The weeks following that Saturday in the Hospital Wing saw a subtle but undeniable shift between Hermione and Remus. Where once there had been careful boundaries, now there was a new ease—a warmth that threaded through their conversations and lingered in the gentle touches they exchanged. Remus was more relaxed, his smiles coming quicker and his laughter ringing out more freely. Hermione found herself gravitating toward him even more, their bond solidifying in quiet moments, shared jokes, and whispered confidences.
The casual touches grew bolder too, almost instinctive—a hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing as they reached for the same book, knees bumping under the table. It was as if some invisible line had been crossed, and neither seemed in a hurry to redraw it.
One particularly cold evening, they found themselves alone in the common room, the fire crackling warmly as they sprawled on the couch closest to it, books and parchment scattered around them and the table. The rest of the castle was quiet, with most of the students either in bed or huddled in other corners of the Tower. Hermione and Remus were deep in discussion, their debate about a complex magical theory becoming more animated with every passing minute.
"I'm telling you, there's no way that array would be stable without an additional runic binding," Hermione insisted, pointing emphatically at the diagram they'd scribbled on a piece of parchment. "You'd need at least three stabilisation points, not just the one."
Remus shook his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement and challenge. "You're overthinking it, as usual. If the magic is channelled correctly, the single binding can hold—think of it like a fulcrum. It's all about balance."
Their voices were rising, each more determined to make their point, but there was an undeniable thrill in the debate, a shared passion that made the air between them hum. As Hermione leaned in, her hand brushing his shoulder to make her next argument, she noticed the way Remus's gaze had softened, lingering on her face. For a moment, their words faltered, the fire casting flickering shadows across his features, and the atmosphere shifted.
Remus's breath hitched, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat. The charged silence stretched, thick and electric, and it felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of them, the warmth of the fire, and the unspoken pull between them. Remus's hand twitched as if he was reaching for her, his face leaning in just enough to close the gap—but at the last second, he pulled back, his expression twisting with uncertainty.
Hermione blinked, the sudden distance between them feeling like a jolt. "Remus," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her brow furrowing in frustration. "What are you doing?"
He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze, his voice strained. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No," Hermione cut him off, her tone sharper than she intended. "We're not doing this again. What is going on with you? One minute you're here, you're with me, and then you're pulling away like you've done something wrong. Talk to me."
Remus looked at her, torn between his feelings and his fears. "Mina, it's… it's not that simple. I'm not… I'm not the kind of person you should get close to. Not like this."
Hermione's eyes flashed, and she couldn't help but scoff. "Oh, please, not this again. I know exactly who you are, Remus Lupin. You're kind, you're brilliant, and you care about people more than you care about yourself. And you're not some…" she quickly looked around if anyone was listening but cast a privacy spell for good measure. "Some monster, no matter what you keep trying to tell yourself."
Remus flinched, his shoulders slumping as he tried to protest, but Hermione wasn't having any of it. "You think you're not good enough? You think I don't know exactly who I'm getting close to? You're an idiot," she said, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. "An absolute idiot."
Before Remus could utter another word, Hermione grabbed his collar and pulled him toward her, closing the gap he'd tried so hard to maintain. She kissed him fiercely, pouring all the frustration, affection, and unspoken feelings into it. Remus froze for half a second before he melted into her, his hand finding the back of her neck, and he kissed her back with all the longing he'd been holding in.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless and slightly dazed, Hermione leaned her forehead against his, a smile tugging at her lips. "See? Not so complicated."
Remus laughed softly, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I think you're the only person who'd call me an idiot and then kiss me."
Hermione grinned, her heart light for the first time in what felt like ages. "Well, get used to it, Lupin."
Remus seemed to relax for a moment, leaning into the warmth of the moment, but then his expression turned sombre again, shadows flickering across his face. It was as if all his old doubts were rushing back in, threatening to unravel everything they'd just found.
Hermione could see the self-doubt in his eyes, the old, familiar look of someone who didn't believe they deserved happiness. She wasn't going to let him retreat back into that place, not this time. Gently, she cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her, her gaze unwavering.
"You deserve to be loved," she said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of everything she knew he needed to hear. "Say it with me, Remus. I deserve to be loved."
Remus blinked, taken aback by her words, his throat tightening. He hesitated, the truth of it feeling both foreign and heavy on his tongue. "Mina, I—"
"No," she interrupted, her thumb brushing against his cheek in a soothing motion. "Say it. I deserve to be loved."
Remus swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "I deserve to be loved."
Hermione nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Again."
He exhaled shakily, the words coming a little easier this time. "I deserve to be loved."
A small smile broke through his somberness, and Hermione felt a surge of hope, knowing this was only the beginning of breaking down the walls he'd spent years building. She pulled him close again, resting her head against his shoulder, and felt his arms wrap around her in return.
"Good," she murmured, her voice soft but firm. "Because you are. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself."
Remus chuckled weakly, though his eyes were still shadowed with doubt. "You do realise I turn into a bloodthirsty beast every month?"
Hermione smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching with a mix of humour and defiance. "So do I, Remus. PMS is a real bitch."
Remus blinked in surprise, and then he burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the quiet of the common room. Hermione couldn't help but join in, even though a part of her was still stunned at herself. Swearing wasn't usually her style—she preferred measured words and precise arguments—but something about the sheer absurdity of their conversation, of the way Remus always tried to downplay his worth, had brought it out of her.
Hermione leaned back, her smile softening as she looked at him. "See? Not so scary when you put it in perspective."
Remus wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "You've got a way of doing that—making the impossible seem… almost normal."
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just call it a talent."
Well, there was no other way to respond to that than kissing her again.
Hermione woke to the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the common room windows, casting long, warm shadows across the floor. The fire had burned low, the embers glowing faintly in the hearth, and the quiet hum of the castle waking up filled the air. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the night came rushing back—a heated conversation, laughter that had broken the tension, and the unexpected kiss followed by many more that still lingered on her lips like a half-remembered dream.
Remus was still beside her, his head resting against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed in an expression of rare peace. Hermione watched him for a moment, allowing herself to take in the soft lines of his face in the morning light, the faint scars that told a story of battles fought both within and without. She hadn't meant to fall asleep next to him, but the warmth and the closeness had been too comforting, too easy to give into.
She shifted slightly, her movement causing Remus to stir. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the light, and for a moment, he looked at her as though he was still half-dreaming. Then recognition dawned, and he offered her a sleepy, crooked smile, the kind that made her heart flutter in her chest.
"Morning," he said, his voice still husky from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, his fingers brushing against hers where they rested on the arm of the sofa. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a spark through her that was impossible to ignore.
"Morning," Hermione replied softly, her smile mirroring his. "I didn't mean to keep you up all night."
Remus chuckled, a sound that was quiet but full of warmth. "I'm not complaining. It's been a while since I've had a reason to stay up… talking."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the shared stillness more comforting than any words could be. Hermione felt the tension of the previous night dissolve into something gentler, something that felt like the beginning of a promise. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"You know, last night was…" Hermione trailed off, searching for the right words. "It was… nice."
Remus glanced at her, his expression softening as he nodded. "Yeah, it was." His gaze lingered on her lips for a brief second, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in that charged space, teetering on the edge of something more. But Remus pulled back, his smile turning slightly rueful. "You've got this habit of throwing me off balance, you know that?"
Hermione's heart skipped, and she leaned closer, her voice teasing but laced with sincerity. "Maybe you need to be thrown off balance sometimes. Keeps you on your toes."
He laughed, shaking his head as if to clear it, but the smile never left his face. "You're not wrong." There was a pause, something unspoken hanging between them. He glanced at the fire, now reduced to smouldering embers, and then back at her, the hesitance creeping back into his eyes. "I've got something I want to show you later. It's nothing big, just… a place I think you'd like."
Hermione's curiosity piqued, but she saw the careful hope in his expression and didn't press him for details. "Alright. I'd like that."
Before either of them could say more, the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the moment. James appeared, still in his pyjamas, hair messier than usual and glasses slightly askew. He stopped short at the sight of them, eyebrows raising in surprise before a sly grin spread across his face.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" James teased, leaning against the bannister with a mock casualness. "Burning the midnight oil, you two?"
Hermione flushed, pulling back slightly but not enough to lose the warmth of Remus's presence. Remus, for his part, looked more amused than embarrassed, shooting James a look of feigned exasperation.
"Just a late-night debate," Remus said, his tone light but with a note of finality that suggested the subject was closed. "Couldn't quite agree on whether Phoenix feathers make for better wands or not."
"Right... because that's what normal people discuss at 5 AM. Well, try not to fall asleep in your eggs at breakfast." He gave them a quick salute before disappearing back up the stairs, leaving them alone once more.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking her head as she watched James retreat. She turned back to Remus, still feeling the lingering warmth of their closeness, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and quiet contentment. "He's got a point, you know. We're not exactly subtle."
Remus smiled, a small, wry quirk of his lips that made Hermione's chest tighten. "Subtlety's overrated," he said lightly, though his eyes softened as they met hers, carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. "Besides, who else is going to argue the finer points of wandlore with me at ridiculous hours?"
"Don't let Sirius hear you calling whatever we were doing 'wandlore,'" Hermione teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He might get the wrong idea."
Remus chuckled, his grin turning a shade more wicked. "You mean exactly the right idea?"
"Remus!" she exclaimed, giving him a light, playful smack on the arm.
"Ow!" Remus winced, his hand instinctively covering the spot she'd hit—a scar that hadn't fully healed from the last full moon.
Hermione's eyes widened in horror, her playful demeanour vanishing in an instant. "I'm so, so sorry," she blurted, guilt flooding her voice as she reached out, her fingers hovering, unsure whether to touch him.
Remus shook his head, brushing off the concern with a casual wave of his hand. "Don't sweat it," he said, offering her a reassuring smile. "I've had worse."
A brief silence hung between them, filled with the warmth of their unspoken connection. Remus glanced toward the window, the pale morning light creeping into the common room. "We should probably… you know, face the day," he suggested, though the reluctance in his voice was evident.
Hermione nodded, but neither of them made a move to stand. They lingered instead, caught in the quiet of the moment, savouring the fragile stillness that wrapped around them like a cocoon. It was rare, this feeling of unguarded closeness, and neither seemed ready to let it slip away.
"Yeah," Hermione murmured at last, her voice barely more than a whisper. She looked at Remus, her heart full of things she couldn't quite say. "But let's not rush it."
Remus's gaze met hers, a flicker of something deep and tender sparking in his eyes. "No," he agreed softly, his voice laced with an unspoken promise. "Let's not."
They lingered in the quiet for a moment longer, wrapped in the stillness of the common room. It was the kind of silence that wasn't awkward, but full—brimming with things left unsaid, with an understanding that didn't need words. Hermione could feel Remus's thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of her hand, and she wondered when holding hands had started to feel so normal, so easy.
Finally, Hermione rose to her feet, the spell of their shared moment lingering in the air. She offered Remus her hand, and he took it without hesitation, his grip warm and steady. In a heartbeat, Remus pulled her closer, his expression shifting from gentle amusement to something more intent. Without the usual hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her, this time with the kind of confidence that only came from familiarity. It wasn't hesitant or rushed—it was Remus being Remus, straightforward and warm, the kiss soft but grounding, a reaffirmation of everything that had quietly grown between them.
Hermione responded without missing a beat, leaning into him as if this was the most natural thing in the world. She let her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her fingertips. There was no uncertainty, no fumbling—just the simple, undeniable connection that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.
When they pulled back, their foreheads touched briefly, and Hermione could see the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at Remus's lips. It was a quiet moment, just theirs, and it felt oddly perfect in its simplicity.
"We should do this again sometime," she said, half-joking but wholly sincere.
Remus looked at her, his smile soft and a touch shy. "You know where to find me," he replied, and for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt that maybe, just maybe, things were falling into place.
It was a small blessing that it was the weekend, the quiet buzz of a Saturday morning settling comfortably around them as they finished breakfast in the Great Hall. The usual clamour of weekday chaos was replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere—students lingering over their meals, chatting leisurely without the usual rush to classes.
Hermione glanced at Remus, who had been uncharacteristically animated throughout breakfast, a glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. She'd caught him smiling to himself more than once, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity. Setting down her cup of tea, she leaned in slightly, her expression playfully inquisitive.
"What did you want to show me?" she asked, her voice laced with anticipation. She'd been wondering ever since he'd mentioned something vague about a surprise the night before.
Remus glanced around, making sure none of their friends were listening in. His smile turned a touch mischievous as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You'll see. But it's better if I show you rather than tell you."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden secrecy. "That sounds ominous."
Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. "Trust me, it's nothing sinister. Just… something I thought you might like."
He stood up, offering her his hand, and Hermione took it without hesitation, feeling a little flutter of excitement as they left the Great Hall together. Whatever Remus had planned, she knew it was bound to be interesting, and she couldn't wait to find out.
Remus led Hermione through the castle, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridors. He kept a comfortable pace, his hand occasionally brushing against hers as they navigated the twists and turns of Hogwarts. It wasn't lost on Hermione how familiar and right this felt—wandering the castle with Remus, caught up in their own little world.
They climbed several flights of stairs, weaving through familiar hallways, but Remus didn't speak much, just glancing back at her with a knowing smile whenever she tried to guess where they were headed. Eventually, they reached a quieter part of the castle, the kind of place that didn't see much foot traffic unless you knew exactly where you were going.
Finally, Remus stopped in front of an old wooden door that Hermione didn't immediately recognize. It was tucked away in a corner of the seventh floor, not that far away from the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy funnily enough, unassuming and a little worn, as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. Hermione's curiosity piqued as Remus reached for the handle, giving her a sideways glance that was both excited and slightly nervous.
"Close your eyes," he said, his voice gentle but insistent.
Hermione shot him a sceptical look but did as he asked, closing her eyes and letting him guide her carefully through the door. She heard it creak open, the sound of her footsteps soft against the stone floor. The air was different here—cooler, and filled with the faint scent of old parchment and something faintly floral.
"Alright," Remus said after a moment, his voice laced with anticipation. "You can look now."
Hermione opened her eyes and gasped softly, taking in the sight before her. It was a small, hidden room, clearly part of the castle but different from the rest. The walls were lined with shelves full of books—some new, but most old and well-worn, the kind of books that had been loved and handled by countless students over the years. A few comfy-looking chairs were arranged around a low table, and the whole space was bathed in soft, golden light that filtered through a single high window.
But what really caught her attention was the enchanted ceiling. Much like the Great Hall, it mirrored the sky outside, currently showing a perfect, crisp autumn morning. Leaves drifted lazily as if caught on an invisible breeze, and a faint glow illuminated the space, making it feel warm and magical.
"It's a little nook some of us found ages ago," Remus explained, watching her reaction carefully. "Sirius calls it 'The Reading Room,' but honestly, no one else really comes here. I thought you'd like it."
Hermione's eyes sparkled as she took it all in. "It's perfect," she breathed, running her fingers along the spines of the old books. "How did I never know this was here?"
Remus shrugged, his smile turning a bit sheepish though wondered a bit why would Mina have this room, it was thoroughly off the beaten path. "We keep it quiet. It's our little escape. Somewhere to get away when everything feels… well, you know."
Hermione turned to face him, her expression full of gratitude and something deeper, unspoken. "Thank you for showing me this," she said softly, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the room itself. "I can't think of a better place to be."
Remus gave a small, pleased nod, sitting down in one of the chairs and gesturing for her to join him. "I thought you might feel that way. And besides," he added with a playful glint in his eye, "who better to share it with than the only person I know who might actually read every book in here?"
Hermione laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and for a moment, it felt like the outside world didn't exist. They were just two people, hidden away in their own little sanctuary, where time seemed to pause and everything else fell away. Even if just a few corridors away there was a Horcrux hidden in the depth of the Come and Go Room. But Hermione was pointedly not thinking about that now. Not if she could help it—not until she'd mastered shielding her mind with Dumbledore's guidance. This was the kind of knowledge that, in the wrong hands, could plunge their world into an even darker reality than the one she had left behind. Hopefully by the New Year she could start coming up with a plan on how to actually deal with all of it.
Sunday arrived, and with it came the inescapable mountain of homework that Hermione had been neglecting in favour of more interesting—if slightly reckless—pursuits. N.E.W.T.-level classes were demanding, each professor seemingly in competition to outdo the others in workload, and Hermione knew she couldn't afford to fall behind, not with everything else on her mind.
So, she headed to the library alone, books tucked under her arm and determination set in her brow. She had no idea where the Marauders were—likely up to one of their infamous schemes that they kept suspiciously quiet about. Living with them felt like sharing a house with the Weasley twins, only with more chaos and considerably higher stakes. She'd given up asking after they'd mumbled something vague and scattered in different directions, leaving her to fend for herself in the library.
Hermione settled at a quiet table near the back, spreading out her notes and textbooks. She was halfway through a particularly dry chapter on advanced Transfiguration theory when she noticed Snape at a nearby table, hunched over a thick tome, his greasy hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes furiously.
She watched him for a moment, curiosity piqued. Snape had always been a figure that fascinated her, both in this time and her own. There was a darkness to him, yes, but also a complexity—a brilliant mind trapped in a maze of bitterness and poor choices. She thought about his future, the path he would choose, and how different things might have been if someone had reached him sooner, shown him another way.
Before she fully processed what she was doing, she stood and crossed over to his table, her presence startling him slightly as he looked up, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"What do you want, Delacour?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Come to gloat about how your Gryffindor pals triumphed on the pitch again?"
Hermione shook her head, unfazed by his immediate hostility. She'd grown used to his sharp edges by now, even if they still stung sometimes. "Actually, no. I wanted to ask you something. A bit of a… thought experiment, if you will."
Snape eyed her warily, clearly not in the mood for games. "What could you possibly want my opinion on? Run out of Gryffindors to pester?"
Hermione flicked her wand subtly, casting Muffliato around their table. The familiar buzzing filled the ears of anyone near them, shielding their conversation from prying listeners. Snape's eyes widened slightly, his suspicion sharpening as he glanced around before settling back on her.
"Where did you learn that?" he asked, his voice low and edged with a rare hint of genuine surprise. "That's not something you just pick up in a classroom."
Hermione paused, realising the slip. She had forgotten that Muffliato wasn't common knowledge, especially not in this time. But she quickly covered her tracks, meeting Snape's gaze with calm confidence. "Lily," she said simply, hoping it would be enough. "She's brilliant with charms, you know."
Snape's expression flickered—something between pride and bitterness—but he seemed to accept the explanation. "Of course she did," he muttered, half to himself.
"Have you ever heard of Hitler?" Hermione asked, ignoring the comment and keeping her tone neutral, almost casual.
Snape blinked, caught off guard. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. "What kind of ridiculous question is that? Of course, I've heard of him. It's not like Muggle history is a secret."
Hermione nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Good. So you know about the horrors of World War II—the concentration camps, the mass genocide, the way Hitler manipulated people, convincing them they were the superior race while scapegoating others?"
Snape scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not some ignorant fool, Delacour. I'm well aware of what Muggles are capable of. But what's your point? I hardly see what this has to do with anything."
Hermione leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but firm. "I want you to think about what Hitler promised people, how he preyed on their fears and insecurities, turning them against their neighbours, their friends. It wasn't just about power; it was about creating an enemy to rally against. And the devastation that followed? It didn't just hurt those he targeted—it destroyed everyone in its path."
Snape's sneer faltered, and though he tried to maintain his usual dismissive air, there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Are you seriously comparing Muggle nonsense to what's happening in our world? You don't understand anything."
"No," Hermione said evenly, "I understand more than you think. Grindelwald tried it on the wizarding side, and we all know how that ended. But what I'm asking you is this: Can you see any parallels with what You-Know-Who is selling? The promises, the scapegoating, the 'purity' nonsense?"
Snape's face hardened, but he didn't immediately respond. There was a tightness around his mouth, and for a moment, Hermione thought he might just tell her off and leave. But something in her words seemed to stick, a seed of doubt that she hoped might take root.
"I'm not here to lecture you, Snape," she continued gently, sensing she'd struck a nerve. "I'm just asking you to think. To read, to learn about both sides—not just what's happening in our world, but what's already happened in theirs. Because the path You-Know-Who is on? It's been walked before. And it never ends well."
Snape glanced down at his notes, his expression guarded but thoughtful. For once, he didn't have a ready insult, a cutting remark to dismiss her with. Instead, he stared at her, as if weighing the sincerity of her words against his own ingrained beliefs.
"I'll think about it," he said finally, his tone begrudging but not dismissive. It was the smallest of concessions, but Hermione took it as a victory.
"That's all I'm asking," she said softly before turning back to her own table. She didn't expect him to change overnight—she wasn't naive. But planting a seed of doubt, challenging him to see the world from a different perspective? Sometimes, that was the most powerful thing you could do.
And just maybe, by this small intervention, the prophecy would never get delivered to Voldemort.
As Hermione made her way toward the library exit, feeling the weight of the conversation still pressing on her, she was suddenly blocked by Sirius, who appeared from behind a towering stack of books. His expression was a mix of curiosity and barely contained irritation, his grey eyes sharp as they locked onto her.
"What were you doing with Snivellus?" Sirius asked, his voice low but dripping with disdain. He crossed his arms, blocking her path, clearly not planning to let her leave without an answer.
Hermione sighed, meeting his gaze with a calm that she didn't entirely feel. "It's called having a conversation, Sirius. You should try it sometime."
Sirius didn't budge, his frown deepening. "With him? Really? You know he's nothing but trouble—always skulking around, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. And I saw you cast Muffliato. What's so secret that you can't even let others hear it?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his attempt to intimidate her. "I wasn't planning a coup, if that's what you're worried about. It's just—sometimes, Sirius, you've got to talk to people outside your little circle. I'm just… trying to understand him."
Sirius scoffed, running a hand through his unruly hair in frustration. "Understand him? What's there to understand? He's a greasy, miserable git who's halfway to being a Death Eater already. You're wasting your time."
Hermione's expression hardened slightly, but she kept her voice level. "And what if he's not? What if he's just a kid trying to figure things out, and no one's ever bothered to show him there's another way? What if all he needs is someone to challenge him?"
Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown by her words. He opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it, looking as though he was grappling with something he didn't quite know how to express. Finally, he shook his head, his voice softening just a fraction. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Minnie. Snape's not… he's not someone you can trust."
Hermione met his gaze evenly, her expression firm. "I'm not putting my life in his hands, Sirius. But if I judged everyone I meet based on every mistake or wrongdoing they've ever done, then I shouldn't be talking to you either."
Sirius stiffened, his eyes narrowing defensively. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Hermione crossed her arms, her voice calm but pointed. "I don't find potentially fatal 'practical jokes' amusing. Especially betraying your friend's trust in the process, sealing his fate as well."
Sirius's face flushed with a mix of anger and shame, his bravado faltering. He looked away, the weight of her words hitting harder than he cared to admit. His voice, when he finally spoke, was strained, defensive. "Did Snivellus tell you about that? Because I doubt Moony would have and the greasy git is not supposed to."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Does it matter? You're not exactly convincing me that you're not just a bully by calling him that," she shot back, her voice sharp.
Sirius flinched, taken aback by her bluntness. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, but the truth of her words hung between them, undeniable. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he glanced down, chewing on his next words. "I don't— I just don't want you to think he's worth your time. He's… he's done a lot of things."
"And so have you," Hermione countered, her tone softening but still resolute. "We all have. But it doesn't mean we're beyond hope. It doesn't mean we can't change."
Sirius looked up, his gaze conflicted but more thoughtful than before. He didn't have a response, not one that could justify the bitterness that had been eating at him for so long. Hermione's words lingered, and for the first time, he found himself wondering if maybe—just maybe—she was right.
As Hermione turned to leave, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Snape was standing just beyond the nearest bookshelf, half-hidden in the shadows, his expression inscrutable. He must have heard everything—her challenge to Sirius, her defence of him.
For a brief moment, Snape's eyes met hers, dark and piercing, searching her face for any trace of mockery or deceit. But Hermione's gaze was steady, unflinching, meeting his with an honesty that was hard to dismiss.
Sirius noticed Snape too, his face tightening with renewed irritation. "Eavesdropping, Snivellus?" he sneered, but there was less venom in his voice now, as if Hermione's words had taken the edge off his usual hostility.
Snape ignored Sirius, his focus solely on Hermione. His expression was hard to read, a mix of suspicion and something else—something that looked almost like confusion. Hermione held his gaze, giving him a small nod, as if to say, I meant what I said.
Snape didn't respond, but he gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod back before turning on his heel and sweeping out of the library, his robes billowing behind him. It wasn't an apology, it wasn't even gratitude, but it was something—a small acknowledgment, a step away from the hardened lines they were all used to.
Sirius watched him go, his mouth set in a thin line. "He's still trouble, you know," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual fire.
"Maybe," Hermione said quietly, her gaze lingering on the door Snape had just disappeared through. "But maybe not forever. Also, before I forget," she said, pulling her wand on him.
Sirius yelped, rubbing his arm where the non-verbal stinging hex had hit him, his expression shifting from surprise to indignation. "Oi! What was that for?" he demanded, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, betraying a glimmer of his usual mischief.
Hermione crossed her arms, fixing him with a pointed look. "You know exactly what that was for. The name-calling stops now, Sirius. I'm serious—no pun intended. If I have to train it out of you like a dog, I will."
Sirius's face darkened for a split second, the metaphor striking a little too close to home. He quickly masked his reaction, but the fleeting vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable. Did she know? Could she have figured it out?
But rather than let his unease show, Sirius slipped back into his familiar bravado, a sly grin curling at his lips. "Alright, alright," he said, his tone playful as he gave her a mock bow. "I'll be a good boy for you. Only you."
Hermione caught the slight edge in his voice and almost regretted her choice of words, but she held her ground, raising an eyebrow at his theatrical response. "See that you are," she said, her voice softer but still firm. "You're better than this, Sirius. I know you are."
He straightened up, the momentary tension melting back into something lighter, though the look in his eyes suggested he was still chewing over her words. "Guess I'd better live up to expectations, then. But if you hex me again, I'm telling Remus you've gone mad," he said, giving her a cheeky salute before turning on his heel and striding away, his usual swagger only slightly subdued.
"Oh, please do. In fact, do it right now. Just don't leave out the why," Hermione called after him. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd take her words to heart.
Hermione watched him go, her own smile lingering, though she quickly tried to suppress it when she felt the burning glare of Madam Pince. The librarian had materialised from behind a nearby bookshelf, her thin lips pursed in disapproval.
"Miss Delacour," Madam Pince hissed, her voice barely above a whisper yet somehow carrying the weight of a much louder scolding. "This is a library, not a playground. I will not tolerate such unruly behaviour."
Hermione nodded apologetically, trying to stifle her amusement. "Sorry, Madam Pince. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Madam Pince said sharply, before stalking off, her robes sweeping dramatically behind her as if punctuating her displeasure.
Hermione rolled her eyes once the librarian was out of sight, her momentary frustration giving way to the lingering warmth from her exchange with Sirius. She knew he wouldn't change overnight, but it felt like the first step in the right direction—for both him and Snape.
She gathered her books, feeling oddly light-hearted despite the tense encounter. There was so much work to be done, so many cracks to mend, but moments like this made her believe that maybe, just maybe, things could turn out a little differently this time.
