Thank you all for your reviews and support, and a billion thanks to my brilliant beta Donna10Girl. I've been watching Harry Potter with my sick daughter and it only took the few seconds of Gary Oldman in HP8 for me to feel I had to reconnect with this beautiful fandom.
Lots of love to all of you who are following this story. Sorry about the irregular updates. Sometimes life just... happens.
Kia
Hermione
But Hermione doesn't sleep. The dancing butterflies have turned to lead inside her.
I should have told him. Before. I promised myself I would. I promised Remus. I tried to, but… Now it's even worse.
When Sirius rolls over on his back, still sleeping, she gets out of bed and dresses. The sun is up already, even though it's only 5 in the morning. She pulls out a long cardigan in thin wool from her new purchases.
Gone for a walk. Will be back soon.
H xxx
She places the note on the coffee table before she soundlessly closes the door.
The village is still asleep. The lawns are dewy and the rising sun paints long shadows. Hermione opens the gate to the graveyard, and suddenly memories she didn't know she had flow back. Harry, trying to keep himself together in front of his parents' grave. Her own sensation of numbness when she conjured up the wreath of pale roses. Her sudden feeling of being watched and then… the old lady, smelling of death and without uttering a word, making them follow her. Almost to their own graves.
Hermione shudders in the bright, early morning. It's not really cold, but her memories are forever locked in the sub-zero temperatures of her previous Christmas. In her other time line.
But I'm in this time line now. It hasn't happened yet. Won't happen in almost 20 years.
She realises that she can't see Sirius's cottage from the graveyard. It's hidden behind a tall hedge of white cedar.
Did anyone live there then? After Sirius… Harry has never spoken about what he inherited, except Grimmauld Place.
She leaves the graveyard and walks out of the village. It's a small village, and after less than ten minutes she is walking along a meadow with a few oak trees. A small stream ripples close by. She sits down under one of the oak trees and ponders what to do.
Maybe I should just feel happy. Here and now, this morning. And tell Sirius as soon as he wakes up.
And she lets he mind wander to their night together, and smiles. Even if she didn't tell him, she's more determined than ever to stay. To belong. To love Sirius for as long as he'll let her. The sound of the stream lulls her to sleep. To dreams. No nightmares.
She doesn't sleep for long and makes her way back to the village where the main street is still deserted. But someone calls to her when she passes. It's James's mother. It must be. A middle-aged woman who picks up the milk bottles outside the house Remus went into yesterday.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione leans over the low fence and politely shakes the other woman's hand.
"Yes. And you must be Mrs Potter. I'm sorry about last night, I should have…"
"Nonsense. But you are indeed an early riser. The others will be asleep for hours. Can I tempt you with some breakfast? Some scrambled eggs, perhaps?"
Hermione smiles, remembering both Remus's and Sirius's words about how Mrs Potter would try to feed her. Her stomach grumbles at the thought of food, and suddenly she feels lightheaded with hunger.
"If it's not inconvenient for you, Mrs Potter."
"Call me May, and no, not at all. I was just about to put the kettle on. Come on in."
Hermione follows the short woman into the house, which is considerably larger Sirius's. The kitchen is spacious and she takes a seat. Mrs Potter, May, busies herself by the stove, humming a little tune.
Hermione takes the proffered teacup and sips it. She watches the other woman. May is quite old to be the mother of James. Hermione guesses she must have been more than 40 when James was born. Her movements are quick though, and Hermione can't see any traces of grief in her face. When she is presented with a full English breakfast and James's mother sits down opposite her, Hermione feels she needs to pay her respects, even though she never knew her husband.
"I've heard about you loss, Mrs Po… May. I'm so sorry."
When May meets her eyes there Hermione can see her grief, but also a warm hint of calmness.
"Thank you, dear. I may not act like a grieving widow should, but truth be told, my grieving began more than ten years ago, when my husband got really ill, and we understood that he would never get better. In a way that grieving ended when he died. I miss him, but I'm glad he's no longer among us. His life was nothing but pain. For him, but also for me and James. You know, or hopefully you're too young to know… Other people's pain can be contagious. When you love them."
Hermione only nods, and doesn't really want to reflect on this new metaphor. She picks up her fork and tastes the scrambled eggs. They taste like… like food used to taste like a long time ago. Before butterflies of worry or anticipation or fear tried to force every bit she swallowed back up. She can't finish the whole plate, but eats until she feels an unfamiliar, forgotten and decidedly pleasant feeling of a full stomach.
May pours her another cup of tea and smiles amused over the teapot.
"He was happy to see you yesterday, I take it?"
Hermione nods and blushes.
"I was too," she says with a little laugh.
"I don't know you yet, but from what I can see in Sirius, you've changed him. Completely."
"I have?"
"Well, someone has, and the way the other boys tease him, it seems there hasn't been anyone else around. And he's spoken about you in a way I've never heard before. Not from him. And I couldn't be happier for him. You see, Will and I were always so worried about Sirius, when he was younger. We met him the summer after his and James's first year, and by then it was already obvious that he would never see eye to eye with…" she pulls down the corners of her mouth for a second, "his parents. They are… Well, they are from an old pure-blood family, and so are we, but they… I don't know how to put it…"
Hermione holds up her hand.
"I know. I know about them, and the way of life they… Well…"
"I just can't understand them," she older woman continues. "We met them once, I think it was after James's third year, at King's Cross. They knew who we were, of course. Will was distantly related to Sirius's father, well, we all are, we pure-blood families if you dig far enough back. But the way they spoke to him, to Sirius. I wouldn't speak like that to anyone. Will invited Sirius to stay with us for the better part of the summer, and after that he's spent more and more time with us. And now he brings you here. I take it he hasn't brought you to see his parents."
Hermione shakes her head. The possibility seems light years away.
"And I'm so happy for him. For you. It can't have been easy for him, deciding to not follow in his family's footsteps but finding his own way. And he has, with my James, and Remus and little Peter, but now, with you… It's as if he has someone to walk his own way together with."
Hermione's heart aches a little when Remus's voice echoes inside her.
…you don't even belong in this time… … snatch you back to where you belong…
"Thank you for a lovely breakfast, May. And for your kind words. I will try to deserve them. Would you like me to help you with the washing up?"
May turns to the window and squints.
"No. I think you should cross the street. Someone's lit a fire in the stove there. I'm sure you can manage another cup of tea to keep him company for breakfast."
Hermione follows the other woman's gaze and sees someone moving inside the cottage. Sirius. She jumps to her feet.
"Oh! Yes. Well, thank you…"
"Just go, girl. We'll see more of each other. Am I correct in guessing that you won't really need my guest room?"
Hermione shakes her head and blushes again. James's mum ushers her out of the kitchen door.
Sirius
Sirius is a bit disappointed when he wakes up alone, but the note on the coffee table quells any worries that might have risen in Hermione's absence. He lights the stove and puts the kettle on. The candles from last night have melted down to solid pools of candle-grease, and he vanishes them with one of the new cleaning spells May has taught him. He places Hermione's handbag on the sofa, well aware of its vast contents. When he bends to pick up her suede jacket from the floor a few coins fall from its pockets. He collects them and sets to sort out the wizarding money from the muggle money. He likes the shape of the 50 pence muggle coin, its heptagonal shape so different from any other currency he's ever seen.
What's her name? The muggle king? No, not king, queen. Eliza? Elizabeth?
He examines the coin closely, shaking his head at the strange habit of the muggles to adorn their currency with pictures of people.
Mother would like that. If no one told her it is a muggle thing. She would see it as some people are worth more than others, and like that.
He traces his fingers along the seven corners of the coin.
Fifty pence. Is that the same as pennies, or something else? Everything is so much easier with 17 Sickles to one Galleon. The muggles have their shillings and bobs and thruppence. Impossible. Hm, 1997. What does that stand for? Is that how many pennies or shillings there are to a pound? Or a guinea?
Sirius picks through the other muggle coins in the small heap at the coffee table. The four-digit numbers vary. They look like… years.
Do muggles put the year of minting on their money? How absurd. But, if these numbers are years, how come…?
He rises quickly and goes over to the wall covered in bookshelves in the room. He searches the rows of books with an increasing feeling of uneasiness. A Wizard's Guide to Muggle Society catches his eye, and he pulls it out and starts searching the index for 'money'. The page is full of black and white pictures, where coins of varying sizes change sides every three seconds.
Elizabeth II. 1952- A set of coins in different sizes all show the number 1952. On the page before a similar set is shown under 'George VI', with numbers between 1937 and 1952.
It is years. It must be. But that coin has 1997 imprinted on it. They do have the same calendar as we, I know that. Or maybe not the ones in Russia. Well, something with Russia… But this would mean… It would mean… Askrigg? That late in the term? And no one objected because it was Minerva Bloody McDon'tContradictMeOrElse who… Hermione, what have you done? And who exactly are you?
Distant voices make him glance out the kitchen window. James's mum is talking to Hermione, then goes back inside her own kitchen. Hermione crosses the street, looking determined.
Set on keep up the charade, love? And when I catch you, you'll just disappear like… A dream? A whiff of peachy soap scent?
Shaking he sits down, not trusting himself to confront her on his feet. He'd have to grab something, anything for support, and she could knock him over with a feather. Or just a look. Or the absence of a look. An empty spot where she was seconds before.
The door opens and she enters the room. She really does, it's not something he imagines. When she sees him she flinches, but meets his eyes steadily.
"Sirius. You're awake. Good. I need to talk to you. Really talk to you."
He doesn't recognise her voice. Not completely. There is something forced about it. He tries to smile, but guesses it comes out all wrong. She takes the place at the other end of the sofa.
"It's about me. Where I was before I came to… to Hogwarts. I was… eh, at Hogwarts, but… You see…"
"In 1997, perhaps," he says in a voice that sounds alarmingly like his father's.
He's never seen her eyes so wide, so scared, or her face so pale. He pushes the small heap of coins across the table.
"Or 1982? Or perhaps this, 1974? Take your pick, go on. You have quite a large selection to choose from. If we go with this, what does it say, 1988. Yes, let's. You're from 1988 and you're from… well, let's vary your story love, Beauxbatons. And three bloody quarters Veela to blind me to the obvious holes in your story. Or not? Home schooled, perhaps? Or from…"
She sobs and his anger is quelled, or at least disturbed.
"But why, Hermione?" he asks her more calmly, and in his own voice. "Most of all, from whatever other timeline you are from, why did you come here? What do you want from me? From Remus? From all of us? What is it we know or have that you need so desperately that you had to deceive us into… well, being friends with you? Invite you here? And you're good, so good at this swindling game. I really thought you wanted to come. To me. To be with me. Now, just tell me what it is you want. If I can, I'll give it to you and you can go back to where you belong."
His eyes are burning and part of him wishes she would disappear into thin air before he loses control. Or his heart stops beating. Or, Godric forbid, someone comes knocking on the door.
"But I do," she croaks in a broken voice. "I do want to be with you. It's true, what you say, I am a time traveller, I come from 1998. On May 2 Minerva, Professor McGonagall, sent me on a mission. With this." She pulls out a long chain from underneath her blouse and holds it out for Sirius's inspection. He immediately recognises it as a Time Turner. "She was rather vague about it. She sent me here to be… eh, around for Lily. Apparently I had before. Twenty years earlier in Minerva's timeline. And Lily had said that I had… just been there for her. Three times. To save… to make sure she was safe, up to a point. And of course I went."
Sirius tries to get his mind around what she says.
"So you know Lily before? Later? Then, in the late 90s?"
Hermione shakes her head and looks pained.
"No. No, I don't. I know her son."
Sirius gasps and gives up his efforts to get a clear picture of her story. The fact that he only wants to take her into his arms and silence her with kisses clouds his mental focus.
"She has a son?"
"Yes. But you mustn't tell her. I shouldn't tell you… anything. I shouldn't even be here with you. I should keep to myself and hope I will be close enough to Lily when… something happens, and when she might need me. But it's been impossible. And I have come to believe that I might have another mission as well, which is not spoken about later. It's to do with Remus, and his Lycanthropy. Professor Slughorn said things to me, later, about the Wolfsbane Potion. Now, in this timeline, I think I might be the one who develops it into a tolerable formula. It is, in my timeline. If Remus takes it, he doesn't harm himself or others. He has a life. He isn't completely shunned from society."
She doesn't say the things Sirius is prepared to hear. She doesn't confess to having fooled them to the extent, or, more accurately, for the reasons he fears. She is honest about the Wolfsbane Potion, he can see that.
"You know what his life most probably would be like if he didn't have you, or James and Peter. Are you prepared to swear that you will always be able to be there for him, in your Padfoot shape, to distract him and support him? Wouldn't you want a better life for him?"
"Course, I do," Sirius mutters.
She's so easy to agree with. She says all the right things.
"I'm sorry I kept this from you," she whispers. "I was going to tell you yesterday, I really was. But I had missed you. I wanted to be with you. I want to belong with you. I don't ever want to go back, even once my mission, or missions are complete. If you'll have me."
I must focus better. I'm beginning to hear things she can't possibly say.
"Will you?"
"Will I what?" he mutters, shaking his head to clear it.
"Have me? Do you want me to stay? Indefinitely? Even though I have deceived you? I didn't want to, I was just afraid."
"Of what?"
"That you'd push me away. That you wouldn't want me if you knew I wasn't… well, from this timeline originally."
"Do you know how long you will be here? For Lily? Researching the Wolfsbane Potion?"
"Years," she whispers.
"And then you'll go back?"
"Not unless you want me to."
"Unless I… what!?"
She moves fast and is suddenly next to him, really close. He feels the warmth of her skin radiate against his own.
"I'm not a Veela. Not at all. I'm a muggle born witch, a mudblood…"
"No, don't say that. Don't use that word." Without thinking he cups her face and strokes her lips with his thumb, as if to erase the word she just used about herself.
"A muggle born witch, and I've never felt completely at home in the world I lived in. I have friends I love dearly, and who love me. I've fought with them against prejudices and evil. I've done more than my share. And still I haven't really found a place or a person I've felt I belonged with. Not until… with you. I'm going out on a limb here, Sirius, because I need you to see that I never wanted to deceive you. I just…"
He waits and her skin burns against the palm of his hand.
"You just what, love?"
"I just fell in love. With you."
He ponders if the words came from her mouth or from inside his head, but her eyes speaks the same words.
"And I should have told you sooner, but I didn't and if I've ruined everything now, I have myself to blame and I will have a few horrible years with you not trusting me and not wanting…"
He ends her stream of words by putting his finger on her lips.
"Hermione. Hermione, stop. Be quiet. Listen to me." A feeling of deja-vu makes his head spin. "What you said, that you'll stay, that you want to belong. Here. With me. Is it true or is it something to make you mission easier? Please, tell me the truth."
She nods.
"It will make my mission easier if you don't hate me, but it's true. You. The very first night I met you, it was you."
Her face is wet with tears, and her voice is a strained whisper.
"But if I ask you to stay, you will? Even if your missions are complete?"
She nods again and Sirius can't remember what the rage he felt minutes before was about.
"And you won't turn this back if we have an argument about something? Don't agree on something?" He touches the Time Turner around her neck.
Without a word she pulls the chain over her head, collects it with the minuscule hourglass in her hand and gives it to him. Hesitantly he closes his hand around the gold.
"But don't you need to go back? Eventually? Minerva McGonagall will expect you to return?"
She shrugs.
He puts the Time Turner on the coffee table, next to the scattered coins.
"And you'll stay? With me?"
"Yes, if you want me to. Please Sirius, I need to know. Can you forgive me? Do you want me to stay? Can I belong here?"
He pulls her against him and laughs.
"You do, already. Belong, I mean. The first night I met you, something clicked inside me. It felt as if you, just by looking at me, had unlocked something in my heart I never knew was there."
He pulls her into his lap and leans his forehead against hers.
"I'd never been in love before, so I didn't know I was. Stay. Stay indefinitely. I love you. I said terrible things to you, because I was so afraid you'd only played with me. I'm sorry."
It's her turn to silence him with her fingers to his lips.
"No game. I told you before. No game. I love you too."
She leans in to kiss him softly.
No game. No game. She won't leave. She's mine. No game.
Please, drop me a line here. It's really inspiring with some written feedback. /Kia