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Chapter Text

Hermione Granger had never been keen on breaking rules without good reason, yet here she was, exploring the dark corridors of Hogwarts past midnight.

Perhaps her sudden change in morale was well within reason—a war that invades every way of life tends to change a person. But Hermione certainly wasn’t expecting to feel so exceptionally lonely in a castle she so dearly loved.

After the war, Hermione had decided to return to Hogwarts to properly graduate. Harry and Ron moved straight on to take jobs at the Ministry of Magic, which Hermione completely understood—the three of them had just about more experience than anybody. Hermione was determined, however, to truly complete her time at Hogwarts. Initially, she was excited. But there she was, a week into the beginning of term, absolutely miserable.

Certainly, it had a lot to do with the fact that Harry and Ron weren’t there, even though she still had Ginny, Luna, and other friends.

But it’s all very different, now, Hermione thought to herself as she held her wand a bit further in front of her, the light softly illuminating the corridors. But maybe it’s a good thing Ron isn’t here.

Thinking of his name alone brought a painful jab to her heart, and every single time she did she would immediately berate herself. What need was there to be miserable? Nothing happened, nothing terrible—there was no fallout or argument; people just grow apart sometimes. It should be expected, really, especially after knowing someone for so long—surely, you would be bored of a person at that point.

Except they experienced the hardships of war together, added Hermione internally. But still, she shook her head, as if she could shake the idea of Ron Weasley out of her thoughts.

He was part of the reason, but certainly not the entire reason why Hermione felt the need to escape out of her dormitory. Another reason why Hermione decided to get out of bed was the nightmares, the nightmares. They started off slow, at first, and they were mostly fine—just Hermione waking back up in the forest, under the impression she was still looking for Horcruxes.

But then they got worse. When she and Ron were going through, well, issues, it was like the moment she fell asleep she was back at Malfoy Mansion, on the floor while being carved into and all she could hear was her laughter, she laughed in her ear while carving into her skin like she was made of candle-wax, and then she would hear Ron scream for her, startling her awake—

Hermione stopped in her step. Surely, the door should be there now, as she had paced by it three times—and certainly, there it was, the Room of Requirement. She knew from the previous nights that she would have no problem getting the room to appear—these thoughts were always on her mind, now, and the Room always translated these thoughts into thoughts of need.

She looked at the door for a moment, remembering many things—spells, lessons, Umbridge, Harry, escaping, hiding…

Again, she shook her head, pushing past the doors. She wasn’t sure why she kept coming back here—she had been returning whenever she couldn’t sleep for about two weeks now, and every time she stepped back into the familiar hall, it was exactly how Hermione remembered it—almost as if she were back in her fifth year.

She didn’t long for the stress and the incredible tensions, no, of course not—but for her friends, yes, quite a bit. All returning seemed to do was strike her with more grief and longing, but still she would return every other night or so. As sad as it made her, it was a good place to think her thoughts out and reminisce.

Except this time, it was something extraordinarily different. Instead of opening to the same, massive hall, the doors opened to reveal a quaint, cozy bathroom with lovely marbled floors and walls. Twin pristine couches pushed against the opposite walls, large mirrors on the walls above them. In the center of the room was a large bathtub, sunken into the marble floors, jets already on.

Her brow furrowing in confusion, Hermione stepped in slowly and closed the large doors behind her. Perhaps the room, sick of Hermione’s mopey mood, called for a change of scenery.

After walking past the tub and checking to see if the cabinet under the marble sink top had towels (it did), Hermione decided that surely, the room knew what Hermione needed better than she.

So, she shed her outerwear, tying her hair into a bun as she sank into the steamy water. Strangely enough, she did feel better—it was something about the warmth. Hermione once read in a Muggle psychology book that people who often draw baths do so in substitution of physical touch, as the water simulated the warmth of another person’s touch. It was a bit sad to think about, but the bath did make her feel better about Ron, and most certainly about her nightmares. It was almost as if the water defrosted the cold memories of the forest and Malfoy Manor.

Hermione emerged from the room an hour later, feeling cozy, calm, and entirely warmed from the bottom up. In fact, she made her way back to the Gryffindor common room with a slight smile on her face, feeling the best she had felt in quite a while.

Maybe it was foolish of her to assume that everything would be alright so soon after the war, Hermione figured as she crawled into bed. Her entire body temperature still heightened from the hot water jets, it was incredibly easy for Hermione to fall into an immediate, deep sleep.

--

“You’re looking awful chipper this morning, Hermione. What’ve you got in your coffee?” asked Ginny as she took a seat next to Hermione in the Great Hall. Hermione just smiled, setting down her book as Ginny grabbed her cup and took an experimental sip.

“Blegh,” muttered Ginny with a look on her face, “No sugar?”

“Having dentists for parents does that to you,” hummed Hermione pleasantly. Ginny gave her another look, amused.

“You finally out of that slump, then?” asked Ginny, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite out of it, “That’s a relief.”

“Oh, please. It was hardly a slump,” said Hermione, but she had to admit, she did feel exceptionally better that morning than she had the past week. She was surprised, really, that a simple bath could relieve her of so many negative feelings.

In fact, Hermione’s good mood carried on for the the rest of the week. As long as Hermione returned to the Room of Requirement—or rather, Bathroom of Requirement, now—she was able to sleep peacefully with no nightmares, and put Ron and Harry out of her mind. There were a couple of times were Hermione considered if the bathroom, tub, or even the water was fixed with some sort of restorative charm, but when Hermione ran a few checks with her wand, everything seemed to be perfectly normal.

However, as a Muggle-Born, Hermione was perfectly content with this; not every form of healing had to be magical, after all. Self-care was important, Hermione reminded herself.

--

October had just begun, the leaves on the trees outside beginning to edge with auburn and yellow. The warm air that had marked summer was starting to crisp into a brisk breeze. As the weather grew colder, Hermione found herself appreciating her midnight baths more and more, finding the exchange of a couple hours of a sleep for a warm, relaxing bath easier and easier to make.

Every time she headed towards the seventh floor, she was always a bit worried that the Room of Requirement would change into something else. Indeed, as she made her way to the seventh floor that Friday evening, she found herself biting her bottom lip gently in worry. She had a particularly rough day—not because of her classes, of course, but Ginny had received mail from Ron that morning at breakfast, and seeing his handwriting alone really offset her for the rest of the day. She was so off-put that she had forgotten to change to sleepwear before heading to her bath, still in her school uniform.

Fortunately, the bathroom was there when Hermione opened the doors, jets on as always. She smiled in relief, already feeling better as the warm steam hit her skin.

An hour passed, and Hermione carefully got out of the tub. Having forgotten to get the towel, she awkwardly made her way to the sink, creating large puddles of water on the marbled floor behind her.

As she wrapped herself in a towel, Hermione noticed a small box resting on the sink top. Immediately, Hermione was intrigued—she certainly would have noticed this beforehand, as the sink top had always been bare, even of soap. When she picked it up in her hands, she could see that it was a jewelry box, wrapped in velvet.

In amusement, she thought for a second that maybe the Room of Requirement was giving her a gift. When she opened the box, however, she dropped her smile in her confusion. For rested inside on a scrap of black silk was—

“A time-turner…?” murmured Hermione out loud. There were precisely two things about this that was very confusing—for one, Hermione knew that all time-turners were ruined beyond repair in their fifth year during the battle at the Ministry.

Perhaps this one was always here, in this room, or the Ministry contacted other embassies and received extra and one made its way to Hogwarts, Hermione attempted to explain in her head.

But what was even more strange than that particular inconsistency was the color of the time-turner—it was black. Still, the time-turner was gorgeous; the matte black metal seemed to quite suit it, in fact, with a matching black chain.

Hermione looked down at the time-turner in the box and considered what she should do. Her immediate decision was to turn it in to Professor McGonagall—but, when Hermione picked it up, she found that the time-turner began to absentmindedly turn on its own, something that it should only have done when prompted.

Normally, that would have ruled it out as even more suspicious to Hermione, but for some reason, Hermione felt… extremely attached to this particular piece, as if it truly belonged to her. She was never all that fond of the color black, but something about the time-turner drew her to it.

So, Hermione got dressed, and looped the time-turner around her neck. It continued to spin on its own, and with that, Hermione decided that it was nothing but an enchanted piece of jewelry.

“A real time-turner wouldn’t be black, anyways…” murmured Hermione to herself as she quietly exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She began to take off briskly, as it was Friday evening, and Professors usually lingered around for a bit longer to catch any students past curfew.

She made to the staircase leading to the Fat Lady’s portrait when she sensed a rather annoying itch on her stomach. Thoughtlessly, she went to scratch it, only for her fingers to collide with the time-turner.

Hermione looked down, and gasped.

The time-turner was spinning much faster now, much faster than it was just minutes ago. In fact, it was turning so quickly that it was slowly beginning to look like just a black orb, the circular pieces surrounding the hourglass continuously rubbing against Hermione’s sweater.

Before she even realized what was happening, the time-turner suddenly stopped. Hermione held her breath, her heart suddenly beating viciously in her chest.

Nothing happened. Hermione let out a breath. She felt a bit ridiculous, as if something that was clearly an imitation piece could have any power—

Suddenly, there was a deafening crack that caused Hermione’s knees to buckle—or maybe it was the sudden, sickening feeling of the corridor around her beginning to spin at 360 degrees at sonic speed, all while Hermione stood still—or maybe it was the incredible feeling in Hermione’s stomach that made her feel like she was going to be sick forty times over—

Hermione felt herself hit the cold corridor floor, and then, she was gone.

--

Hermione awoke where she last remembered being, in the same exact spot at the base of the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common room. Slowly, she was able to stand, touching a hand up to her aching head. She looked around to see if anyone had heard the crack, but she didn’t see anyone around.

I… Must have fainted, Hermione told herself slowly, still a bit disoriented. That was when she noticed all of the sand on her frontside—the time-turner, still around her neck, had broken.

“Oh, really,” muttered Hermione, sweeping all of the sand off and onto the floor, “Sorry, Filch…”

A bit wary of what had just happened, Hermione cautiously made her way up the staircase, tightly gripping the handrail. Maybe the stress had gotten the best of her, causing her to collapse… but the baths really seemed to be helping with how Hermione had been feeling…

“Porcelain pot,” said Hermione tiredly as she neared the portrait, rising the Fat Lady from her slumber. However, the portrait didn’t swing backwards—instead, the Fat Lady was looking flatly at her through sleepy eyes, her eyes looking at Hermione’s clothes, and then back to her face.

“Porcelain pot,” repeated Hermione.

“Incorrect,” said the Fat Lady, yawning.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “No, that can’t be. You changed it just this morning, I distinctly remember you telling me when I left for breakfast.”

“Well, then you’ve gotten the wrong portrait, dear. I haven’t changed my password for nearly a week,” replied the Fat Lady irritably. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I was having a good dream before you interrupted me.”

Immediately, there was a terrible, horrible feeling in Hermione’s stomach. She glanced back down at the time-turner still looped around her neck, studying it pointlessly. A heavy cloud was beginning to loom around Hermione, one that was casting serious, yet impossible ideas into her mind…

Hermione didn’t have much else to do, so she took off down the staircase. Normally, she’d make a beeline for the library—not that she knew what she’d even do there, it was just usually a first good step—but she knew it wouldn’t be open for many hours.

She almost just wanted to sit outside the portrait and wait for another Gryffindor to come back and let her in, but something about the castle around her didn’t sit right with her. Her instincts were confirmed as she traveled further throughout the castle—had that knight’s armor always been there? …That statue should be on the fourth floor, not the sixth… There should be an array of portraits right here, but the wall is blank…

Properly unnerved, Hermione decided that she should head back to the Room of Requirement. There were couches there in the bathroom, she could rest there until daybreak, grab some breakfast with Ginny, and tell her all about the mysterious time-turner… The castle changes all the time, it was nothing special, surely…

She had just made it to the main corridor of the seventh floor when she heard something.

Really, she was amazed that she hadn’t been caught yet, so when she turned to look at the noise, she was almost certain that she would be met with a Professor, waves of relief immediately filling her—certainly, seeing McGonagall or Flitwick would calm her nerves—

But there was no one there. But she was certain that she had heard a noise, a noise that sounded very much like someone speaking very quietly.

“… Hello?” asked Hermione tentatively, looking around. Her wand only partially lit the dark corridor, but with what she could see, she didn’t see anyone there—until a familiar piece of parchment on the corridor floor caught her eye.

It was the Marauder’s Map. From a distance, Hermione could see it was blank, but she was certain that it was it, judging by the way it was folded up. Frankly, Hermione wasn’t quite sure if this was good news or not—as far as she was concerned, the map still should be in Harry’s possession.

Maybe that means Harry is here? thought Hermione to herself, walking forward to pick it up. He would absolutely zero reason to be here, but in a castle that was growing to be more unfamiliar by the second, Hermione was grasping for any hint of familiarity.

Again, Hermione could have sworn she heard whispers. But when she turned her head in the direction of the sound, nothing.

Hermione really wasn’t sure on why the map was just lying there on the ground, but it was extremely fortunate that Hermione had come across it—otherwise, someone else would have surely picked it up and tossed it, believing it to be just an old sheet of parchment paper.

Except it wasn’t an old sheet of parchment paper, Hermione realized. No, the parchment smelled of new books, and each of the folds seemed quite crisp. Either this isn’t the map, thought Hermione, or this is… a newer version?

Hermione immediately erased the latter idea from her head—there was no way Harry had the time or resources to recreate the map, and why would he, anyways? But at that point Hermione figured there was really only one way to find out.

She took out her wand, pointed it at the map, and whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Immediately, the ink drawings appeared on the parchment. Hermione pursed her lips in confusion, slowly opening the map and searching for her location on the map.

The moment she found her own name, her breath caught in her throat.

Just mere paces behind her were two pairs of footprints slowly approaching her, labeled with their own names. Names that made about zero sense to Hermione even after reading them over and over, names that simply did not process in her head.

Hermione spun around in shock, her hand clamping over her mouth as she expected to be faced by the owners of the footprints. However, there was no one there at all. Hermione glanced down at the map again—they had stopped, but they should have been there directly in front of her—

No, Hermione immediately thought, No.

But, nonetheless, she did the only thing in that moment that made sense.

She reached forward blindly, and as soon as her fingers felt fabric, she closed her fist around it and pulled.

As she pulled off the invisibility cloak, she saw Harry—but no, it wasn’t Harry, because his eyes, his eyes were hazel, and the boy next to her looked all too familiar—they were looking at her in absolute bewilderment, frozen just as she was before she glanced down at the map just one more time, just in case the map had malfunctioned before, but no—

James Potter; Sirius Black.

“No,” whispered Hermione, looking back up at them, “No, that’s not right, this isn’t—”

“What, the bloody hell y’mean, no?” asked Harry in complete bafflement—no, not Harry, but with a voice quite similar to Harry’s, but a bit deeper, just a bit— “I reckon that we should be the ones confused.”

“Who even are you?” said the boy next to him, his voice and face shockingly familiar— “And how about explaining why you’ve got Gryffindor robes on, we’d be well bloody aware of your existence by now if you were in our house—”

Harry, no, not Harry said something else, and then his friend said another thing, but words weren’t quite processing in her head anymore—the words and sounds all got very quiet, her vision edging with black, and soon enough she felt her knees buckle, map and cloak falling out of her hands before she promptly fainted.

--

Hermione awoke in the hospital wing.

Groaning as she rubbed her eyes, she struggled to remember how she even came to be here. She knew that she had regained consciousness seconds after she hit the corridor floor—in fact, she could even remember some of what was being said as she was carried to the hospital wing (she distinctly remembers someone saying, “And now she’s gone and fainted! Honestly, the nerve of complete weirdos”). But even then, she could still feel herself slipping in and out of consciousness—from shock, surely, or perhaps an after-effect of her previous incident—

Hermione suddenly remembered just who must have helped carry her.

Her eyes shot open, and she quickly sat up in the hospital bed, only to let out a small yelp at the sight of a familiar face sitting to the left of her bed.

It was Dumbledore, certainly—his beard was a bit shorter, yes, and his usual half-moon spectacles were oval-shaped, but he otherwise looked mostly the same. His expression wasn’t exactly a kind one—he was likely very suspicious of how a complete stranger made it into the castle without his knowing—but it didn’t matter, because he was there in front of her—

“P-Professor Dumbledore,” stammered Hermione, her eyes widening. In that moment in time she had no idea what to say, or even how to formulate words, really, but seeing her old headmaster well and alive—well, she wasn’t quite sure how to process it. How to even begin processing it.

So, decidedly, she chose to simply not process anything at all. Even with fuzzy, disoriented, and surface-level thoughts, Hermione understood she wouldn't be able to continue onwards unless she packed this all up and away for later, the shock of it all. She'd deal with it later, yes, she'd deal with it all later…

“Well,” said Dumbledore, the usual twinkle slowly returning to his eyes, “That is certainly most interesting…”

Hermione blinked in confusion, before immediately realizing—Legilimency. Of course.

“Now that I have ensured that you are not, as Mr. Black put it, a ‘slithering spy for the Death-Eaters,’” said Dumbledore as he began to stood, “I believe we can carry on this conversation in a more secure location… Given you feel able, of course.”

From beyond the curtains blocking the view of Hermione’s bed from the outside, Hermione could see a younger Madam Pomfrey speak very sternly to someone just outside the door.

“We’ve just got to ask her some questions,” Hermione heard Sirius—she felt herself feel faint at the realization of who was speaking alone— “Really, Madam Pomfrey, I’m sure Professor Dumbledore would love to hear exactly what happened—"

Hermione bit down on her lip before nodding in agreement.

Speaking didn’t come to her any easier when they finally arrived to Dumbledore’s office. Hermione walked alongside one of her mentors who she had known to be dead for years now, almost in a trance. 

“Now then,” Dumbledore began as he was sat at his desk in his office, Hermione sat across from him. As far as Hermione was concerned, Dumbledore’s office hadn’t changed much from what she remembered. She felt a sense of familiarity, one that she wasn’t sure if she should like or not.

“I was wondering if you would like to explain yourself, Miss…”

“Granger, sir. Hermione Granger,” she replied weakly. Never did she imagine herself reintroducing herself to Professor Dumbledore, for more than a couple of reasons. “I… I suppose, I should start with the fact that I’m from the year 1998.”

Hermione paused to watch Dumbledore’s expression. He remained smiling, faintly, unfazed. Hermione figured that he had already learned that fact for himself.

“Please continue, Miss Granger.”

And then, it all just fell out—that she was a student from the future and she would still be there if she hadn’t sneaked out past curfew. She kept talking and talking until it got to a point where Hermione felt she was almost talking over herself. As she recounted her journey to the current year of—well, she wasn’t quite sure which exact year, but sometime the late 70s, for sure—it all finally seemed to settle in slowly. And for the first time since she arrived, well, here, Hermione felt herself feeling more and more trapped, the stone in the pit of her stomach growing heavier and heavier with every word.

Dumbledore watched her carefully, looking puzzled in some moments, amused in others. After about maybe ten minutes of talking, Hermione abruptly stopped, for she had arrived to the present moment in time of her explanation. But she wasn’t done, no, far from it.

The War. Voldemort. My friends, Ron, Harry—the Chosen One. Dumbledore’s own death. Sirius, James, Remus and Peter and Lily and—but no, you aren’t supposed to change much more than your class schedule with a time schedule, much less the course of time, much less something that involves so many things beyond me, beyond this, probably beyond this world—

“Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore softly, causing Hermione to snap back to attention, having unintentionally slumped forward in her seat. “That is all… quite extraordinary. In all of my years of living, I have come across many mysterious things… Terrible things, great things… I have seen many instances of incredible power and magic up close, and been subject to dozens more. But I have never heard of something as remarkable, and perhaps, unfortunate as what you have just told me.”

“Unfortunate…” repeated Hermione, the weight at the pit of her stomach growing heavier by the moment, “Sir, I… I’m afraid that there’s a great deal of information that I have no idea if I should disclose or not.”

“I would certainly imagine so,” agreed Dumbledore sagely, “In the midst of a war, I can only imagine what tales you have to tell.”

Hermione paused to consider this, confused once more as she said slowly, “But… Professor, can’t you… Can’t you see for yourself? Why, why don’t you…” Hermione trailed off, feeling rather gaunt.

“Well, for the same reason why I had you explain your own story, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, a certain look to his blue eyes, “Not only is it relieving to one’s own consciousness to speak for themselves, but I also wasn’t quite sure myself if I should look too closely into that mind of yours… Especially with what I sensed from your past.”

Dumbledore paused, seeing if Hermione would interject with any new information. When she didn’t, he continued speaking.

“In the hospital wing, when I looked into your eyes for the first time, I could easily see that you have been marked by war, Miss Granger… a war unlike ours.”

Hermione sat there numbly, unable to move, but Dumbledore took her silence as confirmation. Subconsciously, her hand moved to her left forearm, tracing over the letters marking her skin beneath her sleeve.

“Meddling in time is extremely dangerous. To be aware of not only my own future, but also, the future of this school, this world—well, that’s information that I feel is most unfortunate that anyone at all has. I can only imagine the sense of responsibility that you feel as if has been placed squarely upon your shoulders, Miss Granger, but I can also assure you that this is information that I won’t likely ask of you, at least not for now, for reasons I’m sure you can guess.

“To be frank, I’m at a complete loss as to how you are here, and unharmed,” continued Dumbledore, “time-turners have not been known to be gracious to their handlers that go too long in the past.”

Hermione merely nodded. For once in her life, she found herself incapable of speaking. For once in her life, words didn’t quite formulate well in her head, much less cohesive thoughts. The only thing she was certain of was the feeling of incredible dread that was slowly overwhelming her entire being, encapsulating every other thought she even attempted to have.

Dumbledore stood up, causing Hermione to once more snap out of her haze and look up.

“I’m struggling to process this information myself, Miss Granger, and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you, experiencing it firsthand. I understand that this conversation would best be followed through with tomorrow, after a good night’s rest,” said Dumbledore kindly, surely aware of her incredible distress, “Luckily, we have extra chambers that would normally be for professors, and you can rest there safely knowing that no one will cross your path.”

For the first time in a couple of hours—or in many years, in a way, Hermione supposed, but she wasn’t about to make that distinction clear in her head—she smiled. “Thank you, professor.”

Before being escorted to her chamber, Dumbledore told her a couple of things: that she best avoid talking to anyone as of now, and that they would discuss her situation as a student tomorrow—Hermione thought it was ridiculous, just popping back in time and resuming school, but she had no where else to go… No family, no friends, no, she was completely alone in a world that was sickeningly familiar, familiar to a point where it mocked her… Going to school in the past seemed absurd, yes, but if she had to spend the rest of her life here…

Hermione thought, for once in her life, she best not overthink things now.

--

Hermione was pleased to find that her room was quite cozy, with fluffy carpeted floors, a fireplace, a bed tucked into the corner, a desk across from it, and a dresser next to that. She even had her own personal bathroom.

Now, thought Hermione, I should just try to sleep. A minuscule matter in the scheme of things, but perhaps this processing business would come easier to her if she were to get get some rest…

Inexplicably, the fuzzy carpet and warm fireplace started to draw closer around her. Had the room suddenly grown much smaller, or was she feeling significantly more suffocated for reasons completely unrelated…? 

Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping at her door, and the room expanded back to its normal size again. Hardly able to imagine Dumbledore rudely knocking at her door right after he had told her to rest, Hermione was immediately wary of who could be at the door.

She remained silent, before the rapping started again.

“I know you’re in there!” came Sirius’ voice. 

Which, of course, immediately caused Hermione’s stomach to plummet once more. Except this time, the knot in her gut remained firmly tied, because this was different, entirely differently—she couldn't quite articulate it in the moment but this was different, far different than speaking with Dumbledore, far more draining, dread-inducing, implicating—

“No, no, no no no,” murmured Hermione quietly to herself as she backed away from the door, sitting on her bed. “Please, please no, Sirius, you have no idea Sirius, please.”

There was another moment of silence in which Hermione had thought that Sirius had figured she wasn’t in there. Before Hermione could even sigh out in relief, however, she heard the lock on her door twist, the doorknob turn, and suddenly the door opened.

Hermione stared up at Sirius standing in her doorway, wide-eyed and frozen on the bed. And Sirius stared back at her, his face pulled into a look of intense concentration, yet simultaneous uncertainty.

This younger of version of Sirius was very similar to the Sirius that Hermione remembered. His grey eyes were just as piercing as she remembered them to be, his jaw just as sharp. But the lines around his mouth and eyes had been erased, his hair that barely grazed his shoulders much glossier and well-kept than of the Sirius that Hermione knew.

Maybe it was because she was sitting down, but Sirius seemed taller, his shoulders broader—or maybe that was just because Sirius was standing up straighter, with his leather jacket accentuating his shoulders, or maybe it was just because he was in shape—

“Excuse me? Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to start explaining?” asked Sirius rather rudely, his eyes narrowing. He kept his wand pointed at Hermione, shutting the door behind him before facing Hermione again.

Hermione gawked at him. “You—You’re the one in my room, how did you even find me—? Oh,” said Hermione, stopping short as she noticed the map sticking out of his pocket.

“Oh, this. Yeah. You know all about this map, yeah?” Sirius pulled it out, holding it in front of her. “You seemed awfully familiar with it, earlier. You mind explaining how you knew how to use this when we have never disclosed that information to anyone else? Or how about you knew about Prong—James’ invisibility cloak?”

Hermione moved her hand slowly towards her pocket to feel for her wand—but no, she had left it in her robes pocket, which was currently draped against the back of her desk chair. It seemed that she would have to do this the diplomatic way.

“Professor Dumbledore advised me to not speak to anyone,” said Hermione firmly, to which Sirius barked out a laugh in response.

“Yeah? Just because you aren’t a Death Eater, doesn’t mean you aren’t something else. You’re at worst a spy, and at best a creep. So how about you just tell me now, and there doesn’t have to be any consequences?” threatened Sirius, his eyes now narrowed to slits.

Hermione pursed her lips as she looked at her best friend’s future godfather.

She had heard from Harry how his father and his friends used to act when they were younger, but it was quite different seeing it actually happen. This demanding, entitled sort of behavior seemed very unlike Hermione’s own version Sirius.

But maybe not, reasoned Hermione in her head, He’s always protecting the ones he cares about. He just wants to protect his friends.

So, Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

“Sirius, if I tell you what you want to hear, will you just leave me alone? For good?” asked Hermione. She could feel the impending onslaught of a migraine already.

“How do you know my name?” asked Sirius angrily, thrusting his wand out further towards her.

There was a pause as Hermione scrambled for an answer before she realized she didn’t have to.

“… It was on the map?” responded Hermione, her voice sounding a lot more confident than she felt. But it worked, as Sirius seemed to feel a bit ridiculous when he contemplated this. He lowered his wand, but only slightly.

“I haven’t even got my wand on me, so I’m not quite sure what that’s all for,” added Hermione, looking at the tip of the wand pointed directly at her face.

Sirius looked around the room, wand still aimed at Hermione, walking towards her desk and opening a couple of drawers before spotting her wand in robes pocket. He hastily snatched it, before lowering his wand arm, slipping both wands into the pocket of his leather jacket with his gaze still locked onto Hermione.

“Fine. Now that I know you have no means of defense,” said Sirius stiffly, “Now, are you going to explain, or not?”

“There’s hardly much to even explain,” responded Hermione, frantically searching in her brain for a reasonable excuse. She had hardly processed what had happened, much less thought up a cohesive backstory. “Honestly, I can’t tell you much about what happened before I ran into you two. I’m still coming around to that myself, and I really haven’t got a clue as to how I got here.”

“Likely. Get on with the important part, about the map and cloak,” urged Sirius. Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly. She certainly never disliked having a conversation with Sirius as much as she did just then.

“Well, I was walking around, aimlessly, and I found a piece of parchment on the ground.” Hermione paused there, and Sirius seemed to pause in his breathing to hear whatever explanation she came up with. “And it told me, on the cover, that..”

Hermione faltered just a second, Sirius’ gaze seeming to intensify.

“It just told me what to say to open the map,” finished Hermione hastily. Really, what other lie could she come up with?

“Fat chance,” replied Sirius quickly, as if he were waiting for an opportunity to jump on Hermione’s alibi, “There’s no way it would just tell you. One, it would never just give out the words, what’s the point in enchanting the damn parchment then? And two, it only gives information to people who are, well—mischievous and fun in nature. You don’t exactly look the sort.”

“Well,” said Hermione, mouth twitching a bit at the last comment, “You don’t really know me, do you? And besides, if you claim that’s not what happened, then how else was I supposed to know what to say? It’s not like it’s just a common phrase.”

Sirius didn’t seem convinced at all, but he also didn’t seem like he had a retort for her. “And the cloak, then?” he pressed.

“I read books,” replied Hermione, which was really the first truth she told Sirius, “I saw on the map that you two were directly in front of me, but I couldn’t see anything. I figured you were invisible somehow, and I guessed you were using a cloak. So I reached for one.”

Sirius remained quiet for a couple more seconds, and Hermione could tell that there wasn’t anything wrong in Hermione’s explanation, or anything that he could debunk. Internally, she exhaled a sigh of relief, congratulating herself on her fast thinking.

“That’s bullshit.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake, thought Hermione.

“That’s bullshit,” repeated Sirius, furrowing his brow at her, “That’s a nice, packaged and convenient answer, isn’t it? You think I’m stupid?”

“Well, leaving something that is clearly so important to you right on the corridor floor isn’t exactly the brightest of moves,” replied Hermione stoutly. This comment only seemed to further infuriate Sirius.

“We dropped it without realizing. We were just about to go back and grab it if you hadn’t come by. We just don’t think it’s a coincidence that a complete stranger who Dumbledore won’t even tell us anything about knows two very private details.”

“Who is we? You and H—James?” asked Hermione. She already knew the answer, yes, but she was curious why only Sirius was here. “Why are you so convinced that I’m some sort of spy?”

“Because we’re in the middle of a bloody war and I’m not taking chances,” snapped Sirius, “Pr—James, he trusts people too easily. He figures that if Dumbledore says you’re alright then you must be. But I don’t buy it.”

“Of course you don’t…” murmured Hermione quietly. She touched a hand up to her temple, which was gently pulsing. Her headache was getting worse, and Sirius’ yelling certainly wasn’t helping…

Sirius Black. Sirius Black was in front of her, alive, vibrant, and maybe not the most intelligent now but certainly determined. Sirius Black, who is dead, Sirius Black, who spends thirteen years in Azkaban, wrongfully charged… He’ll be sentenced in just a few years, now…

The year. Hermione never asked Dumbledore for the year.

“The year,” said Hermione into the silence that had just settled in between them. Sirius was still studying her carefully, arms crossed over his chest. “What—er—what year is it?”

Sirius paused, his face frozen into the same expression of angered suspicion. “What do you mean, what year is it?”

“I mean,” Hermione repeated, “I’m still out of it. What year is it?”

Sirius looked at Hermione, and in the short seconds before Sirius responded, she realized a couple of things. Sirius may be needlessly suspicious, but he wasn’t stupid, he was clever, and there was no way that he would believe that someone who was so out of it to the point where they didn’t know the year would be out of the hospital wing, much less having an intelligible conversation.

But to Hermione’s surprise, Sirius just reached back into his pocket, grabbed Hermione’s wand and tossed it at her. Hermione caught it in surprise, looking at him with somewhat widened eyes.

“1977,” Sirius replied tersely, “I’ll admit it’s useless questioning someone who is still so, ah, discombobulated.” Sirius didn’t look any less suspicious of Hermione than he did two minutes ago, even as he said this. “But I’m not done talking to you.”

“Well, you are tonight.”

Hermione flicked her wand irritably, causing the door to open behind Sirius. He furrowed his brow, looking back at Hermione curiously.

“You’re quite good at nonverbal spells. Familiar with advanced magic, are we?” asked Sirius.

“Just because it hasn’t crossed your mind that someone can be intelligent without an ego and a hero-complex, doesn’t mean it’s not possible,” replied Hermione tersely, and as Sirius flared up again, Hermione kept talking, “Please. I’m talking to Dumbledore again tomorrow. He knows better than you and if I’m really that awful he’ll toss me out without a second thought. Now can you please leave?”

Hermione was not about to use magic against someone who was already ready to jump on her, but she was very tempted to just blast him through the door at this point.

But Sirius, to her surprise and relief, turned to leave—not without sneering a little bit at Hermione. And, of course, he left without shutting the door either. With another flick of her wand, she shut the door, and stared at it for a bit.

She hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed for the entire ordeal.

Getting ready for bed was strange. Even a hot, steamy shower wasn’t able to help calm Hermione’s nerves, and dressed in the sleepwear that was in her dresser, she felt out of place and almost like she was staying at a hotel—familiar, but strangely new.

1977, Hermione thought as she climbed into bed. She stared up at the ceiling for quite a while, thinking it over and over again. 1977.

I’m in the year 1977.

There’s likely no way I can ever go back.

These same thoughts swirled around in Hermione’s head, writing these words into the walls of her mind over and over, until finally, she could feel herself fall asleep. She had nearly forgotten how exhausting time travel was.

Chapter Text

“Oh, just bloody fantastic Padfoot, you’ve gone and lost the map. You’d lose your arse if it wasn’t firmly attached to you.”

“Like you don’t ever misplace anything, I’ve got a rough idea of which appendage of yours you certainly wouldn’t ever lose track of, you wanker—"

“Shut it! I hear someone!”

Sirius seethed silently, remaining still as James threw the invisibility cloak over them, him and James watching as a ghost rounded the corner. The ghost only had one eye, Sirius saw, but he swore that it lingered on him and James under the cloak as he passed.

With the map nearly complete, he and James would often make routes around the castle at night, just in case there was some room or passageway they somehow hadn’t found yet. Remus valued his sleep, so he never came along, and Peter—well, Sirius wasn’t really sure what Peter valued, but maybe it was his general apprehension of anything that didn’t involve a reward of food or monetary value that kept him from ever wanting to tag along.

The ghost passed, and the pair of them got a move on, deciding to keep the cloak on for the time being. Sirius last remembered using the map on the seventh floor, as James had heard from a fourth-year Hufflepuff that he heard about a room that disappears right after the occupant leaves. James had promptly told the fourth-year that he was full of shit, yet they had come to inspect the seventh floor anyways.

“A disappearing room, don’t you think that’s convenient?” asked James quietly, “Bet he just wanted us to go out of our way to look.”

“Well, then it worked, didn’t it?” said Sirius, “And we’ve gone and lost the map in the process, too.”

“I think you mean you,” said James as they reached the main corridor of the seventh floor, “I certainly would—”

In that very moment, Sirius stopped walking, immediately jabbing James in the stomach. He could tell James was about to protest, but luckily he stopped himself when he saw what Sirius saw—a student brandishing their wand that was barely illuminating the corridor not ten meters in front of them, just entering the seventh-floor main corridor.

“How’d they get here without us seeing?” whispered James, “What if they see the map?”

“They must have come up from the opposite staircase, you twit, and I’m sure I cleared the map, they’ll just think it’s parchment—”

In that very moment, Sirius shut his mouth, for the person in question turned to look right at them. Sirius could now see that the person in question was a girl—no one he recognized from this distance—a girl who was staring very hard at where he and James stood.

The girl then looked around, looking very confused and lost.

“… Hello?” she called out, hesitance clear in her voice. He and James remained silent.

Sirius saw it just as the girl did—the map, just lying on the floor close to the opposite wall of the corridor. And to Sirius’ astonishment and great panic, she began to walk towards it.

He and James collectively held their breaths as she approached it. And, as their shit luck would have it, she bent down to pick it up.

“Why is she picking it up? It’s just blank parchment to her!” hissed James under his breath.

“Shut it!” shushed Sirius, but this exchange alone caused the girl to look in their direction again. Again, they remained quiet.

What happened next caused both of their jaws to simultaneously drop.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she whispered, with her wand pointed at the map.

He and James stood there in shock for a couple of seconds, hardly able to process what they had just seen and heard.

“…What?!” whispered James, “How?”

Sirius didn’t respond. Instead, while nudging James, he began to walk forward towards her. James followed wordlessly, seeming to understand—they’d see who it was; perhaps she had overheard them at one point, or perhaps, had even been following them around that night—

But as they neared her, they were able to see that even with her backed turned they had no idea who she was, for she was wearing Gryffindor robes.

Before either of them could even take in this information, the girl suddenly turned in their direction with her hand slapped over her mouth, startling both of them and stopping them in their step.

And before either he or James could do anything at all, the girl checked the map that she should not have been able to read, and shockingly, reached forward. But she wasn’t reaching forward blindly, no, she was reaching with a purpose, like she knew something would be there.

She clutched the fabric of the cloak in her fist and shakily pulled the cloak off.

The girl stared at them. And they stared at her back. She stared at them with an expression of complete and utter shock, as if she were looking at something horrific, like walking corpses.

“No,” the girl whispered, her voice sounding very small and weak, “No, that’s not right, this isn’t—"

“What, the bloody hell y’mean, no?” asked James incredulously, “I reckon that we should be the ones confused.”

“Who even are you?” asked Sirius, watching her wide, startled eyes snap to look at Sirius, “And how about explaining why you’ve got Gryffindor robes on, we’d be well bloody aware of your existence by now if you were in our house—”

The girl then—very rudely, as it interrupted Sirius’ talking—fainted on the spot, falling to the ground.

He and James just stared at her crumpled body for a couple seconds, hardly believing what all had just happened.

“… And now she’s gone and fainted!” exclaimed James, reaching down to grab his invisibility cloak. “Honestly, the nerve of complete weirdos.”

But Sirius wasn’t really listening. He knelt down to closer inspect the mystery girl, brow furrowed. He saw her eyes barely open before closing again, the girl letting out a quiet groan.

“How… How did she know all of that? Who even is this girl? Why is she wearing Gryffindor robes?” Sirius asked all at once, crafting theories in his head. Obviously, she wasn’t a student, as he knew every Gryffindor girl in the sixth and seventh year (some too well). This girl was clearly their age, and not to mention she knew how to use the map.

“Well, don’t just stare at her. We’ll just drop her off at the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey get Professor Dumbledore,” said James, sounding less concerned than Sirius thought he ought to be feeling.

“Prongs! She knew how to use the map!” said Sirius, baffled as he spun around to look up at him from the ground.

“Yeah, I was there for that bit,” said James, irritated, but there was a hint of worry to his voice, “Well… I don’t know. The map must have told her.”

“You know just as well as I do that’s impossible, Prongs. She’s obviously here on some sort of shoddy business—she might have been sent here by Death Eaters! How else could she know about the map and the cloak—she may have been looking for us!”

“Well, if that were true, she likely wouldn’t have fainted at the mere sight of us,” said James, despite the concern in his voice. “Let’s just get her to the hospital wing. We’ll definitely have to get Dumbledore, or a Professor who comes by, if one does.”

Of course, it ended up being Sirius who had to carry the mystery girl on his back. James insisted it was because Sirius was stronger than James—which was true—but Sirius was fairly certain that James was physically repelled by any girl who wasn’t Lily Evans.

“Y’know, you’d think there’d be such thing as being too pretty to be a Death Eater,” muttered Sirius, readjusting the girl on his back by jumping a bit.

James, with the map and cloak tucked under his arm, gave Sirius a sideways glance. “I’m not sure why I’m surprised with you, anymore. You’d snog anything that moves.”

“I don’t fancy her at all,” said Sirius defensively, a bit of a snap to his voice, “I’m just making an observation.”

“And my observation is that you’re a tool.”

Sirius would have snapped something back if they weren’t entering the hospital wing that very moment. Madam Pomfrey looked like she was going to tell them off for being up so late at night and waking her up, but looked immediately alarmed when she saw the girl on Sirius’ back. After they described the interaction, however, Madam Pomfrey suddenly went very white, and shooed Sirius and James out after the girl was placed on a hospital bed.

Sirius couldn’t believe it, even when the hospital wing door was shut in his face.

“She can’t do that! We were the ones who found her, we have a right to know who she is!” said Sirius angrily.

“I’d like to ask how she knew about my cloak,” agreed James, looking around the corridor, “Maybe we can ask Dumbledore to let us in.”

But when Professor Dumbledore came rushing down the hall, he had a very serious look in his eye, one that Sirius hadn’t ever really seen before. Not even that one time when Sirius landed himself, James, Remus, and Peter in Dumbledore’s office for flooding the entire second floor by exploding a couple of toilets.

“Professor!” called Sirius nonetheless as soon as Dumbledore was within earshot, “The girl! She knew about—"

“She’s wearing Gryffindor robes,” said James hurriedly, giving Sirius a look for nearly blabbering about the cloak.

“We’ve never seen her before,” continued Sirius, “She’s probably trying to get intel, like some sort of slithering spy for the Death Eaters—”

“Boys,” said Dumbledore firmly as he came to a stop before them, hand on the doorknob to the hospital wing, “I will take care of this. I thank you for bringing her here, but from this point onwards, this matter will be strictly in my hands. I assure you, I’ll disclose to you two any information I deem relevant.”

Sirius wanted to protest, but that would require telling Dumbledore about two things he wanted to keep very secret, so he nodded. Dumbledore went inside, and James seemed to be satisfied with this answer, confident that Dumbledore would sort it out.

“But he won’t know what information will be relevant to us, because he doesn’t know that she knows very specific details about us!” protested Sirius.

“And it’ll stay that way,” replied James, “We didn’t even get reprimanded for being out past curfew. We can just ask him about her tomorrow.”

But Sirius still wasn’t satisfied with this. It was only after one final attempt to get past Madam Pomfrey (she nearly shut the door on Sirius’ fingers) did he finally retreat back up to the Gryffindor common room with James.

James fell asleep quickly after they returned to their dormitories, but Sirius remained awake, staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. He just couldn’t get the incident out of his head—he had such a strong feeling about this girl, that she was something different, that she was hiding something.

Over and over again, he replayed the moments in his head where she looked at them as if she were seeing ghosts—why had she reacted like that? Why was she so shocked to see them, when clearly, she knew that there were people under the cloak?

Sirius sat up suddenly in his bed, just remembering what the girl had said to them just as she passed out.

“Prongs,” he hissed, quickly getting out of bed and rushing towards James’s, shaking his shoulder. James snorted loudly, and Sirius cursed, looking around to make sure no one else was awoken by this.

“Whuh?” asked James, his voice thick, “Whuh’s goin’ on?”

“Remember what the girl said? Right before she passed out,” whispered Sirius, “She said ‘that’s not right.’ That has to mean something, that means she knows something. We have to tell Dumbledore, she could actually be dangerous.”

James grumbled, but nonetheless, he reached for his glasses on his bedside table.

They decided to take the cloak and map along, just in case. But they had only made it about halfway to Dumbledore’s office when they actually saw Dumbledore—but he wasn’t coming from the direction of his office, no, he was coming down a corridor that led to a completely different side of the castle.

“Professor!” called Sirius, his walk changing to a moderate jog as he rushed to meet him, “Professor. We forgot to tell you some things about the girl—”

“Yes, I suppose I should have known better than to expect that you two would gladly return to your dormitories,” said Dumbledore lightheartedly as he looked at him and James. “I understand you must feel alarmed, but I guarantee you that our visitor is here without any ill intentions.”

“Well, that’s good news—” began James, to which Sirius hurriedly interrupted him.

“But professor, when she saw us, she said something really strange—well, it was like she knew us, see—"

“Sirius,” said Dumbledore calmly, but at the sound of Dumbledore using his name, Sirius raptly shut his mouth as if he had shouted, “I urge you to please trust me on this. She presents absolutely no danger to anyone in this school. Now, if you boys will excuse me, I’d like to return to my sleep… I always look forward to sleeping in on Saturdays… You two better head off to sleep now, as well.”

And with the exchanges of Good nights (which Sirius said rather begrudgingly), Dumbledore was off.

“See? Just as Dumbledore said, presents no danger,” said James cheerfully, “Sure, she’s weird, but not dangerous.”

“Are you forgetting that she knew how to use the map? And she knew about the cloak, and what she said when she saw us—”

“Well, we can ask her later. I’m sure there has to be a logical explanation for this, she probably just overheard us at some point that night,” said James.

“We would have seen her on the map!” protested Sirius.

“Well, then ask her later. She’s not going anywhere, it sounds like. Worst comes to worst we ask Dumbledore at a time that isn’t three in the morning.”

He and James bickered for a little bit. James seemed to be convinced that there was a “perfectly sensible explanation” for everything, but Sirius found it unlikely that each perfect explanation was conveniently true.

“This isn’t any use,” said Sirius at one point, taking the map out of his pocket, “I’m going to go find her.”

“What? Pads, that is so insanely weird.”

“Yeah, because you know what’s appropriate. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Sirius followed the direction that Dumbledore had come from on the map and looked around for an unfamiliar name. As the castle was enormous, and he didn’t know the name of every staff member, it took him a few minutes to locate the mystery girl.

“Is that her? Rebecca Simone?”

“No, she’s a Slytherin prefect, she’s probably just doing night rounds. Just give it up, Pads, you’re not going to find her when you don’t even know her name—”

“Here! This has to be her, she’s in a Professor’s office,” said Sirius very quickly, “Her—Herminny—whatever, we don’t know a Professor Granger, do we?”

Sirius looked down in the direction of the same corridor Dumbledore had come down.

“I’m not coming, if you go,” said James, “I’m heading back, I’m exhausted.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Sirius, turning and beginning to walk.

“It’s not going to be of any use,” called James as Sirius departed, “I don’t expect you’ll get any information out of her.”

Sirius scoffed in response as he continued to make his way down the castle halls. As if he wouldn’t be able to get answers—all evidence pointed towards his theory.

Sirius arrived back to the dormitories half an hour later, having gotten absolutely no information out of the girl.

James, of course, was fast asleep when he returned, which was lucky, because Sirius was so irritated that he was sure he would have snapped at anyone who looked at him. And he was back where he was nearly an hour ago, staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed, thoughts full of this mystery girl.

Granger. Sirius repeated her last name in his head, as he still had no idea how to pronounce her first name. She has to know something, that Granger.

He thought about their conversation, he thought about how perfect every single one of her answers were. There was absolutely no way—no, not with the way she was acting or with what she had said that that was the truth.

What really made Sirius curious, however, was the fact that she asked about the year. She was sitting there having a sensible conversation, yet didn’t know the year? He really had no idea what she was getting at with that…

Sirius fell asleep thinking about her wide, brown eyes, eyes that he could imagine narrowing so easily as she spit out some nasty Dark curses. He thought about her face when she collapsed to the ground, and he thought about why her existence just felt so incredibly personal.

--

The weekend had passed without incident; Remus and Peter found the story of the mystery girl very interesting, but like James, figured there was nothing to be worried about in terms of danger when Dumbledore gave the a-okay. Shockingly, the most concerned out of them besides Sirius was Peter, who seemed very alarmed at the news.

“Well, if she knows about the map, who’s to say she doesn’t know about other things? Like… Us being Animagi?” asked Peter guardedly at breakfast the following morning.

“Thank you, Wormtail!” exclaimed Sirius, shooting both James and Remus a look, “Thankfully someone here has some common sense!”

“The same common sense that escaped you, then, when you hunted down some poor girl and broke into her room?” mused Remus. Sirius acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

When Sirius saw on Monday that Granger was in their first period Transfiguration class, he nearly had an aneurysm on the spot.

“What?!” Sirius sputtered in the classroom doorway, looking around frantically. Other students that had taken their seats already were looking at the new girl sat in the back, but otherwise remained calm and grounded, which completely baffled Sirius. “What is she doing here?! She bursts into the castle and she’s welcomed as a student?!”

“Get a move on, would’ya?” said James tiredly from behind him, “You’re holding up the lot.”

“Some of us want an education, Pads,” agreed Remus cheekily.

Sirius made a beeline to the back, sitting down at the desk directly next to hers.

“Coincidence seeing you here, isn’t it?” asked Sirius as he leaned closer towards the girl. Just as she had when Sirius first walked into the classroom, she was very pointedly avoiding making any eye contact with Sirius, and with anyone at all, really.

“Hogwarts doesn’t accept transfer students, how’re you gonna explain this—"

Just then, the bell marking the start of class rung, and Professor McGonagall stood and began to write the day’s date on the blackboard. Sirius sat back properly in his seat, but not without giving Granger a nasty look.

“You know, I’m not going to lie. It is a bit weird that she’s here as a student,” said Remus in the desk next to Sirius’s, stretching his neck a bit to look at her.

“See! I’m not mad,” said Sirius very loudly, still looking at Granger.

“Now, now, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”

“Good morning, class,” said Professor McGonagall before Sirius could reply, forcing his attention to the front of the classroom, “Before we begin, I have an announcement to make as Head of House. I’m sure that you have all noticed our new student.”

In unison, everyone in the classroom turned to look at Granger. She gave what looked to be an extremely forced smile, and Sirius was certain she wasn’t even looking at anyone in specific—no, it looked like she was concentrating very hard on the blackboard behind McGonagall.

“Professor Dumbledore has informed me that the Ministry has been accepting new job positions in these troubling times,” began Professor McGonagall, “As such, the families of these brave wizards and witches uprooted their lives in their home countries to come help us. Miss Hermione Granger here is among one of those families, and I hope you can welcome her warmly into Gryffindor house.”

The initial confusion on everyone’s faces seemed to disappear as they all welcomed Granger with small Hellos and Welcome to Hogwartses. Lily Evans, who was sitting in the seat in front of her, even turned around to shake her hand. Granger very visibly winced, but nonetheless reached forward to take her hand, although only maintaining eye contact with her for about half of a second.

Everyone welcomed her except for Sirius, of course.

The entire class went on normally, but Sirius probably heard about four words that Professor McGonagall said, for he was either thinking about Granger or looking at her. He never even imagined that this girl would be a student, so everything she did read as suspicious, from the way she looked around the class to the way she hesitantly took notes. Even the way she sat was suspicious. Whenever Professor McGonagall asked a question, she would move in a way that looked like she wanted to raise her hand, only to force herself still.

“So that’s how you say it, then. Hermione. Weird name,” commented James as they left the classroom.

“You lot don’t believe that, right?” asked Sirius, turning his head back to look for her, but it seemed that Granger stayed behind to speak with McGonagall. “That’s clearly some backstory she made up. She didn’t tell me any of that when I was questioning her.”

“Maybe because she didn’t feel comfortable sharing her personal life with someone who just burst into her room?” suggested Peter, to which Sirius, James, and Remus all looked at him. Peter flushed a subtle pink.

“What? She seems nice,” added Peter quickly, “And Dumbledore said she’s okay, so…”

“She isn’t nice, she has a nice outer appearance to hide that she’s all rotten on the inside,” said Sirius stiffly. “You all are all forgetting the very important fact that she knows personal information.”

“Well, she already told you,” said Remus, looking like he was beginning to get a little tired of Sirius’ behavior, “Invisibility cloaks aren’t unheard of, you know.”

“But the map—”

“We know,” chorused James and Remus.

“I understand, Padfoot, I’m not entirely sold with her explanation either. But we can ask her after she’s settled in, okay?” said Remus, “And no more breaking into her room…”

“Anyways,” said James, changing the subject, “You see that Evans welcomed her? Who knew that all it takes is uprooting your own life and moving across multiple countries for her to touch your hand?”

“You could move fourteen times and she still wouldn’t prod you with a three-foot-long wand,” chided Remus, laughing as James shoved him in response. Sirius didn’t much feel like joking himself. All he could think about was Hermione Granger, and how much of a fat liar she was.

--

It wasn’t stalking, Sirius told himself over the course of the next few days. He just was looking at Granger for about fifty percent of all class periods, and also trying to catch her at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

As if Granger could read minds, she managed to sit as far away as possible from Sirius in every class, and always ate at different times than Sirius as well. He found himself more and more frustrated as the days dragged on.

“Pads, can you at least give it a week? Let her settle in, she’ll probably be keener to talk to us and be honest when she’s more comfortable,” said Remus that Wednesday evening. They were all gathered around the common room fireplace, each sat in a squishy armchair discussing the map, something they did every so often during dinner time—both for privacy and for the best armchairs near the fireplace, as the common room would usually empty out. But they hadn’t been discussing the map much, as Sirius was a little bit fixated on a certain topic.

“We all think this just as weird as you think it is, mate,” added James, “But it’s been five entire days now and every other word that comes out of your mouth is Granger.”

“I just have this feeling,” insisted Sirius. Remus sighed, returning to his copy of Hogwarts, a History, combing through the chapters for more information on the castle.

“Your feeling shouldn’t ever make an innocent girl—however weird her existence may be—feel like she can’t walk around without you breathing down her neck,” said Remus, absentmindedly turning a page.

Sirius was about to make some clever retort before they heard the portrait open. It was Evans, just coming back from dinner.

“Evening, Evans,” greeted James courteously as she entered the Gryffindor common room, portrait swinging shut behind her, “I’m sure you missed me dearly at dinner.”

Rather than retort some passive-aggressive comment that James would interpret as flirting, Evans instead raised her eyebrows as she looked over at Sirius. “None of you were at dinner? That’s unfortunate, you’ve missed the show.”

“Well, that’s unlikely, it’s impossible for anything even remotely relevant to happen when I’m not there,” said James cheekily, but Sirius immediately had a strange feeling that he knew what Evans was getting at.

“What happened at dinner?” asked Remus curiously, placing his book down on his lap.

Evans smirked, looking directly at Sirius, and he knew that he was about to be angry before she even opened her mouth.

“Obviously, everyone already knows about the new girl, Hermione Granger. Well, we were really curious about where’s she from and just her in general. She hasn’t been at meals much, so as soon as we saw her, we asked her to sit with us. She tried getting away—and you know Andrea, always going on about boys—well, she was talking about Sirius—”

“Completely understandable,” commented Sirius, earning a look from Evans for interrupting.

“Anyways, you wouldn’t believe the look on her face when she heard Sirius’ name. And of course, Andrea asked her what was wrong, if that’s the face she makes when she finds someone attractive—”

Evans suddenly stifled what looked like an incredible urge to laugh, or perhaps it was a sudden facial spasm.

“Oh, I can’t keep a straight face anymore—she thinks you’re ugly, Black.”

Immediately, James erupted into laughter, doubling over in his armchair. Remus and Peter soon joined in, although Peter looked apprehensively towards Sirius, who currently had never felt so degraded in his life, and his own mother spat on him once.

“Oh, don’t take it so personally,” said Evans, and even she was laughing, now, “She wasn’t all that keen on speaking to me, either, she wouldn’t look me in the eye. She’s strange, but she’s probably just shy, being so new.”

“She—she really said that Sirius was ugly, in front of everyone?” asked Remus, struggling to keep a smile off of his face, “Just like that, and walked away?”

“Well, not exactly, no. She just made this face, this horrible, almost disgusted face, stammered something about Sirius being the exact opposite of her type—something about liking freckles, too—and just ran off.”

Sirius was seething.

This—this girl who was guilty of something had the actual nerve to call Sirius anything less than Godlike. The other four continued to laugh about the comment for a few minutes, prodding Sirius with various quips and comments, but he chose to ignore them. Because Sirius, unlike the complete bully that was Hermione Granger, was the bigger person.

But Sirius was still thinking about freckles forty minutes later while completing the next day’s homework at one of the common room tables.

“Freckles!” exclaimed Sirius suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer. His three friends around him all jumped in their seats; Peter had accidentally marked his Runes essay with a large blot of ink.

“Oh, come off it, Pads, you can’t seriously still be thinking about this. It’s one girl,” groaned James.

“She looks like the type who’d like a twat with freckles,” continued Sirius angrily, tossing his quill down on the table, “Who does she think she is, anyways? Completely new to this school, coming in and commenting on other people’s looks.”

“Well, Lily did say that it was Andrea asking her,” said Peter carefully, to which Sirius wrinkled his nose.

“Not like she is anything special, anyway,” said Sirius indignantly, and as soon as it left his lips, he knew it was a fat lie. Sure, Granger may not have been a knock-out like the girls Sirius usually preferred, but she was quite pretty, with a small face and these nice, mocha-colored eyes that suited her infuriatingly well.

But her status of a spy makes her just about plummets her attractiveness by fifty percent.

“Average at best,” added Sirius, even when Remus and Peter looked at him strangely.

“… I thought James said when you first saw her you thought she was—"

“And I don’t care if she doesn’t think I’m attractive,” Sirius continued, cutting Peter off, “Why would I care about her opinion anyways, when she’s some sort of spy-creep hybrid?”

“For someone calling someone else a spy and a creep,” said James, a hint of a grin on his lips, “You’re certainly doing a lot of obsessing over—”

“It’s not obsessing,” pressed Sirius strongly, “I just happen to be the only person rightfully wary of a complete stranger popping into this school with private information relating to the same people who will be joining a certain anti-You-Know-Who organization in a year.”

“Oh, stop whispering, who’s going to rat on us here?” said Remus. Peter looked mildly upset at Remus’ verb choice.

“She could be anywhere,” said Sirius, his eyes darting around the common room.

But five minutes later, everyone had returned to their homework, as if Sirius didn’t just make some extremely good and relevant points. Grumbling as he scribbled down some notes on parchment paper, he couldn’t figure out why he was the only one bothered by this entire ordeal.

It’s like she’s here to purely tick me off, thought Sirius to himself, accidentally tearing a hole in his parchment from the force he was putting on his quill. Remus, without even looking up at him, pushed some extra rolls of parchment towards him.

There was a small, tiny voice in the back of Sirius’ head, however, that tried telling him that his fixation on Hermione Granger was beyond his feelings of suspicion—but he quickly shoved those thoughts away.

--

Sirius spent his next day and a half recycling the energy he put into thinking about Hermione Granger into snide remarks every time she was within a twenty-foot radius of him. It had gotten to a point where even James, who used to absolutely adore doing the exact same thing with one particular Slytherin student, thought that Sirius was over-doing it.

Remus, Sirius noticed, was beginning to smile less and less at each of Sirius’ quips. In fact, he felt as though this had created a slight rift between the two of them, but between the company of James and Peter, it wasn’t terribly noticeable. It still wasn’t Sirius’ favorite thing, however, which added an extra element to wanting to get answers from Granger—the faster he was reassured that Granger had something to hide, the sooner he would stop lashing out at her, and the sooner he and Remus would be on normal terms again.

Hermione seemed to either leave class very quickly or linger behind to ask the professor questions at the end of every class, which Sirius knew was done to avoid him. But that Friday, her tactics didn’t work; as the four of them stood outside of Professor Higgs’ classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts, they saw Granger turn the corner and make her way down the hall towards them.

When Granger herself saw them, she looked as if she very much wished she had taken a bit longer to get here, judging by the pause in her step. But she carried on anyways, likely thinking that she’d just brush past them and hurry into class.

But Sirius would allow no such thing.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts next, Granger!” said Sirius snidely as Granger neared, “Not that you’ll be needing it, surely, being already so familiar with the Arts.”

Sirius likely would have continued on his asshat-ery if it weren’t for what happened next, for Granger had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring directly at Peter. When Sirius thought about it, he was pretty sure that this was the first time she even turned her head in his direction, even if it was unwillingly, as it was rather difficult to not look at something directly in your line of sight.

Peter, who straightened up to stand so that he was just as tall as Granger, bravely reached a hand up to wave her a small hello.

Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth, convulsing ever so slightly in a way to suggest that she was about to be sick. Before any of them could even react, however, she turned on her heel and booked it in the direction from where she had just come.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence as Peter put his hand down, dejected, but Sirius wasn’t going to lie; it made him feel quite a large deal better about himself.

“She hates me,” said Peter sadly.

“I'd say that's an appropriate summary of what just happened,” agreed Sirius, which earned him an elbow in the stomach from Remus.

“I wonder where she’s off to,” asked Remus curiously, attempting to change the subject, “Class starts in five minutes.”

“That’s a good question,” said Sirius loudly, “Off to do what? To sharpen up on some Dark Magic before her favorite class?”

“Who are you announcing this to?” asked James, but Sirius had already started walking in the same direction as Granger had run off.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going after her, Padfoot, we have class!” called Remus, but he wasn’t listening. He was sick of being the only one rightfully concerned, and wanted some answers that would prove that he wasn’t insane for this mild preoccupation; besides, she had plenty of time to “settle in”, as Remus had put it the other night.

It wasn’t hard to find her—the halls were mostly empty, as most people were already at their next class, and all Sirius had to do was follow the sound of hurried footsteps. Soon, he had already caught up to her, finding her sat underneath a window bench, taking deep, steadying breaths.

As soon as she saw Sirius coming down the hallway, she immediately tried to stand and run, but Sirius was a step ahead of her.

“Colloshoo!” shouted Sirius, hexing Granger’s shoes right to the ground.

“Oh—what?” she said, irritated, attempting but failing to pick her feet off the ground, “What type of spell even is that?”

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” demanded Sirius as he approached her, holding his wand out at her, “Guilty of a crime?”

Granger pressed her lips together tightly for a second, looking as if she wanted to respond, but was physically unable of doing so.

“I was being generous, leaving your room Friday night, and I’ve been even nicer by not barging in since then,” ranted Sirius, “Yet all you do is run away.”

“Of course I’m going to run away, Sirius, when all you do is attack me,” said Granger, her voice shaky.

“Don’t call me by my first name,” snapped Sirius, “As if you know me.”

A certain look flashed over Granger’s face, a look Sirius couldn’t quite decipher.

“Can you please just leave me alone?” she pleaded, “It’s exhausting trying to avoid you all the time.”

“Then don’t avoid me. Answer my questions—”

“I did answer your questions, now if you would please unstick me so that we can just go to class,” interrupted Granger. Her face twisted into a look of—was that pain? No, Sirius thought, what would she have to be pained over, anyway?

“You know just as well as I do that you’re lying,” he stated, “And I have more questions for you.”

“Do you think you could ask them at a time that isn’t a minute before class?” retaliated Hermione, her voice sounding a bit stronger, now.

“Well, no, because I know damn well that you’re just going to run off if I let you. So now that I’ve gotten your shoes glued to the floor, I think I’ll ask you now.”

Granger looked like a mixture between irritated and exhausted before she suddenly paused.

“My shoes are glued to the floor?” repeated Granger, “I thought you froze solely my feet.”

“What? No—”

In that moment, Sirius knew that he had made a mistake, as at that exact second there was a flash in her eyes that clearly said Oh, I know how to deal with this.

Granger quickly took out her wand, jabbing it down towards her feet and immediately reversing the spell, all within a couple of seconds. But she didn’t get very far—she attempted to run off, but Sirius easily took a couple of long strides and grabbed her by the upper arm.

“Don’t touch me!” yelped Granger, glaring up at Sirius, “What is your problem?”

“Well, my problem is you, I thought I made that perfectly clear,” growled Sirius, pulling her closer. She was light, so it wasn’t that difficult. But when she was this close to Sirius, her face so near his, he suddenly remembered something very specific.

“Freckles,” said Sirius lowly, watching Granger’s face of confused anger change to one drained of all color, “You’d reckon I’d look better with freckles, yeah?”

In hindsight, Sirius realized how badly he had messed up.

Granger’s eyes quickly lit up with such fire, such rage that it gave the impression that she had experienced far more irritating and threatening things in her life than Sirius, because in that moment, she looked at him like he were no more than an indignant ant who got too close to her treacle tart.

“You have absolutely no right to touch me or use my feelings against me, all while simultaneously knowing nothing about me, Sirius Black!” hissed Granger.

Sirius raised his wand, ready to defend himself, but he didn’t have the time to even do that.

With an effortless, non-verbal spell, Sirius was suddenly blasted back twenty feet, landing squarely on his arse. Dazed and disoriented, he wasn’t even able to see Granger run off; he sat up fully twenty seconds later to a completely empty corridor.

The walk back to Professor Higgs’ classroom was a walk of shame.

He was greeted by not only a detention for being so late (a detention that, Sirius later found out, Granger had avoided, as she was “new to the castle”) but also a great deal of snickering and silent laughter from his friends. Maybe it was the complete look of dejection on his face that ratted him out, but when he told them after class what had happened, they burst out into laughter, completely unsurprised.

“Oh, I knew that girl had it in her,” laughed James, wiping a tear from his eye, “I would have loved to see it, Pads. Can you provoke her in front of us, next time?”

Remus and Peter chortled along with him. Normally, Sirius would have been able to laugh at himself along with them, but of course, there was nothing really normal about this interaction. There was certainly nothing normal about Hermione Granger.

Even after that squabble, Sirius stubbornly refused to really change how he felt—he was still every bit as distrustful and cautious of the new seventh-year Gryffindor as he was before. However, even from these small instances of magic she demonstrated, Sirius understood that she was undoubtedly one of the most talented witches he had ever seen. And for precisely this reason, Sirius now knew for absolute certain that it would be a grave, foolish mistake to underestimate her ever again.

Chapter Text

Hermione had gotten exceptionally good at pretending like she wasn’t always on the verge of a manic breakdown. She had also gotten much better at pretending like she didn’t know entirely too much about the people around her (despite nearly getting sick after seeing one particular traitor).

This didn’t mean that it had gotten any less painful, however.

Hermione was currently lying in bed, one week past her first day of class. She had spent the past week in a partial trance—simultaneously shocked at all the uncomfortably familiar faces and unable to take in everything around her. And as she had finished all her homework for that night, she now had nothing else to distract her… She closed her eyes, thinking back to her last discussion with Dumbledore… Reliving it…

“I’ve consulted with some Ministry sources—all without telling them of your tale, of course, I kept this all private—and it’s unfortunate to say, Miss Granger, that I’m afraid that as of now, there is no conceivable way to help you back home.”

Yes, she was expecting what she heard, but hearing it come out of Dumbledore’s mouth had absolutely gutted her.

“However, I spent most of today putting together a bit of a plan for you, in hopes that I would be able to alleviate your great distress… While I understand it may be strange to return to class in these circumstances, I feel that this is the safest route for you…”

Dumbledore had been kind enough to provide Hermione with all school supplies, materials, and robes, which was nice. He also assured her that he would check in on her often, as well as allow her to remain in the Professor’s office… He even promised to tell all of the Hogwarts professors and staff a convincing cover story…

“…I will continue to do further research on this unique matter. Between contacts at the Ministry and my own personal experience with time-turners, I hope to find some information that will be of use to you…”

This much was very considerate of Dumbledore to promise, especially in a time of war, but Hermione knew that if Dumbledore didn’t know right then and there a way to get back, then she was stuck, truly stuck…

Grateful as she was for Dumbledore’s kindness, she wished that it had expanded a bit further to allow her to change houses. But instead, when Hermione had asked (more like pleaded) to be placed into Ravenclaw, Dumbledore suggested that she put the Sorting Hat on—which, to her great frustration, she was not able to convince to place her in Ravenclaw.

“I can see that the Sorting Hat remains firm in his decision… Alas, we must stick to tradition. Although, I understand how ridiculous it seems, listening to a hat.”

In hindsight, Hermione realized that Sirius would have come to find and bother her no matter what house she was in, so she wasn’t as upset at this anymore.

One thing about their conversation bothered Hermione, however: the entire time Dumbledore spoke, he did so with a certain air that gave the impression that he knew more about Hermione’s situation than she. When Hermione had asked if she should skive clear of anyone she knew, Dumbledore had only agreed lightheartedly.

“Oh, yes, that would likely make things less difficult for you. Although… Well, that may not be relevant, as of now…”

Hermione had been too out of it to asked what he meant then, but now as she laid in bed thinking back on the conversation, she wished that she had asked him what he was going to say… For someone who was so concerned about altering her timeline, he certainly didn’t seem too concerned about letting her mix with the very people involved in said timeline.

While she understood the severity of meddling in time… She had information that could change the world. When she first arrived, it was obvious to her that she should try to be as small and meaningless as possible, as to not change anything… But why shouldn’t she? There are people’s lives, people’s loved ones that she could save. Of course, she wasn’t exactly tempted to go up to Dumbledore and start rattling off a timeline of events—it wasn’t an exact science, and trying to change one thing for the better could change about four other things for the worse… But doing nothing made her feel strangely guilty…

Hermione opened her eyes, sighing as brought herself back to the present. As she stared up at the ceiling, she told herself over and over again to just trust Dumbledore. If he thought that her talking too much with Sirius and James and the lot of them was bad, he’d say so; if he thought that she could save the world with what she knew, he’d say so. But it was rather difficult to stay rest assured when she felt like every other thought she had contradicted each other.

With a deep sigh, she sat up, deciding to start getting ready for bed. As she stood, she took a pause to look at the broken time-turner that she had placed on her bedside table. She felt as if the time-turner had its own internal thoughts and agenda, having disrupted Hermione’s life so severely.

“This is all your fault,” Hermione told the time-turner stoutly.

The time-turner did nothing, remaining broken and motionless on the nightstand.

--

Another week passed, and Hermione had wished that after having the privilege of assaulting the main person responsible for her days being so painful that classes would have gotten better. However, this small moment of satisfaction did little to nothing to alleviate her internal, perpetual torment of being in the complete wrong decade—especially when Sirius hardly changed his own behavior.

Halloween was drawing near, too; it was usually a time that Hermione looked forward to, due to the weekend before consisting of a trip to Hogsmeade, finishing with a feast on the evening of Halloween. In the turn of events, however, Hermione had absolutely no desire to be around a bunch of people she wasn’t supposed to know—even though it would be nice to buy some clothes from Hogsmeade that weren’t school robes and pajamas.

It seemed that nothing was how it used to be. In just two weeks, her entire life had changed, forever. Her previous heartache with Ron felt so far away, now… Where she was right now, he hadn’t even been born yet.

Oh, that’s far too weird to think about, don’t think about that, Hermione told herself hastily as she walked into Charms with the Ravenclaws that Friday. She already had enough on her mind with Halloween just three days away—she was highly considering skipping the feast.

As usual, she headed towards the desks in the back-left corner—her spot of choice in most classrooms, as she wanted the smallest number of people looking at her as possible. Minutes later, she saw Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter walk in and she mentally prepared herself; Sirius almost always tried to get a seat next to her, just to jeer at her and “keep an eye on her.”

But before Sirius could rush inside, someone else took the seat to her right. It was a Ravenclaw boy, with curly, brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his long, straight nose. He had these kind brown eyes that crinkled up into crescent moons when he turned in his seat to smile at Hermione.

“’Ello,” he greeted, “You’re the new girl, right?”

Hermione returned the smile fairly weakly, but the boy didn’t seem to mind that much.

“It’s pretty widely known that Black’s been trying to have a go at you, so… I figured maybe me sitting here would fix it, since he can’t bother you as easily now. At least, I assumed that he would sit here, to, you know, bother you. So I sat here, if that’s alright, I mean—if you want me to leave, I’ll go find another seat, it’s no bother at all, really.”

This boy said this all very quickly, yet very smartly. He reminded Hermione very much of Colin Creevey, and with the pang in her chest that accompanied remembering his name, she felt a natural liking for this Ravenclaw boy.

“No, it’s alright. Thank you, actually,” assured Hermione. She meant it, too—Sirius was forced to take a seat towards the front of the classroom with the rest of his friends, as the back of the classroom had now filled up.

“Brilliant,” he grinned, sticking out a hand towards her. Hermione took it, and she noticed that he had a very firm grip. “I’m Stephan Diaz.”

“Hermione Granger,” replied Hermione, smiling a tiny bit as she pulled her hand back. She wasn’t going to lie, it was nice being able to speak with someone who didn’t interfere with her future timeline.

Flitwick had them work in pairs that class, practicing charms that they had all learned in their sixth year—but with the challenge of being able to produce them non-verbally. Hermione spent a great deal of her summer sharpening up her non-verbal spells to prepare for the school year, and as such, every exercise she and Stephan encountered—they had decided on being partners, as they were already sat next to each other—was a breeze.

“Wow, that’s incredible!” exclaimed Stephan, as Hermione was able to make their quills dance all around the classroom wordlessly. “Don’t you think you should have been in Ravenclaw?”

“The Sorting Hat did consider it,” said Hermione thoughtfully. The first time, anyways.

“Bravo, Miss Granger!” praised Flitwick from the front of the classroom, clapping delightfully at the quills as they bobbed around him, tickling under his nose.

When Hermione looked to where Sirius was sitting, she saw that Remus and James were currently attempting a Cleaning Charm on their disks, trying to wordlessly rid their desks of any ink marks. From what she could see, they were pretty successful in this task. Peter too was attempting this, but with less success; Hermione could see him muttering under his breath very quietly.

Sirius, however, wasn’t working on any of the Charms, for he was looking directly at Stephan. In fact, it looked as though he was staring very hard at his nose.

“Ah,” said Stephan slowly as he noticed Sirius’ heavy stare, “Well, I’m not sure what use it is for him glaring at me, I hardly even know him, does he expect me to go confront him later?—Thank you—” Hermione had danced their quills back to where they were sitting, and he had taken his out of the air, “—Really, it’s rather uncomfortable. Does he do this to you all the time, then, just glare at you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” grimaced Hermione, placing her own quill back in her bag. She and Stephan had run through all of the Charms written on the board, with about ten minutes left to spare, too. “I’ve gotten better at ignoring him, though.”

They chatted mindlessly about classes for the remainder of the class. There was a part of Hermione that was worried that he’d start asking questions about where she was from, but his status as a Ravenclaw must have extended to emotional intelligence as well; he seemed to sense Hermione’s discomfort when he began speaking about his family, and quickly changed the subject.

“You know, it’s really nice being able to talk to you,” hummed Stephan cheerfully as he began to put his books back into his bag, “I usually don’t get on this well with the others in our year—most of my friends are underclassmen. As you can imagine, my first year here was rather lonely. Reckon it would have been a lot better if someone like you was around.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Stephan,” smiled Hermione, feeling genuinely flattered by this. The first couple of months at Hogwarts had been exceptionally lonely for her, too, up until she made friends with Harry and Ron.

“You know, if you’d like, you could come study with us sometime. I’m sure my other friends wouldn’t mind—Adama and Robert, they’re both sixth years—unless you prefer studying alone, which I completely understand—”

“I’d be happy to,” Hermione interjected, suspecting that Stephan would have gone on for a while if she let him. At her response, his face broke out into an even wider grin.

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Stephan cheerfully, standing as the bell rang to end class, “Sunday at three, then, at the library. We’ll be sat towards the back-left corner, it’s our favorite spot. Well, I’ve got to run, I need to run up to my dormitories to get some extra ink, but I’m expecting you there! Lovely meeting you, Hermione!”

Hermione smiled and waved as he rushed out of the classroom, turning back to Hermione to give her a thumbs up before ducking out of the doorway. As happy as she was that she had finally made a friend, she was hoping that she would be able to walk out with him—now, without the shield of another human person, she was completely vulnerable to Sirius’ inevitable verbal attacks.

Fortunately, Professor Flitwick called Sirius forward to his desk—probably to ask him why he spent so little time that class period doing actual Charms. Hermione took this opportunity to rush out of the classroom, turning her head back to make sure Sirius wasn’t following.

He wasn’t. But what Hermione did see was Remus looking back at her, with this look on his face that Hermione could have only described as apologetic.

As nice as it was to know that her old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wasn’t keen on bullying her, it was still her old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and it left the usual, uncomfortable churn in her stomach nonetheless.

--

Night as dark as velvet had fallen, filling the luscious manor with cold air that bit at the skin. No lanterns were lit, no lights were on. Hermione was alone, surrounded by chilled darkness, lying on the floor of Malfoy Manor’s dining room.

Any attempt to move was futile—she was paralyzed, but whether by fear or by the debilitating cold, she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, she could feel water touch her skin, trickling around her at a steady rate. It was almost as if someone had spilled a bucket of water just feet away from her.

But when the pool of water reached her fingertips, she could feel that the liquid wasn’t water at all. It was much too thick to be water… and as the liquid seeped into her clothes and soaked her hair, she realized that it was much too warm, too…

She suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to look at her left arm. As if being pulled through quicksand, Hermione was able to lift her arm from the floor with great force, bringing it into eyesight.

With sleeve torn at the elbow, she was able to see the dark liquid seeping from wounds, flowing down her arm and creating the pool of liquid that was widening around her. In the moonlight streaming in through the windows, she was able to see the wounds spelled a word, letters that were carved into her skin—

Suddenly, there was a great pounding noise, steady and rhythmic, as if someone’s footsteps were approaching. Hermione opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came… But the footsteps grew closer…

Hermione awake with a start.

Immediately, she started to take deep, gasping breaths, her heart pulsing harshly in her chest. It took her a couple of seconds to realize that the footsteps from her nightmare was actually someone knocking on her door.

Disoriented, Hermione pushed herself up to a sitting position slowly before turning on her bedside lamp.

“… Who is it?” asked Hermione tentatively. Surely, Dumbledore wouldn’t be knocking on her door at eleven at night, especially on a Saturday…

There was a pause from the person outside.

“It’s, er, it’s Remus. Lupin.”

Hermione looked flatly at the door, blinking a couple of times in confusion.

Remus misinterpreted her silence and continued speaking. “We never formally met, so I don’t know if you know me—I’m Sirius’ friend, he had told me where you’re staying… Brown hair, scratches on the face, rather lanky.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, feigning sudden understanding, “Okay. Er…”

Suddenly, Hermione was presented with a choice: either painfully endure whatever Remus had to say while pretending she hadn’t sat in his class, witnessed his death, and interacted with his son… or, awkwardly tell him to leave her alone. Hermione didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t eager to interfere with her timeline at bedtime.

But just as she had opened her mouth to speak, Remus spoke up again.

“It won’t take long. I promise.”

Pursing her lips, Hermione reconsidered—he already knew of her existence, anyways, one small conversation wouldn’t change too much…

“… Alright, then. Just, give me a second…”

She stood to slip on her school robes over her night gown. Her mind was still partially in Malfoy Manor when she went to answer the door.

Remus was standing there very politely with his hands folded behind his back, dressed in his school robes as well. He smiled slightly at Hermione.

“I know it’s late, but, I figured I should come talk to you. Can I, er, can I come in?”

Hermione stood to the side. Remus walked in slowly, taking a look around the room as Hermione shut the door behind him. After offering him the chair at her desk, they were soon both sitting, Remus at her desk, and Hermione at her bed.

“It’s nice that Dumbledore’s let you stay in an empty office,” commented Remus, “Must be nice having your own bathroom.” He paused before adding, “I hope it helps with avoiding a certain someone.”

Oh. That’s why he’s here.

Unsure if she should smile or not, Hermione just sighed before responding. “He’s been kind enough to leave me alone at night, now.”

“Kind.” Remus stretched his lips into what Hermione thought looked like a smile, but it felt too grim to qualify as one. “Sirius is my good friend, but I wouldn’t describe him as kind… That’s actually why I’m here. In case that wasn’t already clear.”

About five seconds of silence followed, with Hermione looking down at the floor. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she decided to wait for him to continue.

“I would just like to formally apologize.” Hermione flicked her gaze upwards, surprised. Remus spoke with true tones of guilt and sincerity in his voice, which reflected in his facial expressions. “Not just for Sirius’ behavior, but also for not really doing much to stop him. I think I feel… In debt to him, for the things he’s done for me, which is what held me back from saying anything. But I didn’t imagine him carrying on with this act for so long.”

Hermione didn’t have to guess what these ‘debts’ were—Remus must have felt that after all the trouble Sirius went through becoming an Animagi for him, he didn’t have a right to tell him how to be a decent person. Of course, she didn’t blame Remus at all; he was in her room, apologizing for nasty comments that never even came from him.

“That… Well, that means a lot to me, Re—” Hermione verbally stumbled as she almost said his name. She wasn’t quite sure why she made this blunder—she used to always refer to him by his surname. “I mean, thank you. You really didn’t have to come here.”

“I figured someone had to do it,” replied Remus with a sad smile, “And it’s alright. You can call me Remus.”

Sheepishly, Hermione smiled. Remus kept speaking. “I’ve been trying to convince him lightly to calm down, but frankly, it’s like speaking to a brick wall. I promise I’ll try harder to contain him.”

“It’s really not your responsibility. But I appreciate it all the same,” said Hermione.

“Still. Just wanted to help. Well…” Remus slowly stood to his feet. “I should probably get going. Sorry for bothering you so late, I had to wait for Sirius to go to bed himself…”

“Oh, it’s no bother, I wasn’t exactly sleeping soundly myself…”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before Hermione opened the door for Remus to leave. But when Remus was halfway through the doorway, he suddenly paused, and then turned to look at Hermione again.

“Just… One final thing,” said Remus, his tone edging with apprehension, “I know I just sat here and apologized on Sirius’ behalf, but… He’s not completely awful.”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Hermione, thinking back to the Sirius she had known back home.

“I just wanted to say that, I think he can change. I mean, even when he thought you were a Death Eater, he still carried you to the hospital wing.”

“He what?” exclaimed Hermione, her eyes widening. Given how Sirius had treated her, she always assumed that it was James who helped her to the hospital wing, or maybe James and Sirius both—but she certainly didn't think only Sirius had carried her.

Remus blinked a couple of times, looking like he very much regretted saying that.

“Oh,” said Remus with a small voice, “I was under the impression that you were aware of that.”

Now that Hermione thought about it, it was obvious—how else would she have gotten to the hospital wing? But the imagery of it just didn’t make sense in her head.

“Well, damn. He’s probably going to send his foot straight up my arse for saying that, he’s already angry enough that he let on how much the freckles thing bothered him… Wow, I should really stop speaking,” added Remus when he watched Hermione’s expression.

Hermione spent a minute or so assuring a now worried Remus that she was fine, everything was fine, a couple more thank yous and goodnights and then he was gone. After he left, Hermione crawled back into bed, but she wasn’t sleepy at all anymore.

The conversation couldn’t have been any more different than hers had went with Sirius two weeks ago—Sirius standing and looking down at she spoke made her feel a lot more unsettled than when Remus sat eye-level across from her.

And now the guilt was beginning to settle in, the same guilt that Hermione always felt when she sat in class like she was normal, like she didn’t hold information that had the impact of a couple nuclear weapons. The guilt was stronger this time, though—a man who’s fate she was completely aware of just spoke with her honestly, and she carried a conversation as if nothing was wrong at all.

Of course, there was the actual content of the conversation itself to think on, too. She had no idea what to think of the fact that Sirius carried her to the hospital wing. Yes, it was the obvious thing to do, but he very easily could have just left her there on the floor and called Dumbledore over. But maybe it was James who suggested the hospital wing, she couldn’t give Sirius all the credit… For all she knew, Sirius kicked her down the stairs on the way there.

As much as she hated having her mind muddled with so many feelings of guilt and confusion, it was still about a thousand times better than thinking about the nightmare she had awoken from, nightmares that she didn’t even want to acknowledge were back.

--

That weekend was the best that Hermione had since arriving. The change was like a breath of fresh air compared to the past two anxiety-ridden weeks. Not because of Remus’ late-night talk—although it was indeed nice of him to do—but because of her new friend, Stephan.

She wasn’t expecting the study session to go as well as it did, for purely one reason: studying, for the first time in her life, was painful. Not because of the material, no; every time she got lost in her work and concentrated deeply on what she was doing, she would always momentarily forget about the terrible predicament she had landed herself in—and of course, whenever she would snap out of her concentration streak, the overwhelming feelings of unfiltered anxiety that she was able to shove aside for a few short hours would come crashing down on her once more.

However, she found that this anxiety was lessened near tenfold when she had people she liked around her. They grounded her, strangely, just by being there.

Adama and Robert turned out to be just as kind and welcoming as as Stephan. A brunette with rosy, flushed cheeks, Hermione discovered that Adama’s surname was Diggory. She was a bit hesitant to speak with her at first, but she figured that as she was (probably) a sibling of Amos Diggory, she wouldn’t likely interfere with Hermione’s timeline too much and quickly warmed up to her. Robert, a burly boy with braids, had the surname of Vance, a name that sounded only vaguely familiar—perhaps someone from the Ministry—so she figured that he was safe to be close with, too.

Hermione never knew what it was like to have friends who would actually study and complete their homework at a time that wasn’t the night before it was due. What was also a nice change was the absence of talking or interruptions—they all completed their homework in complete silence, the only noise being quills to parchment.

“Finished writing that Charms essay, Hermione?” asked Stephan cheerily as they left the library later that evening.

“Really, already?” said Robert in amazement when Hermione had nodded her head yes. “I still have nearly a foot of parchment left.”

“Well, this is only my first draft,” said Hermione fairly, “I usually don’t like mapping out my essays, so I have to run through a few.”

“Don’t let him make you feel bad about the fact that he runs through four mind-maps before he can start,” joked Adama, grinning broadly. “They really hammered that into your brain in Muggle school, eh?”

“It’s an organization method that helps clear my thoughts,” opposed Robert with an air of lighthearted stubbornness, “I’m telling you, Muggles know the human brain better than wizards do—hey, where are you off to, Stephan?”

Adama and Robert were making their way up the large, spiral staircase on the fourth floor, likely leading up the Ravenclaw common room. Stephan, however, remained at Hermione’s side.

“Just walking her to her room. I’ll be back up in a bit,” said Stephan brightly.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” began Hermione, but Adama interrupted, a very serious look on her face.

“Oh, yes he does, Hermione. See, if he doesn’t open the door for everyone in his path, he might get sent straight down to the fiery pits of Hades.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t think you swept the dust off of my seat before I sat at the library. One-way ticket to hell, I reckon you’ve gotten a seat reserved right next to the Devil himself,” added Robert, his face forcibly expressionless.

“Alright, I get it, you two are too smart and not in the good way. Let’s go, Hermione, before these big bullies start on you,” grinned Stephan, unashamed and unabashed.

“You know, you really didn’t have to walk me back. The room where I stay is much further from the Ravenclaw common room than the Gryffindor common room is,” assured Hermione after they said goodbye to Adama and Robert (who both continued to jokingly jab at Stephan until he was out of sight).

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” reassured Stephan, his hands in his robes pockets, “I like the walk. And besides, I told you. I’m not letting your first year here being as lonely as mine was. Especially since it’s also your last year here. Don’t want Hogwarts to leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

Hermione smiled widely at him, probably the most genuine smile she had to offer in weeks. “If that’s the case, then I’m really glad to have met you.”

Upon hearing those words, Stephan beamed widely, his own smile crooked.

Even after Hermione was back in her room, showered and in bed, her excellent mood still was at its peak. Her joyful energy only faltered when Hermione realized that she had no classes with Stephan, the only person in her year she liked, the following day.

She felt like her life at Hogwarts was starting to form two starkly different spheres—one with Sirius and one with people she actually liked, like Stephan. And to think that just a month ago, her biggest issues were nightmares and Ron.

Well, it’s not that they’ve gone away, they’ve just been added to the pile, thought Hermione grimly. She never imagined she’d be reminiscing for what she originally thought was a dark period in her life, but now, she was just thinking, if only she could turn back time to a month ago…

I hate irony, Hermione cursed internally, tossing in turning to find a comfortable position to fall, hopefully, into a dreamless sleep.

--

On Monday morning, the castle seemed a bit livelier; usually filled with tired students whose minds were still on the weekend, everyone was eagerly awaiting that evening’s feast. Hermione, of course, was the exception. She was fully planning on skipping it—there was absolutely no way she could have an appetite while sitting in a room full of people she shouldn’t know as well as she did.

To make the day even worse, she had Double Potions that afternoon. The class itself was okay, it was mostly the people in the class she wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Hermione so far had done an excellent job at avoiding the younger version of Snape—as she sat in the very back during all class periods, she had only ever seen the back of his head (his hair was just as greasy as she remembered it being).

While Hermione did this mostly to avoid all feelings of discomfort and disorientation, she also still had conflicting feelings about Snape—yes, he unmistakably acted like a hero, but she still very vividly remembered him sneering at her teeth when Malfoy had hexed them to be as long as rulers.

When she arrived at the classroom, her usual spot of the bottom-left table was taken, with only a couple tables in the middle free. Luckily, they still weren’t too close to the seats in the front that were occupied by Sirius and the lot of them.

Lily was also sitting in the front, next to the brunette girl that had spoken to her at dinner about Sirius a couple of weeks ago. Hermione wasn’t careful enough about where she was looking and accidentally made eye contact with her. Lily smiled and waved a little, a smile which Hermione responded very unenthusiastically as she sat a couple tables behind her.

Being around Lily might have been the strangest thing of all—Sirius, Remus, and Peter were weirdly familiar, and James too, since he looked so much like Harry. But being around Lily felt like being around a ghost. She was someone Hermione had only ever seen in pictures, and someone that Hermione obviously never expected to ever see. But no matter how strangely Hermione acted around Lily, she was always so sweet and kind to her; it was easy to see why James had fallen so hard for her. Hermione wondered if she and James were dating yet, as from what she observed, they weren’t exactly on the closest terms as of now.

“Hey Granger! Ready to whip up some nasty poisons, eh? Everyone should watch their goblets at the feast tonight,” came Sirius’ voice from the front of the room.

In moments like these, she found it extremely difficult seeing the sweet redhead falling for the best friend of a complete jerk.

Hermione wrinkled her nose ever so slightly, getting out her textbooks and trying her absolute best to ignore the very obnoxious jeers coming from the other side of the room.

“Honestly, the self-control of everyone in this school for not permanently transfiguring a muffler to his face…” muttered Hermione to herself lowly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come across anyone in Gryffindor house who wasn’t falling over themselves for Black and Potter,” came a rather familiar, snide voice besides her.

Hermione snapped her head up to look, blinking in shock.

Oh, of course. Just my luck.

Standing beside her desk was unmistakably Professor Snape—or, just Severus Snape, as he obviously was just a student, now. The many lines surrounding his eyes that had formed over years of glaring had vanished, and his face was a bit less sunken than it had become in his later years.

“Is that seat taken?” Snape pointed to the seat next to her. A quick scan of the classroom told Hermione that every other seat was already occupied.

“No,” she said, because, well, what else was she going to say?

Hermione felt very odd indeed as her old professor took a seat next to her in a class that he would in the future teach.

As the bell rang, marking the beginning of the period, Hermione looked up to see James and Sirius throwing looks back at the pair of them. She took care to notice that Lily, who was sitting at the table diagonal Sirius and James’, also turned her head to look back at them.

“Alright, everybody! Up here, please. Veritaserum, today!” announced Professor Slughorn from behind his desk, “Open your textbooks up to page 86, if you’d please. No lecture today, I do hope you all took good notes last lesson. You have until the end of class to produce the truth serum—and do try to make them well! We’ll be testing them out at the end of class—oh, I’m only joking, Mr. Fletchey, your secrets will remain safe,” added Slughorn reassuringly to a Gryffindor boy who looked rather alarmed at the last bit.

And Slughorn left them to it. She and Snape exchanged very little words, only asking each other to pass the occasional ingredient or tool. Hermione was very grateful for this, for she was certain that if Sirius were to look back and see that they were speaking, that she would be mocked even more aggressively than normal.

She had a feeling that Snape was only being this pleasant to her because she had expressed dislike of Sirius and James, which off-put her a bit—as far as she was concerned, he was still planning to become a Death Eater at this point.

Ironic, then, that Snape’s presence is more enjoyable than Sirius’, thought Hermione grimly as she gave her cauldron three clockwise stirs.

Unsurprisingly, Snape had produced the best Potion at the end of the period, earning high praise from Slughorn. Hermione had noticed that he wasn’t following the book instructions at all, making his own adjustments, but of course she wasn’t going to say anything.

As usual, when the bell rang, Hermione immediately stood to rush out. But in her hurry, she accidentally knocked into the desk, sending Snape’s vial of crushed bicorn horn to the floor.

“I’m—I’m so sorry!” stuttered Hermione, panic immediately settling in. She looked up to see if he were angry, but his face was quite plain as he looked down at the crushed powder and broken glass all over the floor.

“Here—I’ll just—” Hermione waved her wand, and the broken glass vial mended itself. The powder lifted into the air, pouring very neatly into the fixed vial before levitating back onto the table.

“Sorry,” repeated Hermione quickly without looking at Snape, but when she turned to exit, she came face to face with Sirius.

“Leave me alone,” said Hermione tiredly, walking forward anyways. But he just pushed her back, sneering at her. She tried to step to the side and walk around, but he just side-stepped in front of her.

“Reckon you two had a nice good chat, yeah? So tell me, which Dark spells did you two discuss? Got any mutual favorites?” asked Sirius, eyes locked in on Hermione.

“Pads, come on,” said James, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Hermione’s gaze hell to the Head Boy badge on his chest, and she wondered vaguely how much he must have changed between the pantsing incident and now that put him as Head Boy. Based off what she knew, James had been doing exactly what Sirius was doing to Hermione, but to Snape, just a year or two ago…

Sirius ignored James, jeering a little at Snape too.

“You’re awful quiet. Got a crush, then? Glad to have found a girl who shares your passion of the Arts, all while not vomiting around you, must be a package deal for you—”

The immediate, concentrated disgust that Hermione experienced hearing those words was too much for her to be patient any longer.

She plunged her hand into her robe pocket, grabbing her wand and the thrusted it right into Sirius’ face. He stopped speaking, the nasty smirk on his face faltering very subtly.

A side glance at Snape told Hermione told her that he was equally as disgusted by Sirius’ comments; however, he also seemed very intrigued at the scene unfolding in front of him. Remus and Peter were watching as well.

“Alright, alright,” said James loudly as he walked between them, “Let’s just deescalate for a moment—Head Boy barging in—”

“And just what’s this commotion?” came a loud voice. It was Professor Slughorn, having just emerged from the ingredients closet. Only then did Hermione quickly lower her wand.

Slughorn looked very puzzled at the scene, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a problem here, then?”

“No, sir,” Hermione said hurriedly, “Sorry for the disruption.”

And she left, all while looking very hard at the ground.

--

After the events from earlier that day, Hermione really just wanted to submerge herself in the familiar warm waters of her (bath) Room of Requirement.

She had given a lot of thought over how to spend her time as she skipped the feast; as the castle would be practically deserted, Hermione could go anywhere she pleased without running into anyone. Her first initial thought, of course was visiting the Room of Requirement—the only reason why she hadn’t tried relocating the Room of Requirement so far was purely because of paranoia; she didn’t exactly have a good time the last time she paid the Room a visit.

However, she eventually refused this option—not because she was scared to blasted back in time another couple decades, she surely wouldn’t be looping any more time-turners around her neck—but because she figured that she could visit the Room of Requirement at night whenever she pleased, but this was likely the only time she would be able to revisit the Gryffindor common room without being questioned or spoken with.

So, at five minutes to six o’clock, she began to make her way to Gryffindor tower, against the flow of the crowds walking past her down to the Great Hall.

“Mugwump,” said Hermione to the Fat Lady as she approached her portrait. Dumbledore had given her the password to the Gryffindor common room weeks ago, and she prayed it hadn’t changed yet.

“Mugwump indeed, dear. Glad you got it right this time around,” affirmed the Fat Lady, portrait swinging backwards. Hermione breathed out in relief, clambering into the portrait-way.

As expected, the common room was empty; not as expected, however, was the common room’s lack of change. Hermione had predicted that at least some of the décor of the circular common room would have changed more—perhaps the tchotchkes on the fireplace mantle were arranged differently, and she remembered the arrangement of some tables and armchairs being switched, but otherwise, the common room was exactly as she remembered it; warm, welcoming, and very red.

She only had the luxury of soaking in the warmth and familiarity for a few seconds before she heard someone bounding down the boy’s dormitory staircase.

And of course, who else would it be but the very person she prayed that it wouldn’t be?

Sirius came to a stop at the base of the staircase, breathing very heavily—clearly, he was rushing.

“You—you!” sputtered Sirius.

“Me,” agreed Hermione bleakly, “Shouldn’t you be at the feast? And why are you so out of breath?” She was honestly irritated that he was ruining what was supposed to be her alone time.

But instead of returning some nasty comeback, Sirius instead just looked down at his watch in a panic. Hermione wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It’s not like the Great Hall would run out of food.

“I forgot something in my—it’s none of your business!” Sirius began to explain, only to cut himself off before continuing.

“This is a joke, Granger, you land yourself in a place where I can finally question you on the one night where I have somewhere to be?” Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“What are you talking about? You’re already late to the feast, it’s just started—” Hermione’s eyes fell on the window, peering out to the vast mountains and fields that were all darkened by night, no moonlight to shine upon them yet.

Moonlight.

Coming to the realization of that day’s moon cycle, Hermione stopped speaking. She wasn’t the only one struggling with words; Sirius kept opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, clearly trying to decide between cornering Hermione or running to the Shrieking Shack. It was a sight that Hermione likely would have found very amusing, had she seen Sirius do this in her fourth or fifth year.

Admittedly, she sometimes did feel guilty, disliking Sirius so much. She felt like she had no right to dislike someone who is rightfully suspicious, rightfully wary of a complete stranger who knows too much information for comfort. If it were herself, Hermione would likely be trying to get an answer out of herself, too—although, she certainly wouldn’t go as far as harassment.

As Sirius considered to glower at Hermione in internal debate, she felt like she had no right to dislike someone so much when she knew him, she knew he was good on the inside, and she knew his fate… But as guilty as she felt, the current Sirius in front of her made it really difficult to feel any differently about him.

“Listen, Granger,” said Sirius with gritted teeth, “I need to be somewhere—" Sirius turned his head to glance out the window, “—shit, really soon. I could put a Leg-Locker Curse on you, and have you explain yourself to everyone when they return from the feast, or, you could tell me right now how you knew about the map.”

“You know perfectly well that I’ll be able to block whatever curse you throw at me,” replied Hermione, hand firmly on her pocketed wand.

“If you claim to be innocent, then just tell me how you knew about the map! How could it possibly be so hard telling me how you knew if what you say is true and you’re just an ordinary student?!” exclaimed Sirius.

“Because it isn’t just about you, Sirius Black!” yelled Hermione indignantly back at him, and suddenly she was shouting and she wasn’t quite sure why. Part of her just wanted to let out what she had been keeping bottled up the past weeks, feelings that had bubbled inside her from the guilt and frustration beyond her emotional capability. “Because the answer doesn’t just involve me, it involves other people! Namely, it involves Dumbledore, and if you can’t trust him, then I frankly don’t know how to help you!”

Her words all came out very quickly and very forcefully, and halfway through she realized what she was doing and her face quickly bloomed with color. Sirius’ face… Well, Hermione genuinely couldn’t read his expression. Yes, he was still staring at Hermione like she was some threat, but his face changed. His face read as more calculating than suspicious.

Hermione looked out the window. The full moon was sure to rise any moment now, and he’d have to be at the Shrieking Shack in time so that Peter could still the Whomping Willow and let him into the tunnel.

“I thought you needed to be somewhere,” said Hermione irritably, “Just go.”

With a glance down to his watch, and then the window, he seemingly agreed. He finally moved from the base of the staircase, striding quickly across and out the common room, all while giving Hermione that same, computed look. Like he was trying to figure her out.

Soon, silence had fell in the common room again, apart from the crackling of the fireplace.

She didn’t spend too long in the common room after that, finding her experience to be tarnished by the encounter. As she walked throughout the castle on autopilot, she vaguely wondered if Stephan was looking around the Great Hall at that moment, trying to find Hermione. She wondered if Dumbledore, who she hadn’t spoken to in weeks, felt pity for her, or if the celebrations of Halloween were distracting him.

When Hermione stopped walking, she didn’t find herself in front of her room, but instead, staring at a blank wall in the seventh-floor left corridor—staring a spot where a door should be.

It would be so easy, Hermione knew, to just pace back and forth in front of the wall three times and just see what was inside—even if it were the old practice hall from her fifth year, she wouldn’t care—a sense of familiarity, something that she knew and something that knew her, that was all she wanted—

As incredible as the desire was, Hermione felt her feet carrying her away, this time leading her down to her actual room. She so desperately wanted to stop feeling so lost, but somehow, she understood that this wasn’t the right time.

Next time, Hermione told herself as she walked down the empty corridors, thoughts still drifting between the Shrieking Shack, Stephan Diaz, and Sirius Black, Next time I have a bad day, I’ll check. But not today. Next time.

Chapter Text

“Where the bloody hell is this stupid block of goddamn chocolate?!”

Sirius cursed loudly as he tore through his drawers, sending piles of poorly folded sweaters flying to the floor.

A glance out the dormitory window told Sirius that he had maybe fifteen minutes left until the moon would rise. He had gotten Remus a one-pound block of chocolate, as Remus would be missing his last ever Halloween feast due to the full moon and felt rather down about the fact that he wouldn’t be able to help himself to any chocolate pecan tart.

Since Sirius was a fantastic friend, he’d thought it would be a nice gesture—a gesture that was only partially a symbol of reconciliation, as Remus still looked at Sirius rather sourly whenever he spoke poorly of Granger—Sirius had snuck out to Honeydukes the night before and bought him a hunk of his favorite chocolate. He was planning to bring it to the Shrieking Shack and give it to him after the sun had risen, but he had completely forgotten where he had put it away the night before.

“I guess maybe I shouldn’t try to be nice at all if I can’t even find the fucking—finally!” exclaimed Sirius, finding the packaged chocolate shoved in the corner of his sock drawer.

Why the hell would I have put it here? Sirius just shook his head and shoved it into the pocket of his robes—he just had to book it down to the secret passageway.

But of course, as the universe would have it, Sirius came sprinting down the staircase to none other than Granger herself.

“You—you!” spluttered Sirius in furious disbelief.

“Me,” replied Granger tersely, standing next to the portrait opening. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast? And why are you out of breath?”

Sirius would have liked to have replied Shouldn’t you be at the feast? or Bet you thought it was the perfect opportunity to plant some Dark curses in the Common Room while it’s empty or something along those lines but he was mostly just absolutely infuriated that she chose to be alone and in prime position for questioning away from Remus’ judgment on the literal one night he absolutely had to be somewhere.

“I forgot something in my—” Sirius reminded himself that she didn’t deserve any explanation. “It’s none of your business!” He looked down at his watch—three minutes past six, he likely didn’t have much time, now.

“This is a joke, Granger, you land yourself in a place where I can finally question you on the one night where I have somewhere to be?” He ran his hand so furiously through his hair he may as well had ripped it out.

“What are you talking about? You’re already late to the feast, it’s just started—”

Granger abruptly stopped speaking, but Sirius wasn’t paying attention. His head was too full of theories on why she wasn’t at the feast, why she was suddenly here in the common room when she hadn’t bothered to visit for weeks, and why Sirius’ luck had to be such actual hippogriff shit.

“Listen, Granger,” said Sirius through clenched teeth, “I need to be somewhere—"

Sirius turned his head to glance out the window. After many nights of this exact routine, Sirius knew that the moon was bound to rise soon.

 “—shit, really soon. I could put a Leg-Locker Curse on you, and have you explain yourself to everyone when they return from the feast, or, you could tell me right now how you knew about the map.”

Frankly, Sirius wasn’t sure just how much he meant this. Granger seemed to know this, too.

“You know perfectly well that I’ll be able to block whatever curse you throw at me.”

“If you claim to be innocent, then just tell me how you knew about the map! How could it possibly be so hard telling me how you knew if what you say is true and you’re just an ordinary student?!” retorted Sirius.

He wasn’t expecting her to shout back at him. Well, maybe he should have, because all he had been doing was yelling at her, but she had been pretty level-headed up until then.

“Because it isn’t just about you, Sirius Black!” yelled Granger, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere between them. “Because the answer doesn’t just involve me, it involves other people! Namely, it involves Dumbledore, and if you can’t trust him, then I frankly don’t know how to help you!”

One thing that always bugged Sirius a little was how Granger used his name. When she was first speaking to him, she didn’t hesitate using his first name. As if she were already familiar with him. The first week she was here, she looked at him as if looking at him hurt. It created such a strange, vaguely familiar sensation in Sirius, so strange to the point where he had never brought it up to her or anyone at all—he could bark on forever to his mates about how the evidence pointed to her knowing secret information, but he could never voice this visceral gut feeling that she knew him, that their stories were intertwined. It was like resonating with someone else’s deja-vu. This feeling was partially the reason why Sirius was so insanely convinced that Granger held ill intentions. Because what other reason would she have for knowing what she knew?

And as soon as he heard Granger’s outburst, he knew that her explanation absolutely had everything to do with this feeling. Sirius just had no idea how.

Sirius stared fixedly at Granger, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

“I thought you needed to be somewhere,” said Hermione, cutting off Sirius’ train of thought, “Just go.”

And so he left. As he walked past her to the portrait opening, scents of chamomile and turmeric followed him. It was an aroma Sirius likely would have really been fond of it he wasn’t forced to associate it with Granger.

Even as he made it through the secret passageway and to the entrance of the Whomping Willow in time—all while getting chewed out by James for being late—he was still angrily thinking about chamomile and turmeric for a decent portion of the night.

(Remus enjoyed his gift very much come morning, so Sirius supposed the interaction had been worth it… For reasons unrelated to spices and tea.)

--

Sirius kept his Granger-directed quips to a minimum for the rest of the week—partially to keep Remus’ reproving looks at bay, but also because his mind was fixated on working out what Granger had told him in the common room earlier that Monday. As such, Sirius often spaced out mid-conversation, as was the case when they had left Defense Against the Dark Arts later that Friday. They were just returned their essays on the literature surrounding Dementors at the time of their assignment as prison guards.

“Higgs gave me an A for leaving off three inches off my essay… It was a three-foot-long essay! What difference does three inches really make?” complained Peter.

“Well, it certainly makes walking easier in the morning,” said Sirius passively, not really paying attention. “Bet Granger wrote about five rolls worth of parchment. Probably on first-name basis with half the Dementors outside Azkaban.”

“Padfoot,” said Remus warningly.

“Yeah, I know, but she isn’t here to hear me, so it doesn’t count,” brushed off Sirius. “Prongs, you were sat closest to her. Pick up any valuable intel?”

“Well, I really only sat that close because Evans always tries sitting near her. Wasn’t exactly paying attention to—oh, damn it all…”

In front of them down the hall was the reason why James had stopped speaking—Regulus, with Snape and Avery at his side, was currently walking straight towards Sirius.

“I take it Mum’s sent you, then?” called Sirius down the hall, receiving a sneer in return from his younger brother. “Not sure what other reason there’d be for you making eye contact with me.”

“As a matter of fact, she has, in a way,” replied Regulus snidely as he and his slimy goons came to a stop before Sirius and his own friends.

“You lot can head to lunch first. I think it’s about time for a little family reunion,” said Sirius lowly to his friends. Regulus just sneered even more aggressively at him.

“It’s not a family reunion, you blubbering toad, if there’s only two of us and you’re disowned—hey, geroff!” exclaimed Regulus, for Sirius had just grabbed him by the front of his robes and was now currently pulling him away from their own circles of friends and to a more private location.

“What is it, then?” snapped Sirius as they rounded the corner of the corridor, letting go of his robes and pushing him towards the corridor wall. Regulus stumbled, struggling to adjust his robes. “Has dear old Mum asked you to deliver some curses she couldn’t deliver to me by mail?”

“Actually, it’s about your girlfriend.” Regulus’ lips curled up into a smirk. “Ol’ Phineas has heard a thing or two from Dumbledore’s office. Unless you’ve forgotten that his portrait—”

“I’m not daft, I know his portrait still hangs in Dumbledore’s office,” snapped Sirius, “And I don’t have a girlfriend, you little hook-nosed creep, so you can piss off now with whatever irrelevant information—”

“Yeah?” interjected Regulus tauntingly, “Then I guess what Phineas has told Mum about a certain Hermione Granger is irrelevant information, then?”

Sirius blinked in surprise. Evidently, Sirius did a poor job of hiding his curiosity, because Regulus’ nasty grin widened.

“So you are interested, then,” jeered Regulus, “Mum’s going to lose it when I confirm to her that you’re dating a Mudblood—”

“You say that nasty word again and I jinx your mouth shut,” snarled Sirius, “And she’s not my girlfriend—and she’s not even Muggle-born! Her family supposedly works in the Ministry, at least one of her parents is Magical.”

“Are you going to keep talking about things you don’t know about, or do you want to hear what Phineas claims Dumbledore said about the Muggle-born?” asked Regulus plainly, “I’m doing you a favor, you know. Mum wouldn’t like it if I let you in on this.”

Infuriated, Sirius shut his mouth. As much as he hated his own family, his desire for answers about Granger was stronger—especially after Granger mentioned Dumbledore on Halloween; Sirius was now fairly certain that Dumbledore knew something about Granger’s secret. Regulus smirked again.

“Thought so. Well, whenever Dumbledore has a private conversation he usually casts curtains around all the portraits so they can’t hear,” began Regulus.

“Then that means Phineas didn’t hear Dumbledore talking to Granger, then,” said Sirius impatiently.

“Yes, but what Phineas did hear was Dumbledore speaking out loud to himself after Granger had left his office,” added Regulus, “Before Phineas got all shocked and opened his fat mouth, the stupid git could’ve stayed quiet and heard more—”

“Just tell me what he said!” demanded Sirius impatiently.

“Fine,” snapped Regulus, “Apparently, the weekend before Granger’s first day, Phineas heard Dumbledore writing a letter to send out to all of the Professors—he was using a speech-to-word quill—Phineas didn’t hear a lot, but he heard something like—”

Regulus reached into his robes pocket and pulled out the letter that their mother had written to Regulus. With a closed fist to his mouth, Regulus cleared his throat and spoke with a lowered, wispy voice, clearly trying to imitate Dumbledore, and began to read: “‘Miss Granger’s parents have come to the Ministry of Magic help us during these difficult times, and they have been provided safe and discreet Ministry jobs. I urge you to not speak to anyone—even a member of the Ministry—about Miss Granger’s parents; during their previous jobs they were heavily monitored by various Death Eaters, and as such, they have asked for complete privacy.’”

“… So then she’s telling the truth, then? Is what you’re telling me?” asked Sirius slowly. An uncomfortable burning feeling had begun to prickle at the pit of his stomach; if he had really been wrong about Granger this entire time… But she still knew about that map, so Sirius would only be partially wrong…

“I’m not there yet,” said Regulus stiffly before returning back to his Dumbledore impression, “‘Rest assured that Miss Granger will need no assistance in classes; she received top grades at Beauxbatons—”

“She went to Beauxbatons? That French school?” asked Sirius in surprise, “I didn’t know she knew French.”

“Well, here’s the good part,” said Regulus, a grin creeping upon his face, “Because after he said that bit, he stopped, and said to his quill, ‘No, Miss Granger doesn’t speak any French, take that bit out.’”

It took about five seconds for Sirius to fully comprehend what Regulus was saying, eyebrows furrowed in utter puzzlement.

“Are you saying—” began Sirius slowly, only for Regulus to say it for him.

“Dumbledore was making up a backstory,” finished Regulus quickly, “Maybe not all of it. But either way, he’s lying to his staff.”

“Well, what did Dumbledore say after that?” asked Sirius, admittedly eager to hear more.

“Nothing. Because Phineas got all nosy and started asking questions, and Dumbledore just cast the curtains.”

For a few seconds, there was silence as Sirius let this information set in: Granger was lying. But Dumbledore was also lying for her… This absolutely had something to do with what Granger told him on Halloween about her refusal to answer Sirius’ questions involving Dumbledore…

A sudden question struck Sirius just then. “Why are you telling me this? You said yourself dear Mum wouldn't want you telling," said Sirius, voicing his thoughts with narrowed eyes. "What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Regulus with a smile that suggested the exact opposite of nothing. “Just thought you’d like to know.”

“If you ever do anything for me out of the good of your heart, I’ll un-runaway from home.”

“As if Mum would even want to take you back.”

“You know what I meant!” snapped Sirius, “Whatever you want in return for you telling me this, you aren’t getting it. Just know that.”

“If you insist,” Regulus said lightly, which about drove Sirius insane. He absolutely hated it when the people around him acted like they knew more than he did, like they were able to hold something above his head. Before Sirius could force his younger brother to tell him what he wanted in return, however, Regulus began to speak again.

“Obviously, Mum has no idea that you’ve been stalking this Granger girl all over the school. She just told me because she actually likes speaking with me and thought I’d find it interesting.”

To this, Sirius just rolled his eyes. He and Regulus both knew that their mother had told Regulus this for only one reason—to have information against Dumbledore. His mother despised Dumbledore and his “ridiculous, filthy Muggle obsession,” and Sirius was certain that she would absolutely love for Regulus to have proof that he isn’t the perfect, all-good wizard that everyone thought he was; she probably only wrote to Regulus for him to share this little scandal with all of his little Death-Eater friends and to use it to recruit more pureblood slimeballs.

“Whatever, Reg,” said Sirius lowly, “I still don’t understand why you’ve told me all this. Or why you think this information makes Granger a Muggle-born.”

“Mother reckons that all of it is false and that she’s just a rich Muggle-born who bought her way into Hogwarts so she could be protected by Dumbledore. I can see her being Muggle-born, it would explain why she suddenly transferred—but I think it’s more than just that.” Regulus paused and looked at Sirius with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

Sirius didn’t reply, but his silence may as well have been an agreement.

All throughout lunch and for the rest of that day, Sirius was preoccupied with what Regulus had told him. He kept cross-checking every fact he knew—they were told that Granger moved here from another country, but now that Sirius thought about it, how likely could that be? No other school that Sirius was aware of taught their curriculum in English, but Granger was fluent… There was no way that Granger just didn’t go to school prior to arriving at Hogwarts, as she was admittedly an excellent witch… But Dumbledore was covering for her in some way, which likely meant that he knew her secret…

Of course, Sirius still had absolutely no answer to how Granger knew how to use the map. Regulus was clearly under the impression that he had given Sirius answers about Granger… but, as seemed to be the theme, all this new information did was make Sirius even more confused.

--

Sirius didn’t necessarily dislike Stephan Diaz, he just kind of wanted to punch his stupid freckled nose so far down his own throat that he could smell his own heart.

When he had walked into Arithmancy that next Tuesday with Remus and James (Peter didn’t take Arithmancy), he had expected Hermione to be sulked down in her seat as always and avoiding eye contact with absolutely everyone. To his shock, however, she was actually having what looked to be a pleasant conversation with a Ravenclaw boy with curly brown hair. Sirius recognized this as the same Ravenclaw who had struck up a conversation with Hermione the week before—Sirius had spent a large portion of the class staring him down, unsure on why someone supposedly so smart would be communicating with someone who reeked of lies.

“Didn’t know Granger could socialize,” commented Sirius, nose wrinkled. He reminded himself to start getting to class earlier—recently, he was never able to get a seat near Granger.

“Hmm?” asked Remus absentmindedly as he took a seat next to Sirius in the front, turning to look. “Oh. Yeah, looks like she’s made friends with Diaz, I’ve seen them in the library a couple times.”

“Friends?” Sirius had felt certain last week that Hermione was only speaking with Diaz because she fancied him—she liked freckles, after all, and it looked like some sort of freckle monster had thrown up on his nose. For some reason, he didn’t think that they would actually continue to socialize.

“Yes, Padfoot, friends. Need a dictionary definition?” asked James.

At that moment, the bell rung, and Professor Padmore started class. That entire class, Sirius paid no attention to the numbers scrawled over the blackboard—he didn’t even really think about the mysteries and questions surrounding Granger. No, he was much more focused on this Diaz. Was he already on good terms with Granger? Was she telling him information about her past, information that she outright refused Sirius?

The idea of Sirius’ last thought being true created this tight, burning feeling in his chest, a feeling he didn’t often experience. In fact, he only remembered feeling like this a few times, one of those times being when he watched James unwrap his Christmas gift from his mother in the second year, a brand-new Silver Arrow broom… It wasn’t the broom itself that had caused that feeling, of course not… No, it was the long, handwritten note attached to the broom that had done it…

This distaste for Diaz carried on through lunch, as well. Sirius made sure to sit in a location where he had a direct line of sight to the Ravenclaw table, to Diaz and his stupid friends, friends that Sirius was certain were all underclassmen. Sirius took joy in the fact that the reason why he hardly knew about Diaz’ existence was because he was such a nobody to everybody in their own year.

“You think it’s a coincidence that Granger’s only ‘friend’ has about four million freckles on his face?” asked Sirius out loud. Diaz had noticed him staring, now. The curly-haired brunet stared back at Sirius for a few seconds—he looked alarmed and lost, as if he couldn’t think of a single reason for why someone was looking at him like he was human rubbish.

Sirius maintained full eye-contact, all while continuing to shovel mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“Stop being weird,” said Remus, “Why are you so interested in Diaz all of a sudden, anyway?”

“Because—” began Sirius, only for James to jump in himself.

“Because he fancies Granger, and his stalkery behavior is actually just a projection—”

A swift elbow jab to the stomach was enough to get James to shut up, causing him to start coughing up his broccoli.

He did this all while still staring at Diaz, of course, who was looking away and back at Sirius every five seconds to see if Sirius really was still staring at him. Diaz was now watching James choke over his broccoli.

In response, Sirius just glared at him as if to say, this could be you, and this is a threat.

“Padfoot, honestly,” said Remus across from Sirius, handing James a napkin, “Don’t you think it’s enough you spend so much energy hounding some poor girl? Surely you don’t have to bring someone else into it.”

“I bet she’s told him things about her past,” said Sirius, ignoring Remus, “Maybe that’s how I should have done it, then… Pretended to be friends with her and then betrayed her as soon as I had the information I needed.”

“You think that would have worked?” asked Peter curiously, looking up from his plate of roast beef.

“No, Wormtail,” sighed Remus, “Don’t tell me you’re going to ask her about Diaz during Runes.”

“That,” said Sirius lightly, finally tearing his gaze away from Diaz to point his fork at Remus, “is a fantastic idea, thank you Moony I will be doing just that.”

“Mhm. Please, ask her personal questions. Be as annoying as you can possibly be,” requested James, “I think I could die happy if Granger hexed you in the middle of class.”

Remus tried to put a halt to Sirius’ little scheme, but as he had dropped Runes the previous year, he was unable to supervise. But Remus need not have worried—Sirius wasn’t going to ask Granger about Diaz, because he didn’t care about Diaz, not even a little. No, he was going to put Regulus’ information to the test and see if it held up.

After lunch, Sirius quickly made his way to Runes to insure a seat next to Granger. James and Peter followed closely at his heels.

“You think if you ask her if she likes his freckles that she’ll curse your nose off?” asked James as they entered the classroom. As expected, Hermione was already sat in the desk in the very back-left corner, and luckily for Sirius, all the seats around her were free. Almost instantaneously, Sirius could see the panic and disdain in her eyes as she realized that she was just about to endure an entire eighty minutes of unfiltered Sirius.

“Granger,” Sirius greeted sarcastically as he sat next to her. James sat next to Sirius, and Peter in front of James. “How was the lunch that you didn’t eat?”

“I eat lunch,” said Granger stiffly without looking at him, “Just not when you’re there. Do you think you could maybe not speak so much this class period? We have a test next week and I’d like to actually pay attention.”

“And as much as I admire those who need to study in order to be intelligent,” said Sirius sagely, “I think the time would be better spent getting some information that is actually important. Like, for example…”

Sirius turned in his seat so that he was fully facing Granger, leaning forward. She was still refusing to throw even a single glance in his direction. He lowered his voice when he spoke, so that not even James (who was currently preoccupied with trying to get Evans to talk to him, who had just walked in) or Peter could hear him.

“… Let’s start off with you telling me why Dumbledore is lying on your behalf to all the Hogwarts staff that your family is working for the Ministry, shall we?”

That got Granger to look at him.

She first froze, her eyes widening for just a second before she forced a neutral expression. Then, she turned her head to look at Sirius—who was currently leaning so close to her that they were just inches away—before looking down at her desk again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Sirius sat up in his seat again, for the bell had run, but managed to get out the last few words before the class started, “Follow me after class, we’ll head to third floor right corridor broom closet for a nice chat. Or I’ll stand on my desk and shout out your little secret.”

To Sirius’ immense satisfaction, Granger only pursed her lips, which Sirius took to be a gesture of understanding agreement.

As soon as the bell rang for the end of the period, Sirius stood. He grinned as Granger did this same, looking extremely disgruntled about the situation.

“What are—”

“I’ll see you two later,” said Sirius, interrupting James and earning a quizzical look from Peter. Briskly, he walked out of the room, looking back to see if Granger was following. She was, but with that same sour look on her face.

Sirius didn’t slow down or exchange a single word with Granger until they had made it to the third-floor broom closet.

“Nice and private,” said Sirius as he shut the closet door behind them.

“Unless Filch barges in,” grumbled Granger, “Lumos.”

The light from her wand lit up the closet, casting a rather ominous shadow over their faces. She set her wand on top of a bucket, crossing her arms as she looked up at Sirius. Now that they were in a small area of space, her scent of chamomile and turmeric was infusing through the air. It was almost intoxicating, really, but not in a necessarily bad way—

“What?” asked Hermione.

“Uh,” said Sirius, redirecting his mind back on path, “Well, you tell me. I heard down the pumpkin vine that Dumbledore’s lying on your behalf. And seeing as you agreed to follow me here, I’m guessing that much is true.”

“You would have stood on your desk and started shouting nonsense if I didn’t agree!” replied Hermione, “I had no choice! I’m just here to tell you that whatever you heard is completely untrue.”

“Yeah? Then what about what you told me on Halloween?” questioned Sirius with raised eyebrows, “How you couldn’t tell me about how you knew about the map because it involves Dumbledore.”

“Well—it doesn’t directly involve Dumbledore,” said Granger hastily, “All I meant was—Dumbledore basically knows how I know about the map, okay? There, I’ve told you, now can you please—”

“You told Dumbledore but not the people who created the damn map?!” exclaimed Sirius very loudly, causing Hermione to jump, “So that confirms it, then, Dumbledore knows about your true backstory, which means everything about moving from another country is a fat lie—”

“I thought I made it perfectly clear that you don’t know anything about me,” said Hermione lowly, “Unless you need another reminder.”

“I do not,” said Sirius stiffly. He still had bruises below his elbow from falling from her curse a couple weeks ago. “So you won’t tell me anything about you. I’ll bet that you’ve told Diaz just about everything, now.”

As soon as Diaz’s name came out of Sirius’ mouth, he regretted it. He really didn’t plan on even bringing him up, but it just sort of came out. He regretted saying this even more when he saw Granger’s expression.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” said Sirius defensively, “I don’t care. It’s just you seem pretty close with Diaz, I was thinking of going after him, seeing as you’ve probably told him loads—”

“Stephan is among one of the two people at this school who I am on good terms with,” said Granger dangerously, “Don’t you even think about bothering him. And for your information, he has half the mind to keep to himself and not go asking questions that other people don’t want to answer.”

Sirius sneered at her usage of his first name. “You two were having a nice chat today. I’m surprised you can maintain eye contact with him, I’d figure you would be too busy staring at his nose.”

After only a couple of seconds of confusion at this response, Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and pink filled her cheeks. “What—what is your problem with this freckles thing?! How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who said it to Andrea Sinistra to begin with!” accused Sirius, “Why’d you even bring up freckles, anyways? Is this some innate obsession, or was this something an ex of yours—”

Sirius had never regretted saying something so immediately.

As soon as the word ex left Sirius’ lips, Granger’s entire composure changed—she became stiff, her hands curling into fists. But more noticeable was her facial expression, for a storm of fury currently raged behind her eyes, her nose scrunching up her face into a look of absolute detest. Remembering how badly Sirius had gotten hurt when she was only half this upset, he quickly took a step backwards, backing up into the mops behind him.

“Never mind,” said Sirius quickly, “Forget I said that. I just want to know—I heard that Dumbledore is covering—”

“You have no right!” shouted Hermione, plowing right through Sirius’ words, “You have absolutely no right to try and guess and—and—make jabs at my past for your own amusement! How can you have such little respect for people and their own personal lives?”

Before Sirius could continue to backtrack, Granger grabbed her wand and reached for the doorknob, clearly planning on leaving. Sirius immediately panicked, not wanting to lose her again just because he had gotten her all ticked off.

Physically trying to hold her back was not an option, as Sirius feared that such an action in her current fury would result in his own death. So instead, he grabbed his own wand and did the first thing that came to mind.

“Expelliarmus!” Hermione’s wand flew out of her hand and clinkered onto the floor. In that time that she reached down to get it, Sirius grabbed onto the doorknob and stood in front of the door.

“I will not hesitate to hurt you,” warned Hermione, wand back in hand.

“I don’t doubt that for even a second,” said Sirius grimly, “Just answer me this and I’ll step aside and won’t do a single thing to stop you.”

“Sirius—”

“Listen,” said Sirius. It was getting increasingly difficult to try and force information out of Granger when he was genuinely a little bit afraid of her. “When I told you in class about Dumbledore covering for you, you weren’t confused. You knew what I was talking about.”

“Yes, I knew then that you were a complete moron.”

“No,” replied Sirius, his voice strained, “I’m not an idiot, Granger. I’ve been trying to get under your skin for weeks and that was one of the first things that made you react that way.”

“I’m not telling you anything—”

“I know you aren’t going to tell me a damn thing!” snapped Sirius, “I realize that now. Just answer me one thing.”

To his surprise, Granger actually didn’t say anything and allowed him to continue. So he did.

“Your knowing about the map. What you told me Halloween. What I just heard about Dumbledore… Is it all connected?” asked Sirius slowly, watching her face for a reaction.

Her face didn’t change; she maintained her angered and mildly disgusted expression. But she also didn’t immediately object, which was as good as a yes for Sirius. When she opened her mouth to speak, Sirius’ heart leapt—would she finally, after all this time, give Sirius some sort of confirmation of his suspicions?

“Get out of the way.”

As she was currently gripping her wand very tightly, Sirius felt it would be wise to indeed get out of the way.

After Granger took off down the corridor, Sirius remained there outside the broom closet for a few minutes, just thinking. It was all so difficult to process—her non-answer to his last question, her relationship with Dumbledore, how she reacted to the word ex…

I definitely should not have said that, thought Sirius. He wasn’t sure why he expected to leave the broom closet with answers—literally every single one of his interactions with Hermione so far had left him completely lost and even more confused than before.

To make matters even more puzzling, Sirius worked best when he could talk things out with the people around him, which he was currently unable to do. He still had yet to tell James, Remus, and Peter about what had happened on Halloween—he figured Remus wouldn’t exactly be approving, and he likely wouldn’t want to hear about today’s event, either.

Sirius decided that he’d definitely tell them that night about everything that had happened with Hermione that past week, despite Remus’ inevitable disapproval. Certainly, Sirius would at least pique his interest with what Regulus had told him.

--

Due to the possibility of nosy neighbors at dinner, Sirius had decided to wait until they were all back in their dormitory before giving them the Granger Update.

“What are you, proposing to us?” asked James when Sirius urged him and Remus up the stairs after dinner. “What's all this rushing and hush-hush about?”

“I just want the dormitory to ourselves so I can give you lot the update on Granger—where’s Wormtail?” asked Sirius, looking behind him, “Was he not following us?”

“Padfoot, don’t tell me you went after her today,” frowned Remus, pushing the door open to their dorm, the three of them entering the room.

“No—I mean, yes, but there’s a lot more to that. Regulus told me some cryptic stuff about her, too, I swear it’s all tied together,” insisted Sirius.

“Yeah, because we all know that your kiss-ass, blood-purist brother is a very credible source,” said James as he flopped down onto his bed. Remus sat on his own to the right of James’.

“Listen, I swear, okay? Just wait… Uh…” he ducked his head out the door, but Peter was nowhere to be seen. Normally, he would just start talking to Remus and James, but he figured that with this much new information it’d be too bothersome to repeat it all to Peter whenever he joined.

“I’m going to go look for Wormtail. I’ll be right back,” said Sirius, hurrying out of the room and back down the boys’ staircase.

Peter wasn’t in the common room, and Sirius wasn’t patient enough to go out into the hallways looking for him, so he just receded back upstairs. But just as he was about to reenter their dorm, he heard his own name drift through the barely open door and paused.

“Padfoot’s behavior hasn’t been bothering you?” came Remus’ voice. Sirius froze, listening closely for James’ response. He wasn’t usually one to eavesdrop, but he knew that Remus has had some thoughts about Sirius that he hasn’t been voicing for a couple weeks…

“Well, he has a right to be suspicious,” said James, and Sirius felt a rush of gratitude for his best mate. At least he was on his side.

“Although…”

Said gratitude punctured a bit hearing this word.

“It’s weird,” said James curiously, “He ran off after Runes today without telling us what he was doing. And Granger was actually following him. I have no idea what he said to her to get her to actually want to speak with him, but I feel like I should take notes… Evans may not sneer at me anymore, but at least then she would at least look at me.”

A light laugh from Remus followed. “Nah, definitely don’t take a page from his book. He probably harassed her into following him.”

Sirius made a slight face, but he couldn’t deny how much he just wish he had Remus’ validation on this matter. He was one of his best mates, it would have been nice for him to agree on just one thing about all of this…

“You know… It’s not as much harassment anymore,” said James slowly, “So that’s good, I think?”

“What do you mean, it’s not harassment?” asked Remus, “All he does is taunt her.”

“Well, yes, but—” James paused here, probably trying to think of the best way to phrase what he was about to say. “It’s different, now. I wasn’t joking at lunch today, you know. Pads just isn’t outright attacking her anymore—oh, I’ll just say it, but don’t tell him this or he’ll murder me—it’s flirting.”

Immediately, Sirius scoffed, almost barking out a laugh from the ridiculousness of it all—flirting? That was just shameful, and James knew it. If Sirius wanted to flirt with Granger, he would certainly have her in his back pocket by now.

James kept speaking. “Yes, he still is aggressively suspicious of her, but half of what he says to Granger is just complete flirting. He’s jealous of Diaz, not necessarily in a petty way, but he’s jealous because he’s on decent terms with her. Sirius knows that he’s too deep in to back out and admit he doesn’t hate her guts.”

“Well, that much I knew,” responded Remus, “From the first night. You said that when he carried her to the hospital wing, he said—”

“‘Too pretty to be a Death Eater’, yeah,” finished James, “But that’s… That’s just him doing his usual observations. That’s nothing special, Pads isn’t exactly a saint.”

“Yeah, I know,” agreed Remus, “But…” He paused for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, he had dropped his voice to be quite low, so low that Sirius had to nearly press his ear to the door to hear, “I went to go visit Hermione about a week ago, at her room. Just to say sorry for everything. I told her that Sirius carried her to the hospital wing, so that she’d know he wasn’t entirely terrible… And I also promised to try and stop him from attacking her… That’s why I’ve been so against him provoking her, I feel like I’m not keeping my word.”

That was enough for Sirius.

At that moment, he pushed open the dormitory door, forcing his expression neutral. Both Remus and James jumped slightly as the door hit the wall.

“Hey Padfoot,” greeted James a little too enthusiastically, “You didn’t find Worm—”

“You went to go see her?” asked Sirius shortly, ignoring James and staring at Remus. Remus took in deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck a little.

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted, “Padfoot, it was getting way too out of hand—”

“You go behind the back of of one of your best mate’s and apologize to a girl who knows entirely too much about something we spent years working on?!” snapped Sirius, “So you’ll excuse her shifty history but not your friend being rightfully worried?”

“I draw the line at harassment, Sirius!” exclaimed Remus exasperatedly. Sirius looked to James in frustration, who looked like he very much did not want to be caught in the middle of this argument.

“Prongs, you’re on my side!” James neither nodded nor shook his head, but Sirius kept speaking anyways. “Tell him he’s got his priorities fucked!”

“Erm…” James looked between Sirius and Remus, who were now both looking at him expectantly. “Mate… You know I’m always on your side. But—”

“But what?” interrupted Sirius, “But what, Prongs?”

James opened his mouth to speak, look again at Remus, and then Sirius, before decidedly shutting his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said lowly. Sirius frankly wasn’t sure if he was saying this to him or Remus, but either way, it pissed him off even more.

“Whatever,” spat Sirius, “I see where you stand, Moony. That’s always been your problem, you know, you prioritize your sympathy for people who don’t deserve it over the people you should be loyal to.”

“Sirius, that’s not—"

“And I don’t like Hermione!” added Sirius, “So you can get that ridiculous idea out of your head, Prongs.” James’ mouth twitched a bit, looking down and away from Sirius’ gaze. But Remus did the opposite, looking up at Sirius with sudden interest.

“What?” snapped Sirius, “You’re going to psychoanalyze me some more?”

A couple of seconds paused before Remus spoke up again.

“… It’s just, you usually insist on calling her Granger…” trailed Remus slowly, “So clearly, you don’t dislike her…”

And with that last bit, Sirius found himself unable to bear being in the same room with Remus any longer.

“Don’t,” growled Sirius, “Don’t act like you know everything about me.”

Before Remus could reply, however, someone had walked into the room. Sirius turned around, ready to bark at whoever it was to come back later, but it was just Peter.

“Sorry, guys, I ran into Professor Higgs in the hallway after dinner, I decided to ask him about my essay—what’s going on here?” said Peter uneasily into the tense atmosphere, looking between the three of them with a concerned gaze. “Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing at all. Hope your talk with Higgs went well,” Sirius said stiffly.

And without looking at any of his friends in the face, he walked right out of the dormitory.

Chapter Text

Over her one month and a week's time at Hogwarts, Hermione had developed a very specific eating routine.

Breakfast was always easy—she’d wake up very early and slip into the Great Hall right when it opened. She was almost always the first student there, and often finished her breakfast before the usual steady flow of students began arriving. Lunch and dinner were harder—for lunch, she would book it out of the classroom right as the bell rung and down to the Great Hall. Hermione would then proceed to inhale the bare minimum amount of food to sustain her until dinner and then race out before most people settled down. The routine for dinner was the same.

The last time she had eaten with such velocity was in her fourth year, when she spent a great deal of her lunches and dinners at the library researching for her house-elf liberation organization, Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. In her opinion, it was rather pathetic that her sacrificing of meal-times was not a routine founded in the name of elf-rights, but rather, a practice she had developed to avoid being around Sirius Black.

If only I could focus on S.P.E.W. right now, thought Hermione remorsefully as she rushed down to the Great Hall. A glance at her watch told her it was three minutes to eight—if she timed her pacing correctly, she’d be able to enter the Great Hall right as it opened for breakfast, and hopefully be able to leave at ten after (lunch and dinner typically took her five minutes, but she usually was able to take her time in the morning, as Sirius and all of them got up a bit later than she).

She had almost considered continuing S.P.E.W. here—not only would starting a club so much earlier create a foundation for elf rights long before Hermione was even first at Hogwarts, but it would also be a great way to distract herself from her current situation—but she was well aware that she had to attract as least attention to herself as possible.  

Because it’s not good enough that I have to pretend like half of the people around me aren’t dead, thought Hermione grimly as she dashed down a moving staircase, I also can’t pursue or practice any of the activities that define me as a person.

To be fair, she wasn’t sure if she would even be able to focus on S.P.E.W. at a time like this—not with Sirius Black and his many comments.

At first, her fast eating habits were not just because of Sirius; actually, she had created these habits because she really could not bear being around people she knew from another life, especially since all of these people were dead.

Dead, thought Hermione easily, they’re dead. It was something that had really sent Hermione into a few quiet fits of shock her first few weeks. But now, even when she looked at Lily, and when she smiled at Hermione, Hermione didn’t feel anything at all. Such was the case for most everyone else—all she felt was numbness.

Sure, after her run in with Lily at dinner the first week—an interaction that had sent Hermione into a mild panic attack on the spot—she made sure to isolate herself as much as possible. But as the weeks went on, Hermione was finding herself feeling increasingly more and more like nothing. She would look at James, and he was just James, he wasn’t Harry to Hermione anymore. Remus was just Remus, but with fewer scars, and she could look at Peter now and not feel sick.

She would think back to her parents and Harry and Ginny and Ron and successfully force down any feelings of longing. The idea that the people she loved would never find out what happened to her didn’t upset her as much anymore; this especially was saying something, as when Hermione first had this realization a couple days in, she had to excuse herself from Runes so she could heave with sobs in the girls’ bathroom.

Even talking to Sirius was easier, now. He could jeer at her, insult her, all the like—and Hermione could even muster back a few retorts. Like it was nothing.

Like he wasn’t still dead in her mind.

The Great Hall doors were creaking open magnificently just as Hermione approached them—she had arrived on eight o’clock on the dot. Hurriedly, she sat at the closest seat from the door at Gryffindor table and reached for some toast. She was in the midst of quickly spreading raspberry jam over the toast when something fell in front of her face and onto the table.

Plop. An envelope had fallen right onto her plate, right where she was about to put her toast. Only her name was written on the front of the letter. Hermione looked up in surprise, and a tawny, brown owl was fluttering away, clearly just having delivered the letter.

Hermione looked back at the envelope as if she had never seen one before in her life. The owl post usually all arrived at the same time, yet she was among five other current students in the Great Hall and it was nowhere near the usual owl post time—not to mention that she had absolutely no one who would be writing to her—

Until she noticed how familiar the handwriting was.

She looked up at the teacher’s table and at Dumbledore’s chair, but he wasn’t there. In fact, she hadn’t seen Dumbledore at all since their conversation so many weeks ago. She had half-expected to be called back in at some point, maybe asked some questions—but she hadn’t even seen him at meals since then. At the very least, she had expected him to check up on her and ask how she was adjusting… He was the only one aware of her situation, after all…

A few more students, a group of Hufflepuffs girls, had walked into the Great Hall, prompting Hermione to tuck the envelope into an inside pocket of her robes and swiftly finish eating.

When she was back in her room, she sat down at her desk to open the letter. She opened it so quickly that she nearly ripped the letter itself. On the unfolded parchment paper, the letter read—

To Miss Hermione Granger,

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my absence the past month or so. Your story interested me so deeply that I have actually been on a short research trip of sorts. I’ve visited various locations that I believed would help me gather more information on not just your predicament but also on time-turners and their mysterious qualities in general. Please don’t feel as if you have created any hardships or extra tasks for me—not only have I attained knowledge that I am eager to share with you, but I am also the proud owner of a fluffy, purple bathrobe from a shop I visited right outside my hometown. This delightful purchase alone has made my trip worth it.  

Please make your way to my office this Thursday evening at eight o’clock. Please also bring your broken time-turner, and do try to be careful with it. I will see you then.

Sincerely yours,

Professor Dumbledore

P.S.—Hopefully, Honeydukes has restocked their stock of Pepper Imps while I was away.

Clearly, Pepper Imps would be the password for Dumbledore’s office. But as for the rest of the letter, Hermione was rather lost.

Did this mean that he had found a way to bring Hermione back to her true home? Her chest inflated with hope, her insides stirring anxiously in anticipation for that Thursday. Immediately, she shot her own thoughts down—no, don’t get your hopes up like that. That’s ridiculous, if he had a way to bring you home, he would have marched down to your room and told you immediately…

Hermione read the letter a couple more times before folding it back up and placing it back into its envelope, and the envelope safely into her desk drawer. As it was only Monday, she would have to wait nearly four entire days before the meeting. She just had so much she wanted to ask Dumbledore… Why was she to bring the time-turner? It was broken, it wasn’t of any use… Where exactly did he go to research? What type of information was he even aiming to find? … Hermione even wondered if she could ask Dumbledore to tell Sirius to back off a bit…

She already knew it would be a painful wait until Thursday.

--

The next few days didn’t pass entirely without incident, as Hermione had predicted.

On Tuesday, she ran into Stephan in the hall on the way to Runes. When Stephan saw her from across the corridor, he immediately grinned and speed-walked to where she was before promptly turning to walk alongside with her.

“’Lo, Hermione,” greeted Stephan cheerfully, “Coming to the library tonight, yeah?”

“Stephan, you were walking in the exact opposite direction as me, don’t you have to go to class?” Hermione asked instead, but she couldn’t help but return the smile. It was refreshing to actually enjoy being around someone in this castle.

“Nah, I’ve got Potions next, Slughorn loves me,” hummed Stephan, brushing away some curls that had gotten into his eyes. “You’ve got Runes next, right? With Black?”

Hermione groaned at the name, and Stephan smiled only a little guiltily. After Stephan had warmed up to Hermione, he had taken to playfully teasing her about her unfortunate situation—especially as Sirius was now rude to Stephan, as well.  

“Don’t remind me,” said Hermione grimly, “Although he hasn’t been too bad recently. Yesterday, he was really quiet in all the classes we shared, he didn’t even speak much to James and all of them…”

“Well, he’s given you a nice little break, but I have received no such treatment,” said Stephan, but this didn’t seem to seriously bother him. “Told me in Muggle studies last Thursday that some children were dropped as infants, but as I choose to associate with you, that was a clear indication that I was thrown at a brick wall.”

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line at this, but Stephan himself was chuckling.

“Stephan!” said Hermione, clicking her tongue, “That’s so rude!”

“It was clever,” responded Stephan fairly, “He’s got a way with words, that Sirius Black… It’s probably why he’s so popular, along with his looks—” Hermione snorted at this, but Stephan didn’t seem to notice, “—It’s that silver tongue of his that really sells it, in my opinion, I’m sure he could run through girlfriends like one-knut quills if he wanted to… Not that he’s exactly Virgin Mary, anyway…”

“It’s fortunate for the girls of this school that he doesn’t want to, then,” replied Hermione. She was thinking back to the time when Andrea Sinistra had asked Hermione if she had found Sirius attractive; her face of disgust in response then had been genuine. When Hermione was younger, she obviously never thought of him in that way, as she was very much underage… Sirius wasn’t exactly in his prime when she knew him, either, with half of that time being spent on the run. Although, now that she had gotten numbly accustomed to considering the Now-Sirius and the Future-Sirius as different people… Now that she could stop seeing the gaunt man she used to know when she looked at Sirius… He certainly wasn’t hideous…

Stephan’s cheerful, playful response was what brought Hermione out of her own head again.

“Yeah, didn’t expect you to agree with the popular opinion that he’s nice to look at. Never saw it myself, either, probably because he’s so crass… And won’t you look at that, speak of the devil.”

Sirius, James, and Peter were walking down the opposite side of the hall towards them, clearly having just come from lunch. As expected, Sirius’ eyes narrowed as soon as his gaze fell upon the two of them.

“How weird would it be to turn right around right now and walk in the opposite direction?” wondered Stephan, but it was too late: they all were basically within earshot of each other, now.

But then, something very unexpected happened. Both parties slowed as they approached the classroom door; Sirius continued to look at Stephan and Hermione with distaste, but then—to Hermione’s great shock—turned and walked straight into the classroom without even a pause in his step.

James and Peter filed in after him, James looking down and away very pointedly but Peter looking rather confused about everything. Hermione and Stephan were now standing outside of the Runes classroom, both looking at each other with puzzled looks.

“What was that all about?” asked Stephan curiously, leaning forward slightly to glance into the classroom, “Weird interaction that was, wasn’t it? It’s really quite awkward when you take out all of his insults.”

“I… Don’t know,” said Hermione honestly, also looking into the classroom. Sirius had willingly taken seats in the middle, even though her usual seat and those around it were empty. “I wonder… Did something happen? I don’t think I did anything.”

“Hmm. Like the 8^th Wonder of the World. Which we recently learned about in Muggle Studies, by the way, the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World,” added Stephan proudly, immediately getting distracted from the issue at hand, “Muggles really have gone through so many mental loops trying to explain the construction of the Great Pyramids, it was actually so fascinating to hear what they’ve come up with—"

“Stephan,” Hermione interjected with a small smile, “As much as I would love to talk about the Five Themes of Muggles Rationalizing Magic, you now have about four minutes to make it down to the dungeons in time.”

“I—” Stephan hastily looked down at his watch. “Wow, that is very correct. No problem, I’ve got a firm power-walk, one time I made it from the first floor to the fourth in just—”

“Stephan.”

“Right!” exclaimed Stephan, finally rushing off in the other direction. As he went, he turned back around, walking backwards and began to call down at Hermione, “Library tonight, don’t forget!”

Hermione gave him a thumbs-up in response, to which Stephan finally turned back around and began to lightly jog around the corner and down to the dungeons.

Runes passed without any incident at all, which, now that Hermione really thought about it, shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. When she thought back on the previous week, Sirius’ comments seemed to have been very limited—she spent so much time trying to avoid his harassment that she hadn’t really noticed its absence.

She frowned down at her parchment, pausing mid-translation of a Runes paragraph that Hermione was pretty certain was about cauldron cleaning. It wasn’t like her to let a change like this go unnoticed… Nor was it like her to sit by idly without trying to actively research her situation and any possible solutions… She reasoned with herself that in events like these, she was bound to make many adjustments, but Hermione couldn’t help but worry that she was losing some of her core qualities and values…

It especially wasn’t like her to get so easily distracted in class, she noted as she realized that she had let many minutes pass by, staring down at her only partially translated paragraph.

These thoughts, alongside with her impending meeting with Dumbledore the following night, followed her throughout the day and even into bed. As she found herself doing nearly every other night, she was gazing very hard at the ceiling of her room, letting every word bounce around in her mind.

She tossed and turned for about an hour; despite her staying up until near midnight to finish all of her homework—even after she had gotten so much done with Stephan in the library—her tiredness was just not enough to draw her to sleep. Her mind and body was seemingly set in staying awake in anticipation of the following evening’s meeting.

A sudden thought struck her, one that made her eyes shoot open and stare into the dark.

I could go now, realized Hermione, To the Room of Requirement. I’ve been wanting to go, ever since talking with Sirius on Halloween.

But I shouldn’t, argued another part of her firmly, I absolutely should not, I shouldn’t go out after hours to the Room of Requirement, and especially not the night before I meet with Professor Dumbledore for the first time in over a month.

But now that the idea was in Hermione’s head, she couldn’t get it out. She had been thinking about the Room of Requirement for quite a while, now… After her previous experience, she had been equally scared and eager to go back, just out of sheer curiosity… However, since Halloween, every single time Hermione felt the urge to seek out the Room once more, she had given herself excuses not to go, just as she was doing just now…

But clearly, these reasons didn’t really seem to resonate with her, as she was currently getting out of bed and pulling on her robes. The same ominous feeling that had carried her away from the Room of Requirement on Halloween night was now drawing her to it…

Hermione caught a glance of herself in her desk mirror just as she opened the door to her room and stepped out, vaguely thinking that she wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even recognize her reflection, at this point.  

Within minutes of fast-paced walking, she had found herself at the blank wall of the seventh corridor. And without another thought, she began to pace back and forth between the large vase and the end of the corridor in front of the wall.

I don’t know what I want, thought Hermione, I just know that there’s always a door here whenever I look up.

But when Hermione stopped pacing and looked at the wall, there wasn’t a door or anything at all. She was tempted to stamp her foot in indignation, before turning swiftly on her heel and beginning to pace again, faster this time.

Come on, this is how it worked before… I didn’t have to think of anything specific last time, you just conjured up a bathroom for me… Just do that this time, conjure up whatever you think I need, you obviously know better than me, anyways…

Hermione wasn’t quite sure who she was referring to, but when she had stopped again to find nothing but a blank wall she couldn’t help but huff out in frustration.

“Fine,” she breathed angrily, her hands clenched tightly into fists, “Fine. Clearly, the Room of Requirement hasn’t been implemented at Hogwarts yet!” Obviously, she was very certain that the Room was indeed there, she found it unlikely that it was something that any particular witch or wizard installed, and instead always figured that it was just a part of the castle’s magic—she just felt some strange urge to say this out loud, to spite whatever power was behind the walls.  

She stormed back to her room, feeling like something precious and unique to her had been ripped from her grasp. Falling asleep was even more difficult this time, as she was now tossing and turning in her bed out of pure frustration. It wasn’t often she felt this insanely emotional… Usually when her temper peaked like this, it was because of him—

Don’t think about him, commanded Hermione, You haven’t in ages, don’t start now. But her objections to thinking about a certain previous boyfriend did nothing to stop herself from falling asleep thinking about freckles and fiery, red hair.

--

Most of the next morning and afternoon passed in fragments. Hermione went to her classes, took notes on autopilot, and ate just as robotically. At these meals in which she gulped down her food, she still didn’t catch sight of Dumbledore at all, furthering her anticipation for that evening. Fortunately, she didn’t see Stephan much at all except for once in the corridors (they had just waved at each other, as they were too far away to speak and were on their way to class). Hermione wasn’t sure if she would be able to manage normal conversation with him with her mind miles away.

At five minutes to eight that evening, Hermione departed from her room with Dumbledore’s letter and the broken time-turner clutched in her hands. She felt oddly like Harry at that moment, going to Dumbledore’s office for evening meetings, just as he did in their sixth year…

Never mind Harry, thought Hermione rather glumly, his name making her insides pang with longing, No good in missing them, is there?

She had spent a great deal of time convincing herself that it was no use in missing her friends… There wasn’t anything Hermione could do about it, and she had already wasted too much time wallowing in shock and pity the first couple of weeks… It was taking her far too long to pull herself together and stand up for herself…

“Pepper Imps,” said Hermione to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. The gargoyle sprung to life and leaped to the side, and Hermione walked inside, allowing the moving spiral staircase to elevate her upwards.

Dumbledore had opened the door to his office just as Hermione reached the top. He smiled gently at her, a smile that Hermione returned nervously, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hello, Professor,” said Hermione as the door was shut behind her. Dumbledore’s various silver trinkets placed around the circular room were gleaming brightly, as if they had just been cleaned after a month of dust accumulation.

“Miss Granger,” greeted Dumbledore pleasantly as he walked over to his desk, indicating to the chair across from it. It was a squishy armchair, similar to the ones in Gryffindor common room and unlike the chairs that were usually at his desk; Hermione immediately knew then that she would be here for quite a while.

“Please, take a seat,” requested Dumbledore, still smiling faintly. Hermione did, settling into the armchair’s velvety cushions. Fawkes the Phoenix was resting on his silver stand beside the desk, blinking very slowly as he looked at Hermione curiously.

“I hear that your schoolwork has been going well,” began Dumbledore, drawing her attention away from Fawkes and back to him again, “Each professor tells me that you have been receiving exemplary marks in their courses.”

Hermione gave a hesitant yet genuine smile; not all of her previous habits and characteristics have been lost. But perhaps that was a low bar… If her grades were to ever fall behind, Hermione may as well just renounce her birth certificate.

“A few of them, however, have also told me that you have been having some problems with a certain Sirius Black.”

Immediately, Hermione panicked. Her previous idea of asking Dumbledore to make Sirius stop his harassment flew out the window; instead, she stared very hard at the crimson quill resting on Dumbledore’s desk, avoiding his gaze so that he wouldn’t look into her eyes and understand the exact type of relationship Hermione had with Sirius Black.

“Well… Yes,” said Hermione slowly, gazing intently at everything on Dumbledore’s desk and refusing to look up, “But it’s no bother at all, really. I’ve gotten accustomed to ignoring him, it’s nothing you have to worry about, Professor.”

“No need to fret, Miss Granger,” replied Dumbledore lightly, “I won’t be asking any pressing questions about people of your past for today.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she finally looked up at Dumbledore in amazement. He looked politely intrigued, but not at all surprised or worried, and it was this knowledge that he unexpectedly held that distracted Hermione from the part where Dumbledore had said for today.

“You… Know?” asked Hermione slowly, “You know that I know Sirius and…?”

“I deduced,” corrected Dumbledore politely, “While I did not press for the details of that night and how exactly you arrived, I guessed that it was Sirius and James themselves that had caused you to faint from shock, as if they meant nothing to you, you likely would have just been confused… This was confirmed, I think, when my staff informed me that you generally ignore Mr. Black when he tries provoking you in class… They hardly notice you two having any altercations, actually. I arrived at the conclusion that as few people would be able to ignore Mr. Black’s, ah, assertive interrogation tactics, that you had a very good reason for not wanting to interact with him.”

The entire time Hermione listened, she had been mindlessly fiddling with the broken time-turner that she had forgotten was still in her fingers. Realizing what she was doing as Dumbledore paused in his speaking, she quickly dropped it in her lap as if it were burning hot.

“Well,” said Hermione, looking down at herself as if to make sure she wasn’t about to start transporting to another dimension, “That… That is all true, Professor… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, sir, I didn’t want to give even a hint as to what I know—”

“Oh, I don’t blame you at all, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, clearly surprised that Hermione had even attempted to apologize, “Especially when I told you in our very first conversation here in my office that your predicament was very dangerous to time itself. If anything, I should apologize for my long absence, and my lack of communication and answers.”

“Answers?” repeated Hermione, unable to force away the light, floaty feelings of hope swelling inside her, “Have you discovered anything in relation to my—er—situation while on your trip, Professor?”

“Precisely,” confirmed Dumbledore, “As stated in my letter, I invited you to my office tonight to share with you what I have found. I see that you have brought along the time-turner in question…”

Hurriedly, Hermione picked up the black instrument from her lap and placed it on Dumbledore’s desk. He stared at it for a few seconds, his smile lessening. He made no movement to touch the time-turner himself, his hands remaining folded on his desk.

“It’s black,” commented Dumbledore, which caused Hermione to realize that she had never mentioned this detail, “How peculiar… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Hermione remained silent, waiting for him to continue with whatever information he had discovered on his trip; Dumbledore seemed to correctly interpret Hermione’s silence as anticipation. His gentle smile was now gone, and instead, his face rested on an expression of what Hermione took to be pity.

“I want to be perfectly transparent. There is still no way in which you can ever find your way back home, Miss Granger… And with the information that I have come across in my journey, I can now confirm this for a fact,” said Dumbledore softly, carefully watching Hermione’s face.

Her spirits only fell somewhat. It had been her emotions, her heart that had been waiting for miraculous news; she knew internally all along that this was the case…

“I understand, Professor,” said Hermione quietly. Besides Dumbledore, Fawkes gave a quiet coo, as if sympathizing with her.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Granger,” replied Dumbledore sincerely as he reached out a hand to gently pet Fawkes, “I can only imagine how alone you must feel…”

“It’s alright,” assured Hermione halfheartedly, “I’ve been here long enough, now… I should be adjusting at this point, anyways.”

“On the contrary,” objected Dumbledore lightly, “I believe many people in this position would be acting in ways less noble and less controlled than you, Miss Granger.”

As nice as this was to hear, Hermione still remained firmly disappointed in herself, and didn’t say anything. Dumbledore continued.

“The information I want to share with you,” said Dumbledore slowly, “is too much for just one night. So, I will be requesting for a couple more meetings, after this.”

Hermione nodded her head. Then, Dumbledore stood from his chair, Hermione watching him get up curiously. He walked to the black cabinet behind his desk, opened it and retrieving from it a shallow stone basin brimming with silver, liquid-like wisps.

“Your Pensieve,” said Hermione, surprised as Dumbledore gently levitated the basin onto his desk, resting it besides the black time-turner (Hermione was still unsure why Dumbledore had requested she bring it).

“You’ve seen it before,” replied Dumbledore, only mildly surprised.

“I’ve… I’ve never used one,” admitted Hermione. “Are you… I mean, are we going to be using it today?”

“Indeed we are,” said Dumbledore. Hermione was always very curious what it would be like to use a Pensieve; despite the circumstances that had brought her here, she couldn’t help but feel a bit excited.

“This memory that I want to show you is from long ago… My first ever experience with a time-turner. But no, the memory is not my own, and the experience isn’t personally mine,” Dumbledore added when Hermione tilted her head in interest. “But I am in it, however… This memory lays the foundation for the concepts I wish to instill in you.”

Hermione thought all of this over; a particular question had been brimming her mind for the past few minutes, a question that was only reinforced by Dumbledore’s current reaction as he spoke of this memory. His expression was hard to decipher at the moment, but Hermione thought she interpreted it to be grim, even sorrowful… Which just made her even more curious as to why Dumbledore was even deciding to tell her all of these things, and why he was sharing with her a memory that he seemingly did not want to experience.

“… Professor,” said Hermione slowly, “All of this information you wish to tell me… I understand that it relates to me, and it would make sense that I should be made aware of anything related to my situation, but…”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to continue—she wasn’t sure how to say that the Dumbledore she knew usually didn’t give straight, convenient answers. In fact, she had felt very frustrated with Dumbledore’s lack of guidance just about a year ago.

“You want to know why I’m instilling this information in you, instead of keeping it to myself, as I have already told you there is no returning home?” asked Dumbledore. Hermione nodded, deciding that was the best way of putting it.

“A fair question, I admit… I expect the version of me that you knew has sometimes kept information from you, a habit that I am often painfully unaware of, unfortunately… That question, as well as the many others that I’m sure you have, I will explain soon.”

Dumbledore turned again to the cabinet, retrieving a tall, glass vial labeled with only the letters AB + AR with the word time-turner underneath them.

Gently popping open the vial, Dumbledore poured the vial’s contents into the basin; the material drained from the vial like a silvery hair, immediately expanding into the basin and filling it with neutral colors as it touched the liquid wisps.

“If you would please stand,” requested Dumbledore. Hermione, still perplexed by the Pensieve, stood slowly. The Pensieve seemed to now be a window looking directly down onto the shore of a beach on a grey, cloudy day, the tides gently pushing and pulling.

The prospect of actually using a Pensieve is what prompted Hermione to stop there in her thoughts and actually intake that evening’s events so far. She had hardly expected to be using a Pensieve that evening. Sure, she had no idea when she read the letter what information Dumbledore had to tell her, but she definitely expected said information to be presented verbally.

“On my count of three,” said Dumbledore as Hermione was positioned in front of the basin, “Lean into the Pensieve.”

You can do this, thought Hermione encouragingly, as the fact that she was about to actually experience a Pensieve for the first time had just hit her, Dumbledore’s about to tell you things that you could never dream of finding in any book.

“Three,” started Dumbledore.

But what if I don’t want to know what he has to say? asked a small part of Hermione, to which she immediately thought, Don’t be ridiculous, when has there ever been even a sliver of knowledge that you didn’t immediately want to attain?

“Two.” Hermione was now staring very hard at the beach in the Pensieve below, completely blocking out everything else around her.

When Dumbledore brought Harry up to his office in your sixth year, it’s because he expected something of him. He expected Harry to help him.

And now he expects something from you, too.

“One.”

Ignoring her internal debate—as she was now accustomed to doing, anyway—Hermione followed Dumbledore’s word and leaned forward into the Pensieve, letting her nose touch the silvery wisps. Immediately, she was pulled forward into the stone basin, and suddenly, she was in Dumbledore’s office no longer.

Chapter Text

Before Hermione had even processed what exactly had happened, she landed on the beach with Professor Dumbledore at her side.

She looked up at the sky from where they had fallen as if expecting to see the bottom of the Pensieve basin, but all that loomed above their heads were grey clouds.

Now that Hermione could see her full surroundings, she realized just how vaguely familiar they felt. To her right and across from the shore, she could see in the distance a small village partially hidden by the various grassy hills surrounding it. She felt as though she had visited his place in a dream before.

“Where are we, Professor?” asked Hermione, as Dumbledore had yet to speak up. His face remained stoic, rather unlike his usual calm demeanor that Hermione was accustomed to. Clearly, whatever they were about to see was something that Dumbledore did not want to revisit...

“About a mile outside of Godric’s Hollow,” replied Dumbledore simply. He provided no further explanation, and Hermione wondered if this was because he knew that Hermione didn’t need any.

With this response, Hermione immediately had two realizations—one, this explained why the location felt so familiar, as Hermione had visited here with Harry just last winter. As for the second realization, she suddenly understood just why Dumbledore was acting the way he was…

But surely he wouldn’t be showing me… What happened with his sister…?

A soft yet sudden pop caused Hermione to look back to the shore.

Just three meters in front of where she and Dumbledore landed, a young wizard suddenly appeared—but Hermione was quite sure that he hadn’t Apparated there, as the sound he made when he arrived was much quieter than that of someone who just Apparated… It was also a sound that immediately brought Hermione back to her third year.

He had dark hair and clear, blue eyes; he was as tall as he was thin, his robes hanging off of him like heavy curtains on a thin metal rod. And, as Hermione had guessed, he wore a time-turner around his neck. Clearly, this memory belonged to this wizard before them.

Despite the pronounced bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep, his gaze was wild and alert. He then took off in a light jog, running away from the shore and towards the rickety boardwalk leading from the beach to the hills.

“Let us follow his lead, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, turning and walking towards the boardwalk that the wizard was now hurrying across. She noticed as they followed that she and Dumbledore left no footprints behind in the sand.

“You’re likely wondering who this teenage boy is, and why we have landed upon a beach,” said Dumbledore as they trailed some twenty paces behind the wizard ahead of them, who had now slowed to a brisk walk. Hermione just nodded, even if Dumbledore kept his gaze firm on the back of the young wizard and wasn’t able to see her gesture.

“This is my brother, Aberforth. He is about sixteen years of age, right now. We have arrived at the beach, as my brother would often visit the shores while mourning my sister, which he must have been doing before using his time-turner. He is currently trying to prevent my sister’s death. And no, I will not be showing you anything upsetting in any form,” added Dumbledore, surely sensing Hermione’s anxiety.

“I—Of course, Professor, I didn’t—” stammered Hermione quickly, looking down at her feet in her flusterment, “I’m… I’m sorry, Professor, of course not…”

She felt absolutely ridiculous—of course he wouldn’t be showing her how his sister tragically died, not when it was a secret that haunted him so severely that he took it to his grave, without even telling Harry or anyone else close to him…

“It’s quite alright, Miss Granger,” assured Dumbledore, even though he was still looking straight ahead of him. The boardwalk had ended, and now, they were walking on a dirt path twisting between the hills that likely led to Godric’s Hollow; young Aberforth was still walking not too far ahead of them.

“I believe I am correct in saying that you already knew about my brother and sister?” asked Dumbledore, continuing on. Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, feeling oddly guilty.

“Your brother told me and my friends,” admitted Hermione, leaving out all other details surrounding that particular conversation that had followed just earlier that year, “You were able to see I knew about… This, with Legilimency?”

“In a way, yes,” replied Dumbledore, “As you know, Legilimency isn’t reading thoughts, but rather, understanding one’s intent and sensing certain truths. During our second meeting, when I was giving you instructions on how to proceed at this school, I must admit that I was curious much you knew. While I didn’t seek out any details, the great loss that I sensed from you in the hospital wing felt too familiar… And I came to realize during our second meeting that it was because our feelings of loss matched in this area.

“It was this discovery that caused me to give my own experience with time-turners—my brother’s attempt at rectifying our sister’s death—a second thought. I had initially viewed my brother’s experience with a time-turner to be a failed attempt at altering time. But after you and I spoke so many weeks ago, I had a sudden thought… That perhaps what we are seeing now,” Dumbledore indicated to the young Aberforth still walking in front of them, “is not as simple as a failed attempt… I went to speak with Aberforth before I left for my trip, and he provided me with this memory of his multiple attempts to save our sister.”

“Attempts?” asked Hermione curiously, “As in, multiple attempts?”

“Yes, multiple,” confirmed Dumbledore, “When Aberforth had told me so many years ago that he had attempted to rectify Ariana’s death with a time-turner—one he had boughten from an illegal seller—I was infuriated and reacted in a way that created even more resentment in him for me… This incident caused him to refrain from telling me that he had in fact used his time-turner exactly eleven times before giving up, thinking that too many factors were at play to completely stop her death… And he was partially correct.”

Hermione spared a glance up at Dumbledore, who was no longer looking at Aberforth’s back, but was now glancing around as the village pulled closer and closer into view. Despite the mourning that was still set in the many lines of his face, there was a gleam of nostalgia in his eyes, too.

“Right over there is where I used to play with my siblings,” said Dumbledore anecdotally, pointing over to a field with very tall grass, “Ariana would hide in the grass and try to scare us… My brother would always play along, myself on the other hand…”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything, but Hermione had a feeling he was about to mention Grindelwald. To lessen the tensions, Hermione too looked over to the field, the grass teeming with white flowers.

“It’s a very pretty field,” said Hermione lightly, “I’m sure she always had fun…”

The village was looming closer and closer. Aberforth’s wand was gripped tightly in his right hand, and even from twenty paces behind him, Hermione could see his knuckles had gone white.

“I must say, Miss Granger, I’m surprised you aren’t bombarding me with questions,” said Dumbledore, “I’m not sure I would ever stop speaking if I were in your position.”

“Well…” Hermione hesitated. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to ask questions, not when the topic at hand was so sensitive and something that Hermione was pretty certain Dumbledore rarely told anyone about at all. “It’s just that… I’m not even entirely sure what questions to ask.”

“I thought for certain that you would ask me why I am showing you something that no other living person knows of besides my brother,” said Dumbledore simply, as if having read her mind. Hermione glanced up quickly at this, only to realize that this could not have been the case, as Dumbledore was very much not making eye contact with her.

“I… I thought that was obvious,” said Hermione slowly, “I already know about it, so it wouldn’t need hiding or anything… And it’s all relevant to my situation, so it would be worth telling me…”

“That much is true,” said Dumbledore fairly, “But also, I’m sharing this memory with you because I believe certain deeds from your once-past and now-future can be rectified.”

“What?” exclaimed Hermione loudly, startled. She realized how rude this sounded, and quickly added, “Sorry—but, Professor, I was always told to never purposefully interfere in time—I was told it was far too dangerous—and that it could result in one’s own death, or even prevent them from ever being born—"

“I will explain further shortly,” interjected Dumbledore firmly, “I understand it’s all very contradictory, but I will explain after I have shown you what we are about to see… We’re nearly there, now.”

The dirt path they had been following had just converged to a wide brick path. Up ahead was a bridge crossing over a steadily flowing river. Beyond the bridge, the path led to the village square, composed of a quaint church and various stores. Further down the path led to residential streets, all lined with cottages.

It was a silent, five-minute walk from the bridge to a cottage that Hermione could only assume was the Dumbledore family home. Aberforth crossed the lawn and opened the door, walking inside the cottage so quickly he didn’t bother closing the door behind him; he then began speaking with whoever was inside before Hermione and Dumbledore were even in the cottage.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re here, Ariana, just stay right where you are.”

They walked into a small, quaint sitting room; there was a fireplace on the righthand wall, a door leading to the kitchen straight ahead, and a wide, dusty window adjacent to the front door. Sat in a grey armchair next to the fireplace was a young girl reading a large, leather-bound book. Her white-blonde hair hung in limp waves, her pale eyes looking up from the pages to where her brother was now standing.

Clearly, this was Ariana. The pair of them still standing in the doorway, Hermione looked up at Dumbledore, who still hadn’t said anything since they had crossed the bridge. His face was one of forced calmness, although his blue eyes were gazing right at his sister. In the years that Hermione knew Dumbledore, she had never seen him like this…

“Ab…” trailed Ariana, her voice quiet and meek, “I thought you just went to the back garden with Albus and Gellert… Is something wrong?”

“No! Nothing,” said Aberforth quickly, “Nothing, Ariana. They’re just talking, I came back to check on you.”

“Check on me…” She frowned very slightly, closing her book and setting it on her lap.

“Albus is complaining about me again, isn’t he?” mumbled Ariana, staring down at the floor, “He despises taking care of me…”

Hermione made sure not to look up at Dumbledore at these words. Outside, she could hear voices escalating. Ariana looked out the open front door curiously, but Aberforth walked forward and crouched down before her, drawing her gaze to him.

“No, Ariana, I promise… Everything is fine,” Aberforth said in a pleading voice, “I just want to keep you away from them right now, is all…”

Ariana looked down at her older brother, and slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“You look different, Ab… You’re so tired, you didn’t look so tired just moments ago…”

At that moment, a voice that was distinctly Aberforth’s shouted so loudly from the back gardens that it carried on to the front of the cottage: “You are selfish , Albus! You’ve become delusional with the idea of power!”

While Hermione could not see Aberforth’s expression, she could tell that he froze up in that moment and very much regretted leaving the door open. Ariana’s gaze suddenly hardened.

“You aren’t Aberforth. You’re some imposter.” Her once feeble voice had turned harsh. “He’s in the back garden and they’re all fighting because of me.”

“No!” pleaded Aberforth, springing up to his feet, “Ariana, it is me, just a different—”

What happened next occurred so quickly and abruptly that Hermione gave a small shriek.

With a loud crack, Aberforth was blasted back to the window beside Hermione and Dumbledore so forcefully that the thick glass cracked; the portraits and paintings decorating the walls all fell to the ground with a loud clatter, their glass coverings shattering on impact. The flames in the fireplace flared so viciously that the armchair Ariana was sitting in caught fire. The entire room felt like it had shaken from the force of Ariana’s sudden outburst of power.

Ariana then stood, immediately running into the kitchen and likely out the back door to the back garden. Aberforth had fallen to the floor, unconscious.

“… Professor,” breathed Hermione after a moment’s silence (apart from the argument outside increasing in volume).

“Just a moment, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, his voice calm yet rather hollow.

Before Hermione could ask what he meant, the scene around them began to fade out, as if a mist had suddenly clouded up the sitting room; when their surroundings cleared again, the sitting room had returned to complete normal, and Aberforth was no longer unconscious on the floor. There was now sunlight pouring through the window, indicating a different day. This time, it wasn’t Ariana in the armchair, but someone who looked very familiar with his bright blue eyes and long face…

Hermione realized that this was a younger Dumbledore, his hair dark and short; she also noticed that his nose was straight, unlike the crooked one of the Dumbledore beside her. He was currently reading over a roll of parchment that was so long it trailed to the floor.

“What—”

“What we just saw was Aberforth’s first attempt,” said Dumbledore as Hermione was about to ask what had just happened, his hands folded decidedly behind him, “This is his second, the day before. This time, he has decided to approach me.”

Before Hermione could ask where Aberforth was, the door behind them opened, and a cold feeling surged through Hermione’s body, for Aberforth had just stormed through her and Dumbledore and into the sitting room. As she shivered from the odd feeling of having a memory walk through her, Aberforth rounded on Albus.

“You look awful,” drawled the young Albus, hardly sparing a glance at his younger brother, “If you’re here to lecture me, I assure you—”

The young Albus then yelped, quickly dropping the parchment; Aberforth had just lit it on fire with his wand. Albus quickly extinguished the flames with his own wand, but it was too late; much of the parchment had already singed away.

“What was that?” shouted Albus, enraged, “Gellert and I spent hours on those plans!”

“I know bloody well those were your creepy little plans, that’s exactly why I burned them,” growled Aberforth, “I’ve got a few words to say about them, too.”

“I recall from my first watching of this memory,” said Dumbledore to Hermione as the argument before them intensified, “That this particular conversation held little substance… We can carry on to the back garden to talk…”

Dumbledore led Hermione through the kitchen and out the back door. The sounds of yelling subsided now that they were in the back garden, where there were rows of tulips before a large, square patch of grass. The entire back garden was enclosed with tall hedges that wrapped around to touch both sides of the cottage.

“When Aberforth first told me that he had used an illegal time-turner to prevent our sister’s death, I thought that this intervention was actually the cause of her death,” began Dumbledore. His face was still stoic, and understandably so. Hermione couldn’t imagine how troubling it was to revisit such a dark moment of his life.

Dumbledore continued on. “I thought, had he never barged in, Ariana would have just remained in the sitting room, oblivious to our argument. However, as I told you earlier, your appearance made me rethink the topic of time-turners entirely…

“I went to speak with Aberforth and asked him of any other details he hadn’t told me about his usage of his time-turner… We aren’t on the best of terms, as you can imagine, so it took a while for me to procure this memory from him. But he refused to tell me anything himself.”

“So… When you saw this memory, you realized that Aberforth wasn’t at fault and that there was a different reason for why Aberforth had never succeeded?” asked Hermione slowly.

“Yes,” confirmed Dumbledore, “You see, there are forms of ancient magic that escape modern wizards… A lost form, if you will.”

Hermione nodded knowledgeably; it was a similar form of ancient magic that had protected Harry from Voldemort so many times: Lily’s sacrifice.

“I believe that a similar form of magic is the reason why Aberforth failed to prevent Ariana’s death, and I have come to believe that there are certain events that are Fixed--inevitable and bound to occur no matter what.” 

“Fixed…?” trailed Hermione, confused, “But Professor… That’s…”

“I understand how unlikely this seems at first thought,” admitted Dumbledore, “Yet many familiar aspects of our lives seem to fit in with this theory. Miss Granger, you are familiar with prophecies, yes?”

Hermione wondered if this was a detail that Dumbledore had again attained for himself while meeting her eye, but she nodded, nonetheless.

“No matter how one tries to avoid or alter it, a prophecy’s events are unchangeable and certain to happen,” continued Dumbledore.

Of course, Hermione already knew this; Voldemort had tried to murder Harry as an infant because he had heard of a prophecy saying that Harry (or Neville) would be able to defeat him. But his attempt to destroy Harry had failed, and he had instead marked Harry as his equal, just as the prophecy had predicted.

“So… You believe, Professor, that prophecies are just foretelling these Fixed events?” asked Hermione.

“Precisely,” agreed Dumbledore sagely, “Not to say that every Fixed event has a matching prophecy. But I believe that prophecies, and Aberforth’s inability to prevent Ariana’s death, both provide evidence for the existence of Fixed events.”

Before Hermione could respond, however, she had noticed that the hedges and tulips before them had begun fuzzing; the memory was changing once more. When their surroundings cleared again, it was nighttime. Had it not been for the lit wands held by two boys in the back garden that had suddenly appeared before them, Hermione was certain they would have been unable to see.

“Why have you called me here so late?” demanded the tall, broad-shouldered boy to the left. His hair was chalky brown, and his jaw was sharp, but Hermione was unable to make out any other distinctive features in the soft light emitting from his wand. “Have you done something to Albus?”

“If only I could,” said Aberforth darkly. Even in the dim light, Hermione could see that he looked significantly more disheveled from when she first saw him on the beach. “I’m asking you now to leave him out of all of this. You can do this alone, you’re powerful enough.”

“Do not cross me, Aberforth,” snarled the boy who Hermione assumed was Grindelwald. Hermione was morbidly fascinated to see such a powerful Dark wizard like this in front of her; she felt like she had stepped into a history book. “And do not attempt to come between us.”

“Alas… He was just as hungry for power as I was, and I always mistook this for loyalty,” said Dumbledore quietly beside her; Hermione couldn’t see his expression, and she was certain she didn’t want to.

Their surroundings fuzzed again; when their setting had refocused, it was daytime once more. There were no wizards before them now, but Hermione could hear very loud yelling coming from upstairs drifting through a cracked-open window. Aberforth and Albus must have been having another row.

“No matter how Aberforth approached the situation, the results always seemed the same,” said Dumbledore, making no movement to head upstairs and witness the argument. Hermione too felt like she didn’t need to see any more of Aberforth’s futile attempts. “Had Ariana never passed, I would have continued with Grindelwald… We were brilliant together. I’m certain that we would have done terrible, great things… For this reason, and Aberforth’s many failed attempts, I believe that Ariana’s death was Fixed.”

“So you’re saying, Professor… You’re saying that only largely significant and consequential incidents are Fixed?” asked Hermione slowly.

“I believe so, Miss Granger. This is why the misuse of time-turners is so heavily warned, as it would be easy for any wizard or witch to ruin their own lives if they are not Fixed in any way…” Dumbledore paused for a second before continuing. “This also brings me to my previous suggestion of you conceivably rectifying certain events.”

Oh . Hermione had completely forgotten about that, but what she had just seen did little to explain why Dumbledore had suggested this in the first place; if important events were Fixed, then the Second Wizarding War would certainly be one of those events… Even if Hermione wanted to, she couldn’t just very well just fix everything…

“I understand the war that lies ahead of you is unavoidable,” added Dumbledore, likely guessing that Hermione had suddenly taken on the responsibility of preventing an entire war, “But certain details… certain people … Perhaps not as much.”

What…?

Then it hit her.

“Oh,” said Hermione audibly this time, “ Oh . Professor, you don’t mean—you aren’t suggesting—”

Immediately, Hermione felt very ridiculous that she had entered this memory predicting that Dumbledore would expect something of her in exchange for this knowledge, that he would expect Hermione to use her knowledge of the future in some way. Because if Hermione was hearing correctly… Dumbledore was sharing this knowledge with her to actually help her… To save certain people who did not need to… To…

To save certain people who did not need to die , Hermione forced herself to think. But she couldn’t force this thought as easily as she was normally able to…

“Yes,” said Dumbledore firmly, “Yes, Miss Granger, you understand correctly. I cannot bring you back to your home. But I believe that I will be able to help bring certain people back to you.”

Just as Hermione had done the night she landed in 1977, her mind drew a complete blank . This possibility was just entirely too much to process… Saving certain people? Preventing their deaths…? It just seemed… Entirely too convenient…

So many thoughts immediately swarmed in Hermione’s mind that she touched a hand up to her head; the argument still occurring from upstairs did little to help her impending migraine. Dumbledore looked down at her, appearing apologetic for having just unloading all of this onto her.

“I think this memory has demonstrated my main point today. The rest of this conversation can be carried on in my office,” said Dumbledore. His voice lightened at this, as if the idea of leaving this memory was enough to raise his spirits once more. Hermione felt similarly and just nodded.

“If you would hold on to my arm, Miss Granger.”

Hermione did so, and gladly. She was eager to sit back down, and, most of all, leave this memory. When she took Dumbledore’s arm, she felt themselves floating upwards, the green of the garden and all other colors vanishing before them, and then, they had left Godric’s Hollow.

--

Hermione had left Dumbledore’s office shortly after midnight, her mind thick and clouded with the night’s events. And even now, three days later, Hermione still hadn’t properly sorted out in her head all that had happened.

They had spoken for hours after the viewing of Aberforth’s memory. Frankly, Hermione herself still wasn’t entirely sold on Fixed events… Yes, prophecies were undoubtedly unavoidable, but the theory in itself seemed strangely convenient to Hermione… Well, maybe it wasn’t that Hermione doubted the existence of Fixed events, more that she didn’t believe what Dumbledore had to say about just how she was involved with them.

I asked you to bring your time-turner so I could study it… I have a sneaking suspicion that you being brought here may very well be a Fixed occurrence…

Hermione had wanted to laugh at this. What had happened to her was clearly a stupid and tragic accident. Although the random placement of the time-turner in the Room of Requirement did seem suspicious… Why had it been there to begin with? Hermione had wondered why, but never settled on any conclusion, telling herself it was just an oddly misfunctioning time-turner placed in the bathroom at the wrong time… To think that there was a reason for that time-turner being there—

She shook this idea from her head, not wanting to believe her time-turner mishap was anything more than a stupid mistake. Sighing deeply as she carried herself up a flight of stairs, she was currently very eager to get to Astronomy and allow a lecture on pulsars to distract her mind.

However, it was getting increasingly difficult to deny that all of the evidence pointed to Dumbledore’s theories. She had to admit, Dumbledore’s answers to some of her previous questions did seem to coincide with his theory as well.

Do you remember, Miss Granger, that when you had asked me if you should avoid people you know personally, that I told you that it doesn’t particularly matter?

Hermione did remember; it was a question that had stuck out in her mind after they spoke so many weeks ago.

The night you arrived, when I was considering that there was more behind Aberforth’s ‘failed’ attempts, I also had assumed—correctly, I now can say fairly confidently—that your interactions would be irrelevant to your future, and for two reasons… One, your war-marked past that I sensed is filled with unchangeable events… And two, if you are to redeem certain lives, then if anything, these interactions are to be expected…

Part of her wondered why Dumbledore was going out of his way to save these people, but she found herself unable to ask, as she felt this question would insinuate that she wouldn’t expect Dumbledore to want to prevent good people from dying. She’d ask that next meeting, then…

After giving the concept of time-turners a second thought, most eventually arrive at an unsettling conclusion—how have we not used these devices to undo some of this world's most catastrophic events?

Hermione had always believed the answer to this question to be obvious: it was dangerous meddling in time, and attempting to alter one thing would cause some sort of catastrophic domino effect… But Dumbledore seemed to believe that attempts of rectifying terrible deeds had been made before, only to fail, due to their Fixedness... 

But Hermione was going to put all of this out of her mind for now… She would think about this plenty later… She had another week and a half, when she and Dumbledore arranged to meet again, to think about his proposal…

I could save people.

I could save them.

Again, Hermione shook her head. Later… She’d think about it all later.

--

The next couple of days passed in a haze. Her problems with Sirius seemed strangely distant, now that she had much more pressing matters on her mind. His continuing lack of harassing comments seemed to help further this distance, too. In Arithmancy that day, she especially noticed during class how Sirius and Remus would pointedly avoid each other’s gaze, and wondered if they had a row of sorts.

They’re the people Dumbledore’s talking about, you know. Saving.

Hermione snapped her gaze down from Sirius and Remus at the front of the class, hastily returning to her numerical chart.

Even before Dumbledore had made this proposal, Hermione couldn’t deny that she had given the idea a fleeting thought. Her first couple of weeks there were particularly hard for her, not just because of the shock, but also because of guilt from knowing the fates of those around her, and knowing she could prevent their deaths… And now, she could truly act and save people…

Unless their deaths are Fixed , thought Hermione grimly as she carefully filled in each box. Dumbledore’s theory was too nuanced for her to think about while also trying to do calculations, and she forcefully put the idea out of her mind for the rest of the class.

Between all of her classes and her study sessions with Stephan and his friends at the library, Hermione was able to keep herself reasonably occupied that week. That Friday evening was an unusual treat, too—as it was a full moon, Hermione knew that Sirius and his friends would not be at dinner; she fully enjoyed being able to sit down for a meal longer than five minutes.

However, none of these distractions were able to keep her mind from teeming with overlapping thoughts at night.

As Hermione had anticipated, she wasn’t able to sleep very well the past week, not with all of this sudden responsibility she felt. Her wanting to think through Dumbledore’s proposal logically and concisely had been clashing viciously with her habit of numbing all of her emotions. It was difficult to think about this sort of hero-complex theory while also not thinking back to how she felt when she had experienced the people in question dying…

She wondered if this is how Harry felt all the time, like the fate of the world was on his shoulders.

Don’t , reprimanded Hermione, Don’t think about Harry… Just think about what Dumbledore said… Just try to relax and—

The word relax brought all of Hermione’s other thoughts to a halt. Just as she was wondering how she would be able to relax in any shape or form after what all she had been through, she was reminded of a certain bath-involved tactic she used nearly two months ago to unwind. True, her efforts last week to open the Room of Requirement had been fruitless…

But maybe, after all she had been through these past few days… It would open this time.

Hermione found herself in front of the same blank wall on the seventh floor within ten minutes. For once, it hadn’t been a difficult decision to sneak out of bed—she felt as though she thoroughly deserved this.

She began to pace before the wall.

I need to feel better.

Hermione turned to walk in front of the wall a second time.

With everything that has happened, all I want is to feel better.

She turned and walked again. The door had to appear this time…

Please. I just want a place that will make me feel better, or feel anything at all…

When Hermione stopped, the familiar wooden doors had appeared at last, and an overwhelming feeling of relief surged through her veins.

Without a second thought, Hermione walked up to the double doors and walked hastily inside, the doors shutting behind her. Up until this point, she had no idea what to expect when she returned to this room—perhaps the bathroom, or perhaps something else that the Room thought would calm her down.

What she did not expect, however, was the echoing, empty hall that had greeted her the first few times she came to the Room of Requirement almost two months ago—the very same room in which they held D.A. meetings. Seeing this room again caused a rush of memories, memories that Hermione had been suppressing…

And for some reason, seeing this room caused something to erupt in Hermione.

Suddenly, immediately , everything that Hermione Granger had purposefully numbed and refused to feel and think about in the past many weeks just came crashing down.

Every feeling and thought that was laced with the names of her past hit her so significantly that she sank to her knees, steady tears already streaming down her face. In her desperate attempt to force everything back down, she began to take deep heaving breaths, but the tears refused to stop, instead, they just kept coming, and her breaths grew heavier and deeper until she was sobbing, keeled over on the floor with her face in her hands.

She thought about her parents, and how she missed them so severely it felt like there was a giant hole in her stomach… She thought about how panicked they must be, twenty-one years in the future, wondering why their daughter had just vanished from the castle mere months after a deadly war…

Then, it was Ron who came to her mind. She couldn’t pretend that he was just an ex-boyfriend to her, just someone who had broken her heart, and she couldn’t force herself to forget him just because she was in another time now. As logical as she was, and as much she despised topics of Divination and destiny, she had truly felt like she and Ron were soulmates, connected at their cores. But now, they had fallen apart, and she wouldn’t ever be able to reconcile with him as friends, or at least thank him for every beautifully frustrating memory they shared, and Hermione just couldn’t ignore that fact anymore.

After that came Harry, then Ginny, Luna, and then the rest of her friends… With each new person came another shaking sob, adding on to what Hermione currently felt was either a severe panic attack or a releasing of feelings that were too heavy to be bottled up for as long as they had been.

But, as much as I miss them, said a voice clearly in Hermione’s mind, quite unlike the indistinguishable cries she was currently emitting, I can’t ever see them again… Or do anything about it… But I’m not entirely without control, I’m not entirely lost…

And she knew then, she knew for certain she had to take Dumbledore up on his offer, his proposal: save whoever and everyone she could .

If anything, she felt foolish to be so hesitant until now. She was not going to let these people who were so widely loved die all over again. She was entirely willing to sacrifice every moment and every shred of her being to prevent these people from suffering once more.

In that moment, Hermione was suddenly certain that Dumbledore was right . That black time-turner, it was there for a reason , it must have been , and her sole purpose after this would be to protect everyone in her grasp.

No more would she force away painful thoughts of her past, no more would she find excuse after excuse to distract herself from her situation… The smallest, thinnest sliver of Hermione knew this all along, and it was why she had felt so unlike herself recently… Because she knew that this opportunity could not go to waste, she knew that she couldn’t just sit by and watch innocent people suffer all over again. She was just so scared of what would happen if she made even the smallest of mistakes… But there wasn’t room to be scared anymore.

And even though her tears had clouded her vision so severely, she still felt like she could see the shapes of various D.A. members through her tears, all filling up the Room of Requirement as they once had… She could feel that they were there, she could feel Harry, who had every person who resembled a parental figure stripped from him… Ron and Ginny who lost their brother, and George, who lost a piece of himself… She swore that she could hear Neville knocking over someone with a poorly-aimed stunning curse, Neville, who had to visit his parents while knowing that they would never know the person he grew up to be…

If I can’t ever see my family and my friends ever again, thought Hermione miserably, still taking heaving breaths through sobs that have only somewhat subsided, Then I’ll at least make sure that they never have to say goodbye again to anyone they had once lost in this despicable war.

Despite Hermione having calmed down to mere sniffles in just twenty minutes, she didn’t leave the Room of Requirement.

Instead, she gathered parchment and every book on time-turners that the Room of Requirement could procure at her desiring thought. She spent hours pouring over these books, scribbling notes from every section over rolls and rolls of parchment; she wasn’t leaving the room until she had read at least three of the fifteen books and found some information that could possibly further prove Fixed events, or information about attempted time-alterations, or anything at all that Hermione deemed even remotely relevant.

About three hours and one and a half books in, Hermione took out a fresh roll of parchment, and in big letters, titled it with a phrase that she wasn’t able to even think about without panicking just a few days prior:

Preliminary Ideas for Saving those who Died at Voldemort’s Hand.

Sure, she still couldn’t quite write down the names of the very people she was thinking about, Hermione knew… But it was a good start.

--

Hermione left the Room of Requirement at half-past seven in the morning.

No urge to sleep had hit her that entire night, and she didn’t even feel tired at all until she closed the wooden doors of the Room behind her, the ache from having been hunched over a table all night just settling into her bones.

Bleak light was beginning to diffuse through the darkened corridors, the sun having yet to fully rise. Hermione began to quickly make her way down the hallways and stairs to her room, determined to get to sleep before the sun rose.

As tired as she was, she still felt strangely invigorated from that night’s progress. She truly felt like a new person—well, she felt truly like herself, but with a new energy, a new purpose.

It wasn’t like she was excited to just start swooping in and out like a superhero, conveniently saving people, though… No, she still felt a great deal of responsibility and stress, a stress that was slowly beginning to settle in and sit firmly upon Hermione’s shoulders. But it was a burden she was more than willing to take on.

After a long night, Hermione expected to peacefully return to her room and collapse into bed. But perhaps with her luck, she should have figured that she wouldn’t have it that easy.

Hermione was just passing through the second floor and towards the staircase leading to the first floor, where her room was. But as she was about to turn into the main corridor, she heard voices.

Normally, she would have just carried on walking like normal, but it was the mention of her own name that made her stop and listen, hiding behind the corner of the main corridor.

“He’s not still obsessed with the Granger girl, then?”

Hermione sighed. Clearly, whoever these students were were talking about her and Sirius. And to think that she could be in her room already if she had left the Room of Requirement just a couple minutes earlier…

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t notice them fighting in Potions anymore, Severus thinks so too,” replied the other student.

So these students are probably Slytherins , concluded Hermione, furrowing her brow upon hearing Snape’s name. Why do they care about Sirius and me…? Confused, Hermione continued to listen.

Their footsteps had stopped, sounding to be halfway down the corridor; Hermione was hesitant to peek around the corner to see what they were doing, not wanting to be seen.

“It’s here?” questioned the second voice, “Under this painting?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” replied the first, “Severus said so… And it makes sense, too. From here, it would easily lead to the ground floor and then to the Whomping Willow.”

With this, Hermione’s eyes widened. The Whomping Willow… They couldn’t possibly be talking about the secret passageway leading to the Shrieking Shack…

“Are you sure that they’ll be coming out here?” asked the second voice, doubt in his voice, “What reason do they have to be in the Shrieking Shack, anyways?”

“I’m certain they’re coming out of here, Avery,” insisted the first voice. Avery . Hermione knew that name; she along with her friends fought him and many other Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic.

“Severus has used it himself,” continued the first voice, “He claims to have no idea what’s down here, which is a fat lie, he had made it halfway down the passageway himself his fifth year, I’m still convinced he saw something and Potter and all them forced him to shut his mouth… But I know for certain that Sirius disappears at dinner once a month, so it all lines up.”

Hermione quickly attempted to piece together all the evidence in her head—the usage of Sirius’ first name could only mean that this Slytherin student knew him very well… But Sirius hated Slytherin house—

Regulus , realized Hermione suddenly, that’s Regulus speaking.

“When are they coming out, then?” said Avery impatiently, “It’s getting to be daybreak and the teachers are bound to start walking about any time now. They’ll be wondering why we’re hanging around some dusty old—”

Before Avery could finish speaking, and before Hermione could think of what to do, there was the sound of a portrait swinging open. Immediately, yelling commenced.

“What— What are you doing here?” demanded Sirius’ voice.

“You tell us, what’s Head Boy doing sneaking around at night?” sneered Avery. 

“Severus told me I could find you here,” said Regulus to Sirius, “You keep avoiding me, so I have to come to you myself—”

“Snivellus told you?!” exclaimed James’ voice. Hermione decided she could spare a glance around the corner—certainly, everyone would be too distracted to notice her.

“You shouldn’t have come here, you nosy little brat,” snarled Sirius as Hermione peeked around the corner. From what Hermione could see, Regulus and Avery both had their wands pointed at the four others, Sirius and James directly in front of them. Remus and Peter were still halfway through the portrait hole and were now climbing out and closing the portrait behind them.

“You keep avoiding me,” said Regulus simply, “Mother keeps asking why I haven’t sent a letter back with your response yet.”

“I’m not listening to a single word that vile woman has to say,” snapped Sirius, “I should have known this is why you told me about Granger, you did want something—”

“Reach for your wand and I won’t hesitate to curse you,” warned Regulus, for Sirius had just reached into his pocket.

“It’s two on four, you really want to play this?” asked Remus lowly.

“Sirius, I’m warning you!” Regulus shouted, for Sirius had now taken his wand out of his pocket.

“Padfoot, just listen to whatever he has to say!” pleaded Peter in a very panicked voice, “S-Snape already told them about Moony being a werewolf, they’re bound to tell everyone in the school if you don’t—”

“What?”

Regulus’ response of genuine shock caused an immediate, eerie silence to fall in the corridor. Sirius’ gaze hardened significantly, his jaw clenched; Remus shut his eyes and pressed his lips together. Peter turned very pale, aware he just made a vast presumption.

“Who is a werewolf?” asked Regulus, “One of you?”

“Shut up,” snapped James, the first to react, “You keep your mouth shut about things you don’t know!”

“Well, it’s not Pettigrew, obviously,” chimed in Avery, raising his wand, “Not your brother, Reg… And certainly not Potter, Nott tells me he never misses a Quidditch practice, they’re bound to fall on a full moon every once in a while—"

No. They can’t find out.

Before Avery could say the words out loud, Hermione stepped out from behind the corner and pointed her wand at Avery as she shouted, “Obliviate!”

Avery staggered back, tripping and falling to the ground. Regulus immediately turned to face her, but he was too late, Hermione had already advanced on him—

“Obliviate!” Regulus stumbled backward, but remained standing—He looked around, already very confused and clearly unsure on how he had gotten there, but Hermione wasn’t willing to take risks— 

In quick succession, Hermione hit Regulus and then Avery with a stunning spell, causing the former to fall to the ground and the latter to remain collapsed.

And then, it was just Hermione and the four others, staring at each other two meters apart.

Hermione was panting slightly from how immediately her heartbeat had quickened. Sirius was the first to speak.

“What the bloody hell,” began Sirius in a low voice, “was that?”

“Where did you come from?” wondered James, his eyes very wide. He looked very much how Harry had looked when he realized they won the Quidditch Cup in their fifth year. “You took them both on like it was nothing…”

“Were you listening the entire time?” asked Remus quietly. 

It was Remus’ question that seemed to draw James and Peter out of their looks of amazement. Sirius, however, had been glaring at her the entire time.

“I—” Hermione stammered over her words, “I… No, I didn't hear anything, and I just, well, I just saw Regulus and Avery squaring up on you four and—” 

“But you erased their memories,” said Remus, his voice calm yet wavering very slightly. “You didn’t do that just for nothing… Did you even have to listen the entire time to understand what was going on? You acted very quickly.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this is information Granger knew beforehand—don’t you go anywhere!” snapped Sirius, as Hermione was just looking behind her, wanting desperately to just disappear. She couldn’t have just done nothing, though, she couldn’t have let them tell everyone about Remus…

“Please, Padfoot, not now —”

“I’m defending you, Moony!” interjected Sirius, his gaze still set on Hermione, “So you can stop ignoring me and thinking you’re levitating above the rest of us, because I’m on your side!”

“Oi,” said James carefully, watching Hermione but with much less malice than Sirius, “just let her speak, stop arguing—”

“She spoke! And she immediately started lying and claiming she heard nothing! ” exclaimed Sirius, “Do you two not get it, all Granger does is lie—”

“I’m right here,” said Hermione stiffly, “You don’t have to talk about me as if I weren't here—”

“All you do is lie, Granger,” snarled Sirius lowly. “I bet you were spying on us, and that’s how you just conveniently came upon Regulus and Avery, reckon they spoiled your plans—"

“What?!” exclaimed Hermione, “How does that make any sense?!”

“You—You can Obliviate people?” asked Peter next, his eyes wide. “But—that’s advanced magic, that is—”

“Advanced magic, what possible reason would you have, Granger, for knowing how to—”

“Padfoot give it a rest!” interjected Remus. “She just saved our necks, and you’re still trying to—”

“Of course now you’re just so eager to speak with me,” growled Sirius, turning to Remus, “having ignored me all week and all last night, as if I haven’t spent so many hours bent over in the library just so I can keep you company—"

“Sirius!” exclaimed Hermione very loudly. Her sudden shriek caused all four of the boys to start and look at her.

“Get it through your thick skull that I despise Voldemort with every ounce of my being!”

Voldemort’s name had left Hermione’s lips with ease; in her outburst, she had completely forgotten the type of reaction that name once caused.

Peter squealed very loudly, flinching with his entire body; Remus’ mouth fell open very slightly. James and Sirius, however, had the same reaction of pure shock: they blinked plainly at Hermione, having only winced very faintly at his name. Despite the range in reaction, they were now all staring at Hermione with the same look of curious yet mildly horrified awe.

As they were all too shocked to speak, Hermione carried on.

“Do you have any idea what he’s taken from me?” asked Hermione weakly, her throat so tight that many of these words had broken into whispers.

A thick, deafening silence followed Hermione’s words, none of the boys before her saying a single word. Already, Hermione was regretting saying this, expressing so much vulnerability… But she was just so sick of Sirius treating her like she was the same type of scum who killed so many people she cared about.

“If you can watch me attack and erase the memories of two students who practice the Dark Arts, and still carry on thinking that I want to do the same type of magic and damage Voldemort does,” mumbled Hermione quietly, “then I don’t know what to tell you…”

The second mentioning of Voldemort’s name got less of a reaction this time around but still caused Peter to wince.

She then dropped her head, shoving her wand into her pocket, and walked down the main corridor. As she passed them and the two Slytherin boys still on the floor, she refused to look up at Sirius and his friends. She just wanted to go back to her room…

None of them stopped her.

Chapter Text

“Stop stepping on my foot, Wormtail—”

“It’s not me!”

“That’s me mate, sorry—”

“Well, back off a bit, alright? It’s like you’re trying to take my foot off.”

Sirius had been irritated that entire night, and for reasons beyond James stepping on his foot as they all squeezed down the secret passageway back to the castle.

For one, he and Remus had both refused to speak with one another that entire week—well, Remus tried speaking with him towards the beginning of that week, but after enduring a couple of Sirius’ condescending comments about siding with a traitor, Remus seemed to think it was best to leave him alone and not speak to him at all. And for some reason, this had made Sirius even more cross with him.

As that night was the full moon, Sirius had expected that Remus would at least speak with him, seeing that even though Sirius was upset with him, that he was willing to be the bigger person and still be there for Remus in his time of need. However, even in their animal forms, Remus had still pointedly avoided Sirius in the Shack.

As if all of that weren’t enough to tick Sirius off, his brother Regulus had been trying to corner him in all parts of the castle for the past three days. When Regulus had first approached him, Sirius had reluctantly listened, internally hoping that he would have more information on Granger.

However, the moment that the words “Mother wants to pass along a message to you specifically” had left Regulus’ mouth, he booked it out of there (and, of course, jinxed Regulus’ legs together as he left). And, as Sirius had predicted, Regulus had tried to use the “I told you about Granger” card to try and get him to stay. Unfortunately for his brother, Sirius had no interest in playing fairly when it came to Slytherins, and especially Slytherins that he was related to.

Sirius had long since vowed to never, ever come into contact with members of his own family ever again as long as he could avoid it. He really only still spoke to Regulus in a semi-decent manner because his younger brother wasn’t worth the effort of getting worked up over. But, as the past few days had gone to pass with Regulus trying to tail him everywhere, Sirius was regretting not distancing himself from him sooner.

“It’s seven forty, now,” said Remus from the back, the caboose, “Sun shouldn’t rise for at least another ten minutes, so we’ve got plenty of time to make it back to the dorms before students start getting up for breakfast.”

“We’ll be fine, Moony,” said James from right behind Sirius. The passageway was growing wider and wider, indicating that they were nearly at the portrait, “It’s all routine at this point. Besides, who’s getting up before eight on a Saturday?”

“Complete weirdos, that’s who,” muttered Sirius, “Bet Granger gets up this early to take advantage of an empty castle.”

He listened closely into the silence, admittedly waiting for Remus to challenge him. When he didn’t, Sirius just clenched his teeth.

“We’re here,” said Peter meekly, likely wanting to break the awkward silence that had just settled in the passageway. The portrait was within ten paces of the group, now. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Think I’ll wait until the Great Hall opens and grab a bite of breakfast,” said Remus, “I’m completely starved.”

“Yeah, bet you are,” said Sirius lowly under his breath. He wasn’t even sure himself what this meant, he just wanted to be petty.

Angry again at Remus’ following silence, Sirius violently pushed the portrait open, ready to storm off to the dormitories. But, of course, Sirius never got what he wanted.

Instead of opening the portrait to a deserted hallway, he was presented with his younger brother and his stupid friend Avery, a Slytherin in Sirius’ own year, with their wands already raised and pointed at them. He himself started a bit, and he heard the three behind him stop in surprise.

Immediately, pent up anger flared up in Sirius’ entire body, and even though Regulus had opened his mouth first, Sirius was the first to respond to the situation.

“What—what are you doing here?” hissed Sirius, plunging his hand into his pocket for his wand. As he did so, Avery raised his wand at Sirius, causing the latter to stop reluctantly.

“You tell us, what’s Head Boy doing sneaking around at night?” sneered Avery. Closely beside him, Sirius could feel James tense up in anger. A quick glance up and down the corridor told Sirius that Regulus and Avery had at least come alone.

Four against two if it comes down to it, no problem at all. But Sirius knew then to not act just yet; not with Avery’s wand thrust out so aggressively the veins in his hands popped out.

“Severus told me I could find you here,” Regulus said snidely, looking right at Sirius, “You keep avoiding me, so I have to come to you myself—”

Before Sirius could comment on his brother’s stalker behavior, James jumped in. “Snivellus told you?!” he exclaimed, immediately narrowing his eyes in anger. Despite him having abandoned his bully-like behavior towards Snape a year ago, he still very much despised him; in fact, Sirius expected James to approach the Slytherin later this week just because of this. Sirius himself was just shocked that Snape would even tell Regulus and Avery about the passageway… It was entirely too closely attached to the story that Dumbledore had forbidden him to ever speak of.

“You shouldn’t have come here, you nosy little brat,” growled Sirius, currently more focused on Regulus.

“You keep avoiding me,” shrugged Regulus, “Mother keeps asking why I haven’t sent a letter back with your response yet.”

“I’m not listening to a single word that vile woman has to say,” retorted Sirius. He had no idea what was so important that his own mother who detested him actually wanted to hear from Sirius; whatever the message was, he was certain it was manipulative in nature.

In an attempt at subtlety, Sirius slowly slipped his hand back into his pocket as he continued to speak, “I should have known this is why you told me about Granger, you did want something—”

“Reach for your wand and I won’t hesitate to curse you,” said Regulus, raising his wand higher at Sirius.

“It’s two on four, you really want to play this?” said Remus, speaking up for the first time. Unwillingly, Sirius felt a rush of gratitude towards Remus—frustratingly, he appreciated even this smallest bit of acknowledgement that he and Sirius were on the same side.

“Sirius, I’m warning you!” yelled Regulus, now that Sirius had completely taken his wand out of his robes—

“Padfoot, just listen to whatever he has to say!” squealed Peter, “S-Snape already told them about Moony being a werewolf, they’re bound to tell everyone in the school if you don’t—”

“What?”

In this moment, Sirius realized two things.

One, Peter had idiotically assumed that since Snape had told Regulus and Avery about the secret passageway to the Whomping Willow, that Snape had also told them about the prank and Remus’ status of a werewolf. And two, that Regulus and Avery were going to make sure that this information got around the castle by lunchtime if Sirius and all of them didn’t put a stop to the pair of Slytherins.

“Who is a werewolf?” asked Regulus incredulously, “One of you?”

“Shut up. You keep your mouth shut about things you don’t know!” shouted James, but Sirius realized it was over… He spared a glance behind him to look at Remus’ face… Sirius had never seen him look this gutted before…

“Well, it’s not Pettigrew, obviously,” commented Avery in a tone that made Sirius want to punch his eyes in, “Not your brother, Reg… And certainly not Potter, Nott tells me he never misses a Quidditch practice, they’re bound to fall on a full moon every once in a while—"

And suddenly, so unexpectedly that Sirius jumped half a foot in the air, a voice came out of nowhere to their right, shouting—

“Obliviate!”

Sirius watched as Avery stumbled backwards, falling stupidly to the floor; when he spun his head around to see what on Jupiter had just happened, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw—

Hermione Granger. She had just stepped out from behind the turn of the corridor, and was now pacing towards them steadily armed with her wand. But she wasn’t looking at Sirius, or James, or Remus or Peter, no, she was looking at Regulus as if he were nothing more than a very annoying fly. Regulus, who had spent too long looking at Avery in shock, attempted to turn on Hermione, but he didn’t even have the chance to raise his wand before another jet of light was sent in his direction.

“Obliviate!”

Regulus then staggered back, but he didn’t fall; instead, he looked at Sirius with widened eyes, obviously completely lost.

With Hermione drawing two rapid slashes through the air, Regulus and Avery were both hit with stunning spells, successfully sending his now unconscious brother to the floor. Hermione studied his body as he hit the ground, as if there would be any doubt that Regulus wasn’t knocked out cold.

And then, she was just standing there. She lowered her wand, her determinedly focused expression from moments before suddenly contorting into one of anxiety as she looked at Sirius and his friends.

In that moment, Sirius had a horrible, awful realization.

Hermione Granger had just risked her own neck saving their reputations.

Hermione Granger had just Obliviated and Stunned two Death Eater To-Bes.

Hermione Granger was not a spy, or a Death Eater, or anything Sirius had once thought her to be—

But none of these thoughts stopped Sirius from asking the only question he could formulate at that time: “What the bloody hell, was that?”

As these words left Sirius’ lips, he found himself glaring at Hermione once more, watching as she grew steadily more and more anxious.

Hermione Granger had just come out of nowhere.

Immediately, Sirius forced himself to think, there’s no way, there’s no way that Granger would just show up out of nowhere and be of extremely convenient use to them, not this early on a Saturday—surely, she was up to something else, she had to be, otherwise that would mean that Sirius had been horribly and deeply wrong for the past month and a half—

“Where did you come from?” asked James. He sounded as if he were uncertain if he were dreaming or not. “You took them both on like it was nothing…”

Remus’ next question caused Sirius to snap out of his state of internal conspiracizing.

“Were you listening the entire time?” asked Remus, his voice quiet.

And, of course, Hermione immediately began to stumble over her words.

“I—I… I… No, I didn't hear anything, and I just, well, I just saw Regulus and Avery squaring up on you four and—”

Of course she’s lying, thought Sirius, desperately clinging to this as evidence, She’s lying—

“But you erased their memories,” said Remus, his voice weak, “You didn’t do that just for nothing… Did you even have to listen the entire time to understand what was going on? You acted very quickly.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this is information Granger knew beforehand—don’t you go anywhere!” accused Sirius, as Hermione was currently looking around frantically, as if looking for an escape route.

“Please Padfoot,” said Remus. And immediately, Sirius was absolutely enraged. Now, he chose to speak to Sirius; he wasn’t going to say anything to him all that night, but he was going to now to defend someone who was a stranger to them, “not now—"

“I’m defending you, Moony!” exclaimed Sirius, desperately wanting to turn to Remus and snap in his face, but unwilling to take his gaze away from Hermione, “So you can stop ignoring me and thinking you’re levitating above the rest of us, because I’m on your side!”

“Guys,” said James next, and of course he chose to be the mediator again, “just let her speak, stop arguing—”

“She spoke! And she immediately started lying and claiming she heard nothing! Do you two not get it, all Granger does is lie—”

“I’m right here,” said Hermione with a wrinkle to her nose that for some reason just infuriated Sirius, “You don’t have to talk about me as if I weren't here—”

“All you do is lie, Granger,” spat Sirius, “I bet you were spying on us, and that’s how you just conveniently came upon Regulus and Avery, reckon they spoiled your plans—"

“What?!” shouted Hermione, “How does that make any sense?!”

“You—You can Obliviate people?” asked Peter from behind Sirius, “But—That’s advanced magic, that is—”

“Advanced magic, what possible reason would you have, Granger, for knowing how to—”

“Padfoot give it a rest!"

Sirius made a face, feeling his hands clenched into fists as Remus once again sided with the wrong person.

“She just saved our necks, and you’re still trying to—”

“Of course now you’re just so eager to speak with me,” snarled Sirius, finally turning to look at Remus. Remus seemed to be wearing an expression of resigned frustration, and it was really beginning to tick Sirius off just how morally above Sirius Remus felt he was.

“Having ignored me all week and all last night, as if I haven’t spent so many hours bent over in the library just so I can keep you company—"

Hermione’s voice cut through Sirius’ sentence so sharply that Sirius jumped, snapping his gaze back around to look at her.

“Sirius!”

Sirius and all of them looked at her blankly. She looked very similarly to when Sirius had made fun of her for liking freckles, and when he had cornered her into a broom closet—which was to say, she looked very upset and angry. Sirius wasn’t scared of a lot of things, but he really did not want to be on the receiving end of her wand.

“Get it through your thick skull that I despise Voldemort with every ounce of my being!”

Sure, Sirius had said Voldemort’s name before. Everyone in their group had at least once, besides Peter. However, whenever they said it, it was always in a whisper, or a low voice, and they certainly always checked to make sure they were alone. Sirius always said to avoid saying his name to be smart, but never out of fear or cowardice.

But Hermione had said Voldemort’s name like she named him herself.

Peter yelped in a high-pitched voice. Sirius had no idea how Remus or James had reacted as he was too busy looking at Hermione in shock; he even had flinched in the slightest bit at the sound of his name.

Hermione herself looked only somewhat taken aback by their reactions, as if she were thinking, What, like he’s scary?

No one said anything at all as Hermione continued to speak.

“Do you have any idea what he’s taken from me?” she then asked weakly. Her voice was suddenly so small, especially in comparison to her fearlessness just moments before. Her lips that were just pursed together tightly were now trembling very slightly.

Still silence. Hermione pressed on, her voice stronger this time.

“If you can watch me attack and erase the memories of two students who practice the Dark Arts, and still carry on thinking that I want to do the same type of magic and damage Voldemort does… Then I don’t know what to tell you…”

And then, after looking at the four of them for a couple of seconds, she then looked down and walked very quickly past them all. Sirius turned to look at her go, still baffled, but he didn’t call after her… No, Sirius currently had a very sinking feeling in his stomach right now, a feeling he wasn’t willing to address yet…

Even when she turned the corner, they still didn’t have much at all to say to one another. For the first time in what felt like over a week, he and Remus actually looked at each other, sharing a glance of mutual bewilderment.

“I… What?” said James first, looking between Sirius, Remus, and Peter, “What the… What…”

“I know,” said Sirius lowly. He then looked down at Avery and Regulus’ bodies, still stunned and sprawled on the floor.

“Come on,” said Sirius, tilting his head towards the direction of the stairs, “We should probably get going…”

Sirius’ gaze fell on Peter, who still looked very pale and was flinching with every word said. Sirius just wrinkled his nose.

“Wormtail, you fucking idiot.”

--

Sirius spent most his weekend yelling at Peter.

Yes, Peter had almost revealed Remus’ identity as a werewolf to two eventual Death Eaters, but he was mostly taking out his frustrations at Peter as he could no longer direct it at Hermione Granger.

After an interaction like that, most would think that it would be the hot topic of the week. Sirius, however, had refused to as much mention Hermione’s name in front of his friends, for reasons he wasn’t quite willing to think about yet. James and Remus, however, would always bend close to each other and start whispering madly whenever Sirius turned the other way, and Sirius knew that they themselves were discussing what all had happened with Hermione.

Sirius pretended to have no interest.

In terms of Peter’s blunder, Sirius seemed to be the only person rightfully angry once again. Remus, while initially extremely frustrated with Peter for almost revealing his most devastating secret, was mostly relieved that everything had turned out alright in the end. James took a couple of digs at Peter for having the mental capacity of a peanut, and apologized to Remus many times on Peter’s behalf, but was otherwise mentally stable and very much not enraged.

Peter, as expected, groveled to the very best of his ability to the three of them with every chance he got; he even scrambled to Honeydukes to buy Remus a selection of sweets and fudge as an apology and left it on Remus’ bed.

“Well, that’s actually quite nice of him,” commented Remus when he, Sirius, and James had returned to the dormitory on Monday morning after breakfast. Peter had mysteriously been nowhere to be seen yet that morning; his absence was likely due to wanting to avoid getting chewed out by Sirius for the fifth time in two days.

“He’s only gotten you that because he’s afraid we’ll tell him to piss off after this gaffe,” said Sirius with a slight wrinkle of the nose.

“While I can’t deny that isn’t the main reason behind this marvelous apology of sweets,” admitted James, “he did seem pretty genuine when you snapped at him at dinner last night, Padfoot.”

“You call those alligator tears genuine?”

“Sirius,” said Remus warningly, but his tone was gentle. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure, but he was somewhat certain that their relationship had quietly repaired in the past forty-eight hours; While no words on this topic were spoken out loud, he and Remus both were acting pointedly kinder towards each other. Who knew all it took Moony to like him again was to have his greatest secret almost revealed?

“Oi, it’s not my fault he jumped through mental loops the size of Quidditch goals that Snivvy had told Regulus about you,” replied Sirius, raising his hands up in playful defense.

“You know, that’s fair,” agreed James. He had been agreeing with Sirius a lot more recently, likely to make up for the fact that he had remained perfectly neutral the entire week Remus and Sirius refused to speak with one another, but Sirius appreciated it all the same.

“Peter was literally there when Dumbledore took all of us plus Snivellus to his office and made him swear to secrecy,” continued James, “He knew just as well as the rest of us that Snivellus couldn’t possibly have told them.”

“Wonder what Snape did tell them, then,” wondered Remus as he sat down on his bed, opening up his package of sweets, “Since clearly, he told them about the secret passageway…”

“If he said anything too interesting they would have likely went looking down the passageway themselves,” said Sirius with a shrug, sitting down next to Remus to examine the present, “He probably said that I was just pulling his leg with some stupid prank, which is only half true.”

“Not one of your best moments, mate,” said James honestly.

“Oh, come off it, he’s alive, isn’t he?” said Sirius distractedly.

“Butterbeer flavored fudge, excellent,” grinned Remus as he opened up one of the many small paper boxes, “You know, I’ll really have to thank Wormtail later. No hard feelings, really, since Hermione—…”

Remus stopped speaking, hastily digging into his package to distract himself; James looked at Sirius like he were expecting him to blow up.

Sirius supposed he should have expected Remus and James to bring up the Hermione Incident at some point. To be honest, he had a fair amount to discuss himself—it was just he hadn’t quite thought through everything that had happened with her, nor had he figured out just how he felt about her now.

Well, that was partially a lie, he had a pretty solid idea of where he now stood with her—but Sirius wasn’t about to admit that to himself just yet.

The truth was, the epiphany that Sirius had when Hermione stormed out and started Obliviating future Death Eaters like it was her profession wasn’t just some sort of momentary, passing thought that Sirius had hoped—he didn’t want to think about how genuinely relieved and impressed he had been—confused, yes, but impressed all the same—he didn’t want to think about how he didn’t really resent her at all, how fabricated his feelings of suspicion were—how he immediately turned on her just to compensate for fact that Sirius refused to admit he was wrong— that James had been correct when he said Sirius didn’t really ever hate her—

James was the one to break the silence—likely in an attempt to control whatever reaction Sirius would decide on—and interrupt Sirius’ current thought train.

“There is something undoubtably weird about her,” said James, sitting down on his own bed, “You were definitely onto something, Padfoot, even if you were barking up the entirely wrong tree.”

“I was wondering when we’d finally address the Hippogriff in the room,” responded Remus, giving Sirius a side glance and watching his reaction carefully.

“She just came out of nowhere… Spitting out his name like it was nothing…” said James.

“Well, we say his name all the time,” defended Sirius quickly. While it was indeed shocking to hear her toss around Voldemort’s name, he was mostly surprised because he never expected Hermione of all people to say it… Especially not with what he previously chose to believe of her allegiance…

“Yeah, but we don’t go about shouting ‘Voldemort’ like she did, do we?” replied James, “You’d think she had faced him herself with how she was talking about him.”

“Talk about those Obliviation Charms, too,” commented Remus, “Wormtail was right, that’s some really advanced magic. A lot of adult wizards can’t pull one off…”

“For me,” began Sirius. Remus and James both snapped their attention to him.

“What she actually said is what I’m most curious about,” he continued. “‘Do you have any idea what he’s taken from me?’ That’s what she said, yeah?”

“Yeah, it is,” confirmed James, seemingly relieved that Sirius wasn’t about to start yelling, “I had no idea. ‘Spose we should have known, though, every other person these days knows someone who’s been taken out…”

“I was thinking about that, too,” agreed Remus, “I think… I think that’s why she suddenly transferred. There’s no place safer than Hogwarts, after all.”

“Where’d she go to school before here, then?” asked James curiously, “I would guess she was homeschooled, but there’s no way she is, being that good at magic.”

While Remus and James began to discuss which school Hermione could have gone to, Sirius got lost in his own thoughts, thinking back to when he himself had this very conversation with Regulus…

Whatever that little slimeball has to tell me, Sirius told himself very firmly, I’m not going to listen to it.

“So… Mate,” said Remus slowly. Sirius looked up from the floor and to Remus, who looked like he was choosing his words very carefully in his head; Sirius had a pretty firm idea of what he was about to say next.

“You aren’t still… You believe her, right?” asked Remus, treading carefully, “You can’t possibly still think that she’s up to something evil, right?”

“I mean,” said Sirius, trying to shrug in a way that he hoped was nonchalant, “I suppose… As weird as she is, as long as she’s on our side… Then it’s not a big deal, then…”

“Oh bloody hell, thank Merlin in Avalon!” said James, flopping down on his bed, “Damn, Padfoot, you were really stressing me and Moony out.”

“We were thinking that if this didn’t convince you, then nothing would,” said Remus with a small smile, “We don’t want to give you a hard time, though. We understand… It’s just that—”

“Got too out of hand, yeah,” said Sirius begrudgingly, “I still haven’t sorted out everything about her. Because even if she is decent, there’s still the whole thing about the map.”

“Yes, we haven’t forgotten,” said James, readjusting his glasses (they had been knocked askew when his face hit the bed), “I guess we can actually ask about that now, since, you know, none of us will be yelling at her and she won’t put up walls the height of Gryffindor tower.”

“Har, har,” drawled Sirius, but it was difficult to suppress a smile. He had forgotten how nice it felt to actually agree with people.

“Well, let’s try not to question her in class—which starts in about ten minutes, we really have to hurry,” added Remus with a glance to his watch.

With Peter still nowhere to be seen, they raced down to Transfiguration. Peter was actually already in class, sitting towards the front. Remus took a seat next to him, and James next to Remus, but Sirius remained standing. He was currently trying very hard not to look at the girl seated in the back-left corner of the room…

“Thanks for the sweets, Wormtail,” said Remus with a gentle smile. Peter sheepishly smiled, playing nervously with his fingers. “Where were you at breakfast?”

“Well, I sneaked out to Honeydukes this morning, got there just as it opened,” said Peter. He then added on anxiously, “You lot aren’t telling me to get lost, are you?”

“Nah,” said James, “Though we right considered it—just a joke, Moony—Padfoot, where are you—oh lord—”

Sirius was weaving through desks towards the back of the room, taking the seat right in front of Hermione, as Evans was sitting in the one next and was currently trying to make small talk with her. Hermione seemed only politely engaged, but when she saw Sirius heading her way, quickly looked between Lily and her desk, as if unsure where to focus her gaze.

“Black, can’t you leave her alone?” Evans asked exasperatedly as he sat in the seat in front of her. Remus, James, and Peter were all looking at him from the front of the classroom very anxiously, but did not follow or call after him.

“We’re finally just getting to get to know each other,” continued Evans, which Sirius took to mean, she’s finally letting me speak to her instead of trying to ignore me, “So if you’re just going to yell at her then I’ll have no choice but to hex your lips shut.”

“Relax, Evans. James would punt me to France if I did anything around you that was even mildly upsetting,” said Sirius, before turning to Hermione. She looked a bit pink in the face, but otherwise didn’t react to his presence.

“Morning, Hermione,” said Sirius. And then he turned back around in his seat.

He wasn’t able to see Hermione’s reaction, but he caught a glimpse of Evan’s face of disbelief and mild disgust as he turned. She and Hermione were probably wondering just what Sirius was getting at, and honestly, Sirius had no idea himself.

The moment he got to Hermione, he had realized that he had absolutely zero idea what he would even say to her—he still had yet to properly sort out his thoughts on her…

Sirius henceforth used that class period to mentally conduct a meta-analysis on Hermione Granger: instead of taking notes on McGonagall’s lecture on human transfiguration, he instead doodled rather distractedly, deep in thought as he finally confronted everything he had refused to really think about…

Obviously, Sirius now no longer suspected Hermione of anything bad… But now she was even more mysterious than ever. Sirius was still frustrated that there were so many secrets surrounding her that just didn’t make sense, but he definitely wasn’t going to keep, well… Persisting she speak to him as he did before… It was infuriating to admit that James had been right all along, that Sirius didn’t really hate Hermione, otherwise it wouldn’t have been so easy to just stop picking on her… But he was definitely wrong in that Sirius had never ever flirted with her, so James was still a moron…

“Yes?” said Professor McGonagall suddenly, looking right at Sirius, who started in his seat.

McGonagall must have asked Sirius some sort of question. Before Sirius could make up some half-assed excuse, however, there came a voice from behind him.

“The duration of a human transfiguration depends on the witch’s or wizard’s own magical ability,” said Hermione smartly, “If done incorrectly, the subject could be permanently transfigured.”

“Correct,” nodded McGonagall, “Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, on the the most unfortunate topics of such permanent transfigurations—which I do hope will serve as a warning for some of our hastier students…” McGonagall looked right at Peter as she said this.

“Nice job,” said Evans quietly from behind Sirius. It wasn’t a surprise at all that Hermione was smart—not with how many times Hermione had proved herself as an excellent witch—but Sirius didn’t think he had ever heard Hermione speak out loud in class before.

When class ended, Sirius took care to pack up as slowly as possible—his head was still clouded with thoughts all colored with Hermione’s name, and he figured that actually speaking with her would clear things up a bit. However, Evans seemed to have the same idea. She told Andrea, who was sitting next to her, to go ahead without her, evidently wanting a word with Hermione.

“What are you doing, Black?” asked Evans, “Your friends are waiting for you.”

“Are they?” asked Sirius distractedly, spotting James, Remus, and Peter in the front of the class. Sirius waved them away; Remus looked a little worried, but allowed himself to be beckoned out of the class by James, Peter following closely.

“Erm…” trailed Hermione, who was still in her seat. She looked up at Evans and Sirius each, standing slowly as she slung her bag over her shoulder, “… Yes?”

“Well,” began Evans, cutting clear across Sirius as he opened his mouth, “There’s a Quidditch match this Saturday. I just wanted to say that you’re more than welcome to come join Andrea and me, if you’d like, to watch the match.”

Quidditch. Sirius had completely forgotten that the sport had even existed that past weekend; now that he thought about it, he felt stupid; James had been talking about the match non-stop last week.

“Oh,” said Hermione, looking a bit flustered, “Er—That’s really nice, and I’d love to—” Sirius took care to notice that she did not look like she’d love to at all; if anything, she looked oddly nervous, “—but I’ve already promised Stephan I would watch with him.”

“Oh,” said Evans with a look of surprise, Sirius with a look of disgust, “That’s alright, then, don’t worry about it. Anyway, you’re more than welcome to sit with us at meals if you’d like.”

Hermione smiled very slightly, but this time, it looked genuine. “Sure, alright.”

Evans smiled and said her goodbyes, giving Sirius a look before she headed towards the door. Hermione looked after her, as if Sirius were not there at all.

“You’re going to have to duel James for her, if you’re interested,” commented Sirius, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut it,” said Hermione lowly, beginning to walk out of the classroom herself. Sirius followed closely behind her, earning a wary look from McGonagall, still sitting at her desk.

“Good job today, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said as they were exiting the room. Hermione turned so quickly that she almost stepped on Sirius’ foot. A familiar waft of turmeric and chamomile invaded his senses as her hair nearly brushed his face.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said quickly, looking at her eagerly. Sirius suspected that she was praying that McGonagall would hold her back, ensuring that she wouldn’t have to speak with Sirius.

But McGonagall didn’t say anything else, and Hermione was forced to leave the classroom with Sirius tailing behind.

“You’re walking too fast,” said Sirius, irritated, “We have a free period next, I’m not sure where you think you’re running off to—"

“Why are you speaking with me, Sirius?”

Hermione suddenly stopped in her step and turned to meet Sirius; if he weren’t paying attention, he would have plowed right through her.

“Well—are you just going to pretend nothing at all happened, then?” Sirius looked around the corridor, only a few students walking past them. He had half expected James and all of them to hang around and ask Hermione their own fair share of questions.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, Sirius,” said Hermione tiredly, “But I’m really sick of you accusing—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything!” replied Sirius rapidly, “I swear. I just, well… I don’t know. It was weird, what happened.”

“So you aren’t going to start shouting at me?” asked Hermione skeptically.

“No.”

Hermione pursed her lips at Sirius, looking at him plainly before turning around and walking in the other direction.

“No, really,” insisted Sirius, quickly following, “I just want to talk about it! Don’t you?”

“You’re really just going to try having a pleasant conversation with me as if you haven’t been about two characteristics short of an actual stalker for the past near two months?” asked Hermione, looking straight ahead.

“Well—” Sirius struggled for the rights words, “—when you put it that way—”

“I’m not putting it in any certain way, Sirius, I’m stating facts,” interrupted Hermione stiffly.

“So you’re telling us that you don’t think we deserve any answers?” asked Sirius hastily, and this sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth; he was well aware that he was stupid to expect a favorable answer with the way he had acted in the past, “On how you know about the map, Remus’ secret, and why you’re so damn good at dueling?”

But, for some odd reason, this actually made Hermione think. In fact, as Sirius studied her expression for an answer, she looked like she was having an internal debate.

“Not today,” she said tersely, “Now leave me—”

“But that means eventually—” interjected Sirius eagerly, only for Hermione to cut him off.

“Sirius, you don’t get to just decide you don’t hate me after you realize I’m not awful and then expect me to respond,” she said firmly, “Especially if you refuse to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Sirius made a face. He never really had to apologize to anyone, for anything, before. Yeah, he was wrong, and he knew it now… But evidently, that wasn’t enough for Hermione.

“Thought not,” she said stiffly, watching his face, “We’re done here, then.”

Hermione turned to walk down another corridor; they had just arrived at an intersection in the hallways. Sirius watched her go, noticing how she walked with this sort of purpose that caused her to bob as she walked, her copious brown curls bouncing around her.

He didn’t call after her or try to stop her this time. (Not because he had learned anything, but because he was busy watching her, thinking for certain that it was her shampoo that made her smell so much of turmeric and chamomile).

--

The weekend arrived faster than Sirius anticipated, especially for how plain the rest of the week had been. Remus had advised Sirius to not try to pry any information out of Hermione, and to try to get on non-awful terms with her before asking any further questions.

“Trust me. We’re all dying to know how on Earth she knows about the map and me being a werewolf,” Remus had assured Sirius earlier that week, “But let’s try to actually gain a shred of her trust, first. I’m eager to talk to her, too, I’d really like to thank her for what she did, and for keeping my secret… Even though she really shouldn’t even know it to begin with.”

They had exchanged a couple of theories on how Hermione knew about Remus: James thought that Hermione had overheard Dumbledore speaking about it while once in his office; Peter thought that she had somehow figured it out when Sirius had stopped to speak with her in the common room on Halloween; Remus thought that she had heard stories of Fenrir and somehow made the connection (“It would line up with whatever experience she has with You-Know-Who,” Remus had reasoned).

Sirius himself didn’t have any particular theory, but what he did know that all three of them were wrong. He had a sneaking suspicion that what Remus had said weeks ago was right… That there was much more to Hermione’s story than what they knew.

Come Saturday, all topics of Hermione were overridden with those surrounding Quidditch. James spoke of the upcoming match all Thursday and Friday, and walked into the Great Hall on Saturday morning in almost a strut; the Gryffindor table greeted him warmly, wishing him good luck.

“Ah, who needs luck?” grinned James as he sat down at the table next to Sirius, Remus and Peter across from them, “It isn’t luck that’s going to help me pummel Nott into the ground, it’s going to be pure skill.”

“May I remind you that you are a Chaser, and should be doing no such pummeling, lest we get another penalty?” said Remus with raised brow. James just grinned wider, biting into his toast.

“Oh, yeah,” he said through mouthfuls of bread, “That was fun, don’t regret that at all. Corner well deserved that week in the hospital wing.”

“Hey,” said Peter suddenly, looking puzzledly behind Sirius and James, “What’s Hermione doing sitting at the Ravenclaw table?”

Sirius had spun around to look the moment he heard Hermione’s name.

Indeed, Hermione was sitting next to Diaz at the Ravenclaw table, both of their backs facing Sirius. Hermione was just sitting there normally, as if she had always gone to meals. They were talking closely with two students that Sirius knew to be sixth years. Seeing just how closely they were sitting next to each other, Sirius made a face.

“Huh,” commented James, “I’ve never seen her in the Great Hall before, that’s a first.”

“Pair of sore thumbs, they are,” said Sirius, “What’s she find so interesting about that git, anyways?”

“He’s nice,” offered Remus. Sirius just scoffed as he turned back around.

“So, boring, then,” concluded Sirius.

“What’s she doing over there?” wondered Peter, “You’d think she’d sit with her own house on the day of a match…”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sirius, a bit too much edge to his voice; Remus gave him a suspicious look. James was too hyped up to notice, however, and Peter too thick.

“I thought you didn’t like Diaz? According to what you said about him over the past two weeks, and also two seconds ago,” said Remus.

“I don’t,” agreed Sirius, trying to seem casual. He had actually avoided telling his friends that Hermione was planning to see the match with Diaz, because he didn’t want to seem like he cared, because he didn’t. “But it’s not a big deal. Besides, we’ve got more important matters on hand. Like, the Quidditch match, for instance.”

“Precisely, Padfoot!” said James cheerfully, slapping a hand on Sirius’ back quite violently.

Sirius attempted to block out all thoughts of Hermione with the match, and he was doing this successfully until they reached the stands. As Sirius, Remus, and Peter reached their seats at the front, Sirius noticed that Hermione and Diaz were seated in the stands right next to them. Of course, Sirius at first considered asking Remus and Peter to switch stands to be near them.

But only to ask Hermione questions, Sirius reinforced in his head. He likely would have done just this if it weren’t for the small crowd of Slytherins sitting next to the pair: Regulus and his friends. As the match was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Sirius was about one hundred percent certain that Regulus was only sitting apart from most of the Slytherin students in hopes that Sirius would sit near Hermione and try to corner him.

And as a result, Sirius begrudgingly remained in his seat, and refocused his attention back on the players now flying out to the pitch. He, Remus, and Peter waved to James as he flew by, moving so quickly that he was nothing more than a red blur.

Within minutes, Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and the match was afoot.

“To no one’s surprise, Potter has possession of the Quaffle,” came Ryan Boot’s booming voice, belonging to a Ravenclaw student who did the commentary, “He passes it off to Coney… Back to Potter—ouch! A bludger straight into the stomach of Slytherin’s seeker, you’d think that when your job is to catch a tiny little ball that you’d be able to spot a sizeable black orb heading your way…”

“I’m sure Prongs is pleased,” said Remus cheerfully, “Bet that hurt, though.” Peter himself was frantically cheering James on, clapping very loudly as James weaved effortlessly through the Slytherin chasers and bludgers.

“I never much liked Smith, myself. Don’t feel too bad for him,” said Sirius. Without thinking, he glanced over to his left to look at Hermione and Diaz. Diaz seemed very engrossed in the match, but there was this peculiar look on Hermione’s face… Almost like she was sad…?

It’s a Quidditch match that we’re sure to win, what’s there to be sad about—

“Pads?”

Sirius quickly snapped his gaze away from Hermione, to see Remus looking at Sirius curiously.

“Nothing,” replied Sirius, “Nothing, really.”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Remus, his voice raised so that he could be heard; the people around them were all cheering very loudly, Peter included.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just—” Sirius stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind. Don’t worry—"

“You didn’t want me to lecture you about leaving Hermione alone?”

Sirius blinked a couple of times, opening his mouth and closing it again. Remus just smiled a little. He turned his gaze back to the Quidditch pitch, but continued speaking.

“You know, I suppose I do owe you a bit of an apology,” he said. Before Sirius could ask him what he meant, James scored; they returned to their conversation after applauding loudly and shouting some obscenities to the booing Slytherins, the latter of which coming mostly from Sirius.

“I think I can see Snivellus’ scowl from across the pitch,” snickered Sirius.

“I was saying before,” continued Remus, “That I wanted to say sorry for ignoring you all week, it was a rather petty move.”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively, honestly wanting this conversation to be over as quickly as possible—he was never good at handling apologies like this, and he would have been perfectly happy with just saying nothing. “Nah, I deserved it, I was being a prat.”

“Yeah, kind of.” Sirius made a rude gesture at Remus as a joking response, to which he laughed. Peter noticed this exchange and was distracted from his wild cheering.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked, “Is something—”

In that moment, James scored again, and Peter was successfully distracted once more.

“But actually,” continued Remus further, “I also wanted to apologize for not being on your side. I just really didn’t like how you went about it.”

“I… Guess I should say sorry for that too, then,” said Sirius slowly, pretending that he was suddenly very interested in the Slytherin seeker skimming over the grass searching for the Snitch to avoid looking at Remus, “For doing that.”

“Well, don’t apologize to me.”

Sirius was then reminded of what Hermione had said earlier that week—

Sirius, you don’t get to just decide you don’t hate me after you realize I’m not awful and expect me to respond. Especially if you refuse to apologize.

“Well, then,” Sirius trailed, “I’m sorry for any prat-like behavior, then.”

“It’s alright.” Remus looked at Sirius sideways. They had never really gotten into a row like this before, yet Remus seemed to understand how uncomfortable Sirius was, and thankfully, decided to wrap things up, “Apology accepted, then? For both of us?”

Sirius nodded; Remus smiled. There was a few seconds of awkward silence between them, which wasn’t really silent at all, with all of the cheering and noise around them.

“Sirius,” said Remus after a minute or so. Sirius looked at him. “I don’t think you realized that I was equally invested in finding out how she knew about the map.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t really say anything about it,” commented Sirius, “And you mingled with the enemy.”

“If you’re referring to when I reached out to Hermione myself,” smiled Remus, “Then yes, I went to her room to apologize, but I also wanted to… Let her know that she could trust me.”

Normally, Sirius wouldn’t really think anything of this; Remus was the type of guy who liked to let other people know that he was there for them. But the way he phrased this… It was a bit cheeky…

Something in Sirius’ head clicked.

“You didn’t,” breathed Sirius, a grin quickly spreading over his face, “You complete dog, you were buttering her up! You were warming her up so that you could get the information after she had taken a liking to you!”

“Hey, watch who you’re calling dog,” said Remus with a grin partially twinged in shame, eyes flickering all across the field as he watched the match, “Don’t get it all twisted in that mind of yours, either. I never liked how you went about it all. And I did want to apologize on your behalf. But as terrible as it is, I can't deny that I was hoping that she'd crack a bit in exchange for me not being a complete arsehole. Turns out, displaying the bare minimum didn't impress her as much as I hoped it would."

Sirius laughed loudly; not because Remus’ comment was overtly funny, but because of the weight that he had unknowingly been carrying was now lifted; knowing with a clear conscience that he and Remus were now back to complete normal—and that Remus always agreed with him in this way too—left Sirius feeling so light and cheerful that he was certain that he wouldn’t even mind that much if Gryffindor lost.

But Gryffindor did not lose; they had won against Slytherin with the beautiful score of two hundred to twenty. James flew towards Sirius and all of them to exchange some mostly intelligible cheers before he flew back to his team, his eyes scanning every seat and stand as he did so, surely looking for Evans.

In his fantastic mood, Sirius realized with a delight that he hadn’t had a single urge to look back at Hermione again. As they were all standing to file towards the stairs, however, Sirius couldn’t help to spare a glance, and very much did not like what he saw.

It wasn’t Hermione or Diaz that caused this dislike, no, it was Regulus. Even though Hermione and Diaz were talking very animatedly with their backs to him, Regulus was looking very squarely at the back of Hermione’s head. As the pair of them headed towards the stairs, Regulus followed, abandoning his friends. Evidently, Regulus had not sat close to Hermione to try and trap Sirius, but instead, to keep a close eye on her…

“What?” gawked Sirius, “What’s he following her for? He shouldn’t even remember ever once interacting with her!”

“What?” asked Remus, looking in Sirius’ direction of sight as the other people in their stand were leaving. Peter looked at Sirius and Remus in confusion.

“What’s going on?” asked Peter, standing on his tip toes to try and see what had happened, “Is it something with Hermione?”

“It’s more of a family issue.” Sirius glowered at Regulus, even though he wasn’t looking at him, disappearing down the stairs and out of sight. “Tell James I’ll be back to the common room in less than an hour.”

“You aren’t talking about Regulus, are you?” Peter looked even more confused as he asked this. “I thought you wanted to avoid him.”

“I did.” Sirius had already began walking, weaving through the other students as he hurried to the stairs.

“Padfoot—” called Remus, but Sirius just shouted over him before heading down.

“Tell James sorry for me!” And then Sirius was rushing down the spiraling staircase of the Quidditch stand.

As soon as Sirius had touched down on the grass, he realized he maybe should have thought his plan out a bit more thoroughly; it would be nearly impossible to spot Regulus in this crowd… But he just knew that he couldn’t let him get to Hermione, not with what Regulus knew about her.

I guess I owe it to her, too, thought Sirius. He began to push his way through the crowd that luckily dispersed more and more the closer they got back to the castle.

Unlucky, however, was the fact that Sirius could not find Regulus in said crowd; in fact, when he reached the entrance hall, he assumed that he simply had lost him. That was, he assumed this until he heard a voice that was vaguely yet irritatingly familiar.

“Study group, tomorrow! Adama expects you, she missed you last time!”

Sirius looked frantically around the student-crowded entrance hall before he found the person in question: Stephan Diaz, shouting at Hermione, who was already all the way down the hall and about to climb the stairs to the first floor. She said something in response—at a reasonable volume, so that Sirius couldn’t hear her from where he was standing—and Stephan walked in the opposite direction towards the Great Hall, likely off to grab some lunch.

Hermione was now heading up the stairs, alone and very much not being tailed by a particular Slytherin. But if Sirius knew his brother… then he would undoubtably show up sooner or later…

There you are.

Regulus stepped out from behind a tall display of knight armor and rapidly trekked up the staircase; no students would be heading where Hermione’s room laid, which meant that they would be alone…

Objectively, Sirius knew that Hermione would be able to defend herself against Regulus easily, and that if Sirius went after Regulus and tried to stop him then he would have to face whatever it was Regulus wanted him to tell him so desperately. But it was still an easy decision to race down the entrance hall and up the stairs after them.

Sirius had just made it up the stairs to the first floor when he heard Regulus.

“Locomotor Mortis!”

Sirius saw Hermione, back still turned to Regulus, fall to the ground with her legs stuck together, yelping. With his wand out, Regulus walked forward, pointing it at Hermione, who was struggling to pull her wand from her robes.

“Reach for your wand and you’ll regret it—”

“That’s cheap, isn’t it?” said Sirius loudly from the stairs, “Hexing someone whilst their back is turned?”

Regulus spun around to look at Sirius currently walking towards them, armed with his wand; Hermione wriggled to the best of her ability to turn to look at him from the floor.

“You,” sneered Regulus, “What are you doing here? Doing your daily stalking routine?”

“No, just here to interrupt yours,” said Sirius firmly, “So are you going to explain why—”

Of course when Sirius was in the middle of saying something really cool and suave, Hermione just had to use the distraction to her advantage. In a matter of three seconds, she had gotten her wand out, applied the counter-curse, and gotten to her feet, wand pointed at Regulus.

“I—oh, really!” snapped Regulus, looking between Sirius and Hermione who now both hand their wands pointed at him. Regulus glowered at Sirius, who smirked cheekily in return.

“Suppose I should have known you would ruin everything,” spat Regulus.

“Why did you follow me?” asked Hermione. She was looking between Regulus and Sirius every couple of seconds, as if expecting both of them to team up on her.

“I think you should be the one answering questions,” said Regulus, “I woke up Saturday morning on the floor of the second-floor main corridor.”

Sirius glanced at Hermione. Her expression only flickered slightly.

“And what’s that got to do with me?” she replied coolly.

Regulus laughed stalely. “You think I’m stupid? I asked my friend Severus to make me a Memory Potion, since I had no idea how I had gotten there.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to come clean.

“Does this bedtime story have a point, Reggie?” asked Sirius with narrowed eyes, “Or do I have to get to the moral myself?”

“Shut it, this isn’t about you,” snapped Regulus. When Hermione said nothing, he continued. “Thing is, Memory Potions don’t just restore memories. I still don’t know how I awoke on the second floor. But what I do remember is you, Granger. Just your name. But it’s enough to know you’re involved.”

Hermione still remained silent, although her brow had furrowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” responded Hermione plainly, “I sleep in on Saturdays.”

“I know you’re lying, Granger,” pressed Regulus, “Why’d you come after me? Did you find out that I know the truth about you—”

“Regulus, it was me.”

The words had left Sirius’ lips without even thinking about it. Immediately, Regulus and Hermione turned to look at Sirius, Regulus in surprise and Hermione in complete confusion. Sirius kept speaking.

“You came to try and find me early Saturday morning to tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me,” he explained hastily. The key to a good lie, Sirius had found, was to incorporate bits of truth.

“You found me heading to Granger’s room, I was trying to catch her in the morning before she ran off. You remember her because she was what we were talking about. I tried to wipe whatever mum’s message was from your head, but I clearly didn’t do a good enough job.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was now covering for Hermione—he wasn’t sure if it was to repay her, or to get on good terms with her, or to try and prove to her that he wasn’t an all-around terrible person, or to get her to finally open up to him about her many secrets. It was a mix, likely, of all of these explanations. Sirius lying on her behalf wasn’t quite as heroic as stepping out of nowhere and whipping up some fantastic spells, but, well, it was something.

It’s definitely something. Hermione was giving Sirius a look that he had never once seen on her face before: a look of true gratitude, with not even a trace of annoyance or resentment.

Regulus seemed to be thinking Sirius’ story over. He seemed to believe it, otherwise he’d be pointing out all of the fallacies by now. However, his silence indicated that there were a few details he wasn’t entirely sold on.

“Hmm. And you have decided to come clean about this all why, exactly?” asked Regulus slowly, “There’s no reason to follow me if you know Granger is innocent.”

“I followed you because—” Sirius grit his teeth. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this, “—because I changed my mind. I’ll hear you out about whatever it is you want to tell me.”

“Oh.” Regulus’ eyebrows raised in surprise before he quickly composed himself. However, Sirius could hear just how pleased he was in his voice. “Well, then, good. I’m glad you’ve come around, Mother will be pleased.”

Sirius would have very much liked to spit out how he’d rather chew glass than do something that his mother would approve of, but Hermione’s lingering look of gratitude (which Regulus couldn’t see, as he was now only looking at Sirius) was enough to motivate him to not say anything, literally biting his tongue to keep quiet.

“Sorry, then, Granger,” Regulus said hastily, putting his wand back into his robes. He wasn’t sorry, though, which was abundantly clear by the way he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. “Must have gotten the wrong idea. If you’ll follow me, Sirius, we should go somewhere private to speak.”

With his jaw clenched, Sirius too put his wand back into the pocket of his leather jacket. As he followed Regulus down the corridor, he turned to look at Hermione one last time. She was still standing in the same spot, looking at Sirius with this look of confused relief. She was also looking like she was having a hard time believing that she was feeling any sort of positive emotion towards Sirius.

And with a short, three-fingered wave, Sirius smiled weakly at her, as if to say:

And that, Hermione Granger, is how you tell a decent lie.

Chapter Text

With December came frigid winds, many nights spent by fireplaces, and, evidently, about a dozen other changes that Hermione would have never anticipated just two weeks ago.

For one, she had made tremendous progress with Dumbledore’s theories and her own researching. Even though nearly a week had passed since her second and most recent meeting with Dumbledore, she found herself thinking about the meeting and its contents almost constantly—it seemed that whenever she wasn’t in class or in the library with Stephan, her mind was in Dumbledore’s office.

Their second meeting had been much tamer than their first, as it was mostly just a review of what Hermione had taken notes on and Dumbledore’s unsuccessful attempts at learning more about her broken time-turner. While he had been unable to make any progress on the mysterious time-turner, he reviewed Hermione’s notes, and, to Hermione’s delight, was very pleased with her work.

All excellent work, Miss Granger. Yes, I believe these all work towards proving that Fixed events are indeed, well, Fixed. I particularly enjoyed what you wrote about Morgan le Fay and her ruling of Avalon—indeed, the absurd number of catastrophic events in the year 1020 suggest some time-interference from an outside party attempting to remove her from the throne.

In fact, Dumbledore had even asked to keep some of the many scrolls of parchment Hermione had written on, and as far as Hermione was concerned, there was no higher honor.

Our next meeting—and our last before Christmas break—will be on the sixteenth, the day before the Hogsmeade trip. I hope our late meetings will not tire you too much before your trip.

When Dumbledore had said this, Hermione had been surprised. At that time, she hadn’t even considered going to Hogsmeade… But now that she had actual friends and was no longer hyper-aware of every soon-to-be-dead person around her, she suspected that the trip could actually be enjoyable, in theory. There was also the additional perk of Sirius no longer following her around and harassing her at every opportunity.

This development was one that Hermione really did not expect; at the very least, she didn’t expect this development to happen as quickly as it did. The only other time she had experienced someone rapidly changing their negative opinions of her to positive ones was in her first year, when she had lied on Ron’s and Harry’s behalf to save them getting in trouble for going after the troll running rampant in the castle. It was funny, really, how this time, someone else had lied on her behalf…

Sirius’ behavior over the past couple weeks was a welcome change, but not necessarily a change that Hermione was willing to embrace with open arms; although Sirius had been acting much kinder towards her, she wasn’t very well ready to just forget every nasty insult and rude accusation he had ever said to her. And while she had now decided on attempting to save Sirius and his friends, she definitely wasn’t sure if she would ever be mentally capable of maintaining a friendship with them.

And especially if Sirius doesn’t apologize, Hermione would always add in her head when debating whether to reciprocate Sirius’ polite behavior. For some reason, this was the main factor in Hermione’s mind that prevented her from wanting to even consider being on decent terms with him. Feelings of guilt and sorrow aside, Sirius had been just plain mean to her; his lying to Regulus had saved her from a certain duel, and was indeed kind of him, but Hermione couldn’t just push away all the hurt he caused. She never thought that the day would come where she would think back to Snape’s nasty words about Sirius’ behavior and actually agree with him, but here she was.

As far as she was concerned, she and Sirius now stood on perfectly equal footing—Hermione saved his neck, he saved hers, and they didn’t necessarily have to address everything. While an apology would be nice, Hermione supposed she would be alright with helping Sirius and mending his future without ever returning to good terms with him.

--

Hermione walked into Charms the second to last Friday before end of term after a quick breakfast, early as usual. While she could now eat her breakfast at a normal speed, as she was no longer susceptible to Sirius’ taunting, she still preferred eating her meals quickly—she wasn’t quite ready to take Lily up on her offer to eat with her and her friends yet, and she knew that if she ran into Lily in the Great Hall that she would feel compelled to give in to her unrelenting kindness.

When she entered the classroom, the only people there were Flitwick (who waved hello as she entered) and one other curly-haired student sitting next to Hermione’s usual seat. Stephan grinned at her as she took her seat, his book and quill already laid out neatly on his desk.

“Morning’, ’Mione,” greeted Stephan, “D’you think we’re getting our essays back today?”

“I think so,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “Our end of term exams are next week, Professor Flitwick likely would want us to have our essays back so we could see what we got incorrect.”

“Didn’t think that word would be in your vocabulary,” said Stephan, his eyebrows raised in mock shock, “How could you possibly know what that word means? I don’t believe the word ‘incorrect’ has ever been used in the same sentence with your name.”

Hermione smiled, about to respond with something playful or witty when she noticed who had walked into the classroom—it was Sirius, talking with Remus, James, and Peter. Quickly, she averted her gaze, but Stephan had already turned his head to look curiously in the direction she was staring.

“Oh—” Stephan quickly spun his head back around to look back at Hermione, “Damn, I made eye-contact. I know you said he hasn’t been bothering you recently, but he certainly hasn’t let up on glaring at me. Although, he has stopped saying nasty things, I was getting rather sick of him telling me my freckles made me look like I had face-planted into some dirt.”

As much as Hermione would have liked to contribute to the Sirius-Still-Isn’t-Great narrative, he had been leaving her alone recently… He had yet to even speak to Hermione after he had saved her from Regulus’ attack. All that week, he had sat with his friends in class and no longer insisted on sitting directly next to, across, or in front of her.

However, Hermione detected the mild narrowing of eyes as Sirius had laid his gaze on Stephan sitting innocently next to Hermione. And then, he was walking towards them.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Sirius greeted loudly.

“Not this again, please,” whispered Hermione under her breath, wanting to disappear. Remus, who had taken a seat in between James and Peter closer to the middle of the class, rapidly turned to look.

“Sirius!” hissed Remus, looking at Hermione apologetically, “Get over here! You said yourself that you would give it a break—”

“Oh relax,” said Sirius to Remus as he sat in the seat in front of Hermione’s, just as he did in Transfiguration two Mondays ago, “You should come join me, Moons, didn’t you say yourself that you want to say a word or two? Something about a word of thanks for a certain favor?”

As Sirius was saying this rather loudly, as was necessary speaking to someone halfway across the room, Remus immediately gave up and turned back to speak with James and Peter. And as Hermione stared at Sirius’ back (he was now sitting forward and ignoring her, as if he hadn’t just marched across the room and sat purposefully in front of her), she wondered just how many times Sirius had managed to isolate himself from his friends just to sit near Hermione; besides her very first day in class, his three other friends never accompanied him in this seating choice.

She turned to look at Stephan, who had grabbed his bag and was now miming vomiting into it, all while making very obscene faces at Sirius’ turned back. She had to bite the inside of her cheeks to contain her laughs, and at that moment the bell rang, and Flitwick began class.

In a few minutes, Hermione understood why Sirius was looking so adamantly in front of him: he was awaiting Flitwick’s instruction for them to pair up and practice the introduced charm of that day, Disillusionment Charms. As soon as the words “pair up” had left Flitwick’s lips, Sirius spun around rapidly in his seat.

“Excellent, Hermione, you and me, then,” said Sirius quickly yet casually, as if she and him were the best of friends.

“What?” asked Hermione, frowning, “Sirius, no, I’m partnered with—”

“We’re always partners,” interjected Stephan, and while his tone was still rather pleasant, he was wearing an expression similar to Hermione’s. It was strange, seeing Stephan anything less than cheery, and Hermione was unsure if she had ever seen him like this before. “You know, you don’t get to just be partners with Hermione just because you said so before I did. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Yes it does. That’s exactly how calling dibs works.”

“What?” exclaimed Hermione, “You can’t call ‘dibs’ on a human person, Sirius!”

“Everything alright here?”

Hermione looked to her left to see Professor Flitwick; he had left his desk and was now making rounds around the classroom, as most other students had paired up. Clearly, he had noticed the three of them bickering and not doing any sort of magic at all.

“Yes, sir,” said Hermione, “We’re just… Deciding on who to partner with—”

“I don’t have a partner, sir,” said Sirius, “I was asking to partner with Granger.”

“Well, it seems Mr. Pettigrew doesn’t have a partner, either,” said Flitwick, standing on his toes to peer over Hermione’s head—indeed, Remus and James had partnered up, leaving Peter alone, looking anxiously around the classroom for a partner.

“So Black can partner with Pettigrew, then,” concluded Stephan.

“Now, hang on!” clucked Flitwick, “I think Mr. Black has a point. You two partner together every class. You won’t be familiar with the proctor testing you during your N.E.W.T. exams, of course, so a change of partnership could actually be beneficial.”

“But—” said Hermione, her eyes widening in slight desperation.

“Let’s get to it, you four!” persisted Flitwick, “I would expect my first-year students to bicker about partners, but not my seventh-years!”

As much as Hermione did not want to be partners with Sirius, she wouldn’t dare talk back to a professor, and therefore remained quiet as Stephan grudgingly relocated to where Peter was sitting.

“Did you really have to do that?” asked Hermione irritably as Flitwick moved to observe another pair of students, “I thought you were starting to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, then I got bored,” replied Sirius, “What are we Disillusioning, then? Just whatever we want?”

“No,” managed Hermione through her frustration, “Professor Flitwick said to start with the potted plants he got from Professor Sprout, they’re at the front of the class. Then we try them on each other…”

At the very least, it appeared that Sirius was only being annoying for the sake of being annoying, and did not speak of anything off of the topic of Charms for a few minutes. When Hermione had successfully Disillusioned the potted nettle to perfectly blend into its surroundings on her first try, Sirius was impressed but unsurprised (even though the same task had only taken him two tries, himself).

“Wow,” said Sirius, looking between the just barely visible plant and Hermione, “Of course, I’m not surprised anymore. I’m also no longer suspicious, as I have acknowledged that your unusually advanced abilities are no indication of having ulterior motives.”

“Please, don’t,” sighed Hermione, “Can’t we just work on our Charms?”

“What?” asked Sirius, pulling an innocent face, “Was that not a compliment?”

“You know very well you wanted to transition to topics unrelated to Charms right then,” said Hermione, “And I’m letting you know that I’m not interested.”

“That would be a correct assumption,” said Sirius fairly. He shrugged, looking mostly unbothered. “My sincerest apologies, then.”

“As if you mean that,” muttered Hermione under her breath, “Alright… Now, we have to try them on each—”

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything. Now, let’s—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” pressed Sirius, more firmly this time.

Sirius, who had turned his chair around to face Hermione, now leaned forward so that his arms rested on her desk. As she leaned back slightly to create more distance between them, she glanced around the room. Flitwick was currently observing Peter’s attempt to cast a Disillusion Charm on Stephan; as the only progress Peter had made was turning Stephan’s hair the same pale brown of the brick wall behind him, Hermione knew it would be no use counting on Flitwick to make his way over to her and Sirius to avoid this conversation.

“It means,” said Hermione, looking away from Sirius, “That just because you’ve been leaving me alone recently, doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten everything you have ever said to me.”

Sirius paused a few seconds after she said this, as if he were attempting to remember something. And then, he spoke once more, his voice lifted, as if a realization had settled in.

“Does this have anything to do with you saying something, like, two weeks ago about an apology?”

“How insightful of you,” sniffed Hermione, “I didn’t realize you had actually absorbed that bit of information.”

“Well,” said Sirius a bit stubbornly, “How about I apologize after you thank me for stopping my dear brother from questioning you? He knows way too much about you, and I really did not want to speak with him, you know.”

“You can’t be serious,” Hermione said exasperatedly, “Thank you? Shouldn’t you be thanking me first, for singlehandedly saving you and your friends?”

“First of all, you have to know how it sounds when you ask me if I’m serious or not,” began Sirius, entirely too much cheek in his tone, “And secondly, I did thank you for that, by leaving you alone and admitting you aren’t an evil spy.”

“You never admitted it to me,” pointed out Hermione, “And, sorry, but you treating me like a human being is not an adequate substitution for a thank you, or an apology, for that matter.”

“Well, then how about me lying for you? That was literally my way of repaying you for Obliviating the hell out of my own brother!” insisted Sirius, “We can’t just have that act as an apology too?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose, looking at Sirius. He was now leaning his face against his hand, looking at Hermione with raised eyebrows. And, of course, he wasn’t taking this seriously at all. If Sirius was going to joke around with her as if he hadn’t genuinely hurt her just weeks ago, then Hermione had zero interest in continuing this conversation.

“No,” she said shortly, “Let’s get back to our assignment. Professor Flitwick will be around, soon.”

Sirius looked like he was about to object, but at that moment, Hermione had picked up her wand again, and he complied with her request.

Again, she was able to place a Disillusionment Charm on Sirius pretty effortlessly—she had practiced them multiple times before, of course. She was suddenly reminded of the time when she almost used a Disillusionment Charm on her and Harry at Godric’s Hollow. But then, Sirius’s first attempt had resulted in her robes disappearing, rendering her to be a floating head and limbs, and her attention was turned away from her reminiscing and instead focused on how Flitwick was now bounding over towards them to assist.

When class ended, Stephan asked to speak with Hermione after class before they parted ways. Glad to have an excuse to avoid speaking with Sirius, she quickly packed her bag and followed Stephan out of class. When she looked back into the classroom, Sirius had reunited with his own friends, likely relaying to them what had happened with Hermione.

They stopped some few meters outside the classroom to speak; It was moments like these, when she was facing Stephan as they spoke, that Hermione was reminded of just how tall Stephan was; sure, he wasn’t as tall as a certain lanky, freckled boy that Hermione once knew, but he still had to tilt his chin down to look her in the eyes.

“Well, I hope your time with Black went better than mine with Pettigrew’s, he was a nightmare,” began Stephan, but he didn’t look upset anymore; he instead seemed to find Peter’s incompetence rather funny, “I got it after a few tries, though.”

“Now I really wish we were still partners,” sighed Hermione, “Sirius kept messing up, I had to keep instructing him…”

Stephan frowned, leaning against the corridor wall and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “That’s weird. Black usually gets things down on his first couple of tries. Reckon he kept failing on purpose, just to mess with you.”

“Fantastic,” said Hermione lowly, “But, enough about him, he just gives me a headache… What did you want to talk to me about?”

Hermione had assumed that he wanted to make some changes to their usual study group schedule. But, to her surprise, Stephan smiled, and then said something completely unexpected.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me next Saturday.”

Momentarily, Hermione’s mind froze—the Hogsmeade trip. Hermione still had yet to seriously consider going, even after Dumbledore had brought the trip to her attention so many days ago.

“Oh,” said Hermione, trying to act like she was planning to go all along, “That sounds fun, actually, I’d love that. Are Adama and Robert coming, too, then? Since they skipped out on watching the Quidditch match to study.”

“Actually, I meant just you and me,” corrected Stephan, still smiling brightly.

I—what?

Blinking a couple of times, Hermione quickly affirmed to herself that she had heard correctly, that Stephan had just asked that only he and her go—but there was no way that he was asking what Hermione thought he had asked—

“Oh, well then,” said Hermione, attempting to speak as naturally as possible, “Of course.”

“Brilliant!” Stephan stood up straight, readjusting his bag on his shoulder, “Save the date, mark your calendars, Miss Granger!”

Date.

“You haven’t been to Hogsmeade before, so I’ll make sure to jam pack our schedule full of necessary destinations,” continued Stephan thoughtfully, “It’ll make as a great farewell before I head home for Christmas, too.”

Hermione had smiled agreeably in response, and said her various cheery goodbyes as Stephan rushed off to class. Hermione, who currently had a free period, remained standing in the corridor, currently trying to sort out what had just happened.

But, of course, she wasn’t allowed to even think in peace anymore.

“‘Save the date?’ Just the two of you at Hogsmeade? Surely, I didn’t hear that correctly.”

Hermione spun around, almost stumbling in her step to see Sirius standing there with Remus, James, and Peter at his side; clearly, they had just left Flitwick’s classroom.

“Sirius,” said Remus, “Come on. Don’t you have Muggle Studies next? Flynn’s classroom is on the fifth floor, you ought to get going—”

“Personally, I think you deserve a break, Hermione,” interjected James with a confident nod, “You’ve earned this Hogsmeade outing. Also, please don’t hex Sirius for whatever he’s about to say, we’re still greatly in debt to you.”

“Er, okay,” said Hermione, taking a step back. She really did not want the four of them questioning her about their previous encounter with Regulus and Avery just then. “I’m just going to leave now.”

“I’m not going to say anything bad,” objected Sirius, although he didn’t exactly look pleased at the moment, “I’m just commenting on—hey, come on!”

Hermione had turned on her heel and began walking towards the staircase, rapidly pacing down the steps and heading towards her room. Luckily, Sirius did not follow her, and she was able to reach her room without any further trouble or intervention.

Even though Hermione now understood how poor of a habit it was too distract herself from stressful thoughts with work, she immediately began to study her returned Charms essay. She did not want to focus on what all had just happened just yet.

When she finished reading through her essay—which took very little time, as she had received an O on it—she took out a scroll of parchment and began to work more on outlining the first perceivable steps for altering the fates of the various people around her.

I wonder just how much more seriously Sirius would take me, wondered Hermione as she scribbled just a bit too aggressively with her quill, if he knew that I have more control over his future than he does.

--

The week before Christmas break was one of the busiest academic weeks of Hermione’s life. Her many exams were more than enough to keep her mind occupied. If she wasn’t in class, eating, or sleeping, she was in the library, often accompanied by Stephan and his friends.

Over the past few very busy days, Hermione had resolutely concluded that Stephan had not asked her out on a date, and she felt ridiculous that she had even assumed such a thing. For one, Stephan had asked her to Hogsmeade in a very normal manner, meaning that he was asking her to accompany him to Hogsmeade just like he would ask her to come to the library with him. Surely, even if Stephan wanted to ask her out on a date, he would have at the very least used the word date; Stephan was a lot of things—easily excitable, talkative, relentlessly of aid to Hermione and all of her needs, and more—but he wasn’t ever vague.

Except Stephan wouldn’t ever want to ask Hermione out on a date, because they were nothing more than friends. And as such, Hermione would return to the conclusion that she had been completely stupid to think for even a second that her friend asked her out on a date.

Fortunately, Sirius and his friends made no further attempts to speak with her that week. Perhaps they were busy enough themselves with exams, or maybe they had all noticed how painfully awkward Hermione had felt talking to the four of them again, and figured it was best to not confront her about their full moon run-in for now. Either way, Hermione was just grateful to not have an extra source of stress during exam week.

Friday marked not only the last school day before break, but also, the last meeting she would have with Dumbledore for many weeks. He had hinted last time that their meeting tonight would be more “interesting”, so Hermione approached Dumbledore’s office at eight o’ clock on Friday evening, greatly anticipating the next few hours to come.

“Pepper Imps,” said Hermione as she approached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. The gargoyle leapt to the side, and Hermione ascended the moving spiral staircase up to his office door.

As usual, Dumbledore greeted her at the door, and they exchanged small talk regarding the upcoming holidays as they sat down at his desk. However, their polite conversation quickly subsided; evidently, Dumbledore wanted to get straight to that day’s topic.

“So, Professor,” began Hermione, her hands folded on her lap, “What exactly are we doing today?”

“For today, we will be revisiting the Pensieve—but in a different way,” added Dumbledore when Hermione perked up with interest.

“Today’s meeting will be more of a traditional lecture, if you will—I would like to teach you of another one of my theories.”

Dumbledore picked up his wand from his desk and gave it a small wave. The black cabinet behind him opened, and out floated the Pensieve onto the desk. As the stone basin settled before her, she noticed the many empty glass vials sitting in the cabinet.

“I see you have noticed that many of the once full vials are empty,” noted Dumbledore, watching Hermione’s confused expression as she stared at the open cabinet, “Very observant. Today, we are not visiting any memories; instead, I have poured many of my own memories into the Pensieve to use them as a bit of a demonstration.”

Dumbledore tapped the brim of the Pensieve with his wand, and immediately, Hermione watched in awe as its contents were lifted from the basin. The luminescent material floated in mid-air for a few seconds as a large, silver oval, before Dumbledore waved his wand once more.

The Pensieve’s contents then divided into dozens of smaller beads of the silvery material; they looked to be marbles made of molten silver, each encapsulated in wispy gas.

“Are these all different memories, Professor?” wondered Hermione, “Each of these silver… balls.”

“Indeed.”

Dumbledore, who still had his wand pointed at the collection of silver marbles, lifted his wand once more.

The many silver orbs suddenly expanded, forming luminescent bubbles of shimmering material. Describing their texture was difficult, and Hermione could only describe the bubbles to seemingly be composed of liquid silk. Each shimmering bubble was only somewhat opaque and varied in size; although most of the bubbles were quite small, maybe as large as a galleon, other bubbles had enlarged to the size of Quaffles. Floating in the air, they were spread out across the length of Dumbledore’s desk.

“Each of these gleaming bubbles,” said Dumbledore, indicating to the memory orbs with his wand, “Represents a different memory, and therefore, a different moment in time.”

Hermione nodded; she always enjoyed visually learning. “Are these orbs sorted in any way? For instance, are they sorted chronologically left to right?”

Dumbledore smiled politely, the shine of the bubbles reflecting in his twinkling blue eyes. “Actually, that is exactly what I wanted to discuss today—the idea of chronological order, or, what we like to call ‘timelines’.”

With a wave of his wand, the various orbs suddenly soared across the room, all occupying a different space in Dumbledore’s office. One particularly large bubble remained hovering over Dumbledore’s desk.

“What do you mean, Professor?” asked Hermione, looking around the room to see all of the floating bubbles.

“I will get to that in just a moment,” said Dumbledore, “First, I ask you—I would assume that, at this point, you have asked yourself the following question at least once: if your attempts to change the future do indeed succeed, they why haven’t you experienced them yourself?”

“Well… Professor, that’s the point of Fixed events, right?” said Hermione slowly, “I am able to change some events from my past, as long as they aren’t Fixed, so of course I haven’t experienced whatever I’m aiming to alter right now…”

“That is correct,” nodded Dumbledore, “But, if you don’t mind, I would like to use this point as a foundation to today’s theory.

“Let us think of the famous thought exercise—you are visited by your future self, who is visiting you from fifty years in the future. Fifty years later, you decide to make this same exact visit yourself. The question is, when did you first decide to visit your past self? When did this cycle begin?

“I hope to answer this question with my theory, as we address your previous point of chronological order, and the overarching theme of today—the illusion of timelines.”

“Illusion?” repeated Hermione, “What do you mean by that, sir?”

"You see, the word timeline is very misleading,” continued Dumbledore, “Most of us interpret time to be a line, something linear. The past has already happened, and the future has yet to happen. But time is all around us. Every moment that we have ever lived, every moment that we will live, and the very moment we believe to be now—each second, each moment exists at once.”

The more Dumbledore spoke, the more confused Hermione became—was Dumbledore suggesting that their understanding of time was, well, illegitimate? To think that time was not something to be divided into the three categories of past, present, and future—it was all far too confusing—

“I understand how ridiculous this theory seems, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, surely understanding that many cogs were currently spinning in Hermione’s mind to make sense of what he just said, “And I admit that this idea is very much a new concept to me, as well. I have only developed it for the past month or so.

“But think about this, Miss Granger—every moment in time has once been the present. All of these moments,” Dumbledore indicated to the silver bubbles, “Have once been the present. In other words, these bubbles may vary in size and position, but they are, in the end, all bubbles. Who are we to determine what is truly and genuinely the ‘present’? Again, we can reword this to mean—which one of these bubbles represents the present? Well, all of them do, as we can see all of the bubbles existing at the same time.

“While I have no hard evidence for why I believe this to be true—I can’t imagine how one would even go about collecting quantitative data on the concept of time and space—this theory falls in line with not only the theory of Fixed events, but also, multiple other areas,” continued Dumbledore.

“For one, future-telling is no longer a ridiculous idea; instead of predicting what has yet to happen, Divination is just a study of reading hints on what is technically happening right now.

“Secondly, think of the time-turner—with this theory, the idea of time-travel is easy to understand. A time-turner seems much less nuanced when we think of it not as visiting another time period, but rather, visiting another version of now.”

“Another version of now,” repeated Hermione once more, her head swimming, “So… Fixed events are just… Other versions of the present… that for some reason can’t be changed…”

“I actually think that the concept Fixed events is easier to grasp, with this,” added Dumbledore as he nodded in confirmation to Hermione’s conclusion, “As we are no longer caught up with the idea of never-ending yet never-beginning cycles. Which leads me to the most important aspect this theory allows.”

Dumbledore then stood and walked to one of his office windows, where a rather small bubble was currently levitating.

“When we change just one of these moments…”

With his wand, Dumbledore prodded the silver bubble. The bubble rippled and shimmered at the touch, momentarily glowing with a faint light. And immediately, all of the other orbs reacted in the same exact way, brightening Dumbledore’s office before each bubble dimmed once more. When they all stilled once more, Hermione noticed that the bubbles were now a pale white—aside from the larger ones, which remained silver.

“… The rest will change with it. As they are all different versions of now, a change to one bubble will result in an equal change to the rest of these bubbles. This is how you will be able to save lives, even though in your lifetime, they had died—you are merely tapping on a bubble that was once silver, and then, you are turning them all white.

“However, you’ve surely noticed that some of these bubbles are larger than the rest, and remain silver.”

“Do they represent Fixed events, Professor?”

“Very good,” smiled Dumbledore. Indeed, when he walked back to his desk, nudging the large bubble still hovering over his desk as he sat down, the bubble moved upon the prodding but did not change color.

“These events are apparently important enough to resist change. The circumstances leading up to these Fixed events may change, yes, but the results will always be the same, and will always be Fixed… Why, I’m unsure of. But I am certain that its reasoning lies in forms of ancient magic that we, as mere witches and wizards, are unable to truly understand.

“And now,” said Dumbledore with a note of finality. Hermione was internally relieved—she wasn’t sure how much more information she would have been able to absorb. “Let us think back to our initial question of when the cycle began…”

“That’s just an irrelevant question,” completed Hermione. She found that if she spoke without thinking too deeply into the theory that it was somehow easier to understand everything, “The idea of cycles is just irrelevant. Because every moment in time is just a different version of the present, all happening at once.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” smiled Dumbledore, evidently glad that his proposed theory made sense, “For cycles to work, time needs to pass; however, with our, ah, Bubble Theory, let’s call it, time does not pass; it only happens.

“Frankly, I think we are at fault at a linguistic level, categorizing and labeling concepts that don't abide by our human methods of organization,” noted Dumbledore, observing Hermione’s still perplexed expression and perhaps feeling sympathy for unloading such a concept on her, “And now, I believe I can allot a couple of hours for your questions, Miss Granger…”

Indeed, she and Dumbledore spent no less than two hours further discussing his newly conceived Bubble Theory, and how it fit into both Fixed events and Hermione’s new mission to reverse certain deaths. By the time she had left his office shortly before midnight, Hermione had felt as though her brains had been scrambled.

Let’s review, then, thought Hermione as she began to carry herself down various moving staircases.

The Bubble Theory states that all moments of time happen at the same time.

Hermione arrived on the first-floor landing and began to head to her room. Just a few more minutes, and she could head to sleep…

You change one of these moments, and any event that isn’t Fixed will absorb that change as well.

Hermione realized just then that it was honestly shocking that she hadn’t run into any students or teachers in her various late-night walks so far.

Our perception of the past, present, in future is just our way of perceiving the universe around us. This isn’t necessarily wrong, it’s just how we have conceptualized our surroundings.

Satisfied with her mental review of that night’s meeting, Hermione pushed open the door to her room and immediately headed to the restroom for a shower. In the shower, she continued to review these ideas, slowly organizing and filing away every bit of information in her mind.

Only after Hermione was about to climb in bed did she remember—tomorrow is the Hogsmeade trip.

And suddenly, her thoughts shifted entirely from Dumbledore’s theories to Stephan’s promise of an exciting day at Hogsmeade.

The transition was so startling that Hermione wondered if most things from that point onward would seem insignificant relative to the mind-boggling theories she was now informed of. Nevertheless, she immediately abandoned all thoughts of the Bubble Theory and instead went over to her dresser and poured over her very small assortment of clothing to see what she could wear tomorrow.

Luckily, Adama had lent her some casual clothing for her to wear so that she didn’t have to wear her school robes all the time. And even though she had only loaned Hermione some four or five outfits, it took her about five minutes to settle on a pair of high-waisted bell bottom jeans (Hermione wasn’t a huge fan of these, but she supposed that such was the current ‘trend’) and a snug, long-sleeved knit top. She hadn’t really worn the knit top yet, given that the knit top was a color that Hermione wasn’t fond of (peachy pink); however, as she would be wearing her coat most of the day tomorrow, she figured she shouldn’t give the garment too much thought.

A part of her felt ridiculous for spending even five minutes on deciding what to wear—she had just walked away from a life-altering conversation, and yet, here she was, thinking about how much she didn’t like the color peach. And yet, she couldn’t quite convince herself to stay focused on bubbles, or Fixed events, or anything Dumbledore had said that night…

Funnily enough, she fell asleep thinking not of existential debates of time and space, but instead, Hogsmeade endeavors of boys and butterbeer.

--

Stephan was waiting for Hermione in the entrance hall at eleven the next morning. She had decided to dedicate that day to focusing on Hogsmeade, and tried her very best to keep all thoughts and questions about bubbles out of her mind.

Hermione had woken up at around nine for some breakfast, but didn’t eat much; Stephan had mentioned earlier that week that she should keep an empty stomach, and she was certain that he’d be bringing her around Honeydukes. Hopefully, Stephan wasn’t intending on buying too much for Hermione, but knowing him, he would at the very least be getting her a butterbeer.

“’Ello!” shouted Stephan, waving and beaming as he saw Hermione come down the stairs from across the entrance hall. He was standing next to the house point counters, and turned back to study Ravenclaw’s hourglass when Hermione reached his side.

“The last time we won was in my fourth year,” he said with a note of longing, “There’s still plenty of time to pull ahead, but…”

Hermione saw what he meant—Gryffindor was ahead by a solid sixty or seventy points. Catching a glimpse of her satisfied face, Stephan rolled his eyes playfully.

“Let’s get going, then, before you start to applaud yourself.”

And together they set off to Hogsmeade. As they entered the village, Hermione feigned surprise and wonder at everything Stephan pointed out. Her interest wasn’t entirely faked, however, as she hadn’t visited Hogsmeade in over a year. And she certainly hadn’t ever visited this version of Hogsmeade before…

Stephan said the first step on their schedule was to grab a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks. As they entered, Stephan gestured with an open hand to the crowded interior, like a magician revealing an impressive trick. The Three Broomsticks had changed very little from what Hermione remembered, being a warm, clean little pub with various wooden tables and booths. She supposed Madam Rosmerta would have appeared much younger, but there were so many people crowding the bar that Hermione could only see the top of her blonde head.

“This way,” hummed Stephan as he began weaving through the many people, having spotted an empty booth towards the back. Immediately after sitting, however, Stephan just stood again.

“Two butterbeers coming up, then,” he said cheerfully, “Even if you’ve had it before, I promise you the stuff Rosmerta brews up is loads better.”

“I can pay for mine!” insisted Hermione, and she really could; Dumbledore had been so kind to give her a small pouch of wizarding money along with her school supplies earlier that year. She had tried refusing it, but Dumbledore had insisted, citing Hogsmeade as a reason for this money. And, as such, she was very determined to not let his generous gift go to waste.

But nonetheless, Stephan shook his head, “Ridiculous. You can buy the next time, but not for your first trip to Hogsmeade.”

“Stephan—”

“GladweagreedI’llgogethemnow,” said Stephan all at once, and then he rushed out of the booth and towards the bar. The crowd around Madam Rosmerta was large, and yet he attempted to push his way through. Hermione watched him with a small smile on her face; had she had never made friends with him, she definitely would have been very lonely.

“Hermione!”

However, it seemed equally likely that a certain redhead wouldn’t have let Hermione go too long without any friends.

Hermione turned her head to see Lily, Andrea, and a few other girls that Hermione didn’t know at a table near the entrance. After giving Hermione a big smile, she then turned to her friends and said something. They all nodded, looking at Hermione curiously as Lily and Andrea stood, and then they were walking towards Hermione.

While Lily’s endless kindness was very admirable, Hermione couldn’t help but wish that she wasn’t such a good person; she had mostly gotten used to being around Sirius and all of them because they were all people Hermione was familiar with in one way or another (even if she only felt this way about James because of how much he looked like Harry). But every time she spoke with Lily, she just felt uncomfortable.

But Hermione knew at this point that the only way to feel less uncomfortable was to actually speak with her. So, when Lily and Andrea approached her, Hermione just smiled back.

“Hey, babes,” smiled Lily warmly, “I didn’t expect to run into you at Hogsmeade!”

“Hello,” greeted Hermione, “I didn’t think I’d be coming either, honestly.”

“Who are you here with?” asked Andrea, looking around, her long braids swinging around her.

“Stephan,” replied Hermione.

Andrea raised her eyebrows. She looked back at the bar, and this time, spotted him attempting to order.

“Diaz?” she asked, “So then, are you two—”

Lily then nudged Andrea with her elbow, smiling apologetically at Hermione. But even without hearing Andrea’s exact words, Hermione was very positive that she knew what Andrea was about to say. Smiling back rather awkwardly, Hermione glanced quickly through the gap between Lily and Andrea; as far as she could see, Stephan had yet to acquire any drinks.

“He’s showing me around Hogsmeade,” continued Hermione, hoping very much that she didn’t sound as awkward as she felt, “Apparently, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

“It’ll be fun,” promised Lily, “Even after graduating, I think I’ll come back to visit Hogsmeade every so often.”

I certainly would hope so, if I do this all correctly—

Interrupting Hermione’s thoughts, however, was the sound of very loud laughter that just entered the pub.

Hermione looked around Lily and Andrea to see, and Andrea turned her head, but Lily merely grimaced, apparently knowing without turning that Sirius and James followed by the much quieter Remus and Peter had entered the pub.

Hermione immediately made a face, to which Lily laughed.

“Trust me, I feel similarly,” said Lily. Hermione noticed that she stepped forward as if to hide Hermione to make sure she wasn’t visible from the front of the pub, to which Hermione was very grateful for, and quickly felt a rush of affection for her, “Black and Potter both. Although I have to admit, it was nice how Black defended you.”

“Defended?” asked Hermione, furrowing her eyebrow, “What do you mean, defended?”

“You haven’t heard?” Lily looked both surprised and confused by this revelation, “I thought certainly that someone would have told you at this point.”

“Everyone in our house was talking about it,” added Andrea in equal confusion, “But I suppose if you aren’t at any meals, and never visit the common room, then of course you wouldn’t know…”

“So, basically,” Lily rushed to explain when Hermione just looked up at them from her seat, lost, “He and his brother—Regulus Black, he’s in Slytherin—got into this huge row right outside of the Gryffindor common room, we could basically all hear it.”

“Well, we didn’t hear the specifics, the portrait was barely open,” said Andrea, “But for some reason, they were talking about you, and then, Regulus, he called you—well, he said—”

“He called you a Mudblood,” finished Lily coolly.

Involuntarily, Hermione’s hand went to her left forearm, her fingers brushing over the fabric of her coat covering her scar. While she had became quite desensitized to the word, and would often say it herself as means of reclaiming the word’s power, it was what Regulus saying this implied that made Hermione feel immediately panicked and paranoid.

Why was Regulus calling her a Mudblood with such confidence…? He couldn’t possibly have seen her scar… Did he… know something about Hermione…? No, that wasn’t possible…

Lily then added, perhaps as an explanation, “I’m Muggle-born, myself. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that someone like him uses a slur for anyone he doesn’t like.”

“But,” said Hermione, “I’m not even Muggle-born. That doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what I figured,” nodded Andrea, leaving Hermione satisfied with her successful lie, “But either way, we heard this big bang. Then Black stormed inside and went to his dorm without saying anything to anyone.”

Sirius… did that for me? Unwillingly, Hermione felt a rush of gratitude surge through her. It was confusing, really, feeling anything towards Sirius that wasn’t extreme annoyance, and Hermione wasn’t sure if this was a change she was willing to welcome—

“Fletchey has been telling everyone that he saw it himself, and that Black blasted his brother right down the stairs,” added Andrea. She was nodding impressively, clearly very pleased with this fact. “But I’m not surprised. I always knew Black only went after you constantly because he fancied you.”

“Andrea!” scolded Lily, turning to her friend, “He treated her horribly! Right, Hermione?”

“Well,” managed Hermione, again looking towards the bar and pleading for Stephan’s return. The idea of Sirius Black feeling, well, like that towards her, was not an idea that Hermione wanted to explore anytime soon. “Yes, he did—”

“Everyone knows that when a boy pulls on a girl’s pigtails it’s to get her attention,” insisted Andrea shamelessly.

“Well, it’s not a very effective way, is it?” said Lily, “Let’s just get off the topic of Black entirely. Just thought you should know about what happened, Hermione, since it involved you… Anyways, how about that Defense Against the Dark Arts exam yesterday?”

They exchanged a couple more minutes of small talk, and Hermione was beginning to wonder just how much longer Lily and Andrea would stand there talking to Hermione. Luckily, at that moment, Hermione saw Stephan returning to their table with a butterbeer in each hand.

Instantly relieved, Hermione brightened up and waved at him, to which he returned a toothy grin. Lily followed Hermione’s gaze, and upon seeing Stephan, nudged Andrea, indicating to her that they ought to return to their own table, now.

“We’ll get going,” said Lily quickly, “It was nice talking to you, Hermione!”

“Bye,” said Hermione, smiling softly as she and Andrea returned to their table. James, who had been eying Lily ever since he entered the pub, watched her as she did so, sitting at a table with Remus and Peter not far from hers.

“Popular, are we?” chided Stephan as he slid into the seat across from Hermione’s, pushing her butterbeer towards her, “Almost thought for a second that they’d steal you away for themselves.”

“I wouldn’t leave without my butterbeer,” smiled Hermione jokingly, “And you took long enough.”

“Only six and a half minutes!” protested Stephan, “I checked on my watch. Getting through that crowd was near impossible, let me tell you… Especially since I don’t like pushing my way through, I feel too rude.”

As Hermione brought the mug to her lips, she noticed that a particular leather-donned student had no such problem with this; Sirius was now pushing his way back towards the table where James, Remus, and Peter were sat with two butterbeers in each hand.

“Well, how is it?” asked Stephan, pulling her attention back to him, “Best you’ve ever had, yeah?”

“Definitely,” smiled Hermione.

They spoke mostly about their exams as they sipped on their drinks, a conversation that Hermione usually got lost in. However, even as she spoke to Stephan, part of her mind was still on what Lily and Andrea had just told her.

Sirius defended her. This meant that there were now two decent things that he had done for Hermione. And while Hermione wasn’t exactly in a rush to thank him, she was having a difficult time convincing herself now that she should avoid Sirius at all costs… Maybe, just maybe, she could attempt to respond to Sirius’ attempts at pleasant conversation, maybe he really had changed…

No, Hermione told herself firmly, this still doesn’t change how he treated you. You can consider speaking to him when he apologizes.

But maybe you’re too caught up on the idea of an apology, said another part of her, Just hear him out…

He only wants to speak with me to ask me questions, anyways, there’s no way what Andrea said was even remotely true—

“Earth to Hermione Granger?”

Hermione blinked a couple of times, before realizing that she had been staring at her own butterbeer very hard for the past some thirty seconds. Stephan was looking at her, amused but with his eyebrows raised.

“You there?”

“Sorry,” said Hermione, flustered, “I was just… Thinking about break, is all.”

“Ah,” nodded Stephan understandably, “You’re thinking about how much you’re going to miss me. Understandable. But I assure you, Hermione, you can do this.”

And even though Hermione laughed, and continued to laugh at all of his follow-up jokes and quips, she couldn’t help but wonder what Sirius himself would be doing that Christmas.

At that moment, she glanced over at Sirius, only to find that he was already looking at her from across the pub. But before she could awkwardly look away, however, Sirius just smirked, looked away, and returned to his butterbeer and friends.

Involuntarily, Hermione could feel her insides lurch very slightly when he had looked at her, and especially when he had smirked at her—

Forcefully, she dove back into conversation with Stephan on a question that had been on their Charms exam the day before. But even though she kept her undivided attention on Stephan, she could have sworn that she sensed Sirius looking back at her every once in a while out of the corner of her eye.

Hermione had an odd feeling that she would be seeing more of Sirius around Hogsmeade later that day.

Chapter Text

Sirius wasn’t sure if Hermione and Stephan Diaz were on a date, nor was Sirius sure if he was imagining the way that she seemed to laugh at all of Diaz’s stupid jokes; however, one thing he was sure of was that he had never seen Hermione wear that color of pink before.

Sure, this was likely due to the fact that he only really ever saw her in class, and didn’t ever see her in casual wear, but still. Twenty minutes into their time at The Three Broomsticks, Hermione had taken off her coat (which Sirius had just happened to look over and see, in a completely non-creepy way) and was wearing pink and these jeans that he didn’t really think suited her at all. Not because she didn’t look good—she looked fine, Sirius supposed—but because Sirius didn’t really expect someone as bookish as her to wear the same jeans he had seen in all the fashion magazines they learned about in Muggles Studies.

He didn’t expect Hermione Granger to be fashionable, or on a date. Which, in hindsight, may have been stupid of him to think—Hermione wasn’t by any means ugly—but he had spent so many weeks disliking her that he had forgotten that other people very much did not dislike Hermione, but actually, felt the opposite.

And there Sirius was, sitting in The Three Broomsticks and not really listening to whatever James was saying loudly to impress Lily Evans sitting a table away, and instead hyper-focusing on the fact that he really did not like Stephan Diaz or the color peachy pink—for reasons entirely unrelated to Hermione Granger.

Through his distracted state, he had noticed that Remus would occasionally look over at Sirius strangely. Sirius didn’t think that Remus had noticed him sparing the occasional look over at Hermione and Diaz’s table, but Sirius did suspect that his mate had noticed that Sirius seemed significantly less involved in their conversation than normal. Part of Sirius hoped that Remus would chalk his silence up to things Sirius probably should be thinking about, like Regulus, and not (correctly) assume that he was thinking up new freckle-related insults.

“And then, I’ve got the Quaffle under my arm, right?” said James, speaking in a storyteller-like manner, Peter hanging on to his every word. He was recounting the match from two weeks prior.

“I’m seconds away from hurtling the Quaffle towards the left loop—but then I see Nott eye to his right—my left—and in that second, I realize—he’s going to lunge to the left—and instantly, I know I need to fake him out, and before he realizes it, I swerve to the right, throw the Quaffle—and it soars easily through the goal. Nott still thinks it was heading to the left, and lunges, Merlin did he look stupid. You should have heard him cussing out me, my mum, and the rest of my family.”

Although, with Regulus’s name and the mention of family now on Sirius’s mind, he found escaping thinking about the topic difficult… And then, unwillingly, his mind revisited what had happened after the Quidditch match… His talk with Regulus…

“What is it, then?” Sirius said nastily to Remus the moment they had arrived to a private location: the very same broom closet on the third floor that he had once spoken with Hermione in. As students were still roaming about the castle after the Quidditch match, Regulus had felt that they should seek privacy. Sirius had suggested this closet, mostly because if Regulus was going to talk to Sirius about their stupid mother, then he should at least be uncomfortable in a stuffy closet while doing so.

“As you know, Mother would normally want nothing to do with you, especially after you disgraced our entire family and ran away,” began Regulus. Sirius scowled.

“Are you going to insult me for ten minutes, or are you going to get to the point?” asked Sirius lowly.

“I can do both,” said Regulus, and before Sirius could snap back, he continued, “Well, Mother wants to reach out to you because of the priceless family heirlooms you shamelessly stole.”

Sirius just rolled his eyes at this—he didn’t steal anything; everything that he had taken with him while running away had belonged to him. He couldn’t just have run away without any money, so he took every stupid, pretentious heirloom and knick-knack that had ever been gifted to him or left in his name (which there were very few of, as most of his family were never that fond of him) and sold them to have some source of funds.

“I already told you that those objects are long gone,” said Sirius lazily, “And I didn’t steal them, how many times do I have to say—”

“You may as well have stolen them, when you decided to take family treasures and then abandon said family,” sneered Regulus, “But that’s not the point. Mother needs to know exactly what you took.”

“Why?” demanded Sirius, “She didn’t care about details before. And what does it even matter? Like I said, they’re gone. I sold them. They couldn’t have been that valuable, anyways, because they were gifted to me.”

“That’s precisely the point, you dolt!” said Regulus, “Mother was doing her annual family heirloom reorganization the other day—”

Sirius made a face at this. Once a year before Sirius came to Hogwarts, his mother would force Sirius to help in cleaning whatever in the house had a Black family crest on it—dishes, goblets, picture frames, jewelry, all the like. This process would take days on end, and somehow, Regulus was always ‘too young’ to help…

“—And she noticed that one of our most important items was missing. She said it’s priceless, and has been in our family for centuries.”

“And let me guess, she thinks that I’ve stolen it,” drawled Sirius, “And how did she arrive to that ridiculous conclusion?”

“Because when she did the annual reorganizing last year, when you hadn’t run away yet, we still had the heirloom. It’s an obvious conclusion to make,” said Regulus while rolling his eyes. Sirius was tempted to roll Regulus’s head, too, but resisted the very strong urge.

“Well, then, what is it?” asked Sirius impatiently.

“I don’t know,” said Regulus, “According to Mother, it’s our most prized possession. She wasn’t keen on telling me what it was. Although, I told her she could trust me—”

“How am I supposed to tell you if I sold it or not if she won’t even tell you what it is?!” exclaimed Sirius in frustration, “I knew this conversation would be a waste of time—”

“Because she wants to question you herself!” snapped Regulus. Clearly, Regulus was infuriated that his beloved mother would even think of speaking with Sirius again, but no one was more enraged than Sirius at this. “She wants to speak with you at some point during break.”

“Absolutely not!” snapped Sirius immediately, “I think I’d rather let a hoard of Puffskeins eat me alive.”

“I should have never shared that information about Granger with you,” said Regulus indignantly, “How stupid of me to assume that someone in Gryffindor would have the dignity to gratefully return a favor.”

For nearly ten minutes afterwards, they had continued bickering. That particular conversation hadn’t really gone anywhere at all; Regulus had actually left the broom closet first, infuriated that Sirius continued to refuse his request.

Sirius had correctly assumed that their argument was not over, however—Regulus had begun following him all over the castle even more obsessively than he had before, picking a fight with Sirius three separate times during exam week. Every single time they fought, Regulus would bring up how Sirius should “honor” the information that he had given to him about Granger and do him a favor in return.

One of those arguments in particular, however—in which Regulus had followed Sirius to Gryffindor common room and confronted him right as he was about to walk into the portrait hole—he had let the word ‘Mudblood’ slip from his nasty, thin lips. And just as Sirius had promised to do the first time Regulus had called Hermione a Mudblood, Sirius hit Regulus with the nastiest curse he could think of. Even the satisfaction of cursing Regulus down the portrait stairs was not enough to counterbalance the the infuriating embarrassment Sirius felt when he marched through the crowded common room, with everyone perfectly aware of just how dysfunctional his family was.

Sirius was admittedly a little unnerved about what was so important that his mother would seek out a conversation with him… He was certain that nothing he sold was of extreme importance, though—while the various jewels and gems and metals composing the heirlooms had gotten Sirius a decent amount of money, he was certain that an object of the importance of what Regulus was speaking of would have gotten him twice the galleons Sirius received.

Even with all that had happened in the past two weeks, Sirius didn’t regret his decision of covering for Hermione. Given the opportunity to redo that day, he would lie for Hermione all over again. Seeing how relieved Hermione had felt… Well, Sirius couldn’t lie to himself, he found himself thinking of that moment quite a lot…

“Padfoot!”

Sirius jumped in his seat, snapping his head to look at James seated at his left. He had a curious eyebrow raised at Sirius.

“Are you listening? You keep looking over at—” began James, but Sirius cut him off.

“I’m not looking at Hermione!” snapped Sirius annoyingly, “I just spaced out, is all.”

James blinked a couple of times, slowly setting down his butterbeer mug.

“Mate, we know you weren’t looking at Hermione.”

“Good—”

“Because she and Diaz left nearly ten minutes ago.”

“What?!”

Sirius looked around Remus to see that the booth was indeed no longer occupied by Hermione and her stupid friend, but rather, a group of third year boys who looked extremeley unnerved that Sirius was looking over at them once again.

“You were zoned out for a solid five minutes,” commented Remus across from Sirius, “Everything alright, mate?”

“Is it about Regulus?” asked Peter right away, looking curious.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, which was actually true, “I’m just thinking about what the hell that vile woman wants.”

“Well,” said James, lowering his voice back down to a normal volume, “You don’t have to worry about your mum or Regulus all break. And, if it comes down to it, I’m one hundred percent ready to act as your bodyguard and hex him whenever he comes within a ten-meter radius of you.”

“And also,” added Remus with a joking smile, “I would like to note how quickly you assumed that we would accuse you of staring at Hermione.”

“Well, that’s a reasonable assumption, I don’t exactly have a great track record, do I?” muttered Sirius, secretly pleased that he had gotten away with all of his stolen glances at Hermione.

“Oh, that reminds me,” chimed in Peter, using his sleeve to wipe away some butterbeer foam that had gotten on his mouth, “When are we going to start asking her about the map?”

“Well…” trailed Remus with a furrowed brow, “I suppose it’s been long enough… As long as we approach her kindly, and nicely…”

“We can ask her over break,” suggested Peter helpfully. All four of them were remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas holiday, as this was their seventh and final year.

“That’s actually a good idea,” agreed James, and Peter smiled sheepishly in response, “We’re in the middle of the war, I bet the castle’s going to be abandoned.”

“And she’s definitely staying,” added Sirius, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, “I don’t think she has anywhere to go.”

“Whilst I agree it’s about time we confront Hermione about the map,” said Remus with a lecture-like tone, and Sirius internally groaned, “I think we should lay down some ground rules.”

“Moony, I promise I won’t start yelling at her, I’m past that,” assured Sirius lazily, running a hand through his hair.

“Still,” Remus pressed on, “Just so that we all know. Let’s all agree to not chase her down and to not yell at her. There. Easy.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Really, that’s all? Well, then, that opens a lot of options, actually—that’s a joke, Moony,” Sirius added when Remus gave him a look.

“Mhm.” But Remus didn’t seem upset, just mildly amused.

They wrapped up their drinks, and within five minutes, they were outside once more braving the harsh winds of December. And as they headed towards Honeydukes, a small part of Sirius hoped that Hermione would be there, too, but she was nowhere to be seen upon entering the sweets shop.

As they browsed the Christmas-themed shelves, Sirius imagined what the look on Hermione’s face would be if Sirius had the audacity to actually gift her something for Christmas.

Grinning to himself, he grabbed a box of Honeydukes Specialties, an image of her confused and mildly irritated expression clear in his mind.

(Sirius told himself that this was purely a joke, and that he was actually buying the sweets for himself. Nonetheless, he didn’t object when the shop seller asked if Sirius wanted his package gift-wrapped.)

--

After their Honeydukes endeavors, the four made their way down Hogsmeade’s main cobble pathway to Zonko’s to refresh their stock of various school necessities—Sirius was particularly low on dungbombs—before Peter glanced into a storefront window displaying some treacle tarts and gave a start. Evidently, the tarts had initiated a total reset in his brain.

“Gifts!” Peter exclaimed so suddenly that Sirius jumped, “Gifts! Oh no, I forgot to get Christmas gifts for my parents! How could I have forgotten? Oh, no—”

Peter looked frantically between Sirius, James, and Remus, as if awaiting instruction, “I haven’t got any idea what to get them! Well, I saw the treacle tart and thought of the gifts, because I saw this book on magical baking in the window of Bobbin’s Book Nooks when I got Remus some chocolate that one time and figured my mum would like it—and I had this one idea for my dad, I saw something at Scrivenshaft’s he’d really like—and—”

“Wormtail,” interrupted Remus, looking over at Sirius and James, “We’ll get those gifts today. I’ll come along with you.”

“Really?” said Peter with wide eyes, immediately grateful, “Thank you, Moony, I don’t know what I’d do without you guys!”

“Well, Wormtail, maybe next time don’t forget to get literally your only family Christmas gifts, and then we won’t have to be there for you all the time,” said Sirius in tones that were purely lighthearted. As much as he enjoyed going out as a group of four, he hadn’t been able to hang out with just James in quite a while, and was excited to head off as just the pair of them.

The two pairs bid goodbye before parting ways, and then, Sirius and James were on their way down the main Hogsmeade path towards Zonko’s.

“You think they have any holiday specials?” wondered James, “Remember when they sold those little Love Diffusers last Valentine’s Day? Think I would have gotten the whole stock had we knew about them earlier, I heard they sold out they day after they were put out…”

“Trust me, mate, no number of enchanted candles would get Evans to even look at you without wanting to vomit,” grinned Sirius, scanning the Zonko’s storefront as it came into view. James, had was long accustomed to Lily-related insults, was immediately distracted by the displays.

“Ah, excellent,” said James cheerfully, “Cracking Christmas Cocoa… I wonder what happens when you drink that. I've got a feeling it has something to do with explosives.”

Sirius was about to reply with his own theories when he noticed the two people standing in front of the shop right besides Zonko’s; the neighboring shop was so bleak and plain next to the brightly painted walls of the joke shop that Sirius was certain that he had never looked at the old shop for this long before.

The only reason he was giving its fogged windows and cheap paint a second glance was because of the very curly-haired girl pressing her hands up against the glass of the storefront windows. Behind the windows were many displays of books, all with colorful covers.

“Prongs!” hissed Sirius, nudging him with his elbow, “Look, over there, at the book shop!”

“Huh?” James looked around for a few seconds before seeing Hermione and Diaz staring through the shop front windows.

“Oh,” said James, sounding noticeably deflated, likely aware of the fact that they were no longer going to Zonko’s, “I mean, of course they’re at Bobbin’s. That’s probably their own version of Honeydukes, with all those books.”

“They’re going in!” said Sirius as they entered the store, and a small fire ignited inside of him when he saw that Diaz had opened the door for her. Who did he think he was, acting all gracious and mighty? Sirius was certain it was all a ploy.

“We’re going inside, aren’t we?” sighed James resignedly.

“It’s not weird,” said Sirius firmly, “We’re helping Wormtail look for a book for his mum, aren’t we?”

“No, we aren’t,” said James, but he was already walking alongside with Sirius as he took off towards Bobbin’s, “Wormtail and Moony were very clear that they were doing that themselves. And I didn’t say this was weird, but now that you mention it, this is actually mental.”

Sirius ignored this, and instead took to observing the book shop as they entered. The store was spacious and clean, contrasting its dinky exterior, with high ceilings and rows of bookshelves that matched in height. Decorated around the store were various floor cushions, occupied by students reading. From the entrance, Sirius could see the back of Diaz in the row to the very right, and while he couldn’t see Hermione, Sirius knew that he was blocking her from view.

“Why is he so damn tall?” asked Sirius lowly under his breath, for the shop was rather quiet, with only sounds of pages turning and soft speaking.

“Hey, baking books are in aisle two,” said James, reading the signs on the bookshelves, “We could actually help Wormtail—”

“Come this way,” interrupted Sirius, walking quickly into the aisle besides the one Diaz and Hermione were in. He stopped about halfway down the length of the shop, where there was a break in each aisle of shelves.

“D’you think this is actually a date?” asked Sirius as he peered through the various books; however, at this harsh of a diagonal, Sirius wasn’t able to see Diaz or Hermione without ducking his head into their aisle. He’d have to wait for them to make their way down in order to see them.

“Padfoot, you have to know how incredibly weird this is,” insisted James, “And this is coming from me. From me. Just last week, I waited twenty minutes outside Potions whilst Evans talked with Slughorn after class. And I’m saying this is too much.”

“Yeah, because you actually intended on talking with her,” said Sirius, pretending to look interested in the books in front of him, as other customers were beginning to eye their avid conversation warily, “I’m just trying to find out if this is a date or not.”

“A detail that I too would be attempting to uncover, if I were you and Evans were Hermione,” said James fairly, “But still. It’s none of our business if they’re on a date or not.”

Sirius didn’t respond, too busy acting interested in Sherri Terrance’s Remedial Potions for Unsettled Witches and Wizards: Stirring for the Stirred. After a few seconds, James spoke up once more, treading cautiously in tone.

“Mate…” said James lowly, “Listen. We never really talked about what I said nearly a month ago.” When Sirius stared at him, completely blanking, James then added, “About how you would flirt with Hermione.”

“I—What?” asked Sirius loudly. The heads in his close vicinity all turned to look at him, so Sirius hastily lowered his voice to a hiss as he continued, “Why are you bringing this up again? I don’t care, okay? It’s fine.”

“But—Padfoot,” James said awkwardly, looking like he was on the verge of deciding if he was soon to regret initiating this conversation, “That’s just it… I, er, I don’t think I’m wrong.”

Sirius made a face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” accused Sirius, “You really think I fancy her?”

“Er…” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. Precisely that, actually.”

When Sirius opened his mouth to furiously object, James interjected once more, “And I know you realize it too, Padfoot. You’re stubborn, but you aren’t that stupid.”

“I—!” began Sirius irately, feeling his face flare up with heat. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find a retort—there were many factors that Sirius was finding increasingly difficult to ignore.

For one, there had been the jealousy he had felt towards Stephan when he first saw him speaking with Hermione… How he always used clever quips to speak with Hermione even when he was still strongly suspicious of her… And then there was his infatuation with scents of turmeric and chamomile, which had started far before Sirius had ever realized that his suspicions of Hermione were entirely wrong… How even after he had realized that he was all wrong about her, he still constantly tried to find excuses to speak with her… Hell, Sirius had even felt some physical affection for Hermione starting from the moment they had first met, when Sirius carried her down to the hospital wing…

Yes, all of these facts seemed to indicate that Sirius had some sort of feelings for Hermione Granger. And Sirius knew, deep, deep down, that James was absolutely correct…

“No I don’t,” said Sirius anyways, because he had no intention of recognizing this fact on a surface level.

“I—what—Padfoot, how can you say that—we’ve literally followed her into a bookshop!” sputtered James exasperatedly, having completely abandoned all previous intentions of remaining quiet; the few customers around them had jumped slightly at this sudden peak in volume.

“Keep your voice down, you dolt,” hissed Sirius, “People will think I’m some sort of stalker—”

“That’s what everyone already thinks about you, you moron,” reminded James indignantly, “Just admit it, Padfoot, you fancy her, and you’ve fancied her for ages, and you’re only realizing it now because you no longer can convince yourself that you hate her.”

“I never said I hated her,” replied Sirius stoutly, lowering his voice even more so; he could hear footsteps from the other side of the bookshelves, meaning that Diaz and Hermione were making their way down the aisle. “I was expressing reasonable doubt. And I now admit that said doubt was expressed in an overly aggressive manner.”

“Whatever,” sighed James, “Keep denying it all you want. Just know I see right through you, Padfoot. Now, shall we go back to following a girl who you definitely have no feelings for—”

At that moment, Sirius saw glimpses of short, curly hair passing through the books, clearly indicating that Diaz was heading towards the back—surely, he was off to the lavatory. That meant Sirius had at least a few minutes before Diaz returned—he could just pop on over, say hi, subtly ask if they were on an actual date, nothing weird at all—

“Padfoot,” said James warningly as he noticed himself that Hermione was now alone, and correctly assuming what Sirius was currently considering doing, “I thought you said you wouldn’t be actually speaking with Hermione.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that Diaz would conveniently bug off,” said Sirius impatiently, “Now round the aisle with me and act like you have no idea she’s there.”

Either James couldn’t think of a response before Sirius turned into Hermione’s aisle, or he had given up on stopping Sirius, but he nonetheless followed suit and looked up and down the bookshelves alongside Sirius, feigning interest.

Prongs is a good friend, thought Sirius to himself. He really didn’t give James enough credit for his loyalty, even when Sirius got himself into stupid situations such as these.

Within seconds, Sirius noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hermione had turned her head in their direction and noticed them.

A few seconds passed, and, to Sirius’s pleasant surprise, she was actually the one to speak first.

“Sirius?” she said softly.

Sirius turned his head at the sound of his name, forcing his face into an expression that he hoped to look of genuine surprise.

“Hermione!” he said cheerfully, walking towards her, James following closely behind, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I thought I saw you two lurking through the bookshelves,” said Hermione. James snorted loudly, but Sirius continued his façade of innocence.

“Well, then you should have greeted us when you saw us,” said Sirius serenely, “It’s rude to just ignore us, you know.”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” added James, pushing his glasses up his nose, “We’re just looking for a book for Peter, he’s gifting one to his mum for Christmas.” Sirius suspected James included this because Hermione was likely thinking that there was absolutely no good reason for Sirius and James to be in a bookstore of all places.

“Yeah, we’re pretty great friends to him,” nodded Sirius. Hermione said nothing, but Sirius could have sworn he saw the corners of her lips twitch. This, alongside with the fact that she hadn’t told Sirius to get lost yet, encouraged Sirius to continue.

“Anyways, what are you doing here, Hermione?” asked Sirius.

“We’re in a bookshop, Sirius, I’m clearly looking at books.”

“Of course you are,” agreed Sirius, “It’s just—where’s Diaz off to? I can’t help but notice he’s not here.”

“Stephan’s just gone to the toilet,” replied Hermione.

“Leaving your date alone,” said Sirius, watching Hermione’s expression closely. It didn’t falter. “Not very good etiquette, is it?”

Sure, literally using the word “date” didn’t exactly help in Sirius’s mission to subtly ask if Hermione was on a date, but Hermione luckily didn’t seem annoyed or offended—she seemed perfectly neutral. For what must have been the first time since she and Sirius met, Hermione wasn’t acting like she would rather be literally anywhere than around Sirius. Perhaps it was the aura of the books around them that grounded and calmed her.

“We’re just here as friends, Sirius,” said Hermione plainly, and Sirius had never heard more beautiful words. “And just because you might leave your friends for ridiculous reasons—such as consistently sitting away from them in class—doesn’t mean that everyone does that.”

That last bit was less pleasant to hear, but Sirius let these words bounce right off of him; this was still a victory.

“And I wonder what that could possibly be referring to,” said Sirius, “Anyways, Hermione, are you heading home for break?”

She shook her head; to this, Sirius and James gave each other a side glance.

“No,” she said, “My parents said it would be better if I stayed.”

“I see,” said Sirius, “Well, I suppose we’ll see you around the castle. We’re all staying too, of course.”

Hermione looked unsurprised but not excited at this bit of news. In that moment, there was a gentle chiming noise, indicating that someone else had just walked into the shop. Sirius peered over Hermione’s head to see that it was actually Remus and Peter, Peter holding a Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop bag in his hands.

Remus scanned the shop, found Hermione standing at the edge of the aisle, and then saw Sirius standing before her. Remus looked immediately disappointed.

“Remus!” Sirius greeted, waving him and Peter over. The shop clerk at the front desk looked between the two groups, glaring at them over his spectacles.

“Hello,” greeted Remus politely to Hermione, but Sirius knew Remus well enough to know that he had half a mind to chew Sirius out right then and there, “How are you liking Hogsmeade, Hermione?”

“It’s really nice,” said Hermione pleasantly, Sirius irked with how much nicer her tone was towards Remus, “Apparently, we’re still heading to Honeydukes, Zonko’s, and Gladrag’s after this.”

“Busy day,” said Remus.

And then there were footsteps behind them, and Sirius turned to see Diaz walking back down the aisle. His cheery expression faltered very slightly when he realized who all were crowding around his non-date date.

Oh, don’t look so displeased, thought Sirius, irritated, this isn’t exactly what I planned on happening, either.

“Hello,” he greeted them all cheerfully, stopping at Hermione’s side and looking between the four of them. While his three friends returned the greeting, Sirius just nodded, not saying anything.

“I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect to see you lot in a book shop,” mused Diaz, Sirius detecting a note of cheek in his tone. Hermione didn’t seem to notice, and Sirius mustered down the urge to sneer. “What are we looking for? I know this place by heart, I’ll be able to steer you in the right direction.”

“No need to try getting rid of us that quickly,” grinned James, “We just stopped to say hi, we’re doing some last-minute Christmas shopping.”

“For who?” asked Hermione.

Sirius and James looked at Peter expectantly, who quickly panicked, realizing that he was supposed to speak up.

“Er,” said Peter meekly, “My mum. She likes baking, see.” Peter paused, likely thinking over each word carefully as to not let on that he had discovered said baking book on an unauthorized Hogsmeade trip. “They had this one book on baking in the display window some weeks back, but it’s not there anymore—"

“You mean the new Holiday edition of Candace Codington’s Take on Cakes and Shakes?” interjected Diaz eagerly, his eyes gleaming, “Yeah, they’ve just come in this month. Beautiful covers, they had those books in the display for nearly two and a half weeks. I get the weekly Bobbin’s newsletter, so of course, I’m all updated.”

Sirius vaguely thought that the reason why Diaz didn’t have many friends in their own year was because he just had too much energy and spoke too much, but Hermione watched him as he spoke, as if he weren’t even a little bit annoying.

“But,” said Diaz suddenly, looking a bit puzzled, “How would you know about the books? They hadn’t arrived yet during our last Hogsmeade trip… Unless you get the weekly newsletter, as well.”

At these words, Hermione, who had been looking at Stephan as he spoke, quickly darted her gaze over to Sirius.

“Er—” said Peter in a small squeak, his panic intensifying. It was Remus who thought the quickest and spoke up.

“I get the newsletter,” said Remus, the first to realize how unbelievable it would be to claim that Peter of all people enjoyed reading books in his free time.

Remus continued. “Whilst Peter and I headed to Scrivenshaft’s for part of the present, Sirius and James’s task was to find the book… Which I can now see was unsuccessful.”

“Well, unsuccessful no longer!” cheered Diaz so excitedly that the book clerk shot yet another nasty look over at their group. Diaz did seem genuinely eager to help them when it came down to books, which even Sirius had to admit was pretty decent of him.

Sirius glanced towards Remus, hardly believing that he had just lied for Sirius, especially when such lying involved Hermione. Hence, he hoped that he looked grateful, and by the way that Remus looked back at him only a little reprovingly, he wasn’t too upset.

Diaz guided all of them over to the second aisle and began to talk deeply in depth about the many baking books offered, mostly talking to Peter, who looked like he would be content with purchasing any random book at this point. Remus seemed to be mildly interested in what Diaz had to say, as did Hermione; James and Sirius had gotten bored halfway through and paced a little down the second aisle to look at some books on historical broomsticks.

“And see here,” said Diaz, speaking in a low voice but still just barely audible from where Sirius and James stood, “We have another excellent option—Paulo Robinson’s 100 Simple Wand-and-Water Meals, which I’ve read fantastic reviews on—I don’t cook or bake, really, so I haven’t read most of these myself, but Robinson’s received five star ratings all around from the Daily Prophet’s Chef Weekly column.”

“You think Wormtail’s understanding half of what he’s saying?” asked James lowly as he looked over at him, “It’s like Diaz has the words of every text ever printed memorized.”

“I think he stopped listening five minutes ago,” said Sirius, watching as Peter gazed at Diaz with blank eyes, “Funny, he looks like that whenever McGonagall is lecturing him.”

Sirius then noticed that Hermione was currently looking at him. And before Sirius could decide if this had been an accident or not, Hermione then said something quietly to Stephan (who was too occupied with books to really respond) and walked over to Sirius and James.

“Sirius,” prefaced Hermione, and Sirius still couldn’t really piece together what was happening, “Could I speak to you, please?”

“Of course you can,” said James immediately, shoving the book he had in his hands into the entirely wrong spot on the shelf, quickly speed-walking towards the other three. Still a little confused on what had happened in the past week that made Hermione want to actually speak with Sirius, Sirius took a few seconds to shake himself out of his own bafflement.

“Well, to what do I owe the ultimate pleasure—” began Sirius.

“Could we actually find an empty aisle?” asked Hermione, looking around them.

And so they moved over another aisle, which was only occupied by a single reader all the way at the opposite end. Hermione began to speak at once, not wasting any time.

“I just wanted to quickly say,” she paced, looking up at Sirius, “Thank you.”

What—

“What?” vocalized Sirius, “But I thought—”

“I heard from Lily and Andrea,” explained Hermione, “What you did, I thought it was actually rather nice of you. So I just wanted to thank you.”

Slowly, Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, debating if this was some sort of weird joke, because he had absolutely no idea what she was referring to.

“That really doesn’t explain as much as you’re assuming it does,” said Sirius slowly, watching her expression carefully.

“They told me that you and your brother got into a row outside Gryffindor common room?”

“Oh,” said Sirius, surprised. He honestly didn’t expect Hermione to find out about that, and for some reason, he felt a little flustered. “Well, you don’t have to thank me for that. He was being a git.”

“Either way,” said Hermione, “I thought about it a lot. And even though I still don’t really trust you—”

“Ouch,” frowned Sirius.

“—and we have our differences,” continued Hermione, “I felt like it had to be said.”

“Well,” said Sirius, a small grin spreading over his lips. Hermione gazed up at him, likely hoping that she wasn’t about to regret saying any of this. “What a lovely surprise. Again, you really don’t have to thank me for meeting the minimal requirements of being a decent human being.”

“Apparently, I do,” she said tersely, “Unless I need to remind you—”

“Yeah, I know,” said Sirius, “I’m aware of my unfortunately recent past. But doesn’t this prove that I’m not faking being nice now? See, I’m nice to you even behind your back.”

“Sirius,” Hermione said warningly.

“Yeah, alright, I know.”

But Sirius couldn’t stop the bright smile on his face, thinking that he’ll have to hex some blood-purists more often. There was a warm feeling in his chest that he felt, a feeling he hadn’t really felt before. He was experiencing a lot of firsts today, actually—for example, when Hermione had asked to talk with Sirius alone, he could actually physically feel his heart jump.

Is that normal? thought Sirius, I feel like it isn’t—

“Don’t get it twisted, Sirius, this doesn’t mean we’re on good terms,” said Hermione warningly, interjecting into Sirius’ current inner monologue.

“But it’s subject to change now, got it. Continue,” put in Sirius. Hermione pursed her lips, but didn’t object—another victory.

“I just felt like I owed you that much, saying thank you. Even if… Even if I’m not Muggle-born.”

When Hermione said this bit, she had paused, looked up towards the left, and crossed her arms. These were all actions that Sirius was unfortunately too familiar with, as these were all her tells—for when she was lying.

But before Sirius could entirely process this, Hermione spoke again.

“Well,” said Hermione, glancing down at her watch. “Stephan and I should really get going, if we’re visiting three more shops.”

Overall, Sirius was so elated that not even the mention of Diaz’s name could ruin his mood.

They walked back over to Diaz, Remus, James, and Peter, the latter of which had decided on just purchasing the baking book he had seen in the display window weeks ago. And even though Sirius knew he couldn’t have been in Bobbin’s for more than half an hour, he still felt like half of the day had been spent; this was likely due to the fact that he didn’t believe that anything else that could happen that day would seem even remotely important next to the fact that Hermione Granger actually thanked Sirius.

Awkwardly, the two groups finally parted ways at the entrance of Bobbin’s, Hermione and Diaz setting off towards Honeydukes.

“You aren’t going after them, are you?” asked James, watching them walk down the cobble path. Sirius shook his head; he understood that Hermione deserved her privacy, especially as he had just invaded said privacy a little bit. Sirius also did not want to ruin his good streak with Hermione that had only just started.

“No,” said Sirius honestly, “You’re right, it’s weird following her around.” The four of them as a group now were walking next door to Zonko’s, as was the original plan nearly forty minutes ago.

“So you were following her?” repeated Remus, looking mildly scandalized as they entered the joke shop, “And here I was, praying that you genuinely went into the shop to help Wormtail get his book. Prongs, please tell me he didn’t do anything too stupid.”

“We had a decent conversation before you two arrived, actually,” said James fairly, and Sirius grinned at Remus triumphantly, “A bit awkward, but otherwise alright.”

“Although that Diaz knows way too much about books,” said Peter, clearly still affected by the fact that he had once more almost let an outsider on to their secrets, “I nearly flubbed that one…”

“Yeah, let’s try not to repeat that mistake,” said James. They were now stopped besides a door-side display, showing off various hexed school supplies. “But nice thinking on your part, Moony.”

“Yeah, thanks, Moony,” added Sirius.

“Well, of course,” said Remus, peering down at a box of enchanted potion vials that claimed to whistle loudly when opened, “Of course I’m going to lie when it comes to the map.”

“No, I meant when you lied and said that I had been at the bookshop for the book,” corrected Sirius. To Sirius’s surprise, Remus gave a cheeky little smile.

“Well, I wasn’t entirely pleased to see you in the shop, at first,” admitted Remus, “But I figured you don’t deserve a lecture just for having a crush. Even if you acted a bit inappropriately on it.”

“I do not have a crush,” said Sirius sharply, pointing the Exploding Quill in his hand at Remus, “I just wanted to know what they were up to.”

“To be fair, Padfoot doesn’t really have crushes as much as he has hook-ups,” put in Peter.

“Thank you, Wormtail,” said Sirius graciously, “Perhaps you lot are forgetting that I’m a complete heartthrob.”

“Wow,” said James to Remus, shaking his head, “I’ve never seen him in deeper denial.”

“Whatever, losers.”

They continued browsing for some ten minutes, Sirius humbly deciding on buying just a packet of dungbombs and a bundle of the newly introduced Laughing Lollies. After a respectable half hour in Zonko’s, they left, deciding on just walking about for a bit before deciding on what to do next.

“Today was a complete and total success,” proclaimed Sirius, holding up his bag of Zonko’s products as if it were proof, “Restocked on some essentials and had genuine banter with Hermione Granger.”

To this, James and Remus both snorted, James rather obnoxiously.

“It was banter!” insisted Sirius, “She was talking to me, and also not telling me to piss off.”

“I wouldn’t go as far to say that her responding with a neutral expression was banter,” mused James, “But it at least looks like she can stand you, now. So, good first step, Padfoot.”

“What was it that she told you in private that’s gotten your ego up, anyway?” joked Remus. And suddenly, Sirius was immediately reminded—her lie.

“Oh,” said Sirius, “I forgot to tell you lot. So, basically…”

Remus and Peter were nodding impressively by the time Sirius had finished speaking. James himself was smiling, looking very proud of Sirius.

“Do you guys think this means she doesn’t hate Sirius anymore?” asked Peter, looking to his friends for confirmation, “And that it’ll help with us asking her questions?”

“Likely,” agreed Remus.

“If only Evans thanked me every time I hexed Snivellus,” said James remorsefully, “Took me years to find out that didn’t work and to stop, huh?”

“And also, you grew as a person,” added Remus.

“Yeah, but that’s lame,” said James, “Anyways, you lot want to take a seat somewhere? I could honestly go for another round at The Three Broomsticks.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sirius said distractedly. His mind was now stuck on that one detail—what Hermione had said about not being Muggle-born.

Yes, Sirius was past all unreasonable suspicions of Hermione, but… Over the many weeks where he was weary of her intentions, he had come to learn exactly how Hermione Granger told lies.

And after constantly reevaluating their conversation in his head, Sirius was debating whether or not Hermione had lied about not being Muggle-born.

While her being Muggle-born did seem logical—it would explain why Hermione had been treating him so differently all of a sudden, because she would feel genuinely inclined to thank him—Sirius just couldn’t make this concept make sense to him.

Because why would Hermione lie about being Muggle-born? Of course, if she had transferred to Hogwarts to be protected from the war, lying about her blood status would be expected. But if this much were true, then that would mean that Regulus had been right all along, and Sirius didn’t really want to think that.

In the end, Sirius had resolved that, one, he had misinterpreted the situation and was likely making this whole “lying” thing up, and, two, blood lineage did not matter in the slightest, so he shouldn’t even care.

The only reason he was so caught up on the possibility of her lying was because he was now certain that her reasons for all cover-ups were deeply rooted in a much larger story that only she (and possibly Dumbledore) was aware of. And while Sirius was no longer suspicious of her, yes, he was still extremely curious.

Soon enough, however, all of the triumphs of that day overtook this little mental obstacle, especially when he had the rest of the Hogsmeade trip to distract him from it. Even after they had all returned to the castle hours later, Sirius still felt light and almost giddy at the thought of his very first non-negative interaction with Hermione.

Sirius recognized how unfortunate it was that he was even proud of this fact, but he tried not to think about it too hard.

Hermione Granger did have a mysterious record, after all, and Sirius figured that at this point that this was just another bullet point to add to the list of questions to ask over Christmas break—given, of course, Hermione didn’t hex Sirius and all of his friends for getting too nosy, first.

Chapter Text

Remus’s prediction that most students would be spending Christmas at home had been true: come first day of Christmas break, the four of them had awoken to a near-deserted castle. There were only four other students at breakfast and no staff, which Sirius found particularly strange; he had always assumed that Dumbledore lived in the castle year-round, and had no idea where Dumbledore would be if not at Hogwarts.

Hermione, to Sirius’s disappointment, was not among one of these four students. He was eager to get started on Operation Ask-Hermione. Of course, Sirius was excited at the prospect of finally having answers, but also, seeing her again would be nice, especially considering that their last interaction had been on Sirius’s mind for a large portion of the weekend.

“We've got two weeks, mate,” said James to Sirius at breakfast as he kept checking the Great Hall entrance every few minutes, “We’ll talk to her eventually.”

“We rarely even catch her in the Great Hall, anyways,” Remus added in hopes of being helpful. But Sirius still felt crestfallen.

That night, they all gathered around a table in the common room to work on the Marauder’s Map, which they could now do out in the open with nearly every Gryffindor home for break. Even though the map was only in need of a few final adjustments, their school year had been so intense so far that almost all free time was spent studying and doing homework.

The map only needed detailing, now; all of the hours of difficult enchantments and research were behind them. But, for some reason, labeling every little room and hallway was perhaps the most infuriating part of creating the map to date.

“No, take that out,” murmured James, standing behind Sirius and peering over his shoulder as he pointed to the dungeon’s back entrance that Sirius had just labeled, “You don’t need to name entrances.”

“Well, we labeled the entrance to the Astronomy tower,” said Sirius irritably, “If we label one, then we should label all of them, otherwise it’s inconsistent.”

“But that’s because we labeled the entrances to every tower—” chimed in Peter feebly, only for James to speak over him.

“I’m telling you lot that we don’t need to label so many things!” insisted James, “Who else is going to use this map besides us? We know what everything is!”

“We still have to mark the edges around the Great Lake, too,” added Remus to Sirius’s left, “Which we said we were going to do last time, but we never got around to it.” Sirius groaned before flipping over to the side with the Hogwarts grounds, grumbling under his breath.

As the hours poured on, however, their bickering subsided, as they were now instead focusing all efforts on the map. As their schooling years were drawing closer and closer to an end, they all felt responsible for doing everything they could to finish the map before graduation; even Peter, who didn’t dare try to make his own edits to the map, did his fair share of cross-checking between multiple textbook iterations of Hogwarts maps (which were all infuriatingly different and often inaccurate—for some reason, one history book had marked the kitchen to be on top of the Great Hall, rather than underneath).

Remus was the first one to head to bed around one in the morning, Peter following suit half an hour later. Sirius and James worked together for about another hour or so, and at two-thirty, James started to yawn with every other sentence.

“I think—” James paused to yawn widely, “—that we should turn in too, mate.”

“You head up,” said Sirius, still bent over the map, quill in hand, “I’m not tired yet, I’ll keep going.”

“Alright, but don’t get upset when you sleep straight through breakfast.”

They bid each other goodnight, and then, Sirius was alone in the Gryffindor common room.

Forty minutes after James had headed upstairs, Sirius was finally beginning to feel his eyes grow tired. He began to clean up, shuffling together various pieces of scrap parchment, gathering their many reference books, and capping ink bottles.

Sirius was seconds away from clearing the map and heading upstairs when he noticed a set of footprints on the seventh floor.

With the castle so deserted, it was hardly difficult to notice any movement on the map. Curiously, he watched the set of footprints walk towards the moving staircases, reading the labeled name.

Hermione Granger.

Sirius’s interest was heightened tenfold, wondering why on Earth she was on the seventh floor at near three in the morning. He also wondered how he hadn’t noticed her walking around the castle before this very moment.

Sirius watched her footprints walk towards the moving staircases, climbing down flight after flight. She seemed to be returning to her room, now.

“Just why are you up so late at night…?” murmured Sirius when she continued to descend from the sixth to the fifth floor. He then watched her set of footprints until she had reached the first floor, only clearing the map when she had returned to her room.

The seventh floor… That’s where we first met, realized Sirius.

Too tired to formulate any theories, Sirius mentally pinned this detail and set off for bed, and put all thoughts of Hermione Granger on hold.

--

Sirius watched the map for the next three nights in a row. Each night, Hermione was up and about around the castle without fail.

However, Sirius was never able to catch Hermione actually leaving her room—in fact, for the hours before he would see her walking down from the seventh floor to the first, Sirius had no idea where she was.

Over and over again he would scan the map, carefully looking at every room and corridor. But he never seemed to be able to locate Hermione on the map, which could only mean two things—either Hermione would disappear off of Hogwarts property for a few hours every night, or the map wasn’t as complete as Sirius and his friends thought it was.

He didn’t tell any of his friends exactly why he wanted to be in main possession of the map for those few days, only stating that he wanted to work on it more. Fortunately, their productive streak of working as a group ended at just that one night, and Sirius was able to keep the map on him at all times.

“Why do you keep looking at that map?” asked James the third night at dinner.

“Yeah, you’ve looked at it more than five times today,” commented Remus, which really put into context just how mildly creepy Sirius was being. However, Sirius felt like this behavior was somewhat justified.

For the past two nights, Sirius failed to catch when Hermione had left her room, only managing to see her tiny footprints heading back to her room after midnight—it was as if she just materialized on the seventh floor every night. Getting increasingly frustrated that he had failed to see her destination two nights in a row, he made sure to frequently check the map, just to ensure that she was still in her room.

“I’m just checking over the edits I made last night,” said Sirius hastily, folding the map and placing it back into his pocket before anyone could ask to see said edits.

“It is Christmas soon, you know,” said Remus pointedly, “You could stand to use a break.”

“I know only success, Moony,” grinned Sirius as he sipped pumpkin juice from his goblet, “I don’t even know what the word ‘break’ means.”

“Speaking of Christmas,” James brought up, “I was actually thinking that the feast would be our best shot at talking to Hermione.”

Sirius immediately perked up at the sound of her name.

“That’s actually a good idea,” nodded Remus, “Who would miss Christmas dinner, right?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter worriedly, “We shouldn’t bank on her coming to the feast… If she’s not there, we’ll only have a week left of break to figure out how to talk to her…”

James just waved this worry away. “Nah, it’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out if that’s the case.”

“Say, Padfoot,” commented Remus, “Did you see on the map where she is all day? Is she just in her room?”

“Er—yeah, I think so,” said Sirius, feeling it would be shady if he appeared too confident in his answer. Although, truthfully, Hermione did occasionally leave her room for the Great Hall and the library, but he obviously wasn’t going to say any of that out loud.

“Hmm.” Remus looked fixedly down at his shepherd’s pie. “I wonder what she does all day.”

Sirius nodded along, feeling like too much of his own input would indicate a suspicious amount of interest. After dinner, they all sat in the common room for many rounds of ink-loaded wizarding cards.

A few decent wins on Sirius’s end later, he stepped away for a few moments, feigning a need to use the restroom. But as soon as he was up the stairs and out of sight, Sirius quickly reached into his pocket and once more pulled out the map, quickly checking if Hermione’s room was still occupied.

To his immediate frustration, it was not. And, after a quick glance over the entire map, she was once again nowhere to be found.

“Dammit!” cursed Sirius so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if his voice carried down to the common room. In his frustration, Sirius considered for a second to just wait on the seventh corridor himself to ask Hermione where on Earth she was heading—

No, came Sirius’s inner voice immediately, I can’t do that anymore.

It doesn’t have to be like that, reasoned another part of Sirius, I could just wait on the seventh floor, see where she comes from, and then pretend to run into her.

That’s stupid. She wouldn’t believe that for half a second.

I could ask her if she’s coming to the feast, too, it’d be for the greater good.

Sirius’s internal conflict continued when he returned to the common room (where he lost a disappointing five games in a row; his front had gotten thoroughly blasted with ink) and when they all retreated to bed. When Peter’s soft snores had filled the room, Sirius sat up in his four poster, drawing the curtains as he pulled out the map and spread it over his blankets.

“Lumos,” he murmured quietly, guiding his now illuminated wand against the parchment. He wasn’t expecting to see much, as it was barely one o’ clock, and Hermione usually wasn’t traversing the corridors until around three.

As expected, the map was blank of any sign of Hermione Granger.

For the next hour or so, Sirius struggled to stay awake, almost falling asleep three times. At around two in the morning, however, Sirius sensed a movement on the map through his barely open eyes, which then shot open.

Immediately, Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat as he sat upright, guiding the tip of his wand to the seventh floor where footprints were now walking.

“Shit, are you serious?” hissed Sirius under his breath. He had missed it once again… But it wasn’t even his fault this time; he wasn’t expecting her to head back to her room so soon.

Go after her, thought Sirius at once.

No, that’s weird, you idiot, it’s one in the morning.

Quietly, Sirius groaned, running his hand through his hair. No, of course he wasn’t going to follow her, as eager as he was to take off running… Sirius simply couldn’t justify it to himself, especially since checking the map for her name ten times a day was already creepy enough. 

Thoroughly incensed, Sirius just watched the stupid footprints begin their descent down to the first floor.

Except her footprints hadn’t even left the seventh floor. Hermione was clearly making a detour tonight.

With widened eyes and a renewed interest, Sirius leaned closer towards the map. In fact, based on the path that Hermione was currently taking, Sirius was absolutely positive that the only place that she could be heading was—

Gryffindor Tower.

Sirius could feel his heartbeat quicken—this just seemed too convenient, too good to be true. Yes, following her through the castle was weird, very weird—but she was coming to him. Sirius going downstairs to his own common room could hardly be considered creepy…

But as much as he tried to sell this to himself, the prospect of approaching Hermione when she likely expected to be alone didn’t sit right with Sirius.

It was shocking, really, how much Sirius had redeveloped his previous understanding of boundaries in the past two weeks alone. Sirius supposed that eagerly wanting to get on good—no, not even good yet, neutral—terms with someone would make most people greatly reconsider their own behavior.

In that moment, Hermione entered the common room. Sirius stared down at her footprints, watching them as they wandered slowly throughout the circular room, and Sirius remembered just then that this was probably only her second time seeing her own common room.

But still, thought Sirius resignedly, there isn’t any good enough reason to speak with her, even though she’s right downstairs—

And then, a sudden thought struck Sirius—a reason to go speak with Hermione right at this second, a reason that, to Sirius, was more important than anything map or feast related—and a reason that was actually valid—

And without another thought, Sirius was out of his bed.

Yes, Sirius did feel somewhat ridiculous when he pulled on his jeans and leather jacket, but he wasn’t about to go downstairs and greet Hermione in his sleepwear. After a quick glance in the mirror, Sirius quietly opened and closed the dormitory door behind him and quickly paced downstairs.

He took care to be quiet as he did so, fearing that if he stomped down the stairs, that Hermione would hear and take off. As Sirius came to the base of the staircase, he looked around the common room.

There Hermione was, sitting in front of the fireplace, her knees tucked to her chest with her many curls shrouding her. Her head was tucked down, and for a second, Sirius thought that she was crying.

But no; Hermione was gazing down at something on her left forearm, as if she had written herself a note there. Evidently, she was so taken with whatever she was looking at that she didn’t even hear Sirius’s footsteps approaching her.

“… Hermione?” said Sirius lowly.

Immediately, Hermione yelped and jumped in shock, yanking her sleeve down to her wrist. Upon turning her head and seeing that it was just Sirius, her expression of shock turned into one of frustration, which Sirius supposed he deserved.

“What was that on your arm?” asked Sirius curiously, “You were looking at it as if it owed you a Galleon.”

“Why are you up so late?” asked Hermione instead, ignoring his question. Sirius couldn’t help but notice how flustered she was also getting, and figured he should probably start defending himself.

“It’s not even that late. I just wanted to take a walk around the castle,” lied Sirius.

“Well, I nearly had a heart attack,” she said lowly in response. Hermione then looked back to the fireplace, intently gazing at its flames.

“Didn’t mean to. My bad,” said Sirius, “What are you doing up so late, anyways?”

“I… I haven’t been able to sleep very well recently,” sniffed Hermione, still frowning at Sirius, “I figured taking a walk would clear my mind.”

“Why haven’t you been sleeping well?” asked Sirius. Hermione looked up at him from her spot on the fireplace carpet, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Just some bad dreams,” she said quietly, “I thought that maybe if I came here that I’d feel better.”

If that was indeed her plan, it certainly didn’t seem to be working. If anything, Sirius didn’t think that he had ever seen her this down before. He then indicated to the armchair beside her.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” he asked. Hermione paused, but then nodded. Sirius wondered if she agreed because she didn’t know how to say no, or if she just hadn’t had that much company in the past few days, and Sirius was better than no one.

Better than no one, that’s a good first step, thought Sirius to himself as he took a seat in the armchair. Hermione had already returned her gaze to the fireplace, her knees tucked to her chest once more.

Sirius may not have been good at dealing with emotions or talking about them, but one thing he was always pretty good at understanding was when people didn’t want to talk. So, Sirius sat in silence for maybe five minutes, watching the flickering fireplace with Hermione.

“… Could I say something?” Sirius finally said after what felt like ages. He had been working out in his head what exactly to say ever since he had gotten downstairs, but he couldn’t quite settle on anything, and figured that he ought to speak out instead of continuing to fixate on the perfect words. “I promise it isn’t anything about the map, or Regulus, or anything like that.”

Hermione didn’t look at Sirius for nearly ten seconds. But when she did, she also turned in her spot so that she was completely facing Sirius.

“Okay,” she said, tugging her legs closer to herself. Sirius took in a short breath, and began to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

At these two words alone, Hermione perked up slightly, lifting her chin that had been resting on her knees. Sirius pushed on.

“I’m sorry for every time I ever harassed you. It was beyond inappropriate of me to do,” continued Sirius. He was the furthest thing from a nervous speaker, but he wasn’t used to giving apologies, and paid great attention to every single word that was leaving his lips. “I’m also sorry for every nasty thing I ever said, and for assuming so much about you.”

Sirius internally panicked, as he was currently blanking on what to say—before fifteen minutes ago, he hadn’t even thought about making any type of apology, so he had absolutely no words on the backburner to pull from.

“And you’re probably going to tell me that I’ve taken too long to say all of this,” said Sirius, and he realized then he wasn’t even looking at Hermione anymore, instead staring fixatedly at the carpet before her, “Which I understand. But it’s also really difficult for me, because I don’t normally say things like this to anyone.

“But after all that you said to me in Hogsmeade, I realized that it was actually kind of nice when it felt like you didn’t hate me,” Sirius pressed on, “And I figured, since you mentioned it so many times, that I should just, you know, go ahead with it, and say my own piece—"

“Sirius,” interjected Hermione quietly, her tone sounding thick and somewhat uncomfortable, which in a less delicate situation would have irked Sirius; there was absolutely no way that she was any more uncomfortable than he was.

“What—oh,” Sirius cut himself off when he finally looked at her and saw that her brown eyes were glistening with tears. Which, of course, sent Sirius even further into panic.

“Shit, did I mess all that up?” asked Sirius, hoping he didn’t sound as frustrated as he felt, “I swear, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s not that,” interjected Hermione, wiping at her eyes with the ends of her sweater sleeves, “That was all very nice, Sirius.”

“But,” said Sirius confusedly, calming down a little bit at these words, “Then why are you… upset?”

“Because I haven’t had a good break so far,” said Hermione, looking down at her now dampened sleeves, “I miss my family and my friends so, so much… I feel like nothing distracts me, even though I know that distractions aren’t good for me and my mental health, and they always make me feel worse in the end…”

Sirius had a feeling that she was talking more to herself than she was to Sirius with these words, but he didn’t mind at all. Usually, in situations so emotionally involved like these, Sirius would want to leave at the next given opportunity. But with Hermione, he actually felt the opposite—he wanted to stay, and he didn’t mind listening.

Hermione sniffled, but there weren’t any tears tracking down her cheeks. She looked to be forcing composure in front of Sirius.

“That was all just really nice to hear,” she went on, “Thank you. I know that wasn’t the easiest thing for you…”

Vaguely, Sirius asked himself if he should even be accepting words of thanks, because it sounded to him that he had done the bare minimum. Nonetheless, he nodded in recognition.

“Least I could do,” replied Sirius honestly.

Many seconds of uncomfortable silence followed, interrupted only by Hermione’s soft sniffles. Luckily, Hermione saved him the trouble of breaking the tension.

“I think… I’ll be able to forgive you,” she said very quietly, “Maybe not right away, but… Eventually.”

At this, Sirius’s eyebrows raised in surprise—he certainly wasn’t expecting to be forgiven anytime soon. He paused for another few seconds, unsure of whether to thank her or not.

“… Thanks,” replied Sirius, just to be safe, “I don’t know if I deserve that, but…”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sirius wondered how to phrase what he wanted to ask next.

“So… What does this all mean, then?” asked Sirius cautiously, “You know… With us, talking, and stuff.”

Hermione looked down at the floor, thinking for a few moments before giving Sirius a response.

“I don’t know if this changes everything,” said Hermione resolutely.

“Wait, what?” objected Sirius, frowning, “Can’t we just—I don’t know, skip this whole bad bout and go straight to friends or something?”

“You can’t fast forward on relationships, Sirius,” Hermione maintained. Sirius looked at her, confused.

“Huh?”

“Fast forward?” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at him. “Like, how you can fast forward through a cassette tape? I thought you took Muggle Studies.”

“I do,” said Sirius defensively, “But I mostly took it to stick it to my parents off in my third year. It’s actually, like, the one subject that I don’t have a natural affinity for. But never mind that—do you really mean that this doesn’t change anything?”

“That’s not what I said, Sirius,” sighed Hermione, looking back up at him, “I said that this doesn’t change everything. Meaning that… Well, I’ll give you this second chance.”

Sirius wanted to speak again, but he also wanted to hear whatever Hermione had to say, because she looked like she was thinking of how to put her thoughts to words.

“I’m putting my trust in you, Sirius,” continued Hermione, “And if you hurt me all over again—”

Hermione paused, looking away for a second as she choked on her words. And suddenly, Sirius was reminded of a memory that he hadn’t thought about in months.

When Hermione and Sirius first spoke in her room, he had sworn that her existence was personal. He had this inexplicable feeling that she was somehow tied to him, somehow knew him. And with Hermione standing before Sirius, sounding just so deeply hurt over everything Sirius had ever said to her, he was reminded of these very feelings that he had written off as ridiculous.

He was reminded of just how desperate he was to get to the bottom of Hermione Granger’s story.

“If you hurt me all over again,” repeated Hermione, speaking carefully, “Then I would rather you not speak to me ever again.”

A few seconds passed as Hermione looked at him worriedly, taking in a deep breath. But Sirius just nodded in agreement—that much was fair.

“I understand,” he said, “But I promise nothing like that will ever happen again.”

Hermione nodded. Then, she turned back towards the fireplace, staring at it once more.

Silence followed in the next few minutes. Sirius contemplated if she would have rather been left alone, but he also didn’t want to leave just yet.

“Are you heading to bed any time soon?” Sirius asked after a little while. Hermione nodded slowly.

“Yes, I think so,” she said, “I’ll probably be able to sleep soon.”

“Can I walk you?” asked Sirius without really thinking this request through. But Hermione didn’t seem to react negatively to this.

“Unless you’d rather have some time alone,” added Sirius, just in case. To his pleasant surprise, Hermione shook her head.

“No, you can walk me.”

And together, they stood and left the common room. It was strange, really, walking next to Hermione like this; to Sirius, this was of course a welcomed change. 

They didn’t speak again until they had reached the staircases, where Sirius glanced at the many portraits decorating the walls and saw a couple of knights slumped over a table, face-first into their slices of cake before them. This ridiculous scene quickly reminded Sirius of—

The feast. “Christmas feast is coming up soon,” said Sirius.

“Well,” said Hermione as they started down the stairs, “That probably has something to do with the fact that Christmas is also coming up soon.”

“What I’m trying to get at,” continued Sirius, suppressing a smile, as he wasn’t sure if Hermione had intended for that to be humorous or not, “is that you should eat with us. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

As Sirius predicted would happen, Hermione looked at him with her lips worriedly pressed together, now a signature expression of hers whenever she was around Sirius. Before she could think of a way to turn down his offer, however, Sirius continued.

“Aw, come on. It’s just miserable eating alone on Christmas.”

“Sirius, I know you’re only asking me this because you want to ask me questions about the map and my past,” sighed Hermione.

“Hey, we weren’t going to ask too many questions,” frowned Sirius, lying through his teeth. But after what just happened, thinking of Hermione not having anyone to eat with at Christmas dinner just made him feel miserable.

“Okay, listen—I swear we won’t ask you any questions at either meals,” promised Sirius, and he meant it. Sure, every moment outside the meals would be up for grabs in terms of interrogation, but he figured she at least deserved a decent feast.

When Hermione still looked uneasy, Sirius placed a hand on his chest and looked at her sagely.

“I swear, Hermione Granger,” stated Sirius, “I suppose you could say that… I solemnly swear.”

At this, Hermione actually smiled. Sure, the smile was weak and likely half-forced, but it was still a smile. Hermione Granger had smiled in response to one of his stupid jokes.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she said lightly, “I never would have imagined a month ago that you would dare make a joke out of that.”

“What can I say, I’m a funny bloke,” Sirius grinned lightly, putting his hand back into his pockets, “I can take a joke.”

“Well, then…” trailed Hermione, “Alright, then. Sure. Christmas Eve and Christmas feast.”

“Excellent,” grinned Sirius, “Well, I eagerly await Christmas Eve, the first day where you are actually willing to sit next to me.”

Again, Sirius’s smart mouth earned him a tiny smile from Hermione as they started down yet another flight of stairs.

Walking alongside Hermione, Sirius noticed a lot of things. For example, her now-familiar scent swirled around her enticingly, like an intoxicating aura. Due to their difference in height, she would occasionally have to tilt her head up significantly to meet his eye as they spoke. And, every so often, she would push her brown curls behind her ear, an action that for some reason caught Sirius’s attention every time.

They arrived at Hermione’s room entirely too quickly. To Sirius’s surprise, she didn’t use any spell or magic to open the door to her room; all she did was twist the doorknob.

“You don’t lock your room?” asked Sirius curiously.

“The door only opens to my touch,” said Hermione, “I charmed it myself after that one Charms lesson on safe-guarding prized possessions, since I was worried about misplacing my key. It was a bit tricky to do, but I managed it after a week or so of practice.”

Sirius thought it was sort of cute how matter-of-factly she would start speaking whenever the topic shifted to anything magic or skill related. He could also see how this would come off as annoying, yes, but he actually kind of liked it.

“Smart, but not unexpected of you,” commented Sirius. She breathed out of her nose a little harsher than normal, which Sirius took to be an attempt at a laugh.

“I’m guessing, then, that you have forgotten the reason why I may have wanted to place a Charm like this on my door?” assumed Hermione as she leaned against the doorframe, looking at Sirius with raised eyebrows.

“I—oh, shit,” said Sirius, only then remembering how he had broken into her room two months ago. “That, er… Sorry about that. Wow, I completely forgot I did that.”

“It was the first conversation we ever had,” said Hermione evenly, “How could you have forgotten?”

“I mean, I didn’t forget about the conversation, I just kinda… Forgot about the fact that I broke into your room. Wow, that sounds really bad when I say it out loud,” said Sirius, feeling a bit ashamed.

“I’m actually mostly over it,” shrugged Hermione with a soft sigh, “Inappropriate as it was, I know you were really unnerved… I also had more important things on my mind that night.”

Unsure how to respond appropriately, Sirius decided it would be safest to wait for Hermione to speak again.

“Thank you for walking me back,” said Hermione, her gaze darting down to his leather jacket. Sirius liked to think that she was noticing how coolly he was dressed. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I mean, I probably have to start doing a lot of stuff like this to make everything up to you, right?” said Sirius with a shrug, “Returning you to your room safely is, like, the exact opposite of breaking into it.”

Sirius expected a grimace from her, but to his pleasant surprise, she just smiled again. The way she smiled was cute—even when she was smiling so weakly like this, it still met her eyes.

“If you want to think about it like that, then I’m not opposed,” said Hermione with a note of finality. Sirius just noticed that there were faint, dark splotches under her eyes, likely an indication of lack of sleep she had been receiving the past few nights. “And thank you for everything tonight. I think I actually feel a bit better.”

“Yeah, no problem,” replied Sirius, thinking he wouldn’t ever get used to Hermione actually thanking him for something.

“Goodnight,” said Hermione.

“Goodnight.” Sirius turned to leave, but he had taken no more than five steps when Hermione spoke up again.

“Wait, Sirius.”

Sirius immediately turned back around. Hermione was still in her doorway, looking at him with a soft expression.

“Yeah?” he asked quickly.

Hermione took a step forward, suddenly in Sirius’s personal space. The last time he and Hermione had been this close together, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, resulting in getting is arse blasted back in the air… Not one of his best moments, certainly, but he found it near impossible to focus on this memory or anything at all when she was just this close to him.

And, immediately, Sirius froze, watching her as she then reached forward towards his shoulder—perhaps the first time that Hermione ever made a willing movement in his direction—

Her hand brushed over Sirius’s chest before she swiped her fingers firmly over the front pocket of his leather jacket. She then rubbed a liquidy substance between her fingers, which had been darkened with the black liquid, and frowned slightly.

“Is this ink?” she asked curiously, looking down at her fingers and then up at Sirius. Staring into her eyes that seemed so much wider when they were this close, Sirius struggled to speak.

“I—Yeah,” he said lamely, “I get a lot of ink on my jacket, between wizarding cards and working on the map. You know, the map that you know everything about.”

“Yes, I’m familiar,” said Hermione lightly.

Sirius went silent for a moment before Hermione took a small step back—taking some of Sirius’s anxiety away with her—and looked at him.

“That was a joke,” she said with a slight huff, “Why, was that too far?”

“Oh,” said Sirius, breaking out in a quick smile, “I wasn’t sure. Didn’t think you could pull one off.” Sirius wasn’t even listening to himself anymore, because even though there were two layers of clothing between her hand and Sirius’s skin, he swore that her touch had burned into his chest.

“Well,” shrugged Hermione, “I suppose people can change, then.”

“I feel like this is a directed comment,” replied Sirius, suddenly very aware of every single move he made. Did he normally stand like this, with his hands so decidedly shoved into his pockets?

“That would be an accurate assumption to make.” Hermione retreated back to her bedroom doorway, placing her hand on the doorknob before looking back up at Sirius once more.

“Well, goodnight, then,” said Hermione, “For real, this time.”

“For real,” nodded Sirius, “I’ll be de-inked the next time you see me, too.”

Hermione gave another weak smile, which was more like a twitching of her lips, but it counted to Sirius. And then she really went inside, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door shut, Sirius immediately put a hand over his chest—his heart was beating, hard. In fact, his heart was pulsating so rapidly that Sirius questioned for a second if he had actually run all the way to Hermione’s room and had just forgotten about it.

This never had happened to him before—even when he first started talking to girls, he was never really nervous, or excited, or anxious. He just sort of… Asked them out. Like he was asking them for homework help—a yes would be desirable, but a rejection wouldn’t really affect him all that much. Getting a girl to like him was never really all that difficult for Sirius, so he just never had to think about it before. But with Hermione, he felt like he was thinking entirely too much.

Sirius always figured that getting nervous and feeling giddy were just all a part of overexaggerated love stories, or feelings reserved for people who were insecure. Sure, he had many problems with affection, given his love-deprived upbringing—but Sirius had no idea that he was actually supposed to feel something like this.

I’m supposed to feel things, Sirius repeated in his head, looking up as if the solution to his deep-rooted problems with love and affection would be written on the ceiling, I didn’t know that being with someone is actually supposed to make you feel something.

Despite this realization, Sirius was not at all pleased with how that interaction had panned out—he had been nervous, and Sirius Black did not get nervous around anyone. Immediately, he started to formulate cool and suave things to say the next time he saw Hermione, one-liners that he was usually able to spit out without a second thought.

Sirius finally began to head back towards the common room, thinking of various jokes and set-ups as he climbed up multiple flights of stairs. Tonight had been nothing but a small blunder, and from now on, Sirius would be prepared. He didn’t think Hermione noticed how suddenly nervous he had gotten just then, but he was absolutely certain that he would never give her another chance to do so.

And now, Sirius also knew for certain that he absolutely, one hundred percent, fancied Hermione Granger.

Chapter Text

When Hermione awoke on the fourth day of break from chilling nightmares of Malfoy Manor, she sought out the familiar flames of Gryffindor common room’s fireplace to warm and ground her. What she didn’t expect, however, was to return to her room later that same night with actual plans for the holidays. Because up until that moment, her break had been absolutely miserable. 

Had Hermione known just how awful she would have felt in the days to come, she would have surely spent more time with Stephan in Hogsmeade before he departed the following day for break. However, she had quite a lot on her mind that day that prevented her from thinking in advance—for instance, there was the fact that the entire time they were out to Hogsmeade, Hermione was busy worrying if she were on a date or not (she had eventually concluded that it was not, even if their departing hug was a bit longer than what Hermione felt qualified as a friendly hug). 

There was also her conversations with Lily and Sirius, both of which had been taxing for different reasons—Lily told her news of Regulus and Sirius that surprised her greatly, and Sirius was just exhausting to be around in general. 

Overall, her day at Hogsmeade had been quite exhausting. At the end of it, she figured that she would be relieved to come back to her empty room and just spend a nice couple of weeks without having to speak to anyone at all. 

But after Stephan had departed for home, Hermione felt completely alone. Perhaps a couple of months ago an empty castle would have been a safe haven for her, but she had just gotten accustomed to her surroundings, only to have them all change drastically.

To distract her from the overwhelming lonesomeness, she had spent every night in the Room of Requirement, scribbling down more and more notes, theories, and all the like. However, as each night passed, she found it increasingly more difficult to pull her mind away from thoughts of her family and friends that she had no means of reaching out to. And with every night came more nightmares.

Hermione had been fortunate enough to have gone almost an entire month without any nightmares. But in the midst of her misery, her nightmares had invaded her every sleeping moment, bringing her back to Malfoy Manor… Bringing her back to dry, cold nights in the forest, waiting for a certain redhead to return…

On Thursday night shortly before midnight, Hermione awoke with a cold start, feeling as though her scar on her forearm had been burning. And, as she had done the previous nights, she routinely climbed out of bed, lazily threw on a sweater and jeans just in case she ran into someone in sheer misfortune, and headed upstairs to the seventh floor.

With every visit she made to the Room of Requirement, she would always hope a little bit that she would see the bathroom once more. Its marbled floors and welcoming bubbles seemed far away, now, like a part of another world. She especially wished for the bathroom that night, craving the warm, calming waters; but when Hermione paced before the seventh-floor corridor wall, she was met with the same practice hall as always.

This is fine, thought Hermione as she entered through the double doors, Sure, I very specifically wished for the bathroom, but I suppose all I really needed was a good distraction.

And so, Hermione returned to her work. But unlike the previous nights, she found that she was no longer able to ignore the constant chills crawling down her spine.

After just two hours of rather unproductive work and frequent bouts of shudders, Hermione set her quill down on the table. There was no way that she would be willing to show Dumbledore any of the notes she had taken that night, as she had hardly done anything more than summarize what she was reading in the various books spread around her.

Only then did Hermione admit to herself that she felt cold, and truly empty, as well. Her parents, her friends, her family would be spending Christmas holiday—or, according to Dumbledore’s Bubble Theory, were currently spending Christmas holiday—in complete misery, wondering where Hermione had gone…

And then, she stood up shortly, her chair skidding behind her loudly as Hermione marched right out of the Room of Requirement… She wasn’t exactly sure where she was planning on going yet, but she just knew that she wasn’t going to let herself fall down this hole again.

She was already on the seventh floor, Hermione realized… She could easily head towards Gryffindor Tower and sit in the common room… The familiarity would ground her, surely, and the warmth of the fireplace would help her with her nightmares, similar to how the waters of the Room of Requirement’s bath had once soothed her…

But when she had sat herself down in front of the Gryffindor fireplace just minutes later, she didn’t feel any differently at all. On a surface level, the fire’s flames warmed her and welcomed her back, yes, but she didn’t feel any sense of internal comfort.

She then took to gazing down intently at her scar, as if the letters would change, as if she would be able to change how she was feeling.

“… Hermione?”

Hermione nearly jumped a foot in the air before turning to see probably the last person she wanted to speak with—it was Sirius, standing before her with a confused look on his face.

But, her following conversation with Sirius Black—for the first time in a very long time—was nothing short of pleasant.

To Hermione’s great surprise, with just a day’s buffer in between their conversation and the present, she felt… alright. For some reason, her talk with Sirius had made her feel much better—sure, at that point she had been craving any type of human interaction, but also, when she was speaking to Sirius, she swore that she could see in him the Sirius she used to know—but also, a new Sirius entirely…

Now, because of her talk with Sirius, she would actually have something to do on Christmas. While she hadn’t said so to Sirius, she was secretly very grateful that he had included her, as she was beginning to wonder if she would be skipping the feast or not.

If only Sirius knew this wasn’t the first Christmas I’ve spent with him, thought Hermione to herself. It was interesting how with the first Christmas they spent together, it was Sirius who was lonely and grateful for company over the holidays—but now, the roles have reversed.

And while the idea of spending a second Christmas with Sirius would have given Hermione a slight panic attack two months prior, Hermione just smiled to herself—she was undoubtedly looking forward to the next two evenings.

…oOo…

Sirius was not keen to tell his friends that they would not be questioning their subject of interest, Hermione Granger, as planned. 

After Sirius had come down from his high, caused by Hermione literally just stepping closer to him for the first time, he realized that he would have to tell his friends that he had failed to do the one task they had set out to complete over Christmas break. 

In the moment, this didn’t seem like that big of a challenge to Sirius as he went to sleep that night, falling asleep to lingering scents of chamomile. But come the next morning, the consequences of his actions had fully settled in, leaving Sirius in a state of mild stress. 

Sirius understood that he would have to confess eventually so that they could all reorganize a new plan to get to the bottom of Hermione’s nonsensical past. So, he pledged to come clean to James, Remus, and Peter at the next opportunity that arose. 

And, like an idiot, Sirius decided to break this news to his friends during breakfast.

It was actually Peter who first brought up the topic of Hermione. “Erm… Guys,” he said nervously as James, Sirius, and Remus were currently speaking heatedly about the Chudley Cannons’ recent match against the Appleby Arrows. They turned to look at him. 

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” continued Peter, anxiously picking at the crust of his toast. “Which means the day after is Christmas.”

“Very impressive, Wormtail. What equation did you use to figure that one out?” joked James, but Sirius immediately knew what Peter was about to say next, and felt his stomach drop slightly. Sirius wasn’t ever the type to stress out, but he definitely did not like letting down his friends.

“Well, it’s just—you know—about Hermione,” said Peter, his thick eyebrows furrowing together. “Have we figured out if she’s coming to the feast? Or if we’re doing something else?”

“I was actually thinking of talking about that later today,” nodded Remus. “We should probably find her today and ask her if she’s planning on coming to the Christmas feast.”

“Actually,” said Sirius lightly. 

At this word alone, he had the immediate attention of all three of his friends. James, who was sitting in front of him, froze as he stared at Sirius, his fork that was loaded with scrambled eggs stilling in his hand. Remus looked apprehensive, and Peter looked curious.

“She came to the common room last night—I saw her on the map,” added Sirius, as both James and Remus had opened their mouths to speak. “And I, well, I went down to speak with her—”

“You did?!” exclaimed James loudly, starting so suddenly in his seat that he had accidentally flung a bit of egg across the table with his fork. With few people in the Great Hall, James was very easily heard, and Sirius was beginning to realize that he should have saved this conversation for a more private location.

“Why were you looking at the map that late?” asked Remus, looking as though he was slowly piecing together information in his head. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your staring at the map all day yesterday, does it?”

“It wasn’t weird,” promised Sirius, “I just—wanted to ask her about the feast, and all. You know, according to plan.” Sirius wasn’t entirely sure why he was keeping his true intentions a secret, but given his past record with over-kill suspicion, he decided it was best he shut his mouth about Hermione’s seventh-floor endeavors for now.

“She really came to the common room? Why?” asked James eagerly. “That’s a perfect coincidence, that is, she’s never in there.”

“You know, if that’s the reason why you were looking at the map that often, you could have just told us,” continued Remus. “We could have helped.”

“Well, clearly, I’m a moron, and I didn’t do that,” said Sirius, wanting to avoid this particular topic. “And I don’t know why she came to the common room. But the point is, I spoke with her.”

“What’d you two talk about?” asked James. “Did you ask her about the feast?”

“Yeah, I did, actually,” said Sirius. And while Sirius decided at that moment to keep the main contents of his and Hermione’s conversation private, he still was rather certain that he wasn’t going to enjoy the next few minutes of this conversation. 

“Well… What’d she say?” asked Peter carefully.

“She said…” Sirius figured he shouldn’t try stalling any longer. “She said that she would come to tomorrow’s dinner and the Christmas feast.”

The positively pleased reactions of his friends did little to comfort Sirius—James stoutly clapped three times, which was more than enough to get the few other students in the Great Hall to look their way; Peter was startled by James’s sudden reaction but looked excited nonetheless; even Remus seemed eager at the prospect of finally getting some long-awaited answers.

“Brilliant, mate!” exclaimed James excitedly. “Y’know, I’m proud of you, Padfoot. You’ve come a long way.”

“You managed to convince her to eat dinner with us all while we interrogate her?” said Remus with raised eyebrows, impressed. “I have to say, I’m surprised—you've landed not just one meal, but two.”

“How did she even agree to that?” asked Peter, looking up at Sirius with wide eyes.

“Well,” paced Sirius, looking distractedly to the side. “It was actually quite easy after I… well… promised her that we wouldn’t ask her any hard-to-answer questions while eating.”

Sirius darted his gaze nervously between his three friends. Their pleasant expressions froze, and then, each turned to expressions of disappointment (except for Peter, who looked more confused than anything else).

“What?” said James first, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re joking, right?”

“No,” said Sirius defensively. “What, you lot really think she’d agree to eat with us if I didn’t promise her that much?”

“Well excuse me for thinking that for once you wouldn’t have dragon dung for brains,” retaliated James.

“Wait, so does this mean that we can’t ask her anything about the map or the whole Obliviating thing at all?” asked Peter next. “But wasn’t this our only plan?”

“I mean—” Sirius scrambled for words, rushing to defend himself, “I only promised her that we won’t ask her any pressing questions at the meals! We’ll still see her outside the Great Hall.”

“Like when?” asked James skeptically. “Should we wait until she conveniently visits the Gryffindor common room again?”

“No,” said Sirius firmly, “I meant—I don’t know, like when we’re all walking to the Great Hall together!”

“Oh, come off it, you bloody idiot,” said James exasperatedly. “The walk to the Great Hall? That’s where you ask ice-breaker questions! You know, the questions leading up to all the difficult things we're meaning to ask her! We can’t very well just pick her up at her room and go, ‘Happy Christmas! Can you give us a comprehensive break down of your likely traumatic past in the five-minute walk to the Great Hall?’”

“Well, okay,” said Sirius hastily, looking to Remus for support. “At least you think I’ve done the right thing, right, Moony?” Remus looked amused at James’s reply, but otherwise seemed dissatisfied with Sirius’s news.

“I was actually looking forward to asking her about how she knew about me being a werewolf,” said Remus. “Given that it’s, you know, my entire identity.”

“Oh, really!” huffed Sirius loudly. “Listen, I know we were all set on doing what I’ve been trying to do for months, but in an actually decent way. But we can still ask questions. Just not, you know, questions that are obviously suspicious.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peter. “I didn’t think that would be possible…”

“Like—being subtle. And being clever about it,” said Sirius.

“You’re suggesting that you are capable of being clever around Hermione Granger,” rephrased James flatly. “Very likely.”

“Well,” said Remus with a shrug of his shoulders, and Sirius quickly looked at him. “Now that I think about it… We could still ask her where she’s from, where she used to go to school and all of that… Useful questions, but not out of pocket according to the terms Sirius promised.”

“Yes, exactly,” agreed Sirius. “See? It’s not a total waste!”

“No one was saying it was a waste, Padfoot,” said Remus. “I like Hermione just fine, and of course I wouldn’t mind spending Christmas feast with her. We just didn’t expect you to go off the plan like this. Especially considering, you know, how you are typically the most, ah, persistent one among us in terms of retrieving answers.”

“No, I think it makes perfect sense,” said James. “Because as I’ve been saying, Sirius fancies Hermione and wants to spend more time with her.”

“Listen, I didn’t want her eating alone at Christmas, alright?” said Sirius hotly. He supposed he should have expected this type of response for his actions, but he didn’t expect to get so genuinely upset on Hermione’s behalf. “She really seemed miserable when we spoke in the common room, I don’t think she’s spoken to anyone all break. I felt awful.”

“And notice how you didn’t deny the point where I said you fancied her?” said James cheekily, grinning sideways at Remus. “See, he’s hopeless.”

There were a few seconds of silence in which Sirius’s friends were probably expecting him to vehemently deny James’s accusation. However, when Sirius just looked right back at James plainly, his cheeky grin froze in confusion.

“That’s only partially why,” said Sirius stiffly, hoping that he could admit his true feelings just this once and gloss over the details. “The point is, we can still ask her—"

But, of course, his best mates would allow no such thing.

James quickly leapt to his feet, jabbing an accusing finger to his face. The few other students in the Great Hall all looked back to watch James, all looking thoroughly tired of his outbursts.

“Sirius Orion Black!” shouted James. “Oh, no no no! You are very mistaken if you think you can just move on from that!”

“Oh, piss off,” grumbled Sirius. “Listen, it’s not that big of a deal, alright—”

“Not a big deal?” questioned Remus. Remus wasn’t surprised by a lot of things, but he was currently looking at Sirius as if he had just discovered a new subspecies of Hippogriff. “Padfoot, I don’t think I have ever once seen you admit to having an active, genuine crush on someone.”

“You really liked her this whole time?” piped up Peter. “I mean… This won’t affect us asking her all the questions, right?”

“I told you! I told you lot! I’ve known it for ages!” said James loudly. “I’m telling you, I knew it—”

“Yes, Prongs, we know, now sit down,” said Remus gently, tugging James back to his seat. James sat down reluctantly but was still looking at Sirius with wild eyes, completely energized despite the early morning hour. 

“How’s it feel, then?” asked James with a grin. “Fancying someone who literally hates you, I mean. Sure, it’s heart-shattering, but it’s strangely invigorating, isn’t it?”

“Please don’t compare me to you,” muttered Sirius, looking down at his half-eaten breakfast. He didn’t really have an appetite for his buttered toast anymore.

“No, this is actually a perfect comparison. You two have so much in common,” grinned Remus alongside James, evidently having moved on from being upset and was now perfectly content with making fun of Sirius. “You and James are the real soulmates here, honestly.”

“See, I always knew we had the same type, Padfoot,” continued James knowingly, pointing his fork at Sirius. “Girls who could kick our arses, but choose not to.”

“Well, that’s where the similarities end, right?” countered Remus. “Sure, Evans has never physically assaulted you, but Hermione on the other hand—”

“Alright, alright,” pressed Sirius. “Can we get back to the topic at hand, please? Figuring out what the hell type of questions we’re going to ask Hermione that are useful but also noninvasive?”

But as annoyed as Sirius was, he couldn’t contain the smile spreading over his face. Sure, all of his friends were prats for making fun of him, but it felt nice to have gotten everything about Hermione off his chest. 

Just as quickly as his friends had begun ridiculing him for liking Hermione Granger, they immediately put their heads together to formulate a list of not-too-nosy questions for tomorrow’s dinner. And to Sirius’s pleasant surprise, they were all incredibly supportive of Sirius’s new-found crush.

For example, James decidedly gave most of the questions for Sirius to ask, so that he could “bond with his newly recognized lover-to-be” (James’s words—Sirius decided that he would not shove him for saying this, as James was, after all, being supportive). Remus only seemed mildly apprehensive of the idea that Sirius would be actively pursuing Hermione, saying that he “trusted that Padfoot had changed for the better.” Even Peter agreed to back off a little bit, as for some reason Hermione didn’t seem too fond of him, as to help Sirius’s chances. 

And as they all left the Great Hall just as it stopped serving breakfast, Sirius felt ridiculous that he was ever nervous to tell his friends the truth. Because, in the end, Sirius knew that they each would support him in one way or the other.  

…oOo…

After the Hogsmeade trip, Hermione’s wardrobe had about tripled. Granted, this still only added up to less than thirty garments of casual clothing in total, but for some reason, Hermione felt like she was selecting between hundreds of outfits for Christmas Eve dinner. 

Hermione never really fussed over her clothes or her appearance that much before, yet here she was, overthinking every single outfit. With her old friends, she had always been so comfortable around them and never gave a second thought to her t-shirt and jeans. But after being thrown into the past, Hermione was surrounded by people she shouldn’t know and was constantly worrying how she was being perceived—what if she wore a style of jeans that weren’t in fashion yet, making her stand out? What if she said some slang or lingo that hadn’t been invented yet? 

There were only thirty minutes until dinner, and yet Hermione was still standing in front of her wardrobe, staring at its contents. She had confidently bought the round-necked jumper dress, turtle-neck, and matching stockings set at Gladrag’s just a few days prior, finding the outfit cute and vintage. But now that she was looking at it, hung up neatly in her wardrobe, she suddenly lost all confidence—what if this style of clothing had been out of fashion for some time now? 

That would certainly explain why it was so cheap, thought Hermione as she stared at the matching headband she was given for free upon purchase of the jumper dress set. 

But at the same time, Hermione resented the fact that she was stressing so much over mere clothing—especially when she had silently pledged to herself to stop overthinking everything weeks ago. And yet, Hermione just couldn’t get herself to put on the stupid jumper dress… 

Hermione left her room twenty-five minutes later wearing jeans and a red sweater, feeling comfortable but rather defeated. 

She transitioned her thoughts to instead think about the upcoming dinner. While Sirius had promised that they wouldn’t be interrogating her about anything, she was still a bit nervous. Stephan, Adama, and Robert she was all comfortable with—but she wasn’t really friends with any of the people she was about to eat with. It also didn’t help that she quite despised one of them, and would have to put on a very good act of pure indifference.

When she reached the Great Hall, she was surprised to see Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter all standing outside the entrance waiting for her; she had assumed that they would have seated themselves first. 

As Remus spotted her coming down the hall, he waved at her. Sirius, who had his back turned to her, promptly turned around, running a hand through his hair as Hermione stopped before them. 

“And she’s here!” grinned Sirius. “Part of me was wondering if you’d ditch us last second.”

“Well, I personally tend to be cautious of other people’s feelings, which I know was once a foreign concept to you,” said Hermione, to which James stifled a chuckle. “And also, I’m starving.”

“This is going to be a fantastic dinner,” said James, his hazel eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Let’s head in, shall we?” And so, they all entered the Great Hall. 

Despite only accommodating a total of twenty-five people (including a handful of professors), the Great Hall was decorated elaborately with wreaths, floating baubles, and a tall Christmas tree in front of Dumbledore’s usual seat. Their headmaster, Hermione had noticed, had been absent from meals ever since their last meeting; she assumed that he was on yet another research trip.  

Hermione made sure to let the four of them sit first, so that she could choose her own seat (she did not want to sit next to Peter). The four of them sat across from each other, but staggered; Peter and Remus sat next to each other on one side of the table, James and Sirius on the other. But only Remus and James were directly across from one another; both Sirius and Peter had empty seats ahead of them. Having followed Remus and Peter onto their side of the table, she took a seat next to Remus and across from Sirius, hoping her internal seating debate wasn’t too noticeable to the others. 

As they took their seats, they all exchanged small talk regarding the impressive Christmas decorations in the few minutes before dinner was served. In a few short minutes, the empty plates before them blossomed with rotisserie chicken and various sides, and they all gratefully dug in.

Few words were exchanged as they ate for the first five minutes or so, as they were all rather occupied with their meals. Within the first five minutes, Sirius had torn through four chicken legs and half a plateful of sides; he then cleared his throat, clearly keen on beginning a proper conversation.

“So, Hermione,” began Sirius as he swiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “I’d just like to thank you for graciously blessing us with your presence this evening.”

“You don’t need to be dramatic, Sirius,” said Hermione, but she was smiling lightly, “I wanted to be here, remember?”

“Yeah, after he promised you to not be an invasive weirdo,” put in James thickly, hastily swallowing his mouthful of chicken before continuing, “Honestly, Sirius, the nerve of you to even consider such a thing—”

“We’re glad you joined us, Hermione,” said Remus with a little smile as Sirius jabbed his elbow into James’s side, “It’s nice to finally get to know you.”

“Yes, which would be nice, and is a totally innocent and non-invading thing to do,” added Sirius, nodding sensibly at Hermione. “Especially as we never really got to know you.”

“Oh, well,” said Hermione, shrugging in what she hoped to be a casual way—refusing to answer what most people considered to be basic questions would surely come across as strange. “Yes, I suppose Sirius is right. I don’t mind.”

“Well, then, I have always been rather curious about where you were from,” said Remus, looking between her and his side of mashed potatoes he was currently picking at, “If you really don’t mind answering, of course.”

“Er,” stalled Hermione. While she always knew that she would have to answer basic questions like these eventually, Hermione still had to frantically run through her “backstory” in her head in the seconds between Remus’s question and her response.

“I’m originally from Denmark,” began Hermione, “And before you ask, Sirius, no, I can’t speak any Danish.”

“But you grew up there, though,” said Sirius, who now looked crestfallen, “Damn. I was going to ask how to say a few select words in Danish.”

“I was homeschooled,” continued Hermione, “And very sheltered. I was rarely let out of the house, so I couldn’t learn the language… I spent most of my time practicing magic.”

“Which perfectly explains why you’re so talented at magic,” nodded Sirius, his goblet in his hand. When Remus shot a look at him, he quickly added, “What? I’m just saying it makes sense!”

“No one’s saying it doesn’t make sense, mate,” said James, before looking at Hermione. She had gotten quite good at seeing him and Harry as different people—she could now easily see that James’s nose was a bit longer, his eyebrows more pronounced.

“I figured you were homeschooled,” said Remus thoughtfully, “I remember reading in Worldly Witches and Wizards that in most countries, families prefer home education.”

“Where in Denmark are you from?” asked Peter before Hermione could reply to Remus, as she too had read Worldly Witches and Wizards. Knowing she would come across as odd if she ignored Peter’s question, as she would have preferred to do, she forced a neutral expression as she answered him. 

“A small town called Lemvig,” recited Hermione, only meeting Peter’s gaze for a few seconds before looking back down at her food.

“I see.” Sirius took another sip of pumpkin juice, then pointed his goblet at Hermione, “You know, for a small-town witch, you definitely know how to use your wand. Better than most people here can, honestly.”

“And Sirius means that,” commented James, “Remember that time you blasted him back half a mile in the corridor? Of course you do, it must have been brilliant, I wish I could have seen it—”

“Pr—James—” stumbled Sirius, hastily switching to James’s real name. Hermione wondered why Sirius kept correcting himself when calling his friends by their nicknames; surely, if they knew that Hermione knew about the map, they would have too assumed that she knew about their nicknames. 

“Shut it, Sirius, I’m speaking—anyway, didn’t you get that from Hermione, mate? When you sent Regulus down the stairs?”

“Well, Hermione was an inspiration, no doubt. I knew firsthand how badly it hurt to get knocked on your arse, and I wanted to cause my dear brother a similar pain,” said Sirius with a coy smile. Hermione took this as a compliment, strange as it felt to do so. 

“Sirius informed us that Evans told you all about what happened,” said Remus next, “Definitely don’t listen to anything Regulus says about you. Even if you aren’t Muggle-born, he tends to be rude to most people in general.”

Even with just hearing Lily’s name, Hermione noticed that James sat up in his seat a little bit. As she remembered thinking some time ago, Hermione wondered again just when Lily and James would start getting along, as they only had a few more months to go before they would start dating. 

“Yeah, don’t listen to him,” agreed Peter vehemently, probably wanting to get a word in somewhere. Hermione tried her best not to wrinkle her nose. “He’s a giant prat, Regulus.”

“I’ve been disowned, see,” put in Sirius, probably thinking that he was filling Hermione in on information she didn’t know, “So don’t feel bad about insulting him in front of me. It’d be useful, actually, since I’ve basically run out of nasty things to call him and I need some new ideas.”

While Hermione had smiled in response to Sirius’s joke, she was actually a little preoccupied with the idea of Regulus, remembering what Lily had told her in Hogsmeade about the younger Black. At the time, she had been too preoccupied with that day’s events to really think about what Lily had said, and had put the thought of Regulus to the backburner. But over the past few days of break, she had actually given Lily’s words a lot of thought. 

Regulus, for some reason, was under the impression that Hermione was Muggle-born. And then Sirius had said himself in Charms that one time that Regulus knew “way too much” about her… Was Regulus just being ignorant for the sake of being ignorant, or did he genuinely know something about Hermione’s true identity? 

Hermione found it unlikely that Regulus was able to uncover her past, as they had only spoken to each other once, but nonetheless, she had admittedly spent a decent chunk of her time in the Room of Requirement mapping out what Regulus could possibly know about her. She had even considered the possibility of Phineas’ portrait telling the Black family about Hermione, but she quickly ruled that out as a possibility, as Dumbledore would draw curtains over all of the portraits every time they spoke. 

And while Hermione could logically deduce that it was unlikely that Regulus actually knew of her past, she just had this strange, anxious feeling that maybe, just maybe, he knew more about Hermione than he should. 

But, as it was Christmas Eve, Hermione decided to put this information aside once more, and focus on the people in front of her, instead. 

“I’ll be sure to inform you of any insults if they come to mind,” said Hermione to Sirius, getting a mischievous grin from him in response. She then turned to Remus, “You said you’ve read Worldly Witches and Wizards, right?”

“Yes, of course,” nodded Remus, “It’s one of Esther Ngo-Holland’s best works. Did you read her recent column in the Daily Prophet?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione cheerfully, “It was quite controversial, wasn’t it? I agree with her, of course, but a lot of readers seemed to think that they knew more about a Muggle war than she did, when she lived in Saigon herself…”

She and Remus spoke of Ngo-Holland’s work for the next few minutes, while the other three had their own conversation. Strangely, she found that Remus’s seventeen-year-old self was very similar to his older self—it was as if Remus was just born as an intelligent, well-spoken professor.

As she and Remus continued speaking, she noticed that Sirius would repeatedly glance towards Hermione; as such, she suspected that he would soon bring the conversation back to Hermione and ask her more curious questions. 

This assumption turned out to be accurate when Sirius cleared his throat just a couple minutes later, Remus and Hermione both turning to look at him. 

“So, Hermione,” said Sirius in an announcing sort of way, “I was just wondering. What have you been up to these past few days of break? There isn’t exactly a lot to do around the castle.”

“Oh, nothing really,” shrugged Hermione, “I mostly just read, whether in the library or in my room.”

“I see,” nodded Sirius, “Although, I can’t imagine that’s all you do, right? That has to get boring.”

“Just because you can’t sit still for longer than forty minutes, Sirius, doesn’t mean none of us can,” said Hermione lightly, sipping her pumpkin juice. Remus, James, and Peter all laughed at Sirius’s expense, but Sirius didn’t seem offended in the least. 

“That’s just an insulting way of saying I’m an exhilarating man,” grinned Sirius, “But never mind that. Whatever it is you do with all your free time, I hope those nightmares of yours haven’t been soiling your break.”

Hermione paused, waiting to see the confused expressions of the other three. However, they all seemed nonplussed at Sirius’s reply, which actually took Hermione aback a bit. When she thought about it, though, she supposed she really shouldn’t be surprised that Sirius told his closest friends of last night’s encounter.

“They haven’t been too invasive,” said Hermione simply, helping herself to a spoonful of peas. Sirius looked at her with his expression that suggested he was waiting for her to keep speaking. 

All at once, she remembered three points: one, Sirius had initially wanted to ask Hermione some personal questions during this dinner. Two, those questions would undoubtedly involve the Marauder’s Map. And three, there was a decent chance that between all of Hermione’s late-night Room of Requirement visits, Sirius had seen her traveling in the halls on the map at least once. 

“I’ve just been taking walks at night,” continued Hermione, watching Sirius’s face, “I walk all around the castle until I feel better. Which is why I ended up in the common room last night.”

Both James and Peter gave nods and words (James said loudly, “Oh, that makes sense") of affirmation to this. But Sirius—and surprisingly Remus, too—made no such gestures, not exactly looking convinced. But they didn’t push the issue, which really was the best Hermione could have hoped for.

The remainder of dinner went pleasantly; occasionally, Hermione would be asked some questions about her homeschooling and hometown, most of which were instigated by Sirius. But eventually, the conversation moved away from Hermione and instead towards classes and various classmates. They carried on speaking (and laughing; Hermione had forgotten how funny Sirius could be) long after they had all finished eating, each finishing many goblets of pumpkin juice. 

“Sirius, no!” said Hermione gravely, “Please tell me you didn’t actually say that to Professor Binns, that’s so rude!”

“Hey, he wasn’t answering my questions on the rumors saying that before chamber pots, wizards would literally just piss themselves and then vanish it away!” defended Sirius passionately, to which James let out another chortle, “He was literally ignoring me and talking straight over me! I was fourteen, I wasn’t just going to sit there.”

“But he’s a professor, Sirius,” pressed Hermione, doing her best to suppress a smile, “And he’s a ghost, too! What can he even do?”

“Exactly! What’s he going to do to me? Walk through me and make me cold?” asked Sirius seriously, “I fear no man, Hermione, and especially not one whose attacks can be thwarted by wearing a jumper.”

“Listen, mate, I’m right there with you,” laughed James, “But damn, you were persistent. Even Evans was laughing when you started shouting.”

“Wait, but Binns wouldn’t be attacking you,” said Peter, tilting his head, “Since he’s a professor and all.”

“Yeah, I know. But I still think I’m in the right. I had many valid questions.”

“Yes, I’m sure they were, Sirius,” said Hermione with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Hey, guys?” came Remus’s voice, Hermione turning to look at him, “We should probably get going.”

Indeed, they were among the last of the students in the Great Hall, as most people had retreated back to their dorms by now. Hermione was actually surprised at how quickly the time had passed—they must have sat there speaking for a solid two hours.

As they all exited the Great Hall, they stopped to stand beside the entrance once more. 

“Well, that was an eventful dinner, wasn’t it?” said Sirius cheerfully, “And that wasn’t even a proper feast. I eagerly await tomorrow’s dinner—that is, if you’ll still accompany us, Hermione?”

Sirius then flicked his gaze towards Hermione, the corner of his lips tugging upwards into a playful grin. 

And for some reason, it was with this that Hermione remembered (and agreed with) what Andrea Sinistra had said so many weeks ago—Sirius was actually pretty attractive. Between her history with an older Sirius and his previously irritating personality, Hermione really hadn’t noticed this simple fact. And now that she was plainly aware of it, she wasn’t sure whether this was appropriate to think or not. 

“Yes,” said Hermione, trying to keep her thoughts focused, “Yes, of course I will. I actually had a good time tonight.”

“That’s a lot of surprise in your voice I hear,” commented James, “Which is fair. I’m glad you felt Sirius behaved appropriately today.”

“Haha, you’re hilarious,” said Sirius flatly. He turned back to Hermione. 

“If you’d like, we could come fetch you at your room, tomorrow,” suggested Sirius, “Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Oh—well, I don’t want to be a bother—” said Hermione awkwardly, only to have Remus wave these worries away. 

“It isn’t a bother at all,” insisted Remus, “We don’t have anything to do.”

“Well… Alright, then,” agreed Hermione. 

They all headed towards the staircases together, stopping once more at the first floor to say goodbye and goodnight. Hermione then split from the group, returning to her room in a better mood than she had been in all week.  

Surprisingly, when Hermione returned to her room, the first thing she did was reach into her wardrobe and pull out the jumper dress. She then propped the hanger of clothing on the back of her desk chair, preparing the outfit for the next day. 

With how well the night had gone, she felt comfortable enough around Sirius and his friends to present herself however she wanted around them. Despite a decent number of their conversations having seriously tested Hermione’s ability to be consistent with a false backstory, she had truly enjoyed her time that night.

Remus and Sirius provided her with a sense of safe familiarity she didn’t realize would ever be possible, and James’s vibrant personality greatly reaffirmed Hermione’s decision to do everything in her power to save him and Lily—she didn’t want to relive a world without him. Shockingly, even Peter—as much as Hermione still secretly loathed him—was bearable to be around. 

And, perhaps most surprisingly of all, Hermione found herself excited for the following day’s Christmas feast.

…oOo…

Christmas Eve dinner had gone so fantastically that Sirius returned to the common room with his friends in an excellent mood. 

While their questions had gathered little useful intel—Sirius wasn’t exactly surprised at this—he had such a good time that he hardly even cared. He had made Hermione smile, and even laugh quite a few times throughout the meal; each smile and laugh that Hermione gave in response to Sirius’s jokes filled him with a sense of immediate elation that he hadn’t really ever felt before.

He had a feeling that his friends were going to comment on how useless their questions ended up being, but after noticing Sirius’s expression and overall mood, refrained from doing so. While Sirius was grateful for this, he was so delighted that he was fairly certain that they could all start viciously insulting him, and he wouldn’t even be that affected.

After many rounds of various wizarding games, all headed up to the dormitories for bed. Just as Sirius headed up the stairs, however, he noticed the map resting on one of the common room tables. He walked over to pick it up—they had taken to leaving the map around the common room, as they were the only ones occupying it. 

We really need to stop leaving this around, thought Sirius as he picked it up. He was just about to fold it up and place it into his pocket, until he thought… It was late at night… He could just check quickly…

Before Sirius could convince himself otherwise, he sat down and spread the map over the table. He guided his finger through the familiar path to Hermione’s bedroom, and to his surprise, she was situated in her room, unmoving. Clearly, she was sleeping. 

“I take it she’s in her room, then?”

Sirius jumped, turning around in his seat to see Remus standing behind him. He peered over Sirius’s shoulder, seeing where Sirius had opened the map to. 

“She is,” confirmed Remus. 

“It wasn’t like that,” defended Sirius quickly, “I just was curious. I figured maybe—”

“Maybe she’d take another trip to Gryffindor common room at midnight?” 

Sirius remained quiet, realizing there was no use in defending himself. Remus walked around the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.

“What are you doing?” asked Sirius as he crossed his arms, “Not lecturing me, I hope.”

“Well, I came back downstairs because I realized Prongs didn’t have the map on him. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that I found you bent over it,” said Remus as he settled into his seat, looking down at the map, “But no lecture. Just wanted to say something.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, and Remus continued speaking. 

“You know,” Remus began. Sirius looked up at him, mildly guilty. “I didn’t think today’s dinner was completely worthless. You know, in terms of information.”

“I mean, we didn’t exactly discover anything groundbreaking, did we?” said Sirius, “All we learned was that Hermione doesn’t speak Danish.”

“Well, I think we learned that you were onto something,” said Remus, “When you were really obsessed with Hermione—”

“I wasn’t ever obsessed—”

“Passionately involved, then,” said Remus with a little smile, “However you want to call it. I think Prongs and I always thought that Hermione was weird, but that if Dumbledore trusted her, then there had to be some reasonable explanation for everything she knew. But after today’s dinner—”

“But we didn’t even find anything out,” interjected Sirius.

“No, but there was something I noticed,” Remus pressed, “When you asked Hermione whether her nightmares were keeping her up or not. For some reason, when she was explaining to you that she was just taking walks around the castle… I just knew right then—I think it was her face that tipped me off, she just seemed off—she’s not being truthful.”

“Oh. Oh,” said Sirius loudly, realizing what Remus was trying to say, “Yeah, exactly that! I thought that too!”

“And then when I thought about it some more, all of her answers about her growing up seemed really convenient,” continued Remus, “Especially with what she told us about You-Know-Who. How he’s taken so much from her. You don’t learn how to duel and have heart-shattering stories while being cooped up in your home all the time.”

“Exactly!” Sirius said fervently, “That’s what I’ve been saying this entire time. I mean, obviously, I know she’s not a Death Eater now, but she was always strange to me.”

“Well, did you ever really think she was a Death Eater?” asked Remus humorously. 

“Of course! I mean—” Sirius paused to think, “Yeah, kind of.”

“For someone who used to think Hermione was a Death Eater, you’ve certainly had a quick turn around,” commented Remus, leaning back in his seat, “You basically did a one-eighty, going from accusing her of Dark magic to fancying her.”

“Ah, but Moony. You know what they say—hate is not the opposite of love; indifference is,” said Sirius with tones of mock wisdom. Remus raised a brow at this. 

“What’s that mean, then? That you’ve always liked her in some way?”

“What? No. I mean—I don’t know, shut up,” replied Sirius stubbornly, earning a laugh from Remus, “I’m still figuring it out myself, alright?”

“Well, why do you like Hermione, then?” asked Remus, “Just for starters.”

“What? What do you mean, why?” frowned Sirius, “I just do.”

“Well, there has to be something special about her,” shrugged Remus, “You’ve been through a handful of casual girlfriends. I’m just wondering what it is about her that draws you to her.”

“Er…” 

Sirius had never really thought about the why before. To him, liking Hermione just made sense, and it was difficult to put to words. But, as Remus was looking at him expectantly, he supposed he had to try. 

“Well… She’s really smart. Smarter than me, actually, which I literally thought was impossible,” began Sirius. Remus snorted loudly, but Sirius carried on as if he hadn’t heard him. 

“And… I don’t know. She’s witty? Not in like, an old person way, like Dumbledore—don’t you make that face at me, and don’t you dare twist my words when you repeat this to Prongs—she just makes these jokes that so clearly say ‘I’m not even trying to be funny, I just think you’re really stupid.’”

Remus laughed. “And you like that?” 

“Well, clearly I do, because I like her,” said Sirius, leaning back into his armchair. “I guess I also just like how it feels when I’m around her. I just want to get to know her.”

“Well, that’s not anything new, is it—”

“Not in the same way before,” Sirius clarified, “I mean—I don’t know, I want to know what her favorite books are. Stuff like that.”

Remus looked at Sirius, and he immediately regretted saying that last portion. “What? That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t, I promise,” Remus said lightly, “I just think it’s interesting that you didn’t say anything about her looks.”

“Why?”

“I think it just proves just how emotionally involved you really are.”

“Great,” grumbled Sirius, “Is this really how James feels all the time? How does he even manage this?”

“Mate, this is how people normally feel when they fancy someone.”

“And no offense, mate, but I think I’d vomit if I ever have to sit down and talk about how I feel ever again.”

Remus and Sirius both smiled at this, but Sirius was pretty sure Remus understood that this was a joke; ridiculous as Sirius felt, he enjoyed being able to talk about said “feelings;” it was easier to sort them out this way. 

This is certainly better than Prongs telling me we’re on the same level, thought Sirius fairly. 

The pair of them headed upstairs after another twenty minutes or so. As they entered the dormitory, they quietly bid each other goodnight, for James and Peter had already fallen asleep. But even after Sirius was in bed, he wasn’t really all that sleepy—between dinner with Hermione and Remus agreeing with his previous suspicions, Sirius was entirely too pleased with himself. 

Eventually, his eyes fell heavy nonetheless, and Sirius fell asleep feeling better than he ever thought possible to feel.

--

Sirius enjoyed all of his Christmas gifts he woke up to that morning, but in his opinion, the best gift of all awaited him later that day: Christmas feast. 

As he opened his gift from Remus that morning—a Muggle book on motorcycles—Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione had gotten any gifts. Surely, her parents would have sent her something—

I bet Stephan sent her a gift, as well. 

From this thought alone, Sirius was sure to slip the packet of Honeydukes sweets he had gotten from Hogsmeade into his leather jacket, set on giving it to Hermione later that day. He wasn’t sure when or how, but he figured he had all day to think of how to get her alone. 

After what felt like an eternity, the time for the Christmas feast finally came, and the four friends set off to Hermione’s room on the first floor. Sirius had not yet devised a plan on how to speak with Hermione privately, and was only mildly stressing out. 

I’ll figure it out, thought Sirius as they reached her room. Remus knocked on her door. Maybe we can walk her to her room later, and I can ask to have a quick word—

At that moment, Hermione opened the door, and Sirius stopped thinking. He would have really liked to say some cheeky or humorous greeting, but instead, Sirius was just looking at her stupidly, because Hermione looked really pretty.  

Well, in Sirius’s opinion, she was always pretty—but she was wearing—well, he didn’t know what it was called—some sort of corduroy dress with a red turtleneck and matching tights. When Hermione glanced up at Sirius, he could see that behind her copious curls she was also wearing a cute headband, and Sirius genuinely thinks he has never been more attracted to another person in his entire life.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Remus simply, his words bringing Sirius back to the present, “You look nice. Shall we all head to the Great Hall?”

Hermione smiled gently in response. “Thanks. And yes, let’s.”

The entire walk to the Great Hall, Sirius kept his gaze decidedly ahead of him, feeling like every glance he took at Hermione would be weird and obvious. He nodded along to the small talk that Hermione and Remus had started over various books, but in reality, his thoughts were in an entirely different place.

She never dresses like this, thought Sirius, Is this for me?

No, you fucking moron, replied Sirius to himself, She’s dressed nicely because it’s literally Christmas. 

She just barely stands you now, why would she do anything for you?

Luckily, these distracting thoughts subsided when they all reached the Great Hall and sat down to eat. The feast was absolutely spectacular, with roasted turkey, glazed ham, and dozens of sides. Remus was particularly pleased with the chocolate pecan tart.

Overall, Christmas feast went rather similarly to the previous night’s dinner, with only a few significant changes; Hermione seemed noticeably more comfortable speaking than she did yesterday. Before, she would always pause shortly before responding, as if thinking over her words carefully. But now, she was having real, genuine conversations, and getting her to smile no longer seemed like a marvelous feat. 

Sirius realized that this may have been because they were no longer asking her questions about her childhood, as they had run through all their questions the previous night. But he liked to think that Hermione genuinely felt more comfortable around them all now.

Another thing Sirius noticed during both the feast and last night’s dinner was that Hermione seemed especially wary of Peter. Whenever Peter would ask her a question or even look her way, her expression would suddenly stiffen and change, even if only by a little. Sirius wouldn’t blame Hermione if she had a general aversion to Peter, as he was basically the exact opposite of charming. But, as with most things surrounding Hermione, Sirius had this strange feeling that her displeased reactions to Peter were founded in reasons different than what Sirius believed.

Just like the night before, Sirius felt that the dinner went far too quickly; by the time the feast had ended, Sirius could have sworn that they sat down to eat just twenty minutes ago. 

“Wow, that was a great meal, wasn’t it?” said James cheerfully as they all exited the Great Hall, “I’ll sleep like a rock tonight after that.”

“Me too, actually,” agreed Hermione, “Which is actually rather surprising. But I’ve just got a feeling I actually won’t mind staying in my room tonight. I don’t think another midnight walk will be necessary.”

Just then, Sirius remembered—the gift. He had completely forgotten to think of a way to give it to her in private, and in the moment, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Speaking of your room, I can walk you, if you’d like,” offered Sirius, “You know, just to build my resume of helpful acts towards the Hermione Granger Cause.”

Internally, he pleaded that his friends would realize what he was trying to do. He hadn’t told any of them about the gift currently in his jacket pocket, but hopefully, the usage of the singular I rather than the plural we would be enough to tip them off—

Evidently, it was not. “Yeah, we can walk you,” put in Remus, “Again, it’s no bother at all—”

At this, Sirius shot a look at Remus. He raptly shut his mouth, but he didn’t seem to really comprehend what Sirius was getting at.

Judging by Hermione’s expression, she was very confused by this interaction—but luckily, James was quick to pick up the situation.

“Actually, the three of us have to head to the owlery to send letters to our parents,” said James, nodding sagely at Hermione. Sirius gave him a thankful look—perhaps it was a good thing that James was ‘similar’ to Sirius in this way after all. Remus was next to catch on, nodding alongside James.

“You know, to thank them for their generous gifts,” added Remus, “My parents gifted me a box set of Edward Cullagen’s series on vampires and werewolves, and I’d like to send in word of my appreciation.”

Peter, who looked confused up until that very moment, brightened up immediately, the last to realize what was happening.

“I—oh!” said Peter, apparently eager to prove to his friends that he knew what they were trying to do, “Yes, that’s right. Sirius would come with us, you see, but his entire family hates him.”

Sirius wasn’t sure just how necessary that comment was. But, it was at least accurate, which was better than expected for Peter.

“Yes, their Christmas would be soured if they were to receive a reminder that I’m alive,” agreed Sirius, nodding casually to ease the tensions, as Hermione was currently looking at Peter as if he had said something out of pocket about her, “Anyway, I’ll see you lot in the common room later.”

The three of them headed to the owlery, leaving Hermione and Sirius at the Great Hall entrance. As the pair of them watched the others turn the corner, Sirius tilted his head towards the staircases. 

“Shall we, then?” suggested Sirius. 

Hermione nodded, and they set off. The five-minute walk to her room seemed painfully short, and even though they were speaking the entire time, Sirius failed to bring up the topic of his gift. 

“Well, here we are,” said Hermione as they stopped outside her room, Sirius eternally cursing, “Thanks for walking me. You don’t have to do this every time, you know.”

“I’m the nicest person to ever walk this planet, of course I have to,” said Sirius with raised eyebrows.

“Alright, don’t push it,” said Hermione with a small smile. 

There were a few seconds of awkward silence as they looked between each other. When Hermione lifted her hand, likely about to grasp her door’s handle, Sirius finally spoke up. 

“I got you a Christmas gift,” blurted Sirius, hoping he didn’t sound as stupid as he thought he did, “Just something small.”

Hermione looked surprised, her eyes widening at Sirius. 

“Really?” she asked, “But, Sirius—”

Sirius dug into his pocket, pulling out the package and handing it to her. Hermione stared at it for a couple of seconds, as if she wasn’t entirely sure it was actually meant for her. 

“Well, go on,” encouraged Sirius, “It’s not a trap.”

“That’s far too large for your pocket,” said Hermione, still looking at it, “Did you enchant your jacket pockets?”

“Yeah, I did, actually,” said Sirius. Hermione looked impressed, and Sirius straightened up just a bit. “I picked it up from a Muggle thrift shop, so I had to make my own adjustments.”

When Hermione still didn’t take the package, Sirius gently pushed it into her hands. She held it delicately, as if she had never received a present before.

“Oh, Sirius,” said Hermione as she held the package in her hands, “I feel terrible. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Sirius said as he shook his head, “It’s just Honeydukes’ specialty box—”

“But that’s five galleons!” protested Hermione, “You didn’t have to, really.”

“Well, I did, didn’t I?” grinned Sirius, “And now you’re stuck with it.”

“This was really nice of you, Sirius,” said Hermione, looking down at the package, “I wish I had something to give to you.” 

“Well, if you really want to give me a Christmas gift, you could walk around the castle with me for a little bit,” said Sirius without thinking. 

Hermione blinked, clearly taken aback, and Sirius panicked. 

Why did I say that? She’s going to think I’m so god damned weird—

“This isn’t some sort of ploy, is it?” asked Hermione slowly. Sirius shook his head, attempting to recover. 

“I just don’t want to head to bed yet,” said Sirius, “And I’m getting sick of playing wizarding cards every night.”

“Well, okay then,” agreed Hermione with a soft shrug of her shoulders, “I suppose I owe it to you.”

Hardly believing his luck, Sirius couldn’t even think of anything witty to say in response.

“Great,” he said. “Er—if you want, you could get changed, first.” But please don’t you look really cute— “Since we’re at your room.”

“No, I’ll just put this in my room, first,” said Hermione, indicating to the gift, “I’ll be right back.”

In the two minutes that Hermione had returned to her room, Sirius ran his hand through his hair about a dozen times. He wasn’t exactly vain, but had he known earlier that this is how everything would have panned out, he would have brought a small mirror. He didn’t even have his and James’s two-sided mirror on him.

The door opened once more, and out stepped Hermione. When she shut the door behind her, Sirius caught a whiff of the same chamomile and turmeric Hermione always smelled like. Sirius felt like this was dangerous; he wasn’t sure he would easily be able to leave that room after entering. 

“Sorry I took a little bit,” said Hermione, “I decided to brush my teeth first.”

“What?” asked Sirius, blinking. At once, his heartbeat quickened. 

There’s no way that she really means—

“Oh, my parents—I mean, one of my parents is a Muggle dentist,” explained Hermione, “I tend to always brush my teeth right after I eat.”

“Oh, right. I see,” said Sirius, feeling like a complete idiot. Was this really how he was always going to react to the idea of doing absolutely anything with Hermione? 

“Well, let’s get going, now,” said Sirius, recovering.

They began to walk down the corridor, towards the direction of the staircases. 

“Where are we going?” asked Hermione, “Anywhere specific?”

“Yes, actually,” said Sirius, suddenly deciding on doing just that; nearly everything he had done in the past twenty minutes was out of pure spontaneity. “There’s this perfect place. Secret place. Very exclusive.”

“Really?” asked Hermione curiously, “Like, the prefects’ lounge?”

“Nah,” replied Sirius, shaking his head. They were now walking up the staircases, making their way up the first of many. “Although, you’re thinking in the right direction. But what I’m about to show you is way cooler than that stupid place.”

“The prefects’ lounge is pretty nice,” said Hermione fairly, “Or, so I’ve heard.”

“Don’t look so guilty, I know you’ve seen the prefects’ lounge,” grinned Sirius, for Hermione looked suddenly panicked. Sirius couldn’t imagine that she was one to often break rules. “I can only assume Diaz has shown you at some point.”

“Stephan?” asked Hermione, with tones that indicated she was going to continue speaking about him. Sirius quickly regretted bringing him up. “Stephan isn’t a prefect.”

“Oh,” said Sirius simply, but internally, he laughed. The idiot isn’t even a prefect. What a loser. 

“I just assumed he was,” said Sirius. 

“No, he isn’t. But Adama is, and she’s shown me,” continued Hermione, “Did Remus let you in, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Loads of times. But I promise you, where we’re heading is literally so much better.”

“Better than having three personal bookshelves loaded with books that would normally be in the Restricted Section?” asked Hermione, doubt clear in her voice.

“Uh, yeah,” said Sirius obviously, “A public toilet is cooler than that when you set the bar that low.”

They playfully argued the entire way up to the fifth floor. By the time they reached the marbled toad on the right-hand corridor, Hermione was still thoroughly convinced that there was no better place in Hogwarts besides the prefects’ lounge, with the library being a close second. 

“Here we are,” announced Sirius, stopping before the marbled toad. Perched on a narrow, stone pedestal, the toad was very much not a sight for sore eyes. Its eyes were uneven, its mouth was crooked, and the lumps on its back were unnecessarily detailed.

“This place that you claim is better than the prefects’ lounge is marked by this ugly toad statue?” asked Hermione skeptically. 

“Yeah, of course. It’s a sight to see, isn’t it?” replied Sirius. Hermione still seemed doubtful, but Sirius knew she was about to be proven very wrong in about two seconds. 

“Oh, beautiful toad,” began Sirius, “Present to me, if you please, the wonders within, of which few will ever see.”

“What?” asked Hermione, “What on Earth—”

At that moment, the toad statue blinked its uneven eyes at Sirius. However, it made no other movement, and Sirius sighed. 

“So that wasn’t enough,” he said, “Okay, then. Your highness is gorgeous, and your lumps are—er—porous—and if you would be so kind, please show us what…” 

Sirius scrambled for a rhyme before adding, “What most cannot find.”

The toad blinked at Sirius once more, but to his relief, finally leaped to the side and onto the floor. It landed right at Hermione’s feet, causing her to yelp. 

“You’re fine,” laughed Sirius. There was a button where the toad once sat, which Sirius pushed. The wall behind the pedestal then split down the middle, slowly dividing to create an opening the size of a doorway. 

“Welcome, Miss Granger,” presented Sirius with a wide smile, “To the Head Boy and Girl’s Headquarters.”

He turned to look at Hermione. From what little she could see of the headquarters through the opening, she already seemed beyond impressed and fascinated. 

“James is Head Boy,” said Hermione, in awe, “Of course, I forgot! And the toad, that’s so clever, having to praise it in order to see the room—”

“Yeah, it’s kind of annoying,” said Sirius, looking down at the toad still on the floor, “No one would ever think to compliment it, but it still insists that we rhyme, too, just to be sure. It doesn’t move if it doesn’t think it’s clever enough.”

“Can we go in?” asked Hermione eagerly—she had likely caught sight of the private library tucked into the corner of the main room.

“Yes, of course. That’s kind of why we’re here.”

And so they entered the headquarters. Just as Sirius predicted, Hermione seemed completely enthralled by absolutely everything she could see. The main room consisted of high marbled walls, a glittering chandelier hanging on the ceiling. On the wall opposite was a magnificent fireplace lit with golden flames, surrounded by luxurious couches and armchairs. 

The headquarters was full of activities—a brightly colored table that could play every table game imaginable; shelves upon shelves of mysterious trinkets that all had different functions; a section towards the front of the room that held chests of materials for artsy projects, such as yarn, knitting needles, and thread; and iceboxes alongside the left wall that stocked various foods and treats. 

Basically, whatever it is was one wanted to do, it could be done in this room. And yet, upon entering, Hermione made a bee-line to the bookshelves. 

Of course, Sirius expected this, but he still chuckled to himself anyways as he followed her across the room. 

“This is fantastic!” exclaimed Hermione, peering through the bookshelves. Every few seconds, she would pull out a book, look at its cover, and then place it back. “Although, I really wonder just why this room is so elaborate.”

“I think previous Head Boys and Girls would hold parties in here,” said Sirius thoughtfully, “But Lily refused when James introduced the idea. So it’s just those two and whoever they let in who’s allowed in.”

“This is just incredible,” said Hermione, pausing at a particular book. Sirius saw that it was titled Torn Between Generations: Ten Tragic Tales of Turners of Time.

“You can take it, if you’d like,” said Sirius, as Hermione was staring at the book as if it held the answers to all the universe’s problems, “Just as long as you return it. I’ll tell James.”

Hermione gave Sirius a look of such immense gratitude that he wondered if he had blushed. 

For almost another twenty minutes, Hermione gushed over every aspect of the room, clutching the book to her chest the entire time. Sirius just followed her around, explaining everything she asked about. 

“What are these?” asked Hermione as they arrived at the right-hand side of the room to which the trinkets lay on their golden shelves, “I’ve seen things like these in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Yeah, me too,” nodded Sirius, “I suppose he keeps his favorites in his office, and trusts that the Head Boy and Girl will keep watch of the others down here. Neat little things, they are. Some of them fly if you ask them nicely enough.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Hermione said, looking back up at him. She was smiling so easily, so carelessly, and Sirius was certain that he had never seen her like this. He also never wanted to stop seeing her like this. “This is really, all so nice—”

“That’s not even the end of it,” grinned Sirius, positively elated. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed the door yet.”

“There’s more?” Hermione looked up, and between the shelves of trinkets and the bookshelves was a dark, wooden door.

“What’s in there?” she asked, looking to Sirius intently. 

“Well, open it and see,” he said. Sirius wasn’t particularly fond of the room’s contents himself, but he figured that Hermione would appreciate it. According to James, Evans absolutely adored the headquarters’ bath.  

When Hermione opened the door, her entire body froze. Her eyes widened immediately, her mouth falling open as she gaped at the bathroom. Embedded in the marble floor was a large, circular jacuzzi tub. Couches lined the walls that were decorated with paintings, a matching marble sink on the far wall. 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” asked Sirius, chuckling a little at Hermione’s shocked expression. “I’m pretty sure Evans is the only one who uses it. But, since she likes you so much, I’m sure that if you ask her, she’d be happy to let you use it, if you’d like—”

Hermione then moved so quickly that Sirius almost jumped back. Luckily, he didn’t, because Hermione wrapped her arms around Sirius and pulled him into a tight hug, her face buried into his chest. 

The book she had so fervently clutched to her chest was now on the floor, Hermione having dropped it in her rush to embrace Sirius. He was still struggling to comprehend what was happening, his heart having dived straight into his stomach the moment Hermione touched him. 

But, before he could ask himself what and why this was happening, he found himself wrapping his own arms around Hermione, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

“Can I…” began Sirius quietly before clearing his throat, for his voice sounded far too shaky, “Can I ask what I did to deserve this? It’s just a bathroom, you know…”  

But Hermione just shook her head against his chest. Sirius was then hyper-aware of his heartbeat—surely, Hermione would be able to hear how viciously it was pounding, as she was pressed right up against his chest…

After what seemed like ages, but also just mere seconds, Hermione pulled away. As Sirius let his arms fall back to his sides, she tucked her head down, dabbing her eyes with the sleeves of her turtleneck. 

“Hermione,” said Sirius lowly, “Are you—”

Again, Hermione just shook her head, but she spoke up this time. 

“I-I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said thickly. She then looked up at Sirius, her eyes mildly red and her nose pink. “I just… I can’t explain in words how amazing this all is, Sirius, you wouldn’t believe what this all means to me…”

“Well, of course, Hermione,” said Sirius. He was tempted to reach a hand and press it over his heart in means of calming it, but resisted the urge. “Had I known you would like this place so much, I would have told you about it weeks ago.”

Through her sniffles, Hermione still managed to smile at this. While Sirius usually felt a rush of elation after she smiled at him, he felt especially ecstatic with this one.

Shortly after, they decided on heading back to Hermione’s room. As nice as the hug had been, it was definitely unexpected, leaving the walk back just a bit awkward. He wasn’t sure if Hermione regretted doing that, or if she considered what she had done to be an overreaction; just in case, he treaded carefully, refraining from any jokes or words that could potentially come across as insensitive.

But Hermione didn’t say anything about what had just happened, nor did she seem ashamed or embarrassed in any way. Sirius wondered if she was thinking about their short embrace, because Sirius was certain he would only be thinking about this for many hours. 

At last, they arrived back at Hermione's room. With the book still clutched to her chest, Hermione turned to meet Sirius outside her door. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice still a bit thick with her previous tears, “Really, thank you, Sirius. For asking me to eat with you guys, for your gift, for bringing me to the bathroom… It all means so much. I would have had a miserable Christmas without you.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” insisted Sirius, wondering if she would ever understand just how good her words made him feel, “It was my pleasure, really. Nothing to it.”

Hermione gave him a watery smile, to which he added, “And, if you want, feel free to visit us in Gryffindor common room sometime this break. We’re always there after dinner.”

Hermione’s smile widened slightly. “Sure. I’d like that.”

After they both said goodnight, Hermione turned into her room and began to shut the door behind her, a sore sight that Sirius would never get used to seeing. 

And, as was probably expected of him at this point, Sirius just had to get another word in.

“Hey,” said Sirius. The door stopped just as it was about to close, and a second later, Hermione poked her head out the door. Her nose was still a little pink, making the gesture especially cute.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to know how far along I’ve come,” said Sirius awkwardly, “To, you know. Being forgiven.”

“… After showing me that bathroom? I’ll forgive you right now, if you’d like,” said Hermione with a small, teasing smile. Sirius returned the smile, but looked to her still, waiting for a real answer. 

Her smile slowly fell as she realized Sirius was being genuine. 

“Well… I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” promised Sirius, “I was just wondering. No pressure, no rush.”

“No, it’s alright,” said Hermione, “I understand.”

She tilted her head to the side a bit, pursing her lips together. 

“Soon, I think,” she said softly, “I think I’ll be ready soon.”

“Oh, okay,” replied Sirius, “Perfect. I mean, if it takes longer, don’t worry. Again, just wondering.”

Hermione just smiled in response to Sirius’s floundering. Her smiles seemed different; or, maybe Sirius was just looking at them more closely, since he seemed to spend a lot of time watching her lips recently. 

“Goodnight, Sirius,” said Hermione at last. 

“Night, ‘Mione,” replied Sirius. 

She shut the door at last, leaving Sirius in the same exact position he had been just two nights prior. 

He never would have thought that in just three days, he would go from apologizing to her, realizing he liked her, and then embracing her… It seemed to happen all at once. And if he had the chance, Sirius would go back in time and do it all over again. As difficult and challenging it was to face himself and his own feelings, he would do it all over again. 

He would repeat these past three days dozens of times over, because Sirius knew that he would never, ever tire of making Hermione happy. 

Chapter Text

The second (and last) week of Christmas holiday turned out to be much more enjoyable than the first, and Hermione could hardly believe that this change was all because of Sirius Black.

This wasn’t the only change that Sirius caused—Hermione no longer ate all her meals as if attempting to mimic the speed of light, as the idea of running into Sirius didn’t make her want to take off sprinting anymore. She now comfortably popped into the Great Hall whenever she desired, and even ate with Sirius and his friends if they happened to be in the Great Hall the same time she was. And, to her further surprise, each of these meals turned out to be just as pleasant as their prior two dinners together.

That Tuesday, Hermione was just entering the Great Hall for dinner when she ran into Sirius and company on their way out. To her surprise, Sirius insisted that they all sit back down and sit with her as she ate, stating to have “good manners” (to which James and Remus looked like they were having trouble not barking a laugh at, but Hermione appreciated the company nonetheless).

After Hermione finished eating, Sirius once again offered Hermione to come join them in the common room. Hermione had been very busy the past few days with the book from the Head Boy and Girl’s Headquarters, and was planning to get back on rereading after dinner; and yet, as she looked at Sirius’s bright grin as he invited her to their post-dinner activities, she couldn’t find it in herself to turn him down.

Suddenly, after accepting to just a few rounds of wizarding cards, Hermione found herself in Gryffindor common room almost every night after dinner: she was now spending multiple hours a day with the very same group of people she avoided most upon her arrival to the year 1977.

As a result, two developments ensued: firstly, their bonding together had created this interesting relationship in which they all pretended that Hermione’s peculiar past didn’t exist. Hermione felt that, among the four friends, there was a mutual, unspoken understanding that they were to not interrogate Hermione in any way, or discuss anything regarding the map or Remus’s status as a werewolf.

For instance, the full moon was on Friday; Hermione knew it would be rising in the early evening before dinner. So, on Thursday night while they were all in the common room, Hermione mentioned that she would be studying for upcoming classes in her room the next night. Remus—who was already looking fairly gaunt—glanced at his friends, but otherwise, they made no comment or words of objection. Clearly, they had been waiting to tell her themselves that they would be absent from dinner and the common room the next night, and seemed relieved that they didn’t have to bring up the topic at all.

She wasn’t absolutely sure why they had refrained from talking about these topics, but she guessed that they were actually enjoying her company and weren’t keen on driving her off. However, she also suspected that the closer she grew to them all, the less they would be holding back.

As such, Hermione made a mental note to keep her distance. She felt this wouldn’t be too hard to do, as she still heavily avoided speaking to Peter (even though he was upsettingly and confusingly pleasant, a trait Hermione did not at all expect from him).

Secondly, over Christmas holiday, her opinion of Sirius had changed rather drastically: she now actually liked being around him. His apology seemed sincere, as did his now-respectful behavior. In fact, whenever they were together, he seemed especially keen on talking to Hermione. Persistent as he was, Hermione knew this was just because he wanted to make up for his past actions, so she didn’t mind at all.

And, of course, there was the fact that Sirius had unknowingly solved one of Hermione’s greatest mysteries regarding her travels to the past—the Room of Requirement’s bathroom.

When Hermione had laid eyes on the Head Boy and Girl’s bathroom, she had almost lost her composure—well, she didn’t exactly remain calm, by immediately hurtling herself into Sirius’s arms, but she definitely forced herself to internalize a lot of her emotions due to Sirius’s presence.

She wasn’t entirely sure if she would actually go to the lengths of asking Lily to use the bathroom, though, now that she knew that it was located in the Head Boy and Girl’s Headquarters—beyond delighted as she was to discover the bathroom, she wasn’t eager to take advantage of a room she really had no right using. Strangely, just knowing that the bathroom existed in the castle at all was enough to comfort her.

Yet, despite discovering the origins of the bathroom, Hermione was left with even more questions—why had the Room of Requirement brought her to this bathroom in the first place? The idea of the Room of Requirement directly replicating a specific room also seemed strange to Hermione.

I’ll bring this up to Dumbledore in our next meeting, resolved Hermione. Their next meeting was scheduled for the third Monday of January, more than a month after their last. Certainly, he’ll have something to say about it all… The bathroom certainly must be related to the time-turner.

All in all, Sirius had not only provided Hermione with the time-turner book and the bathroom, but also, completely transformed her miserable break into the best time she’s had at Hogwarts yet. And, as such, Hermione decided that he had definitely earned his way to being on good terms with her.

While this transformation of opinion had been shocking enough to Hermione, she didn’t realize how alarming her suddenly being friendly with Sirius would come across to everyone else.

As it was currently the Sunday before the first day of class, students were all returning to the castle. While Hermione was eager for the upcoming academic term (her passion for school, despite having dimmed somewhat in the midst of her situation, was now back in full force), she was admittedly going to miss playing wizarding games every night.

They were all currently sitting in a semi-circle of armchairs around the fireplace, chatting about the upcoming classes. As each student returned to the common room, Hermione could feel many sets of eyes on her. All of the seventh years, of course, had never seen Hermione outside of class before, and Hermione was certain that many of the underclassmen had never even seen Hermione before.

In fact, when Lily walked into the common room, she had taken a complete double-take right as she was about to ascend the stairs to the girls’ dormitories.

“Hermione?” asked Lily in disbelief. She looked at Hermione by the fireplace, and then at the four boys in the surrounding armchairs, looking more confused by the second. “I’ve never seen you in the common room before.”

Before Hermione could speak up, though, Lily narrowed her eyes a bit as she looked at Sirius and James sitting to her left.

“Have Black and Potter put you up to something?” Lily asked suspiciously.

“No, they haven’t,” promised Hermione. Lily still looked concerned, and James looked positively offended. “Trust me, no one’s more surprised than I am that I’m here of my own free will. Was your holiday alright, Lily?”

“It was good,” said Lily, still looking preoccupied with the idea of Hermione actually wanting to sit next to Sirius. “We went to Marseille for the first week of break.”

“Ooh, isn’t Marseille just gorgeous?” said Hermione interestedly, “My parents and I have visited France a few times, too.”

“Excuse me if I’m wrong, Evans, but you looked a bit shocked there,” commented James next. At once, Lily made a face, to which James seemed completely unaffected by. “Believe it or not, we have recruited Hermione here as a new friend. Would you care to be the next addition?”

“If I were to ever come within a meter of you, Potter, it’d be to rescue Hermione from your company,” said Lily swiftly. Her gaze softened, though, when she looked back to Hermione. “I’m glad they’re finally being nice to you, Hermione. I can’t imagine how awful break must have been with only them around.”

“Hey, it hasn’t been awful,” defended Sirius, “Sometimes, Hermione even laughs at my jokes.”

When Hermione just smiled in response to this, Lily plainly gawked. Once more, she looked to Sirius with a suspicious look.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Black, but I’m keeping an eye on you,” said Lily firmly. She gave a warm goodnight to Hermione before heading back upstairs, levitating her trunk in front of her.

“Say, Hermione,” asked James, watching Lily until she disappeared from sight, “You think you could put in a good word for me? You know, since she actually likes speaking to you.”

“I’m not sure how much weight my words would have,” said Hermione honestly, “What have you done all these years to make her dislike you this much?”

“Exist,” said Sirius.

As James retorted a response to Sirius that Hermione would have preferred to not have heard, Remus turned in his armchair to look at the other students now occupying the common room.

“I bet our dormmates have gotten back, now,” commented Remus, looking to James and Peter, “Shall we go say hi?”

“Won’t we just see them later tonight—” began Peter, only for James to immediately cut him off.

“Right you are, Moony. We should do that,” agreed James in a matter-of-fact way. He then said to Sirius, “We’ll see you later, mate.”

They then all left at once, James pulling Peter up by the arm when he paused in his armchair out of confusion. Hermione frowned slightly as she watched their backs before turning to Sirius.

“Why don’t you go up, too?” asked Hermione curiously, “To say hi to your other friends, I mean.”

“Nah, they’re all losers,” shrugged Sirius, waving a dismissive hand, “Besides, I’m sitting in the best armchair as of the moment. If I leave, I’d be giving up first-row seats to the fireplace.”

But Hermione didn’t feel reassured. Over the past week, she noticed that James, Remus, and Peter would often excuse themselves, leaving just Sirius and Hermione; part of her was worried that they felt she was intruding on their friend group.

“They tend to leave you to deal with me a lot, don’t they?” asked Hermione lightly, trying to gently address the issue. “I hope I haven’t impeded on you all too much.”

“What? No. That’s stupid. I mean,” said Sirius all at once, before immediately correcting himself, “Not that you’re stupid, of course, I just meant—they’re busy blokes, is all. Trust me, Hermione, we all greatly appreciate your company.”

“Alright, then,” said Hermione after a second’s thought, feeling a bit better, “I just wanted to make sure.”

Remus, James, and Peter never came back downstairs, but Hermione didn’t really notice—strangely, she didn’t find it difficult at all to get lost in conversation with Sirius. Even though they shared vastly different interests, Sirius had a way of making every conversation enjoyable.

At a quarter to ten, Hermione decided she should start heading back to her room. Sirius initially protested (“Curfew is optional when you don’t get caught,” said Sirius) but didn’t give her too much cheek when she insisted she “conform to arbitrary measurements of time” (again, Sirius’s words).

Hermione kindly turned down Sirius’s usual offer of walking her back to her room, and after saying goodnight, headed out the common room and down to the first floor. After completing her bedtime routine and organizing her bag for the next day’s class, Hermione was in bed.

Except Hermione wasn’t all that eager to sleep just yet. This wasn’t due to the nightmares—she hadn’t had any disturbing dreams in over a week. No, she was still thinking about Sirius and the fact that she genuinely enjoyed speaking with him and being around him… And as much time as she had to process this development, it still seemed shocking to her…

Everyone else seems to think so, too, thought Hermione as she looked up at her familiar bedroom ceiling. Lily seemed so unnerved, and she didn’t even know all the details of what Sirius did…

And in that moment, Hermione realized that she was really not looking forward to explaining this recent development to her only other close friend at Hogwarts.

--

That next morning, Hermione spent a solid five minutes rehearsing in her head what points she would say to Stephan to prove to him that Sirius was indeed a changed man.

Seeing as Stephan was a good friend of Hermione’s, he understandably wasn’t a huge fan of Sirius. Hermione knew that she would have to carefully explain that Sirius had actually undergone quite the redemption arc; as such, she had thought a lot about how to break this news to Stephan, and had chosen her words very carefully.

But as Hermione was eating breakfast with Sirius the next morning (for some reason, James, Remus, and Peter had finished eating very quickly), she somehow forgot that Stephan too ate breakfast.

In fact, she hadn’t even noticed that Stephan had entered the Great Hall, as she and Sirius were in deep conversation over what was “appropriate” to say in an academic setting (they disagreed heavily), until she heard him callout—

“Hermione Granger, in the Great Hall? Do my eyes deceive me?”

Immediately, Hermione spun around in her seat to see Stephan walking down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to where Hermione was sitting.

“Stephan!” beamed Hermione, standing up to give him a hug. Just as she had when they said goodbye before break, Hermione felt like his hugs were just a bit too long to be considered friendly—but, as Stephan was the epitome of such friendliness, she supposed she shouldn’t think too much of it.

Although, when they pulled away, Hermione noticed that Sirius seemed to have similar thoughts—unless he was currently making a face at Stephan for a completely unrelated reason.

“How was your break?” asked Hermione brightly, “Thank you for your gift, by the way. I’ve been wanting that quill for ages.”

“I better see you using it in Arithmancy tomorrow,” grinned Stephan in response, “And thank you for the book on Muggle construction, I demolished it in two days.”

Sirius gave a cough that sounded strangely like, “Nerd!” This much was enough to turn Stephan’s attention back to Sirius, who had remained seated.

“I must say, Hermione, you eating in the Great Hall isn’t what’s most shocking to me,” said Stephan, looking at Sirius. While his bright demeanor did not flicker—despite Sirius wrinkling his nose up at the Ravenclaw—Stephan seemed politely confused, “You have an alright break, Black?”

“Suppose so,” said Sirius in a tone that Hermione thought was entirely too passive-aggressive.

“Sirius, be nice,” said Hermione firmly, “I’ve heard everything that you’ve told Stephan, you know. And if you expect me to keep speaking with you, then you should know that you’ll have to act decently around him.”

“As excited as I am to be treated like a human, ‘Mione,” put in Stephan before Sirius could respond, “I hope you don’t take offense when I say that this is literally the last thing I expected to see when I walked into the Great Hall.”

Stephan definitely was not alone in this opinion. For some reason, a great number of the student body seemed to be aware of the previous dynamic between Sirius and Hermione; every other student that glanced over to the Gryffindor table upon entering the Great Hall gave a double-take when they noticed Sirius and Hermione eating across from each other.

“Listen, I know,” stated Hermione, looking between Stephan and Sirius. While she certainly detected notes of dislike in Stephan’s voice, he at least acted pleasant around Sirius; she could not say the same for Sirius.

“Just trust me, okay?” asked Hermione, “I’ll explain everything later. Maybe before study group tonight?”

“Hmm.” Stephan held his chin in thought. “Adama and Robert both have prefect meetings tonight, so it’ll just be you and me.”

“That’s alright,” smiled Hermione, “I’ll see you at four, then?”

“Perfect.”

Stephan returned to the Ravenclaw table. As Hermione was sitting back down, she noticed Sirius’s gaze following him.

“Merlin, how are you going to break the news to him?” said Sirius the moment Hermione sat back down, “Poor bloke.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Hermione, picking her fork back up and helping herself to some sausage.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t notice it,” said Sirius, “He’s got it bad for you. Isn’t it obvious?”

“He does not,” countered Hermione at once, snapping her gaze up at Sirius, “That’s ridiculous. Boys and girls can be platonic friends.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what he’s telling himself about me and you,” continued Sirius shamelessly, “You see the way he looked at me? Completely threatened, he was—don’t blame him, of course, it’s like comparing a horse to Hercules—”

“And what breed of horse are you in this scenario?” asked Hermione lightly, eating another forkful of sausage.

Sirius just stared at Hermione, looking like he was deciding between laughing and being offended.

“You’re lucky you’re better than me at magic, you know that?” said Sirius decidedly, going with the second route. Although, he did look like he was having difficulty containing a smile.

“Mhm, I’m sure.” Hermione pointed her fork at Sirius’s mostly uneaten breakfast; he was apparently so taken with speaking that he had forgotten to actually eat. “Class is in fifteen minutes, Sirius, you should really start on your toast.”

After only a bit more of Sirius’s bickering about Stephan, they finished up breakfast and made it to Transfiguration with just seconds to spare. In hindsight, this probably wasn’t the best of entrances to make; those who hadn’t seen Hermione and Sirius together at breakfast looked clearly startled as the pair of them entered the class together. The bell rang just as they took the last two remaining seats.

“Black, I’d prefer it if your tendencies didn’t rub off on everyone you associate with,” reprimanded McGonagall the moment the bell finished ringing, “I would have hoped that it’d be Miss Granger keeping you on track, if anything.”

“I hope you had a good break too, Professor,” grinned Sirius, unaffected.

McGonagall just pursed her lips as many of their classmates laughed, glancing towards Hermione before beginning the lesson.

By the end of the day, the news that Hermione Granger was actually willingly speaking to Sirius Black had reached all corners of the school. Hermione was previously unaware of just how widely observed their relationship was, and suspected this mostly had to do with Sirius’s popularity.

She was made especially aware of this when she headed to the library to meet with Stephan—was she just seeing things, or were a good portion of the girls in the fifth year or higher looking at Hermione with less-than-pleased faces?

“’Lo, Hermione,” greeted Stephan as Hermione sat across from him at their usual table, “I have long awaited this evening’s conversation.”

“You’re talking about what we discussed at breakfast, I’m assuming?” asked Hermione as she took out her books and parchment. She always liked how Stephan typically liked to get straight to the point.

“Right you are,” confirmed Stephan brightly, “And now that we are not in the presence of Black, I can now comfortably ask—what the hell?”

“I know,” smiled Hermione gently, setting down her ink well, “And I know this all sounds so unlikely and ridiculous, but he really has changed over break. For one thing, he actually apologized to me—”

“Anyone can say some lazy few words and ignore the prior trauma delivered,” interjected Stephan, pushing out his bottom lip in concern.

“But it was actually genuine,” pressed Hermione, “I could just feel it, Stephan, he really felt terrible. And he made up for everything, too. He invited me to eat with him and James and all of them, and he got me a Christmas gift.”

“That’s just a lazy apology but in a material form,” objected Stephan once more.

“Stephan, I know you’re concerned,” said Hermione understandably, “But I can take care of myself. I promise that I wouldn’t be friends with Sirius if I thought even a shred of his previous awful self still existed in him.”

“I know that, Hermione,” responded Stephan, “But it’s just so weird—it feels like it all happened at once, really. I left with you completely hating Black, and I come back and you’re eating breakfast with him.”

“Well, it actually did happen all at once,” noted Hermione, “Around Christmas, actually. But even before then, he had cleaned up his act a little bit… He was being nicer to me. And because of that, I was pretty certain he was being sincere when he apologized.”

“As much as I trust you to know who you should hang around with,” began Stephan carefully, “I… Well, how do you know he isn’t suddenly just being nice to you for other reasons?”

Stephan may not have explicitly said what he meant with this, but his sudden hesitation was enough to tell Hermione the true meaning behind his words.

“Oh, not you, too,” sighed Hermione, “Why is it that so many people think platonic friendships aren’t possible?”

“Clearly, I know that,” said Stephan, indicating between the two of them, “But the rest of the school, not so much.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” frowned Hermione, “Plenty of people have diverse friend groups.”

“Yeah, but things are a bit different with Sirius Black. There’s consequences to hanging out with him,” maintained Stephan, “For instance, I can’t imagine your first day back was all that enjoyable.”

“I mean…” Hermione looked down at her many textbooks spread before her. “We were assigned a lot of homework, but I studied plenty over break, it’s all manageable.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Stephan as he shook his head, although smiling at Hermione’s response, “ I was more so referring to the fact that a solid one-fourth of our year’s female population is looking at you as if you have committed a crime against humanity.”

“What?” asked Hermione, furrowing her eyebrows together, “I mean—sure, I expect that a handful of girls have a crush on Sirius, but that’s a complete exaggeration. The students here aren’t that petty.”

“While that much may be true where you grew up, things are different in a teenage-packed castle,” said Stephan lowly, “You’ll find that here at Hogwarts, your business suddenly becomes everyone else’s business, too.”

Hermione was just about to rebut Stephan once more when she noticed a group of three girls across the library staring at Hermione. One of the girls had long, gorgeous auburn hair, hair that Hermione likely would have envied in her earlier years.

They seemed to have noticed that Hermione had caught them staring—the girl with the silky hair just rolled her eyes before turning away, continuing to whisper quietly to her friends.

At once, Hermione’s stomach sank. She was already self-conscious enough of the fact that she didn’t have any close female friends, and knowing that so many girls disliked her just made her feel awful. And while Hermione understood that the blame wasn’t to be put on herself, she couldn’t help but feel strangely guilty.

“But I don’t even like Sirius in that way,” protested Hermione, returning her gaze to Stephan.

“Trust me, I know that better than anyone,” nodded Stephan. His lips twisted into a small frown when he noticed that Hermione seemed visibly down at the idea of so many people disliking her for no good reason.

“Don’t take it personally,” reassured Stephan, “This is just what happens if you’re popular here, people are bound to idolize you. Last year, three different boys asked poor Andrea Sinistra to Slughorn’s Valentine’s Day party—the three of them all fought one another, it was actually quite funny to see them mouth off at one another in the hallway, Merlin were they creative—but point is, it’s really not your fault if anyone treats you differently. They’re just immature.”

“But I don’t blame anyone for disliking me. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to feel if they really like Sirius that much,” sighed Hermione, “I just wish they knew that Sirius and I are only friends, is all…”

“Well, here’s the thing.” Stephan leaned forward in his seat, sweeping his gaze to the left and right to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard before continuing. “Black doesn’t exactly have female friends. If people see one particular girl hanging around with him a lot, it’s generally assumed that they’re seeing each other.”

“That’s even worse, isn’t it?” frowned Hermione, “It’s not exactly comforting knowing that Sirius can’t normally have platonic relationships with girls.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” corrected Stephan, “I mean, I certainly don’t like Black—but no, he’s friendly enough with Evans and her circle. I meant more like—”

Stephan leaned in closer still as he said this; Hermione wasn’t sure how necessary this was, as what he was telling her was apparently well-known information.

“When we see Black spending a lot of time around a girl, we can basically assume that they’re having some sort of… Casual relationship, if you know what I mean.”

Hermione did indeed understand what he meant. She understood too well, perhaps—the idea of the general school population looking at her and Sirius and thinking that they had developed that sort of relationship made her face flush.

“So, what? He just dates around all year long, and exchanges them as if they’re trading cards?” asked Hermione hotly.

“No, I don’t think so,” sighed Stephan fairly, “Mind you, I would love to tear into Black right now. But each of his, er, partners seemed to understand that the relationship is purely physical.”

Hermione pursed her lips still. She wasn’t exactly shocked at this news, but she wasn’t all that thrilled that she was literally the first girl that Sirius wanted to just be close friends with. In her opinion, being able to make friends with people of differing gender identities should be a skill learned in primary school.

“They all know what they’re getting into, so we’ve never heard of a messy breakup,” carried on Stephan, “Besides Terri Thompson, that is… She got too attached halfway through. No one really blames her, of course, but it was rather exhausting to have her burst out of every other class in tears… Right in the middle of O.W.L.S. season, too—”

“Sirius broke up with some poor girl during O.W.L.S.?!” repeated Hermione, narrowing her eyes at once, “That’s just cruel!”

“Not during, but just before,” corrected Stephan, “To focus on the tests, likely. Still not the best of moves, I know, but he was just in his fifth year.”

“Still,” huffed Hermione, “I don’t like how all of this sounds. I’m going to ask him about all of this later.”

“And you should,” nodded Stephan, “Just to ensure his character development is consistent in all areas—I understand. Although, I would like to request that you keep my name out of all of this.”

“Why?” questioned Hermione, “Do you think he’s going to say something to you? You heard me tell him this morning, Stephan, he’ll stop going after you.”

“Well, you said that. I didn’t hear him saying that.”

“Oh, he will. Trust me,” said Hermione simply, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Slowly, Stephan smiled. “I like it when you put your mind to things. I think most of the world’s problems could be solved if someone put you in charge.”

“Well, you’re my friend,” emphasized Hermione, “And since Sirius is also my friend now—”

“Somehow—”

“I’ll make sure he leaves you alone during Muggle Studies,” continued Hermione, her lips curling up into a small smile. “Speaking of studies, we should really try to focus—”

“Yeah, he’d really do himself a favor by paying attention in that class,” interjected Stephan humorously, “It’s weird seeing him struggle in a class. I know for a fact he got Os and Es all across the board on his O.W.L.S—except for Muggle Studies, I think he barely scraped an A.”

Hermione remembered just then what Sirius had told her about only taking Muggle Studies to irritate his family. She thought it was amusing, the fact that Sirius continued to take a class he so clearly had no interest in, even after he was disowned; it really went to show just how far Sirius would go just to make a point.

“Well, if we want to do better than scrape up some As in our N.E.W.T.S., we should probably stop talking and get to work,” transitioned Hermione, indicating down to their parchment and textbooks before them.

“Right as always, Hermione,” grinned Stephan, “Back to work it is. Just thought you’d like the recent addition of the Sirius Series, Issue Number One.”

Hermione smiled as she reached into her bag for a hair tie. As much as she enjoyed speaking with Stephan, they had really wasted too much time speaking…

I have to concentrate, now, thought Hermione firmly, this Transfiguration assignment is going to take at least an hour.

While looking over the rest of her assignments in her planner, she gathered up all of her hair into a high ponytail—she typically found concentrating easier with all of her wild hair out of her face.

Hermione glanced up to see Stephan watching her, his eyes seemingly set on her hands in her hair.

“Is something wrong?” asked Hermione, finishing tying her hairband and picking up her quill, “I didn’t get ink in my hair, did I?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Stephan, his gaze suddenly snapping back into focus, “It’s nothing.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he instead busily looked back down at his notes.

In the moment, Hermione suddenly remembered—rather unwillingly, at that—what Sirius told her earlier that day at breakfast.

He’s got it bad for you. Isn’t it obvious?

At once, Hermione dismissed the thought, finding the idea ridiculous. Stephan was just friendly and expressed his affection more expressively than other people. Hermione reminded herself that she was wrong about the Hogsmeade outing being a date, and she was probably just as wrong in thinking for even half a second that her current closest friend had a crush on her.

Besides, Hermione always considered herself to be exceptionally perceptive of the feelings of those around her—certainly, if Stephan had a crush on Hermione, she would easily be able to tell.

With this self-reassurance, Hermione started on her homework at last. (Although, it took her a bit longer to stop thinking about Stephan, Sirius, and the girls across the library that were still staring at her.)

--

Two entire weeks went by with little occasion. In Hermione’s opinion, the fact that these two weeks had passed so ordinarily was actually rather peculiar.

Hermione couldn’t recall the last time this much time had passed without any stand-out moment or occasion. Perhaps the only notable change would be the slow, steady development of her many new friendships, as Hermione had grown to be more comfortable around Sirius and his friends. Hermione had even eaten a few meals with Lily and her friends, and would now wave hi to all of them if they crossed paths in the hallways.

Hermione tried not to spend too much time thinking about her budding relationships with all of these people, lest she spiral back into another guilt-ridden panic attack. Although, she couldn’t help but continue to think about how strange it was for her and Sirius to have gotten as close as they were.

Sometimes, she felt that this may have been due to how particularly eager Sirius seemed to get closer to Hermione, with his constant offers of eating together and walking to class together—which led Hermione to wonder if Sirius was only being this nice because he wanted to be forgiven faster.

Hermione had told Sirius on Christmas that she would be able to forgive him soon, but when she thought about actually saying the words out loud—her mind would immediately think to everything he ever did to make her uncomfortable and frustrated. But, at the same time, Sirius did seem to be genuinely interested in being friends, and seemed perfectly willing to wait until Hermione was ready.

But, besides all of these rather trivial thoughts, Hermione held that the past two weeks had been blissfully uneventful. In fact, it wasn’t until the Monday of the second week did something noticeable take place:

Hermione was late for class.

She walked into Potions just as the bell rang, which counted as late to Hermione. Sirius, who was sitting in the back with James, tsked at her jokingly as she hurried in. A few other students were also looking at Hermione, likely shocked that Hermione was the one late, and not Sirius.

“You’re lucky Slughorn’s still in his office,” said Sirius, “I don’t think you’d be able to survive the disappointment on a professor’s face if they saw that you were actually late.”

“I couldn’t find my textbook!” panted Hermione, having ran down to the dungeons. She scanned the room for an open seat. “It was underneath my bed, I had four minutes to make it down here…”

“Well, you better take a seat,” said James, “Good luck, by the way.”

“Good luck? What do you mean?” asked Hermione confusedly.

“That’s the only seat,” said Sirius lowly, tilting his head towards the front of the room. In the chair next to the open spot was a boy with greasy, gaunt hair—

“Oh, no,” groaned Hermione quietly, to which both James and Sirius snickered. But before she could say anything else, she heard the door to Slughorn’s office open, and she quickly rushed over to Snape’s table, taking a seat without looking at him.

Hermione wasn’t exactly excited for the next two hours; besides Snape obviously being her future Potions professor and a current Death-Eater-To-Be, she also hadn’t gotten around to planning for Snape in her personal notes… Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily—these were all people that Hermione undoubtedly wanted to save. But people like Snape and Peter? Hermione wasn’t as certain…

There were moments where she would step away from her notes and dissociate herself from her surroundings; in these moments, she felt like she was playing god, deciding who survived and how so. And as much as she detested Peter, and as conflicted as she was towards Snape, she knew that she couldn’t just ignore them… She’d have to address them, and soon…

Their task of the day was to brew up a Locating Potion—after the potion's consumption, the brewer would have an intrinsic sense of where the taker currently was (“If you concoct this delicate brew well enough, you’d be able to locate the taker from fifty miles away!” proclaimed Slughorn). Most of the class period passed uneventfully, aside from the occasional glance back from Sirius, giving encouraging thumbs-ups to Hermione.

With about fifteen minutes left in class, Snape suddenly spoke.

“A friend of mine would like to have a word with you,” said Snape curtly.

“What?”

Hermione blinked twice, looking up from her cauldron. Snape had just spoken to her, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring fixedly at his own cauldron, sprinkling in some powdery, white substance.

“That’s not in the ingredients list,” noted Hermione, more to herself than anything. Severus shot her a glance, just barely making eye contact with her.

“The potion needs to thicken. The thicker the potion, the longer its effects,” murmured Snape, “Muggle-brand cornstarch works better than the powdered tarantula fang. It’s very mild, so it doesn’t react to the Puffskein bile.”

“O-oh.”

Hermione always imagined Snape to be equally as nasty as a student as he was a professor—she would have never expected a calm explanation in response to a question, and found his response to be a pleasant surprise.

“Did you not hear me?” said Snape, “I said a friend of mine would like to have a word with you.”

“I heard you,” replied Hermione, picking up her stirrer once more, “I just… Wasn’t sure if you were speaking to me or not.”

“There’s no one else here,” drawled Snape, and with this, Hermione’s distaste towards Snape returned, “He wants to ask you about your parents.”

“My parents?” Hermione frowned, knowing at once that Snape’s friend was either misinformed or on to Hermione… The identity of said friend wasn’t difficult to guess.

“You’re talking about Regulus,” stated Hermione. Snape still refused to remove his gaze from his potion, but nodded once.

“Why does he want to ask about my parents?” asked Hermione slowly.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” replied Snape, “But the Black family has their connections to the Ministry, I’d imagine it’s related to that, somehow.”

Hermione pursed her lips at this, unconvinced. “Er… How urgent is it that I speak with him?”

“Not urgent enough for him ask you himself, clearly,” monotoned Snape, “But he requested that I ask you as soon as possible. He says that he’d like to speak with you sometime next week.”

Before Hermione could ask how to contact Regulus if she even wanted to speak with him, Professor Slughorn stood up from his desk and clapped his hands together. Hermione turned her gaze to Slughorn, decidedly pushing all thoughts of Regulus to the back of her mind for later.

“Times up, everyone!” called Slughorn. Snape’s potion had turned brilliantly pink, and was the consistency of melted cheese; Hermione’s potion was similar in color, but still seemed rather watery. Looking around, however, Hermione saw that she had at least been fortunate enough to have a pink potion—the potion of the Gryffindor boy sitting in front of her was a pale orange.

“And now, I’ll just have a look, here…” declared Slughorn as he began to pace throughout the dungeon, glancing at everyone’s cauldron. “No surprise here, Miss Evans, a perfect potion as always. This would last for a solid twenty minutes, too, I’d expect…”

Lily, sitting the front of the class, smiled at Slughorn’s praise. James, Hermione noticed, was watching her—when Lily smiled, so did he.

Slughorn continued to make rounds around the classroom. When coming across James and Sirius’s table, he nodded approvingly. He did the same for Remus’s potion, and grimaced very slightly at whatever Peter had in his cauldron.

As he strolled before Hermione and Snape’s table, his bushy eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise as he glanced down at their cauldrons.

“My, that consistency, Severus!” exulted Slughorn, “Excellent, just excellent… Oho.”

Slughorn pointed at Hermione’s own potion, clearly impressed. Hermione gave a small (yet pleased) smile in response.

“Well, this is the clear third-place potion!” proclaimed Slughorn, “And that says quite a lot, with Lily and Severus in this same dungeon.”

Severus seemed to react negatively to his name being said in the same sentence as Lily’s, slouching further down into his seat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Hermione,” beamed Slughorn, “I’d like to speak with you after class.”

Hermione left the dungeon with a Slug’s Club invitation in her hands.

Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter were all waiting for her outside the dungeon, an action that Hermione knew was likely due to Sirius’s request.

“What did Slughorn want to talk to you about?” asked Sirius as she exited the classroom. Remus was first to notice the invitation in her hand, recognizing it at once.

“Say, that’s an invitation to Professor Slughorn’s club,” smiled Remus, “Congratulations. Those aren’t easy to come by.”

“Aren’t any of you in his club?” asked Hermione in surprise, tucking the invitation away into her bag, “I thought for sure that at least one of you would be.”

“Nah,” said Sirius, “Me and James cause too much trouble. At least, we used to, so he’s not particularly fond of us.”

“Not after we blew up the dungeon that one time,” said Peter weakly, “He’s actually quite scary when he’s angry…”

“Which time?” asked James mindlessly, “I recall splattering those dungeon walls with potions two or three times. Only one of which was unintentional, by the way.”

They were now all walking back upstairs; their usual routine after class was to return to the common room (Hermione would return to her own room) and get a spot of homework done before dinner.

“I’ve been invited to a few of his parties here and there, but I don’t think he considers me a permanent member,” explained Remus, “I expect it’s because of my involvement in said explosions—I may not have been an active participant, but I was certainly a bystander.”

“But it’s no loss on your end, Moony,” grinned James, “I heard they’re a right bore, anyways—”

“But I’m sure you’ll have fun, Hermione,” put in Remus, “I hear the food he serves is well worth it.”

“What’d he say to you, anyway?” asked Sirius, who was walking to Hermione’s left.

“He said that he had heard from the other professors that I’ve done equally well in my other classes,” replied Hermione, actually rather pleased with herself. She couldn’t imagine that many people could state that they managed to be a member of the Slug Club twice.

“He even let me keep a small vial of the potion we brewed today,” added Hermione, “I don’t think I’ll ever use it, but I suppose it’ll look nice as a desk decoration.”

“That’s actually quite impressive. He only lets you keep a bit of your potion if he knows it was brewed well,” nodded Remus, “He lets Lily and Snape bottle theirs all the time.”

“Speaking of Snivvy,” said Sirius, glancing down at Hermione, “How was he? Not too terrible, I hope.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said Hermione honestly as they all treaded up yet another flight of stairs, “He actually spoke to me today. He told me that Regulus wanted to speak with me.”

“Regulus?” asked Sirius, immediately bewildered. Hermione wasn’t sure what he was more surprised at—the fact that his brother wanted to speak to her, or that Hermione was the one to bring up a sensitive topic. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Hermione, “He said he wanted to speak to me about my parents.”

“They work at the Ministry, yeah?” asked James, pushing his glasses up his nose, “That’s weird. Why would he want to ask about Hermione’s parents?”

“He doesn’t,” said Sirius at once, “It’s a cover-up, I’m sure of it. Regulus is never upfront about what he wants. Every other thing that comes out of his mouth is a cleverly-masked lie.”

Hermione knew that Sirius was partially saying this because he himself didn’t buy that her parents worked for the Ministry. But, he did seem to buy into the lie that she was half-blood, which she figured was good enough.

“That’s what I think, too,” agreed Peter, “I mean… Regulus could have just said so himself during meals, but he asked Snape to do it for some reason—"

“No, Regulus wouldn’t do that,” put in James, “Since Hermione either sits with us or Evans, now, and he’s not keen on running into neither us nor her.”

“I see it more as a tactic,” proposed Remus, “Regulus likely knows that you’ll try to evade him. Maybe he thinks that by asking Snape to ask you, that you won’t feel as threatened.”

“Which means he’s thought this out,” added on Sirius, “It’s important, whatever he needs to speak to you about.”

“Well, I can’t imagine what he’d want to speak with me about,” said Hermione darkly, “As I highly doubt it’s about my parents…”

“Try to avoid him for now,” advised Sirius as they finally came to the first floor, “Whatever he wants, it’s bad news. We can try to get to the bottom of this at dinner.”

But they were unable to uncover any possible motive behind Regulus’s action at dinner, and Hermione left the Great Hall (early, to study for Wednesday’s Herbology exam) equally as confused as she had been just an hour ago.

It wasn’t until a couple hours into Hermione’s studying did she suddenly realize that Snape never mentioned how Regulus would be reaching out to her, or when.

Her quill paused on the parchment as she realized this, stopping in the middle of her sentence discussing the properties of Sneezewort. Certainly, if Regulus truly wanted to speak with her, he would at least tell Snape how Hermione could even contact him.

But with only an hour and a half left until her meeting with Dumbledore, Hermione decided to shelve these thoughts for later; she had to focus on the upcoming test, after all. Despite everyone around her (and her gut) telling Hermione differently, she also considered the possibility that maybe Regulus’s intentions truly were non-malicious… It was unlikely, sure, but it was possible…

Innocent intentions or not, Hermione was fairly certain of one thing: she likely didn’t have to worry about contacting Regulus, as she had a strange feeling that she would be seeing him soon—whether she wanted to speak with him or not.

-

Later that night, Hermione made her way down to Dumbledore’s office with many rolls of parchment and the loaned copy of Torn Between Generations in her arms.

Hermione had been greatly looking forward to this meeting—between the book she had found and the Room of Requirement’s peculiar behavior, she had a lot to discuss with Dumbledore. That was, if she could make it to his office without dropping everything she was holding.

“Miss Granger,” greeted Dumbledore warmly as he opened his office door to let her in, “It’s been quite a while. I would ask you how your break went, of course, but I assume you would first like to put down everything you are holding.”

“Hello, Professor,” smiled Hermione, readjusting her many rolls of parchment, “And yes, that would be lovely.”

Minutes later, Hermione was situated in the cozy armchair across from Dumbledore’s desk. He glanced over many of her notes, nodding impressively at the ten scrolls she had alone dedicated to Torn Between Generations. The black time-turner too was on the desk, resting in a display case usually meant for intricate necklaces. Fawkes, resting on his stand beside the desk, blinked his long eyelashes as he looked curiously at the many piles of parchment.

“Excellent work, Miss Granger,” praised Dumbledore; Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, “Yes, this is all very interesting indeed… Ian Yahontov’s travels are particularly interesting. Fifty-four times he utilized that time-turner—surely, he was attempting to rectify a Fixed event.”

“I thought so, too,” agreed Hermione, “I also marked down how the book stated that we would have no idea if one’s attempt at rectifying time would be successful—only the rectifier themselves would know.”

“Yes, I see. But before we delve further into this,” Dumbledore waved a hand at all of the parchment, “I think I should first tell you where I have been for the past month. As you likely have guessed, I was not taking an early Christmas vacation.”

“Were you attempting to discover more about the time-turner, Professor?” asked Hermione curiously. Dumbledore nodded his head once.

“Yes, that too. But, in the midst of a war, I must admit that my efforts were mostly focused on other pressing matters. Not to say your situation isn’t of equal significance, Miss Granger.”

“No, I understand,” said Hermione honestly, “I’m sure you have plenty to do already, sir.”

“That much is true.” Dumbledore then looked at Hermione very carefully, glancing down once more at her notes.

“I was busy organizing plans for the Order,” said Dumbledore simply. He then looked back to Hermione. “I assume you know what the Order is, yes?”

“Er…” stalled Hermione, unsure of how much of her knowledge she should reveal, “Yes, I do.”

“Have you given any thought to joining the Order yourself, Miss Granger?”

The question caught Hermione so off guard that she wasn’t able to manage a response for a few seconds, simply blinking at Dumbledore. He waited patiently for her response, his blue eyes glimmering through his spectacles.

“No, I haven’t,” said Hermione finally, “Not at all, actually.”

“I would advise that you consider it,” recommended Dumbledore, “You have been working on how to save the lives of certain friends, yes?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I have… I don’t have anything down for certain yet, but I’ve given multiple people a great deal of thought.”

“After you graduate this year, you will need to maintain contact with these people,” said Dumbledore. His gaze then hardened somewhat. “Given the nature of war, I believe I can correctly assume that some of these people you intend to protect will be in the Order.”

Exactly that, actually, thought Hermione, but she remained quiet; with every meeting with Dumbledore, she was always a bit unsure on what exactly to tell Dumbledore. Wise as ever, he seemed to sense this in Hermione.

“Don’t feel pressured to tell me any details you don’t deem necessary, Miss Granger,” reassured Dumbledore, “I understand you want to avoid any unintentional involvement. But I also wish to advise you to the best of my ability—which is quite difficult when you are attempting to know as little as possible, I must say.”

“I understand, Professor,” replied Hermione with a small smile. She paused for a couple of seconds before continuing to speak. “Were you able to learn more about the time-turner, sir?”

Dumbledore smiled grimly at Hermione, folding his hands in front of him. “Alas, I was not. Of course, I was only able to dedicate one full week to the time-turner, which almost certainly means I have not covered every possibility yet.

“So far, I have found that the time-turner was never Ministry approved or officially documented,” continued Dumbledore, “But that was information that we had already guessed ourselves… I will definitely be looking more into the matter, yes… This is no ordinary time-turner.”

Dumbledore indicated to the time-turner in its display case. Hermione thought—unfortunate as it was to think, given what the instrument had done to her—that the time-turner actually looked quite beautiful when presented like this.

Hermione was heading back to her room after just another hour in Dumbledore’s office.

They didn’t have too much to discuss, as the main purpose of Hermione’s note-taking was to provide evidence for Dumbledore’s theories. Additionally, Hermione’s questions regarding the Room of Requirement didn’t pique Dumbledore’s interest as much as she thought they would; in fact, Dumbledore seemed rather unsurprised when she described its strangely inconsistent behavior.

She hadn’t even mentioned the Head Boy and Girl’s bathroom before Dumbledore had responded with: “Yes, I’m not surprised to hear that the Room of Requirement acts erratically… Especially given the fact that the Room seems to have a relationship with you specifically, given that it presented the time-turner to you. As many have said before, this castle has many minds of its own—and I would venture to guess that the Room has decided it knows what you want better than you.”

Hermione, who had already figured the last bit out for herself, decided then to just drop the issue entirely and refocus on her notes.

If I can somehow find evidence suggesting that these deaths aren’t Fixed, thought Hermione as she proceeded to her usual route back to her room, then I’ll be able to confidently carry on with my plans…

Hermione was walking down the first-floor corridor back to her room, her book clutched to her chest, when she heard a soft rustling noise behind her.

Stopping mid-step, Hermione turned her head to look for the source of the noise—at first, she guessed that a professor had seen her wandering the halls late at night and was about to tell her off. But in the light of the candles lining the walls, Hermione wasn’t able to see anything.

Somewhat uneased, Hermione quickly walked to her room. She was absolutely certain she had heard something, and now felt like she was being watched.

Well, maybe I am being watched, thought Hermione humorously as she safely shut her bedroom door behind her. She sat down at her desk on which her Herbology notes were still scattered, deciding to study for another thirty minutes before heading to bed.

The castle has many minds of its own, after all.

--

“Hermione, check my pulse—really, do it—you feel how it’s slowing down? I feel faint, and I think I’m about to—about to pass away—”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, it’s just a project—”

“A project with literally the most annoying person on the planet—”

“Stephan is not annoying!”

“You say that now in the honeymoon phase, but just give it a couple of weeks, you’ll get sick of him soon enough—”

“Do you think you two could bicker somewhere else?” asked Remus loudly from across the common room—he was currently sat at one of the tables working on an assignment, “I can hear you two from all the way over here, you know.”

Friday had at last arrived; after eating dinner with Sirius and his friends, Hermione decided to join them in the common room. While they would usually be playing wizarding cards at this hour, Sirius was too busy complaining to focus on anything else; he had been assigned a project in Muggle Studies the previous day, and had been complaining about said project ever since.

As such, Remus had started on his homework, and Peter and James had retreated upstairs to use the showers before the dormitory bathrooms got too crowded; this left just Hermione and Sirius sitting by the fireplace.

The project, Hermione knew, was simple enough—research any Muggle documentation covering a magic-related incident, analyze the documents for Muggle Rationalizations of Magic, and then present the findings. Sirius didn’t seem particularly bothered about the actual contents of the project, of course—no, he was upset because he had been partnered with Stephan Diaz.

“Sorry, Remus,” replied Hermione, shooting a look at Sirius, “I’m just trying to reason with Sirius.”

“A presentation! I have to prepare a presentation, and with a partner!” huffed Sirius indignantly, his arms crossed. “I’ve never had to do anything like this in my entire Hogwarts career. Why can’t we just write an essay like every other class?”

“Because, this is how Muggle classes work, Sirius,” repeated Hermione for what must have been the fifth time, now, “These types of assignments are common in Muggle schools.”

“Well, that’s stupid, isn’t it?” muttered Sirius, “I’m not in Muggle school.”

“You can’t sign up for Muggle Studies and then be confused that you’re expected to do Muggle tasks, Sirius!” insisted Hermione, “It won’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, it will be,” retorted Sirius, “Unless, that is, you’ve reconsidered—”

“Absolutely not. I’m not going to accompany you to your first meeting with Stephan.”

“Please, Hermione,” groaned Sirius, slouching down in his armchair, “He’ll talk my ear off if you aren’t there as a buffer.”

“No! I’m not your babysitter,” reiterated Hermione, “Also, just because Stephan likes talking to me, doesn’t mean he likes talking to everyone. Namely, you.”

“Oh, please,” said Sirius with a wrinkled nose, “I’m sure he’d prefer doing more than just talking with you—no no no I didn’t mean that please don’t leave,” pleaded Sirius quickly, for Hermione had just began to stand up.

“I’m not doing it, Sirius,” said Hermione with a note of finality, sitting back down. “You are a wizard of legal age, I’m sure you can handle this on your own.”

“Okay. Okay, Hermione, I have a proposal,” began Sirius, sitting up in his armchair and turning to Hermione, “You’re right, you shouldn’t accompany me to my own academic affairs. However—”

“Sirius,” said Hermione warningly.

“Just let me finish, okay? As I was saying, while you don’t have to ‘babysit me’—” Sirius used air quotations, “—I would greatly appreciate it if you were to, perhaps, invite him to eat lunch with us tomorrow.”

“Why?” asked Hermione suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at him, “You’ve spent all day yesterday and today saying that you can’t stand him. Why do you want to spend extra time with him?”

“Well, if we invite him to eat with us, we could nail down some details that don’t require any research and avoid an awkward first meeting,” explained Sirius, “You know, details we can discuss in just five minutes. When to meet, where to meet, all the like.”

“This still sounds like babysitting to me. And besides, Stephan’s a Ravenclaw, he might feel strange eating at our table.”

“You ate at the Ravenclaw table before the last Quidditch match, I’m sure he can return the favor.”

“Yes, but that was different—”

“How was that in any way different?”

Yet, despite Hermione’s constant protesting, Sirius had somehow managed to convince Hermione to get Stephan to eat lunch with them the following day at the end of the night.

Hermione left the common room an hour later rather confused on how Sirius had managed to worm his way once again into her usually strongly-held opinions.

How does he always get what he wants? wondered Hermione. Sure, she wasn’t opposed to eating lunch with Stephan and Sirius, but she was certain that the upcoming conversations would be very awkward indeed.

The next morning, Hermione walked to the library to find Stephan and request his presence at lunch. As expected, Stephan was sitting at their usual table, hunched over and working on some homework. He looked up from his work when he noticed someone sitting across from him, blinking in surprise and then smiling when he saw Hermione.

“Good morning, Stephan,” said Hermione pleasantly, “I didn’t realize you were serious when you said you do your homework first thing in the morning on weekends.”

“I never tell a lie, Hermione Granger,” grinned Stephan, setting down his quill, “But may I ask why you’ve come to join me this fine morning? I would assume that you’ve come to join me in completing work, but as you don’t have your bag with you, I imagine that would be hard to do.”

“I actually have a favor to ask of you,” began Hermione, trying to keep her voice light and casual. She actually wasn’t sure how Stephan would react to her proposal. “It’s about your Muggle Studies project, the one you’re doing with Sirius.”

“Ah, yes,” nodded Stephan, “And as I told you yesterday in Charms, I’m still not thrilled at the choice of partnership. Did I tell you that Professor Flynn wrote all of our names on popsicle sticks and pulled them out of a goblet to partner us up? Mad, I’m telling you, that woman.”

“Well, Sirius was actually wondering if you would eat lunch with us today,” said Hermione, looking down at her hands, “Just me and him. He said he wants to go over basic details of when to meet, what topics you’d be interested in—stuff like that.”

Hermione glanced back up at Stephan, for he had gone silent. He was currently looking at Hermione, clearly puzzled.

“What’s he trying to do?” asked Stephan, unease clear in his voice.

“Stephan, he’s not trying to do anything,” promised Hermione, forcing down a laugh—she found it humorous that everyone naturally assumed that Sirius had ill intentions, “Really, I promise. I wouldn’t be asking you if I thought he was up to something.”

Stephan sat back in his seat, his eyes rolling into his head as he gave the offer a good ten seconds’ thought.

“Alright, I’ll come eat lunch with you two,” decided Stephan at last, “I’ll just tell Adama and Robert that I won’t be eating with them today.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Hermione, a smile spreading over her face, “I’ll go tell Sirius—when he wakes up, that is—he basically sleeps until noon on weekends.”

“Hmm. This might actually be a good thing,” debated Stephan, tapping his chin with his finger, “If you’re there, he’s much less likely to make fun of me.”

Lunchtime rolled around, and Hermione walked into the Great Hall with Sirius, having returned to the Gryffindor common room before lunch. To her surprise, Stephan was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, rereading the book Hermione had gotten him for Christmas.

“He’s sitting there like he belongs there,” said Sirius under his breath, “Like he isn’t some invader.”

“You invited him to sit with us,” hissed Hermione as they neared where Stephan was sitting, “Now, try to pretend to be mature for the next thirty minutes, please. Must I remind you that I’m doing you a favor?”

“Let’s hope he does me the favor of shutting up—hello, Diaz,” said Sirius flatly, as Stephan was now in earshot. Stephan looked up from his book, setting it down as Hermione and Sirius sat across from him.

“Hello!” replied Stephan, smiling warmly. Sirius, of course, did not return the gesture. “And hello to you too, Hermione. Nice of you to supervise us today.”

“Anytime,” said Hermione, giving Sirius a sideways look. He seemed to be pretending that he hadn’t heard that last comment. “Did you get a lot of homework done?”

“No, actually,” said Stephan, “I decided to instead do some research on possible topics for the project. You know, just to have some ideas in mind.”

“Well, do you have any ideas on what you might want to research, Sirius?” asked Hermione, helping herself to a turkey and cheese sandwich.

“No, I hab not,” replied Sirius thickly through a mouthful of food. Hermione made a face of disgust, and thankfully, Sirius swallowed his bite before continuing. “But you tell me, Diaz. What have you thought up so far? We could just use one of your ideas.”

“Well, I actually have three ideas as of now,” began Stephan excitedly, holding up three fingers. He wiggled his first finger, “One, we learned in class that Muggles have a really warped view of what happened in the second World War. I’ve selected a few notable wizarding battles that are sure to be documented differently in the Muggle world.”

“No thanks,” replied Sirius, “If we cover anything war-related, it’ll be like extra homework from Binns.”

“Er, okay… Going far back, many ancient civilizations were Muggle and wizard-integrated. So, many structures were created by wizards, and Muggles today haven’t got a clue—”

“You mean the Pyramids, yeah?” interjected Sirius, “I expect half the class is going to present on those.”

“Okay,” said Stephan once more, his smile almost completely gone now. Hermione pursed her lips, quietly eating her sandwich. Part of her wanted to intervene and tell Sirius to be nicer, but she decided to remain silent for now. “How about Muggle hospitals and medicine, then? There are hundreds of magic-related cases every year that get reported to Muggle hospitals—”

“What are we going to do, write to Muggle hospitals for their records? Most of those cases end up rerouting to St. Mungo’s, anyways.”

“Well, then do you have any specific ideas?” asked Stephan, beginning to look a little cross at Sirius’s constant rejections, “That’s all I’ve thought up so far.”

“I haven’t got a single clue,” shrugged Sirius, “Flynn was so vague with the project. Honestly, a bit more guidance would have been useful.”

“Why don’t you take advantage of the fact that her assignment was vague?” asked Hermione, at this point fed up with Sirius herself, “She said that all you have to do is research Muggle documented events. Why don’t you pick a film or documentary that covers magic-related events, if you’re so easily bored?”

There were a couple moments of silence where Sirius and Stephan looked at each other before looking to Hermione.

“Of course, that’s brilliant,” stated Sirius obviously, “You’re the only one out of us who actually grew up around Muggles. What are we doing talking to each other when we could be talking to you?”

“Sirius, this isn’t my project nor my responsibility,” replied Hermione tersely, “I’m just trying to give you some ideas, since you very rudely shot down all of Stephan’s.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Hermione—that’s much better than any of my ideas,” beamed Stephan, “And interesting, too! For our presentation, we could use Professor Flynn’s overhead projector and include stills from the documentary. Well, she probably won’t let us operate it, since she fixed it up with magic and it's not exactly stable, but I’m sure if we print out the photographs ourselves—oh, that’s exciting, we can find out a way to order some Muggle photographs, the ones that don’t move, you know—”

Stephan, who was eagerly explaining his current train of thought, suddenly stopped and instead glanced up, looking at something above Sirius and Hermione’s heads.

“Hello. Can we help you?” asked Stephan brightly. Hermione and Sirius both turned around to find—

“Regulus, you little shithead, what are you doing here?” glared Sirius.

Indeed, it was Regulus standing before them, hands in his pockets. He merely wrinkled his nose at Sirius, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he currently was. And yet, here he was.

“Don’t wet yourself, I’m not here for you,” jeered Regulus. He then tilted his head towards Hermione, “I wanted to speak with Granger.”

“Oh,” said Hermione—she expected that Regulus would come to find her at some point. She just didn’t think that he would be doing it here in the Great Hall, in view of all his friends. “Is this about what Snape said, then?”

Regulus nodded, but Sirius spoke up before Regulus could even open his mouth again to respond.

“What are you doing here over at the Gryffindor table? Won’t your slimy little friends judge you for standing so close to us?”

“Well, I was going to wait until you two left the Great Hall, but after seeing Diaz here, I figured I too may as well crash the Gryffindor table,” shrugged Regulus. He looked down at Hermione, his expression plain.

“Severus told you that I wanted to speak with you, then?” asked Regulus, “About your family.”

“Yes, he did,” replied Hermione, “In Potions last week.”

“And have you considered—”

“I know what you’re doing,” interjected Sirius, still glaring at his younger brother, “You think that by asking Hermione to speak privately in front of me, that I’ll think that you don’t mean any harm. But your reverse psychology won’t work on me.”

“How many mental loops did that conclusion take?” asked Regulus, immediately turning to Sirius, “I suspect that’s the most exercise your brain’s had in years. Sorry to hurt your ego, dear brother, but this isn’t about you.”

“I don’t care who it’s about, you’re always up to something,” snapped Sirius, “Don’t think just because you’ve stopped coming after me that I won’t be on the lookout for you.”

“Er, Sirius,” paced Hermione, glancing around; the surrounding students had turned to observe the unfolding argument, “I appreciate that you care, but I think I can handle this by myself.”

“Yes, she can manage herself,” sneered Regulus down at Sirius, “And besides. If you’d let me speak, you’d realize that I’m not asking her to speak in private. The exact opposite, actually.”

Regulus looked back to Hermione before Sirius could snap out another retort.

“Slughorn’s told me that you’re a new member,” said Regulus, “Do you mind if we speak at the upcoming party? Just for a short while.”

Stephan, who had remained quiet since Regulus arrived at their table, suddenly choked out, “What?”

“Er…” trailed Hermione, looking confusedly to Stephan, whose eyes had grown to the size of Galleons.

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Hermione, “I’ll set aside a few minutes.”

“Great,” nodded Regulus before Sirius could interject once more, “That’s all, then. Talk to you soon.”

Regulus stalked off; Sirius looked beyond enraged. Of course, his anger was obviously not aimed at Hermione—he watched Regulus as he walked away, glowering at his back.

“Why did you say yes?” muttered Sirius under his breath, “I’m telling you, he’s lying.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Hermione smartly, “But what can he do to me at a public party? I’ll just hear him out. Besides, I’m curious what he has to say.”

“Er, excuse me,” piped up Stephan, whose eyes were still wide in bewilderment, “Since when have you been in the Slug Club? And why haven’t you told me?”

“I—well, I hadn’t realized that I never told you,” said Hermione honestly, “I didn’t think it was too big a deal—”

“Not a big deal?” repeated Stephan incredulously, “Hermione, we’re nearing the end of January, and February draws closer and closer—surely, you must realize what event that invitation is for!”

“Well, of course I do. It’s for his Valentine’s Day celebration, it said so right there on the invitation—”

This time, Sirius was the one who was shocked, snorting suddenly into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

“What?” asked Sirius as he placed his goblet down, hastily wiping his mouth, “You didn’t tell me the invitation was to the Valentine’s Day party!”

“I didn’t think it was that important,” said Hermione once more, looking at Stephan and Sirius’s appalled faces in confusion. She certainly didn’t remember any type of Valentine’s Day celebration during her sixth year. “Is it that popular of an event?”

“Well, not really—but also, yeah, kind of,” said Sirius, turning completely in his seat to face Hermione, “Because it’s not just any old Slug Club party. He hosts it in The Three Broomsticks.”

“There’s always a Hogsmeade trip mid-February,” explained Stephan in response to Hermione’s confusion, “So he rents out the bottom floor of The Three Broomsticks and orders catering and live music. Some famous Hogwarts alumni who were also in Slug Club attend, too. Last year, the seeker for the Appleby Arrows was there, and everyone crowded outside The Three Broomsticks until she came back out.”

“Basically, it’s the most interesting event of the year,” summarized Sirius, “But it’s pretty exclusive. Only members and their dates are allowed in.”

“But why?” asked Hermione, still confused, “It’s just Valentine’s Day. Are his Christmas parties this elaborate, as well?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” replied Stephan, “There’s no way Slughorn would be able to book any venue in Hogsmeade around Christmas time. Valentine’s Day is notable enough to celebrate, but not too important where bookings are too expensive.”

“I still don’t understand the point behind all of this,” sighed Hermione. If this event was that big of a deal, she’d have to put in an order for formal wear sometime later this week—all this trouble for a Valentine’s Day party?

“I don’t expect you understand the point of any party at all,” said Sirius with a crooked grin, “Some of us like to have this thing called ‘fun’.”

“Hey, it’s not our fault that people like us greatly value the true fun of learning,” smiled Stephan jokingly, “That said, I absolutely would not give up the opportunity to go to this party. I hear the catering is just fantastic.”

“Obviously, I’ll be going no matter what,” said Hermione, picking her sandwich back up, “I just didn’t realize it was that big of a deal, is all. And I also didn’t realize that I was expected to bring a date.”

The moment the word date left Hermione’s lips, both Stephan and Sirius snapped their gazes to Hermione’s.

At once, Hermione froze, holding her sandwich just inches from her face. Because at that moment, Hermione realized that if she was going to ask anyone at all to be her date, her only real options would be the two boys currently eating lunch with her.

And, in the three seconds of silence in which Stephan and Sirius looked to Hermione, she was fairly certain that they had realized this fact for themselves, as well.

Luckily, Sirius was well versed in turning awkward situations into tolerable ones.

“Hermione Granger with a date,” restated Sirius, “I take back what I said earlier. That would be the most interesting event of the year.”

“Very funny,” said Hermione flatly, to which Sirius let out a laugh. But she was grateful to Sirius for breaking the tension, even if his methods were at her expense. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this lunch.”

“If you’re pressed for options, Hermione,” said Stephan lightly, his usual grin having returned to his face, “I would just like to throw my name into the running. I have many admirable characteristics as a potential plus one—one, I am mediocre at dancing. Two, I really, really want to try that catering.”

“You really think she’s going to ask you?” scoffed Sirius, looking to Stephan, “That’s delusional. I think we all know who she’s going to ask.”

“And who may that be?” questioned Hermione, placing her sandwich back on her plate. For some reason, she no longer had much of an appetite.

“Well, Peter, of course.”

Stephan, who was mid-chew, choked as he laughed at this. Hermione knew that they just were joking with her, but she also knew that these jokes were veiling their genuine desire to attend this elaborate party.

They wrapped up lunch in about ten minutes (with only three of said minutes consisting of Sirius poking fun at Hermione’s date-task); Sirius and Stephan agreed on Hermione’s idea to find a Muggle documentary and decided to meet that Wednesday in the library. While Hermione returned to her room pleased that lunch had gone well, she felt as though she had left the Great Hall more stressed than she had felt upon entering.

For the next upcoming weeks, Hermione had quite a bit on her plate; she was to think on Dumbledore’s suggestion to join the Order next year, and she also wasn’t finished thinking about just why Regulus wanted to speak with her—and, of course, there were the usual tests and heaps of homework that Hermione had to keep on top of.

And yet, at that moment, Hermione felt that her most nerve-wracking task for the upcoming month would be to decide on a date to the Valentine’s Day party.

Chapter Text

January passed at Hogwarts, leaving the chilled winter airs with promises of February sweets. For the first time in his life, Sirius understood the passion and desire behind Valentine’s Day.

Sure, this was partially because of Hermione, but Sirius mostly felt like this because of his passionate desire to physically maim Stephan Diaz.

His intense dislike for the freckled brunet furthered significantly on Wednesday during lunch. His mates had finished eating early that afternoon to leave Sirius and Hermione alone, an act that Sirius would always be grateful for. However, with the following conversation, Sirius ended up wishing that they had stayed behind.

“They seem to go to the owlery quite a lot, don’t they?” asked Hermione as she watched James rush Remus and Peter out of the Great Hall, “They’re definitely putting orders in for dungbombs or something of the sort.”

“As long as they order enough for me, I don’t mind,” shrugged Sirius, “Anyways, what are you doing later? Given that we’re done with classes for the day.”

“Oh, don’t remind me—I have plenty of assignments to keep me busy,” said Hermione. She then began to recite her day’s schedule, all while looking very fixedly at her plate of food. Sirius found this to be very cute. “Firstly, I have to study for next week’s Arithmancy test. And then there’s that Runes translation due next week, and I’m only halfway done. And I haven’t even started on our Charms homework—I’m so behind.”

“That homework isn’t due until next week,” put in Sirius, “What do you mean you’re behind? You’re the exact opposite of behind, considering I haven’t even given a single thought to that assignment.”

“Well, I always check our Charms assignments with Stephan before they’re due, and we agreed on doing that this Sunday,” explained Hermione. At the mere mention of Diaz’s name, Sirius wrinkled his nose—the action felt almost involuntary at this point. Hermione saw this, huffing in response.

“Oh, what is it with you and Stephan?” asked Hermione, “I still don’t understand why you seem to dislike him so much.”

“I don’t dislike him. I’m just astounded that you’re able to spend so much time with someone so exceedingly annoying.”

“For the last time, he is not annoying,” replied Hermione tersely, “And again, I suggest that you try and keep an open mind. It’s good to have friends in other houses.”

“I don’t care that he’s in Ravenclaw. I like Ravenclaw house. I can assure you that if he were in Gryffindor house, I’d hate him just as much,” promised Sirius.

“Sirius!”

“What? You keep saying I dislike him, so I’m leaning into it,” defended Sirius, throwing his hands out in front of him, “I’m just saying, there’s a reason most people in our year don’t get on with him. I can’t imagine that he’d be any more tolerable in, say, a formal event in which people are expected to act appropriately.”

Hermione then gave a cross look to Sirius, and he looked innocently back at her. For the past three days, he had been trying to convince Hermione that he was the better date for Slughorn’s party.

“You and Stephan both keep asking me about the party,” huffed Hermione, stabbing at her sliced turkey with her fork, “I’ll have you know that I considered not bringing anyone at all.”

“But then you don’t get to see me in my suit!” protested Sirius at once, frowning, “Trust me, it’ll be a monumental moment for you.”

Hermione snorted, looking unimpressed. “Shockingly, that doesn’t help your case as much as you think it does.”

“Well, it should. Besides, who else do you have to ask?” Sirius raised his eyebrows at Hermione. “We’re your best options. And I’m the best out of the two.”

“Oh, please don’t put it like that. That’s such a horrific statement to hear out of context.”

Sirius let out a laugh in response. “You definitely spend too much time with me,” grinned Sirius, “You’re getting too good at saying things that could potentially hurt someone’s feelings.”

Sirius had expected a laugh or another cheeky response at this. But instead, Hermione just looked at him a bit strangely.

“Actually, that reminds me,” said Hermione slowly, putting down her fork. “Recently I’ve been, er, noticing how some people have reacted to us being friends.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sirius plainly, “I take it you’re talking about everyone’s reaction to us actually being able to stand each other. But it’s been a month, everyone’s gotten accustomed.”

“No, I mean more so the fact that…” Hermione paused here, refusing to look up at Sirius, “Oh, I don’t know how to say it—but basically, I was talking to Stephan, and he was talking about how a lot of people may look at us being friends and, well, misinterpret the kind of relationship we have.”

“… You’ve lost me,” said Sirius. In reality, he had a decent idea of where Hermione was going with this; he just really hoped that he was wrong in his assumption, as a conversation about his past “relationships” was the last conversation he fancied having with Hermione. “Do you think you could be more specific?”

“Well, Stephan said that whenever you spend a lot of time around a girl, most people assume that you’re in a casual relationship with her,” Hermione said stoutly.

“Diaz told you that?” balked Sirius, feeling flames of fury seep through his veins. He could feel himself panic slightly—Sirius didn’t feel that he had anything to be guilty of, but he was certain that Diaz twisted every word he possibly could. “What sort of rubbish did he tell you?”

“Don’t be cross with him, he was just warning me of how I may be perceived,” replied Hermione tartly, “He just said—well—he told me that you aren’t well known for having, you know—”

Words failed to leave Hermione’s mouth in complete sentences. Sirius noticed that her face was flushing with tones of pink, and that she was having difficulty maintaining eye contact with Sirius. He wasn’t sure why she was being so awkward when it was Sirius who was going to have to desperately defend his own character.

“What? Long-lasting relationships?” completed Sirius.

“No—well, yes, but I meant more so that—he said that you don’t really have platonic friends that are girls,” corrected Hermione hastily, “And while I suppose there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, it just doesn’t feel right when you put it right next to the fact that you only have physical relationships with girls.”

“I—what did he tell you?” asked Sirius loudly, absolutely scandalized. He could sense a few students in their general vicinity turning to stare, but his current rage towards Stephan Diaz was too strong for him to care.

I swear if that twat has been feeding her stories taken out of context—

“He told me that you dumped some poor girl just before O.W.L.S.,” replied Hermione coldly, crossing her arms.

“I—Terri Thompson?” sputtered Sirius, “She was insane! Just ask anyone, every other girl I’ve been with has nothing bad to say about me—”

Hermione scoffed loudly, shooting Sirius a nasty look.

“Every other girl? What are we, collectibles?” interjected Hermione, “And I’m so sick of boys calling every other girl mad just because she has completely valid emotions.”

“Yeah?” fumed Sirius, vividly picturing himself delivering an uppercut punch to Diaz, “Would you call destruction of property valid emotions? As in, sneaking into my dormitory and tearing up letters from my parents just because I had asked Marlene McKinnon to compare Charms homework?”

To Sirius’s relief, Hermione’s composure changed, her frustration slowly seeping away as she considered these words.

“… I’m sorry for assuming,” said Hermione after a few seconds. Her tone indicated that she wasn’t completely over Sirius’s history with women, but Sirius was grateful that she was still even listening to him, “I didn’t know the details.”

“Don’t be sorry. I hid those letters away because they technically classified as hate mail, but I think she took that to mean they were special to me,” sighed Sirius, “No one knows the specifics of what happened. All they saw was Terri Thompson sobbing in class and me trying to pretend that everything was fine.”

Hermione’s lips were pursed together in deep thought, probably still not thinking the best of Sirius and his past relationships. So Sirius decided to keep building his case.

“Terri Thompson was the first girl I ever dated, if you would even call it dating,” continued Sirius, “I didn’t really know how dating worked, how to treat your girlfriend, everything like that. By the time I realized I only liked her for her looks and not for who she actually was—I know that sounds terrible on my end, but trust me, she is not someone you want to be around—she had already decided that we were going to be married after graduation.”

“I… I suppose I can’t be upset with you when it was your first relationship,” reasoned Hermione with a sigh, “But still—did you have to break things off right before O.W.L.S.?”

“I wanted to do well on those tests, too,” defended Sirius, “But she refused to let me have a second of my own time. There’s no way I would have been able to concentrate with her following me around.”

“Well, alright—that’s all understandable, but what about the fact that everyone around us assumes that we’re together because you don’t have any friends that are girls?” added Hermione, but she sounded significantly less annoyed with Sirius now. Luckily, Diaz hadn’t filled her head with too many lies.

“I don’t mean to come off as conceited, but a lot of girls aren’t interested in being just friends with me,” replied Sirius, “Every other relationship I had after Terri started because the other girl approached me first. But after everything that happened with Terri, I made sure to make it clear that I wasn’t interested in a proper relationship.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but closed it after a few moments of thought. The most painfully awkward twenty seconds of Sirius’s life followed, in which both Hermione and Sirius avoided each other’s eye. Sirius couldn’t imagine that his chances with Hermione could get even lower—not only did Hermione obviously have zero idea that Sirius liked her, but up until this point, Hermione seemed to think that no girl at all should ever date Sirius.

“Anything else I need to clear up?” asked Sirius finally, pushing away his half-eaten lunch. Unsurprisingly, he had lost his appetite.

“No,” replied Hermione. She was still heavily avoiding looking at Sirius’s face, but seemed to be doing so out of embarrassment instead of anger, which Sirius supposed was an improvement. “I’m—I’m sorry I assumed—”

“Don’t apologize, I hate apologies,” interrupted Sirius, “It’s fine, alright? We can just drop it altogether. Unless there’s anything else you need me to explain.”

Hermione shook her head quickly, her brown curls bouncing around her as she did so. Hastily, she continued to eat her lunch, and Sirius felt like she was only eating so that she could do something with her hands.

After an entire minute of not speaking, Sirius could no longer stand the silence. He imagined that Hermione likely wouldn’t appreciate Sirius attempting humor so soon after an argument, but he felt like it was appropriately on-brand for him.

“So does this permanently affect my chances for being your plus one?” asked Sirius carefully.

To Sirius’s delight, Hermione mustered a weak smile at this. Not all hope is lost.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said lightly, still picking at her sliced turkey, “I promise that nothing you have said today has affected my decision.”

“Your decision? You’ve already decided?” Sirius’s eyes widened, leaning forward in great anticipation. “Who did you pick? Is it me? Don’t tell me you picked Diaz after all the lies he told you.”

“He wasn’t lying, he was just misinformed,” corrected Hermione stiffly, “But I’m not telling you who I picked. And I’m not telling Stephan, either, so don’t go pestering him about it.”

“But you’re going to have to tell us eventually, we’ll have to get our formal wear ready,” protested Sirius, “We’d only have a week’s time to find a tie that matches your dress! And by we, I mean me, because please tell me if you’ve picked me.”

“No one has to know my decision yet. You’ll know when you have to know,” maintained Hermione.

Sirius continued to hound Hermione on her decision for the rest of the lunch, pretending to get increasingly frustrated. But in all honesty, he was relieved that the lunch hadn’t ended in Hermione storming off; based on what she had assumed to be true about Sirius, he wouldn’t have entirely blamed her if she did. He was mostly thankful that she was willing to listen to his side of the story.

When they split ways after lunch to focus on their respective studies, Hermione reminded Sirius of his meeting with Diaz later that night. And while Sirius hadn’t forgotten about the meeting, he was trying very hard to pretend that it didn’t exist—because after all that had happened at lunch, he wasn’t looking forward to this upcoming meeting.  

-

The next few hours of the day slipped by far too quickly, and Sirius really was not looking forward to his meeting with Stephan Diaz in the library.

While a large portion of Sirius’s dislike towards Diaz was because of his close relationship with Hermione, Sirius also just found him to be extremely annoying in general. Diaz’s favorite thing to do was talk, and Sirius had never been a fantastic listener. And it certainly didn’t help that his overall opinion of Diaz had significantly worsened after what Hermione reported back to Sirius.

However, due to Hermione’s insistence, Sirius decided to not confront Diaz of his slander. Yes, this decision was mostly because he knew that Diaz would tattle on him if he did so; but also, if Sirius focused on the project then the meeting would be over much faster, thus limiting Sirius’s torture.

But when Sirius found Stephan sitting at the back-left table of the library beside a stack of books over a foot in height, he knew he wasn’t going to have a good time. All hopes of a fast and easy meeting vanished.

“Hello,” greeted Diaz cheerfully as Sirius took the seat across from him. He had reading glasses perched on his nose, which for some reason infuriated Sirius. “Funny seeing you sat across from me instead of Hermione.”

“Yeah,” replied Sirius dismissively, not particularly appreciating this greeting, “Are all of these books for the project?”

“Oh, only half of them. The others are for my own personal reading,” said Diaz, closing the book he was currently reading, “I picked these books myself—they each cover largely impactful events of history in one way or the other, so we’ll be able to pick something from these books for sure.”

“What do we need books for?” asked Sirius with a furrowed brow. Books were certainly not part of the deal. “With Hermione’s idea, all we have to do is find out how to get some historical Muggle films, yeah?”

At this, Diaz shifted in his seat, a slight frown on his face.

“Well, there’s actually a problem with Hermione’s idea,” replied Diaz.

“Problem? What do you mean?”

“It’s a bit of a long story, actually,” prefaced Diaz, and Sirius knew that he was likely about to zone out for half of whatever he was about to say, “And it all stems from this.”

Diaz reached into his bag before pulling out a massive, yellow book and setting it down on the table between him and Sirius. Sirius had actually never seen a book like it before—it was paper-bound, making it look more like a bound stack of paper than an actual book. The pages were also yellow in color.

“What’s this?” asked Sirius, admittedly intrigued.

“It’s called the Yellow Pages,” replied Diaz, looking at the book with admiration, “It’s a book that lists Muggle businesses in your general area—brilliant idea, really. This one’s for London, 1975, but it should still be useful. My uncle’s married to a Muggle, and she sent me this for Christmas. Granted, she doesn’t like me all that much, so she probably thought it’d make a rubbish gift. Jokes on her, though, I’ve gone through it at least four times—"

“So what do we need this for?” interjected Sirius. He was beginning to think that the only way he’d be able to get a word in at all was by interrupting. “Do we use this to look up some sort of Muggle shop that sells films or whatever?”

“That’s what I thought, at first,” nodded Diaz, “But here’s the thing—there’s no store listed in this book that sells videocassette tapes.”

“What tapes?”

“Videocassette,” repeated Diaz, “Like the normal cassette tapes we learned about, but with imagery as well as audio. But I don’t blame you for not knowing what they are. Apparently, watching a Muggle film isn’t as easy as Hermione said it was. You usually watch films at a place that’s called a cinema—it’s like a theater, but for Muggle films—and in order to watch one at home, you have to get some sort of machine that reads the tapes. Then you have to actually get a tape of whatever film you’d like.”

“Alright, so we have to get some weird machine. Still beats combing through Muggle books about war,” shrugged Sirius. Diaz pursed his lips, looking deep in thought.

“It’s not getting the tape-reader that’s difficult. It’s getting the tape. As I said, there’s no store in the Yellow Pages that lists video rental stores.”

“Well, maybe the book just missed a couple stores,” suggested Sirius.

“Not likely,” replied Diaz doubtfully, “These books are really important to Muggles, it’s their main way of finding businesses. I can’t imagine they’d just forget a few. But if that were the case, it’d be because the tape-machine technology is really new, and this edition—” Diaz patted the cover of the book, “—is a few years old.”

“New?” Sirius furrowed his brow—Hermione had spoken about procuring a film as if they were easily attainable. “It’s only been around for a couple years, then?”

“Actually, only since last autumn,” corrected Diaz, “Films in tape format, I mean. I went to speak with Professor Flynn to ask her if there was any way that we’d be able to get a Muggle film or documentary, and she looked at me as if I had spoken another language. That’s when she told me all about video cassette tapes, and how it’s such new technology that she was shocked that I even knew about it. Apparently, video rental stores haven’t even come to the U.K. yet.”

“Oh,” replied Sirius, feeling completely defeated. It seemed he would be forced to look through books, after all. “That’s a right disappointment. Guess we have to resort to your other ideas.”

“On the bright side, the project will be easier now, seeing as we’d have to configure the tape-reader to work on Hogwarts grounds,” said Diaz in tones of attempting to seem cheerful, “This way’s cheaper, too—we also would’ve had to purchase that tape-machine out of our own pockets, and Flynn said they’re expensive.”

“Wonder how Hermione’s going to take being wrong,” wondered Sirius, smiling to himself at the pure thought of it. He could see her indignant face in his head at that very moment. “She seemed really confident in her idea.”

“I’m more curious as to how she even knew about it all, honestly,” said Diaz with a shrug of his shoulders, “You know, since she stayed at Hogwarts over break.”

And with these words, everything in Sirius’s brain immediately paused.

Diaz continued to speak on about how he supposed her family member wrote to her and told her about the “beyond fascinating developments in Muggle technology,” but when Diaz phrased the situation in that way, it caught Sirius off guard—Hermione had a long history of knowing information she really shouldn’t know…

“… It really doesn’t matter, though. It’s just a bit of a bummer that we can’t watch a film, I was looking forward to seeing one in person,” continued Diaz as Sirius was pulling himself out of his own thoughts. All he had to do was ask Hermione about this later—it wasn’t impossible for Hermione to have known about this all, as she was indeed a Half-Blood. But Sirius had this inexplicable feeling that this would once more be added to the list of mysteries surrounding Hermione Granger.

As they had to report to Flynn what their project topic was the following day, they quickly got down to researching other ideas. As the Hogwarts library obviously didn’t have any Muggle-written books, they resorted to fishing through textbooks documenting significant events in Wizarding history.

“What about this one?” asked Diaz half an hour later; internally, Sirius groaned—not a single minute had gone by without Diaz speaking. “Thalassum, known as the Merpeople’s capital, is located in the Mediterranean Sea. Many sources cite Thalassum as the main inspiration for the myth of Atlantis.”

“But Flynn covered common mythology already. That’d be unoriginal,” said Sirius. He had only flipped through maybe five pages in the past thirty minutes, bored out of his mind.

“She can’t expect that we all pick a topic she’s never once mentioned in class, there’s just not enough history for that,” contended Diaz. He pushed the book at Sirius, pointing to the article in question. “Just read this. I think we’d have plenty of information to work with.”

Sirius forced down the urge to roll his eyes, leaning forward in his seat to scan over the section.

“It says right here that most Muggles understand that their version of Atlantis is a myth,” read Sirius, “How can we use this? Our project is on Muggle Rationalization. They’re doing the exact opposite of rationalizing.”

“But they are,” insisted Diaz, “Some philosopher saw evidence of Thalassum and incorporated it into his works, but everyone wrote off a real location as a mythical city created for analogical purposes.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re rationalizing anything,” disagreed Sirius tersely, “They didn’t see some unexplainable event and write it off as mythology, all they did was read about an underwater city they assumed to be fake. You know Muggles aren’t that stupid, right?”

Once again, Diaz stared at Sirius with that same expression he had given him last Saturday at lunch when Sirius kept shooting his ideas down. It was an expression of subdued frustration, an expression that Sirius knew Diaz didn’t wear often.

“Well, then what idea do you have, then?” asked Diaz lightly, pulling his book back towards himself. “That is, if you have one.”

“I—” began Sirius, before stopping to just look at Diaz. His face seemed forcibly plain, and Sirius could hardly believe that this brat really had the audacity to talk to Sirius with that much attitude—especially after everything he had told Hermione.

And, being the petty person he was, Sirius had the immediate urge to further provoke him.

“No, I don’t,” finished Sirius obviously, “Shockingly, there aren’t any Muggle books in a wizarding school library. It’s difficult to come up with ideas when all we have is the magical side of every single historic event.”

“That’s not something we can very well help, is it?” replied Diaz smartly, and Sirius resisted the urge to physically assault him, “After we decide on a topic, we can place an order for an appropriate Muggle book.”

“That bookshop in Hogsmeade doesn’t sell any?” asked Sirius. He knew that he would regret adding this next bit, but at the moment, he really didn’t care, “You know, your favorite date spot.”

“What do you mean, date spot?” questioned Diaz, looking confused but not flustered—clearly, he had missed Sirius’s point. “You mean Bobbin’s Book Nooks? No, they definitely wouldn’t sell any Muggle books. Books on Muggles, yes, but certainly not any books written by Muggles. Very few book shops—”

Diaz paused in the middle of his sentence, looking puzzledly at his textbook still open in front of him before up at Sirius once more.

“What do you mean, date spot?” he repeated, his eyebrows slowly furrowing in confusion.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? When you went to Hogsmeade with Hermione,” continued Sirius shamelessly, watching Diaz’s expression.

“That wasn’t a date,” Diaz said at once, frowning ever so slightly. Vaguely, Sirius wondered if Hermione had ever seen Diaz this visibly displeased. “I was just showing her around Hogsmeade, since she had never been before. But if this is about the Valentine’s Day party, I promise you that she hasn’t told me who she wants to take—”

Once again, Diaz stopped mid-sentence, his frown quickly wiping off his face as another thought of realization struck him.

“Did she think it was a date?” Diaz asked instead, looking bewildered.

“I’m asking you if it was,” replied Sirius. Snorting loudly, Sirius then added, “What, you really think Hermione wouldn’t have mentioned it to you if she thought you two were on a date?”

“Well, then, no. It wasn’t,” replied Diaz in a snappy tone, one that Sirius definitely didn’t expect from him, “Can we please just get back to picking topics? The library closes in forty minutes.”

Cheeks flushed a subtle red, Diaz quickly ducked his head back down into yet another book, flipping to the table of contents with unnecessary force.

Feeling irritated yet satisfied, Sirius too returned to his own book on Goblin rebellions.

For the next twenty minutes, Diaz remained blissfully silent—verbally, that was; he had been loudly scribbling on some parchment paper, writing some sort of notes. Not once did Diaz look away from his notes and up at Sirius. Sirius knew that he should probably feel bad for provoking him, but in all honesty, the benefits of pissing Diaz off were too great for Sirius to feel negatively.

“Here.” Diaz suddenly stopped writing and pushed the piece of parchment he had been so passionately scribbling on over at Sirius. At first glance, it appeared to be a list.

“It’s a list of ideas. There’s about fifteen on there, so one of them is bound to be alright,” explained Diaz quickly. He still wasn’t looking at Sirius, probably because he was too busy quickly shoving all his class materials back into his school bag.

“You’re packing up?” asked Sirius, looking between him and the list.

“Just pick whichever one you like the most and tell me tomorrow before Flynn asks us,” said Diaz dismissively, slinging his bag over his shoulder and sweeping all of the library books off the desk and into his arms, “I’ll put these back. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, Black.”

Sirius watched as he marched his way towards the center of the library, probably set on putting each book back in its exact, dedicated spot. And even though Diaz had still acted decidedly decent towards Sirius, Sirius had undoubtedly and irrefutably pissed off Stephan Diaz.

Victory.

Ten minutes later, Sirius had returned to the Gryffindor common room, reading the list over and over. Hermione too was in the common room, chatting with Evans by the fireplace.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Sirius as he leaned against the armchair that Hermione was currently sitting in, “How are we feeling?”

“Sick, now that you’re here,” said Evans plainly, beginning to stand. “I’m taking off before Potter pops out of nowhere, as well. Want to eat lunch with us tomorrow, Hermione?”

“Sure,” smiled Hermione, waving goodbye at Evans as she went upstairs to the girls’ dormitories. Sirius sat in Evan’s seat, parchment still in hand.

“You’re ditching me for Evans tomorrow?” asked Sirius, frowning jokingly, “But how will I survive?”

“I think you’ll be able to manage,” replied Hermione, “How was the meeting with Stephan?”

“Awful. He actually got upset with me, so you can stop pretending that he’s an angel that’s descended down to Earth.”

“What did you say to him?” asked Hermione at once, frustration already seeping through her voice, “I swear, Sirius, if you attacked him over this ridiculous party—”

“I didn’t! It wasn’t about what we talked about at lunch, either,” clarified Sirius, “And why are you assuming it was my fault? Sure, you’re correct in assuming that, but can’t I get the benefit of the doubt?”

“No,” she said sharply, “I told you, Sirius, you need to cooperate with him. And not just because he’s my friend—he’s also your partner! You’ll be working with him for the next month, so it’ll be better for everyone involved if you’re nice to him.”

She then noticed the piece of parchment in Sirius’s hand. “What’s that?” she then asked, “Are those the only notes you took today?”

“I’ll have you know that I didn’t take any notes,” informed Sirius, “But no, it’s the list of ideas that Diaz gave me to choose from. Here.”

Sirius handed her the list. She glanced over it, guiding her finger over each listed topic.

“Did you come up with any of these?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’ll do more work when we actually have a solid plan, alright?” promised Sirius, “Anyways, what do you think? I like number five the most.”

Hermione looked back to the list. “The one on King George the Third?” asked Hermione. Sirius nodded.

“Yeah. Everyone always said he went mad, right? I bet one of his staff was a wizard and kept spiking his food with different potions.”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought, handing the list back to Sirius. “It’s a good idea. I just don’t know if there’d be any films or documentaries on it,” remarked Hermione.

“Oh, right. I forgot to tell you,” said Sirius, sitting up in his seat, “We actually can’t use your idea.”

“What? Why?” asked Hermione in confusion, “If it’s because it’s a piece of Muggle technology, I could help with Charming it so that it works through magic. I didn’t actually think that was possible until Stephan told me about Flynn’s projector, but it can’t be too difficult.”

“Our problem lies more so in the fact that we wouldn’t be able to get a—what’s it called, some tape player, or machine—”

“A videocassette recorder.”

“Yeah, whatever. According to Flynn, that type of technology’s practically nonexistent—”

Sirius was going to finish his sentence with in the United Kingdom, but he paused when he saw Hermione’s face. She didn’t react in any exceptionally obvious way, but Sirius noticed that her eyes widened slightly, and she was staring particularly hard at the floor.

As if she were currently realizing she just made a mistake.

“You alright there?” asked Sirius slowly. His desire to discover the truth behind Hermione’s mysterious background had been replaced by his romantic pursuit of her, so he mostly stopped all questions in the past two months to get her to trust him more. But Sirius just couldn’t help but feel the urge to pry now that Hermione was in a seemingly vulnerable position.

“Er, yes,” replied Hermione rigidly, “What exactly was it that Professor Flynn said?”

“To be honest, I don’t remember half of what Diaz told me. But I think he said that the tapes are only available in—er, I don’t know where they come from, but they aren’t available anywhere near here, is the point.”

“The States, they were invented in the States,” completed Hermione, but she still wasn’t looking at Sirius. “But I could have sworn… I read all about them ages ago…”

“What do you mean, ages ago?” asked Sirius, raising an eyebrow, “I specifically remember Diaz telling me that this tape stuff only came out last autumn.”

“Oh—oh,” said Hermione very suddenly, finally looking up at Sirius, “Of course! You’ve been able to use tapes to record television shows or your own home films for years now. But the ability to buy a film on tape has only been around for a little while at this point—I can’t believe I forgot about all of that."

“I have no idea what any of that means,” responded Sirius. Frankly, he wasn’t completely sold that there wasn’t some mysterious Hermione-Knowledge operating in the background here. “But how did you even know about all of this? Given that you were here over break.”

“My mum—she’s really into this kind of thing,” said Hermione quickly, “She talks about all sorts of Muggle advancements whenever she writes me. I must have gotten all the details confused.”

Hermione was the very last person Sirius would expect to get any type of details confused, so he continued to press on. “Your teeth-cleaning mum is into video readers?”

“She’s a dentist. And yes, she has hobbies beyond her profession,” replied Hermione pointedly. “But never mind—I’m sorry to have confused you two. But if you do the project on King George the Third, it can’t be that boring. And I bet there’s loads of books on him, too, especially from a Muggle perspective, so ordering an appropriate book shouldn’t be a problem at all…”

Sirius made a mental note on how quickly Hermione changed the subject back to the project, but decidedly bit his tongue and kept down all curious questions. Hermione’s explanation on her advanced knowledge did seem plausible… but Sirius just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding things again.

They chatted for another half hour before both setting off to finish some homework before bed (Hermione insisted that she work alone in her room, claiming that she “didn’t get anything done” when Sirius studied with her). But through his homework and all the way until bedtime, Sirius was still replaying their conversation in his head.

I learned all about them ages ago.

Maybe Sirius didn’t understand semantics well enough, but in Sirius’s opinion, this sounded like Hermione was treating this as familiar information she had learned in primary school.

But the ability to buy a film on tape has only been around for a little while at this point.

To Sirius, this sounded like Hermione was speaking about current technology as if were merely the middle point of a longer timeline. For a few seconds, Sirius considered the idea that Hermione was a Seer—but that wouldn’t explain how Hermione knew about the map and Remus’s werewolf identity, so Sirius scrapped the concept.

The continuing mysteries surrounding Hermione kept Sirius up long after he had gotten into bed. Maybe Sirius was reading too much into her diction, and Sirius definitely didn’t know enough about Muggle technology to catch Hermione on a lie this time around—but he certainly wouldn’t be surprised if this whole tape-misconception was caused by a blunder on Hermione’s end, a blunder in keeping a consistent story.

But, at the end of the night, Sirius wasn’t able to draw any conclusions. He fell asleep with thoughts full of Hermione—which he had been doing for quite a while, now—and her peculiar past. And as much as he would have liked to focus on the important matters at hand, he couldn’t help but shift his thoughts to her scent, her curls, and her smile as he slipped into unconsciousness.

--

From the soft curve of her waist to the gentle flush of her cheeks, Sirius was completely and entirely obsessed with her body. And although his hands were long familiar with the map of her skin, he knew he would never tire of exploring her, as he was determined to write her every feature into his memory.

The walls of her room had her moans carved and scripted into every brick; the mattress underneath her knew the mold of her body. Her lips had accustomed to the shape of Sirius’s name, and her fingertips refused to still—her nails would drag up the skin of his back, moving to clutch at the nape of his neck, before trailing up to entangle into his hair.

Her staggering groans had melted into a continuous mewl of pleasure, and every time she opened her brown eyes and stared into Sirius’s, he could feel her looking beyond himself, infiltrating his mind until his every thought was laced with the color of her name.

But he didn’t care. He didn’t care if she invaded his every way of life, and he didn’t care if she dictated his every move. Every other moment, every other aspect of Sirius’s life just didn’t seem even remotely important when she was underneath him like this, brown curls spread around her like a blanket of velvet.  

Sirius didn’t care because he had already learned to associate chamomile and turmeric with weakness and inclination. Hermione tasted like licorice and limerence, and Sirius was willing to dedicate the rest of his life to worshipping her religion.

A sharp, heavy object collided with Sirius’s skull, causing him to awake with a start.

“Argh, what the fuck…” groaned Sirius, his eyes still shut as he reached a hand up to massage the afflicted area, “What…?”

“Get your lazy arse out of bed,” came James’s voice, “Quidditch practice is in twenty-five minutes. If we hurry we can grab a spot of breakfast before heading off to the pitch.”

Once more, Sirius groaned—he had completely forgotten that he promised James he’d come with him to practice. But now that it was early Sunday morning, he was regretting ever making this promise, especially considering the context…

“Piss off,” muttered Sirius, pulling the covers over his head. If he went back to sleep, maybe he’d be able to return to his wonderful dream from just moments before… Internally, he was infuriated with James for waking him up from a moment that Sirius was beginning to fear would only continue to exist in his dreams.

“You promised you’d come along!” insisted James, “Now get up before I throw another book at you. Unless you want Hermione and Remus to sit alone in the stands, that is—”

“Hermione’s coming?” asked Sirius loudly, at last opening his eyes. He forced himself to sit up in bed, rubbing his eye with his palm. James was standing at the foot of Sirius’s bed, Quidditch bag slung over his shoulder.

“Of course that got you up,” James snorted, “She said so Monday at dinner, remember? And keep your voice down, Wormtail’s sleeping in—but Moony’s already eating breakfast, and I’m sure Hermione’s with him.”

Sirius had little recollection of this supposed interaction. But in the off-chance that James wasn’t just making this up to get Sirius to accompany him to practice, Sirius decided to get up anyway.

After a quick shower (so quick that James had asked Sirius if he had even waited for the water to run warm; Sirius ignored him) and a rushed breakfast, the group of four were on their way to the Quidditch pitch. James had been telling the truth—Hermione was indeed in the Great Hall with Remus when he and James arrived.

Every time Sirius walked into a room and Hermione was there, a feeling of complete ecstasy would settle at the pit of his stomach, and he would suddenly become very aware of every move he made and word he said. This morning was a bit different, however, because the moment his eyes set on her, he was immediately brought back to the scenes of his subconscious mind just thirty minutes ago.

And at once, Sirius literally could feel the heat rush to his face.

Fortunately, he was able to act normally enough throughout breakfast and their walk down to the pitch. But as they took a seat in the stands, Hermione sitting between him and Remus, he suddenly felt as if she were sitting far too close. Yes, he was normally this close to her, and he was literally just sitting next to her—but in the context of his recent dream, his heart started to race in his chest as if he were the one in Quidditch practice.

Thankfully, his physical (over)reactions soon subsided, as they were all distracted by the Quidditch practice. The next two hours went smoothly for the Gryffindor Quidditch team; James put nearly every Quaffle he threw through a hoop. Sirius wasn’t sure if this said more about James’s ability or the goalkeeper’s lack thereof, but he supposed the important part was that James performed well.

At the end of practice, they all returned to the castle for some lunch. Peter joined them this time around, having finally awoken. While Sirius obviously preferred spending real time with Hermione, he wouldn’t have particularly minded sleeping in that morning himself.

After finishing lunch, they decided to retreat to the common room and warm up in front of the fire, as Remus’s nose was still pink from sitting outside all morning. Hermione said that she’d walk with them to the common room, but would head down to the library to study afterwards.

Just as they reached the common room, Hermione asked Remus to stay behind for a word. So Sirius, James, and Peter said their goodbyes, letting the portrait swing shut behind them as they went inside.

“What do you think she’s talking with Remus about?” asked Peter curiously, “Do you think it’s about his—you know—werewolf secret?”

“Keep your voice down, you dolt, there’s people around,” said Sirius lowly, as many groups of people were gathered around the tables completing the next day’s homework, “But I doubt it. She wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.”

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” commented James, plopping down on an armchair. He pointed to the chair closest to the fireplace, saying, “Keep that one reserved for Moony, he was shivering so hard I expect he shaved off a few hundred calories.”

“How considerate,” said Sirius, but he was still thinking to himself what Hermione would want to tell Remus, as they didn’t have any classes together with just the two of them.

No… There’s no way.

A sudden thought struck Sirius, but he immediately dismissed it—there was absolutely no way—

“Well, that was fast,” said James.

Sirius turned in his seat to see Remus entering the common room, looking mildly flustered. He made eye contact with Sirius and then immediately looked away.

No way. There’s no way.

“What did Hermione want?” asked Peter as Remus took his reserved armchair, “It wasn’t about us, was it?”

“No… Actually,” began Remus awkwardly, still looking away from Sirius.

Even when the words were coming out of Remus’s mouth, he still refused to believe it.

“She asked me to be her date for Slughorn’s party,” completed Remus, looking at his hands folded in front of him.

Silence settled between them for an entire ten seconds, only interrupted by the crackling of the fire. Sirius processed this information over and over—he knew that he shouldn’t be so hung up over a stupid party, and he knew that Remus had no interest in being Hermione’s date—but Sirius just couldn’t help but feel jealous. He hated feeling this way, especially towards Remus of all people, but he just couldn’t help it… Sirius had really hoped she’d have picked him…

James was the first to speak up.

“Well, what did you say?” he asked curiously.

“Are you joking?” chorused Remus and Sirius to James. The pair of them looked to each other before quickly breaking eye contact yet again.

“It’s a valid question!” defended James, “Don’t look at me like this is my fault!”

“What do you think I said?” asked Remus incredulously.

“You said no?” followed Sirius, the sinking feeling in his gut lifting slightly.

“No, I felt too guilty,” admitted Remus, to which Sirius’s sinking feeling deepened, “I told her I’d think on it.”

“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” shrugged James, “Just tell her tomorrow in class that you can’t make it. You could make up an excuse.”

“No, that wouldn’t work. What other plans would I have? Obviously, I was already planning on going to Hogsmeade. There’d be no reason for me to not go.”

“We could think of ways for you to reject her,” added Peter, “I’ve been rejected plenty of times, so I know how to make it sound nice.”

“No. You should go,” said Sirius decidedly. Remus turned to look at Sirius, completely taken aback. As torn as he felt internally, Sirius forced himself to continue—he knew what the right decision was, as painful as it was to make.

“Yes, I wanted to go because I like Hermione. But I also really wanted to be there because my idiot of a brother is meaning to ask her questions at that party. If I can’t be the one keeping an eye out for him, it should at least be you.”

“… Are you sure?” asked Remus hesitantly, “Hermione wouldn’t be completely alone, since Lily is in the Slug Club as well. Although, she’ll probably be spending most of her time with Harper—”

“What?!” exclaimed James, his eyes widening to the size of saucers, “Liam Harper?! He’s a complete dud! He has no taste at all—he’s a bloody moron, he is, what’s she doing asking him of all people—”

James stopped mid-rant when Sirius and Remus both stared at him, hastily shutting his mouth.

“I’ll complain later,” said James quickly, “Continue on about why your brother is a complete nightmare, Padfoot.”

“As I was going to say,” sighed Sirius heavily, “Yes, I’m sure. I’m not the biggest fan of the situation, obviously, but there are more important matters at hand. Namely, my brother, who is a potential danger.”

“Well…” Remus kneaded his hands together in thought, sighing before replying, “I’ll say yes, then. But only if you’re absolutely positive, mate.”

“I am,” confirmed Sirius. He heaved another deep sigh before he leaned back into his armchair, gazing up at the ceiling.

“Is this how you feel all the time, Prongs?” wondered Sirius lowly, “With all the constant rejections, I mean.”

“Yeah, it keeps you alive, doesn’t it?” agreed James, “I like to think it keeps me humble, which I understand I need. You know, being the extraordinary man I am.”

“Hey, at least Hermione likes being your friend, Prongs hasn’t accomplished that with Lily in nearly seven years,” said Remus in attempts of being humorous. When Sirius only smiled halfheartedly, Remus added, “Again, are you sure, Padfoot? I could easily just tell her no. Then she’d probably pick between you and Stephan.”

“Yes, I am,” replied Sirius, not particularly fond of continually repeating his ‘permission’, “You’re loads better of an option than Diaz, and I’m not willing to risk that dolt being her date. You at the very least know to keep an eye out for Regulus.”

Luckily, Remus didn’t further press the issue, and Sirius could properly suffer in peace.

The next day at breakfast, Sirius noticed that Hermione seemed to be eating her breakfast a bit quicker than usual. As Sirius and all three of his friends were accompanying her, he could only assume that she wanted to finish eating as quickly as possible to avoid any awkward conversations.

Fortunately, Sirius was an expert at disarming awkward situations, even when he was the main cause of it.

“Relax, Hermione,” said Sirius after Hermione finished her piece of toast in four successive bites, “I understand, alright? You don’t have to feel bad.”

Hermione, who was still chewing, choked on her toast slightly; Sirius supposed that he should have waited for her to finish before trying to be smart.

“What—what do you mean?” managed Hermione the moment she had swallowed down the toast.

“Well, considering that you’re eating your toast faster than a Niffler going at jewels, I’d say that you would rather not tell me why I didn’t make the cut for potential date,” replied Sirius. He then heaved a dramatic sigh, “It’s because I’m too attractive, isn’t it? I’d be an utter distraction. Like I said, I understand.”

“Sirius,” said Hermione, a small (yet still uncomfortable) smile playing on her lips, “I just—I felt so awful, having to pick between you and Stephan, I had no idea how to tell you—”

“That’s all fine and well, Hermione,” interjected James with a wide grin, seemingly glad that the moment of awkward silence had finally passed, “Sirius has recovered. I, however, have not—how could you, Hermione?”

Hermione, who clearly knew that there was no possible way James was truly expecting to be her plus one, looked confusedly at him, “What are you talking about?”

“Liam Harper!” lamented James tragically, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier that Evans was taking him? I should have been your immediate contact upon this discovery! There isn’t nearly enough time to order an assassination on him now.”

Hermione let out a small giggle, which Sirius felt was a bit uncharacteristic of her—not just because she found the pretend-assassination of Liam Harper amusing, but because she giggled. Sirius could only imagine that this was a result of hours of pent-up anxiety over telling Sirius that she had decided on picking Remus, which strangely made Sirius feel better about the whole situation.

“I told you, Prongs, we’ll keep an eye on Harper,” reassured Remus. Hermione gave him an embarrassed smile. “Right, Hermione?”

“Does that mean you’ve agreed to be my plus one, then?” said Hermione, “Since you lot are all making jokes at my expense again.”

“Yes, I have. I’m happy to tag along,” confirmed Remus. He nodded at Peter, who was sitting besides him, adding, “And not everyone is making fun of you. You can always count on Peter and me to act civilly.”

Sirius was expecting Hermione to wince upon mention of Peter’s existence, but to his surprise, she instead gave a thin smile in response.

Hermione no longer finds Wormtail completely repulsive—what a development.

“See? No hard feelings,” reassured Sirius; he mostly meant this, too. “Just know that if I could, I would absolutely crash this stupid party.”

“Stupid party that you desperately begged me to take you to, you mean,” noted Hermione.

“Any party without me is, by law of natural order, a stupid party,” nodded Sirius, “So yes, precisely that.”

“Well, one of you could have told me that Sirius wasn’t actually upset when I was forcing my breakfast down,” said Hermione, looking down at her empty plate, “I was so nervous the entire time.”

“Honestly, I partially assumed that you were rushing to study for tomorrow’s Arithmancy test,” shrugged Remus, “I didn’t want to assume.”

“Yeah, Hermione, we’re polite, not horribly awkward,” said James.

But as Hermione had already finished eating, she decided to follow through with Remus’s assumption and get a spot of studying done before Transfiguration. And while Sirius was happy that Hermione no longer felt anxious around him, he still couldn’t help but feel that same sinking feeling from the night before.

However, as he watched Hermione leave the Great Hall, a sudden thought occurred to Sirius—maybe he could still go to this party.

“I’m a good-looking guy,” thought Sirius out loud, “I’ve been going about this the wrong way, haven’t I?”

“I have low expectations for whatever you’re about to say next when that’s your introductory statement,” noted Remus, “But please, do continue.”

“If I can’t be Hermione’s date, who’s to say I can’t be someone else’s?” brainstormed Sirius, “Sure, Moony, you’ll be there to look out for Regulus, but you probably won’t know when it’s appropriate to curse him.”

“I wasn’t planning on cursing him at all—”

“This entire time I had been thinking if I’m going to the party, when I should have been thinking how I’ll get into the party,” continued Sirius, “All I have to do is find some girl who doesn’t have a date, and I’m in.”

His three friends stared at Sirius as he came to this conclusion, as if expecting him to say he was just joking. When Sirius made no such announcement, James put in his own thoughts.

“I cannot imagine how even a single one of your brain cells thinks that’s a good idea.”

“No, Prongs,” said Remus, shaking his head at Sirius, “This is a decision that requires having no brain cells at all.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” agreed Peter. Perhaps Sirius should have known how poor of a plan this was when even Wormtail disagreed with him, but it didn’t matter—he had a new goal in mind, and when Sirius put his mind to something, no one else’s opinion mattered.

Well, Hermione’s opinion would probably matter, reasoned Sirius, but he ignored that part of his head. He’d deal with Hermione’s reaction to Sirius’s party presence later.

After some asking around, Sirius discovered that the only Slug Club member (that Sirius was willing to be around; he knew a few Slytherin girls were dateless, but he’d rather go with Diaz than with a Slytherin) that didn’t have a date yet was Marlene McKinnon. While he and Marlene were on relatively good terms, he wasn’t thrilled to hear this news—they were ex-flames, and Sirius didn’t expect that he’d be Marlene’s ideal date.

This didn’t stop him from chasing Lily Evans halfway down the second-floor corridor to ask her about Marlene’s whereabouts, however.

After hearing of Marlene’s dateless status, Sirius had no idea how to actually go about persuading Marlene to take him along. Obviously, the first step would be to locate her—but as Sirius hadn’t spoken to her in quite a while, he had no idea what her schedule was.

But Sirius lucked out shortly after lunch. On their way from the Great Hall to an empty classroom (Hermione and Remus were keen on practicing Arithmancy problems on a blackboard), Sirius spotted Evans walking alone to the library. He excused himself from the rest of the group (he kept his true intentions to himself, as Hermione was walking with them), pretending to need something at the library.

Only Remus seemed to catch on to this lie, looking at him as if he wouldn’t believe in a million years that Sirius would ever willingly go to the library alone, but he luckily didn’t voice this doubt and continued to the classroom with the others.

The moment his friends disappeared from sight, Sirius broke into a light jog, calling out Evan’s name to get her attention.

“Evans!” repeated Sirius, slowing his jog as he reached her, “Did you really not hear me yelling your name, or were you just pretending?”

“Take a wild guess,” said Evans, giving him a sideways glance, “Please don’t tell me Potter’s sent you, I'm really in a hurry."

“You’ll be thrilled to know I am here on my own terms,” reassured Sirius, “I just wanted to know where Marlene might be.”

“Well, it’s free period, so she’s probably in the common room." Lily raised an eyebrow at Sirius before adding, "Surely, that's a conclusion you could've arrived at on your own."

“Har har. She’s your friend, not mine, how would I know?” replied Sirius, “I was only asking.”

“Why are you asking, anyway?” questioned Evans, in a suspicious tone that Sirius didn't quite appreciate. 

“Blimey, does everyone always have to assume the worst of me?” asked Sirius, “I just want to ask Marlene a question, is all.”

“Then go ask her, Black,” said Evans tiredly, “I’m meeting with Liam in the library right now, I can’t be late. Tell Marlene I'm sorry if she's not too pleased to see you." 

Evans walked off, leaving Sirius standing in the middle of the corridor. Thinking that James won’t be thrilled to hear that Evans is spending so much time with Harper, he headed upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.

As Evans correctly assumed, Marlene was indeed in the common room. Three other girls were sat around her at one of the tables, looking to be in deep conversation when Sirius approached them.

“Marlene,” said Sirius. All four girls looked up at Sirius, three out of the four girls giving him less-than-pleased faces. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Marlene pursed her lips, pushing a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear before replying. “Alright, sure.”

The other three girls stood to leave. The one girl who didn’t make a face at Sirius’s presence—Sandra Ross—smirked at Sirius before turning away, her long curtain of hair following her wispily.

“Why do you associate with Ross?” asked Sirius as he sat down, “I hear nothing but awful things about her.”

“What is it, Sirius?” asked Marlene, completely ignoring his question, “If this is about your jumper from a year ago, no, I still don’t know where it is.”

“Actually,” said Sirius, tapping his fingers on the desk, “I have a bit of a favor to ask you. And it involves the upcoming Slughorn party.”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t coming, are you?”

“I mean, not as of now. But I was wondering that maybe, if you didn’t have a date yet…” Sirius looked at Marlene hopefully.

She looked at Sirius flatly, scanning him up and down with a flick of her gaze.

“I thought you were going out with Granger now. Is she not bringing you?” asked Marlene plainly.

“No. I mean—well, that’s the thing, see. She’s bringing someone else, but I want to be there—”

“Oh, absolutely not,” sighed Marlene, giving Sirius a cross look, “I am not getting in the middle of whatever you’re scheming. Besides, if I take you, then everyone’s going to assume we’re back together.”

“We can’t be ‘back together’ if we were never together in the first place,” said Sirius insistently, “And you won’t be getting in the middle of anything. My idiot brother is going to be talking to her there, and I just want to be there to keep him in line.”

At this, Marlene merely rolled her eyes.

“I will never understand why boys are so stupid,” tsked Marlene.

“What?! What did I even say—”

“You clearly fancy this girl, you dolt,” interjected Marlene, crossing her arms, “If you show up at a party with another girl, she’s not going to be impressed, nor will she be jealous. She’s going to be hurt. Just take my advice and drop whatever idea you have, alright?”

“Marlene, as much as I appreciate your heart being in the right place, it isn’t like that, I promise,” maintained Sirius, “I’m not trying to do anything. Besides, Hermione—she doesn’t even like me in that way.”

At these words, Marlene’s gaze softened significantly. She looked at him for a couple of seconds, her tone much nicer as she spoke up once more.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” she sighed, “But I asked Jeremy Park to be my date during dinner.”

“Oh,” said Sirius flatly, a weight dropping in his stomach. Not wanting to seem too down, he then added, “Glad to see your standards have dropped since our last fling, then.”

Marlene gave him a thin smile. “Listen, I wish I could help you out. But I really don’t think going to this party with another girl will help your case.”

“Well, there’s no other way I can get into this rubbish party, is there?” sighed Sirius, running a hand through his hair.

“Who is she taking, if not you?” asked Marlene curiously, “Is she taking that Ravenclaw boy—Stephan Diaz, was it?”

“No, Remus,” corrected Sirius.

There was a split second of silence before Marlene stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hold it in—she’s taking one of your best friends? That’s just tragic,” snickered Marlene.

“Yeah, no need to point that out,” grumbled Sirius. He sighed as he stood from his seat, “Well, thanks for hearing me out anyways, Marlene.”

Marlene’s eyebrows pulled together in a look of confusion as he said this, looking at Sirius as if he had just grown horns.

“What?” asked Sirius, “I don’t expect you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, of course not,” frowned Marlene, “It’s just that I’ve never heard you thank anyone for anything before, much less for just a few minutes of their time.”

“Well that’s not fair,” protested Sirius, “That just makes me sound like a bad person.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just clear that you’ve changed,” shrugged Marlene. She was looking at Sirius with an expression that wasn’t necessarily positive, but she looked significantly less annoyed with him than she had just a few minutes ago. “See you later, then.”

Sirius, who just remembered he had stood to leave, nodded once at Marlene before retreating back downstairs to the classroom his friends were in.

“You’re back emptyhanded,” noted Remus as Sirius entered the unused classroom. He and Hermione had already filled the blackboard half-way with practice problems. “I take it the trip to the library was fruitless, then?”

“More or less. Hermione, you know that we won’t be allowed nearly this much scrap parchment tomorrow, right?” asked Sirius, switching the topic.

“It’s a useful way of studying, alright?” replied Hermione tersely, biting down on her bottom lip. Her hair was up in a tight ponytail, a clear indication of her current stress for the following day’s test. Sirius knew that he shouldn’t talk to her too much when she was anxious, but he couldn’t help himself when she looked so pretty with her hair up.

“I didn’t say that,” defended Sirius lightly as he took a seat at the desk next to Peter’s. Peter was somehow already asleep and completely slumped over the desk, as he did not take Arithmancy and didn’t need to study. “Please continue, Professor Granger.”

“I concur,” nodded James, sitting on top of the teacher’s desk, “Professor, what’s that symbol right there?”

James pointed to a Delta symbol. Hermione just blinked at him in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” said Hermione.

“Yes, I am. I just thought you’d feel less stressed if you felt like you were much better off than your fellow peers.”

Sirius laughed, knowing better than James that no number of jokes would be able to successfully alleviate her stress. It was nice of Hermione to smile anyways, though.

Sirius looked at the Delta symbol that James had pointed to, and suddenly, had an epiphany.

Maybe it was the triangular shape of the symbol, or maybe it was Sirius’s incredible brains (he chose to believe it was the latter), but he suddenly had a perfect solution to getting to Slughorn’s party. It was a solution so perfect and easy that Sirius was shocked that it wasn’t the very first thing he thought of.

It was insanely difficult keeping this proposition to himself for the rest of the night, but Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to ask it until he and his friends were upstairs in their dormitory. But at last, the moment arrived—the second he and his friends entered their (thankfully) empty dorm room, Sirius blurted out:

“Prongs, can I borrow your cloak this Saturday?”

--

No one aware of Sirius’s plan on secretly crashing Slughorn’s party approved of it, but no one tried stopping him, either.

If anything, James actively enabled this plan by allowing Sirius possession of his invisibility cloak for the day. It wasn’t difficult to convince James at all—all Sirius had to do was promise James that he’d attempt to sabotage Liam Harper.

“I don’t care how you do it,” said James come Saturday afternoon, handing the cloak to Sirius. They were all currently making their way down to the entrance hall, where they would be meeting Hermione. “You could plop a dungbomb into his drink, hex his shoelaces together—hell, I wouldn’t be opposed to some minor curses—just make sure that Evans thinks he’s a complete embarrassment by the end of the night.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult; his hair already does half the job for him.” Sirius gratefully tucked the cloak away into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, strangely excited for the upcoming day. He had never crashed a party in secret before, and found the risk surrounding it exhilarating.

“You sure you don’t want to tag along?” asked Sirius, looking to James—he assumed that Peter was only interested in Honeydukes, and didn’t bother asking him.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said James, “As much as I’d love to see the look of embarrassment on Harper’s face, he’s definitely not worth wasting a Hogsmeade trip over.”

“You really need to be careful,” said Remus next. He was dressed in his best formal wear: toffee-colored formal trousers and a matching sports coat. Sirius thought he had cleaned up very nicely.

As expected, Remus was the least approving of Sirius’s plan; but, as the situation involved Regulus, Remus gave Sirius a pass. “It’s going to be crowded in there, so you’ll want to watch for people bumping into you.”

“I’ll probably be on lookout on the stairs most of the time, and no one should be hanging around there,” reassured Sirius, despite having every intention on remaining as close to Remus and Hermione as possible.

Over the past week, Sirius had slowly made peace with the fact that he would not be attending Slughorn’s party with Hermione at his side. But when they arrived at the entrance hall, Sirius could feel that same terrible, sinking feeling come back in full force—because for some god damned reason, the mere concept of Hermione wearing clothes besides school robes was enough to drive Sirius insane.

Hermione was dressed in a simple, knee-length dress with a pleated skirt. Sirius couldn’t see many details, as her winter coat was covering most of her attire, but he did manage to see the thin ribbon tied around the center. She looked very pretty.

She’s always so pretty, thought Sirius. He wasn’t sure if Hermione was wearing makeup, or if her cheeks were reddened from standing so close to the entranceway; either way, the blush of her cheeks reminded Sirius very much of how she had looked in his dream—

She looked just like that, with her face flushed with heat, underneath me—

fuck fuck FUCK stop just stop you’re literally in public you fucking creep—

“You look nice, Hermione,” complimented Remus politely. Sirius forced himself to focus on Remus’s words, desperately attempting to pull his thoughts out of the disgusting gutter that was his brain.  

“Thank you. You as well,” smiled Hermione, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her hair was done differently today, Sirius noticed. He had no idea what this hairstyle was called, but he quite liked it—she had half of her hair pulled back, the other half still down with a couple of curls framing her small face.

All in all, Sirius had to admit that she and Remus looked like a nice couple. Remus’s button-down matched Hermione’s dress as well, which Sirius also thought was a nice touch.

“I have to say, it took me quite a while to find a button-down that matched the color ‘coral pink’,” commented Remus, “So I’m relieved to see I was on the right track.”

At Remus’s words, James and Sirius looked to each other and stifled laughs—five nights prior when Hermione had told Remus to ‘accent his outfit with coral pink’, the four boys had descended into a full-fledged panic attack: none of them had a shred of a clue what this possibly could mean.

It was emergencies like these where the four friends showcased their excellent teamwork—Sirius and James went around asking multiple girls if the word “accent” alluded to a button-down, a tie, or a pocket square (they were relieved to find out it could be any of the three); Remus buckled down on color theory to discover what coral pink was (and how it was different than regular pink); and Peter was the one to sneak off to Gladrag’s and place the order for the button-down.

Truly, cracking Hermione’s code had been about ten times more stressful than their Arithmancy test on Tuesday. But Sirius supposed that now that Remus was standing here in his matching pink shirt, that the stress had all been worth it.

They all set off to Hogsmeade together, braving the February winds. Sirius had never been one to easily get cold, but he wondered how Hermione was faring as her dress only went to her knees, and her legs—

No, we are not going down that route, said Sirius firmly to himself, Think about something else, anything else—

“Sirius?”

“Whuh?” Sirius looked down to his left, as Hermione was walking between him and Remus.

“I just asked if you’ve made any progress your and Stephan’s project,” said Hermione, blinking up at him, “Remus said he was curious what you two were working on, as you apparently only discuss your academics with me. Are you not listening?”

“Sorry, I spaced out—and I don’t only discuss academics with you, I just find it easier to complain about Diaz to you,” replied Sirius, “But we decided on the King George the Third topic.”

Remus began listing a bunch of facts about King George, which Sirius knew he really should have listened to, but his thoughts were already focused on another topic entirely—Diaz. Sirius had only met with him once more since their last meeting, which turned out to be uneventful.

Despite his prior annoyance with Sirius, Diaz seemed to be back to his annoyingly pleasant self. If anything, Diaz had seemed happier than usual, to Sirius’s dismay—who was Diaz to be happy after being rejected by a girl he clearly had feelings for?

Part of Sirius thought that Diaz was just happy that Hermione didn’t pick Sirius. And while this assumption may have been a projection on Sirius’s end, Sirius got a sliver of satisfaction thinking that Diaz, underneath his guise of unrelenting cheerfulness, was just as immaturely petty as everyone else was.

When the group of friends reached The Three Broomsticks, the couple separated from the three and entered the pub after a brief goodbye. Rose garlands outlined the windows and pub entrance, framing the magnificent set up inside.

“We should get away from the entrance,” said Sirius quietly to James and Peter, as many other Slug Club members were beginning to crowd around the pub.

After about a half an hour’s wait at Zonko’s, Sirius decided that enough time had passed. He, James, and Peter ducked behind a display shelf where James and Peter stood on the lookout as Sirius draped the cloak over himself.

“Alright, we’ll walk you out of Zonko’s, but you’ll have to get in The Three Broomsticks on your own,” instructed James lowly, “It’ll be difficult since you won’t be able to follow anyone in, but try not to let anyone see the door opening.”

But entering The Three Broomsticks had been no problem at all. Everyone inside was far too distracted with Valentine’s festivities, and once Sirius had made it inside undetected, he understood why. A pink disco ball hung from the ceiling, reflecting squares of rose-colored light across the room. The tables that usually cluttered the pub had been rearranged to outline the dancefloor clearing, and lace hearts fluttered around the room like butterflies. Along the left-hand side of the pub was the elaborate catering that Remus had raved on about—there were trays of foods from more cultures than Sirius realized existed.

As no one had started dancing yet, the dancefloor clearing was crowded with all of Slughorn’s guests. Slughorn himself was talking to some Hogwarts alumni, sporting a red suit that Sirius didn’t think was entirely flattering. Upon entering, Sirius quickly beelined towards the stairs, next to which was a small jazz ensemble showcasing live music.

And from then on out, all Sirius had to do was watch for Regulus.

While he had originally intended on hanging around Remus and Hermione, he soon realized this would be impossible: even though they stood off to the side, multiple classmates and professors kept coming up to the pair and striking up conversations. Hermione was smiling as she talked with every professor, and Remus’s snack plate was stacked with spring rolls, so Sirius supposed they were both having a grand time.

He instead focused his efforts on keeping an eye on Regulus. Sirius soon spotted him diagonally across the room from Hermione and Remus; his brother was accompanied by two of his sixth-year housemates and a fifth-year girl Sirius didn’t recognize clinging to his arm.

At this point, Sirius was wondering how Regulus was planning to rid of his friends and date to go speak with Hermione, as Sirius was certain that Regulus’s desired topic was a matter he would prefer to keep private. Hopefully, as people sat down to eat, Sirius would be able to move about freely and listen in on Regulus’s conversations to obtain potentially useful intel.

While Sirius knew he would face detentions for the rest of the year if he got caught, crashing a party and for once having the upper hand over his brother greatly outweighed the consequences. And if Sirius were smart about it, he could maybe even sneak in a spring roll or two on the way.

The party had only just begun, and Sirius was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Hermione had come well-prepared for the party.

Knowing that she’d likely be speaking to many professors and students, she brushed up on her backstory to ensure she had every detail down. And as Regulus intended on speaking with her later that party, Hermione made sure to take extra precautions. Besides ensuring she was always surrounded by people so that Regulus couldn’t corner her alone, she also made a few modifications to her dress: she added magic-expanded pockets so she would have her wand on her at all times (the pocket blended in seamlessly with the pleats of her chiffon dress, a detail Hermione was very proud of).

One person Hermione did not prepare for, however, was a fellow seventh-year Gryffindor by the name of Sandra Ross.

Halfway through the party, Hermione had been having a surprisingly great time. Many professors came up to her to praise her excellent performance in class, including Professor Slughorn himself. Other curious students who Hermione hadn’t previously spoken with approached her to strike up conversations, and Hermione found them all to be very nice. The famously delicious food delivered, as well—the dinner was the best that Hermione’s had in quite a while.

Most notably, Hermione was delighted to find that she had made the right choice in choosing Remus as her plus one. With just the two of them, they were able to discuss their favorite authors and subjects without interruption from Sirius or James. Remus was even a decent dancer, as proven when they decided to join the dance floor for a couple of jazz numbers.

Unfortunately, her experience was soured quite terribly when Hermione spotted a vaguely familiar girl walking towards her across the opened dance floor.

She and Remus had been chatting around a standing table at the edge of the dance floor; as the caterer had just refilled the spring rolls, Remus had left to get himself another small serving. Eying the long line that had formed next to the food serving tables, Hermione figured she’d have to wait for at least five minutes alone.

It was at that moment that Hermione noticed the girl approaching her. Knowing from classes that they were in the same house and assuming this girl was another student who wanted to ask questions about Hermione’s transferring, Hermione gave her a friendly smile. The girl returned the smile as she stopped before Hermione, but it didn’t reach her eyes at all.

“Hermione Granger, is it?” the girl asked before Hermione could greet her, “I’ve heard loads about you.”

Her voice was sickeningly sweet, dripping with what Hermione interpreted as frank insincerity. Hermione realized where she had recognized the girl from—Hermione had seen her many weeks ago in the library, when the girl was more or less glaring at her.

“Hello,” she said hesitantly anyways, still trying to maintain a smile, “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I know who you are.”

“I’m Sandra Ross. Pleased to meet you,” introduced the girl, tucking some hair behind her ear. Her auburn hair that had initially caught Hermione’s attention was currently in a high pony-tail, a hairdo that Hermione couldn’t pull off without her hair looking like a triangle.

“Likewise,” said Hermione uncertainly. Despite the uneasy aura Ross seemed to be giving off, Hermione still attempted at a conversation. “I’m actually surprised we haven’t met before. I don’t think we’ve ever ran into each other in the common room.”

“Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it?” hummed Ross, bringing her drink to her lips, “You didn’t come around the common room much until this term.”

She held up a perfectly manicured finger as she swallowed her drink, indicating she wasn’t done speaking. Hermione didn’t find this particularly polite, but she was beginning to have a feeling that being polite was not one of Sandra’s main concerns.

“Anyways—I just thought I’d pop in to say hello,” continued Ross, giving Hermione another sweet smile, “I’ll be sure to leave before Remus comes back, I’d hate to interrupt.”

“Oh, you know Remus?” questioned Hermione distractedly, peering around Ross to check if Remus were indeed coming back soon—he was next in line for the rolls.

“Actually, I know Sirius better—seeing as I’m friends with Marlene, of course.”

“Marlene?” She was definitely familiar with her name—both from school and from Hermione’s younger years—but outside of having a few overlapping classes together, the two of them rarely crossed paths. “Marlene McKinnon, you mean?”

“Yes, she and I are really close. So you can imagine how surprised I was to hear that Sirius asked her to this party,” noted Ross, taking another sip of her drink as if what she said was casual and irrelevant information.

Normally, this type of news would be irrelevant to Hermione—she was plainly aware of Sirius’s habits, which Hermione wasn’t (overly) uncomfortable with. But for some reason, the second those words had left Sandra’s mouth, Hermione felt inexplicably bothered.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that he had,” said Hermione lightly.

“Really?” Ross’s shock at Hermione’s statement did little to lessen the tight feeling in Hermione’s chest. “I just assumed he would have told you, given you and him are so… close.”

Hermione also didn’t appreciate the pause she had taken. But before any more words could be exchanged, Hermione noticed that Remus was finally making his way back to their standing table.

Ross followed Hermione’s gaze, and turned back to give Hermione one final smile.

“I’ll just be going, then. It was great meeting you.”

“You as well,” lied Hermione.

Remus returned to their table shortly after Ross sauntered away. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her.

“I’m sorry I took so long, the line was maddeningly long,” apologized Remus with a small smile, “Was that Sandra Ross?”

“Yes,” confirmed Hermione, a bit of a bite to her tone, “She introduced herself.”

Remus winced slightly, dipping a fresh spring roll into his small bowl of duck sauce, “Ah, that’s disdain in your voice if I’ve ever heard it—which, I haven’t really, actually, which means she must have said something really nasty to you.”

“No, not at all,” replied Hermione. And even though Hermione was technically telling the truth, the nasty, terrible feeling that Ross had left Hermione with made her feel as though she was lying through her teeth.

Sirius really asked Marlene to this party? thought Hermione.

But he seemed so keen on going with me.

Hermione had always felt in tune with her emotions—as much as she’d conceal them to others, she was generally pretty good with dealing with her own feelings (excluding the first few months in 1977 in which she bottled up basically every emotion she had, of course). But when Hermione realized that she was truly and genuinely bothered by this fact, she had absolutely no idea what to do or what steps to take next.

Why was it that she was so particularly annoyed by Sirius asking Marlene to the party? Hermione considered that maybe she felt empathetic towards Marlene, as Sirius pestering Hermione about the party was an annoyance she well understood, but no, that wasn’t it…

“She didn’t say anything mean or crude,” said Hermione, talking over her internal train of thought, “But I did get the feeling that she didn’t exactly like me…”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine she would,” agreed Remus. His next words were probably meant to comfort Hermione, but they only made the awful feeling in her chest even worse:

“I’m fairly certain that she’s fancied Sirius ever since he and Marlene broke things off, so don’t take it too personally. She just sees you as a threat, but that’s not anything you’re concerned about, so—”

Suddenly, Remus yelped, lifting up his left foot in pain.

“Bloody hell—that was entirely unnecessary—” cursed Remus, looking around him. Hermione glanced around, as well—no one had walked by them, eliminating the possibility that someone had stepped on Remus’s foot.

“What happened?” asked Hermione, puzzled, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, just fine—foot cramp,” said Remus lowly, looking mildly disgruntled, “Don’t worry about it, it acts up time to time—but as I was saying, you don’t have to feel too badly about the situation. It’s not personal.”

Excluding Remus’s strange behavior, Hermione knew that he was right. She had no reason to feel so unsettled by Sandra Ross’s words, and yet, she couldn’t push away her hurt feelings as easily as she usually was able to.

Nonetheless, Hermione tried to distract herself when she and Remus delved into deep conversation once more, thinking that she couldn’t let one singular interaction ruin the rest of her night.

But Hermione was sorely mistaken in assuming Sandra Ross would be leaving her alone.

As there was only a little over an hour left to the party, Hermione had assumed that she wouldn’t be running into Ross again. But between her conversations with Remus and other students, Hermione kept noticing Ross glancing Hermione’s way ever so often.

At one point, Ross had inched her way around the pub until she had just so happened to land herself in conversation with some Hufflepuff boys at the standing table next to her and Remus. Ross seemed to be speaking very animatedly with them, constantly making hand gestures.

As Ross was leaving the Hufflepuff boys to go speak with other students, however, she threw out her hand to wave goodbye with a wide swiping motion—resulting in her colliding with Remus’s arm, which just so happened to be holding his bowl of orange sauce.

This spilling of the duck sauce wouldn’t have been too catastrophic had it not spilled all over Hermione.

“My goodness, Hermione, I’m so sorry!” gasped Ross, not a sliver of remorse in her voice. And with this meager apology, Ross stalked off, leaving the handful of students surrounding them to stare at Hermione’s now-orange dress.

“Merlin—hey, Ross!” Remus called out frustratingly after her, “Did you really just—”

“Oh, just leave her,” said Hermione irritably, “Trust me, I’ve dealt with girls like her, it’s really nothing new…”

Hermione glanced down at the sauce that had been spilled all down her left side. Her left sleeve was particularly drenched with the sauce.

“Allow me, at least,” said Remus worriedly as he took out his wand from his jacket pocket, repeatedly looking over his shoulder to shoot nasty looks at Ross, “She was much nicer in our younger years, I haven’t any idea what happened to her.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got it,” said Hermione grimly, “I’ll clean up in the loo, I’ve been meaning to use it anyways.”

Underneath the stairs to the upper floor of the pub was a narrow hallway with a single left turn. In this narrow hallway was a very small and cramped bathroom.

Hermione was able to vanish the sauce easily, but she quickly realized that it had actually seeped through her sleeve—and a few specs of sauce had gotten caught in the folds of Hermione’s scar.

Sighing, she turned on the sink faucet and ran her left forearm under the running water, carefully rinsing her scar clean.

Hermione winced as she carefully dabbed the area dry—the scar had long since closed, of course, but because of just how traumatic the experience was she would sometimes experience phantom pains. For this reason, she always treated her scar delicately, not wanting to trigger any sort of painful episode.

She was still looking at the scarred letters as she opened the bathroom door. She gently swiped over the letters with her thumb, as if she could wipe them away. She had been thinking for a while now that the knife that Bellatrix had used must have been enchanted in some way to greatly prolong the healing process—the cuts still tinged with red, and were raw around the edges.

“Alright there, Granger?”

At once, Hermione tugged down her sleeve and snapped her gaze up—it was Regulus, leaning against the wall opposite of the bathroom, hands in his pockets.

“Hello,” greeted Hermione politely, attempting a smile. She stepped out into the dark hallway properly, allowing the bathroom door to shut behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there… I suppose you want to speak with me, then?”

“Actually, I was waiting in line for the toilet,” said Regulus, standing up straight and indicating to the now-free bathroom, “But if you’re free to speak right now, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Hermione took a few seconds to consider this. The party was still occurring right down the hallway—surely, Regulus wouldn’t attempt anything with party-goers so close. Additionally, Hermione did have her wand on her. But no matter how Hermione tried to reassure herself, it just didn’t sit right with her that Regulus had “coincidentally” caught Hermione in the most isolated portion of the pub.

“Alright, sure,” decided Hermione, “But would you mind if we moved to a different location? I would rather not have a conversation right next to the bathroom—”

“I won’t keep you for long,” interjected Regulus, “I only have one question. Granted that you answer it, I’ll be out of your hair.”

This sounded like a light threat to Hermione, but he kept speaking before Hermione could agree or disagree. Regulus also wasn’t looking directly at Hermione—instead, he was staring intently at her left forearm that had just been exposed seconds ago.

“That looked like a pretty bad cut,” noted Regulus, “Was that Ross’s doing?”

“Oh, she didn’t hurt me. It’s just a birthmark,” replied Hermione.

“A bit big for a birthmark, isn’t it?”

Hermione blinked at Regulus, unsure on how she should interpret this sentence. Regulus was very skilled at speaking, even more so than Sirius—he was excellent at concealing his true intentions, forcing his listener to constantly second-guess themselves.

Regulus looked back at her plainly, giving no indication if he knew of her scar or if he was just making commentary.

“What was it that you wanted to ask me?” asked Hermione, her tone notably less polite than it had been just moments ago, “Snape told me that your question involved my parents.”

Hermione had expected Regulus to dance around the question, to distract Hermione with vague phrases and minor threats. But with his hands still in his pockets, Regulus looked at Hermione bluntly and spoke:

“Is Granger the legal surname of both your mum and dad?”

From this, Hermione understood exactly where this conversation was about to go.

The entire school had a very basic explanation of Hermione’s sudden transfer to Hogwarts: she and her parents had escaped the grasp of Dark wizards from another European country to work at the Ministry of Magic. If Regulus was asking for confirmation of the surname of Hermione’s parents, then Hermione could also assume this meant that Regulus had done extensive research of the Ministry’s employees.

If Hermione answered yes, Regulus would tell her that there were no Grangers documented at the Ministry.

If Hermione answered no, Regulus would ask for their actual full names. Whatever names Hermione came up with, she’d likely end up with the same result.

If Hermione gave Regulus a non-answer, Regulus would tell her that she was lying (a common trait of the Black family).

So Hermione just looked back at Regulus, carefully assessing her options before replying.

“Are you not going to answer me?” asked Regulus after the following moments of silence, eyebrows raised in polite confusion.

“… Why are you asking?” replied Hermione instead, “I’m afraid I don’t understand how this is relevant to you.”

Regulus chuckled, reaching a hand up to run through his black hair.

“I thought you’d be hesitant to answer that,” said Regulus, “Well, then answer me this instead—why is it you’ve told everyone that both of your parents work at the Ministry, but you’ve told Sirius that your mum’s a Muggle dentist?”

“My mum is a dentist,” replied Hermione at once, “Sirius asked me the same question. She’s Muggle-born and she works part time—”

Hermione stopped to realize that she had only mentioned her mother being a dentist on two occasions: once in the common room with Sirius, and again the following day in the library when Sirius had some follow-up questions. Both of these occasions, of course, involved only Sirius.

“But… How did you know that…?” trailed Hermione, her stomach sinking slowly. Regulus didn’t reply to this; he just kept looking at Hermione, waiting for a proper response.

Hermione suddenly remembered an instance from nearly a month ago in which she thought for a moment that she was being followed, when Hermione had just returned to her room from Dumbledore’s office. She had sworn she heard a noise resembling the rustling of clothing behind her. At the time, she had dismissed the noise entirely, but clearly, she shouldn’t have.

Hermione still didn’t say anything, instead moving her hand into her dress pocket and drawing her wand. Regulus raised his brows at this, placing a hand upon his chest in exaggerated shock.

“Oh, my my my, Granger. There’s no need for that, is there? I asked for your time beforehand so that we’d avoid this type of hostility.”

“Seeing as you just happened to find me in the most isolated location of the pub, yes, I would say there is a need,” replied Hermione.

“That’s a harsh accusation, isn’t it?” said Regulus, “But I promise that I have no intentions on attacking you—you see, I am without wand.”

Regulus patted down his trouser pockets and opened his suit jacket to prove this. Hermione still refused to put her hand away, to which Regulus held his hands out in front of him in defense.

“I’m a man of my word, Granger. I said I only wanted to ask one question, and I meant it,” defended Regulus, his voice sickeningly innocent, “I have no ill intentions.”

“Then why have you been following me around the castle?” asked Hermione icily, “And why are you insinuating that you’re setting me up for blackmail?”

“Following you about the castle for blackmail information? Merlin, what has Sirius told you about me?” tutted Regulus, shaking his head, “No, Granger. I’ll admit that I’ve been particularly interested in you, but not for the reasons you may think. I’m just asking you these questions because—well, I’m curious, see—”

“So you have been following me,” concluded Hermione, “Why, then, if not out of pure suspicion? Because with how you’ve framed the situation, it sounds as if you’re attempting to threaten me.”

“If you had let me finish, I would have gotten there,” said Regulus, looking between Hermione’s face and her wand that was still gripped in her hand, “Perhaps Sirius has told you that I’m looking for a certain lost family heirloom?”

Hermione shook her head once. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised, I assumed he unloaded all of his responsibilities onto his friends,” commented Regulus, “But never mind, moving on—as I understand it, you’re quite familiar with our headmaster.

“I have an inside source stating that Dumbledore is in possession of said heirloom,” Regulus continued on tersely, “Do you have any idea what object this source could be referring to?”

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking of the many trinkets scattered throughout his office; none of them in particular had ever stood out to Hermione. Slowly, she shook her head, “That’s far too vague of a description.”

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t given many details on the specifics,” said Regulus, disdain clear in his voice. Clearly, he didn’t like not being trusted with this information. “But I know you’ve visited his office plenty enough. Can you think of any object that stands out to you in particular? Perhaps, an object that has a family crest on its surface?”

“No, Professor Dumbledore has far too many—”

Hermione paused midsentence, a sudden thought occurring to her.

No, thought Hermione at once, that would be impossible—

Regulus tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in interest.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I was just thinking,” said Hermione tersely, “No, I can’t think of anything.”

Maybe lie detection was a trait that Regulus shared with his brother, or maybe Hermione really was that poor of a liar—either way, Hermione could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe Hermione for a second. But when he continued speaking, he didn’t comment on it.

“Well, I’m very interested in this heirloom,” reiterated Regulus, “To the point where I may be coming to you again just in case you happen to see anything in Dumbledore’s office during your next meeting with him—”

“I would rather we not have another conversation, actually,” interjected Hermione firmly, “And I also would like to be getting back to the party.”

Regulus nodded serenely at Hermione. “Yes, of course. But I just wanted to explain myself—because as I understand it, you were under the impression that I was following you.”

“You said yourself that you have been following me.”

“I had heard that you visit Dumbledore’s office quite often, so I’ve been meaning to ask you if you had seen anything out of the ordinary. That’s why I had been, quote-on-quote ‘following’ you,” explained Regulus, “But every time I located you, you were with my brother. I quickly realized that if I wanted to speak with you, I’d have to ask and pledge my lack of ill-intent first.”

“As perfectly as that explains this situation,” said Hermione, her fingers still wrapped tightly around her wand, “I still fail to see why you started this conversation with expressing your doubts regarding my parents.”

“Well, I was honestly just curious,” assured Regulus, “I was confused. As I remember, the entirety of the Hogwarts staff is under the impression that both of your parents work at the Ministry. I merely wanted clarification on the situation, as I knew there had to be a plausible explanation for this misconception… Especially because—”

Before Regulus finished speaking, his gaze snapped very noticeably and decidedly to Hermione’s left forearm.

“—the alternative would mean that our headmaster has lied to our Hogwarts staff.”

The entirety of their conversation, Hermione had been wondering what Regulus was getting at. But with these words, everything made sense.

Regulus wanted intel from Hermione regarding this object and was more or less threatening to reveal her compromising personal information if she didn’t cooperate. While this information wouldn’t be too consequential within the walls of Hogwarts, Hermione didn’t want to think how the Ministry would react if they received word of Dumbledore accepting a student and lying about her identity to his own staff.

With these words, Regulus spelled out a very thinly-veiled threat: either Hermione cooperate with Regulus, or he would put Dumbledore in a difficult position (in the midst of a war, nonetheless) and reveal whatever it was he had learned about Hermione. And as much as Hermione wanted to believe that there was no way Regulus had overheard any such compromising information, he was staring at her left forearm with a bit too much intent…

“I knew the latter option was ridiculous, of course,” Regulus carried on, “So I just wanted to clear things up, for my own sake… I’ll be letting you back to the party now.”

Regulus then pointed to the bathroom door, “But I was meaning to use the toilet, so if you’d excuse me…”

As if he hadn’t just implicated that he was perfectly aware of Hermione’s darkest secrets, he squeezed past her in the cramped hallway and went into the bathroom. And as Hermione stood there for a few seconds as she processed their conversation, she had to admit—Regulus was excellent at making his intentions clear without saying anything at all.

Hermione returned to Remus’s side with a frown on her face, deep in thought. He was still standing at the edge of the dancefloor, chatting with a few classmates before he saw Hermione returning.

“You were gone for quite a bit,” noted Remus. He had cleared their table of all spilled duck sauce. “Was the line long?”

“Er—in a way, yes,” said Hermione distractedly, still thinking about Regulus’s threat. Certainly, if Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic were on good enough terms, Dumbledore would be able to clear his name pretty easily in case Regulus really did have any evidence.

“Is something on your mind?” asked Remus, looking mildly concerned, “Is it about Ross?”

“No—but I was actually just wondering,” began Hermione hesitantly, “What’s the general opinion surrounding our current Minister of Magic?”

“Harold Minchum, you mean?” said Remus thoughtfully, “Most people think he’s alright. Just recently, he placed loads more Dementors around Azkaban.”

“Yes, I read about that,” said Hermione, having read of his short status of Prime Minister years ago in Binns’ class, “But I was actually more curious about his relationship with Hogwarts.”

Remus snorted loudly at this, which was probably the last reaction Hermione wanted in response to her question.

“A lot of people like him because he’s strict—a hard-liner, everyone calls him. He makes big decisions like putting Dementors around Azkaban and locking up supposed Death-Eaters without much of a trial. But in my opinion, it’s all for show. He makes aggressive decisions to cover up the fact that he doesn’t do anything of substance—but his relationship with Hogwarts, with Dumbledore is especially abysmal. Nonexistent, really. He sees Hogwarts as a castle full of children, and not as what it is—a school in which resides the very people who will be fighting in this war for the foreseeable future.”

Clearly, Remus had been thinking these thoughts for quite a while with no one to tell them to. Hermione couldn’t imagine this would be a conversation any of his closest friends would be interested in having. Remus paused after this small rant, as if only just then realizing what he had been speaking about.

“Wait, why is it you’re asking?” asked Remus. He then smiled before adding, “What happened between here and the toilet that you’re concerned of the performance of government officials?”

“Well, I actually ran into Regulus—”

“What?” exclaimed Remus with a start, turning to fully face Hermione, “He followed you into the toilet?!”

“No, not at all,” reassured Hermione quickly. She lowered her voice before continuing to speak, for Remus’s raise in volume had attracted a few wandering eyes, “He caught me just outside, though.”

“What did he ask you?” asked Remus, still alarmed, “I’m sorry, Hermione—I should have known something had happened when you were gone for so long.”

“You aren’t responsible for me, there’s no need to apologize,” said Hermione with a weak smile, “He just asked me about my parents’ standings at the Ministry. I think he was threatening me, so I just wanted to know if Dumbledore would be able to do anything about the situation.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how confident she sounded as she said this vague and rather lazy lie, but Remus seemed to be too alarmed and guilty to notice. “Did he say anything else to you, or do anything? Did he mention anything about the Obliviating or Sirius—”

Remus paused here, as if suddenly realizing something.

“Did—did you talk to anyone else?” Remus then asked slowly, “As in—with anyone besides Regulus?”

“No,” said Hermione puzzledly, “I mean, it was a bit unfortunate that no one else came down that hallway to use the loo the entire time we were speaking, but there wasn’t anyone else there.”

Remus looked confused at this, which Hermione personally didn’t understand. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he was distracted by something behind Hermione and immediately said:

“Oh, no, please don’t tell me—”

Hermione turned, not just because Remus was staring intently at whatever it was behind her, but also because many people around her had gasped in the same general direction.

It was Regulus who had caused the sudden reactions, but not because he had done anything—if anything, everyone was shocked because of what had clearly been done to him.

Regulus had blood seeping slowly from his nose and trailing down his chin, soaking the white collar of his suit. He was also holding a hand up to his left eye, indicating that he had been hurt there as well.

His date, who was still sitting at the table across the pub with his other Slytherin friends, shrieked when Regulus neared them. From across the crowded dance floor, Hermione couldn’t see much, but she guessed that his frantic hand movements at her was him indicating for his wand so that he could clear up his wounds.

“What on Earth happened to him?” wondered Hermione in awe, “Do you think he slipped and hit his head on the sink or something like that?”

Remus didn’t respond. When Hermione turned to look at him, she saw that he was looking very intently towards the hallway tucked underneath the stairs. Even the jazz ensemble members, who were situated beside the staircase, were sparing curious glances behind them to see if there was anyone else coming out from the bathroom hallway.

After this incident, however, the remainder of the party went plainly. After a few more apologies from Remus, they returned to the dance floor for a couple more songs. The party wrapped up with Slughorn making rounds to all of his guests to thank them for coming, and then, the party was over.

That evening’s events had distracted Hermione from the fact that Sirius, James, and Peter had promised to meet them outside The Three Broomsticks. The moment Hermione saw Sirius upon exiting the pub, everything regarding Sandra Ross immediately rushed back to her.

At once, Hermione felt inexplicably and annoyingly flustered.

“Ah, here we are!” announced James with a wide grin, “The couple of the hour. How was it in there?”

“Surprisingly eventful,” commented Remus, “We had a great time, but there were a couple of unexpected events.”

“Why, do tell,” said Sirius sincerely, his eyebrows raised in interest. Remus just looked at Sirius flatly, looking strangely frustrated.

“Well, for one thing,” began Hermione, seeing as Remus wasn’t interested in explaining. Sirius looked to Hermione instead, and the previous tight feeling in Hermione’s chest from before returned.

“Regulus basically tried to threaten me,” forced out Hermione in yet another attempt to talk over her feelings, “And for some reason, he left the loo with a bloody nose and an injured eye. Everyone was trying to figure out what had happened, since it didn’t look like anyone else was in the hallway with him.”

Hermione had expected Sirius to be immediately angry at news of Regulus threatening her, or even start laughing at news of his brother’s misfortune. But Sirius just nodded thoughtfully, not looking too shocked or surprised.

“Well, he does have the brains of a Cornish Pixie, so it’s plausible he simply hit his head on every hard surface on the way to and from the toilet,” theorized Sirius in amusement.

“How was the food?” asked Peter curiously, apparently valuing this detail above all else.

Hermione divulged a few more details regarding her and Regulus’s conversation on the walk back to the castle, to which Sirius continued to show a surprising lack of anger.

As strange as this was, Hermione found herself unable to focus on Sirius’s lack of anger. Instead, Hermione found herself mysteriously fixated on Sandra Ross, Marlene McKinnon, and how closely Sirius was standing next to her.

--

The party’s events had left both Hermione and Sirius intensely confused, but for vastly different reasons. Sirius repeatedly asked Hermione why she hadn’t just Obliviated Regulus once more, as he strongly disagreed with Hermione’s unwillingness to Obliviate someone without sufficient proof of knowledge (“Even if he doesn’t actually know anything, that git could stand to benefit from some mental cleansing,” assured Sirius).

Hermione, of course, was left completely flabbergasted at the fact that she had developed some sort of feelings for Sirius Black.

At first, the idea of feeling even a sliver of attraction for Sirius was so ridiculous that Hermione immediately denied this as a possibility. But as Hermione observed how she felt when she was speaking with Sirius the following week, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself.

Her first reaction to this acknowledgement, of course, was pure disgust. While she understood that it wasn’t exactly her fault for developing human emotions, she couldn’t help but be infuriated with herself for having the audacity to find her previous best friend’s godfather attractive.

He really is, though, thought Hermione, glancing at Sirius from the seat across from hers. They were currently working on some textbook translations, and Hermione had finished before anyone else. She remembered thinking for the first time how attractive Sirius was during Christmas Eve dinner—but that much was different. Hermione had merely acknowledged his looks then, but now? Hermione was genuinely attracted to Sirius.

Of course, Hermione had gone about this recent discovery in a logical fashion: in her head, she had laid out multiple reasons why continuing to fancy Sirius was a terrible idea. For one, any type of relationship would be overwhelmingly immoral. Sirius’s idea of Hermione’s identity was a lie in almost every aspect, and he would likely be horrified to discover that Hermione was very familiar with his older self—all while Hermione was a child, as well.

Additionally, Hermione was essentially rewriting Sirius’s future, as well as the futures of his many friends and acquaintances. To be romantically involved with someone she was pulling the strings of fate for was, in Hermione’s mind, insanely unethical.

Yet, while these two reasons really should have been Hermione’s top reasons for why she should never, ever approach Sirius in a romantic fashion, Hermione mostly felt… inadequate. She wasn’t exactly the type of girl Sirius was usually interested in, especially next to girls like Marlene and Sandra. Maybe the reason why she was Sirius’s first female friend was because he had absolutely no interest in her.

At that moment, Sirius looked up from his Runes translation, probably sensing that he was being stared at.

“What?” asked Sirius, “Don’t tell me I’ve messed up my translation again, I’m nearly finished.”

“No—nothing, it’s nothing,” said Hermione quickly, diverting her gaze from Sirius’s face to his translation.

Hermione frowned, momentarily distracted.

“Why have you written down the word pasta? We’re translating a biscuit recipe.”

“You can have pasta with your biscuits,” frowned Sirius, but he went back to correct his translation anyways.

Hermione was left with trying to convince herself that these feelings were nothing more than a minor crush, and that she shouldn’t feel too guilty for feeling the way she did.

Obviously, nothing’s going to become of this crush, Hermione reminded herself in hopes of feeling less guilty. But she only felt worse when this realization did nothing but disappoint her.

Her plans to rewrite history were another source of Hermione’s confusion and general stress. With every decision she thought she could make for certain, she would immediately think of multiple ways in which her idea would unravel terribly. It didn’t help that she had been worried out of her mind that the deaths of the people she was trying to save were Fixed.

To make matters worse, her run-in with Sandra Ross had reminded Hermione that Marlene McKinnon and her family had been murdered by Death Eaters. If Hermione was taking the responsibility of saving the lives of those closest to her, who was she to deny her efforts to people like Marlene? In a way, if Hermione didn’t do anything to prevent the deaths she was aware of, she’d be responsible…

Hermione unloaded these concerns to Professor Dumbledore later that week during their next meeting, but he couldn’t help her very much. Hermione had offered to tell Dumbledore a few details of her knowledge, but he refused every time. This meeting was no different.

“I understand that the responsibility is overwhelming,” said Dumbledore, smiling sadly at Hermione sitting across from him, “And I do wish that I could help you with the specifics at this time… But, as you know, I’m uncertain how your knowledge would affect my actions and efforts.”

“Yes, I understand,” said Hermione. But she took mental note on how Dumbledore had said at this time—could Dumbledore be implicating that he would eventually change his mind on choosing to remain unaware of Hermione’s past?

“Have you made any progress on these plans of action since our last meeting?” continued Dumbledore.

“Yes, and they currently center around one specific person,” said Hermione grimly, for that person referred to Peter.

As much as Hermione didn’t want to consider saving Peter, she couldn’t deny that any plan that aimed to save James’s and Lily’s life would have to revolve around preventing one of two events: Peter’s betrayal or Snape’s overhearing of the prophecy.

Hermione had decided to first focus on Peter, since he would be closer to the Potters and therefore more potentially dangerous. Hermione would have to somehow prevent Peter from joining the Death Eaters, which would involve her becoming friends with Peter (she still shivered at the thought).

“But I know I can’t possibly have everything depend on this one person not making a specific decision, so I’m also thinking up some write-arounds and back-up plans in case my attempts fail to work,” Hermione continued. These write-arounds involved Hermione helping Lily and James escape Godric’s Hollow in case Voldemort was still able to find them—Hermione would have to find a way to work around the Fidelius Charm that prevented Lily and James from apparating to safety.

“I can see that you’re working hard on the matter,” said Dumbledore empathetically, “Once more, I regret that I am unable to help you in this aspect… But, as you have agreed to join the Order, we no longer have to limit ourselves to finding a solution for your friends to the end of this school year. I’ll be able to meet with you privately before or after every Order meeting on this matter, if necessary.”

Hermione just nodded. The decision to join the Order hadn’t been a difficult one to make, as she was obviously eager to help in the war in any way she could. The only concern Hermione held was the fact that she would likely feel guilty for withholding time-related information that, while would be extremely useful, would also be unwise to divulge to too many people.

“And, hopefully, I’ll have made more progress on this particular object, in the meanwhile,” added Dumbledore, indicating to the broken time-turner in its display case. “I keep it locked away in my desk between meetings, but I think this instrument will be accompanying me on another research trip soon—which I would inform you of beforehand, of course—I’ve been meaning to drop by the Ministry of Magic, and I hope to run into an Unspeakable to ask a few more questions on their time-turners.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” noted Hermione, sitting up in her armchair slightly. Dumbledore’s mentioning of the Ministry had reminded her of Regulus’s threat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Professor, about our school’s relationship with the Minister of Magic.”

“Ah, Harold,” hummed Dumbledore, giving Hermione another sad smile. “No, we aren’t on the best of terms. We had a strong disagreement over his placement of more Dementors around Azkaban, see, and he used our argument to turn many of the school’s governors against me. Not nearly enough to displace me, of course, but enough to create tensions.”

Dumbledore then raised his eyebrows in polite confusion. “May I ask about the source of your curiosity regarding our standing with the Ministry, Miss Granger?”

Over their many meetings, Hermione and Dumbledore had formed a closer relationship than the average student and professor—similar to how Dumbledore and Harry had been, Hermione assumed. Even then, Hermione hesitated in telling Dumbledore about Regulus. The situation felt personal—childish, even. But as Regulus’s threats involved Dumbledore specifically, she felt it was best to at least warn him of the situation.

“Another student has approached me with doubts of my identity,” said Hermione, choosing to keep Regulus anonymous, “He more or less threatened to tell everyone in the school that you’ve lied about my identity if I don’t help him with what he wants.”

“Ah,” noted Dumbledore, frowning, “It’s upsetting to hear that any student of mine would have such a vendetta against me—unsurprising, of course, but upsetting nonetheless. Which student are you referring to?”

“Oh,” said Hermione plainly. She had assumed that Dumbledore wouldn’t want to know who this student was, given his semi-involvement in Hermione’s past. But, of course, Dumbledore wouldn’t know that this student was relevant to Hermione’s past, so she supposed she shouldn’t have assumed. “Regulus Black.”

Dumbledore chuckled at this. “The Black brothers can’t seem to leave you alone, can they? But… Yes, I see. And what is it that he wants?”

“It was a bit strange, actually,” said Hermione, “He said he’s lost a family heirloom, and he claims he has an inside source that it’s in your office.”

Hermione’s gaze fell upon the curtains that had been drawn over the many portraits, and just then, she made a connection—Regulus’s claim of an inside source was undoubtably Phineas’ portrait.

Dumbledore seemed to have a realization of his own. In that moment, there was something particular about the usual twinkle in his eyes; his blue eyes seemed to gleam with a renewed sense of understanding, and they glanced down to the time-turner sitting on the desk.

But before Hermione could ask Dumbledore what he was thinking of, Dumbledore spoke first. He spoke with a tone of finality, indicating that he was about to end the meeting for the day. Clearly, whatever idea had just struck him, he wanted to focus on it right away.

“Thank you for informing me of this, Miss Granger—and I appreciate your concern on my behalf regarding the Ministry. But I assure you that my word to Harold would easily override any rumor coming from a student, even with our difficult relationship—especially since he doesn’t think very highly of our students,” added Dumbledore regretfully. With these words, however, Hermione felt a bit of weight lifting from her shoulders; she no longer had to worry about Regulus’s threat.

Whatever information he thinks he holds over my head, it won’t affect Dumbledore at all, thought Hermione cheerfully as she was leaving Dumbledore’s office. She actually felt fortunate that their meeting had ended so soon, given the amount of homework she had tomorrow. If and when he decides to confront me again, the worst that could happen is that people think differently of me.

This last thought wasn’t very comforting, especially when she thought about how a few particular people would react upon learning a few compromising details about Hermione, notably Sirius… Sure, she’d be able to brush of Regulus’s words as rumors to most people who asked, but she was admittedly scared that Sirius would return to his original suspicions of Hermione.

To distract herself of thoughts of Sirius, Hermione redirected her thoughts to the time-turner. When Regulus had initially introduced his missing heirloom, Hermione didn’t see any reason to not comply with him. But on the mere chance that the heirloom had anything to do with her time-turner, she had decidedly refused on cooperating. At the time, she thought this concern was pretty ridiculous, but just then in Dumbledore’s office, Hermione felt that Dumbledore was having a similar idea.

That would make my situation far too confusing… And with the time-turner’s placement in the Room of Requirement, the situation would only be made even more confusing, thought Hermione as she reached her bedroom. She sighed as she saw her textbooks stacked upon her desk, not excited to be starting her homework so late at night.

To focus on her homework, Hermione was forced to put away all thoughts of confusion and uncertainty regarding her rewriting-plans, Regulus, and the time-turner.

(Of course, the only thing Hermione wasn’t confused on were her feelings for Sirius—upsetting as they were, Hermione was now equally certain of their validity.)

--

Hermione was terrible at flirting. She was so bad at flirting, in fact, that she wasn’t sure what someone flirting with her would even look like.

The ability to flirt was never a skill that Hermione really had to master, as her previous romantic relationships never really involved flirting—Viktor was always blunt about making his affection known, and Ron was just as painfully awkward as Hermione was.

So when Hermione continued to monitor (and hopefully minimize) her feelings towards Sirius for the next week, she had absolutely no idea if Sirius’s behavior towards her was as… teasing as she thought it was, or if this was confirmation-bias on Hermione’s part.

This uncertainty all started Sunday evening in the common room. Sirius and Stephan’s project was due the next Thursday (Flynn was forced to push back the due date by a week, as many students were unaware that Muggle post took much longer than Wizarding post and ordered their books far too late), and Sirius had requested (begged for) Hermione’s help with presentation preparation.

Hermione had correctly assumed that assisting Sirius would be a challenge: with half an hour to curfew and a mostly empty common room, Sirius was still struggling to maintain what Hermione called “presentation etiquette.”

“‘… And what Muggle history diagnoses as por… por-fia—”

“Porphyria.”

“‘—porphyria, actually coincides with the symptoms of the Insamentis Draught… Documented symptoms included mania and foaming at the mouth, which, er, are the lasting effects of repeated intake of, er, Insamentis—'”

“Sirius, you’re using filler words again.”

“Well, if you hadn’t confiscated my notes, I wouldn’t be stammering over my words, would I?” protested Sirius, indicating to his notes in Hermione’s hands, “Besides, this presentation isn’t for another week and a half, why are we focusing on little details like fill words?”

“Filler words, Sirius. And you should take advantage of all this extra time to really perfect your presentation skills,” insisted Hermione, “Just try to focus. The entire class will be looking at you and Stephan for an entire ten minutes, so you’ll have to present yourself well.”

Sirius snorted, leaning back in his seat as he crossed his arms. “At me and Diaz? That’s a funny joke, Hermione—no one will be looking at Diaz when I’m at the front of the classroom.”

“Why, because you’re bound to make a fool of yourself?” questioned Hermione, looking at the pieces of parchment that composed Sirius’s “notes”, half of which consisted of doodles.

“No, because of my godlike features,” corrected Sirius obviously, “Honestly, Hermione, it’s like you’ve never even looked at me before.”

A couple weeks ago, Hermione would have likely rolled her eyes at this statement. But Hermione just shrugged.

“Mhm. Let’s work on making sure that your words match your looks, then,” said Hermione lightly.

In the split second that Sirius came back with his usual snarky reply, Hermione sensed a note of surprise in his eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone, and Sirius’s lips were turned upwards into a satisfied smirk.

“Well, well. It does feel nice to be recognized—I shouldn’t be surprised, of course, I am a stellar man. But I am more than my stunning looks, you know. Consider too my amazing personality—”

“Sirius—”

“What? Can’t I properly relish in my compliment? Those are rare, you know, the Granger Editions.”

“Oh, please,” said Hermione, “Is that what you’re calling it, a compliment?”

“Yes,” said Sirius stoutly, “Was it not?”

This time, Hermione really did roll her eyes. But she also didn’t negate Sirius’s question.

“Come on, have another go at it,” urged Hermione, indicating back to Sirius’s notes, “I’ll have to be leaving in twenty minutes.”

Sirius didn’t make further comment, but Hermione was fairly certain that she noticed Sirius sit up a bit straighter. He also made it through his entire portion of the presentation with barely any filler words at all.

When Hermione left the common room twenty minutes later (she promised Sirius that she didn’t need to be walked back, a gesture Sirius had been especially insistent on doing ever since her run-in with Regulus at the party), she could literally feel the tension lessen as she stepped out into the corridor hall. Immediately, she could feel the guilt hit her in the gut, feeling entirely disgusted with herself—how could she have said that to Sirius? She was trying to eliminate her feelings for him, not make them even stronger.

After an internal self-lecture and a night’s rest, Hermione had mostly put the conversation out of her mind. She ruled this incident as a one-off, a conversation topic she would not be repeating.

The next day in Transfiguration, Hermione decided to sit next to Lily and Andrea towards the front of the classroom. Not only did she want to catch up with Lily (despite a surprising amount of Lily’s conversation topics being centered around James and how annoying he was during Head Boy and Girl duty), but she also wanted to put a bit of physical space between her and Sirius.

Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter shuffled into the classroom some minutes later. Hermione waved a short hello to them, but otherwise focused on Lily’s recent complaints on James.

Five minutes into the start of McGonagall’s lecture, a folded-up bit of parchment materialized on Hermione’s desk.

Hermione, in the midst of taking notes, stopped to look at it. When Hermione glanced behind her, Sirius was already looking at her with a cheeky grin.

Hermione indicated to the blackboard upon which McGonagall was writing, indicating for him to pay attention. But when she turned back around, she couldn’t help but curiously open the note.

The note opened up to read:

Hi

-Sirius

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved the note underneath her textbook.

Not a minute later, another note popped up on Hermione’s desk. When Hermione quickly glanced behind her once more, Sirius was looking towards the front of the classroom, suddenly very interested in what Professor McGonagall had to say.

Decidedly, Hermione opened the note.

Remember that time you said I was the most attractive man on the planet?

-Zeus, basically

While Hermione was glad Sirius had paid attention during the mythology installment of his Muggle Studies class, she did wish that Sirius would stop finding every opportunity to compare himself to a Greek god.

After quickly checking to make sure McGonagall wasn’t looking in her direction, Hermione decided to write a response.

Sirius, you don’t have to sign your name. No one else would be sending me notes in the middle of class. Please pay attention; you’re distracting me.

Holding her wand underneath her desk, Hermione quickly vanished the note off to Sirius’s desk. Within just another minute, Hermione received a response.

One, who uses semi-colons in casual conversation? Two, of course I’m distracting you, because as I said you pretty much admitted last night that I was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen and I just want to talk about it.

-Apollo

Before Hermione could even begin to write anything back, another note materialized before her.

I’ve changed it to Apollo because Apollo is probably hotter than Zeus. Pun intended because I’m hilarious.

Flustered as she was mildly frustrated, Hermione wrote back one last note.

I literally did not say that, so there’s nothing to talk about. If you write me back one more time, I’ll march straight up to McGonagall’s desk with your notes in hand.

A minute passed, and then Hermione received another note.

Alright, but only since you asked x

Hermione looked at the note and Sirius’s sign-off, feeling a tinge of heat build up behind her cheeks. She returned to her note-taking, but admittedly wasn’t able to focus for another couple of minutes.

Throughout the rest of the week, however, she and Sirius continued to exchange these small notes. Sirius quickly learned that sending any more notes during class time would get promptly ignored, and resorted to sending her a note or two in the hours they were apart.

At first, these notes were mostly to provoke Hermione in one way or the other: Sirius would shamelessly bring up the singular instance in which she didn’t outright deny Sirius’s good looks, or to make some joke or insult involving Stephan when she went to the library to study with her Ravenclaw friends.

But by the end of the week, these notes were used more as means of basic communication; Sirius would ask Hermione when she was coming to dinner or if she’d be at the common room later that night.

For instance, Hermione had been spending most of Friday afternoon and early evening in her room; she had an overwhelming amount of work due on Monday and Tuesday and she felt behind. To prevent having too much work to do on Sunday, Hermione was getting a head start before the weekend.

Around dinner time, a note slipped underneath Hermione’s door and skittered across her floor (similar to the flying memos of the Ministry, they would enchant their parchment to find the other person; their previous materialization-method was practically impossible to do when they were so far apart).

Hermione turned her head at the soft sound. At once, she felt herself feel lighter at the sight of the folded note on the carpet. She stood from her desk to retrieve the small bit of parchment.

Why aren’t you at dinner? Bored out of my bloody mind without you to argue with talk to x

Underneath Sirius’s handwriting was a stick-figurine drawing of Sirius with tears coming out of his eyes.

Hermione smiled at the drawing and began to write back her own response.

I’m just working on some assignments, so I won’t be coming to the Great Hall. I’ll be joining you lot in the common room after dinner, promise.

Twenty minutes after Hermione enchanted her parchment to Sirius, she found herself looking towards the door every so often.

On a surface-level, Hermione understood that this note-passing balanced dangerously on the edge of furthering Hermione’s feelings. It wasn’t the actual note-taking that was the problem, necessarily; what Hermione found to be problematic was her reaction to them.

Every time she saw a note fly towards her in the library or slip under her bedroom door, Hermione was unable to diminish the genuine feelings of excitement and joy the parchment bits brought her. Clearly, her attempts to keep her emotions under wraps weren’t working.

Hermione understood that the logical thing to do was to spend less time with Sirius, but as they shared so many classes, Hermione wasn’t sure how much that would help. Besides, Sirius wasn’t likely to leave her alone very easily, especially now that they’ve developed a note-passing system.

Maybe I should tell him I’m focusing on the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, thought Hermione unenthusiastically, That’d be a believable reason. And I’d be able to utilize the extra time, as well.

Just then, another piece of paper slid under Hermione’s door.

At once, Hermione stood to her feet to pick up the note. She knew she should feel ashamed for getting so immediately excited, but she quickly opened the parchment up anyways. The message was short this time around—

Open your door!

Hermione opened her door, spirits falling when no one was there.

Just as she was about to take a step forward and peer down the corridor, Hermione peered down, and fortunately so—right at her feet was a wrapped sandwich, an apple, and a goblet of pumpkin juice.

While she wasn’t a huge fan of the idea that Sirius had stolen kitchenware from the Great hall, she couldn’t help but beam widely at the dinner at her feet. Just as quickly as her spirits had fallen, they had raised once more, lifting Hermione’s emotions so rapidly that she almost felt light-headed.

After she had placed all of the food on her desk, Hermione saw that there was yet another note embedded in the napkins wrapped around the sandwich.

You’re probably thinking that I’m a fantastic wizard for conjuring food out of nowhere. I’m sorry to say that while I am indeed a man of many talents, breaking universal laws of transfiguration is not a skill I possess. I deposited your dinner (that you should have eaten with us, might I add) at your door and took off, since I know you’re focused, and I know that when you’re focused I annoy you more than I normally do.

Anyways you’re mental for skipping dinner on a Friday to get work done, but I’m also not surprised in the slightest. And if you break your promise and don’t meet us in the common room later tonight I will have no other choice than to pass away.

xx

Hermione had been pretty good about throwing away her and Sirius’s notes when she would rather keep them, but she couldn’t help but tuck this particular one away into her textbook as a bookmark.

Hermione wrote back a quick thank-you note and reaffirmation of her attendance later that evening and tried to get back to studying, but she kept finding herself rereading Sirius’s note every few minutes. She knew it wasn’t like her to go so blatantly against her own logic, and to let a boy of all things to distract her from her studies. But she also couldn’t deny that how she felt about Sirius was different than how she had ever felt before.

While she had enjoyed Viktor’s company, she never truly connected with him. With Ron, she had felt genuinely connected to him, but she also spent a great deal of her time with him more frustrated than content. But Sirius was different entirely—he was just so good at making her laugh and keeping her amused. Every conversation with Sirius felt effortless and natural, and she was getting to the point where she’d consider Sirius a closer friend than Stephan.

Despite all of this, Hermione still told herself that everything she felt towards Sirius was nothing more than a little, stupid crush—especially since she had only been aware of said feelings for a couple weeks now. As for the questionable ethicalness of her note-passing and continuing interactions with Sirius, Hermione also told herself that she likely shouldn’t worry too much; she was fairly certain that her feelings were one-sided.

Again, this wasn’t a comforting thought, necessarily, but it certainly helped her feel less guilty regarding the entire situation: even though Hermione was reading into every interaction they had, Sirius likely felt only platonically towards Hermione. As such, she reassured herself that she was misreading the situation—especially as Hermione, after all, was terrible at flirting.

Chapter Text

March had arrived with onslaughts of miserable rain and meager attempts at proper sunshine, which about matched Hermione’s general mood regarding her time-related plans.

Her time-drafting (as she chose to call it) was beginning to eat up more and more of her time. Throughout the past two months, Hermione only visited the Room of Requirement once a week for the occasional book and to file away any notes. With two weeks to Easter holiday, however, Hermione was beginning to realize how little time she had left in the school year.

While Dumbledore had already assured her that he would continue to meet with her and assist her in the following year(s), Hermione felt that she ought to have more done by now. With N.E.W.T.s approaching, Hermione knew she would be unable to devote much time to time-drafting after Easter break.

Subsequently, Hermione had returned to spending many hours in the Room of Requirement, just to officially reserve hours in her schedule towards her time-drafting and to surround herself in an environment that would create a good headspace for her to concentrate.

Which placed Hermione in the Room of Requirement in the early hours of Tuesday morning—she had decided on waking up a couple hours early every day for drafting, long before most people would wake up.

Furiously, Hermione crumpled up yet another piece of parchment and pulled out a fresh piece. On the table surrounding her were piles upon piles of books, half-written notes, and crumpled balls of parchment.

When Hermione first began working on these plans many months ago, she had originally begun with the idea of Horcruxes—certainly, Hermione could take advantage of her predicament and begun the hunt for Horcruxes two decades in advance.

And then Hermione began to think about Fixed events, which in turn caused Hermione to spiral downwards in descent of perpetual second-guessing and uncertainty.

Dumbledore’s theory of Fixed events was, in essence, a theory—while she and him had collected lots of evidence pointing to the existence of these Fixed events, there was no way to tell or ensure which events were unable to be changed.

Dumbledore had mentioned that he believed Hermione traveling back in time was a Fixed event—but clearly, her meeting and interacting with Dumbledore, Sirius, and others in the year of 1977 were not Fixed occurrences (Hermione chose to believe that one of these people would have recognized or told Hermione during her own time, if this was the case).

As Hermione’s interactions with various people in 1977 were bound to have widely lasting effects, she could only guess what classified an event as “significant” enough to be Fixed. At the very least, she assumed that the two Wizarding Wars were Fixed—but what about other individual events that still were greatly consequential?

What if the destruction of certain Horcruxes on certain dates were Fixed? What if Peter’s betrayal, Voldemort’s hearing of the prophecy, and Harry’s time in Limbo were Fixed events? In the off chance that whatever Hermione was planning to “re-do” was a Fixed event, she would have to be prepared to adjust to the situation with a work-around.

Basically, Dumbledore’s theory of Fixed events was severely invasive in any and all plans Hermione attempted to write out, essentially forcing her to think of a back-up solution to every single possible route.

That morning, Hermione left the Room of Requirement particularly exhausted—she had taken to pasting every piece of parchment paper on the wide walls of the hall, set on creating a flow chart to help sort her thoughts. Helpful as this was for Hermione to visualize every chain of events, it had taken her quite a while to plan out.

As soon as she opened the door, something hit her right in the forehead.

Startled, Hermione flinched. Now resting peacefully at her feet was a paper airplane with its nose crumpled and squashed.

That’s one of Sirius’s notes, realized Hermione. Given that Hermione was in the Room of Requirement, the note must have been unable to find a way to Hermione and seemingly settled on running repeatedly into the wall.  

At the sight of the parchment, Hermione’s gut did some gymnastics—her feelings for Sirius had very much not diminished, but she was beginning to associate her reaction to the notes with her guilt that was slowly starting to overwhelm her.

But of course, Hermione still picked up the paper airplane.

The parchment unfolded to read:

I woke up early to practice for tonight and I thought you’d be proud of me. I also just wanted to have this note reach you before you woke up so that you’d know that I’m capable of waking up before you do.

Also could you please tell Diaz that I’m not wearing my formal wear for this presentation? He’s getting weirdly insistent. Thanking you xx

Sirius’s presentation was in two days, and Hermione was beginning to feel equally responsible for this project as Sirius was.

Stephan wanted to do a proper run through the night before, but Hermione had promised to help just Sirius with his part Tuesday night after dinner. She did appreciate, however, how Sirius was doing his part to prepare for the project.

Finding it amusing that she was proud of Sirius for doing the academic bare minimum, Hermione set off for the Great Hall.

Hermione reached the Great Hall only a few minutes after it opened, and yet, Sirius had still managed to get there before her. He waved at her enthusiastically when he saw her, sending a flutter of butterflies straight to her stomach.

“Did you get my note?” asked Sirius eagerly the second Hermione sat down, “You never replied. I thought for sure that you were still asleep.”

A frown spread across his face before Sirius added, “You didn’t ignore me, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” promised Hermione, tempted to smile when Sirius pouted jokingly, “I just woke up and was already set on coming here, so I figured I would just talk to you in person.”

“I still would have appreciated a note,” said Sirius, “I keep them, you know.”

Another flurry of butterflies invaded her senses, and Hermione pretended she was unaffected.

“Do you?” asked Hermione as she reached for a slice of toast, “I assumed that you tossed them in the bin.”

“And lose my only physical representations of the fact that you can stand me now?” said Sirius incredulously, “I think not, Hermione. Do you not keep yours?”

“Oh, I keep the nice ones,” said Hermione, spreading jam over her toast, “So that makes a total of three notes.”

Sirius flicked a piece of scrambled egg at her in response, to which Hermione furiously told him off for. But in the midst of their bickering, Hermione knew that they both understood the other was joking. It was nice, being able to understand the other person without saying much out loud—it was a relationship dynamic Hermione wasn’t really used to.

In the midst of her stress regarding drafting and upcoming tests, Hermione knew that she probably shouldn’t be as willing as she was to set aside a couple hours of precious time to help Sirius on a project he very well could work alone on. But when Sirius was smiling at her like this, she always found herself completely willing to bend her own rules, even if just by a bit.

…oOo…

Some may call Sirius conceited, others would call him lucky—either way, the fact stood that Sirius had never once been rejected before.

Sure, most of his romantic relationships were not ones he initiated, but he was usually the one to end things off and cut ties. He’s never really been told no before in the romantic department, so he didn’t ever consider what would happen or how he’d feel if Hermione ended up being just as uninterested in him as she acted on a surface-level.

The thought of rejection didn’t even strike Sirius until Tuesday’s lunch.

For the past week, Hermione had often eaten her meals with Lily and even a couple times at the Ravenclaw table (which Sirius expressed his distaste for in a few choice notes, all of which Hermione ignored). So, when Hermione finally decided on eating with Sirius and his friends on Tuesday, he was obviously disappointed when she stood to leave after ten minutes of vigorously fast eating.

“Where you off to, Hermione?” asked Remus as Hermione was slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, why are you abandoning me this time?” followed up Sirius, not entirely joking.

“Well, seeing as I’ll be dedicating two hours of study time towards helping a certain someone with his project tonight,” said Hermione, brushing a couple of stray crumbs off her front, “I have to finish up a couple of assignments.”

“Wow, this person sounds like an inconsiderate and irresponsible jerk,” said James sympathetically. He flinched when Sirius moved, likely expecting a jab in the side, but Sirius just ran a hand through his hair. Maybe if he played with his amazing locks, he could play off his genuine feelings of hurt.

“Honestly,” agreed Sirius, “You should ditch that dolt and hang out with me, your favorite person, instead.”

In the few seconds that Remus and James shot Sirius side-glances for this daring comment, Hermione just raised her eyebrows.

“No, I think I’m set on helping him,” she said, “I’ll see you all in class later.” Hermione left.

The moment Hermione left the Great Hall, Sirius leaned forward towards his friends.

“You lot noticed that, right?” said Sirius lowly, “She doesn’t insult me when I compliment myself anymore. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“That wasn’t an insult?” asked Peter confusedly.

Remus clearly expressed similar doubts, as his face was set in an expression that suggested he was about to laugh.

“Surely, you aren’t insinuating that Hermione’s absence of insults translates to her being genuinely attracted to you,” said Remus.

“No, I see it,” disagreed James, “If she isn’t insulting him anymore, it likely means she actually maybe agrees with Sirius now.”

“See?” said Sirius, nodding at his best mate appreciatively, “I’m not mad! Prongs sees it too.”

Remus looked between James and Sirius flatly.

“Surely, you realize the severity of your predicament if Prongs is agreeing with you.”

“No, really,” insisted Sirius, “I’ve told you lot, when it’s just me and her, things are just different. I swear, she’s warming up to me.”

“Padfoot, I’m not trying to say she isn’t,” replied Remus, “You’re just really invested in Hermione. I wouldn’t want to see you down if things end up, well, not working out.”

“You mean to say that Sirius Black could get rejected?” rephrased James with a wide grin, “That’s just impossible, that is.”

“I don’t think we’d live to see the day,” agreed Peter through a mouthful of chicken.

At that moment, Sirius had replied with really cocky and confident self-praises, all of which Remus rolled his eyes jokingly to. But as the day continued on, the word rejection slowly began to set in his mind as a terrifyingly likely possibility.

Over the past two months, Sirius found himself insufferably and infuriatingly sensitive around Hermione. Sirius wasn’t sure if he just didn’t care enough about anything before Hermione, or if he was just more aware of his emotions now, but he took every sign of her affection (or lack thereof) far too personally.

When she sent back a note right after Sirius sent his, he took this to mean a sure sign of her interest. But when Sirius would make jokes about Hermione liking Diaz’s freckles, Hermione sometimes wouldn’t vehemently deny it, which would immediately send Sirius into thoughts of incredible self-doubt.

I need to stop making those jokes, thought Sirius angrily, Why do I even make them? All they do is make me upset.

Sirius was currently spending his free period after Runes in his dormitory, sitting on his bed with the Marauder’s Map in his hands. The map, completed a few weeks ago, hadn’t been opened by just Sirius in many weeks.

He stared down at the closed map, mad at himself for what he was so tempted to do.

With his feelings towards Hermione, Sirius had long since put aside his suspicions on Hermione’s strange past—he was still certain that she was lying, of course, but he simply didn’t care as much anymore. As such, he hadn’t checked her position on the Marauders Map in ages.

But with the word rejection ringing through his head, Sirius knew that it would be so easy—all he had to do was send a note to Hermione, check her position on the map, and see how long it took for her to walk to her door to retrieve the note. If she read the note right away, that would be a sure sign of possible feelings. But if she ignored the note for many minutes…

Then clearly, I’m not a priority, thought Sirius. He knew that he shouldn’t expect to be Hermione’s number one priority, or anyone’s for that matter, but he was selfish.

As tempted as Sirius was to go through with this plan, he kept telling himself how absurdly inappropriate and creepy it would be. Besides, if Hermione knew that Sirius was still tracking her through the map, she’d probably be disgusted…

Frustrated, Sirius hastily shoved the map into the inner pocket of his school robes. He couldn’t bear to look at it.

At dinner, Hermione was sitting at the Ravenclaw table again, which did little to calm his ever-growing fears. She did, however, send Sirius a note confirming their scheduled time and meeting place (eight o’clock at their usual classroom, classroom twenty-two) around seven, which Sirius supposed was better than nothing.

At seven-thirty, he set off for their usual classroom, planning to sharpen up on his memorized portion before Hermione got there. And he definitely, absolutely was not going to check on the map still in his pocket to see when Hermione was coming.

…oOo…

Throughout all of Tuesday, Hermione received a total of five notes from Sirius, each riddled with purposefully irritating filler words.

Sirius’s mockery of Hermione’s presentation etiquette, while frustrating, also pleased Hermione—he was able to make a crude pun out of each of her rules, proving that Sirius had been listening to her all along.

That certainly means we have less work to do tonight, thought Hermione, sighing as she flipped through her History of Magic textbook. She had spent any and all free time that day completing work; as Easter holiday was approaching, many assignments were due the following week.

As such, she was getting some reading done before her meeting with Sirius. But around seven-thirty, Hermione received another note. Sitting at a library table, she plucked the fluttering note out of the air and opened it up.

Change of plans. Someone else is in our usual classroom. I ran into Slughorn—he offered to let us use his spare classroom when I told him you were helping me, which was strange, but I didn’t question it.

Anyway, meet me in dungeon eleven. See you there.

Hermione frowned slightly as she read this—not because of Sirius’s change of location, but because of Sirius’s tone.

Hermione wasn’t sure why, but Sirius seemed different in this note—perhaps something bad had happened that subsequently soured his mood. At once, Hermione considered the idea that she had somehow done or said something to affect Sirius negatively, causing him to write this note with such formality.

Of course, Hermione immediately psycho-analyzed herself and this chain of thoughts.

This is exactly what shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be disappointed at this completely normal message just because he doesn’t sound as affectionate as he usually does, coached Hermione internally. She had actually been pretty good at monitoring herself recently—she would wait at least ten minutes before replying to Sirius’s notes, and she also made a noticeable effort to spend more time and meals with Stephan and Lily.

Her watch read twenty-seven minutes to eight. Hermione was tempted to send back a note giving her recognition of the schedule-change, or even a message asking if Sirius was okay. But in her on-going persistence to squash anything that even resembled a sliver of romantic affection for Sirius, Hermione just tucked the note into her bag—she’d be seeing Sirius soon enough.

Halfway downstairs to the dungeons, Hermione was still thinking about Sirius’s diction in his message.

Sighing, Hermione pulled the note from her bag and read it over once again, disappointed in her inability to let this simple matter go. With each time she reread his words, however, Hermione’s disappointment slowly evolved to unease: Hermione was very certain that Sirius didn’t know what an em dash was, and she further doubted he knew how it differed from a hyphen.

The moment Hermione opened the door to a dark classroom, she knew that something was very wrong.

Before Hermione could follow her instincts and run back out into the corridor, however, the classroom door slammed shut and locked behind her. At once, Hermione dove her hand into her pocket, but it was too late—

“Raise your wand and I won’t hesitate to curse you, Granger.”

Regulus was sitting on top of the empty professor’s desk, wand pointed at Hermione by the door. With a swish of his wand, the wall-lining candles lit, filling the room with dim light.

While Hermione’s heart was indeed racing, she wasn’t entirely surprised by this interaction—she knew that she was bound to run into Regulus at some point after the party. As ridiculous and strange Hermione felt that his quest for his lost heirloom was, she never once doubted that Regulus would try his hardest to speak with Hermione again. What she hadn’t expected, however, was for him to ambush her quite like this.

“The note was yours,” accused Hermione at once, “I knew that didn’t sound like Sirius.”

“And yet, here you are,” drawled Regulus. He hopped off of the desk, wand pointed at Hermione as he slowly walked over to where she stood, “You make it so easy, you know, when you send flying notes to each other throughout the castle. Terribly easy for anyone to intercept and read.

“Have you thought over my proposal?” asked Regulus, sliding his free hand into his pocket. If there was one trait about Regulus that particularly annoyed Hermione, it was his constant insistence on appearing casually level-headed. “I figured a couple weeks was enough time for you to think it through.”

“Yes, I’ve decided that I’m not telling you anything,” replied Hermione with narrowed eyes.

“Really?” said Regulus plainly, “That’s what you’ve decided, then?”

Hermione glanced behind her to the door, thinking of what to say to distract Regulus and unlock it. Regulus, however, had followed Hermione’s gaze.

“Oh, you won’t be able to unlock it,” informed Regulus, “I’ve learned a very handy charm recently, one that you’ve actually inspired—see, that door will only open to my touch.”

With these words, Hermione felt her heart drop ever so slightly—if Regulus had indeed gotten the locking charm down correctly, then she had no hope of unlocking the door.

“So you’ve found out about my locking door,” said Hermione lowly, “And about the notes. You admit that you’ve been following me, then?”

“I like to phrase it as learning,” corrected Regulus, “But if that’s how you want to put it, then yes, I suppose so.”

“That’s N.E.W.T. level magic, that charm,” said Hermione levelly, “You really managed that?”

“Why are you so unwilling to accept that I’ve outsmarted you?” inquired Regulus, “I bid my time and I did my research—quite a lot of research, actually, it was difficult to manipulate the charm to lock the door from the inside rather than the outside.”

“You’re really doing all of this for a family heirloom?” questioned Hermione, “Following me about and locking me in a classroom?”

“Yes,” confirmed Regulus obviously, “See, I care about my family, Granger… Speaking of.”

Regulus leaned against one of the student desks, wand still held out nonchalantly towards Hermione.

“Let’s talk about your family, shall we? More specifically, how they absolutely do not work at the Ministry?”

“They do—"

“Oh, please. I’ve known about your parents for ages,” interjected Regulus, “I have no interest in fighting with you over this matter, Granger. I’ve had sources informing of your false identity for months.”

“You mean that portrait?” asked Hermione angrily. She knew that she really shouldn’t be letting on just how much she knew, but Regulus’s never-ending cockiness was beginning to frustrate her.

Regulus’s eyebrows raised, but Hermione didn’t detect a single trace of genuine shock on his face.

“You know about our family portrait,” stated Regulus, “My, you seem to know entirely too much about my family… The portrait, the heirloom—”

“I haven’t any idea what this heirloom is—”

“And a specific room,” completed Regulus.

He said this in a tone that assumed he would gain Hermione’s immediate attention with these words. Frustratingly, he was entirely correct; she stopped speaking at once, admittedly stunned.

Smirking, Regulus began what Hermione could only assume was his rehearsed monologue. As Hermione was unarmed, he clearly enjoyed taking his time.

“After the party, I was admittedly put off from furthering my search for this object. As per my family’s request, I continued to pursue it, but with with less vigor—yes, the…” Regulus paused, “… events of the party discouraged me, but as you know, I was told very little about this object and therefore had little incentive. Frustrated, I decided to take a trip to the Room of Requirement for a spot of… Inspiration.”

Even as the words were leaving Regulus’s lips, Hermione couldn’t quite believe it, because she was frantically piecing everything together in her head.

You seem to know entirely too much about my family. The portrait, the heirloom, the room.

The heirloom.

The room—

“I take morning walks, see,” continued Regulus, “Nearly every morning, in fact. I’m quite the early bird. So, logically, I decide to continue my pursuit doing one of these walks… And you can imagine my shock when I arrive to the Room of Requirement—a place I previously believed to be known by only me—only to see a very familiar Gryffindor exiting the room...

“And suddenly, I have a new incentive to relocate the mysterious Granger,” concluded Regulus, a satisfactory smirk spreading over his lips, “Plenty of incentive, now. Because now that I’ve got you here, I won’t be letting you leave until you do two things—one, promise to comply with me on my search, and two, tell me how the bloody hell you know about the Room of Requirement.”

Pursing her lips, Hermione tightly crossed her arms.

“And what if I don’t comply on either of these matters?” said Hermione, “Are you going to torture it out of me, then?”

Regulus scoffed lightly.

“On school grounds? No, of course not—I’ll simply reveal all that I’ve learned about your true identity to the student body,” said Regulus smugly, probably thinking he had Hermione cornered.

But at these words, Hermione literally laughed in Regulus’s face.

His snide composure faltered at once, his eyebrows furrowing into a look of immediate anger at this blatant disrespect. Clearly, this was not the reaction he expected to his speech.

“Excuse me?” asked Regulus incredulously, “Have you forgotten that this information, if released, would put our headmaster in a compromising position with the Ministry?”

“Do you really think a silly school rumor would do anything of substance to Albus Dumbledore?” asked Hermione incredulously. Regulus looked at her stonily, unable to think of a retort.

“I’ve spoken to Professor Dumbledore about you, as well,” continued Hermione coolly, “So he’s perfectly aware of your threat and your search. Besides, all you have to go off of are rumors. It’d be your word against mine.”

“I don’t think these rumors are something you’d like surrounding you, Granger,” said Regulus lowly. He wasn’t smirking anymore—but he was instead staring right at her left forearm, right where her scar was, and Hermione couldn’t tell herself that these glances were coincidences anymore.

“There’d be too many to lie your way out of,” said Regulus nastily, “Starting with—"

Regulus’s words were cut off, however, by the sudden and thundering noise of someone banging uproariously upon the door. In the next split second, the look on Regulus’s face could only be described as indignant, frustrated fury—

And suddenly, the door opened so suddenly that it banged against the wall, and their interrupter stumbled into the room—Sirius—

Relief had never filled Hermione as quickly as it did then, and yet, as soon as the initial burst of euphoria hit her, it was immediately replaced by fear—not now, any time but now—what if Regulus by chance would say something that Hermione couldn’t deny, something about her scar, or maybe another piece of information that Hermione wouldn’t be able to deny?

But this was a ridiculous concern, evidently, because in the next second alone, Sirius slashed his wand through the air, face set with rage. From his wand, a burst of purple light shot forth, hitting Regulus squarely in the chest—the very same curse that Hermione had used on Sirius so many months prior…

Regulus was flung against the dungeon wall opposite, his wand falling out of his hand and clattering onto the ground. But before Regulus could sink down to the floor, Sirius strode over, yanked Regulus up by the collar of his shirt, and socked him in the eye.

Involuntarily, Hermione shrieked—she had really only seen Sirius in a fighting situation once before, in her fifth year at the Ministry—but at that time, Sirius seemed to revel in the Death Eater’s fury, delirious from the excitement of a battle. Hermione had seen Sirius frustrated, annoyed, upset—but never like this, spitting and glaring in someone’s face.

“What did I tell you—what did I tell you would happen if you laid your fucking nasty hands on her?!” snarled Sirius. With his left hand, Sirius held his brother against the wall, his right hand holding his wand to Regulus’s neck. “What did I tell you?!”

“Isn’t this sweet!” snapped Regulus right back in Sirius’s face. His wand hand, now empty, was shaking with pure rage. “You. You just can’t leave her alone, can you, always ruining everything, you’re everything Mother says you are—”

“Shut your mouth, you daft son of a bitch,” growled Sirius, “Or I promise, you’ll be sent home in a box—you’re asking to, at this point, you didn’t even lock the bloody door—”

“Because it didn't have to be locked from the outside—it wasn’t planned for you to barge in!” retaliated Regulus furiously, hand pressed against his injured eye, “You’re one to talk, acting like you’re so high and mighty, as if you haven’t done anything I’ve done to Granger—”

Sirius pulled his hand back and closed his fist for another punch, to which Hermione let out another indignant shriek as she ran towards them, “Sirius, no!”

Sirius, as if just remembering the reason why he had his own brother held at wand-point, turned to look at Hermione.

“Did he hurt you?” demanded Sirius, his eyes scanning all over her body to check for afflicted areas, “What did he do? What did he say?”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“I didn’t ask you,” said Sirius lowly, pushing the tip of his wand harder against Regulus’s neck.

“He’s telling the truth,” promised Hermione shakily. All she wanted to do was leave this dungeon, before Regulus could say anything.

Because when Hermione thought about it, she was terrified at the mere chance that Regulus did know something about her—not because of what he’d tell the school, she’d easily be able to wriggle her way out of those rumors—but because of what he’d tell Sirius. Sirius wasn’t like the rest of the school, because not only was he Hermione’s close friend, Regulus had made a very good point… Sirius used to share these same exact views as Regulus, and honestly, probably still did…

“Can we please just leave?” pleaded Hermione, “He didn’t do anything, nor did he say anything. There’s nothing he can use against me…”

“Hermione, I can’t do that,” insisted Sirius lowly. Regulus sniffed, shifting uncomfortably, to which Sirius pressed him harder against the brick walls, “He needs to know that he can’t and won’t be harassing you over something that has nothing to do with you, something that I could have prevented if I just put my fucking pride aside—”

Regulus snorted loudly, which Hermione could hardly believe he had the audacity to do in the position he was in.

“When will you understand that this isn’t about you anymore?” sneered Regulus, “She’s connected to all of this somehow. The heirloom, her sudden appearance, her unexplainable knowledge—it can’t all be a coincidence. You know that.”

Horrifyingly, Sirius didn’t deny this, and Hermione’s fears magnified significantly. He just continued to hold Regulus in the same position, scowling and eyes narrowed.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” spat Sirius, but even Hermione could tell he wasn’t being completely sincere.

Clearly, Regulus shared this view, because he immediately took advantage of this opening in Sirius’s psyche.

“Yeah?” taunted Regulus, looking right at Hermione.

“Then what’s that scar on your arm say, Granger?”

The question caught Hermione so off guard, struck her with so much immediate shock that even Sirius gave her a confused glance. Satisfied at her silence, Regulus continued on eagerly.

“I know it’s related, it has to be,” said Regulus lowly, and Hermione thought that there couldn’t be a worse time for him to be so horribly incorrect, “You spend so much time looking at it. So what does it say? I know it spells out a word—”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hermione unevenly, “I haven’t any idea—"

Maybe Sirius’s previous suspicions got him curious, or maybe he just believed that Regulus was sufficiently restrained. Either way, he stood up ever so slightly, turning his head to look at Hermione.

And this was all Regulus needed to stand properly, reach out his left arm and grab Hermione’s left forearm, right were her scar was—and in his haste, his fingers actually pushed back Hermione’s sleeve, making direct contact with the cuts.

“I’m talking about this scar—” began Regulus, but he didn’t get to finish.

The greatest physical pain Hermione had ever endured was when Bellatrix had her pinned against the floor of Malfoy Manor, endlessly tutoring her with every curse she could think of, carving into her with a dagger.

But the moment Regulus’s hand made contact with Hermione’s forearm, the scarred skin underneath her sleeve split open, and Hermione knew that this type of pain would forever be unmatched.

Every possible nerve in her forearm exploded, sending waves of excruciating pain all throughout her body. Each line of her scar burned, burned so badly that Hermione swore each letter was being rewritten over and over again, cutting deeper with every repeat.

With a harrowing, pathetic wail of agony, Hermione’s knees immediately gave out as she fell to the ground, cradling her arm against her chest.

And instantly, there was so much blood—she could feel it, she could feel the thick liquid bleed through her sleeve and drip down her arm.

Through her pain, her vision blackened at the edges, leaving her sight blurred and her ears ringing. But through her obstructed vision, she could still see Sirius drop down to her side immediately, yelping at the sight of red.

“What is that?” came Regulus’s voice, “Is that blood?”

Regulus’s voice that was wavering with rage just seconds ago had evened out—because clearly, Regulus had no intentions on truly hurting Hermione.

“I didn’t mean to,” said Regulus breathlessly, his tone having raised significantly in panic, “Granger, I didn’t mean to—”

At that moment, Sirius turned right back around and threw another hex at Regulus, spitting curses in rage. As they continued to fight, Hermione attempted to inch her way to the door that was still opened. Hopefully, the pain would soon subside, bringing clarity back to her senses—

Behind her, a body made contact with one of the student desks and collapsed onto the ground. Just as quickly, they got up and sprinted towards the door, and Hermione realized that it was Regulus, who was running out of the dungeon.

“You fucking coward!” roared Sirius, racing after him, “You coward, I’m going to fucking kill you, do you hear me—?!”

Sirius froze, glancing between the doorway and Hermione still on the floor, and within an instant he was knelt by her side.

Is this how this happens?

Is this really how this happens?

This can’t be how this happens.

At once, Hermione clamped her right hand around her left wrist—in an attempt to stop the bleeding, yes, but mostly to cover the the scar.

No, pleaded Hermione internally, Go after him, leave me alone, go after him, please—

“Hermione,” said Sirius quietly. His voice that had torn with anger just seconds ago was now shaking. “I promise I won’t let him go, but we have to go to the hospital wing—"

“No,” breathed Hermione, shaking her head. Her throat was raw, her voice tight as she focused her every effort on breathing evenly—because she refused to cry, she would not cry. “No, no hospital wing—”

“Then let me. I’ll take you back to your room and get you bandaged up,” offered Sirius weakly, “Or I can go get Remus, or James, they’re good at this—”

“No,” repeated Hermione desperately, shaking her head harder now, “You can’t. Sirius, I can take care of it, I promise—”

Hastily, Hermione attempted to stand. But as she pushed herself up against the wall, she felt herself getting dizzy, causing her to groan.

“Hermione—”

As she tried to stand, Sirius reached out to grab her, and accidentally, his hand brushed against her forearm.

At once, Hermione cried out as bursts of pain shot through her body all over again, causing her to fall to the floor once more.

What did that dagger do to me?

“Hermione—” repeated Sirius, bending down at once and reaching out his hands to help her up. But as he reached towards her, Hermione involuntarily flinched.

At this, Sirius paused, eyebrows furrowing in hurt as he realized that Hermione was leaning away from him.

“Please, Hermione, I can help you,” begged Sirius quietly, “Please. This is my fault, let me help—"

Sirius, desperate to help, attempted to lift her hand from the affected area.

“P-Please don’t touch me,” gasped Hermione, her right hand shaking as she forcefully kept it clamped around her scar, “Please—”

“Did he cut you?” asked Sirius, panic seeping through his voice, “What did he do? I swear this can get him expelled—"

“No, I can’t tell anyone,” insisted Hermione, “He, he didn’t do anything, it wasn’t him, it was ages ago, months ago, a year ago—when t-they—"

“Who is they?” asked Sirius at once, “What did they do—how did they hurt you—why didn’t you tell me?”

Surprisingly, it was Sirius’s last question that hit Hermione hardest. Because to her, the answer was so obvious, so clear, so easy that keeping the truth from Sirius was not only hurting her, but also exhausting her.

Hermione was exhausted. She was so, so tired of constantly hiding and constantly lying. She was tired of lifting the responsibility of a war that had already scarred her once upon her shoulders, tired of perpetually lying to the person that was slowly starting to matter more to her than she ever thought possible.

And as much as Hermione told herself over and over again that Sirius didn’t care about blood purity, her stomach twisted painfully as she imagined the look on his face when he realized that she had still been lying.

Previously, Sirius was suspicious of Hermione—but now that they had gotten so much closer, would he feel betrayed? Hurt? Would he want to distance himself from Hermione?

But above all else, Hermione was so tired. She was tired of running, tired of guessing, and tired of lying… And in that moment, Hermione couldn’t bear to think about the consequences of giving in, and she didn’t want to think about the lies and technicalities she’d have to tell Sirius to get herself out of this mess. And while she certainly didn’t want to think about Sirius’s reaction to news of her blood status, his reaction as he realized that she really had been lying about her identity the entire time, she was just so, so tired…

So, with a shaking hand, Hermione unclamped her right hand from her forearm and pulled back her blood-soaked sleeve. The cuts, freshly opened, shone brilliantly even in the dim dungeon lights.

“H-Here,” whispered Hermione, “This is what they did to me, okay?”

His eyes scanned over the wound, his eyes narrowing and then widening immediately after processing the mangled handwriting.

At once, Sirius’s entire composure changed.

His eyes filled with horror, abject horror as he stared at the letters, scanning the cuts over and over again as if convinced he was just reading it wrong.

“What…?” he said faintly, “H-Hermione—”

His voice gave out.

Still knelt on one knee, Sirius slowly sank down to the floor besides Hermione, leaning against the wall. But she couldn’t read his expression, for he had buried his face into his hands, shoulders heaving slowly as he breathed in, and out.

When he looked up from his hands, Hermione saw that his face had gone entirely pale, leaving not a trace of color behind. She thought Sirius was unrecognizable when he was enraged, but this—this was entirely different, entirely something else. Because Hermione figured she’d likely see Sirius angry at some point, but never did she imagine she’d be seeing him so vulnerable.

“What… What did they do to you…?” rasped Sirius, his voice threatening to give out again.

But Hermione just shook her head, unable to answer… Not entirely because she didn’t want to, but because her mind was somewhere else.

Memories flashed before her, in which Ron would graze his fingers over her scar, pressing his lips to it, kissing it—clearly, Ron could touch it… But Regulus, and Sirius, they caused her more pain than she had ever felt before—this type of pain wasn’t ordinary, certainly not…

But, as Hermione knew very well, scars could be cursed.

Sirius reached his hand out again, probably just to wipe some blood away, but Hermione flinched nonetheless.

“Please don’t!” begged Hermione, and Sirius yanked his hand back, “I-I think… I think you make it worse…”

“But I want to make it better,” insisted Sirius. His hand that he had reached out was shaking very slightly. “I have to, Hermione, this entire fucking time I had no clue—and if we can’t go to the hospital wing and we can’t leave—I can’t just watch you like this, Hermione, I fucking can’t.”

Sirius was pleading, begging with Hermione to just make things better, and Hermione just felt sick to her stomach with guilt. While she knew that she still couldn’t tell him the entire truth… She couldn’t lie about this, not when Sirius was looking at her the way he was.

“Sirius, this isn’t an ordinary cut,” said Hermione quietly, “It’s been over a year since I’ve gotten it… Yet it still hasn’t healed completely. I never understood why, but I think… I think I know why now…”

“But how did this happen?” asked Sirius. He was fixated on Hermione, constantly looking between her face and her scar, as if he had to force himself to not touch and help her, “Why… Why did it… I don’t know…”

“Why did it reopen?” finished Hermione softly. She shrugged, sniffing—the worst of the pain had passed, luckily, but the cuts themselves were still throbbing, aching. “I think… The person who did this, they used a weapon that must have been cursed to inflict their victim with everlasting pain… As long as someone, well, like them touched my scar, then… I don’t know, it reopens the wounds…?”

Not her most articulate explanation, Hermione knew, but she was honestly surprised she could manage words with the pain she had experienced just moments prior.

“But… How did Regulus—how do I make it worse?” asked Sirius, “Is it… Is it because we’re pure-blood? Any pure-blood who touches it makes it…” Sirius trailed off.

“No, no, that’s not right, Ron could touch it just fine,” mumbled Hermione, the words leaving her lips before she could properly process them. Luckily, Sirius didn’t comment on this.

“Someone related to you gave me this cut, Sirius… For being what I am—Muggle-born. A Mudblood,” murmured Hermione at last. As these words left Hermione, so did an entire piece of her being—a piece of her story, her identity that she had worked so hard to maintain.

Sirius flinched very subtly at the word Mudblood, but still didn’t say anything.

"It makes sense..." reasoned Hermione, "It all came down to blood, didn't it? Anyone who shares their blood, the blood of my attacker... Will be able to cause me the same pain...

“… That’s why I know so much about you,” continued Hermione. She hiccupped, looking down and refusing to meet his eye. “Well, that’s partially why, anyways… But the point is…”

Hermione made the mistake of glancing up.

Sirius’s eyebrows had furrowed, looking just as confused as he looked hurt. Hermione looked back down and forced herself to continue.

“Y-You were right all along, Sirius,” whispered Hermione, “That’s why I stayed away from you for so long… Because I knew you, in a way. Not like this, but in a way…”

Sirius still didn’t say anything, and Hermione still couldn’t bear to look at him. She didn’t want to see his face, she really didn’t want to look at his face…

“A-And I was so scared,” said Hermione weakly, “And I’m so sorry, Sirius, for lying, but I-I had to—you have to understand, I couldn’t tell you, I still can’t tell you everything that’s happened—and I know you deserve the truth, I know that you put aside your beliefs to be friends with me, and I’m just so sorry—”

“Are you mad?” came Sirius’s raspy voice.

Finally, Hermione looked at him again. But he wasn’t upset, or angry—no, he looked outright confused, scandalized at Hermione’s words.

“Are you mad?” repeated Sirius, looking at her in a look of miserable incredulousness, “Why are you apologizing, with blood all over your front? Your blood is literally on my hands, Hermione.”

“B-But—” stammered Hermione quietly, “I lied, Sirius, you were right—”

“I was the exact opposite of right!” replied Sirius, looking frankly disgusted at the mere idea of Hermione continuing to blame herself, “My family—they’re monsters, and they’re everywhere, there’s so many of us. Of course one of them spread out to—to fucking Denmark and, and, did this to you—”

“Sirius, I’m not from Denmark,” said Hermione, “I’m from Hampstead—”

“No, Hermione, I don’t care,” insisted Sirius, leaning his head back against the brick wall. Now that Hermione’s mind had mostly cleared, she observed the scene before her—the dungeon’s desks and chairs had been knocked over and askew.

“I don’t care where you’re from, okay? The point is, I attacked you when I should have assumed that maybe, just maybe, you had a perfectly good reason for never wanting to speak with me, and that you were at Hogwarts because you and your family were genuinely in danger—”

“But my parents,” interjected Hermione, “Sirius, they’re Muggles, you know that now—”

“And I knew that before!” interjected Sirius exasperatedly, “Basically, anyways—Regulus told me that himself. Ages ago. I literally cornered you into a broom closet because of it. I wasn’t sure of it, but I sure as bloody hell suspected it.”

This much was true, Hermione realized—she hadn’t forgotten the incident, but she had come to assume that Sirius shuffled the incident away as a part of his own ridiculous and unfounded suspicions.

“Now can you please stop telling me why I should hate you and let me care about you?” asked Sirius pleadingly.

“But, Sirius—” attempted Hermione.

Just then, Sirius reached a hand up, but carefully. Hermione’s voice faltered, watching him warily.

“I’m not touching your scar,” Sirius promised quietly. He winced as he said the word scar. Frankly, Hermione could still see the utter horror in his eyes, which Sirius was clearly trying so hard to keep down… And all for Hermione’s sake…

And then, he reached forward to touch her face. His hand moved to cup the right side of her face, gently guiding her gaze in his direction and bringing her closer. He then leaned forward, leaning until their foreheads touched.

“Please?” asked Sirius softly. His voice was quiet, and so were Hermione’s thoughts. Because even with her scars split open, even with the looming regret sure to hit her the next morning, all she could think about in that moment was just how close Sirius was to her.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, Hermione realized that she and Sirius were all alone in a dungeon, sitting on the cold, stone floor.

So Hermione nodded, letting herself lean into Sirius.

“… Okay,” she agreed quietly.

Minutes later, Hermione felt that she had the strength to stand once again. But as Sirius helped her to her feet, hands in hands, she stumbled forward towards Sirius.

“Whoa, careful,” murmured Sirius, stabilizing her, “We have to get you back safely. You can’t be tripping all over the place, you know.”

“It’s still before curfew…” sniffed Hermione, wobbling in her place, “Someone might see…”

“Well, how do you think I found you to begin with?” said Sirius. He pulled out the Marauder’s Map from his inner pocket, “I was really kicking myself for wanting to see where you were, I kept thinking how creepy it all was. But now, I wish I had done so sooner.”

Hermione exhaled out of her nose, simply not strong enough to muster a laugh. “Everything about this situation is just so terribly ironic…” Once again, she attempted to stand on her own, only to immediately grab onto Sirius’s hands.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, mildly amused. “You’ve inherited my worst traits, you know, making jokes in situations where you can’t even walk.”

“It’s tragic, alright…?” sighed Hermione, “All I wanted this past hour was to get back to my room, and now that I’m able, I can’t.”

“I’ll carry you,” offered Sirius. And then, he gave her a tiny smile as he added, “You know… Like I did—”

“Yes, I recall,” interrupted Hermione, feeling her surroundings beginning to spin again.

Ten minutes later, Sirius had singlehandedly cleaned up the dungeon classroom, hoisted Hermione onto his back, and made it to Hermione’s room, all while checking the Marauder’s map for other students and making absolute sure his hands never came close to Hermione’s scar.

Luckily, the castle wasn’t that busy, and Hermione was soon safely back in her room. As soon as she opened the door (she had to get down, given the locking charm, but she could also walk slowly now), the ache of that night’s events truly settled in, and Hermione had never been more grateful for her own personal space.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” noted Sirius, “Which, now that I’ve said that out loud, I realize is an inappropriate comment to make.”

Hermione smiled weakly. “It’s alright… I just have to go get the first-aid—”

“First-aid?” asked Sirius confusedly, “Those Muggle healer kits, you mean.”

“I mean, I don’t think any spell or concoction will heal this up,” said Hermione doubtfully, indicating to her arm. The pain had vanished, now, leaving only the burning feeling of open wounds. “Not that I can think of right now, anyways. I’ll take a look in the library tomorrow, but I’ve got to bandage it up first.”

“Where’s the kit?”

“In the bathroom—”

“I’ll get it,” interrupted Sirius, “No, don’t you shake your head at me, sit—sit.” Sirius carefully took Hermione by the shoulders, guiding her backwards until she sat down on her bed. She couldn’t remember if Sirius had ever touched her like this before tonight, so between this and how he had held her hands for support, the simple interactions felt strangely intimate.  

Sirius insisted on helping Hermione clean and bandage her wound. Unfortunately, his only knowledge of first-aid kits came from his Muggle Studies class. Fortunately, however, Sirius proceeded with extreme carefulness, as he made absolute sure that his fingertips never made direct contact with the afflicted area.

“All done,” hummed Sirius, looking proudly at his work. Hermione had to admit, he did a decent job. “And with that, I should probably—”

“Could you stay for a little?” interrupted Hermione. The entire time Sirius had been wrapping her arm, she had subtly dreaded when he would finish, not really wanting to be alone.

And while Hermione was surprised with herself for preferring company over self-help, she wasn’t nearly as surprised as Sirius seemed—his face went completely blank, as if he stopped processing words.

“Er—are you sure?” asked Sirius, looking at Hermione’s bed.

Immediately, her face flushed with heat.

“I—I meant until I fell asleep,” said Hermione quickly, “You know… You could just sit next to me… I just, don’t want to be alone just yet.”

“Oh,” said Sirius loudly, quickly turning around to look at Hermione’s desk chair, “Oh, obviously—”

“Unless you don’t want to,” interrupted Hermione again, playing with her fingers in her lap. Why, just why did she have to be so horribly awkward? “You’ve already helped enough—”

“No,” said Sirius firmly, interrupting her. Hermione bit down on her bottom lip. “No, I want to. I’d be glad to.”

Hermione gave him an embarrassed, grateful smile.

Five minutes later, Hermione had finished getting ready for bed. In her exhaustion, she had only brushed her teeth and washed her face. When she exited her bathroom, Sirius had pulled her desk chair besides her bed, and was leaning back in the chair comfortably.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t hit the bed the second we entered your room,” commented Sirius, “Your dentist mum really implemented the core value of clean teeth in you, didn’t she?”

“They’re both dentists, actually, my parents,” said Hermione with a weak smile. She crawled underneath her covers, pulling them to her chest. While she definitely didn’t want to be alone, she did feel a little flustered in her nightgown.

Sirius, thankfully, made no difference in behavior. “Huh, double dentists. I wouldn’t have guessed. Like attracts like, I suppose.”

With this simple statement, Hermione took a second to consider the moment.

They were currently discussing one of the very same facts that had petrified Hermione with fear just thirty minutes ago with extreme casualness—because that’s just who Sirius was, Hermione knew. Sirius was easily adapting. Whatever situation arose, he tried his best to tend to it.

Even when said situations involved everything he thought he believed about Hermione.

“… Sirius, the phrase is ‘opposites attract’,” corrected Hermione, leaning down into her bed. As she did this, Sirius just smiled at her.

“What?” asked Hermione smally.

“Nothing,” said Sirius, “The phrase works either way.” He paused for a second, giving Hermione (and her stomach full of butterflies) ample time to process this. “Do you want the candles lit or no?”

“Yes, please.”

They continued to chat for a little bit, with Hermione looking up at Sirius with sleepy eyes, and Sirius sitting besides her. As the minutes ticked by, however, Hermione felt her eyes grow heavy, and began to close them.

Sirius, who was in the middle of speaking, stopped to note this.

“I’m really that much of a bore, huh?”

“Shut up,” murmured Hermione sleepily, slowly tugging the blankets closer to her chin. While her eyes remained closed, she just knew that Sirius smiled in response.

Hermione had fallen asleep within minutes, but awoke once again when she heard the door shut quietly. Through squinted eyes, Hermione saw that she was now alone in her room—on the seat in which Sirius was just sitting was a folded piece of parchment paper.

And just as she had felt in her early months in 1977, Hermione felt unlike herself—normally, she’d be thinking endlessly about all that happened that night. What Regulus had said about the Room of Requirement, its connections to the Black family and the time-turner—her scar that she just learned was cursed—all the information she unloaded onto Sirius, information she hadn’t even told Dumbledore—how her emotions regarding Sirius had about done the exact opposite of subside—yes, she should really be thinking about all of those things, and it was quite unlike herself to be sleeping as easily as she was right now…

But as she dozed right back to sleep, all that was on Hermione’s mind was the anticipation for tomorrow morning.

She couldn’t wait to read the note.

Chapter Text

Hi Hermione.

Honestly, I’m so worried about you that I’m tempted to sit here all night but I know that’s absurdly creepy so I’m writing this instead.

I mostly just want to apologize again. Words can’t describe how I feel, really, and even if they could I’d probably be pretty terrible at doing it. Just know that I really, really regret how I treated you in the past, especially knowing what my horrible family did to you. A lot of things make sense now, actually, even though a lot of things still don’t. But I’m okay with that now.

It must have been really difficult telling me everything you told me last night, too, which likely wasn’t helped by your scar bleeding out all over you. And about your scar. This probably sounds stupid to say, but thank you for telling me about it. I know there’s still a lot that you’re scared to tell me, but as I said, that’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything. I guess what I really wanted to say was, thank you for trusting me. That probably sounds idiotic, but I’ve written this much so I can’t start over. But thank you. I do mean it.

I can imagine you wouldn’t want to eat breakfast in the Great Hall today, so if you’d like, I can bring down some food so we you can eat in here. You’ve obviously noticed that I messed up and wrote “we”, but that’s just if you’re alright with it. If you want to talk about what happened last night, I’d be happy to talk about it over some toast. But if you want some space then you can eat your toast in peace.

Obviously, I’m not going to tell anyone what happened. I’d really like to make a joke right about now how I’m superior above everyone else for my unprecedented Hermione Granger knowledge, but I think that’s in poor taste, so I promise to wait at least a few weeks.

Also, I’m sorry this note is so long. Not because I think it’ll put you off (impossible) but because I’m using all of your parchment paper.

Just send me a note when you wake up if you want breakfast in bed(room). Or don’t send me anything, if you’d rather eat alone. Just let me know. Or don’t. Okay, you know what I mean.

Sirius xx

Sirius had meant every word of this letter. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wake up an hour before he normally would to wait for a note back, and he’d also be lying if he said his heart didn’t leap into his throat when he saw a small piece of parchment paper slide underneath the dormitory door around seven-thirty in the morning.

Leaping out of his bed so quickly he nearly tripped over his covers, Sirius quietly raced to the door and picked up the note.

Breakfast in my room sounds lovely. I’m sorry this note is so short, I’d rather say everything in person.

x

With that sign-off alone, Sirius was so beside himself with elation that he fell back into his bed, note clutched in his hand, his heart skipping.

He had spent most of his night like this, actually—awake and staring at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. If Hermione hadn’t been completely and understandably exhausted from her injuries, Sirius would have had no idea how she managed to fall asleep so easily.

The moment he closed Hermione’s bedroom door behind him the night before, Sirius had leaned against the wall besides her door and sank down to the ground. He stayed like that for at least ten minutes, simultaneously attempting to process all that happened while not being able to think at all.

Thankfully, Sirius had long since been trained in the art of complete bullshitting, and was able to play everything off when he returned to the common room. Even Remus, the most perceptive of his three friends, didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary when Sirius claimed he wanted to turn in early.

But when Sirius entered his dormitory, got into bed, and drew his curtains, he knew that sleep wouldn’t come for many hours.

Her scar.

Her… Muggle-born scar.

Sirius detested the word with such veracity that he couldn’t even bear to say it in his head. To see the word cut, carved into Hermione’s arm… The sight had been nothing short of harrowing. Sirius had never felt all color leave his face so quickly; he had never felt such intense disgust fill him so severely.

And to discover that the scar had been afflicted by a member of his own family…

Sirius had never liked his family. He had a few favorable family members, like Andromeda, but he generally despised his entire bloodline. His parents had stripped and starved him of all basic emotional needs, forcing him to search for his true family in other places.

And yet, he had never loathed everything about his family and purebloods as much as he did in that moment, staring down at Hermione’s scars that glistened with blood.

The imagery never left his mind, not even for a second. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was red. But when he opened them, he’d stare into the scratches imbedded in the wooden ceiling of his four-poster bed, and he’d somehow find a way to see the letters there anyways.

In a way, Sirius felt strangely empty—a part of him felt that Hermione should feel different, that everything about her should feel different now. But everything felt the exact same. Sirius didn’t feel any differently towards Hermione—if anything, last night’s events had only reinforced a fact that Sirius had been vaguely aware of for quite a while: his feelings for Hermione were far, far deeper than any surface-level crush. To sit there besides Hermione as she heaved with dry sobs of excruciating pain… Sirius had never felt so personally involved, rooted, grounded with someone else before.

And yet, Sirius saw Hermione the same exact way. Which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been all that surprising—at this point, Sirius was fairly certain that almost nothing would be able to change the way he felt about her and the way he felt around her.

The only true difference between now and twenty-four hours ago was that Sirius was angry, and guilty. In the many hours before he finally dozed off to a restless sleep, Sirius was caught between wanting to find Hermione’s attacker and be personally responsible for their descent to Hell and wanting to walk off Gryffindor tower for ever treating Hermione the way he did.

All of these thoughts were still colliding against each other on the walk to Hermione’s room. He had gotten to the Great Hall just as it opened and taken an absurd amount of food—eggs, bacon, and many slices of toast all stacked on a plate; he was surprised no one tried stopping him—before making his way on over to Hermione’s room.

The ten or so hours they had spent apart had felt like years, but the moment Hermione opened her door, Sirius suddenly felt like he had never left. He was certain that the wave of flowery chamomile and turmeric would never fail to pull him in.

Fucking hell I’m really in deep aren’t I—

“Morning, sunshine,” grinned Sirius, for Hermione looked nothing short of exhausted.

“You have entirely too much nerve,” sighed Hermione, but she stepped to the side to let Sirius and his plate of food in nonetheless.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the best when it comes to dealing with emotional trauma,” defended Sirius, setting down the plate on Hermione’s desk. “Which I’m sure you noticed with my joke of a note—”

But the moment Sirius turned around, he stopped speaking, for Hermione had immediately wrapped her arms around him in a tight yet gentle hug.

She had only hugged Sirius once before, in the Head Boy and Girl’s Headquarters. At that point, Sirius wasn’t nearly as close to Hermione as he was now, and Hermione had mostly done it due to being overwhelmed. But this time was entirely different: their previous embrace had felt out of place, almost awkward—they pulled apart in less than a minute.

But as Sirius wrapped his arms around her shoulders, fingers entangling into her brown curls, he quickly realized that he would never want to let go.

“Hey, hey—you’re alright,” reassured Sirius quietly, for Hermione’s shoulders were currently shaking ever so slightly. “I’ve got you…”

Hermione said something, but as her face was pressed against Sirius’s chest, her words came out mumbled.

“Wait, what?” asked Sirius, chuckling lowly. He pulled apart so that Hermione’s words were audible, but still held her in his arms. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I just said thank you,” sniffled Hermione quietly. Sirius pulled back a bit more, leaving just enough space so that he could swipe away her tears with his right thumb.

“For what, bringing you bacon? There’s no need to cry over fried pork—hey, hey!” laughed Sirius, for Hermione had smacked him on the shoulder.

“Sirius, must you make a joke out of everything?” asked Hermione exasperatedly, but she was still smiling, so Sirius wasn’t even a little deterred.

“Hey, me treating you like a decent person should be expected of me. But bringing bacon and eggs goes above and beyond the expectations of the average person,” grinned Sirius. Hermione rolled her eyes before moving back against his chest, and Sirius was quickly left with nothing else to say.

Within five minutes, they had pulled away (unfortunately) and began on the breakfast that Sirius provided. Hermione sat on her desk chair, and Sirius sat on her desk, an action he had to request permission to do.

“I can’t believe you forgot to get more than one plate,” said Hermione, passing the plate of food back to Sirius after taking a bite of eggs. “Why did you assume that I had kitchenware in my room?”

“See, your mistake is assuming that I even thought that far,” pointed out Sirius, helping himself to a strip of bacon. While he was being honest—he definitely did not think that far—he kind of liked sharing a plate of food with Hermione.

For the next forty-five minutes, they spoke of last night’s events. Unsurprisingly, Hermione didn’t clarify any details surrounding her scar’s history, but Sirius didn’t mind at all. Mildly surprising, however, was the fact that Sirius literally didn’t care about this—he just wanted to know that she was alright, if she’s been alright handling her scar by herself, if she’d even wanted to talk about her scar at all… Things like that.

Sirius was generally terrible at talking about sensitive topics and absolutely anything involving emotions, but when Hermione was guiding the conversation, he found it unexpectedly easy. Sirius even told her how hard it was for him to fall asleep, which Hermione actually agreed with.

“I kept waking up again and again… My dreams were worse than ever last night,” sighed Hermione quietly. She was looking down at her half-eaten slice of toast, not seeming particularly interested in finishing it.

“Wait, your dreams?” said Sirius, just remembering—it had been her nightmares that caused Hermione to take all of her midnight walks over Christmas break, and taken her to Gryffindor common room for the first time so many nights ago.

Another realization struck Sirius. “These… These dreams aren’t related to your scar, are they?”

“No, they are,” said Hermione with a small, grim smile. “Sometimes they’re flashbacks, other times I dream I’m all alone, bleeding out, or running away… Not a single month’s gone by without one of those nightmares, and I’ve gotten quite sick of them.”

Hermione said this in a smart tone, suggesting that she had long since accustomed to these dreams and had no problem poking fun at their foothold in her mental health. But Sirius couldn’t feel more mortified, angry, guilty.

Thankfully, Hermione sensed Sirius’s sudden inability to speak—or maybe she had noticed the way that he was holding the plate with white knuckles—and moved onto another topic.

The subject at hand quickly turned to Regulus, and once again, Sirius was reinvigorated with indignant rage.

“That fucking slimy git,” spat Sirius. “I swear on Merlin in Avalon that I’m going to murder him.”

“I don’t doubt that you want to, but please don’t,” urged Hermione.

“Surely, you can’t still be empathetic towards that twat after all he’s done,” said Sirius doubtfully.

Hermione shrugged. “No, not particularly. But frankly, it’d further complicate matters.”

Sirius laughed at this, thoroughly believing that he was a terrible influence on Hermione.

“Damn, note taken. I shouldn’t plot his murder—not because he’s my brother, but because it’d make things difficult.”

“Well, I will say that it was a bit scary seeing you so… Angry,” admitted Hermione.

“Well, it was his fault,” countered Sirius. “I gave him fair warning. I’ve told him before exactly what I said last night—that if he ever touched you, I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

“Did you really tell Regulus that?” asked Hermione. Her expression looked to be between upset and flattered.

“Yeah,” shrugged Sirius, “he had it coming to him, honestly. It’s his fault for deciding a nose bleed in the midst of a party wasn’t good enough reason to stop harassing you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Sirius expected for her to poke fun of the fact that Sirius was the one to tell someone off for harassment. But she didn’t say that at all.

“What do you mean, party?”

“I—oh, fuck,” said Sirius, realizing his mistake far too late. “Oh, well—you know, that particular incident was obviously not tied to me whatsoever, I’m only saying—”

“I knew Remus was acting strangely!” said Hermione disapprovingly, but she didn’t look too upset. “You were under the cloak, weren’t you? That’s why no one saw you.”

“No one saw me because of my incredible stealth,” corrected Sirius. “But yes, I was absolutely underneath the cloak.”

“Sirius—that’s completely against the rules! If you had gotten caught—”

“I wasn’t anywhere close to being caught!” promised Sirius, laughing at Hermione’s look of frustration. “I was on the staircase most of the time. I only came down when everyone began crowding the dance floor.”

“So you were listening in on Remus and me?” asked Hermione. Her piece of toast was now resting on the corner of her desk, allowing her to properly cross her arms in displeasure. “That’s eavesdropping, Sirius!”

“I did it for your safety!” pledged Sirius. “I knew Regulus was up to something, I couldn’t very well let him get away with it.”

“Well—why did you even ask Marlene McKinnon to the party if you were planning on using the cloak all along?” accused Hermione.

And for some reason, this particular accusation forced Sirius to recall a very specific detail from the night before.

“I—er,” stalled Sirius, trying to redirect his train of thought. He had seen Hermione upset, irritated, and angry, but he hadn’t really since her like this before—some sort of mix of frustration and embarrassment. Immediately, Sirius felt himself smiling, finding it strangely endearing that this fact bothered Hermione so much.

“I didn’t even think to use the cloak until after she told me to bug off,” said Sirius. “Rather rudely, too—which I suppose was fair, given I would have ditched her the moment we’d gotten in—”

Hermione, who was previously upset, immediately got angry on Marlene’s behalf.

“Sirius, that’s so rude!”

“It’s alright, she can’t stand me either,” waved off Sirius. “But that reminds me. You really have to steer clear of Ross. I didn’t overhear a lot of what you and Remus talked about, but I was there for the sauce debacle.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, pursing her lips. Sirius couldn’t imagine she was fond of Ross after that party’s events. “Yes, she wasn’t exactly nice to me.”

“She was the complete opposite,” corrected Sirius. He then pointed his fork at Hermione. “Listen, I’d offer to tell her off for you, but I know first-hand that you can make someone sorely regret everything they’ve ever said to you with a singular curse. I reckon she’d leave you alone after one of those.”

“Oh, that’s entirely unnecessary. I’ll just try to stay out of her way,” said Hermione, but Sirius noticed that she looked very pleased with Sirius’s words.

Too quickly, nine o’clock approached them. Sirius would have loved to remain there in Hermione’s room, but she had Herbology first thing in the morning. As Sirius did not take Herbology, he found himself leaving her room with ten minutes to nine, feeling pretty pleased with that morning’s discussion. A small part of him had worried that their relationship dynamic may have changed due to last night’s events, but it seemed that their friendship had only grown stronger.

Friendship. That was a word that made Sirius feel as empty as the plate he was currently carrying back to the Great Hall. Because with this word alone, Sirius was once again reminded of the sudden thought that had struck him halfway through their conversation.

And as wildly inappropriate as it was for Sirius to be as focused on this as much as he was, the question just refused to leave his mind—

Who the hell is Ron?

--

The presentation, to Sirius’s absolute shock, went very well.

Without Hermione’s help, Sirius suddenly felt an absurd desire to perform as best as he possibly could. What had happened on Tuesday night was Sirius’s fault in basically every way, from needing to meet with her to having a rubbish family, so he felt especially eager to prove to Hermione that he could function as an individual student.

In short, Sirius had never worked so hard on an assignment in his life.

For the entirety of their fifteen-minute presentation, Sirius was on fire. His lines were delivered perfectly and flawlessly without a single filler word. He easily handled every question that the other students (and even Professor Flynn herself) had. And, most impressively of all, he didn’t mispronounce porphyria once.

Flynn was so impressed with Sirius’s step-up in work that she pulled him and Diaz aside after class for a minute to give them her personal congratulations. Sirius supposed it was nice to be complimented by a professor who was normally disappointed in him, but he was mostly excited to deliver this news to Hermione.

As she had promised to do, Hermione was waiting for Sirius and Diaz outside of Flynn’s classroom as they were let out of class. Leaning against the wall opposite, worry set in her face the moment Sirius stepped out of the classroom.

Sirius, planning to prank Hermione with a terrible grade, was wearing a stony expression. But, of course, Sirius forgot that he was partnered with the equivalent of a human dog—which said a lot, given that Sirius was literally exactly that.

“O’s across the table!” exclaimed Diaz, beaming so widely that Sirius wondered how his face hadn’t split in half yet. “I’ve never seen Flynn so pleased! Not a single misspeak in our presentation, from the either of us.”

“Stephan, that’s amazing!” praised Hermione, breaking out in a relieved smile. “Sirius, why did you look so cross just now? I was so scared something had gone wrong.”

“I was trying to surprise you!” said Sirius, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face anymore. The look of pride on Hermione’s face was a high he wouldn’t come down for a few hours at the very least. “I figured the look of shock would be multiplied by tenfold if you had first assumed the worst.”

“That’s a fair point,” said Diaz thoughtfully. “Perhaps next time—”

“Please don’t,” pleaded Hermione, “I haven’t got the stomach for those types of jokes, I get personally involved far too easily when it comes to academics.”

“That’s nothing you have to tell us, Hermione,” grinned Sirius. “Do you want to head to the common room, by the way? I want to see Remus’s face when I tell him I’ve gotten an O in Muggle Studies of all subjects.”

“Oh—not right now, Sirius,” smiled Hermione apologetically, “Stephan loaned me a book the other day, and I promised that I’d return it to him today.”

“It’s in your room, yeah?” asked Diaz. Hermione nodded, and Diaz added. “We’ll head down to the first floor, then.”

With these words, Sirius felt his stomach twist painfully, spirits somewhat deflated.

Even though Hermione promised to join him as soon as she could, Sirius began to make his way up to the Gryffindor common room with his mood significantly soured.

But I thought only I’ve ever seen her room, thought Sirius, But clearly, Diaz has been there before.

Well, Sirius supposed that Remus has seen Hermione’s room before, but Remus didn’t really count—Diaz was different, because Sirius was convinced that Diaz had feelings for Hermione.

Most upsettingly of all, however, was the fact that Diaz had freckles. And immediately, the same sour feeling that had been invading Sirius’s psyche for the past two days returned in full-force.

As the shock from Tuesday night’s events subsided, a certain name was on Sirius’s mind much more often than he would have preferred.

Ron.

Ron could touch her scar. Who the fuck is Ron?

It was a terrible feeling, thinking about who Ron could be—an ex-boyfriend, certainly. The ambiguity surrounding this mystery person made Sirius’s insides twist with uncertainty, unease, frustration—every negative feeling in the book. He didn’t have a single clue who Ron really was, but the thought of his name made Sirius’s chest burn.

And suddenly, Sirius was met face to face with a fact that he never wanted to face before: Sirius was, by nature, a jealous person.

That’s a charming trait, thought Sirius grimly as he headed up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, Pairs nicely with my track record of terrible behavior.

As much as Sirius told himself that Hermione wouldn’t appreciate these childish feelings, and as much as he reminded himself that he had no right to feel like this, he plainly could not help himself. No matter how Sirius tried to tell himself off, it wouldn’t change the simple fact that Sirius wanted Hermione all to himself.

That’s so stupid and immature, lectured Sirius internally, What am I, five? She isn’t a toy, idiot.

Even as he was thinking these exact words, however, all he his brain could think to do as create a mind-map collecting all the evidence he possibly could on this Ron.

Freckles. Ron almost certainly had freckles. In Hermione’s early weeks at Hogwarts, Sirius (stupidly) taunted her on multiple occasions for mentioning freckles to Andrea Sinistra. Sirius had also made the grand mistake of bringing up a possible ex-partner. In each of these situations, Hermione had reacted in the same way.

She was pissed. She got right pissed off.

Therefore, Sirius concluded that each of these reactions were tied back to this Ron. Was Hermione not over Ron? Clearly, she still felt something towards him, otherwise she wouldn’t have been so angry.

Hermione was different from a lot of girls in that she didn’t really express her attraction for Sirius. In fact, Sirius was very certain that her capability to see Sirius as anything less than annoying depended heavily on her mood. What if Hermione simply didn’t find Sirius attractive in any shape or form?

Impossible, thought one part of Sirius.

The first thing Evans ever told you about Hermione was that Hermione said you were ugly, countered the other part of Sirius.

Of course, when Hermione returned to the common room just twenty minutes later (why had she taken so long? What were she and Diaz talking about? Did Diaz linger in her room like Sirius did? Sirius hated that he was so curious), most of Sirius’s negative feelings vanished the moment he saw her face. It also helped that she confirmed Sirius had indeed gotten an O on his presentation, a fact that Remus and James were having trouble believing.

Whenever he was around Hermione, Sirius was always reminded of the many reasons why he was just so attracted to her—she was beyond witty, intelligent to the point where Sirius wondered if Ravenclaw house was even trying, and more than capable of taking care of herself and the people she cared about.

Hermione was the embodiment of what made a strong person, and characterized every trait that Sirius aspired to have himself. But as Sirius watched her like this, lips curling into a smile as she pushed her curls behind her ear, Sirius just could not help himself in thinking—

I really, really want to make her mine.

--

The week before Easter holiday passed painfully slowly, and for a few reasons—one, the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw house was on Friday. Two, Sirius was craving a break from classes. Three, Sirius was going to be spending a decent amount of Easter holiday alone with Hermione. And this simple fact was just about driving Sirius mad with impatience.  

Remus and Peter were both returning home for Easter holiday; it had been difficult enough for them to convince their parents to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. James was still remaining at Hogwarts for Easter, but Sirius had noticed that James was behaving strangely distant recently. He had been mysteriously absent from the common room for the past few evenings, and he vanished during free periods that they usually spent together.

When Sirius had asked James if anything was up, James had apparently no idea what Sirius was referring to. Sirius was fairly certain that James was hiding something, but if James wasn’t interested in telling him, then he wouldn’t press the matter. Besides, if James continued this habit of absence, that would mean a lot of private time with Hermione.

The weekend before break arrived at last. When Sirius walked into the Great Hall on Saturday morning to see Hermione sitting at the Ravenclaw table, he felt betrayed, but perhaps not any more betrayed than James.

“It’s Quidditch day! We’re facing Ravenclaw!” said James indignantly, pointing obviously at Hermione sitting next to Diaz. Sirius pretended that this didn’t affect him in any way. “Padfoot, go fetch the traitor. We’ll talk some sense into her.”

“She can sit where she wants, you two,” reminded Remus. “Although I must admit, a bit of Gryffindor solidarity would be nice—and he’s not listening at all, fantastic.”

Sirius had taken off half-way through Remus’s response. Did Hermione have every right to sit wherever she wanted, even on the day of a match? Of course. Was Sirius upset anyways? Exceedingly so.

The pair of Ravenclaw prefects sitting in front of Diaz and Hermione were the first to notice Sirius beelining towards them. The girl leaned forward to say something to Hermione, and Hermione turned, face already set in frustration.

“Sirius—”

“Hermione, I begin this statement by saying that I respect your wishes and your desire to sit with your other friends, regardless of the fact that they are of the opposing house,” nodded Sirius formally. “However, I must inform you of how upsetting this decision is regardless.”

Hermione, despite looking already tired of Sirius’s antics, sighed, and decided to bite. “And what is it exactly that you’d like to inform me of, Sirius?”

Sirius blinked. “What do you mean? I just told you how upset I was, that was the whole bit.”

“Fear not, Black,” interjected Diaz. Sirius looked out him, trying his absolute best to strip his expression of all disdain. “She was only meaning to be sat here for a bit, she told us so herself.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, for Hermione was indeed standing from her seat. She was also rolling her eyes, but Sirius took this as a victory anyways. “Well, of course, Hermione. You’re a fantastic and loyal addition to Gryffindor house.”

“Tell Potter good luck from me!” added Diaz cheerfully as they walked off. But with his back now turned, Sirius could sneer without fear of detection. Hermione eyed this and huffed.

“Today’s Quidditch match gives you no excuse to be rude to Stephan,” said Hermione. “Even if you have your back turned to him. He’s still my friend, Sirius.”

“No, it’s not that,” dismissed Sirius. “I just don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, being so nice to me. I know for a fact that I piss him off, especially after the whole Yellow Pages debacle.”

“The what debacle?” questioned Hermione. “Surely, you aren’t referring to the Muggle business book?”

“No, it’s nothing at all,” said Sirius quickly. He had assumed that Diaz would have told her about that particular incident—and wrongfully so, evidently.

That explains why I never got a lecture about that, then.

Sirius changed the subject as they were nearing the Gryffindor table. “Let me tell you, James was right upset about you sitting with the Ravenclaws. I expect you’ll get an earful from him when we’ve sat down…”

He noted how many students in the Great Hall were eying him and Hermione as they walked together. It was times like these where Sirius would have one of his ridiculous urges to lean over to Hermione, say something in her ear—or, in a perfect world, wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer—and as upsettingly possessive that sounded to even Sirius, he so desperately wanted to indicate to everyone around them that he was closer to her than anybody else here, that he was special to her.

More special than Diaz, anyway, thought Sirius as he took his seat beside Hermione, turning his head to look at Diaz. But Diaz didn’t turn to look at them at all, and remained in deep conversation with his Prefect friends.

Sirius did feel better about the entire morning when Gryffindor ended up winning the match. As inappropriate as it was to compare his relationship with Hermione to her relationship with Diaz, it was at least socially acceptable to shout obscenities about Ravenclaw house in the following common room party.

Post-Quidditch-victory parties were always highlights of the semester—James would have a massive supply of Honeydukes pastries and sweets ready, and Remus would supply his record player so they could blast music. Peter usually supplied the butterbeer, and Sirius was, of course, the heart and soul of the party.

But even as Sirius was draping James in a Gryffindor flag, leading an explicit chant about Ravenclaw house, and spritzing everyone he could see with butterbeer, he still looked for Hermione through the crowd every few minutes or so. Sirius didn’t imagine that Hermione was one for parties, so he was pretty surprised to see that Evans got Hermione to dance around with her and her friends.

I wonder if she’s comfortable enough to dance like that with me, wondered Sirius vaguely.

If you’re really jealous of Evans, then you seriously have a problem, came Sirius’s internal monologue. But of course, his inner reasoning did little to change how he actually felt. In hopes of erasing these thoughts, he forced his attention back to drawing on Peter with ink, who had somehow gotten knocked out in the ruckus of the party.

Ten minutes later, Sirius noticed that Hermione was no longer in the common room.

Unsure if he should be panicked or worried, he quickly pushed his way past the dozens of Gryffindors over to where Evans was standing.

“Where’s Hermione?” asked Sirius, having to yell in order to be heard over the music.

Evans pulled her butterbeer away from her lips, quickly turning to face him. “Hermione? She actually took a step outside, I think she’s set on leaving.”

“What?” Sirius furrowed his eyebrows together. “Why?”

Normally, Lily spoke to Sirius as if she'd rather be anywhere than talking to him. But as she replied, she hugged her elbows to herself, looking down in concern. Clearly, her worries currently outweighed her rather negative perception of him and his friend group (read: James).

"I'm not sure. She said she just wanted a breath of fresh air, but she seemed really rattled all of a sudden… She was very adamant about going out herself. I didn't want to push, so I didn't follow her." Then, she directed her gaze up to Sirius.

"Do you think you could check on her, actually?" For perhaps the first time in their six and a half years at Hogwarts, Lily Evans was asking him for a genuine favor. "Since you're closer to her, I imagine she'd be more likely to tell you what's on her mind."

With such a drastic change in her usual tone, Sirius immediately understood the severity of the situation. So he didn't linger any further, simply nodding to Evans and quickly making his way to the portrait.

Thankfully, Hermione was sitting on the ground besides the Fat Lady. But seeing her did little to reassure Sirius’s inner feelings of panic—her face was drained of all color, and her bottom lip that she was bit down on was trembling.

“Hermione,” said Sirius, eyes immediately widened. “What—”

“S-Someone brushed against my scar,” stammered Hermione quietly. She hadn’t looked up at Sirius once, and was hugging her knees to her chest. “It didn’t hurt, of course, but—it just reminded me of everything, and I suddenly got so cold for some reason, and… But I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be able to go back in soon—”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius frowned. He closed the portrait behind him, sitting down next to Hermione. “Surely, you don’t mean that you’re really going to force yourself to go back in there.”

“Well—” Hermione struggled for the words to say as she clutched her knees tighter to her chest, “I didn’t want to worry Lily, or you. Our team just won the match, I didn’t want to make everything about me.”

“So what if we won?” said Sirius, scoffing lightly. “Winning a match isn’t anything special at this rate. And, if it makes you feel any better, I make things about me all the time.”

Hermione’s lips curved up into a small smile, and Sirius grinned himself. Yes, he liked seeing Hermione smile, but he especially liked knowing he made her smile.

“Ah, there she is. Resilient as ever,” said Sirius. He then stood to his feet, stretching his hand out to Hermione. Hermione looked at his hand, then up at Sirius, confused.

“Are we going back in?” asked Hermione, eyebrows furrowed in slight concern. Fuck she’s so cute.

“Are you mental? You just had a trauma-induced episode,” said Sirius, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re ditching. We can continue the party in your room by ourselves, anyway.”

Hermione didn’t seem entirely convinced. “But… Don’t you want to stay? What about James and all of them? I don’t want to pull you away from a party just because I can’t handle myself…”

“Firstly, you can handle yourself better than I can handle most forms of alcohol,” began Sirius. “Secondly, James and Remus are plenty occupied.” And Peter is unconscious, Sirius almost added, but he didn’t want that obscure fact to distract from his main point.

“Thirdly and most importantly of all, I’ve already told you that any party without me becomes, by nature, lame. And that rule extends to you.”

At this, Hermione just scoffed.

“Oh, please. As if I could get everyone’s attention like you do.”

“That sounds like an insult, but I’m choosing to interpret it as a compliment,” grinned Sirius. He reemphasized sticking out his hand, indicating for Hermione to take it.

“Besides, you get my attention,” added Sirius helpfully.

Maybe Sirius was imagining the subtle color that flushed Hermione’s cheeks, but she ultimately decided to take his hand either way.

Her hand is really soft, noted Sirius as he helped her to her feet. It felt small in his own, and delicate, too. Of course, whenever Sirius touched Hermione in any way—whether it be their hands or in a hug—he felt like his entire body was ignited with flames. But he also could never stop himself from thinking that she just fit so perfectly with him—whether she was in his arms, or if her hand were in his.

Unfortunately for Sirius, Hermione let go of his hand the moment she was on her feet. But she still looked as flustered as Sirius felt, so he supposed that evened out his disappointment.

“I’ve been spending a lot of time in here recently,” noted Sirius as they entered her bedroom some seven minutes later. “Do you always keep it this clean, or is it just for me?”

“Sirius, why do you assume that everything is done for you?” said Hermione with just a spot of bite to her voice. Sirius was certain that most people would be insulted by her tone, but he genuinely loved her attitude.

“As foreign as the concept may seem to you, I’m genuinely an organized person,” continued Hermione, taking a seat on her bed. She seemed significantly calmer now, and mostly back to normal. Sirius liked to think that this was his own doing.

“Yeah, sure.” Sirius was about to take a seat at her desk chair and make himself at home, but the tightly wound scroll on her desk caught his eye.

“Hey, are these the sonnets I wrote for you?” grinned Sirius, taking the scroll in his hand. “Do you use them for bedtime reading?”

“Your plagiarized sonnets, alongside with the rest of your notes, reside in my desk drawers. You’re holding my answers for our Charms assignment,” corrected Hermione.

Of course, Sirius was grateful for their close relationship for a multitude of reasons—yes, he liked Hermione more than he’s ever liked a single person before. And he of course valued the dynamic and atmosphere they shared. But he was most grateful for the feeling of comfort they had developed, especially in moments like these—because if Sirius had torn open Hermione’s homework answers right in front of her just three months prior, Hermione likely would have personally exterminated him.

But when Sirius unfurled her precious work and dug his nose into the parchment, Hermione seemed only moderately offended—it was these types of developments that Sirius valued so dearly.

“Hey, you’re already done!” noted Sirius, scanning over her answers. “Huh. This will make Easter holiday much easier on my end.”

At once, Hermione stood from her bed, strode over to where Sirius was standing, and snatched the scroll from Sirius’s hands.

“Oh no you won’t,” said Hermione, eyes narrowed. “That’s cheating. I’ll help you, but you certainly won’t be copying my work.”

“Oh, please,” said Sirius. “It’s not real work, they’re short answer questions! Each question would only take me a few minutes to figure out anyways.”

“If it’s that easy, then you’ll be able to do it yourself,” lectured Hermione.

“Aw, come on,” urged Sirius, reaching for the roll of parchment clutched in Hermione’s hand. He wasn’t really that insistent on copying Hermione’s answers, but she was just so awfully cute when she got all persistent like this. “I worked so hard on Muggle Studies! Can’t I get a break?”

Hermione took an entire step back, holding the scroll away from Sirius’s grasp, and Sirius took a step forward in retaliation.

“Sirius, that presentation was your responsibility to begin with, as is this assignment. You have two weeks to complete our Charms homework!”

“Yeah, two weeks of Easter holiday. Why would I spend time doing this stupid assignment?” replied Sirius, opening and closing his fist in a gimme gesture towards Hermione’s answers. She took yet another step back, nearly pressed up against her bed, a step that Sirius once again closed.

“It will only take a few hours,” insisted Hermione, looking up at Sirius in a way she likely thought was menacing. “I’m sure you can set aside that much time.”

“But if I have your answers, I can spend those hours with you instead.”

Recently, Sirius had noticed what he believed to be a welcomed development—he would say something mildly risqué, to which Hermione would respond in either frustration or flusterment. He’d gauge her reaction and, if he found it to be appropriate, would make his comments progressively more and more… Suggestive.

Normally, Hermione played off her reaction pretty well, leaving Sirius to guess where the hell he stood with her. But in this case, she was so caught off guard that when she tried to take another step back, she forgot that she was already pressed up against the bed.

She stumbled backwards onto her bed, landing on the mattress in way that shouldn’t have made Sirius feel the way it did—on impact, Hermione hit the mattress with her curls sprawled around her, wrists resting besides her head, and Sirius realized that he had seen her like this before—many times before—because Hermione had an uncanny knack for appearing in his dreams.

But just as quickly, Hermione pushed herself up onto her elbows, and Sirius forced himself out of his own filthy head.

“Sirius, y-you—” Hermione stammered. If Sirius thought she was blushing before, she definitely was now. “Do you think you could have told me that you had me against the bed?”

“I was distracted,” defended Sirius, not at all talking about her Charms assignment. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes.”

Sirius watched as this word left her lips.

“… Is something wrong?” asked Hermione, brown eyes staring up at Sirius, eyes that Sirius was beginning to think would be able to successfully disarm him for the rest of all time.

“Nothing,” said Sirius. “Can’t I just look at you?”

Hermione opened her mouth ever so slightly, but she couldn’t manage out a single response.

In the past few weeks in particular, Sirius had felt many times that Hermione was reacting a certain way to the dumb lines he threw around. But never before had something like this happened, where she was looking up at him like this, tensions so thick that Sirius felt like he was breathing in nothing but the intoxicating sugars of her chamomile scent.

“… What?” asked Hermione softly as Sirius continued to just look at her, biting down on her bottom lip.

Sirius could say something really, really important here.

Should he be honest? Or should he say another witty, vague line? Whatever it was that Sirius had to say, he would have Hermione’s rapt, complete, undivided attention.

And in this moment where he could have said anything at all, anything at all, the only thing that left his mouth was—

“Who’s Ron?” blurted out Sirius, speaking before he even realized what was coming out of his mouth.

Because Sirius was an idiot.

As Sirius watched Hermione’s face change within the next fraction of a second, Sirius settled into the fact that he was nothing more than a complete idiot who was controlled by his ridiculously immature feelings.

And now, he was about to get his arse handed to him so hard that he wouldn’t be able to walk for all of Easter holiday. But as Sirius prepared for the impact (that he honestly deserved), Hermione did the exact opposite of what he was expecting.

She sighed deeply, and shrugged.

“Ron… Ron is a past boyfriend of mine,” said Hermione simply.

And that’s where she stopped. With the look on Hermione’s face, however, Sirius wished she had just yelled at him instead.

“… Hermione—fuck, I’m really—” Sirius struggled for words. Talking was the one thing that always came easily to Sirius, but of course, Hermione disarmed him in about every area, including his natural talents. “I’m sorry, Hermione—that was entirely out of pocket.”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled as he scrambled to defend his idiotic mouth.

“You don’t have to apologize,” said Hermione slowly. “I know you’re only curious… And honestly, I was surprised you didn’t ask sooner, given how exceptionally nosy you are in other people’s personal lives.”

She’s joking with me she doesn’t totally hate me thank Merlin—

“Oh. Well… Still. Poor timing, probably.” Knowing how this sounded, Sirius quickly put in. “You know, since I’m asking so soon. I should have waited.”

With another sigh, Hermione set aside her Charms assignment on her bedside table, pushing herself up to sit crisscross on her bed.

“You can sit, you know,” offered Hermione, indicating down to her own bed with a nod of her head. “So you don’t just have to stand there.”

Sirius took a seat, hardly believing his horrendous mistake had earned him a seat on Hermione’s bed.

“Honestly, I’m shocked you think I deserve to sit on your bed,” said Sirius, vocalizing his thoughts. “Considering that complete blunder… Damn. Really, I wouldn’t be offended if you just tossed me out of your room.”

But Hermione just shook her head, sighing a little before she looked at Sirius and spoke—

“I forgive you.” Her words were quiet, so quiet that Sirius almost didn’t hear them.

“You really don’t have to, that was a right moronic thing to say—” replied Sirius at once, but Hermione just shook her head before repeating herself, louder this time.

“No, Sirius. I forgive you.” Hermione bit down on her lip before continuing. “For… Everything. You know… From before. I just wanted to let you know that I forgive you.”

What?

It took an entire five seconds for Hermione’s words to actually hit him.

She forgave him. She really, truly forgave him for everything he had said and done to her. Hermione had mentioned this weeks, months ago, and the idea had since completely disappeared from his mind.

Sirius had spent so many weeks wondering if he even deserved her attention. He definitely didn’t think he deserved her forgiveness.

Overwhelmed to the point of confusion, Sirius just looked back at Hermione, completely appalled. He had just brought up one of her most sensitive topics, and yet she was forgiving him.

Pursing her lips at Sirius’s silence, Hermione went on with speaking. Clearly, she had been thinking about this for a while.

“Honestly, I’ve known for a while,” continued Hermione softly. She played with her bed covers as she spoke, rubbing the sheets between her fingers nervously. “Weeks, actually… I just didn’t know how to bring it all up. But after everything that happened, you know, with my scar… I realized that I really, really trust you. More than I trust anyone else… So I thought it’d be important to tell you that I forgive you.”

Sirius let these words ring around in his head, and he knew they wouldn’t be leaving his thoughts for quite a while.

I really, really trust you. More than I trust anyone else.

Part of Sirius wondered if she was telling him this to avoid a conversation about Ron. But the name Ron was far away from Sirius’s thoughts right then, because Hermione was serious about forgiving him.

“… Where did this come from?” asked Sirius, because it was the only thing he could really think to ask. “That came out of nowhere, that did.”

“I told you, I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages,” replied Hermione. “And—when you were standing there, just so horribly awkward and immediately apologetic—”

“Hey—”

“—I was reminded again of just how far you’ve come,” continued on Hermione, talking over Sirius’s attempt at an indignant interruption. “and I felt that I had to say it before you left my room.”

“Why would you assume I’m leaving anytime soon?” said Sirius. “Unless, of course, you actually want me to.”

Hermione smiled gently, shaking her head. “No, I don’t. I just thought that you’d might want to excuse yourself after that.”

“Har, har,” monotoned Sirius jokingly. Feeling his words would be horribly inadequate to express just how much Hermione’s words meant to him, he then extended an arm, offering a side-hug.

Hermione just looked at him as he made this gesture.

“What’s that mean?” questioned Hermione doubtfully.

“A hug,” frowned Sirius. “You know, since you’re always the one initiating. I thought it’d be my turn.”

Hermione snorted—actually snorted at these words, leaving Sirius equally relieved and offended.

“I really thought that you’d be good at initiating physical touch,” tsked Hermione.

“I—I—hey! I absolutely am!” protested Sirius. “What else am I meant to do, thank you?! That’s not my place, I don’t deserve to say that—so I’m relying on my expertise on physical touch to show my care and appreciation—"

“Alright, alright,” interjected Hermione, already beginning to scoot closer towards him. “You’re only verbally awkward, not physically so. Is that alright with you?”

“No. I am neither, you just do things to me,” rejected Sirius. He paused as Hermione scooted underneath his arm, appreciating how perfectly she fit as he draped his arm around her shoulders. Because she always fit perfectly into Sirius’s every way of life, because Hermione felt like the home he was always looking for.

“Of course, you’re terribly awkward in both regards. No worries, of course, my own talents make up for it beautifully,” continued on Sirius.

“You have entirely too much nerve for someone who just brought up the literal last topic I would ever want to speak about,” warned Hermione, and Sirius immediately dropped the subject entirely.

They continued speaking for a while. Sirius honestly lost track of time—were they speaking for thirty minutes? Two hours? He had no idea, but neither number would surprise him. They did, however, move part-way through their chat, so that Sirius was leaning against the wall. Hermione, of course, was still under his arm. From time to time, he’d look down at Hermione resting against him, and she’d look up at him with those damned eyes of hers.

His arm probably went numb at some point, but Sirius honestly couldn’t care less.

Sirius did end up leaving her room eventually, of course—Hermione, hilariously yet unsurprisingly, told Sirius that she wanted to work on some homework before she said goodbye to everyone leaving for break later that evening. He made it about half-way to Gryffindor tower before realizing he had been operating purely on auto-pilot, because his mind was still in Hermione’s room.

Sirius was in a daze, and it was warm and intoxicating. Hermione made him feel things, she provided him with a headspace that he never wanted to leave—and Sirius was pretty certain that she didn’t hate being pressed up against him, either.

Dare I think it? wondered Sirius as he reentered the Gryffindor common room. James would probably bite his head off for disappearing, but Sirius had never been less concerned about anything in his life. He was far too occupied with how insanely attracted, incredibly attached to Hermione he was.

But best of all, Sirius was pretty certain that Hermione probably, most likely had some sort of feelings for Sirius, too.  

Chapter Text

Logic. That was certainly a skill Hermione feared was beginning to escape her.

Being the sensible person she was, Hermione thought it was funny how she could arrive to a logical conclusion and simultaneously deny it. Because when she added up all of the little pieces, the moments, the words—sure, these all indicated that Sirius’s feelings towards her weren’t platonic, but Hermione could hardly make that conclusion herself.

Logically, Sirius could not like Hermione—because surely, someone like Sirius wouldn’t like someone like Hermione. Most of this was her self-doubts and insecurities speaking, she understood, but when she thought about Sirius’s past and Marlene McKinnon she just couldn’t imagine Sirius genuinely liking her in that manner.

And just as logically, and more importantly, was that Sirius really could not like Hermione, for reasons all guilt related. She couldn’t imagine that it’d be exactly ethical being romantically involved with Sirius when his idea of her was almost entirely fabricated.

Yes, logic has been escaping Hermione recently—or, at least, was beginning to become severely overshadowed by its much more powerful counterpart of emotions. Because ever since the scar incident, Hermione’s mind had been actively trying to convince Hermione that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea to be with Sirius Black.

Not a logical response at all to a horrifically traumatic event, Hermione knew. And yet, she was genuinely trying to convince herself that in theory—and purely in theory—acting on her feelings wouldn’t be the worst idea she’s ever had.

Surely, you’re going to tell him the truth eventually anyways. He clearly likes you, so why not do something about it?

He does not. And even if he did, am I really forgetting how ridiculously inappropriate a relationship would be?

No, I frankly just don’t care all that much anymore.

And it was thoughts like this that terrified Hermione. Because these thoughts weren’t very Hermione-like at all.

The audacity of my thoughts, huffed Hermione in frustration as she peered into the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room, Fighting with each other day in and out…

It was only the second day of Easter holiday, and so far, Hermione had hardly spent any time at all in her own room. No, almost all of her free time was being spent exclusively with Sirius.

Hermione had expected to be spending a lot of time with Sirius over holiday, seeing as Stephan, Remus, and Peter had gone home, but she had also expected James to be tagging along as well. But James had been mysteriously absent for the past few days. Hermione had asked Sirius, of course, but Sirius didn’t even know himself where James was off to during their meals and evenings in the common room.

Hermione had no idea where else James would be if not with Sirius, but she didn’t push the matter. Because she was fully enjoying all this alone time with Sirius.

Of course, Hermione was still working hard on her own time-drafting and their upcoming N.E.W.T.s, but so far, she spent virtually every other moment with Sirius. And if their meals and common room evenings weren’t enough time together, they now had a new exclusive routine—taking walks around the castle long after curfew.

Which currently left Hermione in the Gryffindor common room waiting for Sirius, who said he needed to grab something from his dormitory before they departed for their post-curfew walk around the castle.

Midnight walks.

What platonic friends go on nighttime walks? That must mean he has feelings for you.

He doesn’t like me, sighed Hermione to herself, you know he doesn’t, it just doesn’t make sense.

Oh really? came that one persistent part of Hermione’s mind, Then how do you explain Sunday night, then?

If Hermione hadn’t already been sitting in front of the fireplace, her face would have certainly flushed with heat at the mere memories of just two nights prior.

While Easter holiday didn’t officially begin until Monday, Sunday had been the first day of a mostly empty castle. Hermione, initially tempted to take advantage of the empty castle to visit the Room of Requirement without checking behind her back every two seconds, let herself be convinced by Sirius to spend at least one day without doing any homework.

Most of the day had passed uneventfully. They slept in, ate their meals together, walked about the castle as it was still too cold to really enjoy the grounds—and despite how plain and ordinary the day had been, Hermione felt like it was the best day she’s had at Hogwarts, purely because she spent it with Sirius. And despite the nothingness of that Sunday, Hermione still felt herself nodding off as she and Sirius sat by the fireplace after dinner.

Sirius had joked about it at the time (“This is the third time you’ve drifted off to unconsciousness while I’m speaking, you know. It’s really quite rude”) but otherwise continued to speak to her lowly, softly as she dozed off in their shared loveseat, slowly leaning against his shoulder.

As comfortable and safe Hermione had felt falling asleep with Sirius beside her, she couldn’t do anything to stop them, because nothing stopped them—because ever since her scar reopened, Hermione’s nightmares had haunted her every other unconscious moment.

The nightmare had been so vivid, and viciously so. She wouldn’t claim to truly understand everything Harry went through with his own scar, but with nightmares like these that ripped currents of crippling fear through her, Hermione wondered how much pain Harry was truly hiding during their school years together.

When Hermione awoke, she was on the carpet with Sirius panicking at her side, clutching her wrist against her chest and heaving deep, frantic breaths. And even though she could feel the heat of the fireplace, and she could see Sirius’s familiar grey gaze, freezing chills rippled throughout her entire body. Sharp, brisk winds bit at her skin as ice flooded her every sense, leaving Hermione wondering if she ever truly left Malfoy Manor.

Sirius, in his panic, had taken Hermione’s face in his hand, cupping her cheek. And suddenly, Hermione resurfaced.

It was as if the burn of his fingertips spread waves of warmth over her, melting away the chills, the winds, the memories. Suddenly, she could hear him, see him, and when she reached up to overlay Sirius’s shaking hands with her own, Hermione realized that no one had ever been able to bring her back like this.

Sirius didn’t move until Hermione’s breaths had still completely. He remained there on the carpet with her, murmuring reassuring words, occasionally pushing her hair out of her face as he held her.

As Hermione continued to come down, however, she had come to realize just how close Sirius was, and just how gentle his touch was. But most noticeably of all, Sirius’s face had been really, really close to hers…

“Earth to Hermione,” came a voice behind her. She jumped as she was startled back to the present, spinning in her armchair to see Sirius standing not a foot behind her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” laughed Sirius as Hermione huffed at him, “Are you ready?”

“Well, I’ve been ready,” replied Hermione, although her tone was mostly a projection of her other unrelated frustrations—it frankly annoyed her how attractive Sirius looked in his leather jacket. “Why were you upstairs for so long?”

“I took three minutes!” protested Sirius, “Although, I understand that any time at all away from me takes a severe toll on your mental health. But fear not, I’m here now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Sirius so often that she was surprised they hadn’t rolled to the back of her own head yet. Sirius, of course, seemed to take this in his stride, leaving Hermione to wonder if he relished in being able to provoke her.

Hermione vaguely remembered what Andrea Sinistra had told her so many months ago in the Three Broomsticks—everyone knows that when a boy pulls on a girl’s pigtails it’s to get her attention. The idea had seemed so ridiculous to Hermione at the time, but now…? She wasn’t sure one way or the other.

Again, Hermione could logically think that his behavior indicated the existence of romantic feelings. Sure, Hermione felt that the way Sirius acted around her, and the way he hugged, embraced, and just touched her in general couldn’t all possibly be platonic. Every time he told her something vaguely suggestive, she could feel him watching her reaction. And while they hadn’t hugged or anything since that once after the Quidditch party, Hermione swore that his touch would linger every time they embraced, as if he didn’t really want to let go.

But Hermione also understood that for the sake of their future, Sirius’s future, that she should keep her hopes down. It’d be better this way, Hermione knew, remaining friends and friends only. But Hermione also had a slight, sneaking suspicion that it’d only get harder and harder to listen to herself and her logic.

--

Similar to Christmas holiday, the castle was mostly empty of students due to the current wizarding war. Hermione realized the next day, however, that there were a surprising number of students who remained over break. Most notably among these students were a couple of Slytherins that Hermione was (regrettably) familiar with.

Hermione felt that she was very fortunate to have as few run-ins with Snape as she did, as he was the only other Slytherin besides Regulus that she was pretty insistent about avoiding. She quickly realized during lunch, however, that she hadn’t accounted for all potentially-dangerous Slytherins.

Set on eating a quick lunch, Hermione wanted to get a good amount of homework done in the afternoon to free up her evening. Sirius, while initially unhappy with this, eventually agreed to leave her alone in the library, set on meeting up with a couple friends from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw house in their time apart.

She noticed it about halfway through the meal.

Every so often, she’d feel a set of eyes on her. When she looked up, she’d notice a certain Slytherin spin back around in his seat, as if he had been caught. She had only really interacted with him once, but she recognized his sandy blonde hair at once.

Avery. What reason would Avery have for looking at her?

No reason at all, insisted Hermione to herself, Regulus wouldn’t have told him anything. Don’t be unreasonable.

Hermione continued on with her lunch, pretending to not notice Avery turning in his seat every so often out of the corner of her eye. But as she continued to speak with Sirius, she noticed that he’d send the occasional look over to the Slytherin table—clearly, Sirius had noticed. While Sirius didn’t seem to be a fan of this, judging by the way his expression soured, he didn’t draw any attention to it.

So, Hermione told herself that Avery was just looking at the Easter decorations of the Great Hall, and did her best to put this strange behavior out of her mind.

After lunch, Hermione headed to the library. Sirius told her that he’d “fetch her” around four, which she was admittedly really looking forward to. While she knew she wouldn’t get any work done with Sirius around her, she mostly requested to study alone because she was quickly realizing that she wouldn’t mind spending just about every minute of each day with him—another terrifying thought.

Space. Hermione repeated this word over and over in her head as she spread out all of her assignments across the library table. I need to space myself from Sirius. I’m getting far too attached.

But maybe that’s not a bad thing, came that same insistent part of Hermione’s thoughts. But Hermione ignored these words, instead diving herself into her homework for the next few hours.

She had finished all assignments for Transfiguration, Runes, and Arithmancy, and was finishing up Herbology when she started continually looking to her watch—Sirius would be arriving soon, and Hermione kept pushing her hair behind her ear and looking behind her towards the library entrance.

Oh, just focus, thought Hermione irritably as she felt her stomach drop with disappointment when Sirius didn’t walk into the library the second her watch read four, And finish up your Herbology. He’ll be here any moment. And so Hermione busied herself with her work once more.

Just minutes later, Hermione was suddenly interrupted.

“Hey, Granger.”

Evidently, her gut feeling from lunch had been true.

Hermione looked up to see Avery standing before her. In the strangest way, Avery reminded Hermione of the Weasley twins—he had a Beater’s build, stocky and wide in the shoulders.

“What?” asked Hermione, looking unimpressively at him. Avery exhaled a short breath, amused.

“Immediately on the defense. I see what Reg was talking about,” commented Avery. He pointed at the seat across from Hermione, “Mind if I take a seat?”

“Yes,” said Hermione flatly. Avery raised his eyebrows at her tone, but took the seat anyways.

Hermione, not one to let anyone undermine her, began to pack up her things.

“Come on, I’ve just gotten here,” said Avery, leaning forward on the table with his elbows, “It’ll only take a moment.”

“I’m not interested in whatever Regulus has to say,” replied Hermione tersely, placing her textbooks into her bag. She’d just wait for Sirius outside the library for the next couple minutes.

“What?” questioned Avery, “I’m not here because of Regulus.”

At this, Hermione paused. Not because she was particularly interested in whatever Avery had to say, but because she never really faced any repercussions for modifying his memory so many months ago. Surely, it wasn’t a coincidence that Avery was approaching her out of the blue.

Avery went on, seemingly satisfied that he got Hermione to listen. “Why, has something happened between you two?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, nothing. I just don’t know why else you’d want to speak with me.”

“Ah, well,” hummed Avery, tapping his fingers on the table, “I was going to ask earlier at lunch today, but Black… Well, he’s the way he is.”

Avery paused before finally asking, “So what’s your whole situation with Black, anyway?”

Hermione looked at Avery reproachfully. When Avery just looked back at her, she continued on with wrapping her pieces of parchment into tight rolls.

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with you,” replied Hermione coldly, “Or why you’re remotely interested in knowing.”

“Oh, come on, Granger. I thought you were smart,” said Avery, the corner of his lips turning upwards into a grin, “Can’t a bloke ask questions?”

Hermione began screwing the lid back onto her ink well, doing her best to ignore the Slytherin still sat in front of her and thoroughly wishing she hadn’t taken out so many school materials that day.

When Hermione continued to ignore Avery, he just chuckled. Finally, he caved, pushing back his seat and standing.

“Alright, alright. Not interested, I understand,” said Avery, heaving a sigh of mock disappointment, “But it would be nice if you’d at least take this.”

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, handing it to Hermione. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.

“What is this?” asked Hermione, making no movement to take the parchment.

“A note,” said Avery innocently, “You know, like the ones you and Black exchange.”

“And why have you written me one, exactly?” asked Hermione coldly.

Avery whistled lowly at this, exhaling in a way that suggested he didn’t take Hermione’s frustration seriously in the slightest. “Well, if you take it and read it at your own leisure, you’ll find out—”

At that moment, Avery glanced behind her. Judging by his expression, Hermione didn’t have to turn in her seat to see what had caused his distraction.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Hermione glanced up towards her right to see Sirius coming to a stop besides her. He wore a sneer on his face, directing his look of disgust at the note in Avery’s hand.

“What’s this?” asked Sirius, plucking the parchment from Avery’s fingertips, “I didn’t think I’d see the day a Slytherin risked being publicly seen with a Gryffindor.”

“Well, I guess Granger’s a special case,” said Avery, glancing down at Hermione still sitting and giving her a crooked grin, “So it’d be nice if you’d give her that note—”

“Is that a jest?” interjected Sirius, scoffing. Hermione knew that Sirius had a general distaste for all Slytherins, but it wasn’t often she saw him so genuinely worked up like this. “A note? Trying to be smart, are we?”

“I’m sorry to inform you, Black, that you did not single-handedly invent the activity of note-passing,” drawled Avery sarcastically, and immediately, Sirius’s eyes flashed. “I’m sure she can figure it out herself—”

“She? What do you mean, she?” retorted Sirius angrily, “Hermione’s right here, you fucking dolt, don’t talk down to her—"

“Oh, stop it! The both of you, with all of this drama,” interrupted Hermione irritably at last. Sirius, who was in the middle of what Hermione was sure was a nasty insult, looked to her indignantly as if to say, You’re really going to interrupt me and not him?

“What did I say?” asked Sirius, furrowing his brow, “He’s completely out of—"

“You’d think that you’d be able to study in a library,” continued Hermione, talking right over Sirius, “I have absolutely no desire to sit here and listen to this bickering. What will it take to get you to understand that the library is not grounds for note passing?”

When Sirius gave Avery an indignant look, Hermione just scoffed. Sirius’s cocky expression faltered.

“I was speaking to you too, Sirius,” huffed Hermione. With a sweeping motion, she pushed her remaining books off the desk and into her bag, hastily standing to her feet and pushing her chair in forcefully.

She gave a final nasty glance to Avery as she slung her bag over her shoulder, to which Avery looked completely unfazed. He just gave her a three-fingered wave as she stalked off, leaving an offended Sirius trailing behind her.

“Why’d you get mad at me?” asked Sirius as he caught up with her, annoyed, “I was only standing up for you.”

“I can do that just fine myself, thanks.” Hermione pushed open the door to the library, trying her best not to do so angrily.

“What, you think I don’t know that?” replied Sirius incredulously, “You could tell that he wasn’t taking you seriously, I just wanted to tell him off for being a c—”

“Should I thank you, then?” asked Hermione, “For stomping in ten minutes late and talking over me?”

“I—wait, what do you mean, late?” asked Sirius, confused. “Is that why you’re so upset with me?”

“No,” lied Hermione, still refusing to look at Sirius, “I’m upset because you stormed in and—and—”

“Oh, come off it, you aren’t upset that I told off a Slytherin, you know that’s second nature to me,” interjected Sirius, “There’s another reason why you’re upset, what is it? Because I certainly wasn’t late—"

“You were late!” retorted Hermione, stopping in her step and turning to face Sirius. He nearly stumbled as he halted before her, clearly not expecting her to stop so suddenly.

“How was I late?” replied Sirius indignantly, “I was twenty minutes early! If anything, I thought you’d be annoyed that I showed up before you were finished.”

“I—”

Hermione was about to retaliate with how Sirius’s perpetual tardiness was beginning to genuinely annoy her, until she realized that Sirius had absolutely no reason to lie about this when he knew perfectly well that Hermione had a watch of her own.

She heaved a short sigh, holding her hand out at Sirius.

“Sirius, give me your watch.”

“Why?” asked Sirius slowly, but he reached into his leather jacket pocket and gave her his watch anyways, “So you can see how horribly incorrect you are and apologize to me on bended knee?”

“No,” sighed Hermione as she glanced at it, “Because your watch is running half an hour late.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Sirius in tones of surprise, sounding significantly less annoyed now, “Is it really?”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took out her wand, tapping the watch face once. The minute hand moved forward by thirty minutes, now showing the correct time of a quarter past four.

“Hey, won’t you look at that—oh, come on, Hermione!” said Sirius, laughing a bit as Hermione turned and began to walk away again.

Sirius gently grabbed her by the shoulder, turning her back to face him. As flustered as she was, Hermione couldn’t help but let Sirius guide her—his touch was entirely too convincing.

“How was I supposed to know my stupid watch was late?” grinned Sirius down at Hermione. He let go of her shoulder, but was still standing too close to Hermione for her to focus completely.

“How did you ever get to class on time with a watch that runs half an hour late?” asked Hermione, attempting to talk over her flusterment. But her voice was rid of all malice now—because Hermione actually felt relieved knowing that Sirius wasn’t purposefully late. Furthermore, she felt her stomach flutter slightly when she realized that Sirius had actually planned on arriving early.

“I’m usually with other people heading to class with me,” defended Sirius, “And since I keep it in my pocket, I’m don’t really look at it anyways.”

“Why don’t you just wear it normally, on your wrist?”

“Because it ruins my aesthetic. It isn’t cool knowing what time it is,” replied Sirius obviously, “But damn, Hermione. You really missed me that much?”

Hermione scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Sirius watched her expression carefully, his gaze scanning over her face in a way that made Hermione suddenly hyperaware of every single detail, from her racing heartbeat to the faint scent of his cologne.

It smells nice, noted Hermione, whatever it is he’s wearing.

“Ha, you totally missed me,” concluded Sirius, jarring Hermione out of her headspace, “But hey, I missed you too. These past few hours were horribly boring.”

“I thought you were with some friends,” said Hermione confusingly.

“I was. I just really prefer being with you.”

Oh.

A slow smile spread over Sirius’s lips as he watched her struggle to reply, because absolutely no words were coming to Hermione. Every single time he said something like this, she’d immediately forget where she was and what she was about to say next, because all she’d be able to think of was Sirius, Sirius and just how close he was to her…

Sirius, clearly noticing that Hermione had no intentions on speaking, continued on himself, wearing that same infuriatingly attractive smile as he spoke—

“It’s no fun insulting Olsen, really, since he’s a Hufflepuff and he just takes it. Doesn’t furiously retaliate like you do.”

And, just like that, the moment was broken entirely.

“Sirius, you shouldn’t derive joy from irritating other people!” lectured Hermione so loudly that Sirius at last took a step back, opening the space between them and releasing the tension.

“It’s not my fault when you make it so fun!” replied Sirius, already laughing at her look of frustration. But of course, Hermione wasn’t actually upset with him. She rarely was.

When they returned to the common room, Hermione discovered that Sirius had crumpled up the note and thrown it at Avery’s face as Hermione was storming away from the library. She knew that she should be at least a little upset with him for decidedly taking the note from her, but she wasn’t planning on reading it anyways.

Besides, Hermione was admittedly flattered that Sirius was so eager to keep their note system to themselves—but Hermione ignored this particular thought. A part of Hermione couldn’t entirely shake the idea of Avery out of her head, as she worried that this was all somehow related to that one early morning’s events so many months ago.

But Hermione too pushed this idea away, not wanting the Slytherin student to distract her from her time with Sirius. Surely, she’d be able to put Avery and his note out of her mind with Sirius as her distraction.

--

Hermione, unfortunately, was not able to put Avery out of her mind—not with the way he kept trying to approach her that next day.

At breakfast, Avery attempted to fly a few enchanted paper airplanes Hermione’s way, each of which Sirius set on fire before they ever made their way to Hermione (and getting ash all over her over-easy eggs). James, who was surprisingly present for that breakfast, joined Sirius in sending over nasty looks at Avery.

“Look at Snivellus, just sat there as if nothing’s happening,” commented James. Snape was indeed sitting across from Avery, scribbling very intensely in a book and paying little attention to his housemate. “You’d think he’d have something to say about someone of his own house acting so infatuated with a Gryffindor.”

“I’m telling you, the twit has ulterior motives,” maintained Sirius. He had been insisting all morning that Avery was only sending these notes for “Regulus-related plans” and to annoy Sirius. “Slytherins don’t drop their blood-purist ways for anyone, he’s clearly up to something—as amazing as you are, Hermione, of course—"

“Oh, please. None taken,” reassured Hermione, looking warily at Avery from across the Great Hall as she watched him fold up yet another piece of parchment paper.

When Avery noticed Hermione watching him, he just winked at her. Immediately, Hermione was no longer interested in finishing her eggs (and the sprinkling of ash certainly didn’t help, either).

Lunch wasn’t as eventful, but Hermione found it equally uncomfortable as the previous meal—Avery had given up on sending any notes, but he spent quite a large portion of his time watching her, smirking and grinning whenever he caught her eye. Sirius, who had otherwise ignored this similar behavior the day before, was much more vocal about his detest for the Slytherin.

“You’d think that any self-respecting bloke would know that being creepy does you absolutely no favors,” said Sirius loudly. Hermione, who likely would have brought up how much of a hypocrite this statement made him in any other situation, was grateful for Sirius’s irritation on her behalf and tried her best to pretend that Avery simply did not exist.

That afternoon, Sirius had told Hermione that he was going to take a few hours for himself in his dormitory. When Hermione asked him what he was up to, he didn’t reply, saying that it was “completely unrelated” to her and “absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Not wanting to deeply consider whatever Sirius was planning (and also respecting his desire for alone time), Hermione had once again decided to study in the library (after promising Sirius she’d do her best to avoid a certain Slytherin).

This time, she tried selecting a more private location as to avoid another unwanted run-in. But, as the library was, after all, a shared space, Hermione supposed she shouldn’t have been annoyed as she was when Avery ended up finding her anyways.

She was in the midst of her reading for History of Magic when she was interrupted for the second time in two days.

“Wow, you really don’t want to speak to me, huh?” said a voice from behind Hermione. She paused, but otherwise made no movement, immediately glaring down at her notes.

“If you sit down again, Avery, I’ll have no hesitations in reaching for my wand,” warned Hermione stiffly, continuing to write her History of Magic notes.

“As if you’d cause a scene in the library, Granger,” said Avery doubtfully, but he fortunately (perhaps more so for him than Hermione) didn’t take a seat.

Hermione felt him leaning over her, peering over her work.

“Don’t—” began Hermione, only for Avery to talk over her.

“You’ve already started on Binns’ assignment?” said Avery curiously, “And you take notes, too. I guess people aren’t exaggerating, what they say about you.”

“Flattery won’t help your case.”

“Goodness me, that tone really does bite,” chuckled Avery, “Relax, Granger. In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t sat down. I have no intentions on lingering.”

“Do you think you could act on your intentions to leave, then?” replied Hermione. Finally, she looked up at Avery still standing beside her. As expected, he didn’t look even vaguely threatened by Hermione’s harsh words.

“I’ll leave right now, if you’d like,” said Avery, “Just so long you take this—”

Avery reached into his pocket, but Hermione was faster—she abruptly stood to her feet, grabbing her wand off of the table and grasping it tightly in her hand. Avery, to her surprise, actually took a step back.

“I’m not taking your note,” huffed Hermione, “And if you aren’t leaving, then I am. And if you even dare try and stop me—”

“What, like I’m mental?” questioned Avery, eyeing the wand clutched in her hand, “I’m only saying that if you take the bloody note, then I’ll leave you alone. Honest.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Avery raised his eyebrows at her.

Just two minutes later, Hermione was walking out of the library with Avery’s note in her hand. She knew she shouldn’t have caved in like that, but she felt she could sacrifice a bit of her pride for him to leave her alone.

Besides, thought Hermione, huffing as she looked at the folded parchment in her hands, there's really no reason for me to not take it. 

But no matter how she thought about it, she couldn't shake the feeling that this note had something to do with what had happened so many months ago. Part of her wanted to rip the note open to ensure that it was something completely unrelated, but the other part of her immediately shot this down—there was no way, surely not. 

There's no need to check it right away, Hermione told herself firmly, Because it's not related. I should focus on work right now.

With these thoughts, Hermione shoved the note into her bag, set on finishing her History of Magic assignment in her room. She'd read it later.

-

After finishing her work, Hermione figured she had nothing better to do than to go see how Sirius was doing. She had planned on telling Sirius about everything that happened with Avery, but the moment she walked into the seventh-year boys’ dormitory, Sirius immediately began shouting at her.

At the sound of the door opening, Sirius had leapt up from his bedside desk, immediately blocking what he was working on with his entire body as he yelled—

“Hermione close your eyes you can’t see any of this—”

“Alright, alright!” said Hermione irritably, shutting her eyes and covering them with her hand as she blindly shut the door behind her, “They’re closed. Why can’t I see whatever it is you’re working on, anyways?”

“No reason. Nothing to do with you. Secret plans. Stop asking questions,” listed Sirius quickly one after the other, “I didn’t expect for you to march right in here, you know.”

“I figured since you’ve broken into my room before, it was only fair—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sirius, “I’m a terrible person, I understand. Just let me pack up, alright? And keep your eyes closed—”

“They’re closed!”

Sirius put away whatever his “secret plans” were, told Hermione a couple more times how his work had absolutely nothing to do with her, but otherwise calmed down.

Just as they had for the past few nights, they talked the hours away. They went down to the Great Hall to eat dinner, (Hermione was pleased to see that Avery was set on keeping his promise—she didn’t notice him looking their way once) but otherwise didn’t do much else. Hermione often worried that they’d come to a dry point, having run out of conversation topics, but such a situation never arose.

The end of the night had arrived far too quickly, just as it had the past few nights. Hermione was beginning to fear that Easter Holiday would fly by her entirely too quickly. Sirius expressed having similar thoughts.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if time goes faster when I’m with you, or if you’re really just that good at talking my ear off,” commented Sirius, glancing down at his watch, “It’s already past curfew. What have we even been talking about for the past two hours?

“Well, isn’t that flattering—” Hermione paused to notice that Sirius was actually wearing his watch, with his watch face on his inner wrist.

“You’re wearing your watch,” observed Hermione, surprised.

“That’s the fifth time I’ve checked the time in front of you, and you’ve only just noticed?” frowned Sirius, “I thought you’d be impressed.”

“How much longer are you going to request praise for accomplishing basic tasks, Sirius?”

“Until I get my praise, obviously.”

Sirius did not end up getting any such praise for his watch-wearing, to his complete dismay, but he was otherwise placated when Hermione suggested they start on their midnight walk earlier than usual.

Of course, the walk ended far earlier than Hermione would have preferred. They were already nearing Hermione’s room on the first-floor, and Hermione was honestly tempted to invite Sirius in to stay around for a little longer. But she also understood what that would implicate, so she quickly shut the idea down.

But then, the conversation turned to a topic that Hermione had completely forgotten about. Hermione was immediately uneasy, because she knew exactly where this conversation was about to go.

“And so we arrive to the Granger Corridor,” announced Sirius as they rounded the corner, “You know, I’m actually surprised Avery hasn’t tracked you down to your room yet. Not that he could get in with that charmed doorknob, of course.”

“I—oh,” said Hermione, blinking as she realized—Avery. She still hadn’t told Sirius what had happened with him in the library. “Yes, I’m glad he hasn’t… He is awfully insistent, but I don’t think he’ll be doing anything like that.”

Hermione wanted to add, not after what happened today, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to. She wasn’t entirely sure why—well, she knew exactly why she felt like this, she just didn’t want to recognize it—but a part of Hermione felt like she had betrayed Sirius.

That’s ridiculous, Hermione told herself firmly, You don’t owe him anything.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” said Sirius, giving her several side-glances, “Reckon he’d have gotten you to listen to him if his ‘looks matched his words,’ as you once so eloquently put it.”

Hermione just scoffed, looking at Sirius incredulously.

“Avery, attractive?” she repeated, “No, definitely not. Even if he wasn’t—well, you know—”

“A Slytherin,” completed Sirius understandably.

“I mean—no, just… Well, not because he’s a Slytherin, but because most Slytherins tend to dislike Muggle-borns,” explained Hermione, “I don’t mean to be prejudiced, but it’s difficult to not have a general aversion… Of course, he doesn’t know that I’m Muggle-born, but still.”

“Nah, I understand,” said Sirius. He paused for a moment before adding, “Poor bloke never had a chance. He really ought to just give up the whole note thing.”

“Oh, well… Actually,” prefaced Hermione, and she swore she saw Sirius physically stiffen at these words, “I actually did end up taking his note.”

“Wait, what?” asked Sirius, immediately furrowing his brow as he looked down at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“No,” replied Hermione, “He approached me again in the library when you were off doing—well, whatever it was you were working on.”

Sure, Hermione expected that Sirius would give her some petty lecture on why their notes should stay between them, or that he’d make some comments that she’d likely find equally annoying and endearing. But Sirius frowned at this, looking deeply off-put—Hermione didn’t think that he’d look so genuinely... upset. 

“Why’d you take that bloody note?” asked Sirius in a irritated, occupied tone. “And why didn’t you just study in your room? Of course Avery was able to track you down if you’re in such a public space.”

“Libraries are meant to be studied in, Sirius. Excuse me if I don’t want to stay cooped up in my room all the time,” said Hermione. “He promised to leave me alone if I took it, so I did.”

“Well, I’m not excusing you of anything,” replied Sirius stubbornly. “I thought we agreed that the notes were an ‘us’ thing, and you’ve gone a let some Slytherin invade that—”

“I haven’t let anyone invade anything,” interjected Hermione, “I haven’t even read it yet. And I don’t plan to for a while, either, so you can stop pouting at me.”

“I’m not pouting!” said Sirius. Hermione couldn’t imagine he enjoyed having words like “pout” being used to describe him. “I’m only saying that it’s a bit contradictory, when you say you don’t find him attractive, and yet, you ended up taking his stupid note—”

“I don’t find him attractive!”

“Yeah?” challenged Sirius, “I reckon your opinion of him would be changed quite a lot if he had freckles.”

Immediately, Hermione snapped her gaze up to shoot a look at Sirius. Just why is he so fixated on freckles—

“How long are you going to tease me about this whole freckles thing?” asked Hermione warily. “I mentioned it once—and not even to you, might I add!”

“Oi, I’m not the one who went about talking about my strangely specific preferences,” defended Sirius. He then snorted, muttering something that Hermione didn’t entirely catch but annoyed her anyways, because she had caught one crucial word—

“What?” asked Hermione, “What was that, exactly?”

“I said, you’d think that Diaz would have gotten in by now with his freckles advantage,” repeated Sirius shamelessly.

“What do you mean, gotten in?” snapped Hermione, officially irritated. “And just how many times do I have to tell you that Stephan doesn’t have feelings for me?”

“And I’m telling you that as a bloke, I know he does,” retaliated Sirius. “It’s the way he looks at you, I just know it.”

“He doesn’t look at me in any certain way,” said Hermione tersely. “You’re being ridiculous—”

“Ridiculous?” interjected Sirius, stopping right in his step as they had finally reached the door of Hermione’s room. He turned fully to face Hermione, crossing his arms as he looked incredulously at her. “How is it ridiculous? Do you really mean to say you’ve never once considered the possibility that he fancies you?”

“Oh—well—” Hermione struggled for words, hastily breaking eye contact, “That—that doesn’t matter!”

“Why are you getting all flustered?” asked Sirius, his eyebrows pulling together in a look of suspicion, “Why, do you fancy him?”

“Sirius—no, I don’t!” said Hermione at once, feeling her face immediately fill with color, “Just because you’ve never had platonic friendships with girls before, doesn’t mean no one else can!”

“Why are you bringing me into this? I’m only asking because I don’t think it’s a coincidence that your close friend just so happens to have your specific preference—”

“Sirius, why are you so upset?”

Hermione’s sudden question caught Sirius so off guard that he just blinked at her for a moment, as if his thoughts had malfunctioned.

“What—what do you mean, upset?” said Sirius, “I’m not—”

“You’re standing here bringing up Stephan for no reason when we weren’t even talking about him!” said Hermione. “You accused me of finding Avery attractive when I clearly find him repulsive, and now you’re accusing me of having feelings for my best friend!”

At these words, Sirius’s indignant expression flickered.

“Best friend?” rephrased Sirius, “Stephan Diaz is your best friend? Then who am I, then?”

“You—”

Hermione stopped midsentence, looking up at Sirius exasperatedly. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to respond.

“You…” Hermione just shook her head, refusing to finish her sentence. Because why would she, when Sirius refused to answer her question?

“If you aren’t going to tell me why you’re upset, then I have nothing else to say,” muttered Hermione, turning to reach for her doorknob. She didn’t really expect she’d make it inside her room without any retaliation from Sirius, but she also didn’t expect Sirius reaching forward to take her by the upper arm, pulling her back—how was his touch so soft, yet persistent, how was everything about him so attuned to her—?

“Hermione, please—”

“Don't do that, Sirius!” said Hermione, pushing his hand off. Sirius didn’t reach for her again, but judging by the look on his face, this resistance took a great deal of self-control. “If you aren’t going to answer my question, then you aren’t entitled to my response!”

“I didn’t say I was entitled—”

“You’re certainly acting like it,” replied Hermione sharply, “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you tell me why my close friend has feelings for me, and I’m certainly not going to let you tell me what my feelings are and how I should feel! And quite frankly, all of your freckle-related jabs are getting exhausting—”

Just then, Hermione noticed that Sirius wasn’t looking into her eyes anymore. No, he was instead staring intently at Hermione’s lips, watching her speak every word.

In her surprise, Hermione abruptly stopped speaking. Sirius, who was still watching her lips, flicked his gaze up to look into Hermione’s eyes.

“What?” asked Hermione, “What is it?”

“What do you mean, what is it?” asked Sirius, “I’m listening to you tell me off. Why’d you stop?”

“Do you—do you really have to make a joke about everything?” asked Hermione exasperatedly, “I’m trying to explain how I feel, and you just completely ignore everything I have to say?”

“It’s not a joke,” said Sirius, “I am listening. I’m just waiting for you to answer my question so I can tell you why I should be the most important person in your life.”

Immediately, Hermione felt a dizzying, swooping feeling in her stomach, leaving her thoughts fuddled and her mind fuzzy. Because as much as she liked to pretend that these one-liners Sirius would put in didn’t affect her, she found herself taken aback and unbelievably flustered with each one.

“Yeah?” asked Hermione, only a sliver of frustration biting through her tone now, “What’s your reasoning, then?

“Off of the top of my head, you mean?” asked Sirius, his eyebrows furrowed in an expression of… Hurt? Hermione had seen him offended, upset, but not hurt like this.

“Fine,” continued Sirius, staring down into her eyes and refusing to look away, “I’ll list a few reasons, then. Firstly, I was the first person in this entire damned castle to see you and even touch you, and just as I told you in Charms when we partnered for the first time, that’s dibs—”

“Sirius—”

“But I know you don’t believe in the laws of the universe, so that’s fine, I’ll go on,” continued Sirius. How he managed to be smart even when he was so clearly upset and hurt, Hermione had no idea. All she knew was that the more Sirius spoke, the stronger the weakening, swooping sensation felt.

“You said yourself that you weren’t willing to let Diaz in on our note-sharing, so that’s a reason right there. But then there’s less noticeable reasons, reasons that I don’t even think you notice. Like how your entire composure changes every time you notice me heading your way, which is especially obvious because you always tuck your hair behind your ear.”

If Hermione wasn’t flustered enough, she felt her skin grow hot from the neck up. But even if Hermione could speak, Sirius likely wouldn’t let her, because he clearly wasn’t anywhere near finished.

“You don’t do that around Diaz, and I made damn sure that you don’t. And if that’s not convincing enough, then how about these late-night walks? Or how about the way you dedicate your precious studying time to helping me with my projects that you claim are my responsibility, and then continue to spend time on anyways?

“Or how about the way that we can talk for hours without doing anything else?” continued on Sirius. He hadn’t stopped or stammered in his words even once, as if all of this had been on his mind for a very long time. “I know Stephan Diaz will talk for ages, but there’s absolutely no way he can hold a conversation like ours. We had a conversation about quills today, Hermione. Bloody quills. I talked to you about your favorite brands of quills for forty minutes because I wanted to.”

“… Sirius—”

“And I know that probably doesn’t count as a reason for why I should be the most important person to you,” Sirius pressed on. His voice had dropped quite significantly now—he was speaking so lowly that it felt strangely intimate, because Hermione just knew that he had never spoken to anyone else like he was speaking to Hermione right then.

“And I’d say that’s fair. But I’d also add that I could listen to you talk about anything—literally anything. About quills, about books, and even when you’re telling me off. You could read the Yellow Pages and I’d listen. I’m always going to listen to whatever you have to say, Hermione, because in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve already become the most important person in my life.”

The weakening sensation that had been building up in her gut hit her hard, so suddenly that she felt her knees weaken. Hermione’s internal monologue that preached morals and ethics was normally omnipresent and persistent, and yet, Sirius just had a way of invading her senses that would fog over any attempt at resistance.

It certainly didn’t help that he was looking deeply into her eyes as he said these words, standing as close as he was to her…

Logic.

A skill that Hermione now knew had escaped her entirely.

All traces of logic would leave her every thought in moments just like these, these moments were Hermione could feel, taste the tension between them, leaving her uncertain and lost in all areas but one—because with the way that Sirius was looking at her, with the way that her heartbeat was deafening her senses, and with the way that Sirius was now stepping closer to her—she was suddenly very certain that they wouldn’t be saying goodnight anytime soon.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

All she knew that the moment Sirius’s hand moved around the small of her waist to pull her in was the same moment she pulled his face down towards hers, her hands wrapped around the nape of his neck, and all she knew was that she was suddenly closer to him than she ever had been before, but also entirely too far away—

Sirius leaned down and closed the space between them, his free hand cupping her face and moving into her hair, bringing her face to his in a deep kiss.

And at once, Hermione felt everything.

She felt everything as Sirius’s lips moved against hers intensely, desperately, she felt everything she had been wanting to feel for so long now, the touch of his hands on her waist burning through her clothes—because kissing Sirius felt like something entirely new and entirely addictive—was kissing someone really supposed to feel like this, so intense and passionate? Because the weakening, crippling feeling that had hit her so hard was now traveling over her entire body in endless waves, completely and entirely overwhelming her to the point where she wondered if she was trembling in Sirius’s hold—

They collided with such force that Hermione was pushed up against her bedroom door. She gasped against Sirius’s lips, but all he did was completely smother her every attempt at a breath, deepening their kiss as if she was his definition of air.

Her morals, her ethics, and her principles had never moved out of her mind faster than they had just then. In the same motion that Hermione was pushed up against her bedroom door, her every logical thought left her, because all Hermione could even begin to think about was how firm his grip felt on her waist, how gentle yet purposeful his hand felt in her hair, how perfectly, passionately his lips moved against hers.

Every following moment happened in a heated blur.

In the same motion that Hermione was pushed against her bedroom door, Hermione fumbled for the doorknob. The door swung open behind her and they stumbled in. A loud snap indicated to Hermione that the door was forced shut, suggesting that Sirius had kicked it close.

And then they were moving backwards, until Hermione felt herself pressed against the side of her bed—and without separating for even a second, Sirius took her by the hips, effortlessly lifting her onto her bed, and then pushing her so that she fell into the pillows.

Only then did they finally pull apart, if only for a few seconds—for Sirius was watching her carefully, his eyes glazed over with this look of fervor—devotion, even—a look that she hadn’t even seen from him, or from anyone else, really—he watched as she collided with her pillows, curls spread out underneath her like a curtain as her chest rose and fell with fast, frantic breaths.

Sirius’s lips curled up into a smirk as his gaze tore over her, as if he were committing every single second to memory, and then he was on top of her. He took her face in his left hand, his grasp careful yet controlled, his other hand planted besides Hermione’s face to support his weight as he leaned down and connected their lips once again. His grasp on her face tightened as he did so, moving to entangle into her hair and hold her face still, almost as if to say you aren’t going to be moving, understand?

Willingly, eagerly, Hermione officially resigned all self-control, and let her eyes flutter shut.

No, she certainly hadn’t ever kissed someone like this before, not with this intensity, this urgency—and as foreign of a concept it was to Hermione to be so sensitive and overwhelmed, she was more than willing to let Sirius guide her like this.

Every single move that Hermione made, Sirius would adjust to her, mold to her, as if all he wanted to do was make her feel good—and Hermione, she couldn’t even begin to describe all that she was feeling, because she was feeling everything at once, and all she knew was that Sirius felt right—she had no idea kissing anyone could feel so right—

And then suddenly, Sirius pulled apart again. Unintentionally, a breathless whine left Hermione’s lips as she dug her fingertips into the nape of his neck, attempting to pull him back towards her—because she didn’t want to stop, not just yet—

But her attempt at words quickly dissipated into a gasp, as Sirius planted a gentle kiss on her jawline, just underneath her ear, and began to trail them down her neck. It was here that he stopped, pressing his lips again and again on the same spot—

All Hermione could manage was yet another gasp when she realized what the sudden pressured feeling meant—when she realized that Sirius was sucking a love bite into her skin.

“Sirius…” said Hermione weakly, eyelids fluttering open. But all she could see was Sirius bent over her. Even if she weren’t underneath him like this, Hermione would find it physically impossible to move—her hands were still intertwined into his hair, and yet all she could do was tug at his dark locks with shaking fingertips.

Just then, Sirius’s hand that had been clutching the sheets besides Hermione’s head moved to Hermione’s own hands, locking her left hand with his right. And with their fingers intertwined, Sirius moved her hand down, and fast, successfully pinning her hand down into the pillows beside her head—all while his kisses continued to pull against the skin of her neck.

At the same time, his hand that was still tightly entangled into her hair readjusted, moving her so that the skin of Hermione’s neck was better exposed for him.

Yes, Hermione has had hickies before. Only a few, maybe, but she’s had them. But she hasn’t ever had them like this.

Because when Sirius pulled back, he didn’t stop—his lips grazed over her skin, trailing over to an unmarked part of her neck—and he proceeded to mark another bite into her skin.

Yes, Hermione’s had love bites before, but she’s never had anyone mark her before.

And then, Sirius pulled away, but properly this time, earning yet another soft gasp from Hermione. She breathed as if she had just resurfaced, watching Sirius with incredible anticipation as he hovered over her.

His eyes locked with hers again.

Her mind blanks, her thoughts quiet, and, for a second, she swears that time itself stops.

His chest heaved slightly with deep, fast breaths as he gazed down at her with heavy eyes. Tightening his grip on Hermione’s hand still pinned down besides her, Sirius swiped his thumb over the marks carefully, purposefully. Hermione felt herself involuntarily shiver at his touch, tempted to wince when he pressed his thumb against her fresh love bites.

With his face not even a foot away from hers, a lazy, slow smirk spread over his lips.

“I like how these look on you…” His voice. It was low, raspy, and still a bit breathless. Everything she had never heard before from him, everything she never wanted to stop hearing.

His dark gaze found hers again. “Are you going to be covering these?” he murmured, thumb drawing circles around the marks.

Hermione, still completely incapable of comprehensive thought, much less words, just shook her head slowly. The corner of his lips tugged upwards, deepening his smirk, satisfied.

“Good.”

Oh, the things that singular word did to her.

“You’re beautiful, you know that…?”

Would speech ever come to her again?

Chuckling when Hermione still didn’t respond, Sirius began leaning in again. At once, Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat as she felt her entire body weaken and her insides twist—would she always react like this, would it always be like this with Sirius?

With his left hand still braced around the side of her neck, he kissed her, but slower this time. Weakly, Hermione kissed him back, every movement suddenly purposeful and conscious—she just realized that every minute before this had been automatic, instinctive, but now as Sirius was kissing her so carefully and gently, Hermione’s thoughts that had been on hold came crashing down all at once.

Sirius likes me.

Hermione was pretty sure she could say this for certain now.

He’s on top of me.

He smelled like leather and rosewood.

His hands are really strong.

She had no idea where in the castle Sirius had the means to work out, but he was strong. She tried adjusting her hand that was still pinned down, and while she didn’t have any intentions on moving, Sirius kept her there underneath him, tightening his fingertips around hers, securing his grasp on her neck, her shoulder.

I wonder if he knows what he does to me.

The contrast between now and just minutes ago couldn’t be starker—although, was it really? Even as his lips moved against hers so slowly, he was deliberate, in control. Hermione understood that there wasn’t any turning back now, there was no way to retrograde. Of course, she didn’t want to, but she understood from the way Sirius was swallowing her every breath that he wasn’t willing to let her, either.

But you know what you’re doing, right?

Logic. How she hated the word at this point. Not because she didn’t want to think about it, of course. But a trait that once defined her had now become stranger to her.

You know why this isn’t okay.

Hermione forced herself to focus on Sirius. Surely, it couldn’t be that difficult, when he was holding her like this, kissing her so softly, decisively.

What are you doing?

She forced herself to focus on the one person who’s been able to make her feel truly safe, truly okay in the past half-year.

He’s dead. He’s dead, you know. In your world.

Hermione’s eyes almost opened at these words. But she blocked it out, she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and she blocked everything out—

You were there when he died.

But Hermione can’t block it out, she knew that. She realized months ago that she wouldn’t able to watch a world she shouldn’t know go by, that she has a responsibility—she can’t pretend, and she can’t block it out—but perhaps pretending and blocking would be better than what she’s doing now, because at least then she’d be a bystander. But who was she now, who was she when she was underneath a man who shouldn’t even know her?

Whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t the person she was before she came to the year of 1977.

1977.

Two years before Hermione would be born.

1978.

Sirius feels so far away, now. He feels years away.

You shouldn’t be here doing this. You shouldn’t even exist here. Do you really think he’ll be able to stand you when he finds out who you really are?

Sirius realized that Hermione was crying before she did.

Quickly, immediately, Sirius jerked back, and Hermione had never seen Sirius move so fast—except for maybe when he rushed to her side as she bled out on the dungeon floor—

“H-Hermione.” His voice was panicked, terrified. His eyes widened as he looked at his hand still clutched with Hermione’s, and of course, he made the completely wrong conclusion.

He let go of her hand as if he had been burned—as if he had burned her.

“Fuck—did I—did I touch your scar? Hermione, are you—”

His voice died out when Hermione just shook her head. Weakly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her hands free for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Hermione—”

“I-I’m sorry,” said Hermione shakily, because Sirius just looked so horrified, when Hermione was the one who was going to be hurting him in the end, betraying him and his trust.

Sirius had spaced himself now, having immediately moved to the edge of her bed. His hand reached out to her, as if he wanted nothing more than to touch her, reassure her—but then he stopped, suddenly second-guessing his every movement.

“Hermione,” repeated Sirius, blind guilt bleeding through his voice as Hermione pulled her knees to her chest. “Hermione, I—was that too much? Fuck, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have—"

“I-I’m not who you think I am, Sirius,” breathed Hermione shakily. Sirius stopped speaking at once to listen.

She stared down at herself, because she couldn’t look at him—she didn’t deserve to. She simply didn’t deserve to look at him, not after she had willingly and knowingly allowed Sirius to care about her.

“I’m n-not who you think I am…” repeated Hermione, her voice wavering. She had found it so impossible to speak just seconds ago, and yet, as soon as these words left her lips she suddenly felt like she couldn’t stop.

“I-I’m not who you think I am, and you would want nothing to do with me if you knew who I was—and I know that, I knew that, and I still let you, I just let y-you into my life, when I knew that it’d just hurt you in the end—and you knew, too, until I let you forget about everything you were right about to begin with and now—now…. Now I’ve really messed up, Sirius, I really messed up, and I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…”

Hermione was too miserable to be embarrassed at the silence that followed. She tried to convince herself to look up at Sirius, because she at least owed that to him. But she just couldn’t.

Ten seconds of deafening, thick silence passed before Sirius finally responded.

“… Is that really what this is about?”

But of course, Sirius was stubborn.

“I don’t care, Hermione.”

He was far too persistent. Why, why couldn’t he just believe Hermione, just this once? Why was he so unwilling to consider the possibility that there could be more to what he believed?

“I—I don’t. Care,” repeated Sirius, because he was far too persistent—because he had no idea what Hermione was talking about—surely, if he truly understood, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her— “I don’t, Hermione—"

“Sirius, you don’t understand,” repeated Hermione thickly, sniffling. Tears were trailing down her cheeks steadily now. “You don’t—”

“No, no, no, Hermione, I don’t. Care.”

“Sirius—”

“Hermione, you don’t understand. Please, just listen to me.”

Sirius moved closer to take Hermione’s face in his hands, gently turning her to face him, pleading with her as he attempted to look into her eyes, “I don’t care, Hermione, I promise—”

But Hermione just pushed his hands off, shaking her head repeatedly—why wasn’t he getting it? Couldn’t he hear the deep, agonizing pain in her voice? Couldn’t he just trust her, just this once?

“You don’t get it, Sirius, I’m telling you that you don’t understand! I-I shouldn’t have done this to you, a-and I feel terrible—”

“No, Hermione—I would let you ruin me!”

Hermione wasn’t sure if Sirius’s frustration had been building, a frustration she couldn’t see, or if these specific words were what caused his response—but his words cut through her own so clearly and completely that  that Hermione immediately, finally looked up at him out of shock.

His gaze had hardened, his grey eyes staring into hers, completely and overbearingly captivating. He spoke desperately, yet warily, as if a part of him had been expecting this conversation, as if he had long since arrived at these conclusions he was now confiding in her.

“I’d let you ruin me,” repeated Sirius lowly, “And I don’t care that it’s unhealthy. I don’t. Whatever point of return, whatever line it is that everyone talks about—I’ve been past it. There’s nothing, literally nothing that can change how I feel—”

“B-But,” stammered Hermione, and Sirius looked at her flatly, already unimpressed with whatever she was about to say, “I’m… I’m terrible, Sirius, I’m a terrible person, I—

“No, you aren’t!” insisted Sirius, making Hermione's eyes wince. Noticing her reaction, he paused and took in a deep breath.

His tone was softer when he continued, but still unrelenting.

“Wherever you come from, it doesn’t matter, and whoever you used to be, that’s not who I care about,” maintained Sirius, “I care about you, Hermione. I don’t care about Hermione from two years ago, I don’t care about the Hermione you were before you came here. I care about the Hermione who blasted my arse down the corridor, the Hermione who made me take accountability for my own shit—the Hermione who actually makes me feel something.”

She had never heard her name spoken out loud so many times before. All Hermione knew was that she couldn’t sit there listening to Sirius talk about why she meant so much, because the entire point was that she shouldn’t mean anything at all.

“How can you possibly say that you’re a terrible person, how can you possibly say that you shouldn’t have done this when you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like this?” urged Sirius, “I didn’t know—I didn’t even... know any of this was supposed to feel like something until you.”

Sirius said these last words as if he were admitting something. But before she could figure out what that could possibly be, he started to move towards her, reaching forward to take her hands in his. Every time Hermione tried pulling away, he would take them again, refusing to let her push him, the things she truly wanted, away.

“It’d be different, Hermione, if you just didn’t want to be with me, or if you just didn’t like me,” continued Sirius, pleading, “But if that’s really your reasoning, then—then that’s just not good enough, and I can’t—I won’t let something as stupid as that be your reason, it’s just not fucking good enough.”

Gently, persistently, Sirius pulled her towards him. She shook her head as he tugged her against his chest, but she also didn’t make any attempt at pushing him away. Because everything felt so safe with him, and Hermione was terrified.

“It’s not stupid, Sirius, I’ve t-told you from the start that it’s so much more than that, it’s so much b-bigger than me, than all of this—"

“Please.” He was begging, Hermione knew it. And she didn’t deserve it. “Please, Hermione. Please, just let me care about you…”

When Hermione tried to hide against him, Sirius let go of her hands and reached up to cup her face. Eyebrows furrowed and grey gaze pleading, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Please…”

Very oddly, Hermione was reminded of that night in the common room after her panic-induced episode.

Sirius had held her in almost the same exact way he was now, doing exactly what he did just a few days ago—reassuring her, promising her, reviving her. Because every time Sirius touched her, Hermione could feel his warmth spread over her, and she could feel the pieces that had been torn and ripped away from her slowly coming back. Had anything really changed from then to now, from that night in the common room to now?

Sirius said he had passed the line of return ages ago. And as she looked at Sirius with watery eyes, she realized that she had long since passed it with him.

She was too late, now. It had been too late for a while.

And so, Hermione caved.

She knew she shouldn’t, of course she knew she shouldn’t, but she did.

Tense and terrified, Hermione finally relaxed in his hold, hands moving to clutch at his cotton shirt underneath his leather jacket—part of her still felt like she didn’t deserve to truly touch him, but she wanted him closer, every part of her wanted him against her.

“I-I’m just… so scared…”

Hermione’s shoulders shook as the words escaped her, tears pooling in her eyes that were already sore and swollen from crying. But Sirius just swept them away with his thumbs before they even fell, his shoulders falling as he heaved a relieved sigh.

Unexpectedly, yet carefully, he tilted her face up, leaning down to press his lips to hers in a brief, full kiss. Hermione could taste his relief, and her own tears.

“I know,” he replied quietly, his breath hot against Hermione’s skin. Again and again, he leaned forward, pressing short, deep kisses to her lips between her every gasping breath.

“I know…” Sirius murmured reassuringly against her trembling lips, “I know… I know…”

He kissed her, and then the corner of her lips, and then her nose. Her forehead, her temples, her cheeks—he trailed small, comforting kisses all over her face, even though her skin was wet with tears, even though all she did in return was tremble in his grasp.

When he finished, his hands fell from her face and to her hips, likely because he now knew she wouldn’t try turning away anymore. In the same motion, Hermione leaned forward to bury her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his middle.

Sirius pulled her closer again him, one hand still wrapped tightly around her waist, reaching the other to run through her hair, comforting her.

They remained like this for a while.

Sirius’s words of comfort died out eventually, but he didn’t stop running his fingers through her hair, playing with her curls. The sensation was relaxing, calming.

Hermione’s head was swimming, but she doesn’t think thoughts, and she doesn’t think in words. There was still so much to talk about, Hermione knew—yes, she had given in, but—what about everything else? All the important questions, about them, about what they were?

And as vital as that conversation was, and as much as Hermione felt that they should really be talking everything out, she just couldn’t bring herself to… Because she was entirely too comfortable leaning against Sirius like this, and talking would mean moving away from him. No, she’d stay against him for just a bit longer, just a bit, her every breath filling her with wisps of cinnamon and earth…

-

Hermione awoke with her head in her pillows.

She was so exhausted and disoriented that a part of her thought she had fallen over. Only when she squinted her eyes open did she realize that Sirius had leaned her down on the bed, and was now pulling the covers over her.

For a moment, she wondered if he was leaving. But no, he was just taking off his leather jacket. He tossed the jacket onto her desk chair, lobbing it across the room so he wouldn’t have to get off the bed.

When he turned back to her, he noticed that she was peering up at him through sleepy eyes. He exhaled in a soft chuckle, at once reaching forward to push some of her curls out of her barely-open eyes.

“You fell asleep,” murmured Sirius, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“But… It’s so late…”, protested Hermione in a sleepy mumble, “Shouldn’t you… Don’t you…?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” repeated Sirius softly, which about settled everything.

Hermione was already halfway back to unconsciousness when she felt Sirius lying down beside her. But she forced her eyes open again when she felt him cup her face again.

He smiled at her as she did so, moving forward to place another soft kiss against her forehead. Even after everything that happened, she still felt that same weakening sensation in her stomach, and she wondered how she would ever get used to this.

She wasn’t sure if she moved herself, or if Sirius pulled her in, but either way, she fell asleep buried against his chest.

And as she slipped away, she wondered what the next day would be like. She wondered what tomorrow would bring, and she wondered what she’d say when she woke up with Sirius beside her.

Otherwise, though, Hermione fell asleep thinking about nothing at all. Internally, she understood that she should really be thinking about absolutely everything right now, and she understood that she needed to take a step back and think about everything.

But Hermione wasn’t, she wasn’t thinking. And she didn’t want to, not just then, and not anymore. Because she knew that making the choice of being with Sirius like this, curled up against his chest, wasn’t ever going to be a result of careful, calculated thinking.

And if such were the case, Hermione would rather not think at all. Especially when everything just had a way of making sense around Sirius, illogical and irresponsible as she felt.

Yes, logic had long since left her, but reason hadn’t—and they weren’t too far off, surely not—and Hermione knew that she’d be tugging back and forth, reasoning for and against for. But she’d be willing to do so, completely and entirely. Because Hermione had never felt so safe, so at home in a place that wasn’t even meant for her.

She’d think later, tomorrow, when she woke up. But not now, certainly not now, because there were things that were simply worth more than thoughts and logic, and she knew that for certain now, even as she was drifting off into dreams laced with cinnamon and musk.

Sirius was worth it all, in the end.

Chapter Text

Sirius woke up to the scent of chamomile and aggressively inappropriate thoughts. Because when Sirius woke up, Hermione Granger was right against his chest.

As he lumbered back into consciousness, he peered through squinted eyes to see hair in his face, brown hair, hair that wasn’t his own. And then, in the next second, his eyes shot open, because it fully set in just exactly where he was and who he was with—

Hermione.

Yes, that was certainly Hermione next to him. She looked beautiful, she always did, but especially so when she was right beside him.

I kissed Hermione.

Were her lips always so pink, or was Sirius just paying extra attention to them now?

I spent the night with her.

Even though he slept after Hermione, he woke up before her, because of course he did, because how could he sleep after all that happened the night before?

It was all very hard to process. How he felt, how he should react. There wasn’t enough time to react last night, and now, he was sitting with his thoughts and his stupid feelings all by himself.

Elation.

No—well, yes, of course, but that’s not a strong enough word, Sirius knew—

Triumph?

No, that’s far too strange. It’s not like Sirius colonized her—

Euphoria.

That was the word, Sirius knew, that was it. That described it, that described how he felt—that described the way his chest felt when he kissed her, when he opened his eyes to Hermione against him. That described the sensation that was otherwise impossible to describe, the incredible sensation that hadn’t deteriorated even a bit since the second he first touched her the night before.

Like a wave. Or a crashing. A crashing of euphoria that completely dismantled him. He still remembered how it felt. How she felt, against him. Like fire. He didn’t know it was supposed to burn like that.

It hadn’t gone away, the feeling, the feeling that Sirius was so terrible at processing, because he had never felt anything like that before. He had never felt so overcome with desire, desperation, even.

He wondered if it’d ever go away. He had a feeling it wouldn’t.

Of course, all of these thoughts occurred to Sirius in the first half second he was awake.

And in the next half second, all Sirius could suddenly think about was the fact that Hermione was literally right against him.

Fuck fuck FUCK fuck FUCK fuck—

Immediately, his entire face flared with inexplicable heat, and his head filled with every single thing Sirius had ever thought about doing with, to Hermione, whether consciously or unconsciously, and now that Hermione was beside him like this, all of those thoughts were now turning into possibilities—

Sirius immediately propped himself up, his heartbeat already racing as he attempted to jar himself away from his own thoughts.  He sat up so quickly, so abruptly that he thought for a second that he had woken Hermione.

She didn’t wake, but she did turn her head away from Sirius. The movement exposed her neck, revealing—

Oh. The hickies.

Two love bites marked her throat, about an inch apart. Sirius has left hickies before, but not quite like the ones on Hermione’s neck—because they were dark, very dark. But there were very few in number—two, only two, and Sirius had a strong urge to leave even more.

He had a strong urge to leave them in places other than her neck. Everywhere she would let him, really.

Sirius watched Hermione sleep for a little bit, wondering if this was strange or romantic and not entirely caring either way. From the way her lips were just slightly parted, to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, she was beautiful, entirely beautiful. And Sirius was sure that there wasn’t a better feeling than this.

Looking down at Hermione, his pulse finally calming, Sirius truly took in the moment.

That really happened, thought Sirius, It really happened.

He certainly hadn’t planned for that to happen, not in the way it did. Honestly, he didn’t even remember who initiated. Maybe they both did, at the same time. Part of Sirius liked to believe that he was just able to read Hermione that well, but he knew that if he ever voiced that opinion that Hermione would literally laugh at him. But, at the same time, he had just known. Even though they were in the middle of their biggest argument yet, Sirius just knew.

He just knew.

As much as he would have liked to congratulate himself for picking up on her cues, Sirius had been fairly certain that Hermione had feelings for him too—which was why he was even spending so much time on his little surprise for Hermione. If anything, he would have expected a first kiss then, after Hermione was extremely impressed by Sirius’s clear display of affection.

Well, I can still give her the surprise after I’ve finished it, reasoned Sirius. He reached out a hand to push some hair out of her face. Maybe she’ll like it even more now.

But then his hand stilled, freezing before he even got close to her. Because in his state of euphoria, he seemed to have forgotten that Hermione had broken down in tears the night before. And then, every question and doubt that Sirius could possibly have hit him all at once—

What if Hermione wakes up with doubts? Maybe she wants to remain friends.

There’s no way, Sirius reasoned, she said the only thing holding her back was her past, which doesn’t even matter to him—

She might change her mind, she was pretty determined last night.

But she let him kiss her before they slept, which must have meant something, right?

Oh, right—what about the kiss, then? She was a lot better at that than you expected her to be, wasn’t she?

Oh, what a terrible feeling jealousy was—Sirius wasn’t sure why he wasn’t expecting Hermione to be very experienced when she’s had at least one boyfriend before, but he had definitely expected to be more experienced than her. But as of now, they actually seemed on equal footing.

It was getting to be a bit ridiculous, Sirius knew, all of this jealousy. Hell, it was his own insecurities that even led to their kiss, really—

Sirius suddenly remembered—Avery’s note.

What the hell does he even want from Hermione?

While Sirius wasn’t the best when it came to understanding emotions, he thought he had a pretty good grasp of both the male psyche and Slytherins. As certain as Sirius was that Diaz had feelings for Hermione, he was certain that Avery’s sudden interest in Hermione was nothing more than a distraction for ulterior motives.

Unless Avery was genuinely interested in Hermione—a possibility that was equally disgusting as it was upsetting. Yes, Hermione very clearly stated her dislike for Avery, but this honestly did little to make Sirius and his insecurities feel better. And then, Sirius looked to Hermione’s bag that was sitting on her desk chair, in which the note likely resided.

The temptation was overwhelming.

And, of course, Sirius immediately lectured himself. A regular routine, now.

Are you completely mental? That’s a serious invasion of her privacy and her trust, and I should not, I absolutely shouldn’t—

Forty seconds later, Sirius was holding the note in his hand.

He carefully got out of bed as to not arise Hermione, dug around in her bag for the parchment, and ended up finding a scrap that definitely wasn’t from Sirius. It was folded far too neatly, far too purposefully for it to be Sirius’s.

Sirius looked down at the parchment. And even though the temptation was definitely there, he somehow couldn’t bring himself to do it—he had just gotten Hermione’s forgiveness. Was he really going to ruin everything over his ridiculous emotions?

Clearly, I fucking might. The note was staring back at him, now. But I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

The note could be dangerous, justified Sirius, It could be a threat.

Even if it was, she can handle herself. You know that.

Sighing, Sirius reached to place the note back into her bag. He had no right, he knew, as tempting as it was—

“Sirius…?”

Evidently, he actually had woken up Hermione when he got out of the bed.

In his panic, Sirius hastily shoved the note into his pocket and spun around. Hermione had pushed herself up into a sitting position, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hey,” said Sirius breathlessly, quickly striding over and sitting down beside her, “Did you just wake up?”

Hermione nodded, rubbing her eyes with closed fists. Cute. Everything she did was so cute. “Yes… What were you doing over there?”

“Definitely not looking at your Charms homework,” said Sirius, which was okay of him to say because it wasn’t technically a lie. He told himself he’d put the note back in her bag as soon as he could. “Did you sleep okay?”

Hermione’s hands froze mid-rub. She then peeked at him from behind her hands, her gaze glancing over to Sirius’s leather jacket still resting on her desk chair.

Suddenly, as if only just processing everything that had happened, her face flushed immediately with color quicker than Sirius realized was even possible. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Sirius had a feeling that she simply had too much to say and couldn’t decide what to say first.

“Hey, it’s alright,” said Sirius with a reassuring smile, “Trust me, I understand.”

And with the relieved smile that Hermione gave him, Sirius knew that he really shouldn’t carry on with what he was about to say, but of course, he did anyway.

“Well, I can’t say that I know exactly what it’s like for you… You know, since I have no means of understanding what it’s like snogging the most attractive person in the cosmos—”

Sirius didn’t even finish before Hermione punched, actually punched his shoulder, his words cutting off into snickers. But Hermione was laughing (behind her brilliantly red face), and with her closed fist to his shoulder, Sirius could feel the tension and awkward aura between them dissipate.

“Sirius Orion Black, can’t you be serious for a single second—and don’t you dare make a pun out of that!” added Hermione hastily when Sirius opened his mouth, about to pounce on her response, “Or are you completely ignoring the very real and serious implications around—around—”

“Around what, what you tried to convince me of last night?” asked Sirius incredulously, “Yeah, that didn’t work one bit. It’s going to take much more than that to get rid of me, you know.”

“Who says I want to get rid of you?” asked Hermione, her words going straight to Sirius’s head. Is this what validation feels like?

But, of course, Sirius played it off. “I just assumed, you know, being entirely too attractive and all, it must be overwhelming. Anyways, d’you think we should—”

“Yes, I think we should,” interjected Hermione, leading Sirius to believe that she severely misinterpreted what he was about to ask.

“You do?” replied Sirius doubtfully.

“Yes—talk things through, I mean. I—I just think we have a lot to talk about,” said Hermione resolutely, “About, well, us, and what this could mean for me, namely you—because frankly I’m entirely lost, and confused, but I also really care about you, and I really like you—"

At these words, Hermione suddenly stopped speaking. Her gaze flickered up towards Sirius’s, and then away out of pure flusterment.

“I… I really like you too, Hermione,” said Sirius reassuringly (a bit of an understatement, really), before finally admitting, “I, er… I was actually gonna offer that we go eat breakfast, though.”

Hermione’s face fell into an expression between embarrassment and disappointment, and Sirius would have laughed if he didn’t fear severe repercussions.  

“But we can talk over some eggs, if that works,” added Sirius helpfully. He thought he heard Hermione mutter something that sounded like, “Ugh, boys,” underneath her breath, but he figured she deserved a break and didn’t comment on it.

The walk to the Great Hall was very strange indeed.

Hermione wasn’t even accompanying him, as she told Sirius to go ahead first so that she could wash up since she hadn’t the night before. But the moment he left her room, he felt oddly… different, yet the exact same. Because while they were still interacting and conversing with one another just how they used to, everything else felt entirely different.

Sirius felt entirely different. Every step felt like air.

Alone for the first time in well over twelve hours, Sirius finally had the chance to really reflect on last night’s events. And yet, he couldn’t even bring himself to think about anything besides how Hermione had felt underneath him, because his thoughts hadn’t yet left her bed.

His inability to leave these particular thoughts made Hermione’s arrival with parchment and a quill all the more jarring.

“I have no idea where this is going, but I already have a feeling I’m about to make fun of you for it,” said Sirius as Hermione approached where he was sitting, taking a seat beside him.

“Sirius, can you please just give it a rest, just for a bit?” asked Hermione exasperatedly, “I have a lot on my mind, and I feel much better if I have everything written down.”

“Alright, alright I’ll behave—but hey, you’re sitting next to me,” noted Sirius, “You normally sit across from me.”

“Well, I figured you’d want to make your own additions as well,” said Hermione, pushing aside her plate and placing down the parchment instead. Clearly, she had no intentions of eating. 

“What, are we making a set of rules?” asked Sirius jokingly, except Hermione didn’t laugh. 

“No,” said Sirius in disbelief, “You’re joking.”

“It’s not a set of rules,” corrected Hermione, smoothing out the parchment on the table, “That’s ridiculous. I just… would like a record of what we both want.”

“Is that not equally as ridiculous?” asked Sirius. “It’s easy, isn’t it? We like each other, we have incredible chemistry, and Avery will never send another glance in your direction again lest he wants to face permanent extinction.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What’s Avery have to do with all of this?”

“Nothing,” said Sirius too quickly, the parchment still in his pocket burning, “Well, he was sort of the catalyst for… You know, everything.”

Hermione stared at Sirius, looking amused. 

“What, you really can’t stand to say the word ‘kiss?’” asked Hermione, her lips curling up into a teasing smile.

“I—! Shut up,” retorted Sirius, hastily turning to his half-empty plate, “Don’t act like I’m the weird one, you’re the one taking snogging notes—”

“They’re not snogging notes!” 

“You’re documenting our post-snog conversation! When are you ever going to refer to that, anyways—”

“Because I’m trying to figure out how much I should tell you!” burst out Hermione impatiently, “About—about my past, I mean.” Sirius quickly shut his mouth, suddenly very keen on listening. 

“And… I haven’t been able to give any proper thought to the matter, but if we’re going to—well, you know…”

Be together for the rest of time “Go steady?” offered Sirius, compromising with his internal monologue.

“Y-Yes,” said Hermione, flustered, “Something along those lines, yes… I can’t reasonably keep my past from you moving forward. Especially since it involves you. So I just want to get everything down, so I can look it over and properly think everything through later.”

Hermione then looked at Sirius, biting down on her bottom lip anxiously. 

“Well…” Sirius paused. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what she was anxious for, because he was literally going to say yes to whatever made her comfortable enough to be with him. “I suppose it would be nice to finally know about how you knew about the map. But I meant what I said last night, about not caring. Just do whatever you think would be best for you.”

Sirius thought for a second that he probably could have been a bit more articulate, but with the smile Hermione gave him, he figured he did just fine. 

Which meant that Sirius was in the green to continue on with his general ass-hatery. 

“So you are creating a reference document,” said Sirius with a sage nod, “What are you titling it? I only demand that all adjectives referring to me be the word ‘Herculean.’”

Hermione just rolled her eyes, indicating to Sirius that all was back to normal. She then put her quill to the parchment. “Okay, then. The title will be… Sirius Black’s… Herculean… Ego…”

“Hey, stop that!” laughed Sirius, swatting at her quill, “I already have a feeling you won’t be incredibly keen on letting me write. Are you sure you aren’t sitting next to me because of your incredible desire to be as close to me as physically possible?”

“Subtitled… A Juxtaposition… to his Complete Lack… of Self-Awareness—”

“Oh come on, that makes me sound so bad—”

“Stop messing with my quill, Sirius, you’re sat right next to me—you can literally see that’s not what I’m writing!”

Within minutes, however, their bickering subsided, and they had a genuine conversation. About all that happened, about what they wanted—of course, Sirius didn’t outright say that he literally could not imagine a future without Hermione occupying every minute of it, but by the worried look on Hermione’s face he had a feeling his tone got his point across. But Hermione didn’t look like she disagreed with what Sirius wanted—no, she simply looked stressed at the prospect of her upcoming decision of possibly revealing her past to Sirius.

Hermione took her notes as they spoke, which wasn’t as weird and obtrusive as Sirius originally thought it’d be. He wasn’t sure if this was because Hermione taking notes was just a natural act of the universe, or if talking really came that easily to them. Sirius liked to think it was a combination of the two.

As they continued speaking, Sirius’s thoughts would occasionally focus elsewhere—mostly getting distracted by the way Hermione would push her curls over her shoulder, or by the way they kept touching knees. But he’d also think about how different everything was, how much everything had changed in just the past twenty-four hours alone.

Everything felt unexpected and overwhelming, certainly—from their kiss, to Hermione’s possible coming fourth of her past, and to the way she was actually taking notes. While he had been dreaming, literally dreaming about this moment for months, never did he imagine that any of this would happen in this way.  

The beginning of, well, whatever this was certainly wasn’t the kiss by candlelight that Sirius had predicted. But it was perfect. Everything was, inherently, with Hermione.

-

Plans Moving Forward.

Key:

• Quotation marks (“”): Direct quotations
• HG: Written by Hermione Granger
• SB: Written by Sirius Black

Outline:

Section 1: What we want.

1. Immediate future (Rest of Easter holiday)
   • HG: To take things slow.
   • SB: Literally whatever Hermione wants. But also general intimacy because you literally are not getting rid of me. Unless that’s what you want, of course, but why would you want that Hermione? No I will not be writing in third person.
2. Near future (After Easter Holiday)
   • HG: Consult with notes and Professor Dumbledore about confiding details of past to SB.
   • SB: Whatever you want again, but I’d like to add that I know you’re close with Dumbledore and to please not tell him anything more than what’s absolutely necessary because that’s absurdly weird.

Section 2: Boundaries.

1. Labeling relationship
   • HG: To be determined after further thought and consulting.
   • SB: That’s mental. If you really mean to say that Dumbledore will have a heavy hand in our relationship then I’m going straight to Prongs.
2. Confiding in friends
   • HG: Neither party will confide details surrounding relationship or this document to anyone else for the immediate-near future.
   • SB: This is bullshit
3. Physical contact
   • HG: Open; no precise restrictions.
   • SB (Noted by HG): “What else am I supposed to say? Stop looking at me like that. And stop telling me I’m blushing, that sounds so stupid. Why are you writing this down? Stop it.”
   • HG: However, no public displays of affection will be made until relationship status is determined.

Section 3: Active steps to take.

1. Free reign before end of Easter Holiday.
2. After Easter holiday, HG will consult with notes, thoughts, and Professor Dumbledore about discussing details relevant to SB.
3. Determine relationship status. 

“I know you said this wasn’t a list of rules, but after reading it over, this absolutely reads like a list of rules,” said Sirius as they left the library. As short as Hermione’s document was, it had actually taken them quite a while to finish—as such, they had to carry on in the library after lunch.

“It is not a list of rules,” insisted Hermione, “I just feel much better having everything written down, alright? And also, it’s not that Professor Dumbledore will have a ‘heavy hand’ in our relationship, it’s that I need his advice on how much I should be telling you—"

But Sirius wasn’t completely listening, because he was still a bit too focused on a particular rule, a rule that wasn’t exactly his favorite—no public displays of affection. He usually agreed with this full-heartedly—with previous flames, he wouldn’t as much brush against whoever he was seeing in public—but as with most things with Hermione, he felt completely differently this time around. Because with Hermione, Sirius wanted to make it explicitly clear to the entire student body (including a certain Ravenclaw and Slytherin) that they were together.

From what Sirius gathered, Hermione was completely on board with an official relationship, and the only thing holding her back was her past (an idea that was still stupid to Sirius, but an idea that Hermione refused to budge on). Which meant that she likely wouldn’t decide on making anything official for at least a week after break—which meant that Sirius would have to look at Stephan Diaz in his stupid freckled face and not gloat.

Sirius hasn’t faced a harder task in his entire life.

This all also meant, of course, that Sirius wouldn’t be able to do things like wrap his arm around her and hold her hand—at first, this was an incredibly upsetting revelation, but then Sirius realized that maybe it was for the best. Because he’s never held anyone’s hand before, not in the cute, couple-y sort of way.

How would you even go about initiating that? Sirius glanced down from the parchment to Hermione hand. That sounds so awkward.

“Sirius?” came Hermione’s voice, interrupting his thoughts. Shit.

“I’m listening,” said Sirius blindly, quickly.

Hermione looked at him strangely as she stopped before her bedroom door, which they had just arrived to. “I didn’t ask if you were.” She then crossed her arms. “But it’s painfully evident that you were in fact not listening, with that response.”

“I have my mind on other things,” defended Sirius, “Namely, this.” He handed her the parchment that was still in his hand.

“No public display of affection? No greater crime against my mental well-being has ever been committed,” said Sirius, “Do you wish to break my spirits, Hermione?”

Hermione just rolled her eyes, turning to her door and pushing it open. Sirius, who used to politely follow her and stand around awkwardly, barged in before she did.

“Oh, really,” huffed Hermione as she shut the door behind them, “You’ve gotten far too comfortable, you know—I-I, what?”

Hermione’s words died out meekly as Sirius approached her, leaning his hand against the door besides her face. At once, Hermione shrunk back, backing up against the wooden door. And suddenly, they found themselves in almost the exact same position they were in the night previous, but on the other side of the door.

“What do you mean, what?” asked Sirius playfully, lowly. Because Sirius took Hermione’s notes on no restrictions regarding physical contact very literally. “We aren’t in a public space anymore, are we?”

“I—Well, no…” said Hermione quietly, “No, I guess… I guess we aren’t.”

At this angle, Sirius couldn’t see the love bites properly, which bothered him for some odd reason. So, he reached his left hand up to brush over the marked skin of her neck with his thumb, his fingertips firm on the nape of her neck.

“Tilt your head up a bit.” Sirius didn’t mean for this to come out as an instruction, but Hermione tipped her face up towards Sirius anyways. A rush of eagerness and desire overran Sirius’s senses, a rush that he likely shouldn’t focus on at the moment.

“There they are,” murmured Sirius, “They’re really dark… I hope you don’t mind. Especially since I’d like to leave more.”

Sirius watched her reaction closely. She shook her head, as if words were escaping her entirely at the moment. But as much as he would have liked to once again close the space in between them, Hermione still looked a bit too uneasy for Sirius’s comfort. So he pulled back, even if just by a little, looking at her cautiously.

“Are you alright?” asked Sirius carefully, “Do you not want—”

“No, I do,” said Hermione quickly, shaking her head again, “I just—well, I just didn’t expect this—since, you know, we just got back and all…”

“Oh.” Sirius shrugged lightly as he leaned closer towards her. “Honestly, I’ve been waiting to get back to your room for the past two hours. The whole ‘no public affection’ rule really got to me.”

“Sirius, it is not a rule—”

But Hermione didn’t finish whatever it was she had to say, because Sirius made the very risky decision of cutting her off by promptly pressing his lips to hers. For a moment, Sirius feared he would face consequences for this hasty move—but in the following second, she leaned back into the kiss, and Sirius was walking on air all over again.

His hand that was against the door fell to her waist and he pulled her closer, because Sirius loved feeling her against him. Did this count as their second kiss, or their third? Sirius wasn’t sure. But it was gentler this time around, the kiss, not as immediately passionate and desperate as their first—

That was, until Sirius felt Hermione’s hands move up his chest to wrap around his neck.

And, well, Sirius got a bit lost in the high this gave him.  

Just like the night previous, they ended up on Hermione’s bed. Unlike the night previous, however, Sirius did not leave any more hickies on her neck, as much as he would have liked to—he had a feeling he’d be using love bites as a replacement for an official relationship label.

And as much as Sirius really wanted to make everything official, and as much as he would absolutely love to tell anyone who would listen exactly the type of relationship that he and Hermione had, he wasn’t entirely upset with where they currently stood (and especially with Hermione’s note of “no precise restrictions”).

--

Sirius had never given much previous thought to what type of person Hermione was romantic-wise, but he honestly assumed that she was more on the prude side—such an assumption aligned with her overall personality.

So when they spent most of the following days connected by the lips, Sirius was shocked—not shocked enough to where it was distracting (every time he touched Hermione, he found it impossible to think about anything else but her), but shocked to the point where he wondered if he even knew Hermione as well as he thought he did.

They spent the night of Hermione’s weird document creation in their own rooms, to Sirius’s internal dismay (luckily, James was asleep by the time Sirius returned that night, and gone before Sirius awoke in the morning; Sirius was almost certain that James would have detected a shift in his behavior). After breakfast, Hermione had offered that they head to the library to study together, and walked with him to his dormitory to pick up his books.

One moment, Hermione was sitting on Sirius’s bed as she waited for him to gather his things. But in the next moment, Hermione had pulled Sirius on top of her, hands entangling into and tugging at his hair as his books laid on his desk, entirely forgotten.

Hermione had no problem initiating—another shocking revelation. Sirius was even more surprised when this particular theme continued; whenever they set on doing this or that thing, they always ended up in this same position, entirely forgoing whatever it was they set out to do. Of course, Sirius wasn’t complaining, not at all—it was just so unexpected of her.

Sirius had many more realizations in the following few days—one, Sirius was almost certain that Hermione would have to physically restrain him from making (not-so) subtle quips about Hermione at Stephan Diaz the moment Sirius saw him looking her way. Two, the moment he had a conversation with James that was longer than a quick hello in and out of the dorms, his best friend would almost certainly know that something was up. And three, Hermione was much more… experienced than Sirius previously thought.

And even though it was quite literally the last thing Sirius ever wanted to ponder over, all he could think about was Ron, Ron and every other stupid boyfriend that Hermione might have had in the past.

Of course, none of these frustrations were aimed at Hermione—no, that’d be wildly hypocritical of him. He just upset himself whenever he thought about anyone else touching her. Because there was no way that they deserved her, were good enough for her.

And then Sirius wondered exactly what they could have done with Hermione, and the thought was so insanely infuriating that it leaves Sirius’s gut in a painful twist. With Hermione, everything was new—every feeling and every touch just felt so new. Sirius wanted to believe that he was different for her too, that she’d never been with anyone in the same way she was currently with Sirius. But what if she was like this with Ron, too?

What if he made her feel this way too? Or even better?

Sirius was often told that he needed to humble himself, and that his “loud confidence” was “overbearing” and “obnoxious” (a few direct quotes from some past flames). But in moments like these, Sirius really wished that he were as obnoxiously self-assured as he portrayed himself to be.

I’m not her first.

Again, this wasn’t a fact that Sirius held against Hermione, or was even remotely upset about. He just didn’t like thinking about Ron and Hermione together, Ron and his freckles.

Ron wasn’t just an ex-fling, he’s an ex-boyfriend. Which means that they’ve almost definitely had—

No, no, absolutely not—Sirius immediately stopped his own thoughts right there. Because he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to stand whatever headspace he created if he decided to think about what Hermione’s done, and who she did it with. His jealous thoughts were exhausting enough, and he certainly didn’t need to make them even worse.

His jealousy was beginning to seriously interfere with his behavior and actions—for one, Sirius still carried Avery’s note around in his pocket. He (mostly) had no intentions on opening it, but hadn’t yet been able to find an opportunity to slip the note back into Hermione’s bag without her noticing. Part of him worried that she was meaning to read it soon and would suspect Sirius the moment she saw it was missing (which definitely would not look good on Sirius’s end).

Additionally, Sirius was certain that Hermione wouldn’t react well if she realized that this was how Sirius really felt. I’m not an object to be possessive over, Sirius could hear her saying—which was absolutely true, and he agreed with this. But he just couldn’t help how he felt. Hermione was the first girl who’s made him feel like this, and he really did not want to let her go.

And now, with just half a week left of break, Sirius felt that time was moving far too quickly. Soon they’d be back to class, and he wouldn’t be able to spend almost all of his time with Hermione. He’d have to go to class, sit next to Hermione, and also not do anything about it.

Sirius would have gotten sick of just about anyone else, but not Hermione. Even though they really only traveled between the Great Hall, Hermione’s room, Gryffindor common room, and the library, Sirius was never, ever bored.

But, he also wasn’t opposed to a change of scenery.

Hermione was actually the one to suggest they revisit the Head Boy and Girl’s Headquarters, stating she wanted to return the book she had borrowed back in December. They were currently sitting in their usual loveseat in front of the fireplace, and Sirius was having an increasingly difficult time focusing on Hermione’s words rather than the way she was leaning against him.

“The Headquarters?” rephrased Sirius when she brought it up, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Why, you don’t want to?” frowned Hermione up at him, “I could go myself, if you don’t want to come along.”

“What? No, that’s stupid. Of course I want to go along, what else would I do?” replied Sirius. While he obviously did want to go with Hermione, he still felt like he was lying, because his hesitance was due to another issue entirely: the act of holding hands.

Merlin, that sounds so stupid. As ridiculous as Sirius felt, the idea of just grabbing her hand as they walked from location to location felt like an impossible, unnatural task. Every other form of physical contact? No problem. But holding hands like couples do? Unimaginable. Sirius would hype himself up every time they traveled the corridors alone, telling himself to just do it, just grab her fucking hand, you idiot. You can put your fucking tongue in her mouth, but you can’t do this? You won’t be able to do this once class starts up again, now’s your only opportunity—

They made it to the Headquarters with no such hand-holding. Sirius was disappointed with himself, but not at all surprised.

After a clever rhyme from Hermione (which Sirius thought was unfair; the stone toad almost always had him have a second go at it), they were in. Hermione returned her book to the small corner library, turning her attention to the elaborate décor.

“I’d nearly forgotten how beautiful this room is,” noted Hermione, looking up at the chandelier, “What should we do now?”

“Well, we might as well hang around for a bit now that we’re here,” suggested Sirius, taking a silvery trinket off of one of the display shelves. Hermione nodded in agreement, mostly focused on the various paintings hanging the walls—Sirius forgot that Hermione had only been in the Headquarters once.

“I actually think about this room a lot, even though I’ve only been here once before,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “The bathroom, especially.”

“Oh, right,” said Sirius. He lobbed the trinket up into the air, watching as it sprouted wings and began to dart around. “How could I forget? That bathroom marks the first time you touched me of your own free will.”

“Mm, I recall,” hummed Hermione as she paced around the room. She was behind Sirius, now. “I shocked myself more with that more than I shocked you, honestly.”

“Hey, you’d be surprised how taken aback I was,” said Sirius, “Besides, why did you even think I deserved that hug? It was only a bathroom.”

But Hermione didn’t reply to Sirius’s question. He snatched the Snitch-like trinket out of the air and turned to see Hermione stopped just in front of the settees, looking at the portrait that hung just above the fireplace.

Residing in the portrait was an old man, fast asleep in his black armchair. His pale face was defined by high cheekbones and a heavy brow, but he looked otherwise ordinary.

“Are you looking at the portrait?” asked Sirius curiously. Hermione nodded silently, still gazing upon the sleeping elder.

“Yes… Do you know who it is?” asked Hermione, turning back to glance at him.

“Nah. I’m surprised he’s here, though. Even if he’s just sleeping, I rarely see that portrait occupied when I’m here,” commented Sirius.

Hermione turned back to the portrait again, studying it. Sirius set the trinket back down on its shelf, crossing the room to stand next to her. She continued to gaze upon the portrait, her face fixed into a concentrated expression.

“Why, do you recognize him at all?” asked Sirius. Hermione shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so… But he does seem oddly familiar. Like I’ve seen him in a film or a picture book before.”

“Well, you certainly haven’t seen him in a film,” replied Sirius, “I reckon he had a large role in creating this room, given his portrait hangs above the fireplace. He’s likely centuries old.”

“Should we wake him up?” wondered Hermione, “I’m sure we could just ask him.” 

“And have him watching us for the rest of the time we’re in here?” said Sirius, “Besides, why would you want to look at him when I’m literally right here?”

“Sirius—”

“Come on, I’m loads more attractive than he is,” said Sirius, grinning, “It’s no competition.”

Hermione snorted, giving Sirius a side glance. “Jealous of a portrait, are we?”

“I’m not jealous,” said Sirius, perhaps too defensively—the question hit home. “I’m just saying that there’s better ways to spend your time, especially when you’re spending it with me.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t say anything, for Sirius had wrapped his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on top of her curls, enjoying the effect simple actions had on her.

“Really, with an audience?” asked Hermione, tilting her head back and up to peer at Sirius, “He’s the only one here taking a nap, you know.” 

“What? I can’t help myself,” defended Sirius, tightening his hold on her. She couldn’t have been that much shorter than him—they must have stood at a height difference of six or seven inches—and yet, she just felt so petite and small in his hold. So perfect. “This is what happens, you know, when you give me explicit permission with anything. You can’t just expect me to stop.”

“I would certainly hope you’ll stop when we’re in public—oh.”

Hermione’s voice died in a soft whisper, for Sirius had moved her hair to the side, pressing small, slow kisses against her now-faded love bites. She shivered slightly in his hold, causing Sirius’s grip on her to tighten.

“This isn’t a public place,” murmured Sirius, his breath hot against the skin of her neck, “The exact opposite, really—”

Sirius didn’t get to finish his smart remark, because Hermione turned around and pulled him down by the front of his shirt for a kiss. Clearly, having a two-dimensional audience didn’t bother her that much.

And again, the split-second thought hits him—is this how Hermione always was? Or is she only like this with me?

But, of course, the idea is gone from him entirely almost immediately, right along with most thoughts in general. Hermione had a way of doing that to him.

They quickly found their way to the settee behind them, Hermione first to sit down and gently pull Sirius on top of her as she lied down, curls and chamomile spread out on the velvet fabric.

Sirius cupped her face in his hands as he brought their lips together again, fingers moving into her hair. Every single time, he was amazed by just how perpetually on edge Hermione kept him, how eager and desperate she made him—because kissing never really felt like anything to Sirius before, it was always just a precursor. But with Hermione—

But with Hermione. A phrase that Sirius had long since familiarized himself with.

Because Hermione had a way of making the hours dissipate into seconds. Every time Sirius leaned closer into her, every time he deepened their kiss, she would respond so fully, so intensely, so intentionally that Sirius wondered why he ever bothered with anyone else before—Sirius didn’t ever want to go back, he couldn’t ever go back after Hermione.

But Sirius didn’t like to think of her as an addiction, because addictions make people worse. But Hermione, Hermione made Sirius feel high without the lows. Hermione combed through his toxicity and clambered over his walls, tearing out the best parts of him he hadn’t even realized were there.

Sure, she dug up about a dozen other insecurities in the process, but none of that mattered. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was unhealthy, but Sirius wasn’t lying when he said Hermione could ruin him. Every time she moved her hands to brace the nape of his neck, pulling him closer—every time she gasped his name—every time she looked up with him, breathless and desperate—

Sirius was gone. Every single time, he was gone.

And he craved it. He craved the high.

A few days had gone by since their first kiss, meaning that the marks on Hermione’s neck were beginning to fade. And as difficult as it was to pull away from her kiss, Sirius also loved looking over at her to see the marks on her neck, the marks that he left.

And so, he moved back, separating for the first time in either five minutes or forty, he wasn’t sure which. Hermione whined quietly as he did so, she always did every time, and Sirius was never sure if he loved hearing it or if it completely broke him.

Either way, he pushed back Hermione’s hair, seconds away from leaning back into her—but as he did so, his fingers accidentally caught on a lock and tugged, hard. Hermione gasped, and Sirius cursed internally, and he pulled back to apologize—

But in that moment, Hermione murmured something, something Sirius couldn’t quite hear. As he leaned back, he saw that her eyes were glazed over, and her lips were parted.

“Fuck, sorry—what’s that—” began Sirius, only to be cut off.

“Y-You can pull harder,” stammered Hermione, her large brown eyes meeting his.

Fuck.

“My hair, you can pull harder.”

Fuck. Fuck, that’s so hot.

Sirius short circuited, just for a moment, because he had never been so genuinely attracted to someone, so deeply bothered before, because he really, clearly didn’t know Hermione as well as he thought he did—but Sirius couldn’t think, thinking was impossible after hearing that—

So, he took her words to heart.

He entangled his fingers into her hair at the base of her scalp, tugging at her curls firmly, suddenly, so that her neck was forcefully borne towards Sirius. At once, a gasp escaped Hermione’s lips, a gasp that melted into a soft moan, and Sirius had never heard a more intoxicating sound in his entire life.  

No public displays of affection. A non-rule that was beginning to annoy Sirius.  

Of course, Sirius respected Hermione’s boundaries, and would never dare (or even want) to do anything that Hermione wasn’t comfortable with. But if he wasn’t able to show everyone that Hermione was his, all his, then this was the best he could do.

His grip still strong in her hair, Sirius leaned down to suck hungry, dark love bites, right over where the old ones were fading. Occasionally, Hermione’s grip on Sirius’s shoulders would tighten, her nails digging into his leather jacket, and every time Sirius readjusted his hold in her curls, she would let out another beautiful whimper.  

Sirius pulled back again to observe his work: two marks on one side, a singular mark on the other—two was the minimum, he now knew. The absolute minimum. Three was a fair number, though.

“You aren’t covering these.” A statement, not a question. He had already gotten confirmation of this before, so he figured there was no need to ask. “Even if you can’t tell anyone who they’re from.”

Expecting a nod, Sirius was surprised to see Hermione bite down on her bottom lip anxiously, her hand reaching up to touch where Sirius had just marked her.

“But… What about when class starts again?” asked Hermione softly, shaking fingers brushing against the fresh bite, “Everyone will notice…”

A fair point, Sirius acknowledged. “Well… You’re a seasoned liar at this point,” said Sirius lowly, “Just avoid the question. You were always good at that.”

“But, what if Lily asks?” said Hermione, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Or—”

For a second, her eyes widened, her gaze blanked, and she promptly shut her mouth.

At once, Sirius knew exactly what she was about to say.

“Or what?” asked Sirius anyways. Hermione shrunk into herself, watching his reaction.

“Nothing,” attempted Hermione, “I didn’t—”

“I guess, ‘or who’ would be a better question,” interjected Sirius, slowly narrowing his eyes, “‘Or Stephan,’ right? That’s what you were about to say, yeah?”

Hermione didn’t reply, and Sirius worried he shouldn’t have said it like that—he didn’t want to come across as angry, because he wasn’t. But Hermione then did something very unexpected, something that took Sirius entirely by surprise—ever so slightly, her eyebrows pulled together in a taunting look, looking at him shamelessly—

“And what if I was?” challenged Hermione.

Many aspects of Hermione had shocked Sirius in the past few days—almost everything romance-related, actually. But nothing took Sirius aback more than this, because Sirius was forced to make the sudden realization—

What a fucking brat.

Sirius couldn’t believe it was possible to be any more insanely attracted to Hermione than he already was.

Hermione Granger, you are a brat.

“Excuse me?” replied Sirius, eyebrows raised, “Was that attitude?”

“So what if it was?” replied Hermione, because she knew exactly how to push Sirius even further, “All I was going to do was mention a friend, is that not allowed?”

Yes, of course it was. If Hermione had carried on without stopping herself, Sirius would have likely just looked over it. But with the way Hermione was talking to him—well, this opened so many doors.

“Oh, it’s allowed,” Sirius murmured. Hermione blinked at him, momentarily confused. Sirius just smirked, leaning in close to her, so close that he was speaking directly into her ear.

“You’re probably going to regret saying that later, though.”

He loved feeling her tremble.

With shaking hands, Hermione tugged Sirius’s face towards his by wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck. She brought him back for another kiss, but at once, Sirius felt that it was different—she was so needy—

But, just seconds after their lips met, they paused—for they heard the sound of marble sliding against marble—a sound indicating that someone was entering the room.

At once, Sirius pulled away from Hermione, the pair having very different reactions—Hermione simply froze in shock, her eyes widening as she panicked, her hands stilling in Sirius’s hair. Sirius, however, jerked back, spinning his head towards the door to see—

Suddenly, Sirius understood exactly why his best mate had been mysteriously absent for the past week.

Because standing in the doorway was James, hand-in-hand with Lily Evans.

Lily Evans.

The very same girl who had hated James Potter with every bone of her being for the past six and a half years was now standing beside him, leaning against him, fingers interlocked—

James and Lily stared at Sirius for a second, the couple frozen in dumb-founded shock the moment Sirius's head popped up from the back of the couch. James looked like his every thought had vanished from his mind, and Lily’s face was rapidly matching the color of her hair.

And even though they were literally standing in front of Sirius, looking at him, he still didn’t believe what he was seeing until James spoke.

“Pad—Padfoot, what are you doing here?” asked James, suddenly looking between Lily and Sirius very quickly, “I—what—Lily, I swear I had no idea he’d be here—”

“Lily?!” said Hermione very loudly, suddenly sitting up and looking over at them to confirm. Given any other situation, Sirius would have burst out laughing—Lily’s eyes were the threatening the size of saucers. James’s jaw actually dropped, thrusting his hand out to point at Hermione and Sirius—

“You—you two are together, I bloody knew it!"

“We aren’t—” attempted Hermione, but Lily plowed through her words as if Hermione hadn’t said anything at all.

“Hermione, what are you doing?!” asked Lily in disbelief, “You’re with Black—”

“Don’t act like we’re the shocking couple of the hour here!” interjected Sirius defensively, still wildly confused, “What the bloody hell are you doing with James?! Prongs, is this why you’ve been fucking off all of holiday—”

“I could say the same for you, you weren’t even in the dormitory a few nights back—”

“How did this even happen?! She hated you, mate, you really couldn’t have given me a bloody fucking update on the literal only person you have ever been attracted to—”

“What are you even doing in the Head Boy and Girl’s headquarters?” interrupted Lily indignantly, still looking at Sirius as if she was about to personally execute him, “Honestly, Black, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at—”

Lily stopped speaking to look at Hermione, alarmed, as did James and Sirius—for Hermione now had both hands pressed against her mouth. Before Sirius could ask if she was alright, and before he could tell James off for upsetting her, however, a loud giggle escaped between her fingers, and Sirius realized that Hermione was laughing.

“Hermione,” said Sirius cautiously, “Hermione, what—"

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, but this—” Hermione cut herself off with another loud giggle before managing out, “This is just too good—Lily, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

At this, Lily opened and closed her mouth so furiously and quickly that Sirius just couldn’t help himself anymore, joining in with Hermione’s laughter. James himself was wearing a wide, relieved smile, and Sirius knew perfectly well that he’d be laughing too if it weren’t for Lily.

“I—what?! What do you mean, waiting?” exclaimed Lily, “You really mean to say that you’ve been expecting that I get with Potter—”

“Hey—I’m right here!” protested James loudly, “You don’t have to keep calling me Potter in front of them anymore when they’ve literally caught us in the act—”

But Sirius could no longer hear James nor Lily’s bickering over his and Hermione’s laughter. He had no idea what he found funnier—the fact that Hermione was hoping that Lily would end up dating someone she previously despised, or the way that Lily was still yelling her head off at James even though they were literally dating, or just the terrible timing in general.

Luckily, when Sirius managed to look back over to James and Lily, James was laughing, too, and Lily didn’t look entirely infuriated. Hermione had pushed herself up to a full sitting position now, dabbing genuine tears of laughter out of her eyes.

“Lily, I’m sorry,” said Hermione, somehow managing to sound sincere even as she was still smiling, “It’s just—I’ve been wondering for so long when this would happen, and I was also just so beyond flustered to realize we were being walked in on—”

“I’d be embarrassed to be dating Sirius, as well,” grinned James understandably, to which Sirius made a mocking face at.

“We aren’t dating,” said Sirius. At once, Lily’s previous anger returned in full force.

“What?” asked Lily sharply, suddenly letting go of James’s hand and crossing her arms at Sirius. James frowned down at his empty hand. “Why not, Black? I know full well that this is your idea—”

“Lily, it was my idea,” promised Hermione quickly. When both James and Lily blinked at her, Hermione just sighed, looking to Sirius, and then to the clock hanging over the Headquarters entrance. Hermione then looked back to Lily and James.  

“We can explain everything,” continued Hermione, “Have you two eaten dinner yet?”

-

Lily was mostly joking when she told Sirius that she wanted his written promise that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Hermione, but that didn’t stop Hermione from Transfiguring a napkin into parchment and her fork into a quill.

“Thank you,” said Lily smartly as she took Sirius’s signed parchment from him, tucking it into her pocket, “If I hear even one whisper from Hermione about you, Black, you won’t be able to walk.”

“She means that,” added James through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Lily made a face, but also looked at him endearingly. A strange combination. “Remember Valentine’s Day fourth year?”

“Oh, for the last time, that was an accident. I've apologized for it plenty of times,” sighed Lily, “But if you sneak up behind me with a screaming card, I’m going to react, James.”

“I agree,” said Hermione, raising an eyebrow at him across the table, “I’m honestly not sure why you thought that was a good idea.”

“Well, how else was I going to give it to her? She wouldn’t accept the card if she knew it was coming,” defended James. Lily and Hermione looked at each other knowingly, Hermione herself looking concerned.

“Oh, please tell me he’s learned boundaries, now,” said Hermione to Lily.

“Well, he's certainly done a lot to prove he has,” said Lily, “Same goes for Black, too. As happy as I am for you two, I am a bit weary. Although, I suppose that's a bit hypocritical of me to say, isn't it?”

“It’s like we’re not even here,” said James to Sirius, feigning a frown, “Honestly, it’s like they could have this conversation by themselves.”

“I feel like they will be, whenever we’re not accompanying them,” predicted Sirius, but he didn’t mind. He knew that Hermione wouldn’t have anything too bad to complain about, and Sirius would make sure of it.

Lily was initially pretty against the idea of Sirius and Hermione seeing each other. But, just five minutes into dinner, she seemed convinced that Hermione was genuinely okay with not labeling their relationship at the moment and stopped threatening Sirius (mostly).

Finally, James came forward with the full truth—apparently, he and Lily had been privately dating for nearly a month now (“I knew you were complaining about him more than usual! It was to cover up the relationship, wasn’t it?” Hermione had replied proudly). They kept their relationship a secret due to Lily’s insistence (“I didn’t want to answer to everyone, I saw how everyone reacted when you and Sirius became just friends, Hermione—I haven’t even told Andrea,” Lily had said), but were planning to make their relationship public after break.

Overall, a productive dinner—and a fun one, as well. As much as he loved spending time with Hermione alone, Sirius had missed talking with his best mate. It was nice, not having any secrets anymore; it was also endlessly amusing to see Lily and James overlap their sweet talk with bickering as if they’d been married for over a decade.

After they all finished eating, James offered that they all head up to the Gryffindor common room. They all agreed; Hermione and Lily wanted to catch up some more, but Sirius and James wanted to play Wizarding Cards.

Of course, they all compromised by going completely with what Hermione and Lily wanted to do.

“I’m honestly still shocked,” commented Sirius as they treaded up the many flights of stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower, “I didn’t think it was possible for Lily to be within six feet of James without immediately getting sick.”

“Oh, don’t count against it,” said Lily teasingly, looking at James with a fond look on her face. He just grinned in response.

“Hey, I really proved myself this year. Right, Lil?”

“Well, I certainly can't deny that,” said Lily fairly as they arrived at the seventh-floor landing, “You really did earn my trust. Not to mention you were surprisingly diligent with all of our Head Boy and Girl duties.”

Sirius wasn’t sure what about Lily’s response reminded Sirius, but it immediately hit him—Avery’s note was currently in his jacket pocket. He quickly halted in his step, and Hermione looked at him curiously.

“Is something wrong?” asked Hermione. They all stopped walking.

“Er, actually,” began Sirius, “I think I forgot something in your room, Hermione.”

What are you saying? You can’t tell her about the note now, she’s in a good mood, thought Sirius at once. And yet, he was determined to tell her. He had no idea what came over him, but he just knew, he had to tell her.

“Would you mind if we went back to get it?” said Sirius, “I know it’s a long walk, but I’d rather get it now.”

“Can’t you just get it tomorrow?” asked Lily, “We’ve come all this way, and I haven’t talked to Hermione in ages. If you drag her all the way down to her room, you’re going to keep her for another hour.”

“I will not,” denied Sirius, “It’d just be a moment.”

“You know, you could go down yourself, if you’d like,” put in Hermione. Sirius furrowed his brow, puzzled.

“What do you mean? I thought your doorknob was Charmed to only let you in.”

“Oh, I changed it a few days ago,” said Hermione with a little smile, “It should let you in now, too.”

Sirius was so taken aback, so immediately pleased and grateful that he couldn’t even speak. Thankfully, Lily was quick to reply, looking mildly betrayed.

“Your door won’t let me in,” frowned Lily, “Why does Black get special privileges? He’s just barely done the bare minimum.”

“Once we catch up, you’ll see,” urged Hermione, looking to Sirius. “If you’d like me to come anyways, Sirius, I can—”

“No, it’s alright,” said Sirius, shaking his head. Later, he’d tell her later, he decided—but he at the very least needed to put the note back. “You lot go along, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Sirius realized what it was about Lily’s words that had caused his revelation as he approached Hermione’s room a few minutes later: I guess you earned my trust.

Trust. Hermione trusted him. Sure, she had already forgiven him, but she truly trusted him now. The same Charm that had been created because of Sirius was now excluding him, and Sirius felt warm, happy. It was nice, being trusted.

Indeed, Sirius had no trouble at all entering Hermione’s room—her door opened like any other ordinary door. He had been in this room too many times to count now, and yet, it felt so different without Hermione in it.

Easily, and without hardly any thought, he took the folded parchment from his pocket and placed it back into Hermione’s bag. He didn’t want to look at the note anymore, not even a little bit. Hermione trusted him now, a feat that he thought to be genuinely impossible so many months ago. And Sirius had absolutely no desire to do anything that would ever compromise that trust.

Clearly, Sirius had lots of issues to work out regarding his overwhelming and frankly immature feelings. But Hermione trusted him, and Sirius trusted her—of course he did, his doubts were never anything more than a projection of his own fears.

I’ll work on it, thought Sirius as he left her room, heading upstairs towards Gryffindor common room. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll always hate Diaz. But everything else, I’ll work on.

Maybe Lily was right—putting back a note that Sirius had taken without Hermione’s knowledge was indeed the bare minimum. But Sirius knew full well that Hermione was still expecting Sirius to make mistakes, and he’d come clean about the note the next time he could. Hopefully, since Hermione trusted him, they wouldn’t come away from Sirius’s mistake with too many arguments. Maybe they’d even grow from it, together.

Besides, Hermione would end up telling him whatever was in the note, anyways—that much he knew for certain.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke up surrounded by canvas. The dim light of the gas lamps illuminated the dreary interior of the tent, casting shadows across the drab furniture and fabric walls.

Pushing herself up, Hermione blinked as she looked around her. Curled up in the same chair she had fallen asleep in, Hermione wondered for a moment why she hadn’t woken up in her bed—only for the horrible, sickening realization to hit her of what had happened just before she had fallen asleep.

Ron was gone.

At once, her entire body began to ache, her gut sinking painfully. Hermione didn’t regret choosing to stay with Harry, not really, but the misery that was washing over her was nearly unbearable.  

Ron was actually gone.

Judging by the darkness that still hung in the outside air, she had only slept for a few hours. From across the tent, Hermione saw Harry hunched over at the kitchen table, reading something. At first, Hermione thought that he was reading the newspaper, only to realize that he was actually looking through multiple pieces of parchment paper, torn into pieces of varying sizes.

“Ja—” began Hermione, before promptly stopping. What was she about to say, what was she about to call Harry?

In just a split second, a series of stills of leather and black locks flashed in her mind, wisps of cinnamon invading her every thought—

And just as quickly, everything was gone.

Figuring she was simply disoriented from just waking up, Hermione shook her head before speaking again, shifting in her armchair. “… Harry. It’s really late… You should really be heading to sleep.” She didn’t want to talk about Ron, not now. Not yet.

Hoping that Harry would be exhausted enough to silently agree, she felt the sinking sensation in her stomach worsen when Harry looked up her, his expression twisted into one of anger. Clearly, he was still upset with Ron leaving…

But that’s not how Harry would normally react, no… Harry tended to internalize everything. Surely, the locket around his neck was affecting his behavior.

“Harry…?” repeated Hermione, for Harry had turned back to glare at the pieces of parchment before him, “You can give me the locket, now—”

“He’s dead, Hermione.”

“W-What?”

Hermione’s voice trembled at Harry’s biting response, entirely lost and confused. Harry still wasn’t looking at her, still looking at the parchment in his hands.

“Ron isn’t… Ron’s only left, Harry, I don’t—”

“I’m not talking about Ron.” His words, while quiet, were laced with venom. She wanted to ask who Harry was talking about if not Ron, but she couldn’t quite find the right words to speak.

“You know he’s dead, right?” repeated Harry lowly. His voice was like ice. “Sirius. He’s dead. You saw him die. If you aren’t disgusted, shouldn’t you at least feel guilty?”

Sirius. A name she admittedly hadn’t thought about in a while. The past few weeks were so rife with anxiety and stress that she hadn’t had space in her head to think of much else.

“… What are you talking about?” asked Hermione, entirely confused, “Why are you talking about Sirius…?”

“I’ve read your notes,” spat Harry, suddenly standing as he threw the piece of parchment he was holding on the floor. “I’ve read them all. And they’re disgusting. Is this really what you’re doing?”

“Harry, no,” pleaded Hermione. She couldn’t do this again, not hours after Ron had left. She had no idea what Harry was talking about, but she was absolutely certain that it was the fault of the locket again. “Please, Harry… I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about—”

“And what else have you done? Everything you know now, what’ve you done about it? Taken notes?” Harry lashed out, slowly getting louder and louder, “How about looking for the same bloody Horcruxes that we’ve nearly died over? You know, the Horcruxes that you know everything about?”

“Harry, please!” cried out Hermione, “I've really got no idea what you’re talking about! I promise whatever it is you’re cross about, it’s just the locket!”

“The locket?”

Harry blinked at her, and for a moment, Hermione breathed out in relief, thinking she had finally gotten through to him. But then he blinked at her again, and Hermione realized that he was simply confused.

“What locket?” repeated Harry, his anger subsiding in his confusion.

“T-The locket—the horcrux,” said Hermione, pointing at the chain around Harry’s neck, “Did you forget you were wearing it—”

“The heirloom, you mean?” said Harry, eyebrows furrowed together.

Before Hermione could ask any clarifying questions of her own, Harry dug underneath his jumper and pulled the locket from underneath—except the locket wasn’t a locket at all.

Hung around Harry’s neck was a black time-turner, its hourglass rotating in slow, circular motions.

Hermione awoke with a rattling, desperate breath.

She hadn’t woken up like this in nearly two weeks. Hermione was almost hoping that after she had calmed down so quickly the last time, that they would have gone by now, the panic attacks—

1978.

Only when Hermione remembered who had helped her calm down last time did she fully realize where she was.

I’m in 1978.

Her nightmares normally took place in Malfoy Manor, but this dream was different.

I’m in 1978, and I haven’t done a single thing.

The dream was different this time—it was entirely different. Sure, many of her nightmares took place in the forest, but never, never did she talk to Harry in any of them—she was always alone in her nightmares, completely alone—but this dream was different, because this dream was worse. Because before, Hermione could wake up and eventually come to the conclusion that what she had seen wasn’t true anymore, but this dream was true, everything Harry said about Sirius was true—

I haven’t done a single thing. But even if I could, what could I do? All of my work, everything I’ve thought through, what if it’s for nothing—Sirius, James, Remus, all of them, their deaths are Fixed, they have to be Fixed, I can’t save any of them and I’m not saving anyone at all—

Sharp, rapid tremors took control of her body, leaving her heaving with short breaths. She couldn’t stop, it wouldn’t stop—

I’m completely disgusting, even considering continuing as I am with Sirius, have I no self-control?

She was used to the guilt at this point. But everything else Harry had said, about not doing anything productive? There was truth to that, certainly there was—

I haven’t done anything at all but betray my closest friend from home, from where I’m actually from. I haven’t done anything at all, I can’t do anything at all, and Dumbledore will think I’m revolting, he’ll think I’m not taking anything seriously at all—

Every time, Hermione was surprised how cold it felt, the sweat trickling down her temples—how was that even possible—?

The war will happen all over again, every bit of it and I can’t help it, I can’t fix it, and everyone will die all over again—from James to Sirius to Remus to Tonks to Fred to Sirius to Sirius to Regulus—

Regulus.

For some reason, Hermione’s thoughts froze at his name, which she wasn’t sure was useful or not—she continued to convulse in panicked breaths, knees clutched to her chest.

Regulus.

Regulus wasn’t a helpless cause, Hermione knew. He had limits—Horcruxes. Hermione’s scar. He had limits and he had morals. She had leads on him, as well. His connection to the Room of Requirement. The missing heirloom—Dumbledore must have found out so much about the heirloom, and the time-turner as well, he must have, he’d been gone for so long. Hermione could confide in Dumbledore. She had someone to ground her.

I have leads, said Hermione to herself over and over again. At some point, she began to whisper these words out loud to herself, just to ensure herself that she had control, that she wasn’t completely lost and hopeless like she, Ron, and Harry had felt so many months ago. I have control. I can help, I can. I can help. I will help. I have been helping. I have time.

As Hermione calmed herself, she combed through her thoughts, picking out truths from anxieties. Through this process, Hermione realized that she had once again picked up her rather self-destructive habit of pushing away complicated and heavily-charged decisions.

Especially regarding a certain note.

Avery’s note. She still hadn’t read it. In her realization, she sat up in bed for the first time since she awoke to look at her bag resting neatly on her desk chair (the first day of class back from holiday was just a day away, and Hermione already had all of her school materials prepared).

Why had Hermione been so reluctant to take the note in the first place? Of course, she was stubborn and didn’t want to needlessly comply with a Death Eater, but a large part of Hermione was just pushing away the possibility that the note could actually be something important—all while simultaneously denying such a possibility.

But, in her fit of sudden anxiety, Hermione decided that she didn’t want to ignore the note anymore. She needed to be active in her decisions. There was no space in 1978 for Hermione to be stubborn and hesitant.

Hermione first decided to get ready for the day—her bedside clock read seven in the morning, so there really wasn’t any use in attempting to go back to sleep. After washing up and brushing her teeth, Hermione sat herself down at the desk with Avery’s neatly folded note in hand. And with a deep breath, Hermione unfolded the parchment to read—

Absolutely nothing.

The note was empty.

In confusion, Hermione blinked down at the blank parchment. She then turned the folded paper over, looking all over for even a trace of ink—but the parchment was completely empty.

No, that couldn’t be, there must be some kind of hidden message, Hermione was sure of it—surely, Avery would have prepared for suspecting and curious eyes, especially with Sirius around. Certainly, the text was simply concealed within the note.

Quickly, Hermione reached for her wand on her desk to attempt to reveal any secret or hidden messages in the parchment—but to no avail. It seemed that Avery had given her an empty piece of parchment.

Which made no sense at all. Because why would Avery be so insistent on giving Hermione a note with nothing inside?

He wouldn’t be, thought Hermione at once, staring down at the blank parchment, He wouldn’t. There must be something to this note that’s hidden.

Initially, Hermione wondered if she should approach Avery and confront him—but then she quickly realized that that was probably the exact reaction Avery wanted out of her. He knew an empty note after his annoying pestering would get a rise out of her, and he likely assumed that she’d reach out to him on her own terms.

Well, I’m not going to do that at all, thought Hermione to herself. She set the note on her desk, propping it up between her quill holder and her Locating Potion so that she’d have plain sight of it. I’m going to take it to Dumbledore and have him look at it.  

What Avery would want out of an interaction like that, well, Hermione had no idea. But she wasn’t keen on finding out—she wasn’t about to make yet another decision rooted in her own pride.

I’ll ask Dumbledore to look at it, repeated Hermione to herself as she looked at the blank note still, fixated on it. We need to discuss a lot during our next meeting. I haven’t been taking enough advantage of his presence.

Quite a long time had passed since their last meeting, and Dumbledore still had yet to reach out to her again. But she knew that there’d be plenty to discuss whenever they met again—especially regarding a certain room, and now, a certain theory that has been pestering her for too long now (and has pestered her enough to, evidently, manifest in her dreams).

--

Easter holiday had passed entirely too quickly. The frigid winds of late winter were just beginning to still, preparing for Spring by replacing the biting cold with thick, murky air. And now that Hermione was on the other side of break, all of her responsibilities felt much closer, and much more anxiety-inducing.

Among such anxieties, of course, was her pending relationship with Sirius. Hermione soon discovered, however, that there were aspects about this particular anxiety that she hadn’t even considered—aspects that were showcased with Lily and James’s relationship.

By the end of Easter holiday, Hermione had mostly gotten accustomed to the idea of Lily and James together. If anything, she had been relieved upon discovering Lily and James were dating—part of her was wondering if she’d have to intervene and convince Lily to give James a chance.

It wasn’t until the night before classes began, when Gryffindor common room started filling up with students, did Hermione consider the massive amounts of attention a shocking relationship such as Lily and James’s would attract.

Over break, Lily and James had made the decision to finally go public with their relationship. Lily was insistent on telling her best friend Andrea first before anyone else, and asked Hermione to be there with her as she broke the news.

“Do you really need my moral support to tell your closest friend about James?” asked Hermione, somewhat amused as she followed Lily up into the girls’ dormitories. As Hermione hadn’t seen the girls’ dormitories in quite a while, she was actually quite keen on going upstairs with Lily (much to Sirius’s dismay, who was impatiently waiting for her in the Great Hall).

“Yes,” said Lily grimly, “She’s going to be absolutely furious with me, I already know it.”

“But James really has changed, though,” said Hermione, “Surely, convincing her of his character won’t be that difficult.”

“I hope so,” sighed Lily as she pushed open the door to the dormitory, “I wrote to her saying to stay behind in the dorm before dinner tonight, and her letter back was much shorter than normal, and I’m worried she already has a feeling.”

Hermione was about to ask Lily why exactly she decided on keeping her relationship private from Andrea, but before she could, she entered the dormitory to see a familiar auburn-haired girl.

Ross, who was sitting on her bed and rearranging some photo frames on her bedside table, turned to look at Lily and Hermione entering. Her silky mane of dark hair moved like a curtain as she did so, falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

“Hello, Sandra,” said Lily politely, “Have you seen Andrea anywhere?”

“She’s in the toilet,” said Ross, her gaze decidedly remaining on Lily, “She went in a few minutes ago, so she should be right out.”

“Oh. Thanks,” said Lily rather awkwardly. Hermione imagined she didn’t feel entirely comfortable telling Andrea about James with someone else in the room. “How was your holiday, Sandra?”

“It was alright,” said Ross plainly, “Are you two heading to dinner soon?”

“Oh, no. Not yet, I’ve been meaning to speak with Andrea,” said Lily with a half-smile. For the first time that conversation, Ross looked at Hermione, her face still blank of any expression. She then stood, straightening her skirt as she did so.

“I’ll give you lot some privacy, then,” said Ross, and Hermione could sense Lily relaxing on the spot. Right before she passed Hermione and Lily by the door, however, Ross stopped again, looking right at Hermione.

And then Ross’s gaze dropped down to her neck.

“You’ve got a bit of makeup in your hair. Right by your neck,” said Ross.

“Oh.” Don’t panic there’s no way she can see “Erm, thank you—”

But Ross left before Hermione finished speaking. Lily whistled lowly as the door shut behind her, strolling over to her bed and finally sitting down. “Sometimes I think people exaggerate about her, but Merlin, can she be rude. And to think I was going to tell her good luck dealing with the Imbrespittle in Herbology this Wednesday.”

“Is there really foundation in my hair?” asked Hermione, still standing by the door and nervously combing through her curls with her fingers. When Hermione told Sirius a few days prior that she’d likely be using makeup to cover up her hickies for the time being, he had been alright with it—but then promptly viewed this as permission to leave a handful of more marks scattering her neck, hence resulting in Hermione needing to use quite a bit of makeup.

“Oh, just come over here already. I’ll check for you,” reassured Lily, understanding just how stressed Hermione must have been for her to completely glaze over Lily’s commentary on an upcoming academic affair. When Hermione sat down beside her, Lily pushed her curls to the side, looking for the afflicted area that Ross had mentioned.

“Just a bit,” said Lily, taking one of Hermione’s curls between her fingers and rubbing, “But they’re all covered just fine, don’t worry. There’s no way she saw anything.”

Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief—she had heard that Ross was one to talk, and Hermione didn’t want to think which choice words would be spread around given how Ross already disliked her.

Much to Hermione and Lily’s shock, Andrea actually took Lily’s news surprisingly well. In fact, the moment the words “James and I are going steady” left Lily’s mouth, Andrea simply reached forward to shove Lily by the shoulder, her hand slapped over her mouth.

“I—what—”

“What, you think I didn’t know that already?” retorted Andrea, interrupting Lily. But she didn’t seem angry—judging by her laughter escaping between her fingers, Andrea actually seemed relieved. “You need to come up with a different excuse besides Liam bloody Harper! I knew you didn’t like that dolt enough to be spending every other evening with him!”

“No other lie would be believable!” replied Lily.

“Oh, come on, Lils, I know you’re smarter than that! After all you told me about Harper, I knew that was a fat lie.”

Andrea then turned to Hermione, “Did she tell you, or was this an inclusive deception?”

“I had no idea,” promised Hermione, “I actually found out on accident, so I’m sure she would have told you before anyone else.”

“Well, you still could have told me beforehand, especially when it’s involving Potter—”

“Andrea, please don’t be cross with James, he’s gotten much better, really—"

“I’m not upset about Potter! I’m upset you didn’t tell me!” retorted Andrea.

As Andrea and Lily went back and forth for a bit, Hermione could feel herself grow anxious, just a bit—luckily, she didn’t have any close life-long friends to confess to, but she still wasn’t excited at the prospect of telling her own closest friend about Sirius.

After dinner, most of the Gryffindor common room conversations consisted of loud yelling from fellow seventh years and quiet whispering from underclassmen, all discussing the way Lily Evans had actually leaned against James Potter during dinner. Such conversations and whispers were only intensified when students returned to the common room to see Lily underneath James’s arm on the fireplace loveseat.

“You two make quite the commotion, I hope you know,” said Sirius from his armchair beside Hermione. He shot a look at Hermione, as if to say, that could be us, you know, but made no such audible comment on the matter. “That’s the fourth person to enter the common room and then promptly start to yell.”

“I bet the news has spread to other houses, as well,” grinned Remus next to Sirius. Hermione wasn’t able to see his nor Peter’s reaction to the news, but according to Sirius, both of their reactions had been rather underwhelming. Peter had seemed mostly confused and kept asking if he had “missed anything” before holiday, and Remus was actually completely unsurprised.

“Good. I hope Liam Harper weeps the second the news hits his ears,” said James, earning an eye-roll from Lily, “Also, I still don’t believe that you actually knew about us, Moony. As intelligent as you are, Lils and I have been the epitome of stealth for the past six weeks.”

Remus, looking at Lily and James with a cheeky grin, just shrugged. “Whatever you want to believe, Prongs.” He then stood, his eyes set on the staircase leading to the boys’ dormitories.

“Where are you off to?” asked Peter. He was sitting on the floor besides Remus’s armchair, for all of the others had been taken.

“Anderson’s just headed upstairs. Before holiday, he asked that I request McGonagall’s permission to use her classroom for his Gobstones Club,” explained Remus. Remus then looked at Lily and James, a cheeky grin on his lips.

“Speaking of, classroom fourteen should be free on Thursday evenings now that Gobstones won’t be using it,” said Remus smartly, “So you two can continue using it for your… meetings, without worry of being walked in by any third-years. I’ll see you lot in a bit.”

With that, Remus walked off. It wasn’t until Remus had made it to and up the stairs did Hermione notice the look of horror that had slowly set into both Lily’s and James’s face.

“I’m no Auror, but I reckon that’s the face of someone who’s been caught,” mused Sirius, for Lily had just pressed a hand against her mouth, “Should we ask further details, or would you two like to feel humiliated in silence?”

“That dolt of a third-year,” said James, suddenly looking madly around the common room, “That was weeks ago, I’d nearly forgotten—but I didn’t think he’d run off to a prefect! Did he not know we were Head Boy and Girl?!”

“Well, to be fair, when you’re on top of one another in classroom fourteen, it’s likely pretty difficult to see any possible badges one may be wearing,” replied Sirius fairly, only to receive simultaneous and equally snarky replies from Lily and James both.

“Heh,” said Peter with a bit of a dopey smile, “They really are perfect for one another, talking over one another whilst insulting you.”

Hermione didn’t like how endearing she found this comment to be. Further conflicting was when Peter turned to look at Sirius when he didn’t reply, then adding, “Right, Padfoot?”

“Right you are, Wormtail,” said Sirius, but he didn’t seem to really be listening. “Bit rich of you, Prongs, to be calling me that as if you aren’t the epitome of a—”

Sirius carried on with some details Hermione wished she hadn’t heard, but in all honesty, she wasn’t even really listening anymore—she was too busy watching Peter and the way his face had fallen when he was basically ignored by Sirius.

Hermione had gotten pretty good at separating Sirius and Remus from their older counterparts, but she hadn’t given Peter the same privilege—and very reasonably so, in her opinion. But there were admittedly moments like these where, just for a second, she’d feel bad for Peter.

But in the next second, she’d look back to Sirius, and think back to that night in her third year in the Shrieking Shack, and all sympathy would vanish.

If there’s anything I can remain certain of, it’s a loathing for the man who betrayed all of his friends, thought Hermione firmly.

And just like that, she put the entire matter out of her mind entirely.

…oOo…

Sirius awoke on the first day of class to a paper airplane hitting him between the eyes.

In his disorientated shock, Sirius swatted at his face as he sat up, looking around wildly—and feeling just as stupid as he felt excited when he saw the folded parchment in his lap.

Haven’t gotten one of these in a while, thought Sirius cheerfully as he tore open the note, no longer even remotely tired.

I don’t know if you’ll wake up early enough to see this, but can you come to my room before breakfast? x.

P.S.: I was part-way through folding this when I realized that I likely wasn’t clear enough—I only want to speak with you.

Not even slightly affected, Sirius quickly got ready to head down to Hermione’s room.

“So you are awake,” said Hermione in surprise the moment she opened her bedroom door to Sirius’s knock just minutes later, “I told you that the door unlocks for you now, right?”

“Alright, I’ll make sure to barge into your room unannounced next time,” grinned Sirius, stepping inside. As the door shut behind them, Sirius reached forward to gently cup Hermione’s face, leaning down for a brief kiss.

The motion was like an instinct now, holding her like this.

Sirius moved back, wanting to honor Hermione’s request. As he pulled away, he was tempted to laugh at Hermione’s face—he always loved when she got like this, because she usually looked like she was genuinely annoyed with Sirius for how flustered he got her.

“I said we were only speaking, you know,” reminded Hermione, not sounding particularly convinced herself.

“Yeah, I know,” said Sirius, “What, that can’t be how I greet you?”

“I didn’t say that,” huffed Hermione, and Sirius really did laugh this time.

“Got it,” nodded Sirius, “Do that every time. I’ll make a mental note.”

He looked around her room, looking at her desk and its neatly arranged decor. Sat on her desk chair was her schoolbag she had neatly prepared for class, greatly contrasting the way Sirius had haphazardly thrown all of his own books into his bag before rushing down to Hermione’s room.

“What was it you wanted to speak with me about?” asked Sirius.

“Well, two reasons,” prefaced Hermione, “I mostly just wanted to go through everything with you, just to make sure neither one of us slips up and lets on that we’re, well, partially together.”

“You don’t have to include yourself to sound nice, I know you only mean me,” reassured Sirius, “But what’s the second reason?”

Hermione gave Sirius a half-smile in response to his joke, which usually meant that she appreciated Sirius’s attempt at humor but was too stressed to find him funny. She then gathered all of her hair into one hand, moving it to the side.

“Is it obvious?” asked Hermione. When Sirius stared at her blankly, she added, “The makeup on my neck, Sirius.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, snapping his gaze down to her throat—where there had been half a dozen (three new, three faded) marks just twenty-four hours prior was now a blank canvas of skin. “No, not at all. Damn, you did such a good job that even I forgot they were there.”

“How could you forget? You’ve literally left six love bites on my neck.”

“Why are you looking at me like that? I was basically complimenting your expertise in makeup,” defended Sirius.

“Sirius, the fact that you’ve forgotten your own littering of love bites precisely demonstrates why I wanted to run everything through you one last time,” sighed Hermione heavily, sitting back down on her bed.

“What’s there to run through? Don’t tell anyone, no public displays of affection, and don’t give you more bites than you can cover up,” counted Sirius off his fingers.

“That’s—I didn’t say that last one!”

“It’s heavily implied!”

After going back and forth for a few minutes, Hermione finally admitted (reluctantly) that Sirius was right and that there wasn’t much else to “remind” him of, as if Sirius could possibly forget the rules that would be dictating his behavior around Hermione for the foreseeable future.

Sirius actually had a few questions himself regarding the whole make-up situation, but Hermione decided she wanted to go eat breakfast before Sirius could ask them, so he saved his questions for later. After reassuring Hermione a couple times that there wasn’t any foundation in her hair, they finally headed off to breakfast.

Even after the rest of their friends had all left breakfast to go prepare for class, Sirius and Hermione were still lingering behind in the Great Hall. Hermione was hoping to catch sight of Dumbledore, but if he had eaten breakfast that day, he certainly didn’t eat it in the Great Hall. With just fifteen minutes left to class, Sirius and Hermione were among the last students at the Gryffindor table (there were still a few Hufflepuff and Slytherin stragglers, and the Ravenclaw table had been strangely empty throughout the entire meal).

Before Lily and James had left, their entire friend group was subject to the stares of many shocked students (and even a few professors). Many of James’s and Lily’s friends, whether Gryffindor or from other houses, even approached them in their surprise.

Among one of these groups of students, strangely, was Sandra Ross. As far as Sirius was aware, Ross didn’t consider Lily as anything more than a dormmate, so he had no idea why she hung around for as long as she did—she really only left when Lily and James themselves left. Sirius did notice, however, that she spent a great deal of time looking at Hermione.

“You’re certain that I don’t have any makeup in my hair, right?” asked Hermione anxiously the moment they were finally alone.”

“Yes, I’m positive,” said Sirius once again, watching as their friends and company left the Great Hall, “What, you really think that’s why Sandra Ross was staring at you?”

“Oh—I hadn’t realized that you noticed,” said Hermione in tones of surprise, “But yes, that was my biggest concern. She said something about it last night, and I’ve been paranoid that she somehow knows something—why else would she stare at me like that?”

“She doesn’t have anything better to do,” shrugged Sirius. Clearly, Ross staring Hermione down did little to help her piling anxieties. “I stand by what I said about Slughorn’s party, by the way. Try your best to avoid her, since she’s always trying to stir up some sort of drama.”

Hermione just nodded, still gazing intently up at Dumbledore’s empty seat. Sirius had a feeling she wasn’t entirely listening.

“Maybe you had the right idea, wanting to keep everything quiet,” continued on Sirius in an attempt to distract Hermione, “I think a couple heads would have split open if we decided to come clean the same time as Prongs and Lily.”

“Well, it’s not what everyone else thinks that I’m worried about,” said Hermione distractedly, her shoulders rising and falling with a tight sigh.

Giving her a gentle nudge that Sirius hoped was reassuring, he then said, “C’mon, Hermione, just write to him yourself later. He’s bound to show up for meals at some point this week.”

“No, he’s not,” said Hermione anxiously, “Haven’t you noticed? He’s rarely in the Great Hall, and we’ve never gone this long without a meeting before… And this time’s really important as well.”

“Hmm. A fair point. Any matter becomes thrice as important when I’m involved,” nodded Sirius. But when Hermione still didn’t seem to relax, Sirius nudged her again.

“Hey. It’ll be alright,” said Sirius encouragingly, “It’s no rush, really. Even if you take weeks to tell Dumbledore about us, I don’t mind. I’m joking whenever I say I’m exploding at the seam with my internalized boasting, you know.”

“Oh, well… it’s not just us that I want to speak with Dumbledore about. There’s a few other things I’d like to touch on as well,” said Hermione. Sirius didn’t really know what else she could be referring too, but was at least nodding along to Sirius’s words, which was a win in his book.

“You’re right, though, it’ll all be alright… Everything will be alright,” said Hermione, perhaps more to herself than to Sirius. “Thanks, Sirius.”

“For what, just holding up my end of the deal? Best I can do, really,” shrugged Sirius, giving her another smile. She returned it weakly, but not hesitantly. Another win.

They then decided to start heading to class. Just as they were standing to leave, Sirius determined the time was now appropriate to bring up his questions from before.

“Speaking of my end of the deal, though,” Sirius began, peering over at her as he took a final sip from his goblet, “Did you have all of those covered up last night, too? I don’t think I noticed then, either.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, instinctively reaching up a hand to touch her neck. She then quickly pulled her hand away, likely afraid she’d rub away the makeup, “Yes, I’ve been covering them up since last night.”

“Ah, I see.” Sirius picked up his school bag casually. “How long does it take? Covering them, I mean.”

“Only a few minutes. It’s not too difficult,” replied Hermione.

“Do you mind doing it at all?” asked Sirius, slowly edging towards his main question.

“No… Not particularly,” said Hermione slowly, looking unsure where Sirius was heading with this. “Why do you ask? Surely, you don’t feel guilty at all.”

“Only a little,” admitted Sirius. He then pushed his hands into his pockets, before nonchalantly adding, “Just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be too troublesome if you had to reapply throughout the day.”

“Why would I have to reapply—” began Hermione as she slung her bag over her shoulder, promptly stopping speaking when it hit her. She looked up at Sirius, who just raised his eyebrows.

Finally understanding what Sirius was truly asking, Hermione just blinked up at him, then looking around to the few people still in the Great Hall.

And Sirius just stood there, enjoying the moment.

He always loved leaving her so speechless, even (especially, actually) if he got a snarky, biting response in return. He’d never tire of this, Sirius knew, watching as she struggled for the right words.

But suddenly, even if Hermione did think of something to say, she wouldn’t have been able to say it—because they were interrupted by someone behind them shouting her name.

“Hermione! Behind you!”

As Hermione had her back turned towards the Great Hall entrance, she couldn’t see who the voice belonged to—but Sirius was certain that she recognized the voice. And even if she hadn’t, she would have been able to give a pretty solid guess judging by Sirius’s expression.

Because strolling up to Hermione was Stephan Diaz and his two underclassmen friends trailing behind him.

Before Hermione could even turn around to greet Diaz, he had already thrown his arm over her shoulders, pulling him against his chest in a tight hug.

As this sequence closely mirrored how Diaz had greeted Hermione after Christmas break, Sirius knew he honestly should have prepared himself for this. But at the same time, Sirius was beginning to fear that nothing would alleviate his natural reaction to seeing Stephan Diaz around Hermione.

Because immediately, Sirius felt that reoccurring awful feeling in his stomach, twisting up to his chest to ache in his heart. He hated it, Sirius hated how this feeling felt—and even though he thought to himself to stop acting so immaturely, she’s allowed to have friends, you bloody fucking idiot—

Sirius just ended up feeling worse.

“Stephan!” smiled Hermione as she returned his tight hug, waving to Adama and Robert behind them. “Adama, Robert—Ravenclaw table was so empty! Where were you guys?”

“Yeah, that’ll be Flitwick’s doing,” grinned Robert, “Threw a surprise breakfast for all of Ravenclaw house in the common room this morning.”

“Hermione, blink three times if you need help,” said Adama very seriously, nodding firmly at Hermione. At these words, Diaz finally pulled away, pushing his curls out of his eyes, his stupid curls that he needs to cut. Why does this idiot grow his hair so long?

“He said he wanted to show off his quiche-making skills he acquired over Easter holiday,” Diaz informed Hermione with a wide grin, “Which was actually a great decision on his end, because Merlin were they fantastic, I think I ate one for each finger—but I also just had to run down here to see you before you left for class. I nearly thought I’d missed you.”

Before Hermione could respond by saying something along the lines of that’s so sweet of you or you didn’t have to, Sirius decided to cut in.

“What, you couldn’t have waited until lunch?” asked Sirius, raising a singular, lazy eyebrow. For the first time since the Ravenclaws arrived at the Great Hall, Diaz looked at Sirius and just smiled, infuriatingly unaffected. Hermione turned to give Sirius a look, a look that Sirius pretended to not see.

“What, you think we didn’t tell him that?” grinned Robert, interpreting Sirius’s passive aggressiveness as genuine banter, “But we really should get going, all of us. Class starts soon.”

“Right you are, Robert,” agreed Diaz cheerfully, completely bypassing Sirius’s comment, “Well, we’ll catch up later, Hermione, but we just wanted to drop by.”

“By we, he means just him, and that we were dragged along,” added Adama with another joking smile, which did absolutely nothing to help the ridiculously intense ache in Sirius’s chest.

Of course, Sirius had been unfortunately yet plainly aware of his issues regarding jealousy for quite a while—and he had even been working to improve on them, too. But for some reason, everything felt about ten times worse than normal—because this time around, Hermione actually was his—well, not technically, and not yet, but Sirius liked to think that certain smiles and certain looks were reserved for him. And Diaz was a terrible reminder that Sirius was not the sole receiver of the same smiles that he had grown so attached to.

Before they all split off to their respective classes, Diaz reminded Hermione of their study session coming up Thursday afternoon, where they would “commence their spiraling descent into anxiety,” which Sirius assumed was alluding to N.E.W.T.s preparation. Hermione enthusiastically agreed, a response that Sirius himself never received whenever he asked Hermione to study with him.

“Sirius, can you please be nice to Stephan?” said Hermione the moment the Ravenclaws were out of earshot, “All he’s ever done is be nice to you.”

“And I think his rubbish nice-and-proper bloke persona is entirely fake,” replied Sirius, “Let me tell you, Hermione, any bloke that hugs you for longer than five seconds is not someone who wants to remain platonic friends.”

“Not this again,” groaned Hermione, looking down at her watch and beginning to speed up—there were only a few minutes until class began. “I will never understand just why you dislike him so much.”

Vaguely, Sirius wondered if Hermione actually understood why Sirius disliked Diaz so severely, or if she was completely unaware of his long-standing battle with jealousy and whittled down his disliking to pure immaturity. Surely, someone as emotionally perceptive as Hermione was at least understanding of what Sirius honestly thought was the most human emotion on the planet.

Unwilling to expose himself in the chance that Hermione genuinely had no idea why Sirius could possibly act like Stephan Diaz was the very crux of all of Sirius’s personal issues, Sirius kept his mouth shut.  

Hermione continued speaking when Sirius just glared stubbornly in front of himself, unresponsive. “I need you to promise that if we do go public about a potential relationship, that you won’t be rude to Stephan—ruder than you already are.”

Sirius really didn’t like the words if and potential in that sentence.

“Yeah, alright,” said Sirius resignedly, anyways.

Professor McGonagall spent the majority of class discussing the course outline for the rest of the term until N.E.W.T.s, which did little to help Sirius’s already soured mood. Even as they all left class eighty minutes later (as a group of six rather than five, now that Lily tagged along with James), all Sirius could think about was Stephan Diaz, the way he wrapped around Hermione so effortlessly, his stupid freckles—

All Sirius could think about was the note that was displayed and folded so neatly on Hermione’s desk, a note that certainly wasn’t Sirius’s, and a note that Hermione for some reason hadn’t told him about yet.

…oOo…

When Hermione finally received word from Professor Dumbledore Wednesday morning, she thought for sure that the letter was the mark of a good day.

Their first week back in classes hadn’t been particularly kind to Hermione. Within just two days, Hermione already had an absurd amount of studying and test preparation ahead of her. While the shock and commotion surrounding James and Lily had mostly settled, Hermione had heard quite a few rude comments in passing deeming the relationship “destined to plummet into a miserable failure” (as quoted by a Hufflepuff student in Arithmancy the day before, shortly before getting hexed straight up the nose by an overhearing James).

These comments did very little to help Hermione’s nerves regarding what she and Sirius would possibly have to put up with. What really worsened Hermione’s overall anxieties, however, was admittedly (and embarrassingly) the fact that she and Sirius had so far been too busy to truly have any… alone time together. While Hermione recognized that she shouldn’t rely on any one person to help her feel better, she was already missing all the long, grounding conversations she had with Sirius over holiday (alongside with a couple other activities, as well).

So when a letter marked with familiar handwriting landed on top of her breakfast sausage, immediate relief washed through her, settling into her core—finally, she had some sense of assurance, stability. Finally, she’d be able to unload the many topics that had been the crux of her anxieties, from Regulus’s involvement with the Room of Requirement, to Avery’s note, to her time-turner theory—everything, really.

She quickly took the letter and tucked it safely away into the inner pocket of her robes before Lily, James, Remus, or Peter could read the name on the envelope. A glance up towards the professors’ table told Hermione that Dumbledore still wasn’t appearing at meals, but that didn’t even matter. The letter was more than enough.

Sirius, of course, had noticed this quick motion, and Hermione’s immediately brightened mood as well.

“I take it your morning coffee’s just kicked in, then,” grinned Sirius from across Hermione, “You’re looking significantly cheerier than just two minutes ago.”

“Are you, Hermione?” asked Remus distractedly, for he was currently reviewing his Herbology notes before class, “Well, expect to have said cheerfulness swiftly punctured.”

“You know, Moony, I think my favorite trait of yours is your endless optimism,” said James thickly through a bite of eggs.

“No, he’s right,” sighed Lily darkly from next to James. “We’re dealing with Imbrespittle today, and I don’t expect to make it out of the class without getting a shot of water up my nose.”

“Wait, that’s today?” repeated Peter, furrowing his eyebrow in immediate concern, “But I left my waterproof dragonhide gloves in my trunk.”

But with a long-awaited conversation with Dumbledore ahead of her, Hermione was in a mood that no number of Imbrespittle could affect—although, the encouraging foot-nudge Sirius had given Hermione underneath the table certainly helped, too.

Neither Sirius nor James took Herbology, but Hermione was still accompanied by Remus and Lily on her way to the greenhouses, so she wasn’t able to read her letter in privacy. Promising herself that she’d read it the moment she got the chance, she tried her best to put Dumbledore’s letter out of her mind as she entered greenhouse seven. Focus on class, first.

Stephan, her usual Herbology partner, was already waiting for her by their usual station towards the front of the greenhouse.

“Excited for our upcoming academic arrangements, Hermione?” grinned Stephan as Hermione unpacked her things, tugging on her dragonhide gloves.

“Not particularly,” sighed Hermione honestly. Herbology wasn’t among one of her favorite subjects, and with Dumbledore’s letter waiting for her, class was certain to pass exceptionally slowly that day. Her situation also wasn’t helped by a certain auburn-headed girl, who Hermione sworn had purposefully picked a station closer to her and Stephan’s that day.

“I’ve heard on Monday that half of Hufflepuff’s class walked away from this class completely drenched,” continued Hermione, decidedly looking away from Ross’s work station and instead looking at the baby Imbrespittle plants resting on Professor Germinaddle’s workbench.

“Oh, I didn’t mean class. No, I am not looking forward to this class—and I mean that jokingly, Professor,” added Stephan, noticing that Professor Germinaddle was standing not a meter away from them, spritzing a few of the ginormous overhanging plants with water. Germinaddle gave Stephan a reproving look, but went back to his spritzing.

“I meant our study session tomorrow night,” continued Stephan excitedly, “I asked Professor Flitwick, and he gave us permission to use his classroom for the rest of term to study. Well, Adama and Robert asked on my behalf and he gave them permission, but point being, the permission extends to us if we so choose.”

“Really?” asked Hermione, impressed, “It’ll certainly be nice studying in private. His classroom is also really close—”

“To the library,” completed Stephan, beaming, “Which means that if we need any reference books, one of us could just pop down to the library and fetch it.”

Hermione was usually very grateful for her friendship with Stephan, as he was her first friend at Hogwarts and her main reliever of her incredible anxieties in her first few months. But in moments like these, Hermione felt especially lucky to be friends with someone like Stephan.

Before Hermione could express her gratitude, however, Germinaddle began the class. Five minutes later, both Hermione and Stephan were repotting a couple of baby Imbrespittle plants—squat, fat plants with water wells to spray their caretaker with whenever they so see fit—and it was this point that Stephan continued their previous conversation.

“No need to say thank you, ‘Mione,” said Stephan, prying the wriggling roots off of his thumb and shoving them into the dirt, “I just want the best studying circumstances possible to induce our learning environment. I’ll be damned if the three of us don’t walk away with at least six N.E.W.T.s each.”

“The three of us?” asked Hermione, confused. She looked away from her Imbrespittle to look at Stephan curiously. “Do you mean the four of us?”

“Well, no,” corrected Stephan lightly, “Adama and Robert will no longer be joining us for our study sessions. You know, given they aren’t seventh-years.”

“But what do you mean, the three of us?”