The castle was in ruins around them. Sirius hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on Hermione standing several feet away from him and separated by a crowd of people.
He should be celebrating the defeat of Voldemort. He should be running out to his godson who, not five minutes ago was laying dead amid the wreckage. He should be breathing a sigh of relief that somehow, someway, everyone he loved was still alive. But the singular relief he felt at seeing her was so strong that all else seemed to fade away. He swerved and side-stepped people, not noticing who was in his way, his eyes never once leaving her. It felt like an invisible rope had begun towing him toward her.
Her body language was taut, like she couldn't comprehend that it was over. Exhaustion was written in her eyes and in the way she wobbled slightly on her feet. Her hand came up to catch herself on the arm of Ron, who – Sirius just noticed – was standing next to her. To his horror, he watched as Ron misinterpreted the action and grabbed Hermione's arms, pulling her into a kiss.
Sirius' mind went blank. A rushing sound was all he could hear, and Hermione's wide, shocked eyes was all he could see. Her panic and surprise shot through his chest as she stood there immobile for a moment before she pressed her palms on Ron's chest and shoved hard. Ron was clearly not expecting her to resist as his hands slipped from her arms easily and she stumbled back away from him. Her legs folded under her when the heel of her foot caught on the broken ground, her knees slammed into stone and her body slumped to the side. She caught herself with a hand before she fully collapsed.
Sirius was before her before he could comprehend moving. Anger bubbled inside him like a particularly viscous potion when he looked down at her thin, worn face; but when her eyes met his, a soothing warmth filled him as her genuine relief and love met his soul and calmed his boiling nerves.
"Sirius," she breathed, like she was exhaling after letting go of a heavy load. Her whiskey eyes were bright with tears as she looked up at him.
"Kitten," he responded, kneeling before her. He reached for her just as she reached for him and pulled her towards him, one arm around her shoulders as she buried her head into his neck, and the other arm under her knees, settling her against him. Something inside him uncoiled at the feel of her in his arms.
"Hermione, what…" Ron started to say, his voice incredulous. But Sirius didn't care what he had to say at that moment. Knowing the anti-apparition wards were broken on the school grounds, he apparated them directly to Grimmauld Place.
The feeling of being constricted left him and he stood up with Hermione still in his arms. She was gasping and the arms around his neck were trembling, clearly disoriented from apparating. He carried her over to the living room and settled her down on the couch. Kneeling before her, he gripped her hands in his as he looked her over.
She was thin, too thin, and her hair was limp with grime, the curls matted down. Her body shook with fine tremors and her hands were cold in his. His heart hurt looking at her as he let go of one of her hands to wave his wand over her, casting a diagnostic spell. The feedback he received from the spell broke a dam inside of him. Tears spilled from his eyes and he leaned forward to hide his face in her lap, kissing her hands.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Kitten. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for surviving and coming back to me," he murmured against her small fingers, peppering his lips against each tip. Thanking her after each one.
He felt something tap his head and he looked up to see her own tears dripping from her chin. She removed her hands from his and placed them against his cheeks and pulled him to her, gently kissing his lips. He felt himself melt. Sweet Merlin, he hadn't had her lips on his since August. Though they were chapped and rough, it was like finding an oasis in the middle of a desert.
When she pulled back she rested her forehead against his, her thumbs stroking the scruff along his cheeks.
"I missed you," she said, her breath puffing against his lips.
His hands had made their way to her waist. The feel of the bony ridge of her hips and the distinct edge of her ribs that had been hidden under her over-large sweater. His heart grew more heavy at the evidence of her malnutrition.
"I missed you too, Darling," he whispered back. The bond between them was warm and solid, and almost ached after so much time apart. He breathed her in once more before pulling away, pecking her nose as he did so. "Let me get you cleaned up and warm before I start healing you– unless you want to eat first?"
She shook her head. "I'm not hungry right now. Maybe later?"
He just nodded, figuring that the adrenaline and stress of the day – or several months truthfully – might have suppressed her appetite. He stood and reached down and picked her up before she could stand on her own, lifting her into his arms securely. He cut her off before she could protest. "Sorry, Kitten," he apologized, disingenuously. He wasn't at all sorry that he planned on carrying her around for the foreseeable future.
She didn't pursue her complaints, proving just how worn down she really was. He carried her up the stairs and to the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom. Setting her down on the countertop space by the sink, he made his way to a clawfoot bathtub and began running the taps, checking the temperature carefully to make sure it was just right. It only took a moment to fill. He added a few drops of a soothing oil before he stood up to go to Hermione again.
She was near level with him on the counter, her eyes watching him intently and never left him. He leaned forward and kissed her before pulling back and gripping the hem of her sweatshirt and started pulling it up.
Hermione flushed, her hands immediately flew to his, halting his attempt to undress her. "Sirius!" Her eyes were wide and he could feel the hammering of her heart against his. He couldn't help but smile at her sense of propriety.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can leave," he said, cupping her cheeks and tilting her embarrassed face to look at him. "But I am your husband. There is nothing you ever need to hide from me. Least of all yourself." She blushed even darker and looked at him from beneath her lashes, casting a shadow over her irises making them turn a rich cherry brown.
It made his heart skip a beat. He could swear up and down the Nile river he had never seen anything more beautiful than her.
"Let me help you, Kitten?" He implored her, dipping his head a little when she tried to look down and away from him.
Something in him fluttered when she gave a shy nod. Every show of trust from her felt like a gift, and as he carefully undressed her he made sure to not betray that trust. He didn't say anything, or let his eyes linger too long on any one part of her – though he didn't avert his gaze either. He took in every dip and curve, the cuts and bruises, and the sharp line of her shoulders and collarbones, the goosebumps that spread across her skin and peaking the tips of her breasts as the cool air hit them, and the near cavernous form of her stomach that highlighted the absence of her previous soft and full curves. The only point he let his eyes stop on was a dirty, bloody bandage wrapped around her left forearm.
He started reaching for it but stopped when he noticed her shiver. Rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt he scooped her up and lowered her bare form into the warmth of the water.
She sank into it with a deep sigh and her eyelids immediately drooped at the feeling of being surrounded in warmth. He bent to the floor beside her and took her bandaged arm and began undoing the once white, cotton strip. He paused when he felt her tense and looked up at her face. Her heart was racing but she didn't say anything or try to stop him, so he continued to slowly unwind the bandage.
He sat back on his heels, completely frozen once it was finally uncovered.
"It was Bellatrix," Hermione answered the unasked question. "At Malfoy Manor."
Guilt stabbed at him as he stared at the jagged, puffy lacerations. The slur carved into her wept as it glared up at him like a nightmare he couldn't wake from. All he could think was if only he had acted faster it might have been prevented
He knew what kind of torture she had likely faced at the hands of his deranged cousin – Bellatrix's reputation proceeded her – but to be faced with physical marks, marks that were meant to humiliate and shame as well as inflict permanent suffering on his most beloved person, was not something anyone could prepare themselves for.
He silently summoned his medic kit and set it next to him on the floor before he rose to wash his hands. He came back to her and began cleansing the wounds on her arm as carefully as he could manage. It felt as though a brick was dropped onto his chest every time she flinched or made a noise of discomfort. He knew that cursed wounds like this would never fully heal – being impervious to nearly all healing magic, and resistant to natural healing – but he knew that with time and care it would close at least.
"Look away," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He cleared his throat. "I need to debride this before I suture it."
He pulled out a bottle of lidocaine and a sterile needle and anesthetized around her wound. A thick lump formed in the back of his throat as he began cutting out the necrotic and infected tissue. When he was done he sutured the cuts closed, covered it in petroleum jelly, and wrapped it up in clean dressings.
He stopped a moment after he finished securing the wrapping and stared at the arm he held in his hands and caught his breath, swallowing to try and clear his throat. He dropped a kiss into the center of her arm over the bandage before letting go.
"I'm sorry," he said, this time earnestly. He looked up and met her widened eyes. "If I had gotten there sooner, or thought to call Dobby more quickly…"
"Sirius," she cut him off. Her voice was stern. "You saved our lives back then. You saved me," she reassured him reaching for his chin and lovingly stroked his beard. He tilted his face to nuzzle into her hand.
"Still," he sighed. "I could feel your panic. And I just had to sit there, just beyond the boundary, and feel it until I could think of a way to to get you all out alive, all the while that…that maniac was hurting you!" Her fingers caressed him and he felt her press her love through to him, settling the anguish he felt. "The damage she did to your nervous system with that curse, I'm surprised you are able to stand."
"When Dobby apparated us away to Bill and Fleur's home," she said, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. "Fleur healed me as much as she could and gave me a couple months supply of nerve healing potions that I've been taking regularly."
Sirius didn't respond. He knew that would barely be enough to keep her going, and it did nothing to address the pain she was most likely feeling.
Soaping up a cloth, he reached into the warm tub and began washing her feet. She squeaked as he worked his way up her calf, brushing the hollow of her knee and the inside of her thigh. He cleaned her gently, making sure to work over her whole body. Although he didn't linger in any one spot, he did secretly revel in the dark flush that spread down her chest, and the bashful expression on her face.
Once her body was cleansed he moved onto her hair. If he were honest, it was something he always wanted to do – an odd fantasy that he dared not acknowledge. He lathered and worked shampoo into her scalp, massaging it through her whole head. She went lax, her back sliding lower against the reclined edge of the tub as she sighed. Her head tilted to the left as Sirius worked his fingertips into the hairline around her ear. He found himself bending forward and kissing the widened expanse between her neck and shoulder. He rested his face there, letting the steam from the bath warm his face as he relished the skin under his lips.
"It's over," he whispered into her neck. It was starting to crash down on him that the terror he had been living through for over two decades was over. That his future was finally blue skies and whiskey eyes. "We can live our lives now. Right, Kitten?" He asked into her skin.
She moved, the water sloshing as she twisted to meet his eyes. "What does the future look like to you?" She asked, resting her temple against his neck – not minding the suds still in her hair getting on him – and reaching up to stroke his cheek once more.
"You and me, out in the sunshine, staying in on rainy days," he said, closing his eyes for a moment at the feeling of her hands. "Lazy mornings, and reading by the fire," he continued, tilting her head back again and using a silent aguamenti charm to rinse the curls and used his free hand to vanish the water running out of her hair. "We'll travel the world, rest, heal – take our time and figure out our next steps. Maybe one day, sooner or later, we'll add a few more to our family," he dipped his free hand into the water to press against her lower belly, stroking the skin and imagining it rounded with their child. He felt their bond hum contentedly. Although her face flushed a deep crimson, she slid her hand down his arm and laced her fingers with his over her belly. "Maybe I'll open a garage and work on motorcycles or work in a clinic, and maybe you will go to a muggle university like you always said you would, or maybe you'll do something completely different, or change direction a million times, or even stay at home and write novels, but as long as it's you and me, we'll be happy. We'll figure it out."
Her eyes glowed by the end of his description of their future. She looked down at their hands on her naked stomach before dragging them up the line of her torso to her lips. She kissed each of his fingers before pressing his hand to her heart.
"It sounds perfect."
Closing his eyes for a moment, he felt her heart in the palm of his hand as well as beside his own heartbeat. Merlin, how did he end up this fortunate. After so long, he had thought happiness was something that couldn't belong to him. But, now she was here.
He vanished the water and magicked her dry. Her curls coiled up like tension on a spring being released, once again becoming a luscious cloud around her head. Summoning some clean clothes he scooped her out of the tub and stood her on her feet. He pulled a Pink Floyd t-shirt over her head, leading her arms through the sleeves, and had her step into a pair of worn-soft lounge pants and tied them around her waist. His clothes swamped her form, but she looked sweet as she pulled the collar over her nose and inhaled, looking at him with bashful eyes.
He had to swallow down his emotions as he looked at her. He led her to his bed and sat her down on it. He shuffled through his medic kit, potion bottles clinking, and pulled out a few phails of various colored concoctions. He first handed her a pale blue pain relief potion, which she took with a shiver but relaxed after a moment. Then he handed her two marigold colored potions – nutrient supplements. The last was a deep purple potion that he knew she would recognize as a dreamless sleep potion. He lifted her pant legs and applied bruise cream to her knees and anywhere else he spotted contusions earlier.
"When do you take your nerve potion?" He asked her.
"Mornings typically," Hermione answered, setting aside the empty tincture bottles.
Sirius frowned. She should be taking at least morning and evening – if not thrice daily with a dose in the afternoon. The cruciatus curse fries the myelin sheath around the nerves, causing a disruption between brain to body signals – much like multiple sclerosis. However, unlike the disease, it wasn't an autoimmune disorder and – thankfully – could usually be healed with time as the body wasn't constantly attacking itself. The symptoms were similar, and recovery could take a long time depending on the severity of the curse. People with minor damage might have vision issues, fatigue, and headaches for a while. The most severe ended up with permanent cognitive disabilities.
Blessedly, Hermione didn't end up in the most severe category, but she wasn't in the least either. He wasn't sure how severe her condition was. Adrenaline was a powerful neurotransmitter; the events of the day would have flushed her entire system with it, masking her symptoms. They would likely show up en masse the next day.
"We're going to up your doses to three times a day. With each meal," he told her, looking her in the eye and making it very clear that it wasn't an optional prescription.
She just nodded her head in agreement.
"Where is your supply now?" He asked.
I was in my bag. I lost it somehow when we rushed out of camp, though," she admitted, looking down at her knees, fiddling with her fingers.
It wasn't ideal, and it aggravated him that he didn't have a supply of Myelin Return on hand for her, but he had to concede the fact that unless he went out right that moment she would have to go without. He didn't want to leave her, but he also didn't want a delay in her healing.
"Don't go," she said, her voice soft and pleading. He looked up at her nervous face. "You can get it later, or ask someone else too. Just don't leave me right now."
He hadn't realized his thoughts were that easy for her to read. But if anyone could see through him, it would be her.
"Okay. I'll take care of it later," he answered, assuaging her fear and reasoning with himself that she wouldn't get worse if she didn't have all of her potions right away. He needed to consult Madame Pomfrey anyway. Having been incarcerated for so long had made his medical knowledge a little rusty.
Hermione smiled at him, clearly relieved. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a scratching at the bedroom door and a loud meow. She started, looking alarmed for a moment before realization dawned on her face
Sirius just huffed a small laugh and stood up to let his furry friend into the room.
Crookshanks zipped into the room and immediately hopped up onto the bed next to Hermione. The grouchy cat was purring louder than Sirius realized he was capable of and was on his hind legs, rubbing his whiskered cheeks against Hermione's face.
"Crookshanks!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands already petting down her familiar's fluffy orange back and scratching behind his ears. He mewled in response. "Oh! I missed you, Darling. We're you good for Sirius?" The cat just clung on harder to Hermione's shoulders, his purring continued to rumble around the room.
Sirius leaned down to kiss the crown of her head and give Crookshanks a scratch behind his whiskers. "I'll give you two a moment while I wash up," he said pulling away from her.
He showered as quickly as he could, hating the few minutes that passed outside of her presence. When he came back in –hair dripping and shirtless because he didn't care to waste any more time – he found Hermione curled on her side with Crookshanks wrapped around the top of her pillow. The fluffy cat peered up at him with one eye, still purring.
There was a pang in his chest at the sight. The realization that he finally could hold her to himself and wake to see her face beside him struck fast and hard as he crawled onto the bed, pulling a blanket over them. He wrapped her up and gently tugged her over to rest against his bare torso – mindful of the half kneazle that had missed his bonded witch almost as much as Sirius missed his soul bound wife. It felt good – impossibly good to have her pressed against him. He canted his cheek to rest against the crown of her head, let his breath match with each of her slow exhales that blew against his chest, and curled his arms around her.
He stayed awake for a long while, stroking up and down her back while Crookshanks stretched out his toasty paws to press against his head. He didn't want to sleep. The fear that he'd wake to it all being a dream, that his arms would be empty, and he'd be left chasing the phantom scent of her hair, persisted until he finally succumbed and closed his eyes.
It turned out that waking up felt even more of a dream. Their combined body heat cocooned them under the oxblood-colored blanket. Crookshanks had moved to lay in the cradled space between their bodies and was purring loudly, announcing he was awake even if he was snuggled down. Sirius brought his hand up to tangle his fingers into Hermione's soft curls – scratching her scalp and neck gently – and tightening the arm that he had slung low across her shoulders. He wouldn't move from this spot until she woke.
When she did eventually start stirring, her eyelashes fluttering butterfly kisses against the skin over his heart, he could feel her heartbeat excelerate. After a moment she sighed a deep waking breath, her fingers curling against his chest, and he felt her lips kiss him over his heart. His breath caught and she did it again before squirming a little to look up into his eyes.
She squinted up at him against the warm, buttery, late morning light that drifted through the curtains in his room. A smile lit her face.
"I thought it might have been a dream," she murmured to him.
He chuckled, her entire body jostling from the movement of his chest. "I worried it might have been one as well, Kitten," he admitted, rubbing circles into her shoulders. "It doesn't quite feel real yet."
"Hm…" she hummed her agreement, tucking her chin and nuzzling her face into his chest.
They stayed like that for a while. Just basking in being in each other's presence and not having secret missions or dark lords to keep them separated. But eventually, Sirius made Hermione sit up. Which she was clearly feeling disgruntled about. She was like a ragdoll in his arms as she pouted at him.
Crookshanks indignantly scrambled off of them. He looked peeved but followed them out of the room as Sirius carried her down the stairs.
"Don't give me that, Kitten," he admonished, trying not to laugh at the face she was giving him. "You need more than a few solid meals, and plenty of fluids."
She sighed as she rested her head against the crook of his neck. "But, I'm not hungry."
Sirius frowned at that. "Just because you don't feel hungry right now doesn't mean you aren't," he said sternly, though he could feel her skepticism. "Darling, I don't know exactly what you've been through in the last nine months, but you've clearly only been eating though to barely get by."
He settled her down in one of the kitchen chairs, pecking her nose for good measure.
"Now, I have some chicken soup that Molly made for me the other day. It should still be good and it shouldn't be too heavy for my darling wife while she regains her appetite," he grinned at her from the icebox, her returning smile answered his implied question. He pulled out the container and worked on heating it over the stove along with the kettle. "I have a present to give to you if you eat all of it."
Curiosity lit her eyes as he slid some water over to her as well as a pain potion for her to take. He still had to get ahold of a supply of Myelin Return that day. While her condition might not regress, it might stall.
A few moments later he set a mug of peppermint tea in front of her. She inhaled gratefully.
"My favorite," she smiled into the mug. "You remembered."
"Of course I remembered," he responded, reaching to stroke her cheek. "Drinking it made me feel a little closer to you these last few months."
"Really?" She asked, looking oddly surprised.
"Whatever down time I had, I spent it with peppermint tea rereading the books we used to read together," he explained, returning to the stovetop to ladle out the soup.
She blushed and mumbled something into his t-shirt.
"What was that, Kitten?" He asked, curious at her embarrassed reaction.
"I said, I slept in your jacket," she repeated louder. "The one you put on me before we…you know," she finished lamely.
He moved over to her, setting the bowls of soup on the kitchen table. He bent over her boxing her in by placing one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the table next to her. "Hm…you mean the jacket I put on you after I snogged you senseless, and bent you over backwards in an oak tree? The jacket that I put on you and then somehow convinced you to marry me right then and there?"
A small part of his brain worried about the amount of blood that kept rushing up to her face, the rest of him was overly delighted at how reactive she was to him. He watched her bite her lip, her eyes bright and somehow anticipatory at the memory. He glanced down to see her squeezing her fingers between her knees, and smirked at her.
He bent forward closer to her, her eyes fluttered and he could feel her heart tick up in anticipation. Slowly, at a snail's pace, he bit her earlobe gently, drawing it into his mouth and sucking lightly for a brief moment before letting go and planting a kiss into the angle of her jaw. The simple act of affection left her panting, which made him smile down at her upturned face.
He finally sat down and dragged her to sit in his lap. She squeaked at the sudden move but fell compliantly onto him.
"Shall I feed you myself?" He asked into her ear.
She shook her head vehemently and pulled the soup bowl towards herself and slowly sipped the broth. Sirius watched carefully until she took a few tentative bites of chicken and noodles before he began on his own bowl.
He was pleased to see Crookshanks was eating as well. The ginger ball of fur had lost nearly as much weight as his mistress. Having her home seemed to stimulate an appetite in the feline.
After a while, Hermione slowed down. She stirred the broth around listlessly, occasionally taking small sips.
"Are you done, Love?"
"No, I still have some," she said with a grimace.
"You don't need to force yourself to finish," he said grabbing her hand and pulling it away from the dish, and kissing it softly.
She pouted at him. Her lower lip jutting out oddly endearingly. "But I want my present."
He smiled and kissed her fingers again.
"I already gave it to you," he said with a mischievous smirk.
She stared at him in confusion. Her eyebrows furrowing and her lips turned down slightly. He adjusted her hand in his so he could kiss the palm and watched as her eyes focus on where the light caught on her third finger.
Settled neatly on her left hand was a thin, pale gold band of twisted vines, studded with diamonds and sapphires. It was dainty and beautiful.
"How did you…" she started to ask, gaping at her hand.
"Magic, Darling," he said with a wicked grin, sliding his hands to wrap around the small of her back.
"It's beautiful," she said breathlessly. She thumbed the ring, twisting it to admire the whole piece. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It took a while to find a jeweler who could make it the way I wanted it," he admitted.
"You designed it?" She asked, awed. Her eyes were round as she looked at him.
"Of course. I couldn't give you just any wedding ring," he preened, looking beyond chuffed with himself.
"You know I would have been happy with a bubble gum machine ring, right?"
He looked at her fondly and caressed her cheek. "I know, Sweetheart, but I wouldn't have been happy to give you anything less than the best I could offer."
She smiled and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. He drank her in like cold water on a hot summer day, greedily and without reservation.
They broke away from each other too soon for his tastes, but she was panting like she had just run a marathon, so he conceded for the sake of her health. Her breasts pressed against his chest with every inhale, making it hard for him to focus on the shaky words coming out of her mouth.
"Can you–" press "summon my bag–" press "please?" He barely caught her words, taking a moment to process her request before silently summoning the beaded bag he vaguely recalled being among her clothes. The out of place beaded handbag thumped against the walls of the house in its effort to reach his hand, before it ended up zipping through the kitchen doorway to settle in his palm.
He handed it to her, watching curiously as she reached her whole arm into it, searching for something by feel. It took her several minutes before she produced a small jewelry box, with a triumphant look on her face. When she looked up at him, her face turned shy again.
"I...um…I have a ring for you too," she said, making his heart skip beats. She opened the little box and pulled out a thick band. "It was my granddad's. My dad always wanted to give it to my future husband." Her eyes became bright with tears at the thought of her father. She stared down at the ring, but Sirius just watched her as grief settled into her. "I kept it after I altered their memories, because even if he couldn't remember, I wanted to someday honor that wish."
She took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger. Surprisingly it fit him well. Like it was made for him. He raised his hand to look at the band. It was yellow gold, carved to have celtic knots twining the circumference, and inlaid with small round diamonds. Despite being a muggle ring, he could feel old magic from it. Years of love that had been imbued into it.
"My parents really loved you," she said after a moment, as she admired the way it settled against his hand. Her words surprised him. He had only met her parents once and exchanged a handful of letters with them before Hermione sent them away. "I think dad would have been thrilled that you're the one wearing his father's ring."
He swallowed thickly. His emotions were high as he felt love and tenderness mix with the grief of the last few years mingling together in the soul tie binding them. They were broken and whole all at once.
"Once you are well, and the world has settled again, let's go find our family and bring them home."
Hope lit between them. Hermione's face became radiant with it as she slotted her small fingers between his. He decided that he could withstand anything in life so long as that face always turned towards his.
