Hermione had a strained relationship with tears. As a child, she learned the tricks to keep them at bay whenever kids spit stinging words or tugged her hair. Pinch your palms until they bleed. Focus on the crack in the wall. List the ingredients to Doxycide Potion, in alphabetical order. Anything to keep the kids from seeing her hurt. But as she grew older, Hermione's tears didn't listen so well. She grew up, and the hurts got bigger. Sobs split her chest like a chasm, flooding slowly with tears until she drowned.
Maybe some hurts leaked more than others.
As she gazed around at the empty Death Room, as she gathered her things into the messenger bag, as she slipped beneath the Invisibility Cloak and ascended the lift, Hermione wondered what was wrong with her. She wasn't crying. She wasn't drowning. Even her cheeks weren't wet; the blood had dried into thick, crumbling splotches
Maybe some hurts were too big for the body to feel.
Sirius was still dead.
Lucius left her.
This winter would never end.
She ended up in Grimmauld Place's kitchen, staring at a half-empty teacup. Wondering if she ought to sit, or drink, or bathe. If the bath should be scalding hot, or ice cold. Which would feel better. If she wanted to feel better.
Her gaze drifted up to the top of the fridge. Whiskey. Whiskey would be good. Good in a bad way. Good in a too big hurt kind of way. Maybe that's how the boys coped so well. They swallowed their big hurts until the whiskey's flames cleansed the pain.
Hermione pressed onto her tiptoes, snagging the amber bottle and tossing the cap. It landed somewhere she didn't see. The first gulp had her head spinning, throat delightfully burning. The whiskey was rawer than the acid clinging to her throat, blazing an open path down to her stomach. Hermione sputtered as her eyes filled with tears.
No, no, no!
No crying allowed. Not even whiskey crying. If she started, her body might betray her.
Hermione shoved the bottle back above the fridge, before wiping her lips with the bloody back of her hand. Whiskey was no good. Bathing might do better. She shifted the heavy bag on her shoulder, grimacing when the strap bit into her skin, even through the thick jacket.
His jacket, she thought numbly as she climbed the stairs.
Floorboards creaked on the landing. Her feet moved on their own accord, despite her better judgment, towards his room. Damn her body. Always betraying. Bodies were weak, Hermione realized as she shuffled closer. Bodies could ignore their mind's reasoning. Pain lit fires not even the most willful brain could snuff out.
The door groaned open. A sconce was already lit, bathing the bedroom in gold. She took a step inside, then another, turning left towards the bathroom, still deciding the best course of action for the bath. Heat would soothe her wounds. Cold would numb them. Hardest decision in the world—to heal, or not to feel.
Just as her hand closed around the door handle, a startling pressure encircled her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs. Hermione gasped, fingers clawing at the unknown force. She found fabric, fabric and…fingers?
The intruder snarled in her ear. A man's snarl, ripping from deep inside his chest. He shoved her forward, broken nose smacking into the wall. Pain shot through her, sticky warmth erupting once again from her nostrils. The world was getting darker, smaller, squeezing into pinpricks as he choked life from her throat.
Air, I need air.
She relaxed, just for a moment, before throwing her entire weight backwards. They both fell, gravity on her side as they plummeted backwards onto the bed. The man was growling now, shouting, roaring obscenities she couldn't hear. She kicked, and squirmed, and screamed without a sound. None worked.
Air, I need air.
She released the fabric at her neck, shoving both elbows backwards. The intruder cried out, and suddenly the pressure was gone. Hermione leapt off him, two feet planted on the floorboards as she drew her wand and dug it into the intruder's chest.
The tip rested beside a wound. A rune. So fresh, it still seeped blood. She didn't want to look away. As if looking, seeing, might wake her from this dream. Reality had already spurned her once today.
But of course, her body betrayed her. Her gaze slid up, up to a stubbled jaw, up to those shining, dark grey eyes. "Sirius?" she croaked. Her ragged breathing filled the silence as she stepped back, assessing. Sirius, flat on his back. In his bed. Wearing that brown, pinstripe blazer she always thought was adorably ugly. Curls tousled like a piece of art. Crumpled stockings in one hand. The ones she had shoved beneath the bed, all those weeks ago after the Veil first called her name, and Ron almost caught her. Hermione brought her fingers to her neck. Still tender, where he'd tried to choke the life from her. "Sirius?" she said again, voice hoarse with pain and disbelief. Blood slid down her chin, catching on the caked bits.
His eyes refocused on hers, and he blinked, like he was seeing her for the first time. "Hermione?" he whispered. Like he couldn't even believe his mouth had made her name. He pushed up, glancing from her, to his chest, to the stockings. Back to her. His throat bobbed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't…What happened?"
Her wand fell back to her side. "I thought it didn't work. I thought…Sirius," she said, taking a tentative step forward. "How did you get here? What do you remember?"
He frowned, like the memory was out of focus. But he was still looking at her, studying every part of her, eyes sweeping her bloodied face and chest, her arms in his too-big jacket, her floaty dress that had been so pretty. Now, it was stained in red. "I…"
BANG!
Hermione whipped around at the door flying open. Her eyes widened on Lucius, standing in the threshold, shoulders heaving. Out of breath. Hair loose, tendrils wild around his face. A bruise bloomed around one eye, bracketing his pale grey iris with deep plum. "Lucius?"
"Malfoy?" said Sirius darkly.
"Black," Lucius deadpanned.
The mattress springs creaked. Hermione looked between them, raising her wand. Sirius stepped up to her side. His eyes moved from her to Lucius, as if calculating. Silence strained. Her heartbeat pounded. Sirius's fingers twitched, and Hermione realized he had concluded nothing good.
Before Sirius could speak—or throw firsts, or strangle with stockings again—another BANG! sounded from down below.
"HERMIONE!"
Harry. She glanced sideways at Sirius, watched his eyes shift away from Lucius to the door behind him.
"HERMIONE!"
"Better get that, darling," Lucius drawled.
Just like that, Sirius snapped back to Lucius. "Don't you dare speak to her l—"
"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione cried out. The men froze. Sirius had one hand outstretched. Lucius clutched the doorframe, the image of indifference. "Now stay put until I come back," she hissed, glaring at each in turn before ducking under Lucius' arm and bolting down the stairs.
Hermione found Harry hunched over one of the storage trunks in their mostly unused sitting room, dust clouding around him. A rusted, ornate mirror hung from the wall by his head. Catching a glance at her horrifying reflection, she cast a wordless Scourgify.
"Harry?" she tried, when she figured her state was decent enough.
He shot upwards, cursing as he crushed her into a hug. "Merlin, Hermione. I thought something happened to you!"
"What? Why would anything happen?" she asked, voice muffled into his shoulder.
Harry drew back, still clutching her shoulders. "Just couldn't find you. Thought you were still at the Ministry."
"Yes, well sometimes I do work late. I was just upstairs, taking a bath with a silencing charm." Stupid lie. Luckily, Harry didn't seem to notice her dress or very out of place leather jacket. She looked down, realizing he was still clutching her. "Harry," she began slowly. "Is something the matter?"
His eyes widened, and he dropped her arms with a sheepish look. "Sorry, it's just something happened this evening, at the Ministry. I was having dinner at Neville's when Proudfoot apparated to us. Something bad happened."
Worry slammed into her. "Bad?" she whispered.
"Bad and weird. There was a registered spike of unknown magic—you know, like how they trace kids' magic, but this one just popped up into the records without a name being attached. Least for now. Proudfoot thinks it's dark magic. Anyways, I thought that was it, but Proudfoot was rambling about a crazed ghost found loose at the Ministry, and then we got word from Ron in France."
Her head swirled. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, just for a second, willing her body to keep its cool. "What happened in France?"
Harry shook his head. "They seemed to have a dark magic surge too, but it's tied to the problem we've been seeing for months. All of sudden this evening, about a hundred witches and wizards vanished." Harry tore away, beginning to pace over the threadbare carpet. "The French are going nuts. Blaming it on the DMLE, as if we're the ones screwing with their citizens. I'm being sent to Paris now for the foreseeable future, for undercover work, but I can't find my dad's cloak." He froze, twisting back towards her. "You haven't seen it, have you?"
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. "No. But I think Ron borrowed it. Saw him leaving your room the other day."
Harry huffed. "Git. Okay, well, I better be—"
THUMP!
Their eyes flew to the ceiling.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
"Kreacher!" Harry shot her a quizzical look. "I saw him trying to clean the light fixtures. But have dropped one of those loose chandeliers on the third floor."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, tell the elf to stay out of my shit, if you can. If I find out the thing took dad's cloak…"
Hermione darted forward, pressing a chaste kiss on her friend's cheek. "Don't worry about Kreacher. Or any of us, for that matter. I'll write to Gin, let her know where you've gone."
Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks." He reached out, squeezing her shoulder. "Stay safe, okay? Especially if there's something going on at the Ministry."
Hermione nodded, then watched as Harry shucked on his outer robes, slipped outside, and vanished from the stoop.
THUD!
"Oh, I wish you both stayed gone!" she cried to the ceiling. Hermione sprinted back up the stairs, panting as she flung open the bedroom door. She stilled, eyes widening in shock, to find both men brawling on the bed. Sirius had managed to roll on top, his hands around Lucius's throat. No stockings needed.
"You filthy, bastard, inbred—"
"You dare call me inbred, Black? Other than madness, your family is known for—"
"Reducto!" Hermione screamed. A jet of blue light shot out, blasting Sirius off to one side and slamming Lucius into the wooden headboard. "Incarcerous!" she cried, aiming at Lucius. The dark wizard's arms flew up, exposing his carved arm, pinning his wrists to the headboard with thick rope. A trail of spittle and blood slid down from his busted lip.
Sirius groaned as he pushed back to his feet. "Thank you, kitten. I was just—"
"Incarcerous!" she shrieked again, this time pointing her wand at Sirius. He cried out in surprise as a rope flew forwards, cinching both hands behind his back and securing him to the bathroom door handle. They both stared at her, stunned speechless. Hermione's arm dropped down like lead. "What we are not going to do is tear each other apart."
Lucius tested the ropes around his wrists, jerking his hands with little success. "If I'd known you liked it rough, darling, I would have asked you to join in our fun."
Hermione glowered at him. Sirius's let out a string of spewed curses. "Sirius, please stop shouting, or I'll silence you too."
Sirius rolled his eyes and muttered, "Why does he get the bed?" At her arched brow, he clamped his mouth shut, even as amusement danced in his eyes.
Hermione whirled back towards Lucius. "And you stop calling me that just to rile him up!"
There was a twinkle in the wizard's eye when he responded. "Of course, my dear. I'll play nice."
She very much doubted that, seeing the state she had found the men in, but it wasn't worth the argument. Hermione shoved her wand back in her jacket pocket, then strode across the room to where she could face both wizards. "Sirius," she started, more gently. "Please tell me what you remembered."
Sirius sighed and sank back against the door, elbows bent awkwardly to the side. "You, mostly. Well, before you, I remember the Ministry. That cold room…"
"The Death Room," she supplied.
"Yes. I remember you kids there…" He trailed off, again eyeing her up and down. He swallowed. "You're older."
"And what next?" Hermione pressed. She didn't want him to focus on the lost years, the lost people, just yet. Not here, not with Lucius to watch him grieve. Or to decide if she was still the same, bushy-haired child he'd once known.
Sirius smiled sadly. "Falling. Then just bright white. A place that felt like the docks at Hogwarts. It wasn't blissful, just…calm. And lonely, until you appeared, Hermione. It was just a few days, before I sensed you."
A few days…Time worked differently in the Edge, then. Maybe that had to do with the delay between them departing the Veil. "You saw me?"
"No, I sensed, like…like I knew you were there. Waiting. Knew I had to get to you, kitten. And then you showed up, just for a moment. And then you showed up again, and well…" He looked down at his chest, examining the rune with a frown. Hermione stepped closer and cast the healing charm, blushing at his whispered thanks.
"How did you get home?" she asked, as their eyes remained locked. She wanted nothing more than to reach out, to hold him, to be held, but her worry of being rejected kept her at bay.
Sirius seemed to consider this for a long moment, before parting his dry lips. "I woke up in that—that Death Room. Alone and cold and bleeding, which I now remember was your doing," he said with a sly grin. "I managed to get out and realized it was the Department of Mysteries. Knew that if anyone from that department found me, I'd be done for. Likely stick me in one of their experiments for research. Luckily, there was something else already drawing the attention of the guards. Barely caught sight of it, but I could have sworn I saw the Bloody Baron whizzing around."
A deep chuckle sounded from the bed. Hermione ignored him. "Then you got out?"
"Aye. Turned into Padfoot and made it up the visitor's exit, since all the fireplaces were being swarmed with aurors by that point. Then I apparated home. I was still so bloody confused once I got here. Felt half out of my mind. I found a girl's stockings under my bed, and well…you know the rest," he said softly, eyeing her neck. He strained against his ropes, like he wanted to touch her.
"I'm sorry, but did you say you apparated?" Lucius demanded. "Just back from the dead and without a wand?"
Sirius shot the other wizard a nasty look. "Ever heard of the concept, Malfoy? Saw you panting in my doorway like a man who ran through half of London." He looked back to her, eyes softening. "It's this magic, kitten. My magic, but…more." Sirius stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers. "I still feel it roiling inside me. I hardly had to think, before I appeared outside Grimmauld's front door."
Hermione bit her lip. She'd have to come back to that later. And get him a wand, to control his increased magic. For now, though, they had more pressing issues. Not to mention confronting Lucius about his disappearance and re-appearance. "Okay, okay…" Hermione muttered, turning away and pacing across the room. She felt their eyes on her, burning into her back. "First, wand. Then we need to get somewhere safe."
"We?" Sirius asked incredulously.
Hermione sighed and pushed her hands into her hair. She had missed it with her cleansing charm, and her fingers caught on her clumped, blood-caked hair. Her nose still ached something awful, and her unhealed thigh throbbed—Lucius's rune would be too—but the pain could wait. "Yes, we. All three of us. Harry told me that the Ministry has been…alerted to our activity. I don't think they know who did it, but if they figure out it's you that caused it," she said, eyeing Sirius, "or you who's connected to me," she continued, with a steady glare at Lucius, "then Grimmauld will be one of the first places the aurors check. It's safe, until things settle down again."
Lucius narrowed his eyes on her. With his hands tied and outstretched, he truly was a sight to behold. Something between startling funny and intoxicating, heady. "I take it you altered my monitoring charm to allow me to this somewhere safe?"
"Monitoring charm?" Sirius echoed, throwing his head back with laughter. "Did the Ministry cuff you, Malfoy?"
Hermione shot him a glare that meant she would use a silencing charm if necessary. With her eyes back on Lucius, she considered her options. Either she could reset the charm, and constrain his whereabouts to what they were previously—London or the manor. Or she could keep him bound to her, force him to stay with them. Perhaps that's why he was out of breath; after fleeing the Ministry for Merlin knows where, the spell had pushed him back towards her. He wanted to run. She knew that now, even if she didn't know why.
But he couldn't. He knew too much. And he was tied to this all, to the stupid prophecy she had revealed in a haze of idiotic want and trust.
No, Lucius Malfoy would be staying right by her side.
"Seeing as you don't have magic," Hermione drawled, stepping over to the prone wizard, "and you are in the presence of a man who both has exorbitant amounts of raw magic and hates your guts, I suggest you do as I say." Hermione reached out, brushing along his bloodied forearm. Lucius flinched, but kept her gaze. "Or you won't like the consequences."
His upper lip curled, half disgust, half smirk. "There's my witch," he whispered, so low Sirius wouldn't hear.
Hermione drew back, back to Sirius. "Are there any old wands at the house?"
"You'll have to dig one up from Kreacher's filthy nest, but yes, I believe Great Great Uncle Evil kept his lying about."
"Good. I'll get that, we'll each pack a bag, then we're off."
"Where to, kitten?"
Hermione gave him a small smile. "Home."
Her parent's house loomed up from the sidewalk. Ivy had crept over the brick walls, stretching high into the crumbling, shingled roofline. Long-dead hydrangeas sagged towards the path. Had it been summer, the pastel blooms would have blocked the door completely. But it was winter. Any life was dead. Time had strangled her childhood home.
Home.
No, that wasn't the word for it. Not anymore. Not since she stole her parents' lives and sent them far away. The house was a shell left to rot. And now, it was the safest place for them.
"You alright?" Sirius murmured, dropping a hand on her shoulder.
She still wore his jacket, her charmed, beaded bag stuffed inside one of the oversized pockets. She wondered how long it would be, until he asked for it back. He'd said nothing as he packed an old backpack—Lucius had done all the talking, taunting, before an exasperated Hermione shot him with a silencing spell. He was still quiet, standing on her other side with his wrists bound behind his back, hidden beneath his outer robes.
They had arrived just minutes ago, after walking over from a nearby floo network. The Order had created usable fireplaces in muggle cities during the war, in case she or any others in this part of England may need them. This one had been inside a local pub, but fortunately only a bored bartender was in the building. The woman paid them no mind as they hurried to the street.
"I'm fine," Hermione answered in a small voice. She sucked down a breath, then stepped towards the house.
The door swung open at her touch, the wards shivering over her skin. The electric had been cut long ago, and darkness covered the entryway, save for what shafted through the windows. At least we'll have water, from the well. Hermione ran her eyes slowly over the green-carpeted staircase, the archway to the sitting room with the cream couches her mother had loved so much. They were mid-century, from some designer's rarest collection, and Jean Granger claimed to never see such delightful pieces in her whole life. As a child, Hermione thought her mother ridiculous.
Now, she thought the sentiment was one of the most wonderful thing she'd ever heard.
Blinking furiously, Hermione ventured deeper inside. Someone closed the door, and the wards shivered again.
"Shall I enhance the wards?" Sirius asked.
Hermione shook her head as they followed her into the dark kitchen. "I don't think it's wise to use the wand outside of emergencies," she said, glancing at the long, Applewood wand in his hand. "We still don't know if the Ministry is tracking you. Besides," she said, as Sirius strode over to the sink window, "I felt the wards still in place. The house is unplottable, and the only people who know…knew the location are gone. Not even Harry knows." She glanced sideways at Lucius and found him staring back at her with calm, unnerving eyes. He stood in the open doorway, ignoring Sirius as he continued to examine the other two windows in the room. "Yes?" Hermione snapped, raising one eyebrow. Lucius opened his mouth, before clamping it shut with a smirk. He rolled his neck, cracking it, then strained against his bonds as if asking her to free him.
"Not sure that's wise, kitten," Sirius said as he crossed back to her. Apparently he was satisfied with their locale. "A snake still has fangs."
That Hermione knew all too well. Still, though, they wouldn't get very far if Lucius couldn't speak. "I can always pull his teeth back out," she said hotly, earning a chuckle from Sirius and an amused smirk from the dark wizard. Hermione raised her wand. "Finite."
Lucius cleared his throat. "Thank you, Hermione. And the ropes too?"
She scowled at him, then flicked her wand with another Finite. The bindings vanished. "Now sit, before I change my mind."
Grinning, Lucius slid out one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen table. "How accommodating you are, my dear," he said, propping his elbows and folding his hands beneath his chin. "Will there be tea and biscuits too?"
Hermione was about to snap something rude, when her stomach growled. She flushed, realizing she hadn't eaten since her meager lunch.
"I'll make something up," Sirius murmured into her ear. "You keep an eye on Malfoy."
"There should be something non-perishable in the cupboard," she said, smiling gratefully. As Sirius began puttering around the kitchen, Hermione took the seat across from Lucius. She couldn't help but stare, half in horror, half in satisfaction. He looked beaten to a pulp, but she knew only the split lip had come from Sirius. The black eye must have happened between the ritual and showing up at Grimmauld. Hermione set her wand on the table, still aimed at him. "Tell me. Tell me why you left."
"Barber appointment."
"Don't play games with me, Lucius."
Lucius smirked and rubbed his wrist, where the ropes had scraped the skin into an angry red. "I thought you liked playing games. Solving puzzles. Making men dance," he said, eyes sliding up. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Sirius, hovering over a kettle, pretending to ignore them. The water had boiled, steam whistling into a shriek.
"And I thought I could trust you," she whispered furiously, turning back around. "You left me, Lucius. I thought something terrible had happened. I thought I lost—" She cut herself off, choking on the words.
As the kettle abruptly stopped its screaming, Lucius leaned in close. "Then you were a fool," he whispered softly.
It was like he'd slapped her. All this time he called her his clever witch, all those hours spent discussing the complex research. Was it really all a lie? Hermione slumped back in her chair and stared out the window in the adjacent dining room. The curtains were drawn, just a sliver peeking through. She gazed absently into the night as Sirius set two steaming mugs on the table, followed by a plate of expired chocolate wafers.
Sirius's hand fell, once again, on her shoulder. Hermione let herself sink into its weight as Lucius smirked at the two of them. What I wouldn't pay to hear the bastard's thoughts.
"I presume you wouldn't poison me, Black," Lucius hummed as he took hold of his mug.
Sirius took a long drink. "Not my style."
"No, you were more of a brainless dueler, weren't you?"
The hand on her shoulder stiffened. Lucius chuckled and raised the mug to his lips, drinking deeply, even though Hermione knew the tea was still scalding. "You're lucky neither of us haven't killed you already," Sirius said darkly.
"Sirius," Hermione warned.
The blonde wizard set the mug down with a thud. "Do heed your handler's warnings, Black." He set his hard gaze on Hermione. "There's more bite in that pretty mouth than she lets on."
Hermione expected Sirius to launch himself at him, in the same display of protecting her honor as before. Instead, Sirius just chuckled and pulled out a chair, dragging it to Hermione's side. With his mug set on the table, he crossed one leg over the other. His knee bounced, brushing her thigh. "Which professor did you fancy during school?"
"Sirius!" Hermione admonished, but Lucius was already answering.
"McGonagall. A witch in spectacles always did it for me."
Hermione gaped at him. Lucius appeared just as surprised as she was. But Sirius—Sirius had his head thrown back, laughing from his belly. Hermione turned slowly back to face Lucius. When her eyes fell on the mug, she gasped. "Are you serious?" she hissed. "You dosed him with Veritaserum!"
"I'm always Sirius, kitten." His laughter faded at her frown. "You're right—bad joke. I nicked a vial from the Order's stores while you were packing. Better get those ropes back out, before Lucy throws a fit."
Fuck. Merlin, fuck! Hermione shot out the spell, and yet again, ropes flew at the dark wizard. Lucius cried out, but the bindings had already cinched around his chest, pinning him to the chair.
"You will regret—ever stepping foot—back into this life," Lucius seethed through his teeth. He jerked, but the chair legs only teetered before settling back down. Hermione cast a muttered sticking charm, just in case he got any ideas.
Sirius relaxed against his chair, grinning. "I think it's time to answer some questions, Malfoy. Don't you?"
"No," Lucius snarled.
The hand at her shoulder traced lower, curling around Hermione's wrist, drawing her attention away from her surprise and horror. Surprise that she hadn't thought of it first. Horror of knowing whatever truth lurked behind the man's lips. "Do you want me to leave?"
She bit her lip, then gave a small shake of her head. "No. You…you need to hear this, if we're in this mess together." Hermione swallowed another burning sip of tea, then asked softly, "Why did you leave me at the Ministry?"
"Because I planned to get away."
"Planned?"
"Obviously it did not work out," he drawled, biting out the words. "I attempted to return to Proudfoot's office, in case you were lying about it being locked."
"What's in the second file?"
"The document to release the cuff and return my magic."
Hermione blinked. That explained his sudden anger, upon learning that she only procured one of the files. She breathed out, slowly, letting the cold air fill her chest until she could bear to hold it no longer. Her exhale came as quickly as her question. "Why did you agree to help me in the first place?"
"I wanted to remove the monitoring charm and the magic dampener," he answered quickly, easily. "I needed someone to get the papers for me."
"You used me," she whispered hoarsely.
"Yes."
"How?"
Lucius's lips set into a hard line. She wished it was regret in those cold, pale eyes. Knew it probably just pity. "You were so helpless. So desperate for my attention. My affection. I knew, once I gained your trust, you would attempt anything I asked."
The pressure around her wrist increased, anchoring her. The world was narrowing, squeezing and cold as the truth slammed into her. "Was any of it real?"
"Yes."
"Which parts?"
"Kissing you felt real."
Hermione leapt to her feet. "That—that's enough!" she stammered, hugging her arms to her ribs. "Sirius, how long until the potion wears off?"
"It was a low dose. Maybe a few hours."
Hermione nodded curtly. "He can stay here while you rest and I get some real food at the shop." She narrowed her eyes on Lucius. The wizard was staring at his mug now, hair limp around his cheeks. "We'll tie him up in the guest bedroom, when I'm back. Everything else can wait until the morning." She began striding out, heard Sirius mutter something before his footsteps pounded after her.
"Let me go instead," he offered, catching her hand.
Hermione stilled. She pressed back into the wall, staring at him through the near darkness. Only the streetlamp outside the half-moon window illuminated the narrow hall. "I can't risk you getting lost. Or confusing muggle money and scaring the cashier half to death. The shop's only a street away. I won't be gone long."
"Hermione…"
"Rest," she insisted, squeezing his hand. "I'll find you when I'm back."
He let her go, reluctantly. Watching through that half-moon in the door until she disappeared into the dark.
Hermione moved numbly through the little Tesco, listening to the squeal of the trolley. Lucius's truth whirled through her head like a hurricane. All those days, those nights spent together. The kisses. His touch, her own. The heat and the spark of not-quite-magic that made her feel alive for the first time in so long. That part had been real. To both of them.
The rest was a lie. And he was right. She had been a fool to believe in it.
Back at her parent's house, Hermione resolutely ignored Lucius as she put the shopping away. He just sat there, watching, slumped as much as the ropes allowed. When the final canister of oatmeal was shoved away, she finally climbed to the second floor. She checked the guest room, then her parent's (just a peek—she couldn't bare it any longer), then finally her childhood room at the end of the hall. A crayon sign hung from the door, the word "Enter" drawn in the crisp, bright pink letters of her nine-year-old self.
Hermione knocked lightly. At a soft, "Come in," Hermione stepped inside. Sirius sat on her pale purple bedspread, back to her, eyes on the open window. Lace curtains lifted in the biter breeze. It had to be close to freezing, but Sirius didn't seem to mind.
"You're supposed to be resting," she scolded, pausing at the threshold. "And this is my room you're not-resting in, you know."
"Most comfortable mattress in the house." Sirius's shoulders sagged, and he patted the spot beside him. Hermione climbed over the plush bedding until she was just inches away. She drew her knees to her chest, watching him through the dark. "I can't sleep," he told her in that easy, calm voice of his. Sirius sighed and looked over at her. She wanted to look away—meant to—but his warm grey eyes held her fast. "I know that time has passed. I didn't realize when you came to the Bright Place, but I see it now. You're all grown up."
Hermione blushed and dropped her knees. She didn't want to look like that child he'd known. "I'm nineteen now."
"Is the war over?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"We won."
He shook his head, smiling sadly. "Wars are only lost, no matter which side you're on. I need…I need you to tell me, Hermione. Before anything else about how you got me out, or what really happened with Malfoy, or what happened in the years since I left." He reached for her hand, drawing it into his lap. Fingers tight, secure. All the things home should be, not like the empty shell of her childhood house. "I need you to write me a list of their names."
"Sirius…"
"Please," he pleaded, gripping tighter. "I need this."
She hesitated before nodding. Hermione took her wand and summoned a notepad and pen. She cast a Lumos and wrote the names. Even as the ink turned shaky, even as a tear blotched and the first name bled, she kept writing. When it was done, she handed him the paper and rose to her feet. "Sleep," she whispered, before pressing a hesitant kiss to his forehead. He watched her go. She kept the door cracked as he began to read the names of the dead.
As his shoulders began to shake, guilt and old memories swam over her, clouding her vision. Hermione turned on her heel and disappeared back down the stairs. The carpet muffled her footsteps, but did nothing for Sirius's sobs.