I wanna tell you how it's gonna be
You're gonna give your love to me
I'm gonna love you night and day
Love is love and not fade away
The Rolling Stones
Hermione dropped her bag and sat on her bed. She looked around in her room, nothing seemed different. It seemed like during her fifth year at Hogwarts, here at home, at her parents house everything was still the same.
Her world had shifted on it's axis, everything was turned upside down and her bookshelf was still propped up on Douglas Adam's "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" because the front left foot was 2,5 centimeters shorter then the other three. The red rug in front of her bed was still worn around the edges, it was almost as old as Hermione herself but she refused to replace it having grown fond of it over the years. She took in all the small, meaningless details details of her room, the flowerpot on her windowsill (without flowers of course, no plant would survive without being watered as long as she was at Hogwarts), the pencils on her desk (neatly colour- sorted), her jacket over the back of her chair, the picture of her and her parents on the nightstand, and wondered what the hell she was doing her.
Hogwarts wasn't a safe place anymore even if Umbridge had been abducted by the centaurs (she mentally complimented herself again for that brilliant plan) and Dumbledore back as Headmaster, she knew they were at war. Had known it since the year before when Cedric Diggory had died. Had known that Harry and therefore Ron and herself had to play their part.
But everything felt so much more real now. They had crossed a line when they -she- formed Dumbledore's Army. Before they had been students, yes Harry always was the chosen one and had been in danger from the first day they had started at Hogwarts and they knew facing Voldemort would be inevitable, but still... they had been protected by others.
But now they had taken action. They were Dumbledore's Army. And even though no one said it out loud (Molly still refused them to be part of the Order of the Phoenix) that practically made them soldiers.
Voldemort had infiltrated the Ministry (Umbridge might only be the tip of the iceberg), but their side wasn't exactly doing nothing either, Charlie was recruiting members for the Order in Romania, Kingsley and Tonks tried to figure out who at the Ministry was trustworthy, Remus was on whatever suicidal mission Dumbledore had sent him and Sirius...
Oh god Sirius.
The man had spent sixteen years with a supremacist pureblood family that he hated (a feeling that was as far as Hermione knew very much reciprocated), then framed by one of his best friends, all in one night losing everything he had (James and Lily- dead; Peter the little rat, the one whom he assumed simply wasn't smart enough to betray them- he hoped the bastard withered away somewhere, preferably cold and alone; Remus the one who had always been on their side, always thinking he wasn't good enough, always waiting for the wolf to take over and ruin all their lives- Remus whom Sirius had assumed to be the traitor and if that hadn't been enough to drive him away, Sirius' imprisonment in Azkaban surely had) only to be locked away for twelve long years.
And then when he was able to flee and finally got at least Remus and Harry back, everything went to hell.
It reminded her of a Greek tragedy.
Hadn't they ran off to save Sirius, breaking into the Ministry, running straight into Voldemort's trap -that fucking obvious trap- Sirius would be perfectly fine.
It was her fault really. Harry had been emotional, of course he had been, he thought his godfather was in deadly peril and Ron was, well Ron. That left her, the brains of the trio. Brightest witch her age- bullshit. Hermione felt nauseous when she thought about it. She should have been level-headed. She should have known it was a trap. She shouldn't have listened to Kreacher who told her Sirius was out when she had floo-called Grimmauld Place. But she had panicked, her stupid, infuriating schoolgirl-crush on her best friend's godfather making her utterly useless.
When Harry had told her that Sirius was being tortured by Voldemort her mind went blank and the last Black had to pay for it in the end. She, dutifully as always, had told her two best friends that it could be a trap, but secretly was relieved when Harry had decided that they still had to go. She needed to go, needed to make sure he was okay. As if she had been able to safe anyone. One curse from Dolohov and she was out cold.
She'd woken up two weeks later. On her right side the scars stretched from just above her hip bone over her rips. Even now, several months later they pulsed and ached more often then not and downright hurt when she touched them. She wouldn't be able to wear a bikini around her parents anymore (shame, they usually went somewhere warm, close to the sea for the holidays), for she could never explain those scars to them.
She had gotten of easy.
When she woke up Ron sat next to her bed in the hospital wing. He told her what had happened and she had kept it together, schooled her expression carefully until Madam Pomfrey threw Ron out.
Sirius had fallen through the veil.
Harry was devastated.
As soon as Ron had left she broke down. The tears were streaming down her cheeks and strangled sobs escaped her. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think clearly. Somewhere on the brink of her awareness she registered that something was forced down her throat.
The panic didn't leave her heart and the despair still clung to every inch of her body, but her breathing evened. Her muscles relaxed and she fell flat on the bed. The last thought she had before falling asleep was Sirius. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.
She woke because she couldn't breathe. Again. But it was different this time. Her right side was on fire, pain searing through her body. She screamed in agony. Hermione cramped and thrashed in her bed. She felt two strong hands clutch her upper arms trying to hold her down. Her mind blanked with panic, the girl tried to fight the grip but she was still so exhausted.
'Hermione. Hermione it's okay. It's just me, Remus. You're safe, you're in Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey will get you something for your pain.' Had she opened her eyes a few seconds earlier she could have seen the sheer heartbreak in his eyes. But as it was, she could only see the concerned eyes of her professor, when she managed to force her eyes open for a second before the next wave of pain hit her and she let out a strangled sob. Lupin let go of her arms and took her hand in his instead.
'Poppy hurry up.' he barked over his shoulder.
The mediwitch ran towards Hermione's bed a small blue vial in her hand. She held it to Hermione's lips and the young witch struggled to open her mouth and swallow the blue liquid. The effect was almost immediate the pain subsided and her frantic heartbeat slowed.
'Thank you.' she croaked. Realizing she still held her former professor's hand in a vice like grip, she quickly let go.
Madame Pomfrey and Lupin exchanged a quick glance and the mediwitch left the two alone. Lupin studied her face and cleared his throat. He sought her eyes before he started talking.
'I heard Ron filled you in about what happened.'
He paused and she nodded. Seemingly satisfied he continued 'Madame Pomfrey had to sedate you afterwards.'
Another nod. She had figured as much.
'You didn't tell him, or anyone what happened to you at the ministry.' he didn't ask a question so Hermione saw no need to answer him.
'Hermione... if we knew what happened, what kind of curse hit you or who did this... maybe Madame Pomfrey could help you better. Because the way it looks right now those seizures you just had might stop sooner or later but we have no clue how much lasting damage there is.'
'I'm sorry.' she whispered.
Lupin froze 'Come again?'
'I'm so so sorry.' she couldn't look at him. 'If I had- if we just... I should have known. How could I've been so bloody ignorant? It was so obvious. And now, now... I know you probably don't want to hear this, because why should you? But I'm terribly sorry for your loss. I know he was your best friend. And Harry's only chance at a proper family. And I just waltzed in there and ruined it all. Everything. And I'm so sorry for that. You've got to hate me.'
'I don't hate you Hermione. Nobody does. And certainly nobody blames you for any of this. Sirius was a grown man, he could take care of himself, make his own decisions and he decided that he wanted to be there that night. If you want to blame someone, blame Voldemort. Nobody else.' Lupin's voice had taken a hard edge but his face softened when he saw her flinch. He seemed to consider her for a moment and sighed, taking her hand again.
'I'm sorry for your loss too.' He murmured and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Hermione's eyes shot up in shock and searched his face.
How much did he know?
But Lupin's expression was unreadable. And she couldn't ask him in case he didn't know that would only make him suspicious.
Now in hindsight he couldn't have known much. Because there just wasn't much to know. There had only ever been one kiss. Nothing more. After that the rest of the school year had passed rather quickly. She had spent the week that was left in the hospital wing, she told Professor Lupin and Madam Pomfrey that it had been Dolohov who had cursed her but it hadn't helped one bit. They still didn't know what curse he had used. The seizures had stopped eventually. The day Madam Pomfrey told her that the pain would likely not go away was a bad day. Harry and Ron had been there with her none of them talking until the visiting hours were over and they finally left. She couldn't really talk to anyone, Harry was so incredibly sad, but except for the nights she was never alone. Harry and Ron sat at her bed most of the time and after a few days they were able to somewhat reconcile their relationship. Mrs. Weasley visited quite often fussing over her, since her own mother didn't even know she was injured. And -to her surprise- Lupin, he just sat there, reading his books slipping her a piece of chocolate now and again.
Hermione's world fell to bits and then was pieced together in this new distorted way and her parents still left the house every morning at 6.45 a.m. sharp to go to work. They returned at 5 p.m. and listened to classical music while cooking dinner. Just like they had done for Hermione's entire life. She had never felt more out of place in the muggle world.
The young witch took a deep breath, she didn't know what would happen tomorrow, all the more reason to make the most of the two weeks she had with her family before returning to the Burrow. Rising from her bed she strode to the door determinedly. She couldn't change the past (at least not since all the bloody Time-Turners had been destroyed that faithful night, when she fucked up she really did so thoroughly). She walked down the stairs into the living room where her parents sat, each a book in their hands. Hermione sat down between them resting her head on the back of the sofa 'What are you reading?'
'"A Brief History of Time".' Her father mumbled his eyes glued to the pages, if her friends ever met her father they'd stop wondering where Hermione got her love for books from.
Her mother closed her book using her index finger as a bookmark 'Just some novel it's called "Needful Things" I'm only on page twenty, but it seems good so far.' She smiled at her daughter 'Are you hungry? We thought about going out for dinner.'
Hermione smiled back 'That sounds lovely, how about that Indian place down the street?'
Dinner was delicious and with every minute talking with her parents about safe subjects and sharing stories about Hogwarts she could actually tell without worrying them, Hermione felt a little bit off the burden lift off of her shoulders. When they walked back home the sun had already set and Hermione felt lighter then she had for months. That was until she saw a huge shadow move in the shrubbery next to her. She jerked to a halt and turned her head sharply. Her parents hadn't noticed her sudden change in demeanor yet and continued down the street. Hermione stood frozen, looking into a pair of grey eyes. It couldn't be. That was impossible. He. Is. Dead. 'Are you coming Hermione?' Her father called.
The grey eyes disappeared.
'I'm coming dad.' She must have been imagining things.
That night Hermione lay tossing and turning in her bed waiting for sleep that wouldn't come. The brightest witch of her age couldn't accept the fact that someone was dead. What a fucking joke. But what harm would taking a short look do? Just to be sure? No. She didn't need to make sure about something she already knew. But she couldn't sleep anyways. Might as well take a short walk to get some air. Hermione got out of bed and pulled a tracksuit top over her sleeping shorts and camisole, briefly contemplating whether to take her wand or not.
On the one hand there was the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery as Harry had learned the hard way last summer and an attack was really very unlikely. On the other hand she just felt safer with her wand. She made up her mind and tucked her wand in the waistband of her shorts and slipped into her shoes. At the lash moment she remembered grabbing her torch, she wouldn't risk using magic for a simple Lumos. She sneaked downstairs, hesitating when she passed the bedroom of her parents. She heard the light snoring of her father and continued outside. Once she soundlessly let the front-door slide close she let out a breath.
She tip-toed back to the shrubbery where she'd seen the shadow, crouched down and examined it with her torch. There was nothing there. As expected. But upon taking a closer look she realized that the grass was flat as if something had lain there until recently and a few twigs were broken off. Her blood ran cold, she hadn't been imagining things. But that didn't mean it was him. It could have been just a random stray. There had to be a logical explanation.
She heard something breathing behind her and spun around but in her crouching position she tripped over her own feet and landed on her bottom. Her face level with shaggy black fur. Hermione's heart threatened to leap out of her chest. Slowly she raised her head to where the breathing came from and looked into a familiar set of grey eyes.
