure where it had been before.

Sirius laughed loudly, slipping his own wand from his pocket in one quick, deft movement and settling into dueling stance.

"Oh, are you going to fight me now, Granger? Keep in mind I've already died once—"

"What the ever-living hell is going on in here?"

They both spun, their chests heaving, to see Remus standing before them, holding a wooden spoon. Hermione hadn't realized their voices had gotten so loud; she could only hope that Remus hadn't heard anything Sirius was saying, that he didn't start thinking those things about her, too…

She waited a beat, but Sirius did not offer Remus any explanation.

She cleared her throat, lowered her wand, and said in a level tone, "Nothing, Remus. Just playing a little game."

She cast a sharp glance at Sirius, as if daring him to contradict her. Sirius eyed her for a long moment and seemed to decide it was not worth stirring up more trouble now that they had been interrupted. From the look on his face, it was clear that Remus didn't buy Hermione's explanation, but being conflict-averse chose not to push it.

"Missed dueling, mate," Sirius said in a completely different tone than the one he'd used with Hermione mere seconds ago, backing up her initial lie. Though, to be fair, Hermione didn't doubt that his statement was true, wondering bitterly what jinx or hex he would've cast on her if Remus hadn't entered when he did.

She knelt abruptly and began to collect the fallen stack of books. Remus automatically bent to help her but she brushed him off, saying harshly, "I can do it myself."

She immediately regretted it, clocking the hurt look on Remus' face as he fleetingly met her gaze, but before she could apologize he stood and retreated back to the kitchen without a word.

Sirius, on the other hand, did not offer assistance, continuing to watch her with a cold, removed demeanor as she carefully repaired the old book with magic. Hermione pointedly avoided his eyes.

A minute passed. Arms now full of books, Hermione stood and said curtly, "You win, Sirius. I'll stay out of your way. But I just want you to remember that everyone makes their own choices. And you can't make me a scapegoat for every bad thing that's happened to you, just because you're unhappy with how your life turned out."

Sirius gave her a hard, inscrutable stare, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his face still flushed like a young boy's. Hermione steadily returned his gaze for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving the living room altogether, now determined to finish the whole biography of Tom Riddle before the clock struck midnight.


Remus came into the bedroom a half-hour later to let Hermione know that dinner was ready, but she waved him off, saying she wasn't hungry, willing her stomach not to growl while she spoke.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment. Again she felt a flicker of guilt at shutting him out like this, but what choice did she have? Hermione knew she could not get entangled with Sirius' antagonism when there was still so much to be done, and so much hanging in the balance. She had to remain above it all. Better to remove herself entirely, Hermione thought, if Sirius so obviously didn't want her here. Let them catch up. The sooner she could figure out how to leave, the better.

She offered Remus a tight, quick smile, hoping it would placate him, and then looked pointedly back down at her book. He got the hint and left again without a word, closing the door behind him.

Not long after she heard the two of them as clearly as she had the other morning—talking, laughing—but this time she did not concern herself with discerning any of the words they exchanged, focusing instead on her reading material and allowing their voices fade to a dull hum in the background.

Eventually there was a clinking of plates and glasses, the sound of water running, and the sound of Sirius and Remus' voices moved further away again, becoming virtually inaudible.

She continued to read, stopping only to light a fire in the fireplace with a wave of her wand and a quiet incendio. The flames burned blue as she curled up at the foot of the bed with her book, leaning back against the old brass frame with a great sigh.

A few hours later Remus knocked again. He came into the room, shut the door behind him, and began to unbutton his shirt, clearly assuming he would be sleeping in here with her. Something inside of Hermione twisted guiltily as she watched him.

"I'm sorry, Remus, I think we should sleep separately tonight," she said, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

The look he gave her in response was crushing. His shirt was already half unbuttoned, revealing the soft thatch of hair on his chest. He knelt on the floor beside her.

"Is something wrong—did Sirius say something?" His eyebrows knitted together in concern, his intentions so pure that Hermione almost couldn't stand it.

I'm an intruder, she thought. I'm only getting in the way of these two best friends. Slowing down the mission. A distraction.

"No, Remus," she said, willing her voice to sound light and easy. "Nothing like that. I'm just going to be up late reading, and I don't want to keep you awake."

"That won't bother me," he said tenderly, though she knew it wasn't true; Remus, an oft insomniac, slept best in total darkness. No moon, no stars, no firelight.

She closed her book and made to stand, not looking at him.

"It's all right, I can go in the living room," she said.

"No, no." He heaved a sigh. "Stay put. I'll take the couch tonight."

She doubted herself for a moment. But he'd already gotten to his feeet, his hand turning the doorknob. He gave her a sad, searching look and left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione thrust her chin into her hands and stared bleakly into the fire, wanting to cry. How had this supposed haven soured so quickly? It was her fault.

That was the worst part—deep down she was convinced that everything Sirius said was correct.


She didn't get much reading done after that, opting instead to stare into the blue flames as they snapped and danced before her.

In the distance, she heard Remus and Sirius exchange subdued goodnights, the sound of a door closing—likely Sirius' bedroom—as well as Remus getting comfortable on the couch.

Hours passed before she heard another sound—at her door, again, of all things.

"Remus, I told you," she began as the door opened, but stopped and stared when she saw who—what—had opened it.

An enormous black dog.

Her hand was halfway to her wand on the bed where she'd left it before she remembered—of course, that's right, Sirius was an animagus. Sirius was the dog, the dog was Sirius. But what the hell did he think he doing here, after how he'd treated her?

She faced the dog, her mouth a tight line, and saw that he was dangling a packet of crisps from his mouth.

A peace offering?

"Well, I'd ask if you came to yell at me some more, but I see your mouth's full," she said bracingly. Not necessarily an invitation, but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

The dog nosed the door all the way open and came fully into the room, nudging the door shut behind him with a hind leg. It had been years since she'd seen Sirius' dog form—she'd forgotten exactly how big he was, covered all over in lustrous black fur, darker than the midnight sky.

Sirius padded forward and placed the crisps gently in her lap, moving a few paces back to watch her without a sound.

"I guess you noticed I missed dinner?" she asked, holding up the bag.

The dog looked back at her placidly, wagging his tail. Right, she remembered, dogs can't talk. Sirius continued to look at her, his large gray eyes reflecting the firelight.

Hermione sighed and looked down at the little bag. She was, admittedly, starving. She tore it open and began eating with relish. He watched her quietly.

"Thank you, Sirius," she said, once the bag's contents were gone, her hunger somewhat sated.

The dog wagged his tail again, but made no move to leave.

At first Hermione had thought the silence was nice, not having to deal with Sirius' usual tendency toward unfiltered interruption, but now the quiet was beginning to unnerve her.

She turned back toward the fire, heaving a sigh that seemed to come from her very depths. If he wasn't going to talk, she might as well say what was on her mind.

"Sirius, I… I'm sorry," she said softly. "For everything you've been through. I imagine your life's been very difficult, and I can only hope the fact of my presence is not complicating it further."

She still wasn't looking at him; it would be harder to keep going if she did.

"I want you to know that I'm very sorry Harry isn't here. I want you to know that I think of him every day. I'll always wonder what I could've done differently to keep him from leaving that night."

She hugged her knees into her chest and stared hard into the flickering flames before her, willing herself not to cry.

"I know how much you loved him. Love him. And I'm sorry—I'm sorry I couldn't bring him to you."

Her breath caught and a tear finally slipped from the corner of her eye. Embarrassed, she looked down at her knees and held her breath, willing whatever this was—this weak moment—to pass. Dog form or not, she was still loath to betray any vulnerability in front of Sirius Black.

But before her next breath she suddenly felt something warm nudge determinedly into her left side. She started, muscles tensing, then realized what had happened—Sirius had padded right up to her and laid down on the floor beside her, facing the fire, his head resting in his front paws.

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, feeling each of his breaths enter and leave his body with a steady rise and fall. He lifted his head from his paws and looked at her for a very long moment. His gaze now was soft, had none of the hardness and anger that his expression had held when they fought hours prior.

"You're sorry, aren't you," she whispered.

The dog nodded.

"Is this how things go with you?" she asked him, biting back a smile in spite of everything. "You have to turn into a dog to make up with someone? Does that work better?"

He nodded again, light dancing in his eyes. Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"You know that's cheating, don't you," she said softly, but he only nudged closer into her side, as if he knew his fur and warmth and puppy eyes would make it impossible to stay angry.

Hermione reached out and stroked the soft fur of his back, her fingers trailing slowly to the top of his head. Sirius made a contented sound deep in his chest, resting his head again on his paws and shutting his eyes, basking in the cozy warmth of the fire.

Hermione returned to gazing into the fire herself, knowing, in the end, she couldn't help but forgive him.