In the coming days Hermione could not deny that a new desire was growing. It was one that she had not yet been able to place or name, but it flickered nonetheless in unexpected moments. Like when Sirius walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his appearance closely followed by Remus' indignant "Sirius, there's a woman here."

Sirius grinned and caught Hermione's eye as he carried on down the hall, shaking his hair out like the animal he turned into. And Hermione realized then that she liked it—Sirius' attention on her, his sleek body catching all the light through the windows.

But she'd also liked the way Remus had called her woman, for it was true: She wasn't a girl anymore. Far from it.

But even as this desire took shape, a new fear developed as well. Hermione began to wonder, as more time passed, whether they would ever find a way to leave the cabin.

She was sure now that they had all ended up here for a reason—the three of them, together. But why? It was as if their shared presence was a riddle, a puzzle that they were supposed to solve.

And Hermione Granger, of all people, couldn't find the key.


She'd been meaning to bring all of this up to Remus, but it was difficult to determine the appropriate way to start such a conversation. On this afternoon in particular, Remus had draped himself across the couch in the living room, reading yet another book. Sirius had mysteriously decamped to his bedroom not long ago, his noisy departure pulling Hermione from the trance of her own reading. She stood and stretched, walked over to the window. It was snowing again.

"Remus," she started, and then stopped, but she'd already caught his attention. He slipped his thumb between the pages of the book to mark his spot and looked up at her, waiting.

"Do you ever think…" she tried again. "Do you ever think that we might be dead? And this… this is the afterlife?"

Remus laughed. "What? What do you mean?"

"Or…" She fumbled, trying to put her theory into words. "…maybe we're not dead, exactly. Maybe the cabin is a kind of purgatory."

He put the book down on the coffee table, sensing a serious turn in the conversation.

"Like maybe the Snatchers got us?"

"Or the Death Eaters, or the Ministry… I mean, take your pick, right?" She kept looking out the window; it had always been difficult for her to voice her fears out loud. "We're on the run from just about everyone these days, aren't we?"

Remus was quiet.

In a way, this didn't surprise Hermione. She was beginning to wonder if Remus wanted to leave at all. She suspected that he was growing to love the cabin just as much as it irked Sirius—a sort of inverse relationship to their surroundings. She'd seen Remus gazing into the full-length mirror in their bedroom, not so much admiring his body as simply reacquainting himself with it. Years of chronic lycanthropy had distanced Remus from himself; these months marked the longest he had ever remained human, uninterrupted, in his adult life.

"I don't think we're dead," Remus said, after a moment had passed. He paused, then took the plunge, admitting, "Honestly, this is the most alive I've ever felt."

Hermione looked at him, then turned back to the window, the snow.

What of Sirius, she wanted to ask but didn't. What if, for him, this was just another iteration of Grimmauld Place? Had he not simply moved from one prison to another his whole life? Pacing back and forth for years across these same desolate floorboards, bound perpetually to this strange place, unable to speak with the people who mattered most to him and no closer to the answers than when he first arrived.

Hermione felt caught between these two men's very different desires—one wanting to stay forever, and the other wanting more than anything to leave. If you asked her what she wanted, she might unthinkingly respond yes, I'd like to go, because that was the answer that made sense. Of course humans were not supposed to live out their lives in captivity; of course she was meant to find Harry and destroy the horcruxes and defeat Voldemort, so on and so forth. So she leaned toward Sirius.

But there was a quiet part of her that understood the undercurrent of Remus' desire to remain. A part of her that felt relief in this isolation. If she couldn't leave, then she had no responsibilities, really, for the first time in her life. No obligations. No one to save. Everyone beyond these walls would simply have to do without her, would have to learn how to fend for themselves. And she could not deny that occasional flowing rush of consummate relief.

Sometimes, in strange, dark, in-between moments, Hermione wondered what might have happened if Ron and Harry hadn't come to find her in the girl's bathroom, that Halloween eve, the night of the troll.

If she had saved herself.

Would she be here, in this cabin, today? What would her life have been?

"Do you believe in fate, Remus?" she whispered, turning from the window.

"These days?" he said quietly, meeting her gaze. "A little more than I used to."


That evening, they were all reading around the fire in the living room. It was an especially cold night, and Sirius had made a nest on the floor, right in front of the fire.

"Animals get more than a few things right, as it turns out," he'd said, returning from another deceptively narrow closet, his arms overflowing with blankets. James' mum had been an avid quilter, so they had more than enough to choose from.

"What, hibernation?" Remus had laughed. Together they spread the various quilts and blankets across the floor, piling them on top of each other until Hermione forgot all about the wooden planks beneath.

They'd been like this for at least an hour; she couldn't remember ever being so comfortable in her life. The cozy atmosphere, with the fireplace, the books, the blankets—all of it reminded her vaguely of the Gryffindor common room, and the resulting nostalgia made her sleepy and happy.

Her head was in Remus' lap; he was sitting with his back against the coffee table, holding a book by the base of its spine in his left hand and using his right to idly run his fingers through her hair. And, like the other morning, her legs were resting across Sirius' lap. He was also leaning against the coffee table, his hands in constant motion—marking pages, pushing his hair out of his eyes, muttering to himself.

She kept sneaking glances down at Sirius when he wasn't looking, a quiet thrill rushing through her every time she saw how focused he was—his brows furrowed slightly, his head bent close to the page. She felt, for a rare moment since she and Remus had arrived at the cabin, like the three of them were truly united.

That night Hermione was wearing a red dress she particularly liked. The sleeves were long, the neckline low, and the skirt a little shorter than what she usually wore, but she'd looked at herself in the mirror that morning and admired the way it emphasized her small waist, her gentle curves.

I look… pretty, she'd thought, a little proudly.

The dress was, of course, completely impractical for winter—the long sleeves on her arms didn't compensate for bare legs—but there was no reason she shouldn't get to feel pretty every now and then, she reasoned, and then to compensate she'd pulled on a pair of thick cream socks that Molly Weasley had knit her in another life.

This was the dress she was wearing now. And it was this dress that allowed Sirius' free hand to rest, at this moment, on her bare calf. His hands were rougher than Remus', she thought. His touch was distracting; for once, she found it difficult to focus on her reading.

Sirius seemed to sense her eyes on him; he glanced up abruptly and caught her watching. She blushed, as always, and he smirked.

"Time for a study break, Granger?" he posited slyly, tossing his book (a family history of the Peverells) carelessly to the floor and stretching his arms over his head—though without moving her legs from his lap, Hermione couldn't help but notice.

His eyes slid to hers as she opened her mouth to protest, and—was that a wink?

"Moony, want to know what Granger asked me the other day?" Sirius grinned.

Oh no.

Remus replaced the bookmark carefully in his own book and set it behind them on the coffee table, his other hand still tangled in Hermione's hair.

"What's that, Pads?"

"She asked if I'd ever had a girlfriend." Sirius smirked deviously. There was that look again, directed at her. "Or a boyfriend."

"Merlin." Remus laughed outright. "Hermione, there might be some things you're better off not knowing."

Whatever they were playing at, it was working—her curiosity was piqued. She set her book down on the floor beside her, turned her head up to look at Remus inquisitively.

"Why? What was he like?"

Sirius laughed again. "There were—"

"Stories," Remus cut in. "Nicknames."

"Passionate love affairs!" Sirius corrected.

"A girl and a boy who met each other at The Three Broomsticks, both expecting you." Remus shook his head, though still smiling. "Bastard."

"Pretty sure they ended up getting married, though," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Did them a favor, really."

The two men exchanged a glance, clearly enjoying this shared opportunity to reminisce.

"What about you, Remus?" Hermione asked softly.

Funny, she'd had a thousand conversations with Remus—not just about practical concerns, but so many things. Different subjects from school, charms and spells, history, all the interests they shared… but she had never asked him this.

"Lad was a monk," Sirius said.

"I went on a couple dates," Remus offered with a shrug. "A few after school. But—"

"Lycanthropy, war," Sirius ticked off on his fingers. "Pretty time-consuming."

"Nothing ever lasted," Remus clarified, a little somberly, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking of Tonks. A flash of guilt passed through her for reminding him.

"Hermione, you know it's your turn now," Sirius teased.

For a moment she was quiet. Surely, between the three of them, she was the least experienced—what interest could they really have in her teenage fumbling? But that funny smirk had returned to Sirius' face; she felt him slip his thumb beneath the edge of her sock, grazing the tender skin of her ankle. Her breath caught. Her bare legs would certainly betray her; goosebumps were rising fast.

"I heard about that Quidditch player," Sirius said. "Did you and he ever—"

"Sirius," Remus scolded, looking down at her apologetically. "Hermione, you know you don't have to answer—"

"Yes," she said, and both of them fell silent. She looked up and saw, even as Remus had protested, that he was curious. He brushed her hair back from her forehead, tucked it behind her ear. Sirius was unabashedly eager, his thumb trailing up the curve of her calf.

"Wow," he said, clearly impressed. "You lost your virginity to an international Quidditch star?"

"He wasn't—" Hermione protested, laughing despite herself. "People always talk about Viktor in these lofty terms. But he was just a regular person, really. Even a little shy. And he was kind to me that night. A few summers after we met, I went and visited him in Bulgaria, and… I really enjoyed myself. He was so tender with me, so careful."

Remus was watching her face with interest. Sirius snorted.

"Blokes like that… dunno, Granger. Did he… take care of you?"

"You mean, did he make me come?" Hermione said pointedly. Sirius' hand froze at the curve of her knee; it seemed he hadn't expected her to be quite so direct. Admittedly, she was a bit surprised herself, but there was something about Sirius that brought out a certain boldness in her, a desire to defy his expectations. Remus seemed to sense this, chuckling to himself.

"He did, actually," she continued, trying to sound offhand. She was enjoying the look on Sirius' face, the mild shock, the new interest. "More than once."

"Good girl," Remus said quietly, smiling. "Make him earn it."

"Did he…" Sirius trailed off, gazing at her with unbridled curiosity.

"He went down on me, at first," Hermione said. Her cheeks were pink and her chest felt warm, but she kept going. "No one had ever done that to me before. With his tongue, his mouth—I'd never felt anything like it. He made me come twice that way before he'd even let me touch him."

She'd locked eyes with Sirius as Remus continued to stroke her hair; he hadn't broken eye contact.

"I didn't really know what I was doing, at first, but he taught me. I was there for a few weeks, in Bulgaria. We tried all kinds of things."

"Like what?" Sirius said.

She closed her eyes, smiling dreamily. Those few weeks had been idyllic, truly, but for a long time it felt as if the war had wiped out every last happy memory. She hadn't thought about this in years.

"He fucked me outside a lot. We'd go to this clearing where no one else was around for miles," she murmured. She could picture it now, almost feel the sun again on her skin, Viktor's rough hands touching every soft part of her. "He fingered me at dinner once, even with his mum and dad at the table. I had to try so hard to be quiet."

They had parted with the understanding that they would not be pursuing a relationship—those few, blissful weeks had been the culmination of their connection. But she still thought of the experience fondly. Viktor had been nothing but kind to her; though their bond had been brief, it had at least been more positive than her experience with Ron.

Sirius was quiet, but she could hear his breath coming faster. She scrunched up her face, thinking back.

"He liked me on top, so he could touch my breasts, and he loved to watch his cock go in and out of me. He'd start to move slower, tease me until I begged. I… I like to be teased," she confessed.

Remus' hand had trailed down to her neckline, she realized; he was now tracing the place where her dress met her skin with the edge of his thumb.

Sirius' hand had moved even further up her leg, to her inner thigh, just a few inches shy of touching the part of her that was pulsing now.

Hermione felt warm from the fire; she liked having their attention on her. Remus' hands just above her breasts felt good; her skin was tingling wherever he touched her. And she knew that Sirius must feel the goosebumps he was raising on her skin. As he moved higher and higher, she didn't push his hand away. In fact, she opened her legs, slightly, spreading them further apart as they rested in his lap. Welcoming him. Though she didn't know what it would mean, or what might happen next, she willed his touch higher.

She looked up at Remus and smiled at him. He smiled back.

And then Sirius jumped up suddenly, clearing his throat.

"Right, well…" He seemed unusually at a loss for words, scattered, not looking at anything in particular. As Hermione watched, he flexed the fingers that had touched her; an infinitesimal shudder passed through him. Remus had leaned forward to stoke the fire; she wasn't sure he'd seen. She stared at Sirius; he looked back at her, his expression unreadable.

I disgust him, she thought suddenly, angrily, reproachfully. What else had she thought would happen?

"Going to bed, mate?" Remus asked in a neutral tone. Hermione was confused—it felt like they'd been moving toward… what? She wasn't sure. But it'd been new territory, deep waters, a place none of them had ever been before.

Now the nervous anticipation she'd felt building had dissipated, and Sirius was leaving.

"Yeah, sleep sounds right," Sirius muttered, almost more to himself than to them. "Well… 'night you two."

And he left Remus and Hermione together before the fire.


A few hours later, Hermione was shaken awake in bed.

"Hermione," Remus was saying. "Hermione, wake up."

"What?"

"It's Sirius." She'd never seen him look like that before; his expression one of utter terror. "Sirius is gone."

"What?" she repeated, throwing the covers back. Remus was already in his coat.

"I'm going to go out and look for him," Remus said, clearly frightened but trying to hide it. "I'll find him."

Wearing only her nightshirt, Hermione trailed Remus through the house, to the front door. The temperature in the living room was freezing—the door was open, swinging in the winter wind.

Before he went out, Remus turned suddenly, grabbed her by her arms, and kissed her forehead very hard.

"Everything will be all right," he promised.

Hermione stood by the door, watching him tramp out into the snow, and could only hope that was true.


A/N: Thanks again for your thoughtful reviews, as well as the favorites and follows! Hope you don't mind the cliffhanger ;) See you next week!