Hermione sat at the long, worn table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and let her mind drift. It had been a hell of a day, and her concentration was failing. She moved her hands over the battered wood and wondered about the people that had sat there before her. She imagined the hive of activity over the last couple of months was more than the old house had seen in decades. You only needed to look at the shadows that seemed permanently etched onto Sirius' face to know that the house hadn't been filled with a plethora of voices and warmth during his childhood.
Hermione sighed and relaxed as much as she could into the newfound silence. There was a tension in the air, even in the empty room. Sadness, worry and fear still tainted everything in reach. Or maybe that was just her projecting her own emotions?
Hermione looked up as the ceiling creaked with the effort of carrying scurrying feet above. The last of the Weasleys must have been heading for bed. She hoped they all got a good night's sleep. They would need it to get through the next few days.
Hermione yawned and reached for her teacup, thinking about whether or not it was worth trying to sleep herself. The tea was counterproductive if she planned to drift off soon, but still, she couldn't help herself from making the cup. The warmth of the porcelain was soothing, and it gave her a reason to be in the kitchen at such a late hour.
Hermione hadn't planned for this, along with the others she had decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, though she had promised her parents she would be over for at least a couple of days.
Hermione had woken up that morning, ready for the first day of the holidays only to find that no one else was there. While the unexpected wasn't exactly surprising, not after four years of being Harry's friend, Hermione had found herself at a loss for what to do. Aimless and confused, she had lingered in the common room for the longest time before Neville had come and got her to make sure she didn't miss breakfast. Eventually, Professor McGonagall had pulled her into her office and explained that Arthur Weasley had been attacked. The others had been woken in the night to go to him.
Hermione had been brought to Grimmauld before lunch, and after checking in with all of her friends and offering her sympathies, she found there wasn't a great deal she could do. The Weasleys were spending most of their time at St Mungo's and Harry, predictably, wanted to be left alone. She had only seen Sirius briefly since arriving, and as he seemed to be no more interested in company than Harry, Hermione had given him as much as wide berth as she had been given their cramped quarters.
It appeared there would be no more keeping Harry's dream's quiet. That she supposed was a relief, though what they were planning on doing about them, she wasn't sure. Harry had been in a meeting with the Order that morning, and as usual, no one else had been allowed to attend.
Hermione looked back at the watch she had stripped down to small parts on the table and ran her hand through the list she had haphazardly put together. This sort of thing wasn't her strong suit. She liked to follow the rules, follow a guide. She could perfect concepts and ideas with ease if she had all the right information. It was when she had to try and fill in the gaps on her own that she came unstuck. Hermione read through the list again and tried to find out where she was going wrong. Something wasn't quite working, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Hermione shouldn't have been doing magic out of school, but seeing as she was staying in a magical household and her task was mostly academic, she had been given special dispensation by those around her to work. Hermione suspected it was to keep her out from underfoot, but as it benefitted her, and there were bigger things to worry about than her doings, she didn't think to complain.
Hermione was on her second cup of tea, and a third of the way down her neatly ordered list when Sirius entered the kitchen. He started a little at seeing her there, clearly expecting the room to be abandoned, but whether he was irritated or relieved at the prospect of company, Hermione couldn't tell. She had long since given up on any attempt to psychoanalysis Sirius Black; the exercise did neither of them any good. While she had thought it might make her understand him better, and thus, help her with how to approach him, Hermione had come to realise that he was too changeable to read accurately. Every time she thought she had worked out the jigsaw, another load of disorganised pieces fell on top and distorted the picture once again.
"Hi," she offered softly, focussing on her work instead of his crumpled appearance and giving him the option to retreat if he wanted to. It wasn't hard to understand that he must have been deliberately waiting to come downstairs until he thought everyone was gone. While he was clearly thrilled that he would have guests over Christmas, his happiness was as sporadic as it was exuberant.
"What are you still doing up?" Sirius asked gruffly. He moved to the far corner of the kitchen and made himself a drink before surprising her by dropping into the seat opposite her pile of watch parts. Unlike Hermione, he had apparently opted for the 'soothing balm' of alcohol over a hot drink. She bit her lip to keep her thoughts - chastisements - to herself.
"I couldn't sleep," Hermione admitted with a shrug. "Too much going on in my mind."
Sirius scoffed and took a deep swig from his mug. "You and me both, poppet."
There was silence for a while as Hermione continued working and Sirius drank, filling the mug twice in under half an hour. She wondered why he hadn't gotten a proper glass, or, given the rate he was drinking it, forgone a vessel entirely and chugged straight from the bottle, but again, Hermione kept herself quiet. With great difficulty. She didn't think her nagging would be appreciated, but he really shouldn't have been drinking. What he needed was sleep, and maybe something to eat.
"Did Minerva speak to you today?"
His sudden question almost made her jump and Hermione looked up questioningly. "Only about coming over here," she replied with confusion. Sirius rubbed his eyes, and Hermione felt the beginnings of concern. "What's going on, Sirius?"
"I don't want to make it worse," he said and sloshed the remains of his whisky as he twisted his mug around in rhythmic circles.
"Don't want to make what worse?"
"Whatever it is that has you up in the middle of the night."
"It's nothing," Hermione dismissed. It wasn't, but she couldn't quite articulate everything she was feeling right then, not even to herself. There was worry for her friends, and anger and hurt at being left behind, a feeling of not quite belonging and the familiar stab of loneliness.
She said none of that.
"What do you need to tell me?"
Sirius grumbled something, clearly reluctant, but Hermione waited him out. She imagined it must have been something he knew was important; otherwise, he wouldn't have raised it at all.
"The Order met this morning, before you go back they will be telling you all not to use the owl post," he said eventually, not quite meeting her level stare. "Umbridge is flexing her powers more and more, and she will be on high alert after you all unexpectedly left the castle. She will likely begin monitoring communications to and from Hogwarts, if she hasn't already."
Hermione's tired brain stuttered. What Sirius was saying made perfect sense but there was a bell going off in the back of her mind that made her aware there was something she was missing. Oh… her eyes widened, and her head snapped up to look at Sirius' careworn face.
He smiled at her in a sort of friendly half gesture that looked slightly macabre in the deep-set lines around his mouth. "I know you're careful, Hermione, but it's not worth the risk."
Hermione nodded even as her eyes glassed over. Her throat felt tight. Her fingers ghosted over the coils and gears that were left on the table, and she willed herself not to let her hands ball into fists and smash them until they were rendered useless.
Her letters to and from Viktor had felt insubstantial for weeks. So much so she had been planning to swallow her embarrassment and ask Viktor if he could somehow come over during the holidays. Hermione knew it probably wasn't safe now that she was at Order H.Q., and he probably had too much training, but that had been her plan. Hermione hadn't expected him to be able to come, but she had been resolved to ask. Now she wouldn't even have that. Now she wouldn't have even have the letters to keep her going.
The only thought that was worse than not having a line of communication with Viktor was the idea of maintaining it and having someone as corrupt as Umbridge reading them. The thought disgusted and enraged her in equal measure. But what could she possibly learn from her writing to her boyfriend? Why would the woman care?
"It's just a few letters," she said at last. She was thankful she didn't sound as petulant as she felt, but there was a resentment there all the same.
Sirius shrugged. "It's never just anything. Not when you're fighting an enemy you can't see. Trust me. We learnt the hard way during the first war. It's not even about what you say, in most cases who you're writing to is enough."
Hermione made an enquiring sound and Sirius reached for his bottle. "You're associated with the Order," he said, needlessly pointing in her direction as he topped off his drink. " Which makes you a target. Then they track who you communicate with, and then they get labelled as - at the very least - sensitive to your cause. Then they track their mail, and the next person and the next person."
Sirius took a swig of his drink and cracked his knuckles. "It's connected, all of it."
Hermione's eyes fell shut. All this time she had thought she was being so careful, so grown up and able to handle what the world was getting ready to throw at them. Yet it was like the Hog's Head all over again.
"Hermione…"
The pity in Sirius' voice was enough to make one of the threatening tears fall, and Hermione roughly rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand to prevent the floodgates opening. "No, it's okay… I understand," she said even though her voice cracked.
Sirius sighed. "I hate to remind you of this now, but you can't contact him from here either."
Despite her fighting against it, Hermione's bottom lip pouted, and she let out one sob before pushing the palms of her hands into her face to cover herself. She was upset, yes, but mainly she gave into crying due to her overwhelming frustration with everything around her. Why couldn't she be left to be an average teenager? Why couldn't she just worry about what she would wear when she saw Viktor again, or how long it would be until he kissed her breathless again? The distance was one thing, it was devastating and endless, but the impending war was stifling. It made her hope dim.
As she was trying to pull herself together, she heard Sirius edging around the table and sitting down next to her. Considering how thin he had become while rattling away on his own, his grip was secure when he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side.
"I know it's not fair, Hermione, and it's okay to feel like life has dealt you a shit hand."
Hermione sank into the comfort awkwardly Sirius offered and hoped she wasn't getting his shirt too wet. After a few minutes, she felt her more commonplace resolve creeping back into her mind. She understood the dangers, she really did, but there were limits to her compliance. Some things were just more important. She had learnt her lesson after Dumbledore's directives about Harry over the Summer.
"I have to let him know Sirius. I can't just ignore his last letter and go on as if nothing has happened."
Sirius tensed and then released a long breath. "I'm sure he will understand Hermione if you…"
"No," Hermione interjected fiercely. "Viktor needs to know. I'm not having him thinking that I've abandoned him, that I'm some fickle creature that lost interest as soon as he was gone long enough. The Order must have ways of contacting each other without detection; they can tell me how they do it."
Sirius looked at her and then rubbed at his jaw. If he was surprised or even horrified by her outburst, he didn't let on.
"Write your letter," he said eventually, "we will find a way to get it to him. Remus is here sometime next week; I can give it to him."
"Thank you," she said, having calmed a little, though not enough to make her feel much better.
"You didn't give me much choice," he replied with a chuckle.
Unrepentant, Hermione moved away from Sirius and grabbed at some of the tissues on the table to try to make herself more presentable. She didn't really want to have to explain if someone suddenly appeared in the kitchen.
As Hermione accepted everything she had learned, she was immensely thankful that Sirius had thought to tell her ahead of time. Hermione did not imagine that Professor McGonagall would have been thrilled with her loss of control and sternly delivered demands. Hermione believed that all the other 'grown up's would have seen her behaviour as an overreaction, proof that she was not ready to join their 'secret club', but not Sirius. He may not have always reacted in proportion to the provocation himself, but he understood loyalty more than anyone she had ever met.
For a while they were quiet, Sirius seemed to be giving her the space to process and Hermione was trying to mentally draft out what she could say to Viktor to make him understand the new limitations they had to contend with. With an overwhelming wave of guilt, Hermione realised that she had not yet considered her parents. She wrote to them at least twice a week while she was away and she had deliberately kept their understanding of the growing fractions in the wizarding world to a minimum. How would she explain? She would have to think about something.
But thinking about her parents also presented another option.
"What about my parents?" she asked as Sirius was once again reaching for his bottle. "I can send a letter from there? Can't I?"
The only answer for a few seconds was the sound of the glugging amberish liquid hitting the bottom of Sirius' mug and then the metallic clink of the cap being replaced.
"Honestly, Hermione," he said eventually, "I'd avoid owling from Muggle neighbourhood right now. We don't know what's being tracked or more importantly, who."
Great, that was just bloody great. What had they intended to do tomorrow? Tell her this was the new plan and then bop her on the nose and send them on their merry way?
Don't you worry your curly head about it, Hermione, the adults will sort it out.
Hermione gritted her teeth and fought the urge to scream. She felt Sirius' keen gaze on her, but she held her tongue until she had calmed down. It wasn't fair on him to lash out, Sirius had more limitations placed on his rights than anyone.
"I'm sorry, it's silly for me to get upset about this, what with everything else that's going on."
Hermione thought of the Weasley children that were trying to sleep upstairs, all of them fearing the worst might happen to their father. Her concern over letters seems small and selfish in comparison, and yet the pain of further separation didn't go away.
Sirius shrugged and sat back in his chair looking at once like the aged aristocrat and the lively youth he had once been. "Is it? You can't control how you feel, Hermione. War doesn't care, and people don't care."
Sirius had been trying to make her feel better, but he couldn't hide his bitterness. Hermione looked around, thankfully Kreacher seemed to be avoiding the master of the house, the last thing they needed was him there, complaining about the state of the kitchen and the stains on the family tree.
"I feel bad moaning about myself when you're... you know, stuck here."
Unexpectedly, really unexpectedly, Sirius reached forward and grabbed her hand that had been lying between them on the table. He squeezed her fingers once, hard, and then let go. It was barely a touch, something that had taken less than three seconds. It was enough for Hermione to realise how cold he felt.
"Don't beat yourself up, Hermione - I promise you, I don't deserve it."
Hermione wanted to argue about that, but it didn't seem like it would have much effect. Instead, she went back to her list and tried to concentrate. Her eyes felt puffy, and her cheeks were sore. Still, she knew sleep wouldn't come to her now, she would be better served by getting what she could done, and then resting for a few hours in the morning before attempting to write a letter to Viktor. A note that impressed upon him, in the most explicit possible terms, that it was not a goodbye note.
"What are you up to?"
Hermione almost sagged in gratitude for the change of subject. Instead, she gestured broadly at the table in front of her. "Putting together Viktor's Christmas present, or trying to."
"A broken watch?" Sirius asked as he sat up out of his seat to look over at the organised chaos Hermione had been working through. "Does this have some modern-day significance I'm far too past it to be aware of?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No. I'm trying to adapt this to be like a Muggle health watch. They track things like your heartbeat and your exercise for the day. I've sorted most of it, but I'm struggling to get it all to work in tandem. The spells all seem fine when I only have one activated, but as soon as more are added, it stops working entirely."
Sirius seemed vaguely intrigued, and Hermione said nothing as his fingers swept forward and picked up her dog earned notebook. He clicked his tongue as he moved through the pages and Hermione wondered about chancing her arm to try to get Sirius interested in something, anything that might take his mind off his current predicament. The timing might help. After all, she had just cried all over him; it would be difficult for him to think she was judging him when it was clear that she was a complete mess.
"You know," she said, moving to reposition the sloppy bun on her head. "I could do with some help."
Sirius eyed her wryly over the heavily annotated pages he was leafing through. "Are you trying to give me a project?"
Damn it! The more time she spent around Sirius and Remus, the more Hermione realised how easy Harry and Ron were to manipulate by comparison. She tried for an innocent look, but as she had little experience being coy, she imagined it would have a low impact.
"If I tell you I'm not bright enough to figure it out, will you help me without complaint?"
Sirius' laugh was gruff and warm, but thankfully, it was also accompanied by a smile rather than a scornful look. "Unlikely, but should you prove to interest me, I will reserve my moaning for other people."
Hermione grinned. "I'm also hoping that if I show you some of my advanced charm work, you'll be so impressed that you'll immediately forget that I cried on your shoulder."
Sirius pulled his top away from his chest and pointed down. "More than just my shoulder Hermione, I'm practically dripping over here."
"Yeah, yeah, pile it on," she replied though her cheeks heated.
Sirius' expression turned more sombre, and Hermione instantly felt more vulnerable. In the moments between everything else that was happening, Sirius could be quite perceptive.
"You can be bright and feel things," he offered while continuing to review her notes, "the two aren't mutually exclusive. You don't have to be strong all the time."
Hermione raised an eyebrow and reached for her teacup. "Says the man that lists a leather jacket and a motorcycle as his most prized possessions."
Sirius coughed on his drink, but she could see his grin.
After a bit of brief discussion Hermione handed over a couple of the steps she was struggling with to Sirius, and she began working out the next stage. Hopefully, with Sirius' help, they had a chance of getting Viktor's present over to him before it was ridiculously late. Or, before Umbridge somehow managed to put a stop to it.
"So… you like this boy," Sirius suddenly asked as he held the band in front of him making it glow a mixture of colours as he tapped it with his wand. Hermione flushed, and Sirius smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."
Hermione fidgeted. "Was there ever… did you ever have… anyone... I mean, before."
Sirius studied the tabletop and considered the bottle that was left standing within his reach. There were only a couple of measures left. "Once," he said softly, never looking up, "a long time ago now."
"What happened?" Hermione asked. She wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, she never was with Sirius, but he didn't seem overly melancholic, well, no more than usual.
"During the war… I became…" he took a swig of his drink as he seemed to consider what to say, or how to say it. "There was a lot of stuff going on, and I changed, and they… they didn't like who I became. I didn't either, but that didn't seem to matter."
Hermione fiddled with her wand as she felt her eyes beginning to droop. "Sometimes I think Viktor will turn around one day and look at me, really look, and then he'll realise I'm not like him."
"Bulgarian?" Sirius offered dryly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Nice, Sirius, I meant nice. I'm not nice. He's good and kind…. I'm, well… I'm not much like that."
Sirius scoffed. "You're the biggest goody-two-shoes Hermione. I bet you haven't stopped knitting things for the bloody elves, even if you can't convince them to take them."
Hermione's gaze hardened. S.P.E.W. was still something of a sore spot. "What were you saying earlier? About people being able to be two things?"
Sirius' stare radiated disbelief and Hermione heaved in a deep breath. "At the end of last year I tracked down Rita Skeeter, she's a journalist for the Daily Prophet that had written some not very… pleasant articles around me."
"I know who she is, one thing we do manage to get in this shithole is the paper. So, I imagine you gave her a piece of your mind, so what?"
Hermione wiggled in her seat. "I knew she was an Amingamus, a beetle, so I waited till she was spying in her form and trapped her in a jar."
Sirius' eyebrows rose.
Hermione fiddled with the mug in her fingers. Now or never. "I kept her in there for a week, and when I got her out I made her promise that she would back off me and mine, and if she didn't, I said I would hand her over to the authorities because she was unregistered."
Hermione looked up at Sirius, but he was giving her one of those endlessly frustratingly blank looks again. She hadn't told anyone about what she had done to Skeeter, not even Luna, though she was pretty sure the blonde had guessed. She'd made some quip after picking up the jam at breakfast one morning and mentioned that the container was roomier than she remembered.
Seconds ticked past, and Hermione got tired of waiting for a response. "Am I evil?" she blurted.
"You're fucking brilliant!" The reply was as quickly given as it was apparently earnest and despite his present situation, and his choice of language, it was probably the most serious response he had ever heard from him.
Hermione let her head rest in her hands. "Why does your approval not fill me with comfort?"
Sirius grinned. "Because you're smarter than most. Now ease over, pass me back this list."
Not thirty minutes later, Sirius dropped his chipped mug in the sink and threw the now empty bottle into the bin. For a full five seconds, he wished that there was no one else in the house, so he could throw it against the wall so it would smash into a hundred pieces. He had gotten used to doing that while on his own. It was one of the only truly satisfying things to do on his own.
The impulse fled quickly, and Sirius was glad of it. He realised that the longer he spent with just his own company, the more he would give in to the violent urges that simmered underneath his skin. Then, if they won the war or not, he would have no choice but to remain a virtual recluse.
Sighing, he turned around and looked at Hermione. Her top half was pressed against the table as she moved fitfully in her sleep. The sun was beginning to peak out over the horizon, and he knew he couldn't leave her there. In a few short hours, Molly would be up, and as the kitchen was her domain when the Weasleys were in residence, this was the first place she would come. Hermione would not be up for answering questions, not when she was so clearly trying to hold herself together with what remained of her energy.
With no greater options available to him, Sirius bent down and picked her up, holding her into his chest as he made towards the stairs. Who would have thought that when he came down the stairs that night, ready to bury his worries over Harry under a bottle of whisky, that he would spend time consoling a teenage witch over her love life and fears that she might not be a good enough person.
Sirius pressed on up the second flight and stairs, navigating the old house without conscious thought. He missed two of the creaky floorboards and continued down a narrowing corridor towards the room that Hermione shared with Ginny when she stayed there.
It was best that he kept himself circumspect, he imagined there were enough people with ill opinions of him floating around that should he be discovered tiptoeing into the girl's room at night it wouldn't end well for him. Sirius nearly rolled his eyes at the thought.
Eventually, he managed to get the door open, quiet enough to not disturb the already slumbering girl inside, and placed Hermione under the covers on her own bed before gently pushing her hair back from her face. He stayed for a few moments, just until her breathing evened out and then he made for the door.
To think that someone like Hermione thought she might be evil. When she had started on her explanation, Sirius had expected something mundane. Horrible thoughts he had suspected, unkind things she never wanted to share with her friends. Truthfully, he had been a little taken aback by what she was capable of, but pleased too. They would need a degree of ruthlessness to survive the world that was coming, and, seemingly, Hermione had enough for all of them.
Viktor sagged as he walked through the back door to his parent's house. He had debated arriving at the main entrance, but as that was strictly used for guests, he imagined his mother would react badly. His quieter homecoming had the added benefit of allowing him a few minutes to become acquainted with his childhood home. Viktor had only been gone a matter of months, and yet it all looked so different. Bigger and smaller at the same time, grander and yet just as welcoming. He missed it, every corner, but he knew he had left for all of the right reasons.
Viktor hadn't seen his parents in almost a month, and though that wasn't a long time for a child that had been at boarding school, it was the longest stretch he had ever done while not tied down to a term or team schedule.
Relieved to be there, Viktor dropped his bag by the door, more for the ritual of it than for necessity, and went to get himself a glass of water. It was something of a novelty to have nothing truly pressing to do. Practice had stopped for all of four days for the holidays, and his tutor was away, so he could enjoy a bit of quality time with his family before going back to the growing relentlessness of his life.
Next to the sink, in front of the largest window in the kitchen was a small stack of mail. Everyone of import knew that he was making the trip, so anything Viktor had any intention of reading would be directed to his parent's house. He'd had a brief note from Hermione to say she was unexpectedly leaving the castle to head to Grimmauld Place, so he knew not to expect any messages from her. Her tone had been clipped, indicating just how much she had been rushing but Viktor had been grateful she'd taken the time to let him know. He suspected that he would hear more in due course.
Viktor had sent her Christmas present ahead of time to her Muggle address. He hoped she would find time to get it before she went back to school. He hadn't written to her parent's address for several months, and the change when writing out the envelope had made Viktor all the more eager to meet them and piece together more of the factors that made Hermione who she was.
He had thought about suggesting it. Viktor wasn't sure how happy his mother would have been about sharing some of their time together, but he had still considered visiting for half a day or so, now it looked like Hermione would be far too busy.
Viktor refilled his glass and moved to sit at the large kitchen island. He hoped his present would be well received. It had taken him a long time to decide on precisely the right sort of gift, something that at once seemed unique but without being a token. He didn't know how Muggles did things, or what kind of gifts people dating in her world would get for each other; the whole thing was incredibly confusing.
Viktor couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for Hermione, permanently living in two worlds. She loved her parents, and in her letters, she spoke of them warmly and often, but there was now a whole part of her that they would never fully understand. In his heart, Viktor knew he worried more about these things because of their potential impact on the future, their future.
What if she decided to leave magic behind? What if she felt she was better suited to another Muggleborn, someone that would completely understand her experience?
What if… what if?
He tried to mention a few of his worries the last time he had seen Filip, but his friend, who had never experienced a moment's self-doubt in his life, had struggled to understand why Viktor was 'borrowing trouble'.
Viktor looked down at his bag, towards the compartment he knew was zipped up inside, holding all of her letters.
He knew Hermione had been looking forward to staying at the castle over Christmas and so he knew something unexpected, and probably serious, had to have happened for her to change her plans so abruptly. He worried that it was Sirius Black who had got himself into trouble. For obvious reasons, they couldn't openly discuss the at large prisoner in their letters, but Hermione was smart enough to find ways of communicating about him covertly. Enough for Viktor to understand that she was concerned - was there anything that didn't worry her at the moment?
When Viktor had arrived back from his impromptu visit to the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters over summer, he had told his father everything that had transpired. Secret association or not, Viktor was not in the habit of keeping things from his family, especially matters of importance.
Grigor Krum had seen a lot of the world, and was, to Viktor's admittedly biased mind, an excellent judge of character. Grigor had taken the news that Sirius Black was alive and well and associating with his son surprisingly well. What he seemed to dwell on more, were the people that had come back and forth during Viktor's stay, and, frankly, their limited numbers.
Before Viktor could finish his second glass of water, there was a commotion in the corridor, and then, In a jangle of printed silk and heavy jewellery, his mother swept into the room. Viktor immediately got up from the stool he had settled himself on and gave her his biggest smile. "Mama, I did not know you were home."
Sofiya stepped up to him quickly and caught him in an embrace that was perhaps a little too tight. After several long moments, she pulled back and gripped his face. "We have missed you, Viktor."
"I have missed you too."
"Put the boy down, Sofiya," his father called as he walked into the kitchen behind her. "He must be bruised from training, and he will not thank you for squeezing the life out of him."
His mother tutted but released him all the same. "I doubt I could hurt you at all, you are so big now, you look so like…" her smile faltered, and she looked around the room. "Excuse me. I must speak to the elves about dinner tonight."
With that, she left the room just as abruptly as she had entered it and Viktor watched as his father tracked her progress down the corridor from his vantage place by the door.
"She seems…"
"She's a little better this year… though, it all brings it back."
Christmas time was difficult for his mother, it was a time for family and celebration, but it was also the anniversary of her father who had been struck dead by a follower of Grindelwald the day after Boxing day many years before. Viktor had only learnt the full story after his fourth year at school. His grandfather had been at home with his young family when the men had come. Apparently, he had turned them down before, having no desire to join forces with a cause he despised. They didn't take his second refusal well.
His mother had only been a few months old at the time, so she had no memory of her father, though, what she could remember, with piercing clarity, was how her mother had been broken after it had happened. Then, after many years of slow decline, she followed her husband into an early grave. Leaving Sofiya, and the rest of her siblings, to be raised by an Aunt.
"How are you?" Grigor asked, smiling as he spotted the familiar bag by the back door.
"Tired," Viktor admitted, and his father stretched out his arm to him with a dry chuckle.
"I'll bet. The work of being a man is never done, ah?"
"Something like that Papa," Viktor agreed as Grigor's arm tightened around his shoulder.
"Well, you best tell me all about it," he said, as he led him from the room.
Hermione was curled up on the sofa next to her mother, still wearing pyjamas despite it being three in the afternoon. In her defence, they were Christmas themed, and she had showered, but she knew that wasn't much of an excuse. She was also certain her hair must have resembled a bird's nest as she'd made no attempt to go anywhere near it with a comb since she got up, but she honestly, couldn't have cared less.
She watched the images moving across the telly with idle fascination and snuggled herself closer into her mother's shoulder.
It had been the right idea to come home. Hermione felt for the Weasleys more than ever, but once the news had got around that Arthur was finally well enough to be released, Hermione had felt the burning need to be with her own family.
She felt terrible for Sirius more than the rest. Ginny and Ron were understandably too caught up in the ongoing treatment of their father to worry whether she would be there for Chrismas Day, and Harry too. For all that he was a Potter, Harry was every bit an honorary Weasley.
Sirius was an honorary nothing. She supposed they had that in common in the wizarding world. He had looked so forlorn when she had told him where she was going - after he caught her packing - even though Hermione had reminded him several times that she would be going home for a few days. Just looking at his face it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask if he would like to come with her, but she had managed to hold herself back, and it was for the best. They all knew Sirius wasn't supposed to leave Grimmauld Place, and if he did somehow manage to abscond without any of the Order knowing, what was she supposed to tell her parents about the random man she was bringing home for dinner?
The programme they were half-watching came to an end, and her father untangled himself from where they were sat and walked towards the kitchen.
"You can't possibly still be hungry?" her mother asked aghast. She was right to be stunned. Hermione was sure she had never eaten so much in her life.
"I'm not, but there's goat's cheese that needs eating," her father replied even as he rubbed his tummy.
Her mother tsked at his reasoning, but Hermione just smiled and snuggled down tighter.
The adverts began to roll, and when the distant sounds of her father padding around the kitchen began, Jean Granger twisted until she could reach Hermione's sleeve and pulled on it so she could see the bracelet Hermione had been wearing since that morning. She turned her wrist until the interlocking gold circles were in front of her face, and her mother ran her fingers over each of the shapes that had the appearance of small coins from a distance.
"It really is a rather lovely gift, Hermione."
"It is," Hermione agreed happily, pulling her arm back when her mother released it and studying it for herself.
"What are the symbols?"
"Runes," Hermione answered succinctly, and her mother made that face she did when she was trying to go through her mental file on things from the magical world to see if she remembered what that meant.
"Is that what he is doing his mastery in?"
"No, transfiguration."
Her dad came back in and sat down, balancing a small dish of cheese and crackers next to him on the armrest, and the next repeat came on. The show wasn't to any of their tastes, but neither was it offensive and so they left it on.
Hermione's mind drifted, and she thought about Viktor, and the present she could feel tickling her skin. There were fourteen discs on the delicate chain, and each of them had been etched with a different rune. She'd noticed the one for love immediately. Unfortunately, that had been when she'd first opened the box, when her parents had been looming over her. Her mother with keen interest, her father with aloof concern and they'd both had different reactions to the blush that had appeared over her cheeks.
Hermione had been able to pick out a few others, friendship and courage, but so many of the others would require her to visit the library. She wondered if Viktor had done it on purpose so that she would have a challenge on her hands as well as a gift. She hoped so.
There was one Hermione vaguely thought she might have known, but her mind whispered that she couldn't be right. It was on the disc that rested against her pulse point. It was on one of three discs where the etching was on the inside surface. It had two interlocking triangles with a heavy line underneath them - desire. Just the thought of it made her collar warm, and Hermione tried to push it to the back of her mind and focus on the canned laugh track on the telly in front of her.
It was no use.
The bracelet made her feel warm, and cherished and so, so far away and… lonely.
She couldn't even tell him how much she liked it.
After hours of working side by side with Sirius, and several fights over who was the bigger idiot for not realising things earlier, she had finally finished the watch for Viktor, and she had left it for Sirius to pass to Remus along with her letter. Pleased as she was at her execution, she was trying not to think about the watch now it was done. Hermione knew how hypocritical it was of her to be worried about Sirius' secrecy and recklessness one minute and to use it for her advantage the next. However, she didn't feel guilty enough not to take him up on his offer. The alternative, just leaving Viktor in the dark, was unthinkable.
A few minutes later, her father was loudly lamenting, having been 'allowed' to eat way more than he should have done and slumped himself even further into the cushions in an attempt to get comfortable.
"Every year," her mother muttered, and Hermione suppressed a giggle.
"So," he asked, pushing the remains on his plate out of sight. "How's school?"
Hermione felt a familiar weight on her chest. She thought about telling them everything. Then she felt her mum's hand on her shoulder and the warmth of the room, and the peace. It was selfish, but she didn't want to break the moment.
"You know, same old, same old."
A/N: Moderately fun fact :) When I decided there was going to be a part two the first scene in this chapter, between Sirius and Hermione was the first one I outlined and it became the basis for wanting to explore their relationship.
In the next chapter, Viktor gets his gift and our lovers balance the realities of no contact, Harry has a date and Ron gets... jewellery :)