She didn't want to leave—neither the warmth of the rumpled bed they had shared, nor the safety of the Parisian apartment. But after Lucius fed them both bowls of pasta he had, finally, learned not to burn, and the sun began to sink down into dusk, Hermione decided that her fear for what Sirius might say to her were far outweighed by the fear of what might happen should he disappear after dark.
Lucius watched from the couch as she pulled on her coat and boots, bundled a scarf around her neck, and tucked her wand into her pocket. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone," he chided, piercing her with those pale eyes.
"I can take care of myself."
"It's not your safety I worry about." He rose, the cable-knit blanket that had been draped over his lap pooling on the floor. When he reached her, warm hands slid up her arms, fingers curling into her shoulders. She sighed, meeting his sharp gaze with a sad smile. "If Black lashes out as the man is clearly prone to do, or if he refuses to return…promise me you will not chase after him on your own."
"And you're going to help with the chasing, are you?"
A smirk played on his lips. "I would follow you over all of France, if need be."
Hermione's breathing hitched. She longed to kiss him. To return to those arms, that bed. But just as much, she longed to forget his mouth and his touch and his heat all together. At least that way, things would be easier.
Apparently easy was not an option for her any longer.
Reluctantly, Hermione pulled away and said, "Don't wait up, if I'm gone late," knowing full well he'd do the exact opposite. She eyed him up and down; though their…union had brought significant color and life back into him, she worried that the effects would not last.
With one final, quiet word of goodbye, Hermione descended into the dark street. She took a sharp breath of the bitterly cold, windy air and cast a silent warming charm over herself, praying that Sirius, wherever he was, had at least done the same.
Her eyes roamed over the street as she wondered where he might have gone. The Sirius she had known as a child was well-accustomed to hiding, to running away. Not even Remus had been able to track him down, that summer after third year when he flew off into the night on Buckbeak's glossy back.
She was sure that Sirius had never been to Paris before, though he had apparently been aware of the Wizarding District, where he'd found Esme. Perhaps he had ventured back into it…
I don't even know where the District is, Hermione thought, her scanning of the street growing more desperate. He could have apparated, could have walked…he could be halfway across the city, or out of the country, and I wouldn't have any clue.
Feeling near tears, Hermione sank down onto the concrete step at the foot of the door. With her head in her hands, she stared down at the sidewalk, nearly black in the shadows. At least he doesn't have the anti-locator potion. It was her only solstice that he had not, indeed, left her for good.
As the din of the street steadied into a lull, and her shallow breaths evened out with each strain of her lungs, Hermione let her mind work through the problem the way it knew best—scientifically. For what was magical research if not testing hypotheses, performing experiments and recording results? Magic was an often unexplainable factor, yes, but not entirely an unreasonable one. It had rules, effects, logic.
And there was one piece of magic Hermione had studied more than any other living soul.
She sat up, staticky curls sticking to her cheeks, fingertips tracing over the denim covering her scar from the Retinacula ritual. The ritual had required three things—a bond, a blood sacrifice in the form of a rune, and the words themselves. And while the wound on her inner thigh had somewhat healed, it was still there. She had the Latin words memorized. It was just the bond she was unsure of.
If there was still a bond left with Sirius at all.
No use brooding over it in the cold, Hermione decided, resolutely pushing to her feet and ignoring the anxious swoop of her stomach. She wiped her palms on her jeans, shoved her hair into a low bun to keep the wind from tangling it further, and shut her eyes. Slowly, she began to chant the Latin words of the Retinacula ritual.
I call upon the Magiks of the Old World, and ask for their blessing.
I call upon the bond between witch and wizard, and ask to see the heart's truth made gold.
Through blood, and heart, and Magik, I ask for this tether.
Through blood, and heart, and Magik, I ask for this tether.
A sudden pressure in her abdomen sent Hermione doubling over, gasping as she wrapped her arms around herself. A passing pedestrian shouted at her in French, but Hermione waved him off as the pain dissipated as quickly as it had set on. She allowed herself a few breaths, eyes still screwed shut. Wind tickled the nape of her neck, as if daring her to open her eyes. After a minute, she did, a breath held in her chest as her eyes fell down to her wrists.
The breath blew out in a mix of awe and relief. Hermione turned her hands over, palms up. From the center of each wrist, a golden chain extended. No, not a chain exactly, Hermione mused, reaching out to touch one, though she knew it felt only like air. The tethers were more like threads of gold, the links tightly wound and delicate. Her eyes traveled the length of the left thread first, following it behind her, towards the door of the apartment.
Lucius.
Hermione pressed her fingers into her mouth in an attempt to plug the swell of emotion rising from the sight. Their bond was still intact. Her eyes flew to the other wrist, widening as she saw it extended off to the right, before winding around the dim street corner.
Sirius.
She couldn't be sure if the thinness of the tethers were from the lack of a fresh blood sacrifice, or from her decreased bonds with the two wizards—Lucius, who had betrayed her, and Sirius, who she had (to his eyes anyway) betrayed. But both bonds were still there, strong enough the manifest. One stretched back into the warm apartment. The other stretched forward into the dark.
With a clench of her jaw, and one last, lingering look at the thread leading to Lucius, Hermione turned back to the street. In the pools of the yellow street lamps, the threads glistened, wavering with every movement of her hands. After checking for Muggles, she cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on herself, praying it would keep the tethers from drawing unwanted attention, then began to walk in the direction of Sirius's golden thread.
As Hermione wound through the crowded streets of Paris, and her warming charm began to wear off, her mind could only focus on one thing—the tether. She kept her eyes peeled to it like the wind might break it into dust. Like if she stumbled, or someone jumped in her path, she'd lose it—him—forever.
It wasn't until twenty minutes later that Hermione's feet skidded to a stop, her hands jerking up just in time to keep her from crashing into a brick wall the thread disappeared into. Hermione took a shaky step back to observe where she had been led. Apartments loomed up into the sky, the doors to her left and right separated by an unusually wide expanse of windowless brick. With her bottom lip between her teeth, Hermione set her fingers back on the wall's rough surface.
Beneath the texture, and the numbing cold, she felt the magic too. Humming with life, nearly audible with its trembling. The Wizarding District, Hermione realized, grinning. It must be something like the wall to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Simply touching it would have no effect, but giving the wall a good run…
With her eyes glued to the golden thread, Hermione backed up until her heels hit the curb. Then, with her shoulders back and her chin held high, she began to sprint at the wall. To her relief, the bricks parted like water, rippling over her flesh as she flew through to the other side.
Hermione gave herself a minute to gaze around at the entryway to Paris's Wizarding District. It reminded her quite a lot of Diagon Alley, with its shops and lights and patrons milling about, despite the late hour. Only where Diagon Alley was all crooked roofs and gleaming cobblestones, the buildings here were intimidating with their white, stately brick and black iron fixtures. The same color pathed the wide street spread before her, the brick gleaming under the glow of acid-green gas lamps.
It was beautiful, begging to be explored. For now, though, Hermione forced herself to set her eyes on the tether, following it to only a few shops down. Excitement and nerves bubbled inside her as she realized how close Sirius was, and she hurried towards the shop. As her ears were slammed with the sound of raucous, French singing and music, and the heady scent of liquor filled her nose, Hermione realized that of course Sirius had wound up in the first bar he'd stumbled upon.
As she stopped outside the door, chewing her lip, Hermione wondered if the fire whiskey would make him easier or more challenging to handle.
She was still deciding when the door swung open, and a group of giggling witches poured out. Hermione jumped out of their way with a murmured apology, about to dart even further out of their path when her eyes fell upon a familiar set of shaggy, dark curls.
Hermione's heart stuttered as she pushed inside. He was sat at the bar, back to her, elbows propped and head slumped into his chest. Two empty pint glasses and one shot glass scattered the counter before him. She wondered if he'd been too drunk to notice the tether.
She wondered if he'd noticed and simply not cared.
When she was just a few steps away, Hermione cleared her throat before she could come up with a better idea. Slowly, his spine straightened. One hand reached forward, grabbing the shot glass, draining the dregs before slamming it back down, jarringly loud even with the singer crooning from the overhead speakers.
"Well don't just stand there like a cat on the stoop, kitten."
Hermione swallowed at the sound of his gravelly voice, his words only slightly slurred. Setting her worry aside, Hermione scraped back the stool to his right and sank down beside him.
Sirius looked awful. The foam of a beer clung to his beard. His eyes, normally so warm and gray, were glassy, ringed in red. But mostly, it was the way he was decidedly not looking at her, his eyes instead fixed to some point over her shoulder.
"Sirius?" She touched her fingers to his elbow, startling when the arm was abruptly pulled back. Sirius stuck his hand in the air, two fingers held up. Hermione twisted to find the bartender already waving his wand at a bottle of amber fire whiskey. "Sirius, is that a good idea?" she asked, fiddling with her hands as two shot glasses floated towards them.
The glasses hadn't even settled when Sirius plucked one out of the air and drained it in one gulp. "If only I wasn't so fond of bad ideas," he mused, setting the shot glass down with a mockingly gentle clink. "Here." He shoved the second glass towards her.
Hermione appraised first the dark liquid, then the man watching her with glinting, amused eyes. At least he doesn't seem so angry anymore. She supposed playing along might work to her advantage and tentatively raised the glass to her lips.
The fire whiskey burned a river down her throat, somehow worse than the brand Harry and Ron kept in Grimmauld Place. Sputtering and wiping at her mouth, Hermione quickly used her wand to fill an empty pint glass with water, nearly choking as it soothed on the way down.
"There, there, kitten," Sirius murmured, and to her surprise, his hand clapped her heartily on the back. It wasn't an affectionate touch, but a touch all the same. That's good, right?
When her eyes had stopped watering, and his hand left her, Hermione tried again. "Sirius?" she started, as his eyes roamed back over to her own. Another good sign. "I'm so glad I found you." The second she said it, Hermione flushed, feeling silly. In truth, she hadn't come up with the perfect words to say, and they sort of just…tumbled out.
"Was wondering about that," he muttered, glancing down at his wrist, where the golden thread looped down off the table to the hand in her own lap. Sirius reached out, snatching her wrist off her thigh and holding it up to inspect where the tether disappeared into the pale skin of her inner wrist. His fingers were like hot irons, burning into her flesh. "I remember this." He cocked his head as his thumb brushed over the heel of her palm. "The ritual still worked?"
"As long as we have some kind of bond, I believe" Hermione admitted, her breathing hitching as his fingers curled upward, even deeper into her hand. He seemed fascinated with her skin, her fingers, her smaller ones twining into his own. "Sirius, we still have that bond," she said weakly, taking the chance to fully weave her fingers through his. She held tight, lowering their joined hands against his knee, which had shifted closer towards her. "Please come back with me."
"Why?"
"It's not safe here," she started, wincing at his mirthless laugh. "And I need you, Sirius. I need you to help me finish this…this terrible mess we're all in."
Sirius used his free hand to swipe her whiskey, swallowing half of it like it was pumpkin juice. "And how did things go with the Slytherin bastard? Did he simply…spring back to life?"
"Lucius is still resting but…well enough."
"Well enough, eh?" he said, voice rising, a smirk growing over his face. "What's the treatment on that entail? Blowjobs, hand jobs…more sickbed fucking?" He threw back his head, draining the glass. Someone nearby snickered—apparently more people spoke English here than she'd hoped.
"Sirius!" Hermione hissed, half in fury at his obvious attempt to hide his hurt under his crudeness, half in worry that someone would begin to notice the older man and younger woman speaking British English in the Parisian bar. They were both well-known enough across Wizarding Europe—being recognized wasn't completely off the table, if they drew too much attention. She slid off her stool and yanked him down, ignoring his mutters and slurs of protest and she marched out the front door, into the cold, and over to the side alley pooling with green lamplight.
"Come on, kitten, it was just a joke—"
"Well, you're not funny!" Hermione snapped, pushing him back into the alley wall when she decided they were far enough from the street and prying eyes. Though she knew she was physically no match for the wizard, he seemed to have no intents on changing his position, slumped against the wall, leering down at her with an amused little smile. Hermione stepped forward into his space, her hands shoved inside her pockets to keep from reaching for him. "You listen to me, Sirius Black," Hermione whispered furiously. The smile faded from his lips. "Whatever you're doing now—this, this pushing me away? It won't work. Not with me. Not when we have the whole weight of the fucking world on our shoulders." Hermione took a steady breath, glancing briefly into the dark abyss of the alleyway before her gaze returned to his face. She was surprised to find him watching her with quiet contemplation.
"I'm sorry that I dragged you back to this life when you did not ask for that. I'm sorry that I made you marry me when you did not have a real choice in the matter. And I'm sorry—I am sorry, Sirius—that I did not tell you sooner about my feelings for Lucius." She closed the distance between them, finally pulling out a hand from her pocket, settling it on his chest, on the rune she had carved above his heart. The golden thread dangled between them, so fragile like it might snap with one wrong move. "But I am not sorry for doing what must be done to finish this prophecy." Sirius sighed, his chest caving in beneath her palm, warm, whiskey-tinged breath washing over her cold skin. "Please, Sirius," she choked out, like the words would break her if he rejected her again. "Please just come back."
It took a long moment before fingers covered her own, holding her hand to his chest. "All right," he whispered. "I'll come back."
They apparated to the stoop outside the flat, Hermione hand's tucked into the crook of his elbow. When the nausea of apparating faded, and he quickly slipped free and strode over to the door, Hermione felt a pang of loss. Both for his touch and affection now, and for the future they'd never have.
Hermione followed him inside, immediately feeling a smidge better as the warmth of the apartment enveloped her. She was surprised to see Sirius stopped at the top of the stairs, and quickly hurried up them. As she settled onto the landing, Hermione realized what had frozen the wizard in place. Lucius remained on the couch, asleep with his face buried into the back cushions, one arm hanging down. At first, Hermione thought Lucius's lack of decorum, even in sleep, was what startled Sirius. But as she flicked on the overhead light, her eyes fell on the golden thread spanning the distance between Lucius and herself.
"I'm sorry, I can cancel it with the counter incantation—"
"Stop." His voice was low, but with a tired, biting edge. "I mean, stop apologizing, Hermione," he clarified, softening slightly as he looked at her. "It's done. And I…like you said, it's not as if we truly chose to be husband and wife. If you two would like the bed, you can wake him—"
"I don't." Hermione rushed towards him, only stopping herself a moment before her hands would have found his arm. "I mean…I know you don't wish to share my bed, but just to sleep?" She indicated her head towards the open door to the bedroom.
Sirius gave a short nod before striding away. Hermione watched him go, then quietly recited the counter incantation. The two golden threads disappeared instantly.
She hated this. Hated the awkwardness. Hated her body's desire to comfort Sirius—to be comforted by him. Tonight, in that bed with the so-called husband who abhorred her, would surely be a form of hell on Earth.
She cast a glance at Lucius, still sound asleep on the couch. She knew he would have no objections to her joining him there, squeezed together on the cushions, wrapped in each other's warmth. He likely wouldn't even care that Sirius was back, just in the next room. In truth, Lucius would probably relish in Sirius's misery.
As tempting as Lucius and the couch were, Hermione shuffled onward into the bedroom. Sirius was in the shower, bright light and the sound of pattering water leaking out from beneath the door. Hermione let the steady sound wash over her as she pulled on pajamas. Bathing and brushing and cleansing could wait until he was done; there was no way she would intrude into the bathroom while he was in there.
Hermione slipped beneath the covers. Her brain whirled incessantly, playing over every wonderful and terrible moment of the day. And by the time the water had shut off, and Sirius was silently dressing in the dark, her mind had decided to fixate on two moments in particular.
Lucius on top of her. Inside of her. Fingers wrapped so desperately, lovingly around her throat. Her choked beg of his name as her magic and orgasm finally broke into bliss.
Sirius, his back towards her and silhouetted in sunlight as they spoke.
"And I thought you had come to terms with your death. That's what you kept telling me, isn't it? That you would die. That I had to—to accept that."
Sirius turned towards the window, his dark curls silhouetted in the cheery brightness. "That was before."
"Before what?"
He hadn't given her an answer, other than his anger and jealousy. Those were emotions she could understand as the consequences to her actions. But Sirius had left one more emotion unsaid.
Before what?
The mattress dipped down. She felt him ease beneath the duvet, heard his long sigh and the scrape of fingers across the linen sheets.
Before what?
The answer was here, in the fragile quiet of the room. Between their bodies, weighing down opposite sides of the bed. Hermione sucked in a breath and rolled onto her other shoulder. She stared at him through the dark. Heard him swallow into the silence.
She had to know. Her heart thumped madly against her chest, like it would break all her ribs with its desperation to be free. Hermione wet her lips. She pillowed her cheek onto her hands and whispered, "Sirius?"
"Yes?" he answered, like he was expecting it.
"What were you going to say? At the window…you told me you had come to accept your death. What changed?"
Sirius shifted so that the shaft of moonlight streaking in fell across his face. It cut shadows into his cheekbones, gave light to his eyes. They were no longer cold, or empty, or leering. Just…there. Just Sirius. Finally he blew out a breath and rolled onto his back. "You did, Hermione." Sirius laced his fingers behind his head as he studied the ceiling. Hermione only studied him. "When I was brought back, I knew I liked you, as a person. I knew I was attracted to you, as a witch" he said, more quietly. "And despite that bastard being in the way, and this bloody prophecy, I began to…imagine things. A life with you, beyond the confines of this winter. A life where, someday, we could find happiness."
Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering. "I want that too."
"And you also want him." It wasn't a question. There was no doubt behind Sirius's words.
"Yes." He deserved the bare truth, no matter how much it hurt to say again. "I…I don't know why, Sirius. Or what's wrong with me. But I want you. I want you both." He was silent. After a few torturous minutes, Hermione wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then his shoulders rolled towards her. When he still didn't speak, Hermione scooted closer—not enough to touch, nor daring to reach out, but just so she could meet his eyes through the dark, and know he was there with her. "Please say something. That you hate me, or you don't want that future anymore…"
"I don't hate you, love," Sirius murmured. "I…I regret letting my temper get the better of me today. It was unfair to hold you to such a standard when I…" His throat clicked, like he was unsure if he should keep speaking.
At his hesitancy, Hermione put her hand in the soft space between them, relieved when he covered her hand with his own. "When you what?"
"I don't know exactly how you feel, Hermione. I was never—I have not felt a pull towards two very different people at the same time."
"You're more alike than you think," Hermione muttered.
Sirius chuckled. "A notion I'd rather not entertain. But what I mean to say is…Merlin, fuck—this is hard, isn't it?" He raked back his hair, and Hermione could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the jerkiness of the motion. Tentatively, Hermione shifted closer and ran her other hand up his arm—bare, she realized, as he had not pulled on a sleep shirt. Sirius relaxed into her touch as her fingers found a home at the nape of his neck, playing absently with his damp curls. "I know what it's like to feel things for someone you're not supposed to," Sirius rushed out, his chest caving as he finally exhaled.
Hermione frowned as her fingers continued to twirl into his hair. Neither Sirius nor Harry—nor anyone else, for that matter—had mentioned any love interests in Sirius's life. No one serious, anyway. She knew his reputation at Hogwarts was as somewhat of a rakish young man, with more than a handful of broom cupboards and Room of Requirement shags. Those were stories Harry had been more than happy to share about his formerly-late Godfather, when they were drinking and reminiscing about the past, or the people they'd lost. "Who was she?" Hermione inquired quietly.
"He."
"Sorry?"
"It was not a woman who I had these…feelings for."
Her eyes widened. Oh. She'd been expecting him to drop the name of perhaps a Slytherin girl from his youth, but a man…"Who was he?" Hermione asked gently. She couldn't help the buzz of warmth when she thought about how he was trusting her—how even after this terrible day, he felt comfortable to share something so private.
Sirius tilted his head back and sideways, pressing his lips into her forearm. "He was bloody smart, and inexplicably kind, and he…he was the bravest man I knew," Sirius murmured into her skin, nose brushing a heated trail up her arm. "And when we were young, I had no name for the things I felt for him. Just that they were not allowed. Not then, anyway. Only after many, many years apart, and then reuniting by some miracle, did I realize the name for those feelings. Love," Sirius whispered, swallowing thickly around the word. "But he was already smitten with another. Our time had long passed, and now…he did not survive the war."
"Oh, Sirius," Hermione whispered. The realization of who he meant had been dawning on her since he began the story, but now it smacked into her with the full force of her long-buried grief. She blinked back tears as she held tighter to his neck, drawing herself closer to hide her face against his shoulder. He grasped onto her, holding her like she'd float away if he let go for even a second. "Remus loved you," Hermione told him, pulling slightly back so she could card her fingers through his curls. "I know he did." She could tell Sirius was fighting back tears, and she sank back down to let him bury into her arms. "I know he did," she soothed, stroking down his spine.
Sirius held her for a few minutes—or maybe she held him. But when he finally spoke, the emotion had been cleared of his throat. "I don't want to hurt you, Hermione," he whispered into her hair. "But I cannot bear to lose you the way I lost him. Even if it is just days we have left—a week. Fuck, even hours…you need me for this prophecy, but I need you, Hermione. And I know it's not fair, and that I am a selfish man, and that you feel things for Malfoy as well. But I need you. Please, kitten. Just until I'm gone."
He drew away, gazing down with something between adoration and sorrow. It broke her, seeing how poorly this world had treated him. Because despite Sirius's mistakes, and his temper, he deserved something good. He wanted her—and with her heart tugged towards him just as much as it pulled towards the wizard in the other room, who was she to deny him?
They had no future. But they did have tonight.
Hermione closed the distance between them, capturing his lips. He growled into her mouth with heady, desperate need, quickly pushing her onto her back and throwing one leg over her hips. Hermione whimpered as his mouth broke off to cascade kisses down her jaw, down the tingling skin of her throat. Her hands tangled in his curls, urging him closer, lower.
Sirius kissed her collar bones. He kissed her shoulder, then the other, lips too far from her skin with the barrier of her jumper. Hermione started to grab at the hem when Sirius's hands replaced hers, yanking the top—along with her bra, to her dismay over the roughly popped-open clasp—up and over her head, chuckling when it got stuck around her bunched curls.
"How do you manage this?" Sirius mused, tugging at a flyaway curl.
Hermione laughed as she settled back into the pillows. "You're one to talk," she said, smirking as she tucked a frizzy lock behind his ear.
Sirius pressed his lips into her fingers, before his tongue darted out, licking her fingertips Hermione felt herself flush at the sight as the amusement faded from his expression, replaced by carnal need. "Hermione?" he whispered, hand skating over her stomach, down to the waistband of her jeans.
"Yes?" she breathed out.
Sirius pushed the button through, popping it free. He slowly tugged down the zipper before shifting back and dipping his head towards her body. Hermione gasped as his lips met the lacey edge of her knickers, teeth scraping, fire igniting between her legs. "I do not wish to forget this night for as long as I have left," he murmured, hooking his fingers into her belt loops. He began to tug, and Hermione arched her hips off the bed, allowing him to pull the jeans from her legs with one long, languid flourish. "If you'll allow me."
When they were free, and he was back over her, caging her in, Hermione pressed her knees into his sides. She cupped his cheek, drawing him in for one searing kiss. "Take me, Sirius," Hermione murmured. "I don't want to forget either."
It started lazily—burning kisses, peeled-down kickers and flat tongues. By the time she had undressed him, she was dripping with need to feel him. Feel all of him. And Sirius, judging by the steel-hard weight on her stomach, felt no differently.
He took her with their eyes locked, her legs wrapped around his hips. He took her slowly, drawing it out until neither could seem to bear it any longer. With a snarl, and a ravishing kiss, Sirius flattened his palms into her back and pushed her up so she was sitting in his lap. Hermione clung to his shoulders, gasping his name, as he continued to thrust into her.
"Oh, Sirius," she moaned, letting the muscle of his shoulder catch her cries.
"That's it," he whispered, hands trailing down her sides to grasp her hips. "That's it, Hermione." His pace quickened, the friction igniting with one final lick of flame before she unwound completely, nearly collapsing into his chest as he finished seconds later with one final, desperate thrust.
Hermione clutched to him as their labored breathing subsided, forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, relishing in the trail of fingers up and down her sweat-slickened spine. "I need to shower," Hermione said into the comfortable silence. "I know you have already, but if you'd like to join…"
Sirius growled appreciatively, hands sliding up to cup both cheeks as he kissed her. "I told you this was a night to remember, my little witch. I do not plan to stop here."
After kissing her again, Sirius slipped into the bathroom to start up the hot water. Hermione fell back against the pillows, fingers touching her lips. They'd likely be bruised in the morning…and not just from her nighttime activity.
Hermione stared at the wall she knew separated the bedroom from the sitting area. From herself and Lucius. A piece of her wished she hadn't canceled the Retinacula ritual, so she could still see the golden thread connecting their souls.
As she listened to the drum of water, Hermione closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She had been wrong. Tonight was not hell on Earth.
It was heaven.
It was heaven this afternoon, drawing life back from the wizard she wanted to hate, but couldn't.
And it was heaven this night, first wrapped in Sirius's trust, and then in his arms.
It was heaven, but it would not last. And that hurt more than anything.
Lucius didn't look up from the stove as Hermione shuffled into the kitchen with a murmured good morning. She hovered in the sitting area, taking a moment to appreciate the way his platinum hair cascaded down his back, a few wisps curling with the heat of the stove. His broad form blocked the view of the pan, though when one arm reached out to nudge something with a spatula, she caught the scent of something sweet.
"You're proving to be quite the chef, you know," Hermione mused, moving closer to peek around his arm. A smile found her face when she saw the pancakes, though it quickly drooped into a frown when she noticed the red mix box. I don't remember buying that. "Merlin, Lucius, did you steal that from the people who own this flat?"
Lucius smirked, deftly scooped up the fluffy circle sizzling in the pan, and slid it onto an awaiting plate. "Really, pet, your moral compass spins so madly, it's a wonder you retain any sense of decorum at all." He went back to his cooking, pouring fresh batter into the pan. The mixture hissed as Hermione blushed at his new name for her. "You take offense to my borrowing of this likely expired breakfast," he said with a wave of the spatula, "but not to two wizards defiling you in a stranger's flat?"
Hermione's eyes shot wide as she reddened. Without even thinking, Hermione yanked a tea towel off the oven handle and whipped his arm. "No one was doing any defiling!" she hissed, unable to hide her grin he playfully duked out of the way from a second hit. Lucius hummed noncommittally and flipped the golden pancake, his eyes darting to her. They shone with amusement, but as he turned back to the stove, there was a sadness there too.
Suddenly, his words dawned on her. Oh God, he heard us last night. She'd been so wrapped up in Sirius, she hadn't thought to cast a muffling charm.
"Lucius…"
"Hand me a plate, will you?"
Hermione pursed her lips but did as asked. When the second pancake was gone from the stove, Lucius set his spatula on the iron trivet and turned to face her. Merlin, he's even more beautiful in the sunlight. It cast in from the eastern-facing window, turning his pale skin bright, his grey eyes even brighter. Her admiration for his physical presence had her blushing, as well as her belly churning with guilt directed towards the wizard still sleeping in the other room. Hermione bit her lip and cast a glance over her shoulder. Lucius let out a long sigh.
"You mustn't do that," he murmured, drawing her attention back.
"Do what?" Her lip sucked back between her teeth.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. Then he reached out, fingers gently prying the bottom lip from her teeth. "Hate yourself." His thumb trailed down her chin before disappearing.
Warmth bloomed where his touch had been, at his soft words. "How can I not?" Hermione whispered. "When I'm hurting you both?"
Lucius studied her for a long moment, before he reached towards the counter, his stare never leaving her. "You can start," he said in that low, smooth voice, "by eating your breakfast." He pushed the plate into her hands, and Hermione felt so overwhelmed with emotions, she thought she might combust right on the spot.
That would be one way to end this terrible adventure. Spontaneous combustions were a problem in the wizarding world, after all.
"Good morning."
Hermione startled, the plate nearly jumping from her hands before both she and Lucius caught it, their fingers overlapping before Hermione jerked back. "Sirius!" She turned towards him, smiling at his disheveled appearance.
"Hermione." His eyes lifted over her shoulder. "Malfoy."
"Black."
"Oh good, we're all re-acquainted," Sirius muttered sarcastically, stepping further inside. His gaze quickly fell on the pancakes, and when his stomach audibly grumbled, Hermione had to suppress a nervous giggle.
"Here," she said, holding out her plate. "You can have—"
"Nonsense," Lucius scolded. He took the plate from her grasp, ignoring her protest as he picked up the second plate too and set both down on the little circular café table. "You eat. Black's perfectly capable of cooking up his own breakfast."
He gave her such a piercing look, Hermione shivered and sank down into one of the chairs. 'Sorry' she mouthed to Sirius, who merely grumbled before shooting her a smile and starting up at the stove. Lucius brought two glasses of water to the table before sliding into the chair to her left, then gave her an expectant raise of one eyebrow. "Go on, then," he drawled, eyes dipping to her pancake.
Despite it being from a box mix—and likely an expired one at that—Hermione didn't think she'd ever tasted something so delightful, though her sense of taste did tend to deplete while being on the run. She practically moaned around the first mouthful, earning a knowing chuckle from both wizards before a strained silence settled over the room. Hermione swallowed, embarrassed. Lucius started eating. Sirius began to cook.
And just like that, the little magic of the morning was gone.
Breakfast continued to be a painfully awkward affair, until Hermione waved her wand, and the dirty dishes sailed into the sink. "Well," she said tightly, folding her hands over the table. While eating, she had decided that their path forward required some immediate intervention, less they remain in this 'borrowed' flat until the world truly ended. "We need to start looking for the other end of the tunnel," she explained, meeting both their gazes in turn. "The other door. From my previous conversations with Harry, we know that the British and French Ministries believed people were disappearing somewhere along the Strait of Dover. Perhaps Dunkirk or Calais. Obviously, that's quite a large area, especially if this door is masking itself. Magically, that is."
Sirius set down his fork and faced her more fully. "What do you mean, kitten?"
"The door has some great power—it's been able to take away the souls of hundreds of witches and wizards since it…well, since we may have stirred with the wrong magical forces." Hermione pressed her lips together, thinking of all the havoc their actions likely caused. Or at least, they hadn't helped. While the disappearances started before Hermione and Lucius performed the Retinacula ritual, Harry had said that the disappearances spiked the evening of the resurrection. Taking a breath, she added, "It doesn't make sense how the Ministries have been unable to locate the source of the magic yet."
"Unless the door is warding itself," Lucius chimed in.
Hermione nodded. "Which means we'll have to approach this a little less like witches and wizards, and a little more like…researchers."
Lucius chuckled. "We do have the practice," he said, smirking conspiratorially.
Hermione couldn't help the smile back. Her days at the manor—while often frustrating, or tiring—were some of the best she'd had in so very long. "I'm afraid we won't have your books, though, Lucius. We don't have much of any help, but ourselves."
"Who said we need more?" A hand landed on her knee beneath the table, and Hermione glanced to Sirius before her gaze flicked to Lucius—the man's eyes dropped, just for a second, as he took in Sirius's possessive gesture. "I could go back to that bar with some glamour on—get the sense of the locals, see if the disappearances are being talked about."
Hermione covered his hand, squeezing his fingers. "That's excellent, Sirius. Especially seeing as I don't speak any French."
"I do."
Both their heads snapped to the blonde wizard. "Lucius?" Hermione questioned, frowning.
"I speak French. I'll go with Black while you execute whatever plan that pretty head has already worked up."
Sirius snorted. "I don't need your help, Lucy," Sirius said darkly, his grip on Hermione's knee tightening.
Hermione shifted away, ignoring his heated look. "I suppose it's not a terrible idea. I'm sure there's more bars and plenty of people to overhear. So long as you're both glamoured. But the two of you alone after…" Hermione squirmed, thinking of her couplings with both men the previous day and night, and how they were both definitely, painfully aware. "Can you even manage a few minutes without fighting?"
Lucius arched an eyebrow, his eyes on Sirius. "I'm perfectly capable of restraining my temper, my dear. It's your pup who started every spat we've been in."
"It's not my fault Hermione decided to keep the company of such an insufferable wizard."
"Hermione suffers me quite well, thank you very—"
"Enough." Hermione snapped, her palms slapping the tabletop as she rose to her feet. She forced herself to breathe, then cast her weary gaze on Lucius. "Will you behave if I let you two out alone?"
Lucius smirked. "With pleasure."
She ignored his silky words and turned to Sirius, raising her eyebrows. "And you?"
Sirius nodded shortly.
Whew. Hermione sank back into her chair. "That's settled then. You ought to leave soon to catch the late-morning crowd."
"What about you, kitten?"
Hermione laced her fingers and stretched out her arms above her head. "I," she declared, moving to stand, "will be returning to my delightful repertoire of Ministry-approved clerical skills."
Hermione gazed at the sitting room with a triumphant smile. The furniture had been pushed to the walls, and the floor was now covered in a layer of every newspaper she could find from this winter. That included ones summoned out of recycling bins, when no Muggles were watching.
Once her wizards had departed—both wrapped in scarfs, hats, and glamour to conceal their appearances—Hermione had set out on her mission into Muggle Paris. Her idea was quite straightforward, yet tedious (though the spells she had learned during her time at the Department of Ministry's administrative office would help). Seeing as the French Ministry had decided to keep the disappearances of its citizens out of the press, Hermione had set her sights on the Muggle news instead. In her mind, it would be impossible for hundreds of people to disappear without a trace, magical or not. Even if the Muggles didn't know exactly what they were reporting on, the disappearance of so many couldn't have gone unnoticed for very long. And seeing as French culture kept the magical and non-magical communities much closer-knit than in Britain (she had learned this over the course of her Hogwarts schooling), the newspapers were likely rife with information.
She just had to find it.
With her goal in mind, Hermione shoved up her jumper's sleeves, raked her curls into a high ponytail, and set to work. She started off easy, using a simple spell to sort the newspapers by date, since they'd been put all out of order during the trip back from the newspaper stands. As the papers began flying about the room with a delightful, whizzing zip!, Hermione let her mind wander to Lucius and Sirius. They had left the flat cordially enough. She just couldn't be sure how long peace could last between two men who not only despised each other, but wanted the same thing—her.
It was a blush-inducing thing, to know both wizards wanted her. Of course, she had known that from nearly the start of her relationship with Lucius, and Sirius had made his affections known quite soon after they left London. But now that she had been in both their arms—and their beds (well, the same bed…), the tension had seemed to grow tenfold. Coupled with the stress of their quest, and the impending finale to the prophecy, Hermione's desire, along with her anxiety, was at an all-time high.
The last newspapers were finally fluttering back down, and Hermione set her mind on the problem at hand once again. Just like you're back at the Department, she told herself, raising her wand. One tedious task after the next…
Early evening sun cracked through the sitting room window by the time she lowered her wand. Hermione couldn't help but admire her handiwork—she just needed her wizards back to see it too. Just as she had pocketed her wand and flopped onto the shoved-aside couch, the front door creaked open.
"Thank Merlin!" she cried as heavy footsteps ascended. Her eyes lit up when the wizards appeared at the top of the stairs, both their cheeks wind-kissed, their knitted caps (which she had transfigured from socks) barely containing their tucked-under hair. A laugh bubbled up from her chest—they were positively adorable. And, she realized as she jumped up to greet them, not glaring daggers at each other. Now that's a surprise…Hermione waited for them to pull off their winterwear before pressing a kiss into Sirius's cheeks, then exchanging a murmured hello with Lucius, who hung back. "How did it go?" she asked. "You're not both injured, I hope?"
Sirius smirked. "No fists were drawn, if that's what you're asking." He sighed as he scraped back his wild curls, eyeing her newspapers curiously. "But the eavesdropping proved mostly pointless."
"What happened?"
"Apparently the Ministry is keeping a tight grip on any information at all," Lucius supplied. "Though there was talk of the British aurors hanging about, and many undercover at that. Apparently the French aren't too happy with their presence. They're saying they haven't done enough to quench whatever dark magic has taken over the country."
Hermione nodded. "That's too bad. I was hoping that something might come of you two going out into the city." She looked between them, at the strange…calmness between the wizards. Perhaps something has come of it after all. Though they were ignoring each other, both now studying her newspapers, she sensed no strain. Hermione wanted to pry, but decided to save it until after she'd shared her own, better news. "Well…I have some rather good news. Or bad, depending on how you look at it." She turned and gestured towards the spread of newspapers. "I was able to pinpoint the locations of disappearances, both where the people are from, and where they were last spotted," she said excitedly. Hermione tiptoed through the papers, careful not to crush any, and picked up a heavy Atlas she had found in the apartment's small collection of books. After a few seconds, she flipped to the page she'd bookmarked—a map of the northern coast of France. Then, with her wand drawn, she said in a clear voice, "Revelare venalicium!"
It was like a fireworks show—in an instant, little spots of red light flew up from the scattered papers and rushed towards the map. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as the map glowed bright and hot, nearly smoking with the sudden burst of magic. When she dared open her eyes again, both men were staring at her in awe.
"Come on then," she teased, turning around to set the Atlas on the coffee table behind her. "Take a look." They joined her on either side as Hermione peered down. The map now sported what looked like several dozen red sunbeams—dots connected by lines all pointed in one direction towards one single spot the French coast— Cap Blanc-Nez, just west of the city of Calais. She had actually performed the charm on the map earlier in the day, but she'd been desperate to see how they reacted to the little show of magic.
"Sweet Circe, you found it." Lucius muttered, and Hermione flushed with pleasure as he reached down to trail his fingers over the lines. Every single one ended in a nearly perfect semi-circle around Cap Blanc-Nez. "You brilliant, breathtaking witch," he told her, bending over to press a kiss into her hair. Hermione's guilt and desire churned when she realized she wanted more from his chaste kiss. "How did the aurors not map this out already?"
"It must be the door's warding magic," Hermione explained as they straightened back up. "I believe that whenever someone tries to trace the disappearances, they suddenly stop, as if forgetting what they had been doing. Maybe not enough to notice there's a problem, but enough that no real work is done to find the location. And because the aurors are likely using magic to keep track of their notes, the magic itself is being…warped by the door's magic. Someone marks down a location with their wand, or writes on a charmed parchment, and poof," she said softly, letting the word hang in the air. "The work is gone."
"Wouldn't the warding be affecting you too?" Sirius asked, frowning. "Interfering with the spells you performed today?"
"That's what I don't get," Hermione answered with a sigh. "My only idea is that somehow my involvement in the Veil, and this other door, has lessened the power the warding has on my own magic. Yours too, perhaps, since you spent so much time in the Veil. Though we'll have to see when we get to Cap Blanc-Nez if that stands true. I'm still unsure if we can locate the door physically."
Hermione crossed to the couch and sank down, leaning her head back against the cushions. After a long afternoon of working, she felt drained. The daunting task of finding this warded door was no help either. We'll have to make a plan soon, but of course we can't apparate to the coast, and we're definitely out of money…
As a weight settled by her side, Lucius muttered, "I'll make up some tea," disappearing from her view. She put out her hand, pleased when Sirius took hold of it in his warm grasp.
The sounds of tinkering in the kitchen started up. Hermione peeled her eyes away from the mess of newspapers and onto Sirius. "It really went well today? I mean, between you and him?"
"Well, we drank half the bar's supply of fire whiskey, then got into a spectacular bar fight," he jested with a smirk.
"I'd be more surprised if that were the case."
A hand tugged her closer, and she let herself be pulled against his side. For a few minutes, they were quiet, listening to kettle hiss on the stove. "Truly, Sirius?" she asked, pressing her palm into his chest and twisting to meet his eyes. "Things went okay?"
"You'd think I would be concerned with your concern over my afternoon with that bastard," he said. Though his voice was somewhat constrained, she saw a hint of amusement in his handsome features too. Maybe she was being over-cautious about their interactions. "It was fine," he relented, tucking his fingers into her hair, cradling one cheek. "Boring. And I speak better French than that pompous git."
The kettle began to squeal, before cutting abruptly off.
Hermione leaned into his hand and pressed her lips into Sirius's wrist. Despite the obvious change in their group dynamic, she felt a nudge of suspicion. "Why do I feel like you're keeping something from me?"
Sirius chuckled. "Really, kitten. It was nothing. Malfoy and I came to an…understanding of sorts. No more chucking plates, or throwing fists, and all that."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You already agreed to that," she scolded, beginning to pull away when Sirius suddenly caught her other cheek and drew her forward, so close their noses brushed.
"I thought I agreed not to throw plates for you to marry me," Sirius challenged in a low whisper.
The corners of her mouth tugged up. "Well, you can't exactly marry me again."
"No," he agreed, smoothing his thumbs over her cheekbones. Fire licked up her skin. "But I can pretend to." He leaned in to kiss her.
She kissed back, relishing in his warmth, the way her knee slotted so perfectly between his as she shifted closer.
A sudden thump of mugs settling on the coffee table drew Hermione abruptly away, breaking the kiss as Lucius straightened up in front of them. To her surprise, three mugs sat on the table. "You made us all tea?" she asked incredulously. She counted the mugs again, just to be sure. "You made Sirius tea?" After watching him kiss me in front of you, she wanted to add, but held her tongue.
Lucius smirked as he picked up one of the steaming mugs. "Is that a problem?"
Hermione looked between them as she took her own mug. Something was definitely off. "I think this scares me more than you nearly dying from the apparating," she said, pursing her lips to blow on the scalding liquid. She took a small sip before adding in a teasing tone, "If I had known a trip to the bar would mend things between you two, I would have—"
THUMP-THUMP.
Hermione's hand jerked, sloshing tea over her skin. She cried out as both wizards surged forward to help her.
"Hermione—"
"Here, kitten—"
THUMP-THUMP.
It sounded again from the front door. Someone was knocking—and rather insistently at that. "Merlin," Hermione hissed, cradling her hand to her chest. "I'm fine!" she insisted, batting away their hands. Hermione jumped up and grabbed her wand, ignoring the fact that they were both hot on her heels as she peered down at the door.
"Hermione, get back here," Sirius barked in a low voice.
THUMP-THUMP.
Hermione pointed her wand down the stairs before glancing back. Both men were at red-alert, Lucius's shoulders drawn and tight, Sirius's own wand raised, his expression dark. "It's probably just the owners or a renter…Merlin, how could I be so stupid? We should have warded the place—"
With a sudden gust of cold, magic, and light, the door banged flew open, and a figure entered in a swirl of dark robes. Hermione had to shield her eyes from the Lumos blinding them, her free hand reaching out to latch onto Lucius's forearm at the wizard pressed protectively up behind her.
"This is the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement!" a familiar voice boomed up at them. "Drop your wands and remain where you are!"