A/N: Hello! A great big thank you to K for her help on this, great work! The grammar she's had to fix... what a trooper.
Aiming for weekly updates on this - likely in the weekend.
Enervate
["Well, hello again," he said, surprisingly smoothly as he grinned at her, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a nervy kind of challenge. "Why are you constantly pointing your wand at me?"]
The Delacour's holiday cottage was on the eastern outskirts of Duclair. A muggle town that sat at the confluence of the swift Austreberthe and the wide and historic Seine. This part of France had a long and colourful history, something that Hermione had always enjoyed on her trips here, the tavern at the far end of town was full of locals that liked to share their stories. But as Hermione's French was broken at best, she normally just drank a lot of wine while nodding interestedly.
She often found it was best not to flaunt her English accent too loudly. But whatever the locals' opinions on English tourists were, they didn't seem to mind her too much, probably because she appreciated their wine as much as they did. Not that she'd be going out for a drink any time soon. She glanced back over her shoulder as she drove, the still stunned, battered, and frighteningly young Sirius Black lay awkwardly across the back seat. How on earth was she going to solve this?
It was only another twenty minutes drive to her destination. The cottage was so old that it still bore the thick trusses across the roof that would have once supported thatching instead of the more modern tiles they held now. The heavy dark beams could be seen peeking out from under the eaves every few feet. The little house was aptly named Le Bon Côté, because it sat in a verdant field, many acres of brilliant green separating it from the next nearest house, its walls were white, and the colourful garden that surrounded it definitely suggested cheerfulness. Even the tall, and wide spanning branches of the deep green Ash tree that stood close to the house, on the edge of limestone drive waved in an enticing manner as she turned off the narrow country road, into the property.
The place was fully muggle, apart from its emergency floo connection. It was part of the Delacour's collection of income generating holiday rentals dotted all over the continent. Madam Delacour was a canny business woman, she'd recognised the opportunity that rental properties held, and had braved the non-magic world of internet communications and Airbnb, with the help of her muggle friendly son-in-law Bill Weasley.
Hermione supposed it was strange to be holidaying in her nearly ex-husband's, sister-in-laws, parents', vacation rental, but Madam Delacour had not seemed to mind in the slightest when Hermione had contacted her, this house was Hermione's favourite, she'd stayed here many times in the past.
The inside was comfortable, with thick whitewashed walls and plenty of airy nooks for reading, it was one of Hermione's favourite places. This was why she'd decided to come here for this break. She had wanted to surround herself with comfort, to be unhurried, to read for pleasure, to wake naturally. This was the sort of place she could do that. Until of course Sirius Black had fallen from the sky and ruined everything.
He was out cold. Her roadside Stupefy was still in effect as she trundled up the long potholed drive and parked the car. She had bound his wrists for good measure before levitating him inside. She cast a few muggle repelling charms over the house before she laid him on the couch in the sitting room.
Having a tied up, knocked out, injured man in her charge was quite disturbing. She looked out the glass doors that opened onto the little lawn and garden, green and bright and serene. At least it wasn't snowing, not quite Stephen King yet.
Not wanting to draw any more parallels with Misery, she set about healing his leg. It was a nice clean break, and easy enough for her to mend. A few scrapes and bruises were also visible, so she fixed them too. There was dirt and grass stains and a few little holes across the left shoulder of the white t-shirt he wore. His jeans too bore evidence of his violent tumble across the road, the knee on his right leg was ripped, although, they could have already been like that, judging by the trailing white threads around the rip.
Now with nothing to do, the panic that she had managed to control so well for the remainder of her drive had returned in full force.
The fact that she'd managed to control it at all was something to be proud of. Having an unconscious time traveller strewn across the back seat, and a broken magical motorbike forced haphazardly into the boot of her estate was no small thing. She was very out of practice when it came to unexpected magical drama these days.
She could not understand how a time turner had brought him here. Forty years from where he should be, that distance, even backward in time, was unheard of. And was it forty years? He looked about twenty, she thought. Very similar to the photo Harry had of him at his parents' wedding.
He was undisturbed in his artificial sleep, Hermione found herself studying the smooth arch of the black eyebrow she could see, the other hidden by his hair. There was a bluish shadow of dark stubble under his jaw, creeping up over his top lip. It reminded her of Teddy who'd been trying to grow a beard for months, Harry teased him constantly about it. Sirius wore a thin braided leather thong around his left wrist which reminded her of Teddy too, he'd sported a similar one for most of his teenage years. Fashion did tend to come and go in cycles, she thought.
Watching his peaceful face made her think of the only other time she'd ever seen Sirius sleeping, Christmas Eve in her fifth year. That face had been more weathered than this one, crinkled at the corners of his eyes, just like her own were starting to show signs of now. She could remember that night with such clarity now, even though she'd completely forgotten about it until his sleeping face reminded her, it had been so odd.
She'd gone up to the small library on the third floor of Grimmauld Place that evening, just to get something to read before bed. She'd found Sirius snoring on the old domed leather chesterfield. He had a nearly empty glass of whiskey in his hand, teetering towards the floor. He had been cheerful that holiday, but she wondered how much of it had come from just being drunk all the time. She had leaned over him and taken the glass carefully from his hand, and put it down on the rug beside the couch.
Then she'd gone to choose her book. As she'd passed him on her way back out the door he'd put a hand out in her direction, catching the leg of her pyjamas, as he said sleepily, "I know you had to do it. I forgive you."
It had seemed so strange at the time, she thought he'd meant his whiskey, so she'd said, "It's just there on the floor, if you want it."
But now, for some reason, she felt like that little moment had more significance than she'd realised at the time. She racked her brain for other things he might have said that could have been because he'd met her once, in her future, in his past. But she came up blank.
Hermione drew a deep breath. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to wake him up. Perhaps he knew how to fix the time turner, since he'd been the one to use it.
Steeling herself, Hermione lifted her wand once more. "Enervate," she breathed.
His eyes flickered as the spell hit him, his dark eyelashes parting, revealing the greyish blue she remembered from so long ago. Although, as she looked a moment longer, she could see they were clearer, lighter almost, not yet clouded by twelve years at the dementors mercy. These young eyes were alert and keen and they focused on her at once.
Hermione's feeling of dread intensified. His mere presence here put so much at risk.
He grimaced before he spoke, discomfort flashing in his eyes as he drew in a short sharp breath. He didn't move, staying rather stiff, flat on his back. Then, with apparent effort, his face relaxed.
"Well, hello again," he said, surprisingly smoothly as he grinned at her, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a nervy kind of challenge. Hermione felt her eyebrows pull in, scowling down at him, did he really not grasp the seriousness of the situation? "Why are you constantly pointing your wand at me?" he asked lightly.
Taken off guard by the flipant question, Hermione employed her best Head of Department voice. "Because you are in serious trouble, and I'm not going to let you mess up the world we've built."
"I was trying to save the world, not ruin it," Sirius said with a bitter laugh that made him flinch slightly, Hermione thought his body must still hurt from the crash. That's when he noticed his bound wrists. He raised his eyebrows at her, "I'm not really into bondage, sweetheart."
"And I'm not into chauvinistic time-travelling teenagers," she snapped. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Er, who are you?" He countered her question indignantly, his bottom lip protruded with a haughty kind of petulance. "And, I'm not a teenager, I'm twenty-one. And how did you know my name before? You said it, when you summoned my wand, which is where by the way?"
"I'm Hermione," she said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by his onslaught of questions, and deciding it couldn't hurt for him to know her name. "I know your name because, because I knew you once, knew you quite well actually."
"I don't recognise you at all," he said, peering intently at her face. "I'm sure I'd remember."
"No, you wouldn't. You haven't met me yet," Hermione said, not understanding why he would think he could have met her. Unless he hadn't meant to come so far forward? "I might not even be born yet in your timeline."
He paled visibly, as this information sunk in, all indignation gone. "Shit... What year is it?"
"Two Thousand, Nineteen. " Hermione said, confirming she was right and his time travel hadn't gone to plan.
"Shit," he repeated. After a moment of silence, during which his facial contortions suggested he was doing some quick time travel maths, he said rather hoarsely, "thirty eight … I was supposed to be going back thirty eight, to Nineteen Forty-three, Hagrid told James – " but then Sirius stopped talking. "Who's the Minister for Magic?" He asked, looking directly at her. His bright eyes holding hers as though trying to detect a lie.
"I can't tell you that,'' Hermione said. She'd not expected him to ask about politics. "You can't know anything about the future, it could ruin everything." She frowned, thinking. Actually, it obviously hadn't changed anything, did that mean this had always happened? She would have to come back to that. "What did Hagrid tell James?" she asked.
"I don't know if I can trust you," he said bluntly, his eyes still fixed intently on her face. It was a surprisingly calculating expression for a man lying on a sofa. "You might be one of his."
"One of Voldemort's?" Hermione suggested, deciding that to get him to talk she was going to have to tell him something. "I'm not. Quite the opposite in fact. I helped defeat him. Twenty one years ago."
"Merlin," Sirius said, those shrewd eyes widening in shock. "You must have been a kid! How old are you now?"
"I'm thirty-nine." it still sounded odd to her ears, to be so close to forty. She didn't feel any different than she did a decade ago.
"Not bad," Sirius raised his eyebrows again, and gave a little appraising nod as though impressed with her youthful appearance.
"I did not ask for your opinion on the matter." Hermione said cuttingly, more than a little offended. "Please do not inflict it on me."
"Merlin, it was a compliment," Sirius huffed, visibly chastened, looking back down at his bound wrists.
Hermione regretted her harsh reply for just a moment, but at the same time, having the upper hand couldn't hurt, so she continued in the same waspish tone. "Actually, it was you assuming that the way I look is up for discussion. It is not." He didn't reply, just glared at his wrists. She wondered then why he didn't sit up and she was beginning to feel awkward standing over him. But she still needed more information. "What year did you leave?"
"Eighty-one." he muttered mutinously.
Hermione's mouth went dry, her indignation at his previous comments vanished, she should have already known this she supposed, if he was twenty-one, and had travelled thirty eight years, but she hadn't quite put it together yet. "When in Eighty-one?"
"Fourteenth of May," he said, and he finally looked back up at her again, recovered from his telling off. "I think. It's a bit of a jumble to tell you the truth. I'd got into a spot of bother with some Death Eaters, they were chasing me, I just kept flying south so that I wouldn't get lost. It's hard to fly in the dark on a cloudy night. Of course, I couldn't see how far I'd come. I'd been in the air for about an hour when I remembered I had the time turner. I dropped under the clouds, but the thing with my bike... It's pretty loud, so they didn't have that much trouble following me. Anyway, one of them hit the motor, and I started going down, so I spun the thing and… well, here we are."
"Right," Hermione said, still stuck on the date, five months, Hermione thought, staring at him, he only had five months left of his life before everything was taken away. This boy, or man she supposed, would be locked away; would almost lose himself completely to the dementors before the knowledge of Peter Pettigrew's survival drove him to escape.
To her intense disquiet, Hermione felt a hard lump building in her throat as she tried to focus her mind back on questioning him.
"What?" Sirius asked, he was pulling at the rope around his wrists now, trying to get his hands free.
"Sirius,'' Hermione said, and she was surprised by the softness of her voice. "We have to fix your time turner. You have to go back, James and Lily n-need you." She stuttered slightly as she finished, James and Lily needed him to make sure they would die. That's what she was saying.
The lump was threatening again, the idea that he'd always come forward and then gone back seemed logical, but the thing was, this was Sirius Black. She'd known him well enough to understand that he'd never have sat by and done nothing to stop Lily and James being attacked. Did that mean that he went back not knowing? Or that he tried to stop it and failed? Or … she couldn't get her head around it. What if time travel didn't work the way she thought? Could he go back and change things and she'd wake up one day in a different world?
It was a terrifying thought. The people she loved now might not exist. The world she had helped shape – free from blood purity, free from oppression of magical creatures, could be destroyed. And if Lily and James lived, Harry would not be the Chosen One. He would not be able to defeat Voldemort. No one could predict how that would affect things. He, Ron and Hermione might not be friends, she might never fall in love with Ron, her children would never be born. The lump in her throat won and the pricking of tears at the corners of her eyes became overwhelming. She would not risk her children, or their world for anything. Sirius Black had to return to Nineteen Eighty-one as soon as possible.
"I know they do," he said, and it took Hermione a moment to realise he was still thinking about Lily and James. "But I don't know how to fix it, I didn't even really know how to use it, James had set it to the right number of years, because – " but he cut himself off, still looking like he didn't trust her. "Do you think you know how to fix it? You were pretty confident with your Reparo back there. Where is it? And where's my wand?"
"You can't have your wand yet," she said firmly. "And I have the time turner here." She pulled the fragile little glass from the deep pocket of her dress. "I know a little bit about them, but," she paused. She did know someone who might know, possibly the authority on time travel, in Britain anyway. "I work for the Ministry," Hermione told him. "I have contacts in the Department of Mysteries, I'll floo them and see what I can find out."
Sirius nodded, still watching her closely, his jaw set, he was definitely not happy about something. "Did you fix my leg?" he asked, sounding almost annoyed.
"I did," Hermione confirmed cautiously, "and you had a bit of road rash, so I sorted that out too."
"Did you check my shoulder?'' he asked brusquely. ''It's killing me."
She felt quite mean when she realised that his shortness with her, and his inability to sit up was because he was in pain, rather than just because he was rude and lazy. "I didn't," she said. "I'm not a healer, but I know a bit. Would you like me to look at it?"
He nodded trying to shift around to get in a sitting position, but the rope around his wrists made it awkward. He grimaced again. "Can't you take this off?" he complained, "I'm not going to hurt you."
She didn't reply. She didn't think he would hurt her, but … she just didn't want to have to worry. She did however take the elbow he thrust in her direction as he tried to sit up again and used it to help haul him upright. He was pale and had definitely lost his cocky attitude, holding himself very still, once his feet were on the floor, his breathing shallow once more.
"Right, sit forward," she said, and he obeyed gingerly. His head hung down, face hidden by his long hair which almost reached his shoulders. She drew a short breath, preparing herself, hoping the injury wasn't too gruesome. She didn't know what they would do if she had to take him to a hospital. She'd never been to the magical hospital in Paris, and didn't particularly want to draw attention to him being here, and she wouldn't be able to give the muggles any sort of identification for him, it could get very complicated.
Then she pulled the back of his grubby t-shirt up, the expanse of skin revealed was marked with scrapes and reddish patches, fresh ones, obviously from the crash, but there were quite a few scars, too, and a dark ink rune on his ribs under his left arm. Just at the edge of the worst graze from the crash.
"Mischief?" She said, touching it with her forefinger without really thinking.
"Seemed fitting," he replied, his voice catching slightly as she touched him, then he winced as he tried to look at the tattoo himself. "Bit silly now, but I thought it was dead clever when I got it." he half smiled, still obviously in pain, no doubt trying to distract himself, he asked, "can you read runes, then?"
"You should probably hold still,'' Hermione said, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the clear damage to his shoulder blade, as he'd moved it had protruded strangely. She should have strapped him up before she moved him from the roadside, she realised now. But she'd been so flustered about getting him out of there and he'd seemed okay, just the broken leg.
"Is it bad?" he asked, "it feels weird, but a bit better now that I'm not leaning on it."
"Breathe in deep," she suggested, wondering if that would tell her anything.
He did, drawing in a deep breath, before he visibly paled as pain shot through him.
"Fuck," he grunted, letting the air out in a gust and hunching forward again. "Why am I the one tied up? You're the psycho," he accused. "What was that supposed to do?"
"Sorry," she said. "I honestly don't know what's wrong, could just be dislocated, or it could be something worse."
"Just do a diagnostic charm," he said shortly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That will tell you. Incantation is Morboidem or give me my wand and I'll do it."
"Do you know about healing?" She asked, a bit surprised. The older Sirius she'd known hadn't really shown an interest in healing magic, although he hadn't really shown an interest in anything except Harry. And whiskey.
"I've had to learn," he met her eye then, grim once more. "The fight against Voldemort isn't going that well."
Well, that put her in her place. "Oh– okay so Morboidem?'' She copied his pronunciation.
"Longer on the first O," he corrected, "with a half circle movement. Clockwise."
"Right," she said, moving her wand as instructed. "Morboidem."
The effect was instantaneous. Immediately she seemed to just know that a bone relocation spell would do the trick. "Goodness!" she said, stepping back, shocked by the impact of the spell. "That's amazing!"
He gave her a sad kind of smile. "Useful."
"I wonder why I've never learnt it before?" she muttered, thinking how useful it would have been with her children, especially Hugo, who had an unnatural obsession with heights and tree climbing.
"I think it's a Dumbledore special." Sirius said, his breathing was still shallow, controlling the pain. "When Marls –" he cut off abruptly as different kind of pain crossed his face, but then continued. "When I learnt it, I was told not to show anyone outside the Order."
"Seems terrible to keep something like this a secret," Hermione said, thinking that it probably wasn't surprising that it wasn't widely known. Just about all of the first Order of the Phoenix were dead, and had been for more than twenty years.
"Dumbledore, right?" Sirius muttered bitterly.
"Indeed," Hermione agreed, surprised that Sirius had this opinion at this point in his life. "So how do I do a bone relocation spell?" Hermione asked.
"It's like Episkey," he said, "but… bigger."
She gave him a look. "What does that mean?"
"I dunno," he huffed. "But it fucking hurts. Just do the same movement as Episkey but say Osmotus, and think big, like powerful, I suppose."
"Jesus,'' she muttered. Maybe she should just give him his wand back.
She focused herself, at least she could do a very efficient Episkey, this one should be okay. She said the incantation, and jabbed her wand, putting as much magic as she could into the movement.
There was a grind and a grotesque pop, and Sirius went from pale to grey as the spell hit him. "F-fuck." he groaned again, but then, after a careful moment he twitched his shoulder up hesitantly, and said, "Oh, that's much better," he met her concerned eyes, clearly impressed. "Well done."
"Thanks," Hermione said bemused. Today was the weirdest day of her life.
He shrugged his t-shirt back on, his arms were still in the sleeves, the shirt pulled in a tight band from tricep to tricep while she healed him. He had to duck his head and wiggle a bit with his hands strapped together, so she pulled it down at the back for him to help.
"Now what?" he asked, surprisingly chipper again.
"Now, I'm going to floo the Ministry and see what I can find out about this time turner of yours, where did you get it?"
He held her eyes again, and she wondered what he was thinking. He still really didn't seem to trust her. "I can't tell you that," he said.
"Fine," she wasn't going to argue with him over it. Not yet. She looked around, trying to remember where she'd put her handbag, she needed her little pouch of floo powder.
"Hermione?" He asked, and she turned, wondering if he was going to tell her more after all. "Where's the loo?"
She almost laughed, after all the seriousness, needing a wee seemed strange. "It's down the hall there," she pointed in the direction of the narrow passage that led to the bedrooms.
He stood up, and held his hands out. "You'll need to take these off now," he said, and then added with a lewd little smirk. "Unless you're coming to help?"
She frowned. "Very funny."
She flicked her wand and the bonds vanished, but she held her wand on him as he left the room, rubbing at his wrists. Then swinging his left arm, the one she had just healed, in a wide circle, clearly trying to loosen it, his face scrunched a bit. Obviously, while the bone was back in the right place, it was still not a hundred percent. She moved to watch him walk down the hall, find the bathroom, and she waited for him to come back, her wand still trained on the hallway.
She really didn't think that he would hurt her, but she did think that he might try to get away, and she couldn't let him get lost. Whatever happened, she had to make sure that he did go back to his own time.
The toilet flushed and then Sirius appeared back in the hall, he raised an eyebrow at her and her aimed wand. "What do you think I'm going to do?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not meant to be here, I was trying to go back, not forward. You seem like a pretty clever bird, why the hell would I want to leave? You're my best shot at sorting this out."
"True," she conceded. "Sorry," but she still flicked her wand to make the magical ropes appear again.
"Do you really not trust me?" He pouted, coming a bit closer. His expression was much more sultry than the situation required.
"Not at all." she said, not falling for the act, even if it was quite a good effort, all big sad eyes and strangely seductive jutting lips. "Just as you don't seem to trust me."
He huffed and collapsed onto the sofa in defeat, and then cringed as the heavy movement jostled his tender shoulder.
"Are you going to floo the Ministry now?" he asked.
"Yes,'' she said, suddenly realising he would be basically alone in the house. She sighed. She wasn't going to be able to concentrate on the information if she was worried about him running off.
She raised her wand, and then, with a regretfully murmured Stupefy, she thought that she probably didn't deserve his trust after all.
A/N: I also just wanted to say thanks to all the people in the Strictly Sirimione facebook group who helped me get back into writing this ship after ten years away. xx