Chapter 4

18 June 1996

Sirius

And then Bellatrix catches him by surprise and hits him square in the chest with an Avada Kedavra. Distantly he hears her cackle "I killed Sirius Black" in her taunting, shrill voice and he knows she doesn't lie, or even exaggerate, this time. His mind is suddenly crystal clear and filled with the two people he loves most. Harry and Hermione. He has been momentarily distracted by the sight of Hermione in the hands of an unknown Death Eater at his, and the rest of the Order's, arrival, but has managed to shake it off. He knows with absolute certainty that she will make it out of the Department of Mysteries unharmed, or at least alive, because he knows she will be alive two years later. Sometimes he feels that is the only thing in the world he knows.

But Harry?

He has, and will have Hermione.

Oh, yes.

He releases his last breath and feels the veil in the strange archway pull him towards it. It is not an unpleasant feeling. The unclear voices he has been aware of in the room are suddenly stronger, and with a pang of joy he recognises them. James. Lily. Regulus. Marlene. He is just about to let go completely when his darkest thought yet fills his mind.

I will not be here for when I send her back from the past. I will send her back to a future I'm no longer part of.

The rest is silence.

18 June 1996

Hermione

She screams. Not as loud as Harry does, and she does not know that the heart-breaking cry that echoes in her ears comes from her own mouth. Heart. Soul. If she were asked later she would assume that the impossible image of Sirius falling, fading, and dissolving into the strange veil that suddenly appears in the empty archway, also gives off this blood-curdling cry.

When she and the four other DA-members arrived in the dark, circular room, the archway was empty. When Sirius falls through it, it fills with… something. Something Hermione knows Sirius can't be found behind, even if it looks as if he could be there, just on the other side. It looks harmless enough; a dark, tattered, semi-transparent veil, but she knows it isn't. Not harmless at all.

No, she does not know that she screams. She doesn't know anything except that what she hoped for in the future can't and won't happen. Sirius is gone and the fluttering butterflies that have danced inside her every time she has thought about him since Christmas, die and burn an empty hole inside her. As the seconds pass she feels the hole fill with pain. She closes her eyes to it, nearly fainting or vomiting by the pain's raw intensity.

Azure. A dusty cloud of azure blue. Why?

Hermione focuses on this inner picture, focuses on anything to get away from the pain inside her.

It's pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with more than half of the picture azure blue sky. Not a single piece is joined with another. Most of the pieces are jagged, ripped, burned. She will never see the whole picture. She had only just begun putting the pieces together.

Her eyes flick open when she hears Remus Lupin roar "No!" and sees Harry tear away from him and bolt for the door of the room. Somewhere in her mind she knows she should go after him, she always does. Back-up, protection, support, but now she doesn't care. What is the point? She doesn't care, even when she realises that he has gone after Bellatrix, who cast the killing curse. She can't move, so what is the point of caring, wanting, aspiring? Or trying?

The Death Eater behind her suddenly disappears, and without his wand against her windpipe she collapses on the dirty floor. She is dizzy from lack of oxygen, but she doesn't breathe in.

If I just don't… Maybe it will go dark and quiet… And stay so…

Involuntarily she draws breath when someone grips her around her shoulder and pulls her up. With her eyes closed she doesn't know who it is. It's not Harry or Ron, she knows their timid touches. It's not Ginny or Luna, and she knows Neville is out, knocked unconscious by one curse or another. And why would any of them care? Those who can move will of course run after Harry. They always do, expecting her to be the first among the supporting troops.

"Come on, Hermione. Not here. Let's keep it together a little bit longer. Harry needs us. We have to…"

Remus Lupin. How did he get from there to here? And why? Why isn't he running after Harry now? Harry is his pet protégé. Not quite godson, but he's competing for a role of similar importance as godfather. Well, congratulations, Remus. He's all yours now.

When Remus slaps her not too gently across her face, she opens her eyes and cries out when she sees her own pain reflected in his amber eyes.

"Not now, Hermione. We'll deal with this later. Sirius is gone, but Harry isn't. He has gone after Bellatrix and I'd rather she didn't kill both of those closest to us tonight."

She leans into his embrace and refuses to move, speak or think. When she decides to not draw in breath again and begins to close her eyes, Remus shakes her hard.

"Damn it, Hermione! I know how you feel about him… felt about him. He did too. But her loves… he loved Harry as well, and you should, you must honour that. Now!"

The contradictory words and tone shakes her out of her daze.

Harry. Oh, Harry! Don't… don't you dare get yourself killed too…

Clumsily she begins running, but when she passes the archway with the misty barrier, she slows down to a halt. Voices. Only one in particular discernible. The one she saw fade away.

I'll be grateful to you forever… You are too compassionate… Brilliant… Beautiful… Don't be sorry, love… I will turn around and see you in a completely different light… I will never leave your side again…

Suddenly the veil that seemed frightening seconds ago is welcoming. It pulls her towards it. Hermione turns on her heel and is just about to touch it with her raised hand when the same strong hands as before grab her around her shoulders and jerk her back hard and painfully. She feels Remus's hard and quick heartbeats against her back, and can't move and can barely breathe in his relentless grip.

"Just an echo, love. He's not there. Trust me. You will not meet him there. Not there."

She doesn't understand Remus's words, but follows him listlessly. He holds her hand so hard she accepts that she will not be able to do what she was about to. The only thing she wants to. To follow that voice. She will go back and do it later. When everyone else watches Harry die, or kill Bellatrix, or turn into a three-headed unicorn or something else that won't surprise or move her tonight.

But what happens in the Atrium shakes her out of her state of shock.

Voldemort. In Harry. As if the lizard-like monster isn't sickeningly horrifying by himself, he is suddenly inside Harry.

This is what possession looks like.

For the umpteenth time she forgets to breathe. Remus has let go of her hand, but instead of going back to where she came from, she grabs the person closest to her. It's Ron, and there is nothing timid about his touch now. They hold on to each other as if on a mountaintop in a hurricane.

And then it's over, and nothing is like before. Minister Fudge is there, in his striped pyjamas and ridiculous bowler hat. After his short "He's back!" he gapes like a fish out of water and nothing more of importance will ever pass his lips. Fudge doesn't care about Harry, he never has, but Hermione does. She and Ron sprint to Harry, slip and fall on their knees in the ashy dust that covers everything. Still holding on to each other they watch their friend.

Is he here? Or will his eyes be all red and reptile-like when he opens them? If he opens them?

But he does and it's Harry who looks back at them. Hermione can see that he has no idea what has just happened, but she can also see his pain. And fear. And helplessness. And grief.

Now what? How will we ever be able to go on? Up against… And without…

Then Dumbledore snatches Harry out of her sight and into the flashes of the reporters from god knows what news media. She still clings to Ron and he pulls her away from the centre of attention.

Ron is not a man of many words, especially in emotional matters. In an unthinkable tragedy such as tonight he says nothing. His hands and arms around her speak for him, though. He shares her pain and panic, but in silence. She wishes the silence would go on for ever and ever.

The days after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries Hermione cries with Harry over the loss of Sirius, caring less about what Voldemort plans and what the Daily Prophet writes about Harry. Ron is also with them, but more reserved in his grief, if he grieves at all. She means no disrespect with that. Ron has such a large family, so many people he can call his own. Neither Harry nor Hermione has that many people close to them in the magical world. Hermione's parents are so very… muggle. In a good and respectful way, but still light-years away from her life at Hogwarts with her wizards and witches-friends. During those horrible first days after the battle, she sees other people watching them, and she can read their minds in their expressions.

Oh, poor young ones.

Such a supportive friend to Harry.

Maybe that Black wasn't what we thought, after all.

Thank Merlin, they have each other.

During the informal memorial service with the Order at 12 Grimmauld Place she restrains herself from crying. She fears she will go mad with grief, and the chosen place for the gathering makes her cringe. She doesn't go into the library, but keeps to Harry's side, listening to when professor Dumbledore and then Remus Lupin speak about their fallen Order member. She tries to imagine they speak about someone else than the man she dreams about at night, and whose words in the dedication in the book of sonnets replay themselves in his voice inside her.

Remus Lupin often glances in her direction with an expression she can't decipher, and after the service she reluctantly lets go of Harry and walks over to their former Defense teacher with two cups of tea. He takes the proffered cup and smiles sadly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, professor Lupin," she says.

"It's Remus, Hermione. I'm no longer your professor."

She blushes and feels very young. She has thought about Sirius as Sirius for years, but still isn't comfortable with the werewolf's first name. She has been writing letters to her former professor ever since he resigned from his teaching position, and he has written her back, frequently. The letters have always been about their common thirst for knowledge, and Remus has in many ways remained in his teaching role.

"And I'm sorry for your loss, Hermione."

She feels dizzy by his direct words.

He means all of you. Harry, Ron and you.

"Well, yes… I don't know how Harry… It really was the absolute worse that could…" Normally a girl of many words and perfect phrasing, she lets her voice trail off.

Remus takes a step closer to her and she can see that his eyes are really golden, despite being red-rimmed from grief.

"Do you remember what I said? That night? When you were about to do something very foolish in the Department of Mysteries? In front of that veil?"

Hermione does not want to keep eye contact with him any longer but there is something so persuasive about his soft voice. She nods almost imperceptibly.

"You heard his voice, didn't you? I know I did. Sirius's voice."

"Yes, yes I did. Why?"

"The voices you hear in front of any of the magical barriers between the living and the dead are voices of those you love who have died. I heard other voices as well. James's. Lily's. My father's. But I know that they are gone and that I cannot get them back by joining them myself."

Hermione looks down and blows on her tea. Remus continues.

"I could see how drawn you were to him. When…"

Hermione flinches and meets his eyes in horror.

"Was I…? Could everyone…? I feel so foolish, so child…"

"Stop. No, don't say that. And no, everyone could not see it. I could. And he could."

Hermione blushes and forces herself to wait for Remus to continue.

"And it troubled him a great deal."

Hermione's heart sinks and Remus takes her softly around her shoulders, distancing them a bit from the others.

"Not in a bad way, love. But you are still so very young, and he had seen you…" Remus breaks off. "… had seen so much, and lived such a horrible life in so many ways."

She feels herself tear up and gulps down her tea, forcing herself to be realistic, rational and unsentimental. She can't allow herself to give in, not here, not now, and not with Remus Lupin of all people. Not with anyone.

"And now it doesn't matter how old I get. Nothing will ever come out of what I may or may not feel. Nothing ever happened, and nothing ever will. I need to go, Remus. I'll be seeing you around. Keep in touch with Harry, he really needs it."

She takes a step back and he follows her with a firmer hold around her shoulders. She finds herself in his arms and tries not to think.

"Of course I will. And you too. Don't stop writing. You really are exceptionally bright. I enjoy our correspondence. Sirius knew it too, the brightest witch of your age."

"Not just his age," she mutters wryly before she can stop herself.

She feels him kiss her softly on her cheek. With his lips to her skin he whispers words that will confuse her and haunt her for years.

"Brightest witch of his age too, love. Never forget that."

Summer 1996

"I need to study," are the most frequent words Hermione uses during that summer. The first couple of weeks her parents let her lock herself in her room and pretend to do just that.

She doesn't. She has bought all the books for her sixth year, and she hasn't opened one of them. No, that is not true. She has opened one or another randomly picked book when she hears her mother's or her father's footsteps coming closer to her door, and every evening when she pretends to spend time with her parents in front of the telly she brings a special book. Most often she feigns sleep in the new IKEA sofa her parents have bought. She tries not to think of magic in any form. She tries not to think at all. When she feels she has to do something to prove to her parents that she is still alive she focuses on muggle things. Electricity. Ice cream from the freezer. Her bike. A glossy magazine with skinny models wearing British fashion. Her mother takes her shopping in Knightsbridge and Hermione lets her lavish her at Harvey Nichols. When her mother suggests the trendy The Library at Brompton Road, Hermione has had enough. The mere name brings memories of rows upon rows of dusty books. She can only think of the library at 12 Grimmauld Place, and she doesn't want to. Nothing she can buy at any High Street in London can even begin to compete with what she wants.

But for the duration of the summer she wears only her new clothes or old clothes she's never brought to Hogwarts. She tries to forget that she has a life in another part of Britain, Magic Britain, and that she is supposed to go back there on the first of September. Sometimes she wishes she was just a normal muggle girls, without any magical abilities.

The book she brings down to her parents' living room every evening is a muggle book. As muggle as they come by its appearance, but to her it's the most magical thing in the world. It's the Christmas gift Sirius gave her.

You will be 18 forever, to me.

Love,

Sirius

X

In sonnet no. 18 the son of a glover from Stratford-upon-Avon compares the object of his affection to a summer's day. Hermione feels nothing like a summer's day. The English summer's perfect lawns, cricket matches, iced glasses of Pimm's, flowery dresses, strawberries with cream are as far from how she feels as the next galaxy. The one exception would be the cricket ball. Too battered to care or move in a direction decided by its own will. But a cricket ball in the grimmest of February sub-zero temperature days. Forgotten and uncared for.

She reads and rereads the eighteenth sonnet until she knows it by heart. It's sweet and loving, but to her the line Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade is bittersweet. She feels as if she is constantly wandering in the shadow of death. Ever since she and Harry became friends, his parents' deaths have been central in their relationship. She often thinks about what Harry would have been like if he hadn't grown up with uncaring relatives. When Harry is reckless, overly stubborn or just merely thoughtless, she is quick to make mental excuses and compare her own upbringing with his.

Her parents have started to worry, she can tell by the looks they give her.

Later. I'll deal with them later. Or should I tell them? Tell them what? Everything? About Voldemort in the Ministry? About Harry losing the one person he considered family? About me losing…?

She sighs deeply and clutches the book to her chest. She has put the invaluable book in a soft pocket book cover with a map of London's Underground system. She will of course never sell it, no matter how much a first edition of the sonnets would bring from an auction at Bonhams or Christie's.

She hears her parents in the kitchen. She lies in the sofa in the living room on the other side of the wall, pretending to be asleep while Shakespeare's lines might lull her into real Dreamland.

"Is she asleep?" her mother asks and her father gives an affirmative murmur. "Do you think she is all right? She seems so withdrawn, hardly speaks to us. I mean, she's always independent and keeps to herself and her books, but she seems… depressed. What happened this year?"

Her father's low voice is more difficult to discern.

"…perhaps. If it goes on we'll sit down with her and ask her right out. But… …lives in another world than we do… …known this since she was eleven." His voice suddenly grows stronger. "But I've been thinking about going camping together, the three of us. We could go to the Forest of Dean, where we've been before. She can't bring all her books, and that might actually be good for her. Camping and fishing now in early August would be a break for us all. The practice is closed for another two weeks."

Her mother sounds delighted. Hermione is ambivalent.

Can I spend so much time with them? Without crying all the time? I have to stop crying. I have no right to behave like this. To cry like I've lost my… what? It's not like… It's not like Sirius and I… What was it really? On Christmas Eve? Did he just pity me? Or did he take advantage of… No, of course not. But I need to stop crying!

On her parents' sofa she lies very still, not wanting to draw their attention to her.

Whatever did you mean, Remus, with your last words? Brightest witch of his age, too. And what did you mean that night, the night when Sirius… "You will not meet him there. Not there." As if I will meet him somewhere else. Or did you only try to stop me from going… touching… Oh, that misty, thin veil…. If I'd only…

Her mother's bright voice interrupts her thought and inner monologues. Hermione listens to the plans for food and camping equipment and decides it's a good idea to get out of London and go camping. Change of venue. Her father makes tea and Hermione is just about to shake herself out of her reverie and join them in the kitchen when her mother's tone changes again.

"I saw Violet today," she says in a sad voice.

Violet is a friend of Hermione's mother. A year ago she lost her husband who suffered a severe stroke and never regained consciousness. Hermione knows that Violet has been cutting herself off in her grief and that everyone of her friends has been worrying. She picks up on her parents' conversation.

"I tried to tell her that William wouldn't have wanted her to grieve like this. To stop living, eating, working, seeing friends. Violet agrees with me, but says she can't. She says her life is over, that she doesn't want to live it without him. I've heard her children, they are Hermione's age and younger, are absolutely lost without her, living with relatives, feeling as if they have lost both parents, not just their father. I don't know how to help her. It just hurts to see her." Her mother sobs and Hermione hears her father's soothing low voice.

Her throat aches with unshed tears. When her father suggests they take their tea upstairs she is relieved beyond words. She draws her knees to he chest and cries silently. She knows her mother's words are important in another sense to her. Even if Sirius weren't ever, in any way, hers, he wouldn't have wanted her to grieve like she does. Hermione also knows that it would be good for her to talk to someone about how she feels, but whom?

I can't tell Mum and Dad. Sirius was closer to their age than mine. And Harry? Yes, Hermione, what would Harry, your brother in everything but blood, think about you having feelings like this for his godfather? His dead godfather? No, I can't tell anyone. Not now. I must get over this alone.

Some nights she is afraid her tears will drown her, and she bites her knuckles raw to stop herself from screaming. Tonight, however, her tears that wet her face, hair and shirtsleeves, make her think about a river. Yes, it would be quite possible to drown in a river as well, but a river can take you places. Forward, for instance. And there are tears enough to create a river to… anywhere. With swollen eyelids, blocked nose and bleeding knuckles, Hermione falls into a half slumber. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see; So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. The sonnet's last words will echo in her mind forever, but tonight her mind conjures up a picture to go with her memory of Sirius's voice.

The river is here, in front of me. Is it really all my tears? The river doesn't look wide enough hold all my tears. I raise my hand and a small boat appears. I step into it. It has no oars, but slowly the boat drifts away. Away from now and this dreadful, lonely summer. I can glimpse something around the next bend. What is it? I know I've seen it before. It's… It's… Hogwarts.

In her dream she steps out of the small boat, which does not continue down the river, but stays by the riverbank. She is relieved to see that, the boat that waits for her if she would feel the need to continue after Hogwarts. With mixed, but mostly calm and resigned feelings she knows with absolute certainty than the boat will never taker her upstream again. It will not take her back to where she has been this summer, alone with a grief she cannot share. Her darkest feelings, mingled with her strongest feelings of love and longing and yearning she left where she found the boat. She decides to leave them there and go on without, for no one will ever evoke what Sirius could do with only his voice, in her.