It was dark for a very long time. While all the pain had subsided quickly after losing consciousness, he couldn't say exactly how long that had been.

Sometimes he'd wake up to continued darkness, unable to speak aloud, but he heard snippets of voices and conversations. Most discussions were about him, others about his friends and their lives.

At one point he thought he'd heard Moony mention something about being in love with Dora. Once he heard Prongs panic that he thought Lily was pregnant again. Once he heard Harry's voice mention something about being Quidditch Captain.

Mostly he heard strange voices say things along the lines of "it's been months… years…we don't know how much longer we can keep the stasis… we need beds in this ward…we've noticed no progress…Mr. Potter, we highly recommend letting go."

Sirius couldn't tell how much of these snippets were real and what was a dream, but every time he heard the more clinical voice, he felt the icy fingers of fear grip his entire being.

None of the voices, however much he loved them, made him want to run toward the tunnel he envisioned; the tunnel which would either fully awaken him or fully kill him. In fact, the tunnel scared him more than any of the voices. So he stayed still, steadily ignoring the tunnel.

At one point, after Prongs's voice had left, Sirius swore he could smell something. The scent, lavender and rosemary, wafted toward him from the direction of the dreaded tunnel.

He couldn't explain the draw he felt toward the tunnel. It was as if he couldn't get to it fast enough, and the more he ran toward it, the further away it moved. But with each step, the lavender and rosemary scent became stronger.

Maybe it was that he really really liked this scent. Maybe it was that this was the first time he could smell anything since the darkness took over. All he knew was that he had to reach it, even if it took him all day to get there.

And then he heard voices; one belonging to his godson, much deeper and more mature than he'd ever heard it before. And then he heard a laugh, light, bright, almost musical.

"He made her chaser this year because he didn't want to admit she's a better seeker than him," he heard the voice say, obviously teasing the boy. Their voices were clear, unlike the voices he's heard before, and they were getting louder. Their conversation moved to potions, and how Harry was significantly improving and how the girl was using annotated books to best the others in class.

And then he could hear footsteps as someone walked away. He heard the actual slapping of rubber soles against the linoleum he imagined would cover the floor of the hospital room.

He was running now, he thought; running toward the tunnel entrance which he felt he could finally reach. He could hear clearer, and upon stepping to the tunnel, all he could smell was lavender and rosemary; and then he could feel. There was something scratchy at his legs, something soft under his head, and suddenly there was a burning warmth over one of his hands.

Compared to the cold he'd felt on his whole body for countless days and nights, the warmth was the most welcome of all the sensations. As he continued running, breaking past the tunnel entrance, he tried to find a way to hold on to the warmth in his hand, searching for a way to grasp it.

Another point of warmth materialized on his face, and Sirius was completely inundated with the flowery scent. As soon as it appeared, though, it was gone. The warmth in his hand was gone soon after, cool air wrapping around the limb which had just felt so comfortably held.

Sirius panicked, thinking the loss of feeling meant he was going to fall into the black abyss once more, but then he heard the voice again, only somber now, instead of light and teasing. It was louder than ever.

"We should get your parents now, it's their turn."

There was an edge coming up, much like a cliff, and Sirius could see a soft light emanating from it. So he ran faster, took a deep breath, and leapt over it.

His physical body jolted, and he sucked in a deep breath when his eyes snapped open. The man in front of him, shrouded with bright white and flickering lights looked just like James; but he was scrawnier and had bright green eyes.

"Prongslet," he gasped, watching the boy's face crumple with emotion. Sirius turned his head just in time to see a small brunette witch leave the room.

This time when Sirius felt himself begin to wake, the scent of lavender and rosemary permeated his senses again. He didn't take near as long to open his eyes, though, as he felt a soft tickle by his nose.

He opened one eye, to briefly check his surroundings before getting up. His line of sight, however, was blocked by a large bushy braid. He recalled what had happened before his impromptu armchair nap with the witch he currently had wrapped up in his arms.

Not many words were said, but she had asked him for forgiveness and he had forgiven her on the spot. He would always forgive this witch without a thought to it, he decided. There was a lot in the air still left to clear, he thought, but this - this was a good start.

Hermione hadn't protested when he pulled her into his lap for a snuggle, and it seemed she hadn't even taken the opportunity to escape the seat after he fell asleep. If the soft snores coming from the witch were any indication, she'd made herself comfortable enough to take a small snooze with him.

That little fact elated him. It was a near victory that had him grinning ear to ear.

Hermione shifted and he squeezed her waist, drawing her back into him almost imperceptibly. When she yawned, her arm shot out in a stretch and arched her back away from him, letting in a small draft of cooler air, even beneath the blanket they shared.

She seemed to have realized where she was, because Hermione abruptly froze, mid stretch. Quickly, Sirius closed his own eyes and schooled his features to feign sleep. It wouldn't do for her to think he was awake, after all.

The girl struggled for a moment as she carefully turned around to face him in the small space they occupied. After a minute, she'd managed the rotation without displacing the blanket or the arm that was slung around her waist.

"Sirius," she whispered, raising a hand to poke at his forehead. His lips quirked at the contact. "Sirius, I know you're awake," and she poked him again.

He removed the arm around her middle and used it to snatch her hand away from his face. "Careful, kitten," he murmured sleepily. "You'll poke an eye out."

"But you'd look so sexy with an eyepatch," she deadpanned. Sirius snapped his eyes open to see her smirking down at him, her eyes sparkling with mischie; he felt his own smirk materialize.

"You really think so," he asked. She bit down on her bottom lip, feigning deep thought.

"Perhaps not," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm afraid you'd just emulate Alastor Moody."

He balked, offended as she began laughing at his dismay. He attacked her sides, and she squirmed, laughing with much less control as she struggled to push his hands away from her.

"I'll have you know," he was saying as his fingers assaulted her sides, "that I would look like a dashing pirate!"

"Sirius," she laughed, reaching forward to tug his hair. He dodged. "Sirius, stop it," she whined, giggling. "It hurts."

He let up, grinning at her flushed face and watched, entranced, as she shut her eyes to calm herself down. Her lashes were resting on her slightly freckled cheeks again, and Sirius had to fight himself not to reach out and touch her soft skin.

When her eyes opened, she glanced up at him and smiled, a full, unadulterated smile.

"Hermione, I-"

But she took that moment to sit up and slide out of the chair and blanket to retrieve her bag.

"I came here because I had an idea, Sirius." She placed her bag on the settee, facing away from him as she rifled through it, pretending to look for the file which was sitting neatly at the top of her pile.

She was fighting to regulate her heartbeat, which had decided to pump furiously at the soft look Sirius was giving her the moment just before she bolted.

That look wasn't one she'd seen often, but was definitely one she'd seen more of in the last few days. It was tender and sweet and it made her toes curl. Hermione didn't need toe-curling looks from him while they were supposed to be tracking down Death Eaters and finding their missing muggleborns.

His face had been so close to hers again; she'd fallen asleep on his lap and taken a whole nap with him on an armchair. No matter how much she had enjoyed every second of it, they had a job to do.

She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. When she turned to face him again, he had retracted the recliner and was sitting on the edge of the seat waiting for her to regale him with her idea.

"We need to go to Romania."

Sirius blinked once. Twice. A third time.

"No." He stood and made his way to the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle and roughly dropping it on the back burner of his stove. He knew what was coming and steeled himself against the barrage of her fury.

She followed him, slamming her files down onto the marble island counter. "You didn't let me finish," she started.

"Don't need to," he replied, turning and leaning against the countertop. "The answer is no."

"Why not?"

"It's dangerous."

"This case is dangerous, Sirius. We can't avoid 'dangerous' if we plan to succeed."

He was glowering at her. "I said no."

"We already know they hold base operations in Corabia. Who's to say they aren't holding the victims there?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "And how exactly do we know they're holding base operations in Corabia?"

"You," she scoffed. "You were there. You found the base."

"Exactly! And do you remember what happened to me, Hermione?"

"Oh, come on, Sirius," she laughed. "You can't let that stop you from finishing this mission out."

"I'm not afraid for myself," he said, voice even, but cold and quiet. Hermione gulped, looking away from his gaze as he glared.

"Yes, well," she cleared her throat. "We're not making any progress here."

He shook his head as the kettle whistled and poured the water into the two mugs he'd conjured, placing one in front of her and keeping his own on the counter behind him. Hermione eyed the mug warily, not ready to give in.

"All of our information is pointing to Hogsmeade. All four disappeared from the village. They've got to have a satellite base right there in Scotland. We just have to figure out where."

"Sirius," she said carefully, "if four people were being held in Hogsmeade, don't you think someone would have figured it out by now?"

She had a point, but Sirius was determined to solve this case on home soil. He refused to take Hermione to the continent.

"We'll need a hell of a lot of convincing evidence for Robards to approve a continental portkey."

Her lips tightened into a thin line. He was right.

"But we'll need a hell of a lot of convincing evidence to get a warrant for any of the shops or residences in the village."

At this, Sirius smiled darkly. "Who said they'd be in a building?"

Sirius and Hermione spent the next week barely speaking. Clearly upset Sirius had so quickly shot down her suggestion, Hermione kept her interactions short and sweet, answering questions concisely and sharing new information just as succinctly.

Sirius, on the other hand, was frustrated that she'd taken his refusal so personally. He could tell, by the look on her face most days that she thought he didn't trust her instinct. He did. And while the base may be Corabia, he fully believed their missing muggleborns were still in local residence, so to speak.

He also wasn't going to dare bring Hermione into the middle of the snake's nest. Corabia was not the place for a young and ambitious muggleborn witch. Especially not to his young and ambitious muggleborn witch.

No matter how much he chastised himself for his use of the possessive pronoun, he couldn't help it. The more time he spent with her, the more often he'd wake in a cold sweat in the dead of night; dreams plagued with her screams and lifeless eyes.

Yes, she was giving him the professional equivalent of the silent treatment, but it was worth it to keep her safe and alive. It was getting very old, though. So much so that he was going to have to have a chat with Robards about calling in a favor just to appease her.

A whole different frustration was plaguing him as well; when he didn't have nightmares, he had very pleasant and warm dreams. These, he thought ruefully, were even worse than the nightmares. While he wanted his nightmares to never come to pass, he wanted the nice dreams more than he'd ever wanted any dream before, but he was too afraid to say it out loud.

On his good nights, his arms were full of the witch currently not speaking to him. She'd snuggle into his chest and they'd sleep comfortably for hours. On the best nights, she'd reach up to his face, as gentle as a whisper, and kiss him until they both couldn't breathe. He'd follow the skin of her jaw down to her neck, which was always readily exposed.

On those nights, he'd trace his nose down the long creamy column of her neck, taking in the haunting scent of lavender and rosemary, his arms wrapped tightly enough around her to feel her shudder as his lips ghosted her pulse point. She'd return the favor by running her hands through his hair, much like she'd done the other day on his armchair. She'd drag her hand down his chest, slipping under his shirt and teasing his bare skin as she pulled his lips back to hers.

The depressing reality was that Hermione hadn't so much as tapped his shoulder since their cuddle on his armchair and the feeling of her in his arms haunted him.

He caught Harry's eye for a second at Sunday Dinner and met the boy on the stoop for a cigarette.

"Don't fuck it up, Sirius," Harry reiterated, reminding him of the conversation they'd had weeks prior. Sirius had nodded and stomped out the cigarette before climbing onto his bike and taking off. At least he no longer had to feel guilty about wanting her.

The next week was spent doing a full audit of the cave systems near Hogsmeade as they continued to look for evidence of Death Eaters or captives. Hermione spent these missions ten paces ahead of him at all times, casting complex locator spells.

Evening shifts at the cafe weren't much better. While Sirius no longer had to act as stand-in cook, he felt a huge slack in the area of customer service.

The tea was already served by the time he'd sit at his usual table, and when he flagged her down for dinner or a dessert, she'd usually just nod and have either Luna or Violet deliver it. Violet was visibly worried by this behavior, but Luna was exceptionally gifted at smoothing it over with the boss.

Occasionally, Sirius would notice the three idiots making complete fools of themselves. At least Dean and Seamus. Cormac just sat there, a prominent scowl on his face. The man's demeanor unsettled him.

On Thursday, Cormac joined Sirius at his table.

"What did you do to Granger," the usually smug blonde man asked him, falling heavily into the chair beside Sirius.

"I haven't done anything to her," Sirius said, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him.

"Then why's she so pissed at you," Cormac asked, with a snap of his fingers.

"What makes you think she's pissed at - OW, Merlin's TITS," Sirius yelped, looking over to see the steaming tea covering his hand. He pulled the appendage into his chest, drying it with a napkin as he looked up to see Hermione standing there, eyes wide in character, faux concern written over her face.

"Oh, no, I'm so sorry, Master," she said, and walked away without offering assistance.

"Just a little birdie," laughed Cormac, smugly. Sirius glared at him.

"What do you need McLaggen?"

"Just wanted to discuss my career," he said, settling back into the chair and grabbing a biscuit off of Sirius's tray. Sirius faced the man and replied in a low tone.

"Watch it, son. You don't want to get too far into the details around muggles." Cormac smirked.

"Of course. It's simple then. I want the Death Eater case."

"Get in line," Sirius growled. "She and I are managing just fine."

"Doesn't really look like it," the blonde snarked. He looked around again before whispering conspiratorially "I don't think Robards would take too kindly to knowing the two of you are progressing slowly because you can't seem to keep your disagreements to the bedroom, would he?"

Sirius's muggle pen broke in half with the force of his grip as he turned slowly to glower at the other man.

"Are you threatening me, boy," he growled.

Cormac was visibly smug. "I just call it as I see it, black. Better get your little woman speaking to you again before Robards catches on."

Cormac slowly stood from his seat and grabbed another one of Sirius's biscuits with a chuckle. "I'm sorry it might be a little more difficult than normal. You see, I'm a pretty damn good hypnotist. It's why they put me on special cases."

"What did you do," Sirius growled again, holding the table cloth with a white-knuckled grip to keep him from swinging at the bastard.

"Just make sure she doesn't sleep in the next twenty-four hours. If she does, she'll hate you forever," Cormac sneered. "Wouldn't that be a shame?"

Despite the panic slowly crawling up into his chest, Sirius returned the sneer.

"Hermione passed all the physical exams, McLaggen. She's not susceptible to hypnosis."

"Maybe not basic level, Black. But I'm not a basic level hypnotist."

Cormac only grinned wider, raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Sirius jumped again, pulling his sleeved arm into chest as soon as he felt the steaming liquid hit his skin. He turned to see Hermione standing there again, same fake look on her face.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what the-," he stopped as realization dawned on him. He snapped back around to catch sight of Cormac making for the door.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry, Master," Hermione said, and turned toward the kitchen again.

Despite the boiling hot liquid soaking his sleeve, Sirius felt a wave of ice cold dread seep into his bones as he watched his witch take an order across the room from him.

He waited the next two hours for the end of her shift, watching carefully as she interacted normally with the other Maids and customers. While she avoided him, Luna came by to refill his tea and took away his uneaten rice omelet.

"Hey, Lu," Sirius said carefully. Meet us at Hermione's afterwards. I need to test something." Luna smiled, agreed and walked away. His focus was once again on Hermione.

"You know," the annoyed brunette said as she slowly approached him, face schooled in annoyance. "You're being far creepier than Cormac and idiots have ever been, watching me like that all night."

"I wish I were the creepiest man who ever stepped foot in here," he said calmly, snapping the buckle on his orange briefcase closed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sirius glanced up at her, spotted she was still wearing her famously haughty expression, and deflated. "Cormac asked for the Death Eater case."

Hermione fell into the seat across from him. "You're not giving it to him, right? We've made progress," she sounded worried. Almost panicked. He looked up at her face, which had dropped the week-long attitude in favor of worry.

"No, Kitten, I'm not giving it to him. But he's, er, he's done something a bit problematic." At her raised eyebrow, Sirius grimaced and snapped his fingers. Immediately, Hermione grasped the coffee pot she'd rested on the table and poured it over Sirius's hand. He bit his lip to keep from shouting out.

She set the pot back on the table and stated, with a blank wide-eyed stare, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, Master." Blinking, she shook her head, looked down at his hand and gasped. Her eyes grew comically huge as she slapped a hand up to her mouth.

"That dirty, rotten, loathsome-," Sirius waved her off.

"It's worse than just that, kitten."

Hermione sat still as Sirius rehashed his encounter with Cormac. All things considered, she remained calm.

"The good news is that I already hate you, so there's nothing to be worried about," she said primly, standing and smoothing out her skirt. "It's closing time. Are you staying to help, or are you riding off alone to mourn your ego?"

Grumbling, he looked around to ensure none of the muggles could see him shrink his briefcase and stuff it in his pocket. He threw his corduroy jacket over the back table and began lifting chairs onto their respective tables.

"You don't hate me," he muttered directly into her ear as he passed her to start on the next set of chairs. He smirked, noticing her small shiver at the contact. She glared at him.

"Yes," she said. "I do." And stomped off to the back closet to grab the broom and mop.

Between the two of them, Violet and Ruthie, the cafe was cleaned up and closed up in 35 minutes; 35 minutes in which Sirius tried his hardest to come up with a way to either undo the spell or keep her awake for twenty-four hours. Nothing was looking good.

He dumped the trash in the alley bin for the girls and waited against the brick wall with a cigarette while Hermione changed. When she came out, she rolled her eyes and walked past him.

He dropped his cigarette to the ground before stomping it out and vanishing it wordlessly and jogged to catch up to her.

"Hermione," he started.

"No," she snapped, spinning on a heel to face him. "You know I'm angry with you!"

"Yeah, and I'm tired of it," he retorted, setting his jaw.

"Good. Does that mean we're going to Romania?"

"You and bloody Romania," he seethed. He reached out to grab her shoulder, but she ducked away from his grasp. "Hermione, we are not going to Romania. They're in Hogsmeade somewhere. Our job is to retrieve the kidnapped victims, not take down the whole organization."

Hermiome's lips were pursed quite tightly, eyes narrowed and Sirius knew she was going to extend her silent treatment.

In a swift movement, she charged forward and stomped on Sirius's foot, not expecting his boots to be as hard as they were. The small witch stumbled upon the impact and Sirius caught her by the arms to keep her from tumbling backward.

"Ow," she yelped. "What are those made of," she cried, grasping his arm to keep herself upright as she shook out her foot.

"It's dragonhide, you daft bint! Why'd you go stomping?"

"I'm mad! Stomping on your foot seemed like the thing to do!"

He tried not to, but he couldn't contain the snort. Hermione's hackles rose again upon hearing the sound and straightened her back once again.

Releasing his arm, Hermione spun around again and stomped (petulantly, Sirius thought) toward her apparition point. He knew she wasn't going to wait for him this time– she hadn't waited all week.

So he shook his head, hearing an abnormally loud popping from her direction, and climbed onto his bike.

He had a couple witches to meet at Hermione's flat.