Hello hello lovelies!
I started plotting some more part III chapters over the last few days, and so far I'm at chapter 235, so safe to say there are at least 100 more chapters of this story before it's finished. Which only proves that this is a monster of a fic, and I am a little crazy.
Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think :)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Monday, October 17th, 1977
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Forbidden Forest
Sirius Black's Eighteenth birthday
Sirius didn't utter a word to Hermione or Draco for a week. Hermione was convinced that the silent treatment would last for the foreseeable future. Fortunately for her, Sirius accidentally asked her to pass the sausages when he was half asleep at breakfast on the ninth day. After that, he engaged in curt, brief exchanges; until his birthday night.
Hermione's head was spinning, or maybe she was spinning. She giggled as strong arms picked her up around the middle and spun her in a circle. She was spinning. She threw her head back, her arms out to the side, and watched the stars turn into a whirlpool of sharp light streams in the darkness.
Hermione lowered her gaze and caught sight of Draco's face. She liked his face. She stroked his cheek and smirked when he stuck his tongue out at her. Draco put her down, his hands slipping from her body. Hermione growled at the chill of the night that sliced through the protective coat her inebriation had created.
Hermione narrowed her eyes when a stag galloped towards her, skidding to a stop right in front of her. Its antlers looked rather close to her midsection. She twisted her body in order to pop the stag on the nose: its head twitched backwards, it blew strawberries in her direction, and with a huff, bounded off.
Remus ran after the stag, yelling something nonsensical, a half empty bottle of Ogden's finest held in one hand. He was shirtless. Hermione numbly pointed after him, "it's Moony."
Draco made a noise in confirmation, and then he plopped onto the forest ground beside her, or more accurately he was sitting on a large root from the tree a couple feet away. He drew his knees to his chest and closed his eyes, humming.
Peter was a ways away, spread like a starfish on his back, wildly gesturing towards the sky with vigour and loudly naming all the constellations that he could remember.
Hermione spotted Sirius striding into their small clearing, his own bottle of Firewhisky in hand—his was almost full. Hermione vaguely wondered if he would share as she skipped towards him. He came to a halt in the middle of the ring of trees—not too far from Peter—a brow quirked as he watched Hermione hurtle toward him.
She leapt into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist. Sirius grunted in effort as he caught her, supporting all of her weight. She played with his hair as she pulled back to look him in the eye. Sirius was warily watching her, and she let out a joyous peal of laughter. "Happy birthday!" Hermione sang.
Sirius smiled softly, "thank you, kitten."
"Not a kitty cat, I'm a fox," Hermione pouted, knocking her forehead against his. His face was blurry, and everything began to spin again.
"How much have you had to drink, Foxy?" Sirius asked kindly.
Hermione shrugged, "enough." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a wave of sadness tugging at her brow. "Paddy, are you talking to Hermione again? She gets really sad when Paddy doesn't talk to her." She tugged on his hair for emphasis, a little hard, if his wince was any indication.
"Paddy?" Sirius's brow rose. "You are drunk off Circe's tits you are."
A bubble of laughter erupted from her mouth, and she started twirling his silky locks between her fingers. "You have nice hair," Hermione slurred.
"Thank you," Sirius said as he adjusted his grip on her—she was starting to slide down his body, and he tried not to drop her.
"You didn't say you forgive me," Hermione pointed out, ducking her head to peer at his hair, though it was dark so she couldn't distinguish the different strands like she wanted.
"I forgave you days ago...I'm just—I'm still upset that you two lied to us for six years, kitten," Sirius whispered gently. A dose of cold ice water splashed over her senses, and she shifted to look deeply into his eyes.
"We should have told you sooner, I'm sorry," Hermione said, voice shaking with sincerity, and she grasped his face urgently. Hermione's magic sprang out of her—searching for his—and a soft gasp left her mouth when their magic brushed against each other. She knitted them together long enough to pour her emotions into their pack bond.
Sirius shuddered, his eyes wedged shut, "it's okay, kitten."
Hermione blinked, tears welling up in her eyes as she withdrew her magic, "you promise?"
"I promise, Hermione," Sirius swore earnestly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her upper back, shifting the fabric of her satin emerald robes in the process. There were slits in the sides of the skirt—that started part-way down her thigh—that allowed freedom of movement. Hermione winced, now abundantly aware of the bottle of Firewhisky digging into the middle of her back; it was unpleasant, the spot was sore, and she was bound to have a bruise on the morrow.
Hermione let her feet drop from Sirius's waist, and she was left dangling a few inches off of the ground. Sirius smiled softly as he eased her down. Hermione's bare feet sank into the damp forest floor, and a twig snapped underfoot.
"Why aren't you wearing shoes, pet?" Sirius scolded in a light-hearted manner, his hands falling from around her. Hermione fondly patted his chest, her hazel eyes meeting his grey ones. He raised a brow, and she languidly shrugged in reply.
"I think I've sobered up," Hermione said, disappointment punctuating every syllable. She backed her friend, and traipsed forward—her hands gripping fistfuls of her skirts' fabric.
Sirius screwed off the top of his Firewhisky—he pocketed the cap—and took a large swig from the bottle. He trailed after the witch, taking slow, measured steps. He squinted into the darkness, cursed under his breath, and shifted his eyes.
Hermione's hopped over a vast root, and leaned back as she trotted down a slight incline into a clearing below. Draco and Remus were on their backs, pointing at the stars through the canopies. James had managed to shift out of his animagus form, and was sat with his knees tucked to his chest beside the other wizards.
Hermione jerked to a halt in front of her brother, and squatted on the ground in front of him. He was sulking, his lip jutting out, his brow drawn together, and his glasses were halfway down the bridge of his nose. His unruly raven hair was sticking in every imaginable direction.
Sirius dropped onto the ground beside Draco, one leg tucked under him, the other knee bent and he rested the hand holding his Firewhisky on it.
Jolly off-key singing twisted through the trees, and Hermione snorted in amusement. She scratched the side of her nose and met James's eye—his pout had faded into a faint smile, and he was swaying from side-to-side whilst humming along.
The singing got louder and bolder as the owner neared their clearing. Peter staggered into view a few moments later, and with a dopey, dazed smile he stumbled towards them. In his descent, he tripped on a root and tumbled towards them, his singing halting abruptly. He crashed into Sirius and sent him toppling forwards onto Remus and Draco—Firewhisky splashed in every direction.
"Fuck," Sirius groaned, righting himself with a grimace. He held the Firewhisky out in front of him with light disdain as he scrutinised the amber liquid dripping down his arm. "Bloody brilliant," Sirius said.
Remus and Draco were both catching their breath; they'd had the wind knocked out of them, and were leaning into each other and moaning. They were also displeased that liquor had sploshed onto them.
Hermione and James were slack-jawed, stunned and staring at their mates.
"Happy Birthday, Sirius!" Peter cheered, pumping an arm into the air. The boy was covered with nicks and cuts from his tussle with the underbrush on his way down.
Sirius glanced at the boy over his shoulder; a twinge of annoyance threaded his brow together, and his mouth parted, "Pete, how many fingers do I have up?"
"Seven," Peter smiled dopily, his own hand wobbling through the air and grabbing hold of Sirius's. He jerked back almost immediately, and petulantly mumbled, "sticky."
Sirius shook his head, "okay, boys and girl. I think it's time we end this little excursion and head back to the castle."
"Yes M'am," Remus said, a fierce stream of giggles exploded out of him as he righted himself. Draco and Remus leant against one another as they worked their way onto their feet. The two wizards broke out into a jovial tune as they traipsed forth, climbing the incline with enthusiasm.
The other Marauders had all managed to stand up, even though Peter was unbalanced; swaying back and forth. He let out an obscenely loud burp, muttered apologies, and with glee took off after Draco and Remus.
James cleared his throat, "Sirius?"
Hermione was tucked into James's side, and she peered up at her brother with curiosity tugging at her forehead.
Sirius took a small sip of his Firewhisky, and turned to them with eyebrows raised, "yeah, Prongs?"
"I am sorry that we didn't tell you about Hermione and Draco before," James said, tone grave. Sirius smirked sardonically.
"Water under the bridge, Prongs. It hurt, I'm not going to lie, but I understand now why you did it," Sirius shrugged.
"You do?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Draco's scars...the ones on his chest," Sirius said.
"I don't follow," James admitted, a shiver running through his body, and he braced himself against the brisk night air. Hermione wound her cloak around them tighter, holding the ends together against James's abdomen. He shot her a warm smile.
"Something bad clearly happened before Hermione and Draco went to live with you," Sirius started, sighing as he raked his sticky fingers backwards through his hair; when some of the strands clung to his fingers, he turned his nose up in contempt. He carefully extracted them, and aggressively wiped his fingers on his trousers.
Sirius composed himself before he continued, "whatever it was must have been pretty shite, and it was clearly important that they keep their true identity a secret."
Hermione swallowed thickly, wanting to say something, but the words were wedged in her throat.
"Are you ever going to tell us what happened?" Sirius asked.
"One day," Hermione croaked out with a feeble smile, "vow permitting."
"Pesky things, unbreakable vows," Sirius grunted, taking another swig of his drink before he trekked up the incline, leaving Hermione and James alone in the clearing.
"How bad was it exactly, your past?" James asked softly.
Hermione shifted in her brother's arms, her arms grasped around his lower back, and she rested her cheek against his torso. Her throat constricted in warning, but she managed to squeeze out, "bad...but, there were good things too, lots of good things."
They stayed like that for a while: until Hermione's toes were numb and James's teeth were chattering. Huddling together for warmth, the pair trudged back through the forest and headed back towards the castle. It loomed in the distance, mostly shrouded in darkness as it was well past curfew, but its walls promised warmth and solace regardless.
Hermione took a scalding bath when she returned to her dorm, her limbs melting as she sank up to her chin in the water; bubbles covered the water's surface and jumped onto her chin and rolled onto her dark hair that fanned out around her.
"Vow permitting," Hermione scoffed, swiping the suds off of her chin in frustration. She rubbed absently at her throat, and the cogs in her mind whirred around and around.
"Vow permitting," She repeated, the words heavy on her tongue. The witch exhaled, fatigued. She rose, soapy suds clinging to her body, her skin pink from the heat, and she carefully climbed out of the tub.
Hermione wriggled her toes against the bath mat as she scooped her towel off of the rack beside the tub, and quickly dried herself off. She wrapped the fluffy grey towel around her, and secured it in place. Hermione cautiously approached the sink vanity, and gazed at her smudged image in the mirror.
Hermione's fingers twitched as she reached out and smeared her hand across the mirror's surface. She could see herself clearly, and the condensation was gathered on her hand. There were tiny rivers running down the mirror.
"Vow permitting," Hermione sobbed, watching her face contort, her hazel eyes swirling with pain. She knelt onto the floor, the warm tiles a comfort against her skin. "I'm so sorry."
Hermione collapsed onto the floor, her legs twisted uncomfortably beneath her. She stared at the ceiling, attempting to keep her breathing steady. It's bad because you aren't in it, Jamie, Hermione confessed to herself. It's dreadful because of all the death and pain that the wars cause...but there are good things too.
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, an a blurry image of Harry and Ron during their eighth year dancing around the Gryffindor Common room played in her mind's eye. They'd only been back at Hogwarts for a fortnight, and Harry could sense the tension in the common room. So he'd brazenly and vociferously asked Ron to dance.
Everything lit up. The younger years joined in. Dean and Seamus were blushing as they danced together in the corner. Neville waltzed around with a shy first year that appeared to be scared of her own shadow, but a bright grin soon lit up her features. Ginny had tugged Hermione from her curled up position in one of the armchairs by the fireplace and convinced her to participate.
It's going to be okay, Hermione thought, picking herself up off of the ground, one hand pressed to her abdomen.
The witch readied for bed at a snail's pace, her limbs weighed down with sleep. Hermione knew she was going to regret not at least braiding her hair as she flopped onto her bed.
Hermione wormed her way to the top, sinking into her pastel pink duvet. She shifted until she was comfortable, and she secured her arms around one of her spare pillows, deeply inhaling the fresh scent; the House Elves had been through and washed all of their bedding yesterday.
Hermione rolled onto her side, curled herself around the pillow and let her eyes shudder closed. The darkness was comforting yet oppressive, and she wished she'd snuck into the boys dorms and burrowed into Draco's warmth.
The thought of clambering out of her bed and sneaking into her boyfriend's became dangerously tempting: his sinewy arms around her, the smell of mint tenderly rolling her in its embrace, and her head on his chest as she listened to his heartbeat until it lulled her to sleep.
Hermione sighed through her nostrils. The witch tried to sleep, but alas, she tossed and turned all night; exhausted beyond relief, but unable to switch her mind off.
Morning came, the soft sunlight filtering in through her curtains. With a resigned noise in the back of her throat she sat up. She deposited her pillow in her lap and dragged her hands down her face.
The last thing Hermione wanted was to attend class, and groggily she mentally flipped through her Tuesday schedule deciding whether she could skiv off today.
It is my NEWT year, Hermione conceded, hand in her hair, grimacing as her fingers tangled in her curls that had wound and knotted around each other.
Hermione crawled over to the edge of her bed, parted her curtains and swung her feet over the side.
Alice was already awake, her curtains drawn—tied around her bed posts—she was propped against a mountain of pillows, one leg still tangled in her white sheets. The girl had a thin book held open in her hands, languidly resting it on her lap, and her brow was furrowed as she scanned the pages.
"Morning," Hermione yawned, hands gripping the lip of her bed.
"Morning," Alice smiled gently, glancing at Hermione before she turned back to her book. "Sleep well?"
"Like a baby," Hermione said, standing up. She stretched her arms above her head and tiptoed, her back curving.
"Oh!" Alice exclaimed, closing her book as she faced Hermione with excitement punctuating her features.
Hermione traipsed over to her friend's bed, popping onto it, hands folded in her lap as she gazed at Alice expectantly.
"I was wondering if you lot know what you're wearing to the Halloween Ball this year," Alice asked, tucking her hair behind her ears. Book abandoned in her lap. She adjusted the thin strap of her navy blue, satin nightgown.
"We were thinking about sneaking out again, and we got our costumes last week—Rosmerta smuggled them through the floo for us," Hermione explained.
"Oh," Alice said a little dejectedly, "I just thought that since it was our last year, so we could all go to the Ball together...you know?" The witch fiddled with her fingers.
Hermione leaned over and grasped her hands tightly, "well, maybe I can convince the boys to go to the ball instead…in costume of course."
"What are you dressing up as? Is it something I'd know?" Alice asked, brightening significantly, squeezing Hermione's hands.
"We're dressing up as characters from the Rocky Horror Picture Show," Hermione replied.
Alice shook her head, her hair flying about, "nope. No idea."
"Trust me, it's fabulous darling," Hermione smirked wickedly. She rubbed her thumb reassuringly across Alice's knuckles, beaming as she asked, "what about you and Frank, are you both matching again this year?"
A pretty blush swam across Alice's cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears and nose. She nodded bashfully, "last year we both wore red, so this year we decided to go for black and gold."
"Those colours go together like a dream," Hermione said. She peeked over her shoulder at the rest of the room, all of the other's curtains were still drawn. "Anyway, I suppose we should get up and get ready before there's a rush for the bathroom."
Alice laughed breathily, "I suppose we should. It can get a bit mad with all of us sharing." The girl sighed wistfully, "I'm jealous Lily gets one all to herself now."
Hermione made a noise in agreement, before pointing out, "you could always escape and use the Prefect's bathroom if you wanted."
"That is true," Alice said thoughtfully, "the tub is to die for." Alice pursed her lips, letting go of Hermione's hands. She practically threw herself across the bed to put her book on her bedside table, and with gusto tossed back her sheet.
"Actually, I think that's exactly what I'll do," Alice sang, clapping her hands together jovially as she sprang out of bed.
Hermione rose, and winced as a wave of nausea hit her, she could distinctly feel her bones. That's what happens when you don't get any sleep, Hermione mentally chastised herself.
Alice flitted over to her desk, and then her chest of drawers, picking up things here and there and launching them into the empty satchel beside her trunk at the base of her bed.
Hermione waved her fingers, and Alice's sheets stood at attention, smoothing out before folding themselves crisply. Alice shot her a grateful smile. The girl grabbed her things, and with a hushed farewell dashed out of their dormitory.
Hermione examined the now quiet room, and with a huff, she trod back over to her bed, and rolled into it. She haphazardly tugged her duvet around her, and with a flick of her fingers her curtains sailed shut.
I'll go to my afternoon classes, she promised, her eyes wedged shut, and finally—too exhausted to think anymore—Hermione Potter drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Monday, October 31st, 1977
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Halloween
A burst of quiet, but violent sneezes erupted from Lily Evans.
Hermione was sat beside her. "Bless you," Hermione said absently, eyes trained upwards at the owls that were circling the ceiling: parcels, letters, trinkets and gifts in tow.
"Thank you," Lily rasped, clearing her throat.
Hermione—against Draco's advice—had gotten a subscription with the Daily Prophet, and she was impatiently awaiting her newspaper.
"It's a dreadful idea, why in Merlin's name would you subject yourself to that? You know that nothing pleasant is going to be in those pages," Draco warned, hand threaded through her hair as they cuddled in the Room of Requirement on a soft, pliant couch—it threatened to lull one into a deep and dreamless sleep
Despite Draco's warnings, she wanted—needed—to be aware of what was going on outside of Hogwarts's walls.
Draco's light grey owl dipped below the parliament, and sailed down to Hermione. Theron's wings flapped erratically for a few moments before he landed on a spare bit of the wooden table. One of his wings was dangerously close to a platter of scones.
Hermione gratefully accepted the paper from Theron's talons. With nimble fingers, and an upward twist of her lips, she fed him a piece of bacon. As thanks, the owl nipped her finger affectionately.
Theron's attention was quickly grabbed by Draco—on Hermione's other side—who was smirking at his familiar. The wizard neatly placed his cutlery down on either side of his plate before plucking a cut-up bit of sausage off of his plate and holding it out to Theron. The owl hastily accepted the offering, nudging Draco's fingers with his beak.
"Thank you, Theron," Draco said warmly. The owl ruffled its feathers—preening under its Master's approval—and took flight; soaring up and out of the Great Hall.
"Lucky bugger gets spoiled rotten," Sirius commented as he cut his omelette up. He primly began to tuck into his hearty breakfast, his table manners impeccable.
"You would be too if you had Theron's immaculate service record," Hermione said, only partly paying attention to her friend as she deftly untied the string around the newspaper roll.
"Please. He flies from here to Hogsmeade every day to pick up a ruddy newspaper," Sirius said, a forkful of egg half-raised to his mouth. (A liaison from the Daily Prophet delivered a fresh stack of newspapers to Hogsmeade bright and early every morning, and they were dispatched from there to their various destinations.)
Hermione unrolled the Prophet, and a shiver ran down her spine as she read the large, bold headline on the front page.
"There's been another set of murders," Hermione said reticently. Alice froze across the table, her hand on Frank's cheek, the other grasping an orange slice close to his mouth.
"What?" Alice asked in a hushed, horrified whisper.
"Muggles or wizards?" Frank asked, voice cracking as he spoke. He bowed his head and stared at his lap as he worked his jaw.
"Fuck," James whispered, pushing his glasses up and onto the crown of his head as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"A muggle family: a Father and his young twin sons," Hermione answered.
Sirius's fork clattered onto his plate, and everyone glanced in his direction. Sirius's elbows came to rest on the table, he laced his fingers together and he leaned forward in his seat; his gaze intently fixed on Hermione. "What else?"
Remus made a noise in the back of his throat (he was sat opposite Hermione in between Sirius and James), "Pads, what good will knowing—"
"What happened?" Sirius asked coldly, cutting Remus off. Remus shook his head gravely. Their group all sat at attention, all collectively focused on Hermione, awaiting the details with bated breath.
"They haven't released the autopsy report yet, but there was no sign of forced entry nor were there signs of a struggle," Hermione paused for a breath, the newspaper crinkling beneath her fingers as she gripped it tightly. She marched onwards, "the man's mother went to go check on them as she hadn't heard from her son in over a week and he wasn't returning her calls. She discovered them lying on the living room floor. They looked like they were asleep."
(Since they were Muggles, it was probably tricky for the Aurors handling the case as they jumped through bureaucratic hoops to protect the magical world's secrecy whilst handling the muggle police.)
"Killing curse," James said, tone impassive, working his jaw as he stared at his plate.
Lily put down her utensils, wiped her mouth with her napkin and in a tiny voice said, "excuse me." The witch stood up, grabbed her book bag and the text she'd been perusing as she ate and swiftly made for the exit.
"I'm not hungry anymore," James muttered, relinquishing his vice grip on his fork, placing it on his plate. He fiddled with his tie for a moment in an attempt to loosen it, and a frustrated noise burst from the boy as he wretched his tie off altogether.
The youngest Potter stuffed his tie in his bag, and stood up abruptly. "See you in class," he said before climbing over the bench and hastily departing.
Hermione folded the newspaper, resting it beside her plate. She folded her hands in her lap, and tilted her head upwards. Draco's thigh pressed against her in silent comfort.
Frank wrapped Alice in his arms, and the pair began to whisper amongst themselves; the orange slice forgotten on Alice's plate. Sirius and Remus were rigid and taciturn, not looking at anyone.
Happy Halloween, Hermione thought miserably, her eyes locked on the folded black and white image of Mad-Eye Moody on the front page. Moody was glaring at the reporter, pestering him for information in what looked like the lobby of the Ministry of Magic.
The sides of Moody's blond hair were shaven down so that it was less than an inch long; the top was longer, and had been pulled into a tight braid that ended in a short ponytail at the back of his head. He'd garnered a new puckered scar just across his nose since she'd last seen him. His pale eyes flicked back and forth between the reporter and the camera, and his face was swirling with disdain.
"A war is brewing, and all hell is going to break loose," Frank said, toying with the ends of Alice's cropped hair.
"The war's already started, mate," Sirius deadpanned. The lions sombrely sat in stark silence, digesting Sirius's words. A gleeful outburst a few seats away caused them all to jump out of their skin. Hermione peered past Draco to the source and found the responsible party; it was the first years they had bumped into a few weeks ago. Beatrice's face was alight as she animatedly spoke to her mates.
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, and she raked in a shaky breath. War was upon them, the road was going to be treacherous, and only some of them would survive, but none of them would remain unscathed.
And so it begins, Hermione thought soberly. And so it began.