Knockturn Alley was just as ghastly as she remembered it. Like all color had been sucked out of the sky and cobblestones and painted signs, leaving everything in murky shades of grey. A low hum of voices hung in the street, and as Hermione peered around the corner of an abandoned apothecary, worry gnawed at her mind. She hated being here. Hated bringing Sirius here. And yet, it was the only place she could think of to stash Lucius while going about their mission.

Stash, like he's a can of soup in the cupboard. She would have chuckled, if the mood wasn't so sour.

They had departed not long after catching their breath in the park, taking the little pub's floo to one of the public networks on the outskirts of Knockturn. Sirius had kicked Lucius awake, despite her attempts to dissuade him. Hermione supposed it was better than the alternative of explosive magic and hexing. Still, she had winced when his dragon-hide boot struck the dark wizard's tender throat.

Hermione looked back at him now. Lucius wore the invisibility cloak, but his wrists remained bound, his mouth silenced. A length of rope extended from the apparent nothingness, the tail end wrapped around Sirius's hand. "I don't like this," she murmured, glancing nervously up at Sirius.

"We could always check The Magical Menagerie," Sirius replied. "I'm sure they make owl cages large enough for wizards." He gave the invisible man a mocking, contemplative look. "Then again, snakes slip so easily between bars."

Hermione winced at Sirius's mockery. This was the side of the man she had not missed. Casually cruel in the way he treated those who had wronged him. Like Snape, Hermione realized with a frown. This part of Sirius never grew up. "We'll just have to tie him up in the store," she muttered, grabbing the rope before Sirius could protest.

She led him through the side doorway, glancing at each end of the alley to make sure none of Knockturn's lurkers were in sight. Lucius complied with hardly a tug. A sick feeling flipped in her stomach; his lack of objection made Hermione feel like she was leading an Imperius curse victim by the leash.

Glass crunched underfoot as they entered the decrepit shop. Shadows hung over the single room, slashed only by the weak light from the grimy front windows. Almost every shelf had been ransacked, only a few overturned bottles left behind. A few had strange substances collected around the bottles' openings, like the potions had leaked and petrified.

"Lovely spot," Sirius muttered.

Hermione turned in a circle, looking for a place that wasn't destroyed to secure Lucius, before stilling when she faced the front counter. The words "They Sold to Mudbloods!" had been burned into the wooden baseboard with what looked like a Flagrate curse made permanent.

A hand lightly touched her back, and Hermione jumped, before realizing it was only Sirius. "At least we know they're on our side," he commented with a chuckle.

"They were on our side," Hermione muttered as Sirius slipped away. In a place like Knockturn Alley, in a shop that must have catered to all manner of dark wizards as well as Muggle-borns, apparently, she didn't have much hope for the shop owner's fate.

"What about over here?" Sirius called out. He gestured to a huge, iron cauldron on display in the front corner. Sirius blew off a strand of cobwebs, then grabbed one of the handles. He strained, but the cauldron didn't budge.

Hermione led Lucius closer. "So close to the window?"

Sirius looked up at the grimy glass, which was already half-shielded by a lopsided curtain. "Invisibility cloak, plus a Disillusionment charm?" he suggested.

"I'd rather keep you invisible."

"Why, something off about my dog-smell, love?"

Hermione smiled, even as she rolled her eyes. Sirius had transfigured into Padfoot as they crossed through the floo into Knockturn. She was surprised, actually, at how little anyone stared. Perhaps Grim sightings were commonplace in a place like this. "Fine," Hermione relented, before she began to attach the rope to the cauldron with a series of complicated knot-tying spells. "But no more licking my fingers!" Sirius had been keen on that too.

Once he was secure and Disillusioned, Hermione cast a sticking charm in the direction of his feet. It felt so wrong, to leave him here like that. Bound and gagged after they'd been ignoring him the whole time. Feeling guilty, Hermione reached up and grasped the slippery cloak. It fell down over his face. Lucius was positively wrathful, glaring down at her. "Hello…I suppose I don't need to tell you this, but don't try anything stupid. Or smart," she amended, earning a snort from Sirius. "You can't even leave a two-mile radius, so there's no point in trying to run."

Lucius's eyes bored into her own. Then, to her surprise, he gave a small nod.

She supposed that was the best she was going to get in way of agreement. Hermione re-covered his face, touched his arm once, just to be sure he was there, then turned her back. She made quick work of putting up the wards, Sirius watching her with curious eyes.

"Who taught you that?" he asked, as she joined him by the side door.

Hermione hesitated, fiddling with her wand. "Remus, he…he taught Harry, Ron, and I before seventh year. Or what was supposed to be seventh year." A mixture of grief at his friend's name, and confusion as to her meaning, crossed over his face. Hermione cleared her throat and inclined her head towards the door. "We ought to get going."

They departed without another word. Hermione quickly transfigured her jumper into a hooded sweatshirt, her hair stuffed inside and the fabric drawn low over her face. At a wet, rough feeling on her fingers, Hermione found a shaggy, black dog panting up at her. "You're lucky that doesn't seem to set off the trace," she scolded.

Padfoot whined, then they were off.

The pair twisted and turned down Knockturn Alley, Padfoot lagging just a few paces behind. Hermione kept her eyes down, but no one seemed to pay them any mind. A few wizards sat hunched outside a dismal pub, playing wizarding poker and betting what looked like jars of black, sludgy blood. As they passed, Padfoot slid between her and the men, uttering a low growl.

"Hush, now," she muttered, and he slunk back by her heels.

They entered Diagon Alley in what felt like a burst of light—and relief, though she also knew it was far more likely to run into people she knew here. Whereas the wizarding shopping district had been all but abandoned during the war, time had bred new life into the streets. Twinkling lights left over from the winter holidays still strung over the paths, floating lazily like the candles at Hogwarts. Families and couples bustled around, laughing and giggling and hurrying to and from the open shops. Hermione couldn't help but lift her head to watch. At least this place had moved on.

With another stroke of luck, no one looked their way for very long. And by the time they reached Ollivander's black brick storefront, Padfoot was happily trotting by her side. Hermione stilled by the closed door, fingertips brushing her companion's back. The lights were on inside, glowing with cheery warmth. Through the grid of window panes, she saw him—Ollivander, wizened by more than just age. Last time she'd seen him, the wizard had been half a corpse. Hermione was pleased to see that time had put weight on his bones, and added a smile to his wrinkled face as he puttered behind the counter. She wondered if he still felt the crushing bleakness too—the pain that had not lifted, even after Harry killed Voldemort, and their world tilted back to normal.

As if sensing her melancholy, Padfoot butted his head against her thigh. She giggled, then knelt down and put on her serious face. "I'm going to go in first, alright? Like we discussed at the park. Wait here until I come get you." The dog wagged his tail, then looked behind her. She glanced too, finding a stray tabby cat prowling around the Junk Shop across the street. "Don't make me tie you up too," she warned, before departing for the store.

A bell chimed as the door swung shut behind her. Ollivander had his back turned, his arms stretching up to shove a wand box into place among the crammed-in others. Hermione took a step forward. The wizard stilled.

"Ten and three-quarters, Vine Wood with a Dragon Heartstring core," he said in a breathy voice. Ollivander gave the box a final thrust, then spun to face her. "It has been a long time, Miss Granger."

Up close, she could see that he still retained a hollowness to his kind features, though his eyes were bright with interest. "Feels like only yesterday we were at Shell Cottage," she replied, smiling as she walked forward.

"I presume you're not here to reminisce on that horrid piece of past, though, are you? Let me see…" He gave her an appraising look, eyes lingering on her jacket pocket, where her wand poked out. "That wand as served you well, Miss Granger." She touched it fondly as his eyes flickered back to her own. "I see that I am to serve you as well, seeing as you have no need for another wand."

"Well…yes, Mr. Ollivander."

"Is this business for the Order?"

"Would you be more inclined if it was?"

"Not one bit," he said, giving her a wink. "I owe you and your boys a debt, Miss Granger. You need only ask, and it will remain between us. I give you my oath as a wizard…and a friend."

Hermione searched is face for any doubt. He only smiled back, fingers stuck in the pockets of his linen apron. She nodded, then turned and pulled open the door. "Padfoot!" Ollivander's eyes flew down as the huge dog loped inside. "Now, Mr. Ollivander, I don't want you to be alarmed—"

Sirius transformed before she could finish. He stood there, arms at his side, taking in the wizard's wide eyes. "It's been a long time, Ollivander."

Ollivander's eyes narrowed. Hermione was about to draw her wand—in case he would call for help, or fling a hex—but instead, the man said calmly, "Eleven inches, Ebony with a Unicorn Hair core." Like with Hermione, he looked Sirius up and down. "What happened to it?"

"Lost it in another dimension."

"Pity. It was quite powerful, you know."

"And here I was, thinking it was just me."

Both men grinned at each other, until Hermione cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but are you not even a little bit shocked that Sirius has returned from the dead? Or that he's even here at all?"

Ollivander chuckled. "I was informed of Pettigrew's framing of Mr. Black by the delightful Miss Lovegood, when we were imprisoned together. As well as your unfortunate death," he added solemnly, bowing his head.

Hermione bit her lip at the mention of the manor, but neither men seemed to take notice. "I'll be sure to buy her a pint sometime," Sirius said. He gave Hermione a sideways glance and raised one eyebrow, as if to say tell me what happened later.

"I assume there were, ah…complications with the resurrection?" the elderly wizard inquired, drawing both their attention back to towards the counter.

"Yes," Hermione said quickly, striding forward. "Sirius's magic came back extraordinarily powerful, as far as I can tell. And there also seems to be a trace on his magic. I…I was hoping you might be able to help. I would go to someone more knowledgeable in Ministry tracing, but this isn't a strictly legal situation."

"I see," Ollivander tutted, giving Sirius a piercing gaze. "Why don't we just…" He trailed off, whirling around and departing through the door behind the counter. It swung wildly, showing a back room even more stuffed and caught in disarray than the store's front.

Sirius leaned in close. "This is going well," he whispered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It could have easily gone worse, seeing as you transformed before I could even try to explain."

"You worry too much, kitten."

She spun on him, eyes narrowing further at his amused smirk. "And you don't worry enough!"

"Here we are!" Ollivander called out, pushing back into the room. He held a dark blue wand box, then slid it over the counter towards Sirius. "This here is a Magometer," he explained as Sirius lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in the tissue paper, sat a rod of clear glass in the shape of a wand. "It measures the potency of a wizard's magic. Now, usually, the Magometer only picks up a pre-pubescent child's potency—hormones, just disastrous—but seeing as Mr. Black has only recently come back into his magic, I thought you might give it a whirl." At Sirius's hesitation, Ollivander picked up the Magometer and held it out. "Don't worry, it doesn't actually draw on or perform magic to alert a trace; it only displays the level, if you will. Now that whirl, Mr. Black."

Sirius looked doubtful, but he did as asked. The second Ollivander's fingers left the rod, and Sirius's wrapped around it, the clear glass morphed into blinding, white light. Magic hummed, Ollivander gasped with excitement, and Hermione had to shield her eyes. The humming grew louder, a chorus of voices just out of reach. Then a crack! reverberated through the room.

"That's enough!" Ollivander cried, plucking the rod from Sirius's grasp and dropping it back in the box. Instantly, the hum faded, and the instrument transformed back into clear glass. Hermione peered down to see a fissure running along its length, "How extraordinary," Ollivander breathed out, staring at the broken instrument in wonder.

"Er, sorry about that," Sirius said weakly.

Ollivander waved him off. "No matter, my boy."

"What does it mean?" Hermione asked.

"It means, Miss Granger—Mr. Black," he said, nodding at Sirius, "that his magic is not only powerful, but highly unstable. More so than any child intended to be tested. I suspect that only the slightest provocation would render him a danger not only to this trace, but to himself as well. And whoever remains in his presence," he warned, turning to Hermione. "Magic like this needs to be released as quickly as possible, lest it fester and grow even more precarious. Ordinarily, I would suggest performing spellwork in a controlled environment, but seeing as Mr. Black has a trace, we are left without many options."

Hermione grimaced at his words. Sirius's hand came to her back, brushing lightly down her spine in comfort. She leaned into him, just enough to feel the steady pressure without Ollivander seeing. "What about the trace, then? Surely there's something we can do about that."

Ollivander put a finger to his chin, lost in thought for a long moment before answering. "I confess that traces are not my area of expertise, but I have picked up a basic understanding over the years. Your ability to use the Magometer gives us some clue," he said, tapping his chin as he studied Sirius. "Somehow, your resurrection has prompted the Improper Use of Magic Office to identify you as underaged."

"Har—my friend at the Ministry said there was a registered spike of unknown magic," Hermione told him. "And when Sirius accidently performed magic earlier today, it was as if the Aurors had only a general sense of our location, but they couldn't pinpoint it exactly."

"Curious, curious," Ollivander muttered, before dropping his hand. "Allow me to do some research…oh, let us say three days or so, then I will owl you with instructions to meet me back here. I would come to you, but alas, I already have my production in place for a new batch of wands."

"Three days?" Hermione said worriedly.

Ollivander gave her a sympathetic look. "You must keep him in check, Miss Granger. Or it may not matter what solution I find out."

"Easier said then done," she muttered, thinking of Lucius and the silencing spell she'd have to keep on him, whenever Sirius was in the room. "Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander. I'll find a way to let you know our location, once we figure out where that is."

They both thanked him earnestly, before Ollivander waved them off with the insistence that he had work to do. Back in Diagon Alley, Hermione and Padfoot wove determinedly through the streets until Knockturn's creeping cold returned.

"Three days, eh kitten?" Sirius called out from where he was leaning on the apothecary door's frame. "Sounds like trouble."

Hermione pressed her lips firmly together as she strode across to the cauldron and yanked off the Invisibility Cloak. To her relief (and somewhat to her surprise—they had been gone for quite a while), Lucius stared disdainfully down at her. "If you didn't goad each other like school children with a House rivalry, three days would be no trouble at all." Sirius scoffed. Lucius looked pointedly down at his hands, and Hermione released both the ropes and his mouth with an agitated flick. The sticking charm remained—she didn't trust him not to run, even if it was pointless.

"Pity," Lucius sneered as he rubbed his wrists. "I was so sure the aurors had picked you two up."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Then they'd be picking you up too, remember?" She let her eyes slide him up and down. It made her feel powerful…and a little bit nauseated, when she was re-acquainted with all his bruises and wounds.

Lucius set his upper lip into a curl. "Any luck neutering your puppy?"

Angry steps hurried towards her. Hermione held out a hand, feeling Sirius's rapidly rising and falling chest still at her touch. "We're in the process of finding a solution. It will be a few days, though, which means we all," she stressed, looking to the 'puppy' in question, "need somewhere safe to stay. My parents' house was compromised, so we'll have to find somewhere new."

"And I suppose you think I have something to offer?"

"The git probably has half a dozen safe houses," Sirius muttered.

Hermione set her expectant gaze on Lucius. "This affects you just as much, you know. The sooner we get to France and deal with the prophecy, the sooner you get to go back to moping around your manor. Alone."

Lucius smirked. "How pleasant that would be, after months with a know-it-all witch infestation." His eyes fell on Sirius, as if challenging the other wizard to take the bait. "I suppose I have something that could work."

Hermione frowned at the interior of the small cabin. When Lucius had told them that his father kept a unplotted summer home in the far north of Scotland, she had assumed he meant some kind of rustic manor home.

Not a four-room shack stuffed with deer heads, dusty whiskey bottles that looked distinctly muggle, and a spew of ratty tartan over every cloth surface.

"Don't appear so bewildered, Miss Granger," Lucius drawled, brushing floo dust from his already dirty sleeves. "It's an unbecoming look."

Hermione's eyes landed on Sirius, who was poking at a taxidermy Red Gouse perched on the low coffee table. "I'll appear however I please," she retorted hotly. "I was taken aback by the muggle-ness of it all."

Lucius looked slowly around the room, disdain curling his lip. "To my father," he explained, settling down in the nearest armchair by the fire, "this lodge was a way to reunite his magic with the nature which birthed it."

Sirius snorted and rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans. He plunked down in the opposite armchair, facing the dark wizard with a sneer. "Shack, you mean."

"Remind you of home, Black? I'm sure Miss Granger would be more than happy to transfigure one of the rooms into an Azkaban cell."

"Oh, shut it," Hermione snapped. She took stock of the living space, then peered quickly into the other three rooms—two cramped bedrooms and a sunlit bath. "The place is unplottable, the floo network has been locked, and there don't seem to be any neighbors. This will be fine, once it's cleaned up." She shucked off her jacket, pulled out her wand, then began the cleansing charms. Sirius and Lucius watched her from their seats, and she felt self-conscious under their eyes. Being the only one with useable magic really will get old, she thought bitterly, blowing back a curl that stuck to her forehead.

By the time every corner of the lodge was dust and critter-free, Hermione was slick with sweat. Sirius at least had gone to help put away the food from her bag, but Lucius remained by the fire. His eyes bored into the flames, now orange since she'd locked the floo. "Can't you help?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

Lucius turned slowly to look up at her, like it was painful to wrench his gaze from the fire. "Do you have any requests, witch?"

"We'll need a owl to contact Ollivander."

"And you think I have one stuffed up my sleeve?" Lucius held his arms wide, as if to prove it.

Hermione scowled and leaned in closer, palms flat against the wooden armrests. Lucius smirked, and a shiver danced up her spine. "Do you want Sirius to wring your throat again?" she asked softly, eyeing the finger-shaped bruises collecting like jewels over his pale skin. "I don't think I've ever met someone who liked pain as much as you."

His throat bobbed. "You'd never let Black hurt me beyond a few, petty bruises," Lucius hissed.

Her eyes flew back to his own. Molten silver bored back. Incessant with something she knew now to be desire. "Is that so?" she scoffed. Tried to scoff. It sounded too much like a breathless whisper.

Lucius sat up suddenly, his face so close their noses nearly bruised. "I think you like pain too, my dear. You need me to fill that sad, little hole inside you." His gaze dropped down to her body, then flickered back up. He smirked.

Hermione pushed away, disgusted. She set her eyes on the shut bathroom door, where the sound of a bath filling seeped out. At least he hadn't heard—hadn't seen whatever that conversation was. "Do you have access to an owl or not?"

A low chuckle sounded from behind her. "Prickly little witch, aren't you? Yes, there is a small rookery about a quarter mile from here. My father had the elves maintain it—a practice I have continued since his death."

She turned back to him. "Go on, then. Before it's dark."

An eyebrow arched in surprise. "You trust me to go alone?"

"Oh, I don't trust you one bit. But if you try anything, I'll tell Sirius. And he won't be so gentle about tying you up."

Hermione turned on her heel before he could come up with anything lewd to say back. She busied herself in the kitchen, idly shuffling boxes of pasta around until the front door creaked open. She caught just a glimpse of platinum hair disappearing into the evening light, before the screen door slammed shut.

Alone again, Hermione sighed and sagged against the counter. Three days was about to feel like an eternity.

She was curled up in one of the two bedrooms when Sirius reappeared from his bath. Lucius had long since returned, wordlessly passing off the owl perched on his arm. Hermione had scrounged up parchment and a quill, then penned a quick note to Ollivander. The tawny bird flew off into the cold night, the scrap of parchment fluttering from its talons.

Sirius watched her from the half-opened doorway, black hair dripping onto a fresh t-shirt. He'd pulled back on the jeans, though, and Hermione had to admit she didn't mind. The man had only worn wizarding clothes when she knew him before…other than that one, usually warm day she'd caught him on the roof, working on that horrid motorbike. Sirius's curls had been pulled messily into a low knot, tendrils sticking to his neck left bare from the hacked muscle-tee. His pale jeans had been stained, a crisscross of oil and sweat.

She had scurried away, before he could notice the bushy-haired sixteen year-old spying.

"Oh, did you want this room?" Hermione asked, swinging her legs off the bed. "Lucius took the other and locked the door, but I can sleep on the co—" The words dried up when Sirius stepped fully inside and pressed the door shut.

"You're not sleeping on the couch, Hermione," he reassured, stopping in the space between herself and the footboard. "Though I'd be more than happy to drag Malfoy from his bed."

"Perhaps not the best start to a magical-outburst-less three days," she reminded him.

"No, but it would be good fun." Sirius seemed to hesitate, before joining her on the mattress's edge. "I came to see how you're doing."

Hermione blushed at his low, gentle tone. "I'm not the one who was recently dead."

"Just the one who carved up her skin, then had a snake lash out once her back was turned." Sirius's eyes were on her thigh. It was like she could feel the runes burning through the thick denim, like he could sense them too.

"It was my choice," she reassured, lacing her fingers together. "My fault."

"Hey," Sirius murmured. Knuckles brushed her cheek, drawing her back. She sighed when his touch fell away. "What Malfoy did was not your fault, kitten."

Hermione bit her lip, willing herself not to break down. "It was, though. I knew who he was. What he'd done. My friends…my friends tried to warn me. But I was so wrapped up in the research—in bringing you back—that I ignored every sign until it was too late."

"He took advantage of you."

"No, Sirius, I—"

"He did," Sirius maintained, his voice cut with a stern edge. The bed springs groaned, then Sirius was pulling her back, back into the pile of downy pillows. And Hermione let herself be taken into his arms, into that warmth that felt so familiar, like he'd held her a hundred times before. "Though you give everyone reasons to think otherwise, you are still nineteen, love. A devastatingly powerful witch, but a young woman all the same. Malfoy knew that, and he used it to manipulate you."

Hermione let out a shaky breath. She watched Sirius's fingers, brushing slowly over her wrist. "I'm not a child," she whispered, peeking up through her lashes.

"Oh, I am well aware, my Lady of the Dead. The scrawny kid who rescued me on a Hippogriff was never this frightening to be around."

She smacked him lightly on the chest. "I wasn't scrawny."

"You would have blown backwards off Buckbeak if you hadn't been clinging to me," he teased, cinching the arm around her waist tighter.

Hermione laughed as she nearly collided into his chest. "You weren't so much better looking at the time."

"And I am now?"

She gave herself a moment to really look—at the planes of muscle beneath his thin t-shirt, at the way his dark curls brushed just above his collarbone. At the stubbled cheeks, and those piercing, delighted eyes. "I always thought so," she whispered. It was the truth, and it burned her skin pink. Hermione pressed her cheek into the crook of his neck, hiding though she knew he'd already seen the blush.

Sirius's chest caved with a long sigh. One hand trailed absently down her back, fingers catching on the strip of skin below her jumper's hem before starting over again. "Why did you bring me back, Hermione?"

She shivered, the way she always did when he said her real name. Kitten and Love just weren't the same. Didn't stroke the same fire in her belly as her name on his lips. "This will sound silly," she whispered tentatively.

"You're talking to a man who once turned every couch in the Slytherin common room into custard, because one boy shot Remus a dirty look."

Hermione smiled sadly at her old professor's name. "I…it started when I heard you through the Veil. Pretty soon, it was like this—this need was growing inside me. Here," she murmured, touching two fingers over her heart. "The world was so dark, even after the war. Like everyone else could see the sun, but my eyes were covered in shadow. I thought you would make me whole again."

"And did it?" Sirius asked, fingers stilling at her jumper's hem. "Bringing me back?" They pressed into the skin there, making her heart sputter faster.

"I don't know yet." Hermione suddenly twisted, so that she had one palm on his chest as she hovered half over him. His grey eyes were like lead, hot and wanting and too good to be true. "Sirius, I…" Hermione swallowed. Wet her lips. Stilled when she saw his eyes tracking the movement.

He pressed her closer. Fingers slipped beneath her jumper. But he didn't move. Like he was waiting, waiting for her to confirm this is what she meant. And Merlin, it was. Hermione let her eyes fall shut. She breathed in, curling her fingers into his t-shirt's collar.

The door banged open—Hermione yelped, Sirius swore, and Lucius watched them from the threshold with an amused smirk.

"Lucius!" Hermione admonished, scurrying to the cold side of the bed.

"My apologizes. I didn't realize you were giving bedtime kisses." His eyes slid over to Sirius, who looked on the verge of attacking. "You should know the stove's on fire."

Hermione's eyes widened, then she was racing out of the bedroom before Lucius could even step out of the way. When her eyes landed on the flames leaping over the stove, she cried, "Fuck!" and whipped out her wand.

The flames were doused in seconds. Her fury was not so quick extinguished. "What did you do?" she hissed, rounding on Lucius and jabbing her wand into the hollow of his throat. Sirius had followed, eyeing her with entertained interest.

Lucius stared down at her wand. "Cook," he said in a bored tone. "Apparently harder than it looks without elves or magic. Good thing I have a little house-witch with me."

Hermione growled and shoved her wand away. "You impossible, vile man! Eat cold bread and jam until I have time to teach you how to boil pasta, or you're not eating at all." Hermione marched away and flung the door behind her.

Sirius caught it, barely, and slipped back inside. He looked positively tickled. Hermione scowled harder as she clambered back onto the bed. "Would it please you to know I know how to cook?" he asked, settling on the foot of the mattress.

Hermione wished he would keep holding her, but it seemed that the lovely moment was gone. "Yes, actually," she huffed. "I wasn't aware that this prophecy entailed keeping two magic-less wizards safe, as well as fed."

Sirius chuckled. "Get some rest, kitten. I'll make sure we both have something hot before bed."

"Don't share with him," she said tartly, glaring at the closed door.

"And remove your delectable option of bread with jam? Never."

After sharing a quiet meal (at least Lucius had the decency to eat in his room), the night slipped onwards. Hermione fell into fickle sleep. Her nightmare had transformed from the manor into somewhere darker, colder. Someplace close to Death. She awoke three times that night, sweating and twisting in the flannel sheets.

On the fourth dream, Hermione's eyes flew open. She didn't even stop to think, before tearing off her clothes. She hadn't changed from the day's jumper and jeans—it made her uneasy, knowing who was just on the other side of the wall. Now though, with beads of sweat racing down her skin, Hermione stripped down to her camisole and summoned sleep shorts from the bag on the dresser.

She flopped back into bed, panting and gazing up at the slatted ceiling. Knots in the wood stared back at her like unblinking eyes. The dreams were supposed to stop. She had Sirius. She had him back, just beyond the bedroom door. But now, there was no one left to pull her from the nightmares.

Hermione tried to close her eyes, but the scratchiness in her throat itched until she could stand it no more. She padded across the room and slipped out into the living space. Sirius was a dark bundle on the low couch, though he didn't stir as she tiptoed past. After pointing her wand at the faucet and sending a wordless silencing spell, Hermione let the water gush out. She tested it, letting the icy water pour over her fingers. It felt so good that after gulping down a glass, she flung a handful onto the back of her neck.

"Care to share?"

Hermione spun and whispered, "Lumos," but it was only Sirius sitting up on the couch. "Merlin," she muttered, shaking her head. "You scared me."

Moonlight shafted over his face. He wore a sheepish grin, the kind she couldn't help but smile back at. "Sorry, kitten. It wasn't you that woke me."

Hermione brought him a glass, then settled down beside him as he drank. "Dreams?"

"Just…thoughts." Sirius gulped half the glass, then set it down with a hollow thud. "I know I have already asked too much of you—"

"No, Sirius—"

He cut her off, carefully grasping her hand. "But I need to know what happened. Not just their names, or…or how they died, but all of it. What happened to you and Harry and the world, once I fell through that Veil." His eyes were searching, pleading through the dark. Her bare skin heated, despite the cool air and droplets sliding down her neck.

So she told him. She told him about Voldemort's return and Dumbledore's death. Snape's betrayal, then the secrets he shed in the shack by the lake. She told him about Harry and Ginny's proposal, Bill and Fleur's wedding, Tonks and Remus's swift marriage and beautiful child, Teddy. She eventually told him about herself and Ron, before that got too awkward to speak of. And when the morning began to creep through the windows, she told him about the Battle of Hogwarts. How their friends fought and died in the name of the Light. About their victory, which, in the end, didn't feel so victorious at all.

Hermione was quietly crying by the time dawn cracked and she had no story left to tell. She realized she had been staring resolutely at their hands, their fingers still woven together. With a gasp for air, Hermione let her gaze slide back up.

He was crying too.

He caught her looking, then reached out to brush the tears from her cheek. "Thank you," he murmured, pulling her close. He held her. Or maybe she held him.

The sun rose. The birds began to sing. And somewhere, in all those tears and desperate grasps, Hermione realized that maybe she wasn't so alone.