Hermione woke up early the next day, the bleary, sleepy sensation that usually accompanied her morning's was absent as the memory of the night before was the first thing on her mind. Excitedly Hermione scrambled out of bed as quietly as she could so as not to wake Ginny, who was sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room. Swiping a pair of soft fluffy socks and pulling them on, she scooped up Crookshanks and eased her way out of the room and made her way up the stairs towards the oak door.

She moved into the room, the morning light drifted through the window, diffused by the gauzy curtains. Her library was truly beautiful. The floor to ceiling bookshelves seemed taller in the light now that she could make out the high vaulted ceiling, and she could make out the pattern on the red and gold rug that lay under the small, dark wood table in front of the plush, leather couch.

Setting Crookshanks down, who immediately started sniffing the floor and began his tentative exploration of the room, she just let an overwhelming wealth of affection flood her. She couldn't explain it but she intuitively felt that the underlying gift behind the library was that Sirius was making a space for her in his life. Not just as a friend who would come by every so often as a guest, but as someone who was part of his family, someone who belonged in his home. Someone who would be around long enough to fill these empty bookcases

She looked at the modest selection of books that had already been shelved and walked over to them. The majority of the titles were the ones she had lent to Sirius, but a few were new. They were the additions that he had added to the collection. Tempted by the prospect of a new book, but also feeling that it would be a slight betrayal to read them without him, Hermione reached for Sabriel. She had read it once, having picked it up over the summer, and liked it enough to recommend. Taking the book she deliberated on using the couch or the window seat. Deciding on the window seat she curled up among the pillows and allowed herself to become absorbed into the world of the Old Kingdom.

As the morning progressed, the sun through the window warmed, Crookshanks soft fur blanketed her thighs as he lay stretched out over her lap, and her excited insomnia the night before lulled her to sleep. She was roused into a soft half wakefulness by the sound of the door clicking and then again by a roughened hand gently grasping and lifting her wrist from her lap. Her eyes cracked open to the feeling of those fingers tracing something along the back of her wrist and hand.

Sirius sat crouched beside her, his brow furrowed as he considered the appendage. The feather light touches along the scarred words tickled, sending tingles and goosebumps up her arms.

"It's still there," he sighed. Disappointment, frustration, aggravation were all present on his face and in his voice.

"It's getting better," she said, softly, observing his messily tied up hair, the slip of skin where the three or four buttons he didn't fasten exposed, and the rolled up sleeves; careless of the fine, midnight blue, spider silk. Every time she saw him he looked healthier, stronger, more beautiful, than the last. She tried not to dwell on it, it wouldn't do for her to hold onto a teenage crush on her friend, who was also Harry's godfather. It didn't help that he treated her so gently, like she was cherished and precious.

"It shouldn't need to get better," he ground out bitterly. "It shouldn't be there in the first place."

She looked at him. His bright eyes - that were so often clouded over in regret - stared at the lines marring her hand. "No it shouldn't," she answered honestly. He looked up, his face morose. It dampened his handsome features and made her want to thumb away the sadness that creased his face. "But I'm okay. Harry is okay."

He didn't look entirely satisfied, but dropped a kiss onto the words and let the subject go. Pulling up an ottoman, he sat by her window seat.

"Hermione, what was bothering you yesterday?" He asked, surprising her. Apparently there was a lot of negativity he needed aired out this morning.

Hermione looked down at Crookshanks, who lay in her lap, one yellow eye staring up at her and the tip of his tail twitching as if to say; "Aren't you going to answer the man?" She felt slightly ganged up on.

Sighing, she began scratching the cat's ears as she spoke. "While we were at St. Mungos, we ran into our classmate and his grandmother," she started, turning her eyes to look at his face again. His pinched brows watched her in concern and a frown curled the corners of his mouth. "He was there visiting his parents, and we got to meet them. They had been tortured into insanity by Death Eaters when he was a little boy and now they don't even know who he is." She felt tears well up in her eyes as she took a deep breath. Sirius waited patiently for her to continue. "I don't know why I never thought to ask Neville about why he lived with his Gran. He was my first friend at Hogwarts and I didn't know about something so important."

"It's not your fault that you didn't know, Darling," consoled Sirius. He tucked a curl behind her ear and tugged on it gently. "People hide things that hurt them, and it's not always our place to pry it out of them."

She bit her lip, she could acknowledge that he was right, but it wasn't easy to assuage the feeling of guilt that she had ignored her friend. But that wasn't even the heart of what was bothering her. She contemplated her next words for a moment.

"It also scared me," she whispered, ducking her head. "I always thought that the scariest thing would be to lose my family. But if I lost my parents, I would at least know they died loving me; that we shared many years of memories and that they would be somewhere waiting for me. Now I know that the scariest thing is having someone I love look me in the eye and not even know who I am."

She felt his hand wrap around her arm and tug. With a small shriek, she tumbled half out of her seat, and landed against his chest. Crookshanks springing up with a low growl and a hiss at the sudden movement. Sirius ignored the cat and wrapped her up against him with his arms, and buried his face into her hair on top of her head. He didn't say anything for a while, just held her close.

"Even if someone lost their memories of you, the love they have for you wouldn't vanish," he said into her hair. He stroked up and down her spine soothingly. "Love is a permanent imprint on someone's soul. It can't be snuffed out by death, or by destroying a person's mind. It's the strongest magic of all magic."

Hermione closed her eyes and remembered the way Alice Longbottom looked at her son, timid and unsure, but reaching out her hand anyway. Maybe Sirius was right. Love doesn't go away when the memories fade away. She nodded her head against his chest.

"You're right. Thank you, Sirius," she said, feeling his cheeks puff out into a smile against her hair in response.

"Come on, Kitten. Molly's out collecting Arthur, so the kitchen is free for baking those cookies that you said you wanted to make," urged Sirius after a moment, pulling her to her feet with a large grin. He towed her out of the room as she huffed out a laugh; Crookshanks following close behind, bushy tail aloft in a cheerful question mark.

They made their way to the empty kitchen without running into any of the Weasley's. The sound of conversations and laughter in various rooms made everything feel surprisingly bright for a place with such deep shadows that gathered in the corners.

As Sirius sat on the counter teasing her as she made her Christmas cookies the muggle way and magicking wine corks around the room for Crookshanks to rocket after, Hermione couldn't help but wish that the winter holidays would never end. The encroaching war and the troubles of school felt so far away in this moment.

When Arthur and Molly arrived the energy in the old house erupted into a festive party, almost spontaneously. Someone made a huge cauldron of cider, and plated Hermione's Christmas cookies, there was some sort of roast that Molly had rushed back into the kitchen to put in the oven that she had prepared ahead of time, and someone had opened a few bottles of mulled wine. Sirius had also brought down his old record player and set it up with some Christmas tunes.

Different order members dropped by to congratulate Arthur on his release from St. Mungo's and a few stayed to enjoy the festivities. Remus and Tonks stood in a corner talking to Charlie, who looked more like an awkward third wheel amid the furtive, longing glances they were giving each other.

Sirius really needed to knock some sense into his best friend. They hadn't talked about the werewolf's obvious thing for Sirius's younger cousin but he knew there was something that was holding him back. If he had to hazard a guess it was the misplaced shame over his lycanthrope.

He sipped some cider mixed with a splash or two of firewhiskey, enjoying the moment. His mother would have raised hell if she were alive to see it, and that thought brought a smile to his face.

Looking over across the room he saw the kids all huddled by the coffee tables. It looked like Harry and Ron were playing wizards chess, Hermione sat cross-legged, on the floor next to them, a large throw pillow hugged against her stomach and under her chin. Ginny sat next to her inconspicuously near Harry. The others sat around the other side of the table playing exploding snap

Wandering over he watched as one of the cards exploded red and green sparks and glitter in one of the twins' hands, singing the collar of his shirt and frying some of his fringe, and plastering him in the shimmer. Bill laughed uproariously at his brother.

"Bad luck, mate," Sirius laughed, ruffling the ginger's hair and watching as an avalanche of glitter shifted out of the mop.

"Ugh!" The boy protested. His twin sat laughing at him.

"Careful Fred, fairies might mistake you for one of their own and make you sit in the tree with them," George snarked good-naturedly. He leaned away from his twin to avoid the cascade of microscopic, shimmery confetti. "I could shrink you down to size. You could live your life, find a little fairy wife, make little half-fairy babies. We'll just make sure there's always a fresh tree for you and your family to live in." He was laughing harder now at Fred's increasingly sour looking face only to be stopped mid-cackle by one of the cards in his hand exploding a shower of silver and gold glitter in his face.

Fred grinned with a humorously vindictive glint. "Guess you're going to find a fairy wife too, Georgie." Then he lunged across the table.

Sirius snorted and moved on from the bickering twins to stand over Harry and Ron's game of chess. He watched a moment as Ron expertly maneuvered his pieces around the board planning an elaborate trap for Harry's bishop.

Harry fell for the trap and Ron whooped as his pawn was crushed. Without hesitation, Ron swiftly took the bishop.

Sirius and Ron both noticed Hermione flinch at the subsequent destruction of the two chess pieces.

Ron laughed at her. "Come on, 'Mione. This is why you're so bad at chess." He was in high spirits. Not only was his father back and on the mend, Ron always seemed to become uncharacteristically cocky when he was winning at something, and chess was something he was particularly talented at.

"It just seems cruel," she mumbled, into her throw pillow. Her ears and cheeks going pink.

Harry laughed and glanced up at Sirius. "First time Hermione played Wizards Chess, she cried when one of her pawns got taken out. She didn't realize they self-repaired after each game and spent half an hour trying to glue the pawn back together," he told Sirius, smiling at the memory. "She's never won a game since she refuses to sacrifice pieces."

Of course she won't, thought Sirius, fondly of the witch. Hermione could be tender-hearted to a fault when she wanted to be.

"Well, there's also nothing like having to play a game of giant chess where you and your friends are the ones who might get obliterated, to put oneself off of the game," she pouted, pulling the pillow closer to herself.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at this and looked at his godson.

Harry chuckled nervously. "No one told you about first year?"

"I heard something vague about a troll," he sent a sidelong glance at Hermione, who smiled at him sheepishly. He'd forgotten to get the full story behind that. "And how your defense professor had somehow hosted Voldemort under his turban and tried to get to you, but I wasn't given details about giant chess matches that tried to kill students."

"Uh…well," Harry tried to come up with something and landed with. "It's not like that's the most dangerous thing we've done."

"Well, that's encouraging," Sirius barked out with a laugh, masking his unease. It's not as though Sirius didn't know that, but it was still unsettling to hear. Merlin, why couldn't Prong's kid get into normal mischief like getting caught putting sticking charms to toilet seats or something?

He felt the wards give, distracting him away from the kids' conversation. Although he was at ease and knew that it was just another guest, he stood over them, eyeing the entryway.

The tiny, paranoid part of him that was on guard for intruders relaxed when Kingsley Shacklebolt strode in carrying a cardboard box. The man's characteristically stoic features broke into a smile when he greeted Arthur Weasley, congratulating him on his recovery.

"Good to have you, Kingsley!" He called across the room to the man and raised his glass in a silent toast. There was a flash of surprise on the other man's face. Which, Sirius supposed, was fair. The last few times they had seen each other Sirius had been a miserable git.

Excusing himself from the Weasley couple, Kingsley approached Sirius with the cardboard box.

"I actually came bearing gifts," he said, lifting the box and giving it a little shake. Items rattled inside. "I was able to discreetly collect your things from evidence storage."

"I thought they got rid of all evidence after someone was convicted?" Sirius asked, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, although she just realized something. "They never properly convicted you though, did they?"

Sirius looked down at her questioningly and then back up to Kingsley. "What do you mean?"

"She's right. You were put into Azkaban without a trial, and therefore fraudulently convicted. To the magical archiving systems, you were never convicted and thus never destroyed the things that were collected when they arrested you," Kingsley explained, holding the box out to Sirius. "No one thought to check, since everything was so chaotic at the time, and once things settled it got forgotten."

Sirius took the box, almost feeling like he was grabbing a viper. It was different than when he opened the other boxes that Remus had brought over from storage. Before he was afraid of finding a stranger's life, now he feared confronting one of his darkest days.

He felt a tug at the hem of his trousers. Hermione looked up at him with understanding eyes. She scooted to the side a little, giving him room to sit cross legged next to her and Ginny. He set the box in front of him, drawing strength from where her knee pressed into the side of his thigh, and ran the corner of his nail along the tape holding the box closed.

He took one more deep breath before he finally flipped it open. It was a sparsely filled box at first glance. The first thing he noted was the set of clothes sitting in it. A pair of jeans, a Clash t-shirt, his favorite brown knit sweater, a rolled pair of socks, and his old dragonhide boots. He pulled those out and set them aside.

It was odd looking at items he had lost and forgotten about. It struck him as odd, once again, he expected to feel a certain way about the items in the box. Hate, regret, remorse, desperation. Negativity and pain is what he expected. This is what he had been wearing when he found James and Lily's body, and when he last saw baby Harry as he put him in the arms of Hagrid. These were the clothes he was wearing when he went after Peter.

Instead, he recalled the Clash concert where they celebrated their graduation; the brown sweater Mrs. Potter had knit him for his first Christmas after he came to live with them; the dragonhide boots he had bought to celebrate successfully fixing up his motorcycle.

Reaching once more into the box he found a tarnished silver necklace, the pendant was a small coin with the head of a lion set into it. He picked it up, thumbing away the tarnish, trying to recall where he had gotten it from. Setting it down on the table he bent to reach into the box again aiming for his old wallet, when he caught sight of something under an inventory list that was shoved into the box. Underneath the slip of paper was his wand.

He felt his breath catch.

"They didn't snap it," stated Remus, surprised. He had left his conversation with Charlie and joined their group to watch Sirius reunite with his old things.

Sirius chuckled weakly as he reached in to take the wand into his hands. Distally, he could feel Hermione's hand wrap encouragingly around his knee.

It had been fifteen years since he held his wand, and holding now felt like something in him had slotted back into place. Even though he could use wandless magic, it always felt less potent, more wayward, and the more delicate and complicated the magic was, the less it would cooperate with him.

It was just as he remembered. The ebony wood, the Celtic knots caved into the handle, the small, square cut garnet embedded into the butt of the grip - invisible, unless it was closely handled and observed. He remembered the first time he held it as an eleven year old boy, elated to finally have his own wand, yet somewhat apprehensive, wondering if he'd ever grow into it.

"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, leaning closer to look at it.

"What's the length?" Asked Harry, looking curious. "I've never seen a wand that long before."

"Fifteen and three quarter inches, ebony and phoenix tail feather," answered Sirius with a cheeky grin. "Believe me when I got it at Ollivanders, I was surprised by the length too. It felt like handling a broom handle for a while until I grew into it"

He flicked his wand, the sensation both foreign and familiar, and charmed the ceiling to send fat, fluffy flakes of snow that vanished before touching down on people's heads. Everyone in the room looked up, noticing the snow. He grinned, feeling a lost part of him restored.

He almost forgot about the rest of the items in the box, but Remus reached down and plucked something out of the box.

"I forgot about this," he said, laughing a little. "Your good luck charm." In hisbhands was a hair tie with a little yellow daisy charm attached to it.

Ron snorted. "That's a bit girly isn't it? Why's that your good luck charm?"

Sirius took it from the werewolf's hand and studied it. Once again feeling like a black hole had opened up in his mind. He remembered wearing this, the numerous times he had pulled his hair back with it before quidditch games, or when on a Order mission. He always kept it on him, even if it was just to sit against his wrist. But why it was so important to him that he kept it as a talisman eluded him. He could feel the emotional connection to it. It meant something to him, but the more he tried to remember the harder it was to grasp.

"He started wearing it during matches, saying he played better with it and the rest is history," shrugged Remus. "I wouldn't be surprised if he swiped it off a random girl

"Still weird, if you ask me," commented Ron.

"Luckily no one did, Ronald," snipped Hermione, her tone bossy but with a teasing edge to it that Sirius recognized. It pulled him out of the spiraling thought and he looked down at her, amused. "Like anyone should take advice from you on luck charms. You wear your 'lucky socks' for three days straight before exams."

Sirius coughed a laugh into his elbow, watching as the redhead's ears changed color. Ron obviously didn't pick up on her teasing.

"Oi! That's different!" Ron yelled. At this point though, unfortunately for him, he had attracted the attention of the twins who had coalesced after the glitter bomb incident.

Sirius grinned as he soaked in the moment.

Christmas morning came softly. Sirius woke with an uncharacteristically fluttery feeling in his stomach when he took in the odd hush that permeated outside the window. It was snowing, the fat flakes drifting down mirrored his bit of spell work the night before. He couldn't hear anyone outside. No chatting, no cars driving down the street, no dogs barking as they were walked around the park. It was just silence. Not the uneasy silence of an empty house, or the silence before disaster is about to strike, but the kind of silence that felt cozy and restful.

He thought about staying in bed for a while, to enjoy the ambiance of the morning for what it was, but the delicious scent of breakfast made its way up to him. Rolling out of his bed he stood up and made for the door, not even bothering with a shirt. He bound down the stairs, feeling like a little boy again having his first Christmas at Hogwarts. Except this was better. This was his first Christmas in fifteen years, and instead of a big mostly empty castle he was surrounded by his nearest and dearest.

He skidded into the kitchen to see Molly by the stove ladling pancake batter into a griddle. He grinned at the look of indignation she gave him and his bare chest.

"Sirius Black! You can't go around half naked," she huffed, spelling the skillet and ladle to continue without her. She put her hands on her hips. "You're going to catch a cold like that, let alone shock every girl who sees you."

He was still snickering at her reaction when she tutted at him and summoned a brightly wrapped package and handed it to him with a smile. "Happy Christmas, Sirius dear," she reached up to pat his cheek.

A bit taken aback, Sirius took the package from her hands. "I don't know what to say, Molly," he said with a lump of emotion in his throat. "I don't have anything to give you in return." He frowned, feeling the bitter sting of his confinement once again. He had been limited in what he could provide as gifts having been unable to go out.

Molly took both sides of his face in her hands and looked at him with stern expression. "You have opened up your home to us when we needed help the most. You don't need to worry about reciprocating anything." She smiled and pinched his cheeks before letting go.

He smiled a brittle smile at her before he went ahead and opened the wrapping. He recognized the knit material for what it was immediately. Pulling out the indigo material he unfolded it and stared at the grey S worked into the front of the trademark Weasley family sweater. Shoving down the sting that pricked at his eyes he pulled the sweater over raised head. And marveled at the perfect, slightly baggy fit.

"Oh! Perfect!" Exclaimed Molly. She clapped her hands together. "I wasn't sure if I got the size right. I wanted to make sure you had a bit of room since you are still gaining muscle and weight back," she said, fussing around his sleeves and checking the hem length.

"Thank you, Molly. I love it," he said, bending down to give the woman a hug.

She gave him a motherly pat on the back and pulled away from him. "Now then, go see if anyone else is awake. It's about time for breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am!" He said with a grin and a salute.

Sirius went from door to door heralding in Christmas morning for a number of sleepy guests. Harry had grinned at him, when he busted in singing 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs,' while Ron had groaned and covered his head with a pillow. He spent an extra minute or two before waking the twins up to transfigure them a couple pairs of fairy wings. Remus had left an egg sized lump on his head when he had crawled into bed with the werewolf and started whispering sweet nothings into his ear, throwing his voice into an approximation of Tonks'.

When he got to Hermione and Ginny's room he knocked politely and poked his head in. Ginny was pulling on a pair of socks and looked up at him with a smile.

"Breakfast?" She asked him as she put her foot on the ground.

"Yep! Where's Hermione?" He asked when he didn't see any curls in the other bed.

"Don't know," she answered with a shrug. "She was already gone when I woke."

Sirius nodded with a smile, already knowing where the girl had gone. "I'll go find her. Might want to get downstairs soon. I had to wake Ron and Harry before I got to you," he laughed as he watched her scramble off the bed and rush out the door.

He headed up to the oak door that led to Hermione's library and entered. The freshly oiled hinges didn't squeak one bit and allowed him to enjoy an undisturbed view of her curled up asleep on the plush leather couch. Coils of hair draped over the armrest, and Crookshanks' large, fluffy, orange frame lounged stretched out over her torso, his furry head tucked under her chin.

Sirius could hear the low rumbling purr of the cat from the door. The sight was picturesque even though he knew that it would become a common sight whenever Hermione came to visit. He wanted it to become a common, habitual sight.

Once more the hush of Christmas morning settled on him as he wandered over to crouch next to Hermione. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently shook her awake. Her whiskey eyes opened as the church bells rang the 9 o'clock hour in.

"Happy Christmas, Kitten." He watched a slow smile cross her face. Her sleepy eyes heavy lidded as she looked at him.

"Happy Christmas, Sirius," she answered.

As he helped her up by removing Crookshanks from her chest, and pulling her to her feet, Sirius couldn't help but feel that this was the best Christmas he could ever recall having.