Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’d been at this for hours, the days and weeks of her torture blending together. However, still, her screams continued to rip through the manor till her vocal cords bled onto the polished floors, so black and shiny she could no longer distinguish where the blood seeping from the cuts covering her body started and ended.

Gone was the bushy-haired girl with too much baby fat; all that was left of her was a shell. She felt like nothing more than a sack of bones as the shock of the cruciatus curse racked through her nerves every few minutes.

She knew her occlumency walls were getting weaker and weaker as she writhed on the floor, no longer begging for mercy, just screaming, as if she had lost her ability to even think through the never-ending torture. They had tried to break her over the previous weeks in more ways than she could even fathom.

There was little left of her that untouched by hands that only meant to harm and maim her. The only thing keeping her from crumbling to the pressure was the thought of Harry, Harry her best friend and brother, the idea of him getting out of all of this, saving the world. He could do it if she just held on and didn’t tell them anything she knew.

When the almost blinding red light of the curse finally flickered out, she felt the rarest moment of hope before it was whisked away like every other one she had, and Bellatrix Lestrange let out a blood-curdling screech, and a heeled boot made contact with Hermione’s head. Suddenly, black spots danced in and out of her vision, threatening to take over. She almost hoped for it. The idea of being unconscious had become a dark companion to her over the last few weeks.

It was then that Bellatrix leaned over her, a rage-filled smile taking over her entire face, eyes wide, shooting back and forth before she screamed and cackled into Hermione’s ear, “If you won't crack for me, maybe it’s time my dog has a turn, I heard you liked dogs, blood traitors, and half beasts.”

And with that, Bellatrix was off her, and Hermione could sense the others in the room, no longer just her and Bellatrix. She rolled her head to the side to see Greyback approaching, the smell of his sweat filling her senses and the grime covering him coming into focus as he straddled her. She had never been one to give up a fight, but as his nails pierced the soft flesh of her neck, she felt her body go limp, just like she had every time he had sought her out since her imprisonment in the manor.

As she felt her blood trickle down her neck, deeper than it had been in days past, his thread-bare composure breaking, she realized she was going to die on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor at the hands of Fenrir Greyback. As she felt Greyback tug on her clothing, pawing at her bony existence as if he owned her, she took one last moment to fortify her walls.

Hermione Granger would let herself die before she gave her friends up or told them anything about Harry Potter.

Maybe it was that promise always to protect her friends or some ancient god looking down on her, but the sound of apparitions cracking into the room made him pause his torment. The moments moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening—a perfect set of events colliding to change the history of the war forever.

The first was Greyback being blown off her and Hermione scrambling to escape, slipping and sliding as she crawled through her own blood toward a corner of the room.

The second was Draco Malfoy, who had been forced to watch her be tortured for hours, grabbing her arms, pulling her up, and dragging her away from the others. She tried not to call out as she felt her shoulder dislocate at the strength he used to pull her from danger.

Her life-altering change of events didn’t end there; the sequence continued as Dobby grabbed her shoulder to apparate her out of the room, and at the same moment, Bellatrix threw her cursed blade, the same one that had mangled Hermione’s arm for hours, striking Dobby in the chest death inevitable. But the pain gave him one last moment to use all of his power to send her somewhere, anywhere but there.

Then, at the very last second, Draco shoved her purse into her chest just as the world started to fall away with apparition, hitting her directly on her sternum, where Dumbledore's time turner had sat, unused for months.

Hermione tried to let the pull of apparition take over her body, but something was different. She didn’t just feel the uneasy power of moving through space, like someone was tugging at her gut. She felt like her skin was being peeled from her bones, her neck snapping back with the sheer force of Dobby’s last act. She couldn’t close her eyes from the force as those black spots blended into the rapidly changing colors in her vision.

All of that abruptly stopped, though, and suddenly, she was on the beach. Dropped unceremoniously from their travels, it was the final straw, as her body made contact with the wet sand, the force causing the blackness that had been dancing around her vision for hours to swirl with the grey-blue sky and her eyelids slipped shut.

“Gid, did you feel that?” Fabian asked, rising from his chair, the chill of their wards being breached skittering across his skin, the sheer force of the arrival causing goosebumps to break out across his arms.

His brother just looked up at him, confusion coating his features. With slow movements, Fabian watched Gideon bring his finger to his mouth, a warning to be quiet because whatever could break through their wards was something they should fear.

With measured steps, the wizards picked up their wands and, with only a subtle nod, knew the exact route to take to inspect their wards. Three years of training and order missions had prepared the Prewett twins to communicate with just a few movements; sometimes, all it took was a widening of their eyes, and it was akin to wandless Legilimency that they knew precisely what the other was planning.

Fabian moved towards the back of the house, set on the water, not far from Cornwall. He waved his wand slowly, watching as the wards rippled and shimmered, proving they were still in place.

Uncertainty started to build in his gut. Whoever this wizard was had moved through their wards but not taken them down, had not even left a hole during their attack on wards that had been in the Prewett family for centuries.

As he made his way down the seagrass-covered hill towards the very edge, he spotted in the sand what looked like a small child lying on their back, arms and legs bent at unnatural angles, and their head lolling to the side. Fabian whispered as lightly as he could, sending the ghost-like springer spaniel across the property towards Gideon.

Slowly, he approached the small person. As he looked down at them, wand trained to point directly at their chest, he realized the young woman before him was out cold. Gideon came around that moment, skidding to a stop at the sight of her, just a girl, maybe 15, with more hair than a person lying on the beach outside their cottage.

A gasp came from his brother's throat at the sight of her, covered in bruises and blood. Then, he saw the word angrily carved into her arm and felt his tea from earlier threatening to return. The slur looked infected, thick black blood seeping on the sand beneath her arm, and it reeked of dark magic.

“Call Molly and Mum. I’m unsure who or what she is, but this can’t be good,” Fabian whispered, and all Gideon did was nod.

“You bringing her in?” Gideon asked, his voice cracking as they continued to notice the state her: jeans ripped, buttons torn, and claw marks puncturing her cheeks and throat.

“I’ll ward her in, hurry,” and with that, they got to work. With gentle care, Fabian didn’t even know he was capable of. He levitated the young girl, her arms and neck hanging limply. It made him sick.

All he could think about was his nephews and how Mols would yell at him to support their little heads when they were in his arms. He tried his best to keep her head from rolling around as he levitated her slowly back towards the house, where Gideon was already working on transfiguring a bed in the small sunroom for her.

As Fabian set her down on the new bed, the floo roared to life, his sister and mother stepping through. Mols had the twins strapped to her chest, smiling down at them and, with tender love and care, before looking up at her brothers.

He assumed she had probably been excited a few moments ago at the idea of spending time with them in their new home when she got Gideon’s message, but that was until she saw the grave looks on their faces. Fabian watched as Molly came into the room and noticed the new cot. Raising her small freckled hand to her mouth, he watched as all the color drained from her ordinarily rosy cheeks, her pale skin stark against their famously orange hair as she took in their intruder.

“Boys, what is the nature of this?” His mother asked, and the older twins began their short tale of the wards and finding her on the beach. Molly was kneeling almost instantly beside the bed, trying to heal the girl. Waving her wand and asking for potions, for as reckless as people called the twins, Molly was taking the real risk as she had no hesitation to help this girl, who they didn’t even know her name, as she lay most likely dying in their living room. He watched her continue like that for hours, his mother helping and him and his brother taking turns returning to the Burrow to take care of the boys and warn Arthur.

Finally, it seemed like the bruises were fading and the cuts shallower, all those except that disgusting word written on her arm. They barely spoke, as if talking about the situation would bring up the absurdity of it all, spur the anxiety of having some unknown war victim in their home. They could only hope she was on their side.

Their mother again broke the silence, looking at Mols, a sad but proud smile stretching across her face. “You’ve done a good job, Molly. Go home to your family.” Her words were warm but final, and Fabian watched his sister follow without question and gather her things before turning to hug them both, promising to return and asking them to watch over the girl.

As Molly disappeared through the floo, their mother turned back to the young girl, running a loving hand over her forehead, now covered in sweat as the potions and the effects of what had to be dark curses and magic worked through her system. “Oh, sweet girl, who are you? Who did this to you?” she whispered to her, and at that, Fabian felt the weight of the day come crashing back down on him, so previously focused on his tasks of taking care and prepping for this surprise visitor he hadn’t processed that war was closer than any of them had imagined. That war was coming for children, children like his nephews.

“I will stay with her,” his mother offered, but Gideon turned to her, his face haggard as he asked.

“Should we call the order?” Fabian was kicking himself for not thinking to ask that. They had been so obsessed with saving the poor girl they hadn’t called Alastor either.

His mother's response took him by surprise, the previous care and warmth leaving her voice, a hardness she was not known for taking over. Her shining ice-blue eyes turned to look at them, and then Fabian saw it: her hand was clasped tightly around some kind of golden chain, her knuckles turning white around the piece. “No, call my niece Dorea and her husband, Charlus.” Gideon took off to follow her orders without question; their mother had been their leader their whole lives, and neither was going to question her now.

“Fabian, did she have anything else on her? All I see is this small beaded bag?” His mother asked, and Fabian just shook his head no before responding.

“No, I found her with that bag, not even a wand on her.” The images of her before sent a shiver down his back as he watched his mother take the small purse and bring it to the worn round table in their kitchen.

Gideon returned to the room, the day's memories still weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Dorea is on her way, Mum. I think we should call the order,” He supplied, and their mother just shook her head firmly before opening the bag. A gasp escaped her lips, and both wizards held their wands, ready to strike or protect. Fabian wasn’t sure.

Their mother just looked up with an impressed smile on her face, just like the ones she gave him when she would catch him in some outlandish scheme as a child. “Undetectable extension charm, very detailed work. She must be a smart little witch. There is so much in here.” she began pulling things out randomly as she continued answering Gideon’s question. “I don’t want to call Albus because she was wearing Albus’s time turner, and I have some questions for her before he swoops in.”

“That is very Slytherin of you, Aunt Leticia.” Dorea’s voice startled them as the witch entered the kitchen, Charlus Potter following close behind. “Now, could one of you boys start some tea? And the other bring us up to speed about whatever is happening here?” Dorea asked, and Fabian and Gideon shared a quick look before springing into action, tea cups flying while they each filled the Potters in with the facts of earlier that afternoon and how the girl who was now sleeping in their sunroom came to be in their presence.

As the twins wrapped up, Dorea nodded, continuing to watch their mother pull more items out of the purse. It had to be endless. They watched as canvas tents and empty rations for food clattered against the table and floor. Still, after what felt like an eternity, their mother smiled widely, pulling out a stack of papers wrapped in a string, the words and moving pictures immediately giving them away.

“Ah, the prophet, so we know she’s British at least,” Gideon supplied, and Charlus indulged him with a small laugh before Dorea opened the parcel, her steel grey eyes going wide.

“Is this why you called me? Did you suspect this?” She asked, and their mother looked at her with a grave face.

“When I saw the time turner, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t expect this, but I felt something. A Rosier came by just before the boys called -”

“Pandora? The supposed seer?” Fabian interrupted his disbelief, evident in his question, and their mother nodded.

“Yes, she was visiting her fiance. He lives near my Molly, remember? She did not say much; just said to trust family first and call upon her when it was time, and well, Dorea, you were the only family I could think of that would know what to do with something this dark.”

“How dark, Leticia?” Dorea asked, setting her teacup down with the slightest of shakes, so unlike the formidable witch. Dorea Potter was known across the order, never one to back down from a battle, an expert duelist, but most importantly, a strategist. She couldn’t see the future, but she was a Slytherin and a Black, able to predict how Death Eaters might respond in times of war. Fabian had always been impressed by her, a snake in lion's clothing.

“Well, it’s a Black knife that did the damage to her arms the boys described. I can feel the blood magic, but I’m afraid this is even darker,” Their mother said before turning one of the copies of the prophet around to them.

The words “WANTED UNDESIRABLES” were splashed across the cover, and below were three pictures.

The first of the girl in the other room, Hermione Granger, mudblood stamped across the top corner of her photo. She looked so different than the victim in the other room; in this photo, she seems flustered, eyes wide, not scared but like she’s been cornered, more animal than a girl. But she looks alive at least, cheeks full and blushed, hair sparking with magic at the edges. Fabian can’t help but think she looks like a fighter, feisty almost.

As if that wasn’t shocking enough, the next one made everyone in the room feel ill. Next to her was a familiar-looking boy with black hair, a lightning bolt-shaped scar across his forehead, and round glasses framing his face. Harry Potter, it reads, the spitting image of James Potter, a fellow Gryffindor just a few years younger than Fabian, scowling at them. Where Hermione looks frustrated, Harry looks annoyed, callous almost, his eyes flashing with ire.

And lastly was a young man covered in familiar freckles and a mop of messy hair, Ronald Billius Weasley, his bright eyes looking directly at them. Fabian feels like he will be sick at the sight of the bruise covering this kid's jaw and the sunken look of his eyes. His mind has put the pieces together. He knows this is Mols’ son, but that's not true. Molly and Arthur don’t have a son named Ron, but Arthur has a brother named Billius.

The room went quiet as they looked at the unknown but still familiar photos until Charlus read at the top, “August 1997, Merlin help us she’s from the future.”

Slowly, as if she’s still trying to drag her tired body across the floor of Malfoy Manor, Hermione feels herself start to wake up. It feels like hours as she lays there, desperately trying to gather her strength just to open her eyes, almost like her will is wrestling with her weakened body, but finally, she’s able to pry them open. Soft grey-washed wood walls greet her, and she can hear the ocean in the background; the whole thing is rather soothing, a bit like meditating in her delirious state.

But the the stark contrast to her previous existence when she was last awake is suddenly jarring, and despite her body’s protests, she’s desperate to get up and find out where she is. She barely even turns her head to the side before she’s come face-to-face with a red-headed man, her vision still a bit blurry as she sucks in a breath and asks, “Bill?”

The man laughs and shakes his head. “No, Gideon, but Bill will probably be around later”. Hermione’s certain she’s heard that name before but can’t quite place it. He must notice her confusion because he smirks at her, a funny lopsided thing that reminds her of Fred, before continuing, “Gideon Prewett, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Looks like you’ve taken a serious tumble getting here haven’t ya?”

Hermione raises one eyebrow to study him, trying to decipher who this man is and if he plans to kill her sooner rather than later. “I have had worse, I suppose. Where is everyone?” She asks cautiously, watching Gideon nervously play with his sweater's end. Interesting, is he nervous because of her or who he assumes everyone is?

“While I would like to hear more about that, especially from a cute little bird like you, That sounds like a story for another day, Miss Granger. We have another story to sort out first. Give me a minute, and there are some people for you to meet.” Hermione watches him, a bit of a flirt, but he seems more nervous of her than she is of him, so she takes that as a win. She finds it odd that he keeps calling her by her full name, but she assumes that after having it splashed in the paper so much recently, it’s not unheard of for someone to recognize her.

Looking around the room, she starts thinking about her escape. She's unsure where her bag is, but it shouldn't be too hard if she can get someone’s wand in her hand. Speaking of wands, she has no idea where hers has gotten off to; snatchers probably snapped if she had to guess.

She keeps noting all the things that could inflict damage in the room. A very large lamp near her is a good option, maybe brass? Heavy enough. She also eyes a few fire pokers, which are much farther away. She could try to floo if it’s open, but it's risky if the ministry is still tracking her.

However, her internal tangent on household weaponry is interrupted when a group of people she has never met or seen before enters the room. Slowly, shes pushing herself up even more, trying to back away from this group of strangers, only to realize she’d been tucked so tightly into this bed that her legs couldn’t move.

The memories of the last time she was awake come flooding back to her, Greyback’s legs pinning hers together, his claws on her neck and between her legs. She’s frozen, a pathetic whimper coming out of her throat, raw and scratchy as if she can still smell him all over her.

Dorea Potter can see the moment the young witch starts to unravel. Gone was the girl casing the room just moments ago, and in front of her now is a scared child, desperately trying to get away.

Acting quickly, she takes a step forward. “Hermione, sweetheart, it’s okay. We’re friends, maybe even family.” She tried to make the words as soft and comforting as possible as she approached the bed, this Hermione just looking up at her, her pupils blown wide, her arms trembling to hold herself up.

“Hermione, I think you should lay down. I’ll prop up the pillows for you so you can still see everyone,” Dorea continues, adding gentle cooing noises like you would with a baby, anything really to calm the poor girl. She can’t imagine what type of battle she’s been thrown from to land here.

Hermione gives her a shaky nod, and with a gentle flick of her wrist, Dorea arranges the pillows behind her, smiling gently as the younger witch lays back in them, not relaxed per se but not shaking to support her own body.

“Hermione, may I sit next to you and explain?” She questions, deciding to play it safe, letting her make the decisions and know their every move, despite Dorea’s desperation to know more about her supposed grandson of her currently unwed son.

Again, Hermione nods, but Dorea notes how she looks at a picture frame just to the side of the small cot. She can’t even help the chuckle that escapes her. She’s almost relieved at how bright of a witch this Hermione is, always on edge, and while that frame is no match for a wand, Hermione appears to have plenty of fight left in her. Dorea assumes she's going to need it for whatever comes next.

“My name is Dorea Potter. Is that name familiar to you?” she watches as a range of emotions coat Hermione’s face before she shakes her head no and responds.

“I only know one Potter, and I don’t know where he is,” Hermione responds defensively, and Dorea just smiles, a protector too. She’d garnished as much from the articles she had read in her bag and the small diary, but she didn’t plan on telling her or anyone else in the room that she had found and read the small leather notebook last night.

“I don’t suppose you would, seeing as he’s not here,” Dorea says and watches as relief floods Hermione. She realizes it will probably be the last bit because it’s time to rip the bandage off and tell the poor girl what's happening. “He’s not here, Hermione, because he hasn’t been born yet. I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s May 17th, 1978.”

Hermione nods as Dorea says it, whispering the words to herself a few times. “1978, May 1978.” she moves her hand to her neck, and Dorea notices how her eyes blow wide when she realizes the time turner is no longer there, just a bandage where the glass had cut into her sternum.

The girl looks up at Dorea and then around the room, finally taking in the rest of the occupants. She squares her shoulders before turning back to Dorea and saying, “I know how to win this war,” she states it plainly, but Dorea notes the sadness in her eyes.

Something that should feel at least a little victorious must be bittersweet for a girl with no family or friends. She’s already vowed to Leticia that this girl, vital to their future grandchildren, would be safe with them. Still, seeing her now, the determination in her eyes seals it for Dorea, but first, this child needs to heal and grow. They can help her win a war on a different day.

As Dorea looks at her, imagining Hermione as her adopted grandchild, which she might have been had the world she came from been different, she smiles. “I’m sure you do, but that might have to wait based on your current state. How about I introduce you to a few others, hmm?”

Hermione just nods, and Dorea turns to find the rest of the house staring at the two of them. She gives a slightly imploring look at Leticia, who laughs before walking over. “Hullo, Hermione, my name is Leticia Prewett. You’ve met one of my sons, Gideon.” Leticia motions for him to step closer to the bed, and Hermione eyes him before nodding, “And this is my other son, Fabian. Twins run in our family.” Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, looking back and forth at both twins.

“They look more like Bill and Charlie than Fred and George,” she whispers mostly to herself as if cataloging all the differences between her world and theirs.

“Ha, well, the Prewett genes are robust, my dear. I assume that means you know my daughter Molly? She’ll be over later today if you would like to meet her?” Leticia asks the question cautiously, and Hermione seems to wobble again. Her voice is shaky when she responds.

“I’d love to meet Mrs. Weasley again.” That causes the twins to laugh before turning big grins over to her. It seems to comfort her or at least not scare her away like their presence did previously.

“Mols is going to die when she hears that,” Gideon supplies.

“Always complaining that she’s an old lady now with all those boys,” Fabian counters, and so it continues.

“Five of 'em, giving her grey hair, you see.”

“Well, maybe you already knew that”

Dorea watches as Hermione takes in the sight of their back and forth. A small smile creeps across her face before she finds the perfect moment to interrupt them, almost like she’s done it before. “Mrs. Weasley did not have any grey hair last time I saw her.” the twins laugh before Fabian opens his mouth to ask her a question, but Dorea interrupts.

“Hermione, this is my husband, Charlus Potter.” Charlus steps forward and offers her his hand. She eyes it again as if inspecting it for trouble before accepting it.

A wide grin breaks out across Charlus’s face. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Nice strong handshake, my dear.” Dorea can’t help but smile at her husband and his ability to bring a bit of sunshine to every interaction, so Gryffindor of him. Dorea decides to capitalize on that moment. Hermione seemingly starting to understand that they mean no harm to her, she asks the question that will finally give them answers,

“I can’t imagine how overwhelming this must be for you, but I’m unsure how much you know about us, and we’d like to know a bit more about you. Do you feel up for a bit of tea and chatter?” She tries to imbue as much hope and promise into the words, and she watches as Hermione debates her answer, looking around the room to finally decide who is friend and foe.

“Yes, we probably should, shouldn’t we?” She responded, and Dorea couldn’t help but smile a little wider. She was right. Hermione’s a fighter, not one to back down from a challenge.

That first conversation had been easy. Hermione only had the strength to get through her first few years of schooling, explaining how she met Harry and Ron and a brief overview of Harry’s life. Dorea, she noticed, was a powerful witch, never wavering as Hermione recounted a simplified version of the story of how James and Lily Potter were murdered on Halloween 1981.

“So we have a few years? To stop this all from happening?” Charlus asked her, and Hermione smiled, hopeful for the first time in days she realized.

“I hope so, Mr. Potter. That reminds me, I have some notes in my bag.” She looked around, having noted her camping supplies strewn around the room. She wasn’t foolish enough to judge them for going through her things; she would have done the same thing, but they had the decency to at least look a little embarrassed now that she was asking for them.

Fabian, she believed, handed her the bag. She began digging around, pulling out a muggle school folder with information from The Order out first and then leaning halfway into the bag, she grabbed the pensieve she had shrunk and borrowed from Dumbledore’s office, realizing how it might be helpful later to show her memories versus tell them.

“Is that a Pensieve?” Dorea asked, wonder in her tone, and Hermione nodded excitedly.

“I thought I’d pull a few memories so when I’m tired, you can keep learning?” She asked. The others nodded excitedly.

“Make sure you pull a few fun ones. Can’t all be doom and gloom?” Gideon asked her with a smile, and she made a note to pull some of her favorite Fred and George memories just for them.

“I will, but first, I want to ensure you have these. They are Order records, and we can use them to prevent a few deaths. Things will change obviously once we start, but it will also explain some of the questions you might have,” Hermione said, a sad quiver in her voice, as she floated the folder over to Dorea, their current defacto leader.

“Will these explain why so few of us have been in your memories?” Dorea asked, and Hermione nodded her response, too afraid to speak out loud the fates of those in the room. They weren’t positive.

“Well, out with Dorea - what finally does the great Prewett Twins in?” Fabian added with a chuckle, and Leticia glared at him for his inappropriate response in the face of a document that held so many deaths.

Hermione watched silently as Dorea duplicated the records and handed them around the table. Slowly, each person flipped through the folder, the room's tone changing drastically. Long gone were the tales of trolls in the bathroom, replaced with grim realities that Molly would be one of the few faces she recognized in 1978.

“Peter fucking Pettigrew? That bloody idiot?” Gideon shouted. Hermione flinched at the raised voice, and Fabian was quick to quiet his brother with a stern look and a hard hand on his shoulder. It was so like Fred and George it caused her throat to close, one to react and the other to either fuel the flames or redirect the anger.

“Now boys, we don’t know if he will take that path anymore,” Leticia shared, and the twins seemed to take the slight scolding seriously, grown men held accountable by a witch who was no more than 5 feet tall. Hermione got a look at her then.

Leticia reminded her so much of Ginny, except miniature, you could say. Instead of bright orange-red hair, Leticia’s was a soft grey, but it was the perfect stick straight down her back, just like Ginny’s had been. Despite being a witch well into her prime, she had the same glimmering eyes and athletic build. It made Hermione’s heart hurt to think she’d never see her friend again.

“He killed McKinnon?” Fabian asked her quietly to her right, and Hermione nodded, taking a breath to steel herself before sharing what she knew.

“From understanding, yes, the McKinnon loss seemed to hit hard because it was among the firsts. I only ever heard Professor Lupin mention it once.” She paused as confusion swept across the table, but she continued talking, “He told Harry and me this story about how it had probably been Peter who told Death Eaters where to find their family. It’s supposed to happen this August.” The others looked at her with sad smiles, and she couldn’t imagine what it was like knowing your friends were destined to die before they did.

“Did you say Professor Lupin?” Charlus asked, a glimmer of laughter floating into his words, a distraction from the story she had just told them.

She smiled back at him. “I guess you probably call him Remus. He was my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in my third year, a bit of a mentor.” She watched their reactions morph into something sweet and joyous. Dorea, in particular, seemed relieved at the detail.

“You knew Remus well then? What about Sirius?” Charlus asked, and Hermione tried to contain her grimace as she thought about her third year.

“Maybe it would be better if I showed you my third year?” she offered, and everyone nodded their agreement. With careful precision, she pulled the memory from her mind, the first of many of the next few days.

She’d pull a memory, wait for them to watch it, and answer their questions. They would take breaks, the twins always asking her questions about herself and what she liked. They regaled her with stories about the 70s and what the young Weasley boys were up to, making her laugh and forget for a few moments where she was. After a few days, she finally dared to see Molly, who was warm and welcoming, letting Hermione hold Fred and George. It was a miracle what tiny babies could do for a tired soul.

The cycle would start again with a few memories pulled, spending time with those outside the pensieve, answering questions, and rebuilding her strength. It was nice to have a routine again, even if she felt she was getting better at a snail's pace.

Chapter Text

Hermione knew her time hiding in Shell Cottage would have to come to an end eventually, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t enjoyed the small routine she had built with those who had found her.

Her first week of consciousness had been much too easy. She spent her time between bouts of dreamless sleep and strong pain potions telling every painful and dark detail of her previous life. She found comfort in them, fighting had been her entire existence for the past six years, the truth of her school years rolling off her tongue easily. That did not mean the stories no longer hurt; it was just that she was used to the pain, and nothing could really compare to her time in Malfoy Manor.

Leticia and Dorea had been there to console her through it all, the two were always willing to offer a comforting hand or announce that it was time to take a break when her words would get stuck in her throat. It was as if Leticia could look into her eyes and see she was no longer present. That her memories were taking hold, playing like films seeping through the box of her occlumency, she had tried to force them into.

She guessed that was to be expected; she was no natural at mind magic and forced herself to learn on the run. More as a tool to block the thoughts of hunger or the slithering infestation that was the locket when it was around her neck than mastery.

The little peace of mind she had established when telling Harry’s story came to a crashing halt when, 13 days after her arrival, she was forced to confront what had happened at Malfoy Manor. It had started with a simple enough question from Charlus, of all people. Usually, one to just observe her during her stories he asked her a question that started a snowball of anxiety and dread.

“So you think one is in the Lestrange vault? How did you get that?” He asked her as he took meticulous notes of all the Horcrux details she could remember. The locket they had decided was most likely not yet created based on the note a now student Regulus had left in it. The journal and the ring had a whole list of possible locations, but when she mentioned that Lucius Malfoy had slipped the youngest Weasley the journal in her time, she brought up that Bellatrix had been in a manic rage about her own vault, that maybe the journal was in the Malfoy vaults.

“Yes, that’s why -” She tried to control the shiver that racked through her body at the thought of speaking the words out loud, her voice going from its usual inquisitive nature when she spoke about the Horcruxes to whisper as she continued, “that’s why or part of why they kept me in the manor. She thought I had stolen something from her.”

“Would it be easier to show us ‘Mione?” Gideon asked her. He was the thinker of the two she had come to realize. Fabian acted first and cleaned up his mess later, or rather Gideon did as he had been preparing for it while Fabian did something rash. She hadn’t seen it firsthand but had seen the aftermath one evening when they returned home from their Auror jobs, and Gideon had to patch him up.

The sight of Fabian’s blood and limp arm had caused her to gag, and it wasn’t until Gideon showed her how quickly he could heel Fabian that she was able to quell the rising bile in her throat. Still that night, despite the dreamless sleep, she woke screaming, remembering George’s limp neck and the blood pouring from where his ear had been.

She debated Gideon’s question in her head for a long moment. She had shown them bits and pieces of her time in the Manor but had been intentionally brief. She’d really only shown them Bellatrix mutilating her arm and her escape. With a shaky breath, she looked around the table at their little war room as she had started calling it in her head.

Dorea was their leader, a strategist, and planner, a Slytherin to her core, she appeared always to be one step ahead. She knew the information she needed and did her best to find it, and was successful at extracting it from Hermione with care.

To her right, Leticia was their rock, consistent in her presence and never forgetting. Always able to draw together details and theories. Her Ravenclaw nature seemed to look at facts from the future as a puzzle that, with enough time, she could solve and save them all.

Charlus sat on Dorea’s other side. He would be her historian, Hermione figured. Always taking notes, organizing their conversations, Leticia’s theories, and the twins' suggestions. A calm presence, warm even. Hermione felt that while Dorea was the calming but guiding presence of the moon to the tides of war, Charlus was the warm embrace of the sun, heating the waters for change.

At first, the twins were comedic relief, but after a few days, she was surprised at their knowledge of fighting. They were Aurors, sure, but when the pair worked as one, they created a well-balanced general of sorts. It broke her heart when she thought about how the war would have turned out had they not been so ruthlessly slaughtered.

Despite this team and the respect they had built, dread sank into her gut at having to show them more of her time in the manor. Shame and guilt threatened to cause her lunch to make a return on the table. She knew she had been a fool, ignoring the weight that sat on her chest every moment of every day since her arrival. Did her assault at the hands of Greyback have more long-standing consequences than she was ready to face?

Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted when Leticia reached a hand out to her, placing it gently on her lap, stopping her from the continued butchering of her nail beds. She hadn’t even realized she was bleeding till she was interrupted.

“Come on back to us, dear,” Leticia whispered to her as she placed both of Hermione’s hands in hers, rubbing her palms softly with her thumbs, grounding Hermione. “Breath with me for a moment.” Hermione looked up at those grey-blue eyes and tried to mimic the motions of her chest. She hadn’t realized how stilted her breathing had gotten either.

Leticia noted that was Hermione’s first panic attack of the day. She could feel Dorea’s eyes boring into the back of her head, the two had been keeping track of them since she’d woken up. Cataloguing what set the young witch off.

Sometimes it was obvious things, like when the floo roared to life, Leticia knew Hermione’s shoulders would bunch, and her hands would freeze, always looking for her nonexistent wand. Other times, it was simpler things, once when the twins had returned from work, a bit dirty and disheveled from dueling practice, but no one was hurt, in high spirits actually. Leticia noticed that Hermione had frozen again, her eyes darting around the room, always looking for her exits.

They happened like clockwork every day, and Leticia had made it her goal to start working with the witch on them. They had promised her time to help end this war, but she knew they would never win, and Hermione would never forgive herself if she had a bout of fear and couldn’t help. Leticia needed to find a way to help her heal from her past and simultaneously carry out whatever missions faced them.

So, she continued working with her to try to ground her fear. The touch was okay if it was reserved for her hands. Leticia had pulled out many of her old mediwitch books to come up with ideas on how to help curb the anxiety that seemed to coat every inch of the girl. Like honey on a comb, Hermione’s anxiety seemed to seep into her bones, every action and word lacquered in fear.

It took longer than usual, but slowly, Hermione seemed to return to herself, the fog of her memories slipping back into the recess of her mind and her pupils no longer blown open. Leticia wondered who had taught her occlumency for it to seem so seamless on an 18-year-old witch.

Leticia gave Hermione’s hands one last squeeze before the younger witch nodded and let go, turning to look back at the rest of their companions.

“I would have to show you what happened in those last days in order to get it out, but yes, I can show you,” She said almost robotically, and Leticia couldn’t help but notice the range of emotions across the room. The wizards a mix of fear and uncomfortable grimaces, but Dorea and her knew that the torture at the hands of Bellatrix and her husband would be darker than the wizards could imagine.

Leticia had wondered for days what could have caused those marks on Hermione’s neck and face, and while she did not wish to see it, she debated if it was necessary to help the girl grieve. With the thought of how many secrets had to be weighing her down, Leticia spoke first.

“Hermione, you don’t have to be the keeper of all of this. I want to share that burden,” Leticia said.

Dorea joined with her support “Let us help you, Hermione. From one witch to another, let us face whatever it is that haunts you together.” Leticia smiled fondly at her niece, who was not much younger than her but so much closer to that Black blood that ran through their veins. Their air of confidence and support seemed to be enough for Hermione, who held out her hand for Leticia’s wand.

Leticia, happy to share it, watched as the girl pulled the memories from her mind and placed them in the silver bowl on the table. She gave them a watery smile and, with a shaky gasp, told them, “It’s more than just the vault. It’s just a bit of what happened, but enough to know.” she swallowed then, tilting her head upwards, like she was trying to stop the tears from escaping and rolling down her cheeks.

With a final whisper before the five of them entered the pensieve, Hermione told them in a scratchy voice, “to know what happened to me.”

When Leticia pulled herself from the pensieve, she couldn’t help the shattering of her own heart, especially since knowing what she bore witness to was just a few moments of the supposed weeks Hermione spent in Malfoy Manor.

It was devastating to watch abuse that had been forced upon the girl who had begun to worm her way into Leticia’svheart. Leticia had never carried many of the Black family traits like Dorea had, but seeing the depraved crimes played in front of her caused those tendencies to come to life.

She felt more than anger or rage. Leticia wanted vengeance for Hermione, and with a sickening thought, she also wanted it for all the witches who would face similar fates. Crimes of war were known to be ruthless and vile, but seeing them from the sidelines like they were at a magizoo spurred something dark in her.

She wanted to find every grimoire in the Prewett library and scour them for curses. She desired to look for ways to make those who would do these things pay for their crimes, even ones not yet committed, because having the capability of doing such things made her blood boil. But for now, she needed to focus on Hermione and her healing, she would not deprive her of her right to revenge.

“Thank you for showing us, Hermione,” she said in a tone she hoped was imbued with confidence, support, and, at the very core of it, love. Hermione nodded her understanding, and Leticia thought that maybe there was a glimmer of release in her eyes, that getting these memories out of her mind and into those little glass viles gave her hope, too.

Hermione continued to hold her stare when, with an eerily level of calm, she asked a question, more like she was reading from a textbook than talking about herself, the clinical nature of it, twisting the knife that was already embedded in Leticia’s heart for her.

“I am unsure of my state of infection. Could someone help confirm if I have lycanthropy?” Hermione asked, and Leticia heard the twins gasp as if they had not yet put together the reality of seeing that monster in those memories meant.

Dorea just looked to Leticia as if expecting her past mediwitch experience to provide an answer. Leticia had never tested anyone for lycanthropy before, but with a small smile, she spoke to Hermione, “There was nothing on the scans we did at your arrival, but I am happy to redo them. Do you feel any different?” She hedged.

“No, I don’t think so. He never bit me per se, but I don’t think this is something we can be hopeful about. We need to be sure.” Hermione supplied that clinical mask cracking just a bit.

“That is good to know, we are about three days out from a full moon. I’ll find a way to test, and then we can go from there?” Leticia supplied, and she thought she saw Hermione take a shuddering breath.

“That's fine; that gives me enough time to find alternative arrangements,” Hermione responded, and Leticia felt all the color drain from her face at the implication of their conversation.

She moved quickly, spinning in her seat to face her fully, cupping Hermione’s face in her hands, the tears from earlier finally breaking from her eyes “Oh no, sweet girl, you misunderstand. Whether you are or are not, you will stay here,” Leticia whispered as she kissed her forehead. This was the most contact she had had with the girl, but at that moment, she knew.

She knew Hermione needed to know how loved she was, not like a friend, or a fellow soldier, like a child and a daughter, hopefully a sister too. Leticia had been set already on calling Hermione her’s but seeing her so ready to take on this challenge alone, after everything she had done for them and their futures sealed it, she could never repay Hermione, but she could love her.

The dam broke at that, violent sobs tearing from the young witch’s throat. Gone was the Hermione who spoke about skirmishes of the past and dark magic like it was common table chatter. What was left was an 18-year-old girl who had been forced to grow up on a battlefield and needed to heal.

As her shoulders shook and she wailed till she could no longer form words, all that was left was incoherent whimpers Leticia rubbed her back and held her close. She had Gideon carry her to her bed before laying down with her, holding her as the nightmares took over, praying to every god she could think of that they would be enough to help her heal.

Hermione found herself in a strange state of melancholy as June rolled on. Her story had been told, and to her relief, she was not fully infected but after the first full moon, she realized her senses were sharper and her emotions harder to control.

After that fateful night in the kitchen when her truth had been laid bare and she awaited to be sent on her way in this new or rather old world, something had changed. She hadn’t overcome her struggles perse but grappled with balancing them and the fight that awaited them.

But before she could return to the ring, Leticia had convinced her that a few weeks of getting to know them all, healing, and growing some of her strength would be needed. Recently, Dorea and Leticia had taken it upon themselves to outfit her with everything she needed before she reentered society.

Leticia had been practically glowing when she informed Hermione that she would be a Prewett, and Gideon and Fabian had wasted no time teasing her like a sister or cousin. It was the first time she had truly laughed since her arrival in the past, it felt so pure and good in the moment, and she tried not to focus on the guilt that would accompany it later.

At the news, Fabian had immediately started telling her about what they had done to poor Molly growing up and that she should expect the same to happen to her.“One time, we put frogs in her bed,” He faux whispered to Gideon, who pretended to roll his eyes, but the smirk forming gave his true demeanor away.

“Or what about when we transfigured all her robes into Slytherin scarves?” Fabian supplied next, excitement brewing in his sapphire eyes.

“Oh, oh, oh, there was the time we stole her wand,” He practically shouted, and Hermione shivered at the idea that she was still wandless. She knew it was a precaution. She could be dangerous, playing the long game, constant vigilance, yes, but she missed the feel of it. She felt like half a witch without it. She made a note to bring it up later to test the waters of her new friends.

She thought it might be odd to embrace these friendships, but they felt so similar to her past life that she let herself indulge, or more likely, she was desperate to. The camaraderie and laughter of her little fake family took the edge off of the all-encompassing grief that would accompany thoughts of her previous one. Even her non-infected status felt bittersweet as if the lingering anxiety of it plagued her emotions.

She didn’t know if Ron or Harry had survived the snatchers. She wasn’t sure what was left of Luna or Ginny. Sometimes late at night, in her room, previously the sunroom they had transformed for her. She would look at the moon and stars and think of her friends, how Fred and George would have loved the older twins, or how Neville was coping with keeping everyone alive in the castle.

One night, she even thought about how Draco Malfoy wasn’t a friend but had tried to save her. She added him to her list of lives she would save if he came into existence. The list had started very small, really just as many as she could from the Order records in her bag, but as she remembered all her worn and tired peers in the 90s, she vowed she’d do what she could. She owed them that, while she was a part of this world, however long she had.

She needed her allies, and while it made her uncomfortable at times, she tried to embrace their help. Dorea had been set on setting up Hermione with the rest of her needs as a witch before the first order meeting. During the last week of June, thankfully, it had been a wand, and they had all debated for days about getting her into Ollivander’s for a new one without causing unwanted attention in Diagon.

Fabian finally looked over at her as if thinking about his comment from the week prior. He asked if she remembered the makeup of her original wand, the details of the vinewood that had previously been an extension of herself rolling off her tongue like it was second nature. By some miracle, Charlus showed up the next day with her exact one, a proud smile on his face, saying that Ollivander was an old friend and was happy to sell it to him.

She hadn’t been able to control her excitement when she ran across the room and hugged him, shocked even more when he hugged her back. She was so used to the light touches of Leticia that it took her by surprise to feel the comfort of someone cherishing her. She ignored the tightening of her throat, shoving the embarrassment of her response to his embrace into the occlumency box deep in the recesses of her mind.

Next, it had been clothes to help her blend in. The twins had been too excited to help in this regard, telling her all about muggle fashions, everything from bell-bottom jeans to mini skirts. Leticia had promised to supply her with a few sets of nicer robes since she had taken the role of her mother, and she was not prepared for the magnitude of them that would arrive in late June; every shade and fabric, every season accounted for.

It made her muggle-born heart break a bit, she had never owned robes outside of her Hogwarts ones. She had once dreamed of moving through the Ministry in a pair of real witch’s robes, something her own mother would never understand.

Leticia must have because the day after they appeared, she asked Hermione to show her some. For a few brief moments since her arrival, Hermione forgot that she was a former prisoner of war; instead, she was an 18-year-old girl in silk organza and cashmere wool. She was no stranger to nicer things in life as the daughter of two dentists, but it didn’t stop her from being blown away by Leticia’s generosity.

Molly had morphed into almost an older sister to her over the month. She reminded her slightly Tonks at this age, sharp and witty, with a bit of a mouth on her. Being the elder sister of Fabian and Gideon, it only made sense that she needed her own wild streak and defense against their charms and tricks.

If anything, in the beginning, Hermione had struggled to reconcile this Molly with the Mrs. Weasley, who had scolded them via howlers and couldn’t tell Fred and George apart. She tried her best to embrace it, or rather ignore the ache in her chest when she remembered meals in the Burrow and Christmas sweaters, maybe this Molly would still learn to knit. It had taken her the longest, but when Molly did start to make her way into Hermione’s heart, she feared she would never be able to live without her.

One day, when she returned from a trip to the Burrow for baby therapy, as Molly called it, she was surprised to see a package on her bed. She wasn’t sure who bought them, Leticia if she had to guess, but in front of her was a suspiciously expensive bag of underpinnings. The older witch had just smiled brightly when Hermione found her way to the dining room. Leticia was waiting for her with a mischievous smile before promising her there would be plenty of eligible wizards at the Order meeting later the first week of July.

With that statement, Hermione's happy little bubble came crashing down. She would be attending the meeting as a surprise for everyone else in attendance. Dorea had concocted a plan, and she was a vital piece of it. What stung more was that Molly wouldn’t be able to go. She would need to stay back with the boys, sending Arthur in her place. Neither would Leticia, who said she was past her prime for fighting and that her skills would serve the light elsewhere. At least Fabian and Gideon would be her escort, and there would be some friendly faces with Dorea and Charlus and even a young Arthur who she had only met twice.

They had debated telling a few others, Hermione had pleaded actually, but Dorea was adamant that the element of surprise was vital here. Hermione could tell she had a plan as soon she told Dorea about Peter and the Horcruxes. She had obviously been plotting, Dorea’s mind moving like chess. However, it was so different from the checkers' game of war Hermione had experienced previously that she had to stop herself from fighting with the older witch and try to trust her.

Dorea, almost the polar opposite of her pseudo guardians from the 90s, was always adamant about her safety and health, speaking hopefully about her son's future. It struck Hermione how strange it was to see a group of people so protective of her and the rest of her former friends.

She was so used to being gently nudged towards war by schemes and strategies that she felt a sense of safety at the words of outrage when she told them her experiences. With a pang of longing, Hermione realized that Helen and Richard Granger would have been more like Leticia and The Potters had they known what their daughter was facing; thus, she continued to embrace their leadership and fall into some semblance of comfort in this new pseudo-life.

Dorea had promised, though, that surprises were the best option here, that it would give people less time to doubt her or if someone was a spy to tell Voldemort. But she had been adamant that they needed to keep the secret of Horcruxes close to their chests.

Hermione had pressed on that point; she was insistent that Dumbledore had been integral in defeating them last time, but Dorea just said she had a theory and didn’t want to be right. They would tell those who needed to know, and despite her very nature screaming for Hermione to push and question, she decided to let these real adults play war heroes and let herself be just a researcher for once in her teenage life.

When the day finally came to visit The Order, Molly came to help her prepare. Hermione let Molly primp and dress her, thinking about how much the witch would have loved planning her wedding to a Weasley boy one day. That melancholy of sadness seeped back in at the thought like a wet blanket over the facade of happiness she was dabbling in.

Molly must have sensed her change in demeanor because she grabbed hold of Hermione's hands and smiled up at her, her round cheeks growing rosy as she spoke, “Don’t be afraid, Mione, it won’t be easy, but I’ll be here when you get back. And just think, maybe this is your chance for a do-over. Those memories you showed up didn’t seem to be very happy. Maybe you can be happy when this war is over soon.” Her little monologue wrapped up, just as her tutting over Hermione’s hair did.

“There were good moments in there; I showed them to you,” Hermione said with a wet laugh, her tears threatening to spill over thinking of the Burrow Christmas scene she had just shown Molly the night before.

“Yes, but not enough. I promise these meetings can actually be a bit of fun! Gid and Fab are always bothering new witches. A bit like a young singles night?” Molly laughed, and Hermione saw an unmistakable flare of Ginny in her. Only the Prewett/Weasley women would use a war meeting to find a love match.

Hermione laughed with her, the familiar ache for her old friends starting to feel like a new normal, the burn of longing for them dulling a fraction each time she faced those reminders. “Molly, are you already trying to marry me off? You’ve tried that once before,” She teased, testing a joke about her bizarre situation. Molly turned bright red at the joke's inclusion of her young children, her eyes widening comically wide before collapsing into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, Mione, keep it up, and you might just get more attention than you are looking for tonight. Heard some jokesters were joining tonight too, a new Hogwarts class and all that.” Molly laughed, and Hermione tried to settle herself at the idea. She had been trying to prepare to see them the most.

The idea of looking at her best friend's father and mother sent a chill down her spine. Everyone had always said that Harry looked like his father, and while she saw Harry often in her dreams, she was unsure if she was ready to see his spitting image in real life.

She did her best to embrace her fear, which Leticia had suggested the day before. That fear was like a monster that lives in your chest. The more you ignore it, the more it howls and begs for attention. But if you look the monster dead in the eye and face your fears, you can become its master.

Hermione wasn’t sure if that was entirely true, but she had to do something; she knew if she occluded much more, there could be long-term effects. She had to face this fear, she figured, and doing it now had the potential to save so many lives. With that thought in mind, she adjusted the sleeves on one of Harry’s old Christmas jumpers that she had found deep in her bag.

She knew it was too hot to wear it, but she couldn’t ignore how the smell and the memories of the three of them together calmed her to face the beast. It also hid the scar that was still red and swollen on her arm; no amount of magic seemed to heal it.

With one final look at herself in the mirror, no longer a ghost of her former self but still not full, she squared her shoulders and promised that she could make it to the end of the meeting tonight at least and that tomorrow they could start on the next phase of Dorea’s plan.

Thankfully, she didn’t have much time to think about what was happening because Fabian and Gideon soon ushered her out of Molly’s sights and towards the floo. Before Fabien went through first, he looked back at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, Mione, we won’t let anything happen to you tonight.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and a wink before disappearing into the flames.

So easily had the twins fallen into the same brotherly role that their nephews had served for her caused her to relax. It gave her the last bit of courage she needed to face the ghosts of her past as she grabbed the floo powder, one last question that kept rattling around in her mind. That was what Remus or Sirius, the two from this time that knew she the best, be like without two wars or imprisonment under their belts.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t known what to expect when he received the small parchment just days after graduating. It hadn’t said much at all, just that he was invited to a meeting of like minds on July 10th. At first, Remus had to stop himself from scoffing at the message, like minds? Did they also have rabid fucking monsters growling into their consciousness all the time? Doubtful, but when, one by one, his friends shared that they had also received similar notes, he decided it was worth the risk.

It didn’t take them long to deduce what they were attending; they could read the Prophet and hear the whispers. Muggles were being murdered every week at the hands of some lunatic who called himself a lord. Remus had seen the signs at Hogwarts, and Sirius had told him enough about his repulsive family for Remus to get it.

They were being invited to fight, and with no other prospects on his horizon, this one seemed good enough. What else was a werewolf good for, if not for fighting? Better use for his more baser instincts than clawing at himself.

It was no surprise that James was giddy with excitement when the day finally rolled around. Remus tried, he really did, desperately not to roll his eyes at James’ nonstop chatter about the group. Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Potter were members, and that surprised Remus even less.

The Potters were the definition of good in his eyes. Of course, they would be fighting against evil and dark magic. He just hoped there would be something halfway decent to eat at this thing, and if he was lucky, they could hit the pub afterward.

When he caught Sirius smirking up at him before they entered the floo, a mischievous look playing on his features, Remus did his best to hide his own smile by kissing that look right off his face. With a little more force than he had originally intended, Remus used the rough kiss as a warning. He knew Sirius was just as excited as James, and while he didn’t want to crush his spirit, he also didn’t need the wizard running off and playing hero on him and getting himself hurt their first month out of Hogwarts. Remus had plans for Sirius, and they did not involve either of them playing nursemaid.

With a nip at his bottom lip, Remus placed his thumb under Sirius’s chin, tilting his head up as he finished kissing him. Sirius wasn’t much shorter, but Remus loved the little glazed look Sirius got in his eyes when he bossed him around. Remus smiled back down at him before whispering against Sirius’s lips, “Don’t go looking for trouble tonight, alright?” Remus loved seeing his cheeks turn pink despite his eyes sharpening.

“I never look for trouble, Moons. It finds me,” Sirius said teasingly before spinning away from Remus and dragging him towards the floo. Remus just scoffed back at him, slipping his hand around Sirius’s waist and tucking him into his side, knowing that Sirius had made it his life's purpose to find trouble. Remus then watched Sirius throw the floo powder, and green flames took over before spitting them out into a shabby-looking and sparsely decorated living room.

As they entered the room, Remus was immediately overwhelmed by the amount of people shoved into the small space. He recognized some; for example, Professor McGonnigal was in a corner speaking with Madam Pomfrey with matching terse looks. In another corner were who he assumed were Aurors based on the presence of Kingsley Shacklebolt and the newly married Longbottoms. All three were fellow Hogwarts graduates a few years older than him. They appeared to be getting scolded by an even older Wizard, a bit decrepit looking if you asked Remus.

Not far were his own friends, Sirius already dragging him across the room by the belt loops of his muggle jeans. Marlene and Lily laughing brightly about something, Dorcas offering him a subtle nod of her head in greeting before turning back to whatever animated conversation the two other witches were having. James, of course, was in high spirits, giving Peter a joking punch to his shoulder.

Seeing his friends so eager for what their evening held made Remus relax just a bit. The normalcy of seeing them all together, even if it had only been days since graduation, made Moony calm, and the wolf relaxed at the sight of his pack.

Their casual chatter was interrupted when Professor Dumbledore moved to the center of the room. His subtle cough was enough to quiet all those present and turn to look “I believe all our new friends are here, correct Alastor?” Remus watched as the older wizard he had seen earlier nodded and scoffed his agreement.

Remus had not been expecting Mrs. Potter to step forward, though. Sirius leaned to whisper, “That’s my cousin Andy and her husband next to Mum and Dad,” He said, his lips just barely brushing over Remus’s ear. He loved Sirius, he did, but the wizard could be such a fucking menace. He knew exactly what he was doing, but whatever his plans were, never saw their way to completion because, with practiced grace and a voice that brokered no argument, Mrs. Potter addressed Professor Dumbledore.

“I believe my guest and the Prewett twins are missing Albus, or did you not get my message?” She said, and Remus felt Sirius stiffen against him. The friendly and warm witch he loved spending summers in the library with was replaced with something else. Remus wondered if this was the kind of aura all members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black carried themselves with, besides Sirius most of the time.

“Ah yes, Dorea, I did. I trust they are on their way?” Professor Dumbledore asked, and Remus couldn’t help but notice that the normally jovial, playful wizard seemed to match Mrs. Potter’s boldness.

As if timed by Merlin himself, Remus thought you could hear a pin drop as a witch walked into the room, her curls coming through the floo before she did, flanked between the Prewett twins. Remus had never seen her before; she certainly hadn’t been at Hogwarts with them, and when he smelled her, he felt his hackles rising. Sirius also seemed to be watching the interaction closely, noticing how the room's disposition shifted to something colder. It appeared no one knew her except for Mrs. Potter and the twins.

“Moony everything okay?” Sirius asked, his thumb caressing the back of Remus’s hand, trying to calm him. It was futile, the smell of this new witch permeating every inch of the room stronger than any he had ever encountered before. Some of it was calming, maybe even intoxicating if he focused on it, the smell of parchment and fresh cut flowers, but there was something else Remus recognized that made the wolf in him feel unsettled. And then, at the tail end of her scent, he smelled of the acidic burn of dark magic.

It wasn’t overpowering, she hadn’t cast it in a while, It would seem. But she had at some point all the same. He leaned in close to whisper back in Sirius’s ear, barely getting the words “dark magic” out before Dumbledore interrupted, “What great timing, Dorea. Shall we find seats and begin?”

Gone were the previous conversations and excitement that filled the room, now replaced with uncertainty, all eyes trained on Mrs. Potter as she nodded her head and walked into an adjoining room. All the while smiling at the recent arrivals and motioning for them to follow.

Remus looked over at James for some kind of hint of who she was, but James looked even more confused than he felt. He shrugged his shoulder as he pushed back his unruly black hair before following his mother’s lead. Remus followed James’s path, anxious to learn more about who she was.

Remus watched as Gideon and Fabian positioned the unknown witch between them at a very large table, angling their bodies around her, while Dorea and Charlus moved to be in her eyesight, too. Interestingly, none of them had brought the burn of dark magic with them, just her. Remus instinctively mimicked the subtle stance, angling his chair slightly in front of Sirius; he hadn’t even noticed till he saw her watching the action.

As he observed her, he realized he had been so distracted by her smell and the commotion between Professor Dumbledore and Mrs. Potter that he hadn’t noticed her taking in every detail of the room, her eyes scanning in rhythmic motions, and the action unnerved him. Was she planning on reporting back on this lowly cottage? Dumbledore could easily find a new one, and he assumed this couldn’t be the only order meeting place.

He continued watching her as she played with the small necklace around her neck, one of the twins leaning over to whisper something to her, a subtle smile brightening her face despite not reaching her eyes, and as she turned her head to respond, he saw them.

There were four claw marks on her neck right below her ear; the scarring was obviously magical, and Remus only knew of one type of monster that could leave those scars. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the idea of another werewolf in the room. Few people knew the beast he was, and if they did, they’d probably assume he had maimed her.

He could have for all he knew; His friends were always adamant that he’d never hurt anyone, but looking at the potential proof in front of him made him nauseous. His fears were quickly diminished when it appeared Alastor, as Dumbledore called him, was done waiting for her introduction. Holding his wand towards her exposed neck, he shouted, “You a dark creature, girl? Who are you, and why are you here? Where’d ya get those marks?”

It was a strange series of events. Alastor was up, wand raised, words barreling out of him, and before he even finished, the Prewetts had their wands trained on him, and Remus could see the Potters in their own defensive stance against the codger.

The witch took a deep breath, and Remus could see her chest rattling beneath her clothes. The more he studied, the more he saw. Her body was swimming in an oversized jumper, and beneath the gaping neckline, her clavicle protruding so sharply he wondered if hurt. He couldn’t understand the rumbling agitation Moony at her almost skeletal state.

He watched her swallow, her skin appearing nearly translucent as her throat worked before she spoke, “No, I’m not a dark creature. There are no dark creatures in this room, actually.” Remus felt his breath catch at her statement, Sirius’s hand squeezing his before she continued, “My name is Hermione Prewett, and those marks are from Fenrir Greyback; I have matching ones on my thighs if you want to inspect those, too. Will you be asking to see everyone’s scars tonight? Or just mine?”

Sirius guffawed next to him, leaning over to James. murmur. “Quite a mouth on that one.”

She wasn’t sure where the venom inside her came from, but if she had to guess, it had been building for a while, even before Malfoy Manor. War had been taking over her whole personality for years, and now looking at someone who had not cared enough to keep her safe in the future, like Potters just a few chairs down would do, made her irate.

She knew this conversation would be hard, but she’d damned if mad-eye fucking Moody, who to her surprise had both of his eyes still, would be accusing her of being evil in front of an actual werewolf, one who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Looking around the room, the rest of the order, sizing her up, she realized she needed to take Molly’s words to heart. She needed to find something new here, and she needed to find it fast. If she was going to win this war, she would need to do her best to impersonate Ginny, Fleur, Tonks, Dorea, Leticia, and her mother, Helen.

She’d need the confidence to survive and the wit to keep her sane. If Alastor wanted to be her first victim, then so be it. Molly had sealed this change in her when she reminded her she had a chance for new earlier, and Hermione was determined to take it.

Hermione kept her gaze trained on him, waiting for his next idiotic statement, but it never came to, bright laughter breaking through the tension at the end of the table. A blonde witch cackled before wheezing out, “Oh, Alastor, you fucking twat couldn’t get into a witch’s skirt if your life depended on it.”

Hermione smiled at the unknown witch, and Dorea leaned behind Fabian’s back and whispered to her, “Marlene McKinnon.” With Alastor slightly subdued or at least outnumbered, Dumbledore began talking.

“If that is enough, Alastor, Dorea has invited her, and I would like to hear her story. I believe it will be quite interesting,” Dumbledore stated, and Hermione tried her best to focus.

She watched as Dorea smiled up at Dumbledore from her seat. Most would stand and face off against a wizard of his caliber when they challenged him, but Dorea stayed seated. Like a queen holding court, a saccharine smile on her face.

“This is Hermione Prewett, a niece of mine. She has valuable information for us.” Dorea curtly supplied.

“Interesting. I was wondering if my suspicions were correct,” Dumbledore tutted before turning to face Hermione, and she tried her best not to squirm under his stare as he continued. “You see, friends, there was a change to the Hogwarts record books upon her arrival a few weeks ago. A Miss Hermione Jean Prewett-”

The way he stressed the syllables of her last name gave her pause, and she thought she heard Gideon cough uncomfortably. “New muggle-born students appear in the records every day though, never has one appeared with 11 owls, no newts. Very impressive but confusing, you see?”

She heard someone whistle in the background, and Fabian grunted beside her. “11 owls, really? Swot,” She was unsure how to respond. Luckily, Dorea chose to address her former Headmaster.

“Ah, I wondered if those updated automatically, Albus. Have you been looking for her?” The words were sharp and pointed, and she deduced that Dorea was not surprised more disappointed by Albus’s decision to hide Hermione’s existence from the Order.

Dorea did not wait for Dumbledore to respond before turning to Hermione, giving her a small nod, and passing the floor to her as if she owned the room like a royal court. She felt Fabian put his arm on the back of the chair in silent support.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, ignoring the gasps as more saw her scars. Turning back to face her former headmaster, not even looking in the Marauders’ direction, she was too afraid to see their reactions to the story she was about to weave for them.

“Thank you, Dorea.” she heard who she assumed was James stutter at her use of his mother’s name before she continued, “My name is Hermione Prewett, and on May 16th, 1978, I landed inside the wards of Fabian and Gideon’s home via apparition by a house elf, named Dobby. In the hours prior to my arrival on May 16th, 1998,” she heard murmurs start to break out across the room. “I was tortured for hours at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, both Lestrange brothers, Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Fenrir Greyback,”

She paused before she said the last name, knowing he was in the room with her “and Peter Pettigrew. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” The room exploded immediately, Wands pointed, chairs being thrown back, the Marauders screamed, and shouts rang out from many.

One of the twins quickly grabbed her arm and pushed her behind them. She couldn’t see what was happening, only heard the noise increasing and accusations flying toward her. Finally, Charlus stood and, with a quick Sonorus exclaimed. “Quiet and sit down,” silencing them all on instinct, before he smiled at her and said, “Well done, Hermione, perfect delivery, just as we practiced.”

“You believe this girl!” She heard James shout, and she felt momentarily bad at how they had gone about this, but Dorea had been adamant that if Peter had already turned, they needed to catch him by surprise. The McKinnons and Boneses were set to be murdered by the end of the summer, and they needed to act quickly.

“Why does she smell like dark magic?” Remus growled, his voice eerily familiar, causing goosebumps to break out across her skin. Hermione tried and failed not to flinch. Gideon caught the action and gave her a sad smile, motioning for her to move out from behind them and lowering their wands; everyone seemed to follow their lead, slowly getting back in the chairs, but no one relaxed. Dumbledore looked at her as if waiting for her to continue and answer the questions.

“I think it would be better if I show you why, Remus.” she watched him balk at the use of his name, and she tried to give them all, even Peter, a kind smile. She had spent the whole evening before begging the gods who had saved her from Malfoy Manor for him to not yet be corrupted.

“Before she shows anyone anything, I wanna see Pettigrew’s arm. He already knows too much in my fucking opinion,” Fabian snapped.

“Fuck that, Prewett. You can take your child bride and fuck off with your crazy story. I can see the glamour on her arm, too,” Sirius shouted, and Dorea cut him a cold glare before she responded.

“Sirius Black, you will see Hermione’s arm when you see her memories.” Dorea spat at him, disappointment dripping from her words. Hermione felt cold dread build in her as Sirius’s features shuttered at the tone before turning a menacing glare in her direction.

She watched as Dorea morphed back into her loving, motherly nature when she faced the lone blonde boy, pleading with him as she spoke, “Peter, sweet boy, show us your arm; please prove me wrong.”

Hermione watched as he looked around the room, frightened and shivering in his seat. He didn’t look how she remembered him; no longer was he half feral. Here he was, a soft-eyed, round-faced boy with ruddy cheeks and wide eyes. Some might even call Peter Pettigrew handsome if not for the fear coating his features.

Still, when he opened his mouth, she was reminded of the man who would wrong everyone in the room.“I don’t have to fucking do anything, Mrs. Potter,” He said, and at that, Sirius paused, glaring at her to turn and look at him closer.

“Oi, don’t speak to her like that, Pete. Show me your arm and prove this crazy cunt false,” Sirius joked, but the tension was obvious.

Fabian leveled Sirius with his own menacing sneer as he addressed him. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that, Black. For all we know, you could be a traitor too. Runs in your blood, doesn’t it?” Hermione placed a calming touch on his forearm before shaking her head. Fabian slinked back into his seat, refusing to take his eyes off Sirius.

But Peter didn’t move, he just continued to stare at her, so much hate in his eyes she thought she might falter.

“Peter, do it.” She watched James turn away from his mother to look at his friend. When Peter still did not move, it was Remus who stood up silently and marched over to him.

Grabbing his wrist, pulling his arm and, subsequently, his entire body onto the table in front of them with a thud. Next, Remus wrenched his shirt sleeve up and gasps filled the room, some even getting up to walk away. The sound of retching was coming from the other room because right here, in Order headquarters, was the dark mark.

Hermione watched as chaos took over the room again. Grateful for the attention to be off her for a moment, she let the buzz of the noise fill her thoughts. Her mind clearing as she tried to calm herself. Soon, Gideon and Fabian were forced to leave her side as the two most senior Aurors present, outside Moody, to detain Peter.

She was digging around in her bag as a distraction when she noticed someone sitting in the chair beside her. She turned to see Marlene, the blonde witch from earlier, smiling at her. Marlene was someone she knew little about, rarely mentioned by Sirius or Remus in the future, but now, in front of her, she couldn’t imagine why.

Marlene McKinnon radiated cool from her oversized band tee and her hair cut into some kind of shaggy mullet, confidence seemed to be rolling off her. Hermione's awe of her was only solidified when she opened her red lips and started talking. “So, the future huh? That’s bloody cool! Kinda like a seer, you know? More badass if you ask me.” Marlene continued like that, just talking at her till another witch approached.

If Hermione thought Marlene was the epitome of cool, this witch was the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Long braids flowed off her shoulders, her high cheekbones were set next to sharp brown eyes, and her dark skin seemed to glow in the candlelight. Hermione felt herself swallowing just looking at them. Their presence was almost overwhelming in combination with the action of the past hour.

“Oh Cas! Hermione, this is my girlfriend Dorcas! We both thought that was fucking wicked. Cas’s friend Dora is a seer, but this is cooler if you ask me.” Hermione felt her heart rate relax at the words. She’d been so nervous that the plan they had concocted would backfire. The idea of outing someone so close to everyone was a risk to her credibility, but the look on Marlene and Dorcas’s faces said the opposite.

“Nice to meet your Hermione. And like Marls said fuck Peter. Honestly, not surprised he’s a fucking rat” Hermione found herself just nodding along, listening to the two talk about her, not really to her, but that was fine. Anything to act as a buffer between her and the Marauders, whose accusatory gazes were hot enough to burn.

Marlene seemed to notice Hermione’s distraction, following her line of vision and glaring at the three boys before turning back. “They’ll get over it. Don’t worry about them. A bunch of Hufflepuffs acting loyal to a traitor. Oh, you should meet Lils! LILY!”

Hermione watched as a red-headed witch who had been arguing with another couple in the corner smiled uncomfortably and walked over. Hermione braced herself. She knew this would be hard, but when Lily Evans' big green eyes turned to look at her, she felt herself freeze.

Harry. Those were Harry’s eyes. Everyone had been right.

Lily seemed to notice Hermione's strange staring and smiled softly at her. Her red hair had a glow, and while she had freckles like Molly, Lily had this sort of soft tan to her, making her feckless seem radiant like she’d been on the beach all day. Hermione wasn’t sure what was in the water in the 1970s, but if she saw any more perfect, beautiful witches, she might start praying someone would hex her.

Carefully Lily pulled up a chair beside them. “Hi, I’m Lily, but you know that, don’t you?” She laughed, and Hermione coughed, trying to find the words.

“I know of you, yes. Sorry, that’s probably so weird. I know of most of you. A few I’ve met but not most.” as soon as the clumsy words were out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. Lily put it together first, her lips pursing, and then finally, Marlene’s jaw dropped.

“Are you going to tell us how we die?” She asked, a strange awe in her voice that Hermione wasn’t expecting. Truthfully, nothing could have expected her for the hurricane that was Marlene. She seemed so uncaring about the bombs of information Hermione had dropped on everyone, instead treating Hermione like a shiny new toy.

“Oh, Mary is going to be so pissed she wasn’t here to see this” Lily laughed, and Hermione just nodded again, unsure how to process this bizarre interaction.

“I believe Hermione has a lot to share tonight. You three can come back after she gets the details out,” Dorea said from behind her, and the three witches sat a little straighter in her presence and then moved quickly to get back in their seats, but not before Marlene gave her a quick hug and kiss on her cheek. Hermione was a little shell-shocked from the over-the-top affection,

Fabian and Gideon returned to her side, and with a smirk, Fabian whispered, not very quietly, “Were you going to tell your favorite brother uncles that you liked witches or just let us scare off all the little boys tonight?” Hermione felt her cheeks heat, and her ears burned at his statement, but she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t look at her when he said it, instead staring at the Marauders, the threat clear despite his playful tone.

She gave him a jab with her elbow, turned to Fabian, and replied, “You still need to scare off wizards, too.” Fabian laughed, and Gideon ruffled her hair, the lightness of the witches and now the twins joking helping settle her shaking nerves to continue.

When she turned, she saw Dumbledore looking down at her, his signature twinkle in his eye, only now it made her nervous. Dorea obviously didn’t trust him. While Hermione had originally doubted her plans, seeing the two challenge each other tonight had planted seeds of doubt in her mind. Never looking away from her, Dumbledore addressed the room.

“I believe Ms. Prewett has proven herself honest and trustworthy for now,” He started, and she heard Alastor mutter in the background. “We will deal with Mr. Pettigrew, please continue with your story.” He sat down with a flourish, looking at her expectantly.

She cleared her throat before smiling at him, trying her best not to let her fear take over. “I think it would be easiest to show some of my memories and talk through some documents.” Dumbledore nodded his understanding.

“Do you need a pensieve? I'm not sure all 30 of us will fit.” he laughed like she was a child, condescending at her assumption to show everyone these memories.

“I know, sir. I’ve been working on a spell. I can project the one I have if we all move to one side of the room.” He simply raised an eyebrow at her, and she watched as all those present scrambled to move their chairs, leaving just her on one side of the table.

Hermione pulled the large silver bowl from her bag, trying to ignore all their stares, particularly Dumbledore’s, as he tipped his head to the side at the familiarity of his pensieve. Once she had everything she needed, she looked over and saw Dorea give her a subtle nod, encouraging her to continue.

“This first memory is from my third year, I think it’s best to play it and then explain.”

Hermione moved towards the large silver bowl on the table. Slowly, with practiced precision from the past month of pulling memories, she dropped the silvery threats in the water. With a deep breath, she moved her wand in a circular motion, whispering, “Memoriam Ostende.”

As her spell concluded, the wall lit up behind her. A scene from inside the shrieking shack playing before them.

“You sold Lily and James Potter to Voldemort!” Remus is screaming, and she can hear someone whisper, “holy Merlin, that’s you, Moony,” and then Marlene clear as day, “You marry him?” She shrieks.

The scene continues as Sirius enters, “I would have rather died than betray my friends! Died,” Marlene is quick again. “Gods, Sirius, you look like shit,” he grumbles before the memory ends with Peter scampering away. Hermione turns back around and finally looks over to the three remaining Marauders.

“Voldemort in my time was defeated by Lily Potter through familial magic. Peter would have eventually turned on Lily and James on October 31, 1981.” She watches as a look of confusion and even excitement crosses James’s face as he looks over at Lily, and she tries her best not to imagine Harry staring at Ginny across the quidditch pitch.

“He would have framed Sirius, killing 13 muggles in the process, and Sirius will spend 12 years in Azkaban while Peter and other death eaters work to bring Voldemort back.” Sirius’s confusion is almost palpable as he tries to process the information.

“Harry Potter, the boy with the glasses, grows up without his parents. He was my best friend, and he was really like a brother. I want to save him.” She’s sure she sounds like she's begging, but she can’t help it. Everything has always been about Harry, and she’s desperate now that she has another chance.

“By the time Harry, Ron, and I fought in this same war, Professor McGonnogal, The Tonks, Remus, Alastor, Sirius, and Kingsley were the only people left alive in this room; everyone else was dead or gone. I’d like to change that too.”

Hermione slowly pulls another memory; this time, they are in the Department of Mysteries. The battle rages over the prophecy, and she shows herself getting hit by Dolohov’s purple curse, and then the memory cuts out.

“That’s a curse that doesn’t exist yet; it sets fire to your blood and eats you alive from the inside.” She turns her body, slowly pulling her sweater up just enough to expose the purple scarring that still covers the side of her. Subtle gasps ring throughout the room as she shows the mottled skin. “I want to prevent people from being hit with curses that will one day be worse than unforgiveables.”

“Fuck that’s brutal,” Marlene says, and Hermione swears she hears Madame Pomfrey hiss at the callous statement. She nods her agreement with Marlene’s statement and braces to continue, knowing she is not yet done sharing such macabre news.

“It is. What’s also brutal is that Bellatrix pushes Sirius through the veil after I’m passed out on the floor from that hit. That brings me to my next point: I have a list or, I guess, a death register. I’m not sure how much will change with Peter being detained, but I have all the deaths that are set to happen between now and 1996.” Hermione finally sits back down, pulling the lists out of her bag and passing them around the room, waiting for them to read through them.

“How do you know all of this?” Alastor asks her, and she just smiles at his now much calmer but still distrustful tone

“I know all of this because I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix have been since I was 15.” She watches as Dumbledore and Alastor look at each other across the room.

“What role did a 15-year-old student have with the Order?” Dumbledore asked slowly, and Hermione tried not to tense.

“Ronald Weasley and I were tasked with moving Harry Potter, in secrecy across the country for his protection. Voldemort had a special interest in him since Lily had killed him the first time around.” The lie rolls off her tongue easily, Leticia having carefully crafted a believable story for her.

“Really, a girl like you? Where was I? Or Kings? And that still doesn’t answer why you smell like dark magic?” Alastor is bristling again, and Hermione doesn’t blame him; she’s sure she reeks of dark magic, from the Horcrux that still plagues her nightmares to the barely closed wound on her arm. She wonders if she’ll ever rid her core of dark magic.

Maybe it’s that darkness lurking below the surface, that causes her to snap at the old Auror again. But she can’t control it as she turns to face him head-on. “I’m not sure, probably because you told me to do anything I could to save Harry?” She scoffs before continuing, venom seeping into her words “Or that Kingsley was our only agent at the ministry, which Death Eaters had taken over? And for the last bloody time, I am not a dark witch and don’t practice dark magic.”

She doesn’t even realize she is yelling at that point when she adds “None of this has been my choice. Men like you put me in this situation, and -” She can feel her magic sparking on the ends of her hair and skittering across her skin when Dorea interrupts her.

“Why don’t you show them, Hermione? Show them the whole thing so you don’t have to do it again,” Dorea suggests, and Hermione wipes away a stray tear before continuing.

“I apologize in advance. This is graphic but will also explain how I got here.” Is all she says before she pulls the memory, so trauma-filled that it feels like her mind tugs back instead of releasing it to her wand.

The wall lights up again. Only this time, a red light is hurtling towards her with Bellatrix's broken French accent screaming crucio in the background. She can’t even look at the wall, but she hates seeing the pity and horror on everyone’s faces, leaving her to stare at her shaking hands.

“I think you are starting to like all of this pain, my little mudblood whore?” She screams again before smacking Hermione across her face. She hears a collective gasp and tenses for what she knows is coming.

Everyone watches as Bellatrix leans over her, the knife between her teeth. She sees Sirius turn to look at her in her peripheral asking, “It’s cursed, isn’t it?” She nods yes and watches as he leans back, his expression defeated as Bellatrix carves the word into her arm.

Lily Evans leaves the room before the last letter is finished, and Hermione feels her shoulders start to rattle at the thought of this moment being played for strangers. The memory fades and blurs a bit, fast-forwarding like a muggle VCR, saving them from grotesque redundancy.

Everyone seems to take a collective breath of calm as Bellatrix climbs off her, but she can hear Remus’s sharp intake when Greyback comes into view. Her shoulders are trembling at full force now as the rest of her torture and assault plays out. Fabian quickly grabs and pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back as she listens to her pleas for help at Greyback’s claws.

Thankfully, Dobby's escape is soon, and it wraps up the memory, she feels Fabian give her a gentle kiss on the top of her head before putting her back in her seat.

“When Draco, the blonde man you just saw, shoved my purse into my chest, he broke the time turner I was wearing. I believe the impact of that and the dying house elf magic sent me back in time versus just sending me to an Order safe house. Are there any other questions? I’m not sure I can do this much longer,” she whispers, more of a whimper than anything else. Gone is the leader she had been pretending to be; all that is left is a broken girl torn open on display for strangers.

“No, Miss Prewett. This has been enlightening. I will call upon you as needed. You have saved many lives today,” Dumbledore says before the twins stand and cart her off towards the floo. The whole thing starts to feel like a blur. Faces are running together, and she desperately wants to be in her little sunroom at Shell Cottage.

She feels a numbness settling in as she grabs the floo powder, and just before she throws it, she finds Remus looking at her with Sirius’s hand in his. Both of their eyes filled with pity, and like a mad woman, she can't help it. She just laughs at the insanity of the whole thing.

It’s a painful coughing laugh at the sick situation. She remembers once they were the broken ones in her and Harry’s lives, and now she’s the broken one in theirs. Time really is a cruel game.

Chapter Text

“It's cursed, isn't it?” he wasn't sure why he even asked the question. He already knew the answer and could have confirmed it from the look of horror on Andy's face across the room. It was most definitely cursed and belonged to his blood, the Black family crest engraved on its glinting handle as a demented-looking Bellatrix held it between her teeth. The sight of her mania, or rather future mania, made him shiver, leaning closer to Remus, desperate for his warmth.

The throb of his knuckles from his attempt to get at Peter earlier and the weight of Remus’s hand against the sore skin was just barely helping to ground the emotions that warred within him. Gritting out that question had taken more control than he knew he was capable of at that moment, but still, he had felt the pull to ask her, to confirm so many of his fears.

He may have still wanted to throttle Fabian Prewett, but the red-headed git was right. Sirius was the most likely to be a traitor in the room, and his cousin’s rabid behavior on display before them was just more evidence of it. Hermione’s sad little nod in response to his question didn’t help; she could barely look at him, and he deserved it.

Even Dorea had yelled at him. Her disappointment in him felt like being doused in a bucket of cold water. He’d been so upset, a wizard possessed with outrage at the ridiculous claims of this Hermione had towards one of his best friends, and then she’d pushed him to lash out with her story. Spinning it with so much detail and confidence, how could someone fight the truth of it? He didn’t have any other option but to lash out, Pete was like his brother, or he had been, till she proved him wrong.

The shame of whatever damage he’d done in this room with just a few words and the sight of that repulsive tattoo was enough for him to close himself off. He just needed to get through the rest of this meeting and get home. He wasn’t a disgrace or one drink away from being as mad as his family in their little flat, he was just him, and Remus was just Remus. He didn’t have to face the idea that he could be a traitor there, quite frankly Remus wouldn’t let him.

The fact that it had been Pete was, Gods, a potion he couldn’t even choke down. The gnawing confusion of what Peter had done made his head spin. His only goal at this moment was to make it through this meeting and get the fuck home, he just kept repeating that over and over in his head as more of Bellatrix’s lunacy played out. He was ready for this display to be over, he’d never thought he had a weak stomach before, but watching someone’s worse memories with them at the hands of someone he once loved like a sister seemed to be pushing his limits.

Remus was tense beside him, and Sirius felt the shift in his entire demeanor as a man came up beside Bellatrix. It didn’t take a genius to deduce it was Fenrir Greyback. She had said his name enough already, and Remus had only confided in him once that it was he who had bitten Remus at just four years old. Some monster who enjoyed infecting children for fun was now projected on the wall.

Sirius’s disdain for Gideon grew to jealousy as he watched him drag this Hermione into his lap. Sirius was desperate to comfort Remus. He wanted nothing more than to hide him from facing the wizard who had taken so much from his love, but Remus would not have appreciated it as much as she apparently did. He had to settle for pulling Remus’s hand deeper into his lap, he had to be content with gentle squeezes and brushes to help calm him till he could get home.

Merlin, they were going to be a mess when they finally made it through the floo. He could just sense it. He wasn’t even sure what they could do for each other to pull themselves from the pit all these revelations would undoubtedly put them in.

Sirius was pulled from his thoughts when he watched her stand on shaky legs and start towards the floo, and he was grateful for her departure. He wasn’t sure how much more he could handle her upending his life. Watching her leave brought him little pleasure though. Seeing her break down like a nutter when she’d thrown the floo powder made him wince in secondhand embarrassment. He wondered briefly if she was related to him based on her insane show tonight.

While Hermione seemed to represent the depressing side of madness that he was so intimately aware of, Dorea was not yet done commanding the room with the power-hungry side. Not even a minute after Hermione left he watched Dorea, with the refinement that came from having Black blood, turn towards Professor Dumbledore, one eyebrow elegantly raised, waiting for his thoughts now that the guest of honor had left.

“That was an enlightening surprise, Dorea,” The Headmaster responded, and Dorea just tilted her head to the side, studying him, waiting, he realized. Waiting for him to elaborate.

When he made no move continue, Sirius watched Dorea make her move. “What is your plan with her and her information Alubs?” Dorea asked in the clipped tone she had adopted earlier.

“I plan to study the information she has supplied in depth. It would appear you have some suggestions, Dorea, or is there another reason why the wards of this place have grown stronger since this meeting started?”

Her eyes narrowed before she responded, “It is a Potter property, is it not? These wards are my right by marriage and blood. My only hope is to keep everyone safe until we all have an understanding.” Dorea smiled at that, her gaze no less lethal, and Sirius glanced back at James, his eyebrow furrowed and jaw hanging open at what felt like a tete-a-tete happening in front of everyone.

“The time for bargaining is before sharing information, in my experience. Do you plan to hold us hostage till we agree to your terms?” Sirius did not particularly like how this conversation was playing out before him. Neither Dorea nor Dumbledore had ever led him a stray, but seeing them at odds made him wonder where his loyalties fell.

It didn’t take more than a second for him to decide it was with Dorea, but that didn’t make him any more comfortable in the current situation. He’d defend Dorea to the death, she was the closest he’d ever had to a mother, but he wished he knew a little more about what the fuck was happening before he did that.

“I do not doubt that with time and spilled blood, you could break them, but I don’t think we will get there. I want an oath from everyone here tonight to keep this between those present.” Sirius winced at the implication that Dorea would rather die than let people leave freely with this information. She had that familial flare for dramatics that only he could appreciate.

“I do not take kindly to threats among friends, Dorea.” Sirius found his eyes shooting to Dumbledore’s at the statement as James hissed a breath behind him at the boldness. If the temperature in the room could have gotten any colder, it would have. This no longer felt like a tense negotiation, and Sirius started to feel truly worried about what was to come in the next few minutes.

Dorea’s rebuttal made Sirius’s heart clench. “And I protect what is mine, make no mistake of that.” So much like James, the Potters welcomed him with open arms, like he was a stray dog hurt and limping. Apparently, Dorea had done the same to Hermione unbeknownst to any of them. He should have expected it, but his jealousy towards her was rising again. Was it not enough for this new witch to flip his existence? She had to sink her claws into Dorea, too.

“Your request is not unsound. But it is flawed. what of those members who could not attend tonight?”

Dorea’s refusal to back down continued. “Then that is their loss. Hermione can tell those who need to know as she sees fit. I have offered you a great boon with her knowledge, Albus. Charlus and I could have kept this to ourselves, but we did not.”

“An unbreakable vow between so many is a risk. What if some do not wish to take it?” Sirius couldn’t deny that it was a valid point. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to take it but assumed he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I am happy to help any of those who do not wish to remember this meeting forget, but Albus I have another option. Hermione has provided me with an alternative. A contract of sorts, she has shown me it’s uses in the future. By signing one's name with their blood and wand” As she spoke, Charlus pulled a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his robes. Rolling it out in front of her.

Dorea paused her suggestion to hold her hand to Charlus, who, with a gentle flick of his wand sent a small slicing hex to her fingertip. Sirius watched as she pressed her index finger to the page and, with a tap of her wand to the bloody smear, stated her name.

“By signing your name, you agree not to speak of Hermione’s secret with anyone besides those in the order and working for the light. To do so would cause the speaker to lose their ability to speak until she releases the curse. Should the signer try to write of her secrets, they will lose their sight. And finally, should they try to share via their mind, they will find they don't remember much at all.”

Murmurs broke out across the room at the suggestion of such a document. Sirius had never seen one before and was grateful his mother hadn’t either, He shuddered at the idea of how this type of magic could be used in the wrong hands.

“You seem to have thought of everything tonight. I will sign your contract, Dorea, and allow you to make any adjustments for those who do not want to on one condition.” Sirius found himself holding his breath, waiting to hear the Headmaster's solitary ask to Dorea’s demands.

“We should offer Mr. Pettigrew the option to make the same agreement and work for us. I believe he could be an incredible asset as a spy. Will you and yours be able to handle that? Will You welcome him back?” Sirius felt like his heart had stuttered, every muscle in his body frozen. He wasn’t even sure he could look at Peter right now, let alone pretend to be his friend.

“What you do with the boy is not my concern. If you truly wish to try and redeem him, I will not stop you, but I believe he does need to make an unbreakable vow to The Order and Hermione.”

With just a slight tip of his head, Dumbledore ended their stand off “Consider it done, Dorea.”

“Let us get to work then!” Dorea said in a much too chipper voice for the somber atmosphere of the room. “I am sure my boys will be happy to help me with this contract while you and Charlus handle,” The newly found excitement in her voice slipped away as she icily said his name, “Peter.”

Dorea worked quickly, and Sirius found himself stuck on contract duty with Lily. The witch was mesmerized by its magic, he could see her obsessing over the document in her mind as they worked through the long line together. It appeared monotony was good for his raging soul because when she finally turned to speak to him, he was relieved. If Lily could still tolerate him after being forced to watch his cousins, so could others.

“How do you think they came up with this? Do you think it's in a Potter grimoire?” she asked him during a break between signers.

“Of course, a swot like you would want to know how this is made. Jealous you didn't think of it?” Sirius teased, trying to find comfort in their usual banter, deciding Lily's academic obsessions would be a nice distraction from his plummeting mood.

“I just find it hard to believe an 18-year-old witch came up with this. Come on. Even Remus couldn't do that. I only know one person who's ever been successful at making a spell in school-” he watched her stop herself and smile weakly at him. It wasn’t an apology, but he was grateful she hadn't said the git's name.

“Oh yeah, right. I bet Snivellous would wet himself if he saw this handiwork,” Sirius retorted, and Lily just huffed her annoyance at him.

“Could you? Aren't you the charms prodigy?” she quipped, and Sirius grinned.

“I've been known to enchant a thing or two. Mostly birds and wolves,” he snickered, and Lily just rolled her eyes at the lazy innuendo.

“Well, it's impressive. I want to ask Mrs. Potter about it later. Do you think that-” Lily paused before saying her name as if she was nervous to speak it since signing the parchment. “Hermione,” she squeaked, and when nothing happened, she breathed a sigh of relief “Would tell us?”

“I don’t know the girl Evans. You'd had to ask her. Should probably have Marlene do it. They seemed friendly with each other.” He knew his words had too much bite in them, but he didn't get it.

Everyone else seemed so calm, just accepting this witch and unsurprised by Peter’s betrayal. Not even a month ago, they'd been laying in the common room studying for NEWTs together, and now they were just accepting that a time-traveling witch who seemed a bit mental was just an everyday occurrence.

Remus obviously hadn't liked her. He'd been just as tense, if not worse than Sirius, at every word she spoke. He was desperate to get alone with him and debrief the whole thing. Honestly, he needed someone with some common sense to explain this.

His was at his tipping point, though, his frustration mounting past the point of no return. When just as he was about to floo out of the cottage, Charlus grabbed his shoulder and squeezed while offering him a warm but understanding grin, and Dorea called from the other side of the room where she was once again talking to Andy. He didn't remember them being so close.

“Sirius, I will see you and Remus back at the Manor. I will be home shortly.” While some of the affection he craved had returned to her voice, he still couldn't shake the embarrassment of earlier. He had to close his eyes to keep from rolling them, he had barely held himself together, so ready to burst with questions and rants during this meeting that the idea of not returning to their little flat caused him to groan out loud.

The dread of whatever encounter he would have to face at Potter Manor hung over his head as he returned to his path toward the floo. He found Remus waiting for him, his arm out towards him, and when Sirius slipped his hand into Remus’s waiting, he let their bond wash over him.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, but ever since Remus had divulged to him, in a punch-drunk state in between kisses, that he thought Sirius was his mate, everything since then just clicked into place. Even just the act of their fingers lacing together seemed to soothe the pressure in his chest, and his shoulders relaxed. Whatever was waiting for him in Potter Manor would be fine with Remus by his side.

They had barely made it through the floo before Pinky appeared before them in the room. The house elf caused Remus to jump, her surprise arrival and the reminder of Hermione’s memories at the forefront of his mind.

The house elf just smiled up at them “Master Sirius and Mister Remus want tea? Mister Remus look very hungry. Pinky bring tea.” Remus didn’t even get a chance to respond before Pinky snapped off to fix what Remus was sure was too much food, but he wouldn’t say no. It was nearly midnight, and he was famished. Moony was no help fussing around in his head for the past 6 hours.

The wolf had been a right arsehole ever since Hermione had walked through the floo earlier, and then when it had realized she too had been marked by Greyback, the wolf had lost its mind, and subsequently, Remus felt like he was going with it. The headache that was forming behind his eyes because of the howling that had started the moment her last memory started playing and had only lessened when she finally left was enough to make him want to take a fire poker to himself to alleviate the pressure.

He assumed she was part of some sort of larger pack bond, and it made his gut churn at the thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about how bad he felt for her, she was obviously smart. 11 OWLs, he thought Dumbledore had said? And while he hated watching it, he couldn’t deny the strength it took for her to lay herself so bare for them all with her absolutely mental story and then to let them see the horrendous truth of it all, Godric she was better than him.

Remus would rather lose his magic than show his sorry state of transformation for everyone he knew, and she’d done it for strangers, or half strangers, he thought. It was a jarring and creepy moment to see himself and Sirius so old and pathetic before them, if he was being honest.

Marlene had been right, they looked like shit, but Peter, that rat looked worse. Remus wasn’t a vain person, but he hoped that Peter’s appearance would one day reflect whatever demon he was inside. If Remus had to live with the scars of the wolf, then Peter deserved to look like the grotesque rat version of himself that had supposedly betrayed Lily and James.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself earlier. He needed to know. So angry at the thought that Peter could ever do something like that, he hadn’t cared as he banged Peter’s head off the table. If James hadn’t pulled him off Peter, he was sure he would have strangled him right there in front of everyone, the muggle way when he saw the Dark Mark.

But now that he was home, or at least in Potter Manor, he focused on trying to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, like Mary had taught him a few years ago. Letting the air fill his lungs and counting to keep the beast and rage that rolled in him at bay. He knew, since he couldn’t get his hands on Peter, that he’d just take his anger out on Sirius if he didn’t get it under control.

James and Charlus came through not long after Remus and Sirius, both looking more tired than usual.

“Where’d Lily go?” Remus asked, and James just huffed before he mumbled like a child

“Said she wanted to go back to her and Mary’s flat. Something about needing time to process, not sure why she can’t process with me,” He whined, and it made Remus smile, relieved that no matter what life threw at them, at least James would always be disgustingly needy for Lily.

“Sounds horrid. She can’t even tell Mary? What’s she gonna do, hole up in her room?” Sirius questioned, and Remus paused, not having really thought about the implications of their inability to discuss Hermione. That meant Mary, who had a late night training at St. Mungo’s had missed out on this seemingly vital information. He hated that Mary hadn’t been able to witness it, actually. She would have handled the whole thing better than Marlene and her constant quips.

Remus was concerned about how subdued Sirius had been about the evening thus far. Besides his initial outburst, it was like the news of Peter had decimated his personality. Charlus must have sensed the lingering confusion in the room because he motioned for the three boys to follow him “Come along, we’ll take some tea in the library while we wait for Dorea to return and enlighten your three more.”

Remus followed behind, bringing up the rear end of their little group as they trudged tiredly up the stairs and down the halls. It felt like the drama of the past six hours was crashing down on them, exhaustion seeping into their movements. He settled into a settee as Pinky popped back in, placing a large spread of before them.

Dorea, a witch with impeccable timing, he realized, waltzed into the room at the exact moment Pinky had finished laying tea. The normally polished witch also seemed to be showing signs of fatigue, but still, she floated over to the seat next to Charlus, kissing James on the head as she passed before sitting down. With a wry smile, she looked at each of them and said, “Well that was eventful.”

Her laughter rang throughout the room, and the three young wizards each found themselves frozen in place at the sight. Dorea had been a force to be reckoned with earlier, going toe to toe with Professor Dumbledore, but now she was just the friendly mother of a friend that Remus had grown to love. She seemed to relax into her seat, laughing at the absurdity of a situation she was solely responsible for.

“Mum, I just - what - what was all of that” James finally said, and Dorea just smiled over at him indulgently. It was so obvious to Remus at that moment that Dorea had never denied her son anything, but she had obviously kept Hermione and her plans for the evening a secret, and James was confused.

“Well, that was me defending a dear friend. She is going to change this war, she came back to save you, and I am deeply indebted to her for that,” Dorea said before taking a sip of her tea.

“Yes, she said that, but what was the rest of that? And why?” James asked.

“I think there are other ways you can pay back life debts, Mum,” Sirius said from beside Remus, and Dorea turned her gaze to him, that same adoring smile on her face as she responded.

“Yes, Sirius, there are, but Hermione has so much knowledge, and I plan on helping her use it. I expect you three to be a part of that.” Both James and Sirius opened their mouths, which he assumed was to object, but Dorea just held up her hand, stopping their interruption. “It is not a question. Hermione saved all of you this evening, and she’s not done. She will need all of your cooperation, she’s been through so much.”

Remus flinched when her eyes made their way to him. It was like she could see through him with that loving gaze that reminded him so much of his own mother’s. Hope Lupin may be a muggle, but she had magic in her way to see every emotion that went through him and Dorea seemed to possess the same power.

“And you, Remus, will be part of that too; don’t doubt your importance here. Now, are there any other questions? I feel as if the night was very transparent, but I’m happy to answer what I can,” Remus choked on a laugh at her implication that the evening had been anything other than confusing, but James and Sirius jumped at the chance to ask questions.

Many of their questions revolved around why Dorea seemed to hate their former headmaster, and while she replied, Remus noted she did not answer them. She always comes back to the point that she believed a group fighting for the light should be a team built on honesty and not secrets.

Remus let them ask their questions, he would rather take it all in and build his case for follow-up later. Even just watching Dorea and Charlus form their answers was enough for him to come to a few conclusions. Whoever this Hermione is was important, she had information they were skating around answering, and Dorea seemed to be in charge of whatever this process was.

As he pondered internally why Hermione could be so important despite the obvious wealth of knowledge they were hiding, he finally listened to his stomach and leaned over for a bite to eat. As he finished smearing jam on the scones Pinky had provided them and brought one to his mouth, he was hit with an overwhelming taste of strawberries. Strawberries from the jam on his tongue, parchment from the books lining the shelves, and fresh cut flowers scattered across the room.

Thoughts of Hermione came barrelling back to him. Faster than he could control Moony rumbled back to life with such force he dropped the scone on his lap, unable to stop the rapid beating of his heart at the realization. Even her name conjured up the same feelings of frustration from earlier, but now he felt something else, something he had been too distracted by the presence of dark magic to notice earlier. It was a want or, rather, a need for her.

Moony was a wolf possessed as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Remus was absolutely fucked, because Moony was making it perfectly clear now Hermione Prewett was his mate.

As the horror of this change to his instincts happened, he tried to shove images of Sirius and his feelings for him deeper into his mind, but Moony just preened more, excited to embrace both of them. He barely even heard the chatter around him as the words rattled around his skull.

At his distress, Sirius paused his chatter and turned to look at him, noticing the crumbs and jam spilled down the front of him “Moons you okay?” He asked so sweetly, his tired red-rimmed eyes looking up at him, and still louder than Sirius’s voice, the word kept screaming into his consciousness.

Mates. Mates. Mates. Mates.

It took all of Remus’s strength to nod and, with a croak, “I think I need to lay down.” as he forced the words out and moved to stand, he noticed his mess and, with a flush of embarrassment, turned to Dorea and Charlus who shared worried expressions.

“Don’t worry, Pinky will get that, you look a bit flush, Remus. Do you need a calming draught?” She asked with concern.

“Yeah, anything, please,” and again, the word chanted over his own voice in his mind.

Mates. Mates. Mates. Mates.

It wasn’t possible. No, it was almost unheard of him to have found one mate in Sirius. How that was even possible with the two of them being men still blew his mind most days. The idea of having another made him feel light-headed.

Sirius stood up with him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, helping him turn in the direction of the door and eventually guiding him out of the library. Remus thought he heard him tell everyone they would see them at breakfast tomorrow, but it was hard for Remus to pay attention. It was impossible, really, when Moony seemed irate that it took hours to realize instead of the moment she walked through the floo what she was to him.

He slowly found his way to his normal room at Potter Manor, thoughts and visions of both his mates flashing through his consciousness, the guilt of her state and Sirius’s taking care of him feeling heavy on his heart. Moony now berating him with growls and barks for not taking care of them.

Sirius followed him though, gentle and soft as he handed him a few vials, and Remus didn’t even look at them before tipping them back. The herby mixture coated his mouth as Sirius pulled off his clothes for him, leaving him in just his boxers. He even crawled in behind him, wrapping his cool arms around Remus’s overly hot body.

Moony seemed to calm as they embraced. Sirius placed soft kisses on Remus’s shoulder, mumbling into his neck and hair as they plastered themselves together. He let the potions take over, his limbs feeling heavy as they entwined themselves with Sirius’s. As the sound of Sirius’s breaths calmed him, a distraction from his revelation, he finally let sleep pull him under.

Remus found himself sitting in Lily and Mary’s flat a few days later, trying to escape the looks of pity and worry Sirius had given him since his little freakout in the library. When they’d woken the next morning, Sirius had rightfully been worried, asking Remus questions about how he felt. Remus was sure Sirius could tell he was lying when he pitifully said that the events of the day finally overwhelmed him, and he short-circuited.

Sirius, of course, didn’t get the analogy, asking why he couldn’t just relight himself like a candle, and while it hadn’t devolved into an argument, it was still stifling between them. Moony let his frustration know, and Remus had slept like shit because of it all.

“So, do you think she's hiding when she's not making grand entrances?” Lily asked him, and Remus just shrugged his shoulders. He'd come here for a distraction from his problems, but Lily seemed set on only talking about Hermione. “Do we think she lives with her brothers? Or there was an older sister - I think? Graduated before we got to Hogwarts?”

“Why do you need to know where she lives, Lils?” Remus usually loves her questions, but talking about Hermione just causes Moony to stir uncomfortably.

“Well, I'd like to get to know her. Wouldn't you? I mean, could you imagine how different the coursework is between our seventh year and hers?” Lily's eyes are wide and excited. Her words rushing out, treating the poor witch like a rune translation to be examined.

“Lily, why do you care? You've finished your 7th year. Shouldn't we be celebrating?” his exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Oh, come on, Remus! You used to love doing this with me. It wasn't even two months ago that we talked about arithmancy problems till the library closed,” Lily says in a faux whine before turning to him, a bit of excitement in her eyes when she asks, “You can't tell me there isn't anything you want to know about her? You're the one who smelled dark magic on her. What else did you smell?”

Maybe it's Lily's ability to ask the perfect question, or that Moony is so done with Remus’s staling and dragging his feet that he's going to force Remus to ask for help. But whatever it is, the words are out of his mouth the second the thought forms. He's practically shouting, “She's my mate,” immediately he throws his hand over his mouth to stop himself from saying any more, groaning loudly at the confession.

“WHAT?” Lily screeches back, and Remus just closes his eyes and nods yes.

“Oh, Godric! Remus, this is incredible aren't they rare? And yours is a witch from the future! That's unbelievable!” Lily rambles on, and her excitement just causes the tension in him to build. It takes her a few moments, but slowly, realization dawns on her.

“Wait.” She turns to look at him. “James said that Sirius said he was your mate. Did you lie to Sirius? Oh, Remus, that's foul.” Suddenly, she's hitting him. The little smacks not really hurting his arm, but still, he puts his hands up as shields.

“Ow you Barmy witch. No, I didn't lie to him. What do you take me for - fuck” he pleads against her battering.

“Language Remus!” She yells as her barrage of smacks continues.

“Damn it, Lily, let me talk. And quit hitting me.” her attack relents, and she sits back before leveling him with a glare that is anything but menacing on her flushed face. “Moony seems to think I have two mates,” he reluctantly whispers, even though there is no one else in the room with them, admitting it feels much to real.

Lily's pathetic attempt for a glare melts off her face as her jaw falls open at his words. She babbles, opening and closing her mouth a few times before giggling, “Oh, you dog! Remus John Lupin, you have two mates!”

“Lills, this is not a joke.” He groans at her enjoyment of his situation.

“Oh, I know it's not, but the fact that the one wizard who considers himself an unloveable monster now has to love two people is a bit ironic.” She laughs at his expense, and Remus just rolls his eyes.

“Oh, do not give me that look. How'd Sirius take the news? Honestly, he's worse than an only child sometimes.”

“He doesn't know,” Remus whispers.

Lily pauses, her eyes wide when she asks, “Wait, excuse me. Repeat that”

“He doesn't know,” Remus says through his clenched teeth. Keeping this from Sirius has been torture, and the look on Lily’s face proves a fact he already knows, that this is a horrid secret to keep.

“And why doesn't he know Remus?” Lily inquires, her tone shifting from playful excitement to downright confusion or maybe frustration. Remus can’t be sure.

“Because I fuck-”

“Language” She interrupts.

“I don't know. He's going to be pissed. You're right. He can't share. He's pretty much said he hates her for being right about Peter. It's a mess. He's a mess.” Remus blows a long breath out at the confession. Sirius had made his discomfort with Hermione clear in the days following her appearance in their lives, and it had shattered what little hope Remus had over the whole situation.

Lily leans over at his confession, running her hand through his hair, petting him like a dog, but he doesn’t even have it in himself to comment on it, just letting her continue to comfort him when she says, “Oh, Remus love. That's got to be killing you.”

“A lot of things are,” He says. Apparently, confessions are just pouring out of him today.

Her gentle demeanor is gone as she rolls her eyes before saying, “Well, she's very cute. That will make this easy.”

“Lily, what are you on now?”

“Well, we're going to devise a plan to convince Sirius to fancy her too. Obviously.” She says with too much enthusiasm for his comfort.

Now it is Remus’s turn to stare wide-eyed at her before barking out a laugh, and in between wheezing breaths, he tells her, “You’ve lost it, Lils, I swear. All those potion fumes have finally gone to your head.”

“Don't be rude. We only have a few days before phase one. We got to get to work.” And with that, she is off, disappearing around the flat, before she returns with parchment and quills.

“Days? Phase one? What are you on about?” Remus stutters out, surprised by her frantic movements around the room, unsure what is truly happening before him.

Lily just stares at him with a baffled look on her face. “Well, I assume she'll be at Dorea’s dinner party?”

“What fucking dinner party?”

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a blur, Gideon, Fabian, and Molly doing everything they could to keep the young witch’s spirit up after The Order meeting. Only when the twins suggested she go for a run with them and then tease her form did she lose it, the weight of her situation finally crashing down.

Hermione had danced around her grief for two months now. It was plain as day to those who spent time with her, but she had tried so hard to trick herself into pretending she was fine.

On the shores she had arrived on weeks earlier, after her third lap inside the wards, the dam broke. It started with her huffing out her annoyance. Adamant that she knew how to run. She laid into the twins about how she was an expert runner, she had done it for eight months straight. That she was the only reason her friends had survived, but as the words spilled from her, she choked out that without Harry and Ron, Luna and Ginny, even the Tonks and Remus she knew in her time, all her efforts felt futile.

All her previous running and even her torture felt like she was losing a cruel game of war instead of a fight for life. The Prewett twins shad just nodded their understanding, Gideon and Fabian dropping their usual mask of humor to listen to her wails about missing her friends and that being stuck in Shell Cottage was starting to suffocate her just like her time in the tent.

Molly had ended up being the one to bring Hermione down from her ranting, going as far as crawling into bed with her later that day, carrying two sleepy red-headed babies and thrusting one into her arms. “You know some think I'm mad for wanting all these kids,” Molly whispered, her soft voice filling the space as warm and gentle as the dusk light pouring off the sea, into the small sunroom.

Sunset was Hermione’s favorite time in the cottage; the sound of the sea and the light reflecting off the water dancing across her walls, the first few stars starting to appear in the sky. It was the same as it would have been in 1998, and sometimes, she needed that reminder in a world where she still felt like an interloper. She needed that consistency of the sky to serve as an anchor to her warring emotions.

She felt guilty about her earlier outburst. She had been trying to manage them but remembered her mother once said that grief was a fickle beast. Hermione tried to focus on that versus the now desperate need to apologize for her behavior to the twins and Molly, who had so much else on their plates and now had to comfort her.

“Some people are made to be mothers,” Hermione responded, relieved at the conversation's distraction. Thinking about how perfect Molly seemed at the role, even now at what, 30? With an 8-year-old, 6-year-old, 3-year-old, and now these precious twins. Even in 1978, as a friend, Molly was still motherly to her, nurturing but firm, and she seemed on a personal mission never to let Hermione slip into her emotions when she was around.

Molly made soft noises at the baby in her arms before laying back. “I think you're right. It's not always easy. Bill was a little wretched gremlin this morning, saying he couldn't wait to be away from me and go to Hogwarts and that he would never be a Gryffindor like us. A real Brat, but then I remembered I could just take a kip with you and these little cuties, and by the time I got home, he'd forget all about his little attitude.” Hermione laid her head on Molly's shoulder, trying not to laugh at Bill’s headstrong tendencies.

“He’ll be brilliant, though, I promise. But Molly, are you trying to tell me that I need to take a nap and then get back to business?” she tried to laugh, but the sound was forced, and Molly just hummed. Letting the silence fill the space, Hermione’s unanswered question floating around them.

She wasn’t sure how long they lay there in silence, listening to the waves as the sun fully set and the room grew dark. Finally, after both boys were fast asleep in their arms, and even Hermione's eyes were heavy, Molly spoke again, “No, I think you need to take a nap and then get back to finding your own life in this do-over you've been given.”

The words clung to Hermione's mind, the events from The Order meeting mixing with them and her outburst, leaving her with more questions than answers. Just weeks ago, she had been on the run full-time with a clear mission, and now she spent most of her time reading, researching, and waiting for someone to come and entertain her.

She wasn’t lonely; her roommates made sure of that. Gideon and Fabian laughed with her, played card games, or they told each other Hogwarts stories. Molly had been teaching her how to cook with magic most evenings, even letting her watch the boys to keep her busy with the help of young Bill, to Hermione’s amusement.

But she was starting to itch, her outburst the proverbial straw at her current state. Only so many walks on the beach within the wards could distract a witch, it was time to get the ball rolling she needed to feel useful again.

Her savior came in the form of Dorea and Leticia on a Saturday afternoon after owling them a few days earlier, explaining her readiness to start on the horcuxes. The two stepped through the floo with such grace that Hermione wondered if magical travel was more genetic than learned.

“Hermione love,” Leticia called out, and Hermione barreled down the stairs. All decorum was lost on her at the opportunity to see them and the hope they brought. She couldn’t help but assume that if they were both arriving to discuss her letter in person and that they agreed it was time, too.

“Look at that, Lettie, moving faster, isn’t she,” Dorea said from her spot by the floo before opening her arms, and Hermione stepped in for a hug. Something about Dorea pulled her in like a moth to a flame, and Dorea was always burning. She hugged Leticia next, who felt more like the calm of the ocean just yards away from them, before the older witch stepped back to give her a once over, then smiled and cupped her cheek.

“Looking much better needs to be fed a bit more, but we can fix that.” She smiled brightly at Leticia’s attention before they hustled her towards the kitchen, and she began preparing tea. They exchanged some pleasantries, nothing particularly exciting, but once their first cups were done and Hermione was pouring seconds for everyone, the true nature of their visit revealed itself.

“Hermione, you are sure it is time we start the next part of our plan?” Dorea asked before bringing her cup to her lips; it was subtle, her way of always giving space, not outright saying it but asking if she was okay with everything. Hermione found herself nodding; even the option to say no meant the world to her.

“Oh good! Well, then, dinner tonight will be the perfect place to start. It's nothing formal; I’m sure Molly’s gotten you something. Based on your notes, I’ve made a guest list. That gives you an hour or so to get ready, dear.” Hermione’s tea cup froze on its way to her lips as Dorea prattled on about the evening’s plan. The shock of Dorea’s forwardness slowly wore off as Hermione realized that they would start this next phase tonight, and she had done absolutely nothing to prepare for it.

Leticia must have sensed the frantic energy coming off her in waves because she spoke up next, “No need to fret, this is just a get-to-know-you, a bit more than last time. Don’t worry. We just want to gauge some interest before making this a regular thing.” She reached out and set Hermione’s teacup down for her before taking her hand in hers. Where Dorea burned, Leticia had a comforting chill. It was a soothing type of cold as if, with just a touch, she could slow the blazing anxiety coursing through Hermione’s veins.

“Should I bring specific notes? Who will be there? Have they forgiven me?” She didn’t need to say who they were, she had seen their faces. The Marauders were going to be a tough sell. While she felt bad for James, it was the hazel and grey eyes that had looked at her with such pity and hate that hurt her the most.

“Charlus has handled all of that, this is truly just a point to meet and come to an understanding of like minds. It won't be our last. Let me lead this. You have already done so much for us.” Dorea smiled at her from across the table, and Hermione felt torn, looking back and forth at both their faces. She had done some things, but these two had done everything for her thus far. She briefly wondered if they had been informed of her little meltdown the other day.

She didn’t want the few people she had in this new world to think she could not handle whatever this war was trying to throw at her. The words stuck in her throat but she forced her head to dip and let the excitement of the two witches grow at her agreement.

“Good love! Okay, run off, get ready. We will floo over when the twins get back. Molly and Arthur will bring the boys, and I believe the young Tonks girl will be there, too. Nice little distraction.” Leticia said with a beaming smile, and Hermione found herself still unable to speak, the sheer weight of what was about to happen settling. She stood and stepped away from the table, about to slip up the stairs before she turned.

“Thank you both. I kept Ron and Harry alive for so long.” She paused, struggling to finish. She tried to remember Ron and Harry every day, but to admit that she enjoyed the help they offered her now, it stung, almost as if was a reminder that she hadn’t kept them safe in her time. “I just think this plan is nice,” is what she landed on to express her gratitude and watched as Dorea winked at her, and Leticia chuckled before grinning up at her and saying,

“I think a little nicer than jeans tonight, okay?” Leticia finished with, Hermione smiled at how much she reminded her of Helen Granger at that moment, helping her dress for holiday services before she continued racing up the stairs to get ready.

‘She’s coming here?” James sputtered from his seat in Charlus’s office, Lily leaning over to smack the back of his head and glower at his indignation, leaving his already unruly hair in even more disarray.

“Yes, quite a few people are coming for dinner, and you three will be welcoming to them all,” Charlus said, continuing to cross-check whatever papers were in front of him. Remus had always respected Charlus, but waiting to tell James and Sirius about this dinner mere hours beforehand was not his best decision. He’d thankfully had Lily to inform him and help him prepare her ridiculous plan, but James and Sirius were so emotionally charged he was sure this would backfire.

James had taken it the worst, still grieving the loss of his childhood best friend. At one point, Lily had threatened in front of all of them that if James didn’t see the real issue at hand, she would leave him. That just left James to grumble to Sirius, their shared ire smoldering in secret.

Remus wished he was shocked that Peter had been marked, but as he reflected on their years as friends, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Peter was always the fourth in the group, a sweet boy, or so they had thought, just tagging along until he became a fixture. James, though, had some childhood fascination with fixing Peter, and now he blamed Hermione for undermining all his hard work.

Remus wouldn't deny her knowledge of the future had made him uneasy, but he was stuck. He had ultimately decided to embrace her rather than deal With the wrath of Moony’s howls or Lily and her violent hands and wicked hexes.

Sirius was much different; Remus had watched his boyfriend grapple with the guilt of being a member of The House of Black and of your former loved ones doing unspeakable things for two weeks. It had left Sirius despondent for days watching Bellatrix wield that cursed blade or knowing that his own blood had been a part of the downfall of a future wizarding Brittian.

When he’d finally explained Sirius’s state to Lily and why just telling him that Remus had another mate was not an option for phase one of her absurd plan, she had become unstoppable in thinking of new ones. He had to practically beg her not to include the rest of their friends. If Sirius discovered that everyone knew before him, Remus was sure he’d be completely mateless.

She, of course, took that to mean she could devise some 7-step scheme to get Sirius on board. She’d written him damn near 5 feet of parchment one morning explaining how step one was to make Hermione seem mysterious to Sirius. Remus tried to roll his eyes at the nonsense of it all, but on page two, she detailed Sirius’s gossipy nature, always wanting to know what others did or didn't. He couldn’t deny it was at least a well-informed, if a bit outlandish, plan. Using Sirius's desire to be in the know to get him close to Hermione was devious, but at this point, it seemed Lily was excited to try anything.

So, while this dinner party felt a bit out of touch with the dramatics of his two friends, Charlus had been final; everyone would arrive at 6, and they needed to get ready. The minutes seemed to creep by, and suddenly, at five minutes to six, Remus found himself following his friends down the staircase into a sitting room, only relaxing when Sirius poured two very large glasses of Firewhiskey and shoved one in his hand.

Remus took a much-too-large gulp before winding his arm around Sirius’s waist and tucking the wizard into his side. He loved feeling Sirius melt against him as if his touch could calm Sirius’s racing heart. It did something to a wizard to have that effect, and Remus chose to enjoy it while he could.

If war wouldn’t tear them apart, then having two mates might. Leaning over to kiss the side of his head, through Sirius’s shiny dark hair, he breathed him, cigarette smoke and leather, grounding Remus, even as he wanted to jump out of his skin as the floo roared to life just one room over.

To his relief, Marlene and Dorcas came around the corner, smiling and talking animatedly. He didn’t know how they did it, they were the first two deaths on that paper Hermione had shown everyone. It still sent chills down his spine “McKinnon Family - raid, Margaret and Marlene, raped and murdered, Mae and Oliver, tortured and murdered,” but Marlene seemed to relish in the knowledge that she would beat death.

“What is with all the long faces? Where is my favorite time-traveling seer?” Marlene laughed before walking around and offering hugs and hellos.

“Marls, do you think you are maybe a little too nonchalant about this whole thing?” Sirius said gruffly from Remus’s side, and he watched as Marlene rolled her eyes before taking a large glass of wine from a house elf.

“Come on, Sirius, it could be fun! She's got to know something interesting.” Remus tried not to roll his eyes at Lily's complete and utter lack of subtlety in her attempt to pique Sirius’s interest.

Marlene was fed up, though, because the next thing out of her mouth was, “Oh, sorry for being excited to live longer than I should. Maybe you should be celebrating you don’t have a traitor in your mix anymore,” She snipped, and Remus made eye contact with Dorcas, who just rolled her eyes at their actions. It was an unspoken bond between them. Keeping Marls and Sirius in line felt like a full-time job some days, and alcohol never helped their behavior.

Remus wasn’t sure what Sirius wanted to say next because when he opened his mouth, the room was filled with the sound of the floo again, more steps coming through, and he heard delicate laughter as guests arrived. He had been expecting, or really looking for her, waiting for a head of wild brown curls to walk through, but he was once again shocked when a head of pale blonde hair entered first, her light blue-green eyes sparkling as she took in him and his friends.

With a grin he could only describe as ethereal if not unnerving, he watched as Pandora Rosier smiled before asking, “Did you replace me? I thought I was your favorite seer?” She giggled and was embraced by Dorcas. It took Remus much too long to realize she hadn’t been in the room or even the house when Marlene had said that earlier.

The room continued to fill, and Sirius eventually went to talk to his cousin Andy and her family. Remus loved watching Sirius with kids, he was a natural, and small Dora Tonks was a wrecking ball from what he could tell, hanging off his arm like a muggle playground.

Slowly, more and more people arrived, some he knew, such as Kingsley Shacklebolt, a Ravenclaw a few years older than him; Frank and Alice Longbottom, fellow Griffyndors, were also present chatting with James and Lily, and even the Prewett twins arrived without Hermione in between them.

He was trying to quell the anxiety that was building in him, waiting for her to arrive. So he continued drinking and talking, analyzing the group chosen for this casual get-together, or so the Potters had called it.

He was deep in conversation with Mary and Lily when he felt her. Almost like his head was pulled on a string, he turned around at the perfect time to watch her walk in. If his feelings of anxiety earlier weren’t bad enough, seeing her again made a Moony spiral in his chest.

He watched her holding the hand of a small red-headed child as she entered the room. Her hair was just as curly but slightly more tamed than he remembered it, but now he could admit she looked a little healthier. Her jumper no longer hung off her frame, pale skin practically stretched across her, the scars on her neck magnified by her state.

Now, Remus thought she looked to be glowing. She smiled down at the young boy next to her, and he could have sworn she even had a faint tan blending with the freckles of her skin, her cheeks no longer as sunken, and he, or rather Moony, wanted to desperately see what they would look like when they were rounded and full.

He found himself straightening as he watched her enter the room and be swept up in a hug by Marlene. Lily gave him a slight shove of her elbow and wiggled her eyebrows like a nutter before he found his gaze drawn back to her.

He hadn’t even noticed all the other people with her, a gaggle of red-headed kids and a young couple, he thought they looked familiar as they greeted Andy and Ted Tonks. He continued watching the introductions until Sirius found himself at his side again, and Remus could smell the fresh cigarette on his breath.

“Moony, I’m going to try,” He whispered, and Remus just nodded his head, waiting for him to elaborate. “I just fuck - Marls had a good point, and Dorea cornered me, and well fuck if that's how my cousin was to her, shouldn’t I try to be nicer?” He asked, and Remus tried to reign in his excitement as he finished his sip before responding. Trying that was a novel concept but more than he could have asked for, given Sirius’s childlike response to her grand entrance just weeks ago.

“I think as long as you're careful, it’s the most you can do. We trust Dorea and Charlus, and well, I hate to admit it, but she was right about Peter,” He responded and sensed James coming up on his other side.

“Lily yelled at me and said I needed to try to, and she said Marlene is the best judge of character. I told her my mom was, and she smacked me again and said I was just proving her point.” Remus felt himself shake with a bit of laughter.

“I’m not sure you two had any other options. Your mother is quite infatuated with her.” He offered and felt Sirius cough next to him before whispering even softer.

“Do you think she’s pack-like from the future?” He asked, his voice full of mischief. Remus clenched his teeth in anticipation of whatever Sirius was about to say. “James, what if she was with your son because he’d be pack cause he’d be yours? She kept calling him” Sirius gave an exaggerated wink as he said the next words, “best friend,” before he continued like normal, “That's fucking weird, mate, but I swear I could feel her enter the room.”

“Sirius, don’t be disgusting,” Lily said from behind them, sending a stinging hex to his bum at the lewd suggestion, and he yelped at the surprise. Suddenly, everyone in the room was looking at them, and Remus wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Pandora Rosier was a nice girl; Sirius kept repeating that to himself as she continued talking to him about how she planned to cleanse her dorm room when she returned to Hogwarts this fall. He had doubts that she would be successful in her endeavor. Her ability to describe the crystals in great detail was admirable, if uninteresting. He couldn’t help that if she kept this up, he might finish an entire bottle of Ogden’s finest by himself before the night was over.

Across from him, Hermione was chatting with his cousin Andromeda, making polite conversation, a bit boring, but that seemed to be the theme. Truthfully, Sirius was now itching to talk to her.

Marlene’s yelling at his supposed immature aversion to change, her words not his, while she threatened to put her cigarette out on him earlier, had made him feel shittier than he already had been. He hadn’t considered befriending Hermione until Marls found him on the balcony and laid in on him.

He had never really believed in Divination but couldn’t deny a good seer or, in this case, a witch from the future. With that thought in mind and Marl’s encouragement, now he was debating what he wanted to ask her. What his one-shot might be in case it went wrong, but Pandora seemed to beat him to it.

He watched as she leaned forward, pale blonde braids falling over the table before she opened her mouth, her song-like voice carrying across the space. “So Hermione, tell us, is there a full night sky in the future?” Sirius turned and stared at Pandora.

What in the fuck did that mean? But it seemed Hermione could understand the riddling witch because he watched a sad smile pass over her face before she responded, a melancholy look flashing in her eyes.

“Yes, Pandora, the night is very bright from my time,” Hermione said as if she knew exactly what Pandora was asking, and Pandora just smiled easily, even more relaxed than she had been before.

“I hope they will burn brighter this time,” Pandora said with a level of authority Sirius didn’t know she had in her.

“Does the moon burn? Or does it enhance and reflect the brightness of others?” Hermione riddled back, and Pandora’s face lit up before turning to Sirius. Her pale eyes glowed from the candlelight on the table, dancing playfully, and he briefly wondered how someone like her could be friends with his brother.

“She’s right. Only stars burn, Sirius, did you know that?” He couldn’t tell what she was trying to meddle with when Dorcas spoke from a few seats down.

“Do you already know Dora? I think spent almost every day with her for 6 years, and half of what she says is still an enigma to me.”

“No, not Dora, but someone very similar to her, a close friend, you could say,” Hermione supplied, her lower lip quivering just a bit as she smiled, and Sirius sadly realized now Dora was another tragedy. He guessed that this supposed friend was another orphan in Hermione’s world. A lot of fucking orphans if you asked him. But it seemed no one else noticed her slight wavering or the little sheen that had started to take over her eyes.

Everyone else just continued with their own conversations, and Sirius decided now was his chance to ask his own question. He just wanted something to talk to her about, and she seemed to be slipping away from them right before his eyes. “So Hermione, you knew some of us well in the future?”

He watched her lighten a bit at the attention. Feeling proud that his question had been the reason for the change. “Oh yeah. I spent much of my time at Molly and Arthur’s over the years and with their boys.”

Sirius did his best to whisper as quietly as possible to Remus, “Not with James’s kid then, huh?” as Hermione looked towards Weasley family at the other end of the table before she continued, seemingly unaware of his comment.

“Actually, I spent a summer and a winter hols in Grimmauld too,” She supplied as if that was not the most insane sentence he had ever heard. He found himself choking on his drink, his eyes immediately darting to the arm he knew was maimed with the word his childhood home was designed to hurt.

“Oh, don’t worry. We had to bring two curse breakers before I could live there. You insisted on it, actually.” He watched a soft flush cover her cheeks, and he found himself enjoying the look of it. He wondered briefly if her skin was warm to the touch.

“So we were friends?” He asked cautiously. He watched her tug on her bottom lip with her teeth as she pondered her answer, and he could have sworn he felt Remus stiffen beside him. The pause in response made him nervous, too.

“Well, as good of friends as a 15-year-old girl and mid-30s godfather of her best friend can be, I guess. I actually spent more time with Remus in the library or during dueling practice.” He watched her pause and take a sip of her wine.

He couldn't help but notice the gentle tinge of color starting to make its way down her neck, seeming to blend into the scars that she made no attempt to hide before she continued, “You and I tended to butt heads, but I think it was a bit of fun” She rushed the last words out still gnawing on her poor bottom lip while looking up at him waiting for his response.

Did she think he would be mad at her? Sirius fought with all of his friends most of the time, sometimes just to see their reaction, “Well, what’d we row about?” he asked her, excited to finally get to something interesting.

“Well, there was that time when I told you to stop yelling at Kreacher.” He scoffed at that before interrupting her.

“Really, that arsehole of an elf still lives, and you defended it?” He said, sounding a bit miffed at the idea of anyone caring about that decrepit excuse for an elf.

“I have to agree with Sirius on that one. Kreacher was horrid,” Andy said, and he nodded in excited agreement as if to thank her for her support.

“Regulus says the most lovely things about Kreacher,” Pandora cooed, and Sirius tried not to laugh at Andy's eye roll while Hermione ignored her comment and continued.

“Oh, Kreacher was horrible. We wouldn’t let him make me tea so he wouldn’t poison me, but you didn’t have to be so cruel to him.” with a shake of her head, she continued, “That's not the point. Want to know what our biggest row was about?”

Sirius found himself mimicking Pandora's eager stance from earlier. Leaning forward practically halfway across the table, excited at whatever this memory was that had her in such a good mood.

He watched her grin turn to a proud smirk as she said, “I told you I thought the Who was better than Led Zeppelin.”

You would have thought she had admitted to using unforgiveables as half the table went silent at her admission, Sirius’s jaw falling open, hanging in astonishment, unable to speak at such a blasphemous statement. Thankfully, Remus was quicker, his laughter pouring out of him, and Sirius could have sworn he saw tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh Hermione, that's,” a wheeze of laughter interrupting his statement, “ so bloody good. I bet he lost his mind.”

“You traitor,” Sirius whispered to him, the shock of such a statement jarring him. Remus just leaned over and kissed the top of his hair, still shaking with laughter.

“Oh, Pads, you can admit that she knows how to hit a nerve,” Remus continued, and Sirius grumbled a wordless response. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how Hermione’s smile stayed after that moment, her conversations a little brighter, more engaged.

Conversations continued to flow, and Hermione tried her best to join, pretending she was part of this world. She was thankful Andromeda and Ted had been just as polite as they were in the future, and she was happy to sit next to them.

Kingsley had been on her other side, and despite her pushback at all of Molly’s meddling, she couldn’t deny that he was a very handsome wizard. She caught the red-headed witch’s smirk from farther down the table as Kingsley told her about one of his recent missions. The twins also seemed to be in on the joke because, behind Kingsley’s back, they pretended to fan themselves and simper as he spoke.

What she couldn’t place, though, was the feeling of being watched. She tried her best to focus on his story and their conversation as it delved into her passion for rune layering, but she could not shake the feeling that someone’s eyes were boring into the back of her head. When she finally moved to sip her wine, she was surprised that no one was looking.

What Hermione found the most interesting of her table mates was Sirius and Remus’s relationship. She hadn’t known them to be together in the future, but here they looked so natural, lobbing questions back and forth. They just seemed so in sync with each other, it soothed the ache of missing her friends knowing that maybe they could have this.

While she had been very much enjoying Kingsley’s attention, she couldn’t deny the strange feeling of relief in her chest when Sirius interrupted them, asking her another question as he pushed back his hair. She wasn’t sure what it was about the motion, but something about how his long pale fingers, covered in silver rings, and his forearms flexing made her mouth go dry.

Her observation of him would have to wait, though, as he asked, “So you have bad opinions in music. What else should we know about you? What are 15-year-old girls into in the future?” Sirius teased as he took a drink from his glass. Hermione desperately tried not to focus on how his stubble-covered throat worked as he swallowed, leading to thin black lines of a tattoo peeking from under his shirt.

Snapping her attention back to those stormy grey eyes, she attempted to mask her embarrassment at her distraction. “You should know that at this time, I’m older than you, Sirius Black, but I read a lot, a bit of a bookworm. I guess. Once you told me I should get Le buveur d'encre tattooed on my forehead.” She laughed and watched as Remus responded at the same time as Sirius.

“What did you like to read? Shakespeare?” Remus asked her curiously, and now she found herself drawn to his sandy hair a little long and shaggy, and how it grazed over the jagged scar across his cheek and nose. They made him look just as rugged as she remembered.

“Sounds like something I’d say to a real swot. But wait, do you have any tattoos?” Sirius rushed out, and the synchronization of their answers made her pause. They looked so different from each other. Sirius' pure blood grace mixed with his rebellious preferences and Remus's authentic interest and rough allure, something about the combination made her chest feel like it was burning up.

Gods. Did she just call Remus alluring? The man was in a committed relationship, and they were both at the table for Merlin’s sake. “No, I don’t, and I’m not a swot, I just like to read a lot. I actually have the Grimmauld copy of Hogwarts: a History in my bag. It's my favorite. Weird to think two exist.”

She turned away from Sirius meeting Remus’s eyes, noting how they appeared more golden than the hazel from her memories, as she continued, “And I like the classics, Bronte sisters, and I’m even a sucker for The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. But not really. Shakespeare seems a bit on the nose for me?” She offered, anxiously waiting for Remus’s response.

He had been cold or rather defensive towards her since her arrival. She couldn’t blame him, really. She knew he was protective by nature, but the man who had once trained her in combat, fearing her, stung. He seemed to listen to her answers from others, studying her more than interacting. But now, as she felt him giving her more attention, she couldn’t help but revel in it.

“A witch reading muggle books about witches, a bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think?” He laughed, and Hermione wished she could cast a cooling charm as her body grew uncomfortably warm at his attention. The whole thing reminded her of her embarrassing crush on him in her third year, and she needed to stop whatever this was immediately. That crush had been too much then, and she thought it might be worse now.

“Well, I was raised a muggle and read it before I knew I was a witch.” She laughed, trying to think of a way to move the table conversation elsewhere when Lily turned to her.

“Oh, I forgot you were muggle born!’ Lily added, “ I am, too, and so is Mary! I made James watch The Wizard of Oz, and he couldn’t handle it.”

“Why was that witch green? I thought she had Dragon Pox!” James complained, and Hermione focused on regaining her composure instead of her disconcerting feelings towards Sirius and Remus.

She focused on feeling jealous of the friendships everyone else at the table seemed to have. She wondered briefly if she would have had the chance to make friends like this if she hadn’t fought in a war for most of her teens.

Lily continued, “Sirius loves muggle movies,” Remus seemed to choke at that. She tried to look at Lily but knew her gaze was straying towards the werewolf and his coughing fit.

“Are you okay, Remus?” she asked him quietly. Allowing Lily to continue ranting about muggle action movies.

“He's fine, Hermione! Back to movies. Which ones get famous one day? What should Sirius watch?” Lily said, almost scolding, and Hermione sat upright, her eyes darting away from Remus and towards her.

“Uhm, well, have you taken them to see Star Wars yet?” she asked. Still a bit concerned about Remus as he chugged his water, and Sirius gave Lily a very bewildered look.

“Really? Huh, well, okay, we can take them to see that,” Lily responded before the conversation shifted elsewhere. But Hermione couldn't shake the strange interaction. She turned back towards Kingsley and was grateful to take the focus off those sitting across from her and let him discuss whatever was happening at the Ministry.

Chapter Text

Dorea watched as the young witch made her way around the room. There was something intangible about her grace, the way she seemed to glide instead of walk. There was a coolness to her gaze, though. A lamb, like all other animals, still had teeth.

Pandora Rosier was no weak pet if her last name had any inclination to her nurturing, but Dorea could not help but smile as she watched her use the assumptions others had of her to her advantage. Letting people stay a few steps away, not meeting her watercolor eyes, so stark against the warmth of her tawny skin.

She watched as the witch gave her pleasantries to those still in attendance. The evening wearing on, and before long, she approached Dorea. “Thank you for attending, Ms. Rosier. Are you sure we can not convince you to stay for one more drink?”

“Not tonight. But please call upon me in one month,” Pandora answered.

“Exactly a month?” Dorea questioned, and the young witch just smiled, her eyes taking in a milky cast before they flashed clear again.

“One month and a day” was all she said before bowing her head and slipping away towards the floo.

Dorea was pleased with how well everyone had played their part tonight. Fabian and Gideon seemed to have no trouble gathering the subtle inclinations of their fellow Aurors. Gently nudging them towards the idea that many people were working to fight this supposed Dark Lord. That the Order of the Phoenix was a courageous group, most noble in their actions, but not everyone was a fighter. It didn’t hurt that the young Longbottom couple had flocked to Molly and her boys, so eager to start their own family, so excited to see such a vibrant group in dark times.

Hermione would need all the support she could muster at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Charlus would not be enough if they attempted to destroy the wicked artifacts she described. Speaking of the young witch, she, too, had done a perfect job of garnering interest tonight, even if she did not know the goal.

Dorea had practically glowed watching her converse with Pandora, Hermione so expertly able to tease out the details of her queries. It made Dorea wonder if Hermione should have been a Ravenclaw; her natural inclination to know more and solve puzzles seemed to be endearing to Pandora.

And then Hermione had continued, garnering the interest of those around her. Shacklebolt was seemingly smitten with her, but it was Dorea’s son and his friends that she had most worried about. Lily Evans had been the saving grace there. She’d been pushing the boys towards Hermione for days, and seeing her force in the matter strengthened Dorea’s previous adoration of the young witch who would soon become family.

The hardest sell had been and would continue to be Andromeda, though. As Dorea watched her kiss her husband’s cheek goodbye and send him and her sleeping daughter through the floo, Andromeda immediately turned and met her eye. With a knowing look, Dorea tilted her head to a closed office door, not even looking back to see if the younger witch would follow.

“I do not want my husband being drug further into this war or my daughter put at risk,” were the first words out of Andromeda’s mouth as the door slipped shut behind her.

“Do you think I don’t consider my own family?” Dorea supplied, meeting Andromeda’s ice with her own. She knew it was not out of malice, but Andromeda was always going to be the hardest to convince to help them on their mission.

Being raised in a house such as hers created monsters, and while Andromeda had escaped, she, like every other witch who shared their blood, was not inclined to forget. Dorea thought it was quite a contradiction to how Pandora used her more wicked inclinations. Bathing them in serenity, hiding them like a wolf in sheep's clothing, but Andromeda wore hers like badges of honor like a viper in its den. She made no attempt to hide her predilection for violence.

She had a quick tongue and did not hide her sharp judging eyes. Dorea did not want to extinguish that fire. No, she wanted to continue to breathe life into it. Courting Andromeda to help had been one of her first tasks upon Hermione’s arrival, and now, in a small unused office, she would make her final case.

“What do you want from us?” Andromeda demanded.

“I only want what you freely give. I have no plans to force you to be a part of this,” Dorea responded and watched as Andromeda studied the words, trying to find the truth in the seemingly plain ask.

“What is it you think I can give then?” Her eyes never left Dorea’s as she waited for her answer.

Dorea knew this was her chance. No faux flattery or pleasantries would allow her access to Andromeda’s cunning mind or knowledge. She wanted the facts, and she wanted failsafes. “I think you can help us defeat that group your sisters have flocked to. The lord they now serve.”

“That did not answer my question, Dorea. What role do you wish for me and my family to play in this game of yours? I am not a child and do not speak to me in riddles or hold my sister’s lives above my head. They are grown witches who have made their choices.”

“I would never. Hermione has told us of a great evil he has committed, an evil that will make him impossible to beat if we do not surprise him.” Dorea paused, waiting to see if Andromeda could see the true nature of what they were facing. If, after leaving the snake pit of her childhood, could she too still play the games it would take to win this war?

“He has made himself immortal Andromeda. This won't be a battle of wands. This is going to take time and planning. I need people who can see between the lines of research and strategize how to be one step ahead of a monster.”

“Are you implying that Ted or I can do that?” She questioned, the distrust in gaze still evident, only now her shoulders seemed lower, like the weight of what Dorea had confessed, making them sag.

“I am not implying. I am asking you. Ted may join and help as he wishes, but I am asking you, Andromeda. We have too many brave and pure hearts in our ranks, I need someone who can walk the line of Machivelian and morally righteous. I think that is you,” Dorea said, knowing it would be her last plea to Andromeda for the evening. She had presented her cause, described her need for her, and now the younger Black witch would have to decide.

“I need time to think about this. To discuss with my family. I will owl you when I am ready.” Andromeda did not hesitate as she stood to leave the small office, never once turning her back on Dorea though.

“I would expect nothing less” were the final words of their conversation as the door shut with barely even a noise.

The wine had gone to Hermione’s head. There was no doubt about it. Why else would her cheeks feel warm to the touch or how she was currently unable to control the laughter that came out of her till she had to bend over, holding her stomach as it ached from the hilarity of the story James was telling?

“She, of course, did not find Sirius’s valentine funny,” Remus added, his chuckle filling the space. She wasn’t exactly sure how they had gotten to place. A small group of stragglers, not wanting to leave immediately after dinner, were now sitting on the floor and in random couches of a game room, if she had to guess. Dinner had ended hours ago, but Marlene had practically begged her to stay with them.

“So that was why he had taken the aging potion!” Marlene inquired, and James just nodded yes while using his pointer fingers to whip the tears from his own eyes. But now, as she laughed at their stories, so vibrant and playful, she felt herself relax deep into the wingback chair she had claimed as hers. Her legs were tucked underneath her, her head leaning against the cushioned arm.

“He told her that he was finally old enough to ride the ride that was Minerva McGonnogal! She had no idea what he meant,” he paused to wheeze again, “ but she turned into a cat on the spot and scurried away. He just shouted some Gryffindor she was,” James coughed, his laughter taking over his ability to speak.

“I had detention for a whole week for that. Arseholes stood around and did nothing,” Sirius grumbled, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile over at him. Even in his frustration, he seemed so light. So different than the wizard she had known. The one who haunted Grimmauld Place in 1995, in between bouts of manic excitement and horror at the presence of children in his childhood home, and seemed to claw at the walls of his enclosure.

Now he looked relaxed, his legs carelessly thrown over the arm of a loveseat that he and Remus were sharing. Remus’s arm was thrown over his shoulders, the two appearing to almost melt together at their closeness.

Hermione was definitely drunk because while she couldn’t stop laughing, she also couldn't stop staring at how Remus reverently traced the very top of a tattoo on Sirius’s neck, and she wanted to know what it felt like.

She wanted to know if Sirius’s skin was as creamy to the touch as it looked or if Remus’s scars on his hands would make her shiver at their caress. The idea of feeling both was almost overwhelming as it entered her wine-addled brain. To make matters worse, when she looked away from the two of them, she was struck by a mix of fear and embarrassment, her cheeks scarlet because she found Lily Evans studying her every move.

A spark of something, Hermione wasn’t sure what seemed to flash in Lily’s vivid green eyes, and then she started to crawl, yes, crawl across the carpet towards her. She assumed to question her stalkerish mistake of staring at Remus and Sirius. Hermione briefly wondered if she was too intoxicated to apparate on the spot, to avoid whatever confrontation was coming her way entirely.

Thankfully, she was intercepted by James, who bent over, grabbing her by her middle as if she weighed nothing at all, and in one swift motion, throwing the witch over his shoulder. Her long red hair did nothing to block out her screams and giggles to be put down. James just grinned, looking much too like Harry for Hermione’s comfort, and winked at the group that had assembled around in the room.

“That’s enough for this witch. Crawling around like a wild creature, we will see you all tomorrow,” He announced before turning on the spot and marching out of the room. Lily still flailing on his shoulder.

“James Potter, stop right now. I have an announcement, too!” She demanded, and James stopped right in the entry, not even turning around as he adjusted her on his shoulder.

Lily growled at the realization she would not be put down. Before pushing her curtain of hair away from her face, looking directly at Hermione again, that wicked spark was now back as she spoke, “Hermione, I will find you for tea later this week,” she declared.

“Really, Lily, that was your big announcement?” James groaned before dredging forward, Lily continuing to bounce on his shoulder as he walked them out of the room.

“I believe that is probably my sign to go home,” Hermione said, attempting to stand up from the chair she had all but been swallowed up by, the room a bit wobbly as she did. “Thank you for having me,” she said to no one in particular and felt something loosen in her chest as a chorus of goodbyes and even a few see you soons, followed her statement.

Hermione was about to enter the floo, the conversation growing loud again after her departure, when she heard steps behind her. It appeared even wine couldn’t stop her battle-hardened tendencies because her wand was drawn instantly, pressing harshly into the neck of a very concerned werewolf not even a foot from her.

With a shaky breath, she lowered her arm and wand, not ready to look at him. “Sorry, bad habit.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Good reflexes.” She tried not to wince at the half-hearted distraction from how extreme her reaction had been. “I just wanted to make sure you got through the floo okay. Seemed a little off balance.”

“Oh ha. Yeah, I’ll probably end up on my bum on the other side.” Remus looked at her with confusion, as if she had been speaking a different language, when she confessed to her lack of grace regarding magical travel.

“Really, a witch like you ends up arse over head from a little tipsy floo travel” She rolled her eyes up at him. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but she realized how much taller he was now, so close to her. She had to crane her neck just to look up at him.

“I’ve never been good at magical travel. Every witch must have her flaws.” She smirked and felt goosebumps traveled up her arms when he did the same back down at her.

“You can travel through time but not a floo?” Maybe she was fully losing her mind, the insanity of her situation bearing down on her because, at that moment, she could have sworn his voice had dropped lower. Or maybe he was just so close to her that the words seeped deeper into her consciousness, playing with the now rapid beating of her heart. She tried not to focus on how he could probably hear the change in its rhythm or that if she tried hard enough, she could hear his, too.

“You have a lot of questions, Remus Lupin.” She hadn’t meant for it to be a breathy whisper, but somehow, his name came out like that. Desperate, as if saying it out loud was as bad as admitting her complicated feelings.

“You have a lot of answers.” She was sure he meant it playfully, but something about the certainty of his statement felt like cold hands gripping her. She did have a lot of answers, and she needed to pull herself together. Those answers were going to save Remus and his boyfriend. She’d be good to remember that, and she needed to go home, take a sober up, and start working using all the answers she had tomorrow.

Remus must have sensed the change in her because gone were his matching flirtations instead he looked at her with something akin to pity. She hated it, but it was better not to toe a line that she couldn’t come back from. If she truly were stuck in this time, she’d be better off not ruining something so obviously good for a man who she had watched suffer so much.

“I need to go I’m sure Gid of Fab are wondering where I am.” She finally croaked out, the words just a weak excuse to get out of the receiving room, away from him.

“Oh yeah, well, see you around. Be careful not to land too hard on the other side,” he joked, but Hermione knew better. She could see the guilt in his eyes, too, at whatever this bizarre evening had been between the two of them. A reminder that it should have been just a regular goodbye between acquaintances.

That’s what she needed to keep telling herself that they were. That she was with any of these people. They had years of friendship under their belts, and while she might have the key to winning this war, she’d lost what they had. It wasn’t fair for her to take theirs for herself. James could not replace Harry, Lily would be no Ginny, she wasn’t even sure who Marlene and Dorcas reminded her of, but most importantly, this was not the Remus and Sirius she knew.

The first of August was like any other day for Charlus Potter, and the ordinarily chipper wizard felt a bit more somber. Usually, this was the day he started counting down till his only son was off again to Hogwarts.

In August, he took every moment he could to spend time with James and eventually Sirius, too, as they grew older. Letting them run around his office and play pretend Auror, or in the later years, harass the current team for stories of their missions and work.

But now he felt anxious, jittery even. It was tranquil, he guessed. James and Sirius would be joining the team soon, but the next training group didn’t start till October, and without their excitement well, Charlus just felt a bit dull.

Sick of mopping in his office, Charlus decided to make a few laps around the bullpen, see who maybe he could bother, and get a good field story out of. The twins had just gone out with Shacklebolt the day before, looking into something with Albania, so they were out. He debated going out on the streets and searching for Dung Fletcher; maybe he’d have some tips to keep him entertained for the day. Moody had to be somewhere, but he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for a lecture from the paranoid Auror.

That was until he came upon Oliver McKinnon’s office, deciding that reliving his Hogwarts glory days with his oldest friend was the best option. Charlus quickly magicked a few cups of coffee from the cart over to him before sauntering into his office.

Everyone, and by everyone, he meant the Wizengamot, had thought Charlus mad when he promoted Oliver to Head Auror, but they were wrong. Oliver might have been his best friend for years, but he was like a bloodhound. The wizard had an innate ability to tell when people were lying, and Charlus had always respected his skill at finessing the truth out of others. Whether that was deep below them in the interrogation rooms of the Ministry of Magic or the time when a young James and Marlene had eaten an entire plate of chocolate biscuits and denied so when they eventually got sick. Oliver got to the bottom of things.

Oliver was happy to indulge in a bit of commiserating, the two sitting at his desk for over an hour catching up, talking about their children who still seemed to be attached at the hip, and how young Margaret was going to fare at Hogwarts this year without her sister.

Charlus knew their conversation was coming to an end, but it stopped short when both wizards caught sight of something you did not see every day. From the back corner office belonging to Bartemius Crouch Sr, a very recognizable wizard did not attempt to hide his identity as he left the Head of Wizengamot Administrative Services office.

As if Oliver could read Charlus’s mind, he supplied, “I bet it’s about that boy of his,” Charlus grunted, indicating his want for Oliver to elaborate. Oliver just rolled his eyes. “Smart as a whip, 12 OWLs, but heard a certain group is very interested in him. Friends with that younger Black brother. Not sure what else, though. Margaret isn’t friends with him, despite both being Ravenclaws but said he gets in a lot of fights in the castle.”

“We could use more duelists around here, maybe his father could convince him after he graduates.” Charlus knew it was his greatest weakness in the eyes of his wife, but he thought of his desire to see the best in everyone, to coax their potential out of them, his greatest strength. It’d taken years to do it with Sirius. How long could it take for Barty’s kid?

“I think he’s fighting the muggle way, but have you ever heard Barty talk about the boy? You’d think he was talking about a niffler infestation in the way he describes the kid's presence.” Charlus was no stranger to hearing the tales of lackluster, pure-blood parents. He lived with two prime examples, but knowing it happened in his department frustrated him.

“So you think Dumbledore came to what? Tell him to get his son in line?” Charlus took another sip of his coffee. James had gotten in his fair share of trouble during his seven years at the school, but Albus had never paid him a visit at work.

“Maybe, I doubt Crouch cares enough though, wife practically dying and all,” Oliver winced as he said the words, and Charlus remembered how Mae McKinnon had been working on a treatment for the poor woman, a blood curse she had told Dorea. Going as far as to spend time outside of her shifts at St. Mungo’s to try and heal her.

“Hmm, well, let me know if you hear any more about that, will ya?” With that, Charlus stood and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. With a brief goodbye, he worked his way back to his office, unsure why the meeting between the headmaster and the member of his team made him so uncomfortable.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, though, because as if summoned by his thoughts, Albus appeared at his door, that twinkling look in his eye, but Charlus had doubts. Ever since Dorea had pointed out all the oddities in his response to Hermione’s arrival, Charlus had felt the admiration he had once held for his former professor cracking. He didn’t outright distrust the wizard, he did not doubt that Dumbledore wanted the end of this guerrilla war and dark magic, but Charlus wasn’t sure if he was the right one to lead them to victory.

“Ah, Charlus, I was looking for you!” He exclaimed that warm timber of his voice filling Charlus’s already cramped office.

“What can I do for you, Albus?” Charlus tried to make himself look busy with the mountain of papers on his desk as he responded.

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to visit a friend. How are things? My reports say the attacks are increasing again.” Dumbledore’s tone seemed almost patronizing, as if he was implying he was doing Charlus’s job for him by offering up that tidbit of information. This is information that Charlus was intimately aware of already as Head of the DMLE.

“Yes, it would seem that way, not just in the number, but it appears the violence is ramping up too,” Dorea and he had discussed this. Not giving Albus information wasn’t an option; they still needed him to trust them. They didn’t need to be painted as enemies in a time of unrest, but they had no plans to seek his guidance for their goals.

“Charlus, I have trusted your council since the beginning of this conflict. Do you think we need to change our approach?” Charlus could hear the unasked question in his tone, though. Do you think I have led us astray by not fighting back harder? But it was not a question of growth and strategy, it was a test: where would the Potters fall, and would it be with The Order? Were they going to continue to fight with them, or were they going to start questioning? Albus probably already knew the answer.

“I think when those on the other side of the board change their tactics, then so should we,” Was the answer Charlus landed on. It was strategic in nature, seeming like advice, something he would tell anyone who sought him for support.

“That sounds like something your wife would say, but it is sound advice.” His former professor chided, like he was back in his classroom, his answer correct but not satisfactory.

“She is a wise witch. I’m a very lucky wizard,” Charlus defended.

“You are a good man, Charlus Potter. Thank you for continuing to be a steady sounding board for me,” Was his cryptic response as Albus made his way out of Charlus’s office, the implied insult to her Slytherin nature still hanging in the air between them as he paused once more.

“I do hope we can have dinner together soon” were his parting words, and Charlus couldn’t help but wonder if they were a warning or a test.

“She was quite lovely at tea, Remus. I’m not sure what you are fretting about,” Lily tutted as she moved around his and Sirius’s kitchen, their flat conveniently just above Lily and Mary’s, which apparently meant the witch could show up whenever she pleased to torment him.

“Marlene is, of course, smitten. You should act fast, she might try to swoop in and make a triad with her and Cas.” All Remus could do was choke on the muggle soda she had bought him. The bubbles burned as they forcefully made their way down his throat, much like how Moony seemed to simmer with anger at Lily’s suggestion.

“Lily, can you not today? You are here to help me apply for jobs, not to bring up my situation?” Remus pleaded, and she just scoffed, taking the Prophet from his hands and scanning it herself.

“Well, what do you want to do?” She asked, and Sirius chose that moment to saunter in the front door. Remus said a silent thank you to the gods he had not heard her earlier statements.

“He wants to wallow in his misery because no one will hire a werewolf when I know damn well Aberford offered him a job in the bar,” Sirius grunted as he plopped down onto the couch next to Remus—leaning over to kiss Remus on the cheek as he sat.

“Oh, what type of job? Would we get a discount?” Lily asked, her eyes excited.

“Lily, you are dating James Potter. Do you pay for drinks?” Remus quipped, and he couldn’t control his eye roll at her need for penny-pinching.

“And you are dating Sirius Black. That doesn’t mean the muggle ways leave us, Remus, and you ignored my question. What would you be doing?” She continued, now tidying the cabinets that Remus knew were disorganized. He and Sirius knew where everything was in the chaos, and that's what mattered.

“Lils, don’t you have a mastery to study for?” She just shot him a hard glare, her hands on her hips, waiting for him to answer her “Uhfff” he puffed “It’d be working the bar and serving as some kind of security on busy nights. Not that there are busy nights at Hog’s Head.”

“Did someone say Hog’s Head?” James proclaimed as he stumbled through the floo into the living room with the three of them.

“What are you doing here?” Remus asked, confused as to how and why everyone was home today to bother him in his so-called wallowing.

“Well, Lily Flower wasn’t in her flat, so I figured I’d try here before checking the Prewett’s. Am I not allowed? I’m hurt, Remus truly, I thought we were closer than that!” James’s voice was rising higher and higher as Sirius laughed at his antics. Even Lily seemed to be snickering at his proclamations of love for the werewolf as they continued getting more dramatic “7 years, we lived together, like lovers practically! And you can’t welcome me into your home?”

“Sod off Prongs,” Remus gruffed before hiding his face in Sirius’s neck. Letting the smell of leather and cigarettes fill his senses, Moony calmed at the sensation.

“Why would you be at Prewett’s Evans?” Sirius asked, and Remus could feel the rumble of his words as he continued to press his head into his throat, not ready to face whatever horrible lie Lily would try to spin.

“Well, when she’s not owling the poor witch, she just pops over and bothers that Hermione. I swear she goes over there every day and only comes to Potter Manor twice a week,” James groaned before laying down on the floor of their flat, immediately pulling himself into some strange quidditch stretch Remus had watched him do almost every morning in their dorm.

“Courting the girl, are you Evans? Are you more forward with witches? Only wizards get strung along with hexes and called sweet words like toerag for six years straight?” Sirius laughed, and Remus looked over to see the fumes coming from Lily’s ears.

“Sirius Black, I am not in the mood for your vulgar jokes today. She is a very nice girl and spends all her time with either the grown-up version of your lot or her sister, who has five kids and is ten years older than her. I just thought she might like a friend her own age, and guess what she did!” Lily stomped, her magic seeming to skitter across her skin at her indignation towards Sirius.

“Woah, cool it, she was perfectly fine if a bit of a lightweight,” Sirius said, holding his hands up, palms facing her, in a sign of surrender for whatever violent act she was debating in her mind.

“Good. You’d be smart to be nice around her, Marlene and I have no plans on letting her go any time soon,” and with that, Lily huffed and went back to organizing their cabinets.

Though Sirius was not done tormenting her, Remus audibly groaned when he saw the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, I can be very nice to her, Evans, but the question is, how nice are you? How far are you in your little project to fix her? Isn’t this exactly what you tried to do with Snivellus?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Lily was back in the room, instantaneously apparating in front of Sirius, her wand raised. “I will say this one more time, and you will do well to remember it, Black.” She dragged his name out like it was an insult, and Remus assumed it probably was to him. “You will be nice to her, and you will not make her or I the victims of whatever cruel games you have enjoyed for the past seven years with these idiots are your side.” Lily was huffing now, her need to defend others warping into righteousness.

James stage whispered, “I am not an idiot,” and Remus had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at his complete and utter lack of fear of Lily’s wrath.

“We have all had enough loss and hurt this summer, and she’s had even more. Do not ruin my chances of befriending her by being a toerag.” Lily sent a small but mighty stinging hex to Sirius, and while Remus may not have seen it land, there was no mistaking the yelp that came out of him.

“Godric, I love it when you get fired up, my fiery red-headed goddess,” James said with awe from his place still on the floor. Lily just rolled her eyes before turning back to Remus.

“So when are we sending your acceptance to Aberford? Or can we go in person? I need a drink.”

Chapter Text

Seeing Peter again was jarring to his system. At first, the sight of blonde hair made him feel excited. He hadn’t seen Wormtail in weeks, his immediate reaction felt like he was missing a limb, having lived with him for so long. Sirius had missed his quiet comments and shy jokes, but that excitement morphed into horror as the boy he once called his friend turned to look at him, and he remembered. Like a swift punch to the gut, he was looking not at the boy who had shared a dorm with him for seven years but instead the deranged man from Hermione’s memories. The one that would frame him for killing James and Lily.

Sirius and Remus had spoken about Peter a lot in the month since their first order meeting. Often late at night, when the darkness of their flat made them vulnerable to the truth of it all. No longer able to hide their feelings of betrayal and disappointment with smiling faces for their friends in the daylight.

No, in their bed, they just had each other, and that’s when they’d talk about it. The darkness hid the all-encompassing hurt that filled their eyes and seemed to welcome the cracked voices that described their pain. Only now, Sirius wasn’t in the dark. He was sitting in a worn wooden chair, and he wasn’t sure it was strong enough to support all the anger and grief that filled him.

Thankfully, he had Remus to support him if said chair couldn’t handle his swirling emotions. The wizard was playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Sirius wasn’t sure if it was to give Remus something to do with his hands, a feeble attempt to keep him from leaning across the table to strangle Peter, or to hold Sirius in place so he couldn’t murder him either.

He was sure Remus thought he was calming Sirius down with gentle strokes and nails scratching his scalp as Peter entered the room, sitting directly across from them. One of the last to arrive, Sirius noted. But Remus was touching Sirius for himself, too. Remus needed to know where Sirius was in a room when a threat presented itself. Sirius assumed it was some alpha wolf thing, and he didn’t mind. This had always been their dance as lovers, pushing and pulling of boundaries, but at the end of it all, it was about loving and protecting each other.

That was until the true last person entered the room alone. He had grown used to seeing her with her sidekicks. Either one or both of the Prewett twins went everywhere with her, and according to Evans, she didn’t leave the house she shared with her brothers often. He still wasn’t sure what the relationship there really was.

He wasn’t dumb; he knew an 18-year-old girl from the future couldn’t actually be their sister, but was she related to them? Was she dating one of them? He couldn’t quite place why the thought of her dating one was so odd to him, probably because her cover story the idea of her dating one, or either seemed a bit too pureblood.

It appeared she was the only thing that could distract people from Peter. The silence that had filled the room when she entered was somehow worse than the one Peter had created. Everyone turned to look at her, while everyone had ignored Peter. He felt a sense of annoyance that they seemed to gawk at her. He, too, knew what it was like to face unwanted attention, his time at Hogwarts had been filled with similar moments in the Great Hall, both because of his family and his own actions.

He wasn’t sure if it was because everyone was surprised that a time traveler existed and she was again in their presence or if the bizarre muggle denim contraction she was wearing caused their eyes to focus on her. Having grown used to her presence thanks to Evans, for him, it was the muggle denim shorts that turned into a top that seemed to pull his attention.

He’d seen Marls wear something similar once, a catsuit she’d called it, but seeing Hermione's legs on display made him pause. The expanse of skin that seemed to grow tanner every time he saw her was distracting from the eerie quiet that filled the room. He hadn’t meant to think of her like that, but it was like each time he saw her, he thought less of her memories.

No longer when he thought of her did he envision her writhing under his cousin’s cursing. Instead, he focused more on the subtle changes in her appearance, how she seemed to be coming to life before all of them. Evans, the eternal savior, was up in an instant barreling towards the poor girl, arms open, asking her where she’d gotten the contraption that covered her.

Hermione seemed startled by the embrace, and Sirius couldn’t help but see a bit of himself in her shock. He’d been the same way when James had so effortlessly forced him into the Potter family. He made Sirius his brother like it was as common as breathing, second nature, welcoming someone into the deepest parts of his existence. Godric Lily and James really were meant for each other with their smothering inclinations of love.

But he understood Hermione's confusion. He’d felt that all the time in the beginning. He’d look around the Potter table as everyone talked about their day and think, why? Hermione seems to have the same questions, her eyes darting around the room and to Lily’s hand that was tugging her towards an empty seat right between her and Sirius.

He wanted to be annoyed at her blatant obsession with making their friends accept Hermione or, more specifically, making him accept her. He did accept her. He thought she was nice enough, even cute, now that he had a frame of reference that wasn’t her torture. Hell, he’d even found her funny at that strange party Dorea threw, but Lily was obsessed with making Sirius befriend her. He wasn’t sure how much closer he could get with someone they’d only known for a month.

But still, Lily plopped the girl right down next to him, and he smiled at her, giving her a slight nod of hello. Remus was less immune to Lily's meddling because he leaned over the front of Sirius and gave her a friendly “Hullo Hermione.” Sirius had to cough to cover his yelp as Remus’s other hand, still tangled in his hair, seemed to grasp tighter as he welcomed the witch to their end of the table.

“Hi, Remus. Nice to see you both,” she said before worrying herself with her bag and pulling out a notebook and some plastic quill. Sirius could have sworn he heard her words shake just a little as she responded to Remus.

She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with his condition before, but now she appeared desperate to distract herself from whatever was causing the gentle tremor in her hands. Maybe it wasn’t Remus then; he’d been nice enough to walk her to the floo the other night, and Merlin knew he had to listen to most of Lily's ramblings about her.

Sirius looked around the table and landed on Peter, his eyes on Hermione, and debated if he was causing her discomfort. If Peter was upset with Hermione’s presence, that was the joke of the century because Sirius was sure everyone was uncomfortable with him. No one had outwardly spoken against Dumbledore’s idea of making him a spy, but it was clear as day that few enthusiastically agreed with it, based on Peter’s welcome tonight. But it gave Sirius another idea.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the instrument she’d written the date with at the top of the free page of her journal.

“Huh?” She turned as if surprised by his question before looking at her notes. “Oh, it’s a mechanical pencil. I can’t find a sharpener in most wizarding places,” she offered. Sirius just nodded, watching her delicately continue to write down some random bits about the meeting that was starting soon.

“Have you only ever used quills?” She questioned a few moments later, and he could have sworn he heard Remus chuckle on his other side.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he teased, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes. These are better, though.” Remus was definitely chuckling. Cheeky git probably loved seeing Hermione lord the information over him, but Sirius didn’t care. He had another plan, and Hermione was essential to it.

“And prey tell why they are better.” he lifted one eyebrow, a bit accusatory, waiting for her to elaborate.

Thankfully, she indulged him. “Because there’s no ink spills or smudges, and you can erase,” she said and flipped the mechanical pencil, as she had called it, around in her fingers before pushing a white marshmallow-like end into the words she’d just written. With a few swipes, they were gone.

“You could just vanish the ink if you used a quill, you know?” he meant it as a question, but it came out rougher than intended, and he quickly realized how much he enjoyed teasing her. She was so susceptible to it that a gruff response and a subtle dig were enough to make her huff at him before continuing.

He couldn’t help the smirk he shot down at her, her frustration coating her cheeks in a scarlet blush, unlike the pretty pink he’d noticed when she had gotten so tipsy at the Potters a few weeks ago. The color seemed to accentuate the mirth that flashed in her eyes. Like she wanted to fight back with him, go toe to toe with his challenges.

She’d done it almost every time since she’s made such a dramatic entrance into his life, and while he wasn’t planning on smothering the poor witch like Lily, as he looked at her now, he didn’t mind the playfulness that was starting to come out of her.

It also helped that across the table, he could sense Peter seething at Hermione’s presence in their group, his former group. Sirius hoped it chapped every inch of him to see how quickly they could replace a rat like him. While Hermione busied herself in drawing little loops with her erasable quill, Sirius couldn’t help but turn back to glance at Peter. His smile was smug, as if he could read every bit of his insecure thoughts and feel the jealousy radiating from him.

Sirius didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned back and threw his arm over the top of Hermione’s chair, just like he’d seen the Prewetts do. Peter could only grind his teeth, watching the physical acceptance of Hermione, and Sirius basked in the resentment that was being directed towards him. He let his smile grow wider, a toothy, gruesome one, as a not-so-subtle reminder that he and the rest of his former friends still thought Peter was a threat.

“Is your little game over yet?” Hermione whispered from beside him. Not even looking up from her notebook, working through arithmancy equations if he had to guess based on the contents of the almost overflowing page now.

“Excuse me,” His spell on Peter broke as he stuttered, dumbfounded by her ability to call him out on his behavior flawlessly.

“You heard me. Are you done tormenting him and me, or is there another reason you're tugging on my hair?” Sirius hadn’t even noticed he’d taken the raucous curls at the end of one of her braids into his hand. Unbeknownst to him, he had just been fidgeting with it as he watched her work and studied Peter, and now he couldn’t deny how soft it felt.

He was used to curly hair, his own had finally calmed a bit over the years, but he remembered how hard it was to manage. The fact that hers was so soft to the touch was soothing to him. The slip of the ends felt a bit like a memory, the familiarity of the curls comforting. It made him wonder if this was why Remus was always shoving his hands into Sirius’s hair.

Lily seemed to giggle from her spot beside Hermione, and Remus coughed in confusion, or maybe it was annoyance at Sirius’s apparent wandering hands. Sirius tried to control the urge to throw them both a very offensive gesture before turning to Hermione but not letting go of her braid. “Sorry, Prewett”

“Stop that. You call my brothers that,” she bit back at him, almost hissing from her throat, and Sirius was surprised by her strong reaction, so unlike the witch he’d slowly been getting to know.

“Woah, calm down there, it’s just a nickname. But fine, if you don’t like that one, I’ll find something just for you.”

“I don’t want any nicknames, please,” She groaned.

“Not an option. Sorry, I can’t even use Evans’s first name.” He could have sworn that even though she rolled her eyes, she was enjoying herself, too. For a moment, Sirius thought that Hermione seemed to beam at the idea of a nickname, and the excitement in her features had him making a silent promise to himself to find her one.

——

“Ah, Miss Prewett, what does the future say of our plans?” the question might have seemed sincere to many, but Hermione had a sinking suspicion that Dumbledore was displeased by her continued presence.

She had not expected fanfare and was grateful to slink into a corner of the table with the rest of the youngest members of The Order. Truthfully, she planned on attending and not speaking at all, but it appeared that her desires were not taken into consideration.

Sirius and Lily seemed to straighten next to her at the attention of their recent Headmaster, and Hermione wondered if they, too, planned on pretending to be invisible until she forced everyone’s attention toward them. She felt guilty about it that in saving them, they might face scrutiny, but Dorea had put her trust in Hermione, and that was what mattered. That somewhere else in this room, in another corner, Dorea and Charlus were watching and supporting her.

“Well, I was not privy to every plan The Order has ever made. But I can say from my time, even our best fighters were often unprepared for what they faced.” that seemed like a neutral answer. She wasn’t claiming his idea to use the original McKinnon attack as Death Eater bait was a bad idea, but she felt like she had found a fatal flaw in it.

“Aye, you're saying we can’t fight? McKinnons head auror, for Merlin’s sake. The future has no faith in us?” Alastor Moody accused from his seat near Dumbledore, and Hermione rushed to correct.

“Not at all, it’s just, well, the Death Eaters will start using more violent means. Attack in larger numbers. They aren’t afraid to use unforgivables. It was one of our biggest struggles. Being too righteous that we couldn’t defend ourselves properly.” The words poured out of her, and she hoped they understood it wasn’t an insult but a plea for more. That she wanted them to live once her knowledge was useless and the timeline changed beyond recognition.

“That is an interesting point, Ms. Prewett. And how did you combat this issue?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Well, we trained. Some of us did—those who had less experience. We had a training group at school and then on breaks as well. Older members would take time to practice with us.” As she said older members, she felt like every eye in the room was on her. So few of them would become older members, and the thought made her stomach churn. The guilt she had thought she was overcoming at not doing enough creeping back into her chest.

“Are you suggesting we bring back this training group?” His question still carried an undercurrent of distrust in her idea, and she tried to face Dumbledore to respond. She tried to ignore how his decision to pick apart the idea he asked her for in front of everyone made her palms sweat and her throat dry. She hadn’t felt like this last time when she had been laid open for everyone, but now it felt like her credibility was under attack, causing her panic to rise.

“We have trained Aurors in The Order. Do we need to train civilians?” Alastor protested, and his lack of support made her heart plummet. He had once celebrated this idea when it had been Harry’s, but now that it was hers, it was offensive. She may have never liked him, but to know that she held so little respect in his eyes stung.

Her leg started to shake as all eyes seemed to look at her and agree with his question. Who was she to challenge those who knew the most? To question those who were the most battle-hardened? She could feel her thoughts slipping away from her, her impromptu interrogation made her lock up. She tried to work up the courage to answer the question, to try and crack out of the shell of anxiety she was in when she felt it.

As if one man’s touch was enough to help bring the tornado of her emotions down, a large pale hand covered in silver rings and a black tattoo of the rune eihwaz, gently squeezed her trembling knee. Like it was perfectly planned by Circe herself, Hermione remembered that to many, eihwaz represented persistence.

It was used as a guiding principle for many groups to push forward to continue through hardship. She didn’t look at Sirius as she gathered her wits to respond; didn’t want to give away how she was struggling to those around her. Still, she was eternally grateful for his silent sign of support and slid her hand onto this, a gentle squeeze of her own to represent her gratitude.

Thankful it was distraction enough from her roaring fear, she finally answered. “There will be a time when missions won’t be enough. Where we all have to go and fight where we can. We will not be able to predict when Death Eaters will show up on our doorsteps. They crashed a wedding, they are ruthless. We will need constant vigilance.” she looked at Alastor, feeling a bit of pride again as the words seemed to affect him, not quite proud, but at least surprised by her inclusion of them. “Training is the best way to get that.” Hermione tried to keep the pleading from her tone, but the more she thought it, the more it made sense. Currently, members of The Order felt more like sitting ducks than a band of rebels fighting against a megalomaniac.

She wondered if the lack of preparedness was the reason so many had died. Half the order in front of her was young; the only trained ones were those who worked at the DMLE, and that was maybe a third. She didn’t mean to judge, but right now, she wasn’t sure if Lily would stand a chance against a Death Eater, let alone Voldemort, if she didn’t use all her magical core. It was terrifying to Hermione that while she had provided that list, all it did was let them skirt death, not prevent it.

“I am inclined to agree with you, Ms. Prewett. Charlus gave me similar advice the other day. Charlus, will you work to set up some training time for those not joining the DMLE soon?” Dumbledore said, and Hermione felt an immense wave of satisfaction. While she might be concerned about the wizard's methods, hearing the praise combined with Sirius’s continued squeezing of her knee settled some lingering anxious energy zipping through her veins.

Now that her time in the spotlight was over, Dumbledore seemingly moved forward with new topics. She looked over at Sirius and offered him a shy smile of thanks, and he just solemnly nodded his head in return before pulling his hand back. She’d never admit it out loud, but as the last of his fingertips left her skin, grazing gently across her thigh and knee, she felt empty.

The rest of the meeting continued without incident, and she was grateful the spotlight had not returned to her. Hermione was surprised, though, by the amount of people who wanted to speak with her after everything had ended. She hadn’t taken Molly seriously earlier this summer when she had joked that it felt a bit like a young professionals night, but as she packed up her bag, people seemed to be lingering around her.

First, it was Edgar Bones who had wanted to thank her. The Bones family was another attack that would have happened before Christmas, and he was relieved that they could move and up their wards. She tried to brush the thanks off, saying that things would change, but Edgar had been adamant that even if things ended the same, escaping death once was enough for thanks.

Next had been Charlus and Dorea. Dorea invited her to tea with a few other witches at the manor, and Hermione sensed an ulterior motive. When Dorea finally mentioned it was to celebrate Pandora’s return to school, she deduced that their time was short to begin the castle phase of their plan.

Then, Charlus and Marlene took the time to introduce her to Marlene’s father, and Hermione continued smiling and doing her best to stay engaged. Oliver McKinnon was friendly, and she loved seeing Marlene’s adoration for her father and Charlus’s carefree nature with his long-time friend. Still, the constant parade of introductions was beginning to grow old, and she tried very hard not to curse Dorea and Leticia mentally for their plan of public introduction.

She was thankful when Kingsley seemed to swoop in. Despite her emotional exhaustion from the politics she’d been playing since her arrival that evening, she was pleasantly surprised when it was he who invited her to drinks with everyone afterward. She’d expect something like this from Lily, but having it be Kingsley made that girlish part of her preen. She still felt a bit off kilter from Sirius’s overly touchy support earlier when she told him how she’d love to, hoping Kingsley might distract her conflicting feelings. She was just finishing up asking if he had a way to tell Fab and Gid she’d be home late when she felt another presence behind her.

Kingsley stiffened, and she watched him slip his wand into his hand as whoever it was approached. She tried to discreetly mimic the action when she felt a hand on her elbow. She forced her expression to be blank, much like she had been in the Malfoy Manor dungeons for weeks when she turned to stand face-to-face with Peter Pettigrew.

“I was wondering if I could speak with you, Hermione.” he was no longer using the tone he had snapped at Dorea or the whimpering pleas she had heard in her 3rd year. No, now he sounded like a boy, a regular old boy.

She knew he had made an unbreakable vow to serve as a spy for The Order, but Hermione knew better than to trust anyone at face value. Even Snape had wronged The Order in his work, going as far as to kill Dumbledore. Peter may be no different; he had been worse in her time, and she didn’t need his seemingly innocent appearance to distract from that.

She tried to keep an eye on Kingsley in her periphery, hoping he knew better than to leave her alone. She was relieved when she caught his maroon auror robes just out of the corner of her eye, and behind Peter, she breathed a sigh of relief as Remus seemed to be watching the interaction with keen awareness, motioning for Sirius also to pay attention to whatever was about to happen.

“Sure, Peter, what would you like to talk about?” it took every bit of mind-clearing she had been practicing since they first fled to the Forest of Dean to look him in the eye. It was as if saying his name was akin to using an unforgivable though, and it felt like every person around them had quieted and was watching the interaction, and she was, once again, for the evening back in the spotlight. A place she was quickly growing to resent.

“I wasn’t planning on having an audience. I apologize if I don’t get this right,” he started before taking a rather large breath, his voice shaky, “but Hermione, I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” She asked incredulously, and she could hear a small gasp from where Lily and Mary stood a few steps away, their eavesdropping painfully obvious.

“Yes, well, if you hadn’t exposed me. I was apparently destined to do some pretty horrible things.” a self-deprecating laugh bubbled out of him as he continued, “My mom's been struggling since we lost my dad. And that's what they threatened me with, Her,” he paused. Hermione understood it. She, too, had done things she regretted to save her parents. She momentarily slipped, filled with the desire to let her face reflect that compassion and empathy she felt at caring for a loved one, before quickly slipping back into that blank mind space.

“Merlin, I'm rambling, but now Dumbledores has also offered to help her. So thank you for that,” He finished abruptly as he leaned back away from her, his body was tight. As if preparing for whatever blow she would land on him next. But Peter had done more damage with his gratitude and confused her beyond her wildest expectations with his words.

“Oh well, you’re welcome, I guess. If it makes you feel any better. I didn’t want it to be true. It wasn’t fun.” She tried to empathize with the moment, and Peter seemed to loosen up but was still dejected.

“No, I can’t imagine you did. Well, that was all I had.” He finished with, taking his first few steps back away from her.

“Okay, thanks for telling me.” She offered a forced tentative smile, and Peter returned it with his own before awkwardly turning and walking towards the floo, the room not returning, to normal till he left. Hermione just watched him, still shocked at the exchange of the events.

“Well, that was bloody odd,” Kingsley chuckled, and Hermione just shrugged her shoulders, not yet ready to process, before he continued, “Well, how about that drink? I feel like you need it now.”

And with that, she took his proffered hand and let the pull of his apparition carry them forward.

———

Watching Hermione drink on the arm of Kingsley Shacklebolt rapidly became the worst moment of Remus Lupin's short, cursed life. It was worse than the time Sirius brought that random puff girl back to the dorm room and forgot to put a silencing charm on. It was worse than when Sirius had a crush on Frank Longbottom and made Remus listen to a multiple-day monologue about how Frank was his male awakening.

It was worse because Remus would never be the most handsome recruit of the 1977 auror class Kingsley Shacklebolt. He would never be as comfortable and confident as Kingsley looked right now, leaned back against the bar he was forced to look at most days of the week, and the two seemed to talk animatedly about something. So Remus stared into the bottom of the empty glass and sulked, glowering really at anyone who came and spoke to him.

Dorcas had already cornered him and asked him why he looked like he could burn a hole into his pint glass, and Remus had just lied and said he was tired but didn’t want to go home without Sirius. Dorcas, who spent too much around her fellow Slytherins, in Remus’s opinion, just gave him a withering look, like she was offended by his misery and his piss-poor lying.

But still, Remus's eyes kept drifting back over to Hermione, who seemed to be having the time of her life if her laughter and rapid hand movements proved anything. Even James noticed, finally addressing the glaringly obvious infatuation. “Mate, what’s going on? You think Hermione’s going to hurt Kings?”

His drink got caught in his throat, and he had to cough, his eyes watering as he looked at James. “What are you talking about?” He sputtered.

James gave him an equally bewildered look. “Well, why else would you spend half the night staring at her like you want to eat her?”

The implication of tasting her, a thought plaguing many of Remus’s dreams, made him groan. “James shut the fuck up” was all he could come up with as a response. He had been damn near giddy at the sight of Sirius’s innocent flirting with her earlier, and now, as he watched her lean into Kingsley’s flirting so different from how she’d been with Sirius, he felt defeated.

“No, I don’t get it. Mum likes her, Lily is obsessed, and even Sirius laughs with her, but you seem to know something. So tell me, should I be nervous?” the desperate look in James’s eyes made Remus feel guilty. Almost as guilty as that uncomfortable goodbye he’d offered her the last time he saw her.

He just wanted to make sure she got through the floo, but somehow their little banter had turned into something exciting, till he, of course, ruined it again. He got too close to her, and his fingers were itching to reach out and cup her cheek, run them along the scars on her neck, and lose themselves in her lush hair like he loved doing with Sirius. He was sure she’d smell like ripe strawberries if he got close enough, but he’d scared her off. The fearful look in her eyes was enough to douse the hope coursing through him at that moment.

Remus looked up at James and thought of a half-lie. Just something to get him off his back till he could figure out what he would do about her, Sirius, Moony, and Merlin, and even Lily at this rate. “No, I think she’s fine. It’s just the wolf, ya know? Moonys too interested for his own good.”

“Oh good, you finally told James!” Lily said as she plopped onto the bar stool next to James. Laying her head on his shoulder, and like James had forgotten the whole conversation, he just smiled goofily at her. But Remus’s relief was short-lived when he turned back to him, and his previous confusion returned.

“Told me what?” James's brow furrowed and nose scrunched, moving his glasses with them as he asked the question.

“Oh my gods, Remus. That is phase two and three quarters! You need to tell people so we can get more help,” Lily groaned, and he wasn’t sure if she was drunk or just trying to push every button he had.

“Phase two and three what? What does that mean?” James asked. Remus was trying to cling to some kind of excuse in his head, but everything was slipping through his fingers.

“James, can you go get me another drink, please?” Lily whined, and Remus saw the glint of a plan working in her eyes. Despite his confusion, James just nodded, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before he made his way to the other end of the bar. As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned on him, her finger coming forward to poke at the center of his chest. “Remus! Come on. Have you told Sirius yet?”

“Lily, shut up. I love you, but really shut up, please, for the love of all things magic. We are at my fucking job, and you are about to make a scene,” Remus hissed through his teeth. But Lily wouldn’t take no for an answer. She looked up at him, and with her teeth bared, she responded.

“No, Remus, this has gone on long enough. Weeks too long. You need to tell Sirius how you feel about her, and you two need to make this work. I can’t do all the work for you.” She huffed as if this was her burden and not his.

“Tell Sirius how you feel about who?” The man in question asked those stormy grey eyes that Remus loved so much, flicking back and forth between the two of them. Lily just glared at Remus, and when she realized he wasn’t going to answer him, she did the one thing he never thought she’d do.

“Oh good! Remus, have fun telling Sirius your big bad secret!” She exclaimed before hopping off her bar stool and practically running towards James’s side. Not even bothering to look back at the mess she’d made, like a coward, Remus thought.

“Moony, what’s going on?” Sirius asked him, his voice low, not a whisper, but pointed sharp as a knife at him, the edge in his tone setting off Remus’s hackles. Fuck.

“Sirius, I don’t think this is something we should talk about in public.” Remus was trying not to beg, but he did not want to have it out with Sirius about this in the middle of a bar. A bar that was not busy enough to offer a distraction from this potentially disastrous conversation, and the topic of said conversation just on the other side of the room.

“No, I don’t think so. If you have something to say, you can say it to me.” Sirius pressed, his arms crossing over his chest.

Remus reached out to uncross them, taking one of Sirius’s hands into both of his. “Can we at least go in the back or the bathroom or something? I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Why would you cause a scene? Remus, what the fuck is going on?” Sirius’s concern was growing, his voice getting deeper, his ire mounting at the secret Remus was harboring.

“Just follow me. Merlin’s fucking sake” Remus tugged on Sirius’s hand and pulled him down a long dark hallway. A bathroom hidden in the back would offer them a little privacy at least. It might be his only saving grace in whatever the fallout would be.

Remus quickly shut the door behind them, throwing up a few silencing and privacy charms before turning back to look at Sirius.

“Remus, Moony, you’re scaring me.” even now that they were alone, Sirius still whispered. But it wasn't accusatory anymore. Now, he sounded like a child. Like the same sad little boy, Sirius, he had been when he came home from Christmas hols the first year. Broken and scared, almost every little noise made him jump.

Remus had only told him years later that he had magicked a small light to softly keep the room from getting too dark or that he would crack open the windows so that sounds of the lake and the wind would distract from the often creepy noises of the castle. He would have done anything to make Sirius feel better, even in those earlier days when they didn’t know how they truly felt for each other.

The thought that Remus’s current actions made Sirius feel as insecure as his mother, made Remus sick with guilt and shame. “Sirius, I love you, you know that, right?” Sirius just shook his head up and down, but he looked suspicious. Like he didn’t trust the words

“And you know I’d never hurt you on purpose Pads, yes?” Again, Sirius nodded, but now he was fidgeting, playing with the rings on his fingers, a habit Remus knew he had whenever he felt unsettled. Remus grabbed his hands, hoping their connection and the sealed mate bond would soften the blow of what he was going to say next.

“I think,” he swallowed one last bit of strength, “I think Hermione might be my mate.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Sirius sputters, and Remus feels his heart racing. He doesn't even know how to respond to that. He expected screaming and shouting, but Sirius looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes big and glassy, his mouth opening and closing, gasping at the announcement hanging between them.

“I thought…” Sirius starts again, but he can't finish. Remus is helpless, watching him lean back against the small porcelain sink, gripping its edges till his knuckles are white. His head thudds against the mirror behind him, bracing himself as Remus’s words settle.

“Sirius, I love you,” Remus whispers, but still, Sirius doesn't look at him. A broken choking sound comes from his throat, and it feels like something snaps. Sirius’s monetary surprise was replaced with something else. Something much worse.

“Do you? Do you love me, Remus? Or is that Moony doesn't?” Sirius finally tilts his head down to stare at him, and Remus can see the tears threatening to spill over, but Sirius’s voice has regained its edge. It's poised to strike, and Remus didn't know he could get any more nervous at this moment.

It feels like he’s been hit with some kind of curse, an unforgivable. The way the accusation ripples through Remus burns the edges of his psyche, the idea that Sirius thinks Remus doesn’t love him. “Sirius, what do you mean? Of course, I love you. And so does Moony. I'm so sorry I can't control this.”

“You obviously don't. You told me I was your mate.” Remus has seen him like this only a few times before. Sirius isn't just angry. He's desperate to lash out. While Remus knows this is a by-product of his childhood, it won't stop the pain that only Sirius Black could inflict on him.

He can see where Sirius’s mind is catapulting towards, but he can’t get a word in edgewise. He can’t explain the glaring misunderstanding because Sirius is fighting him tooth and nail with his words, “You're a liar, Remus Lupin. Was it fun spinning your web of deceit? Did you like trapping me with your fucking teeth? Did you know when you were biting me?”

Sirius takes only a short moment to pause, his fingers ghosting over the crescent-shaped scar Remus left just a few months ago. It had been a perfect moment, one filled with love and hope for graduation, but now it feels tainted as Sirius heaves in more air, and Remus tries to say what he needs to. “Sirius, please, Pads, just let me explain - ”

But Sirius is talking again, his hands gesturing wildly, cutting him off. “Explain what, Remus? That you're moving on? Someone new shows up, and Moony just gets to leave me behind?”

“That's not what's happening -” Again, Sirius rips away Remus’s moment to explain the situation further. Each time, it feels like a new knife to Remus’s already scarred skin, and he wonders if the emotional wounds Sirius can inflict hurt more than any scratch he’s left on himself. He’s confident they do.

“Isn't it? Fucking Merlin, you've got Evans forcing her down my throat too. You couldn't just let this end? Had to make sure I'd be okay with this, huh? You're fucking sick” Accusations continue to fly, and Remus feels himself wince and cringe at each one.

He pleads, “Sirius, stop, please.”

“No!” he roars, moving away from the sink to bring his face so close to Remus’s that their noses are practically touching. “You lied to me, Remus. Lied to me for years and told me I was your mate only to dump me in the fucking Hog’s Head.”

“I'm not leaving you.” In a fit of desperation, Remus grabs the collar of Sirius's jacket, anything to keep him close because even if Sirius hates him right now and forever, he wants their last few memories to be of physical closeness, if nothing else good.

“Aren’t you? Then what are you doing? Dragging this out for fun? Keeping me around till she realizes? Gods, you are so selfish.” Remus keeps trying to hold onto him, letting him get all his emotions out, taking on the pain of his anger because it’s true: what is happening to them makes Remus a selfish bastard, and the realization hurts. This is no one’s fault but his and Moony's, and he hates himself for it.

“I am selfish, Sirius, I know, but please.” Sirius is starting to pull away, though, and Remus grips the soft leather tighter, Moony rising closer to the front of his mind, sick of letting this charade of an argument continue for so long.

“Please, what, Remus? What the fuck could You want in this moment?” The truth is all he has at this point, and while he knows there are better ways to say it, the fighting and fear of the past ten minutes have pushed him past meaningful, clear words.

“Sirius, you're still my mate.”

“Godric, you are a shit liar. You just told me she is. You think I was born yesterday! Wally might have banged me around, but I'm not fucking stupid” The way Sirius can so casually use her name feels like a million needles pricking Remus at once. Something about her presence, at this moment, that is already crushing Remus’s soul, causes the last bit of his control to disappear, Moony taking over the howling in his subconscious too strong to control.

He’s let Sirius rant and rave for too long; the outpouring of emotions is doing nothing to quell Sirius’s manic thoughts, and Remus needs to take this conversation back, make it mean something before it’s the end of them. He’s practically screaming as he forms the words, the only thing that can cut through Sirius’s tirade, yelling into the shared breath between them, “MOONY THINKS YOUR BOTH MY MATES.”

Sirius is stunned into silence for the second time that evening, and Remus counts it as a small blessing as he continues. “You think I'd been able to give you a mating bite, Sirius, the one you keep touching on your neck this whole fucking argument. Merlin fucking damnit, Sirius. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be bitten, and I knew telling you this would be horrible. Just fucking listen to me, please.”

He takes a moment to remove his fingers from Sirius’s collar and is relieved when Sirius lets him wrap them around his waist, pulling him so close that they are pressed entirely together. “I love you, Sirius Black, but there is something I can’t deny about her. It’s the same beautiful thing that led me to you. I’m not going anywhere, but fuck, we need to do this together.”

“Together?” Remus looks down to see that gone is the Sirius, who ranted and yelled, throwing mean words and accusations. Back now in the Sirius, who crawls into bed with him every night and whispers platitudes and song lyrics. The Sirius that only Remus gets to see.

“Of course, Sirius, together, always.” Remus can’t stop himself. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, and the realization that Remus would never leave him takes over Sirius’s expression, he has to touch him more. Remus feels a pull in his gut to press the softest kiss he can muster against the corner of Sirius’s mouth, his cheek, his nose, anywhere till he finally presses against his lips.

It’s salty and wet from their shared tears, not their most romantic, but both of them need to feel the other, to feel something good after all that screaming. Slowly the knot of pain and fear that had settled into his chest starts to unwind as Sirius returns his affections. Opening up for Remus to press deeper, his tongue slipping past Sirius’s lips, and Sirius’s hands travel up his back, underneath his shirt. Nails starting to scratch in a frantic attempt to pull them closer.

Remus needs to feel more of him, all of Sirius, as his hands smooth up and down his sides, reveling in the way he starts to roll his hips against Remus’s. When he’s sure they can’t press against each other more, he moves to brush his fingertips on the skin where Sirius’s shirt meets his jeans. The expanse of soft skin, cool to the touch, and Remus swallows the moan Sirius releases as his much warmer hands slip further up his shirt.

Moving from his sides to the smooth plane of his stomach, Remus keeps his touch feather-light light, but his kisses grow hungrier. Moving to nip and suck on his lips, Sirius matches him—his own fevered attempts to taste him in-between shallow breaths and moans.

Remus guides his hand up Sirius’s chest, his cock stiffening at the shudder Sirius releases as his fingers graze his nipples. Barely, there flicks and passes that taunt Sirius.

He wants to lavish him with soft kisses and gentle strokes to prove his love for him, but as he continues to pet and tease him, his own need for more grows overwhelming. He breaks their kiss for just a moment, only long enough to push Sirius back towards the small porcelain sink, wasting no time by grabbing Sirius’s hips with enough force to bruise and helping him sit on the edge and holding him there.

“So pretty up here for me,” Remus groans, moving to kiss Sirius’s neck. To scrape his teeth through the shadow of a beard that he keeps trimmed close. And Sirius throws his head back, panting as Remus proceeds to suck bruise after bruise onto the column of his throat and his delicate pure blood clavicle.

“Moony, please,” he gasps, and Remus chuckles darkly. Letting one of his hands leave Sirius’s hip and travel across his lower belly. He finds the dark line of hair that leads from his belly button down into his jeans, and Remus follows it with the pads of his fingers, inching closer and closer to the place where Sirius needs him the most.

“Tell me what you want Sirius. Tell me what you deserve. What you've earned as being my mate,” he growls the words into the shell of his ear, his fingers dancing below his waistband. Sirius just groans, and Remus can’t help but shudder at how much he loves that sound. The sound of Sirius desperate for more, on the verge of begging.

“Fuck, Moony, touch me” Sirius’s pants trying to buck his hips up, and Remus pulls back to look at him again. All flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. His lips are red and swollen, and Remus feels unbearably hard at the sight of all the new bites blending with his scruff.

“Touch you where Sirius, use your words,” Remus teases. Pulling Sirius closer to the edge of the sink, pushing one leg between his, the only thing holding him up are his hands and Remus’s knee.

Sirius braces the wall for support, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “Fuck, Remus, I need you.” his whine turns into a whimper, and Sirius starts to grind down on Remus’s knee. Despite the punishing grip Remus has on his hips, Sirius is dissolving into a shameless puddle of need right before his eyes. His hips jerking, and his jean-covered cock brushing up against him with every jerky thrust.

“Tell me, Sirius.” he pauses to kiss him roughly, getting impatient himself at the need to strip Sirius completely bare and see him wrung out with pleasure. “Do you want my hand, Sirius? Or do you want my mouth?”

Sirius doesn't have to answer. Remus can tell from the guttural moan when he says the word mouth what his mate needs. Remus can't control himself anymore. He pulls his other hand from Sirius’s waist and begins undoing the button on his jeans, yanking the zipper down till Sirius's cock springs free.

“I'll give it to you, Pads. I'll give you anything you want, but I need you to tell me something first.” Sirius nods his head like he would agree with anything Remus says at this point. Remus guides him till he’s completely out of his jeans, jutting up towards his stomach, angry and rigid, just calling out for Remus to touch. Gone are the feather-light touches of earlier, replaced with a firm grip as Remus begins to stroke up and down Sirius’s velvet smooth and rock-hard length.

Catching a small bead of precum at the top with his thumb, Remus brings his finger to his mouth, teasing Sirius as he sucks his finger deep, letting the subtle salty flavor fill his senses. “Anything, please,” Sirius pleads while Remus maintains eye contact with him through the lewd display, lapping at his thumb till he pulls his finger out with a loud pop.

“What do you think about her doing this, huh? Have you imagined her on her knees between us?” Remus tosses the question out, lust filling his mind, making him delirious but desperate to hear Sirius admit that he wants Hermione, too.

Remus isn't blind, and Sirius might be naive, but when he watched him splay his hand across her golden knee earlier, Remus thought he might combust on the spot. The idea of the two tangled together as Remus directs and watches has had him hard for hours. And He wants Sirius to know what he did. He wants Sirius to feel the pull for her, too. “What about me watching you two? Watching her tease you with her tongue? Like this?”

Remus drags his hand up and down Sirius, switching it up again, replacing his firm tugs with subdued caresses, letting the callouses of his palm brush against him. Sirius is shaking with want. “I bet she’s so soft and sweet when she teases, I bet you’d barely feel it, leave you so desperate.”

“Remus, yes, harder,” Sirius pants, and Remus finally obliges him, his strokes getting faster, his grip tighter as he twists his fist up and down and rests his forehead against Sirius’s. Whispering his filthy fantasies about them and Hermione onto his lips.

“Because I imagine it. I think about you lifting her on this counter, and instead of me between your thighs, it's you tasting her.”

“I bet she tastes so good,” Sirius admits, and Remus groans. The image of the two of them was almost enough to make him combust. “I wanna taste her,” Sirius confesses, and he can see how close he's getting. His breathing is uncontrollable, and Remus falls to his knees, never stopping his tugging of Sirius’s weeping cock.

“I bet you and her taste even better together,” Remus answers before looking up at Sirius and sliding him all the way to the back of his throat. Sirius gasps in surprise, but as his legs start to kick and tremble, Remus knows he has him.

“Fuck moony, I want that - oh Godric - fuck - I'm going to -” Sirius can't even finish his sentence as Remus flattens his tongue on the bottom of his cock. Using his free hand to cup and work his balls. It doesn't take long. The emotion of their fight and the force of Remus’s teasing before finally indulging him with his mouth pushes Sirius over the edge, filling his throat and coating his tongue as Sirius finishes.

Remus moans around his length, never letting up his ministrations as his throat vibrates around him, pushing Sirius to the edge of overstimulation.

Hazel eyes meet grey as a satiated smile grows on Sirius’s face, and Remus pulls off just to continue licking and kissing at his now half-hard cock. Remus is always mesmerized by Sirius, but something about the soft, floaty look on his face right now is what keeps him leaving open-mouth kisses and bites all along his hips, too.

That is until he hears a feminine shriek and then the unmistakable voice of the witch haunting his every thought. “Oh no, no, no, oh Merlin, I'm so sorry,” is all Hermione says before she slams the bathroom door shut.

—-

Hermione was not running away. Nope, she was just backtracking as far as possible and hoping she fell face-first into the floo. She was a Gryffindor. She would never flee. She also had not seen and then stared at the sight of Remus on his knees in front of Sirius.

Hermione Granger would never do that. If she did, she definitely would not have felt like her body was on fire at the sight. At least that's what she kept telling herself as she walked as quickly as possible down the hallway leading back into Hog’s Head. Yes, she was just walking away. She had not seen anything at all and she definitely did not find it as attractive as her treacherous body thought it was. That was not an option.

She had been given a chance to win a war, not to be a voyeur in Sirius and Remus’s lives. She was almost to the dim light of the main bar room when she heard steps behind her, and it took all her might not to break into a dead sprint to avoid whoever was chasing her down.

She thanked Circe herself as she tumbled back into the sparsely occupied room, only a few of them left, and made a beeline straight for Kingsley. Remus or Sirius surely wouldn’t confront her on her blatant disregard for their privacy if she was talking to him.

She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to keep an eye on the couple as they entered the room, hopefully not chasing her down, or if she wanted to turn her back to them in hopes that maybe they did not yet know her enough to recognize her from behind.

Her internal debate was useless because as soon as she saw Remus round the corner, eyes blazing, she pivots, grabbing Kingsley by his arm, using his much broader torso and height to block her from Remus’s view.

“Woah woah woah, what’s going on?” Kingsley’s warm laughter helped settle her nerves, the embarrassment of manhandling him starting to crop up.

“I’m hiding, Kings, and you need to help,” Hermione tersely replied, and she felt bad as Kingsley’s eyes widened and he looked around. Always on the job, it appeared. She rushed to add, “Oh, no, not like that! I just walked in on something I was not supposed to see.”

“Oh? Care to elaborate?” Raising one eyebrow as he looked down at her, the side of his mouth quirking up, finding her misery much too humorous in her opinion.

“No, I don’t think I will. Are you going to help get me out of here or what, Kings?” She demanded, and he just threw his head back, his laughter growing even louder, and more and more people were looking at them now.

She debated hexing him on the spot, her eyes narrowing at his delight in her misery. She knew what he was doing with that ridiculous laugh. “Oh, lighten up, Hermione, but yes, I will help you escape, but only if you keep calling me Kings?” He offered her a wink as he said it, and she stares up at him and felt confused. Just moments ago, seeing Sirius splayed out in the bathroom made her mind befuddled, but now that despite all of Kingsley’s athleticism and classical beauty, he didn’t make her stomach clench like Sirius and Remus just had.

Cursing herself and promising to apologize later for her horrendous usage of his obvious good intentions Hermione took the deal. “Fine, I’ll call you Kings more often, but please, let’s get a move on.”

Kingsley continued his good-natured teasing but slipped his hand to the small of her back and slowly started walking with her toward the floo. “Good. I look forward to hearing you say it on a date soon.”

“What?” She screeched, unable to control her voice as everyone left turned to look at the two of them, Remus and Sirius’s eyes the most intense, watching her, but it was the sly smile on Lily’s face that made Hermione pause.

She thought about it later, that impish gleam in Lily’s eye and how Lily had been the one to tell her where the bathroom was. She’d recounted the whole thing, multiple times, to Molly over a late-night cup of tea, and when Molly just nodded, not giving her thoughts away, and asked what she thought it meant, it dawned on her. That witch had set her up. She knew that Harry’s dad and his friends were infamous for their jokes and pranks, but she’d foolishly thought Lily was immune to the behavior. She had been wrong. So very wrong.

She had debated sending Sirius and Remus a note apologizing profusely, but Molly had stopped her and had to cover her mouth to withhold her amusement at Hermione’s situation before advising her that forgetting about it was better than addressing it. The issue was Hermione couldn’t forget about it. When the memory wasn’t causing her continued humiliation, it haunted her dreams, always the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep. Only instead of being humiliated, she wanted to see more, the haze of her half-lucid dream thoughts placing her in between the two wizards.

Hermione had been absolutely miffed at getting played by Lily and her subsequent late-night distractions, letting her annoyance cloud all her judgment for almost two weeks till it was mid-August, and she was summoned back to Potter Manor for Pandora’s Tea Party.

She tried not to judge the absurdity of the idea. Working to destroy evil at a tea party seemed childish, but who was she to judge? She was here solely as a historian of sorts if that’s what you call people with knowledge, despite it being from the future.

After pleasantries had been exchanged and polite conversation danced around, the true meaning of this small group of witches came out. When it was finally her turn to speak, Hermione decided not to beat around the issue. “Does anyone know what a Horcrux is?” she exclaimed and watched as the faces of her fellow faux society ladies reacted to the news very differently.

Pandora seemed utterly unphased by the information, not even looking up from the cake she was cutting into before taking a bite. Lily, the poor witch, looked confused, and Hermione felt her annoyance with her start to lessen. It wasn’t like Lily had hurt anyone besides Hermione’s pride with her joke. Her biggest complaint with her at this point was now that she was back in Potter Manor, she had a sinking suspicion that the boys were also around, and she needed to focus on the task at hand.

Hermione was able to distract herself with the look of pure fury that seemed to fill Andromeda’s face at the news. She tried not to blanch at the sight of the formidable witch looking so concerned till she opened her mouth. “It’s a disgusting piece of dark magic, Hermione. I don’t know what you are implying, but if my suspicions are right, we are done for.”

Andromeda turned to look at Dorea, her eyes conveying some message that Hermione couldn’t understand. Dorea didn’t budge and just motioned for Hermione to continue. “You’re right. It is vile and loathsome, but it’s what he’s done.”

“Well, what is it?” Lily asked from her seat. Hermione felt bad for her as Andromeda huffed her frustration and glowered at them all.

Hermione just squared her shoulders and did her best to ignore Andromeda’s obvious contempt at the news. “ A Horcrux is an object that someone places a piece of their soul in, thus making them immortal -”

“Let me guess, he learned to do this from some sick Black family relative,” Andromeda all but growled in Leticia and Dorea’s direction, and Hermione bit into her lip, hoping the pain would ground her enough to share that tidbit of this story.

“It was actually Slughorn,” She said barely above a whisper, and it was as if every tea cup in the room landed on the table at once. The clattering of china was jarring, and Hermione wondered if Lily was having a stroke based on the coughing noise of surprise she made.

Leticia thankfully provided enough distraction, with her inclination for morbid comedic relief, “Well, that is disappointing if unsurprising.”

“It was disconcerting to learn in 1997 as well, but that brings us to our issue. I know where they are or have my best guesses, but I’m not sure how to get them, and when we do get them, destroying them will be difficult.” Hermione tried to relax in her chair, the practiced portion of her research being shared today. Now, she just had to field questions from those present.

“Let me guess, they are scattered across his little cult,” Andromeda posed, and Hermione just nodded before she continued, “And how many of them are in the hands of the Black family?”

“Why don’t you just tell us where all of them are?” Lily asked, and while Hermione intended to respond, Pandora answered for her.

“Where would the fun in that be, Lily? I believe Hermione and Dorea plan to keep some of this information scattered, yes?” Pandora’s voice sounded like silk despite her so expertly laying out their plan for them all.

“Pandora is correct, to protect the overall goal, but also those who are working with us. Hermione has described the side effects of these objects, and I don’t want to overexpose any one witch or wizard,” Dorea supplied.

Hermione over at Lily, the witch obviously still confused by the situation, and Hermione’s guilt about ignoring her floo calls for two weeks stung. She hadn’t been cruel to Lily, but seeing her now, her lack of knowledge as a muggle-born witch obvious, caused Hermione to pause the grudges she was still holding from her immature joke and focus instead on the future. She’d speak her mind about her meddling later.

“The effects are debilitating, to say the least. These horcuxes trick your mind and enhance your fears and insecurities. The less each person has to interact with them, the better.” She watched as everyone seemed to digest the information as Leticia took over.

Hermione had seen her leadership in so many small ways. She was a witch who worked in the background, who set up the game and ensured that all the participants were prepared and in place, but never was the face. So when she spoke, it made Hermione beam with pride that a woman this poised had chosen to help her.

“Each of you is vital to our first few steps. And I believe that your unique gifts are important here. Lily,” She turned to the red-headed witch, and Hermione wondered if Leticia saw any of Molly in her. So different, Molly was gentle cuddles and whispers of crude jokes, whereas Lily was tight hugs and loud declarations, two-sided if the same coin, though. Red-headed witches who wanted the best and loved fiercely.

“Lily, we need to know more about how to destroy these things. I have heard you have a penchant for knowledge, and while you will be busy with your potions mastery, we need you to find a way to destroy these artifacts,” Leticia sneered at the last word. Not even all the pure blood rearing in the world could allow her to blindly accept the disgrace that was a Horcrux.

Lily vigorously nodded her agreement, her excitement almost endearing. Hermione had been the same, wanting to know everything she could about a new to her type of magic. That was until it slithered into her core and rotted her mind for weeks on end.

Leticia turned to the other side of the table next. Instead of the gentle mother approach, her voice now carried the authority of a trusted general, “Andromeda, we need a strategist. No one but you understands the battles those who help us will face in the circles we will try to infiltrate. Dorea and I need you with us. We need all the Black blood we can get.” Andromeda seemed to be flattered by the offer, her cold exterior melting just a little at the words before she just barely tilted her head in agreement.

“I know what I am needed for,” Pandora supplied, not waiting to be addressed, as she brushed her braids off her shoulders till they fell across her back, the charms and rings on them tinkling with her movement as she stared Hermione down, “but I have expectations too.”

———

The two-way mirrors were not Sirius’s favorite way to eavesdrop, but Dorea knew all about James’s invisibility cloak, thus requiring them to get a bit more creative. He prayed that the twin to the mirror in his hand, hidden in the chandelier above the garden tea room table, would not come crashing down on the Potter Manor guests. He really didn't want to figure out how to charm a new one.

But they were desperate to know what was being discussed in a freshly warded room just a few floors away. Sirius had not expected a screaming match.

“Barty and Evan are part of this arrangement, or I won’t help,” He watched Pandora say from her seat.

“Barty Crouch Jr did some very despicable things, Pandora,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, and Sirius felt himself shiver as Pandora’s gaze intensified more. There was something animalistic about her defense of her brother and his friend. All of her grace honed, ready to attack, her glare feeling deadly and languorous simultaneously, like a siren stalking a sailor.

“They are 16-year-old boys who did not have any other options.” She fought back at Hermione’s shrill responses.

“You know what they are capable of. Have you seen it?”

“I know what options they have, yes. If we are going to save Regulus, why can’t we save them?” Sirius froze at his brother's name, forgetting he was friends with the wretched duo, still unsure why they needed him for this elaborate plan they were discussing.

“Regulus dies a hero.” Hermione’s implication that his brother was anything but dark made him freeze, and he watched Andy experience a similar reaction. Neither share their surprise to their counterparts. “Barty commits crimes that they develop new laws after, and he leaves people stuck in Janice Thickey for the rest of their lives. He escapes Azkaban through the death of his own mother. Can you tell me right now that he isn’t already on that path?” Hermione hisses, punctuating each of his crimes with dramatic pauses, and Dora responds in similar dramatics, slamming her hands on the table.

Sirius noticed a low rumble coming from Remus’s chest as if he was ready to break up whatever fight was brewing on the other side of Potter Manor in a room they were magically locked out of.

“I didn't realize she could be so scary,” James murmured, and Sirius grunted his agreement. His feelings for Hermione were conflicting at best. Remus and he had bickered almost daily about it since he'd told him the truth. But Sirius knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter if he wanted to keep Remus, and so he agreed to help Remus woo the witch. But He felt less confident in his decision to serve as a bystander as the sight of her hair sparking as she faced down a Rosier made his prick twitch.

“If I am going to risk my gift by disrupting time and fate with you, I will have my terms woven into this deal. Either we offer Barty and Evan an out, or you can ask Sirius to convince his brother to join our side,” Sirius choked at the suggestion. He could have sworn the little blonde pixie of a witch knew he was watching as she said the words.

“Hermione. Charlus told me some very interesting things about the young Crouch boy.” Dorea interrupted, and Sirius felt Remus loosen the breath he'd been holding. If anyone could stop whatever brawl was about to break out between Dora and Hermione without violence, it was probably Dorea.

Hermione flattened her lips as she turned to face Dorea, waiting for her to continue. “Charlus said Dumbledore visited his father and that Oliver McKinnon said the boy is very bright if a bit distracted.” He watched Hermione ball her hands into fists, and he wondered how painful it was to hold back like that when she disagreed so vehemently.

“Distracted, that's one way to describe the git,” James added, and Sirius couldn't help but agree. Barty was a fucking git, Evan a silent arsehole, and his brother the spineless part who led their little trio of baby Death Eaters. He never understood what Cas saw in them. Dora was at least stuck being twins with one.

He watched Hermioned huff, her curls sparking again before her shoulders dropped. “If you can convince them and get an oath, then fine, but if they are the downfall of this all, then I will personally make sure you don’t have any more visions.” He’d seen her upset and even watched her joke and laugh a little, but watching the little witch face off and threaten Pandora’s life was something else.

He wasn’t sure what was so mesmerizing about it, maybe because Hermione at one point was nothing more than skin and bones, dead eyes in haunting memories, but watching her now threaten someone was entertaining. And from the look of awe on Remus’s face, he knew the werewolf felt the same.

He expected Pandora to threaten back, but he was relieved and shared a sigh of relaxation with Remus when Pandora just giggled, her lightness returning, “I would expect nothing less.”

“Kinda hot when she gets feisty,” Sirius joked, and Remus dragged his hand down his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. While Remus had made a strong case for them both to try and court her, he hadn't brought up the lust-filled confession he pulled from Sirius in the Hog’s Head bathroom. Looking at her now, Sirius decided he was ready to address it. Hermione’s little scene playing out in the mirror stirred something in him.

“God Pads, is there anything off limits to you?” James asked from his spot on the other side of Remus.

Sirius just looked directly at Remus as he said, “No, there isn't. I’m willing to try anything.” It wasn’t an explicit answer, but it was enough. Remus knew how to read between the lines of Sirius’s ramblings. He’d fully try this thing with Hermione not only because he loved Remus but because he could see it too now. And that was his way of admitting it, ending the little spats and the heel digging that had tormented them since that fateful night.

The three of them continued watching the witches after that, but Sirius felt lighter, maybe even excited. Remus went as far as to take notes on the whole thing, having already assigned himself to help Lily with her supposed research.

Sirius and James were bickering about who would be better on these future missions when he noticed Hermione looking up at the chandelier. She kept gazing upwards till she tilted her head to the side and, with an incredulous stare, seemed to look directly at him like she was looking into the mirror on purpose.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger was a brave Gryffindor. She had faced death and torture, had worn a Horcrux around her neck for weeks, held a reporter hostage in a jar, set a professor on fire, and kept her friends alive for years. She was the brightest witch of her age, for Merlin’s sake.

Hermione Prewett was not. Hermione Prewett was using her new favorite tactic of avoidance, putting an innocent bystander between herself and her threat. The threat this afternoon was Lily Evans, who seemed to be stalking Hermione's every move around the lavish room they had entered after tea. She wished she could have appreciated the beauty of it more, the sprawling double doors that led to a garden and orchard, but alas, she was too busy picking at what was left of her nail beds, avoiding making eye contact.

Leticia seemed to notice Hermione's discomfort and tutted at her. “What has you all flustered, Dear”

“Oh, just a misunderstanding between friends. I assumed Molly had already told you about it.” Bringing her wine glass to her lips and attempting to play the situation off as innocuous was not working. She’d need every bit of liquid courage to have this conversation with Leticia. Molly had been one thing, and while Leticia had welcomed her with open arms, Hermione struggled to fully let the witch in.

She thought of her mother as she debated how to tell Leticia about her quote-unquote boy problems. How Helen Granger had held her daughter so tightly in the childhood periwinkle bedroom of their Hampstead home when Hermione had told her about Viktor Krum and Ron, and she missed those hugs. Hermione also had not yet told anyone what she had done to her mother and father, and it seemed a bit insulting to seek someone to replace her mother when she'd been the one to rip away her memories.

Leticia did not let on if she could sense another one of Hermione’s melancholy moods approaching. She just trudged forward, determined not to let Hermione’s self-pity win. “She did mention something about fancying a set of wizards. Maybe a date you have coming up.”

Hermione could work with that. At least Molly hadn't told her she’d been a right mess at the sight of two half-clothed wizards. Ginny probably would have announced it to the whole common room, so this was a small blessing. Hermione devised a plan to distract her with a conversation about Kingsley and hoped that if she seemed engaged, Lily would stay away.

“I didn't accept a date with Kings. He basically tricked me into it,” she murmured into her glass.

“Do you not wish to go on it?”

The lie came out smoothly. “I don't see why not. He's a very nice Wizard. Gideon told me he was the best Auror they'd had in years.” but Leticia had a mother’s instinct, and Hermione could see her shrewd mind working.

“Ah yes, your brother is a matchmaking expert. Hence his and the other's current predicament.”

Hermione snickered at the implication. Leticia was not shy about her desire for a larger family. She’d apparently been on Gideon and Fabian’s case for years, and they continued to dance around the subject or, more likely, danced too many witches at once if you asked Molly.

“What are you suggesting I do about my date then? Since those two are not suited to

give advice,” she answered, and like Leticia had planned it perfectly, she just smiled before stepping to the side.

Creating the perfect gateway for Lily to step right up to their conversation as she said, “Sometimes you need to let fate guide you. Despite what you and Ms. Rosier say. You can not change it all,” and with that, she was gone, walking away from them, and Hermione was alone left to deal with Lily.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at Hermione. “I tried to firecall you.”

“I've been busy.” It was a lousy excuse, but she hadn’t tried to formulate a better one. Hermione just gnawed on her bottom lip, waiting for Lily's response.

“Hmmm. Doing what? Lots of hot dates? Seen any action?” she wiggled her eyebrows, and Hermione bit down hard in response to avoid a very undignified screech and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come off it, you can't be that mad about it! I didn't think they'd be” Lily leaned closer, her hand coming to cup her mouth as she whispered “shagging” before she returned to her usual height.

“Really, why'd you send me back there then?” The pointed tip of her shoe tapped on the polished wood floors, and her hands found their way to her hips, nestling into the soft chiffon of the summer robes Leticia had bought her. Even the graceful swish of the fabric could not hide her annoyance, evidenced in her tight-set shoulders.

“Oh bloody hell, I thought they'd just be snogging a bit in the hallway! Honestly, I wanted you to scare them more than they scared you.” Lily gestured her hands wildly as if the theatrics would convey her sincerity.

“Scared, that's the right word.” Hermione’s cheeks were heating though because while she was mortified, she had been caught watching. She wasn't scared. Oh no, it was worse. She was intrigued.

Lily’s eyebrows seemed to reach her hairline as she studied Hermione's reaction. “Wait a minute. You!” she pointed. “You are keeping secrets. And I'm going to get them out of you.”

“No, you will not!” Hermione realized her poor word choice too late because the look of excitement on Lily’s face was terrifying. “That's not what I meant. I don't have any secrets.”

“Oh, I think you do, Hermione. And I can promise you by the time we are done with this research project, I'll know them all.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Hermione whispered to herself as Lily grabbed her hand and pulled her towards Pandora.

_____

“Okay, so explain again what you know will destroy these things?” Lily asked for the fifth time that day alone, her voice stressing the word things like they were some secret like they didn't know Remus, Sirius, and James had been spying on their little get-together.

Currently, it was their second research session in Potter Manor, as Hermione described it, and Remus wasn’t sure what was being accomplished. He was dead tired, his monthly transformation looming, but despite his regular aches, he wanted to be here, helping analyze books whose pages hadn't seen the light of day in decades, if not hundreds of years.

When they weren't reading delicate pages, there was lots of theorizing, often having to call in Dorea, Charlus, or, if he was lucky, even Sirius to come and explain some pureblood thing to the two muggleborn witches before they were back to work. Then, he was forced to return to whatever mundane topic Hermione had tasked him with.

She had asked him that morning to find all the known residences for Black, Malfoy, Lestrange, and Gaunt families. He had tried not to be offended when she'd initially given it to him. Honestly, The task felt childish, and he'd only found three total Gaunt residences in the multiple records he'd searched this far.

Even with the simple task, he was still tired, his normal full-moon anxiety amplified because Hermione barely spoke to him. She’d been feigning interest in the text before her, but Remus noticed she hadn’t flipped a page for nearly 45 minutes. He knew because he’d taken up stealing glances at her between every address he wrote down. Getting a glimpse of her was a prize for finding the name and town of every manor, mansion, palace, keep, chateau, and whatever other ostentatious name these rich purebloods could come up with.

“So I think the venom worked because it could penetrate the first thing.” Remus chose not to point out the absurdity of their poor attempts to hide the details of their conversation, instead biting his cheek to contain the quip posed on his tongue. “But I’m not sure if it’s because it was soft. I have a theory about it being unable to penetrate some of the harder things.”

Hermione pulled a muggle pen from the bun on the top of her head and made a hurried note on her parchment. He was reasonably sure she had at least two more pens, her wand, and a bright pink highlighter in the nest she called her hair at the moment, and he found it quite endearing that she could extract them with such speed.

“Huh, that’s a good point. Do you think it needed to be injected?” Lily added, and Hermione’s eyes went wide with excitement as she nodded.

“Oh, maybe? We used a sword,” The unsubtle word emphasis was back again, and he debated telling them they were about as obvious as a muggle ambulance siren, “That would have been able to penetrate something easily. Maybe we should look into goblin-wrought weapons?”

“Sirius might know something about that. I bet the Blacks have loads of things that fit that description in their vaults.” the two witches gave him perplexing looks as if they had momentarily forgotten he was in the room with them.

“Do you think Sirius is allowed in the Black Vaults?” She asked, and Remus scrunched his nose in concern. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity where she was speaking with him, but he knew the answer wasn't one she wanted.

Maybe it was the moon making this dance with her extra frustrating today. He wasn’t sure why she was giving him the cold shoulder; if anyone had the right, it was him and Sirius. She had technically walked in on them.

Despite his qualms with her handling of the situation, right now, Remus was ultimately more concerned about her obvious discomfort than his moodiness. Sirius had been no help in coming up with a plan to sell her on the idea of being with both of them. He’d been adamant that he was charming enough and didn’t need a plan. But Remus was still worried, she couldn’t even look him in the eye after witnessing a tame for Sirius's bathroom hookup.

So he persisted despite his plummeting morale, hoping to keep her attention and build back some of the camaraderie they had previously had, “Probably not, but we could ask him. He’s always willing to find a way to ruffle his family's feathers.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hermione’s shoulders slumped, her disappointment in whatever failed plan she was already concocting evident. She hadn’t even indulged him with a laugh for the second half of his statement.

He glanced over at Lily, who shared the same look of concern as he did. Hermione seemed in a trance, her disenchantment taking over, ignoring the conversation that had been happening and turning back to her reading sheets and sheets of notes as if she was already plotting a new strategy.

The sheer number of pages since the last time he had seen her was alarming. Remus wondered if the poor witch would work herself till she collapsed if the two of them weren’t there to distract her occasionally. Her mind seemed to never stop thinking about the next step or what she didn’t know. The idea of her doing so made Moony restless. Moony had practically howled till Remus was deaf when they found out she’d taken home a whole stack of books the last time they’d met.

To make matters worse, when she’d shown up today proclaiming to have finished them, Lily had practically fallen out of her chair. It was like the wolf knew there was no way she read ten textbook-length volumes in 5 days and get enough sleep, and with it being mere hours from the moon, Remus couldn't block his restless howling about her lack of self-care.

“So Hermione,” Remus started, hoping to pull her back into conversation with them. Lily usually had the most success when these moods hit her, but if Remus wanted this to work, he’d have to learn, too. “From what I gather, you're fairly bright and have technically done this before on the run. What was it Dumbledore said - 12 OWLs? What exactly are we looking for if you’ve already done this research?”

“I have 11 OWLs, Remus. And we are looking for clues as to what might be different from my time and this time. I’m not sure if any of my knowledge is relevant. Who knows what will happen in the next 20 years?” He tried not to gape at the fact that she had said more than a sentence to him at once.

“Only 11? I heard someone got 12 last year. What happened to your 12th?” His second attempt at humor seemed to go better than his first. He knew he had her interest, or at least her ire when she set her pen down and turned her entire body to look at him. Her brown eyes seemed to swirl with challenge and excitement.

“I’m not particularly fond of divination, so I did not sit for it” Remus hadn’t meant to, but the way she said it, with so much distaste as if the word divination was as foul as hippogriff shit, made him crack. Loud, boisterous laughter tumbled out of him with no control. It could have also been that he was slowly losing his sanity reading land purchasing transfer records for hours, all but begging her to speak with him, ignoring the screaming of Moony, and simultaneously trying not to picture Hermione naked, but whatever it was, it broke him.

Lily thankfully had a similar reaction, laying her hand on her chest as a laugh rattled out of her, too. “What did divination ever do to you?”

Hermione gave her a deadpan stare. “I don’t see what’s so funny. It’s an avenue full of crackpots. Sybil Trelawney being the biggest,” she huffed, her fingers tapping against the table.

“Really? What’s poor Sybil got to do with this?” Lily gasped out between her laughs. “The poor girl spent all her time washing tea cups. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Oh, she can cause plenty of trouble. Her and her stupid prophecies.” The pout on Hermione’s face was a welcome sight to the far-off look she’d been sporting minutes ago, and Remus couldn’t deny there was something quiet endearing about how her lips pursed, and her brows furrowed. Moony seemed particularly pleased that his taunting had caused this change, too.

“What prophecies?” Remus tried to contain his laughter, genuinely wanting to hear more about how the only person stranger than Pandora Rosier had earned such a grudge from Hermione.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she countered, and Remus choked as she stuck her tongue out at him. That caused Lily to cackle more, and Remus could have sworn he saw her wiggle her eyebrows at Hermione before Sirius and James walked into the library.

“I don’t know about you, James, but it doesn’t sound like much studying is happening here.” Black dragon hide boots clicked against the floor as Sirius strolled into the room. Heading straight for the spot between Remus and Hermione, but not before stopping in front of him, leaning down, and snogging the living daylights out of Remus.

Well, Remus knew Sirius’s plan for getting Hermione's attention today. The witch in question just looked up at the ceiling, and Remus watched as her cheeks darkened, flushing pink, before spreading to her ears and down her neck, and damn him if he didn’t wonder what it would look like underneath her blouse.

“No, Sirius, I don’t think they are. They kick us out of their little book club and then have the audacity to not do shite,” James goaded as he leaned over the back Lily’s chair before resting his chin on the top of her head, observing all the notes strewn out in front of her.

“We were working very hard, Jamie, for your information. Till Hermione over here told us her strong opinions on divination.” Lily tilted her head back as she said it, allowing James to place a much less vulgar kiss on Lily's lips than what Sirius had done to Remus.

“Huh,” Sirius pondered out loud, “I thought you liked Pandora?”

“I do like Pandora. Pandora is a seer that is different than a charlatan with an empty teacup and a foggy ball.” Hermione started stacking her notes, doing everything she could to avoid looking at Sirius as he spoke.

“She doesn’t like Trelawney,” Remus drawled, finding immense amusement in Sirius’s fascination with the play fight. Sirius loved games and particularly loved to make little bets, and thus started a small obsession with seers since their 3rd year.

“That Ravenclaw bird? The one Peter dated. I think she is a seer, too. No help with the house cup pool, though.” Sirius leaned down to try and physically insert himself into Hermione’s line of vision as he spoke, but the witch was diligent in avoiding him, going as far as to snap her book close, just barely missing his face.

“That’s not helping my opinion of her,” Hermione curtly replied as she tugged her wand out of her hair and, with a flick of her wrist, moved to magically organize all her supplies.

“Ah, solid point, but still, she’s good fun. What’s got your knickers in a twist about it? Marlene says you're half seer too.” Remus continued to study Hermione as she finished putting her things into her never-ending purse, her eyes rolling at Sirius’s implication. He was convinced she would continue her game of avoidance at his crude comment, but Remus was shocked when she turned to look at Sirius.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She stood with that, and Remus jumped to join her, Moony clawing at his mind not to let her out of sight. They'd only had a few hours today, and Remus had been praying for more. More time to get her to relax around him and Sirius, and while he'd gotten a glimpse of hope in the last few minutes, it apparently wasn't enough for a pre-full-moon Moony.

“Where are you going? Are we done for today?” He pleaded, and Hermione turned from Sirius to him before she nodded once and made her way out of the room.

“Stay for dinner, Hermione! Dorea would love to have you!” Lily exclaimed, jumping up at the same time as Remus, the two sharing a concerned look at having run her off.

“I have dinner at Leticia’s tonight with everyone.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and Remus wondered what it meant. Was it a tell, her sign that she was lying? Or was she torn? Did she want to stay with them and really have an obligation to her family?

“I’m sure you can invite the whole brood. Mum would love to see the babies. ” James grumbled the last part.

“Ugh yes, please, I want to see the babies too!” Lily squealed, and James gazed at her with the most disgustingly in-love look Remus had ever seen, but when he turned back to where Hermione was, he realized she was gone, halfway out of the library.

It felt like deja vu following after her towards the floo room, catching her just in time as he had after Dorea’s dinner party. “Hermione, wait,” He called as he skidded into the room, and to his surprise, she did.

“Yes, Remus.” He couldn’t place her tone; it seemed frustrated, maybe embarrassed, but she looked stony like she didn’t feel anything at all. Not the lifeless mind wandering, something different.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” He joked, and Hermione tucked her bottom lip back between her teeth. It took more strength than he knew he was capable of, not to lean over and pull it out for her.

“Meeting like what?” She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, and just like last time, Remus was drawn closer to her. Stepping right up in front of her, only a few centimeters separating them.

“With you halfway out the door.” The words seemed to have a mind of their own, but it wasn’t Moony this time. It was all him trying to convey that he wanted her to stay.

“Guess you’ll just have to learn to be faster.” It was a teasing little comment, but Remus could work with it. The spark from the other night was back, only instead of dancing firelight flickering along the walls, it was soft daylight cascading through the drapes, and Remus thought she was breathtaking in both.

“And what would I catch if I was?” He waited, anxious for her response. But just like the last time, she extinguished that spark, and the faraway look returned to her eyes.

“Probably a distraught boyfriend.”

_____

“What's got your knickers in a twist?” Fabian asked her from his seat at the table, and Molly groaned, not even attempting to chastise him for speaking so crudely in front of the boys. It was a lost cause.

They didn’t spend a lot of time at the Prewett ancestral home. But every Saturday evening, Leticia hosted a dinner for them all. Hermione’s mind was elsewhere tonight, her flustering thoughts of Remus dancing around in her head. Ever since she’d once again left him in the floo room of Potter Manor hours ago, she could not get the image of him with those stupidly handsome scars out of her mind. It was practically tattooed on the back of her eyelids.

“Would everyone stop saying that to me today?” Hermione groaned as she let her head drop onto the table before her, rattling the china at her setting.

Leticia cleared her throat from the far end of the table, and Hermione whispered an apology before sitting back up again. Fabian and Bill smirked at her from where they sat on the other side. She was sure Bill spent too much time with him, constantly mimicking everything Fabian did. How he decided that was his favorite twin was beyond her speculation.

She liked these dinners and spending time with everyone together; it was one of the things she treasured most since arriving in 1978, but she was distracted tonight. Today had left her more confused than when she first landed on the beaches of Cornwall.

She had felt Remus’s eyes on her all afternoon, even before his bizarre flirting at the floo. At the crux of it all, it drove her insane how much she liked it. Almost as much as she liked the image of Sirius in that stupid band tee and the boots.

Gods, she was a mess. “Hello, Earth, to Hermione. Want to let your family in on whatever conversation you are having in your head?” Fabian leaned across the table, ridiculously far, to wave his hand in front of her face, and eight-year-old Bill, his shadow, just laughed.

“No, I would not,” she responded before spearing her treacle tart with much more vigor than necessary.

“My money is that she’s pissy. Kings still hasn’t called to make right on his date with her,” Gideon piped up from his spot. And if looks could curse, Hermione was capable of an Avada at that moment. She hadn’t even thought about that ridiculous deal she’d made with Kingsley in Hog’s Head.

“Boys, stop pestering the poor girl.” Leticia looked at her with a mother's understanding, and Hermione nodded her thanks.

“You didn’t tell me about Kingsley not calling, ‘Mione. Sad to hear, a real catch, that one,” Molly said as she wiped roughly at Charlie’s chin with a napkin. It was funny how, even in a formal dining room, the Prewetts still managed to make everything feel like the warmth of the Burrow. The presence of that many kids and people so friendly could heat a home with just love.

“I didn’t because he wasn’t serious.” Hermione shot a very pointed glare at Molly's unnatural cough at her word choice. “he was just helping me with a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Gideon asked, joining to pile in on her misery.

“A very serious one,” Molly whispered, and Hermione thought she might scream at her and her needling.

“Again, I don’t want to talk about this. Can’t we go back to asking Gid and Fab why they aren’t dating anyone?”

“Oi, leave us out of this! We talk to plenty of fair witches.” Fabian got out between bites of food, and Leticia stared at him, her displeasure at his lack of table manners evident. He smiled sheepishly at her.

“You know that’s a great point ‘Mione! I heard the most interesting gossip the other day about you two.” The twins shared a look of concern. “Oh yes, I was getting my hair cut and saw Augusta Longbottom. Interesting witch. But her daughter-in-law Alice is an Auror with you two, yes?”

Gideon and Fabian, in perfect synchronized motions, tipped their heads in confirmation leery about wherever Molly was going with this. “She said she had a niece Alice had set you two up with?”

“Wait, both of you?” Hermione interrupted. Her confusion was evident in her voice.

“Oh yes. These two sods told the poor girl they were trying to form a triad” Her thumb pointed at the two, and Hermione's confusion grew tenfold. It was worse than when she tried to translate that stupid children’s book.

At the same time, Gideon said, “We did no such thing.” And Fabian cried. “It was her idea! We never mentioned it.”

“A what?” She tried to break through the loud chatter.

“Oh, Merlin, sometimes I forget you weren’t raised with us and had Helena as a tutor growing up. Mum, will you explain to her?” Molly said apologetically.

“Explain what to me? Who is Helena?”

“Trust me, Hermione, it's serious.” Gone now were Molly’s sincere musings. Back was her mischievous word choice.

“Stop saying the word serious, Molly!” She cried.So sick of hearing his name in Molly’s insinuating tone.

Gideon piped up to add, “Honestly ‘Mione getting the talk from Helena is a right of passage. Mum, can we call her to do it? I wanna see her face.”

“Helena is a good woman. Leave her name out of your mouth, Gideon.” Thankfully, the scolding was enough to quiet him, and Gideon returned to his slice of tart.

“What talk?” As Molly looked at her with a bit of sympathy, it came slamming into Hermione what kind of talk would be spoken about in such vague terms. Merlin helped her. “Oh no, I’m good. Muggles do that, too. No, thank you,” she sputtered out before taking her water goblet and drinking every single drop. She was so embarrassed, her body on fire from the implication of her needing a sex talk that she was sure the water boiled as it slid down her throat.

“I will talk to Hermione after dinner. You three are on your last leg.” Her voice was final, the stern warning Hermione knew the three siblings were used to from their childhoods.

“Acromantula or human?”

“Does it matter, Gideon? You don’t have any more to spare.” Were the matriarch’s final words on the matter.

“It might,” he grumbled before moving, talking about the Order member training Charlus had tasked them with. Molly asked with much more enthusiasm than needed, all types of questions about the dueling notes Remus from the future had left Hermione. Thankfully, after a warning glare from Leticia, Molly seemed to tame herself for the rest of the wine and pudding.

Hermione was relieved that dinner was over and she could have a moment alone in the Prewett Library until Leticia found her there stacking multiple books on familial wards. The Gaunt Shack was her number one priority right now, and she knew from Harry’s stories that it had complex protections. She tried not to let the memory of him sting, but like always, she found herself wondering what had become of her Harry and could she do enough to save him.

Leticia interrupted her thoughts before they had a chance to take on a mind of their own, with her gentle voice, “Finding everything you need, dear?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m not sure what kind of wards I’m going to encounter when we find the house,” she conceded, and Leticia hummed her understanding as she made her way to a different section. Her fingers trailed along the spines in front of her before they caught on one, and she pulled it out.

Without a wand or a word spoken, Leticia floated the book to Hermione’s stack—an old leather-bound one, smaller than most magical ones, more like a muggle paperback. Or, as she studied it, noting the gold foil initials stamped on the front, she realized it was small enough to be a journal.

“That belonged to Alphecca Black. She was the first Black to be betrothed to a Prewett. Claiborne Prewett, to be exact.” Leticia’s voice carried through the library as she made her way back to where Hermione was still standing.

“How did you end up with her journal?” It was one of the things Hermione was always jealous of when it came to pureblood knowledge, how they could pass it down so seamlessly from generation to generation.

“It was a gift from a distant family member when they heard I was also set to marry a Prewett.”

“I didn’t know your marriage was arranged,” Hermione admitted. It made sense, but hearing it made her heart twinge for the older witch.

“I was lucky that it was Ignatius, but yes, dear, most pureblood marriages are.” Leticia’s voice was light, with no hint of malice at what had happened.

Hermione’s curiosity got the best of her, and while she normally didn’t mind the dance of figuring out why Leticia or Dorea chose to do something, she was too tired from her confusing day to play. Looking down at the newest addition to her stack, she asked, “Why did you pull this for me?”

“Prewett’s are known for twins, yes? You’ve seen it first hand, not unheard of for Blacks, but it’s a uniquely Prewett strength.” Leticia sat down, indicating this conversation was far from over. “Many pureblood families have strengths. The Blacks are masters of the mind, and some say the Malfoys are able to tame wild beasts, but the Prewetts are known for fertility, hence the twins.”

Hermione felt her throat go dry at what Leticia was implying. She was about to force Hermione to read some stuffy Victorian witch's account of virtue.

She joined her, sitting on the other end of Letifia’s chosen settee. This idea of familial magical strengths was all new to her as a muggleborn witch, and while she wanted to learn more, she felt the insecurities that had plagued her during her first few years at Hogwarts return. When she had been hungry, starved for knowledge, to know everything, to prove her worth. The idea that some had more strength than she did because of genetics, inbreeding most likely, made her blood start to boil.

It seemed to drive home her greatest fear, what were muggleborn witches known for? This familial magic had to be one the many reasons Bellatrix had carved into her arm. Hermione dug her nails into her palms to keep her emotions from getting away from her as Leticia continued, “Loving a twin is a special type of curse, and I think you’ll find the words of Alphecca interesting to your predicament.”

She hastily said, “I don’t have a predicament.” Then, she took a fortifying breath and continued, “You don’t have to worry about any pre-bonding babies for me. I’m also not a Prewett, I’m muggleborn, remember? I don’t think that magic will apply to me.”

“Mmmm, of course, my dear, but if not, it’s a nice look into the life of a young witch who faced many issues. I quite liked it when I was your age.”

“I’ll give it a read then,” she conceded, not wanting to offend her.

Leticia seemed pleased with the answer, moving swiftly to what Hermione assumed was the real intention of their conversation. “Do you know much about bonding?”

She immediately thought of Bill and Fluer's wedding and how she could feel the magic in the air as it wove itself between the two. It had felt alive and soothing. Harry had described it as a towel out of the dryer. She knew Leticia wouldn’t understand the reference, but it made her smile. “No, I’ve only been to one wizarding wedding.”

She seemed surprised by that. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, I loved it,” she had. She had learned so much and had been with the people she trusted the most in the world. It had started as a perfect day until the attack during the reception. Hermione decided to keep that knowledge to herself, hopeful things would never get to that point again.

“Then I think you’ll love Alphecca’s story.” Leticia leaned forward and cupped Hermione’s cheek, using that elegant, cool hand of hers to rub her thumb over her cheekbone, a small half smile on her face. It wasn’t out of pity or concern but of understanding, like she knew so much and was waiting for Hermione to figure it out.

Maybe it was her interest in pureblood family magic, so foreign to her, or it was Leticia’s promise of how much Hermione would enjoy Alphecca’s story. Or maybe the delirium was caused by her third attempt to chart and map the types of wards she would need, but in the wee hours of the morning, when sleep was once again lost on her, Hermione found the small journal calling to her.

She wasn't sure why she had placed it on her bedside table, immediately within her reach, but she was relieved when she picked it up. Crawling under the light summer linens that filled her bed, and with only the bright light of the full moon, Hermione gently peeled back the cover.

She marveled for a while at how soft the leather felt, worn and weathered, the sign of a well-loved treasure. Then, inside, she couldn't help but marvel at the elegant script, flourishes of black ink, thin, precise lines, and even the occasional drawing of a constellation in the margins. It felt so intimate to hold something like this in her hand, but she pressed on, letting Alphecca’s elegant prose pull her restless mind in.

Chapter Text

She was grateful the first fell on a Friday. It gave her time to roam the castle all weekend before classes began. You never knew what you could find or see in a hidden alcove or who you might call to her in a long-forgotten courtyard.

These were her favorite days of the year, the ones when everyone was too busy in their own return celebrations to notice her. She didn't mind attention. She usually liked seeing the confusion on their faces when she told them something she shouldn't know. But those were also the reasons so few approached her.

No, they just watched her wander most days, afraid of her or her friends. The current rumor was that she could read their minds and predict their deaths. It didn't matter if it was true or not, it created attention, and that was not what she needed right now.

She needed to find something, and she needed to find it discreetly. She let her fingers trail the stone walls, allowing the thing grout lines to guide her till she found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Her excitement at her discovery and what lay before her caused her magic to sizzle in her veins.

Turning on the spot and marching up to the wall directly opposite, she couldn't help but tilt her head back and forth, practically touching her ears to her shoulders as she studied the innocuous wall. Hermione promised it was a sanctuary, and she was eager to find out. The witch had not let her down yet.

Pandora could not help but feel like she was gliding, almost skating along the smooth stone floors instead of pacing, hoping to burn some of her excitement before she entered. It took her a moment to decide what she wanted to ask for, but ultimately, she relinquished control to let the magic have free reign, repeatedly singing the word home in her head.

Magic never ceased to surprise her as the intricately carved doors appeared, and she breathed a sigh of relief. With a flick of her hand, she watched them swing open and made her way in. Taking in the narrow townhouse made her pause. She knew this was from a vision. It had swirled in her mind many times.

A home that felt more like a promise than a glimpse into what was to come. Its pastel-colored walls and star-painted ceilings made the narrow hallways feel bright and safe, but she could tell in the details that were not of this time. They were a tease, the cherry on top of a cake, if she did not upset the gods with her disrespect for fate.

She made her way into a parlor littered with oversized tufted cushions and hanging lamps, smiling at how at ease she felt before she sat down and set to work. She began by enlarging the plainly wrapped box that had been delivered to her just this morning, all the details she would need for the term ahead.

——-

Barty had not seen Pandora at the welcome feast, and while she wasn't known for her consistent eating habits, he swore sometimes she was more bird than witch. It was odd for her not to show up.

It didn't help that Evan stared at him from the Slytherin table. His eyes were hot on his neck, an accusatory glare that Barty was intimately familiar with. He kept staring, barely eating his own dinner, like it was Barty’s fault she wasn't here. He was not her keeper, best friend? Sure, yeah, he’d take the title. But keeper? No. It was a lost cause. He'd given up keeping track of her first year when she had told him she took midnight walks in the Forbidden Forest to see the thestrals.

He'd been annoyed he couldn't see them and thought she'd hold her knowledge of them over his head, but she had just smiled up at him and told him his day would come. Whatever that meant.

If anything, she was his keeper, so Evan’s pissy stare could fuck off. Barty was debating what kind of hex or maybe a jinx he could send Evan’s way, it would have to be wordless and wandless when he felt the presence next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pale grey robes of their headmaster, and Barty forced himself to plaster on the biggest smile he could muster, shit-eating his father had described it as over the summer.

“Ah, Mr. Crouch. Would you like to join me for an after-dinner tea?”

Barty didn't know what he wanted with him, but it couldn't be good. He'd spent plenty of time in the headmaster's office over the past few years but had never been invited or given a choice. He didn't like the sound of it. Seemed like something that happened to overly enthusiastic kiss-ass Gryffindors or homesick tear-soaked puffs.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I have a prior obligation, professor,”

“And what might that be?” Dumbledore raised one of his greyed eyebrows, and Barty saw the perfect opportunity to ensure the wizard left him alone for his last year.

“Well, you see, sir. The poor witches of this castle have been denied access to my particularly dexterous skills all summer. And if I want to avoid a tongue cramp, I've got to get started tonight.” The wink at the end was just for good measure, and he basked in the look of disgust on the old wizard's face.

Dumbledore regained his composure, placing a mask over the shock that had overcome his features. “I'm sure we'll find time to connect soon.”

“I'll let you know when I've made it through the dungeons. Slippery ones, those snakes!” Barty called out to his retreating back. Feeling very proud to have driven him off.

He turned to look back at Evan and Reg. Both looked both disgusted and amused. Good, that's how he liked it.

——-

“No,” he stated as he looked around the strange room. When she’d drug him and their friends up to the 7th floor, he thought she really might be barmy. He'd never thought it before, but watching her pace back in front of a blank wall was pushing his max of what he believed in.

When the door shimmered into existence, his faith in her was restored, but she was testing it again as she recounted the story of her summer, to even Evan's surprise. His annoyance at the news was evident as he stood and paced around the small round room. Going as far as to kick one of the soft floor pillows surrounding them.

How she had created this bastardized version of his childhood home was beyond his understanding, but that didn't stop the scene from causing him to itch with discomfort. He didn't want his friends near his home, real or not.

Oblivious or, more likely, uncaring of his plight, She started in on her tale of visions and evil artifacts and how she knew someone who could fix all their problems. His denial was immediate. He didn't even want to hear the rest of her words. He was furious at her, the danger she had galivanted headfirst into all summer.

Dora was not one to back down, though. That silken voice of hers had taken an acute edge. “I was not finished.”

“I don't want to hear it. Anything that involves the type of work you are talking about it is a bad idea.” He retorted, and he could have sworn those opal-like eyes flashed like sunlight on iridescent stones, her ire bright and burning.

“You may say no. But you will hear my tale, Regulus.” he could have sworn the room felt colder, her gaze alive as she addressed him. “I have earned that decency from my friends.”

“Dora babes, this is fucking insane,” Barty interjected, and Dora ignored him, her eyes still locked on Regulus. He hated this. He loathed her anger, but this was a risk not worth it. They stood no chance against him, even if this witch she vaguely referenced had all the answers.

“You can say what you want. I want no part of this. My decision has already been made. I have this gods-awful tattoo for it, remember? Or did you forget while you played make-believe all summer?”

“Watch it, Reg,” Evan growled from the corner, and Regulus had the sense to look at least a little ashamed. Barty shooting him a cocky grin, lording his lack of scolding over his head.

“You will not mock me. I already said you don't have to agree. But I think you will want the whole truth.”

He stood at that, the need to pace with such insanity thrown at him. “Why? So we have to obliviate it from ourselves later? This is fucking mad. You three have lost it.”

“Reg, it's not the worst offer? It can't be worse than what you're already stuck in?” he whirled on Barty, his finger coming to poke him in the chest where he sat.

“Being caught and tortured, Barty? I can promise you it's much worse than.”

Evan, always the silent sentry, standing in a back corner watching the continued exchange, tipped his head to her once, and she did the same.

“That is fine, Reggie. You know where to find me when you remember who you trust.” She rose from her seat, her hair falling down her face and arms, making an ethereal halo around her as she glided towards the door. Not even bothering to look back at the three of them.

It was almost exactly a week later when Evan and him found the burning call on their arms too hard to resist. Like the Dark Lord knew they were tired from classes and Quidditch practice. Like this meeting was just a test to see if they had it in them, the only students in this macabre cult, to leave the castle unseen. Prove their worth and attend what he was sure was another pointless meeting.

His neck was stiff, and the suffocating velvet cloaks they had to wear were hanging heavy in the early September heat. Dark stone walls surrounded them, deep in the bowels of a manor’s dungeons or maybe grain stores. It didn’t matter. He liked it much more when they used the Ballrooms of nicer estates. The room smelled like sweat and too much perfumed oil. He had resorted to biting his tongue to contain his gag. Regulus wondered if the prick in the front of the room, too special for a cloak, their leader, enjoyed the stench. If the fact that he could force so many of high wizarding society to such feeble surroundings.

He felt Evan shift his feet, his legs growing tired, the stone beneath offering no cushion or reprieve. They'd been standing for hours, listening to some sermon on pure-bloodedness and the power of magic. Regulus looked around the room, seeing who had made it tonight. He’d noticed Bella and her husband off to the corner immediately, her unmistakably chaotic gate easy to spot, or he ramblings of support and praise easy to identify.

His mother and father weren't there. Apparently, enough galleons got you out of this absurdity. He thought he saw a flash of Narcissa’s hair but was disappointed to see it was just Lucius. Regulus would consider his night wildly successful if he could avoid an encounter with him after this tirade was over.

He recognized most as his eyes continued to survey the room, except for a shorter man towards the front. His hood pulled down lower than others, and Regulus could barely make out his chin as he dipped his head in reverence as the Dark Lord finally finished. Others across the room started to whisper, and slowly, the buzz of conversation filled the cramped underground space they'd been forced into below Nott Manor.

Evan said something to him about talking to his father and left his side, joining Baptiste Rosier and Rabastan Lestrange on the other side of the room. But for some reason, Regulus couldn't take his eyes off the newcomer. Everyone else, himself included, had to take the mark in front of all who served The Dark Lord, but this man had not.

Maybe it was jealousy that he had not been forced to experience such humiliation, but whatever it was, it had Regulus moving across the room. Measured clipped footsteps as he maneuvered to see his face. He didn't seem to be the only one. Severus had also caught his pursuit of the unknown wizard.

A brief glance of understanding was all it took, and it made Regulus briefly miss that the older wizard would not be at Hogwarts this fall. He was a quiet reprieve from his sometimes loud and boisterous friends. Severus was quick, moving to cut the figure off as he stepped directly into his path, and Regulus boxed him in from behind. The surprise of the motion caused them to abruptly stop, their hood falling back just enough to reveal the round, child-like cheeks of a face they both knew well.

A face they had both studied across the Great Hall. Someone ingrained into the lives of the people they cared about from a distance.

“Pettigrew,” Snape droned, his black eyes tightening as he took Peter in.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight? I thought you'd be off with my brother and his merry little band of followers.” he stepped around him, letting the accusation land. He didn't know a lot about the wizard, just that he was friends with Sirius, a fellow Gryffindor, a year older, and he was a fucking idiot.

Now, he knew he was a traitor, too. The sight of him here, having the audacity to look at Severus and him with fear in his eyes, just pissed Regulus off more. If he was going to be a rat, he should at least be good at it, but looking at the two of them now, he looked like he was going to piss himself.

“Well?” Severus asked again, his low rumble emphasizing his annoyance and boredom. But Regulus knew. People might think Severs was cold, but those onyx eyes gave him away. The sight of Peter shook him. Peter could do irrevocable damage to the girl he still pinned after.

“I'm not sure what you want from me,” Peter finally said, doing his best to hide the shakiness of his voice, but there was no hiding the way his leg trembled.

“I want proof that you will do anything for our cause.” Severus wasn't alone in his fear, but Regulus felt his concern mounting, not because of Peter's decision but for his brother's stupidity to still be friends with him. There was only one reason to bring such a worthless wizard into their ranks, and it wasn't for political cunning. Peter was a spy, an inconspicuous one at that, because really, who gave a fuck about Peter Pettigrew?

“I've done more than you two could understand.” Peter took a step away from them, his ruddy cheeks squished as he attempted to snarl at them before stomping away. The two shared a knowing look, a silent confirmation that they would connect later. He knew Severus cared only for the red-headed witch, but he couldn't help but wonder if seeing someone like Peter, whose friendships seemed so pure, turn to the dark made his stomach churn like it did Regulus’s.

Did Peter feel any shame for the hatred he must have harbored for James Potter? Or Sirius? Both were so loud and loved fiercely, including the shy, pathetic boy in their little troup had been a gift. For someone to betray that love. It made Regulus sick. If his brother couldn't trust his stupid friends, then who could anyone trust?

The word was heavy, like a weight placed on his chest. An anchor wrapped around his ankle, dragging him deeper. He could hear her soft voice whispering it to him over the waves of nausea that racked him. Trust. She’d said as much a week ago.

Dora already knew—that tricky little dove.

——

Regulus didn't lead him back to their dorm. No, he led them to that room Dora had shown them on their first night in the castle. Only now gone was the mockery of Grimmauld Place, and instead was a much smaller version of their shared dorm, only missing Avery.

“Reg, what's going on” Evan wished he wasn't out of breath, but Regulus, the fucking little prick that he is, was surprisingly fast.

“She was right,” is all he says before he throws himself onto the likeness of his bed, face first groaning into the pillow.

Evan sits on the edge, admiring how the room has even managed to copy the stars that they had charmed on his capony first year. “I assumed as much. What changed your mind?”

“Pettigrew,” he groans into the pillow again, and despite Regulus being unable to see his face, Evan feels his whole face scrunch in a mixture of puzzled disbelief.

“Your brother's friend?” he slowly asks, still perplexed by the relevance.

“Yeah, the one that always tags along.” Regulus is unmoving, the words muffled by the bed, and Evan has to lean a little closer to hear him.

Annoyed at Regulus’s petulantly short answers, Evan pointedly asks, “I'm not following Reg. What's he got to do with anything?”

“He was there tonight.”

Evan scrunches his eyes and brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose. This dance of prying for information from Reg was getting old. “Again, get to the point. I'm fucking tired.”

“I think Dora knows more than she told us. Fuck I think she's right” Regulus rolls on his back. He admits, looking up at the star constellations lost as he loosens a deep breath.

“Oh. Well, that's good because Barty and I had already decided. Kind of sick of waiting for you to brood over it.”

Regulus, of course, doesn't laugh. The King of Prats is too good for some dark humor if it's not about his deplorable family. “You're spending too much time with him if you think this is funny.”

But Evan isn't in the mood. His night was already fucked when that stupid hideous tattoo started burning, and then his father had to prove what type of foul type of scum he is, and he lets Reg know it. “Fuck off. If anyone doesn't find this funny, it's me. At least the maniac likes you and your family. He's probably looking for a reason to curse me.”

“That's not the compliment you think it is,” Regulus says through gritted teeth, and if Evan didn't love him so much, he’d think about finding Barty to punch him for this little sob moment he’s trying to have.

“I didn't mean it as one,” is what he lands on instead.

Regulus seems to get the point, though, and Evan is a little relieved he’s being serious about taking Dora up on her insane plan when he shouts, “Fuck, fuck, fuck how is this going to work.”

It's like Regulus doesn't think Dora probably already has these answers, so Evan continues to push him, hopeful that maybe they can get to a decision tonight. “We don't have another choice.”

“Yes, we do, Evan. We could say fuck this plan drain out vaults and get to France and then Switzerland or something.” Evan, for a moment, freezes and debates, forgetting Barty and leaning over and strangling Regulus himself. He goes as far as to run his fingers through the tight curls of his hair to stop himself from doing it.

With gritted teeth and not ready to broach the topic of Dora’s misfortune, before talking to her first, he says, “No, we can't. You know that, and I won't leave Dora behind.”

“I would never leave her here, you know that. We can bring her,” Regulus says offendedly, sitting up on his bed. The look in his eyes is wild and angry at Evan for even suggesting that.

But he doesn't know, and fuck if that isn't going to suck when he has to tell him. “No, we can't.”

“Come off it, Evan. It would take some work, but as soon as Barty is 17 and the trace is gone, we’ll be fine.” while it makes sense, Evan grimaces because he doesn't have the whole story.

He turns to look at him, dreading that there is no way to escape this. “Regulus, she's engaged.”

Regulus just rolls his eyes, “Fuck Xeno, no one likes him. Even she doesn't.”

“No, not to Xeno,” Evan tries to remove the emotion from his voice, it's his fucking sister, but he knows this is going to cut much deeper on Reg. Someone who is constantly losing the people he loves.

“Who?” the question isn't shaky, but it's the most unsure he’s heard the wizard speak in a while.

Evan can barely say it, the death sentence he’s handed to Dora, so he whispers it, betraying his emotional state about it: “Rab.”

“I'm sorry I missed that. What did you say?” Regulus laughs as he says it because it does seem far-fetched. How does 16-year-old Dora end up engaged to a 25-year-old wizard with a penchant for violence and spends all his alone time in the same house as the fucking Dark Lord? Dora, his kind-hearted twin, the one with no blood on her hands, engaged to a monster.

But Evan doesn't say that. Reg already knows what happens to pureblood witches who are sold for stock. No one has seen Narcissa in months. So he spits out the rest. “Rabastan. That's what my father wanted tonight. He’s already signed it. She can't leave.”

“Fuck she knew that too didn’t she.”

Chapter Text

“Really, this is the place?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded as he looked at the dilapidated shack before him. Hermione had been adamant that this was what she was looking for, and Remus had been basking in the joy of discovering the location of the last known Gaunt residence for days.

He’d come home to their little flat and repeated the story of how Hermione had jumped, hugged him, and thanked him profusely till she ran out of the room with the information. Remus had described himself as so surprised by her reaction that he barely even had a chance to replicate her affections, standing in the Potter Library, arms dangling at his side like an oaf and a manic grin on his face.

The greater surprise came when Dorea called Sirius into the small office she used, attached to Charlus’s, and informed him that he would be joining Hermione as they investigated the last known Gaunt residence. She didn’t elaborate on what investigated meant, and it had left the two wizards reeling, spending more time in their bed discussing what he would be doing all day with the witch than tangled in each other. Staying up till the early morning hours, doing their best to impersonate Lily, and plot how they could use this moment to their advantage.

Now, she just looked over her shoulder and shrugged before making her way up the worn path at their feet. If you could even call it a path, Sirius found himself constantly nudging and kicking rocks and old rusted pieces of an old iron gate out of his way as he followed her. Yellow dried grass and pockets of dark, sticky mud made the journey more treacherous than he had planned.

He wasn't sure how she did it, seeming to gracefully dodge every piece and puddle. It didn't help that she had to do this in the most ridiculous pair of muggle denims he’d ever seen. He really should be thanking Lily. He was sure the sight of her in the downright obscene high-waisted things was Lily’s doing. The meddling witch had her wand in everything these days.

Sirius did his best not to ogle at her, or at least not get caught. He had a feeling she wouldn't like that. Or maybe she would and then pretend she didn't. He’d seen her blush every time he kissed Remus, and he knew what she said to him, that Sirius would be upset at whatever little flirty banter they’d been having.

For someone who claimed to know future him, she was a bit daft about the whole thing. No one else would be surprised if he were dating more than one person. Merlin, he had done it enough in 5th year. It was practically expected. But she acted like he was some virginal devout bride. She had joked that he was a playboy in the future, so why couldn't she see the pathetically obvious signs he and Remus were laying before her? Maybe she was more daft than he expected. That would disappoint Remus for sure. He liked her little book tangents.

His wandering thoughts on her obtuseness were cut off when he abruptly walked straight into her back. He wasn't sure whose reflexes were faster, his to grab her waist and hold her close to him so she didn’t fall, or her pulling her wand and pushing it perfectly under his chin from behind, not even sparing him a glance. He might have been offended if he wasn’t so enamored with the smell of vanilla wafting off her curls towards him.

“Sorry, I need to work on that,” she said, pulling her arm away and lowering her wand, and he could already feel a bruise forming from the sheer force she had used to press it into his jugular. Remus had said she’d done the same thing to him, that she was a jumpy thing, and Sirius had chuckled at the time, impressed that she could catch someone with such heightened senses as Remus off guard. Being on the receiving end of her reflexes, her wand precariously pointed at him, made his spine tingle in excitement.

He wasn’t afraid of a witch who knew her way around. If anything, he craved it. So he made no move to take his hand off her hips, leaning down to whisper into her ear, “No worries, I like when kittens have claws.” He relished the feeling of satisfaction when she squeaked in response.

It took another moment for him to step away, already missing the feel of her soft hips under his hands, before she turned to look at him. The blush covering her neck gave away every thought he knew she was hiding. “Well, why’d we stop?” he drawled, and she seemed to break from the trance she was in

“Wards. I can feel the wards. Can you?” she asked him, and as he centered himself, he could barely feel the soft tingle of magic. They were subtle as if laid with such care that someone approaching wouldn’t notice them. But despite the intricate work, Sirius could sense the inky darkness woven into them. That tingle did not caress his skin. Instead, it made all the hairs on his body want to stand on end.

Looking over at her, he nodded once before asking, “So, what's the plan to disassemble these?”

“Huh, and I heard you were good at charms?” She scoffed, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Sirius put his hand to his chest, faking offense. “I am very talented at charming. Thank you very much, Miss Prewett.”

She rolled her eyes before raising her wand again, casting a diagnostic charm, but not one he had ever seen. As soon as her movements finished, he watched the rickety building in front of them light up like fireworks on New Year's Eve.

He whistled to show his awe at the intricate mess of wards before them, “Where’d you learn that little trick? Would have been nice to have in old Grimmy.”

“The cursebreaker who went through Grimmauld taught it to me,” She said primly as she examined all the colors in front of them, going as far as to crouch down and look at the purple curse that seemed to slither across the grass.

He tried not to let the idea of her spending time with some accomplished cursebreaker chafe him as he leaned down to ask, “Ted?”

“What, no Bill?” Her confusion was immediate, turning to look up at him, her braid practically whipping them both in the face as she did.

Now, it was Sirius’s turn to be confused and a bit defensive. He and Remus didn’t need any more competition. He asked a bit too sharply, “Bill, who?”

“Never mind, Ted Tonks is a cursebreaker? As a muggleborn?” She got up from her crouch, still working as other colors danced around them, pink, blue, red, popcorning through the bubble of magic that seemed to surround the home.

Sirius decided he needed to be somewhat helpful. He started running the few diagnostic charms he could remember from the Auror training entrance exam he had taken and tried not to pale at the sight of a green curse curling around the front door. “Yeah, a bit reckless that one. He did marry Dromeda, though, so I guess it tracks.”

“That is good to know, but back to the task at hand, we need to break these but not trip the creator,” She said, standing to her full height, about a head shorter than him, and placing her hands on her hips.

“That sounds too simple for what you're expecting of me,” He questioned, the multiple curses still flashing in the background.

“Maybe we should call Ted.” He couldn’t tell if she was serious, one of her eyebrows lifting towards her hairline and her lips pursed as if she was annoyed and disappointed by his warranted concern.

Deciding not to let her prove him incapable, he clapped his hands loudly, a lazy grin as he exclaimed, “Nope! Have some faith in me. Where do you want me to start?”

“You take the top, and I’ll start from the bottom?” She said, satisfied now that he was ready to work, as she pointed to separate sections of the house’s perimeter.

“Sounds good. I wouldn’t want you to strain your neck, kitten.” He meant it as a taunt, something sweet to tease her with, but he knew it came out deeper, a slight command in his tone.

She rewarded him with that blush intermingled with her freckles as she faked exhaustion at his words, “I didn’t say you could keep calling me that,” but Sirius knew he had won when he realized something.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

He could have sworn they had been at this for hours. Sweat was pooling at the base of his neck, and his long black hair had been tied into a bun to keep it out of the mess. He’d shed his jacket, and even the breeze moving through his old, worn Queen t-shirt couldn't cool him. His arms burned from the steady, constant movement, and he wondered how it had only been a few short months since he’d held a beater’s bat almost daily.

Casting a quick glance at Hermione, he bristled. She looked unchanged; maybe her cheeks were a bit pink, but she didn’t seem out of breath as her arms worked in perfect rhythmic motions. Her chanting was even and consistent. Her voice didn’t seem to waver as his had. It was like she was whispering a simple cleaning charm, not untangling the web of wards that seemed to recoil at every poke. When he wasn’t pouting about his lack of skill, he admired her, how she appeared to be even-keeled, even as certain curses rumbled and threatened to lash out.

Finally, after what he was sure was the hardest spellwork he would ever cast, she turned to look at him, her smile wide, taking over her whole face as she performed the same diagnostic spell from earlier, and not a single curse lighting up before them.

“Well, that was riveting! Ready for the next bit?” She said, a little out of breath, and if not for that small show of weakness, Sirius was sure no one would have known she had done more than half the work.

“Lead the way, my lady.” He bowed at the waist and extended his arm, primarily to hide his flushed appearance from her scrutinizing gaze, and she indulged him with a small curtsy before taking the overgrown path up to the front of the house.

Hermione continued to cast her diagnostic charms, and Sirius joined her after he had observed enough times to mimic the motions and spell. Once inside the ramshackle frame, he couldn’t hide his repulsion. It smelled of musk and stagnant water, and every floorboard creaked as they made their way deeper into the dingy space.

Mold lined the walls, and cobwebs filled the corners, but underneath it all, it reminded him of Grimmauld. The dark wallpaper and ornately carved details, once an ostentatious show of wealth now was disintegrating before their eyes, and he wanted out of there.

“Can you feel anything?” She whispered despite them being the only two in the building. That didn’t stop him from casting multiple human revelios, nervous that a whole swarm of death eaters would show up.

“Besides the creeps? No,” He answered, unsure what she was asking for. She just hummed before stopping at the bottom of a narrow stairwell.

“Can you normally feel dark magic?” She asked, and for a moment, he thought she sounded so small, child-like as if she was searching for reassurance in her question.

“I could sometimes at Grimmauld. A whole section of the library I avoided,” He offered, hoping that was what she was looking for.

“Ah, the right back corner?” he nodded, surprised she knew the library that well, but if she had lived there, maybe she did. He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to transfer some of his strength to her, and she fiddled the button of her shirt right in the middle of her chest.

He understood what she was asking now. He’d heard bits and pieces of her story as she described wearing the necklace to Andromeda and realized she was reaching for it now. “Can you feel it?” He asked.

“Sometimes, Harry could feel a pull, but I can only recognize if I’m close enough to dark magic.” He squeezed her shoulder in support, encouraging her to continue. He was surprised when she joked, “He was a bit like a bloodhound, I guess.”

She took her first steps up the stairs, and Sirius could have sworn she seemed more tired in the face of whatever was waiting for them upstairs than anything they had worked against outside. He followed closely behind her, never taking his hand off her shoulder. Something about this place made him need to touch her, like he needed to know where she was at all times. They walked the whole length of the upstairs, the groaning of the wood under their feet the only sound, not stopping until he felt it.

That same oppressive magic that permeated his childhood home was present. It felt like the humidity that hung in the air of the damp dwelling had grown tenfold, and it pulsed like a heartbeat, like it was living, slithering through the air toward them.

Hermione stopped, and he knew she felt it, too. She looked back at him one last time, her coffee-colored eyes looking at him wearily. “It will try to trick us, Sirius. It’s not sentient, but it’s aware. Don’t let it call to you. Dorea said you can occlude?”

He nodded, grateful for once in his life for the tutoring his mother had forced upon him and Reggie. “Then I suggest you start now,” and as she said it, he saw the fear swimming in her vision dull, her pupils blowing wide, eating away the brown of her irises. He mirrored her actions, letting the stone blocks of the castle in his mind shift into place. Letting the round throne room of his consciousness act as a cushion for whatever was starting to tug at the corners of his mind.

She stood outside the door one last time, pulling out a small velvet bag from her purse and enlarging it with her wand. He watched her shoulders settle as she released one last breath before gently kicking the door open.

Nothing could have prepared him for what lay on the other side. The throbbing of the dark magic permeated the room, its pulses burning and repelling everything. But the pull was also potent, and he felt his eyes snap to the cracked floorboard in the center of the room. He took a step with her, his hand tightening to the soft cotton of her shirt, the gentle fabric serving as an anchor to her instead of the ilk that seemed to surround them.

“You lift the board with your magic, and I’ll pull the ring out with mine?” she asked, but he knew a command when he heard one. He wished she would turn to look at him, to understand how she was battling the oppressive atmosphere around them.

He used his free hand to swish his wand, a levitating charm from his first year, not even needing to say it as the splintered board wiggled out of place. He clung to the memory of his friends practicing on feathers, of Remus’s joy when he’d finally gotten it right, and it seemed to repel the claws of the magic around them that were scratching at his stone walls.

Hermione stood frozen, though, and through the haze of his occlumency, he heard it. “Mione, come back,” a young boy's voice called.

“‘Mione, you left us! Come back!” It screamed, and Sirius stumbled. It sounded so much like James.

“Mione, we need you. Just grab it! It’ll take you back.” He hadn’t realized she’d stepped out of his clutches and was on her hands and knees, crawling through the dust that caked the floorboards towards the open hole. Without thinking, he flung the floorboard he had been levitating to the other side of the room, a sickeningly wet crunch coming from wherever it landed. Before he dove, grabbing her by her ankles and pulling her towards him, her nails seemed to dig into the floorboards till he flipped her over and pulled her into his arms. Her screams started, “Harry! Ron! No, I’m coming.”

He had to think fast; he cast a quick incarcerous on her, and she continued to cry, begging for her friends. All he had to do was float this ring into the bag. He repeated the steps over and over again in his head, chanting them as he thought of more happy memories, using his occlumency to play those memories in the forefront of his mind.

It didn’t take long, and he was surprised. Despite how Hermione had been pulled towards it, Sirius was able to float the charm into the velvet pouch and seal it quickly. It was instantaneous. When the ring was away, Hermione ceased screaming and gasped for breath.

Sirius crawled towards her.“I’m so sorry, Hermione, fuck, let me - finite” he pointed his wand at her bindings, and they came undown. She was shaking, trembling as he pulled her into his arms, his legs splayed out in front of him, and she crawled right into his lap.

He tried to rub soothing circles on her back as she clenched her fists into his shirt, “Sirius,” she whispered, and he held her tighter, even as she tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

“I’ve got you, Hermione,” He whispered back.

“No, Sirius, look.” Her voice was filled with terror, icy tendrils of fear, worse than anything he’d heard the entire time they’d been here.

He turned to look and saw it, in the corner, the mangled bloated corpse of a wizard, half decomposed, rotting right before their eyes. Black skin weeping dark liquid, teeth missing from his wretched smile, limbs hanging at unnatural angles, and in its hand was the floorboard he had flung across the room.

She scrambled off him, grabbing her wand and purse, and Sirius matched her, getting to his feet and pulling her with him. At the last moment, he bent over to grab the velvet bag holding the ring and shoved it in his pocket.

The monstrosity in front of them did not move. Instead, it watched them through its empty eye sockets, tracking their movements clumsily as its neck tried to rotate.

“Necromancy,” He whispered a bone-chilling sense of dread filling him.

“Run,” she replied.

—-

Her body was moving faster than she could think. On instinct, she grabbed Sirius’s arm and threw herself in front of him, she wasn’t sure what they were looking at, but she’d be damned if it touched him. She was sending every slicing hex and cutting curse she could think of while also trying to get him out of the room. Despite her attempts to send him through the door at her back, he stayed close and tugged on the back of her shirt, forcing her feet to stumble awkwardly as she tried to run backward, following his pull.

The moment he threw the door open to the disgusting room, they had found the Horcrux in, and they tripped through its threshold and back into the hallway did she unleash the strongest spell she could conjure.

“PROTEGO MAXIMA,” She screamed, tunneling every bit of force she could into the words. The blueish light of the shield charm flew out of her wand with more force than she had ever encountered before as she continued trying to run down the stairs. Sirius’s shouts for her to hurry were impossible to hear as the whole house seemed to shake with the power of her cast.

Everywhere the blue light of the shield hit, dust and debris fell as if the impact was scorching away at the walls and the stairs. Both started to crumble, and she worried that she had made a grave mistake in her choice of spell. As the wood of the steps seemed to buckle beneath them, she tried to hold onto the shield as if it might be the only thing holding the remnants of the home up.

Sirius, thankfully, had not lost hope, dragging her down the stairs faster than she ever could, his steps not letting up as he hit the landing and broke into a sprint, never once dropping her arm. They barrelled through the front door as wood splintered in the distance, and as soon as their feet were on the porch, he apparated them right into the receiving room of Potter Manor.

She let the surprise landing pull them both to their knees and in the frantic desire to ensure Sirius was okay, she threw her arms around his neck, desperate to hug him.

So desperate that it took her far too long to notice that Sirius wasn’t hugging her back. No, he bracketed her cheeks with his hands. Those smooth rings were cold against her feverish skin, the blood pumping at the surface.

So desperate to make sure he was okay that she didn't feel him pull her in till her lips met his. The taste of smoke and mint filled her senses as he pressed against her firmer than any other boy had kissed her.

So desperate that she returned his affections, finding herself opening up for him instantly. The adrenaline of what just happened still coursing through her veins as she let herself melt into him. His kisses were frantic, not sweet and loving but as desperate as she had felt.

So desperate that they hadn’t heard the rest of the house run into the room at their arrival until she heard him.

“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL HAPPENED TO YOU TWO” Remus bellowed, and Hermione fell backward away from Sirius, landing uncomfortably on her backside as she tried to crawl away from him, unable to support her self as she leaned back on hands. Sirius just stared at her, his eyes wide with fear and shock, and she felt the emotions of what they had just done come flying back to her.

The anguish of hearing Harry and Ron’s voices, the fear of seeing that corpse awake in front of them, and now the shame of Remus’s yelling at her. Her magical core was drained beyond compare as the sights before started to blur, and Hermione felt herself start to sway, the room disappearing from her vision.

She wasn’t sure how much later it was when she woke up, the sound of a hushed argument seeping through the cracks of the door to her room. She wasn’t even sure how she got back to the sunroom of Shell Cottage. She didn’t remember much of what had happened, only Sirius kissing her, and she winced when she remembered Remus’s voice screaming at her.

Her head was pounding as she pushed herself up and out of the pile of duvets that had been stacked on her, and grateful it had started to chill in the evenings on the coast, or else the mass of fluffy white cotton might have suffocated her.

Her left arm wobbled as it struggled to support her, and she plopped back down. Her movement caused someone in the bed with her to stir, and Hermione rolled over off her strained arm to find Lily Evans lying on the other side of her bed, Alphecca’s journal in her hand.

“Good evening, Hermione.” She smiled as she closed the small book, “interesting literature you’ve got here.” She asked while waving it around. Hermione blushed. It was interesting, for sure. She had expected the long-gone witch’s journal to be dull and, in the best-case scenario, maybe a watered-down Jane Austen, but no. Leticia had given her something else. The way Alphecca described every intimate tryst with her husband and his twin brother made her hide her face from Lily in embarrassment.

“Nope, none of that!” She teased, pulling the blanket down from Hermione’s face. “You don’t get to be splinched and faint on us and then not tell me about your dirty books, I can only be shorted so many times in one day.”

“Spinched?” Hermione bellowed, moving to get up. Lily placed the heel of her hand on Hermione’s forehead and pushed gently, forcing her back into the nest of blankets they were sharing.

“Yes, and you’re fine. Nothing a little dittany didn’t fix” Lily laid down next to her on her side, her head propped up on her arm, and looking at her expectantly because Hermione wasn’t talking about the damned journal.

“That is not my book. Leticia gave that to me. Apparently, she wanted me to have an aneurysm instead of being eaten by a zombie,” she grumbled, and Lily laughed just as vibrantly as her red hair looked against all the white pillows.

“Do witches have aneurysms? Never mind that Leticia has taste, let me tell you! Really lucked out in the Mum department if I say so. She also has a knack for reading the room, which apparently you do not,” Lily teased, and Hermione mock-glared at her. Waiting for her to explain herself. “Huh, what's that look for?”

“Lily, my day has been absolutely dreadful. Why are you in my bed?” She groaned, pulling the blanks up till they covered everything but her eyes, her arm smarting in the process, never once dropping her put-out look.

“I am keeping the two wizards on the other side of your door from pestering you the moment you woke up. Which is the opposite of what I wanted to do by the way, but Dorea and your brothers gave me no other choice. Said that I couldn’t feed you to the wolves.” How she wiggled her eyebrows at the words made Hermione’s skin break out in goosebumps. “I bet Alphecca would love to be eaten by a wolf,” Lily whispered huskily, and Hermione fought the urge to smack her.

“Lily!” She squeaked before regaining her composure. “Don’t be so crude, and you better go and get them. I’d rather they yell at me now than later. Go send them in.” Hermione digressed.

“Gods, you are worse than Sirius, I swear.” Lily rolled off the bed, but not before placing Alphecca’s journal back on Hermione’s nightstand stand, throwing her a wink. “Don’t lose that. I think you’ll find it most helpful, and take your pain potion before bed, but not until after you read the entry on October 17th, 1649” she sauntered out of the room, her implication lingering behind her.

The door to her room didn’t even shut before two wizards forced their way through. Sirius’s face looked red and splotchy, his hair falling out of the bun she’d admired so much earlier. And Remus looked ashen, his jaw tight, as his scars rippled across his face. His hair stood in every direction like he played with it as much as Harry had. Gods, why did they have to look so handsome when she knew they were upset with her?

“Hermione, are you okay?” Remus asked, and Hermione was struck by the concern in his voice. She was certain he was coming to berate her, tell her to fuck off, and never come around again with her stupid plans for saving the world. And she would have. She was terrified of how much her selfish need to return Sirius’s affection earlier had hurt him, and she’d weather the blow now for it. Instead, he seemed shaky, like he needed to know how she was just as much as she needed to make penance for her mistake.

“I’m fine. I just got a bit overwhelmed,” She offered, and Sirius seemed to relax at the statement, his shoulders and limbs loosening, breath whooshing from his lungs, but Remus’s jaw seemed to tick at the announcement like he knew she was keeping the true nature of exhaustion from him. Or that she was feeling every shade of anxious as she waited for what was to come.

Remus eyed her carefully, his gaze branding her skin, and she realized someone had stripped her into one of the nightgowns that Leticia had bought her. Her chest flamed as she pulled the covers that had fallen to her waist back up to her shoulders, hiding the silk and lace straps . “That’s good, really good. We need to talk, but we understand if you’re too tired.”

She rushed to answer him, hoping they would take pity on her and be done with this. “No, no, please, let’s just get this over with.”

The two wizards shared a pained look at her sentiments. “Yeah, we’ll get this over with. Hermione, what happened with Sirius,”

“Remus, I am so sorry,” She whispered because she was sorry for hurting him, but the more she remembered Sirius’s soft lips on hers, the less sorry she felt. It was like her chest had been torn open, the pull to keep kissing him so intense she should have been grateful Remus stopped them and their treachery.

“No, please, don’t apologize. If anything, Sirius needs to apologize for splinching you,” Remus growled at Sirius, who looked towards his feet at the reminder of her injured arm. She hadn’t even had a moment to look at it.

“I plan on doing that, git, but Lily said you should get this all out so you muck it up again.” Sirius spit back, and Hermione felt sick at the uncomfortable tension she had obviously caused between the two of them.

“Thanks, Pads, but Hermione, what happened with Sirius was okay, more than okay. Wait, not the terrifying house, or the splinching, we’d never hurt you, but the kiss, Hermione, I don’t mind.”

“How?” Confusion laced her tone, and she gripped the sheets tighter, the pain in her arm reminding her this wasn’t a dream.

“Hermione, do you know much about bonds?” Sirius asked gently as he moved to sit at the corner of her bed. Remus still choosing to stand by the door.

Her shock by the statement caused her annoyance to flare. “Circe’s sake, are you all in cahoots with each other? Send owls to repeat each other’s sentences back?”

“Cahoots with who? What? No, never mind, do you?” Sirius looked back and forth between her and Remus, a slightly concerned look on his face at her lashing out. Maybe she needed that pain potion sooner than Lily had mentioned.

“I’ve learned some, yes.” Her eyes lingered on Alphecca Black’s journal just a few meters away. Alphecca had described the feeling the bonds caused in her body for pages, her elegant scroll not giving away the lustful nature of the whole thing.

“Oh, that helps. What about werewolf ones?” Remus joined the conversation from the door and, with measured footsteps, moved farther into the room to stand behind Sirius.

“I know less, but I know they exist. Is Sirius your mate?” She asked, trying not to let her fear of what a werewolf might do to someone who tries to take their mate or the starting cracks of her heart at the realization if he was, then Hermione was just a passing game to the two of them. Someone to flirt with at the floo or snog when on an adrenaline high. As if she wasn’t already feeling horrible, that seemed to twist the knife of anxiety already stabbing into her chest.

“Yes, I am,” Sirius said proudly, turning to look at both of them and holding Remus’s hand, their fingers interlacing perfectly like it was second nature for them to be connected.

“He is Hermione, and well, I’m just going to say this.” Sirius gave him a little squeeze and an encouraging smile. “Moony thinks you are too.”

Her heart stopped at the announcement, and it felt like time had frozen as they all looked at each other. One part of her soul was singing, excited at whatever this meant. The other part stuttered, confused and scared of what had just been said. The latter half won, her voice cracking as she tried to divert and make light of the situation, “Remus, are you sure you aren’t the one who fainted? Who bumped his head?

“Did you bump your head? You said you were all right?” He froze, that watchful look returning to his face as his eyes seemed to grow more amber than hazel, and he scanned the top of her head.

She huffed. “That wasn’t the point, the point was what you are saying is insane, unheard of, most likely impossible.” Her arms crossed over her chest, starting to grow frustrated at the implications of whatever game they were playing with her. She’d had enough today she didn’t need this.

“A 4-year-old surviving Fenrir Greyback’s bite is impossible, a pure-blood wizard escaping his family while being forced to take the dark mark under the cruciatus is impossible, a witch traveling through time is impossible, even if I did think the situation was impossible, all three of us are already out of the realm of possibility, that logic doesn’t stand.” He finished waiting for her to argue his point.

“What do you want from me?” She spoke into the duvet, nerves-wracking, unwilling to say anything that might sound like a commitment to his outlandish theory. She had decided to spend her time in the past to fix things. At least, that's what she told herself. She’d been sent back to save Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville, and everyone else. Hell, Sirius and Remus were part of that. She had not come back to intrude on a happy couple’s life.

He seemed defeated at her question, shuffling his feet as he watched her contemplate the information. “Anything really, anything you can give us.”

“Can I think on it? I have questions but I don’t even know what they are yet.” It was too foreign of a concept for her to accept at this moment. That these two could want her, after everything. She needed time to settle herself before thinking about the implications if what Remus said was true.

Sirius stood and offered her a sad little smile, not reaching his eyes, “Of course, Hermione, we’d never force you to decide.” he stood as he pulled Remus along with him towards the door. “Come on, Moons, you did great.”

She watched them leave, regret immediately filling her at the sight of the two downtrodden wizards exiting her bedroom. No longer were their shoulders loose because she was okay, now they hung without care, defeated by her need to think, and she felt guilty.

Afterears Hermione had laid in her bed for hours, Leticia and Dorea had come by to check in at different points, Lily had popped back in with well wishes from all her friends but Sirius and Remus, Molly paraded the boys around her room, and the twins had even brought her dinner. When they all left and she was once again bathed in the moonlight reflected from the ocean just meters away did she wonder. The loneliness of the room made it feel vast, and she craved for the snores of Ron and Harry in the tent. She wanted to fill this void of emptiness and she wished her friends could do it.

She still wasn’t ready to deal with her conflicting emotions about the two wizards occupying most of her thoughts. She had tried to ignore Lily’s advice to read any more of that ridiculous journal, not in the mood to hear about how much some other witch could love and be loved in return.

But it felt like it was beckoning to her again, the soft leather cover, the beautifully inked pages, supple to the touch. Like it knew she was lonely. Maybe she could just skip all the details she didn’t want to read and skim the raunchier sections. She needed to get her mind off Sirius and Remus until she was ready to decide what she wanted, and she had loved classical romances growing up.

As she untied the satin ribbon that held the little journal closed, as she continued to reason with herself as to why she was prying into Alphecca’s life. This was the best option to keep her mind from wandering now that all her visitors were gone. She needed to keep her thoughts busy to ignore the pain radiating from her arm. Those were the only reasons she wanted to read more about a witch who loved two wizards.

She repeated the promise to herself. She wouldn’t get her hopes up in Alphecca’s story, and she just needed the distraction. She looked to the moon and the stars as she flipped the pages to find a place to start, anywhere but October 17th, 1649.

Chapter Text

“So you mean to say that you wore something that feels like that?” Ted Tonks pointed to the center of the table, the ring in the middle, the cracked and rusted thing, with the small black stone twinkling in the light of Charlus Potter’s home office. “For months? And didn’t lose your bloody mind?”

“Ehhh,” Hermione hedged, “I wouldn’t say we were clear of mind, but we were also starving in a forest too.” She shrugged, and Ted seemed satisfied with her answer.

They had kept the ring in the velvet warded pouch that Dorea had found deep in the Potter vaults, previously holding a cursed Black family heirloom, for almost two weeks. No one was excited at the idea of inspecting it or seeing if they could parcel out what to do with it.

Hermione had previously theorized that if they destroyed it too soon, Voldemort would feel it, and Lily had supported that as she buried her nose into a copy of Magick Moste Evile, stating that the Horcrux should have a direct line to Voldemort. That posed another problem for them, if Voldemort discovered someone had demolished the Gaunt home and taken the ring, he could track it.

Dorea had suggested seeking out a cursebreaker to help ward the ring and the other items they would need to collect, and thus Andromeda had begrudgingly offered Ted’s services. Being in the same room as Andromeda allowed Hermione no escape from the thoughts of Sirius that had been plaguing her since their trip to the shack and the subsequent kiss.

In her defense, she wasn’t trying to avoid them. If anything, she was around Potter Manor plenty, working with Lily in the library or meeting with Dorea. It was as if they were ignoring her.

Sirius was off starting Auror training with James, both coming home well past the time she had left, and Remus had been too busy with shifts at the Hog’s Head to help with their research. His absence at their sessions didn’t slow any of her war or personal research. Since that night, she’d read every book on werewolves she could find, and while most were disappointing, if not wildly offensive, she hadn’t come up with many answers.

She remembered Werewolf literature was not abundant in 1993 when she had first researched them. Still, she was again disappointed and surprised now that she couldn’t find anything despite the massive libraries at her disposal. The truly maddening part was the fact that every time she did find a granule of information, it created even more questions. Questions that seemed very pertinent to her existence and drove her mad that they were left unanswered.

If Lily or Dorea could sense her manic thoughts at the lack of interaction with the two wizards, werewolf rights, and the guilt of all her feelings when she was with them, they didn’t let on. Molly and Leticia had both questioned her about what was happening but seemed to content to let her come to them in time.

All four just let her distract herself by digging through the mountain of books stacked on the desks she liked to work at and trying to find a way to get the other two Horcruxes before the fourth was created. The stack was ever-growing, and at multiple points taller than her, she tried not to let that overwhelm her. She hadn’t gotten to third-year time-turner levels of exhaustion yet, so that was at least a plus.

“How did the whole town not feel this thing? I’m sure it had muggle-repelling wards, but still, this is vile,” Ted continued dragging her away from her inner rambling, and Lily piped up from her corner.

“According to Sirius, it took him and Hermione hours to dismantle the wards.”

Ted turned to Hermione, something like pride and maybe a trace of surprise on his face at Lily’s statement. She wasn't sure why it made her uncomfortable that someone she barely knew was impressed with her. She normally basked in praise from teachers and could still remember the burn of her cheeks when Bill Weasley had called her bright Christmas of her fifth year. She had a sinking suspicion it was because she had been feeling so unimpressed with herself recently, the Horcrux hunt was at a standstill, and she felt responsible.

“Can you describe them? Maybe we should try to duplicate them? We could apply them to a box or something bigger like a trunk?”

“I don’t think we want to duplicate many of those.” She shivered. She wasn’t sure how much Sirius had told them about the mission. However, the memory of that day still left her unnerved “unless, of course, you know of purple wards that skitter across the ground, green ones that lash out like whips, or” she paused again, Ted’s face looking grim at her descriptions “necromancy.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Andromeda cursed under her breath at the mention of what Sirius and Hermione had battled.

“Nope, I don’t think we should mimic. Well, Dorea, you got a trunk and a basement? I’ll come up with something, and then I can check back in on them now and then, see how things hold up?” Ted said before slapping his palms down onto his thighs, standing from his chair, and allowing Dorea to lead him out of the room.

The three remaining witches all looked at each other uncomfortably. It wasn’t that they hadn’t met before. This was the first time the three of them had been together alone. Andromeda’s distaste for helping with this was palpable most times they met. Dorea had informed Hermione that she had begrudgingly agreed to work with them to protect her daughter and husband. And now that Dorea was out of the room, Hermione and Lily were left confused about how to connect with her.

Hermione was uncomfortable for the most obvious reason, Andromeda looked like Bella. She may not have had the deranged eyes or overrun hair, but the resemblance was striking. It made it hard for Hermione to look at her directly sometimes.

Andromeda had clocked her discomfort the first time Hermione’s hand had pressed against her forearm in the older witch's presence, right where Bella had taken the knife to her. Andromeda had stared at the action till Hermione noticed, and while she tried to apologize for the subconscious movement, Andromeda just held her hand up. Saying that, while she felt responsible and apologetic, she did not want to speak of whatever terrors her sister had caused, and Hermione couldn’t blame her.

Lily was stuck in the middle of their discomfort, looking around Charlus’s office, avoiding either witch, till Andromeda spoke, “Let’s put that thing away till Ted has a plan.”

“Great idea! Hermione, can you help? I’ll get the bag.” Hermione followed Lily’s enthusiastic instructions, levitating the ring into the bag, and the three women took a collective breath of relief as the weight of its magic was once again confined.

“Sirius told me it called out to you, Hermione,” Andromeda asked, and she could have sworn Lily averted her gaze. Everyone seemed to be doing that since she’d asked Sirius and Remus for time to think. Based on Andromeda’s question, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if everyone knew the details of what had transpired that day and were helping the two of them avoid her.

She tried not to bristle at the idea of everyone knowing her business and their judgment about her decision. She thought it was a very rational response. For Circe’s sake, she’d just survived a mission, gotten splinched, and then they dropped that bomb on her? If anyone asked her instead of just watching her, they’d know she was ready to talk now or at least ask her bloody questions.

Call her barmy, but enough time had passed that she might even tell them she was thankful for the splinching. The splinching scar had torn right through the word mudblood. The curling of the pink puckered skin was a much better sight and memory than her torture. It was a morbidly humorous take on the whole thing, but it was true.

Andromeda apparently had no reservations about broaching the taboo topic, and Hermione quite liked that. “It did. It sounded like my friends, the ones who, well,” She grimaced, “aren’t born yet.”

“Ahh, makes sense, the boys from the memories?” Andromeda stirred her tea as if this wasn’t a very invasive conversation and were instead discussing quidditch scores. Hermione realized both were probably unpopular small-talk topics for the present company.

It did remind her, though, how once, in the summer of 1995, Sirius had told her and Harry that the Blacks had a gene that caused them to have little to no shame. They were invasive in their use of mind magic and secret sniffing, hoarding gossip like dragons, and Andromeda seemed to have retained that trait. She pondered if that was what made her a key strategist, as Dorea described her. Hermione hoped it would be useful to them in their upcoming quests.

“Yes, Ron and Harry,” she answered gingerly, reaching for her tea. Hermione's arm was still a bit stiff from her injury. Lily, the poor thing, looked a little pale at the mention of Harry.

They didn’t talk about her friends. The idea of Harry made Lily uncomfortable like she didn’t want to jinx it that she and James would have him. On the other hand, Molly couldn’t handle hearing the suffering of Ron and the other of the Weasley siblings. That left Hermione alone to miss her friends most of the time.

Maybe Andromeda picked up on that, or perhaps she was just nosy, but still, she continued, “Do you miss them often? Do you think that’s what the Horcrux picked up on, your desire to be with them?” Hermione felt like she was missing something from the way Andromeda posed the question. Like there was a deeper meaning, especially because Lily seemed to lean forward, her palms flat on the table as she eagerly awaited Hermione’s response.

“I miss them all the time. The Horcruxes play on your insecurities. It knew I felt like I abandoned my friends and twisted that feeling. It’s rather invasive.” Hermione tried to let the warmth of the sun pouring in from the large window in Charlus’s office blanket her, hoping the daylight would cast the chill from her bones and melt the sticky residue of dark magic from her soul. Hermione often found herself reaching for the heat of the sun like it was the cure to dark magic when she could still feel the guilt the Horcrux had magnified in her.

“Did it affect your friends the same?” Andromeda pushed.

“Somewhat, since we were all together, it pitted us against each other. It told me that Harry and Ron were too stupid to help, that they would be the death of me and my parents, or that I wasn’t worthy of being a witch. It told Harry he would fail, that we believed he was worthless that his life had been so miserable for nothing.” she offered Lily a sympathetic smile at the mention of Harry’s wretched life. Lily returned it with her understanding one, her eyes just a little glassy.

“and well Ron’s was the worst. It drove him to leave us. They lash out stronger when they are attacked. When he destroyed one with the sword of Gryffindor, it showed him this insane image of Harry and I together.”

Hermione put the needed emphasis on together, the message of the intimate nature of Ron’s vision clear, and both the other witch’s eyes flashed with intrigue. “You and this Ron were?” Andromeda started, waiting for Hermione to finish the thought.

She blew out an exasperated breath, unsure how to broach the topic of Ron. “We weren’t, I think maybe? I’m not sure. I had a crush on more than one of his brothers for years, but I guess he did, obviously, if the locket picked up on it.” She hoped the little antidote about her other Weasley crushes would get them away from the topic of her weakness to dark magic.

Andromeda gave her a skeptical look before the corners of her mouth turned up, and she asked, “More than one?”

“Wait, wait, wait, how many brothers?” Lily questioned, her eyes lighting up as she put two and two together.

“That has to be awkward,” sarcasm was dripping from Andromeda’s words.

“I went to one of their weddings to a French Veela Witch, so those feelings were long gone, thank you very much, but back to the point of what you were saying, Andromeda,” Hermione started as she stirred her tea.

“No point at all, just inquiring, hoping to learn a bit more about what we are facing and who Dorea has let led us into battle,” Andromeda smirked, and Hermione noted how all of her expressions were a bit sharp, all-knowing like if a tiger could smile, its maw opened as if to lick or strike. You could never tell.

“I hope I met your expectations.” Luckily, Ted and Dorea returned at that moment, a large Hogwarts trunk floating behind them and gracefully placed in the middle of the dark wood table they had been gathered around.

“Andy, are you playing nice?” Ted teased, and Andromeda rolled her eyes affectionately at him. He moved to open the chest with a simple flick of his wand and placed the bag and ring inside it as well. If Hermione thought the feeling of the Horcrux had been masked before, it was truly gone now. Everyone seemed to perk up as the trunk clicked close, and Dorea laughed at the sight.

“I’d say it worked, Ted! So glad to have it away.” Ted shrugged a bit shy with his gratitude for her kind words, moving to stand behind Andromeda.

“Glad I could help Dorea. You lot let me know if you need anything else! Andy, love, are you coming with me to get Nymphadora, or are you staying a bit?” Hermione noticed how Ted slipped his hand onto Andromeda’s neck, gently squeezing the intimidating witch, and she seemed to lean into it, relaxing. It was the lightest Hermione had ever seen her look.

“Not today, I’m sure we will meet again soon. I have a few ideas of how we can get into Malfoy Manor. I’m afraid Lestrange might be a lost cause.” She looked apologetic as she made to stand, and Ted slipped his hand into hers, and the two disapparated on sight.

“Well, that was fun, ‘Mione wanna grab lunch in Diagon?”

—--

It was a very slow day for Remus at the Hog’s Head, but he didn’t mind. It was usually slow. Aberford could be a bit gruff, and thus, few came in besides regulars. Despite his surly disposition, Ab was a fair boss and paid Remus enough to make the shifts worth it.

Was this the best Remus could do with his life? No, not at all, but it was consistent, and he hated the idea of being a freeloader to Sirius’s constant generosity. They couldn’t live on the inheritance Sirius had recieved from his Uncle Alphard forever, and one Auror’s salary would be pushing it with Remus’s steak consumption.

So it was a slow day, so slow that around noon, Aberford told him to run to Diagon, pick up a few things, and come back with them tomorrow. Remus jumped at the chance to get out of the bar and enjoy a paid afternoon off. He wasn't exactly rolling in vacation days, and the idea of having lunch with Sirius was enticing.

He needed the distraction, too. With each minute behind the bar passing by slower than the one before and all his usual tasks done, his mind had been creeping back towards thoughts of Hermione. They always did, but days like today, where not a soul had stepped into the bar, were the worst for his wandering thoughts.

When she said she needed time to think about him and Sirius, he’d thought maybe it’d be a few days, but now he was wracking his brain almost two weeks later. They’d both agreed to give her some space, which was surprising for Sirius, so often like a dog after a bone, but it made more sense as he recounted the terrors of the gaunt mission.

It took a lot to leave Sirius Black speechless. Remus had only seen it a few times in all the years they had known each other. But whatever had happened to them there and the guilt of splinching her had done just that.

It was a blessing that Sirius’s Auror training started around the same time, in early October. Something to keep his mind off the whole thing, focus on a different part of the war and less on Hermione. The way the DMLE seemed to work Sirius till he was bone-tired every night was good for him, and he was often asleep by 9 pm. Remus often chuckled to himself that he seemed to thrive and crave the structure of it all.

Despite his happiness for Sirius, it left Remus a little bit lonely as Sirius passed out next to him each night. It also highlighted the sad truth that when Sirius wasn't distracting him, or he wasn’t busy at work, the curly-headed witch filled his every waking thought. Thoughts that Moony ate up and amplified. Going as far as to dangle visions behind his eyelids of Sirius and Hermione, doing everything from snuggling up with him on the couch to putting on quite the show just for him.

Shaking himself from the tantalizing image of Hermione and Sirius wrapped up in each other, Remus floo’d to Diagon. Sirius had told him to meet him at The Leaky around one, so Remus had some time to kill. He’d stopped at Flourish and Botts, hopefully, to chat with the owners to see if they had any part-time gigs, even just stocking in the back would be enough for him. More cash wouldn't hurt him, and the elderly witch, Magnes, had been surprisingly kind to him about his interest.

Feeling lighter at the prospect of another job, he wandered the store. He was deep in the back stacks, seeing if he could find anything on Dark Magic like Hermione and Lily were researching when he heard someone call out to him.

“Oh, hi Remus! What are you doing here?” Hearing Peter use such a casual tone caused him to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to control the instantaneous rage that rippled through Moony.

Gripping the book in his hand till the leather cover groaned, Remus regained his composure and turned around to face Peter. Dorea had agreed to Dumbledore's plan to remain friendly with him on the remaining marauder’s behalf, but he had a feeling Dumbledore, Dorea, and Moony had very different definitions of friendly.

“Peter. I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't know you could read,” Remus ground out, his molars gnashing, as he turned to look at his former friend.

Peter seemed undisturbed by Remus's growing ire, “You know me, Moony,” Remus bared his teeth at the use of the nickname, “but I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I don't know if you got my owls-”

Remus wanted to laugh at the question, the two pathetic letters scribbled in his horrendous handwriting, not even an apology, just begging to talk to him and Sirius. “We did.”

“Oh yeah, makes sense. You two been very busy?” Peter seemed surprised that Remus would acknowledge the flimsy attempts at rekindling their friendship, 7 years of it for two letters, not even 4 lines each. He’d thrown that friendship down the drain to join a cult and Remus had thrown the letters immediately into their fireplace.

“What do you want?” Remus was growing more agitated by the second. He had no intention of speaking, responding to, or forgiving Peter. The sooner he could be rid of him, the better.

“I wanted to apologize. Maybe talk to you two privately. I realize I made a mistake, but I've got another chance.”

“Like you said. I have been busy, not sure I have time for apologies.” Remus moved to walk away, and Peter, to his surprise, stepped into his path, blocking him. Remus straightened his spine, making him even taller than the wizard in front of him. Then, leaning over, craning his neck to look down on him. Hoping the sheer size difference would be enough for Peter to learn never to do that again. Moony preened at the show of dominance, and Remus rolled his eyes at the wolf internally.

“Come on, Moony. It's not like future me hurt you. That witch said you lived,” Peter whined as he looked up at Remus. Like a petulant child, hoping he could weasel his way out of trouble with excuses. Gods, he really was the same immature little tosser who had scurried behind them for years. Hearing him reference their friend’s fates and Hermione so callously caused Remus to finally snap.

“Hurting Sirius or any of your former friends is hurting me. Don't you fucking get that? Get out of my fucking sight, you spineless motherfucker” His wand had slipped into his hand, and Remus wasn’t sure if he had the strength to hold back from cursing him as he stepped closer to the shorter wizard, invading his space.

That disturbing confidence returned to Peter’s eyes, the same look that he’d had when he spoke to Dorea so vindictively in July. It made Remus clench his wand even tighter, “If you really want me to be better, being an asshole isn't going to help.” He sneered.

“And baseless threats and being a traitor don't help you. If Sirius and I want to talk to you, we know where to find you. Now scram fucking rat.” Remus didn't give him the chance to run away, though. Instead, he brushed past him, clipping their shoulders and sending Peter to the ground with the force.

He stomped out of the store, plastering the fakest smile he could as he waved to the owner, offering a quick remark about owling her, and returned to the bustling alley. He normally hated crowds, too loud for him, with Moony jabbering too, but at that moment, he let the distraction of those around him take over and tried to forget about his interaction with Peter.

Doing his best to avoid passerbys, Moony led him directly to the Leaky. He marched straight towards the bar, knowing Sirius wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes if he weren't late. He had just wrapped his hand around a glass of firewhisky when Marlene plopped into the seat next to him.

“Rough morning,” She teased, setting her elbow on the bar and signaling to the bartender.

Remus looked towards the ceiling, not in the mood to explain, and tipped his glass to his lips. “Rodent infestation.”

Marlene shivered as Cas came up behind her, her concern evident as she took in the scene of the two of them belly up to the bar in the middle of the day. “Gross, remind me not to eat at the Hog’s Head ever again Cas”

Remus whipped his head to her, choking down his mouthful of firewhisky. “Gods Marls, no. I saw Peter.”

“Oh, better order another,” she jabbed as the bartender passed her a butterbeer.

It wasn’t long before Sirius, and James joined them, Sirius with his grey trainee robes, leather chest buckles dangling and hanging open to show a paper-thin Black Sabbath t-shirt and leather muggle trousers. Where the fuck he found them was beyond Remus’s imagination, but he was counting his lucky stars for the distraction they offered from his rotten mood.

Sirius brushed the soot off himself before finally noticing Remus and smiled. “Moony! I'm so happy you could lunch with us today!”

“Yeah, Ab, let me out for a bit.” Remus turned on his barstool, opening his legs for Sirius to stand between. Both he and Moony felt more settled in the presence of their dark-haired wizard in their arms.

“Good wizard that Ab! But now that you're here.”Sirius reached out, grabbed Remus’s half-full glass, and drained his drink as a guilty smile grew at the corner of his lips around the rim. “Great, you'll need that too because Lily and Kitten should be here any minute.”

“Who is the Kitten?” Marlene asked as she gave Sirius a playful shove for not greeting her.

Remus was transported right back to his previous headspace, annoyed and anxious. “Does she even want to see us?”

“Hermione, and yes, of course! Those brothers of hers said she asked how my training was going!” Marlene looked between the two of them quizzically, her head leaning just barely to the side, appearing just as unconvinced as Remus was at Sirius's statement.

“Pads, this could be a bad plan,” Remus warned.

Sirius threw his arms around both of their shoulders, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not likely. This scheming was all me, no Evans involved.”

He didn’t even need to see her, he knew the moment she had walked through the front door with Lily. Both their arms laden with bags from Obscura books and Twilfitt and Tattings as they looked around the limewashed walls of the bar. Dorcas and Marlene had immediately flocked to them, Cas poking around in their bags and saying something that caused both Lily and Hermione to blush.

Remus pulled a staring James and Sirius by their collars towards an open booth for all of them, hoping to avoid making Hermione uncomfortable with too much attention.

He had expected lunch to be tense. Hermione still hadn’t given Remus and Sirius any inclination about what she was thinking, but it had been fine. Hermione had been friendly, seeming to ignore the tension that was brewing between the three. He wondered if her shared surprise at the get-together kept her from saying anything or if she still didn’t know.

As they made good on their bills, James's loud voice carried across the room. “I am not in the mood to be abused by Alastor anymore today,” he groaned. Remus knew Sirius had been sore from the constant dueling training too, and he wondered if James felt even more pressure since his father was the head of the DMLE.

Remus’s theory was quickly proven false, though, when he continued, “Maybe we should get a bite of ice cream before returning? What do you say, Sirius, skiv off for a little longer?”

“Don't have to ask me twice. All I have left is paperwork,” Sirius started, his grumblings about paperwork and his last-minute approach to it had been a constant for Remus since he started training.

When Lily made like she would protest, surprisingly, Hermione looked up and said she could use something sweet.

The second of they were out of the pub and back on the street, Remus tried to hide his shifting gaze as he looked for any remnants of Peter around. He didn't need him making the day worse, trying to approach Sirius or thinking he was in Hermione’s good graces from the last order meeting. Sirius caught him, and his eyes widened as if to ask what was wrong. Remus shook his head no, mouthing the words later. He was relieved Sirius left it at that.

James was the first to the pastel yellow colored building, moving quickly to order Lily’s ice cream as he always did, the sap had memorized it second year. Remus wondered if it was still Lily’s favorite or if she kept it the same because James loved ordering it.

James whisking Lily away thankfully distracted her from her usual monopoly of Hermione’s attention. In another stroke of luck, Cas and Marlene were too busy arguing over what they wanted to share to pay her any mind at that moment, leaving Hermione to decide what she wanted with him and Sirius.

Sirius came up to stand on her other side. She looked up at the wooden painted menu, her curls falling down her back, and Remus had to ball his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch one. “Do you have a favorite kitten?” she opened her mouth to answer, but Sirius, despite asking her a question, kept talking. “Wait, let me guess, chocolate frog? That’s Moony’s”

Sirius winked at him, and Remus had to bite his lip at Sirius’s attention as they waited for her to answer. “Mmmm, no, I like Earl Grey and Lavender or Clotted Cream and Orange Marmalade mixed.”

“I took you as more of a strawberry witch.” Sirius teased, moving to stand between her and the counter. Remus could see the plan forming in his head. He was so easy to read, and Remus liked him that way. There was something so pure about Sirius, and in everything he did, he was unable to hide his excitement over things.

Hermione, unbeknownst to Sirius’s obvious plan to pay for her, answered eagerly, “That's my muggle favorite.” Remus made a mental note of her preference for fruit-flavored sweets before Sirius sauntered up the counter and ordered for the three of them.

“He didn't ask which I wanted.” She whispered to Remus, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You'll be fine, I promise.”

Sirius returned with their ice cream, shoving a cup of chocolate frog into Remus’s hands before holding two options up for Hermione. She looked confused till he explained he’d gotten both of her favorites and allowing her to pick, and he’d took the other. Her confusion morphed into a soft, gooey look at the action, and Remus wished he had a camera to capture it.

As they approached where the rest of their friends were sitting outside in the alley, Remus took one last bite of chocolate ice cream, hoping the endorphins would help him brave his next question. They’d awkwardly danced around the hippogriff in the room enough.

“Hermione, have you thought more about what I told you?” He could see James and Lily watching them from their bench, hopeful expressions on their face. When Hermione turned to look at him, James even offered a thumbs-up behind her back.

“Yes, I have. I've been reading up a bit.” Her words were practised, like she too was nervous for this. He could see her thinking through so many things, chewing on her spoon as she debated how to continue.

“Found anything insightful?” He asked, taking his own bite, hoping to slow his rapidly beating heart. She hadn’t said no. That seemed like a great start, but waiting for her to seem anything but cautious was wearing on him and Moony.

“Some yes, I have a lot of questions.” He grinned at that. Having watched her research with Lily, he was sure she had a thousand questions. It seemed like her mind was always turning over information. That lip tucked between her teeth a telltale sign that she was working through something in her head right now.

He looked at Sirius, who had a similarly anxious but hopeful expression. “Can I, or rather, we answer them?”

“Maybe, I'm not sure how to ask them. They are. We’ll just say specific since we are in public.” She confessed and Remus marveled at the flush across her cheeks, he wanted to know how deep he could make her blush. What could he say to her that would have her skin burning?

Hoping he hadn’t miss read her signals and longing to put an end to this waiting and his misery at not knowing her answer, he took a leap of faith by asking, “I don't want to be presumptuous, but would you maybe like to come to our flat for dinner and ask them privately?” He tried to add a lightness to how he said it. Inviting her to their space felt like a big step, but he couldn’t imagine describing some of the more intimate details of mates to her in public.

“Yes, I think I would like that.” Her smirk of acceptance was infectious, and Remus matched it. Before he could stop himself, not even Moony provoking him, just his delighted anxiousness guiding him, he leaned down and pressed a quick peck to her cheek. He wasn’t sure if it was in celebration or thanks, but either way, that gentle kiss was the closest he’d gotten to true happiness since he’d marked Sirius as his.

He expected her to object to his forwardness but instead, he was rewarded with a breathy gasp that made goosebumps break out across his skin.

Despite Moony’s chants of mine and howls to move his lips a little closer to the corner of her mouth, he leaned forward, desperate to tease her as much as the soft skin of her cheek called to him and whispered into the shell of her ear “I think we’d like that too.”

Sirius stood behind, watching them, letting out a silent whoop for joy at the small affection that she hadn’t rebuked. She must have noticed his movement because she stumbled away from Remus to look at him, and he caught a glimpse of her cheeks a vivid pink and her pupils blown wide before she turned and shoved him playfully.

They didn't even notice all four of their friends watching them, ice cream forgotten, and their own enthusiastic and excited expressions at the scene, as well as a few passersby. Everyone around taking in the trio that seemed to blend together seamlessly.

_____

The excitement of seeing Remus and Sirius again carried her through the week. Lily was in the middle of teasing her relentlessly about it as they sat in the Prewett Manor. Having moved from their usual location for a scenery change, and because they had scoured almost every book in the Potter Library.

It helped that Lily had started her mastery by owl, and Leticia had graciously allowed the girls to use Ignatious’s old potions room just a few doors down from the library. Seeing the immaculate brewing setup made Hermione wish she could have met the wizard.

Between reading, chopping, mixing, and muddling, Lily had pestered her about what she might wear to their flat for hours, and Hermione had promised the witch she could come to Shell Cottage and help her get ready when the day came.

As much as she missed Ginny in these moments, there was something so comforting about having a friend like Lily. Or that Dorcas and Marlene seemed to like her too. They didn’t hold her obsessive nature against her or question her ramblings. Lavender and Parvati would have poked fun at whatever was happening with Remus and Sirius, berating or mocking her for the littlest things like they’d done for years about her friendships with Harry and Ron. Marlene and Dorcas had just chuckled excitedly for her, there wasn’t a stitch of resentment. It was refreshing.

As the conversation between the two witches ebbed and flowed in the steamy brewing room, Lily tinkered with her cauldron till she spoke, “I had a thought about destroying the Horcruxes.”

Hermione perked up from her spot on a stool, farther down the table, flipping through a tome on arithmancy, wondering if maybe they could calculate when the Horcruxes might be at their weakest. “And what is that thought, Lily?”

“Well, the Sword of Gryffindor, you said it’s goblin-wrought steel?” Hermione nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Well, what does that mean? What do they do to the metal that is different?”

“Huh, I’ve never really thought about it. I just assumed it was Goblic magic.” She confessed, placing both her elbows on the table in front of her, her chin resting in her hands as Lily shared more of her theory.

“I thought so too, but the Potters had a book on Goblins, so I decided to look into it. Goblins use very specific heat sources when they make weapons and jewelry.” Lily looked fondly at the bracelet on the wrist she was using to stir the potion in front of her, and Hermione assumed it was Goblin wrought.

“That makes sense, I think, but Lils, what aren’t you saying?” She sat a little straighter, excited for whatever Lily had found, they hadn’t had much success since the mission of the ring.

“They use dragon fire most often, and when that isn’t available, the author I read suggested they use fiendfyre.” Hermione gasped a little at the thought of how either of those would be a solution, the shiver that moved through at the idea of having to work with such deadly measures. “And in Magick Moste Evile, there was a passage on how fiendfyre while inherently neutral, can destroy some cursed objects.”

“How would we even manage that? Do you know anyone who can control fiendfyre or has a dragon?” She asked or really begged. It was a great idea if unattainable.

“No, but I wrote to a friend who I think might.” Lily seemed hopeful at whoever this friend would be, if a little forlorn at the idea. The mood seemed to shift at the mention of them, and Hermione chose not to push it, having a sinking suspicion of who it might be.

Instead, they worked side by side in silence until she walked her Lily to the floo later, hugged her, and promised she’d see her in a few days before her dinner at Remus and Sirius’s flat. When it was her turn to leave, stepping into the small living room of Shell Cottage through the green flames, almost immediately Gideon called out to her, “Owl came for you, Mione!”

When she entered the kitchen, she found the crisp white envelope waiting for her. Its edges were painted each in a different color, but the Crimson, Gold, Navy, and Emerald were familiar to her. She recognized the handwriting on the front immediately. The scrawl had been constantly in her sight when she was translating The Tales of Beetle the Bard.

She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous to open the letter, but her fingers felt heavy as she trembled, breaking the seal. It was a short note, nothing overly concerning, but maybe that was the trick of it all. Maybe that was what Dorea was angry about or Leticia was afraid of. That a man with immense power carried so much of it in just a few words.

Would you join me for tea at the castle Miss. Prewett? It has been too long since I have sought your knowledge. October 15th at 2 in the afternoon if you please.

Chapter Text

“I think that looks nice on you!” Molly said from Hermione’s bed. She had previously thought the bed was huge, so used to the little single she had slept in at Hogwarts or her cot in the tent. But now, as she looked at the small double covered in a mess of red hair, she laughed at how cramped it appeared. Lily and Molly were trying to control a mess of scurrying toddlers and babies as they lounged, helping her decide what to wear to dinner.

“I think it could be,” Lily paused, looking at the little ears around her, “more exciting.” Those waggling eyebrows of hers were going to haunt Hermione’s dreams one of these days.

“Honestly, Lily, you can’t say anything that Gid or Fab haven’t said in front of the older boys,” Molly groaned before grabbing Percy by his ankle as he tried to crawl away from her and tugged him back towards the middle of the bed.

“Oh good, then I think your tits should be out.”

“Oh, my gods, Lily, too much!” Hermione squeaked as she looked again in the little mirror of her room. She’d already let the witches teach her every hair charm they knew and had taken furious notes on the whole process. When Lily told her she had access to enough Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to practically fill the Black Lake through James, Hermione almost died from excitement. But while her hair and makeup had been easy, her outfit had been a sticking point for the three witches.

Lily just scoffed, bouncing one of the little twins in her lap. “Really? Because I saw the way Sirius kissed you.” She turned to Molly. “It was passionate if you ignore the blood.”

Hermione huffed at the reminder of her splinching. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good kiss, but I don’t see why I must have my chest out for this conversation.”

“Because you look like you're going to work as an accountant, not to meet two wizards who want to shag you.”

Molly’s face scrunched in confusion. “An accountant?”

“They don’t want to shag me!” She felt like she was screaming into a void as the two talked around her.

Lily looked momentarily pensive before explaining, “Goblins for Muggles.”

“Ahh, really? Arthur will love to hear about that.” Molly seemed satisfied with that answer, not inquiring further.

Hermione smoothed her hands over the soft cashmere of her wrap dress. She thought it was plenty formfitting, it didn’t need to be sexier, and it was comfortable for an evening she was sure would be wildly uncomfortable for her. She did look a bit like her parent’s receptionist, Orla, now that she thought about it, but Orla had always been a lovely woman, so there wasn’t anything wrong with that, except that she was 54 and Hermione was 19.

Lily, as if she could read her mind, leveled Hermione with a condescending stare till she broke, “How much more cleavage Lils?”

“Thank Godric, I thought you’d never come to your senses.” Lily didn't even look away from the baby giggling in her lap as she flicked her wand, and the v of Hermione’s neckline widened.

“Oh, that is much better ‘Mione!” Molly clapped her hands excitedly at the change.

Hermione slapped her hands to the middle of her chest. “That is too much!”

“Don’t be a prude,” Molly chuckled.

Hermione huffed, turning to look at her, her hands on her hips, “Oh, don’t you even, Molly. You have been on my list since your mother.”

“Our mother,” Molly corrected, tsking her as Hermione continued.

She ignored the interruption, “Gave me that ridiculously salacious book, and you thought it was a good idea. It’s like you are all working against me.”

Molly bristled, readjusting whichever twin was in her arms, “Maybe you are working against yourself.”

Hermione whipped her head around, curls flying as she turned to look at Molly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t ‘Mione. Maybe you should spend less time researching in dusty old libraries and spend some time reading exciting literature or getting on with your evening.” Her tone had taken a snippy edge, accusatory, and Hermione didn’t like it. It reminded her of the future Molly, the one who she now realized had lost herself in mothering.

Lily waved her arms between them. “Okay, that's enough, Merlin. You two do bicker like sisters. Worse than Tuney and me, I swear on my magic. But Molly has a point. Just go and enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself?” Hermione’s foot stomped petulantly, her thoughts of all the ways this could go wrong came flooding back to her. “This is such a mess. They are already so happy together, have everything they could need, and then some random witch from the future throws everything off.” Hermione had started pacing, all the questions she needed to ask tonight racing through her head as the consequences of her arrival in 1978l barrelled into her.

“You aren’t just some random witch from the future.”

“Lily.” She stopped her pacing and whined. There was no other way to describe the pitiful noise that escaped her. She wasn’t sure how to capture all the conflicting emotions that seemed to be pelting her.

Lily said, “Nope, we aren’t doing this. You were excited not even two hours ago, and now you're working yourself up. You are Remus’s mate for a reason. You are going over there for dinner tonight. You are going to have a good time. Now go put on some nice knickers.” Molly elbowed Lily in agreement, and Hermione debated pulling all her hair out.

She wished she had never introduced them, but there was a pang deep in her chest that reminded her of why. She’d done it for Harry and Ron, that they might be friends earlier. Maybe she’d feel better if she could spin this mess with Remus and Sirius if she were doing that for Harry and Ron, too.

“Why would I need to change my knickers? The ones I have on are fine,” Hermione protested, her bare foot taping against the worn wooden floors.

Lily didn’t even look at her. Instead, she turned to Molly. “Merlin, help us, Molly.”

“You would think after reading such a salacious book,” Molly teased, and Hermione tried not to let the images of how the long-dead witch had described her youth with both her husbands. When Hermione had finally gotten the courage to read the rest of it, at Lily’s behest and the guilt of Leticia’s interest, she had been blown away.

She knew as a muggle-born witch, she missed out on some history, but never in her life did she expect to read about Triads. It was so odd. Wizarding pure-blood culture felt like this hierarchal dichotomy that she was constantly missing a puzzle piece of. One moment, she understood things were simple, like pureblood versus muggle-born ideologies. The next, she was confused about how often it appeared everyone was sharing their spouses. She briefly pondered if that’s where American muggles got all their hedonistic theories on Salem witches.

Riding herself of her internal tangents, she relented, “Gods fine! But then I am going to that floo and leaving your meddling pains in my arse here.”

“Finally!” Both red-headed witches exclaimed simultaneously, and Hermione, grateful for a respite from their emotional manipulation, did not notice that Lily had also shortened the hem of her dress.

________

When Hermione stumbled through the floo, Sirius had been waiting for her while Remus warmed up the takeaway they had picked up. They never said they would be cooking dinner. It was probably for the best. Both of them were worthless outside of breakfast and tea.

He’d jumped when the floo had flashed green thankfully because she came through face first, landing directly into his arms. “Oof Well, that was not the welcome I had planned, but I don’t hate it, Kitten.” He held the tops of her arms to help steady her, just as her hands and elbows crashed into his chest.

“Oh Sirius, I’m so sorry I’m terrible at floo travel.” She nervously looked around, her hands pulling away from him, but Sirius made no move to let go of her. Instead, giving her a squeeze and gently rubbing circles on the tops of her arms with his thumbs. He had one plan tonight, and that was to touch her as much as possible, whether it was as innocent as this or as indecent as his imagination would allow him.

Remus’s voice carried over to them, and Sirius turned his head to find him leaning against the door frame to the living room, watching the scene. “You know, Sirius, she told me she was bad at magical travel, but I didn’t believe her. But my, my Hermione, that was quite the entrance.”

She jumped in surprise at his voice and straightened, trying to take a step away from Sirius. Not yet willing to let her go, he moved one of his hands to her waist, his thumb still tracing patterns on the lush fabric of her dress, as he peered down at her. “I quite like a dramatic entrance, but let’s get you something to drink. Brandy? Wine?”

To his delight, she didn’t pull away. “Wine would be lovely, maybe Brandy after dinner.” And as he smiled down at her, he thought he might die of one of those muggle heart attacks at the idea of her staying for a night cap.

“That’s the spirit, Kitten,” He said before, with great disappointment, he moved away to procure a glass for her. Remus stepped forward at that point, leaning down to kiss Hermione’s cheek in welcome, and Sirius tried not to grumble with jealousy that he hadn’t thought to do that, to focused on having his hands on her to go for the big prize.

Soon, they had crowded around their little table, really more of a card table than one to eat at, but Hermione hadn’t complained. She even went as far as to compliment them on how homey the little flat felt, and Sirius beamed with pride. He’d tried, from the moment he bought the two-bedroom flat not far from Diagon but in muggle London, to make it feel like both him and Remus.

He’d filled a whole wall with records he’d found in the vintage shop just down the street and bought two record players, one for the living and one for the bedroom. Remus had scoffed at the frivolity of it, but laying in bed, letting the music wash over them, was one of his favorite things.

Remus had not complained, though, when he let the werewolf turn the second bedroom into a personal library. If his record collection was a bit much than the never-ending stack of battered paperbacks, and every textbook they’d collected over the years plus some was insane. But Sirius loved the physical personification of Remus in their home. Comfortable woolen sweaters thrown around each room and dogeared novels on every table, always next to an ashtray for Sirius.

It was perfect for them, but now, watching Hermione take the space in and make polite conversation, he wondered how she might blend into the space. She would surely bring her own swotty expansive book collection, but he was curious about all the little things that would be hers, did she like art? Would she want fresh cut flowers scattered about? He felt like blooms suited her. He was pulled from his musings when she nervously gulped all of her remaining wine.

“I appreciate you inviting me over,” She offered, and Remus stiffened, predicting where the conversation was heading.

Sirius wondered if he, too, had been distracted all night by the little peak of pale blue lace that seemed to pop out every so slightly from the neckline of her dress. He wondered if the soft wisp lace would tickle if he were lucky enough to find himself kissing the olive skin between her breasts. But now, as she looked at both of them nervously, he knew their avoidance of why she was here had come to an end.

Remus took control of the moment, pausing his eating to lean forward till his forearms pressed against the table's edge. While Sirius leaned on the back two legs of his chair, the front lifting precariously off the ground. It was funny they both were anxious to see what the little witch would say, but Remus always sought out stability, the constants, like a table that wouldn’t budge. But Sirius relished being on his toes like the fact that he might topple over kept him more alert, ready to answer her questions.

“We’re happy to have you in our home, Hermione. I know you said you had questions?” Remus asked calmly, and Hermione’s swallowed in anticipation.

She wasted no time though, tucking a curl behind her ear as she rushed out, “So, will you bite me?”

The spoon that was still in Remus’s hand, the one previously working through his second helping of chocolate mousse, clattered onto the table, a choking sound coming from him. Sirius couldn’t control his shocked guffaw, his chair's front legs slamming down onto the floor in surprise, and he hoped Lily and Mary weren’t home below them. “Oh, right to the point, Kitten. Why you wanna see mine?”

“I just felt like I should rip the plaster off. It’s been eating at me all night.” Sirius had to bite his cheek to keep the innuendo on the tip of his tongue confined.

“I won’t turn you, Hermione,” Remus said despondently as he pushed back his chair, moving to clean the mess from the table he’d just made.

She leaned forward, her hand reaching out to his. And Sirius winced as Remus looked at it nervously. For all that he loved Moony, he could be a self-flagellating bastard.

He was always looking for people to see the worst in him, expecting to be scorned by a witch who was obviously nervous, “I’m so sorry, that's not what I meant. I just read that you would have to,” Hermione rushed out.

Remus still looked at her hand like it would bite him. “I would never make you do anything.”

“I know, I didn’t mean-” Sirius had enough, Remus not even realizing his self-hate was sabotaging the night that had gone reasonably well till this point, he needed to redirect this quickly.

Sirius knew of few things that could rectify a cock up like the one they were all committing. “Why don’t we take this conversation to the living room? Maybe a little music? That Brandy might help, too.” Sirius stood as he spoke and motioned for them to follow him. Hermione was right behind him, her eyes a little glassy at how the conversation had started, and Sirius wanted to send a stinging hex to Remus’s arse for overreacting.

As he strode towards the enchanted record player in the corner, flipping through the stack of vinyls, he asked, “You said you liked The Who?” Hermione sat in one corner of the crimson velvet couch. They’d paid way too much, but it appeared it called to all Gryffindors as she tucked her feet underneath her and studied his collection.

“I do,” She conceded, and Sirius smirked over at her as he put the record on, turning the volume down so they could still talk over the music, as the drums started in for Heaven and Hell.

Sirius watched Remus find a seat, relieved he wasn’t standing in the corner “I still think you have questionable taste, Hermione, but this isn’t a bad album.”

“Just wait till the 80s. I think you’ll judge me even more.” He wished he could have bottled the laugh that escaped her as she said it.

Sirius beamed, having been the one to pull the noise from her. “I can’t wait”

Remus coughed from the shabby brown leather chair he’d settled in. Flicking his wand as three glasses floated over from the bar on the radiator. Two of Ogden’s Finest for them and a golden pour of brandy for Hermione. She nodded her appreciation as she held the drink in her lap.

“Thank you, Remus. Again, I’m very sorry-” Sirius cut her off as he flopped down on the other end of the couch.

“None of that.” He turned to the other wizard and, with a pointed look, reminded him, “Remus knows that wasn’t an outlandish question, a bit out of left pitch in the delivery, but sound all the same. Come on, lay the rest of them on us.”

Remus leaned back, offering her an apologetic smile as he took a sip, and they both waited for Hermione to continue. It was like with their permission and Remus’s forgiveness, her floodgates opened, and the questions started pouring out. Faster than either could attempt to answer them.

“How did you know”
“Would we date?”
“Do you even want to date?”
“What would that look like?”
“What do I do on the full?”
“Are you upset?”
“Does it hurt?”
“What if we don’t like each other?”
“What if we do nothing?”

The last one, though, was quieter, like the witch before them was self conscious. It was hard to comprehend how unnatural the look was on her. Sure, she was a bit reserved at times or avoided attention. But beyond that time she had walked in on them at the Hog’s Head, he would never describe her as embarrassed.

From the moment she’d arrived at that first Order meeting, she’d been direct, willing to give her opinion or any information she had, and gone toe to toe with Moody. She had plenty of fire in her, Sirius had seen it on their mission together when she saved them.

But now she looked baffled, traces of vulnerability in her voice “Why me?”

“Wooooahhh there, Kitten.” Sirius leaned across the couch, taking her free hand in his, noticing how it seemed to tremble.

“Hermione, love.” Remus was leaning forward now, and Sirius wondered if he felt the pull to comfort her as well. “I think we can answer most of those questions, but you’ve got to let us.” Even if her previous nervousness was distressing, he liked the tender smile she offered when Remus called her love.

“As for your questions, Sirius and I would like to spend more time with you and get to know you. I’m not sure why Moony picked both of you, but he did, and he didn’t lead me wrong with Sirius. I doubt he’d make a mistake with you.” Remus’s cadence was gentle and soothing, the same one he used when he listened to Sirius talk about his family or the war, sometimes both at the same time.

“I don’t know what would happen if we didn’t get along, but Sirius and I would never force you to be with us. I lived with Sirius for seven years, knew he was my mate for four of them, and we didn’t seal the bond till this spring.” Sirius wanted to scoff at Remus for his previous pigheadedness, all those years missing the way Sirius flirted with him. But that chapter of their story was closed and didn’t matter now, especially with Hermione in front of them.

“That’s not what I meant, but I do like you both if it’s worth anything,” She offered

“It’s worth something to me,” Sirius confessed.

Hermione took a steady breath, her fingers playing with the ties of her dress. “I meant what if one or both of you don’t like me?”

“I’m glad you like us. I don’t think you have to worry about us not liking you. I hope I’m not overstepping when I speak for the both of us, but we wouldn’t have invited you if we weren’t interested.” All Sirius could do was nod in agreement, moving closer to her on the couch to show his support for the statement.

She turned to look between them as she asked her next question, “How would this work? What would you two want?”

Sirius felt excitement flutter in his chest at her subtle acceptance of their potential, even if it would be a delicate dance to find their groove. He had witnessed enough arranged marriages, where young witches and wizards were forced together without choice, for all of them to crumble into insanity or loathing. Despite Moony making the decisions, he didn’t want that for them

“I don’t think that's up to just us. If you want to try this, it’s up to all three of us together to figure it out.” He hoped she understood how important she was to the balance.

“I understand that you two have something already. I just don’t see how I fit in this.” The puzzle pieces snapped into place perfectly for him at her words. He wished he had some soliloquy or serenade to ease her fears of this. To explain to her hungry mind just how each of them would function. He wanted to kick himself for not knowing, for not having a Moony to spit out the truth when he danced around it.

The hard part was he felt confident that she would blend into their lives and routines. She had great success with the Prewetts and his female friends. He just didn’t know where she would fall into their little balance. It didn’t matter though, he trusted that stupid wolf with everything else thus far. He didn’t think he’d lead them astray now.

“We could just take this slow, see where things go? It doesn’t need some end goal or finishline. We can get to know you and you us” Was the explanation he landed on, and he felt as happy as a firstie on their first broom ride when Remus looked at him with pride.

“Okay, that sounds like something I can do.”

Remus looked at her with telhe same impressed expression he had gifted Sirius and Hermione seemed to relish his praise “Hermione, you saved this idiot from blood wards and necromancy. You traveled through time and are changing the tides of a war. I’m not sure there is much you can’t do.”

____

The last thing Remus had expected was for her to agree to this ridiculous idea of trying things out together so quickly. Hell, when she’d asked about biting earlier, he was sure he was done for. She thought he had to turn her, and the implication made his stomach churn, acid creeping up his throat at the idea of hurting her or Sirius.

He wondered if he’d poured her too much brandy, but she had said it. She’d said she wanted to try this, and Moony was howling excitedly.

Sirius cleared his throat before standing and walking over to the little windowsill where they kept all their booze. Remus could see that smug look on his face, the one where he thought he had a brilliant idea. “Well, I think we should get started then! What's that muggle game Evans taught us? Two lies and a truth?”

Remus humored his idea, clarifying for him as he sipped his drink. “Two truths and a lie?”

“Yes, yes, yes, shall we play?” Sirius pointed excitedly at Remus for figuring it out. He turned to Hermione next as he strode back towards the couch. “ Or does kitten need to get home?”

She seemed to perk up, and for a second, he thought he caught a little playfulness in her eager expression. “No, I can play. What are the stakes, though?” that's what Remus didn't need, another gambler in his life. Sirius already raised the stakes and his blood pressure most of the time.

But Remus knew a good opportunity when he saw one and couldn’t let her leave without a bit of fun. He was a marauder, after all. “How about if you get caught in a lie, you either take a sip of your drink or have to kiss who caught you? Liar’s choice”

Sirius gaped at him as he sat much closer to Hermione than before. “Oh, nice idea, Moony. What do you say, Hermione?” He draped his arm around her shoulder, and Remus could have sworn she leaned into it.

Her eyes darted between both wizards as she agreed. “Fine, but if I want to stop, I get to stop.”

“Of course, love” Remus would concede to anything if it involved her playing. Quickly flicking his wand to float over the bottles of Brandy and Firewhiskey to the table before them, he let the game begin.

The hours had sped by and now they had ended up sitting on the floor around the little coffee table, laughing till they were crying over Sirius’s put-out grumblings. “I can not believe you really thought I was scared of Filch. I was scared of getting caught, not of Filch. Crazy coot couldn’t hurt me if he tried.”

Hermione giggled as she watched him fake hysterics at her guessing his lie incorrectly, despite it meaning he won. It hadn’t taken long for Remus to realize losing was where the real prize was. The chance to feel the heat of her cheeks every time he leaned in to kiss one, or to see her mouth part when he kissed Sirius.

“Aren’t those the same thing?” She asked, puzzled, as she tilted her head to the side at his antics.

“Absolutely not!” Sirius wailed, arms flailing, motioning for Remus to back him up.

Remus decided he needed to wrap Sirius’s ranting up so he could learn more about the continually mysterious witch in front of them. “While concerningly similar, I am going to side with Pads on that one.”

Her little huff of frustration was cute, but when she crossed her arms over her chest and caused the neckline of her dress to pull wider, Remus barely heard what she said. “Not fair! You two are ganging up on me.”

“Nice try, sweetheart, but you’ll know when it's 2 on 1,” Remus coughed at the statement, turning to see Sirius’s eyes locked on the same place as his.

Either the innuendo was lost on Hermione, or she wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. The crimson across the bridge of her nose hinted towards the former. “Oh, right, sure. Back to the game. Let’s see I've been held hostage by a troll, my favorite color is pink, and I hate quidditch.”

“Your favorite color is blue,” Sirius shouted immediately, and Remus stared at him, confused.

“Close its periwinkle. But how did you know?” her eyes narrowed but a smile ghosted her lips.

“Because you've been teasing me all night with that little blue bra.” Remus could see Sirius was baiting her for a reaction, and Hermione took it. Leaning forward till the slit in the layers of her dress revealed a lush expanse of her thigh.

Her voice was a little breathy as she looked at Sirius. “I didn't mean to tease you,” and Remus wondered if she was telling the truth by the way her eyes seemed to shine with excitement at the implication of Sirius’s attention to her chest.

Remus felt like he was watching the scene before him in slow motion. “I didn't mind. Are you going to drink, or are you going to kiss me?” Hermione had been frugal with her kisses, mainly because half the things she said were unbelievable. Really, a troll? Or how she had been a piece in a life-size wizard's chess game.

He tried not to focus on how she’d confessed to kissing professional quidditch earlier and instead watched as she leaned closer to Sirius, ready to offer one of her sumptuous pecks. Despite their rarity, he noted they had grown lingering as the night had carried on.

He could feel all the blood rushing away from his limbs and headed straight to his cock when she wet those sweet pink lips of hers and her hips swayed as she moved closer to Sirius.

She leaned to kiss Sirius's cheek, when at the last minute, fast as a damned pixie he turned his head and captured her lips with his. Her squeak of surprise quickly morphed into a moan as Sirius deepened the kiss, dragging her into his lap.

Remus couldn't look away, Moony prowling towards the surface watching as Sirius slowly pulled away to kiss the corner of her mouth. Her chest rising and falling with anticipation, and Remus’s lupine hearing picked up on her heartbeat increasing.

Like she was a marionette or maybe hypnotized, Sirius took Hermione’s chin between his thumb and pointer, and turned her head. Making her look directly at Remus. Her stare was molten as she looked at him, and his cock throbbed at the sight of Sirius manipulating her to his liking. Moony flashed images of Remus doing the same, folding her into the most delectable positions imaginable beneath him, as he praised her for following directions.

Sirius looked at him, too, lust darkening his gaze while he leaned into her hair. Whispering loud enough for all of them to hear, “Why don't you give Moony a real kiss, too.”

Hermione bit that pillowy lower lip as she made her way over to him, and when she leaned in close, Remus took his thumb and, with the gentlest of tugs, freed that lip that had been taunting him for weeks.

The way it seemed to glisten called to him like a siren. He wanted to taste her. He needed to. He didn't waste a moment after that, leaning in to capture her lips with a rough kiss.

Hermione, to her credit, didn't hesitate, pushing the kiss deeper, leaning into him till her hands rested on his thighs. They kissed till they were breathless, the heady sounds of her mewls filling the room.

He would have tasted her like this for hours if she’d let him, and he was disappointed when she leaned back from him, till he caught a flash of silver rings moving up her hips. Over her shoulder and he saw Sirius pulling her hair to the other side, his mouth finding the perfect spot to make her squirm. His lips tracing the curve of her neck, up along her scars back towards her ear.

Remus swallowed the gasp that escaped her before licking down the other side of her neck, placing open-mouth kisses across the exposed areas of her chest. Letting his teeth barely drag against her collarbone.

He grabbed hold of the little knot at the front of her dress, looking up at her from between her breasts as both she and Sirius knelt between his spread legs. Slowly with expert precision he worked the knot free. Even as the bow at her hip loosened Remus didn’t let the dress fall, holding it tightly in place as he asked her.

“Tell us to stop Hermione.”

“I can't”

—---

She could barely breathe. She was overwhelmed at the feeling of Sirius’s teeth and scruff on her neck, pushing up the hem of her dress till it was past her hips, pooling at her waist. Hands massaging her hips, traveling to her arse. She gasped as Sirius used both hands to smack her cheeks sharply. He laughed into her neck, rubbed raw from his mouth and beard.

Remus was simultaneously kissing her sternum as he worked her dress open. She felt like she was on fire as Sirius pressed against her from behind, holding her hips in place as they started to grind against him. Seeking the steel hard length to fill the ache building in her core.

Remus looked at her one last time for permission, his eyes wide rimmed in gold, and before Hermione could answer in affirmative, Sirius bit down, and she threw her head back on his shoulder, her moan ricocheting throughout the room.

Remus dropped the wraps holding her dress together, letting it fall open, and Sirius briefly stopped grabbing at her ass, to push the fabric off her shoulders, till she was in nothing but silk and lace.

“Fuck you’re perfect” Sirius whispered from behind, looking down at her half-bared body before he moved to kiss her shoulders and down her spine.

“Beautiful,” Remus added, something like awe in his features. “You're a goddess, Hermione.” She couldn’t even argue, practically shaking with need as Remus’s fingers trailed up her stomach with such reverence she thought she might cry. They skimmed over every scratch and scar, leaving kisses on each as he went.

His hands moved to cup her chest through the delicate fabric, the rough calluses of his thumbs teasing circles around her painfully taught nipples. She wondered if she could come on the spot from the combination of Remus’s rugged touch and Sirius’s coarse beard scratching at her.

“Please,” she begged, the fire building in the pit of her stomach at all of their touches, leaving burning trails of desire on her skin.

She felt Sirius chuckle as he pressed his lips to her spine and asked, “Please, what kitten?”

“I need more. I need you both.”

Sirius's hands drifted down her sides till they followed the pattern of her hips, moving to stroke her through her embarrassingly wet knickers.

Remus growled leaning back to admire the still covered breast he was tormenting. “Oh love, I’d give you anything like this. I want to worship you.”

He leaned down to wrap lips around her nipple through her bralette, making her cry out. The rough wet fabric and his warm mouth made her knees quake, and she had to put her hands on his shoulders for support.

“We're not going to fuck you tonight, though,” Sirius bit her ear and she made a sound of protest at his declaration, wiggling her hips, showing him how desperate she was for more.

He laid one hand flat on her stomach, holding her in place against him. The other pushed the sodden silk of her knickers to the side. “When we fuck you, I plan on having you laid out before me like a feast, on an altar” The image made the coil in her tighten dangerously close to ecstasy, and she for the second time wondered if she could come before they even touched her needy pussy.

Remus moaned at Sirius’s promises, and Hermione panted as the vibrations of his mouth teased her overly sensitive nipple. He pulled off, bringing his hand to the wet patch on her bralette, giving her no respite from his ministrations. Pinching and pulling till she whimpered in need.

“You're going to come on my face tonight, and the next time we do this, you'll come on both our cocks. Do you understand?” The commanding tone of Remus’s voice sent shock waves through her, starting in her core and rippling to every inch and nerve in her body.

Distracting her just enough for her to be surprised when Sirius’s fingers brushed against her clit. He continued drawing circles, adding more and more pressure till her pants grew to loud moans.

“Yes, anything to feel you.” her voice cracked with the relief of finally being touched.

“Good.” Remus growled before pulling the soft cups of her bra down, her breasts on display for him. The cool air made her nipples harden and pebble till he leaned down to the one he hadn't yet teased and blew a tantalizing hot breath against it.

She jumped slightly, causing Sirius’s finger to move lower towards her core. “Merlin, she's fucking soaked.”

Remus lapped at her chest, biting and sucking till he pulled on it with his teeth, she whimpered, relishing the little bit of pain with her pleasure. Before he released her breast with a pop.

“Show me,” it was another demand and she loved it. His gold rimmed eyes flashed with so much hunger she wanted him to eat her alive.

Sirius sat back behind her. Surprising her when he pulled her down with him, never once taking his hand from the apex of her thighs as his still-covered cock nestled between her arse cheeks. She tried to slip her hand between them, wanting nothing more than to set his skin on fire like he’d done to hers. But Sirius caught her wrist, bringing it to his mouth to kiss her palm. “Not tonight, Kitten.”

She wanted to protest, but Remus wasn’t far behind them, using his palms to push her apart her thighs till they sat on either side of Sirius’s knees, who spread his legs wider till she was laid out before Remus.

She didn't even see him grab his wand, so distracted from the way Remus admired her like a man starved in this position, she couldn't even protest when he vanished her knickers. “Fuck me Pads,” he panted, his eyes focusing on her pussy spread wide just for him.

Sirius jostled her, his chest vibrating against her as he chuckled, “I will later Moons. But make her come first.”

Remus was on her in an instant. Kissing up from her knee, his tongue and lips not stopping till he parted her pussy with them. Licking a stripe up from the very bottom of her to her clit. Gone was the teasing. Remus devoured her.

She threw her head back onto Sirius’s shoulders, her arms wrapping around his neck, seeking some semblance of balance as Remus threw her off kilter.

She cried out as Remus savored her with long licks across her entire pussy. Growing more and more forceful till he finally wrapped his lips around her clit, and her hips bucked uncontrollably at the sensation.

Sirius had taken to littering the unblemished side of her neck with hickeys and lovebites. He skated his hands all over her chest and stomach. At one point even holding Remus in place between her thighs by his hair.

She was sure she’d be covered in their marks tomorrow, but she reveled in the idea of carrying the memory of this moment with her physically.

Sirius didn't stop talking through it all. “I bet you taste so sweet.” “Dripping wet for us, made a mess of your knickers at dinner,” “Such a good girl spread open at our mercy.”

The possessive way he spoke had her hurtling towards her climax. The pleasuring blinding when Remus finally slipped two longer fingers into her, curling them just right as he continued to lap and suck at her clit. Time blurred as he pumped in and out of her, catching that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been under their trance of feverish touches and pleasure, but it felt like hours when her orgasm finally crashed down on her, rolling through her wave after wave till she was screaming and going limp in Sirius’s arms.

Remus rested his forehead against her, kissing on her quivering stomach. Sweat coated her skin as she closed her eyes and felt Sirius place a gentle peck on her forehead.

She’d thought she’d died and gone to heaven when Remus trailed kisses up her stomach and chest, then ventured from her neck to whisper to Sirius “Taste her” before he kissed him too.

The sight of the two of them, locked in their embrace, Hermione snuggled between them made her warm and tingly all over. Her eyes grew heavy as she crashed from the intensity of having both their attention. But it was the happiest and safest she’d felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Sirius could see the exact moment Hermione’s bubble of endorphins popped. Gone was the dopey look of relaxation and the slow, languid movement of her limbs. Instead, she tensed. It was minuscule, but the twitch of her shoulder as she leaned away from his chest was enough for him to realize she was coming down from whatever high she’d been suspended in for the past 30 minutes.

“I should probably leave,” She whispered, and Sirius felt like his heart had plummeted. He had thought she’d enjoyed it, but as her spine grew straighter and her eyes scanned the room in a frantic search for her clothes, he wondered if he’d pushed her too far.

He could already hear the scolding from Remus once she left. That Sirius didn’t ask her before joining their kiss. That he just assumed she would want that. You know what? maybe Sirius was always assuming, but Remus did have to be a right prick about pointing it out every time. He, quite frankly, didn’t want any more salt in the wound that was forming at the sight of her panic.

“You could stay? It’s not an issue. We can transfigure a bed in the second room if you’d be more comfortable,” He offered as both wizards watched her grab her dress from the floor and turn away from them to slip it back on. The two shared a concerned look as they awaited her response.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I have a meeting at Hogwarts tomorrow anyway.” Her voice sounded tight and hoarse, and without seeing her face, Sirius couldn’t tell if she was tired or regretting what happened. His guilt for pushing the situation was turning to lead in his stomach as she made her way to grab her shoes, still not looking back at them.

“Hermione, wait.” Remus was across the room in seconds, placing a gentle hand on her arm and turning her to face them both. “What’s wrong? And what are you doing at Hogwarts tomorrow?” His concern made the timber of his voice deeper, commanding even, masking the apprehension that Sirius could see in his eyes.

She had to tilt her head back to look up at him, her mussed curls, even bigger than usual, falling off her shoulders and down her back. Even across the room, he could still smell them, vanilla and parchment, fresh cut flowers. He would bottle if he could. It had been intoxicating as he kissed her, spurring him on and on. But now Sirius hissed at the sight of her neck, he had definitely gotten carried away.

“I’m fine -”

“Try again.” Every one of Remus' features seemed to flatten into unamused lines at her statement.

“I’m fine, but I have to be up early tomorrow to meet with Dumbledore.” As she gave her excuse, she shifted into a defiant stance. Her lips pursed, perturbed by Remus’s uncanny ability to sniff out the hippogriff shit in her answer.

Sirius recognized Remus was corralling Hermione like a cat as she dodged his questions and looks. Remus could probably earn a mastery in seeking out his friends' secrets and calling them on it. He’d been doing it to Sirius since his second year, and it had only gotten more intense when they started dating.

Sirius released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Remus responded to her “What time? I’ll go with you.”

She tried to tug her arm out of his grasp, and while he let her, Moony moved to position himself between her and the floo. Sirius bit his lips to avoid his audible chuckle as her irritation grew at the situation, her arms crossing her chest and bare foot tapping on the ground as she looked at him. He was relieved to see that Remus’s prodding was distracting her from whatever meltdown had been happening, even if it did earn him this adorable ire of hers.

Remus was a braver wizard than Sirius, because he just stared down at the little witch, unyielding till she answered, going as far as to match her crossed arms and stance. Sirius briefly wondered if she might make them wait all night before she gave in, having not forgotten that she survived being a prisoner for weeks before arriving here.

“It’s at 2 in the afternoon.” She finally answered with a defeated grunt.

“Ah those early afternoon meetings, good reasons to run away” The sarcastic edge to Remus’s voice made Hermione bristle, and she leveled her own incredulous glare at him.

Her hip cocked to the side and she squinted her eyes when she answered next, “I am not running away.”

“It wouldn’t be very Gryffindor of you if you were. Since you aren’t running away, then I can expect to see you at the Hog’s Head at 1 tomorrow? We can eat lunch, and then I’ll accompany you to your meeting?”

She lifted her chin in defiance, a rebuttal on her tongue when Sirius felt his defenses cracking, unable to hold back the humor he found in their standoff. “Kitten, I hate to break it to you, but he’ll just show up at the gates of the castle if you don’t meet him first.”

She turned to him, her jaw dropping in surprise, like she had forgotten he was there and Sirius giddy at how easy it was for the two of them to poke at her. She hadn’t hexed them yet, he took that as a sign that all hope wasn’t lost and she wasn’t truly running away from them again.

“Fine, but I can’t promise the meeting will be even worthwhile. I don’t know what it’s about.” Sirius highly doubted that. If Hermione was this avoidant at Remus coming with her, he had a hunch she was more concerned about it than she let on. That little tidbit about her was going to be a problem. She’d done it at the Gaunt Shack, too, throwing herself into danger first, damn Godric and those Gryffindor tendencies.

Remus twisted his own lips into a smirk, gloating at her concession. “We will deal with that when it happens. Now, do you still want to leave?”

“I think I probably should. I told Gid and Fab I’d be home tonight. I didn’t expect all of this.” She used the hand, not clutching her dress together, to wave back and forth between the three of them. “it’s a lot to process. I’d like to do it alone.” he wanted to protest that there was nothing to process, and she had already processed plenty alone for almost two weeks. Sirius was half tempted to scream that they had gotten along very well if the sight of her sprawled out on their rug meant anything, but he thought that might be pushing his luck.

Instead, Sirius stood at that, not wanting to let her leave without being close to her one last time. “I don’t need those two on my case tomorrow,” he jested, but the idea of explaining their first evening together to her pseudo-brothers was not high on his priority list.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she paused, casting her eyes downward as she spoke, “Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed myself.”

Never one to ignore such low-hanging fruit, Sirius jumped to speak before Remus. “I am sure you did. Glad our mouths could be at your service.” The over-dramatic wink he sent her was the cherry on top of his slightly crude joke.

Hermione didn’t say anything, her jaw popping back open as she looked directly at him, surprised by his boldness. Remus, used to this behavior, groaned, “Merlin Pads.”

Ignoring Remus’s chastising, he reached out to grab Hermione’s hand, kissing the back of it. “I’d like to see you again soon, Hermione. You know, since I’m not invited to your castle date.”

“It’s not a date,” she quickly glanced at Remus to drive the point home, “but if you want to see me again, I would like that.”

Sirius brought the back of his free hand to his forehead, mocking hysteria while he exclaimed, “Don’t be dense! Of course, I do!”

“We do,” Remus corrected, his hand raising to cup Sirius’s cheek as the three of them stood in an awkward triangle by the floo.

“Okay, that’s… good to hear. We’ll talk more?” The hope in her eyes was breathtaking, and Sirius nodded excitedly, a bit like a dog, truthfully, despite not being able to join them.

Remus finally cracked, chuckling at him as he leaned down to kiss Hermione’s cheek goodbye. “Yes, of course, we can take it slow.” Remus looked at Sirius as he said it, his eyes only slightly imploring before he turned back to Hermione, hunching down to meet her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait.”

Hermione gave them one last look before tucking her shoes under the arm that still kept her dress closed, grabbing the floo powder in her hand before calling out, “Shell Cottage.” Sirius wondered why she wasn’t going back to Prewett Manor, but that was a question for another night. He sighed in relief when he realized there would be another night.

Content with how things had ended and that she had not disappeared on them completely, he turned to Moony, wrapping his arms around the wizard’s waist till they were chest to chest, nipping at Remus’s chin as he requested, “Can you fuck me now?”

_____

At this precise moment, Hermione was very grateful for warming charms and that Remus had enough forethought to cast one for her as they made their way to the gates of the castle. Their lunch had been pleasant, and he had been kind enough not to mention their previous night, her rushed departure, or if he could see the rippling of the glamour charms that were currently covering her neck. She was so grateful for his own discretion that she was biting her tongue, ignoring the red flare of the cigarette he was currently smoking, despite the itch to snatch it from his hands and stomp on it.

To say her skin had been tender this morning was an understatement. She looked like she had been mauled by a bloody lion, but when she thought about it, she guessed she technically had been. She tried to contain her thoughts of how good it had been between the two of them, how unabashed she had felt because the kernel of guilt that had started last night had slowly morphed into a messy web of shame this morning.

So shameful she had ignored three owls from Lily alone and did not get breakfast till she was certain Gid and Fab were out of the cottage. Not yet ready to face the consequences of her recklessness.

She needed to focus on the task at hand. She was still unnerved by the lack of context to her afternoon, but Dorea had told her that having someone like Dumbledore on their team eventually could be beneficial. She was truly starting to hate this game of politics and connections. That was Ron’s forte strategy, and while Dorea was even more skilled at it, Hermione’s mind still grew tired thinking of all the workings and pieces some days.

Letting her muscle memory drag her back towards the castle, she tried her best to blend in. She’d gone as far as to wear a simple black robe and the closet thing she could find to the woolen skirts she knew students would wear. Remus seemed to be a fan of it, at least. He’d done a double take of her when she’d walked into the Hog’s Head. While her conflicting emotions about the two wizards continued to war inside her, she wouldn’t deny how the attention made something inside her flutter and warm.

In the distance, she could see the stoic demeanor of Professor McGonagall waiting for them. Her heart sped up for a brief moment, excited to see the witch who had meant so much to her when, at 11, she had first learned she was a witch. Who had been her head of the house and given her so much mentorship and love. Even if it was tough love at times, but now, as she saw the apprehensive, sour tilt of her mouth, Hermione felt sick, and not even Remus’s butterflies could help.

She hadn’t realized how much she had sought the older witch’s approval over time, but now that she was lacking it, her nerves were firing. Minerva McGonagall had always supported Hermione and the boys even if she didn’t like their methods in 1998, and now she could barely look at her.

Remus seemed to sense her discomfort because he swiped her hand into his faster than she could protest, giving her a squeeze, a silent sign of support. One that Minerva had seen, no doubt, but it was the thought that counted, and she couldn’t explain it, but something about the feel of Remus’s calloused palms sliding against hers seemed to calm her magic. That was new since last night, and she tried not to overthink it, that was another consequence to discuss later.

“Miss Prewett, I was unaware you would be bringing a guest to the castle today.” Her brusque Scottish voice sent a pang of nostalgia through Hermione, and it took a great amount of occlumency not to let it rattle her.

“I apologize. It was a last-minute decision.” She wanted to explain how she was afraid, she wanted to hear her say that Gryffindors were brave and strong and that she could do it. But McGonnagal did not offer her any kind words or anecdotes on courage. Instead, she studied them both before turning on the spot, motioning for them to follow her. Remus started to trace his thumb over her knuckles, and she offered him a watery smile as thanks.

She wasn’t even sure what she was to Remus, but she wouldn’t deny the comfort she needed at the moment. She’d laid in bed this morning, listening to Gid and Fab bustle around the kitchen and wonder what Sirius and Remus would refer to her as. A harlot was the first thought that came to her mind. Gods she really had just laid herself out before them, let the pull of whatever was in that Brandy and the vulnerability of that stupid game lower her inhibitions.

Girlfriend felt too juvenile. They were talking about triads and mates, for Circe’s sake. Maybe she was just a lover till more? They hadn’t even had sex, though, and the guilt of leaving them unsatisfied contaminated her swirling emotions even more.

Alphecca had at least been betrothed, and Molly said that Gid and Fab had tried courting. Maybe that was the better word? But neither she nor Remus were purebloods, and she had a feeling Sirius wouldn’t like something that traditional, either. At least the Sirius she knew in 1995. As her thoughts sped through her mind, she let out a little hum of frustration, and Remus turned to look at her, a quizzical arch to his brow and she just offered him the same lame smile from earlier. He was much too observant for her taste right now.

Her thoughts about whatever she was doing with her wizards would have to wait though. She practically tripped when realized she had thought of them as hers. They had not confirmed that at all, and her internal slip was a sign she needed to clear her thoughts and realign her mind to the task at hand.

She found taking in her surroundings was the best way to banish the images and thoughts of the previous evening. The castle felt warmer than the last time she had been in it. It was a welcome contrast to the cold shoulder of their greeting at the gates.

As she made her way through the halls, her heart clenched, thinking of her earlier years, the only times she could remember loud chatter and boisterous laughter in the corridors between classes. Now, on a Saturday, it seemed students were littered about, lounging with each other in windowsills and study nooks. Some even in the courtyard, books and blankets scattered about.

Not only was she a pathetically confused, aroused witch, but she was now sad and feeling lonely looking at all the current students with their friends. Great this is exactly what Dorea wanted for this meeting, an emotional mess for a leader. Just perfect.

Remus tugged gently on the hand he still had not let go of, alerting her that there were almost to the Gargoyle that housed the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. She waited patiently as McGonnagal whispered into the statue, and it began to turn. Remus, the gentleman he was, placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her forward, and she felt her magic tug in on itself, or maybe it was at him. She couldn’t be sure.

“Ahh, Miss Granger, please sit! Lemon Drop?” She stilled at the use of her former last name. She had not heard it in months. Again, the nostalgia and ache for her old life seemed to barrel through her. She could picture the first time she had been in this office or when he had called her the brightest witch of her age. It felt like a little arrow had been shot directly at her, hitting her square in the chest, the pang of missing so much, distracting her again from why she was there. She momentarily chastised herself, wishing they could have met somewhere else.

She felt unguarded because of the emotional turmoil of being back here, and something about how he did not use her new identity made it worse.

She tried to focus on slipping her occlumency shields in place as the older wizard noticed Remus. “Mr. Lupin. I did not realize we would have more attendees. I apologize. I will have the elves bring more tea”.

Unaware of her internal turmoil, Remus greeted the headmaster in a downright cheerful tone, one she had never heard from him before, as he helped her find a seat in front of the large, cluttered desk. “Oh, I’m fine, thank you. I had a cup at work before escorting Hermione.”

“Ah, and how is my brother?” The twinkle she was accustomed to shone brightly in the headmaster's eye.

Despite his chipper disposition, Remus kept his answers short as he sat in the chair next to Hermione. “He’s doing well.”

Dumbledore tracked Remus’s every move, though, and despite the gentile tone and friendly mannerisms, his next words made both of them stiffen, “Good to hear! It appears you’ve done a fine job escorting Miss Granger. I will ensure she is returned to the Hog’s Head safely.”

“I would like Remus to stay, sir.” Hermione quickly jumped to answer, going as far as to scoot forward in her chair, her arm itching to stretch across Remus to hold him in his seat.

“I’m afraid we have much to discuss today, but as you wish.” She tried not to think too deeply about how easily he had agreed to her request. While she would not describe the wizard as argumentative, he was often set in his way from her memories. A master of knowledge and predicting people, but always moving them to help the greater good.

His lack of desire for Remus to be there had her thinking through her entire experience in the castle thus far. Hogwarts should have felt like her home, but had it not been for Remus’s warm hand in hers, she would have felt more alone than ever since arriving in 1978. She tried to settle back into her seat, but as her mind continued to flip through all the theories of his reaction to Remus, she could not decide if he had planned on her bringing someone or was surprised by another's presence and compromised that quickly.

Their opening conversation was stilted till a small elf popped into the room, bringing with them a tray of tea. Hermione offered her thanks before they snapped their fingers and disappeared. She caught the twitch of Remus’s nose from the corner of her eye as Dumbledore prepared his cup and poured her one as well, and she noted that despite the very average-sized teapot, the elf had still not brought a cup for Remus. As she moved to pour honey into hers, she could have sworn she felt Remus’s foot tap hers lightly.

Unsure if she was just paranoid or if had truly happened, she put the cup to her lips, pretending to take a sip. It smelled of mint and ginger, maybe even licorice. While she could not smell anything malicious, she made a split-second decision. It paid off when she saw Remus sigh in relief when she placed her unsipped cup back on the saucer. She thanked Circe. She had listened to her gut.

Thankfully, Dumbledore did not seem to notice their silent communication as he started in on their business for the afternoon. “Miss Granger, I appreciate you meeting with me. How has your adjustment been to our time?” She tried not to be too skeptical of the friendly question as she answered, but she was growing more uncomfortable with the use of her former last name. While she knew Charlus had done so much to protect her transition, she wasn’t exactly sure how the older wizard even knew it. She had been introduced at the Order meeting as a distant Prewett cousin. The only conclusion she had come to was that her appearance in the Hogwarts record books had given Dumbledore more information than he had previously let on.

“It has been okay. It was a hard landing if I do say so. But please, I would prefer Prewett from now on.” She hoped a little humor would lighten the tension growing in the room. She wasn’t even sure if it was shared. Remus continued his friendly smile, tapping his fingers on the curved wood arm of the chair he was seated in.

Dumbledore managed to look sympathetic as he asked, “Of course, I apologize, but yes, how does your recovery go?”

Hermione had practiced her answers to this, Leticia and Dorea had both decided that giving little about how her state was best allowed them ample excuses should one of her missions have consequences. The goal was that if she constantly struggles with her recovery, her future absences might now be noticed. “It has been slow but constant. My magical core is still depleted, and I am still working on my muscle atrophy, but slow and steady wins the race.”

Dumbledore seemed excited by the knowledge, a bright grin spreading across his face as he examined her. “That is wonderful to hear! Thank Merlin that Leticia was such a blessed healer in her day. Speaking of healers, I wanted to offer the services of our own Poppy Pomfrey. She’s an expert in many things.”

“Thank you. I will be sure to take you up on that.” She knew Madame Pomfrey was a very talented healer. She had healed Hermione many times, even caring for her when she was petrified, but Leticia was just as strong. If Dumbledore knew how blessed Leticia truly was, she couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t need to offer Pomfrey, the witch had plenty to do with students and The Order.

He continued with his pleasant demeanor and small talk, seeming enthused that she might visit Pomfrey. “Good, good. Well, I apologize, my dear. This is not purely a social visit. I do have a few small favors to ask of you.”

“I assumed,” she answered primly. Not wanting the wizard to doubt her understanding of the situation, Hermione’s presence was for business not for small chatter. She would happily play weak, but she was not inclined to play dumb.

“Smart witch.” She tried not to cringe at how condescending that sounded in comparison to all the times she had been called bright, mocking almost like she was still a student under his tutelage. “I was hoping if you could help me, then maybe I could help you?”

Hermione knew better than to accept an offer at face value and wanted to make sure her cards were on the table, too. “I believe the Potters and the Prewetts have been very helpful thus far. I would not want to overextend my debts.”

While this version of Dumbledore did not know her well, he could still read her easily. Able to find the perfect carrot to dangle in front of her. “Yes, but can they allow you to sit for your NEWTs? You will surely need them if you plan on staying in this time.” Despite the brief excitement to finish her education, something she couldn’t imagine not having, the last bit of his statement gave her pause.

Remus seemed to notice the odd phrasing, too, as his feet widened despite not leaving the chair, a defense stance of sorts, and she asked, “Plan on staying?”

“Well, yes, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore started, that jovial tone still bouncing around the room, but Remus and Hermione's shared concern was anything but buoyant and happy.

“Prewett,” Remus corrected, and Hermione debated, leaning over to kiss his cheek in thank you right then and there in front of Dumbledore. However, she decided to keep the nature of their budding friendship, which was definitely not the right term for it, to herself.

“Apologies, but yes. If you are not able to go back to your time, you will need to start a life here no?” She felt all the air had left the room at the implication. Charlus’s friend, Mr. Bode, an unspeakable, if she remembered correctly, had been adamant that she could never return. The sand had scattered to the wind, and she was stuck in 1978. She had cried about it for hours during her first month here.

Her voice was nothing more than a croak when she responded, “I didn’t realize I could go back. I don’t believe that is possible, Professor.” She hadn’t even given it much thought. It was one of the first things the Potters had found out for her. And now the idea of seeing Harry and Ron again? It caused panic to swell in her throat.

“It may not be your choice. But so be it. If you are interested, I would be happy to offer you the ability to sit for them.”

Not her choice. She tried not to focus too much on his words; she could parcel them out with Dorea later, but something about the offer felt disingenuous. Remus’s foot had returned to tap against hers while her magic seemed to be lashing out for him to grab her hand again. She resorted to pinching the skin of her thigh through her tights to ground herself if she could not touch him. The detail of what Dumbledore wanted in return was still unknown as she asked, “But?”

“But I would need your help,” Remus scoffed. It was a nonanswer, he wouldn’t have invited her if he hadn’t needed something from her. Help seemed like a stretch.

Remus beat her to respond, and his friendly chatter was replaced with a voice devoid of emotion. Instead, it was dry and bland, like he was ordering a coffee, not discussing a deal with the most powerful wizard they knew. “So you have said.”

Dumbledore ignored Remus’s shift. “We have a problem with Mr. Pettigrew. Since you have revealed his mistakes so publicly, he has been ostracized by his friends and peers” Dumbledore’s pointed glance at Remus was damning, but Hermione could ask about that later too.

She tried not to think about Peter Pettigrew because if she did, she found herself full of rage. A clawing, nagging type of rage, one that seemed to stick to her ribs and make her consider using unforgiveables. Peter was the ultimate source of so many of the wrongs done to her.

She had hoped Peter would be locked away in Azkaban, facing a nightmare-filled death. Hearing he was a social pariah gave little relief to her anger. She now held hope Peter would experience a much worse fate, waiting for the day that Voldemort would realize he was a spy. That he would understand what it meant to be tortured at the hands of death eaters like she had. She bet he had shit occlumency walls, if he had any at all, and would be discovered soon.

Pushing the bubbling fury down, she inquired, “And how would I help with that?”

Dumbledore appeared delighted at her minimal interest in his trade, as he explained. “Well, I was hoping maybe you could take a social call with him. Help bring him back into the fold.”

She withheld her scoff at his ridiculous suggestion, “I do not think a forced friendship would achieve your goals.”

“No, you are probably right. But I also am asking for you to finally step up and support The Order as all members are expected.” The implication was clear: her time under the radar was done, and the accusation of not being helpful stung like she hadn’t done everything she could in her war.

She wondered if this was how he got everyone to do their bidding by shaming them, making them feel no more than a few centimeters tall in his accusations. She tried not to shudder at what he had probably said to Harry or a future Remus. Oh Gods, what would he say to Remus?

“One of those things will be patrolling more populated wizarding areas. Attacks are on the rise, and muggle-born businesses are the target. I think you and Mr. Pettigrew could make great, strong partners. You may even find the boy to be a great friend. Mr. Lupin and his comrades did.” Remus seemed to grip the arm of his chair tighter, the wood groaning under the pressure.

“And if I am unable to do these things? I have not even been training because of my condition.” She knew she could not agree to this before speaking with everyone else. Feigning injury or lack of skill would be her best bet. Buying time and getting out of this stuffy, overfilled office was her highest priority now.

The corner Dumbledore had backed her into materialized out of thin air. “Again, I am sure Poppy would be happy to examine your ability to fight as she does with all other Order members.”

She gave a practiced smile, one she had watched Dorea use at previous Order meetings. “And if I refuse or am unable.”

“That is your choice, but only active members are able to serve in The Order.” The promise of freedom of choice was bitter when it came with a threat of removal from The Order.

Her stamina for this conversation was dwindling rapidly. She had all the information she needed to consult with her mentors and friends and make her own decisions. She wanted out, “I will consider your offer. Is there anything else you need this afternoon?” She felt no need to placate him with the courtesy of polite closure when he had tried to play them so obviously.

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you both for joining me. I will be looking forward to your response Miss Granger.” One might have thought the room was on fire with how quickly Remus stood at the words and ushered her through the door.

——-

He had never seen the witch before in his entire life, but as Dora practically skipped to catch up with her, he thought it was a perfectly natural response to slip his wand into his hand. He was confident when he caught sight of Lupin ushering her quickly down the path towards the gate, his hand on the small of her back. The two seemed to be talking in hushed tones, grave lines of concern on her face, and briefly, he wondered if there was a silencing charm in the air because Lupin seemed to growing particularly irate.

Regulus controlled the urge to gag at the display of his brother's boyfriend? Maybe ex? He couldn’t be sure what Lupin was anymore as he walked so closely to the curly-haired witch.

Despite his legs being longer, Dora continued to whisk herself away from him till she called out, her hands cupping around her mouth like they were children running around Rosier Manor, “Oh messenger! What do you bring me today?” Dora giggled as she spouted her riddles. The cadence of her sing-songy call attracted attention across the grounds. Despite his immense frustration at the whole thing, Regulus found it hard not to laugh when Barty joined in.

Rushing past Regulus to throw himself to his knees in front of her, Barty motioned for her to jump on his back, hoisting her in the air as she clung to his neck, squealing, “Dora, did you find us new toys?”

Dora just swatted at his head as they jogged down and approached the two. Lupin tensed, realizing who had joined them in their lover's quarrel, putting his arm around her waist and tucking her into his side. Regulus glanced sideways toward Evan, who looked equally unamused at what was happening.

“Hello, Pandora,” the witch said, and Dora lit up like a candle, excitement, and ire in her gaze.

“Do not hello me when you did not tell me you would be coming today? You have not owled me all term.” The lilt of her voice would cause many to assume Dora was teasing, but Regulus knew better. Dora did not ask questions of others that she did not want answers from. She could wax poetic and theorize in her own world and would let you watch, making you think you were important in her ramblings. She did not placate herself with others' daydreams if she did not have a purpose.

The nameless witch frowned, and Regulus noted she looked a bit sickly. She and Lupin shared a frightful paleness that seemed unnatural to them. “I’m so sorry I’ve been busy. I have been meaning to”

Dora looked at them over again. She must have found what she wanted because her next words were, “Yes, very busy indeed.” Dora had a saccharine smile as she said it, and if he squinted, he could just barely see a flash of concern or maybe embarrassment in the strange witch’s eyes. Dora paid no attention to her effect on her, though, when she offered, “Would you like to meet my friends?”

“Uhh, sure.” Evan chuckled under his breath at the hesitancy in her words, and Dora turned her head to look at him, her eyes narrowing in challenge at her brother before she started.

“This is my brother Evan, my twin, a lucky one, many say, and his friend Barty. What you make of him is your own.” The two made no move to acknowledge the introduction, and the witch seemed to pay particular attention to Barty. Fucking great. The last thing Regulus needed was to listen to Evan fuck Barty into the mattress out of jealousy later.

“And the broody one in the back is Regulus” Lupin had the bollocks to laugh, and he debated cursing him on the spot. If he wasn’t so intertwined with his brother, he might have. But as he watched the werewolf stroke her hip through her cloak, he had a better idea to take him down a few pegs.

“Did my brother hire someone to take you out on walks? I don’t see a leash, but I know he is so busy with his auror job.” He poured every bit of aristocratic authority he could into the words. She surprised him, though, looking him directly in the eye as she stood him down, moving just slightly to put herself in front of Lupin. Salazar, how that sorry wanker managed to date so many stupid people was beyond Regulus’s comprehension.

“Charming as ever, Regulus” Was his brief response, and Regulus found himself a bit disappointed that they wouldn’t have the fun of a duel if Lupin wasn’t willing to rise to his bait.

She joined his fallacy of nonviolence when she spoke. “It’s a pleasure to meet you three.” Not pureblood, the homely accent of her voice clear now that she wasn’t apologizing to Dora.

Regulus scoffed, annoyed with Dora’s reckless associations. “It’s not, but your pleasantries are acknowledged.”

She seemed unphased by his lack of decorum and turned back to speak to Dora. “Pandora, I was hoping you might actually have a message for me?”

“Ahhh, will you deliver it?” Dora teased.

The corner of Dora’s friend's mouth quirked up as she responded, “Is that not what wings are for?” Regulus was dumbfounded. He’d never seen anyone parcel through Dora’s chaotic references like this witch was. It made him even more unconvinced of the need for her presence. Attention on Dora was a death wish right now. Dora did not need this getting back to Rab, and he was not in the mood to play interference for it.

“I do not think your wings are on your sandals, though,” Regulus suppressed his groan, fucking Greek references. Typical, he couldn’t get Dora to stop chirping about Ariadne and the Merlin damned Minotaur during 3rd year. He should have expected she would use it as code with whoever this witch was. Hermes was an interesting reference, though a bit obvious for a messenger.

Slowly, like ice melting, as the two witches volleyed back and forth, Regulus started to see the bigger picture and theorized this was the friend she had spoken of earlier that term. Fuck him. That meant Dora’s scheming and treachery included his brother and gang.

“It is the same, is it not? If the message is delivered? Here I have an idea. Remus, do you have any galleons?” When she turned, her hair slipped behind her shoulders, and he saw them then. The scratch marks were angry-looking, red and swollen, and Barty seemed to lean closer onto the balls of his feet to get a better look at them. Evan thankfully grabbed him by his collar and pulled him back. Was she pack with Lupin? Great, now that fucking wolf that had been sniffing around Nott Manor at the last meeting would know about this. Regulus thought he might implode from how shit this whole interaction was going.

She paid him no mind, though, or his friends, as she enchanted a coin and handed it to Dora. “If you tap your wand to it and think your message, it will send it to mine. It’ll burn hot to alert you.”

Dora just offered her a serene smile as she accepted it in both hands, like a holy offering “A messenger and a trickster. Three weeks.”

“A traveler too,” She jested back, some inside joke based on Dora’s laugh. The witch seemed to understand that whatever Dora had seen in three weeks was not negotiable as she continued. “Three weeks then. Will you send me the details?”

Dora pondered before answering, “Coordination is hard in the maze.”

“That’s fine, we’ll figure something out. Can you apparate?” Regulus wondered where the fuck she was planning on taking her. Gods damnit, now he would have to go there, too.

“No, guess your wings will have to do.”

Chapter Text

Hermione had never been in the bullpen of the DMLE before. But when a spectral spaniel had landed on her chest that morning, waking her with a fright before she recognized Gideon’s voice, “Mione, can you come into The Ministry this morning? Charlus and McKinnon want to ask you something.” She had started getting ready to visit it.

She had a small moment of joy when her otter left her wand, swimming and flipping through the air with her response. That joy was wiped out when she remembered the last few times she had been in The Ministry. She shivered thinking of her time in the bowels of the Wizengamot pretending to be Umbridge’s assistant, but nothing compared to the pang of grief when she thought of the Department of Mysteries. It was the last time she had seen Sirius alive in her original time, and it made the purple scar on her torso burn in phantom pain.

Shaking herself of the memories that seemed to plague her in waves, she quickly dressed and sent another patronus to Lily, letting her know she wouldn’t make it to their usual research time today. She was through the floo and staring at the hideous statue that sat in the middle of The Ministry before it hit her. No one here knew her.

Sure, a select few did. She would find most of them in the DMLE, or Arthur would be in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, but no one was looking for her. There was no prophet with her teary face or Harry's snarl on it. Hermione was currently a random witch that no one would take a second look at. It was liberating.

She practically twirled onto the horrid lifts and, despite her nausea, smiled broadly as she got off and entered the hectic bullpen. It was overwhelming but riveting all the same. Tables and cubicles pushed together, Aurors standing around hastily written on boards, memos flying through the air. She’d grown so used to the quiet of the beach and manors, only been to Diagon a few times, that she relished all the people.

She knew she would be overwhelmed at some point, but seeing this room not yet ravaged by two wars gave her a little hope back after her dreadful meeting with Dumbledore. This had potential, and it screamed Charlus Potter.

Her observations were cut short when two wizards rounded the corner. She had been expecting Fab and Gid, but instead, she was face to face with James and Sirius. The latter looking more excited than a kid on Christmas morning.

“Kitten!” he called out, rushing over and, to her surprise, taking her into his arms for a large hug and spinning her. The leather straps of his wand holster dug into her chest as she lightly smacked his arm while her feet kicked where they dangled up off the ground.

“Put me down! What are you doing?” she whisper yelled at him. Embarrassment colored her face at how he manhandled her.

He just laughed, and everyone seemed to stop to look at the two of them. “Saying hello to my witch, what else would I be doing?”

“Your what?” She was dumbfounded. Her eyebrows scraped her hairline, and he returned her look with matching confusion, his eyes carrying some kind of accusation. She couldn’t quite place where his arrant look came from because she was distracted by the sheer amount of leather he had on.

As if those leather pants hadn’t been enough of a distraction the other day, seeing his wand holster strapped across his chest made her mouth water. She felt like she was in the Twilight Zone, her hormones off the charts at the sight of the straps stretched across his lean chest. The only thing even more tempting was the way it seemed to lift his shirt, the faded tee slipping up to show a sliver of stomach, black hair barely visible. She debated what it might feel like to wear just that t-shirt and run her fingers through - her mind came to a halt. Merlin help her. What was that?

James took pity on her at her obvious ogling, chuckling under his breath as he spoke, “As lovely as it is to see you, Hermione, what brings you in today?”

“What?” she squeaked, and Sirius smiled lasciviously. She wanted to kick herself as she shivered under his attention. Gods, she felt 14 again, like when Ginny had crawled into her bed at Grimmauld, and they debated over who was more handsome, giggling under the glow of candlelight and blankets over their heads.

At the time, Ginny had been adamant that while most of the older wizards in the order were, it was Sirius, with his flirting and teasing, who won out. Hermione had proudly defended the slightly morose Professor Lupin but could admit Sirius was also very handsome.

She wished she could tell her friend where she was now, that she’d been panting and naked between the two of them. Ginny probably would have begged for more details, given her top marks and then a few pointers. Instead, she was still staring at James, who looked at her like she had lost the plot as the seconds ticked on. Maybe she had. She was making up conversations in her head, “Oh yes, sorry, I'm meeting your dad and Mr. McKinnon,”

“Oh great, that reminds me!” Sirius grabbed her hand and started dragging her through the throng of Aurors around the room, all of them eyeing the pair as she was practically sprinting to keep up with his much longer strides. He abruptly came to a stop, and Hermione ran directly into his back, and an oompf-like noise came from both of them.

“Black,” she heard Gideon start, his tone menacing. Oh, Circe, no, as if Sirius hadn’t already drawn enough attention to her. She didn’t need whatever this was going to be. Hermione had never considered herself lucky to grow up an only child, but she was also never envious of Ginny’s overprotective brothers. It seemed that was a genetic trait for Prewett wizards.

“What do we have here?” Fabian continued, and Hermione was torn between a groan at their twin speak and a pang of sadness thinking of Fred and George. The Ministry had turned out to be a much more nostalgic place than she realized.

“I don't know, Gid.” She rolled her eyes at the name-switching and tried to plot how to diffuse this wand-measuring contest. She debated walking away from the whole thing, slipping her hand from Sirius’s and sneaking off to Charlus’s office. But when she turned around and saw James grinning down at her, his glasses slightly askew like he had been hustling to catch up with them, she knew that was not an option. He seemed to be enjoying whatever was happening, moving to box her in with his body.

She wondered if hexing a Junior Auror carried a sentence or a fine.

“Definitely isn't a child bride.” she gasped then, whipping around to see Sirius tense, his chest clenching like he had been physically struck at the reminder of his wild accusations at her first Order meeting. She reached for her wand, this time knowing hexing an Auror would have repercussions, but Fabian had taken this too far.

Fabian didn’t stop, though, continuing his jabs, and Hermione couldn’t describe how uncomfortable the standoff was making her. She tried to mimic the gentle, reassuring squeezes Remus had done for her the other day. Sirius squeezed back firmly, almost painfully, as she watched him stand there and take the not-so-light-hearted teasing of the twins.

“No, it isn't. I believe it is our sister who we invited in today. Not an overzealous dog who keeps bothering her.” Now it was her turn to flinch, any friendliness to their tone having disappeared as Gideon continued, “Now scram, Black, before we - ”

Hermione had lost all patience for this misplaced need to defend her, making her snap. Her feet moved before she could think about it, and she found herself in front of Sirius, giving both wizards a stern glare as she addressed them with the swottiest, most intense tone she could muster. She could give Madame Pince a run for her galleons. “Okay, that's enough fun for today, boys! This witch is here for more than your bickering.” She proclaimed, and Gid and Fab appeared stunned at her intervention.

Good, she thought, better to keep them on their toes. She didn’t need any white knights. She needed to find the next Horcrux and a way to destroy it. She gave the four wizards surrounding her one last look before walking forward and finding Charlus’s office herself.

It took a moment for the four to shake themselves of the stupor her outburst had caused before they also filed into the very cramped space. She had figured Charlus would be a somewhat organized wizard; his space in Potter Manor was well stocked with books, and the large dark wood desk had some stacks of paper and happy family photos, but his office in the DMLE looked like someone had shot a bombarda at it. Parchement and files stacked haphazardly on top of each other, old cups of tea and coffee strewn about. She could barely see him in the chaos, but he noticed her entrance.

He looked up with that classic Potter smile wide and toothy, a grin crinkling at the corners of his eyes, deep parenthesis bracketing his mouth and cheeks. James had it, too, and it seemed it would eventually be passed down to Harry. “Hermione, you made it,” He boomed, running his hands through his greying version of the wild Potter hair, sticking up at the ends like it had a life of its own.

For a brief moment, she considered studying wizarding genetics because as she looked at him, James, and remembered Harry, she couldn’t help but think that there was an uncanny resemblance in each pureblood family. Even Gid and Fab looked so much like Bill and Charlie, and Regulus was almost spooky in his likeness to Sirius. That was till she remembered it might be due to inbreeding.

Putting a pin in her thoughts, she sat in a chair across from him. “I did! What can I help you with?” Her voice was much too chipper for the frustration still rolling in her from the interaction in the hall, but she didn’t think Charlus would appreciate hearing the petty details of the squabble.

“Dad, have you seen the things she can make?” Sirius spoke up first, throwing himself into the chair next to her, and Charlus shook his head, chuckling as he said no. Sirius continued, “Remus told me she made it so two galleons could message back and forth between each other.”

Sirius dug around in his pocket and placed a handful of galleons on the table. He turned to Hermione, and she felt her cheeks heat at the excitement in his voice and the animated way he moved his hands, motioning for her to show them.

She tried to dismiss it immediately. “Oh, it’s just a simple change to the protean charm anyone could do it.” She started, and Sirius shook his head no. The heat of her cheeks dripped down her throat into her chest, choking her with emotion at how adamant he was.

“Hermione, you impressed Remus. He didn’t stop talking about it for days. Just show us.” She tipped her head in compliance and to hide the garish crimson she was certain was staining her neck and quickly got to work. The wand movements and spell were simple enough, and as soon as she finished, she grabbed a coin and motioned for everyone to take their own.

“I’ve charmed it so we can all communicate. Tap once with your wand, and you’ll send a message to everyone. Tap twice, and you’ll send it directly to the first charmed coin. Be careful they warm when they receive a message.” She smirked as she tapped her coin once, the cheeky message the only thing she could think of as she heard the hiss of her companions as the coins heated in their palms.

Told You To Be Careful

“Bloody hell, that is amazing!” James called out, looking down at his coin as the letters stamped on it morphed. His glasses slipped down his nose as he leaned in closer to look at it before turning back to look at her and Sirius. A wicked gleam in his eyes when he said, “Think about all the messages I could send to Lils.”

“Ugh, Prongs don’t. It’s bad enough you can’t use a silencing charm,” Sirius groaned but maintained his proud smile as he flipped his coin between his fingers.

Charlus coughed, reminding them of his presence, and James seemed to shrink, pink tinting the tops of his ears at the unspoken scolding. “Hermione, this is ingenious. How did you come up with this?”

She grimaced, her nose scrunching, and the room sombered. Seeing the turn of her thoughts, Gid and Fab moved to shut the office door and worked as a team to cast a few privacy wards before she spoke.

“Well, it was inspired by one of the things.” even in the privacy of his office, she still felt nervous to speak of the Horcruxes out loud. “The diary, it could talk back, and as a muggle-born, I’ve seen pagers that doctors use. Lastly, we needed a way to communicate in the student version of The Order.”

A heaviness permeated the room with all the implications of her statement. The mention of the dark magic housed in the Horcrux, the idea of one being sentient to speak with the owner, and the need for a student, or rather the better description being a children’s version of The Order, was sickening.

Recently, she had been struggling more with the events of the second wizarding war. Unable to grapple with all the ways the young students of Hogwarts had been conned and manipulated into fighting a war and how she had found herself in the middle of it, but now was not the time for those musings.

“These are brilliant, Hermione. Can you make more? Or show me how?” Charlus asked her, his paternal nature grounding her from her thoughts. “But that’s not why we asked you to come in today. Oliver gave me a heads-up. The Goblins owe him a favor, and in exchange for a few goblin-wrought items we have down in evidence, they are willing to allow a search of the Lestrange vaults.”

“That seems much too easy, and we don’t even know what you need to be looking for,” She hedged, still on high alert after her time with Dumbledore. She knew she could trust Charlus, but since that cryptic tea, she found herself doubting her new existence, as if her information may not be enough to make a difference.

“You can feel them, can’t you ‘Mione?” Gideon asked, and she dreaded having to admit the truth out loud.

“Yes, but most can feel dark magic,” She countered, and Sirius shook his head at her.

“No, it’s different. I could feel the difference, too. That ring felt icy, it had a pulse, and it reached out. Dark magic feels ill, but nothing like that.” Sirius took his time explaining it, and despite not saying anything about her, she could feel the emotion he was trying to imbue into his words. It was as if he knew she couldn’t handle a compliment or praise for the repulsive bloodhound-like gift they shared.

She turned to look at Charlus, who did not seem surprised by any of this information. “Hermione, we would like you to accompany us to the vault if you feel up for it?”

She had never been into the depths of Gringotts before. She had heard about it from Harry and read about it. Still, she had never needed an account, her parents having always provided for her, Professor McGonagall or the Weasleys changing her pounds for galleons when she needed them.

She tried to focus on the opportunity to see it. It was a marvel of the wizarding world, and she hoped her excitement was enough to deter the fear that threatened to creep into her mind. The idea of entering the vault that belonged to the witch who had abused and tortured her so permanently made the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

“I guess I can add a consultant for the DMLE to my resume?” She joked, and everyone laughed except Sirius, who seemed to see through her. His usually stormy silver eyes were soft, his smile gentle and proud, but it lacked the excitement of everyone around them. She tried not to focus on his ability to pick away at her shields and instead turned back to Charlus. “When are we going?”

“Oliver will be here in an hour, James. Did you bring the cloak?” James fumbled with the pockets of his robes before pulling out the familiar blue velvet cloak with its silver stars and ornate trim. He enlarged the item with a simple flick of his wand and held it out for her.

Hermione laughed, shocking them all as she dug around in her purse instead of accepting it. Their shock grew to utter awe as she pulled out her version of the item, placing it on Charlus’s desk, the dark wood disappearing under the two objects.

“Well, Godric be damned, guess one more of you gets to go!”

—-

Hermione had been drifting since they left the LeStrange vault and had not stopped for nearly a week.

Sirius knew the moment he walked into the vault that there wasn't a Horcrux. There was plenty of dark magic, including a necklace that made Hermione particularly uncomfortable and a plethora of weapons that he was certain had seen battle. But still, there was no crippling sense of evil, and no one heard the inky voice that had called out to her last time.

In the aftermath of coming up empty-handed, he realized it was the first time she had looked on the verge of tears. He had seen them in her memories, but those were something else. Tears caused by physical pain were vastly different than those caused by disappointment.

He, too, knew what it was like to feel like a failure, for all your emotions to lay smoldering till something blew in, disturbing their fragile balance. Like a gust of wind stoking the burning mess that is your mind. It was different than when someone was angry or frustrated. Being disappointed in yourself left a stain on your entire personality. Maybe it was wrong, but seeing her disappointed in herself felt familiar, even comfortable, to Sirius.

James never seemed to lose control of his emotions. His parents had raised him with too much love for that. He didn’t understand the self-loathing that accompanied failure. He thought failure meant growth.

Lily often took on others’ emotions like a sponge, feeling responsible for the pain of her friends, even fucking Snape. But most of the time, she, too, managed her happiness well.

Marlene cried when she was mad, and while Sirius could comprehend that anger toward others, it wasn't the same as being angry at yourself. She was known to throw a quaffle or a punch, but at the end of the day, she never let the pressure dig deep into her.

Remus was the closest. A king of self-hatred, but even when the shame of his lycanthropy became too much to bear, Remus would go quiet and reflective. At worst, he lashed out. He didn’t break and cry, not like Sirius and apparently not like Hermione.

Lily had said she’d been extra sullen while they were brewing a contradiction to her usual excitement for the time together. While Hermione was not a stranger to odd introspective moods, this was the worst thus far. So bad that Lily had shown up at his flat. Her hands on her hips, demanding to know what the plan was.

“Plan? What is with you and all your fucking plans?” he had asked. Unsure what she meant, Hermione didn’t want them to know when she was upset, and he had a feeling poking at her wouldn’t help.

“Jesus Christ, I swear you two don’t have a strategic bone in your bodies.” Sirius had wanted to ask who this Jesus character was. He’d never heard of the wizard, must be a muggle-born because Hermione had also cursed his name. He ignored his nosey instincts and let her rant. “You need to fix this. Take her out or something.”

“I doubt she wants to go out, Evans. I won't force the witch to go to a pub when she has the right to sulk.” He wouldn’t want to go out if he was in her state. He’d want to wallow in his bed, convince Remus to hand-feed him and care for him. Now, that was an idea. As the thought of wooing her at home started percolating in his mind, he looked back at Lily.

Lily was grinding her teeth, and Sirius worried she might have finally mastered wandless hexing based on how her eyes seemed to track him as she threw her hands up, but instead, she said the same thing he had been thinking out loud. “Then bring the date to her. You are so dense!”

“But Remus is working every night this week,” Sirius protested, a bit disheartened that his idea could be squashed so easily.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you three could only spend time together?” Her deadpan nature drug a chuckle from Sirius, and that time, she did send a stinging hex to his hip.

“Merlin, you fucking” she raised her wand to do it again, “fine, fine, fine. What do you suggest then?”

Lily leaned back on his couch. Her red hair disappeared into the fabric even as she played with the ends. That plotting mind of hers running through ideas. He briefly reminisced that maybe she would have been a better Marauder than Peter, with her innate ability to think through things so wholly. They were both stumped now, though, and he was about to give up until she sat up. Her green eyes were wide as she turned to look at him. “Get some galleons changed to pounds. I’ve got an idea.”

It had taken two more days, but Sirius was very proud of the date he had whipped up, even if the original idea had been Lily’s. He had added plenty of his own flare. This was the most excited for a birthday he’d been in a very long time, and the thrill of spending it with Hermione was helping keep his gloom, of knowing Remus could not join them, at bay.

James had bitched and moaned about how they weren’t having a real party for his birthday, and while part of Sirius did miss the idea of rowdy drinks in the common room with all the attention he could find, an evening with Hermione sounded better.

The twins had been the most challenging part, going as far as joking about adding extra wards to their floo to keep him out. But after a few hours of pleading, a promise to make a sullen Hermione happier again, and agreeing to do some bitch work for them, they had reluctantly agreed to make themselves scarce that evening.

He’d never heard of Shell Cottage before. The first time had been when she had said the words when she left their flat in a tizzy. Now, as he walked through the green flames, spelling the soot from his clothes, he could see where its name came from.

The living room was quaint, and the sound of windchimes and crashing winter waves filled the quiet. He noted even the walls had shells ingrained in them as he poked around the room a bit. Waiting patiently for Hermione to find him.

It did not take long before he felt the press of her wand to his back. “Why are you in my house, Sirius Black?” never once, removing the pointed tip from his kidney. If anything, she started pressing harder, and he hid his yelp of pain in a bit of laughter as he turned around.

“That is not a very friendly hullo to the birthday boy.” her little gasp only made him chuckle more as he watched the shock and embarrassment flash in those doe-shaped brown eyes of hers.

“Oh Merlin Sirius, I’m so sorry I didn’t know,” she started, and Sirius decided that was enough embarrassment for her. Cutting her off with a chaste peck that left her stuttering.

He wasn’t sure if any other time he would get away with being so forward, but he assumed a witch wouldn’t hex his bollocks off on his birthday. “Enough of that! Now, are you going to give me a tour or what? Keep the birthday boy waiting?”

“Sirius, why are you here on your birthday?” she worked her bottom lip into her teeth as she asked. And Godric help him if her nervousness didn’t make him a little more excited for the night he had planned.

“I want to spend my evening wining and dining a pretty witch. My pretty witch,” he emphasized, still annoyed at her dismissal of the statement last week. She had looked at him like he was speaking parseltongue when he’d laid claim to her in the DMLE.

He didn't need fucking Shacklebolt getting any ideas, and he’d seen her naked already. They were a done deal in his eyes. He was over waiting for her to catch up if she couldn't figure it out. She’d put two and two together eventually, even if Remus would have to spell it out for her. “And I wanted to spend it watching a muggle film. One I believe you said was popular in the future?”

“Sirius, we don’t have a television-” she started again, and he could hear the defeat weaseling its way back into her voice.

He held his hand up, a move he’d seen her do a few times when she was nose-deep in some book in Potter Manor. “I’ve already worked that out. Now, show me where I can set this thing up.”

She finally relented, probably realizing he had no plans of giving up, and motioned for him to follow her. Not until she turned around and stepped away did he notice the sorry excuse for pajamas she was wearing. Periwinkle shorts and a matching lace trim top. He wondered briefly if some lonely, bored god was trying to test him through her proclivity for silky lacy things.

He had every intention of not pushing her tonight. Despite it being his birthday, he planned on having a nice evening with no chance of scaring her off. Her running away again might be the worst present he ever received, and Wally wasn’t known for her gifts.

His thinning resolve was made worse when she led him into what can only be described as a glass cocoon. A whole room of white paned windows and whitewashed wood, teeny shells scattered in the cracks. Against one wall was the most ridiculous bed he’d ever seen, more white to catch the colors of the sunset, with hundreds of pillows and a heap of duvets layered on top. Making it look ten meters tall.

He chuckled when Hermione crawled into the thing like a cat, her curls wild and glowing in the dusk light, pale pink and orange beams bouncing off little honey highlights he hadn’t been able to appreciate before now. She looked over at him, that lip between her teeth again, nervously chewing.

“Hermione, if you wanted me in your bed,” he was cut off by an indignant little screech that he found very adorable and one of those fluffy white pillows hurtling across the room towards him.

“This bed is built big enough for a giant troll, Sirius. And there's nowhere else private in the cottage. I figured it would be okay. But so help me, I will put a line of pillows between us if I have to. I’ll even make you watch from the floor, birthday or not.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from joking about how much he loved bossy witches.

He did not want to push his luck tonight. He quickly moved to get the television Lily had helped him enchant from his coat pocket, enlarging it on top of her dresser. Sirius was no stranger to magic. He’d grown up with it, his skills being tested regularly by his tutors, but something about Hermione watching him work made him want to be extra thorough and precise in his movements. He wasn’t sure he’d taken his NEWTs this seriously.

Only once everything was set up, the movie just starting, did he pull the champagne out and enlarge it, too. That addition had been all his idea. It was a celebration, after all. Handing the bottle to Hermione, who grinned, her cheeks dusted with pink between her freckles, as she accepted. His final touch was a quick transfiguration of his jeans into his own but much less scandalous silk sleep set. “Fuck I look like my father in these”

Her abrupt giggle caused him to fall into a fit of laughter as he crawled into the bed with her. She wasn’t wrong. This bed was massive. There had to be a meter plus of space between them, but that moment felt more intimate than watching her melt into a puddle of ecstasy in his living room.

There was something about how relaxed she was in the space. Her delicate shoulders and neck were the only things exposed as she pulled a particularly fluffy comforter up. Her eyes weren’t shadowed with dark memories. In this moment, they were tender and excited. She seemed so serene in her pool of bedding. He wished he had a camera to capture it.

Instead, he tried to commit the image of her to memory. He was certain it would be the perfect source for future patronuses as he settled against the pillowy headboard. He took a swig of the bubble-filled bottle before passing it back as the intro started to play the sound of trumpets blaring and bright yellow script.

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….”

And it seemed fitting because Sirius felt like he was in another galaxy enjoying this little piece of domesticity with a pretty witch that he got to call his.

—

“All I’m saying is that the force is magic, and the Jedis are wizards.” Hermione’s sides ached from laughing so much. Sirius was being, well, like his name suggested, so serious about his accusations that George Lucas was a wizard. From the moment the movie started, he pointed out the painfully obvious similarities, as he called them.

“That little one. R2D2? He’s a familiar.”

“Do you know much about familiars?”

“No, do you?”

“Yes, I had a half kneazle.”

“Of course you did.”

Or there had been a discussion about costuming.

“All I'm saying is since you didn’t get me a birthday gift,”

“Who said I didn't get you something?”

“Mhmm sure, Kitten, back to what I was saying, I dig the buns.”

“Noted”

“Their robes are weird, though”

“I don’t think they call them robes.”

“Semantics, pretty sure Minnie’s got something similar.”

And her favorite had been

“Those weird, long light-up wands are, for sure, shooting spells! Wordless, too!”

“Lightsabers”

“Wands”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Well, no matter what, it's still called Star Wars. Not space wizards.'' The champagne had made her giggly. She felt shrill as her words pierced the air between them in between her gasps for breath. But something about the warm flush of alcohol that covered Sirius’s cheeks made her not care about how she sounded. She’d seen him drunk plenty of times, both now and in the future, but she’d never seen him so pure. Boyish almost with his molten metal eyes and quick tongue.

Don’t even get her started on the tattoos that peaked out from the collar of his pajamas, multiple buttons undone like a rake. They didn’t look like weathered scars like the first time she saw them. Now, they were bright against his pale, creamy skin, drawing her eye to the planes of his half-exposed chest.

She wasn’t much better. She didn't have a plan when she stayed in her pajamas, but she knew it wasn’t innocent. She wanted to curse Leticia for buying her all these flimsy excuses for sleepwear, but the witch was onto something. The way Sirius’s eyes tracked the contours of her exposed skin felt sinful.

She’d been so pissy the past few days after Dumbledore and the failed raid that she leaned into this moment. The relief of having someone to distract from the pressures around her was a foreign feeling. She hadn’t had anything like it since her childhood ideation of Viktor, and Sirius was so much more than him.

She had once in the future judged Lily and James for getting married and having a child in the middle of a war, but as the heat of Sirius's body radiated through the blankets across the bed to her, she now understood it.

The need for humanity when death loomed.

Like they were all desperately reaching for something bright and warm, no matter what the consequences were. She didn’t care if whatever she had with Sirius and Remus at that moment might cause her to crash and burn because even in war, you needed light.

She yawned despite her wish for this night to never end, listening closely as he prattled on about more of his theories and how he couldn’t decide if Remus was Han Solo because he was so fit or Chewbacca because of the fur.

He made her feel effervescent with his humor and attention. Each bright smile and punch-drunk joke was like little bubbles of champagne against her skin. She even giggled through her second yawn, her thoughts uncluttered and her mood downright bubbly in his presence, even if sleep loomed over her.

He eventually noticed how her head had fallen to rest on her pillow, and her eyelids were drooping and heavy. He scooted himself down the bed so he too, was lying down, mirroring her. His head was on her pillow as he whispered. “You are a sleepy little kitten.”

She snorted. She felt like, in that moment, she was finally truly a Prewett. Because Hermione Granger would not be half drunk on champagne and a good man’s company, but Circe, she felt amazing as she soaked it all in. Going as far as to flirt back with him, her voice was unfamiliar to her as she responded in a sultry tone, “I prefer kneazle.”

“Only you would prefer a death cat.” He snorted back, and she had to fight the urge to dissolve into a fit of giggles at her own ridiculous attempt at seduction.

She was out of breath, the sheer force of holding her laughter in when she tried to fake a very serious, haughty voice. “You liked Crooks a lot, just an FYI.”

Sirius shook his head in humored defeat as he moved to push a curl from her face. “I'm sure I did, but I should also let you sleep. Could the birthday boy be bothered with a birthday kiss before he goes? It could be my gift.”

“Is it even still your birthday?” They had lost track of time hours ago, and while he pretended to be annoyed with her, his eyes told a different story, staring directly into hers, hungry for her answer. “I have a real gift for you, but yes, you -”

She didn’t get to finish because Sirius’s lips descended upon her. It was just like last time, greedy and ravenous in the way he took her. The sweetness of mint and the burn of cigarette smoke invaded her senses. She didn’t even care because his lips sent electric waves through her, making her body throb with need. Maybe Sirius was right, and he had the force because her body seemed to bend towards his, and her lips parted immediately, letting his tongue in to taste her.

Like magnets, they were drawn to each other, legs intertwining till hers were wrapped around his waist, and her hands found purchase in the soft dark curls of his hair. She could feel his moan vibrating against her chest as he pressed his hips against the cradle of her thighs.

Their kisses grew feverish, nipping at each other's lips as his hands found the skin of her hips just barely exposed from the shifting of her camisole. She felt a rush of want as he held her in place and ground down against her. It felt like a dance to kiss him, every movement mirrored by the other like they were in perfect sync. Their combined magic seemed to travel across the other's skin, goosebumps, and skittering pulses following in its wake.

She was breathless when he finally pulled away. He moved his lips to kiss the corners of her mouth, cheeks, and nose as he regained his composure. His breath whooshed out of him, and he went as far as readjusting the hard length that had been teasing her core before he spoke.

At that moment, He was just as breathless, almost pained to have stopped, and the idea of him wanting her that much drove her wild, “I promised myself and Remus and your brothers I’d be a gentleman tonight.” She hummed a response, not really believing him but willing to hear his little speech. Her fingers found their way to the buttons of his pajamas, and he quickly grabbed them. “As much as I don’t want this to stop, I don’t want you to run away again.”

His lips pressing soft kisses against the pads of her fingers softened the blow, and while it still stung to hear, she knew he wasn’t wrong. Hiding had become her new norm. Ever since being on the run, her imprisonment, and the shelter the Prewetts and Potters have given her, she had gotten comfortable with being away. It was unfair to Sirius, but he didn’t know and probably couldn’t even fathom how terrifying it was for her to face the truth about the three of them.

She’ll never know what he saw in her slowness to respond. She hoped it was vulnerability or the ache she had to be better, more for him and Remus, when he asked, “Knut for your thoughts?”

“If you stay the night, I can’t run away.” It probably was not the right thing to say, but she was feeling selfish and exposed, and she didn’t want this little champagne bubble happiness they’d found themselves in to pop.

“Oh, you are a minx,” he groaned, and she could see the regret in his eyes, the temptation she’d laid out before him. She was testing him. She wanted to know if he could be brave like she had to be. Could he stick to his word if she were to let him in? “I’ll stay, but no funny business. I like having all my bits attached, and no more ignoring Moony and me. I mean it.”

She didn’t even get a chance to respond, to agree to his demands, before Sirius was back on her again, kissing her senseless, till both of them were being pulled under by the lull of sleep. She thought it might be a dream, but as the last bit of her waking consciousness slipped away, she swore she could hear him whisper, “Thank you, Hermione,” and with a soft kiss pressed into the heap of curls at the top of her head, “the best birthday ever.”

Chapter Text

Barty was not sure why his friends had dragged him here tonight. He knew that he wasn’t important enough to be branded while still in school, just the worthless son of a Ministry lackey. No matter what his father spewed and ranted, Barty always knew the truth. Bartemius Crouch Sr. was just another pureblood wizard who wasn’t rich enough to have real power but hungry for it all the same.

Dear old dad would never amount to much. Their last name was the only thing that helped him scrape by despite his inadequacy. The funniest part of it all was that he blamed Barty, and despite all the fucking OWLs in the world, Barty could never figure out what his dad wanted from him. So he stopped trying to impress him or earn even a molecule of his attention.

Now, Barty liked to remind his father of his failures just by existing. He thinks that was in second year, maybe when he figured it all out. He stopped trying and started doing whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted, and found friends that made his dad’s skin crawl.

Existing for Barty is a bit of a contrarian idea. Because antagonizing comes as easy as breathing, like another form of magic, working his way into people’s minds with insults and crude jokes. He doesn’t need legilimency to know if it works. He can see it in their eyes.

He can still remember the day he told him that he was friends with Regulus Black. His dad had stopped mid-bite, his fork hanging in the air like he’d been petrified. That was power. The ability to leave people speechless and make them squirm with discomfort was exhilarating.

His dad would never understand. He thought power was in that archaic underground mausoleum of magic that currently ruled over wizarding Brittian. Barty knew then, the summer before his third year when the two didn’t talk for more than a few minutes at the dinner table, that his dad was wrong. Because if power was in the ministry, then why was Bartemius Crouch Sr. afraid of his own son?

At least his friends wanted him around. They were fucking annoying, but they were better than his father. So he let them drag him along to things. What else did Barty have to do? An adventure was an adventure no matter where it took you. Sometimes, they tried to justify his presence to people. Parade him around like they were proud of his accomplishments. “Barty has 12 OWLs,” “Will probably get the most NEWTs in Hogwarts history,” “He has great ideas, you should hear them.”

He might have appreciated it if he didn’t think everyone they introduced him to was dumber than two pigmy puffs trying to fuck. His disdain for these things had only worsened since Dora told them her half-cocked plan of world domination. She was taking her sweet fucking time with it too.

He was baffled as to why they were forced to attend this particular little get-together. Evan said it was some pathetic attempt at a stag night for Rabastan, Dora’s fiance, which did not help Barty’s annoyance. It wasn’t publicly announced yet, but the leach was already celebrating, and they were forced to celebrate with him. Asinine. Evan, of course, had to fucking go, and well Barty hoped maybe there would be entertainment. So far, there wasn’t.

He knew better than to complain to this gormless crew. The room reeked of self-importance. Truthfully, this assortment of try-hards reminded him of his father. Close enough to power to get a taste, pathetic enough to hang on and go to shit like this.

It was a morbid mix of attendees, and Barty couldn’t find a rhyme or reason for some. On one side were two who looked like Durmstrang dropouts, whispering in some hard consonant dialect. One even had the Deathly Hallows tattooed on his neck. That was an interesting choice post-Grindelwald. Even Barty wasn’t that much of cunt to have one of those.

In another corner, a bunch of freakishly blonde blokes turned their noses up at the entertainment for the evening. Someone must have had a few extra galleons hanging around and shipped the show in from France. Veela witches, if he had to guess. He’d be happy to make a scene, though, slap a few asses though and wiggle his brows at the skankiest ones, but sadly at the end of the day, none are Barty’s type.

Barty’s type was currently grinding his molars to dust as Rab, as he requested to be called, and his even dingier brother Dolph, what a fucking nickname for that idiot, sparked a conversation that actually made Barty uncomfortable. It took a lot to make Barty’s skin tingle, but watching two wizards who shared a brain cell discuss taking his best friend's virginity in front of her brother might push him over the edge.

For being purebloods, he really wondered how none of these people had any fucking couth. Barty was about ready to say fuck it and create some kind of distraction, maybe practice his unforgivables, when the conversation had taken a repulsively lewd turn. Anything really to get the topic away from Dora. Thankfully, Regulus stood up, beating him to it.

“I think we need cigars. Rab, don’t tell me you’ve cheaped out on us and not gotten any.” If Evan’s anger had been palpable, the power radiating from Regulus was horrific. Regulus had apparently been taking classes on discretion from these oafs if that's how he planned on hiding his feelings about this marriage.

The LeStranges, despite being absolute fucking tossers, knew their place in wizarding society. Even if it was Rab’s night, he still sat below a Black in just about every hierarchy to exist and thus needed to impress him. To Barty’s great pleasure, Rab paled a bit that Regulus was speaking to him with such malice and told him to help himself to his private collection in his office. Barty and Evan jump at the chance to get the fuck out of that room. The smell of cheap perfume and conversations between gluttonous men had grown nauseating.

The moment they were in the dark hallway, Regulus spun, his harsh whisper conveying the importance of whatever was happening. “I am smoking one cigar, and I am fucking leaving. I can not look at that cunt any longer.”

Barty had no reason to fight him, looking only to Evan to ensure he was also in agreement before following him through the maze of halls. Regulus doesn’t stop his bitching. Cursing under his breath about “his crazy fucking bitch cousin,” “her stupid fucking worthless husband and scum brother-in-law,” and “how much he hates this creepy boggart-infested hovel they call a chateau.” All Barty can do was count the minutes until they are gone and closer to whatever ludicrous plan Dora has for them.

_____

Hermione’s Patronus message had come the day after Sirius’s birthday, and Remus couldn’t help but feel like he’d won the lottery when her voice came through as the little otter twirled around his bedroom. Her request had been simple. Could he meet her at Prewett Manor? She needed help with something, and she thought he would be best.

He tried not to be smug about it when he told Sirius, but the arsehole could use some humbling. The little shit had come home smelling of her, then rolled around in their bed so that every time Remus was in it, he found himself tortured with the images of them in hers. Sirius also hadn’t spared any details when recounting how perfect his birthday was when Remus had only tales of an evening spent with old drunk wizards.

He knew he wasn’t entitled to Hermione’s time and attention, but he couldn’t help but feel satisfied as he drifted to sleep that night, knowing that whatever she needed, she had asked him. Moony had practically purred in joy at her attention, and Remus planned on making the most of it.

When Remus came through the floo the next day, he had expected to be greeted by a head of rambunctious curls or maybe a house elf. He had not expected to see a witch he barely knew. Even that was probably an overstatement, he only knew her by an honorific and family name, Mrs. Prewett, from the one dinner he had been introduced to her at and spying earlier in the year, but he had never had a conversation with her.

There was something formidable about her. She had the same dignified presence of all pureblood witches he had met. She seemed to carry herself with the grace that came with having danced in ballrooms and learned fine instruments like Sirius had, but she was something different. He knew she was a Black from Sirius’s drunken explanations of their mangled family tree, and he had gathered from Hermione’s meeting with Dumbledore that she was an accomplished healer.

He respected her ability to raise three children, and although the sheer amount of kids the one had made him uneasy, he would never deny they were successful and good-hearted people. Vital members of The Order, even if she was not one. Remus wondered about that, too. She was older than Dorea, a widow, he presumed, but he could not figure out why she did not fight or help with her healing skills.

She seemed to glide across the parlor floor, her immaculate robes flowing behind her, and paid his observations no mind, a friendly smile on her lips as she welcomed him. “Hello, Mr. Lupin, just the wizard I was expecting.”

The only witch he could compare her to was Dorea, but even that wasn’t right. Dorea was affectionate and adoring of him and Sirius, but still, her presence heightened his senses. Moony trusted her with their lives but was always watching, wanting to know more because Dorea was always maneuvering for the good of those she loved. Mrs. Prewett felt different, she was intentional and studying him with scrutiny, but she radiated kindness. It was like she was just waiting to sweep him into a hug, and he felt called to fall into her arms.

“Mrs. Prewett, it is a pleasure to formally meet you.” He hoped he could mimic Sirius’s natural inclination for being a posh bastard. Remus had spent enough time mocking him for it that it had to count as practice.

Mrs. Prewett, or maybe it was Lady Prewett fuck if it was, he’d already buggered this, returned his pleasantries with a nurturing smile. “It is nice to welcome you to my home. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? I apologize, but Hermione is in the middle of something.”

Merlin fucking help him. He had been expecting to spend a little time with Hermione, maybe finally push her to admit her feelings, quit pussy footing, as Sirius had so eloquently put it. Not floundering around trying to impress her pureblood guardian.

With a near-painful gulp, he offered her his most sincere smile. “I would be delighted, too.” She seemed very pleased with that before something undistinguishable crossed her eyes as she held out her hand to him. Relying on the few manners he knew, he accepted it and let her pretend he was leading them into a tea room.

To no surprise, she was very skilled in small talk and niceties. She even went as far as to ask him questions about his excuse for a job. She was friendly and motherly in a way that Remus found endearing. But, she did not mince words, direct in her questions and the little details she shared of herself and her family.

They didn’t spend long talking about the weather or the newest issue of Potioneers Quarterly. Leticia took one sip of tea before her cool, dove-gray eyes met his. “It is common practice for a suitor to request the right to court someone’s daughter. I understand that Ignatius is no longer with us, but I still care very deeply that Hermione be respected.”

He froze on the spot before trying to make amends quickly. Fucking Sirius should have caught this shit. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Prewett,” He started, but she cut him off with a sly, all-knowing look on her face.

“Leticia is fine.” She practically cooed, coaxing him to continue despite her interruption.

“Again, my deepest apologies, Leticia. I was unaware of how close you were with Hermione and that you would want that level of involvement, I or rather we -” Her eyes grew wide, owlish excitement in her gaze, and he felt like his tongue weighed a thousand kilos as he said the next part, laying all his cards on the table.”Hermione means a lot to Sirius and I.”

She let loose a dainty breath, but he could see the mixture of relief and excitement at his confession. “Ah, so it is true. You must forgive me. I did not believe Dorea at first, and Hermione has had a hard start to this life. I don’t think she was keen to notice, either. I did not want to get her hopes up.”

Her response was a surprise, but he knew that excitement was most likely short-lived. Remus was selfish though. He wanted to hold out before facing the truth of it all when he would be forced to reveal the monster he was. For now, he would chat with her like he was any normal wizard, and she was an ecstatic mother, and none of them were on the brink of war. “Yes, it's true.”

Maybe if he was lucky, she already knew. Remus wasn’t a particularly lucky guy. His lycanthropy was the perfect example. But he did wonder how much of Hermione’s past she knew. Was she aware Hermione had been left in the care of a monster and a felon in the future?

He wanted to test the waters but was unsure of his ability when facing someone who seemed to be holding the reigns to this conversation. He settled somewhere in the middle, that if she knew, she could read between the lines. “From the moment I saw her, I knew there was something special about her, and I’m lucky enough that Sirius sees it too.”

“Very lucky indeed. It is funny you say that you knew immediately. Did Hermione know?”

“In a textbook sense, yes, but the rest is slow,” He confessed, the defeat of their unknown relationship constantly weighing on him. It felt like for every step forward they made, she would inevitably take two back. Or now she seemed much more interested in Sirius. Maybe that shouldn’t surprise him.

“She is incredibly bright, but bright does not always mean she can see what is right in front of her and trust it.” Leticia’s soft chuckle sounded a bit like rain. It was playful but dampening at the same time. Something about hearing her discuss Hermione’s self-isolating nature was freeing and damning. Remus could try to parcel out more of what she meant, but like a thunderstorm rolling in, he wondered if it was better to wait for lightning to strike than try to conduct it and draw it to you.

Leticia knew how to take a cue, continuing to contemplate out loud about Hermione for him. “I wonder why she does not think she deserves friendship and love sometimes, Mr. Lupin, but that is not my burden to bear. A mother can only give advice along the way. I am happy to wait for the day when she can see who is ready to love her and she decides she is worthy of it. But part of that love is waiting to see who is willing to wait for her, too. Are you willing?”

Trying to decipher whatever hidden meaning Leticia intended to impart to him was hard, but he had an idea. Hermione was a lot of things. She was obviously bright, headstrong, fearless, sweet, and tasted like heaven, but she was not good at caring for herself, and he had noticed she had an aversion to letting others care for her, too.

Moony howled, pawing at his mind, begging to fight against what Leticia had asked, but Remus knew that Moony would rather wait than never have her. It made the beast in his mind huff, frustrated at the suggestion but not fighting the truth of it. He tried not to think about how long Sirius and he might have to wait if she was still holding out on the Prewetts.

Sirius said the twins had given him more trouble than they were worth, and Lily said Molly was a hoot bossing Hermione around as only an older sister could. But when Hermione was asked about any of them, she seemed convinced she was just an acquaintance. She’d gone as far as to correct them all multiples that they weren’t her real family.

Remus tried not to let his mind spiral around the idea that she might think of herself as more of an inconvenience than anything else, an expendable one at that, if her penchant for danger meant anything. Leticia’s description of her did not help his theory.

Whether Hermione realized she had more people in her corner or not didn’t matter to his answer, though. He looked the older witch directly in the eye as he answered her, wanting to convey the earnestness he felt for Hermione as he replied, “I am more than willing. It is her world, and Sirius and I are lucky to be a part of it.”

He thought for just a split second her gaze looked far off, glassy even as she spoke “That is good to hear. Now, did you know that those of Black blood share a certain inclination to specific magics?” It felt like a loaded question and a bit out of the blue. He spent almost all his free time around a wizard who carried the name Black like a bruised eye, so he did not know what Leticia was pointing at. He shook his head no, eager for however much information she was willing to give him today.

“I would be cautious who you look in the eye, Mr. Lupin. I do not know the future like our Hermione or her friend Miss Rosier, but there will come a time when you will want to keep Hermione’s, yours, and all those you hold dear secrets close. I do not believe you would want anything to happen to either of your mates.”

Remus was stunned, his cup clattering as he barely controlled setting it down on the table. She had slipped into his mind so seamlessly, with no wand or words. He did not even feel a pinprick of pain or discomfort at her intrusion. He had no idea when she had first done it and for how long. His mouth opened like a guppy, seeking for words of rebuttal.

He thought maybe he had found the courage to ask about her blatant violation of his mind, but then the sound of feet pattering down the hall distracted him. Moony knew it was her immediately, rumbling his excitement at her presence. Leticia called out to her, and when Hermione skidded into the room, he wished he could capture the confusion on her face.

Her eyes briefly glanced over him before narrowing at Leticia, and the older witch appeared to be the picture of innocence as she welcomed her into the room. “Ah, Hermione! There you are, your friend.” He was confident she emphasized that word, and judging by the pursing of Hermione’s mouth, she thought so, too. Leticia pushed on, though, “was just joining an old witch for tea. Very charming young wizard you have there.”

“Oh, he was? I thought he was coming to tea with me?” Her voice was playful, but her lips were still flattened in annoyance.

“I am sure he would drink another cup just to be with you. Now go on, you two. Don’t want to spend all day with a witch who will be dust before you know it.” Leticia flicked her hand at the both of them as if she was now rushing them out of the room. Hermione tore her eyes away from her and, with an apologetic wince, motioned for him to follow.

Before he left the room, though, he turned back to Leticia, making direct eye contact with her again, letting Moony creep a little too close to the surface as he did. He thought she might be afraid, but she looked at him with something akin to pride as he said his goodbyes. “Thank you for the enlightening tea, Leticia.”

“I hope it will not be our last, Mr. Lupin.”

Hermione dragged him down the hallway by his hand a moment later, spouting off apologies as she maneuvered through the home. “Ugh, she is so nosey. I am so sorry, Remus. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“It’s fine, Hermione, she was very nice. Not half as intimidating as the twins were to Sirius.” He listened to her huff her annoyance as she led him up a large set of stairs. Despite the size of her legs, she was able to manhandle him along towards a supposed library that overlooked the back of the home.

“Everyone is so,” she paused, contemplating her next words like she was nervous to say them. “Bloody,” she spat before returning to her slightly annoyed tone, “nosey. I swear, Lily and Molly and their constant questions and badgering, the twins and their posturing, and don’t even get me started on Leticia and her assumptions—all of them, everyone in my business. Even Andromeda poked around. I can’t even imagine what Dora already knows and is hiding. Or told her creepy band of friends.” She shivered at the last part of her rant. Her privacy was obviously a sore spot.

Remus’s laughter rang throughout the hallway, and Hermione stopped, turning her annoyed look on him, narrowing her eyes in expectation, waiting for him to explain his outburst. “Did you just work yourself up to say bloody?”

“Really, that is what you took from this?”

“You should probably loosen your stance on cursing love. Don’t let Lily fool you either. That witch can have a wickedly foul mouth and a mean hex when she’s so inclined.” He couldn’t help but reach out and touch the flush that covered her cheeks. Her frustration manifested in a creeping blush, making the thoroughly miffed witch look adorable.

“Are you going to mock me, Remus, or do you want to see this library?” Remus just motioned for her to keep walking with the sweep of his arm, and he was rewarded for his compliance when she once again grabbed his hand and led him through the rest of the manor.

He’d touched her before, yes, done much more than hold her hand, but something about the soft skin of her palm today was different. His magic seemed to sing as their fingers interlaced, and Moony had been particularly pleased since the moment he walked through the floo.

He let the gentle caress of her magic wash over him and didn’t stop his from stroking at her skin. He’d never felt anything like it, maybe a little with Sirius, but something about Hermione made him feel electric.

She led him into an extensive library, white shelves covered in tomes, and Remus smiled. Letting the scent of old parchment wash over him, it reminded him of her. She always smelled a bit like tea in a library on a spring day, but as he looked around the room, he realized it was this library.

How could she have been so intimately familiar with this place in such a short period of time? It left him confused, maybe she will spend a lot of time here in the future. But he knew better than to question fate or Moony. He was closer to her than ever before, and he wasn’t going to jinx it.

“It’s stunning, Hermione, but is there a reason you brought me here? Are we studying something particular today?” He was still a bit jealous that Sirius had an actual date with her and had spent his birthday in her room or, better yet, her bed, but as he watched her saunter over toward the center of the room, he wondered where this place fell into her routine.

She looked almost shy as she rocked back and forth on her heels, wringing her hands together. “I was hoping you could help me with something.” He inclined his head, not responding, but looked at her with interest, encouraging her to keep going. “I haven’t used defensive magic in months and am nervous, too. My magic gets jittery when I try with Gid and Fab.”

As soon as the confession left her lips, Remus could see the defeat in her features. He’d seen some of Hermione’s skills in her memories. Sirius had said she had nearly taken a house down, and she’d held both of them at wand point multiple times, but hearing Hermione dance around her concern with weakness felt deeper than any other conversation he’d had with her.

“Would you like to practice with me?” He assumed, but she seemed to be frozen in her confession.

“Yes, well, you helped teach me the first time, too.” Remus felt a confusing sense of longing to share some of these memories that meant so much to her as she spoke. Such important memories that they carried over through space and time. Allowing her to trust Remus now, even though he was not the wizard she knew. “You helped all three of us and sent notes on how to train the others.”

“Ah, the kiddie order.” He chuckled, and she gave him a wistful smile before adding.

“I don’t think you liked helping then, but I thought you might now. Lily said you were very good at Defense.” Her voice had a teasing lilt, and Remus relaxed hearing it. Leaning into her shifting demeanor, latching on to the playfulness.

Remus chewed the inside of his cheek while imagining Lily’s dramatic eye roll as she admitted that. “It’s the only NEWT I bested her at.”

“It’s the only OWL I didn’t get an O in.” Her confession was rueful that time, a child-like frustration in the words, but he was also struck by the reminder of how easy it was for Dumbledore to manipulate her with tests and scores.

“Well, we can’t have that. Let’s get to work then. A library is an interesting choice for a dueling space.” He looked around the room, and Hermione didn’t spare him a glance as she started to swish her wand, pushing the tables in the center around her and creating a lane for them to practice in.

As the space transformed, he realized it might be the perfect place for an anxious witch to practice dueling. She always seemed at home in a library. He had seen her lose her shoes and curl into a chair more than once in the Potter one. She felt safe in a library, and while that might be a handicap, eventually, he could see the methodology now.

Once the room was set and protective spell-absorbing wards had been placed on the stacks surrounding them, he motioned for her to enter the lane with him. As she paced in front of him, her tapping steps giving away her nerves, he waltzed right up to her. Grabbing her chin, just like Sirius had in their apartment, tilting her head up to him. He had a suspicion she had liked that action very much that night.

He heard her breath catch at the motion, her pupils blowing wide as he controlled her movements, confirming his theory. He leaned down so close they could share a breath. His lips barely brushed against hers, and her heart started to race. She was so enthralled she didn’t notice the tickling jinx he was poised to send to her ribs as he whispered, “First lesson is don’t get distracted.”

___

Hermione’s legs felt like jello, but her magic felt euphoric. It had been months since she felt this in control and connected to it. Ever since that fateful day in May, her magic had felt off.

She knew most of it was exhaustion from the torture, but she also felt something else. It had been hard to notice at first, but as she spent more and more time with Remus and Sirius, she knew it was them. Her magic felt like it was stretched thin, reaching out to them when they weren’t near.

She had tried to hide it, but sometime around her birthday, dangerously soon after the moment in their flat, Leticia noticed it too. She regularly let Leticia cast diagnostic charms on her, and usually, they both saw the yellow warning instead of the positive green glow reflecting the state of her magical core.

It hadn’t returned to its full capacity despite months of physical rest. Leticia had suggested that slowing down a bit emotionally would also help, but they both knew that wasn’t an option till Voldemort was dead and in the ground. Despite all her rest, it had been a wash until, one day, her core scans had finally glowed green. It was not missed by either witch that it had changed after spending time with Remus and Sirius.

Letica, of course, gave her an all-knowing look, a look that implied I told you so, but only in the way a mother could. The older witch had blessedly not said anything but instead just looked over at that gods forsaken journal on her nightstand before kissing Hermione’s forehead and leaving the room.

Now, as she blocked Remus’s spells and laughed when he dodged hers, she felt alive. Like her magic was pumping through her veins, it was the most energetic she had felt since Bill and Fleur's wedding, and she knew it was the mate bond. She knew she’d have to tell him and Sirius about her crutch at some point, but not before she’d done more research and, to put it simply, they figured themselves out.

After a particularly brutal round of casting, she finally waved her white flag. Crumpling down till she was lying flat on her back, panting. Circe, maybe she should have spent more time running while she was in school. She cursed the wizarding world a bit for their obsession with quidditch and flying but not having physical education courses. She could use one right now.

Remus plopped down to sit beside her, his own breath a little ragged, and she turned to look at him. She wondered if he would be so out of breath if he and Sirius didn’t smoke so much. But that wasn’t really her place to say, was it?

He must have felt her staring at him because he turned to look at her, and she felt her chest fluttering in deja vu. It was like when Sirius had slipped down on her pillow and kissed her till she couldn’t breathe.

This was different, though. Remus’s scars shone with a light sheen of sweat, and he looked so happy. Sandy mused locks, brushing across those scars, a balance of rugged and charming. His cheeks pinked from exertion. His lips parted as he caught his breath. Where Sirius had a sleepy smile, Remus looked playful, energized from their sparing.

She was sure she looked like a mess, but when she finally noticed Remus’s mutual appreciation of her at that moment, she felt her magic pull at her. She knew she couldn’t ignore it again. Her eyes only had to flick to his lips once, and he knew, too.

It was instantaneous, his hands in her hair, pulling her head to his, slanting his mouth perfectly over hers. Her hands grabbed the softest jumper she’d ever felt as she pulled him closer to her, and as his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, she practically whimpered when he pressed forward.

Where Sirius was confident and playful in his kisses, always teasing, Remus demanding. He pushed at her in the best way possible; he led their movements, going as far as to hold her chin again, leaving her entirely under his discretion, making her skin break out in goosebumps. The control he had over her was quickly growing to be one of her favorite things.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there with him leaning over her, sweaty, panting, and kissing like they were on fire, but when he finally pulled away, the magic in the air crackled around them.

“Hi,” she whispered, the ability to form sentences lost in that moment.

“Hi,” he chuckled as he said it back, and she suddenly felt both embarrassed and desperate to kiss him again. She wondered if he could read minds because he pressed gently against her lips, just a little peck, but he lingered, and the anticipation made her squirm.

He pulled away, chuckling again before rolling onto his back, and she missed his closeness like a limb. She was tempted to grab him by the collar and pull him back, but he pushed up on his elbows, looking down at her as he asked, “Did you want to practice more? I won't lie. I can’t imagine you need more before training with everyone else.”

It sounded like a compliment, but it caused a little swirl of guilt in her. He’d proved her theories right. When she’s not with them, her magic was erratic and hard to control. But now, lying here, and in the hours after she was with Sirius too, she’d been fine. She’s not even sure how to broach that topic, so she avoids it. Giving the half-truth of why she wanted this.

“Dumbledore gave me till the new year to start rounds with Peter.” The words hang between them, sour in what had been a sweet moment. She knows Remus doesn’t like the idea, but they're stuck. Dorea had confirmed it, too, and she couldn’t afford not to be in The Order.

“When did he tell you that?” Remus’s voice is cold and devoid of emotion, and Hermione hates it compared to how soft and blithe it had been.

“He sent me an owl after the tea.”

“You mean the ambush?” She can only nod lamely in response. And Remus blows out a frustrated breath. “Then you need to train more. Worm- Peter is shit at defense, and that’s if he cares.”

She can practically taste the hopefulness in her voice when she asks, “So you’ll keep practicing with me?” She’s not sure why she thinks he might reject her, he was just kissing her with more passion than she ever imagined. They’ve never stopped pursuing her, even in her moments of doubt and being overwhelmed. But there is a dark little voice in the back of her head saying she’s drug her feet for too long on this thing with him and Sirius, and they must be over her by now.

“Yes, and we're getting you to those sessions with your brothers. Even if your core is low, Marlene said they’re harder than some of her Wimbourne practices. More physical endurance will help in a duel even if your magic feels off.” He seems skeptical as he says it, and he probably is. Her magic was just fine for the past hour with him.

“Will you and Sirius be there?” she worries her lip between her teeth, and despite sounding like a schoolgirl with a sad little crush, Remus beams. It’s the happiest she’s ever seen him, and he goes as far as to kiss her still-sticky forehead.

“Oh yes,” he says with a smirk, “I wouldn’t plan on getting rid of us any time soon.”

Remus stands at that, and she can’t help but grin at the ease of it. He seems so spry and limber, with no haggard joints, tired muscles, and limping. It isn’t near a full, so she’s sure that helps, but something swells in her, covetous thoughts about how lucky she is to get to see him young and healthy like this.

He sticks a hand out to her, and she looks at it with a bit of distrust, her muscles burning from her previous exertion. “Two more rounds?” he asks, and she moans, her legs aching at the idea.

Remus’s eyes shift at the noise, his irises disappearing as he looks down at her, sprawled on the ground below him. There’s a predatory grace to how he’s watching her now, and like a switch, it makes her body taut. Remus immediately notices the change too, tracking her chest as it rises and falls. She can hear her blood roaring in her ears, and the magic she barely feels in control of teases her skin as it sparks from her hair.

He bends down, flashing his teeth as he practically growls at the state of her, and at that moment, she’s certain he’s more wolf than man when he says, “Do you remember what I said when you were in our flat? About the next time?” She wonders if she is supposed to be afraid of him when Moony is more in control, but instead, all she can feel is the warming, tingling sensation of desire pooling inside her. She’s not afraid of Moony or Remus, she wants more. She’s willing to do anything he asks to get it.

Her whimper is instinctual as she nods yes, her legs pressing together at his domineering tone so different from his normally gentle, kind words. Her words, though, are stuck to the roof of her mouth in a dizzying haze of lust as she frantically nods, willing to do anything he asks. “Good. If you give me two more rounds, that might be sooner than you think.”

He sticks his hand back out again, and she races to grab it, anything to touch him. As soon as she slips her hand in his, they both take a deep breath, the spell of desire breaking, and they try to regain their composure. Attempting to shake off the intensity that overtook them so suddenly before they get back to dueling.

She isn’t exactly sure what happened, but she feels like she needs to add unpredictable or controllable emotions to her never-ending questions about bonds list. She’s unsure how much she’ll ever get done, though, if all it takes is one little noise to set them off.

She can already feel herself floating back to the state of want he had her in as he pulls his sweater over his head, leaving him in only a simple white t-shirt plastered to his still-damp chest. The worst part is that when she finally makes her way to her end of the lane and sets her feet in her dueling stance, she’s unsure if she cares.

Chapter Text

The past week, Hermione had felt something shift, and it wasn’t her doing. In just seven short days, she had found herself immersed in a bubble of Sirius and Remus. Whether it was dueling practice with Remus or Sirius and James skiving off from their Auror duties to come and bother her and Lily, she felt like everywhere she turned, one of them was nearby.

At first, it had been jarring, seeing them pop into the rooms she was in, whether they had been invited or not. The random occurrences seemed to be amplified by Lily’s need to work out of Potter Manor that week, but even in the few days they spent in the Prewett Potions room, all three men had somehow found their way through the wards.

Remus had taken to not leaving her side even after their practices were done each day. Leticia always invited them both to tea afterward, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. Truthfully, Hermione was not upset by the sandwiches and sweets brought by Sirius and James when she and Lily found themselves deep in the stacks or between bubbling cauldrons.

It wasn’t just their presence that had changed, though. With the new frequency came something else. As if pulled by some unknown force stronger than magic itself, they would not stop touching her. It would be small things like lingering hugs with greetings or standing behind her chair while she read like they were feigning interest in her books.

It felt like they were taking every chance they had to touch her as if any skin she had on display was part of some game to tease her. Some of it was sweet, even innocuous, like the graze of hand that would send sparks up her arm when handing her something. Or pushing a particularly unruly curl back for her when it inevitably fell into her eyes while she read.

But others were much more like when Sirius started playing with the hair at the nape of her neck while he spoke to James about something. It was so casual and carefree, his body laid out in his chair like he was just having a normal conversation. Like he had no idea, these new touches were just soft enough to send goosebumps down her spine and make her beg for more. Or maybe he did, evident from the twist of a smirk that graced his face when she moaned at a firm tug on her curls.

Or there was the time Remus had followed her deep into the Potter library to help her grab a particularly large and high-up tome. Only for him to crowd behind her as he did so, the back of her head brushing against his chest. The smell of aftershave, sweet mint, and tobacco overwhelmed her senses. And she could just barely feel the hard press of something more against her. She had gasped at the pressure, and the wizard dared to laugh at her.

Remus had just waltzed away at that moment, not saying anything about the dizzying state he left her in. At first, it annoyed her, but as sleep found her each evening, she realized she was far from immune to the call of their affections. She started leaning into them, angling her body and heart towards them when they entered the room.

Now, as she lay in the bed that had been her truest comfort in 1978, it felt too big. No longer did she feel smothered by comforters and pillows. The space was lacking without Sirius’s sleepy commentary or Remus’s laughter.

It had only taken one week of them making her magic feel full, fresh, and alive again for her to feel like an addict. Not just for the power she felt cursing through her veins but for how they made her feel when she was with them. She understood how some wizards or kings grew mad with power because Hermione found herself drowning in a current of want, a need for more with each kiss and touch.

It was that need to see them that helped her push aside her fear as she dressed. November was officially upon them, and the clock to end this war was still ticking. There was still so much to do, and none of it would be possible if today went poorly. The pressure seemed overwhelming, but the promise of being near Sirius and Remus calmed her racing heart.

She aparated somewhere between the gates of Hogwarts and the village. Hoping to have a minute to prepare herself. Just one fleeting moment to steady her breathing and practice the words she would need to say. She had no idea what to expect from this clandestine meeting.

Abeford had been kind enough to allow them to use a small private room in the Hog’s Head, but it came at a price. Remus would need to work during that time, and Hermione immediately wanted to protest. She was not afraid of her lunchmates but did not trust them. Despite Pandora’s promise of their agreement, she could not help but wonder what ulterior goals their new alliance would have.

Dorea, a Slytherin herself, had suggested the make-up of their meeting, deciding that not being outnumbered was vital. She had theorized that fellow young people would be the most relatable to the group and that Sirius would be essential.

Putting Sirius in front of his brother made Hermione’s skin crawl. She wasn’t sure who would use whom to their advantage. Would dangling Sirius in front of Regulus entice him to join their coup? Or would Sirius see Regulus as another person to protect? Would his protective nature smother his brother, inhibiting him from helping as much as possible? It turned out to be neither.

The moment the younger Black brother walked into the already crowded room, Sirius’s breath caught, and he froze, watching every step Regulus took into the cramped space. Barely bigger than a supply closet, just enough to hold a table and a few benches. The brothers were nose to nose almost instantly when the door slammed shut as their last guest entered. James had moved to squeeze his shoulder, but Sirius could only grunt, throwing him off before reaching out and grabbing Hermione’s hand. Practically tripping her as he pulled her closer.

The move did not go unnoticed by Regulus, who did not smile but looked at them like a fox who had corned its prey. Ready to circle its victory. Regulus was planning to play a game of chess with this pitch and negotiation, and Sirius had unknowingly made the first move, leaving them open for attack.

Hermione thought James would serve as some kind of ambassador, a go-between, someone to be friendly or make a joke despite how tense things were. James was not that. James was defensive, never letting Lily from his side, angling himself in front of her, and laying his cards face up on the table, too.

Lily glanced at Hermione, her concern at the situation splashed across her face, but Hermione could not fail this. They needed Regulus and Pandora.

Pandora finally broke the ice. With an otherworldly grace, she bridged the gap to open her arms and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. The embrace sent both sides of their standoff into action, Sirius reaching to grab Hermione and James standing completely in front of Lily now, while Regulus and Evan moved to stop Pandora.

Pandora laughed airy and lofty, filling the room and halting everyone’s movements. “I am happy to see you so soon, Hermione. Your core glows so brightly now.” Pandora did not give her a chance to respond before releasing her and moving towards James, and when he made to greet her, she pushed past him, grasping Lily in a similar embrace. “Blooming brightly today, sweet flower,” she whispered to the redhead witch, who looked over Pandora’s shoulder at Hermione, a bit confused but returning Pandora’s affection.

Pandora turned back to the groups. Her smile might have looked far off, even confused to those who did not know her, but as Hermione watched her dance around the space, motioning for them to take their seats, she saw her for what she really was. Pandora was the master of this chess game. She would not play. She had already bargained for Barty and Evan, now, she would officiate.

_______

Sirius felt like he was in a vacuum. Looking across the table at his brother seemed to suck all the air from him, leaving his mind blank. The only thing tethering him to the conversation was the feel of Hermione’s hand in his.

Dorea’s words from earlier seemed to haunt him. She had given him a task. He was to do what he did best, be himself. He was to act like a good brother, as he did to James, as he was to Regulus before he left.

But right now, Sirius felt like he was anything but that, the guilt of his decision weighing heavy on his chest, making it hard to think and breathe. Worsened by the fact that Regulus seemed so unbothered. Regulus carried himself as if he had been the one to plan this meeting, a level of authority suited for the heir to the House of Black—something Sirius would never have.

Hermione seemed to notice his floundering right away, sitting next to him and only letting go of his hand to rest hers on his knee. However, his waning confidence was saved when Regulus turned from him and seemed to size Hermione up. His eyes caught on the scars on her neck as they found their seats. Something about watching Regulus study her emboldened him. Dorea had sent him here to support Hermione. Not to cower from the reminder of the last night he had spoken to his brother.

Regulus watched her with the sneer befitting his social standing. A prince among wizards. It was filled with judgment and condescending as his eyes raked over all of them. As a child, Sirius had wondered if that was a mask. He had been jealous of his baby brother and his ability to slip into it, but now he wondered if the mask had fused to his face. Where did the baby brother who had missed him, his first year at Hogwarts end, and this creature of pure-blooded hate start?

Sirius worked to quickly don his own mask, letting the cocky smile stretch across his face, his legs spread as if he was sitting on a throne. He threw an arm around Hermione, pulling close to keep his anchor and make his message to Regulus clear, his friends were his family. He was here with them and for them.

Hermione cleared her throat, and all eyes darted to her. She was more nervous than she had been at the shack. There, she had a bit of swotty arrogance, playing with wards like a cat with a ball of string. Now, as she faced people, he realized this may not be her strong suit. She was intelligent and well-read, magically gifted, but Merlin help her. She had only made friends by saving their lives. He was almost positive she didn’t even know they were dating.

Her voice was higher pitched than usual as she started, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I understand this is a huge risk to you,” Some scoffed, interrupting her, and Sirius squeezed her shoulder, just as she had done for him minutes ago. Encouraging her to continue, “I believe we have a common enemy, and with the right information, we can stop it.”

“Oi you here that Ev? The right information! What information do you have, curls?” Sirius watched as Barty Crouch Jr leered at Hermione, leaning over the table. Despite being such a gangly thing, Sirius could not deny he had a menacing presence. His eyes were manic as he challenged her, tongue darting across his lips like he lacked control. Regulus seemed to enjoy the joke and taunting, the corner of his mouth curling as Hermione seemed to fluster.

She took the question in stride, and he felt a ribbon of pride unfurl in his chest as she fortified herself. “Voldemort,” everyone winced at his name, even the two supposedly marked Death Eaters at the table. She continued, her confidence growing at their discomfort, “has made five Horcruxes. Do you know what those are?”

“Should we?” Regulus asked, and Sirius had to look away. Unable to listen to the changes in his own brother's voice. A voice he had not heard in years, he realized, now it was deep and rumbling, different than the boy he knew.

“Considering they are vile, repulsive pieces of magic, I’m surprised you don’t, Black,” James spat at him, and Sirius wished he could hug him. James had always come to his defense as he battled the demons that were his family. It made him choke on emotions that he would still do it now, even with so much on the line.

Regulus clicked his tongue. “Ahh, the master of light, James Potter. Sadly, no, I don’t. Are you four planning on explaining, or should we just duel and get this over with?”

Hermione huffed, her arms crossing over her chest. Her frustration emboldened her more, her shaky voice melting into something harsh. “It’s an object that holds a piece of someone’s soul. Making them immortal,” she shared, and Sirius thought he saw Regulus’s mask crack a bit. His eyes widened just a fraction before he turned to look at Sirius. The question was obvious, was this their family’s doing? The answer wasn’t black or white, so he just stared back. Grey eyes meeting grey, they were at a standstill.

“How does one do that?” Barty asked, shattering the moment, and Lily shuddered, earning his attention. James stared the wizard down, his teeth bared.

Hermione moved quickly, turning her head to look at him while she answered, “I don’t think it’s smart to share how one is made. I think that’s information that should disappear forever. But he’s made them. I need to destroy all five before he can die.”

“How do you know this?” Evan asked, and he slid his eyes to Pandora. Sirius wondered if they had the ability to speak mind to mind, a gift few magical twins shared. But the Rosiers were some of the most magically inclined people to grace wizarding Brittian.

“Our Hermione has earned her name. She has brought plenty of information, Ev, but she does not share my gift,” Pandora sang to him. Her words were a balm to everyone at the table.

Regulus watched her intently as if deciphering what her hidden meaning was. Sirius wondered if his mask was chipped. He seemed to smile as he parceled out the words like this was a game between them, one they had played many times before.

“What other information do you bring then, Hermione?” Regulus drawled. Sirius couldn’t blame him for wanting to know everything he could before agreeing to the deal they had yet to present.

“I know the location of two. One is yet to be placed. I have theories on the others.”

“Ahhh, is that where we come in? Pack mules and cadaver dogs for your quest?” The words stung Sirius. He understood the hurt of being seen as a pawn, a means to an end. He hated that Regulus thought that was what they wanted of him, too.

“If I wanted someone to do my bidding, I’d put you under the imperius.” the three wizards across from him froze at that, but Dora smiled. Her teeth were on display with excitement, and Sirius had the strange inclination to imagine them stained with blood at the glee she had at the thought of the imperius curse, or maybe she was thinking about how Hermione was shifting, transforming before their eyes. No trace of her previous nerves remained, wholly replaced with her determined courage and righteous passion to end this war.

“Threats are unbecoming of the light,” Regulus started, his gaze cold as he met her intensity. “how do I know you are not under it right now? That you will not turn us over to the Dark Lord? That this is not a test?”

Hermione met his cold gaze with her blazing one, “Your lord will ask to use Kreacher. He will not tell you why. Kreacher will return to you battered and broken. You may believe me when that comes to fruition.”

“How do you know that?” Regulus seethed, and the air in the room shifted before all hell broke loose. He abruptly stood from the bench and slammed his hands against the table before pulling his wand and pointing it at Hermione. “HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?” he screamed again, and Sirius was vibrating with rage, trying to stand up to him. But Hermione’s nails dug into his knee, keeping him in place.

“I know many things, as Pandora said. It sounds like some have already come true. I did the same to Sirius and James when I exposed Peter Pettigrew. I assume he has become a new acquaintance of yours?” Though Hermione did not match Regulus’s anger, maintaining her calm demeanor.

The gentleness of her voice only upset him more, as he lashed out, “I am to believe some half-blood witch my brother shares with his beats of a boyfriend? You have guessed some things. But that does not mean we can trust you.” Pandora moved then, laying her hand in the crook of his elbow, her pale green eyes pleading with him to sit down.

“Then don’t trust me. But you will die if you do not. Evan will, too. Barty will go to Azkaban. Your risks are your own, but I have an out.” Hermione had finished laying their offer on the table, and Regulus sucked in a ragged breath as he considered it. He never once looked at them, only at his friends, giving them each a glance before returning to them.

“Why do you need us then?” His teeth were set and jaw tight as he forced the words out.

Sirius saw his moment and spoke up, “Because Regulus, these artifacts are spread across dark wizarding families that we don’t have access to,” He hoped to calm the tensions between them. Hermione’s know-it-all-all responses only stoked the fire of Regulus’s anger. Despite years apart, Sirius knew that an angry Regulus was not a fair teammate.

He wasn’t sure if the promise of defeat swayed their decision or that Sirius had intervened, but Regulus sat down as he responded, his glare unwavering, “Well, tell us the rest of it then,”

Hermione explained as much as she could then, Lily offering the knowledge she knew. And the three guests asked questions. There was still no agreement to help, and the conversation was labored, with many tightly pursed mouths or grimaces as more details emerged.

“I think my real question is, how will you know? How will you know if you have these things and not just some other cursed object?” Regulus asked, and Sirius thought he saw a hint of tiredness in his eyes. The idea of this all being true was a sick game of hope and disappointment.

Dora answered, her eyes alight with the ability to join the conversation with her knowledge. “Hermione came to feel them, Reggie.”

Regulus turned to look back at her, and Hermione, of course, looked away, embarrassed. Not because it was a compliment but because Sirius had a working theory. He could feel them, too, more so than James or Remus. He was sure some of it had to do with having the residue of dark magic tainting them, but as a Muggle born, Hermione had it worse. The dark magic in her sought out the Horcruxes, and they taunted her back, coaxing her towards them so they could snare her in their traps, all because of her blood.

Not wanting to reveal that particular weakness to their not-yet allies, Sirius looked at the matching set of eyes across from him. They said all those with Black blood bore grey eyes, but as siblings, he and Regulus had near identical ones, down to the almost black limbal rings.

“Those of us who have had the pleasure of feeling dark magic will feel a call to the Horcruxes. They make you feel uneasy like you are anxious, but you don’t know why. They almost feel cloying, enticing with their power but terrifying all the same. Like someone is watching you.”

Regulus regarded him. Taking his words in like another puzzle for him to play with later. “And the Lestranges have one?” He asked a bit out of the blue, and their side of the table stiffened. “Don’t even try to lie,” he added, taking in their new postures.

“Boggart-infested hovel?” Evan laughed from his seat. The first words he had said all day. Regulus nodded, but he wasn’t looking at Evan. He was looking past him. To Pandora, who for once looked scared, her tawny skin a bit ashy as she thought about Regulus's words.

She gave him a sad little smile, and Sirius wondered how Regulus could love her like a sister, innocent, full of light Dora, but hate him. “I do not mind being a distraction, Reggie.”

Regulus nodded once at her, their defacto leader, before he turned back to Hermione. “We can get you into the LeStrabge Chateau on New Year's Eve.”

“It’s my engagement party,” Dora added quickly. Hermione turned to look at her, confusion in her eyes and her brows furrowed as she added, “I’m to marry Rabastan Lestrange after I graduate.”

“What about Xenopholius?” Hermione asked, and Regulus responded for Dora.

“What do you know of that?” He bit out, but surprisingly, Barty held him back. His mouth stretched wide in amusement as he asked Hermione.

“How’s your French?”

The meeting had ended with a tentative agreement, the three willing to sign one of Hermione’s enchanted documents if only to protect their minds, the promise of incapacitating them if they were found out. Sirius had been most surprised when Barty had slid a muggle spiral-bound notebook over to Hermione, explaining briefly that he was intrigued by her work on the galleon and wanted to have something more substantial to communicate their plans. Having created it in anticipation of the meeting being fruitful.

Sirius could not look at Barty when he said it, though. Instead, he stared at Regulus. Had his brother carried the same hope that they would leave in agreement today? Or had he dreaded this moment only propelled by his love for his friends to accept?

———-

When they arrived back in Potter Manor, Sirius had left almost immediately, saying he didn’t feel well, but something about his change in demeanor made her lurch for him. She felt compelled to ask him to stay, but with his shoulders slumped and head hung low, he avoided her grasp and left through the floo.

Lily and James had stayed with her to bring the rest of their small but mighty group up to speed over cups of steaming tea. Leticia had smiled at Hermione like she was proud of her, and Hermione found herself accepting the comfort, her emotions in a state of unrest since Sirius had left, and she was desperate for any reminder of her own mother’s love.

It was almost two hours later, past tea and even dinner, when their planning had ended, and everyone made to leave. As she approached the floo, she was cornered by Charlus and James, both sharing looks of guilt as they stopped her. “Could you check on Sirius before going home?” and “Remus won’t be off for a bit longer, and his brother is a hard topic.” they rushed out to her, and Hermione agreed.

She tumbled through the floo and tried not to look at the spot on the floor where she had sat between the two wizards weeks ago. The apartment was dark, and there was no sign of food. She called out his name once, then twice, and when she received no response, she slipped her wand into her hand and decided to seek him out.

She tried not to think about Regulus betraying them and sending a group of death eaters searching for Sirius, but her anxiety was hard to quell some days. She relaxed when she found the bedroom and gently pushed the door open, finding the shape of Sirius lying on his side in bed. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, she made her way towards him, whispering “Sirius” as softly as she could.

He rolled over, red, heavy eyes squinting to recognize her before the soft smile she adored about him returned. “Am I dreaming, or is there a pretty witch in my room?” He asked, sleep coating his voice.

Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, and Sirius rubbed his eyes, taking her in more before groaning, “Too many clothes, not a dream.”

She chuckled at that, leaning forward to move his hair from his forehead, like he had done for her so many times this week, “I wanted to check in on you. It seemed like today was hard.”

Sirius rolled onto his stomach, groaning into his pillow before he responded, the sound muffled by the feathers underneath him. “I knew it was going to be hard.” he rolled back over after admitting it, and Hermione returned to fixing his hair, carding her fingers through the black silky locks as she waited for him to elaborate.

When he did not, she leaned down to kiss his forehead, feeling a zip of excitement running through the action, and she wondered if this was how they felt when they kissed her. Sirius leaned into the motion, and while she was still just a breath away, she asked him, “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” She did not think of the double meaning of her phrasing. She wanted to calm his anxious heart and mind, her magic desperate to support him.

Sirius’s eyes flashed to her lips. What he wanted was painfully evident as the quiet surrounded them. She swore she could hear both of their hearts pounding as they stared. She didn’t have to wait long for an answer, both jolting in surprise when Remus sounded from behind them. “I think you know what he wants, Hermione.”

His voice was husky, and when she turned her head to look at him, she felt her jaw drop open at the sight of him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he looked at the two of them, so caught up in each other they hadn’t heard him enter. Remus’s eyes seemed to flash gold even in the shadows of the room as he made his way over to the two. Towering over them as he stood looking down on them.

He trailed his hand over Sirius’s cheek as he spoke to him, deep and commanding, the tone making goosebumps prick along her spine. “Tell Hermione what you want Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed, the column of his neck working, and Hermione wanted to kiss it like he had hers. He turned to look at her, his eyes full of desperate excitement as he shared, “I want you to stay, Hermione. I want you.”

The confession was all she needed. All the emotions since Remus had finally told her she was his mate came barreling into her. The night in their living room and the past week with them spurred her actions. It felt like the floodgates were open, and she was kissing Sirius in seconds, unable to stop herself.

He met her halfway before rolling, bringing her onto the bed, and not stopping till she was underneath him. Their hands frantic as they held each other, Sirius’s larger hands moving underneath her, splaying across her back and making her arch into him. Their kiss was passionate, rough almost, wasting no time to push past the seem of each other's lips till their tongues were dancing.

Remus chuckled in the background, and she felt the bed dip under his weight. She broke away from Sirius for air, and Remus wasted no time, leaning down next to Sirius and kissing her even as she was still pinned underneath him. Sirius pressed against her, and she moaned when she felt his length teasing her despite the muggle jeans they both wore.

Remus pulled Sirius back, though, and she laid there painting beneath them, her body already missing their closeness. He pulled Sirius to him and kissed him just as deeply. Hermione was mesmerized by the motion, desire filling her as she squirmed, desperate for friction as she watched them tangle with each other above her.

Remus noticed her plight and turned to look at her, his face growing serious as he asked, “Hermione if you tell us to stop, we will. We can’t have you leave again,” She nodded, unable to form words to convey her sincerity in response to the vulnerability in Remus’s voice.

That nod was all it took for Sirius and Remus to get to work, moving in tandem, their hands seeking out every inch of her and each other as they divested themselves and her of their clothes. She was wanton by the end of it. Their touches across her skin had not been enough. She wanted everything with them. As they kneeled on the bed next to each other, the last of all their clothes gone too, she was finally able to appreciate them.

Remus seemed to glow, his golden skin and scarred chest. The lithe muscles of his abs and the trim taper of his waist. One might think he was lanky under those sweaters and loose trousers, but now as he stroked himself, his cock jutting up towards his stomach, he looked like a battle-hardened god.

On the other hand, Sirius seemed to glow in the moonlight that drifted into the room, his chest sprinkled with dark tattoos, and Hermione wanted to taste each one. She’d never done that, put her mouth on a man, but she wanted nothing more. Sirius was lean like Remus, but Hermione could make out the difference, the tighter muscles from his time playing quidditch, his beater’s arms flexing as he tugged on himself, his cock laying down against his thigh.

Once all three of them were bared for each other, Sirius and Remus laid down next to her, bracketing her between the two of them. This time, instead of teasing touches, their hands, and lips found purpose. Sirius took one side of her neck, biting and sucking marks till she squirmed. All while his hands found her taught nipples, moving between pinching and tugging to gentle brushes of his thumb.

Her hips rolled, seeking anything to soothe the burn of desire between her legs, going as far as to grind against Siriu’s length. Remus was on her other side, nibbling on her ear and jaw, never once finding her mouth despite how much she needed him to kiss her. His other teased down her stomach, slipping underneath her to palm at her ass but never finding her center.

She was sure she was nothing but lovebites bruises when Sirius finally pulled away, moving his way down the bed till he could position himself between her thighs. He grinned up at her as he kissed her hip bones and said, “Remus got to taste last time. I think it’s my turn.” his only warning was a wicked smile as he descended on her.

His tongue found her clit immediately, and within moments his lips were wrapped around it, and she felt her orgasm rising to the surface, her moan bouncing off the walls. Their touches had gotten her close already. Sirius pulled away, only to push her thighs open more, grinning as he commented, not even looking at her, “Moony, she is fucking soaked. Dripping all over for us.”

His words tugged at her gut, a whimper at how he described her, but still, she needed more, and her hand reached out to brush down the plane of Remus’s chest, a soft dusting of golden hair there as her fingers followed it till she was wrapping her hand around the base of his cock.

“Fuck Hermione,” he breathed out, and Sirius chuckled against her as he continued to consume her like it was his last meal. Her grip tightened on accident at Sirius’s ministrations, and Remus grabbed hold of her hand as she started to loosen up, making it press firmer as she stroked up and down.

“Gods, I didn’t know a hand could feel like that,” he confessed, and that time, when Sirius’s laugh vibrated against her, he pushed two fingers inside of her. His fingers curled up against her perfectly, sending her catapulting into unknown pleasure. Her orgasm was no longer able to be held back at the touch, escaping her with a cry.

She felt her limbs go limp while Sirius continued to suck and lick at her through it. Finally, she tried to squirm away the overstimulation too much, but Remus grabbed her hips. Holding her still until Sirius finally pulled away, rising up to be level with Remus again. Hermione’s breath caught as they kissed, Sirius’s chin still glistening with her release.

Remus even licked down his neck, seeming like he wanted to catch every drop of her in the other wizard’s beard. She had finally caught her breath when both wizards were still wrapped in each other, and she started to move. She found herself crawling down to the end of the bed, taking Sirius in her hand, leaning over to lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the very tip of its head, going as far as to swirl her tongue and catch a bead of precum that had gathered.

“Holy fucking Merlin,” He cried, breaking away from Remus, and both looked down at her, eyes blown wide as she grinned, continuing to pump Sirius’s length as her tongue teased and circled. She tried to remember every tip Ginny and Fleur had ever taught her about men. And she was elated to see it was working.

Remus practically growled at the sight before pulling her off Sirius, bringing her up to her knees to kiss him. It was rough and frantic, and she yelped and moaned into his mouth when he brought a swift smack to her ass.

He pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers, his chest heaving as he asked, “Do you want to taste Sirius? Want him to come in your mouth just like you did to him?” All Hermione could do was moan, biting her lip and pressing her legs together. Remus leaned down to kiss her once more before turning to Sirius, his eyes shining a bright gold, Moony clearing having taken over as he addressed him. “Go lay against the headboard and let our pretty mate suck your cock”

Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled away, spreading his legs wide once he finally did get in position, going back to stroking his cock as he waited for Remus’s next instruction. Remus turned to Hermione, and she bit her lip in excitement. “Get on your hands and knees and take Sirius all the way down your throat, Hermione.” He paused to run his fingers down the front of her throat, pressing lightly, and it made her feel dizzy with lust. “And while you do that, I am going to fuck that soaking wet pussy of yours, okay?”

She knew this was the last check-in, they would let her walk away, and they could live their lives. But once they crossed this line, there was no going back. Hermione leaned in to kiss him one last time, her confirmation, before pulling away and crawling back towards Sirius, his silver eyes piercing as she leaned forward on all fours. Kissing her way up his cock this time till she took him into her mouth, starting with just the head. But with each breath and suck in, she took him deeper.

So focused on taking Sirius as far as she could go till he was hitting the back of her throat, she once again didn’t notice Remus. Remus, who was kneeling behind her, the blunt head of his cock brushed against her dripping folds, pushing past till he was notched at her entrance. She choked in surprise, taking Sirius farther than she knew was possible, and she watched his eyes roll back at the motion.

Remus didn’t wait any longer, pushing forward till he was sheathed inside her, the stretch almost painful at his size. Hermione pulled off Sirius, crying out in pleasure as he began to thrust. Remus didn’t stop, though, squeezing at her ass cheeks, growling about how fucking tight she was.

He brushed against a spot that made her legs tremble as she felt another orgasm building. Remus didn’t let up, his hands grabbing hold of her hips till they might bruise, as he rocked into her, slowly at first, till all three of their moans and pants started to fill the room.

“Tell me this is ours, Hermione,” he asked, snapping his hips forward, and she moaned around Sirius’s length, nodding her head as she bobbed because Remus was right. She was theirs. She wanted to hate herself for waiting so long to feel this good, but the euphoria of them wouldn’t let her mind stray.

She gagged as she struggled to fit all of Sirius in her mouth. Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked up at him, as he held her hair from her face. The wizard lifted his hips, his eyes shut as he started, “Godric, that fucking mouth,” “Fuck, your lips are so pretty wrapped around my cock” and lastly, “I’m going to come, pull off.”

But Hermione didn’t. She pushed deeper till her nose brushed against the dark curls of his stomach. She felt herself fill with pride as he threw his head back, groaning, and pulses of come coating her mouth and throat as he finished.

She barely had time to pull off him, laying her head on his thigh and savoring the salty taste of him on her tongue before Remus picked up speed. One arm wrapped around her to strum at her clit as his hip and thighs smacked against her. One final brush of his thumb was all it took for her to go hurtling over the edge, too, her legs quivering at the force as she spasmed around him. His movements stuttered in time, too, filling her with him.

As she came down from her release, Hermione felt like she was floating, the emotions of her second orgasm pulling her under, and like someone had slipped her a bottle of dreamless sleep, she felt all her limbs and eyelids grow heavy. She tried to say something, but all that came out were sighs of relaxation and lazy smiles as if the magic they had performed on her body had stolen her ability to speak.

She was vaguely aware of soft chuckles and gentle kisses, leaning into the loving touches. Remus eventually pulled out of her, but not before reverently kissing down her spine, and someone maneuvered her under the blankets and into the bed. It wasn’t long till sleep took her. Both she and her magic felt warm and safe between the two wizards, and she wasn’t sure how she had ever slept without both of them before.

____

Remus could have watched the two of them sleep for hours. Normally, the light of the moon made him anxious, always calculating how many days till his next night of torture. But as it skimmed across the gentle curve of Hermione’s waist and highlighted Sirius's sharp cheekbones and jawline, he was grateful for it. Moony was quiet, finally pleased to have both his mates tucked in close to him.

Grateful to watch as they puffed out little breaths of air, the rhythm of their hearts in sync. Hermione was spread across his chest, her leg thrown over his hip and her head nuzzled under his arm. Sirius, behind her, curled around her back, his face snuggled into her curls as his arm wrapped around her waist.

He was worried about the war, how today had gone, what lay ahead of them, but as he listened to their soft snores and felt the heat of their bodies in the now small queen bed, he did not care. It was a sad thought, morose in its details but lovely all the same. Even if they lost and the Horcruxes could not be destroyed, at least Remus had experienced this.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s mind was slow to wake, her eyes heavy with sleep, and her body sore from exertion. Just faintly, she could hear the scratch of a record player drifting from somewhere else in the apartment. She couldn’t quite make out the song, but she let the music settle into her bones, threatening to pull her back under the waves of sleep when she slowly heard, or rather felt, someone humming into her back.

She froze as the memories of last night came back to her, biting her lip as the strain of her muscles made more sense. She shivered, remembering how they trembled under Sirius’s large palms, held open for him, or when Remus had trapped her in place with his fingertips pressing down on her waist and hips. She wondered if bruises had formed and considered that she wouldn’t mind the reminder of his touch as it lingered on her body.

“I can hear you thinking,” Remus mumbled into her hair, and she found herself twisting in his arms, rolling to face him. He didn’t need to open his eyes, simply knowing where she was and pulling her in till his arms wrapped around her and their legs intertwined, locking her into place.

“Good morning,” She whispered into his chest, chuckling slightly at the tickle at the soft dusting of hair against her cheek.

She felt more than saw him smiling into her hair as he spoke again, “Yes, it is a perfect morning. If only we could sleep a little longer.” His groan vibrated through her, and she let her eyes fall close again, more than willing to let sleep claim her again and avoid the conversation that was bound to happen as soon as they left the room.

Remus was willing to indulge her. Tracing circles across her back, in sync with what she now recognized as Fleetwood Mac floating through the barely cracked door. A heady feeling overtook her as she started to roll her hips in time with the music despite being held tightly by Remus.

“You are trouble, fucking minx of witch,” he whispered, his voice pitched lower, and she could feel him start to harden against her stomach. She wasn’t sure what had taken over in the past 24 hours, but being with them was intoxicating. The way her magic seemed to blaze under her skin made every touch of theirs more pleasurable than she could have ever imagined.

She had enjoyed following Remus’s instructions last night, so when he moved to lift her thigh over his hip, pressing her center against his cock she let him. The indolent grind of her hips grew faster more purposeful, and Remus started to move in time with her. Brushing up against her, making her gasp.

She felt herself approaching the cliff of her pleasure, and she was ready to throw herself off, desperate for Remus to slip inside of her again, to stretch her past comfort. The words “please” escaped her lips as she tilted her hips, hoping he would push into her.

Remus had other plans, though, never giving in to her attempts to feel him, holding her tight against him, pushing harder against her, but never enough. Both were panting with want, clawing at each other, desperate for release, when they heard someone banging on the door.

“Sirius will get it,” Remus bit out, finally notching himself at her entrance, and she felt her heart stutter. The anticipation was almost enough to send her careering into an orgasm when they heard it, muffled by the music and the distance but still clear as day.

“Evans, why the fuck are you and Prongs here?”

_______

Remus debated murder, or really Moony did, as an adorable naked witch gasped and rolled away from him, frantically pulling on whatever clothes she could find. Sadly, realizing her’s had been vanished.

She shot him a very unimpressed glare as she fumbled around the room. She threw a faded Queen t-shirt of Sirius’s over her head and pulled a pair of Remus’s boxers up her legs. He caught just the quickest glance at the arse that had haunted his dreams all night.

She shot him an annoyed glance as she grabbed her wand and made her way to the door, looking down the hallway for guests. He didn’t realize how grave the situation might be till he heard James’s voice. “Well, her brothers said she didn’t come home last night, and Lily had already admitted to them she wasn’t at her flat. We tried floo calling you three times.”

“Fuck” Remus practically yelled into his pillow, and Hermione whimpered, any hope for discretion for their budding relationship squashed. Remus sat up and tried not to smirk as Hermione eyed his naked body while getting out of bed and slipping a pair of joggers on himself, not even bothering with a shirt. She looked up at him, a little hint of apprehension in her eyes, and Remus leaned down to kiss her, wishing he was still kissing her soft chest instead.

She leaned into him, seeming to want the same thing, and it took every ounce of control he had over Moony not to drag her back to the bed. “Come on, let’s call off the hunting party.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the doorway and down the hall, ignoring her squeak of protest at greeting their guests.

Sirius, the smug prick, was sitting at their table, grinning like a cat, ankle propped up on his knee, as he sipped a cup of coffee. Sometimes Remus wondered if he drank it instead of tea as a final fuck you to the poncey expectations of his family. Sirius was quiet, though, letting James and Lily plead their case. Something about a sign of life from Hermione when they walked in.

He had spent a lot of time with James and Lily over the years but never had seen such shock and awe on their faces. Gaping at the sight of disheveled Hermione, dressed in clothes so obviously not her own, presented to them like a horse at the fucking Great Yorkshire Show. “Good morning,” she said shyly, breaking their trance.

James turned on Lily, who already had her hand out, palm up, looking at him expectantly. James just huffed, staring at it as he said, “No, that’s bullshit. Marlene said get together. They’ve been dating for a week.”

It was Hermione’s turn to gape, her head whipping around as she looked back and forth at Sirius and Remus. Lily responded, “Not if she didn’t know. I’m not letting Marlene win this, either. If anything, I’d lie for Dorcas, certainly not you, James Potter.”

“What are they talking about?” Hermione looked at Remus, her expression concerningly blank. Remus knew those looks. Hermione wasn’t confused. She was testing him. She did not give away her pretenses while waiting for him to sink or swim. “What did Lily mean last week?”

It was Remus’s turn to be confused now, though, looking over her head at Sirius, who shared his sentiments. “Hermione, we have been courting you for a week? Your mother gave us her blessing.” He supplied, patiently waiting for her response.

“We can’t let them win! We are a team, Lils!” James continued bickering and whining, but Hermione stepped back. Looking around the room, analyzing the situation, her eyes darted around as the facts started to fall into place. She didn’t look scared or dazed like she had the last time, more miffed, her eyebrows scrunching as she considered the words. Lily mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like they weren’t a team till he proposed, and James turned to mush at her words.

Sirius was up in a flash, standing before her. “Did you really not know? Don’t be daft. I brought you lunch almost every day. Kitten, you are constantly looking for clues to save the world. You can't be that oblivious?”

“Oh Merlin,” Lily huffed, all eyes on Hermione now, their spat resolved, evident by the shiny galleons in Lily’s hand.

“I assumed you were flirting. Maybe we would start dating after last night, but courting? I’m not even a pureblood? Why would you do that?”

“Does that matter? It’s the same shit. Your mother asked us to be respectful of you?” Sirius said, a bit exasperated at her confusion.

“My mother doesn’t even know I exist, and she’s not even pregnant with me yet, Sirius. I don-” Hermione started, but Remus cut her off, sensing the spiral, how her eyes were beginning to glaze at the memory of all she had lost. Thinking of Leticia’s words about her, that they would need to wait for Hermione to recognize their love, just like she was.

But Remus wondered if maybe Hermione needed a little push. He turned his entire body, maneuvering till he was shoulder to shoulder with Sirius, a united front, and he felt a tinge of regret that he had to do this in front of Lily and James, but she was driving him and moony mad.

He didn’t mean to sound so tired, but as he stared at her, desperate for her to give them any hope that this was going somewhere, he started, “Hermione, why does it matter if we date or court? Why are you fighting this after yesterday? Leticia wants to be your mum. Just let her take care of you. We want to be with you. Lily and James and Marlene and Dorcas, and even crazy fucking Pandora wants to be your friend. I understand they aren’t your first friends, or their kids, or whatever you miss, but Merlin’s sake, could you open your eyes? Let us in just a little, and stop pushing us away whenever we get close.”

Hermione’s eyes were downcast as she whispered, “Pandora’s not crazy.”

Lily and James started to back away, noticing the turn of the conversation, the fight that seemed to be impending in their relationship for weeks. The two snuck into the living room. Giving the three of them a little privacy as they hashed these details out.

“That's what you took from that? Honestly, tell Sirius and me, what's the harm of trying? Of us courting you? Of Leticia mothering you? Letting Molly and the twins in more? If you stopped fighting this, you could fight for the future and not just the end. I think you’d be a lot less miserable if you did.” The jab seemed to pull her from the fog of confusion. He could see it in her eyes as she glowered at him, the want or rather need to fight back.

“How is any of that related?” He usually loved her defiant nature, her passion for dueling, and old books endearing. Right now, she looked a little barmy. “I am not miserable. I liked this past week. I just didn’t realize that we were moving so fast,” she growled back, stepping up to him, and Moony matched her.

She didn’t shrink back as he leaned down, getting at eye level. Remus wasn’t in the mood to let her avoid or use her naivety to escape this. They were at a precipice, a cliff they had been inching towards since she walked in on them at the bar. They had finally made it past the edge last night, and now they couldn’t go back, not without doing this.

He tried to keep his voice calm, focusing on facts and avoiding putting the frustration he felt into what he said, but the words he chose couldn't hide the bubbling feelings. “You aren’t? You don’t spend all your time reading depressing shit on dark magic? Are you in fear of being figured out by Death Eaters?” He tried to pause after each question to see if she would challenge his accusations, but she didn’t. He was relieved that she wouldn’t lie to him and decided he wouldn’t either.

“That you don’t fade away in conversation when you think of your old friends? Fuck Hermione, you did it last night while we were fucking you. I saw it. You glazed over before continuing. Did they approve? Is that what you need?”

Hermione stared at him, her jaw set and watery, angry eyes. His gaze caught on the purple mark forming under her chin, and, for a moment, he wished he could be transported back to last night when everything had been perfect as he and Sirius left them all over her.

But it had to be said that if they didn’t do this now, they’d be in this cycle of euphoria and panic until it ate them alive. He was sure Lily planned on tearing into him for the delivery, but it was time, and she either needed to run away or try to commit.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I’d give you whatever you want if I knew,” she said, exasperated at this argument. He couldn’t blame her. Moony was fucking sick of it, too, clawing and prowling in annoyance. He wished he could tell the beast to sod off and see this was their only option.

“Kitten, we just want you to try and accept some of what people want to give you. I mean, shit, you are like a bear trap with secrets. You haven’t told anyone but Remus that your magic has been off. Or that you were being blackmailed to work with Peter? You don’t talk about important or small things unless we make you. We don’t even know your birthday!” Sirius had started calmly, but as the words flowed, he grew more passionate, hiding his annoyance in a joking huff at the end.

Her eyes were back on the floor again, her arm across her chest as she fiddled with the t-shirt sleeve when she said, “September 19th.” Remus clocked the guilt in words just as the truth of what she said landed.

A choking noise of surprise came from both of them before Sirius asked, “What?”

“My birthday is September 19th.”

“And you didn’t tell us? Why? You knew we liked you, and we would want to spend time with you.” Remus leaned down to hold her cheeks, trying to implore how much it hurt that they couldn’t be there.

“I didn’t want to bother. It was right after the ring, and I asked for space. It’s really okay, I celebrated with the Prewetts.”

“Your family. You celebrated with people who love you and hid it from your friends. You didn't even tell me on my birthday, and I was in your bed!” Lily’s gasp of surprise could be heard from the other room. She apparently didn’t know that, and Remus wanted to groan at the trail of crumbs she had given each of them.

It appeared Hermione had heard enough, though, her finger pointing at Sirius’s chest, the victim of her tirade since he was the last to challenge her. “What do you want me to say? That I'm afraid. The idea that I will dissolve away like dust one day keeps me up at night? That I miss my best friends? I can't even talk about them because the idea of them makes everyone uncomfortable. I'm confused because I know a lot about you and nothing simultaneously. That this whole thing rests on me? That despite everyone's help, it's always me?”

She started pacing the room, and Remus felt the guilt of what he had forced out of her, sitting heavy on his chest. He hadn’t meant to push her that far, but when his eyes met Sirius’s, he felt like he could read his mind.

How much was Hermione hiding? And how heavy was the burden of her secrets?

“Are you happy now? You got me. I thought last night was proof that I was ready for this, but I must bleed myself dry to prove myself. I'm scared. I’m more than scared, terrified. I’ve spent seven years fighting a war, only had one stupid muggle boyfriend, before being tortured and ending up here. I don’t know what I’m doing trying to save the world, but I have two- I’m not even sure- boyfriends? Lovers? Courters? So there it is.” Her arms were wide as she looked at them as if to ask what else they wanted from her.

Remus released a discontented sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated at how poorly this was going. He wanted to have a nice cup of tea and lay it out in a neatly organized fashion. Not rip open old scabs and leave their wounds raw. “No, that's not what we want. We want to be there for you so you don't have to take all that on alone. I want you to try and let us in. More than kisses and jokes. Or when you need something. We want to be there for you.”

“I'm not sure I know how to do that.” She sighed and looked tired—a kind of weary that was bone-deep from years of fighting and carrying secrets not only of herself but also of others. No pensieve could relieve a person of that stress.

“Well, then we can work together. Hermione, no one will deny that you have done so much, and life has dealt you a terribly hard hand. But let us be gentle with you.” Remus wonders if this is how raw Hermione always feels. He hasn’t even said anything about himself, but the weight of what they are doing scrapes against his soul, and he wants nothing more than to hold her, cradle her against him, and protect her from every harsh word and storm they may face.

He can see the changing tides of her emotions at his ask. It’s so simple what they want. He’s surprised to see her anger starting to retreat deep in her as she relents, realizing how simple it is when she steps away from the eye of the storm. “I won't be good at it. It’s going to take time, but I can try. I’m tired of fighting this. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“There is nothing to apologize for. Letting us in is all I ask.” he's nervous and tentative as he reaches out. His gut filled with relief when she leaned into his touch, and he wrapped his arms around her. Sirius wasn’t far behind, and before he knew it, Lily and James had scampered from the other room and piled on, too. She didn’t cry. She just breathed, taking them all in, and while Moony was huffing his frustration at Remus’s goading of Hermione, he seemed to revel at having his mates and pack so close.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually, they broke apart. Hermione lingered close to him and Sirius. He couldn’t place what, but something else had shifted. Not just her emotions, but it felt like his magic had finally settled like it had been unrest his whole life. It was as if he had never known a world where he could be so relaxed just by having her and Sirius’s acceptance at that exact moment.

James, of course, was the one to break the silence. “Soooooo, does that mean you are all dating?” He started, but Lily huffed, sending a stinging hex to his behind, and James’s hands flew to cover himself. “Godric’s sake, woman, watch for the bollocks. Don’t you want to have kids someday?”

Remus felt immense relief when Hermione chuckled. Neither wizard answered, both looking down at her, waiting for her to decide on their titles. She looked back and forth as she tugged her lip between her teeth, “I think I like dating more than courting.”

“Thank fucking Merlin, Evans Prongs, get the fuck out,” Sirius bellows in relief, moving to lift Hermione up by her waist and disappearing with her down the hall. Lily had the sense to look a little guilty for having been an intruder in the entire conversation, but James just looked proud and gleeful.

Sadly, he had to ruin it by opening his big, grinning mouth. “So what are you going to tell the twins?”

______

The second, Sirius, sets Hermione down. She’s walking back out their bedroom door. “Where do you think you are going?” He complains, wanting nothing more than to lock her into the room and make her feel better. To celebrate the wins from the last hour with their mouths, but Hermione seemed dead set on leaving him hanging.

“Sirius, we have more things to talk about!” She huffed, and he couldn’t help but find it cute, like a little grumpy cat, all fur with her morning mused hair. Lily and James were thankfully saying their goodbyes by the time they returned to the kitchen. Evans stole Hermione for a brief moment, wrappin each other in a giant hug, whispering promises that he was sure were better left between witches.

Prongs slapped him and Moony on the shoulders,laughing a bit, but Remus looked a little pale. Thankfully, the intruders at the floo in no time, and Sirius wondered if he could convince Hermione to crawl back into bed with them to talk, when James called out before leaving “Can’t wait to see the big debut tonight!”

“What’s tonight?” He asked, to distracted by his plans for Hermione and Remus’s bodies that day.

Hermione yanked him from his daydreams, answering him, “Well, there's an Order meeting tonight. I’m assuming he’s talking about us being public at it.”

Sirius nods his understanding, unsure why they are expected to announce it. She’ll be arriving with them, won't she? But as he looks closer at her, the queen shirt he loves dearly painfully thin against her, and what he thinks might be Remus’s pants, he sees the issue.

She’s going to have to go home, and he wishes he could just move all of her shit in now, but that would probably freak her out and send her packing. Remus damn near had to permanently stick her to the floor to get her to accept that they were dating moments ago.

“Well, you sat by us last time. I don’t see any issue with continuing that.” He arched an eyebrow at her, challenging her to disagree. She just nodded, and he thought they were done—a perfect little plan until Remus started in.

“I think the issue is that you missed a family dinner last night and didn’t tell anyone where you were.”

“Shit,” Hermione gasps, and Sirius can’t help the laugh that roars out of him. He’s never heard her curse except in those wretched memories of hers. She turns to look at him, faux anger in her eyes. “I did tell them I would be late, ugh I am never going to hear the end of this”

He isn’t sure why it sparks a memory, but the word late rings in his ears as she continues on about how much the twins will heckle her. All he can hear though is Marls joking about never being late again now that she has Cas. He turns to Remus, his eyes comically wide, and Remus pauses his sip to evaluate him.

Sirius has maintained a pretty calm demeanor, all things considered, this morning, but this makes his heart race. Remus looks at him impatiently, and finally, he says it, almost embarrassed to talk about such things in the light of day and not in the cover of night between kisses and feverish touches.

He usually never has a problem with being brash, talking about his desires, and making a lewd joke here and there, but now, as he stares down the frightening fate, reality strikes, and it makes him nervous.

“Contreceptive charm.” He all but croaks, and Remus freezes, turning to look back at Hermione.

“Can we please stop talking about things I don’t know today?” she almost playfully whines, unaware of the importance of this moment.

“Remus, please tell me you cast it last night.” Remus just shakes his head, no, and Sirius can’t even be mad. They’re just as bad as Marlene. What need did they have for it until Hermione crash-landed into their lives?

“You two are starting to freak me out again, and I’ve barely recovered from the whiplash of this morning. Can someone tell me what's going on” He wishes he could kiss her and compliment her on how hard she obviously trying to communicate now, but the fuck up of a lifetime is staring them dead in the eye, and he hates having to add more on to her after she laid all her struggles out before them.

Sirius decides humor is the best way to combat this beast of an issue. Coughing to clear his throat, he starts, “Well, Hermione, when a wizard loves a witch very much,.”

Remus kicks him, hissing, “Pads, this is serious.”

“Trust me, I know! Hermione, we didn’t cast a contraceptive charm last night, and well, we all know how Remus ended his night.”

“Don’t you blame this on me, you were there too,” Remus mutters. They both watch as understanding but not fear crosses her features. She nods for them to continue, but Sirius isn’t sure what else there is to say.

As the silence grows awkward, Sirius is confident he can see the twist of a smile starting on her lips. He debates internally if they have hitched their wagon to an insane witch. She is a time traveler. Maybe that scrambled her brain if she wasn’t worried about this issue.

She finally decides to put them out of their misery, explaining, “I’m on the muggle implant. I got it last summer before we went on the run. But it won't last forever. I probably need to talk to Leticia.” Her tone is formal as if she is talking about pruning flowers, not their potential bastard baby.

Sirius isn’t exactly sure what that means, but he’s too relieved to ask any more questions.“Oh, thank fucking Merlin, I’m not ready to be a dad,” he sighs in relief, and something strange and hungry passes through Moony’s eyes.

There is more gold than hazel, so he knows it's the wolf, and Sirius finds himself desperate to know what he’s thinking. He wonders if it has anything to do with the animalistic need he currently has to taste Hermione until she’s nothing but a puddle before putting this muggle implant, whatever it is, to the test.

He is disappointed when he does not get to taste Hermione again before following her through the floo to the old seaside cottage not even half an hour before the order meeting. The rest of the afternoon, she worked out the details of their relationships with military precision. A lot of rules if you ask him, and he’s never been good at following rules.

There wasn’t much time before the meeting, but they wanted to keep their alone time with the twins short. No one was ready for that battle until she spoke to Leticia and Molly and had them on their side. When they arrived, the cottage was eerily quiet, and the sound of the ocean was fainter than the last time he was here.

Sirius and Remus waited by the floo as Hermione ran to her room to change quickly. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” she called before disappearing. No sooner than her last curl had left the room did Fabian and Gideon step out of the kitchen.

“Lupin,” one said, and the other added, “Black.” They didn’t look particularly menacing, but Sirius knew enough about their prowess as aurors. Stories of their ability to fight like one were heralded across the department.

Sirius nodded his greeting, pretending to look at the inlaid shells that decorated the walls. He hoped that maybe they had a little luck after the success of last night and this morning, but Sirius Black was not known for good things happening to him.

“Where’s Hermione?” one of them asked. The air in the room grew stagnant, and Sirius realized someone had silenced the room. He wasn’t nervous; he had the common sense that they wouldn’t maim someone on their own side of a war, but he wasn’t so bold as to think they would make this easy. Funny that Hermione thought they didn’t love her, when they were clearly here to defend her.

Remus managed to respond, and Sirius had no idea if he was as apprehensive about this interaction as he was or how he was able to imbue such a friendly lilt as if they hadn’t defiled the witch in their care last night. “Hullo, she ran off to her room, changing and grabbing a few things before the meeting.”

“Grabbing a few things? Bit presumptuous of you?” He thinks it’s Gideon who asks. Sirius can’t remember which one is the calm one. Fuck he should have talked to Charlus more.

“I would never presume it was her idea,” Remus says, and Sirius thinks he can see a flash of gold in his eyes. That’s the last thing they need is fucking Moony prostering around.

Fabian, or whoever he guesses, rolls his shoulders, and Sirius didn’t know the action could be threatening. It's like he’s loosening his muscles for a brawl as he speaks, “Glad to see you two can be so nice to her. Wonder what changed since June. Child Bride, wasn’t it? I think the implication was something else, Black.”

“I am never going to live that down, am I?” The words are out of his mouth before he can even think about containing them, and Remus shoots him a glare that says he needs to shut the fuck up or get out.

“Do you think you should?” Gideon asks, “Did you apologize to her? What about when you splinched her? Or used her as bait to harass that traitor you called a friend?” Sirius freezes at that.

“That's the beauty of being twins, you see. With two sets of eyes, we see a lot of things.” Sirius isn’t sure what else they could have seen, but thinking about all the possibilities makes him nervous. He isn’t a perfect wizard by any standards. The tainted blood in his body is enough to send him to the gallows most days.

Fabian joins in then, “I don’t think we need to list all the things we could do if we see anything we don’t like.”

Gideon opens his mouth to say more, but Hermione comes running back into the room, bare feet slapping on the floor as she jumps around, trying to slip her feet into a pair of trainers. She stops suddenly, one leg suspended in the air as she takes in the standoff. She shrewdly examines each of them. “Well, looks like you two did whatever you wanted to do.”

“Who are you talking to, Fab and I, or those two?”

She considers for a second, finally lowering her foot and stomping her heel into the shoe. Like a toddler, imperious to the tension in the room, “I guess both are applicable.” She shrugs before throwing a jumper over her head, and Sirius smirks when he realizes the little witch has knicked it from Remus. Remus seems to notice too, his eyes practically glowing as the material brushes against the tops of her thighs.

She ignores the mix of heated stares and looks of concern as she practically skips toward the floo. Looking over her shoulder, she gives them an imploring look, waiting for them to follow her to the meeting.

The meeting starts as it usually does, with updates on raids and a concerning mention of something called revels. The word makes Hermione twitch, and Sirius rubs his thumb against the back of her neck, trying to calm her. They may not have made a formal announcement when they walked into the room together, but the implication was obvious enough. Marlene immediately bounded towards them, chatting and hugging Hermione and him. She explained that Evans had already told them.

Sirius tried not to roll his eyes at the game of tag his friends were playing with the information. Dorcas just smirked, watching Marl's excitement at the whole thing. She joined Remus in a groan when she asked what shaggin two blokes at the same time was like.

There are more grim announcements, and a plan for everyone to start being called to these attacks to fight makes his stomach twist. He knew eventually, they would all have to face battle. Hermione made it seem like it had always been that way for her. But something about the idea of her and Remus being called to duel his family beside him was nauseating. He tries not to think of the deranged Bella she showed them months ago and wonders how hard it will be for Andy to face her, potentially even Narcissa.

Earlier, Andy had only given him a cool smile, but that was the most he could ask for from her. She’d never been overly affectionate, but she would have let him know if she didn’t approve, just like she had down with her own sisters years ago.

The meeting had seemed tame other than the ever-increasing need for combat as the war grew more and more violent. Dorea had cornered him afterward, wanting to speak about Christmas day, and for the first time all evening, he found himself not touching Hermione or Remus in some way.

But now, as Dorea asked him what Pinky should cook for him and what he was getting Hermione, he realized that Remus was also distracted, talking to the Longbottoms about something across the room, and that Hermione was alone speaking with Dumbledore and Peter.

____

The old wizard was much too excited to see her for Hermione’s taste, and she knew whatever he had in mind for her was going to be a damper on her mostly pleasant day. She couldn’t describe the relief of finally having decided what she, Remus, and Sirius were, and while she still felt the sting of some of their comments about how she behaved, it was better than the unknown they had been in.

She was not so misguided that whatever path between the three of them and her ever-growing circle were on would be easy, but as the tales of the war grew more and more harrowing during the meeting, it was a relief to know that her people were closer than before. She was still putting their concerns about the Prewetts from her mind, not ready to face the truth there. She never doubted the Prewetts loved her, but the guilt of loving them and missing her family was not a bridge she felt ready to cross yet. Sirius and Remus were enough of a handful for now.

Her greater concern currently had her backed into a corner, Peter just looked at her, a timid smile on his face, while Dumbledore had that signature twinkle, excitement dancing across his eyes as he spoke. “Miss Gr-Prewett, I was delighted to see you could join us again tonight. Your work for The Order is an asset.”

She mumbled a thank you while nodding, waiting for him to continue. In the weeks since her visit to him for tea, Hermione had grown more and more troubled by the occurrences of her childhood. The path that led her, Harry, and Ron into danger so many times. At first, when she arrived in 1978, she was only angry he had never told anyone about the Horcruxes or who Voldemort really was.

Now, everything seemed to point back at him. The troll from her first year, no one knowing about the Basilik or the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius having to go on the run and never being cleared, Remus being left alone for years, the Triwizard tournament, how Mary had no death record but was not an order member, that horrid book Skeeter had written about him after his death, even his own death at Snape’s hands felt off.

The hairs on her neck prickled at the idea that bloomed in her mind. Being an asset to The Order meant being a pawn in his game. And she wasn’t sure what his end goal was, but she felt ill at all the options.

He did not seem to sense her growing distrust, though, as he continued, “Peter has informed me that he who-should-not-be-named and his followers have been practicing some of those darker spells you spoke about. I hope I am not asking too much of you, but since you appear to be better and will soon be patrolling with Mr. Pettigrew, I believe it would be best if you helped us practice defense against some of them.”

“I am happy to help in any way I can, but I regret to inform you I do not have experience casting those spells, Professor,” She said coldly, unsure why he would ask her and not someone from the DMLE.

She did not have to wait long for an answer, though. “You see, my dear, dark spells like that can leave a mark on those who cast them and those who receive them. You are aware that you carry such a trace of dark magic, aren’t you?” Hermione nodded, and she thought for a moment that she could feel the trickling of magic through her veins, starting at the mangled half-word carved on her arm.

“I do not wish to expose more to such magic if I do not have to. Since you have already experienced these effects, I think it would be the safest option for everyone else, and Peter has also agreed. His mark bears a similar residue.” He said it as if asking her if she wanted milk in her tea, the false narrative that she had the option to say no. It was then that she realized their conversation had garnered an audience.

Everyone present seemed to be watching her reaction with bated breath. Would she continue to help them, or would that stain on her magic that he had revealed to all push her to the dark? She wasn’t left with much of a choice.

She tried not to grit her teeth as she answered him, a placid smile on her face, but her eyes boring into his, her challenge to his question unwavering as she said, “If you think it is best.”

Chapter Text

Lily Evans loved James Potter, she really did, but he was an absolute furnace while he slept. His black hair was rumpled and sweaty, stuck to his forehead as he lay face down on the bed. She wasn’t sure how he did that either, sucking air through a pillow. Maybe it was why his skin felt hot enough to cook on.

Despite his resting body temperature being 1000 degrees Celsius, she did love watching him sleep. Maybe it was odd, but there was something magical about seeing someone like him so calm. She loved how genial he was, the most caring person she knew, with a heart so big she wondered if it was heavy to carry around in his chest all day. That was likely a better theory as to why he laid face-down.

But when he slept next to her, he was so calm. Gone was the posturing and constant laughter. Left was just a sweet, good-hearted man dreaming of the future. She hoped that future included her, he had told her as much since their third year, but as death seemed to loom closer every day, it was only human to worry. She brushed the hair from his brow with gentle fingers and smiled, envisioning the boy Hermione had shown them. Harry, the near-perfect image of James, and that made her heart clench.

She would do anything for James and apparently did everything for Harry, too. It was the thought of him and the hope for more one day with James that made her slip from the bed. She kept her steps light, trying not to wake him. She wasn’t sure why she tried. The wizard was the deepest sleeper she had ever met.

With one final look over her shoulder at him, she slipped through her bedroom door, into the small apartment she shared with Mary, and snuck into the living room. There, hidden in a copy of Potions Quartly, which Leticia had graciously let her borrow, was a letter she needed to respond to.

She knew James would not have approved of her writing to him, but as Hermione and she had discovered how difficult these Horcruxes would be to defeat, she was left with no choice. Severus responded almost immediately, and thus, their covert messaging had started. She was no fool; she knew it was just as dangerous for him to write to her, but he had indulged her questions nonetheless.

The first letter was brief, asking him what he knew of fiendfyre. He had not even greeted her in his response, and she assumed it was to protect her identity, but she would not hold his coldness against him. It had been a long time coming, and she had severed their connection over a year ago, only to rekindle it out of the blue.

He had sent her the names of some texts that spoke of controlling fiendfyre, but the texts had been grim. Seldom few could do it, and it was best done by the original caster. She had written and asked if he had ever seen it, and he said he had and that he did not wish to see it again. The warning was clear, he did not need fancy language when speaking to a childhood friend. Whatever they were planning with fiendfyre was a bad idea.

She ignored his warning, sending her ideas for a potion to counteract it. That’s when he had sent her the last note, just the words think muggle and a newspaper clipping from the second world war, depicting aeroplanes dropping bombs across western Europe.

Ice had flooded her veins, and her skin still broke out in gooseflesh as she considered the multiple implications of his note. She immediately hid it in the magazine, not letting Hermione see the horrid truth he had proposed. Were these death eaters thinking muggle? Making magical bombs to drop on unsuspecting nonwizarding communities? It almost made her laugh, so high and mighty, hating her because of her blood but stealing muggle ideas. If they were, would they be using fiendfyre to do so? It was a chilling thought, but it was her only hope.

If they could do it, so could she. The idea was both simple and overly complicated at the same time. Find a way to contain fiendfyre and control it like a flash bomb. An oxymoron when she thought about it too hard, but it was the closest she had ever gotten to finding a way to destroy these things and not setting the entire country on magical fire.

The only other option was to create a potion that mimicked Basilisk venom. Hermione had said that could destroy a Horcrux, but they had no way to get to the supposed sleeping monster in the castle without alerting the Headmaster. Lily had to push the thoughts of him out of her mind.

Too much angry curiosity about who he was fighting for would distract her from her current task. She once thought only Slughorn collected wizards and witches like trinkets, but the more time she spent with Hermione and observing meetings, the more she realized he, too, collected people of value. At least Slughorn wasn’t sending them to their deaths.

She focused back on her thoughts of the Basilisk, praying that Severus might have an idea as she wrote him. She hated having to do it while James was in the flat, to hide it from him, but she couldn't risk him knowing about Severus until she could prove that he was working with them and had helped. It was really James's fault. His childhood games turned to such hatred and the fact that he never seemed to sleep at his own home anymore.

She scribbled quickly, hoping to be done before Mary returned home from her Mungo’s shift. It wasn’t her best penmanship, but the idea poured out of her. Imitation Basilisk Venom? Need to be just as potent. She had started to write the words cursed objects but stopped herself. Her quill was bleeding onto the torn scrap of parchment, but she couldn’t tell him of the Horcruxes, not yet, at least. Maybe if she was lucky, the Slytherins they had allied themselves with already had, and he could put two and two together.

She quickly sealed the letter, an extra sticking charm, hoping only Severus would be able to open it, and ran to the window. To the little brown barn owl that Mary had brought with her. She offered it a small treat as she whispered, the only sound she made all morning, “Spinner’s End,” and watched it fly away. Such an inconspicuous little bird, dull and plain, carrying messages that might be the end of a war. She wondered if it was poetic or pathetic. She decided on poetic, she had always been a romantic at heart.

James had woken sometime later, and since he did not ask why Lily was awake, she did not tell him, letting him gather her into his arms and melt into his scalding embrace. They didn’t have long, though. Rushing to dress after a few stolen kisses, they made their way to Prewett Manor.

The day felt heavier than others, not only because of her letter writing but also because they would have to face their former headmaster. Lily had watched Hermione dodge interaction after interaction with him, but she could no longer outrun these Order training sessions. They had been a good idea; Lily liked the little bit of exercise, and she did not hate watching James show off his new Auror moves.

She had initially found the badminton courts on the Prewett estate a bit out of place, but when Molly and Leticia had explained that the Prewetts had once been friends with the British Royal family, some of their blood even mixed in with their own, it made more sense. Their grounds were used to entertaining muggle aristocracy, and now Lily Evans from little Cokeworth was a regular guest.

She felt a bit of smug pride at the idea that Victoria and Albert had eaten at the same table she had left sticky fingerprints on. She kept those thoughts to herself, though, as James sidealonged her onto the courts, a strong warming charm in place.

These sessions followed the same system, someone from the DMLE gave a brief lesson on defense and offense techniques, and then they paired up to duel, trying to use said technique. There was usually lots of chatter, light-hearted brackets, and betting, but today was somber.

In a far corner, Peter and Dumbledore stood with Alastor Moody, another leader who had not previously joined them. She tried not to let the distinct lack of Charlus or Mr. McKinnon make her nervous and found herself slipping her hand into James’s, searching for reassurance. Defense had never been her strongest subject. While she knew all the spells and motions, she would never be a natural athlete.

She wasn’t physically strong with never-ending endurance like Marlene and Dorcas from their days on the quidditch pitch or graceful and smooth like Andromeda had been the day she attended, treating the duel like an elaborate ballroom dance. Hell, she wasn’t even quick or spry. Like Mary was, her healer’s reflexes were automatic. Lily was just average, and it drove her insane.

She’d never seen Hermione duel, though, except for the few glimpses in her memories. Remus said she was a natural, with magic radiating from her, and Lily tried not to focus on what they might be saying about her magical skill. She was better than Peter, at least.

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she found herself standing near her friends. The witches of the group formed a circle to themselves as the plan for the day was devised. She was pleasantly surprised to see Molly had joined them, free from the red-headed gaggle that seemed to follow her everywhere.

She had secretly hoped her kids might share her red hair, but Hermione’s Harry had been blessed with James’s wild black mop. Hermione’s words from the past week echoed in her head at the thought. That no one wanted to hear about her friends. Lily had cried to James over them, she knew they were true, and he had made it worse, saying he wanted to know everything about him. She couldn’t blame him, he was so hopeful, he never thought about the cost of war.

She didn’t want to know about Harry, a boy who may or may not exist, and all the ways she would have failed him. She still did not know how she could separate the thought of her child from the idea of Hermione’s war hero friend. She tucked the thoughts deep into her mind. Today was not the day, and she and James could bicker about it later. She joined them mid-conversation, trying to catch up.

“All I’m saying, Hermione, is that I have never seen athletic wear like that,” Dorcas grinned, motioning towards Hermione's spandex shorts.

“I swear I saw Princess Diana in something like this before I went on the run! It was very popular, all over the stupid tabloids.” she worked on plaiting her hair, trying to tame it, and Lily couldn’t blame her. She wondered if it had accidentally caught a spell before.

“Princess, who?” Marlene asked from where she stretched on the floor, a mirror image of James a few meters away. Lily tried not to snicker at the similarities between the childhood friends.

“Diana? Charles's wife?” She supplied, looking around confused. It clicked for Lily, then.

“Hermione Charles isn’t married yet, but whatever you say. Where’d you get that quidditch kit, though it looks -” Hermione turned around before she could finish, and Lily cracked up, the name Black stitched across the top. The thing looked like one gust of wind would cause it to unravel, and before her was a 20-year-old version of the same kit she had seen Sirius wear for years.

“Oh my Godric, Hermione, how did you get that?” She giggled, impressed and surprised by its existence, shocked that it would have survived that long.

Hermione turned back around, her face light, and Lily wished she could always look like that. Cheerful and grinning, she looked impish, like a 19-year-old should. “I found it in my bag. We took it from Grimmauld when we were on the run, grabbing any clothes available. When Sirius put his on this morning, I thought it would be funny.”

“Cas, we have to switch kits sometime!” Marlene interjected.

“Marls, you would never wear Slytherin green.” Marlene just gushed at her, continuing about something.

Molly’s eyes perked up, though, examining Hermione and Sirius in the distance with sharp interest. Her mouth pursed as she spoke, “Hermione, are you saying you saw Sirius put his shirt on this morning?”

Cas and Marls paused their flirting, turning their heads in slow motion to look at Hermione, who was currently the same shade of red as the shirt she was wearing. Molly’s proud grin was brilliant as she continued, “Hmmm, very interesting. It would appear you had taken the next step with two very handsome wizards and spent the night. Did you tell Mum?”

Lily couldn’t help but clarify for Hermione, who had been so tight-lipped about her time alone with Remus and Sirius. “Molly, I think you might be mistaken. They took that step almost a week ago when James and I found her wearing a very raggedy queen t-shirt in their kitchen.”

“You don’t say. Tell us, Mione. Are you sleeping at the cottage at all anymore?”

“Oh my gods, I did not come back in time to be harassed by two red-headed devils!”

“Interesting response, Molly. If I didn’t know better, I would say she avoided your question.” Cas and Marlene were in full-on hysterics at this point, Marlene was bent over laughing as she added, “Don’t worry, I recognized Remus’s jumper on her at the Order meeting. It seems she likes to keep a souvenir.”

“I am going to hex all of you if you don’t stop it,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder at the Mauraders.

“No need! I am actually going to pop over to the other side of the court. I need to talk to Andromeda and Alice about a few galleons,” Molly said with a wink before scurrying off, and Hermione huffed.

“Did everyone have a bet going?”

“Yes,” the three remaining witches said at the same time.

_____

For all the fun she had been having at the start, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as the lesson began. Fabian and Gideon demonstrated shields, lobbing curses back and forth to show how to strengthen and recast quickly. It all seemed like good fun till Sirius stepped up behind her, pretending to be getting a closer look but whispering just for her to hear, “Don’t let him see how strong you are. Don’t do what you did at the shack.”

She had already had the same thought but found herself leaning back into his chest, relaxing at the idea that he shared the sentiment. She would be good, but she wouldn’t be the best. The end goal was to get through this without having to play with too much dark magic. She rested against him, letting his touch calm her, the familiar buzz of his magic soothe her for whatever the afternoon held.

Sweat had worked its way into her braids, dripping down her forehead as she worked with Ted first. He was surprisingly strong, his somewhat goofy demeanor serving as a false lead to the deadly accuracy he possessed. He’d hit her twice now. One, she had let pass to keep up the facade, and the other had been his own strength. They were gearing up for another round when Dumbledore interrupted, his voice filling the court, calling out for her.

“Miss Prewett, you could please join Peter and I.” Ted looked at her apprehensively, and she offered him a forced smile in return, the best she had. She didn’t even look for Remus and Sirius, too afraid to see the concern in their eyes. It would only make her growing nerves worse. Or distracted with the memories of the past week. Of all the things they had taught her and teased her with, being gentle with her as they memorized each other’s bodies. She needed to be focused on this, and they were too much of a distraction.

It felt like kilometers as she trudged over to them. Dumbledore appeared as he always did, regal in pale lavender robes, while Peter was red-faced and out of breath. She wanted to feel bad for him but quickly remembered why they were there. The only difference was that Peter had chosen his infection, and she had been cursed with hers.

“I think we should start small, maybe a cruciatus? From both of you at the same time? It seems likely we may be outnumbered.” Hermione shivered at the idea of casting the curse that still stole hours of her sleep—the curse that haunted her dreams and caused her to twitch when she sat for too long.

She knew this would be a physical test but hadn’t considered the mental load. The image of her throwing the red light, just as mad-looking as Bellatrix had, or growling foully as the LeStrange brothers had when they pointed their wands at her. She looked over at Peter again, who also looked uncomfortable.

Could someone as weak-minded as him even complete such a spell? She didn’t have time to think about it as Dumbledore stepped away. When he was finally far enough, he nodded only once. She stole one last glance at Peter, and to her surprise, he had squared his shoulders, the ruddy crimson of his cheeks deeper than before. Without a pause, he threw his wand arm forward, screaming the curse, “CRUCIO!”

She was quick to keep up, her feet locking into place as she mimicked him, her arm trembling as her nerves absorbed the shock of power hurtling from her wand. Dumbledore blocked them easily, knowing they were coming. It wasn’t just a test of strength, she realized. He was showing the crowd gathered around them that he was capable of evading two dark curses at once.

The thought enraged her. Was that his endgame? To make himself look strong and invincible against two teenagers? She felt her hair crackle and spark as he gave the next set of instructions, cutting hexes. Hermione could do that. She didn’t wait for Peter to start this time. She began firing, sending them to different corners of his shield, trying to push him to drop it or move it enough that she might strike.

Someone called for a ceasefire as she unleashed a particularly wicked Sectumsempra, and she bit her tongue, breathing through her nose to contain the battered breaths that wanted to escape her lungs. Dumbledore said something about moving targets, asking if they wanted to try and deflect, and Hermione had a thought—a memory—of Harry.

Harry Potter refused to use dark curses and hexes that caused damage, and his own use of Sectumsempra haunted him for months. Harry, her best friend, was so pure of heart that he didn’t want to kill the death eaters they faced. He wanted to disarm them.

Dumbledore promised to go easy on them, that battling two opponents at once would be a significant task for even him, and Hermione smiled, her plan brewing in her mind. She couldn’t even control herself as the words tumbled out of her. “Do your worst,” and she thought for one fleeting moment he was considering it.

Despite his age, he moved quickly, starting with Peter, who yelped in pain, the sleeve of his white shirt turning red with blood. Hermione tried to maintain her composure, seeming unfazed when she whispered, “Distract him.”

She wasn’t sure if Peter heard, but he continued firing back. She placed a few shield charms around him and her, dropping them for show now and then, letting Dumbledore inch closer, believing he had the upper hand. Peter’s curses grew more vicious, his defensive moves becoming attacks, and she knew her moment was soon.

Distracted by Peter’s change in demeanor, Dumbledore didn’t expect her next move. He might have known she was lying about her skill or strength, but he didn’t realize she was cunning. He didn’t know that once, many years ago, a particular hat of his tried to put her in Slytherin, and like a snake in the desert, she had created a trap, hidden in her den, waiting for him to step into it.

He was only a few meters away when she struck, throwing her wand to her nondominant hand as she called out, her palm facing him, “Expelliarmus!”

No sooner than the word left her mouth, all her power and might in the spell did the pale wand fly from his hands, landing in hers almost perfectly. She could hear the collective gasp of everyone watching her, and a greedy feeling of satisfaction bubbled up in her, spilling out of her with a laugh.

Dumbledore stared at her dumbfounded. His shock wore into fear, an expression she had never seen from the old wizard before. It made the laughter grow stronger, hysterical that she could have done this, that she could have disarmed one of the greatest wizards of all time. He hid his feelings quickly, turning a placid smile towards her, and something about the cool expression was more terrifying than the anger she had seen in his features before.

“Well done, Miss Prewett! A great example of defensive work. Now, if you could please relinquish my wand,” The command in his voice was evident, contradictory to the smile he wore. It gave her pause.

The thrum of magic pulsating from the wand felt more natural than her own. It was alarming how good it felt to hold another wizard’s wand. She hadn’t felt that way since she was 11 and had first gotten hers. It was akin to the euphoria she felt with Remus and Sirius.

She gripped it tighter, something deep inside compelling her not to turn it over. Peter tensed beside her as he looked at the wand in her hand. She tried not to flinch when he whispered, “Don’t relinquish. It’s made of elder.”

Her body ran hot and cold at his implication. She thought of Xenophilius Lovegood, his pale blonde hair, and his shiny silver necklace reminiscent of the wood she beheld. She remembered the book in her bag, the runes mixed with the same symbol. She thought of the supposed affair of Grindelwald and Dumbledore that Skeeter had so callously described in her awful memoir. The memories blurring together, pointing to one unfathomable answer.

It wasn’t a fairytale, a lullaby for school children. She was holding it. She had won it from Albus Dumbledore. She was its master—the elder wand.

Dumbledore moved quickly towards her, and thankfully, Sirius and Remus stepped up, flanking her sides. “Miss Prewett, it is rude not to return a wand to its rightful owner,” he said, and she felt Remus slide his arm around her waist, half in support and the other in defense. Ready to throw her behind him at any given moment.

Sirius responded for her, and she was grateful he was buying her time. “You know, in ancient times, if you won a duel, you did keep your opponent's wand.” He said it as a joke, but Hermione could have basked in the cold fire that burned in his metallic eyes.

“We are not in ancient times now, are we, Mr. Black?” He spat Sirius’s name like it tasted of ash, and she considered using her newfound wand to hex him for such a slight. She could already feel the power of such a tool filling her, overflowing her core as Sirius and Remus stood so close.

She turned her gaze to Dumbledore. Her smile was saccharine, her tone sticky and sweet, covering the poison she knew her words contained, the knowledge he wished she didn’t have. “I will let you borrow it, but I will remain its master.”

“You do not relinquish it?” He questioned, caught off guard. Good, she thought, he should know she was full of surprises.

“No”

“So be it, Miss Prewett, I have others. It appears you have earned it. Let us hope you can keep it.” She was shaking when Sirius and Remus directed her back towards their friends with looks of astonishment and alarm. She caught a few of the older members around her looking on concerningly. The rush of the moment started to settle, and she could barely hear over the roaring of blood in her ears. Sirius and Remus answered questions for her, whisking her away as the shock took over.

They were about to apparate away when she remembered. She turned from them quickly, hastily walking towards Peter, who stood in a corner alone. She had no eloquent words for him, but she hoped she sounded earnest when she looked up at him and said “Thank you” before Sirius grabbed her and disapparated on the spot.

———-

Sirius felt like every synapse in his brain was firing. Whatever he had watched transpire between Hermione and Dumbledore had been the most terrifying and exhilarating moment of his life. He was worried Moony might feel differently about Hermione, so carelessly throwing herself into the duel. But he didn’t care. Like the last time, watching her magic flow with grace and force made him feel frantic.

He was on her as soon as they landed in their flat. His fear and admiration of her drove him mad with need. He was picking her up by her waist, kissing her like his magic depended on it, and like the goddess she was, she complied. Wrapping her legs around him as he pushed her up against a wall, he swallowed her moan as he pressed his cock against her. He wanted to send a Merlin damned thank you note to whoever had invented these muggle tights she’d plastered on herself this morning.

Remus wasn’t far behind them. Landing with a thud before addressing them, “What in the fuck was all of that? What are you two doing?”

Sirius pulled his mouth from hers, dragging her bottom lip with his teeth as he responded, never looking away from the depths of her eyes. “Moony, shut up. I need to worship our witch.” And to Sirius’s surprise, he did.

Remus’s whole body was languid, and he paid rapacious attention. A devilish smile on his face when he whispered into both of their ears, “Don’t let me stop you then.”

With that, Sirius was off, not putting Hermione down until he tossed her on the bed. He loved watching her braids and all the curls that had fallen loose from them bounce as she landed. Her face flushed with excitement. It had only been a week of having her like this, needy in their bed, desperate each other, teaching her everything they knew, and he was addicted.

She’d wrapped him around her finger months ago, but each kiss and touch felt like a benediction, better than everything before it. Only growing more all-encompassing when Remus joined them.

Grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her down to the edge of the bed. Never once taking his hands off the smooth curve of her legs, he traced teasing lines with his fingers up and down her calf and thigh. Till he landed on her hips, hooking his fingers into her shorts and knickers, yanking them both off in one swoop. Her knees were bent as her thighs fell open, and he thought he might finish on the spot at the sight of her in his jersey and nothing else, glistening all for them.

All of his fantasies collided as he felt Remus’s strong hands flex around his waist, moving around the waistband of his jeans from behind him, not stopping till his fingers were fiddling with the button and pulling the zipper down. “Don’t stop now, Pads, worship our witch while I worship you.” Remus kissed his neck, paying close attention to the spot behind his ear.

A whimper pulled his focus back to Hermione, her eyes wide as she watched them, her gaze traveling down to where Remus had pulled him from his jeans, stroking upward on his cock. Remus finally released him, laughing into his neck. “Get to work, Sirius,” and he didn’t hesitate after that.

Tugging his shirt over his head and working quickly to remove hers, too, as he leaned down, pushing her up the bed as he came to hover over her. Fitting himself between her thighs. He ground down, groaning as his cock brushed up against her, wet and warm, begging for him to slip inside. He leaned to kiss her, feverish and roughly, rocking in time with her as she pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts.

He pressed their foreheads together, kissing the corner of her mouth as he begged her to ride him. “Show me how perfect you are,” he pleaded, and with one forceful grind, just barely avoiding pushing inside of her, she relented.

Shoving up on his chest till he rolled over, mesmerized by the soft curves of her body, strong thighs that straddled him, sumptuous hips, and freckled skin leading to those perfect breasts of hers. Sirius felt himself bucking upwards when he saw Remus’s hands skate around her ribs from behind, just like he had with him, moving to cup and squeeze them. Circling her nipples till she threw her head back, rubbing herself down on his cock.

He could have watched her like this for hours, let her use as she pleasured herself, but Moony was a merciful wizard, coaching her through it. Sirius could just make out the little bit of nervousness, the shy bite of her lip, and the blush that crept down her chest. This was the first time she’d done this with them, and Sirius felt like a lucky bastard to be on the receiving end. Remus gently pushed her shoulders forward, canting her hips back, and Sirius cursed when he felt Remus’s hand wrap around his cock, guiding it into Hermione.

Remus's hooded stare bored into Sirius, even when he pinched her nipple as she slid down his length. Moony’s hungry golden eyes never left his. He thought he was seeing the stars he was named after when she was fully seated, panting as she told him how full she felt. Remus leaned forward, biting at where her neck and shoulder, and Sirius could imagine the feel of Remus’s cock, pressing against her pert ass cheeks.

He thought he had died and gone to heaven when Remus told her, “One day, I’m going to be where Sirius is, and he’s going to fuck you here” He imagined those long talented fingers pressing against her as she gasped at the new sensation, “and I’m going to sink my teeth into you and make you ours.”

Sirius couldn’t take it any longer, grabbing hold of her hips, trying to coax her gently, “Move for us, kitten,” and she did. It was more than he could have ever imagined. Undulating her hips against him and little movements that made her tits bounce for him.

A tingling sensation was building at the base of his spine as she gained more confidence, rolling her hips more, and he pushed up, planting his feet on the bed as he thrust up in her. The burning in his veins grew stronger, and he brought his fingers forward, playing with her clit till he felt her. The fluttering of her cunt, the screams of her orgasm, the shake of her legs, all of it sending him over the edge, spilling into her as she lost herself.

She collapsed onto him, hurried breaths and gentle, open-mouth kisses all over each other, wherever they could find skin. He thought she might pass out, the exhaustion of the day and her orgasm forcing her to sleep. But he was surprised when she turned her head, a sinful smirk on her face as she locked eyes with Remus.

Moony pulled her off him. Their movements were unhurried as he laid her down. He checked in, asking her what she needed, and Sirius had never been more enamored than when she whispered, “Just you, both of you.” He obliged her, sliding in and making love to her right before Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius didn’t stop touching her, just as Moony hadn’t. Helping work her back up till she was begging for release. Eventually, Remus’s thrusts stuttered, his hips slamming into her one last time before he fell to the side, wrapping his whole body around her. They lay there like that, breathless and dizzy. Sleep came and went, and time was lost to them in that room. They ordered to carry it out and ate it in bed, and the day's stress vanished.

He wouldn’t ask questions. He knew they would be answered in time. He could see Remus was struggling with that idea, more so than the chopsticks she was trying to teach him how to use. Sirius’s acceptance that they would not wait long was confirmed when a ghost-like stag appeared in their room, the teasing voice of Prongs filling the space, “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I look forward to seeing you three at breakfast tomorrow. Potter Manor 9 am sharp.”

______

Leticia found herself sitting next to Andromeda, listening to her tell a tale of dueling prowess and power. How Hermione had watched and observed, had used a foe to her advantage, and let a wizard’s arrogance lead to his demise.

She had always known Hermione was capable of great things. The first time she laid eyes on her, broken and beaten, injured beyond repair but still breathing, Leticia knew there was something special about her. Not just gumption or fire that Hermione possessed more power than most were capable. Only a very skilled witch could wield power like that.

Witches with Black blood were often graced with such natural inclination, but they were driven mad by it. Hermione had faced death, spat at its feet, and now she was harnessing it. Leticia worried about how far the young witch would push her power and how close to their goal she would get before she burned herself out.

There were few things she could do to curb that recklessness, such stubborn Gryffindor tendencies. But Leticia would do what she could, offering Hermione a tether to the decade she had found herself in any way she could. Her 70-so years had taught her as much, and in her increasing age, she found herself quite fond of watching those she loved find their tethers. She just wished her boys would find it sooner rather than later.

She sipped her tea, listening as Andromeda continued discussing Albus. She tried to keep her disdain from showing, but somehow, the few years she had on her had done him no good. Letting himself be fooled by Gellert, only to play games himself. She had known many a wizard who was cruel and selfish, but she had never met someone who hid it as well as him.

She had kept those feelings close, only revealing them to Dorea when the time called, but hearing of his challenge to Hermione made her question her choices. How much longer could she let him run unchallenged? Not even Poppy or Minerva were willing to protest his behaviors. Leticia had trained Poppy better than that.

She caught sight of Hermione and her wizards entering the full dining room, and Andromeda politely excused herself, making room for the three to join her at the end of the table. They were caught in a flurry of greetings and questions. Everyone wanted to know what had truly happened in the Prewett gardens just yesterday, and Leticia was anxious herself. What was so important was that Hermione would have felt the need to expose herself like that.

Eventually, the young triad found themselves before her, and Leticia felt her heart warm at the glow on their faces. She stood, pulling Hermione into her arms. “My sweet girl, I was worried when you did not return from the gardens yesterday,” the affectionate term of endearment rolled off her tongue. It was so easy to love Hermione despite her struggles to love herself.

“I’m sorry, Leticia. After everything, Remus and Sirius swept me away to-,” she faltered, pink dusting her freckled cheeks. Leticia clicked her tongue in good humor at the implication.

“Ahh yes, it is lovely to see your suitors today. Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black” both nodded their hellos, their eyes downcast in embarrassment. Unaware of all the happenings a greying witch had seen in her days. “I am so happy to see you are better. Sit with me, and regale me with how they are treating you. I am sure they would be happy to fetch us more tea.” She raised one eyebrow at them, and they got the hint, scattering to bring them sips and bites, leaving the two witches to converse.

Hermione told her briefly how sweet and funny they were, how even eating muggle take-out food felt special. Her heart lurched, thinking of her own Ignatius and how he had made such small moments memorable, too. That is all she wanted for Hermione. It was all she wanted for any of her children. “Please be sure to invite them to Christmas Eve dinner. The Potters have graciously invited everyone over on Christmas Day, but I think it would be nice for them to come here.”

She was pleasantly surprised by Hermione’s excitement at the offer and elated when she asked, “Would you help me find something special for them? For Christmas?”

Leticia grabbed Hermione’s hand, holding it between both of hers, young and supple against her wrinkled one, as she replied, “Of course, I have just the idea.”

Soon, everyone had gathered, the young wizards returning with tea and pastries, and the table quieted, all eyes on Hermione. Dorea gave Leticia one conspiratorial look, the question obvious but necessary. Would and could she push Hermione to tell them all what they wanted to hear this morning?

It was the only disagreement Dorea and her had since they had embarked on this world-altering journey. Dorea was not to push Hermione too far, no greater good was worth her unwilling compliance or stress, and Leticia would fight her own blood tooth and nail to ensure that.

Leticia turned to Hermione, seeing that she already knew what was being asked of her, and could not contain her pride as the young witch squared her shoulders and addressed the room. Almost everyone was present: her twins and daughter, Dorea’s boy and his love, Oliver McKinnon, and his wife and daughter, Dorcas Meadows, always close their bond so pure, the Tonks rounded out their gathering.

Hermione did not let the large crowd scare her, though. She got straight to the point. Pulling out a bone white knobby wand before proclaiming, “I am the master of the elder wand,” the room broke into chaos. Shouts about children’s tales and myths, how she knew, was she certain, and what that meant echoed against the walls.

Charlus stood, his wand pressed to his neck, a signature of spending so much time around his son and friends, “SILENCE! Let Hermione speak.”

Hermione tipped her head in gratitude as she launched into her story. Pulling out an old, tattered copy of The Tales of Beedle The Bard, explaining the runes and how it had been a gift from Dumbledore in his will to her. How he knew she was talented at translation.

Leticia noted how Mr. Lupin held her free hand, rubbing gentle strokes on the back of it, and Mr. Black placed his hand on Mr. Lupin’s knee, a triad indeed, she realized. She tried to hide her excitement for them, now was not the time. Next, Hermione spoke of Xenophilius Lovegood, and Molly’s eyes were wide as saucers to hear that her neighbor wore the mark of Grindelwald for so long.

Hermione ended her tale with the story of Albus and Gerrelt, one Leticia knew through social rumors, apparently written down by some wretched reporter. When she finally finished, Charlus looked at her with hopeful eyes. “So you, Hermione Prewett, are in possession of two of the three items made by death, the Deathly Hallows?”

“We all are, technically, all of us working together,” Hermione clarified, but she was distracted by the hushed whispers between the Tonks. Everyone was looking, waiting for them to share with the class, from Andromeda telling them some pureblood secret, demanding attention with her poise and fear.

It was Ted who spoke. Andromeda tried to look supportive, but Leticia caught a hesitancy that was unlike her as he spoke. “Hermione, I think you are wrong. I believe we have all three.” He winced, an endearing sentiment typically, except his following words are like a bucket of cold water on their entire group “But one of them needs to be destroyed.”

Chapter Text

The air in the room was tense, it was neither of their faults, but the two witches were annoyed. Having been hustled out of Charlus’s office as soon as the ring had started speaking to them. Only the two muggle-born witches present had been forced out. Ted had gotten to stay, though, despite the horrid things the ring had whispered to him. His skills as a cursebreaker were too valuable to lock out.

So here they were, not even angry at each other, so frustrated at the situation and the wizards who had not even listened to them before bodily removing them from the room and dumping them in the parlor. Hermione had expected as much from James. She was confident Lily secretly liked it when he manhandled her around. Still, when Remus looked at her, then Sirius, and nodded once before the dark-haired wizard descended on her without her permission, she realized she did not like it.

Flailing like a toddler throwing a tantrum, Sirius had said as much. “Stop with the sodding kicks,” he yelped as he set her down. Her arms crossed over her chest as he flashed her a self-satisfied grin. She debated hexing it off of him till Lily beat her to it, sending three rapid-fire hexes at their ankles, causing them to jump before she spoke.

“If you three are going to be sexist pigs, then get out,” she huffed. Her arms mirrored Hermione's as James pleaded with his eyes for forgiveness, looking a bit too much like a kicked dog for Hermione’s preference.

“You two can enjoy your little tantrum and think about how you're wrong. We will get you when you aren’t in danger.” With that, Sirius threw her a wink, one that made her blood boil with indignation before the three returned to the office.

Its other inhabitants offered them apologetic looks before the door slammed shut. She could feel the privacy charms set and thought that maybe Remus had looked especially apologetic, almost feeling bad for him, until she remembered her removal had been his idea originally.

They sat there like that, huffing, crossing, and uncrossing their arms, till Lily’s curiosity got the best of her. “What did it say to you this time?”

Hermione groaned, not excited to admit the words out loud, let alone the details, but she knew by now that Lily was a fury of questions. While she normally loved it when they were thinking of how to defeat Horcruxes or talking about muggle novels, now it made her feel embarrassed. She bit her lip, knowing that was half her anger towards Sirius and Remus. She was ashamed if they or anyone else had heard what it said.

With a steadying breath, she turned to look at her, picking at her cuticle, the sting a distraction as she lamely responded, “It called me unladylike and improper in my mom’s voice, and then my friends said similar things.”

Lily hummed, examining the hidden meaning in her words, and Hermione tilted her head, eyes narrowing, waiting for her to respond with what she had heard. Lily continued her standoff, and Hermione decided more honesty would get her to open up. “My friends were apparently not impressed that I have been shagging my old defense professor and someone’s felon godfather.”

That got a response from Lily, her laughter was contagious, and Hermione couldn’t help but join in. Eventually, Lily set her shoulders, a sad smile on her lips as she revealed, “Mine was James and his parents telling me the same things my sister has. That I’m a freak, called me a mud-” Lily’s lip quivered as she paused, and Hermione knew the feeling. Seeing or hearing your darkest fears was a chilling experience. It was a pit, sucking you in, and that was a dangerous game of depression during a war, one that they could not afford to play.

The only way to combat that was to seek some warmth, and if their wizards were dead on not helping, they’d have to find another way. The idea manifested in her mind, and Hermione knew it was better than mopping around, “Grab your cloak, Lily. If they don’t want our help, we’ll do something else.”

Lily and Hermione were absolutely pissed by the time Pinky had retrieved them from Diagon Alley and returned them back to Potter Manor. Cackling like witches in cartoons, tears rolling down their faces, skin hot to the touch from the amount of wine they had consumed, all charged to the Heir of House Potter vault.

Hermione had practically fallen out of her chair when Lily had said that so sweetly and innocently to the waiter. He had tried to cut them off a bottle ago, but the witches had flirted and protested their way to more. And now they were back in the same parlour, giggling as they leaned on each other for support, so different than the petulance they had exhibited earlier.

Unaware of the three wizards watching them, Lily screamed into Hermione’s ear, “I think we can pull this off.”

She could have sworn she heard Sirius scoff in the background, but Hermione was a good friend. She would never question Lily’s plan. As the wizards made their way over to the couch they were perched upon, Hermione's head still lay on Lily’s shoulder. The image of Remus and Sirius blended together, so much so that she had to close one of her eyes to see them.

A smile stretched across her face, her cheeks burning from all the laughing they had done in the past hour, or maybe it was two. She wasn’t exactly sure how long they had been gone, enough for the witches to finish two and a half bottles of wine or how long it had taken Lily to buy some nonsense in Quality Quidditch Supplies, but she had been adamant she was definitely still mad at James. She lamented that she would be over it by Christmas, barely a week away, and thus still had to shop for him. Hermione tried not to think about her lack of gifts for Remus and Sirius and instead focused on being grateful the waiter had let them keep the unfinished bottle.

She checked to make sure Lily still had it, her entire body moving with her neck to ensure its presence before she turned back. “Hullllllooo gentleman”

Lily snorted behind her, and Hermione bit her lip to contain her chuckle. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly as he spoke. “Looks like you two have had a nice afternoon.”

“We sure did! Accosted by a ring and our boyfriends,” Hermione hiccuped and had to clench her jaw to hold in the next one. Sirius and James exchanged a look of amusement, very different than the frustration Remus was sporting.

“Oh no, Herminnie, that’s Remus’s prefect face,” Lily whispered, but again it was louder than any other voice in the room.

“I never knew you were a prefect, Remus. Me too!” she exclaimed, hoping flattery would allow them to escape to bed without notice.

“Ohh yeah, James was head boy, and I was head girl! Had that suite all to ourselves.” Lily wiggled her eyebrows at both her and James, and Hermione was caught in another fit of giggles, forgetting that they were supposed to be mad at the wizards.

James took pity on them, snapping his fingers, and Pinky popped back into the room. “Pinky!” Hermione screeched, sliding off the couch and trying to make her way to the tiny elf. Sirius and Remus were much faster, though, bolting towards her and moving swiftly to pick her up by her arms.

Distracted by their faces, she cupped each of their chins and rubbed her thumbs across their cheekbones. “Hi,” she whispered, and Sirius leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Getting pissed in the middle of the day with Evans, eh? I approve.” It was sweet and playful, and she wondered briefly if he was flirting with her or speaking to her like she was a child. She didn’t really care as he brushed some hair away from her overly warm face, and she found that Sirius’s approval made butterflies take flight in her chest.

“Pinky wouldn’t let me free her, though,” Hermione pouted while Lily yelled from behind. “Hermione looooovvesss elves and all creatures.”

James chortled somewhere in the distance, put out by the idea, “Don’t you dare take Pinky away from me. Stick your werewolf.” Pinky had impeccable timing because the elf popped back in, vials rattling in her hand, and she distributed them to Remus and James, respectively. Muttering under her breath, “Pinky is a happy elf, does not need sweaters, Pinky loves Master James and Master Sirius and their friends, Pinky loves her job. Knitwear is itchy.”

“My werewolf,” she sighed, mimicking James while looking over at Remus and ignoring the complaining elf. Even in the wine fog of her mind and the distractions all around her, she knew she’d do anything to take care of him. She’d knit him as many sweaters as he needed. Remus finally broke, his frustration disappearing, and kissing the top of her head before handing her a vial. She scrunched her nose at it, the unasked question on her face.

“It’s a sober-up. I’m not sure one will be enough,” He answered, and Hermione’s love-sick thoughts overrode her natural inclination to inquire more as she drank it. Sticking her tongue out at the medicinal taste and shivering while Lily gagged from her spot on the couch, sober-up was not a potion either wanted to consume often. James was up and running to get something to catch what was begging to come up as Lily’s skin started to pale, even looking a little green.

Gradually, she felt the heaviness in her fingers and arms loosen. She winced as her head cleared, and the remnants of her drunken state floated away. Soon, Lily’s wretching subsided in the background, and both witches returned to normal.

“Ugh, I think I’d rather sleep it off and take a pepper up in the future,” Lily said from her spot on the couch.

James clicked his tongue at her before pulling her up. “Nothing some food wouldn’t fix. I have a feeling you two didn’t eat if the contents of Lily’s stomach prove anything.”

Hermione felt herself gag at the details James was providing before Remus and Sirius escorted her into the hall and toward the dining room. Thankfully, she was more inclined to enjoy the tea set up before them than Lily would be, immediately pulling some bread onto her plate and fixing a cup.

“Would you like to hear how the first attempt went?” Remus asked her, and she tried not to feel put out by his tone. She could only imagine how annoying it might have been to find your very recent girlfriend gone from the room you left her in, only for her to be drunk on Diagon, maybe as annoyed as she had been when they carried her out of the office.

“Well, by your use of the word attempt, I can only assume not as well as we all hoped,” She snipped, trying to keep her frustration from earlier at bay. All her emotions from earlier seemed to rush back into her as the sober-up worked its way through her system.

“Ahh, Kitten, are you mean when you’re hungover? You were so nice when you were drunk.” She was certain Sirius would have been dead on the spot if looks could kill, her eyes boring into the space right between his brows. She turned back to Remus, looking at him expectantly as Lily and James made their way in.

Lily looked worse for wear but helped herself to the small feast Pinky had laid out for them. She could appreciate their forward thinking when it didn’t involve throwing her out of meetings. James took a bite of the food in front of him, not even finishing chewing before he began speaking again. Hermione tried not to throttle or scold him like she did with Ron most meals.

“Ted figured out the enchantments, but they were not very pretty, muggle-focused, and we didn’t know any of the countercurses.” James finally swallowed, and Hermione loosened a breath. Sirius shot her a strange look but didn’t inquire further. She wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation about table etiquette right now.

“What’s the plan to find said countercurses?”

Remus replied next, “Andromeda and Dorea are working on that. They think there might be some things in the older Black texts they’ve managed to keep access to.”

“Stole,” Sirius said with a grin, and Remus nodded his agreement with the situation.

“Did Ted have any other ideas?” she asked, a bit disappointed that in the time they’d been gone, all they had done was identify the curses. To her knowledge, that wasn’t the most challenging part of cursebreaking.

“We talked about dismantling the ring, but it’s, of course, Goblin-forged. The thing is more secure than the castle,” James quipped.

Hermione and Lily shared a look. They’d spent a lot of time looking into Goblin-forged items in the past few weeks, trying to make one, but maybe they could find a way to disassemble one. They were pulled from their silent conversation by Remus asking, “Hermione, we actually wanted to know what your memory of the ring is and what you know of the curses.”

“Oh, you want my help now?” she shot back, a deadpan stare on her face. All three wizards looked a little guilty. On the other hand, Lily looked like she was in the middle of a muggle soap opera.

“We always wanted your help. I just didn’t think it was helpful for you to listen to that nonsense.”

“I guess you technically aren’t a felon or godfather yet,” her quip was short, but it earned an uncomfortable laugh from everyone. “You could hear it, then?” she asked, an unusual timidity in her voice.

“Sirius and I could hear it speak to you. James heard Lily’s, and Andy heard Ted’s,” Sirius supplied, and he looked guilty at having heard what the ring had said about her. The type of woman she was. She didn’t remember the Horcrux being that sentient in the future, lashing out at those you cared about. The realization felt like lead settling into her gut.

She knew they needed to address their response to such a threat but decided it wasn’t worth the fight at that moment. They could have that later. Their overprotective nature would need to be addressed at some point. It was a war for Circe’s sake. Being overprotective killed Lily and James last time. She bit her tongue to keep the ugly words that were building in her at their actions at bay before responding, “I didn’t know much about the ring. I know you don’t want to touch it, and Dumbledore decommissioned the curses on it last time. Harry either didn’t know himself or didn’t tell me.”

The thought was humbling. Had Harry hidden things from her? Was his hoarding of information going to make this search harder? She tried not to be annoyed with him, but her memories felt tainted after hearing his voice say such horrid things that morning.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to keep things from you if he did.” Remus reached over to grab her hand, and she let him, willing to take any comfort in that moment. She reminded herself that warmth, good, bright things, like patronuses, drove away the freezing ache caused by the Horcruxes.

“Are you sure it’s the stone?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. They took pity on her and did not address her noticeable avoidance.

“Yeah, Mum was pretty certain. She said the hallows are etched inside of it,” James answered, and Hermione leaned her head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling. A child’s tale comes to life. They have all the means to master death, two of one even, but they couldn’t even use the stone. It was almost comical to be so close to something, not understand its importance, and still so far away. It had meant something to Dumbledore. He had made it her obsession with that stupid book she translated, but now, what good did it mean in the face of the Horcruxes without his high-handed guidance?

Her mind felt like mush the longer they talked about it, just listening to those who knew so much more about the story lob ideas back and forth like a quaffle. Maybe she was just hungover, but whatever it was, she was tired. She wasn’t even halfway through their plan to destroy these things, and the weight of the next mission lay heavy on her mind.

The more she thought about it, the more she remembered all there was to do. She needed to write Barty back about New Years Eve. Next, she needed to finish those plans and tell them to Dorea. Intermixed with all of this were the thoughts of all the lives that were at stake as they faced new obstacles and the push for her to move faster. As if saving the world wasn’t enough, she needed to buy Christmas presents, sleep this hangover off, and understand the new wand in her possession. Her list felt endless.

Remus seemed to sense her energy drop, picking up the hand he was still holding and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Ready to go? You’ve had a long day.” He offered her quietly, but everyone at the table heard. She nodded, too tired by this point to form words, her energy seemed to be slipping away from her faster than she could realize.

“Do you want to go back to our place or the cottage?” He followed up with her, and while she wanted nothing more than to be with them, the enticement of unwinding and seeking peace in her little slice of heaven in 1978 was too tempting.

“I really want to be in my own bed,” She confessed, looking away in case there was any hurt in his eyes. She knew she was a weak woman and would fold if there was if he showed any sign of needing her more than she needed her rest.

When she did finally look, all she saw was concern and understanding in those hazel eyes of his, brilliant, safe, and dancing with just a little mirth as he added, “Oh, that nest and the mountain of blankets you call a bed? That’s fine. Do you need one of us to floo with you?” Concern laced his words, and she felt guilty he was worried. Her state was her own doing if you didn’t blame the wine.

“I’ll be okay.”

Remus didn’t challenge her. Having done enough of it today, but she could see the wariness in his eyes, eventually, he helped her stand and walked her towards the floo, “Send a Patronus when you’re settled for the evening?”

“Of course.” The two words were heavy, a headache building as the wine continued to work through her system. One sober-up had not been enough.

Sirius had followed them out of the dining room, and they both held her a little tighter than they previously had in their few weeks together, kissed her with a little more passion and reverence, and lingered before letting her slip through the floo.

She was quick, working her way into her room, finding the softest pair of pajamas in her dresser and burrowing into the blankets she loved, her eyes shut before her head even hit a pillow. She hadn’t had a nightmare in months. Her occlumency had done a decent job keeping them at bay. Still, she theorized being exposed to the Horcrux earlier had made her susceptible and that her afternoon with Lily had left her in such a miserable state. Her exhaustion allowed the walls of her mind to slip, and the visions from earlier invaded her dreams.

First, it was her mother, Helen Granger, whom Hermione remembered as bubbly and excited. Now, her face looked like it was made of stone, her eyes harsh as they peered at her, and her voice brittle as she spit the venom Voldemort had designed for her. “Stole our memories just to be a whore? Didn’t we raise you better than that? Disgusting. Just like your kind, witches opening their legs to anyone and everything.”

Only for Helen’s face to morph into Ron's, ruddy-cheeked and scowling, his hair too long, his bright blue eyes bloodshot with rage. “Typical of you, Mione. I was never enough, huh? Leave me for dead and run away to those two? Old enough to be your dad, you know? Should have expected as much from someone as miserable as you.”

The last has been the hardest, because now she saw her tentative new friends. She saw James’s hair and Lily’s eyes as Harry spat at her. “Of course, I’d keep secrets from the likes of you? Fucking my godfather, really? Desperate cause I wouldn’t give you enough attention? Skeeter was right.”

She thought it would go on for hours, that she’d be stuck in a cycle of nightmares, that fetid magic, rotten and infectious, would torment her forever, but there in the darkness, she felt someone’s cool touch on her forehead. Accompanied by perfectly manicured nails just barely scratching against her scalp, smoothing her curls despite the wild fits of movement they had been subjected to in her sleep.

The weight of the day and the Horcruxes made it hard for her to wake and speak, to call out to whoever had taken it upon themselves to care for her. But even through the haze of drowsiness, she heard them—someone singing to her, a lullaby fighting the fever of her mind. Hermione wasn’t sure it was possible to imbue magic into song, but the welcomed intruder's hums calmed her.

She tried to open her eyes to say thank you, to capture the image of who had cared about her when her mind tried to play tricks. But the voice cooed like a bird, a calming song to her tumultuous soul, making it hard to fight the tiredness she felt in her bones. She tried hard as she might but never found herself able to open them more than a few centimeters, only barely catching the sight of gentle dove grey eyes before sleep took her again.

_____

Christmas was in a few short days, and Remus was stuck. Both literally and figuratively. Literally, because Sirius was sprawled across him, the hairs of his beard were tickling his chest and stomache, and he suspected the dark-haired wizard was currently drooling on him too.

The figurative was a bit worse. He was stuck with Hermione. He wasn’t sure what to get her. It didn’t help that she was still surly with them after the whole ring debacle. He knew physically dragging her out of the room with the Horcrux was a bit aggressive, but she never would have left if they hadn’t.

They didn’t have time to beg and convince her to leave the room, so hard-headed she would have let that thing spew hate and evil at her for hours instead of stepping away. So Remus had looked at Sirius, and both of them knew what needed to be done.

Sirius had moved quicker, and Remus, for a brief moment, had felt a bit of pompous pride because they had tricked her before she could get away from them. That was short-lived when he saw the scorn in her eye. He couldn’t deny there was something about her fury that was tempting, the way her eyes glistened with passion when she was mad, how the lips he was always itching to kiss were pressed tightly together, and he wished they were pressed against the skin of his neck instead.

But he knew better than to try and tempt her when a rampage was raging in her thoughts. For all the words she could spew, her distaste for their actions was displayed in a lack of words. She hadn’t said anything, just let Sirius and him reenter Charlus’s office. He should have known that she would find a way to get back at them, but dealing with the soul-containing talisman before them was more important.

That had been the wrong move. All three of them had sat in that parlour, waiting for Hermione and Lily to return once the meeting was over. Pinky had indulged them, following the two witches around Diagon as they distracted themselves, but the elf hadn’t told the three marauders the state she would return them in. She had magicked them into the room, their giggles and hiccups of a gluttonous afternoon lighting up the entire space.

Remus wanted to be annoyed at their recklessness, but when Hermione whispered that he was her werewolf, any frustration he had evaporated—gone in an instant as she claimed him so earnestly. He hated the idea of being reduced to what he was, but she so unabashedly didn’t care and was willing to throw herself into something with him that it relaxed him. Moony had been all too pleased, carrying the memory around for days, playing it on repeat like a highlight reel.

He hadn’t felt that kind of love since his mother, Hope, had held him after the moons of his childhood. Hope, who, despite being a muggle, never once doubted his goodness, even as she cleaned the reminders of his darkness.

So he had cracked, dropped all facade of disappointment in their behavior, and instead focused on getting her home and to bed. He couldn’t explain it. Something deep in him, not Moony, but further, more ingrained with himself than even the wolf, knew she was still struggling. Even after her otter patronus had flipped and twirled into the Potter Manor dining room, saying she was going to bed early, he knew something was wrong.

So he did what any self-respecting wizard would, he wrote her mum, told Leticia that he thought the Horcrux had weaseled its way into her, and tried to trust that she would know what to do with all her healer knowledge and motherly love.

That was a few days ago, and now Hermione’s displeasure with their actions had thawed, but still, he felt an immense amount of pressure to make her Christmas special, to let her know how much she meant to him and everyone else in 1978. Sirius had the perfect idea. He had worked it out days ago with a shop in Diagon and made arrangements with James and Lily to ensure delivery would be kept a secret.

But Remus was stuck, unsure what to get his other mate. Sirius had been easy to shop for. Remus had even gone a bit overboard, the most gifts he had ever given him, but now that he had a job and they weren’t in school anymore, he couldn’t help himself. Even if they were mostly handmade or bought second-hand, it had been fun to think of Sirius as he had amassed a mix of muggle movies and records, writing little notes about why he had selected each one for him. Finally he sealed them all with a thin black leather cord, a silver charm on it he had found at the charity show. But it was perfect, it was them, the sun, the moon, and the stars all in one.

Something he could wear to match the rings that littered her hands, the earring he had been talking about getting. Most importantly it was also charmed to be a Portkey, taking him back to their flat whenever he needed. It was as much a gift for Sirius as it was for Remus. The illegal portkey that James had helped him work his magic on was something invaluable to an Auror or Order member on a mission.

While Remus was proud of his little assortment of gifts for Sirius so far, he hadn’t finished the last part. He would have to wait till Christmas Eve to visit the tattoo shop. The owner who had promised to open early, just for one hour for him. Since Sirius had been such a valuable return client and a good tipper.

Remus was anxious to feel the needle's sting when the burly older man would finally ink the dog star on his chest, right above his heart. Moony was a bit put out by the idea of him being marked and not both their mates. Sadly, the grumpy wolf would need to wait and just treasure what he had.

But now Remus felt guilty, perfect, well-thought-out gifts for Sirius, even Lily and James’s were wrapped and hidden around the flat, but there was still nothing for Hermione, and time was running out. He knew he wanted to create a portkey for her as well and charm it to the cottage or Prewett manor, most likely, but he still hadn’t purchased one. And it didn’t feel like enough.

He wished he was a richer wizard. So he could buy her lavish gifts from other countries or splurge for something as hard to find as Sirius. Instead, he was stuck trying to be creative, to stretch his magic as far as possible, and to make something for her.

Sirius started to stir, and Remus continued to stroke his hair, waiting for him to wake up and inspire some great idea in his mind about what to get Hermione. He was slightly aggravated that he hadn’t included Remus in his brilliant idea. He wondered if the wizard would stroll through Diagon with him this afternoon and see if they could find anything.

Soon, he felt Sirius’s kisses on his chest, the true sign he was awake. “Good morning, my star,” Remus whispered, his voice still hoarse from its lack of use all night and most of the morning.

“Too early Moons” Sirius grumbled, and Remus chuckled, watching as the dark hair that had escaped Sirius’s elastic fluttered with the motion.

“I know it is, but how about a cup of tea and that atrocity you drink for breakfast, and we pop down into the alley? I still need to finish shopping for a certain witch, and you seem to have lots of great ideas for her.”

“Awww, is someone annoyed that he can’t think of anything?” Sirius rolled his head on Remus’s chest to look up at him, humor dancing in the silver pools of his eyes.

“No need to rub it in. Don’t be a dog,” Sirius guffawed, responding with a look that spelled trouble. He started kissing down Remus’s abs, a sly grin on his face, and shifted himself so he was snuggled between Remus’s thighs.

“But can a dog do this?” Sirius didn’t say much else after he slipped below the sheets. Between kisses and licks, Remus did all the talking or begging. The sound of Sirius hollowing his cheeks around him was the loudest sound in the room, maybe even the whole building.

Hours later, when the two wizards were both sated, they found themselves strolling through Diagon. They’d already been to Hogsmeade and had no luck, and while Remus had seen a few options in Flourish and Blott’s, he thought getting her a book felt a bit impersonal. Everyone knew she liked to read, it was the only hobby she would admit to having, and he had a feeling her Christmas would be filled with a plethora of new literary material for her to sort through.

She already had that bottomless purse full of things. He wasn’t sure what someone like her would want. Someone who had lived a separate life and was now stuck here, happily stuck, He hoped one day, but was stuck all the same. He was strolling through a shop, the clothing far out of his budget, when Sirius spoke.

“You could get her new knickers. You vanished a few, and I don’t think she appreciated that.” He snickered, and Remus decided not to dignify that with a response. If he thought Lily had a mean hexing hand, he had a feeling Hermione would turn him to rubble if he did such a thing in front of her family.

“Witches like jewelry, Moons, actually everyone likes jewelry, and she said her favorite color was periwinkle, whatever that means.”

“It’s like a purpley blue,” Remus answered for him, despite the lack of question, hoping to move past the fact that both of them were getting jewelry they just didn’t know it yet, and it wasn’t any of the fancy stuff Sirius had grown up with.

“So lilac?” Sirius questioned.

“No, you git, more blue than purple, but close. But that’s not important. There aren’t periwinkle gems, and I couldn’t afford one if I wanted to.” He huffed a bit, disappointed in the immense lack of help Sirius was.

“What about a journal? In that periwinkle, she writes a lot, always jotting things down. I’m sure leather comes in that color or can be charmed,” Remus froze, the idea floating into his head almost instantly. He spun, grabbed Sirius by the collar of his leather jacket, and snogged him right there in the middle of the shop.

“Sirius, you are a fucking genius! That is it! Owl Leticia, tell her we are coming over and need her help! I need to get something first.” Remus left Sirius standing there frozen in surprise, with absolutely no idea of what he was thinking, as he sprinted down the block to a store he knew would have everything he needed.

It was more money than he had ever spent on a gift, much to large a percentage of his Gringotts account, but he had hoped it would be a gift for all of them eventually. Something they could treasure for years to come.

He was out of breath when he skidded into the shop, and the owner had laughed at him. He was still panting as he tried to describe the periwinkle color he wanted better than he had to Sirius. He realized it was like when the sunrise over the dunes behind the cottage, as it absorbs the last little bit of night hanging at the top of the sky, like the stars and the moon are clinging to the joy that comes from the sun.

The shopkeeper was diligent and patient while he crafted, and Remus felt himself relaxing as his idea came to life, molded by expert artisan hands before him. The final touches had been added in a mixture of silver and gold, a blend of all three of them. He hadn’t even heard the price, just throwing the galleons down as he touched it, immensely pleased with himself.

He was even prouder when he presented it to Leticia. It had been a gamble that she could help, or that accusing her would work in his favor. But when she revealed her secret to him, having guessed correctly how far she would go for those she loved, she was not upset. Instead, she was more than happy to assist. She did all she could, working complicated magic to charm and enchant the gift, the final touch impossible without her.

“How can I repay you? This is incredible, I never imagined it being so perfect,” he asked as he fingered the etchings: the silvery stars for Sirius, the champagne moon for him, and the golden sun for her.

“There are no debts between family, Mr. Lupin. All I ask is that you keep caring,” Leticia paused, her eyes turning towards a portrait on the wall behind him. It was of an older wizard dressed in immaculate formal robes, the sheen fine silks and luster of velvets, and decadent rings on each of his fingers. The artist was able to capture the sparkle of each stone, but despite all of that, his smile was the richest thing in the painting.

The greying witch turned back to him, longing in her eyes but adoration in her voice when she said, “When it is right, keep loving her, even if she is too slow to notice. Time is a fickle and cruel master of us all.”

Chapter Text

By Christmas Eve, Hermione was brimming with excitement. The week had been a flurry of activity, starting with Yule, where Leticia had made everyone, herself included, and even little Fred and George, not yet one, participate in some spell work across the entire Prewett property. She had never felt magic like that before, how it seemed to sink into the earth made the snow glisten and shine, the trees breathed deeper and reached taller.

She had felt it every day since then as she kept returning to help with preparations, as if that revitalized magic filled her, just like being with Remus and Sirius did.

Each day, Leticia had a new task for Molly and her. One day, they spent hours wrapping presents for the young Weasley boys while Molly clucked and clicked about spoiling them. Leticia had just scoffed and disappeared to another section of the home, saying she did not have to be judged by two witches who had not yet known the joys of grandchildren. Hermione was suspicious she was procuring more gifts in retaliation.

Next, they had been tasked with enchanting garland that swung from railings and trimming a very large tree with spelled candles and multi-colored baubles. She laughed, thinking of her mother, Helen, who had been adamant that multi-colored Christmas lights felt more festive, even when her father had jokingly called them tacky. Now, watching the flames flickering against the rainbow of globes, she thought she could see the reflection of her mother in them.

It was with a mix of nostalgia and appreciation that she realized the reflection no longer brokered longing but instead reminded her of all the good Helen had instilled in her. It was as if the holidays could manipulate grief into growth. She leaned into it, hoping the magic of Yule and Christmas would allow respite from the darkness that followed her to 1978.

It had been a near-perfect week, and she felt lighter than she had in years. No one had spoken about Horcruxes or the Hallows, not wanting to bring the reminder of their impending dread to the celebrations, and she was grateful.

Finally, on the morning of Christmas Eve, Hermione made her way to the Prewett Manor, planning to stay the whole day, allowing Leticia to order her around with the promise of finalizing her gifts for Sirius and Remus. Leticia had told her about an old wizarding custom, how families gave wizards watches for their 17th birthday, and how she noticed neither wore one. The older witch had found two in the Prewett vaults, seeming to reflect each wizard perfectly.

Hermione tried not to think about how much the watches must have cost when the older witch started waving her wand over the faces. Hermione’s eyes were wide, with excitement and awe as the watches grew more hands and words began to appear between the numbers.

Home was the first, between the 12 and the 1. Work was next, and others filled in like safe, pub, and even mungos. Hermione laughed when she saw Maurading appear next to the 6. Eventually, they turned darker, though, the last three being lost, trouble, and danger, a necessary tool during a war despite its pain.

When Leticia finished, she offered a soothing smile and taught her how to add more hands. Hermione quickly added herself and James to each of them and their names on the others, respectively. Hermione cast one last charm on the watches before handing them back to Leticia for final inspection, and they wrapped them together.

“I had seen the one Molly had growing up. I can’t explain how mesmerizing it is to see it made, to witness magic weaving like that.” Hermione complimented, and Leticia took a moment to respond, using her fingers to tie a large satin bow on the reflective red paper.

“It is an old Prewett trick. We have a knack for finding trouble with all those babies. Some gifts are a curse. I have seen the twins' names far too often on the later hours,” she said, a knowing look in her eyes.

“I’m honored you would include me.” She admitted sheepishly, still surprised by how natural the past week of celebration with the whole family felt. It was the first time she felt like she had roots in this time, like those trees they had shared their magic with days ago.

“I could not imagine a world where I would not include you, sweet child.” Leticia did not wait for her to respond to that, whisking the parcels under the tree and tutting around the table. “Now come on, my girl. We have a table to set before those wizards of yours can get their gifts.”

Hours slipped away, and before Hermione knew it, little redheaded wizards were tearing through the floo, a chorus of excited voices wishing everyone a Happy Christmas. Soon, she saw two much taller figures, missing the distinctive auburn hues, enter, and she couldn’t contain her grin.

They looked at home in the receiving room, she was sure some of it was their ability to steal away from work and follow her around the place, but it was more than that. They seemed to radiate joy, their hands clasped tightly as they walked into the space.

Remus looked lighter, a week away from the moon, but still, his skin seemed to glow under all the candles. She’d never seen him a crisp oxford before, and she tried to hold in her girlish giggling at the sight. He wore a tie and a tweed blazer, his sandy hair combed and styled neatly. Looking every bit the dapper boyfriend he was. She stayed in the shadows of the far entry. Watching them share a moment.

Sirius leaned into Remus and allowed the taller wizard to hold him. Circe help her, whereas Remus looked like a muggle university professor. Sirius looked like he had found the nicest clothes a rockstar might own. Those damned leather flared pants and a half-unbuttoned shirt exposing the tattoos that decorated his collarbones and sternum, Gods only he could get away with it on Christmas Eve. She wanted to keep watching them, but she caught sight of Remus squeezing Sirius through his back pocket and decided to step in before any little eyes caught the show.

“Happy Christmas Eve!” They turned at the sound of her voice, broad smiles across their faces as she stepped between them. Neither wasting time, Remus grabbed her quickly, swallowing her squeak of surprise with an eager kiss before passing her off to Sirius with a little smack on her behind. Maybe Moony was more present tonight than she had assumed if his frisky touches meant anything.

She glared at him, but it lacked heat, and Sirius chuckled. “Oh, let the sorry sod have some fun. It’s Christmas.” She wouldn’t argue with that logic, going on her toes to kiss Sirius. It was a sweet kiss at first, but when she tried to lower herself, he splayed his hand across her lower back, rucking up the back of her dress as he did. Not giving her any other options as he held her in place against him and deepened their kiss.

Like their lips were more potent than an obliviation, she forgot about the dinner and holiday when Remus stepped up behind her. Kissing her neck where her curls had slipped away. So distracted by the heat of their pressed bodies, they didn’t hear the patter of little feet as Charlie ran into the room.

“UGH, No Bill, it’s not Uncle Gid and Fab,” The disappointed 6-year-old caused the three to jump apart just before Bill entered the room. His eyes trained on them.

“Aunt Mione, Nanny said to bring your friends. Foods ready.” She would have thought the gesture was sweet, but she saw too much Fabian in his conspiratorial eyes as he leaned down to whisper to Charlie. Whatever was said amongst the young brothers was a secret to her, but their snickering was loud, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time the trio was on the receiving end of a joke tonight.

Dinner was delicious. Hermione was reminded of all the over-the-top feasts Molly had made in the Burrow. Goose and lamb, puddings, and roasted potatoes all overflowing. She had felt particularly giddy when Remus prepared a plate for her, shocked by how well he knew what she liked.

Sirius’s hand rested on her knee, drawing little star shapes on her inner thigh, which had left her distracted for most of the meal. However, that didn’t distract him from the torrent of questions the youngest wizards asked, none of them possessing a filter.

“Do you kill bad wizards, too? Like Uncle Fab?” was one of Charlie's first questions, and Remus choked, having to bring his napkin to his mouth as Sirius smiled excitedly.

“Does your Uncle Gid not kill bad wizards? Last I checked, he was an Auror too,” Sirius teased, finding the conversation much too funny for Molly’s taste as she glared at him. Arthur, to her left, tried to contain his laughter at the boy's forward question.

“Uncle Fab said he isn’t as good at it as him,” Charlie answered very seriously, and for a moment, Hermione could imagine the Sirius, who would have been a perfect godfather. The one who bantered with children, who kept them on their toes, letting them think they were part of adult jokes. The Sirius that Harry deserved.

“Your Uncle Fab would know better than me, but now that I think of it, I haven’t heard any fantastical stories of Gid alone.”

“That's enough, Black. I don’t need you underselling me to my own nephew,” Gideon grumbled.

Once the little ones realized Sirius would entertain their questions no matter how outlandish that might be, ignoring Molly’s complaints, they couldn’t be stopped. Bill wanted to know what Hogwarts was like because it had been so long since Gid and Fab had been there, which left the twins very chuffed. Charlie had moved on from bad wizards to quidditch, and even little Percy perked up.

Sirius entertained them all with the time he hit James with a bludger on accident, causing them to lose the match, and James had been so confused by the hit to the head he confessed to Sirius he loved him because he thought he was Lily. That had left the adults at the table laughing and the young boys making repulsed faces. The thought of romance beyond their understanding.

Sirius was hypnotic in a crowd, his charm on full display, and she couldn’t help but stare at him as he spoke. More and more stories about pranks that the marauders had copied and elaborated on from the Prewett twins. His flattery made everyone feel like they had a vested interest in his tales.

His hand motions made every story more dramatic, and she even jumped at a few punchlines despite having heard them years ago in the future. He managed to do this all while never taking his free hand from her knee, never forgetting about her.

She loved watching him like this and realized how Sirius Black was so easy to love, how he had so many friends, how the Potters would welcome him into their home, how he had been such a rake before Remus tamed him.

Wild magnetism emanated from him, and she couldn’t help but lean into its pull. When he finally paused, turning to look at her with a proud grin, she felt her breath catch because, at that moment, she realized how effortless it would be for her to love him, too.

How he was so obviously the brightest star in the night sky.

She felt frozen, taking him in as he looked back at her with the same passion she felt for him, till Charlie interrupted with another question, and they both turned back to the table dazed. She could have sworn that she saw Leticia nod from the corner of her eye, but it wasn’t for her. It was for Remus, and that made the swirling emotions in her grow because she had them both, and Remus was one of the few people who understood how it felt to be that close to a star.

Dinner wrapped, and the tiny wizard interrogation tapered off as the promise of a few early presents and sweets came up. It was a small exchange for Christmas Eve, only sibling gifts, as Leticia had called them.

Hermione hadn’t known what to expect, but as Molly placed a slightly lumpy wrapped item on her lap and similarly shaped ones, if just a little bigger, on Sirius and Remus’s, she found herself choking up. She was delicate with the ribbon and cast a quick, unsticking charm on the edges of the paper.

She was smiling before the wrapping was even out of the way because there before her was a grey woolen sweater, a slightly crooked H in blue. While the neckline might have been a little wonky, and the sleeves were of different lengths, Hermione felt like she had unwrapped something spun of pure gold. Her first Weasley sweater.

“Thank you, Molly. It’s perfect.” Molly blushed at the compliment as everyone started to put theirs on, a sea of knitted letters.

“I saw the one you had ‘Mione and thought it was so neat. I decided to pick up knitting this summer. I know they aren’t perfect,” She started, but Hermione cut her off.

“They are exactly how I remember. I love it.” Molly seemed to realize the implication of her words, with an understanding smile on her face as she wrangled sweaters over the heads of her littlest boys and wiggly babies, fighting the action just for sport.

More gifts passed around, and suddenly, Bill raced over to her, holding two perfectly wrapped packages. He looked at her proudly, his missing tooth valiantly on display when she thanked him. She turned to Sirius and Remus as they took in what was in her hands.

“I heard you two were very good this year,” she teased faintly, she heard Gideon’s fake gag in the background.

“Are those for us?” Remus flirted back, ignoring the ridicule of those around them. It didn’t hurt, though. It was a comfort, something she had hoped to have with Harry one day, the camaraderie that only came with siblings. It looked a little different than in 1996, but she realized a large family was still something the wizarding world had gifted her, even though she was an only child. True magic, she thought.

“Yes, they are. Leticia helped me. She said that. Well, they are important to wizards who come of age. I hope you like them.” The words poured out of her nervously, and before even opening his, Remus leaned in to kiss her, just a little peck, but it calmed her all the same.

“I’m sure it’s perfect. I hear Leticia has a knack for gifts,” he said with a cheeky wink, and she was reminded how he was just as much a Marauder as Sirius and James. Devilish in his fun and playful heart.

She stared in anticipation as they ripped their packages open with little fanfare, letting the paper scatter across the sofa they shared. Sirius was the first to get his open, a sound of surprise escaping his lips as he pulled out the watch—a black leather band and silver face. “Wow,” he said, awestruck, swiping his finger over the glass of the face.

“Is that you and Remus? And James?” he choked, and she nodded excitedly as Remus finally freed his, immediately putting it on his wrist. Seeing the dark brown leather band, accented with gold hardware, made her chest swell with delight.

She leaned over, grabbing their wrists to compare them side by side. “Leticia enchanted them, said it’s old Prewett magic. They will show you where or how your loved ones are doing. I added a few faces to start, but you can add more. Look!” She tapped her wand once to the watches, and the image of Lily popped up, too.

“This is brilliant, thank you,” Remus gushed, and Hermione returned his kiss from earlier, not caring for the audience that was watching them.

“There is one last thing, though.” She quickly pulled a small pendant from under her dress, something Leticia had loaned to her from the Prewett vaults on Yule. She tapped her wand to it once and then twice. Both wizards startled as their watches warmed on their wrists, “Happy Christmas Remus” and “Happy Christmas Sirius” popping up on their respective timepieces.

“And we can send them back?” Sirius asked, his voice still full of wonder. She nodded and took in their expressions. They were so earnest, looking at her as if she’d given them all the galleons in Gringotts.

“So you like them?” She asked, trying not to feel overwhelmed by their attention.

“We love them,” Remus answered for them. His voice sent shivers down her spine. The behest nature of his tone, every word dripping with command. She was enamored with how he could speak for Sirius so perfectly and saturate his words with deeper meaning, much more than the few he chose.

As she stared back at him, she felt her heart stutter, its beats erratic, similar to when she looked at Sirius. She understood then how it would be easy to love him, too. Thoughtful, intentional, a leader to those he loved. Remus was sensible and dedicated in how he showed his devotion.

She finally knew what they had meant when they asked to be gentle with her because she wanted to be gentle with them, too.

_______

Regulus thought there was something comical about hosting the annual Black Family Yule dinner on Christmas Eve. A muggle holiday he knew many wizarding families celebrated, but theirs did not. Too plebeian for the likes of them. Presents just because? No Blacks earned the things they got. They may not earn them fairly, but they worked, tricked, and stole their way to what they wanted. Presents for children was not part of that.

Luckily, there were no children, if you didn’t count him or Pandora. Who had been drug along by the paedophilic wanker she was forced to perform the guise of an engagement with. Tagging along with his even less desirable brother. At least Rabastan was stupid enough to be quiet. Rodolphus had weaseled his way into Bella’s skirt and had just enough brain cells to rub together behind that massive forehead of his, allowing him to form semi-coherent sentences. All to Regulus’s massive displeasure.

So here he was, surrounded by half-mad cousins and decrepit in-laws. All of them buttoned up to their chins in heavy velvets and silks. Golden chains and bauble-encrusted belts to fasten their cloaks were more like vampires from children’s tales than the medieval ancestors they still hadn’t moved on from. They'd harken the glory of those days as if they had seen its triumph. Now, they spit their ancient ideologies in meretricious dens and flame each other's hubris despite the perennial gelid chill of Grimmauld.

He guessed it was still more endearing than the vapid and barren alabaster in Wiltshire the Malfoys had.

The marsupials that called themselves the LeStranges were currently courting his father on something unimportant, leaving Pandora alone to admire a painting. Admire was probably a stretch, as her lachrymose heart did not like looking at images of the Goblin Rebellion. He decided to save her. They could use the excuse of being school friends if anyone were to question her rectitude.

“Pandora, have you ever seen the Black Family tapestry?” He slid beside her. His hands clasped behind him.

“Mmmm, no, I have heard it is quite a feat of magic.” she turned to look at him, and he tried not to show his concern. Her complexion was sallow, bruised bags under her eyes, and he had a sickening feeling she was bruised elsewhere based on how she sat at dinner. Gone was the pearlescent glow he had grown to appreciate about her. He was ready for next week, to finally have a ruse to be rid of the LeStranges at their own damn party too. For the Dark Lord to punish them.

Regulus was as giddy as a puff firstie at the potential of watching them writhe under the cruciatus.

He held his arm out for her, schooling his features. “Then let me escort you to the Tapestry room. It is vital you know your future sister-in-law's patriatadge.”

He was disappointed when she did not respond, her brilliant whimsical tongue silenced by the cunts she had been entrusted to. He debated taking his feelings on the situation out on Evan, but he was sure he had it worse. Being stuck alone with his father and most likely Tiberius Nott. Head of House bachelors were never a safe place for their children, and those two spending their evenings drunk bitching like spinsters spelled trouble.

He led her slowly into the hallway, rage simmering in his veins at the small, calculated steps she took. Once out of sight from the rest of the guests, he began rumbling, “Dora, what in the fuck is going on? We can stop this. Just fucking tell me.”

“Regulus, I do not know what you speak of.” Her typical airiness had been replaced with a hardened edge, imploring him to quit. But Regulus couldn’t.

He kept walking her down the hall, tugging her inside. “Dora, I fucking mean it. You don’t have to marry him.”

“My options are not my own, and you have no leverage. There is no chair because there is no Hera. You are no Hephaestus.” She had practically bared her teeth, venom coating her warning, incensing him.

“Enough with your riddles and myths. Dora, I told you what I wanted, and you decided to trust those nightmares you call daydreams.”

“It is a man’s honor and a woman’s duty, Regulus. Do not question Miss Rosier when she has risked so much to even speak to you.” He heard Narcissa’s voice float from where she stood in the room. Dora glanced at him as if to say I told you so, while he debated obliviating his favorite cousin.

“Cissa, I did not see you. I apologize. Dora and I are good friends at school.” feigning insouciance but his words were like a threat, a promise to keep their ruse or else.

Narcissa did not even turn to look at him. Her bright blonde hair, which looked carved from opals, shielded her face, and her slender porcelain fingers traced over her little corner of the tree. He thought he saw smudges of soot on the tips like she had touched the scorch mark that was Andromeda, but she knew better than that.

“I’m so glad you have made such fine acquaintances in your years, Reggie, unlike your brother.” he thought she might say more. She might say like her sister, but she did not. Touching the glimmering threads and branches one last time before turning to leave.

Just as she brushed past them, she laid a hand upon Dora’s forearm, her face giving away no emotion. “Riddles are powerful pieces to the board, Miss Rosier. But do not reveal your gifts too soon. Men are not gods, but they corrupt themselves and all those they touch the same.”

And with that, she was gone. The heavy brocade of her robes brushing up against the wooden floors and the jingle of golden jeweled belts were the only sounds until Regulus was sure they were finally alone. “Salazar fuck me.”

“She will not spoil our plans, Reggie. But you might,” Dora continued into the room. Stopping at the spot Cissa had been. Her fingers brushed over Narcissa’s name, its branch now rotted with Lucius Malfoy’s. He decided not to notice the small, broken, leafless twigs sprouting from hers. He could not fathom her pain, what duty truly meant to a witch like Cissa when he was so mad at her for now having an upper hand on him.

Her fingers trailed next to Andromeda’s portrait. Despite being blackened by curse marks, her husband Ted’s too, but he could still see the twig that bore the name Nymphadora. He had thought it was funny the first time he saw it. To hate your family so much to give such a ridiculous ancestral name to an undeserving baby.

Dora’s voice interrupted his musings. “May I see yours?” She asked, and he led her down the wall till his face was before them, another burn representing Sirius. Only Regulus noticed something.

There, next to Sirius, were two glittering branches, gold and silver, twisting into blank, nameless portrait frames. One had to be for Lupin. He was not surprised they had married or mated or whatever the fuck beasts did. What was more concerning was the faint, almost a whisper of prismatic silk that led to an unfinished portrait. A portrait that had its own branch that convoluted itself somewhere else on the tree.

Regulus felt like he was running as he followed the twists and turns of the tapestry with his finger, walking damn near around the whole room till he got to the farthest wall, the name Leticia Prewett there. He had thought she had three children, but there now was a fourth, wild curls and golden skin. He already knew her name. He’d meet her. She had obviously been a mudbl—muggle-born. He corrected himself, but he was growing more and more frustrated. Regulus did not like being wrong. He rarely was.

He was teeming with confusion as he inspected this thicket of branches, reason escaping him until he saw that the scroll beneath her face read “Hermione Prewett b. 1979.”

_____

Sirius loved Christmas from the moment James told him all about it, their first year at Hogwarts. His innocent eyes were wide in wonder as James described how their elves hung tinsel on the tree and his mum made treacle tarts.

He still shuddered back when he heard the word mum and not mother, but he dreamed of seeing what Christmas was like. Now, eight years later, he knew exactly what Christmas felt like. James was still as giddy as he had been at 11, running down the wing that contained their rooms, waking everyone up to open presents.

Remus had groaned, whinging about it being too early, but Sirius knew better. Remus had a soft spot for the holiday. Evident by how he had watched Hermione celebrate it with unbridled joy the evening before.

James barged into their room unannounced, proclaiming they needed to hurry up and that important presents were ready, and Sirius pulled Remus along. Not one to squander any of the cheer that James unleashed into the atmosphere.

Sirius understood what had inspired James’s enthusiasm when he stepped into the family den and found his best friend down on one knee. His hair still in disarray from sleep, and dressed in tartan pajamas as he beamed up at a shocked Evans.

A pang of jealousy shot through him first, and he felt guilt. He wanted that with Remus, and the ministry wouldn’t allow it the bitter reality of loving someone who was stripped of their rights by something out of their control. He shoved those feelings into a box inside his mind, the same place he kept the longing to have moments like this with Regulus, and instead focused on the scene before him.

All those nasty feelings quickly faded to madcap glee as he started whistling and clapping as the two lovebirds embraced. Remus tugged him close, kissing Sirius messily on the cheek. His long, deceptively strong arms held Sirius firmly against his chest, swooning at the memory of the small tattoo Remus had gotten for him.

Remus, who had experienced so much physical pain, got a tattoo for him all because he loved them and bore the mating scars from Remus’s teeth. It was a staggering notion.

Lily was quick to accept, tears leaking down her cheeks as James stood and twirled her around the room. Charlus and Dorea chuckled from their corner, watching the scene unfold before them. Sirius loved this the most about Christmas, getting to be part of moments that would never be forgotten. The moments that made family more about the people you loved than those who shared your blood.

The rest of their presents were opened while Lily and Dorea chatted about colors and dates, and that was fine with Sirius. He liked watching everyone buzz with news and planning while he leaned back and just enjoyed the moment with Remus.

They lounged like that all day, letting Pinky refill their mugs with mulled wine while records played in the background. How Remus knew which ones would be perfect was a testament to how observant the quiet wizard was. The stack of vinyl had made something in Sirius ache when he opened them. Remus had looked so young and buoyant with excitement as Sirius examined each one and the little notes about why he had chosen them.

Things like “You are much more handsome than Freddie Mercury” on Jazz, which Sirius hadn’t had a chance to pick up yet.

Or Rod Stewart's Do You Think I’m Sexy, and Remus had added, “Yes, obviously.”

His favorite was the older Marvin Gaye one with, “Dance with me and Hermione?”

Each one had been so perfectly curated for them that it made his eyes water, and he forced Remus to kiss the seismic feelings away. Then the damn thoughtful wizard had to go and make that illegal portkey for him. He could feel Remus’s magic in it, resting against his chest, easing his worries.

He was still fiddling with the little silver charm when young Tonks tore through the floo, and he was instantly reminded of the hurricane that had been the Weasley wizards last night. He was anxious for Hermione to get there. It hadn’t even been 24 hours, but he wanted to spend every bit of the holiday with her, celebrating her miraculous presence in their lives.

Andy looked tired, and he was certain Tonks had woken her and Ted up at some ungodly hour, just like James had done with them. He snorted to himself, thinking of the similarities between the two.

“Happy Christmas, little cousin,” Andy said as she came up beside him.

“Ahhh, much better than Blessed Yule, yes?” He joked, and Andy leaned her tired head against him.

“Those parties were much quieter, though,” and he wondered how many of the women he knew might be seers because, as if perfectly time, the raucous laughter of young boys could be heard entering the manor, Molly Weasley’s apologies with them. Tonks’s squeals of excitement followed, and he heard the thunder of little footsteps carry throughout the manor.

“I’d take loud over quiet any day, Andy,” and he meant every word.

“You and me both,” she conceded before squeezing his bicep and slinking off to find Ted, who had been waiting for her with a very large glass of wine.

Sweet wrappers littered the floor of the den, and while many might have blamed the younger guests, Sirius knew half of those chocolate frog cards were Remus’s. Hermione was nestled next to Lily, gushing over the Potter heirloom that graced her fingers.

Sirius shared a quick glance with Remus, signaling that the time was now to shower Hermione with the affection she deserved. Remus raised an eyebrow as if to say who first, and Sirius decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Lily and James had been close to permanently sticking him to a chair when he had acquired her gift.

He wanted to give it to her immediately upon purchase, and he hated waiting. The excitement of seeing others open the gifts he picked for them made him anxious and impulsive.

He acted quickly. The little rascal had been loud when he first brought her to Potter Manor, but now, as he held the little brown half kneazle kitten, Sirius laughed loudly, seeing that it was sleeping.

He crept back into the den on quiet feet to find Hermione still head down, looking through an edition of Wedding Witch with Lily. So engrossed in the text she didn’t notice him till he was standing right in front of her.

She raised her head, neck tilting so she could look up at him, with those chocolate eyes he adored so much that he had found a kneazle to match them. His cheeks were hurting from grinning as she realized what he held. “Really?” she stammered, her voice soft in surprise.

“Every witch should have a familiar, and I have on good authority that you like grumpy half-kneazles, and this little girl reminded me of you.” Hermione was at a loss for words, just nodding excitedly as Sirius placed the little ball of fur in her lap. She admired the kitten for a few moments, shocked at the gesture, before scrambling to stand up and throwing one arm around him, jumping up and down damn near, squishing the newest addition to their lives between them till it meowed at them.

“Thank you so much, Sirius, she’s perfect.” Still so small, he tried not to think about how big she might get or the terror she might cause one day. For now, he focused on Hermione. He had never seen her light up like that. Pure joy as she ran her fingers across the soft fur of its neck, and the damn thing preened under the attention, snuggling closer.

He wasn’t sure how long he watched her hold the kitten to her chest, the bond between them already sparking as the little ball of fluff burrowed against her curls, camouflaging itself. Each second of watching her filled him with pride.

She seemed so relaxed and happy, like there wasn’t a war or that she’d been ripped away from her timeline. She looked like she had always been intended for that moment, as if every bad thing they experienced had culminated into the pure goodness that was her holding that half a kneazle kitten.

Hermione was still debating what to name her new familiar when Remus crept over, gift in his hands. He crouched before her, and Sirius tried not to chuckle at the sound his knees made. Hermione did not notice, her cheeks pink as she saw the next gift in his hands. “This is too much, you two,” She pleaded.

Remus rolled his eyes, and Sirius moved to extricate the kitten from her clutches. Neither witch nor beast seemed particularly pleased by the action, but Remus distracted the witch by placing his gift in her lap.

She opened it like it was made of glass, and he admired her precision. Once free, Hermione’s fingers wrapped around the charm that matched Sirius, and Remus explained, “The charm is a portkey. Leticia said you had a necklace you could add it to. It will take you back to the cottage.” She flipped the little charm over in her palm as she compared it to the large embossed version on the album.

“It represents us,” Remus continued as he pointed to each section of the design and explained its significance. Hermione’s eyes had already started to water as he went into detail, and Sirius was nervous that the rest would send her into a fit. “And inside, it represents you, with space for more.”

He hoped they wouldn’t overwhelm her. He remembered what it was like to be smothered with love when you were so used to being alone. That first Christmas at the Potters he had felt adrift, drowning on dry land. Hermione was resilient, though much more so than he was. He had faith they wouldn’t push her too far.

Remus said nothing else, flipping open the cover to reveal the first image. Hermione’s breath caught as she looked. A tiny curly-headed baby laid on a young woman’s chest in a hospital cot, a proud grinning father leaning over the railing, engrossed in his wife and new babe. It wasn’t a magical moving photo, but the image still felt alive from the emotion on their faces.

“It’s me, how did you?” She croaked, and Sirius pulled her hand into his, kissing her palm while Remus stroked her ankle as he explained.

“It appears someone you know has a habit of secretly slipping into people’s minds, and said witch was able to use a charm you created to project the memories she observed. Lastly, of all things, a muggle camera was able to capture them clearly,” Remus finished, and Hermione made a humming noise to share that she understood, unable to say anything else.

“Do you want me to keep flipping them?” Remus asked cautiously, and she nodded enthusiastically, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

The next was three young Hogwarts students, pointy hats on their heads, a red-headed one in the middle, pulling an 11-year-old Hermione and the spitting image of James together by their necks. Cheeks pulled back in happiness, and red and gold banners in the background signified their house win. “Oh gods, that was the best day,” she finally said, a laugh shining through her emotions.

It continued like that. A photo by the Black Lake showed a red-headed girl and a blonde one with piercing grey eyes, laying on a blanket with her and flowers in their hair as they laughed.

Next was some formal dance where she glowed on the dance floor with some chap in furry red robes. He hadn’t wanted to include that one, but Remus said she looked so happy in it.

They had even included the baby Order that left such a distaste in their mouths, but he knew it meant so much to her.

His favorite, though, was one from Grimmauld, a different Christmas. While Hermione was surrounded by many of the freckled faces in the room, what caught his eye was a shaggy black dog and an older wizard in a fraying sweater standing back by a record player.

She described each one, showing everyone who came over equally excited and proud, adding little anecdotes, and fleshing out her story. Seeing her describe everything with such love and tenderness blew him away, even as she sniffled. She seemed so light effervescent as she painted the picture of her life for them. Like spilling those memories freed her of a burden she didn’t know she was carrying.

Finally, after her voice was hoarse and the album had been flipped through twice, she leaned forward, kissing Remus and then him softly.

Her lips were warm and salty from her tears, but he didn’t mind. It was like that simple act of sharing her life with them was the greatest thanks in the world. Even his magic swirled inside him at her openness, beckoning him to move nearer.

The presence of her and Remus had flipped the idea of Christmas on its head for him.

Sirius Black had known many winters filled with hurt and, as a young teen, had cherished with greedy, desperate hands the feeling of relief at finally finding family and friends to replace those dark memories.

But all those previous years paled in comparison to this one. Nothing had ever been similar to the sights before him. Nothing was like watching Hermione and Remus curled into each other, the smallest newest addition of their triad nestled between the two of them.

Or laughing at his best friend spinning the love of his life around the room and begging him to be his best man, even when there was no wedding date set.

Or hearing his cousin, whom he had once thought was lost, try to wrangle her daughter while she chased after other kids, a sound so foreign to both of them.

Or eating the food that had been specially made just for him by Dorea and drinking the glass of firewhisky that Charlus had brought out for the occasion, sharing it freely with all those gathered.

Sirius realized he had never known real happiness because he had never felt as complete as he did that Christmas.

Chapter Text

Christmas had been a perfect distraction, more than a distraction. It had left her refreshed and renewed, like a blanket fresh from the line after drying in the sun all day. Her father, Richard, used to pull down sun-warmed sheets and wrap her up in them as a little girl.

That was how she felt with her new friends. That warmth spread across them all, a warm embrace to shield them from what they faced.

All too soon, though, that cover had been ripped away, and now they faced a very long night. While most would be celebrating New Year's Eve, their group was scattered across wizarding Brittian, facing down the darkness as it took on different forms.

Dumbledore had assigned Gid and Fab, and surprisingly, Ted and Andy, along with half the order, to patrol. His concern was somewhat valid that the significant death eater event might inspire post-celebration chaos. Molly was sequestered watching her children, plus little Tonks and the Bones young ones as well.

Remus was due to transform in a few hours. Sirius and James would be by his side, but Hermione knew it would be a long night. The wolf was restless, trying to poke holes in her and Dorcas’s plan for the evening. He had been growing increasingly brooding as the week passed, reaching a fever pitch the night before.

They’d barely spoken to each other since. They weren’t mad—at least she wasn’t. It was out of her control, and truthfully, his silence on the subject created less of a distraction. She and Dorcas had things to do; it didn’t matter if he liked them or not. She wondered if that was the real cause of his frustration, that there were not any other options.

Dorcas had procured her own invite to Pandora’s engagement party. Despite her affiliation with blood traitors, her Slytherin nature was still embraced. She had theorized they would try to recruit her tonight and promised she was well-versed in flirting with their offers.

Hermione’s part in this was a bit more concerning. After prepping for hours, including an embarrassing moment where Molly held her breast up in the air while Lily applied some kind of sticking charm, she’d been plucked and smoothed until she was ready to attend as Barty Crouch Jr.’s date. He’d spun some story about how she was a French pureblood witch.

That detail was the deciding factor in Hermione being the unlucky soul who would partake in this mission. She was the only one who knew French. Andromeda technically did, too, but her voice would give her away, and Dumbledore had given her Order duties.

Marlene and Lily didn’t know a lick. It was her only leverage over Remus to let her go, too—so much so that she started speaking to Sirius in only French after their disagreement to remind him of that fact.

As she entered the room, she caught him sulking in a chair. He'd been doing that for hours, and even the ridiculous set of robes Andromeda had ordered for her didn’t distract from his grim mood.

She’d never owned anything like them and had never felt so exposed. Her nerves around the dress were made worse by the fact that it was her own body on display. She had taken a sip of Lily’s polyjuice, and while it still tasted horrible, she hadn’t felt the bubbling under her skin. It was a complicated potion. She knew that, but her disappointment was palpable at the fact that she wouldn’t be transforming.

Sirius noticed, though. His eyes immediately trailed from the silver broach that held the navy collar of her dress together against her neck, hiding Greyback’s scars, down to the keyhole opening that Lily had meticulously and invasively made sure half of her chest was visible in.

The midnight-colored garment was revealing, moving like water against her skin, down to the slit in the thin glossy velvet that skated over her hips and thighs. She swallowed nervously under his examination despite having lavished in the attention those hungry eyes had offered her just that morning.

Sirius apparently liked hearing her speak French, and she couldn’t deny she enjoyed feeling his mouth rumble the words mon coeur against her core.

He whistled, his eyes passing over her silhouette twice now. Finally, Remus looked over, too, at the noise, a possessive glint in his eye. “Kitten, if you really want to leave, you shouldn’t tease us with this.”

She flushed at the languorous, sensual sound of his voice and cursed herself when she realized Remus could probably smell what Sirius was doing to her that close to the moon. Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the reminders, and she tried to level her voice as she asked for his help.

“I'm glad you like it, but I need your help. Lily’s polyjuice was faulty. We aren’t sure what happened, but” she paused, frustrated that they made a mistake on a potion she had mastered before. She didn’t want to ask for help, but she was out of options. Lily’s muggle cosmetics could only go so far. “I need you to transfigure me a bit. She said you’re the best at it.”

Sirius scrunched his nose in distaste but nodded all the same before lifting his wand and getting to work. He didn’t do much. He lightened her hair to a sandy blonde and straightened her curls. He made her skin paler and vanished her freckles.

When she finally found a large mirror to examine herself, she was surprised by how regal she looked. Gone were the things that made her so plain, replaced with what most men fantasize about. She tried to ignore that inky, slippery voice in her head that this was what Sirius might want. He was raised around pureblood witches and probably preferred that.

When she turned back to look at Sirius, she was surprised by his scowl. “I miss your curls,” he huffed, and she looked at him confused, trying not to get whiplash from the demons in her mind versus what he was saying. However, she didn't have time to ask or process as a large grandfather clock chimed somewhere in the distance. An ominous tolling sound reminding her of what she faced.

Charlus came around the corner at the sound, smiling, but it felt off, forced. She knew he might be nervous, too. He was to accompany her to their meeting point with Barty. He was the best backup if Barty betrayed them, but he was also the most believable if Barty was caught. He could say something about Charlus having something for his father. It was weak but better than nothing.

She reminded herself it was a good plan: get in, find Dorcas, poke around, and leave before getting caught. Regulus was adamant there was something in the chateau, and she needed to see or rather feel what it was. She just hoped Barty and Regulus hadn’t played them.

Charlus offered his arm to her, and when she went to take it, Remus stepped up. She was trying very hard not to be frustrated with him, knowing how out of control his emotions and thoughts were this close to moonrise.

His long legs had him crossing the room quickly till he was standing right before them. He took his finger and tilted her chin up to look at him. His eyes were fully amber, glowing, and simmering with emotion. Their disagreement was just that, a disagreement, it wasn’t even a real fight, and they’d figure out where to go when they both were back in a few hours. Remus went back to himself, and Hermione hopefully came back unscathed. She really didn’t want him to be correct about how dangerous this mission could be.

Charlus coughed, signaling they needed to go, and while Remus didn't kiss her, she theorized they might never leave if he did. He did leave her with one parting command. “Come back to us.”

The exchange between Charlus and Barty had been odd. She wasn’t sure how well they knew each other. James had hinted that Barty had at one point been friends with him and Marlene, their fathers being coworkers in the DMLE for so long, but was tightlipped beyond that. Sirius had let it slip that he heard Barty was a troublemaker, which seemed a little hypocritical coming from him.

She had grappled with Barty Crouch Jr.’s humanity for weeks—months, if she was being honest—since that moment, Pandora had raised her voice at her, teeth bared, hand slapping against the table as she defended him. Harry had felt somewhat sorry for him at one point after he tried to kill him. But Harry was always like that, too forgiving if you weren’t in Slytherin. His self-preservation was skewed.

Still now, as she looked at him, 17, with awkward arms and legs still too long for his body, she felt pity. Sure, he had a bit of a crazed look in his eye, but his cheeks felt so round, and his hair rumpled like he played with it all the time. She realized he wasn’t yet coated in a layer of hate and grime like she was. Maybe he did deserve the chance. Perhaps everyone knew better than her. Even Charlus had looked at him longingly when he had disapparated away from them.

Her feelings of concern for him disappeared almost instantly, though, when they entered the grand event. The ballroom was covered in floating candles and towers of champagne coupes overflowing. At least three different quartets were scattered across the space, playing music, making the cavernous room feel surreal. Despite all the music, you could still hear the thrum of people talking, laughing, and celebrating the holiday and the not-so-happy couple.

She could just distantly see Pandora, and her heart sank when she noticed Rabastan’s hand clamped around the top of her arm. Her watercolor eyes looked milky and hazy like she was lost in thought, but not happy ones. Blonde hair pulled back in a tight, harsh tangle of strands, so rigid compared to how it usually bounced and flowed when she moved. She looked like she had molded to fit the room, but Pandora Rosier was not made to be confined. Even with all the styling in the world, she stood out against those around her.

Pandora was surrounded by wizards and witches in the finest robes she’d ever seen. Hermione suddenly felt less insecure about the set Andy had poured her into. Everyone was sporting pressed men's formal robes, bow ties and capes, glinting canes, and she swore one man even had a watch chain made just of diamonds.

Witches were no different, iridescent chiffons, glass-like silks, and ornate brocades. All of them were glinting in the low candlelight, and it looked like it was torn from a Rococo painting. Some even had gems sewn into the front of their robes, acting like buttons, emeralds, and sapphires bigger than a euro coin to hold the capes that fell from their shoulders.

She was thankful she had let Leticia loan her a few Prewett barrettes. The amethysts paled in comparison to the jewels before her, but it was better than nothing. And watching her put them in her hair had made something in her glow.

She was a bit blown away. Her mouth parted as she took it all in until Barty opened his.

A wizard she didn’t know had approached them, pulling Hermione’s attention from Pandora and the party, swaggering or maybe swaying if the smell of cinnamon on him meant anything as he spoke. “Ohh, where did you find this one?” he slurred, and Hermione gave him a lifeless smile.

She was going for stupid and innocuous. Just a dull, pureblood date—not what Barty had apparently planned. “Ah, Mulciber! You remember Rab's little party, right, the French ones?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she bit her cheek to avoid making a face. What on earth was Barty talking about?

“Not a Veela, though?” Mulicber asked, his eyes crossed as he studied her chest. A Veela? What did that have to do with anything? She knew Veelas were sought after. Fluer had said she had many suitors and had told her and Ginny plenty of stories about wizards, but she only had eyes for her mate Bill, much to Ginny’s chagrin.

Barty laughed heartily, his grin playfully wicked. “Nah, can’t afford that yet.” Hermione’s mind stumbled at his words. Then her thoughts reeled, zipping around as she thought about what he might mean.

Can’t afford

Can’t afford?

AFFORD?

YET?

It clicked Barty’s cocky grin, Mulciber’s leery gaze at her body. Everyone seemed to be staring at the two of them now, some witches even sneering.

Circe gave her strength.

This wizard thought she was an escort. Barty had told everyone she was a French escort?! Her mind was screaming. Fuck was this how Remus felt with Moony all the time? Like you can’t control the beast of anger in you.

She might be sick. Everyone here was picturing her having paid sex with Barty and who knows what or who else. She was going to hex him on the spot. More than hex, she might genuinely wholly curse him, and she hoped he would never recover.

An escort? And he hadn’t even told them. Was this Regulus’s idea that the filthy-mouthed cockroach had said something similar when they met him?

Her mind was still running a million kilometers a minute when Mulciber eventually left them. Hermione pinched Barty’s arm, her new long nails pressing as hard as humanly possible on the skin behind his biceps. His yelp made her smile as he twisted his head to look down at her. “What in the fuck was that for?” He complained.

“A courtesan, really? Of all the lousy, no good things you could have said about me.” She was steaming. It had to be coming out of her ears. She squinted, imagining all the ways she could jinx that stupid look off his face.

He laughed, guffawed even, people looking over at them and his loud response. She pinched him again, not as hard but enough, and he straightened, his eyes still crinkled in laughter. “What is this King Louis the XVI’s court? You're not a courtesan. You're a French hooker. And a good one, you’re welcome. I told them I spent a lot of money. Act like it.”

He dared to look at her like he was the one who should be annoyed. Her narrow gaze faltered when she realized she was stuck with him. As much as she wanted to punish him for his idiocy, his complete disregard for her boundaries, she was stuck.

A sitting duck in a death eater filled pond. She wasn’t done, though. There was one question burning at the tip of her tongue. “And you didn’t think to tell me I was an escort? What if I had some grand scheme about how we met?”

“It’s not my fault you're embarrassed by your job. All I care about is that I get my money's worth.” He wiggled his eyebrows again, like the lowlife he was. A bloody scoundrel, she was telling Remus as soon as possible. Screw allies.

She was about to respond when Dorcas stepped up. “Interesting lovers’ quarrel you two are having. Enjoying the limelight, Barty?” Her condescending tone made Hermione feel better.

“Why are you just blaming me, Cas?” his whine was pathetic, her eyes rolling as he dragged out her name, motioning to her dramatically, practically flailing like a child. “She’s the one who pinched me twice!”

“Barty,” she sighed, her head rolling to the side, a friendly game of don’t make me say it out loud going on between them. Hermione probably knew Dorcas the least. The witch was busy, usually keeping Marlene at bay. Watching her now with Barty, it seemed like her specialty was wrangling cats.

Dorcas worked her magic, and Hermione wondered how much practice it had taken her to perfect the art of friend keeping. Thankfully, Barty relented, calming himself until he was mostly just grumbling.

Hermione was thankful Dorcas continued to stay close, acting as a buffer between her and Barty, who managed to get under her skin with everything he said. He was just so cavalier, but not in a brave way. He was subversive, leering and jesting at everyone who walked by like he was provoking them for sport.

At one point, she practically choked on her drink when he asked Lucius Malfoy if he liked his wife because she looked like him from behind. The joke was so crude it took her a full minute to understand why he would even be looking at his wife from behind.

He was going to blow their cover if he didn’t get himself under control. He nearly did when Antonin Dolohov noticed them. His hungry gaze set her teeth on edge. She knew Antonin Dolohov, but this one didn’t know her.

She kept repeating that to herself when he approached them to speak. Even Dorcas sneaked away at his approach; it didn’t take much to spot a predator like him.

“Barty,” He said gruffly, his Russian accent more prominent than she remembered. He was speaking to Barty, but his eyes never left Hermione, studying her like she was on a map. Hungry had been the wrong word.

Antonin Dolohov looked starved, like a rabid dog, ready to sink his teeth into anything available, and even Barty had the sense to be nervous about it.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, cavalier Barty, who brought too much attention, or fidgety, nervous Barty, who kept licking his lips and looking guilty. She couldn’t blame him. Antonin was a threat on a good day. He was a thing of nightmares at his worst. A monster grandmothers warned their children about. “Tell me about your pet.”

“What would you like to know?” The words rolled off his tongue, but Hermione could sense the fear, warped in a twisted form of respect for the older death eater. Antonin Dolohov was feared and respected by many in this room if the glances they kept getting meant anything.

“How much did you pay?” She could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned down, not even hiding as his eyes searched around the gaping hole in the front of her dress. He was sizing her up, and she could only pray that she fell short.

“Can’t remember. I’m sure my father will let me know when he checks the accounts.” Barty, to his credit, seemed to be inching closer to her, and while part of it was a relief, she couldn’t deny that it might make it worse. Antonin seemed to be playing with his food, and any reaction they had might spur him on.

“Shame,” he said, pausing to finally look at her eyes. He broke into a grim mockery of a smile, cheeks pulled back towards greasy, slicked-back hair, but his eyes didn’t move. They still looked desperate, eager to steal and take whatever they wanted.

She was so lost in his face that she didn’t notice him lift his hand till he rubbed his knuckle on the bottom curve of her breast, stroking the skin just below. It took everything in her not to shiver as he spoke. “She has a pretty scar. I would like to see more of it sometime.”

Her heart stammered, and Antonin sniffed at her like he could smell her fear. It was feral and repulsive. How he had even managed to see the little sliver of purple so similar in tone to her dress was a mystery. The only possible answer was how much he had noticed about her, and that was a sickening reality she would not and could not process right now.

“Ze agency takes requests,” she stammered out, her French-accented English sounding more broken than his Russian. Her throat tightened as he continued studying her, and she wondered if he could smell lies, too.

“I look forward to it.” He stepped back finally, his eyes finally flicking back to Barty’s. “Let me know if it’s good, yeah?” Barty continued his facade, shrugging and nodding. Dolohov spared her one last predatory look before he backed away, that sick smile on his face, his parting words, “Till next time malen'kaya myshka'”

When he was finally out of earshot, she tugged on Barty’s arm, her legs feeling weak as she whispered, “I need to use the restroom,” Barty didn’t need a cipher to know her hidden meaning. She was shaking, and the run-in was dredging up memories she had practiced locking away in the occlumency walls of her mind, which were now breaking quickly.

Memories of Dolohov’s previous touches were like ghosts against her skin, and if she didn’t put a wall between him and her, soon she would crumble in on herself. She welcomed the feel of Barty’s hand on her back, anything but Antonin’s, even pretending it was Remus or Sirius holding her up as the adrenaline wore off and she felt lightheaded.

Soon, he was ushering her out of the room and down the hall. It was dark, with shadowy corners and alcoves. She understood what they had meant by boggart infested now, like your greatest fears might jump from around the corner. The chateau felt dead, rancid almost compared to the liveliness of the party happening just a few feet away. They were about halfway to the bathroom when she felt the cold tingle of dark magic.

If she thought her interaction with Dolohov had been bad, this was much worse. She knew the reek of dark magic anywhere now, and something was calling to her just down the hall, and the remnants of scars on her arm throbbed.

She had the sickening thought that she would find the remains of all her loved ones in some empty room in that hallway. Even from this distance, it seemed to be toying with her, reminding her that it could still sense her unclean blood through doors and down corridors, and it wanted to play.

She finished in the washroom quickly, the contents of her stomach having made a return. She patted cold water to her cheeks, trying to shake the memory of Dolohov touching her and the dark magic flittering in her veins, but instead, it sparked something in her.

She had spent so many nights and days cold like the droplets on her cheeks, crying over what he and Bellatrix and the others had done to her, and while she was still afraid, something else started to build in her chest. Something just as rotten and crippling as the dark infestation in her arm. Almost like they were one, it was small, but its clawing at her ribcage was needle sharp. The beast in her heart had teeth, and it wanted to use them. It wanted revenge.

Now wasn’t the time, though. Instead, she looked at herself in the mirror, the reflection foreign but her eyes the same. Determined eyes that would not stop now. She could explore that monster some other time, but not when with how close they were to their goal. She knew something was at the end of the hallway, and she wasn’t leaving without it. Even if it killed her or it sucked her magic dry. It would be hers by the time the night was over.

Regulus and Dorcas had joined Barty and were waiting for her when she stepped back into the drafty hallway. It was obvious they were in the right place. Dorcas made to ask Hermione something, but she shook her head no. She wasn’t sure who could hear what in a home like this and wasn’t about to alert anyone to their presence.

Slowly, she slipped the bone-colored wand from her sleeve, and Dorcas’s eyes widened at its presence. “You’re using it?” She asked quietly, reverent in her tone. Hermione shrugged. She didn’t have time to explain how it felt more like a limb than a wand, that she craved it, unlike her original. Regulus looked at it, his head titled to the side, a bit like a cat as he studied it. She cast a quick muffliato and notice-me-not before motioning down the hall.

“Reggie, lovely to see you tonight! How's brooding and pining? Committed murder yet?” Barty chuffed as soon as the spells settled over him. The cocky little gnat seemed to love hearing his own stupid jokes.

“The night’s still young. You’d be an easy target.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, a headache forming in the middle of her forehead at Barty’s need to be the center of attention. She wanted to do this quickly and get out of there. She turned to Dorcas, the only other level-headed person in their little group.

“I can feel it down the hallway let's go.” Dorcas gave her a sly smile, and she didn’t wait for Barty or Regulus before walking.

It didn’t take long till the pull felt uncontrollable. Standing before an inconspicuous wooden door, her three accomplices were beside her as she studied the carvings on the handle. No one made to move, though, just staring at the door as if it was a void. Maybe it was the fact that once they crossed the threshold of the door, there would be no going back, Barty and Regulus would be traitors, and Dorcas and Hermione would be in grave danger, but whatever it was, they all shared a collective breath.

Hermione pulled her wand out, ready to cast a quick alohomora, when long pale fingers wrapped around her wrist, stilling her, and for the second time that night, she was frozen. Silver glinting rings with emeralds and an onyx signet that looked so familiar, but the touch was frigid. Nothing like his brothers.

She held her breath. Was this the moment? Where Regulus would pull the wool back, remove his disguise and reveal himself as the beast he was and turn on them?

His grip tightened almost painfully, and she turned her wand on him. Ready to do whatever she could to at least get Dorcas out of this, she could buy her time. But Regulus just clucked his tongue, a dark chuckle falling from his lips as he took in her wand.

Regulus didn’t say anything as he moved his free hand, twisting the dingy, almost blackened brass knob till the door popped open. It hadn’t taken him any effort at all. It was unlocked. A room holding a piece of Voldemort’s soul was unlocked. She could hear the dim roar of the party in the background, and it made her laugh.

Something so precious to their cause wasn’t even locked away. Anyone could stumble into this room. Gods help her. It was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks. She was going to say something, but Regulus beat her to it, his shrewd eyes judging her manic response, but a curl of humor graced his lips, too. “Loyal zealots, the LeStranges may be no one has described them as particularly sagacious.”

Hermione knew that, adding her own dark opinion, “Brutes? Yes, but scholars? No, I suppose they are not.”

“Fucking clinical, too,” Barty added from behind her, and Dorcas snorted. Hermione forced herself to close her eyes for a moment, breathing through her nose, trying to ignore his presence, before she entered the small office.

Regulus locked the door behind them, and for a quick moment, it made her heart race. Maybe this was when he would turn on them, but he just raised one black eyebrow at her, his familiar grey eyes looking at her with annoyance.

She quickly got to work, setting up a silencing ward around the room and a few more that would buy them a few minutes to escape should they need it. As she worked her wand in rhythmic motions, she took stock of what other wards were around them. She assumed the loose anti-apparition one because of the party, and she hoped it would be easy enough to break when it was time to leave.

“Well, boss, what do we do now? I’m still hoping to get my money’s worth for tonight,” Barty sneered from an oversized leather chair he had thrown himself into, smoking a large cigar. Where had he even found the thing? That boy was incorrigible. She could not wait to be rid of him.

“Well, where do you feel it?” Regulus asked her skeptically, and she put her arm out. The mangled words were hidden in the long sleeves of her dress, but the magic pulsed all the same, growing sharper, biting cold, and pulling her toward a bookshelf.

The diary? she thought as she looked over the wall of books. If the LeStranges had the diary, then what did the Malfoys have? Did they have anything? Oh, Circe, help her. The journal wouldn’t talk to them either to alert it’s presence. You had to write in it. She bit her lip, anxiety creeping up her neck at how long this could take.

She spun, looking at the other three, all waiting, looking at her expectantly for their next steps. She tried to contain the shrill worry that had worked its way into her voice, but it was for naught. Her concern was obvious as she spoke, “We need to find a very small black leather journal. It will say Tom Marvolo Riddle on it. I think it’s on the left side.”

To her surprise, Barty stepped up first, pulling book after book after book off the shelf, not caring about their spines or integrity as he threw them over his shoulder when he realized they weren’t what he was looking for. He was on his fifth book when he turned around to find them staring at him, dumbfounded by his action. “Well, come on, close your mouths, or don’t and stand around like cunts if you want to waste time and die.”

_______

They had gone through almost every book. He would never tell them, but as each book tumbled out of his hands into the growing pile between them, he was getting nervous.

This was taking much too long, and while Barty and Dorcas might not be missed, people would start looking for Reggie soon. He was trying to play off his frantic movements as disregard for the books slapping against the floor, but it was more than that. If they didn’t hurry up, they were fucked.

Even if they found this thing, they still had to get it and get it out of there, and he was a little more than paranoid, which might be their downfall. His lips hurt, raw, and chapped from nervously licking them. He could hear his father's shrill words in his mind. “Stop that, disgusting boy.” Now was not the time to think of dear ole dad.

He gave Regulus a little shove, shooing him to move faster, and the fucker just glared at him, those cold dead eyes of his looking half alive with indignation. Good, he needed more motivation than his cock. Barty was about sick of letting it run all their decisions.

He glanced over to Hermione that yellow hair looking sallow and waxy. Her transfigurations were waning. But she had finally reached the last book, a small leather journal. Thank fucking gods, they had it!

But he thought she might combust and cry on the spot when she flipped it over. No name on the front. FUCK. He couldn’t even help it, the anger of their failed search raging through him. He threw his foot against the corner of the bookshelves, rattling the whole thing, the crack of wood so loud he almost didn’t hear it.

A click.

A quiet metal click, like a lock turning or popping open. He froze, Hermione and Cas quietly whispering about what they would do, but he was too focused now. His father had called him obsessive. As a boy, his mother had said he was passionate, it was a sweet thought, but it wasn’t true.

Barty was like a dog after a bone when he had an idea. It was his only saving grace against the apathy of his mind in school. If he could obsess, he would master it. And now he was obsessed. What was that fucking sound?

He couldn’t feel whatever dark magic that seemed to be stressing out Hermione and made Regulus even more transparent than his vampiric ass already was. But he could do this.

He kicked the shelves again, slamming his shoe against corners until the wood cracked. He needed to know what that sound was. Reggie stared at him like he had grown three heads, and the girls had quieted down, a mixture of discomfort and confusion in their wide eyes. Watching him in horror, probably thinking he was losing his mind. Good, he probably was.

Maybe there had been no noise. His mind had made it up, but he wasn’t a quitter. He had to know. When he pulled his knee to his chest, prepping for the largest blow, right at the edge, near the junction of the built-ins and the walls, he was rewarded. His foot made contact with weak plaster, and even the bookshelf was rotted in that spot. Water stains showed in the splinters that surrounded his leg.

His leg was halfway through the wall and stuck in a room on the other side.

“What are you doing?” Hermione screeched, and he rewarded her enthusiasm with a winning smile, all teeth, and the promise of a night of endless orgasms. One that Evan loved.

“Oh, just redecorating, I thought we all agreed this place looked like shit?” He quipped, and Dorcas rolled her eyes, used to his antics by now.

“Barty, you need to fucking serious,” Regulus grumbled as he approached the now gaping hole his leg was dangling from. That was probably going to hurt in the morning.

“No, I think Blondie over there is in charge of pleasuring your brother Reg.” Barty was rewarded for that one by a stinging hex hitting his backside, making him howl out, and Regulus punching him in the arm. It's a tough crowd tonight.

Regulus tugged and freed his leg, moving quickly to peer into the newly discovered room. He even snaked his hand around the hole, finding some way to pop the bookshelf open like a door. Ha, that was the click, then. Nicely done, he thought, smug pride working its way up his spine as he looked into the space.

It was cold, icy even, and he puffed his breath out to see if it would fog before him. It did, and while he was happy to be right, it hit him suddenly, which may not be a good sign.

“Well, witches first,” He said, motioning for Hermione to enter the room. If anyone was going to know what was in there and if his ruined robes were worth it, it would be her. Hermione glared at him, and he huffed at her lack of thanks thus far. She was a bit of an ungrateful thing. Miniature cuteness did not make up for a bad attitude. He should know. He was quite happy being taller than Evan and found great pleasure in people thinking he was menacing. It was a lose-lose down there for her and her bad attitude when she stepped into the hidden room.

“I don’t know what that is, but I’m fairly certain it’s a Horcrux,” Hermione whispered. While he thought he had heard fear in her voice earlier when Antonin had pestered them, there was something different about how she spoke now. As if she were just feet away from a dragon, she was tentative, like, at any moment, the shiny golden cup that lay on the floor would burn her to a crisp.

Fuck now he was hungry. They hadn’t eaten anything yet, and Pandora had promised him the food was going to be good. Maybe Reg and him could scrounge something up after this. He bodily shook himself of his runaway thoughts, and Dorcas leaned closer, whispering, “I know it makes my skin prick, too.” He just nodded, not entirely understanding what she was talking about.

Hermione worked fast, that weird-shaped wand of hers levitating the cup into a velvet pouch she was holding. Merlin’s saggy bollocks, she was reasonably prepared. Where she had kept that on her, in that scrap of velvet she called a dress, was beyond him.

With one final swish of her wand, the cup landed softly in the bag, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. They’ve done it more than done it. Reggie said this was supposed to be surveillance, and she’d apparently found something, one of those things the Dark Lord was using to keep himself alive. Barty hadn’t had a chance to research those more. Evan had been needy lately, but based on Reg and Hermione’s response, he wondered if he should.

Their collective relaxation and celebration was short-lived, though. Like a rubberband snapping into place, the wards of the room rippled and cracked into place.

Oh, fuck them. Hermione’s head whipped around, and as her hair moved, he noticed her curls were starting to pop out, too. Not this, too. Merlin fuck, why couldn’t anything go his way once in his worthless gods forsaken life.

He kicked the wall again, howling this time as the pain from his earlier outburst shot through his ankle and knee. Great, he was even more fucked. He was injured, no one was paying any attention to him to cast a healing spell, and if he had to guess, based on the wards they had minutes before, a whole hoard of death eaters and probably the dark lord him fucking-self-entered this room.

Reggie and Hermione were fighting, too, like fucking children. No wonder she was with Sirius, hard-headed as they come that git.

“Just come with us! It’s fine. We have options.”

“No! I can’t leave. Others don’t have options. Take Barty, his cover is fucked” Regulus yelled, motioning towards him, and Barty wiggled his fingers in hello as if he was reminding them he was still in the room.

“If they find out you were in this room with us, they will kill you,” she pleaded, and Barty felt a spark of something. Pity? Understanding? He could respect her desire to save someone as lost as Regulus. Dorcas was often the same, telling them the McKinnons could save them, too. He was sure Sirius had sent letters at some point to join him at the Potters before Reggie was an absolute prat to him.

“Knock me out,” Regulus breathed, relieved at the idea forming on his tongue. His eyes were wild as he continued, “Make it look like I fought against you.” He continued, and Barty could hear dragon-hide boots hustling down the hall. Their time was running out, and Hermione was still begging him to come.

He acted quickly. If she couldn’t pull the wand out of her ass, then he would have to. Barty walked right up to Reggie, smiling excitedly. Regulus swallowed, his face a mix of annoyance and disappointment, knowing what the manic glee in Barty’s eye meant. Reggie tried to open his mouth in protest, but Barty was too excited. He pulled his arm back and let his fist fly.

His knuckles met Regulus’s teeth, and the smaller wizard fell back, his head bouncing off a stack of books on the floor. Red blood dripped from his nose onto those white and black robes of his. Hermione gasped but thankfully figured her shit out, casting an incarcerous and a stupefy on him. He would have to show Reggie this memory one day. It was a fucking classic.

Dorcas was shouting next, “We need to get out of here now” She looked towards the door, and they could see that blackened brass knob, covered in years of fingerprints and oil from slimy hands, rattling. Hermione seemed to have gained her wits again because she turned on the spot, pointing her wand, casting a very powerful bombarda, and made to crawl through the window.

She looked over her shoulder at the two of them expectantly and annoyed. “Well, hurry up. We need to get to the edge of the anti-aparition ward quickly. She was out of the window at that, and Barty shoved Dorcas forward, helping her through the window, too.

He was halfway through, sitting on his ass, broken glass tearing at his robes when the door to the study finally flung open. Bellatrix LeStrange standing in the opening, looking more crazed than usual. Barty saw her husband behind her, and even a blonde cut of hair looked similar to that traitor Gryffindor.

He didn’t have time to look more, though, smiling proudly as he held up two fingers “Thanks for the party cunts” He cajoled before throwing himself through the window and following after Hermione and Dorcas as they ran through the darkness into the woods.

For the first time in his life, he prayed. He prayed to every god and deity that they would make it to the apparition line in time.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but in the cold of winter, the first of January, the moon had finally set despite the darkness surrounding them, Remus came back to himself. Slower than he would have liked. He hated mornings like this, it felt like dragging his limbs through mud to gain control of himself, taking the reins back from Moony, drawing out the impact of his injuries along the way.

This morning seemed particularly nasty based on the burning he felt in his shoulder and the stickiness of his palms, undoubtedly blood. He groaned and tried to push himself up, his shoulder screaming in protest. He grunted before finally getting into a sitting position, his breath shaky as he took in his surroundings.

James was passed out a few meters away, leaning against the tree trunk in the Potter Orchard, and Sirius wasn’t far, just one trunk over, staring at him. His face frozen in a grimace, and that made Remus nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out, Sirius crawled over to him, kissing his brow softly. “Gods dammit, Remus. Moony was a fucking terror last night.” The words were released a shaky breath, the grimace becoming a scowl as Sirius inspected Remus.

“I think you dislocated it, Moons,” he said after examining him. The shoulder injury caused Remus to whimper when Sirius tried to rotate it. He didn’t say anything despite the pain, too busy soaking up Sirius’s attention. The wizard was often distracted by the neverending thoughts in his head to focus. But now he was zeroed in with razor sharp percision, as he started applying some rudimentary healing charms. It must have been a bad night if Sirius was this focused.

“Just relax, Pads. I'm sure Mary or even Leticia could do those.” Remus finally relented, wanting a moment with him before James woke. They both knew this transformation would be brutal, Hermione’s risky mission weighing heavy on Sirius, Remus, and the wolf.

He wanted this moment with Sirius to regroup, ground himself, and shake away the blurry, miscolored memories from the night before they finally saw Hermione. Sirius was six years ahead of her. He knew what to expect after a bad moon. She didn’t have that seasoned knowledge, and he worried it would send her spiraling.

That was even considering if her night had gone poorly. He assumed someone would have already sent a patronus if it hadn’t, right? Or would they try to spare him the worry while he was confined to being a monster? The thought that they might give him some pathetic mercy by not telling him made his heart race. Anxiety pumped through his veins, and he was soon hastily reaching for his discarded clothes and clambering around the clearing, trying to stand.

“Remus, wait, you’re going to hurt yourself more.” Sirius tried to reason, but the fear clogged his throat, making him feel claustrophobic. They didn’t know how Hermione’s night had gone, and they needed to get back. Sirius was too trusting, but Remus knew their friends would lie to them to ease the burden.

“Sirius, until I lay eyes on Hermione, I can’t wait, and neither should you.” The growling noise in his throat wasn’t foreign, but the fever pitch at which it spiked was new. Sirius, though, looked much too calm. He didn’t seem to be fearing for Hermione like Remus was, but that was odd. Sirius was down right obsessive, he would care about this.

The more Remus studied him as he woke James, sharing whispers and glances at Remus as he buckled his trousers and tried to force his arm into the sleeve of his sweater, eyes watering at the pain, he realized Sirius wasn’t calm. Sirius was guilty.

“What do you know, Sirius?” Remus gritted out as he tugged the sweater down, the pain in his shoulder biting. Sirius was right. It was dislocated, and Merlin knew what new scrapes and cuts he probably had.

James looked sidelong at Sirius, the ordinarily energetic wizard appeared haggard. Moony had run them into the ground plenty of times, but James usually faked chipperness and told him it wasn’t so bad.

He inspected them more, and James and Sirius physically looked fine. Sure, they were a little tender, but there were no scratches or broken limbs.

It all pointed to one thing. They knew something that he didn’t, and they were offering him a sympathy by not telling him. Fuck that, Remus didn’t want pity, he wanted to know what happened and why they were hiding it.

Sirius gulped, his throat working as his eyes looked towards the ground, avoiding Remus’s intense glare as he kicked the leaves around them. “Hermione is fine. She came back in one piece.”

“Keep going.”

“And they got another Horcrux, which is great; you know that’s what’s important here, Moons-”

“Don’t deflect,” Remus bit out, growing agitated that Sirius thought he could skirt and dance around whatever had happened. He knew he wouldn’t lie about Hermione being fine, but there was more.

“It’s hard to explain, and I only got the abbreviated patronus version, but well, we have a new roommate,” Sirius rushed out, his words falling over each other.

“Why would Hermione move in with us? I thought she liked Shell Cottage. Why aren’t you excited about that?”

“Hermione’s not our new roommate.” His tone had gone sheepish, joking even, as he smiled with gritted teeth as if expecting Remus to strike.

“So help me, Sirius spit it out. What is going on, I can’t fucking disapparate, or I will splinch myself. If I could, I would already be home!”

“Maybe taking you home is the best way to explain,” James offered, a forced lightness to his words as he followed Remus stomping towards the home.

Remus needed to floo home and he needed to do it now.

______

Hermione was sprinting. She’d long since lost the heels she was in. Dorcas is just a few meters ahead, but it feels like a lifetime before she’ll catch up with her. She watches her so elegantly bob and weaves through the trees surrounding them.

Dorcas is agile, a skilled athlete, Hermione realizes, as she so perfectly ducks to avoid a streak of red magic aimed right at her. Dorcas didn’t even have to turn around to see it coming. She reminds Hermione of a fox, eluding hunting dogs, on a crisp winter morning. She’s in tune with her movements, her limbs are smooth blurs, and it’s hard to keep eyes on her. She’s always one step ahead.

Hermione is not an athlete or a fox. She’s a fish out of water. Panting so loud that even if she lost the group of death eaters chasing her, they would find her instantly based on her loud breaths. She’s coughing as she runs and briefly wonders if she is ready to do Order patrols because she feels weaker than she has in months, and they’ve only been at this for 15 minutes.

A flash of blue zooms past her face, catching a few strands of escaped curls. The scent of burning hair makes her gag, and she throws back a few expulsos and hears what she assumes are trees exploding and crackling like kindling behind her.

Sirius’s transfiguration has all gone to bust. She hadn’t meant to, but the first time she turned to fire back at their pursuers, it was almost like she drank his lingering magic on her skin and channeled it into the hex she sent.

She can’t think about that now, though, she can see the treeline, and she knows her salvation isn’t far. She just has to make it before someone grabs her. She’s going to be sick when her occlumency walls eventually drop, the memories of snatchers and the manor, scratching at her mind.

“Gotta be quicker than that!” Barty has the audacity to laugh at whoever is behind them. He hasn’t stopped with his jabs and insults the whole time they’ve been running. He’s half the reason they are so close. He had to stay and taunt them from the window. The little cockroach he is.

The break in the trees is only ten or so paces away, and her feet feel shredded as she pushes harder. The stupid slinky dress making it hard for her to lift her knees and run faster. She’s reaching for it, her hand out, like if she can just get to the other side, she can start aparating, but she knows she can’t.

She has to wait for Barty to cross the line, too. She can’t leave him here to turn on them once he’s captured. She has no doubt that he or Regulus will reveal her true identity the moment they are under even the simplest of death eater torture techniques. She should know she’s already survived them.

Throwing her wand arm back, she casts blindly, the bombarda maxima rolling off her tongue like it’s second nature. It’s the only spell she can think of that will do mass damage to whoever is behind them, but it won't hit Barty, hopefully landing behind him.

The blast is stronger than she’s expecting, though, and with the finish line in sight, the ground rumbles with her spells’ impact. It’s much more powerful than anything she has cast before, and it feels like the soil beneath her is rolling like waves. Trees are splitting, and snow is falling from their tops down on her.

The backlash from the force she’s exerted in that spell is just as dangerous as the wizards chasing them. One moment, she’s running, her feet having gone numb from the needles and the cold, and the next, she’s tumbling forward, her ankle rolling as she misses the ground—the waves of soil working against her.

She’s falling forward, tears springing in her eyes, because this is it. She’s her own demise. The unstable power that has plagued her for months has boomeranged back and will be the reason some death eater gets her. With her luck, she’ll be forced to face Dolohov alone again and relive her nightmares in real life.

It’s a sickening thought that this has all been for naught. In a few seconds and one well aimed cast, they’ll get her and the Horcrux hidden in her knickers. He’ll know they are looking for them, and it’s all her fault.

The fall to the ground seems endless as all her mistakes for the evening play in her mind like a muggle movie. But, Hermione never hits the ground.

Someone grabs her by her shoulders, the seams of her dress tearing and groaning. The hands grabbing at her offer just enough support to right her body and barely keep her balance to start running again.

She doesn’t expect to see Barty’s manic smile looking at her when she turns to see her savior. He looks like he’s having fun in this harrowing escape. Gods, he is so insufferable, but there is no time to say anything because, in three steps, she can feel the wards ripple against her skin.

Fingertips brush against the bell sleeve of her dress, and Hermione doesn’t even think before pointing her wand and screaming “Sectumsempra” at whoever is trying to stop her when she is so close to salvation. Barty pulls her towards him by the fraying shoulder of her dress. The movement is just enough for her to spin and get a look at Rabastan LeStrange on the ground, crimson blood starting to seep through the white of his shirt.

Barty pulls her a few more steps, and the rest of the scene comes into play, Rabastan’s coughing up blood now, still grappling for grab his wand centimeters away. It’s a rash move, but at the last second, she leans forward as far as her body will allow against Barty’s pull on her other arm and grabs the loose wand.

She isn’t sure why she does it, but she hopes the humiliation of losing his wand is just the start of his punishment for what he has done to Pandora, her, and who knows what else he’s guilty of.

The sight of him incites a knife-sharp anger in her chest, her heart banging against her ribs, each beat painful, but she relishes it. She knows it doesn’t hurt as bad as the cuts digging deeper into Rabastan’s. The swirl of her dire need for vengeance is clouding her thoughts, and for one brief moment, she debates casting something even worse on him. Something unforgivable.

Maybe she could leave him as a message for the other death eaters who find him. She can hear them. They aren’t far, their silhouettes obscured by the trees they are running through. She doesn’t have time, though, because as the first one breaks through the line, she catches the horror and surprise in his black eyes.

He takes in her handy work on Rabastan, the curse that no one else in this time knows. She watches as Severus Snape pushes his dark hair behind his ears and throws himself to the ground to start the countercurse.

Time seems to pause when his wide eyes return to her, the question evident in his tight jaw and furrowed brow, how does she know this?

That question will never be answered, though, because more death eaters and party guests emerge from the trees, and they need to leave. Like a viper, quick and with force she didn’t know she was still capable of after their escape, she reaches out to grab Barty by the scruff of his neck and doesn’t even think before disapparting into the night.

______

Remus isn’t sure what to expect when he steadies himself from the magical travel, but it’s not Hermione and Barty Crouch Jr. to be screaming at each other in his living room.

“You are insufferable! I’ll send you back to school, you know! I don’t have to help you!” Hermione screeches, her face ruddy and red, hair sparking with purple magic.

“Ha!” Barty throws back, raising his finger to point, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Oh yes, you do! Pandora told me your little deal. Can’t lose your seer now, can you?” Barty laughs triumphantly at whatever argument they’ve been having.

Poor Dorcas has a bag of frozen veg over her eyes, as she sits next to a tired Lily Evans on his couch. Remus isn’t even sure where she found it, and he’s concerned if it’s for the headache from the shrill argument happening around her or from whatever happened at Pandora’s engagement party.

Hermione finally notices the three of them in the room and, with heavy shoulders, drops her argument with Barty and sluggishly walks towards him, not stopping until she’s wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed so tightly that he makes a harumph-like noise, his lunges releasing all the air in his body.

Instantly, arms are wrapping around her, his hands slotting into place on her waist, thumbs stroking her ribs through the very limp dress she’s wearing. Despite how his shoulder still burns with pain, he’s convinced that just her being here and okay after whatever has happened is enough to heal any wounds of his.

Sirius joins in too, boxing her in, giving her a minute to settle, while he enjoys the scent of her hair as she steadies her breath. Even in the dead of winter, he savors the sweet smell of vanilla and strawberries that permeates every curl.

Eventually, she pulls away from them, huffing a breath in relief before turning back to look at Barty, who has helped himself to their firewhiskey. Remus distinctly remembers Sirius mentioning something about a new roommate, and the prospects in the room are not looking promising.

James had no need to live with them, and he was in the orchards with them all night.

Dorcas lives with Marlene at the McKinnons, and unless they broke up at the party last night, that doesn’t seem likely to change.

Lily lives below him, so why would she move in?

So that leaves Barty. Barty, who has made himself very comfortable on their couch, drinking their booze. The wizard seems to be giving Hermione a migraine or maybe a muggle aneurism, and he can’t have been here for more than a few hours.

Hermione is watching him intently as he puts it all together, and while the way she scrunches her eyes in mock discomfort is cute, it doesn’t distract from the bomb she is about to drop.

“So we are kind of stuck with Barty,” She starts, and Remus groans. Deep and throaty, but not in a good way, more exasperated than teased. He’s frustrated, confused, and, most of all, tired.

Moony was a prick all night, and now he has a prick moving in with them, but he can’t take it out on Hermione. He’s done enough of that this week. So he doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“I couldn’t leave him because he could rat us out-.”

“I think their friend did enough of that curls,” Barty interrupts as Hermione works her jaw, trying to contain some quip. Dorcas, of course, laughs even with the vegetables obscuring her eyes.

“And he can’t go to the Potters because Charlus needs to be able to deny knowing where he is in case his dad comes asking,” She explains next, which makes perfect sense. He isn’t sure, but he thinks it might be a crime to take a minor from school and not release them to their parents. That probably isn’t a good look for the Head of the DMLE, but still, why is Barty here?

Continuing his silent treatment, he sits and waits for her to continue. She’s pacing as she explains all the other options they worked through, and even through his exhausted haze, he can see the lack of sleep and anxiety wearing on her, too. They haven’t even gotten to how their night went, and it’s already tiresome just listening to how Barty can’t be left alone.

“We thought about the twins-”

Sirius interrupts her this time. “Your brothers,” she ignores him and continues.

“But they share the same shifts, and we need someone with Barty at all times so we don’t lose him. He even agreed he’s a flight risk. He can’t live with Lily and Mary that’s inappropriate. We don’t want to drag the McKinnons deeper into this. Leticia said she could, but she’s older, and I have the feeling he’s a lot of work.”

“He is right here, and he is not an untrained house pet,” Barty grumbles and pours himself another drink. Merlin help him. How much can the kid drink, and now that he thinks about it, where did Barty even get that glass?

“Back to what I was saying,” Remus wonders briefly if this is the Hermione from her stories. Where she corralled her friends Harry and Ron around like loose nifflers to keep them out of trouble. When she’s not yelling at Barty, she seems to enjoy bossing the younger wizard around. “Frank and Alice are trying to have a child, and live with Augusta, and are now sharing shifts. So, that left you two, and Lily and I can fill in when needed. Dorcas has even offered her services when Marlene is gone at matches. I’m sorry, we just can’t let him die. He’s right. I did promise Pandora.”

“That was a lot of information,” Remus says, speaking for the first time since he’s entered his apartment.

James interjects next, of all people. If anyone hates Barty Crouch Jr., it’s James. Remus isn’t sure what went wrong with the childhood friends, but their fights were legendary in school. One word and James would be swinging. Even Regulus and Sirius never got that bad.

But now James is looking at Remus, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he explains, “He’s a little git, but my dad thinks there is something redeemable.”

“Awwww, tell my godfather thank you for me,” Barty mocks and Remus is already thinking they will have to hide all the alcohol in this place while Barty is here. There's no use fighting this, he's too fucking tired from transforming, and at this point, he’s sure that if Hermione asked him to cut the moon from its tapestry in the stars, he’d do it for her.

“I’m not going to fight anyone on this. I’m too fucking tired,” Remus starts, and he smiles over at Hermione, whose shoulders drop in relief. Gods, she is tense this morning.

Sirius puts his hands on his knees to stand, his body creaky for once, and Remus feels a pang of guilt in his chest. That is all his, or rather Moony’s fault. “Well, that is a pleasant surprise Moons, you can be a bit crabby around your monthly. Now let’s get you healed up, and then I can deal with getting our new infestation settled in.”

“You’re hurt?” Hermione squeaks, her face pale. Those pretty brown eyes he loves are wide and bloodshot from fatigue.

“It’s fine, just my shoulder,” he states, but to his dismay, the theme of interrupting people while they talk is continuing tonight.

“Should I wake up Mary and get her to heal you?” Lily asks

Remus shakes his head. No, this isn’t his first moon, and it’s far from his last. His mum couldn’t fix his dislocated shoulders as a child, and thus, he’s taught himself. He’s getting ready to say so when he looks back at a distraught Hermione. He slowly starts to get a better look at her. As he studies her he realizes she’s filthy.

There are twigs in her curls, and dirt streaked on her face. Her dress looks to be hanging on by threads, and he catches a quick glimpse at the blackened bottom of her feet. What in the fuck did they get into? Dorcas looks fine, if not a little disheveled, and Barty is somewhere in the middle. Remus notes that, strangely, his robes look shredded. He isn’t sure he wants an answer to that.

“Hermione, you look like you need to wash up,” he tries to joke despite the odd atmosphere of the room. It’s almost like they have too much wood in the fireplace. It feels stuffy like everyone is looking at everyone else, paying too much attention to what the others are doing because they don’t know what to do themselves. It’s suffocating, and he’d much rather be sleeping.

She indulges him with a roll of her eyes, immune to the tension apparently and attempting to hide her feet in the hem of her dress. “Come with me. I’ll teach you how to heal my shoulder, and we can get ready for a lie-in.”

He extends his hand toward her, and they stand from their seats simultaneously using each other as leverage. Remus yelps in pain at the pressure on his shoulder. Hermione drops his hand like she’d been burned. “Remus, how hurt are you?” She asks, eyes suspicious as she watches his movements.

“I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Come on, love. I’ll let you heal it,” he offers, hoping he can flatter his way out of the lecture he’s sure she has planned for ignoring his injury. He thinks that's part of the old her, too—the 1998 Hermione who loves to be correct and go on long tangents.

She’s brilliant when she does it, confident as she scolds with love. She’s only just started to let those parts of her slip through, and while Barty is a pain, he can’t help but be hopeful maybe he will bring more of them out of her.

“Sirius, how hurt is he?” Hermione turns to look at the dark-haired wizard digging around in the linen closet. Sirius looks back over his shoulder at her and smiles.

“I’m sure he’ll tell you all of it, kitten if you promise to give him a scrub down after healing him.” Sirius winks as he says it, and Barty gags in the background. Worse than her brothers or nephews, he sounds like he might wretch on accident if he keeps doing it.

“Cas, are they like this all the time? This is obscene, worse than you and McKinnon or when Red denied Potter daily in the great hall. I have to live with this?” He protests, and Dorcas finally lifts her head from the back on the couch, deciding she can rejoin the land of the living at Barty’s request.

“It’s better than dead. Which you would be if Hermione left you behind. Like you and Evan are any better,” She says with an eye roll before laying her head back again.

Remus ignores whatever Barty says or groans in response, grabbing Hermione’s wrist with his good hand, and tugging her down the hallway into the little bathroom.

It’s small—the worst part of this flat, if he’s being honest with himself. But their wizards and, with some pleading, Dorea had come over and cast a very small extension charm. Her spellwork has held up beautifully since then, allowing them to add a tub, which Remus has never once regretted, particularly after a full.

Even if it’s a little small for him, and he’s guilty of transfiguring it so it’s deeper and his knees are covered. He looks at it now, worried it might swallow Hermione whole. He guesses he’ll have to keep a hold on her then. Or maybe her on him. It doesn’t matter. He wants her in it, and he wants it now.

She has a different idea. Turning on him, and before he can even lean down to kiss her, she’s pointing at his chest and pushing him back. “Clothes off, Remus, no funny business till we fix you up.” then she gets right to work, filling the tub with water that looks scalding and dumping a few potions in for good measure.

“But you love funny business. You and Sirius were all funny business the other day when Moony was being a dick.”

“Mhhhmmm, just Moony? Strip or I’ll vanish your clothes,” she threatens like he would care. That might be nicer than pulling the jumper over his shoulder, but he’s not ready or willing to admit he’s in that much pain to her.

“I’ll strip faster if you strip, too,” he teases. Hermione is not in the mood for his jokes because she makes good on her threat, vanishing their clothes without a word spoken or wand swished. After all these months, it still blows his mind how powerful she can be, even when she doesn’t mean it, how he can feel her magic at even the littlest things. He loves it.

He loves her, he’s pretty sure, but if he told her now, she’d probably drown him in the bath versus get in with him, so he leaves it be, moving to sit on the loo so she can get a better look at him. It takes every ounce of control not to pull her into his lap when she comes to stand between his legs, not a scrap of her usual frilly knickers, utterly bare before him, and he has to wait.

“Not a lot of scratches this time?” She asks as she inspects him. She’s found a bottle of dittany in their cabinets, and while the gashes aren’t deep, Sirius has done most of that healing before they came home. He doesn’t stop her. Even when the essence burns the still raw skin, he loves the feeling of her hands rubbing it into his skin.

“No, just the shoulder, I think. The rest feels like normal aches and pains.”

“Hmmm, well, we can work on those in the bath. Let’s see what I can do about this shoulder.” She tuts and turns to bend over and grab her wand from the floor, and Remus can’t control it anymore. The wolf is still so close to the front of his mind. He loves the look of his hand lightly smacking and then cupping her perky little ass, and fuck. He’s throbbing now. Not even two minutes since she took her clothes off, and he’s practically begging for her.

She turns back around, one eyebrow raised at him. “Keep it up, Remus, and you'll ache other places for much longer.”

Remus freezes. His eyebrows hitting his hairline, jaw hanging open. Hermione Prewett, his Hermione, who scolds him for cursing as Lily does, made a sex joke. She’s threatening to edge him. Merlin, he’d let her if she even knew what that was.

Gods, he wishes she did. His mind is lost to the idea of leaving her wanting after bringing her to the brink over and over again. Fuck he’d do it to her and Sirius at the same time, make them do it to each other if he could.

They’d be beautiful like that, strung out and desperate together, at his mercy. “Remus, if you are done with your little fantasy and would like to speed up this process, we might try it here in reality. I need you to answer me.”

“What?” he says, shaking his head of the image of them covered in sweat and even a few tears. “Whatever you think is best,” he offers, not even caring what she does if she stays naked and is willing to entertain the ideas in his head.

“Huh, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she shrugs before picking his arm up and placing one hand on his shoulder. It’s so fast he doesn’t even realize what’s happening when she pushes and pulls, and suddenly he’s yelping again like an injured dog, his shoulder popping into place with a crack, and the little sadist between his thighs laughs.

She doesn’t let him hurt for long, though, doing a quick healing charm on the shoulder, and he can feel his muscles knitting together. Thankfully, they seem strained and not torn, but Godric, she is violent.

His cock did not get the message, and was still ready for her, painfully hard, more so than his shoulder. “Hermione, cast a scrougify on the both of us and get in the tub. I’m done with your games tonight.”

Her breath hitches at the command and she races to do as he tells her to. Pupils dilating at his tone, and he’s noticed recently how much she likes being bossed around. How much she likes pleasing them, and he wonders if that feeling is more addictive than pixie dust.

He stands up before she can get away from him, his arms banding around her middle, and without any preamble, he carefully carries her into the bath with him. With more grace than he knew he was capable of, managing to keep a hold on her wiggling torso as he slips down into the water till his back is leaning against the porcelain of the tub.

Once she hits the water, she stops her movements, both hissing at the heat and melting into the warmth of the water. Steam rises around them, and he relents from gripping her ribs and starts moving his hands up and down her stomach and hips.

Hermione leans back into him, nestling herself between his thighs, letting her head fall heavily on his chest. His cock strains against her lower back, and he swears she adjusts herself so it’s pushing against her arse instead. He's grown to adore all the sweet and gentle ways she likes things in bed, willing to try anything and letting him and Sirius torment her with affection.

But he really likes this. She isn’t like this often, maybe once or twice in the few weeks since everything changed, but fuck does he love it when she teases. When she paws at him and tells him exactly what she wants. She’s otherworldly when she’s got that confidence, and he wants to see it in her all the time.

“Are you going to tell me how your evening went?” he asks leaning forward to kiss the spot behind her. Because he’s not afraid to tease back. He wants her wet and needy for him. Remus wants to hear her beg tonight.

“You want to talk about dark magic and Barty in the bath?” her voice is starting to get breathy, and he pulls a little moan from her when he nips at her earlobe for the sass.

She responds perfectly for him grinding back against him, and now he’s picturing taking her tight little ass. He promised he or Sirius would one day, and fuck does he want to get her ready for it.

“No, I don’t, but I want to know about you, love. I want to hear about you,” he speaks directly into her skin. Lips brushing against her shoulder. Warm and covered in a thin layer of water from the steam. Fuck she’s delicious.

“I can tell you other things” Her voice is syrupy sweet, just like her fucking skin, and he moans his agreement into the crux of her neck and shoulder to encourage her to keep going.

“I want you to fuck me, Remus,” she says after his kisses turn to nips as he waits for her to speak.

He chuckles darkly on the spot where his teeth have left little indents, and gods, does he want to break skin. To mark her and claim her. Moony howls at the idea, pounding at the door in his mind to just do it.

“I figured that much. Tell me what else. Tell me how,” he coaches her, and her grinding speeds up. He can see through the sparse bubbles her thighs pushing together, trying to relieve that delicious ache he is so proud to have caused.

“I want you to touch me,” she finally chokes out, a shiver going down her spine. He’s still looking over her shoulder at her pebbled hard nipples, skin red from the heat, and breasts half covered by water. Gods, she is a thing of beauty.

He lets his hands glide up the soft curve of her stomach till he’s able to cup her breasts. Tugging on pert rosy nipples between his fingers.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” instead of an answer, a moan escapes her lips. The sound like music to his ears. “Where else, Hermione? Tell me I’ll give you anything.”

He feels like a cat playing with its food, but she’s so responsive. Her hips are uncontrollable, and he wonders if she can come from this alone.

“Remus,” she whines, and he bites at her again, a warning that she heeds. “My pussy” she whispers. It's heady and filthy how it sounds coming from her delicate mouth, and he wants to taste it. Wants to know if such vulgar words taste as nectarous as her skin.

He lets one hand drift down between her thighs and is rewarded when her knees fall open, giving him the perfect opportunity to readjust them. He tilts her hips back till his cock slips forward nestled against her beautiful cunt, the head rubbing against her swollen clit. Even with the water, he can tell she’s soaking wet as she undulates her hips onto him.

How her sweet little pussy manages to be warmer than the lava temped bathwater they are in is beyond his comprehension, but he adores it. Using his free hand to press the tip of his cock harder against her, the skin of her back breaking out into goosebumps, he leans in to whisper, “You want to know what I want, Hermione?”

He keeps rubbing using his tip and fingers to tease her clit until her legs start to shake, breathy gasps tumbling from her red kiss swollen lips. She shakes her head no, like she doesn’t know, and bites her lip.

He uses his teeth to free it. Kissing her hungrily before pulling back, watching her reaction as he rubs harder and faster. He can see her orgasm building in her blown pupils and how her heart rate speeds up. She’s close, and he wants to send her spiraling into pleasure before he fills her.

“I want you to ride my cock, and I'm going to play with your ass. You like that, Huh?” she whimpers, closing her eyes as she trembles. “I think you do. Because you're going to imagine it’s Sirius fucking your ass, Hermione. While I take that sweet little cunt of yours?”

The crude words are enough. She leans back, kissing him rough and wildly with teeth and tongue as her orgasm ripples through her.

Usually, she goes all soft and pliable after she comes, but not today. Maybe it’s his words, or that she needs more, but he doesn’t care. She’s got this excited look in her eye as she leans forward, pulling away from his chest. And while he misses the feel of her slick skin against his, he practically chokes when he feels her grip him tightly. Guiding his cock to her core.

She doesn’t stop to think or speak, she takes what she wants and he’s willing to give her everything. Pushing herself down till she is fully seated, crying out at how he stretches and fills her. For a moment all Remus can feel is the vice-like grip she has on him. It’s blinding, mind-numbing how perfect she feels wrapped around him.

Remus knows he’s larger and thicker than most. It's the only gift lycanthropy has ever given him. Watching his mates feel that perfect mix of pleasure and pain as he opens them up on his cock.

“Please, Remus, play with me,” she pants. Her hands clutching the tub's sides, knuckles white, for support as she works her knees on either side of his hips and thighs, bouncing down on him. Water starts sloshing out from how fast she brings herself up and down, perfect ass and tits bouncing in the splashes.

It's the most incredible sight he’s seen. Hermione taking control. Chasing another orgasm, needy for him and how he makes her feel.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, whispering a quick lubrication spell on his fingers before testing the pressure of the tight ring of muscle.

She’s incredible, is all he can think when she opens up beautifully for him. So focused on working herself on his cock that she doesn’t offer any resistance, letting the new sensation wash over.

He’s been slowly pumping one finger, working her up for more, when she gets her groove. Biting his tongue to stop himself from coming early from the way she pulses around him every time he slides his finger and cock into her at the same time.

“Please, Remus, more,” she moans loudly. The sounds fill the small room, bouncing off the tiles in some kind of obscene ritual chant.

“You think you can take another?” he questions, but he’s already working the second finger in, feeling her pussy start to flutter and tighten around him, so close to coming.

“I need more,” she desperately rasps, and that's enough for him. His vision blurry at how tight she feels with two fingers. He can’t imagine how it’ll feel with Sirius.

Her cries keep going, and suddenly, he can’t hold himself back either. He knows he says something, but it’s lost to him in the euphoria of this moment as he pumps her full of him, fingers never letting up, kissing her spine as his chest heaves.

She follows him immediately, a wordless cry at the intensity of her own orgasm. Hermione does go limp this time, all sweet and soft when he finally pulls her back to him. Spinning her in his lap so she’s facing him now, kissing her slowly as she settles, her cheek pressed to his chest.

They might be dirtier than when they got in the bath, but that's neither here nor there. He just casts another warming charm, making the water steam again and enjoying the feel of her fingers tracing his scars and the ridges of her spine under his.

Chapter Text

The letter felt heavy in her pocket as she took in the dreary moor before her. It was not far from her home, but the marble of her prison felt like it was on the continent, with the mist covering everything in the distance, the fog playing tricks on her mind.

Heavy and thick, like an extension of the bleak grey sky above her. The sky that matched her eyes, so unlike her sisters’, who had vibrant greys and blues that sparkled with silver flecks and looked like their irises had been poured from cups of goddesses.

She had not known if she could do this if she could risk so much that she might be important enough to carry a burden. But still, she came, armed with only the desperation in her envious soul.

The first letter arrived in October. Slipped under a mirror on her nightstand by a thief in the night, waiting for her as she braced herself for the day. With no idea how it had gotten there or who had been the sender, she had opened it, the elegant scrawl immediately recognizable.

It did not name anyone but did not speak in code either. The short letter told the story of a baby girl, born and named after the stars just as her mother had been, how she once had shimmering opalescent hair and delicate eyes like hers, only now they shifted and changed hues. A miracle babe, gifted in ways so very few were, but she had experienced a tragedy. She had only ever known her godfather, not her godmother.

The word had been the first crack in her porcelain armor. She had spent years polishing and painting on her defenses. Combing her hair and tightening corsets till they could withstand any attack.

No one had been successful in the lifetime she had spent hiding in plain sight. That was until the letter. Godmother. And she had not even known. A girl six years old, vibrant as the warrior in the sky she was named after. She had lost so much and gained very little in their time apart, and it seemed like her sister had done the opposite. Andromeda had gained the world and lost what? Their wretched family.

The second letter appeared in November, out of thin air, waiting for her tucked into her diary, the one she only opened when her husband was fast asleep. This time, it was from a different witch with the same tainted blood. This one spoke of opportunities, of promises. It had made her vain and greedy heart falter because they were not chances of riches but of freedom. They spoke of serving no one and loving who she desired.

Dorea promised that any wrongs could be undone with support. That knowing the right people could make her invincible, could make up for her spoiled siring. She was covetous of those who had such freedom. Not even the looking pools she was named after could offer such a sight. She would freely drown herself in the opportunity if she could.

She knew it was a bribe for an ask that had not yet been presented, but she wondered if it was enough to tempt her for when their demands came. What would they need that cost so much?

The third letter was plain. The final witch shared a few precious drops of their blood, but that did not stop her from wondering if this far relative understood her the best. She bore no promises, offered no wishes to be granted, did not guilt her with images of bygone.

No, Leticia offered her a choice. Gave her knowledge of the dangers that lurked deep in her home, explaining what they needed. She appreciated that it lacked frills; she was sick of them, the ruffles of her existence choking her in her cage. She had not been given many choices in this world. She was not sure how to proceed when she was offered one.

Despite all her dreams laid before her, she faltered. She could not do what they wanted of her. Their ask was too much. She needed to rebuild the castle walls of her defenses. She needed to forget them and their ridiculous search for righteousness.

That was until Yule when she tracked and traced the tapestry in Grimmauld. All three of them were gone, just corners and loose threads left of their once beautiful portraits. But still, she touched them like she could hold them again.

Her fingers trailed the curled edges of the hole that had once been her sister. Soot and ash worked their way under her nails, sharpened like knives. She may not be able to defend herself with a wand against the monsters around her, but even their skin could be pierced. No man was invincible.

She was about to leave, to subject herself to the torture and ridicule she had resigned herself to when the two had stumbled in. Fighting like school children, a display that would cost the witch more than she could imagine. If she had not already had everything stolen from her, From the looks of it, she appeared close.

It was a shame to see someone so young be wasted on men who did not care about them. Who worshiped altars built by frauds. Wizards who promised power like it was fine liquor. As if anyone could taste it and appreciate what they sought. The current heretic was not the first, but he was the most alluring. Ensnaring gullible young boys, allowing them to run wild and leave battered witches in their wake.

It was that moment that changed everything. Because she knew that if she did what her sister, cousin, aunt, had asked of her, then she could spare Pandora her fate. Pandora who shared different blood but was in the same spider web of hungry men as she was.

So she had decided she would meet them on the moors, on New Year's Day, to see how they would get what they needed. The hope of it was a comedy for the ages. To start the New Year with treachery, to wish for death and a new life in the same bargain.

Now, she worried it would be too late to save the youngest of them. The evening before had ended terribly, and the poor girl would be blamed, no matter her involvement.

Her ornamental disguise had allowed her all the liberties of a wizard but none of the power. So she did what she could. She listened to a twisted tale about how three children had supposedly outsmarted her baby cousin, broken down centuries-old wards, demolished a wall, and then sprinted into the night with some unknown treasure in their pockets.

Pandora and Regulus’s friends had stolen something so priceless the Dark Lord himself had gone on a rampage, threatening to kill every witch and wizard in attendance. Her husband had whisked her away too soon, leaving her unable to learn more and making empty promises to keep her safe from the wizard he loved more than her.

Narcissa had a feeling she was being asked to commit the same crime.

_____

Hermione counted her days with Barty like tally marks on a prison wall. He had this ability to get into everything, like if she turned her back on him for one minute, he would be rummaging through a drawer or flipping the pages of a book she needed open to a particular spot. He had even convinced Clio, her kneazle, to behave like a menace, too. The two made messes of ripped parchment and broken quills.

He wasn’t much better when Lily was there, constantly correcting her brewing or poking holes in her ideas. The worst part was that they were stuck with him, and sometimes he was right.

Today just happened to be one of those days while he was also on a truly obnoxious tear. It’s like he knew she was stressed, that tonight would be miserable for her, and he wanted to pour salt in her wound for sport.

The day had started like normal. They had arrived at Prewett Manor, Leticia had greeted them with tea, and Barty had preened for her as if he had never done anything wrong his entire life, not letting her see the irksome little devil he was. Gods, he could be such a brown noser. She had tried to tell her how repulsive Barty could be, but she just smiled up at her, mirth in her eyes saying something about how if Dorea could adopt so many, then so could she.

After their lunch ritual with Leticia, they were in the library working through arithmancy equations, trying to predict how long glass could hold fiendfyre before it melted. Barty, in his defense, as much as it pained her to admit, was pretty great at arithmancy, even if he did mumble the whole time.

He just never showed her good news when he finished his work. No matter what they tweaked, the equations were not promising. They wanted to make something that they could drop in a remote area, all the Horcruxes there, and destroy them in one big flash, the fiendfyre taking itself out because it had no power source. She had worked out that fiendfyre thrived off magic and would suck it in as a normal fire would breathe in air. Flaming itself and taking its victim's power at the same time.

However, no matter what spells and charms they tested based on Ted’s suggestions, they came up short. Dorea had nothing in the grimoires she had unearthed, old water-molded things that were terribly dark but not helpful. Nothing was predicted to be strong enough.

The hours had grown long and blended together when she took a break—deciding that if she stepped back and thought about the why, it might lead her to an answer. That had always helped her when she taught things to Harry and Ron, who rarely understood things the first time in class. She was in the middle of explaining to Barty why fiendfyre was their best option when he interrupted her.

“So, how long have you had the death stick?” he asked her out of the blue, off-track from her explanations.

“The what?” She clutched her wand a little tighter, bringing it closer from where it sat on the table next to her, and he just laughed. He did that a lot, laughed at nothing, and found some kind of sick joke in everything she did.

His ability to poke fun at those around him was unmatched, and it always left her feeling raw. It reminded her of how the Slytherins had laughed at her when she didn’t even know what the word mudblood meant, or how death eaters had ridiculed her when she would cry after hours of torture, poked fun at her like she was nothing but a lifeless heap on the ground or in the dungeons. They, too, laughed at nothing, maniacal and haunting.

Just like Barty was currently doing, it was so bad this time that Lily stopped her brewing to look over at them, her mouth tight as she took the scene in. At least Lily was unnerved by him, too.

He eventually calmed himself, wheezing as he answered her question, “The deathstick is what Loxias called it when he had. What are you calling it?”

Resentment flared in her chest. She didn’t exactly know what he was saying, but the fact that he knew more about her wand than she did was concerning. She wondered if he was trying to find a way to get it from her and swore she’d keep it in her holster when he was around moving forward.

“I’m not calling it anything, and how do you even know that? It’s a normal wand,” she huffed, moving to angle her body away from him, trying to ignore the knowing grin he wore. She would not give him the satisfaction of being right. He didn’t need that information, no good would come of him knowing of it.

“Oh, I’d know it anywhere. Fucking Dark Lord has all these old Grindewald followers in his ranks. They are obsessed with it. Always talking about it, and yet I bet they’d just die if they knew you had it.” He chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair and resting his feet on the table. It luckily blocked her view of his face, but it also meant the chair would start squeaking with every rock. A noise that he had used to harass her and Lily since the first day.

Frustration rose in her chest at the meaning of his words. Of course, a bunch of death eaters wouldn’t want someone with her DNA to have it. She thought they were better than her because their parents were third cousins. “Why because I’m a mudblood?” she hissed, eyes watering at the implication that she wasn’t worthy to hold it—to hold something that felt so good in her hand.

Barty made no attempt to deny that he meant the awful word. He was nonchalant as he shrugged and continued, “Yeah, probably, you're a bitch too, and they don’t like that. Those Grindewalt guys fucking hate that crazy cunt Reg calls a cousin.”

“I think everyone hates her,” Hermine added, not even attempting to correct his foul language. He had ignored her attempts for days, and her hatred of Bellatrix had been creeping closer to the surface since New Year's.

“Oh, not everyone thinks so. The Dark Lord is particularly fond of her, and it seems like Dolphy doesn’t mind sharing. You know all about that, right?” Lily gasped from her spot a few chairs down, and Hermione balled her hands into fists to avoid lashing out at him. His jokes about her and the boys were getting old.

She heard one every time she woke up there, and he never shied away from mentioning it here. As if he were some saint or had any right to judge her for what she did in her free time, it was the only thing keeping her together some days, as the pressure to get the last three Horcruxes increased.

They had finally heard from Regulus, using Pandora’s coin once they returned to school. He told them nothing of their health, just that Voldemort had double-checked all his most loyal followers and that Kreacher had come back more beaten and bruised than last time.

“Do you have anything important to add, or are you just going to entertain me with disgusting death eater gossip? You were helpful a minute ago, and now I am considering putting you in magical shackles and a muzzle until I can be done with you.” She countered, the thoughts of Regulus and Pandora still heavy on her mind. She wasn’t sure what shape they had ended up in. She felt responsible. She had asked them to help, but she didn’t know what price they paid.

“You wound my curls! Gossip is so fun!” He slapped his hand against his chest like he had been shot with an arrow, his mouth growing wide, teeth on display as he mocked her till he pointed down at Lily, who quickly averted her gaze at the attention. “Look at red over there. She’s practically creamed her knickers dying to know more about how that crazy Black Bitch gets it on.”

“Get to the point, Barty. I will silence you, and who knows, maybe this thing is so strong you’ll never talk again.” she threatened back. Her patience was only a few choice words away from snapping.

Clapping in excitement, he continued, “Ha! I knew that was it! That’s my point. Have you tried controlling fiendfyre with that thing?” He tilted his head toward it, his eyes excited at the idea.

“You think a wand is enough to make a difference?” Her tone was skeptical but intrigued. Gods, why did he always have to do this? Be so annoying, but pull her in. She wished she could ignore him, but then he had to go and know so much.

“I saw that bombarda and the expulsos wildly powerful, don’t know what the last one was, but it was nasty, too. I’d like to learn it, but yes, I think there's more power in that thing than you know. Your spells and, well, me,” he paused to laugh at his own joke, “were the only things that kept you from being dessert at that party. Why don’t you know that?”

“I’m not teaching you that. That spell will die with this war, and back to the point, there isn’t a lot written about it besides a children’s fairytale.” She bit out, frustrated because she had looked, and all there seemed to be were a few oral histories that had been lucky enough to be scribbled down.

She was about to ask him what else he knew. She wondered if maybe she could get some use out of him today if he was going to be so foul when he asked the question that was so obvious it hurt.“Why haven’t you tested it though?”

“I have.” Barty caught her defensive response immediately, lip curling as he challenged her.

He licked his lips, another nasty habit that had annoyed her since his invasion of her life, before he spoke, “No, you haven’t because you’d know if I was right or wrong. Are you scared curls? Why? Think death will come and get you if you are that strong.”

“Death is already coming for us, Barty. You should know that by now.”

That shut him up, the truth of her words making all three of them pause. She hadn’t meant to be so morbid, but she was nervous. New Year's Eve was bound to have some repercussions, but nothing had happened in the ten days that followed. She felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, a thrum of anxiety building in her with each passing day, and things were still okay.

The calm of Barty’s silence was short-lived, though. Not even a half hour later, he was pestering Lily about brewing male contraceptive tonics, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both right.

She could do many things with the elder wand, but all of them led to death.

_____

Dinner before the order meeting had become somewhat of a tradition since Dorea’s first dinner party over the summer. It was one of the few times all of them could be together. They met at the Prewett home today mostly because half of them were already there, but Leticia seemed to thrive in big events like this. No house elves to help her, just pouring every ounce of love into her magic as she cooked and prepped.

It was such a strange reality for Sirius to grasp that love could be shown in such tangible ways, it had taken years with the Potters for him to even recognize that this was how Leticia told them all she loved them. That by serving these meals and offering up her home, she had made it clear that they were welcome in her heart.

He had spent so much of his childhood wishing he could have just one parent's gentle attention, and now he was almost overwhelmed with Dorea and Leticia, Charlus, and even the McKinnons. It came so freely to them, and he wanted to give freely back.

Despite all the good in the room, the weight of war still lingered in all their minds. It, too, showed their love in ways beyond words. They hugged each other a little tighter, arrived earlier for a few extra moments, and ate more than needed to savor it like it might be the last time. It was a sickening thought, but he knew it plagued Hermione the most.

She had good reason to be nervous. The almost disaster of New Year's Eve hung heavy on each of them, but she took on so much more, making the burden of their lives hers like they all had not entered this war of their own free will.

She barely saw the wins they did have in these shadow battles with the dark. They had Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, another Horcrux, but to her, the unknown cost of her mission was greater than the win. It had been keeping her up at night, and all he could think to do was exhaust her every evening till she passed out.

It worked most of the time, and he wasn’t complaining about her staying over so often, but he wasn’t sure how long she could exist like this. The joy he had seen radiating from her over the holidays seemed to be receding, replaced with anger and fear as she spoke about the next steps. The newest development to their espionage and guerrilla warfare had been that Andy had a lead on getting into Malfoy Manor, and he was grateful Hermione would not have to once again be the key player in another mission.

Dumbledore’s words from the last order meeting, an impromptu one on New Year's Day, were a terrifying promise that kept ringing in their ears, but Sirius heard her mumble it to herself regularly. “Those who do not act on the directive of The Order will not be protected by it,” he had stated. It was an obvious threat.

He knew someone had attacked the LeStrange home, and while he couldn’t prove it, it didn’t stop his looks of blame toward Dorea and Hermione. Dumbledore expected revenge to be enacted, and thus, Hermione did too.

The likelihood of these threats materializing was so high that Charlus had told James that Bartemius Crouch Sr. had been placed in a safe house, his son's involvement in a coup whispered through ministry gossip circles. They had even made a few of their homes unplottable, including Shell Cottage and Lily’s apartment. Her and Mary’s status as muggle-borns and friends of Dorcas to much of a risk

No one had said Hermione’s name, though, and for that, Sirius was grateful. Even if she had been spotted, she was still a mystery to so many. Those in The Order vowed to secrecy on her existence, which should have made him feel better, but still, he worried just as much as she did some nights.

This was one of those nights as he watched her barely eat dinner. Leticia had put out an even larger spread than expected for the group and then promised to watch so many young children, little Tonks, the young Weasley boys, and even Barty for the meeting after they left. He tried not to scoff and roll his eyes at the mention of Barty being a helpful babysitter. The only thing he was good at was terrorizing Hermione.

At one point, Molly had tried to cheer Hermione up by thrusting a squirming laughing baby in her arms and another into Lily’s, something Hermione usually loved, going as far as to steal the little buggers most of the time. But tonight, she had said nothing as she accepted and held him tight, kissing the soft red tufts of his hair.

Next, the twins prodded her with questions about whatever book she was reading and told her stories of their days in Gryffindor. Lily went on a few tangents about wedding planning, all the other witches oohing and aahing, but Hermione stayed playing with her food until he knew it was cold. Acting like she was engaged with everyone, but her mind was elsewhere.

It was moments like this when they needed Remus, who was so consistently better at challenging rather than upsetting like Sirius. Sirius knew jokes wouldn’t pull her from her daze. She didn’t need a distraction, she needed order, and Remus was stuck working tonight.

As he looked around the table for some idea on how to pull her from her mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had more than the Order. If somehow Hermione had been the catalyst to build something greater than a band of wizards trying to defeat the dark, she had managed to build a family. She would never see it, but he would continue to love it for her till she could.

About halfway through the meal, he watched her push her plate away for the final time. Everyone else was still talking around them, but Hermione’s distraction was at an all-time high. Gently, he pulled her hand into his lap, angling his body towards hers, drawing little hearts and stars on her palm with his finger.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He whispered, the chatter of everyone around making them invisible, hidden in plain sight at their end of the table. Even James, one chair over, was too deep in conversation with Marlene about quidditch scores to notice them.

It was no different to Hermione’s right. Lily and Molly tutted over babies and weddings, paying them no mind. So here they were in their own bubble, and he wanted to hear her truth. He guessed it was like when he and Remus whispered their fears into the darkness, the cover of distraction just as effective as the night it appeared.

“Barty thinks the elder wand can stop fiendfyre,” She answered, her free hand going to play with the ripped hole in the knee of his jeans, the knee pressed against her tights.

It wasn’t a bad idea. The wand's power was unknown, and it couldn’t hurt to try. “I’m sure we could find a place to test that if that’s what worries you, kitten.”

She shook her head slightly, curls falling off her shoulders. “No, I’m not sure I can handle that. It’s a lot of pressure.”

He tried to smile down at her, hoping to lighten her a bit with his grin, “Hmmm, that’s true, but I haven’t seen anything you couldn’t handle yet.”

“Should someone with dark magic in them be able to wield such a powerful tool? If what Barty says is true, maybe you should take it from me,” she whispered, and it struck him then. The answer was simple, a witch who could create all the love in this room should be the only person to hold such a weapon.

“I think that is why you should have it. If Barty is correct, he rarely is,” Sirius started. He was pleased when her personality peaked through her gloom. She rolled her eyes and huffed as she spoke over him.

“He usually is. That’s the worst part.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” he teased, pinching her palm playfully, “but if you are afraid of it, then you won’t misuse it. Hermione, if anyone thought you shouldn’t have that power, if anyone thought you were as crazy as my family, they would have disarmed you as soon as you weren’t looking. You deserve it more than I ever could, crazy blood, remember?”

“Your blood isn’t bad, Sirius. You’re such a good wizard now and were in the future. Look at Dorea and Andy. Even Leticia has it, and they’re good,” she countered, her voice stronger than before, her defiant nature warming up again.

He stopped his musings of her palm, interlocking their fingers. He knew their bubble had an expiration date before someone undoubtedly wanted to talk to them, or more likely, her. She was half the brains of this operation.

Bringing her knuckles to his lips, he smiled as he spoke directly into their combined hands, “And you are so much more than yours, muggle-born or experience with dark magic. Don’t be afraid of the wand. You earned it.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond, wanting the last word for now. She could argue until she was blue in the face, but he was right here. Everyone around them knew it, too. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.

Eventually, dinner concluded, and the hour of the Order meeting and their various expectations grew near. Sirius and Hermione were waiting in the floo parlour for their turn to say goodbye to Leticia. Everyone else was gone by that point, just a few stragglers like Charlus and Dorea speaking to or hopefully warning Barty to behave that evening.

He could hear the children playing in the other room. It might seem perfectly normal in a typical year, but now their laughter seemed ominous as they all prepared to leave and play their part in this fight while children played their own games, ignorant of the world outside of the manor.

He hated this the most that despite the dangers, they couldn’t all be together, and these last minutes before they said goodbye for a few hours were the worst. He would be stuck with the Order, and Remus was forced to work. The most troubling part was that Hermione would step through that floo and meet Peter for their first patrol. It made these goodbyes painful to know it would be hours before he could confirm their safety.

Leticia was slow and cautious as she bid each of her children goodbye that evening. She always took the time to leave them each with some parting wisdom before they ran off on a mission or order business, but tonight, he could see her love shining through again, just like her food. Her hugs, gentle touches, and a few extra words were more signs of her endless adoration for each of them.

She made it through them one by one, starting with Molly and her husband Arthur. He thought he heard her whisper some token of knowledge about trust and determination. The twins had been next, and she had addressed them separately. Usually, everyone lumped together, but as their mother, they each carried a special flame in her heart, he supposed.

Finally, that left him and Hermione waiting for her, the usual outpouring of affection and wit, but tonight was different for them as well. He wondered if maybe the strain of what happened next was slithering its way into her usually infallible grace and strength.

She had always been friendly and kind to him, but she seemed to gravitate towards Remus and all the time he spent in Prewett Manor, or their love for knowledge. Even after she had let Hermione gift him the watch for Christmas he still felt like maybe he wasn’t quiet enough for Hermione in her eyes, his childish behavior from the summer till haunting him.

Not tonight though. She went to him first, leaving him shocked and confused, as she pulled him down to her in a tight hug.

“You are a wondrous thing, Sirius Orion Black. I am so proud to call you family. So much like our Alphard, keep making Dorea proud,” Leticia whispered in his ear. The words ripped through him, much like the first time Dorea had welcomed and he tried to pull back to challenge her that it was he who should be proud, that witches like her and Dorea spoke to him, and that Alphard had given him a second glance, but she didn’t let him.

“Be strong and be good for us. Thank you for loving her.” His own tricks were being used on him, and she stole his chance for the last word, ruffling his hair and pushing him away before she turned to Hermione.

Leticia cupped her cheeks and whispered something just for her ears. Her hands so starkly pale against Hermione’s golden freckled skin, and Sirius could just make out one lone tear trickling down Hermione’s cheek. He didn’t know what was said, but Hermione nodded and whispered that she loved Leticia back before there was one final kiss on her forehead.

Watching Hermione mouth, the I love you back made his heart lurch. Leticia was the only one she said it to, and it had only just happened at Christmas. She had pulled Hermione from her shell, nurtured and nursed her back to health, and she deserved to hear it first.

He was always in awe of how women like Leticia and Dorea could be so affectionate and accepting of strays like Hermione and him, how they could lay claim to them like they were their own kids, how their embraces made them love them back and broke down all their walls.

It was a miracle for both Hermione and him to be so lucky to be found by witches like Leticia and Dorea. He wondered if that was what made it so easy to love her, because she too knew the trials and tribulations of finding yourself again in a new mothers arms, even if it wasn’t your choice.

He watched Hermione approach him as he waited for her next to the floo. Still regretting that he had not forced her to let him volunteer to patrol with Peter instead.

Tugging on one of her loose curls as she approached, her mood was a little lighter despite the tears she had shed after speaking to Leticia.

“Be safe?” he asked, the words heavy on his tongue.

“I’ll do everything I can,” it was always the same game they played when separated. They’d done it to Remus this morning. No one could promise to stay safe in a war. They could just do their best, and while it wasn’t enough, it would have to do for now.

He watched her bounce through the floo, a little wave and wiggle of her fingers before she was engulfed in the green flames.

He offered his arm to Dorea, the only one left besides Barty and Leticia, and she took it. Her grip was tighter than usual as she smiled goodbye at them. It seemed the weight of their threats weighed heavy on all of them. “Come on, my son, war waits for no one.” She said as she grabbed the floo powder and called for headquarters.

He wondered how he had gotten so lucky in a time of turmoil to have found some good in his family, to have found her, Charlus, and James. He hoped for one fleeting moment, as bright green flames took over his vision, that one day, soon after all this was done, he might share it with Regulus.

Heavy was the right word. The air in headquarters felt unwieldy, more cumbersome than any fog he had encountered. It was thick and stagnant, and, again, for the second time that night, it felt ominous.

Anxiety was starting to grow in him, the meeting dragging on longer than it usually did. Order meetings had been growing tiresome for Sirius. At this point, they happened every week, sometimes more than once, and the message was always the same, always meant to incite fear-driven action.

Increase patrols.

Report anything you see.

Do exactly what Dumbledore and Moody said.

Maybe that was the issue tonight, the reality of his purpose in this war. They weren’t doing exactly what they said. In fact, they were doing the opposite. The thought chewed at him as he watched those he trusted. Charlus was relaxed, whispering to Oliver McKinnon in between announcements, nothing odd there it didn’t seem to eat at them.

James was comfortable between Lily and Kingsley, holding his fiance close and proudly chatting. Mary and Marlene seemed particularly lively, even Lily, despite being tucked into James’s side, joined them, no discomfort in their voices. Dorcas didn't seem phased at all by New Year's Eve; her act of wistful indifference was still perfect. She was always calm and collected, and her Slytherin pride did not let any fear show.

But when he looked at the other Slytherins in the room, his blood ran cold. Dorea’s eyes looked blazing, her stare boring into Dumbledore as he spoke. Andy kept stealing glances at Dorea, an unnatural nervousness on her usually haughty features. Her jaw clenched, and her mouth pressed into an unsettling line.

He watched their eyes meet from across the room. An entire conversation happening between them. He wasn’t sure if it was legillimacy or instinct, but it raised his hackles. They were callous in their disdain for this meeting. Their defenses raised and attention caustic. Like they could inflict damage with just their eyes, and maybe they could. Maybe Dorea planned on tearing apart every mind in this meeting with a single blink.

Like they had planned it perfectly or could feel his stare, slowly, both witches turned to look at him. The magnetic grey eyes that haunted his dreams, the ones he avoided in the mirror every morning, pinning him in place.

Just as the watch on his wrist started to burn.

Chapter Text

“Barty, do you have much experience with kids? Younger siblings?” Leticia was an anomaly to him. She was shrewd, always watching, and he caught her whispering to Dorea and sometimes herself. No one seemed to question her about it, so Barty just observed. She had been pleasant, but that didn’t stop him from waiting until she changed her mind and saw him for what he was, as so many often did.

He kicked around the floor, the heavy boots he had borrowed from Sirius still uncomfortable on his feet. “No, I mean, I don’t mind em, but I don’t know a lot of kids.”

“Hmmm, are you ready to learn, then?” Something about how she raised her eyebrow at him, like she expected his challenge but had no plans to stop it, made him pause. Maybe that was what made him so uneasy around her. She never stopped him or corrected his behavior. She tracked him with her eyes, unnerving as any Black, and waited to see if he would change himself. But she never reacted, and he hated it, craving the typical outcries to his behavior he was accustomed to.

“Sure, what do you want me to do?” He answered, unsure what she had planned for him and if it had anything to do with the somber glances Dorea and her had shared all evening.

The two had been odd, almost sullen, as the meal transpired. The atmosphere at the table had felt strained, pulled taught like a bow, the few who knew something ready to snap, those who didn’t ignorant to the danger that lurked in the eye contact of seasoned witches, all of it obvious to Barty as an outsider, watching it unfold. Now that he was alone with her, he wasn’t sure how long they could ignore the presence of distrust in the room.

Not turning back to answer him, she led him down the hall towards the room where the kids were playing. Toy brooms scattered about, gobstones, magic-infused blocks, and books were flung across the floor. “We don’t have much time, Barty. Help me grab their things.” Then, looking around the room, she spotted the oldest redhead. “William, help Nan and Barty with these.”

The child’s shoulders slumped as he turned away from where he was playing with two others and walked toward her. “Barty, this is William. He likes to be called Bill, but he can indulge his Nan for one night, right?”

“Yes, Nan,” Bill groaned but did as he was told.

“My sweet boy, William, I need you to help collect these toys, and then we are going to go on a little trip to Uncle Gid and Fab's cottage, okay?” She crouched down to talk to him. Even though he reached her shoulders, he thought it was odd that she would lower herself to speak to a child. He could hear just fine where she was.

“Now, Barty, I assume you haven’t held a baby before?” she continued, and Barty nodded, unsure where this was going. He was still waiting for her next steps as he tossed toys into a basket, his wand useless in case his father was tracking it. “That’s okay. Two will be hard, but you can do it. I’ll put them in your arms.”

He felt his spine stiffen at the idea of holding not one but two tiny, squishy babies. Leticia was before him in a second, holding the two youngest twins, motioning to his arms on how to hold them. “Once you get to the cottage, you can set them on their stomachs, okay? You’re a natural.” She complimented while she fussed over the twins, now staring up at him with bright blue eyes.

He tried to smile at the compliment, but it felt like sandpaper on his skin. He didn’t mind the older ones, they were funny, and during dinner, he got them to mimic him or be impressed with some rudimentary wandless magic. But these ones needed him, and he could feel his impending fuck up looming. Leticia said something else to Bill, who grabbed another younger child and held the bag of toys on his other shoulder. He tugged the toddler, who was still reading a book despite his brother yanking him out of the room.

“Alright, Barty, you follow me after Nymphadora and Charlie.”

“My name is Tonks.” The girl stomped her foot, and while he had seen it at dinner, it still made Barty uncomfortable to watch her hair shift to a vibrant red, her eyes matching, too. Good luck with that one during puberty, Andromeda. You’ll miss your rotten sisters, then.

“I know, little bird, but we have things to do. Would you like to see the sea?” She took their little hands in hers and only looked at him once before leading them out the door.

As they entered the floo parlour, Barty could have sworn he saw her release a breath in relief. He was used to the neuroticism of curls, but something about seeing the older witch tight, almost anxious, made him pause. She continued to pay him no mind, going about their business.

“Now, William, do you remember how to get to the cottage?” The eldest boy nodded, and she smiled, rubbing his freckled cheek. “Good. I’ll even let you throw the floo powder, alright? Hold onto Percy’s hand very tightly and move out of the way once you're through, okay?”

Again, he nodded, his eyes lighting up in excitement as she pulled the canister of powder off the fireplace ledge. “Good, good, Nan loves you very much, William. Be careful. Be a brave, strong boy for your siblings.” She kissed his cheek once, and he rolled his eyes before she turned to little Percy and said something similar “Nan loves you too, Percy. You are so special, my smart little wizard.” He could have sworn her voice was getting quieter as she said it that time.

He watched as Bill threw the floo powder and disappeared. Leticia wasted no time, pulling over the next two. “Now, Charlie, you make sure to hold on to Nymphadora tight, okay? I’ll throw the floo powder, okay?” Little Charlie looked disappointed, but Leticia ignored him. She repeated her ritual from before, kissing both on their cheeks and telling them they were loved, how important they were, and so on.

“Okay, Barty. You're next. Be careful. They have a bad habit of hanging by the floo after they go through.” She waved him over, her smile crooked, and if he stared long enough, he thought her bottom lip might be quivering. He felt himself hold the babies in his arms tighter.

Something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to ask. Barty was never afraid to ask, but as Leticia stared down at the two he held, he couldn’t find it in himself to interrupt her admiration.

He chuckled nervously. The idea of going through with two children in his hands made him feel sick when combined with her odd behavior. Leticia must have seen his apprehension because she smiled at him again, knowing and wise, her eyes crinkling with kindness in the corners. “You’ll be great, Barty. You can handle anything.”

She leaned down one last time to kiss the final two redheads and whisper Nan loves you onto each of their foreheads, calling them by name despite their identical nature. She looked up at him one last time too. “I’ll throw the floo powder for you since your hands are full, yes? I need a few moments to tighten the wards here, okay.”

Barty was now certain something was wrong, her voice still a whisper as he backed up into the fireplace, too scared to challenge her. He was going to open his mouth to ask, to see what was troubling her or how long she would be until she joined them at this shell cottage she was calling for, but he didn’t get the chance.

She moved quickly, the jar of powder still in her hand, as she whispered to him, “Good luck, Barty. You are loved too,” and threw the powder.

The heaviness of her goodbye startled him for a moment. He owlishly blinked, dizzy from the sudden travel as he took in the small living room of the new space, where the children had already made themselves comfortable. He hurried through once he came to his senses, assuming Leticia would be done with her wards in a minute and didn’t want to cause a collision.

He set the twins down on their stomachs, still laughing from the craze of magical travel as he stared at the fireplace.

Five minutes passed as he checked on each child present, unsure what to do as they asked for snacks and things. It wasn’t a long time, though, not uncommon if she had a lot of wards on the manor. He wasn’t nervous. He kept telling himself.

Ten minutes passed, and he was starting to grow concerned. She should know her spells better than that, but it was a war. She was being extra careful. The more wards, the better in a time like this.

Fifteen minutes passed, and he considered whether she was doing more than checking wards. Perhaps she needed to grab some things. She would come through. He was sure of it.

At 30 minutes, he had done enough waiting, grabbing a handful of floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace, a fire call would be enough. He wasn’t planning on leaving the room. He just wanted to know when she would join them. He wasn’t prepared to manage all these children alone.

But the powder never lit, and the fire call never connected. Grey soot was on the floor of the fireplace, stark and pale, staring back at him, and he felt like his mouth was filled with that ash.

A trickle of fear built at the base of his neck. It had to be a fluke. Curiosity had always been Barty’s Achilles’s heel, and the one time he fought against it, he found himself in trouble. He decided he could step away from the children around him for a moment, grabbing another handful, throwing it down, and calling out Prewett Manor, but no green flames surrounded him. Instead, he was thrown from the floo, landing on his ass in the living room, all the children laughing at him as he cursed.

But he wasn’t concerned for his sore hip and banged knee. No, he was pissed because she hadn’t just tightened the wards. She’d closed the floo. She’d kicked them out and locked them away in a warded, unplottable cottage.

She’d hidden them.

_______

Peter had been quiet on their patrol. She wasn’t sure what she expected from him, but he trudged alongside her for most of the evening, not saying much, even letting her decide where they should walk as they traversed the side streets of Diagon.

At first, the silence was freeing. She had grown so used to being around others. Sirius was always rambling about something, Remus often read out loud to himself, Lily was a ball of questions, Gideon and Fab had some quip or joke, little ones were never quiet, and Barty didn’t know how to shut up. Thus, she was left with very few moments where she was alone with only the sound of her thoughts.

She hoped it might continue like that all night but was disappointed when he spoke. “I meant that I was sorry,” he said, not looking at her, just ahead.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, exasperated because he’d been doing this to everyone, sending letters and trying to corner them at meetings. She hadn’t found out about the moment with Remus until weeks afterward. Hearing him describe Peter as agitated and aggressive gave her flashbacks to him in the shrieking shake, evasive and willing to do anything to get out of being cornered.

But then she’s also confused. He had been helpful in not returning the elder wand to Dumbledore, which still weighed heavy on her. Did he want her to owe him? Did he want Dumbledore to dislike her because she had stolen his friends? Was this some large plan from Voldemort to make Dumbledore weaker? She wasn’t sure, and the theories of his actions felt overwhelming. It was another weight on her chest as she tried to find an end to all of this. Dragging her down and making her ascent that much harder.

“That's the thing. I don’t know where to start. Every time I say sorry, I can’t pinpoint the worst thing I did.” He confesses, shuffling his feet, and she wishes he would pick them up. If they are attacked, he's likelier to trip over himself than be helpful. He was a better duelist than she expected, but she had yet to see him unprepared.

“Honestly, Peter, just start anywhere, the most recent thing if that's easiest. Or try to be better, I don’t know,” She huffs, missing the silence previously engulfing them. This awkward conversation makes the night feel longer than it needs to be.

He does stop to turn to look at her, then “What if I had another idea?” He looks up at her hopefully, and she freezes, unsure what other idea he could have and what another conversation like this will cost her emotionally.

“Well, Peter, we have three more hours of this, so don’t get shy with your ideas now.”

She realizes she doesn’t know much about Peter. She had always assumed he was a bit dull, a follower, Remus had told her. Spineless Sirius had said, but as Peter looked at her now, she seemed something else, determination. It calls into question whether anything he has ever done has been an accident or if he is the one with the master plan, not Voldemort or Dumbledore.

“I think Dumbledore knows about things, but he’s not letting anyone else know. Not even Moody,” Peter explains, and Hermione nods, unwilling to share her thoughts because Peter’s right. Dumbledore probably knows plenty, but she wants to know what Peter has picked up on.

“Do you think it’s odd he split everyone up tonight? Everyone who is friends with you?” Peter’s question makes her pause.

“How do you know that?” she bristles. “And it’s not true. James, Sirius, Dorea, Lily, really everyone but Remus and I are at the Order meeting.”

“What about your mother?” Peter counters cautiously, like he’s treading on a freshly frozen lake, waiting for her anger to snap and crack like brittle ice at his questions.

“She’s not a member of the Order, Peter. Why would she be there? How do you know about her anyway? I’ve never mentioned her.”

“Why isn’t she a member? And it’s not hard to figure out you're wearing a Prewett family necklace. I might not be Sacred 28, but I paid attention to Binns. Before you arrived, Dorea once mentioned recruiting her to join the Order, but Dumbledore said he wasn’t interested. Moody brought it up again recently when I was meeting with them. Do you know why?” He says like it’s average mum's club gossip, but the thought of Leticia being a topic recently makes her skin prick with goosebumps.

“No, do you? Wait, why were you talking to them about her?” she asks, breathless. She had been foolish, never thinking deeper about Leticia’s distaste for Dumbledore because she had her own. It felt comforting to know others saw through his mask, but how deep did Leticia see?

“Come on, your little stunt at the LeStrange party didn’t go unnoticed. Dumbledore knew I was there, and I can’t lie to him with my unbreakable vow.” Peter waves his wrist in the air, showing the magic inked right under his cuff.

“What all does Dumbledore know, then?” Her mind is reeling. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort know someone is looking for something; Voldemort knows what, and Dumbledore knows who. It feels like a lose-lose situation if she can’t wrap up this heinous treasure hunt soon.

“Well, as you said, we have three hours. What do you want to know?” His voice carries between them a joke among traitors, a dark, twisted humor that only two running from death can understand. She does not like Peter, but as she watches him offer her precious information, she can respect his ability to hide behind incompetency, to play the game of war from the shadows.

They don’t have three hours, though, because as they turn around the bend of a dark side street in Diagon, a patronus materializes before them—a wolf that she’d never seen before but would know in her heart immediately. Peter tenses at the sight, and she feels a sense of fear she didn’t think she was capable of as Remus’s voice leaves the spectral wolf’s body.

“Somethings wrong. Leticia has locked Barty and the kids in Shell Cottage.”

She doesn’t even think. She grabs Peter by the scruff of his collar and apparates them with as much power as she can muster. She can feel wards cracking and shattering around her as the colorful blur of apparation takes over. The power feels sickening as it works its way through her and the elder wand like they are apparating through the mud with all the spell work their arrival requires.

It feels like it takes as long as it did to tumble through time when she and Peter are finally deposited into the library of Prewett Manor, landing in a heap from the sheer force of their travels. She expects the sight to feel welcoming, a friendly atmosphere for whatever awaits them but tonight it's not, it reminds her nothing of the sanctuary she flocks to in the day time.

She’s been here tonight plenty of times, but never have all the candelabras been snuffed. The room is filled with towering shadows from bookshelves, contrasted with gentle streams of moonlight diffused by diaphanous curtains. Never in all her times bent over dusty tomes with Lily has she heard the familiar cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange travel down the corridors, the sound of boots and heels clicking against the wooden floors she walks on every day.

Adrenaline starts to pump through her veins, mixing with the magic still roaring in her after apparating. It’s a nauseating feeling, being out of control with anxiousness but ready to face what’s coming. She’s afraid she can’t do it alone, though.

With her hand still on Peter’s collar, his round, ruddy face now white as paper, she pulls him close enough that her lips are practically touching his ear, hoping to be as quiet as possible and keep them hidden for a few more precious moments.

She can feel him tremble, and his fear is a comfort. He needs to be afraid of Bellatrix and whoever is stomping around the manor. She needs to be the best option for the wizard with too many alliances.

“You want to prove yourself, Peter? Here’s your chance. Cover me, and I’ll let you live through this.” The words are a snarled whisper, and Peter whimpers at the implication that she might do it—that she might be the person to end his miserable, lonely double existence. He’s offered her an olive branch of information tonight, and she’s willing to take it if he plays by her rules.

She doesn’t have time to think because soon enough, the doors to the library are blown open, a menacing-looking orange curse making the room flash brightly. Hermione tugs Peter toward a back alcove, one she’s only found because of Remus and Sirius, and she prays she’ll be able to thank them for it later.

The dark and shadowy library makes it hard to see Peter’s face, but the wide whites of his eyes are easy enough to spot his fear as he looks at her regarding what to do next. She isn’t sure if anyone else is coming or if Peter will turn on her, leaving her utterly alone against whatever and whoever is here.

Peter must see her apprehension now because he shuffles closer to her, tilting his towards her as he whispers, “It’s like the Patronus charm. You have to really mean it for it to work.”

A sickening feeling fills her gut at his implication. He’s not talking about any standard hex or jinx. He’s telling her how to use unforgiveables, which means her only ally in this fight has been using them, probably against witches and wizards like her.

She sets her shoulders and stares back at him, the heat of the impending battle warming her blood. Their only comfort is that she knows this library better than anyone else, so no matter how many are out there, she and Peter have that on their side.

Peering around the corner, trying to think of where to move to next, what might be a better advantage point, she hears a sound that stops her in her tracks, “Just kill me, you disgrace of a witch.”

Leticia’s voice is cold and raspy, and her breaths are labored. She’s never sounded like that before. Usually, a calm pillar of grace and strength. Now, she sounds like an agitated animal, addressing who Hermione assumes is Bellatrix.

“Awwww, is my long-lost Auntie getting tired of games?” Steps everywhere in the library pause, and Hermione sees her chance. She grabs Peter’s hand and moves quickly, pulling him towards a stack of books she’s confident the intruders have already walked through.

“I’m tired of being related to scum like you,” Leticia taunts, and Hermione cringes. Does she know that Hermione is the one that's here? Is she expecting her sons to save her, and that's why she’s acting out? Hermione isn’t sure she’s enough to take on someone like Bellatrix.

Bellatrix strikes, then a cherry red cruse fills the room, and Hermione has to shut her eyes as Leticia’s screams fill the space, the cruciatous wracking its way through her body. The sound pulls at her gut, and her stomach threatens to spill at the sobs that follow the screams. She hates that someone so full of love is being subjected to such a demented witch’s games.

“Ahhh, I do prefer you screaming over your constant bitching” Bellatrix giggles, and her boots clack against the library floors as she continues looking for her and Peter.

The death eaters begin their search again, and Hermione knows it’s time. She can’t let Leticia be struck like that again, and she can’t let another person she loves be harmed in these gods-forsaken fights.

She isn’t sure how many there are, but she can't waste any more time with no one else present to help. She can’t risk any of the death eaters present finding what she and Lily have been working on either, the double threat of them being in this home making her vision narrow and her senses sharpen. It’s now or never.

A shadow creeps around the far corner of the aisle she is in, and she strikes, flattening her back against the shelves of books and casting a silent stupefy on whoever turns the corner, their body crumpling instantly, head bouncing off the floor.

Anger curls in her gut as she looks down at a now comatose Rabastan Lestrange. Thoughts of Pandora swim in her vision, and she debates killing him on the spot, letting all the hate in her unfurl and attack him right then and there.

She doesn’t have time, though. She can hear Lucius Malfoy's unmistakable voice call out, “This way, I saw a curse.” It can’t be good if Bellatrix and Lucius are here. It’s like the Department of Mysteries all over again, only this time Antonin Dolohov isn’t leaving alive if he’s here, and Sirius will not be murdered by his cousin—not if she has anything to do with it.

To her surprise, Peter puts a body bind and disillusions Rabastan, leaving him for later, before nodding that he’s ready to keep going. She puts a quick silencing charm on their feet and leads them down another stack so they can look at where Rabastan is bound and wait for their guests to arrive.

They don’t take long. The library isn’t vast before she can see Lucius leading the charge. Antonin is close behind, dragging Leticia by her arms on the ground, and Bellatrix follows, casting slicing hex after hex at her, torturing her every step of the way, her grin diabolical as she kicks at Leticia’s slow-moving feet.

Hermione has to bite her lip to keep the whimper of fear from escaping her. She can feel the tears pooling in her eyes, not just out of panic at the sight, but frustration and wild emotions of revenge that she wants to enact immediately.

She wants to mimic every single mark on Leticia in her attacks on them. No bruise or cut is too small; she wants them to feel it.

She wants them to be as disheveled as Leticia’s shiny grey hair is matted. Wants their blood to seep from wounds through their clothes, just like the faint staining of blood, she can make out on her mother. Her second mother of this convoluted lifetime of hers, but still loving as the first, whose arms appear to be magically shackled, and her shoulder looks to be at an unnatural angle.

Her magic crackles in her palms, twisting as it descends down her wand, an embodiment of her rage and need for vengeance. The hatred that burns in her is so intense she doesn’t notice the last two figures lurking behind Bellatrix, their black cloaks dragging on the floor, hiding most of them. But one notices her.

_____

Regulus Black had other things to do tonight, like study for his potions NEWT or spend time with Evan and Pandora in the shape-shifting room away from all the others. Hiding, he would rather be hiding. He had let his cowardice win since New Year’s and the punishment he had received.

But Bella, in all her repugnant noxious power, had called him tonight using the Dark Lord’s pull over him, and so now he was here, destroying a home that his brother probably loved. He tried not to think of Sirius during nights like this, where he was forced to watch as others enacted crimes that would make many want to gouge their eyes from their skulls.

They’d already been to Potter Manor, and Bella, the contempt-filled cunt she was, wasted no time unleashing Fiendfyre when she realized, with much disappointment, no one was home. The cursed flame was still burning when Bella roughly grabbed his cloak and forcibly disapparating him toward a new home.

Not exactly sure where he was, he took in the sprawling manor as the rest of them started popping into the garden, black shadows whipping around the courtyard that looked up at the unfamiliar abode. It wasn’t as big as the Malfoy one or even the Potter ancestral home or what would be left of it, but it was still an expansive sign of wealth and old family lines.

Bella spun around as she skipped towards the back of the house, her arms wide like a child’s, giggles escaping her, a high from the permanent devastating damage she had just inflicted making her intoxicated on power. Something about the adolescent nature of her glee always made him uncomfortable, but tonight, as her rabid eyes looked at all the wizards present, he felt even worse.

The glass French doors overlooking the garden his fellow death eaters were stomping through stood no chance against Bella’s spell. She blew the doors off their hinges, shattering glass and splintering wood as she jumped giddily, racing through the debris inside to look around.

“Ohhhhh Leticia, where are you! Friends are here to play.” Her loathsome, fraudulent French accent echoed through the empty home. Leticia Prewett, the name woven with Sirius through his bond with Hermione. His stomach filled with dread, leaden and incommodious at Bella’s search for her in the dark manor.

She wasted no time guiding the group through the home, twirling and firing off spells, sending photos and portraits flying off walls, leaving scorched holes in their place. From where he was in the back of their group, he could see her black curls bouncing from erratic excitement.

Dolohov was close to her trail, closer than even Rodolphus, her blatant disregard for her husband a sickening reminder of how little she cared for anyone but herself and the Dark Lord. Her whims and pleasure came before everything else.

They didn’t travel far until they entered a small sitting lounge so different from the ones of his childhood. No crystal vases filled with poisonous flowers or glass armoires displaying oddities and tokens of crimes long past. No, the room was full of scattered children's toys, half-read books, and tufted pillows—soft and inviting, like the room Dora had enchanted for them earlier this year. They were in some communal nursery, but there were no canes, such a frequent tool of his childhood, here.

She sat in the middle of the room in pale grey robes, surrounded by the mess of her happy life. She bore no embellishments, gems, or lace. Her salt-licked hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils and curls breaking free. It shimmered in the moonlight, pouring in through the windows. He was sure it had once been an incredible blonde before age had stolen its luster. Pale hands clasped in her lap, her skin milkier than any he had seen before, far paler than any of their shared relatives.

Her bleached appearance was only intensified by cloudy grey eyes, so much like Cissa's that it made his heavy stomach churn. Her eyes seemed to glow like milky opals as she peered at them. The entire room was washed in the dusty light of the stars. Poetic that those named after the night sky committed atrocities under it. Not a single candle was lit around her. She had been waiting for them.

“Do you come to finish your master's bidding?” She spat at them, not even trying to hide her disdain with her phantom presence.

Bella stepped up first, her bloodthirsty gaze contradictory to Leticia’s. Bella seemed feverish in her excitement to face the older witch, whereas Leticia seemed disappointed and saddened by the state of the wizards in her home.

“What do you know of our Lord? A blood traitor like you,” Bella did spit that time, thick and viscous as it landed near Leticia.

“Kill me then, be done with it. I have nothing for you and your kind. You want to make me pay, then do it.” Regulus felt his heart plummet. From the silver fire that burned in Leticia’s stare, he knew she would tell them no secrets, that she would rip herself from this world before she told Bella anything. Drag her own death out with her withholding. She would go down fighting with words and ire.

Bella cackled like she had heard the funniest joke in existence. Moving to circle Leticia in her chair, the elder witch did not flinch. She just waited, meeting each of their eyes as Bella’s finger slid along the back of the settee, her ragged nail scratching against the wood.

When Leticia’s eyes met his, his breath caught. The intensity of her defiant stare was a cool reminder of what was going to happen tonight, whether either of them liked it or not. There was a subtle prodding of someone else's mind pricking at his. She blinked once, the room darker when the glow from her eyes left, and he surrendered, letting her slip through the barrier of his mind.

Don’t fight it, Regulus, let it happen, her voice echoed in his head. Gone was the venom of her prose to Bellatrix, replaced with the love of a mother, the tender affection of family, something he had only known for short snippets, only ever heard from Sirius and Cissa.

How do you know it’s me behind the mask? Why must this happen? He begged, desperate to know what was happening before him.

All in good time or not, the night is young, and some will not see the morning. But I would know you anywhere Regulus Arcturus Black, a cousin by blood, but a brother in passion. You will be loved, too.

Their connection was cut short, the back of Bellatrix’s hand coming across Leticia’s cheek, her smile stretched to grotesque proportions as she watched blood trickle down Leticia’s face from where a ring had struck her cheek. A Black Family ring, if Regulus had to guess, a mockery of family.

“Tell us, was it worth it? To leave once only to be sucked back in again?” Bella’s voice had grown deeper, her desire to inflict pain and suffering taking over till she was nothing more than a raging force of hate.

Regulus didn’t know what it meant to leave once. He knew Leticia had been married by arrangement. She had not left by choice. She would have been just as trapped and cornered as Pandora or Narcissa.

The only women he knew who had truly escaped were Bella, with her fanaticism, and Dorea Potter, with her loving, new, and influential family. Andromeda still lived in the confines of fear that her sister may one day find her unprepared.

Leticia did not flatter Bella with an answer. Instead, she let his rabid cousin continue her ranting.

“You were too afraid of Gellert? Huh? And now, someone better has come to take everything you have. I will be glad to do it. You stain upon our name.” Bella used her wand that time, the red light of the cruciatous cracking through the room as it struck Leticia in the chest, her screams piercing everyone’s ears.

Bella never looked away, enjoying the pain she controlled. Even the rest of the wizards present had to turn at one point, the convulsing of Leticia’s body too much. Everyone here knew the burn of that curse, the muscle memory impossible to forget. He wondered if they could still feel it when they inflicted it. He hoped he never had to know, that he could continue his game of pitiful fights and avoidance. His armor of foolery and cowardice.

“I’ll drag this out for hours to make you remember why family knows best. What it truly means to be Toujours Pur since you have forgotten.” Bella raised her wand again, and Regulus assumed another cherry red light would wash the space in a haunting glow, but she was stopped when Leticia met her eye to answer her.

“The longer it lasts,” she rasped, coughing up blood that looked much too dark, black almost, and sticky, like the molasses Kreached used for cooking, on her chin as she spoke, “the longer your sister’s fate worsens. Did you know that Bellatrix? That my blood is as fetid as hers, a rancid blood curse that few Black witches know. The curse she shares only allows one of us to live in a lifetime, and she might be stronger now, but the more I fight it, the more it eats at her.”

Bella paused her torture, her face turning purple in indignation at Leticia’s words. “Do not speak of my sister,” she screeched before lifting her wand again. But Lucius was faster, grabbing Bella’s arm and holding her back.

“What is she talking about!” He screamed as he wrestled for physical power over Bella, the only way to bring down someone as mad as her. “Just kill the old bitch Bella! ” He begged, Cissa’s secret hanging in the air between everyone. A blood curse he’d never known, had Lucius? Did Bella know?

Leticia met Regulus’s stare again. The battered and bloodied witch before him was a frightening sight, menacing in her power with words, her ability to weave distractions with secrets. He didn’t try to fight her now, letting her slip into his mind with practiced ease, like they were old friends, not enemies on a battle line.

When this night is over, remind them of the costs of the dark Regulus. Only those of us who have touched it can do so.

Was the final warning he received from her before the sound of apparitions could be heard elsewhere in the home. Lucius released Bella as both froze at the sound. Bella turned her frenzied smile back at Leticia.

“Called for help so soon? Such a weak, pathetic excuse for a witch,” She screeched. “Let’s see which one of your brood came to save mummy? I can kill you all then.”

The next few moments happened in a blur, Letcia’s words still ringing in his mind, another riddle from a pureblood witch that he could not explain. The words twisting and confusing him.

Someone grabbed Leticia and yanked her forward with them, dragging her through the halls as they all followed Bella down the hall. Watching her kicking open doors and peering inside, leaving them once she deemed them empty. That was till she came to a library.

Giant wooden double doors peered down at them, carved so similarly to the ones he had grown to love in the castle, and Bella blew them open without a second thought, howling her laughter as the wood shattered. She ordered them like dogs to search for whoever made that noise, whoever had deigned to join them in their playtime.

He tried his hardest to look, searching for familiar black hair that he might be able to stun and hide in time. He was disappointed when he saw the flash of a spell indicating someone else had first. Cursing under his breath, he made to follow, his eyes scanning everywhere to see if he might warn someone of what was happening to Potter Manor's fate and how he suspected this place might burn by the night's end, too.

He finally saw her hidden in a stack, an arrant curl sticking out from a row of books. Was it only her? That was not a good sign. They needed more if they planned to take on Bella alone, forget the rest of the beasts that walked the room. He caught a flash of blonde hair and counted two of them. Three, if Leticia had her wand on her, but Regulus doubted that. He would join them if they needed. He was sick of these games and quests, and had been miserable since Barty had left with them.

Not only miserable, he had been unfathomably jealous of his friend and wanted nothing more than to run away from the castle, too. But where would that leave him after this? And he couldn’t leave Dora and Evan. They needed him, too. He just hoped that Sirius was showing Barty some mercy and kindness. Barty needed it.

“Come out, come out wherever you are! Leticia, which runt do you think it is? One of those pathetic little boys you call sons? Or maybe that poor plump daughter of yours? Think they’ll be as easy to catch as you?” Bella cast another crucio at Leticia, not letting her answer. Her convulsing caused her to get sick on Lucius’s shoes.

“Are you so naive in your service to evil that you think I didn’t know you were coming for me? That I would not give myself up for all four of my children?” She gags as she challenges Bella. Her voice filled with vigilant fury that only a mother's love could know.

Antonin drops her, kicking her side, and Regulus thinks he can hear the slightest gasp, barely a breath released from her lips, coming from the stack where Hermione and whoever her counterpart is are hidden. Dolohov laughs, though, before breathing in deeply, his mouth pulled into a toothy smile, and if Regulus didn’t know better, he might assume his teeth were fanged from the predatory nature of their gleam.

“I can smell my magic. Where is my malen'kaya mysh'? My whore from France?” He bellows, moving around Bella and Lucius to look for her. Bella calls for all of them to spread out and keep looking while she and Lucius move back to Leticia. Regulus’s heart is starting to pound. Hermione is close, and Dolohov appears to be on her trail, but as he looks at Leticia, her hate-filled gaze not enough to distract from her frail, battered body, he doesn’t know what to do.

He isn’t sure who to protect, but he feels like if he asked Leticia, she would say, Hermione, so that’s what he does. He takes off running, not even caring how loud he is, to search the stacks for her.

The minutes crawl by, but he feels like he’s stuck in an hourglass searching, trying to be the winner and loser in finding her for Sirius. It’s for naught, though. The frustration in the room is palpable. Wherever they are hiding is impenetrable as Rodolphus starts to blow up bookshelves, hoping to expose them. Bella has had enough, though.

“Fine! If you won’t come for me, maybe for mommy?” She doesn’t even have the common decency to use an Avada. No, Bella wants to make this painful. She wants to play with Leticia’s life like a cat plays with its food.

With the same curse that Hermione had used against Rabastan, Bella tears into Leticia’s skin, and despite her early screams, now all Leticia does is sob, moaning cries, and gargled coughs as the curse works its way through her. The simple light robes she wears have splotches of blood seeping through them, pooling on the floor around her hands and knees. Till finally, she’s too weak to hold herself up, the sickening sound of slick, slippery skin hitting the cold, hard ground, all of it covered in that syrupy black blood of hers.

Hermione comes barrelling out of a stack at the sound, her gutter cry shattering the tension of the room. Her visceral anguish overtakes everything, bouts of accidental magic radiating off her. He can feel her scream rattle his bones, the sheer force of her presence enough to make him want to sink to his knees and pray. The rash and cataclysmic nature of her presence makes him question who his brother has intertwined his fate with and what hell storm awaits him in the next few moments.

Everyone else is stunned at the grief tunneling through her, shaking the floors, shattering eardrums and windows in the library, hiding the sound of more apparitions finally snapping in. It’s fast. Despite his confusion, Regulus is quick enough to rip his mask off, unwilling to be an accidental casualty to any of the light who knows who he works for.

With all the death eaters focused on Hermione trying to get past them to Leticia, the few Order members there have an invaluable advantage. Their spells manage to hit many on their backs, surprising them and causing mass panic. Soon, the room is nothing more than random spells and the noise of combat.

Bella is cackling somewhere, but Regulus sprints towards Leticia because he has a chance to do something good now, an opportunity he can’t miss. The sounds of the fight around him blur together as he throws himself on his knees, not even caring for the blood that soaks through his pants. He’s covered in the tar-like substance, having never seen anything like it. She murmurs something to him, something that sounds like “love heals all”, but he can’t pay attention. He needs to do this. He thinks he might be the only one who can.

Snape taught him the counter just the other day. He can save her. He can do it. She doesn’t have to be right about this night. He’s chanting the counter curse, practically singing it, making the motions as precisely as possible while speeding up the process.

That’s how Antonin finds him. His booted foot connects with Regulus’s gut, and Regulus cries out, not from the pain but because Antonin has interrupted him. Has made it so the countercurse is fading away, and with one last look at Leticia’s eyes, he can see them rolling back in her head. Gone are the irises that connected them, and left is the death that runs stronger in their family tree than anything else.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Antonin yells, pointing his wand at Regulus right between his eyes. The wood is digging into him, and he doesn’t know what kind of spell Antonin will inflict but there is no room for missing at this distance. Regulus doesn’t stand a chance.

As the wood bites into his skull, Regulus realizes he’s not ready to die, not with out seeing Sirius again, or saying goodbye to Kreacher, and witnessing the fall of the Dark Lord. He doesn’t want to die at the hands of someone like Antonin Dolohov.

A purple light skates over his head, and Dolohov barely avoids it. He scrambles back, small hands pulling him up to fight with her. He wasn’t sure who he expected to find above him, but it wasn’t Hermione, with her cheeks flamed, the same purple spell sparking from the tips of her hair and her knuckles white as she holds that odd wand of hers.

She's throwing curse after curse at Antonin, and while he avoids most, a few critical ones land. The room comes back to him as he watches them duel. He can hear others fighting and yelling in the battle, but he’s entranced watching Hermione work. She moves like she’s feral but still smooth and graceful in her curses. She’s purposeful, not wasting a single step of her dance.

She never lets up, a sight to behold as she keeps stepping forward with each spell and pushing till she has Antonin cornered.

The beginning of the end, though, is a slicing curse. She’s already hit him with one in the face, but this time, she aims it perfectly, taking off his wand hand. The offensive appendage makes a squelching thud-like sound as it hits the ground.

Still, her demeanor doesn’t change, and Regulus thinks he can taste the copper tang of her rage as she continues. Cold and ruthless, she turns his kneecaps around, and he falls to the ground in front of her. He opens his mouth to spew some hateful, unimaginative insult, and she doesn’t wait. She vanishes his tongue, and it pulls an unnerving smile from her as she does it. The way just the side of her mouth ticks up, sending cold shivers down Regulus’s spine.

At this point, he’s crawling away from her. He stands no chance against the demon that is Hermione. Antonin looks nothing like himself. His face is unrecognizable, swollen twice the size of normal, and his eye is missing. Regulus isn’t sure what she’s cast on him, but she’s won. That much is obvious.

Hermione isn’t unscathed, though. He can see burn marks scorching her sweater, scratches and cuts up and down her legs tearing her tights, and she’s bleeding from a gash in her stomach. The sound around them dissipates, fights are slowly dying off, and Regulus turns to see who their saviors are.

He can make out a few, Sirius among them, his face snarling with fear as he watches Hermione advance, his wand pressed against Peter’s neck holding them both in place. James Potter is holding Lily Evans back, covering her mouth with his hand as she kicks and tries to reach out and stop Hermione. Out of the corner of his eye, he barely sees Leticia’s sons crouched and huddled over her body, soaked in the same blood he is.

He turns back to find Antonin, a bleeding mess on the ground, staring up at Hermione with only fear in his one remaining eye. Hermione tilts her head to study him, a predator, he realizes.

“You don’t know me, Antonin Dolohov, but I know you,” she growls, her voice booming through the room as her chest heaves. “I don’t forget wizards like you—wizards who take and take, that curse and torture and leave witches for dead. I don’t forget.” She grinds the final words out, her stare unflinching as she raises her wand one last time.

“I am not a mouse, and I never have been. Wizards like you would do well to remember that.”

He’s never seen anything like it before. He’s no stranger to unforgivables. He was baptized in them during his youth. He knows the burn of the curciatous and has seen a green streak from Bella’s wand plenty of times. He’s seen the thrill using them causes in wizards, how they yell and whoop in excitement the first time they cast it successfully. The power if life in their hands, a mix of hate for those they take from and pride from doing it.

Regulus Black has never seen anyone whisper the words as they cast them.

“Avada Kedavara” She’s almost impossible to hear, paradoxical to the blinding light coming from her wand, an unmistakable green light cutting across the space, striking true, connecting her wand to Antonin’s chest.

He’s never feared anyone as much as he does Hermione.

______

You have to mean it, Peter had said, and she did. With every fiber of her being. Every ounce of her soul and magical core is flowing into the curse that leaves her. Antonin had called out to her like she was a pet, called her a scared mouse as Bella slaughtered Leticia. They had taunted her and played with the one thing she loved so dearly, and she was not going to ignore her pain any longer.

These wars had taken everything from her, and she was done losing. She deserved to win. No one had given as much as she had, and Leticia was her last straw.

Her living rage and darkness were back, no longer coiled in her chest, waiting to strike. Now, it was slinking through her like a snake, its scales abrasive against her heart. She wanted to strike again and again. She wanted to be the thing that devoured its enemies, unhinged its jaw, and consumed men whole.

Wanted to sink her fangs into Antonin’s neck and leave him writhing in pain, her venom of dark magic burning through his veins like the memory of him haunted her sleep. The coil of her anger tightened around her as she lifted her wand that last time.

Antonin Dolohov was not worthy of a swift death. The slithering beast inside her hissed and whispered all the ways she could drag this out. All the spells and curses she had read over the years that could boil his blood like he had done to her or peel his flesh from his bones like it had felt when he touched her in that dark cell.

But no, Hermione wanted something different. As she looked at him, she wanted his last sight to be of a witch who really meant it. Who didn’t need the fanfare of fancy curses or unearthed spells. She wanted to be the monster they wrote about in children’s stories. She wanted to be deceiving, so full of hate that it only took one look from her to cause pain.

She could hear her friends and loved ones. They sounded kilometers away. But two voices broke through the barrier of anguish in her mind, the wails of motherless men. For one small moment, she wondered if Leticia would be disappointed in this rapacious creature she had become, something that hungered for pain, more legend than witch. Leticia is dead, her hatred hissed back, some bastardized version of parseltongue in her mind.

The wand in her hand sparked and vibrated with potential, but all she felt was fury and pain, the sharp prick of violent fangs pushing her to finish this. She raised her arm, the reality of what was left of her fight against him just another reminder of what she had lost—what her presence had stolen from Gideon, Fabian, and Molly—from all the young Weasley boys.

What the repercussions of her actions on New Year's Eve had taken from the world.

She met his eye, the pathetic sight he was, as she unleashed it. The dark magic in her arm pulled at her core, bleeding into her own and twisting itself together as green light stretched before. She knew they would never be separate again, no longer would she differentiate the dark and light inside her.

As his head finally rolled to the side, his chest no longer rising, she had a bitter thought. She had killed three that night.

Her actions had caused Leticia’s life to be stolen from them too soon.

Her wand had pulled Antonin’s life from him with much satisfaction.

And that Hermione Granger was dead, replaced with a beast made of nightmares.

Chapter Text

Remus’s ears were ringing. He had arrived at this bastardized version of a duel late, apparating directly from the Hog’s Head into the library, a tangled web of spells and curses shooting across the room. His heart was racing. It hadn’t stopped since Barty’s face had appeared in the floo of the main bar. Shouting for him.

Typically, Barty was very low on Remus’s list of people to trust, but something about the frantic look in his eyes and the sound of kids screaming in the background left him unnerved. He wove a grand tale about how Leticia had tricked him into leaving, and now he was stuck in Shell Cottage and nervous.

Barty was a lot of things. A prick and rude. A pain in his and everyone’s arse. He was terribly clever and a bit of a boy genius, but you would never hear Remus admit that out loud. What Barty had never been through was nervous. He wore his nonchalance and vexatious nature as a badge of honor. For Barty to have been nervous made Remus’s skill crawl. Made Moony howl, pawing and clawing at his mind, telling him to do something now.

So he had. He’d thanked Merlin and Morgana for Hermione and Leticia's thoughtfulness in his gift. He now had a way to contact Sirius faster than sending multiple patronuses. He sent the message quickly, “Something wrong at Prewett Manor,” before sending Hermione a Patronus, her necklace much smaller than the watch.

And since that moment, he had paced after shutting down the bar early. Damn this job and Aberford if he told him otherwise. Something was wrong, and this was war. He would rather cost the old wizard a few galleons than risk the ones he loved. He didn’t know what was wrong but knew he loved Hermione and Sirius. That he loved Leticia and all she had done for him over the past few months and that with them, they’d figure it out.

He waited with a nauseating, painful belt of fear in his gut as slowly all the faces on his watch moved from safe to danger. As the minutes ticked on, James and Lily moved in tandem, landing themselves in trouble together. He pleaded for any spirits or gods that would listen that Aberford would have been at the Order meeting and knew to hurry up. He felt like he was choking as Sirius and Hermione’s names pushed past trouble, crawling around the numbers and letters, ending up in danger, the hands going as far as they could go on the watch.

He wasted no time as soon as he saw the hardened features of Aberford’s face enter the pub. Maybe the older wizard had nodded or given some kind of consent, but it was beyond Remus. Moony was pushing him, and he knew it was time to trust the wolf. Whatever he was running into was trouble of the worst kind, and he’d need all his baser instincts to survive it.

He immediately ducked, falling to his hands and knees to avoid being hit by stray spells from either side. He landed in the library between two stacks that he loved dragging Hermione into. Shredded and burnt pages of books lay around him on the floor. A rainbow of different colored curses flashed on the walls and ceilings of the dark room. He had no option but to take cover till he could find a way to enter the fray. To find them, Moony reminded him as if he could forget that Sirius and Hermione were out there, both of their voices in the howl of battle around him.

That was how he found himself bumping right into something on the floor. Only he couldn’t see anything except for the faint wrinkle of magic on the hardwoods.

Thinking quickly, he pulled his wand, pointing at whatever was hidden, before offering a few random countercurses. Finally, the charm slid away, revealing a wizard he had never seen before. Dark beedy eyes stared back at him, bloodshot and angry. Despite the body bind that seemed to be containing him, Remus could feel the hate radiating from him.

The sound of a witch cackling somewhere else in the room distracted both of them. The unknown wizard looked wide-eyed before throwing his head around and trying to make some noise. Moony was quicker than him, pushing Remus to stun him and watching his head roll back, mouth hanging open at the move. Based on the lack of noise, he must have been silenced.

Crouching in place, trying to get a better view of whatever was happening around him through what was left of the grand shelves, Remus was surprised to see black shadows start to spin around those facing off against his friends and loved ones. He’d never seen someone disapparate like that, and something about the difference made his blood run cold. It looked harsher, choking as the shadows swallowed their intended wizard, and they each started popping out of the space.

He scanned the room now that their enemy seemed to be gone. Desperate to lay eyes on the people he loved. Remus was used to seeing Sirius or James duel, making them easy to spot even as things died down. They both made a game of every curse they sent, intense but agile. Next were Lily and Dorcas, both graceful, focused on precision as they battered opponents. Finally, Marlene treated each movement of her body as if she were still on a broom, moving to duck and weave with each cast.

Hermione was different. He found her in a corner, his eyes drawn to the sight like a magnet. She was determined and forceful, and he felt like a string was connected to his belly button, tugging deep at his core, dragging him towards her. He couldn’t describe the pull; it was almost euphoric to watch her and then have his feet move of their own accord to the whirlwind that was her casting.

He grabbed the unconscious wizard by the collar of his cloak and pulled him towards the sea of onlookers watching Hermione. Unceremoniously dropping his new companion on the cold floor, he stepped to the front, the otherworldly flutter of his magic forcing him closer.

Sirius was calling out to him, his wand pressed to Peter’s neck until it drew blood, but Remus couldn’t hear him; he could only hear Hermione. Her spells were like songs, bars, and hymns of magic woven together through mortal words. They said Latin and Aramaic were dead languages in muggle universities, but Hermione made the words sound more alive than any other being in the room.

She was like a siren, her magic intoxicating.

Her spell over him was only broken when he heard her whisper the final curse, “Avada Kedavra.”

Where she had once felt like firewhiskey, warming his blood and subduing Moony with her prowess, her connection now felt like frostbite. Growing from his core, branching and splintering off into each crevice of his body, it felt like he had said the words himself.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when she turned around and looked at them. Regret, maybe? But she bore none. Instead, that fire for revenge still burned in her. Her eyes flicked to the side, and that's when he saw it.

As if his eyes had alerted the rest of his senses, the smell of blood and dark magic consumed his mind as he stared at the ragged corpse that had once been Leticia. Hermione’s eyes snapped away from the sight of Gideon and Fabian trying to heal her despite the obvious lack of life. He could hear the sobs of one, interspersed with the occasional rennervate, the magic sparking but doing nothing to her limp body.

His heart clenched, the regal woman he had sat with at tea so many times, who had known what he was and had never said anything. Who had given Hermione the love she needed to grow and accept being with him, and Sirius was gone. The world hadn’t deserved someone like Leticia, and she had been reduced to battle fodder by the looks of it. A crime against all things good, he thought.

When he looked back at Hermione, her eyes were now on him and the wizard in his hands. For a moment, he thought about stepping back, instinctually afraid of her and the otherworldliness that seemed to emanate from her as she stomped towards him, her wand still drawn.

For all the madness in the room when he arrived, every breath was held now. The twins' cries even slowed as they continued to watch her approach the unconscious man. She didn’t waste time, waking him magically as she made her last steps, crouching down in her tatters of clothes until they were almost eye to eye.

“I hope you got to see the show Rabastan because that was child’s play compared to what I plan to do to you,” she counted her fingers like her threats were a game, like she often did for the young Weasley boys “your brother, that cunt you call a sister-in-law, your dear friend Lucius, every death eater I can get my hands on,”

She paused before the last part, getting even closer to their captive. He worried she might bite him, “and then last but not least, Tom Riddle, the half-blood you're going to lose your life for.” She snarled and hissed. He knew that Rabastan had not seen her show, but still, his eyes widened at her threats.

Remus was frozen, the ice in his veins locking his knees in place and shackling his ankles to the floor. The hairs on his neck rose as if the air in the room seemed to match his internal temperature decline. Everyone was frozen in fear at the menacing danger lurking in Hermione’s promise.

Everyone but the predator in his mind. Moony growled, desperate to bask in the hate that seemed to roll off her, to stand beside her in all that fury-filled glory.

Sirius talked about worshipping Hermione like she was a goddess when he made love to her. Remus understood now. Moony wanted him to prostrate himself in her honor, to help her enact whatever vengeance burned in her stare. To follow her wherever it went.

Rabastan did not understand the type of witch who stood before him, though, because he didn’t stop his thrashing or grunting, and Hermione cast a slicing hex at his ear, taking it off clean, the precision of mediwitch with her wand.

“You need to learn to listen better,” she spat, finally looking away from the whimpering mess of a wizard at his feet to meet Remus’s eyes. Bloodshot and silver-lined, Remus could see what Moony couldn’t.

Her anger might be what sat at the surface, enticing to beasts that prowled and stalked, but those eyes told a different story. Hermione was drowning in grief, and it was hiding in this righteous vengeance that she was enacting.

________

Sirius watched Hermione with the intensity of an acolyte, grasping for any commandment she might have for him as he pressed his wand deeper into Peter’s throat. He hoped it hurt, that it crushed his windpipe, that it stuck him like a pig for whatever his hand was in this horrid night.

Sirius was no fool; some plan had been enacted tonight, and the guilty parties outnumbered the innocent. The restlessness and fear of Andromeda still haunted his mind. Even in all the dueling and panic of fighting, something was nagging at him. Like his mind was too slow to put the pieces together, that he was missing the last piece, and he had a feeling it was Peter.

The rat was turning purple from the pressure Sirius was placing on his collar. His coughing and pleading were nothing to the awe that filled his mind at the sight of Hermione, how she commanded the room and left everyone in states of fear and admiration. He wanted to spit on Rabastan when she addressed him. Sirius had heard the tales of the type of wizards his cousin had married into, and he could only assume that Rab was no different.

When Hermione turned her eyes on him, her hair still sparking from her duel, an ominous green skittering across her curls, he swallowed. He wasn’t afraid of her, but whatever had transpired in this library had changed the course of this war and had changed her.

She smiled at him, saccharine and playful. It made his spine stiffen, and his grip on Peter tightened. For a brief moment, he saw some of the madness that plagued his family in her misleading gaze, her eyes and mouth so contradictory that he wondered if she was a painting finished by two artists, neither knowing the end result.

But she paid him no mind, looking at Peter with that doll-like madness as she spoke, her words carrying throughout the room. “I meant it,” she hissed like the words burned her throat, the only sign he could see of her anguish under the mask she wore. “I think you owe me more apologies, Pettigrew.”

She bit out his name like it was nothing more than the mud underneath her boot or the grime that coated her, remnants of whatever they had done tonight. Sirius still wasn’t sure. The high of dueling had made it hard to comprehend the carnage around him.

As he took stock of his surroundings, what had happened barrelled into him all at once. Gideon and Fabian held each other as Leticia’s body lay between them. Sirius felt sick at the sight, but he understood Hermione now or could pretend to know her wild emotions. Could wrap his mind around how she had to turn her back to the scene and focus on something else, something she could control.

He wasn’t sure how long that control could last. Rage was like a match. It burned hot and lashed out, but it was short-lived. Bright and powerful, but it could not survive without more fuel.

He wanted to reach out to her, grab her, and pull her close to absorb all that pain that was surely pounding in her veins. To catch her when her pyre of emotions was finally snuffed.

It was probably the only thing keeping her standing. He was no stranger to the things hate could push you to do, to how it could keep you alive when everything else felt hopeless. He hated his family. Hated his mother. Hated anyone who wanted to harm those he loved. He was more intimately aware of hate than anyone else in this room. He understood what it meant to hate and be hated.

Well, everyone except Regulus who seemed to watch Hermione with the type of disappointment that Sirius could feel in his chest. Deeper than his heart, his lungs burned with the understanding that if anyone knew what Hermione had given up in her payback, it was him. Sirius, for one moment, felt bad for his brother for having to know the cost of war at 17, but Regulus had made his choices too, knew the risks of what their parents wanted, and now had to deal with the consequences like the man he wanted to be when he took that mark.

Slowly, still, the room returned to him, Lily’s sobs, Marlene and Dorcas’s whispering, James’s uneasy shuffling, everyone unsure what to do. They all looked to Hermione like she might know, but she seemed to be losing her steam. Her white knuckle grip loosened on her wand, her eyes almost catatonic, as if she, too, was finally processing what had happened.

He heard the twins call for her, and Sirius’s gut twisted and could have sworn he saw Regulus flinch at the noise. She stood still, not turning to look at them, though, her shoulders starting to shake, that armor doing more than just cracking. Now, it was disintegrating at the state of affairs. He desperately wanted to let go of Peter, but after she had threatened him, Sirius felt he had to keep him.

Distracted by his thoughts of Peter, his heart raced as he saw two black-stained hands wrap around Hermione and turn her. The sight was startling, the unnatural nature of the color staining them and her jumper, till he realized it was Gideon pulling her into his arms just like he had that first meeting when she bared her soul and memories to them, no different than she’d done tonight.

Both of their cries grew as she crumbled against him, a string of apologies mixing with her hiccups. They all stared. The witch who had killed with a whisper was gone, replaced with a Hermione they had never seen before. Not even in those awful memories from her time in 1998 compared to the current state of her. How she seemed to wail and curse herself as Gideon squeezed her tighter.

Sirius wondered if it should be him holding her, comforting her. Still, he felt like an outsider at the sight of a grieving family, like they were all looking through a partition at the sideshow that was the Prewett matriarch's demise and the rubble left in her departure.

He didn’t know how long they all stood there, hoping their presence was enough to convey their condolences, their shared misery at the loss of someone such as Leticia, knowing it would likely never be enough.

Dorea and Charlus appeared at some point. Dorea’s gasp of shock and quiet tears added to the severity of the situation. But she did what only someone who had lived through more death than anyone else in the room could. She got to work. She took her time moving to each person present and giving them a task or telling them to leave and when to return. He heard whispers of a meeting tomorrow.

She even stopped and spoke to Regulus, who, like the rule-abiding heir he was, did not challenge her. Just agreed to whatever task she had assigned him, like he was one of her own, like every other in the room. Like he didn’t carry the mark that had killed Leticia.

When she finally reached him, he couldn’t help but cringe at the smell of ash and smoke permeating her. Concern bubbled up in him at how it looked like she had soot on her cheeks, how her eyes were bloodshot, and how her usually milky skin was grey and splotchy. Something was wrong, and it ran much deeper than he knew. She looked as battle-worn as the rest, but she had just arrived.

“Sirius, take Peter and Rabastan out back to the games shack. Ted is on his way to ward them in. We’ll leave them there till we can interrogate them.” He nodded dumbly, grateful for instruction, for anything to do and distract him from his thoughts. “When you return, I need you to take Regulus back to Shell Cottage and set him and Barty up in Hermione’s old room for the evening, okay?” Again, he agreed, not thinking about how her request would put him in such close proximity with his estranged brother.

She turned to Remus next, and Sirius looked over at his sallow features, the exhaustion of the night wearing on him, too. “Remus, you need to take Hermione home. She needs to sleep. This is all far from over, and we need her at her best.” It seemed like a ridiculous request. How could she be at her best when it seemed like everything was constantly ripped out of her hands? “Sirius will join you at your flat once he has those two settled.”

Sirius’s skin itched for him to reach out, the need to touch and comfort Remus or Hermione made his vision swim and his magic falter, but he ignored it and did what he could to pay attention, swallowing down his concerns. He needed to hear these next steps and had to do his part. That’s what Dorea and, ultimately, Hermione needed.

Remus must have been in a better state than he was because he asked, “And if she doesn’t want to come?”

“She can do as she pleases, but I think she needs someone to guide her right now,” Dorea supplied, her voice even but understanding in her eyes. There was no stopping Hermione, but that didn’t mean they had to sit back and let her crumble. Remus was good at that, having picked Sirius up more times than he could count. He was good at setting a path, keeping you on it, and doing it all with tender compassion. A leader and a lover.

“And what will come of -” Remus’s voice cracked, and Sirius knew he was too deep in his mourning to say her name. Her name shouldn’t have felt like a curse from their lips when before it had been such a comfort, but now, as his eyes betrayed him, straying to where Fabian brushed his mother's hair from her forehead like she was the child, not him, he knew he couldn’t speak it either.

“Charlus and I will take great care of her. You can promise Hermione that, too.” Dorea punctuated the finality of her statement by turning, not allowing any more questions.

It pained Sirius to step away from his family, to be on his own with Peter and the stain on wizarding society that was Rabastan, but he didn’t have a choice. He worked quickly, binding and stupefying Peter, unwilling to hear his complaints about his treatment.

He debated how he would manage to levitate them separately, staring at their prone bodies, how they looked like corpses in a room that was already suffocating him with death. He was thinking about how he could bind them together as one when Regulus stepped up to him, that same smell of ash and fire in his robes. He didn’t say a word, just lifted his wand and levitated Rabastan, not caring as he banged his limp body against every wall and door he passed.

Sirius wasn’t sure how Regulus knew the manor. Still, his brother led him outside, focusing instead on his black hair, matted and greasy, so unlike his usually perfect appearance, as he followed behind him with a floating Peter. Regulus didn’t stop as he approached the small garden shed, kicking open the door with a boot that might have cost more than everything Sirius was wearing before dropping Rabastan’s body onto the ground like it was nothing more than a rancid sack of flour.

Sirius followed suit, a little gentler with Peter, but the blonde wizard still made him uneasy. He wondered if he would ever look at that particular shade of hair again without feeling strange anger and nostalgia. Like a ghost, Peter never really left him, just showed up at the most inopportune times, and tonight seemed like another one.

Ted was thankfully quick, looking once at Regulus, confusion written in his features, before shaking his head and solemnly getting to work on warding the small building. Regulus still said nothing to him, and Sirius couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure how to address his brother either. He didn’t know what he had seen that night or what he thought of Regulus after all this time. He just knew to follow Dorea’s orders.

It was funny how a few short years could leave them so adrift. Was there enough rope in the hulls of either of their ships to tug them back to each other? It seemed unlikely, but Hermione hadn’t turned on him tonight, and it was all he needed to know right now. He held his arm out to apparate them, and Regulus took it. The silence around them grew unbearable as Sirius brought him to the sandy grass in front of the cottage.

As soon as their feet hit the sand, the front door flew open, and Barty ran out. “What’s wrong?” he croaked. The usually cocky wizard looked distraught at the sight of them both. Sirius shouldn’t have been surprised. The two of them together probably resembled an omen of death to many. The Black brothers reunited was a sight no one could predict. Was it a clash of deadly proportions or the combining of good and evil till everything was grey? There was no telling.

Sirius felt a sense of pity for Barty and his obvious concern, how he looked frantic and anxious at their arrival like he had been waiting for them. He still had no idea how the wizard had ended up locked in this cottage and not in the fray, and any theories he had felt like wisps of smoke, nothing he could grasp, nothing rational.

“Who died?” Barty finally ground out, gallows humor in his voice, but there was something so tender and hopeful like he wanted to be wrong. Like he was testing the waters with another crude, offensive joke that no one could fathom. They could fathom it tonight.

He and Regulus pushed past him, pulling him into the house with them, neither wanting to say it. To admit they had lost someone. “War waits for no one,” Dorea had said to him. Some kind of sick premonition, he thought, because if she knew, if she had let them leave Leticia, then he would be ill. He couldn’t think like that. Not right now. He needed to get Regulus and Barty situated for the night and keep moving because if he stopped, he would break.

Hermione was broken enough for all of them tonight. His goal was to help her put herself back together. Piece by piece, he would be there, but he feared she would be starting from scratch. Her ability to rip the life from Antonin Dolohov’s eyes was proof enough.

Sirius’s voice was ragged when he finally spoke. Hoarse from his screams in battle, raw from the emotion he was choking down. “Reg, there's a shower down the hall. I’m going to get you and Barty set up.”

“Reg isn’t going back to school? Why is Reg here? Reg, what’s wrong?” Barty pleaded, licking his lips and wringing his hands as his eyes darted back and forth between the two brothers.

Sirius swallowed, each gulp more painful than the last. “Come on, Barty, I’ll,” he paused, pushing out a shaking breath. I'll tell you.” Barty glared at him, then looked back softly at Regulus for a short moment before conceding.

He led him to that mountain of pillows Hermione had made, instructing him to get comfortable so that Sirius would get him and Regulus to bed. He was going to tuck them in, he realized. He hadn’t helped Regulus in such a way since they were children, sneaking through cracked doors and hidden closets to each other's rooms in Grimmauld, where he would lay in his little brother’s bed and tell Reggie made-up stories about the stars, the gods, and wizards of bygone—anything to create a little wonder for his brother.

He guessed that's what the two younger wizards needed tonight. Sirius might only be a year and a few months older than them, but at this moment, he was once again craving to act out that care he had given Regulus as a boy. He got to work, transfiguring the bed a little bigger for the two of them and scrounging up some sleepwear for Barty from the twins’ rooms, transfiguring that too so it was his size.

Eventually, Regulus joined them, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you tell him?” His voice was flat, but his concern was palpable, the tension in the room at a boiling point. Sirius handed him his pile of magicked pajamas as he braced himself to finally do it. To say the words he dreaded, to admit their loss.

Sirius turned to look at Barty, no longer filled with pity but instead understanding. Barty was just as stuck as the rest of them, a war raging around them and hitching their wagon to the best option, just wanting it to end.

“It was Leticia Barty,” Sirius said, the reality of her death settling in his chest, heavy and cumbersome, like he may never be able to stand up from his spot on the bed.

“She knew,” Barty whispered, staring out the giant windows overlooking the beach. The ones that usually let in the lilac and tangerine hues of the sun’s rise and fall each day. But gone was the sun, and left around them was the night sky, the candles in the room no match to the stars and the moon that made the room feel sleepy like the space was pulled under a slumbering winter quilt. “She said goodbye to all of us, and we let her.” his bitter voice continued.

Sirius didn’t know how to respond because it was true. She’d told him he was good and then left him. She'd compared him to Alphard and then left like Alphard had. He wanted to be upset, but he was too tired. He didn’t know how to make the situation better.

He didn’t have any stories to paint for Regulus and Barty, didn’t have any lies to distract them. Two wizards he usually found himself annoyed with looked at him with confused pain, and now all he wanted to do was make them feel better, as if caring for them would heal his own heart.

He thought about the last time he had been in this room and bed, of Hermione’s laughter, the glow of the telly on her face as she was swallowed whole by the pillows around her. Both of them were in those stupid pajamas, drinking that knicked champagne. It was a perfect memory—patronus worthy.

As he looked closer at Barty and Regulus, trying to find the words, he realized they looked like James did when they were young, wearing Charlus’s shirts as pajamas in their dorm. The silly oversized things always looked so comfortable and wholesome to Sirius.

They seemed so young, like firsties, amongst the piles of comforters, unlike the miscreants he usually compared them to. He realized that they were mere children. Children fighting a war, just like the friends from Hermione’s stories. Maybe Sirius couldn’t heal this, he couldn’t erase Hermione’s experiences, and perhaps he wasn’t a perfect brother, but he could offer something, a distraction.

His voice cracked, and tears threatened to spill over as he looked at the telly still on her dresser, unable to face them as he faked excitement and asked. “Have you two ever heard of space wizards?”

______

She knew it was early morning. The inky blackness of the sky was starting to turn grey in the corners, and the first dredges of bleak winter sun threatened to break through.

They had sent her home hours ago after Remus had pried her from Gideon's arms, a place she didn’t deserve to be. The wreckage her arrival had brought still littered the library. She had torn apart a place that people loved, that she felt at home in, and left a family in shambles, all because she had selfishly wanted to feel it again herself.

The water was biting as it splashed onto the shore, creating puddles and pools around her ankles. She could cast a warming charm, could even scoot back so that waves didn’t nip at her bare feet, but she didn't because she deserved it. She wanted to feel that chill. It battled the burn in her. That raging venomous fire that wanted to hunt down every death eater she could find in the middle of the night. To seek them out in their beds and leave them unprepared for her wrath.

Instead, she had let Remus lead her to his and Sirius's bed. Another thing she would ruin the longer she stayed there. They were in just as much danger as Leticia with her recklessness. But despite the grief that seemed to consume her, filling her chest with water till she was drowning in it, she was still selfish—letting him undress her like a doll, slipping one of Sirius’s shirts over her head, and helping her step into his boxers. The smell of them lulled her mind to some form of mock comfort.

She even went as far as to let him tuck her in and slide in behind her. Pretending to sleep as he held her like he didn’t care. She had ruined it all, and he indulged her by pretending he didn’t care about the mess she made.

Sirius arrived hours later, a figment of himself as he slid into the bed on her other side, nuzzling her hair. It should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. It made the guilt sodden rage in her churn.

When their breaths had finally slowed, and she knew both were asleep, she couldn’t stop herself, slinking from their bed like the snake she was, another person who had promised change and had not delivered in time. She had meant to go to the little balcony of the flat to see if the cigarettes those two sucked on would make her feel better.

But when her feet met the cold concrete, and her hands clenched around the iron bars fencing the suspended slab in, it didn’t bite enough. She needed something stronger. So she apparated on the spot, her wand tucked into her hair, unsure where she was even going, but when her ass hit the sand behind Shell Cottage, she almost laughed. A sad chuckle, more of a raspy gasp, was all that escaped her lips as she landed.

How poetic to be here, where she had started, where the reign of her havoc began.

Where she fell from the skies and cursed everyone with her presence was where she found solace tonight.

The beach had still been pitch black then, perfectly able to see the stars' glittering reflections in the icy waves, making her shiver and hiding her shame in its darkness. The smoking felt good, too. Those first few drags hurt her lungs, and she could almost hear her dentist parents scolding her, telling her how bad it was for her lungs and would ruin her teeth. She didn’t deserve their lectures. She was destined to lose every parent she had ever known.

She watched the little cherry-colored end of the cigarette against the dark seascape before her. The sound of the waves was almost nostalgic to the delirium she had arrived in.

She sat and thought for a long time, hence the change in the sky and her skin. Covered now in gooseflesh, cold to the touch. She wondered if her lips would be purple or if the cigarette kept them warm enough. Not enough to kill a witch, she lamented in her mind, those stupidly long lives and strange immune systems. Not enough to save Leticia either, but enough to let her enjoy this torture.

Her plan came to her slowly. They couldn’t wait any longer. Dorea knew it, too. She had called for a meeting today and had asked Regulus to stay for it. It was time to get the locket.

She felt tears track down her cheeks as she thought of him. He had tried to save Leticia, the only one.

She thought of the last three Horcruxes, how maybe they wouldn’t affect her as much now that she felt so hollow. Perhaps she didn’t need anyone else. Could she find them herself and free every one of the burden that was her presence? It would be a relief to be done with it, to escape into the night and end Voldemort on her own and never let anyone know. She thought she might disappear to a new country, that she would like some place like Berlin or maybe San Paolo. She had heard incredible things about Hong Kong.

Her dreams of what she could do alone were interrupted, though. Long flannel-covered legs stretched out next to hers, and a calloused palm appeared in front of her face, the universal sign of give me or share. “This is where I found you.” His words broke the silence she had been ruminating in.

She turned to see Fabian beside her, pale as she was, his red-rimmed eyes and chapped nose as he looked at her impatiently. Shakily, she placed the nearly empty carton and lighter in his open hand. He mumbled his thanks, lighting up one for himself, till only the sound of their shared puffs and the ocean surrounded her again.

The sky grew more and more grey as they sat there till she couldn't bear it any longer. The words felt like glass, shredding her smoke-riddled throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though she knew it was not enough to make up for what she'd done.

“You didn’t know her or any of us in the future, right?” he asked, ignoring her apology. She pulled her knees to her chest, cradling herself against the cold, damp air, the salt sticking to her curls and chapping her cheeks.

“No, I only knew Molly and Arthur and the boys,” she admitted, saddened that they won't know Leticia either, that Ron and Ginny would never experience her, and that only Bill and Charlie would even remember her.

“And she wasn’t on your order notes?” Hermione nodded. The idea that she had caused her a more painful death than originally planned by the fates haunted the tattered remains of her soul. “She was a Ravenclaw, you know? Brilliant and smart, but she was raised by snakes. She was cunning and self-serving at times. And then she loved a Gryffindor and raised three. The only one she wasn’t was a Hufflepuff. But that’s not important. She was an incredible witch, Hermione, and she knew it.”

“I don’t think there will be anyone else like her,” She admitted defeatedly. Listening to him talk about her pained Hemrione, the words sharper than the water licking at her bare feet.

“She knew what to do with you the moment we found you. Pandora had already visited her. My mum was a lot of things, but she rarely made mistakes, at least not since marrying dad.” The words feel like a dagger to her heart. She was Leticia’s greatest mistake, letting her into their home, and now Hemrione’s presence had come back to bite them.

She waited for his next blow to land, for him to tell her to leave, to take her quest elsewhere to ruin other people’s lives. But he didn’t. She wasn’t sure what she did to deserve this kindness, but Fabian continued, “Barty told me he thinks she knew she would die tonight. He’s actually the one who told me it was you out here. Said you needed space, to plot as she did. And he’s probably right, the fucking shit he is. But knowing her and her scheming, like that necklace on your neck, or the day she called Dorea instead of Dumbledore, she knew what she was doing tonight. You know what she said to me before I left?”

Hermione shook her head no, too afraid to shatter this fragile existence they were in. She couldn’t tell if he hated her yet, or maybe he hadn’t put it together that she was to blame, or worse, he was dragging out his attacks. She wanted to fiddle with the little charm against her sternum but picked at the skin of her knees and the sand embedded there instead. Worried that if she touched it, he might ask for it back.

“Don’t stop loving everyone, Fabian. Which is funny because Gideon is the loveable one, right? Don’t stop loving everyone, Fabian. What does that even mean? Gideon is so bright and free with his heart, he’s funny, and I’m me, the lion that should have been a raven who wanted to be like his mother. And I realized something, Mione.”

The nickname made her choke. The endearment felt so foreign in a space she shouldn’t be welcome. “I won't stop loving you either, neither will Gid or Molly. And I’ll keep loving those two the same. Fuck, even those idiots who follow you around like puppies might get some of that affection eventually. I won’t stop loving my nephews and godson. But I can’t love you when you torture yourself over what you can’t control.”

“I’m not doing that,” she snapped back, hurt that he could see her so plainly like he’d known her whole life like she really was his sister.

“You are. It’s what I’d do, too. Gid would probably drink himself to death over it, and Molly would or probably is making more food than she knows what to do with or can afford.” He chuckled as he said it as if the truth in his words were humor, not painful facts.

“How do you know all this?” she asked, desperate for him to impart some more wisdom.

“You know why Gid and I duel back to back?” she shook her head no, and her brow creased in confusion about how this was related. “Gid is always on, whether that be attacking first in a duel or making others happy the life of the party, our court jester. I’m the observer, the watcher, the scribe. I have to see these things. I’m his keeper, and he’s mine.”

“That’s very sweet,” she offered, confused about who her keeper was, as she stared out at the endless sea, unable to look at him. Jealous that he has a keeper because she’s not sure she does. Sirius and Remus have each other, and if something were to happen, they would duel together and have each other, and she blanches at the realization that she would be alone.

She lies to herself that it’s okay as long as they’re okay in the end. She knows it's a lie as she thinks it, and she lets it slip anyway. Ignoring the pain of what being one of three really means.

It has to be fine, she realized, because if she had a keeper, she wouldn’t been able to do what needed to be done. The idea that has been haunting her for months, nagging at her mind all morning. The idea that she realizes with Fabian’s astute observations, Leticia planted early on. If she’s right, then maybe one of three is okay if you have someone as strategic as Leticia in your corner.

He says some other things about what she means to him, and the rest of them, and how she shouldn’t sit out in the cold.

But it’s all a blur as she considers what it means to be a keeper. Maybe Leticia was her keeper, and now that she’s given her life, all Hermione can do is be a keeper for others. This seems noble, more so than her earlier lamentations of sacrifice. This feels like purpose.

Chapter Text

Tension hung over the table like a dense fog. No one was willing to speak, and everyone was waiting with bated breath for what they were to do with the mess that surrounded them. The night had been long and devastating, and the lingering emotions still burdened each of them.

The chill of the sea had seeped down into Hermione’s bones, just enough to allow her to focus, but it didn’t completely stop the rolling emotions that filled her, that battled against her attempts to move forward. She desperately wanted to feel hollow, to miss Leticia, but her devastation would never allow her such peace to mourn. She was angry, the bite of the water the only thing that soothed her.

Sitting in the dining room of Prewett Manor felt like a twisted game, a test of who had what it would take to keep going. Uncomfortable eyes darted around the room as if they expected Leticia to turn around the corner, but that hope was futile.

Instead, her blood stained the floors above them.

No one wanted to be here, to face the ugly reality of what was happening. They were running out of time, and things had to change. Sacrifices had to be made, and she could only hope the others would understand the cost of achieving their goal. Time and planning were luxuries they had abused. The only option left was to act now.

Across from her, Dorea led their ragged crew in the somber gathering, sharing update after update of what had transpired in the last twelve hours and what they had learned from it. Some of it was helpful, some was disconcerting, and the last bit downright catastrophic, but they would continue nonetheless. The time was now, and there was no turning back for her.

“Potter Manor is no more. It appears fiendfyre was the culprit.” the haze of Hermiome’s thoughts evaporated at Dorea’s words. So direct and calm despite their earth-shattering consequences. The Potters had no home. Sure, they still had homes and safe houses, but Hermione could see the bitter look of disappointment on James and Charlus’s faces. Their legacy was wiped from existence because of spite. How the death eaters even chose them was a mystery. Did they know about New Years? Had they put together who was helping whom?

It made her think of Peter, dirty and hungry in the shed with Rabastan. He was the only way they could have known, and she wanted him to sweat for a while before she got to him. He needed to be pleading to live before they spoke again, not in the mood to fight him for crumbs of information. He was weak. She had a feeling it wouldn’t take long.

Peter had known something was amiss last night, and he would carry the guilt of his comrades' actions with his complacency and worthlessness as a double agent till she gave him the time of day.

But the fiendfyre was concerning, to say the least. A sickening realization started to build along her spine. An idea that severely impacted their cause. Had Riddle known they had the Horcruxes? Surely, he wouldn’t have allowed his minions to use fiendfyre if he did.

She waited for more information, confirmation about what type of devastation had happened in the manor, proof that it was everything. “Charlus and Oliver had been through the rubble, the only surviving items.” Dorea raised her palm, and with a quick flick of her wrist, a cauldron and a stone made their way to the center of the table.

A collective gasp was heard around the room, the deeper implication of what the fiendfyre had destroyed eminent. Before them lay the resurrection stone, no longer encased in silver filagree or with the Gaunt crest soldered to it. Without seeing it, she could only assume the magicked fire had destroyed the cup, too. All that remained of them was that stone.

Hermione’s heart froze, her eyes darting to Dorea. For the first time in hours, she felt the foreign sensation of fear. If they were gone and destroyed, then that meant the worst. “He knows,” she whispered, her voice filled with chilled awe. If they had been destroyed, then he would have felt it. Harry had said as much, that he could sense when the items were destroyed.

She hoped it had been a painful night for that monster—the only reward to the troubling news.

“We assume so, yes,” Dorea admitted, disappointed in the revelation herself. Dorea was not a witch of many emotions besides love and stern understanding. She was often even-keeled and forceful in her mission to move forward, something Hermione could admit she was grateful for in moments like this when her emotions felt so fragile. But she wondered if part of their shared disappointment was not just that the plan had been exposed but that Dorea did not have her strategist to help with the next steps.

Dorea was now flying solo as their leader, and Hermione bore no feelings of envy towards her.

“So we have two destroyed? And three not yet in our possession?” Sirius asked from beside her, his face ghostly pale at the implication that they might be losing this battle now that they no longer had the advantage of secrecy on their side. It made Hermione’s skin crawl to hear the edge of nervousness in his words. She had come back to save them, and now, as she looked at the two objects, she was no longer doing so. She had brought death to their doorstep and foiled their plans.

“Two destroyed, one in our possession, one not yet retrieved, and one unknown,” Andromeda answered as she pulled back her cloak, laying a linen-wrapped bundle on the table. Hermione could feel the magic seeping through the thin fabric, warded and charmed as it was, but still, the fibers were no match to the darkness that lurked inside. The diary had always made her the most nervous. It's sentient nature and powerful pull. It was an enticing thing to a lonely Ginny Weasley, and she wondered how it could play on all their current self-doubts. The room had to be swimming with shame and fear.

“How?” Sirius asked, his eyes narrowing at the parcel, voice hardening, and jaw ticking. Hermione wanted to know, too. How and when had Andromeda come into ownership of it, and why were they finding out now?

She paused her spiraling thoughts of how and turned to look at him. She couldn’t place Sirius’s growing frustration at his cousin, only adding to the suffocating emotions of the room. He wouldn’t turn to look at her as she tried to move closer, his gaze never leaving Andromeda’s, scrutinizing as he waited for her answer.

Andromeda looked at him with something akin to pity or maybe even guilt as she began to speak. Ted’s hand moved to take hers in his own, a bizarre sign of unity among friends and family. “I met with Narcissa last night.”

The statement was simple and direct. On the surface, it meant very little, the details relatively insignificant. But the lack of knowledge needled at Hermione’s mind. The creature of anger in her bayed at the idea of asking more questions, hissing that Andromeda knew more, that she was hiding something. The dark magic in her echoed in her mind that if Sirius was concerned, then she should listen to him.

She was going to open her mouth, use her raw and scratchy throat to voice her concerns, and support whatever Sirius sought out, but Sirius mimicked Ted, taking her hand and squeezing until it was almost painful as he spoke. “How were you able to meet with Cissa? Is she not locked away in her castle being a dutiful wife?” Sirius was practically seething, and Hermione rushed to stroke the back of his hand with her thumb.

Her eyes met Regulus’s at the other end of the table, and the youngest wizard present looked visibly nervous. Adjusting himself in his seat, his usually pristine posture and posh robes gone, wearing a too-big muggle t-shirt and fidgeting with his rings. Eyes bouncing between his brother and cousin. All three of them knew something, and based on the strain of their responses, it was important.

She turned to the last remaining member of the Black family at the table and saw Dorea had gone rigid. Her eyes narrowed at Sirius as he waited, his chest almost heaving as he stared at Andromeda.

Andromeda’s lips were pressed tight together, nearly white from the effort, her eyes almost pleading as she debated what to say. Hermione felt her heart start to race, her tattered throat threatening to close as she ran through what could cause this reaction. What did they know that she did not?

Remus’s hand landed on the back of her neck as if he knew she was spiraling. His thumb tracked across the top of her spine, squeezing and trying to calm her rapid heart as the table grew quieter and quieter—everyone was waiting for Andromeda’s response.

“Narcissa made us aware that her husband would be gone yesterday evening, and she and I arranged a way to meet,” was her evasive answer, not good enough for her or for Sirius.

Suddenly, he stood from his seat with a menacingly troubled look in his eyes as he started yelling. With each question, Sirius’s theory begins to materialize in her mind, too heartbreaking to fully contextualize. “And who all knew about this meeting, Andy? How did it come about? How did Narcissa know she would be able to meet you? I can keep going, or you can just fucking tell us the truth.”

“Sirius, that’s enough,” Dorea ordered from her seat, tears shining in her eyes as she addressed not just him but all of them. “Many of us made decisions last night and for weeks before. Sometimes, that was with the help of others, and sometimes, it wasn’t. It will do you no good to dwell on them and let them divide us.” The words were colder than the morning ocean air she had gulped down. The near confirmation was heartbreaking.

“I want to hear the truth. You told me that, as your son, I had the right to the truth about my family and what they did. I want it now, for this.” Sirius pants, his hand still in Hermione’s, pounding their clutched fists against his chest.

“What do you want to hear, Sirius? Who will it make feel better? We all lost her, and she made that choice. She was supposed to follow Barty to that cottage.” Dorea paused then, the hurt shining in her silver eyes, causing Hermione to look away. The loss of Leticia was playing cruel games with all of them. No one was immune, and Leticia’s potential hand in her own death was an unbearable thought. “I can’t tell you why she did it, but she chose not to. She said her goodbyes and made her peace. She lived with her mistakes and has left us to carry on with her work. I love you, Sirius, as did she, but we can’t let this stop us.”

Regulus cuts off Dorea, and Hermione wonders if everyone else in the room feels like they are intruding on some kind of Black family conference of minds, four pairs of molten metal eyes fighting and begging with each other as if they are the only ones present.

“She was going to die. She told Bella that if she didn’t die, then Cissy would. A blood curse they shared.” Andromeda nods her confirmation, her face flush with anger and embarrassment at the scene before them all. Hermione can't help but feel pity for her.

Andromeda is just another witch stuck playing her part in a war created by wizards, doing the most with what she has. Her sister is on the other side, a sister who is dying, and now her remaining family is fighting each other on her side.

A blood curse, she thinks of that obsidian syrupy liquid that poured from Leticia’s wounds and stained everything it touched, and it makes her chest ache. She’d been sick, blood curses were nasty, incurable things. And Leticia had been unlucky enough to have one. She could hear someone retching in the background at the news, unable to look at who it might be as the realization of her infection came to life for them all.

The bickering continues, with Sirius spouting his thoughts and accusations, Andromeda snipping back, Regulus becoming increasingly frustrated and pleading, and Dorea just shaking her head. Disappointment and bitterness fill the room as the four continue, and the space grows cramped with their quarrel.

It’s messy and raw, the part of war Hermione hates the most. She can deal with the blood and duels, but the inner demons, the lack of trust, and the questioning are what eat at her. Because they all deserve better, it will be their demise if they don’t get it under control.

Despite her anger over the secrets and Leticia’s death, the concern about their failure is mounting with each thorny word said between the four.

Charlus stands next. He seems tired, too, not like his usual jovial and reliable self. But still, he tries his best to calm the squabbling Blacks and explain to the rest of them what is really happening and what has been uncovered from their fighting.

His words feel imbued with sugar as if he can spin and weave the pieces of the evening together until they are palatable enough to swallow. But still, Leticia’s death feels like a glass-laced confection in her throat.

“So you, Andy, coordinated with your sister to get that book,” he points to the diary, nose scrunching at the filth before continuing, “Dorea helped concoct this idea, and I assume Leticia did too.” The two witches nod their confirmation before he continues, “Did your sister agree to save her own life? Or for the greater good? Actually, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. She agreed, and Leticia went rogue against the plan last night, leaving herself as bait for the death eaters you three drew away from Malfoy Manor with the knowledge we would all be gone so you could go and get it?”

It’s funny how simple yet complicated it is. How many unknowns are in the story, but it is still believable. She chuckles at it, a few turning to look at her as hot tears track down her chapped cheeks. How the most impactful scheming could be so plain and unadorned.

Leticia knew she would die and sacrificed herself so Andromeda could complete her mission and, for some unfathomable reason, save Narcissa. She’d probably always known, from the moment she learned about the diary, that this would happen.

Their master strategist they had joked, a raven raised by snakes, had orchestrated her death for their win.

Hermione hates to think about what else she has always known and what lengths she has gone to ensure their success. The memory of another journal and another witch’s secrets burned in the back of her mind. It had been important to Leticia, but that no longer felt like a comfort; now, it was an omen.

“Just because it is too late to change things doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to be upset. Just because I am upset doesn’t mean I don’t love you all, but this should have been a group decision,” Sirius says as he sits back down in his chair, finally loosening his grip on Hermione’s hand as if the release of pressure is a physical manifestation of his compromise.

Hermione takes the opportunity to speak, hoping to move past this conversation about Leticia. It doesn’t matter anymore who is right and who is wrong. She’s gone, and they are here. They have both won and lost this skirmish, and the next ones are coming sooner than they expect. Leticia wouldn't want them to lose over her memory.

“So what do we do with the book now? We need to get the locket and find the last Horcrux. He’s going to start trying to collect them. We’ve made too much of a scene,”

Dorea turned to look at her when Hermione spoke. As if she was once again remembering the others in the room. Nodding her thanks for the diversion of conversation, but Hermione found she didn’t want it. Her feelings towards everyone, even those she had grown to love, felt scattered, torn apart like the tomes in the library, shredded, and unable to piece back together for the time being.

She didn’t blame Dorea for Leticia’s death, knowing Leticia was the only force who could control her destiny. But she hated that they had allowed Leticia to enact her own plan in trying to enact their plan. Dorea may not have played with them as pawns as Dumbledore did, but she had made a mistake, and it cost them, herself included.

Whatever strange friendship they shared as blasted sooty remnants of their family was done, there could be no sisterhood or kinship in death.

“We don’t have a choice. We need to act quickly before we take Regulus back to the castle, and while there, as much as I am remiss to do it, we need to convince Dumbledore to join us. The end is near,” she finished, saddened by the omission.

“And war waits for no one,” Sirius muttered next to her, and Dorea solemnly nodded her agreement.

Deciding who would do what in their new plan was a mess. A cobweb of twisted silk and more arguing than Hermione knew was possible for people supposedly mourning. It could have been minutes or hours later. It didn’t matter, her head was pounding, but still, she sat there and watched them bicker.

“You are absolutely not interrogating Rabastan,” Dorcas supplied flatly, almost toneless, as Regulus continued to fume around her.

“And why not? You aren’t either. You don’t have the stomach for it if I remember correctly.” He bit back, and Marlene had to grab the back of Dorcas’s collar as she lunged forward, the normally subdued and elegantly apathetic witch raging at the implication.

Barty piped up then, his head resting on the table as he snickered into the tablecloth, feigning exhaustion. It must be nice to not care like that, to impart your emotions on others and not feel guilt. “Regulus, you know she is right, don’t make me say it,” he moaned and chuckled through the table like this was obvious and he was bored of explaining—that whatever conversation the three Slytherins were having was common knowledge. Dorcas scoffed in agreement, settling back down in her chair with her arms across her chest.

“Barty, you don’t know shit, you’ve been here fucking around for weeks!” Regulus spat, and Barty quickly pulled his head up. His eyes dancing across Regulus’s form, licking his lips as he hissed.

“Really? I don’t know shit? Do you think it’s a good idea to let you interrogate the cunt that is engaged to your girlfriend?” whispers broke out across the table at Barty’s revelation. He did not stop his taunting. “Would you let me interrogate anyone who hurt Evan? No, you fucking prick. What are you going to ask him?”

His tone switched to a girlish mocking as he continued, “Does she sneak down to his room in the middle of the night, too?” his voice dropped a deadpan look in his eyes as he finished, “You can be really fucking daft sometimes. I swear to Merlin.” Hermione couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her throat at Barty’s implication, a smug smile on his face, as Regulus’s lily white cheeks turned a shade of crimson she didn’t even know was possible.

Barty wasn’t done, to her surprise. He just kept talking, “Also, it’s fucking stupid. You need to go with your brother and take that arsehole pet elf of yours and get the fucking locket soon. It’ll be fine. Someone else will torture the son of a bitch. I’m sure curls will kill him for you in no time.”

Regulus and Pandora’s supposed relationship was forgotten at the words, and Hermione felt everyone look at her then, the first acknowledgment of what she’d done last night in the open. She debated her options in response, calculating what would allow her to keep her allies. She could crumble and feel bad about what she did, some small part of her hated that she had used such a curse, but there was no going back. The damage was done, and she had embraced all that pain last night, damning herself with the consequences of such magic.

Her only solace would be to let it serve as a comfort till this was done.

She did her best to mimic the intensity she had used against Antonin last night, the threatening way she had forced the words out at Rabastan as he lay at Remus’s feet—more armor than her true feelings, letting the dark inside guide her. Making a promise to Regulus for all he had tried to do for Leticia, she could do this for him, she could embrace the monster as a repayment.

“We aren’t going to kill him. I have a better idea.” The plan was still forming, but she knew the type of message they would send. Watching her friends as the words tumbled from her lips, seeing how her scheming made others uncomfortable.

How Lily and James squirmed under her implications that she had an idea better than death, or how Andromeda looked disappointed. Hermione wondered if she felt like she was looking at the beginnings of her other sister as Hermione’s anger returned to the surface and made decisions for her. She wondered if being worse than Bellatrix would be what it takes to win this. It didn’t matter, though, because Remus gently stroked her neck in support, and Sirius squeezed her hand.

No one challenged her.

———-

Lily was in the back corner of the library, digging through the pile of her notes that had somehow found its way over there. They had been sent to search the rubble for any of her notes they could find.

Miraculously, one of her cauldrons had survived the fiendfyre. A smudged number 5 chalked onto the side of the copper was the only hint they had at whatever potion she had been working on in it—a potion that had made it impenetrable to the fiendfyre. The possibilities were endless for what they could do with it to end the war. It was the only glimpse of hope they had in the past day.

“Lily, what's this?” James called out, near the scraps of her and Hermione’s usual table. It wasn’t a difficult question, but since she wasn’t near him, she had to climb over the destroyed furniture and shelves to return to where he and Barty were looking.

She and James were apparently on babysitting duty today, with the younger wizard having already made a few too many jokes about how wartime wedding planning was going and the state of her white robes since they had arrived together that morning. Even more than his usual irritating presence.

When she turned the corner, she came face to face with James, holding a copy of Potions Quarterly in one hand and a bundle of twine-wrapped letters in the other. Lily’s heart plummeted, Severus's letters were in his hand and a look of hurt confusion on his tired face.

“James, let me explain,” she started, but his rough and grating laughter stopped her. At his annoyance, the shame of her secret crept up her neck. This was not how she had planned to tell him if she ever did.

James barked another laugh, an almost wheezing sound, as he kicked harshly at the remnants around his feet. “Really, Lily? Snivellus? The guy who was so cruel to you? Who called you that horrid word?” He waved the letters around his head as if to prove whatever point he was making with his questions. His eyes were shadowy as he stomped around, muttering half to himself while yelling over to her.

“It's just a word,” she quietly offered, knowing it would not fix the situation her betrayal of James’s trust had already caused.

“It's not though! You cried for days, and we all did everything we could to support you. I never even questioned you when you forgave him. But this?” he waves the letters again, a delirious sense of hurt in his eyes. “This is hippogriff shit. You've been writing to him for months and haven’t told me. Why? It's not even the notes, despite the fact that he’s still a rude, greasy git, even on parchment. Why were you hiding these? They are tucked into this magazine like some dirty little secret.”

Her exhaustion and fear were burying her, choking as she tried to climb the tower of her emotions for air. But she was stuck feeling like she was at the end of her rope after the events of last night. Her chest had burned watching her friend disintegrate before her eyes and witnessing Sirius and Remus try to support her.

Then she had held James as he cried over the manor, and had spent hours talking him down, knowing it was the only thing stopping him from cursing Peter on the spot when they saw him. Lily felt like she was drowning in others' emotions, everyone’s but her own.

She was hopelessly failing at trying to keep everyone, especially James, together, and she couldn’t handle his questioning right now.

She kept telling herself to breathe and that she had to do it. But she’d given everyone else all that she had, and she couldn't take James’s disappointment or accusations. So the rope snaps. She snarks back, her own delirious mania joining the argument’s fray. “This is why, James,” she screeched like a bird, but she didn't care. Her emotions are too ingrained in her tirade to stop. “Because you are so obsessed with good that you can't see how helpful Sev could be!”

“Helpful?” he exclaims, just as tired and exasperated—like two toddlers yelling because their emotions are too big to hold in their small, fragile hands. They need to fling them at each other to have any semblance of control. “How is thinking muggle helpful, Lily? It's condescending and vague at bloody best.”

“Well, it’s happened, James. I don’t know what you want from me. Those letters helped, okay, and we need to find my notes for Cauldron Five.” She turns her back on him, unwilling to let him see the tears threatening to spill. She just wants James to hold her and tell her it will all be okay like she’s done with him.

“Godric, could you just say sorry, Lily! Just say I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Maybe I would have understood!” He confessed, an angry, desperate sound, and she could hear the cracking in his voice, too.

She spits out her next thought, her intention to hurt, the guilt of the truth in his words eating at her conscience. “You wouldn't have. You would respond just like this and tell me not to. Then it would be your fault we didn't have a working potion against fiendfyre.”

“You've lost it, Lils. It's completely mental! Can't you see what secrets are doing? They killed Leticia! My mum could be next. We could be next. It could have been you at Snivellus’s hand or if these had been intercepted!” All she can do is shriek again, his points making too much sense. But it had been worth it. It had helped, and she didn’t know how to explain it to him—that sometimes the risks are worth the reward.

She wants him to understand because he’s a Gryffindor, too. Always doing things without really thinking them through. It's just like his stupid pranks, only she’s made a difference. She would have risked anything to be right, to have the answer that is hidden somewhere in the rubble of this room.

It’s unfair, she screams into her mind, hot, scalding tears staining her cheeks, still not looking at him. How can he judge her? How could Leticia die? Why can’t Sev be given a second chance? Regulus got one. Pandora made demands.

It feels childish, the jealousy and confusion that builds in her heart. She loves James, but Godric does she just want to win, and she needs him to get it together.

She needs James to understand that sometimes you have to feel the burn of the sun, that flying too close is the only way to catch the heat of its reward.

Her internal scolding is interrupted by the last person she wants to see. Lily had forgotten Barty was even there, so caught up with this pointless, draining fight with James and the shame of her secret weighing on her.

Barty would never forget about them, though. Always having to get the last word.

“Oi! Potter, and the future maybe not anymore Potter. I found the notes for, uhhh, five, yep! Quit bitching broom boy and get to brewing Red. Lovers' spat can happen in the privacy of your own homes or what's left of em, I guess. This stack of troll scratches looks promising!”

James looked over at her, shaking his head, disheartened at their unfinished conversation. If you can even call it that, but they follow Barty’s orders. What else can they do? James has no choice but to come to her flat tonight anyway, and she dreads the fight that will come with him.

—

Being in a small shed surrounded by the blood of a wizard he had not heard very positive things about, this close to the full, was not Remus’s ideal predicament. But where Hermione went, so did he.

She had been adamant about being here. Five of them, not counting their guests, seven in total, shoved into the small space. The twins had joined in an official Auror capacity, and Andromeda was the only legilimens who could stomach the job.

Peter was magically bound and gagged in a corner, his eyes shifting from angry to fearful every few minutes as he watched the interrogation, if you could still call it that. Remus had a sinking suspicion that the longer this went on, the less knowledge they would get and the more pain they would inflict. Hermione was adamant she wouldn’t kill him, and that's all he could ask for at this point. He didn’t think another death would be good for her grieving.

Peter’s presence was still a mystery, but he trusted her plan. He could see the wheels moving in her deep brown eyes. The purple, nearly bruised smudges under them made him nervous, though. Moony had clocked the shadows as soon as they woke, knowing by proximity, or lack thereof through the night, that she had barely slept.

He wanted to reach out and heal her as if his touch might be enough to soothe some of her sorrow. He wanted to let the magic of them being together as one seep into her bones and comfort Hermione like her presence so often did to him. But sadly, she had other plans.

Rabastan was still missing an ear, only now he was also missing a few fingers, more gaps than teeth in his mouth, and had been subjected to a violent pack of canaries, plucking at his skin and eyes as he cried. It had been Hermione’s doing, oppugno rolling off her tongue so elegantly you might have never known the horrors she could inflict with it.

A blood-curdling scream came from the other side of the room as someone performed a bone-breaking curse, Rabastan’s hand now hanging limply on the arm of the chair he was strapped to. It was jarring to hear such a sound from a grown wizard. Mixed with the smell of his fear and loss of bodily function, Remus almost felt bad for him. But much like his companions as Andromeda dug around in his mind, the despicable crimes of him and his fellow death eaters coming to light, all compassion had evaporated.

Even Moony wanted to scrub some of the things she had shared from his memory. What they were doing was child’s play compared to what Rabastan was capable of. A devastating reminder that an older, hardened Rabastan had held Hermione captive pushed him to demand for more.

“What do you know about Tom Riddle?” Fabian asked, after healing him to prepare for the next round. When Rabastan refused to answer, Andromeda leaned close, dark curls obscuring her regal beauty and a permanent sticking charm on his eyelids as she invaded his mind.

The grotesque act reminded him of when Leticia had breached his walls and had most likely met Moony. She hadn’t been scared. Her magic was nothing more than a soft sea breeze as she learned about him. It was still invasive, a crime against wizarding kind, but Remus found he didn’t care. She had done it for Hermione, and that was now the theme of his life: Do it for Sirius. Do it for Hermione. Do whatever it takes so they could have something, anything, after this.

The war's end loomed near, and his feelings were shifting to support that mantra by any means necessary. While once Remus might have found Andromeda’s lack of tenderness in her invasion upsetting, now, after the events of last night, he was desperate for this to end by any means possible. So he embraced them, leaning back in a creaking, rickety chair to watch. The sound of the wood on the stone floors was just another way to torment their guests.

Rabastan whimpered in pain as she prodded, and Remus wondered how ruthless she was in her digging. Did her touch feel like the daggers and icepicks described in his defense books? He shivered at the thought.

However, any sympathy he might have mustered for the sorry excuse of a wizard disappeared when he watched her draw back and slap Rabastan across the face. “I’ll make you pay for that, LeStrange. Leave the girl out of it.”

The girl—Pandora. Gods, what had she faced as his bride-to-be? What was she doing risking things with Regulus? Remus loved Sirius, but he would never understand Blacks. It was too convoluted: self-hate and flagellation, harming themselves before others could but still desperate for love. Depriving themselves of good things but never stopping their temptations from coming closer.

Their blood wasn’t what caused madness, despite learning about the curse haunting a few. It was their wicked parents who exerted too much power, setting an example that love was frivolous and unattainable, more scarce than magic. That was what made them mad.

“How does it feel knowing a mudblood and your fiance's lover were the ones who took your precious gift, huh? The one the half-blood dark lord gave you?” Hermione taunted. Both of her wands were tucked into her hair as she paced in front of him. Her eyes were tired, but her smile was vicious as Andromeda crawled back into his mind.

It didn’t take long that time, no longer drawing his pain out like they had been doing. Andromeda pulled back almost immediately, her eyes wide and smiling proudly. “There is something in the castle. Vold–Riddle wanted Pandora to get it for Rabastan and give it to him.”

Hermione’s breath caught, and Remus’s heart stuttered. The last one. He felt his adrenaline spike, excited at the prospect, hopeful even that this could be it. Remus had rarely felt hopeful in his life, but the thought of this being over, of having the two of them, his mates, made him crave it. Now that he knew it and loved them, it was like a drug, that dream of forever teasing him. He wanted it more than anything else in the world.

The twins stood stock still, and Hermione leaned closer to Andy. Manic excitement danced in her eyes as she held her breath for more information. Even Peter adjusted himself to get a better view of the news as Andromeda asked, “Do you know what the Room of Requirement is?”

Hours passed, and time continued, the interrogation not ending despite the promising news. Hermione had wanted to be sure that Rabastan LeStrange had nothing left to tell them before she returned him.

They had what they needed now, and Hermione was determined to make good on her promise to Regulus. She squared her shoulders and pointed the elder wand at the middle of his forehead. He could have sworn he saw her shiver as she cast the final spell.

Everyone was apprehensive around this version of Hermione, watching with a mixture of fear and interest as she wiped every memory from Rabastan LeStranges's mind with just a twist of her wrist. The elder wand pushed and pulled against the wizard's forehead, smoky tendrils of memories evaporating before them. Until his eyes were blank and cloudy, and he couldn’t even babble, opening and closing his tongueless mouth like a fish.

Blocking the others from view, she stopped before him, tying the illegally produced portkey, set to go off tomorrow morning, to his cloak. Leaving him with just one memory, a message for their enemy.

Twisting her head like her kneazle, Hermione leaned down until she was at eye level with him. Her smile taunted, her eyes carrying a confidence he found suspiciously fake but had no proof. His only theory was that her current state did not make Moony howl like her others did. It fell flat. Her eyes were dim as their work for the day came to an end. This was just a mask, nothing more than an intimidation tactic. Still, her voice was lachrymose and saccharine as she spoke.

“Hello Tom, I’ll be seeing you soon, but until then, enjoy my peace offering. One alive pureblood for your cause. Consider it a gift. A treat from a mudblood like me to a half-blood like you.”

Remus felt Sirius thread his fingers into his, watching her with shared concern and love. Others had joined to watch this macabre goodbye, their own Trojan horse before Sirius and Regulus set off on their journey. Waiting until after he was magically transported right into the LeStrange Chateau in the morning, Voldemort would receive her chilling promise as a distraction.

They planned to leave him in that shed with Peter for the rest of the night to remind their former friend of what she was capable of when they finally got to him.

As Remus focused back on Hermione, he could see she was starting to shut down again, just like the night before. Slowly, her walls were crumbling, exhaustion taking over her limbs and drooping her shoulders. With a shared look of understanding, he and Sirius swiftly moved into action, taking Reg and Barty back to the apartment with them, too, this time—anything to make tomorrow quicker and hopefully easier.

He tried to fake normalcy once in the flat with Sirius, anything to make the space feel warmer and safer than the chill that invaded each of them after their day. It was a muggle plaster to their real issues, but if they could just make it through this war, he swore to every god that would listen that he would help her heal. It would be his greatest honor.

Sirius did his part and tried to make Hermione laugh by introducing a reluctant Regulus to pizza, but all she did was fake a smile, her cheeks tight as she offered them the thin copy of her usual energy.

It didn't help that over the course of the day, there had been tension brewing between the brothers. Everyone could sense the impending breakdown. Sirius and Regulus’s fragile truce to work together tomorrow was thin and threadbare at best as they slowly, like all siblings, started to pester each other's nerves, anxiety brewing around them. So many words unspoken and not enough time to confront their shared demons.

Remus felt like he was herding three Clios until Barty offered to take Regulus to bed. For once, in this horrid and miserable existence of war, Remus could have kissed Barty. The prat might have had pizza sauce on his face and said it was so Regulus didn’t have to watch them have a threesome, but Remus could see the change in him, too.

They were all different today.

Remus squeezed Barty’s shoulder, a sign of appreciation, as Sirius led him and Hermione past the two Slytherins, and the boy flinched. He wanted to ask why, to be there for him like he was so obviously trying to do for them, but now wasn’t the time. It was just another thing added to his list of duties for later.

He had thought sleep found them quickly, hoping they might fight some of that exhaustion in their bones, but it was around 3 a.m. when he felt her crawl back into bed. She smelled of salt and the sea, of smoke and ash, too. It was obvious where she had been but he said nothing, grateful she had returned and trying not to condemn himself for not noticing till now.

She crawled into bed beside him, so cold to the touch that he hissed in surprise. He pulled the blankets over her sandy skin, and she curled into him. As if subconsciously seeking the warmth from his lycanthropy and putting him between the two he loved, and Remus almost laughed.

How comical it was for him to be in the middle. It was almost always her, sometimes Sirius, but never lanky, sinewy him—usually positioning himself between them and the door. Even if it made no difference if ever the day came and death eaters attacked their flat, but it was the thought that let him sleep at night—that he would be their first line of defense.

He expected her to roll over him and burrow into Sirius’s waiting arms, too, but instead, she stayed put, turning towards him, nuzzling her cheek into his chest hair. Her much smaller hand found his hand under the blanket. It felt like a grounding rod in all their turmoil and grief. Sirius wasn’t far, rolling back towards them, wrapping his around Remus’s middle until he, too, could touch Hermione. Her pull was magnetic to both of them.

Remus let the quiet settle on them. The smell of fresh grass and firewhisky from Sirius, the beach, mixed with Hermione's strawberry and vanilla, calming his senses, lulling Moony back to his slumbering state. He was sure she was asleep, his eyes growing heavy, until her voice filled the room. It was just a whisper, but anything from her lips would have called to him like a moth to a flame, so he listened.

“I obliviated my parents before I went on the run in 1997. I didn’t want death eaters coming after them, so I sent them away. I made it so they would never remember me. And now I’m gone, ”

Remus pulled her and Sirius even closer, freeing his hand to run it through her curls, wondering how many secrets just like that she harbored in her heart. How heavy that must be on her soul.

“You did the right thing.” he kissed her forehead as he whispered the words, letting each kiss accentuate his support of her. The salty sting of her skin on his lips would never deter him from showering her with the love she deserved.

He debated saying it right then, that he loved her, but he remembered Leticia’s words from weeks ago “Keep loving her, even if she is too slow to notice. Time is a fickle and cruel master of us all.” How foreboding it seemed now.

Her gentle words cracked, and he could feel her tears on his chest as she continued, “It’s funny. I saved my first parents from death eaters, and they’ll never know me again. And then I get another chance with Leticia. Only this time, I didn’t steal her memories, but the same vile, hate-filled people took her too. No matter the year, it's always me who will never know their love again.”

Remus didn’t have a response to that. There was nothing he could say to combat time’s cruelty.

Chapter Text

The lilac grey light of morning found Sirius in their bed. His limbs deliciously sore from nothing more than his impermeable hold on Remus and Hermione since she had returned to bed in the still-dark hours of the new day. He hoped his shoulders continued to ache so he could remember what they felt like in his arms all day.

The muggle clock on the wall read 7, and he was both disappointed and pleasantly surprised that he still had a few hours before he and Regulus took off, even if the thought of his younger brother caused his head to pound. His pompous attitude and arrogant lilt made every word out of his mouth sound like bludger banging around in Sirius’s skull. Each hit was a reminder of their parents, and he sounded so much like Orion that sometimes Sirius had to watch him while he spoke to ensure his father wasn’t in the room.

It had caused rising tension between them after that first vulnerable night, stiff jabs and short, sharp responses. The memories of their childhood bombarded his vision constantly. They had spent so much of the previous day alone with Dorea and Ted planning that Sirius needed the type of space from Regulus that only the sanctity of sleep offered—his pathetic need to avoid those identical moonlight irises they shared that made him shiver in fear.

It didn’t matter that it had been Leticia’s blood on his hands and that Regulus had been trying to save her. It was those eyes and memories of his blood on Walburga’s cuffs the night he left that made him curl in on himself—wanting nothing more than for Remus and Hermione to absorb him and shield him from his thoughts. Like they would offer him some buoyancy against the tidal wave of memories he had from 12 Grimmauld Place.

He wanted to look at Regulus with love and hope. He wasn’t a monster. He missed him all the time. It would be a dream to hold his brother again like he had desired the other night, to comfort him and be the innocent fawns of their youth again, but his contempt felt like shards of glass against his skin. Reminders of their once-shared life continued to crash like ragged, frothy waves against his consciousness.

Pulling himself from bed, he stumbled toward the bathroom, seeking the warmth of a shower to let the steam cleanse his memories, avoiding the mirror more than usual. He was too cagey to see his haunting reflection, burdened by the repercussions of the past days and the perils ahead of him. Sirius stepped into the stream of scalding water without a second thought, anything to stop this emotional dry drowning.

He watched his skin redden before his eyes, pebbling from the heat as each droplet stung perfectly. Pelting against his back and making his hair feel heavy against his scalp, his headache swirling down the drain as the water slid down his body. He found his chest rattling in relief at the notion.

Steam had started to fill the small bathroom, blurring his vision as he settled into the comfort and anonymity of the small, humid room. He wasn’t a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black here. He was just Sirius, and that was enough for those who mattered.

He stayed there, letting the water pelt him and his muscles relax, nervous he would forget that burn that came from clinging to Hermione and Remus all night but needing his strength for whatever lay ahead of them today.

As if she had heard her name in his mind, he saw the shower curtain shift as golden limbs and wild bed-tousled curls slinked into the small space with him. A sleepy smile on her face when she found him watching her entrance.

Maybe it was the heat of the shower, or that she still was a little embarrassed to be completely bare around them, but whatever it was, that gentle, pure-hearted shyness in her made the heavy beat of his heart lighter. Looking into the warm brown of her eyes drove away the memory of his kin. Watching her skin turn pink and flushed, slick with water and steam, he felt his magic soar.

He’d watched her carry forward their plans yesterday, and he knew she wasn’t done yet, that the fire in her still burned even in her halcyon innocence before him. He loved both sides of her, how she wore her hurt and strength like badges of honor. He’d follow her in her thirst for revenge. But he would also reward her delicate nature and would be there to catch her when she crumbled from pressure or euphoria.

Her hands were still cold despite the heat of the shower as her nails brushed down his chest and across the planes of his stomach. His cock sprang up between them as she traced his scattered tapestry tattoos and moved her soft hands through the trail of coarse dark hair leading from his belly button to his painfully hard cock. Never indulging him, nothing more than teasing with barely-there tugs and gentle caressing of his length, only adding to his need for her.

His cock was as red and angry as his drenched skin, weeping for her, and he was desperate to feel the firm grip of her palm or the squeeze of her core around him. He didn’t want to waste any time. He tried to breathe her in, embrace the promise of a life together after this with their bodies. He needed the reminder that the brilliant glow of her pleasure would drive away the darkness of his mind.

His fingers found their way through the damp curls on her head, firmly grasping at the back of her head and tilting her back so he could slot his lips against hers. Soft, languid kisses as he consumed her lips, and she swallowed his entire soul.

His other hand found the curve of her waist and the supple skin of her bum before tugging her tightly against him. Hungry for her as he tasted her moan of surprise when his cock brushed against her stomach. Hermione’s hands left his throbbing cock to wrap around his neck, rising to her tiptoes to deepen their kiss. No longer the lazy Sunday morning ministrations of lovers, they were growing frantic in the waterfall of the shower.

Sirius was desperate to show her how she would be theirs forever. Because that was it, in the few short months of being together, like perfect pieces of a puzzle fitting together, he had known—that she and Remus were it. He longed to say it to her, to whisper those three words like a prayer in her ear every chance he got.

But she was not ready, so for now, he would have to show her. Without breaking their kiss, he hoisted her up, both his hands going to cup her arse, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. A gasp escaped her lips as her back hit the cold tile wall.

If he thought the shower had been warm, it was nothing compared to the heat that radiated from her core. He could feel her drenched and slick as she ground against him, practically dripping down her inner thighs and desperate for friction.

He broke their kiss, pressing their foreheads together to watch her take him. To see her pupils blow wide as he stretched her delectable pussy on his cock. He wanted to taste her, to savor every coupling they had together. But they didn’t have the time today. One day, he promised, but it was no longer a prayer. Now a threat to any gods who would try to steal her from him.

“One day, when this war is over,” he ground out, hoping to prophesize their future as his hips slammed up into her, bottoming out on the first stroke. “I am going to have you on every surface for hours.” He sealed his declaration with open-mouth kisses across her collarbone and chest, sucking and biting on her neck till you could no longer see where his and Remus's marks ended and her scars started.

“I'm going to watch Remus make you ours,” he emphasized with teeth against her nipple that time, and she cried out, desperate for the feel of canines breaking the thin skin of her neck. The sensation of her tightening around him at the idea drove him mad, the snapping of his hips getting faster and harder—the room filled with the sound of their moans and slapping wet skin.

“Please, Sirius, I need it.” Her head was thrown back against the tile, heels digging into his back, and her eyes rolled back too as he continued his pumping, his pace turning punishing, unable to hold back when it came to her. Like he was drawn to her, hungry and starving, she filled his every need with her touch and devotion. He was desperate for her, and his rhythm showed it.

“I'll take my time every day, '' he slammed into her. Accentuating each word with another thrust, “morning, noon, and night.” she responded by digging her nails into his shoulders. He hoped she pierced skin and marked him. “Till I know every inch of your body,” he tugged hard with his teeth on her other nipple till he could feel her starting to flutter and contract around him. “But until then, play with that little clit of yours and come for me.”

She followed his command immediately, his perfect goddess of a witch. Her hand leaving the base of his skull, he hadn’t even noticed how hard she’d been tugging on his hair, too distracted by her loving claws, and he leaned back just enough to watch her rub tight circles against her clit.

Her legs started to tremble, and Sirius could watch her like this all day. The sight of his cock thrusting in and out of her tight pink cunt, her delicate fingers working herself till she shook. The way her eyes were wide, and she bit her lower lip till her mouth fell open in a screaming moan.

The most beautiful thing in the world. He wished he could capture it like one of the greats, immortalizing this raw, undistilled version of her so that he could always gaze upon it.

The sight of her was so perfect it made the base of his spine tingle, and the power of their bond with Remus made his magic pulse and grow until he felt warm all over. It was like a bolt of lightning sent straight to his magical core as her nails dug deeper into his back, causing the dam of his own need to break.

Pumping and filling her with him till it was dripping out of her around them, and he imagined a day when he could push it back in with his fingers. The thought of her full of him and their future family was enough to make him start to harden again inside her.

They stayed like that, panting and sloppily kissing like two obsessed fools for a moment. When he finally let her legs fall, and his softening cock slipped from her, he had to clench his teeth to contain his groan at the sight of her swollen pussy. Instead of taking her again, he chose to rest his arms above her head on the wall, caging her in and letting her curl against him as they both gulped down the sticky air and regained their composure.

Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn he saw the flash of tears in her eyes as she pressed her cheek against his chest and whispered a promise back to him, “When this is all over.”

He wished he could have stayed in that steamy bubble of heaven with Hermione, eventually dragging Remus in with them all day so that they might avoid their responsibilities and duty to wizarding kind. But Dorea’s words rang like a warning bell in his mind: “War waits for no one,” and so here he was, standing on the grassy lawn of Prewett Manor, no longer a home filled with laughter, now a haunted shadow in the background of their mission.

Regulus was speaking in hushed tones to Kreacher a few paces over. The decrepit elf stole glances at him, Remus, and Hermione as if they were nothing more than scum under his bare feet.

Regulus eventually stood from where he was crouched next to the elf and turned to face him. His skin looked much too lean and sallow for a 17-year-old boy, but there was nothing Sirius could do. Even if he did feel eons older than him, what just months out of school could do to someone, he was not his brother's father—just his former protector on a good day, an estranged memory on the worst.

“Kreacher will take us to the cave, and if he can get on board with us, then he’ll cross. If not, he has agreed to wait on the shore, and he will not leave without both of us.” Regulus said the words to Hermione, but they carried a command for Kreacher and a promise for Sirius. The elf grumbled under his breath before agreeing. Hermione offered a solemn nod of thanks in Kreacher’s direction, the elf hissing in response.

After ignoring her gratitude but biting his tongue, Kreacher held out his hand to Sirius, the wrinkly, mangy thing it was. Remus pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing Sirius forward and pulling Hermione tighter into him. He caught their waves of goodbye just as he felt the pull of Kreacher’s apparition tug at his belly. It was seconds later when he felt his boots hit the jagged cliffside, onyx-colored rocks jutting out as they stared into a damp, dripping cave.

“The door requires a sacrifice,” Kreacher croaked, looking at both brothers expectantly.

“Will the wizard who enchanted this passage know who was here?” Regulus asked skeptically, and Sirius tried to contain his eye roll, biting his tongue to keep from snapping at his brother. If he didn’t want to do it, all he had to do was ask. Sirius assumed Regulus would be reluctant to injure his soft, high-society hands.

But when Kreacher nodded slowly, Sirius was surprised to see Regulus whip out his wand. A quick slicing hex caused blood to well in his palm. He did not hesitate to press his crimson-coated fingers to the rough stone, the blood not even visible against the dark shiny rocks. The sight evoked one of Hermione’s memories for him. Of her blood against the lacquered floors of Malfoy Manor, and it was the war cry he needed to push forward.

He was doing this for Hermione and Remus and their future.

For Lily and James and the future sprog that Hermione loved so dearly.

For the Weasleys and their still unfinished brood.

For Dorcas and Marlene, his dear friends, who had skirted death once already.

For the second family, he had found Dorea and Charlus, their fates still unknown. And Andy, who had loved him through his fall from Pureblood grace.

And lastly for Regulus, who looked at him with genuine concern as the rock split before them, and the two brothers climbed into the gaping cavern. Sirius hoped that they could both heal enough to be something again when this was over.

His hopes were damped by the reminder that this was where Regulus died—immortalized, an unknown rebel in a shallow, watery grave—consumed by inferi. The thought of long, spindly claws digging into his soft baby brother made him shiver.

Voldemort had advanced from necromancy, bewitching corpses and souls of waterlogged sailors and wizards to be his guardians. He had already told Regulus once not to touch or drink the water, but he felt compelled to do it again, grabbing the sleeve of his brother's robes, his eyes imploring as he spoke, “Don’t touch the water.”

“Same to you, brother,” was all Regulus said before they traversed the narrow crystal-encrusted path. They did not stop until they came to that eerie black lake Hermione had described, a white glowing crystalline island in the middle.

Kreacher immediately got to work, tugging the tarnished chain on the beach that led into the water. Regulus jumped in to help the elf drag the boat ashore, ignoring Sirius’s warning and moving precariously close to the water's edge.

When the boat surfaced, he studied it—small and eroded from the water but surprisingly dry. Regulus and Kreacher crawled in first, and with one final squaring of his shoulders, Sirius transformed into Padfoot and leaped into the boat.

It appeared they had met the rules of its maker. One wizard, one elf, and one large black dog, a grim if there ever was one, set sail across the glassy lake. Hopefully, not to their deaths.

—-

Seeing his brother as a large, menacing dog made Regulus more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit. His brother looked like an omen of death in his animagus form, but he was not a growling beast of night or a stoic beacon holding guard at the end of their boat. No, despite his ominous appearance, Sirius was still Sirius, even as a shaggy mutt.

He was playfully panting, and his tail thumped against the floor of the boat in a rhythmic beat, sending wave after rippling wave from the hull, disturbing the pristine water’s surface. He looked so pure at that moment. Grey canine eyes watched him as they slowly made their way to the lepidote island shores ahead—roughly hewn crystals set atop a glimmering facade of agate pebbles.

He had never seen anything like it, this masterpiece of a cave that held such evil, dark magic. He could feel it swirling in the air like poisonous vapors. As their boat finally crashed upon this new asperous shore, he settled himself. This was the second to last piece of their puzzle. They had hopefully made it before the Dark Lord and would soon be that much closer to freedom and his potential redemption.

The promise that he could earn Pandora's love again and his brother's respect. His brother, who had seemed to be lighter than air, as he kissed his lovers goodbye. Even if they had seemingly forgotten rudimentary second-year silencing charms this morning, Regulus still found himself proud of Sirius.

Envious even, jealous of the life he had created. He didn’t want to take that joy from him. He was not so covetous of his brother's flourishing that he craved to rip it from his hands. Instead, he wanted to feel it, too, to taste the unbridled life of love that came with being unbound from the shackles of their shared gene pool.

As they departed the boat and Regulus made that first irresolute step onto the shore, he promised himself that he would do whatever it took in this mesmerizing cave to ensure Sirius returned to his family. Regulus had spent years hating the Potters and his audacious, foolhardy friends. But seeing how they had even broken Barty’s shell, cracked the steel-plated armor around his chest, and left his heart exposed, he understood it. Knew it was too good for the likes of him.

Barty, his best friend and first love and kiss. Barty, who fell so deep into his spirals of lugubriousness that he lashed out like a touch-starved child. The kind of tantrums that only the thickest-skinned friends could weather had flourished under their care. He had begun to take responsibility and work towards something good instead of his usual narcissistic and pernicious self-destruction—a miracle for someone like Barty.

He wanted to hate this jealousy that burned in his chest at his inadequacy, but he was destined to embrace that searing, painful reminder of hope—to let Sirius and his new family lead them. And maybe when this was over, they could be something again.

If not, Regulus could sleep at night knowing he did it so Sirius would have what he deserved.

The climb to the top was shorter than expected, the black stygian water perfectly calm again. He caught Sirius looking at it with a dazed sense of fear before darting his eyes back to Regulus, a shadowy look of guilt in his gaze as it met his.

Sirius had spent the past day avoiding Regulus’s glare as if looking into his eyes would show him all the ways Regulus had failed as his replacement. But now, as that haunted, guilty look met perplexed confusion, Regulus paused. There was something there, and he needed to know before he continued, and they risked their lives for this cause. He deserved to know the truths of his exposure to such perils.

He debated just asking what it was, but he knew Sirius better than that. He would never answer him. They were not close enough to share such intimate fears. So he had to guess, to think why his brother might be guilty and fearful as he looked out at the water and back at him. His eyes were in rapid movement between the two. Like he expected, the wretched inferi Dorea had theorized about to breach the surface any minute.

It hit him then that it was not a theory. She knew for certain that there were inferi. She had been so confident in her instructions. Not just her, they all knew many things, details so microscopic that not even a seerer would predict them. Dora’s visions were often barely lucid. Sometimes, they were just dates on a calendar or flashing lights of curses and feelings. At most, they were a fraction of a scene, all of it making her cry out as he often held her through the terrors of a future in war.

But Sirius’s family had more, as if they had watched and studied them in a pensieve—almost like someone had traveled through time and told them.

“Is this how I died?” Regulus blurted out, a vulnerable thought for his racing emotions. His theory of Hermione’s existence bubbled close to the surface. He hadn’t even confided his secret conspiracies in Evan or Barty since finding her on the tapestry. He had wanted to assume the magic had been faulty, but he had known the truth all along, even if his mind was slow to catch up.

“Yes, how did you know?” Sirius said with defeat, looking away from him at the bowl of melted jade liquid in front of them.

“The tapestry. I didn’t understand at the time, but you’re afraid, as if you know the worst that could happen here. And you are looking at me like it’s me.”

Sirius lifted the shell-like bowl from the pedestal of selenite in front of them, not looking at Regulus as he dipped into the murky basin. “No one deserves to die like that.”

“Not even me?” Regulus whispered, expecting Sirius not to answer him. The bowl was halfway to his lips already.

A shuddering breath escaped him. “Not even you, brother,” were the last words before the edge pressed against his lips, and his older brother took the first sip.

There was not much of that murky liquid in the bowl, but with each swallow, he could see his brother shiver. He brought ladle after agonizing ladle to his mouth until he started resisting, and Regulus knew it was time for him to step in. He hated that they had agreed to this arrangement. He knew it was because Kreacher would disobey Sirius if Regulus were incapacitated, but seeing Sirius like this made his eyes burn with shame.

One of the last times he had held his brother was when he had thrown him through the floo to Potter Manor. When he had babbled incoherently from their mother’s spells and lashings in his arms for the last time, only the difference this time was that Sirius fought him.

Regulus was pleading for him to drink more, and as tears tracked down his cheeks, soaking into the pressed collar of his shirt, leaving it drenched in fear, he grew more and more forceful. Kreaher had been tasked with holding Sirius down as Regulus poured the last drops into his seizing body.

Sirius lay there, his eyes wide and bloodshot as his mouth foamed and he clawed at the sharp rocks around them. His blood spilled from his shredded hands down the stalactites that made up the island. Regulus worked quickly, throwing the locket around his neck and rummaging around in his cloak to find the flask of water they had brought.

His brother's screams grew louder and louder, thirsty for the ominous water that surrounded them. His nails cracked against the stones as he fought Kreacher’s hold. Regulus, so desperate to tip his head back and pour the cold water into his mouth, did not notice they had dropped the bowl he had been drinking from—not until he heard the splash it made as it hit the water.

The freshwater finally settled into Sirius’s gut, and all three of them looked toward the subtle ripple of waves that indicated where the cup had landed in the water. He could feel the vibrations growing immediately, the inky water growing brighter and lighter as they surfaced and their forms came into view.

The Inferi.

Monsters made of soggy skin and squishy bones, their joints made a squelching noise as they began to crawl onto the beach that would now be the grave site of the Black brothers. A subconscious thought had Regulus threading his hand into Sirius’s to pull him up and not letting go as he stood.

The brothers held each other like they had in their twisted youth as they stared down death. The only thing that could be more terrifying than their mother.

Their skeletal limbs moved at unnatural angles, contorting themselves up the jutting rocks like arachnids. Long cadaverous fingers and craggy nails reached out towards them as the creatures climbed. Sirius was quick, though. Whatever knowledge Hermione had given him rang true and made him spring into action. His wand pointed towards the water as he yelled out, “Incendio!” and blazing fire burst from the tip and lapped at the undead forms. The candescence radiated towards them like wildfire.

Their shrill screams filled the cave, disorienting Regulus with their piercing notes. But Sirius still did not falter, turning to look at him, never once stopping his spell or letting go of Regulus’s hand. He was sweating with the force of his casting, the flames growing so large one might have thought he was evil incarnate. The heat of the fire was so strong Regulus worried that if he looked away for one moment, the flames would take life and turn into rabid beasts.

He would not have been surprised to see Sirius control fiendfyre like it was a mere house charm with the power that radiated off him as the flames danced across the water and rose all the way to the ceiling. He would be a perfect match to the terror that was Hermione then.

“Kreacher, grab on, Reg, point at my neck, and cast a portus. It’s our best chance,” Sirius called over the roar of his flames. In the distance, he could hear the crackling of their little boat catch on fire. With the direction, Regulus didn’t hesitate, his spell landing true and the pull of a portkey sucking them through space.

The wards and spells around the cave squeezed against his mind till he felt like his eyes might pop from their sockets, and he could feel the trickle of blood from his nose. It took all of his might to hold onto. Sirius’s hand is a lifeline as fear courses through him at the sensation. He had a fleeting thought that maybe this time the inferi won't get him, that the wards tearing at his flesh will.

He debates, letting go of Sirius’s hand, wondering how painful this might be for him. A hope that if he let the wards suck him back into the cave, it meant Sirius got to live.

____

James was not made for this part of war. The part where you looked your former best friend in the eye, the one on track to sell your life to evil for his own benefit. To leave you dead and bleeding on the ground of the home you and your fiance hadn’t even bought yet.

He was not made to look into the beady eyes of his childhood friend, someone he dreamed of raising their kids as a village together, but instead, he was destined to attempt to murder yours.

James had to persevere. They were in an impossible situation. Peter had refused to speak to Hermione and, by association, Remus at this point. Had screamed at her that she had turned on him when he had helped her, and she had just seethed back. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she promised to kill him next if he didn’t answer their questions.

It was a losing battle between the two, and James had been called in, like a carrot on a string, to convince Peter to come around. Peter had told them all he wanted to be their friend again over the past few months, but now, as he looked at the half-mad wizard before him, James wasn’t sure how they would ever be more than enemies.

So he faked it. Even as thoughts of Lily’s betrayal competed for attention in his mind, he squirreled it away and focused back on Peter.

“Do you know anything they are planning, Pete?” James lobbed at him. It was an easy question, something Peter could grasp like a quaffle and toss back with a placating answer. Anything to prove he wanted to be their friend still, but Peter fumed.

“Why so you can go tell that psychotic fucking bitch? Fuck off, James,” Peter spat, and James tugged his glasses off to rub his eyes with his forefinger and his thumb till he pinched his nose painfully. His heart wasn’t in this. He wasn’t his father, with his ability to charm people into admitting their crimes, or his mother, who tricked them into telling her about their sins.

He was just James, fumbling his engagement and missing his childhood friend. He didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there, trying to even out his breathing, like he had when they were kids, and he would get nervous. No one but Peter and Marls knew that about him. The panic attacks that plagued his childhood.

By all accounts, he was a spoiled only child, born to much older parents who had constantly doted on and adored him, but that much love had built fear in him. Fear that if he lost them or anyone who loved him, he would have nothing. Now, with his solid footing threatened with Lily and having to face Peter, who had cut him to the bone, he felt like he was six again—spinning out of control on a broom, about to fall away from his whole world with only the dusty hard dirt to catch him.

“James!” Peter yells, breaking his anxious spell, and James's eyes snap to him. He almost looks sympathetic now. Peter’s mouth was downturned, and his eyes soft, filled with pity at the sight of James so lost. James hadn’t been like that in years.

“Uh, thanks, mate,” it’s an instinctual response, the term of endearment towards him. The crumbs of what their friendship had been.

Peter shifts uncomfortably in the chair as James continues observing him. “I didn’t know you still had those,” he whispers, his eyes downcast. James looks at the wall behind his head, not willing to see Peter’s reaction to how bare he feels in front of him—stripped down to nothing more than a bumbling child.

James isn’t sure what information they want from Peter, so he takes his chance. It felt sticky and gross to use Pete’s minimal concern against him, but he guessed it was better than what he heard Andromeda had gotten up to the day before. “Yeah, the whole war thing brings up a lot of shit.”

Peter nodded his understanding, blowing a breath from his mouth as he seemed to debate his next move. “Does Lily know?”

James shakes his head no. Lily doesn’t; she thinks James is pure and perfect. Invincible, fun guy. The life of the party. He doesn’t want her to know that he’s often seconds away from crumbling to the pressure of being enough for her and keeping her love. It's a bit hypocritical, he thinks. That he feels so wronged about her keeping Snape’s letters from him, but he’s hidden this from her. His guilt mounts in his gut. How is he going to tell her?

“It doesn’t matter. We aren’t talking right now,” he confesses, hoping it will be enough to pull Peter from his shell and prevent his heart from breaking. He was lost without Lily’s love. He had every right to be upset about her secrets. Even she agreed, but he still missed her touch, even if it had been less than a day. She was what grounded him, his guiding principle in times of conflict.

His shame at sharing something intimate about Lily feels like tar in his lungs, like he’ll never be able to scrub or scourgify the sensation of manipulation away.

Peter surprised him by chuckling and taking the bait. “And what did you do?” he said like they were old friends getting drinks in a pub, as if he’s still part of the joke that is James’s worshiping of all things Lily Evans.

“It wasn’t me, actually. She’s been writing snivellus for help with our endeavors,” James offers, the reminder that Hermione could obliviate the information out of him if needed. They needed information from Peter. He kept chanting in his head. Beating away the thoughts of his remorse with the reminder of how important this conversation is.

“No shit. Wow, I thought she was over him.” Peter’s eyes flash with excitement as he talks. A sickening look of pleasure as he spoke about Lily and Snape as if he knew some big secret. “You know Sev cornered me when I first joined. With baby Black. Fucking death eater scum tried to act all tough and feel me out. I could see that he wanted to ask about Evans. Not surprised if what you say is true if they are, you know, together.”

He says it with a cynical smile, like he wants James to react to the lazy jab that Lily would cheat on him with Snape. Even if they are fighting and it gets worse before it gets better, he knows she never would. It feels like a knife-twisting that Peter knows how much her love means to him, and he would try to play it against him, just like he’s doing. He’s never known Peter to be so insidious, but he guesses he never really knew Peter, did he?

With lead in his stomach and wool in his throat, he keeps going—anything to keep Peter talking, even if it’s killing him. “You think he’d switch sides? Hermione thinks he could be an asset, but I don’t know if I can face him if what you say is true.”

“Take it from me, James. Dumbledore will make a deal with anyone. You should be nervous if Snape comes to him or Hermione is pushing it. He takes any information he can get, and I’m sure Snape has plenty. The dark lord loves the stuff he comes up with. Potions whiz and all that,” Peter offered nonchalantly. Like it’s common gossip, two of the most powerful wizards in the world and Peter is arrogant enough to think he has them in the palm of his hand.

He doesn’t think this is the type of information Hermione wants, but it’s better than nothing. “You think Dumbledore would take Snape over my word? On Hermione’s suggestion?”

Peter stiffened at her name, and James worried he’d ruined this. That his blabbering will end, but Peter’s arrogant gaze turns angry. He’s practically foaming at the mouth in excited anger to talk about her. “Not on hers. Dumbledore can see through her games. He’s over helping her, letting her keep her secrets, and he his. You need to distance yourself from that half-breed whore and make a deal with him. It’s the only way.”

James has to grip his chair to keep himself from flying across the table and punching him. He doesn’t even want to hex him. He wants to do it the muggle way so that both of them feel each bone breaking if he’s going to talk about Remus and Hermione that way. He wants to know what bones he breaks in his face. But he’s stuck in these mind games, so instead, he lets his nails bite into the flimsy wood underneath him.

“Worm, I want to believe you. After everything yesterday, I was sick,” and it’s not a lie. The sight of her ruthlessness with Rabastan had made bile rise in his throat, but he knew it was needed. A sickening reminder that he had not given Lily that grace, and she had not done any damage in her deceit unless you counted his bruised ego.

But he focuses on that half-truth. That’s what his dad told him. Half-truths would get you the whole truth, so he keeps going. The words feel like acid on his tongue as he shares his fears. “I think she’ll go too far sometimes.”

“Not without Leticia enabling her. Both sides have figured that out. That grief would be the easiest way to cripple her. Make her reckless. One side just let the other do the dirty work” he gloats back immediately like he’s some mastermind.

Peter knows his mistake as soon as he says it. The confession. That he knew. That Voldemort knew. That Dumbledore knew about Leticia’s impending death. Maybe not when, but they all had marked her as a target, a way to debilitate their fight.

James feels that corrosive bile threaten to spill again at Peter’s implication. That Dumbledore wants to disrupt their efforts. That he has a shared goal with Voldemort.

Peter starts screaming and pleading that he’s a liar and can’t be trusted, and while that’s true, he wasn’t lying then. James has known Peter since they were boys. He knows when he is desperate for attention, feels neglected, and is willing to do anything to fit in. He was always an insecure boy. James never imagined it would create a monster.

But the most terrifying thing is that they are nothing more than two sides of the same anxious boyhood coin.

James, with his white knuckle dying grip on those he loved, was always afraid they would see through him and leave.

Peter, with his arms open wide, putting on any mask and acting how others wanted so that they might love him and he would have the chance to hold onto them.

Chapter Text

“It's simple really. You can make the unbreakable vow with me, and I let you live, or I obliviate you, just a step above your friend we sent home this morning, and place you in the arms of the DMLE.” Hermione faked arrogance as she looked down at Peter. She was exhausted, running on fumes with what felt like half her magic as she stared down at the grimy wizard.

When James returned to the manor dining room to tell her what he had unearthed, every window in the room had exploded. Her bout of accidental magic reduced at least five sets of French doors to rubble. Her anger had been unhinged, and the act left her sick to her stomach at the idea of why.

Sirius’s absence was the most likely cause of her uncontrolled outburst, and at certain moments, like a phantom limb, she thought that maybe she could feel his presence.

It was like in the fall when she had not yet known their adoration and touch and thus had struggled to train and use her magic properly. The memory of the struggles made the hair on the back of her neck rise. A foreboding dread built in her gut at the image of her much weaker self. Her fear felt like it was strangling her as a new theory developed—that the more time they spent together, the worse her symptoms apart from them were.

She had never asked either if they experienced it. Too afraid if she discovered they were hurting, it would send her spiraling. They spent such little time apart outside of work that it had not seemed like an issue—that is, until now.

“I’m not sure how she can make it much simpler,” Remus grumbled from beside her, his thumb tracing a possessive pattern on the back of her neck. He pressed it into where her neck met her shoulder until it was almost painful. But somehow, under Remus’s care and attention, the pressure felt divine, right in the exact spot Sirius’s mating mark was. Mixed with the memory of Sirius’s words from earlier, it was easy for a witch to get lost in her wandering thoughts, to let them ground her against her warring emotions and capricious magic with their attention.

But she could not forget the wizard on the dirty floor before her. She wasn’t sure there was a spell strong enough to clean up the damage they had done to the little shed between Rabastan and Peter, so she wondered if they would be better off burning it to the ground.

They continued to wait for Peter, defensive and defiant, like the spoiled over, indulged child he was. He refused to tell them his preference. Turning his face away, it took all her self-control not to lean down and smack him across the cheek. Still round with baby fat, he looked healthy despite the dirt, and Circe knew what else was on him.

She hated that soft cheek and what it represented. Peter had known no hardships that were not of his own making. He’d never been held in a cell for months or let a curse tear his body apart every full moon. He knew a mother’s love, not the feel of a cruciatus from her lips against his bones.

She hated him for it. She wanted to kill him, to watch him pay for the knowledge of Leticia’s death and the crimes he had not yet committed, but she had been talked down. To many members of the DMLE present, letting her know that they could take him in if they could not get what they wanted from him in the end.

Well, the end was here, and he needed to decide fast. She had a date at Hogwarts this evening, and she would not be late for that. Someone else had crimes to pay for, and Peter would not stop her from ensuring they did.

She and Remus both froze as they felt the portkey charms around their neck vibrating with the alert that the third had been used. Her heart began to pound against her ribs at the realization that Sirius and Regulus had to use the portkey to return, not apparition as planned.

She sucked in a quick breath through her teeth, turning to look at Remus, whose mask of indifference was failing to hide his concern. Peter maintained his defiance, refusing to look at him, and with the threat of Sirius’s safety vibrating against her sternum, she no longer had the patience to wait. So she decided for him, unwilling to let him keep her from Sirius a moment longer.

“Obliviate,” Peter’s eyes went round in surprise that she had taken away his choice. She erased everything from the weekend, pulling the memories out of his mind and letting the grey wisps float into the air and away on a breeze through an open window, with no chance of recovery. She sent a quick stupefy to stop any new ones from forming, ready to be done with him.

They didn’t have many options and needed to move, so with a quick patronus to Andromeda and Dorea, asking someone to give the wizard some new memories via legilimency, she left the rest of his fate up to them. They would be much kinder judges for his fate than she would. It was a gift for the little help he had granted her at one point.

Grabbing Remus’s hand, she side-alonged him without warning. Frantic to get back and see Sirius. They landed in the living room, and while she had braced herself in the few stolen seconds since leaving Peter behind for whatever they might find in the small space, nothing could have prepared her for the screaming match they encountered.

“YOU WERE GOING TO LET GO. I FUCKING FELT IT, REG,” Sirius bellowed, and Remus cast a quick silencing charm around the apartment to keep the sound contained. Sirius was red-faced, angry with wild eyes and matching untamed hair, having escaped the flimsy tie he had thrown it in earlier. Arms flailing around as he spoke, madness radiating off at him as he berated his brother. “WHY REGULUS? WHY WOULD YOU LOOSEN YOUR GRIP!”

Hermione winced at the volume of his rant but tried to enter the fray of their argument despite her confusion about how they had gotten there. After seeing both of them alive and somewhat well, she had only felt relief when she saw they had successfully retrieved Horcrux. It was placed around Regulus’s neck and could be felt the moment she landed in the room. The locket gleamed in the low light of the flat, its insidious nature creeping into the corners.

Regulus opened his mouth as if to speak, but Sirius kept going. The more he spoke, the more violent his movements became. His hands caught her eye, and the sight made her breath hitch. She could see the jagged flesh in his palm, carved open like he’d held a bouquet of knives, blood dripping down his forearms.

The sight of his state sent her into motion, shaking off Remus’s hold on her as she stepped between the two brothers. Accioing their medicinal potions from the bathroom, the small pouch banged around the hallway till it flew into her hands, and she stood before him. He looked mad, frothing at the mouth and scolding Regulus.

She didn’t try to interrupt him, simply pushing on his stomach till he started walking backward and fell into a tufted recliner, all while not letting up his tirade as she settled on her knees before him, “And what did you think would fucking happen? You’d go back into that demon-infested lake? Do you want to die? Do you want me to die trying to come back and save you? Because Mommy and Daddy weren’t going to swoop in and save you, Reggie, you are stuck with me now!”

Hermione cringed at his brutal words. Like a rabid dog latched to a bone, shaking and chewing till every last bit was shredded and broken, he kept going, and finally, Regulus snapped. Hermione had just applied dittany to Sirius’s cuts, making him hiss in pain, and Regulus took his chance to get a word in edgewise. He did not raise his voice, but his tone dropped to a sinister crackle, representative of a broken and angry boy.

“I was ready to die! If I am to believe you in your hysteria, it is how I died.” Hermione gasped and looked up at Sirius, who had now bore a look of embarrassment, his eyes downcast with his blunder revealed. She bit her tongue, but fear grew in her gut, her hackles rising as she waited to hear what Regulus planned to do with her secret.

“So yes, Sirius, I wanted to fucking die. I wanted to die so it would save you! Again! God, you can be so thick. Mother was right. Not a thing between your ears or behind your eyes. You think I want to take a swim with those corpses? No, I was going to do it for you. That portkey shouldn’t have taken that long or felt like that, and I was nervous.” Regulus, unlike Sirius, didn’t stop to pause, his words tumbling out faster as he kept going. “If this is how you are going to treat me, then I regret it! Maybe you deserved to die there and not me! Maybe if you hadn’t left me in that fucking house, I wouldn’t have died the first time.”

They were all crying. Hermione hadn’t even noticed the tears that had started to flow down her cheeks. And Regulus appeared to be shattering with painful, spiteful tears as he spit his truth. And Sirius wept, heavy shaking shoulders as Regulus tore him down, and told his side. It was an ugly sight, the view of them like that.

“ENOUGH!” Remus shouted. Regulus stopped his ranting, eyes wide in disbelief that Remus challenged him. Sirius even stopped his sniffling as if finally realizing others were in the room. He looked between Remus and Hermione as she worked on his hands, shame in his watery eyes.

“I can not fucking take this! I don’t care what happened, but if you want to talk about your fucking cunt of a mother, now isn’t the time. Regulus, go get changed and give me that damn locket.” Regulus tugged till the chain broke on his neck and threw it on the carpet before stomping away.

“Get it out of here, Remus,” Hermione begged, her stomach in her throat, remembering what it had done to Ron, how it had turned him against her and Harry, and the lies it planted in their heads.

The memory of his cagey eyes and aggressive movements made her skin crawl. It had begun to work much too quickly on Regulus and Sirius for her liking, and she wanted it destroyed sooner rather than later.

She focused instead on Sirius’s hand, the dittany stitching the flesh and muscle together again, but she felt the need to continue rubbing it in as if to remember that he was whole. To feel that it wasn’t permanent and that he was okay. She was lost in the motion of running her thumbs up and down his palms, massaging even when there was no oily essence left to rub in.

Finally, Sirius took his hands from her, moving to cup her cheeks in his palms. The bitter herbal smell filled her senses as the newly calloused and scarred hands cradled her cheeks. She hated that she had not been quick enough, and some of the wounds were too deep to stop the damage.

He kissed her forehead once, leaving his lips against her, while she wrapped her arms around his midsection, positioning herself between his legs as she kneeled and leaned into his touch. Remus joined them, the locket discarded on the table now, as he sat on the arm of the chair, kissing the top of Sirius’s head as the dark-haired wizard rubbed his thumbs over the tops of her cheeks, hot and wet from her tears.

“It’s okay, love, you're both okay,” Remus whispered into Sirius’s hair, a muffled reminder that for the current moment they were, nothing was promised, but they had right now. Sirius was here, whatever happened was done, and they had made it back.

“Someone needs to check on Regulus,” she offered, knowing that he must surely be a wreck by himself if this was how they felt with each other. When Sirius made no move to speak to his brother again, she swallowed, the motion painful against the fear growing in her throat, and decided she would do it if he could not.

She hated to leave the warm, safe bubble that was the three of them, but she knew the love shared between the two wizards would be enough to bring Sirius back down. She often wished she could fully understand the teenage obsession and boyish crushes turned lovers' connection they shared. Keepers of each other’s hearts, she realized, just like Fabian said. She had known for a while what she felt for them, that she loved them, but she also loved watching them have that without her.

It was an insurmountable amount of love to comprehend, and it had to be enough, was the grim reminder in her mind. Love had saved Harry as a boy, and she knew Sirius and Remus had more than enough to save each other.

With heavy steps, she pulled herself from his grasp, and when Sirius tried to grab her hand to stop her, she let him pull her in for only one soft, tear-soaked kiss before she was off to find Regulus.

She found him in that little spare bedroom they had charmed for Barty, messy like she assumed all-male dorms in the castle were. Clothes and books strewn about, shoes kicked off wherever, making it feel lived in, a home.

He was sitting on the bed looking at the wall of muggle novels Remus must have collected over the years across from him. His hands were on his knees, knuckles white as he gripped the knees of his trousers.

At first, she said nothing, sitting beside him on the bed and studying the titles herself. She hadn’t spent much time in this room, so often corralled into their bedroom or in one of the manor libraries. Remus owned an eclectic collection. She wondered what Regulus might like from the shelf. Her eyes snagged on ones she loved, titles like Jane Eyre and Emma, a copy of Dune that looked to be falling apart from use.

She was almost done with her review of the collection when Regulus finally spoke, “Did we all die?” His voice was flat, and she thought it was an odd question to start with. She assumed he would have wanted to rant and rave about his brother, but instead, he had a thirst for knowledge, even if it was morbid.

“I only knew Remus and Sirius for a bit. Everyone else was gone. You somehow found out about the locket and tried to destroy it. Left a scathing note that took us weeks to figure out who R.A.B was,” she said, pausing before a surprised chuckle erupted from her. “Actually, that's wrong. Barty taught defense for one year if you can believe it.”

“I don’t, actually,” he said grimly as if doubting the truth of her words. All she could do was tell the story, she guessed, anything to get him to believe.

She popped her lips, frustrated by his doubts, as she explained, “Well, it is. He had captured and polyjuiced himself to look like Mad-Eye- or errr. I guess it's just Alastor Moody now. You see, he had a fake eye—had lost it in a duel. Barty kept him in a trunk with an extension charm for months.” She shivered at the reminder, but he had let Mad Eye live.

She blocked out the memory of eavesdropping on Sirius, telling Harry the story of when Barty had been drug to Askaban as a 19-year-old boy sobbing for his mother. Thinking that knowing that he died before his friend was sentenced to a life of insanity in a dark cell would do Regulus no good.

Instead, she focused on what she knew: “He taught us the imperius curse on the first day, ranted and raved about shaking it. Demonstrated cruciatous and Avada on a bug.” She shivered at the memory, the way someone who constantly annoyed her now had instilled such fear in her then.

It was the last bit she shared that was the hardest, knowing what she knew of Regulus and his friends. “He was only nice to my friend Luna. She had a bit of an aura to her, bright blonde and speaking in riddles that held so many truths—if you can imagine the type, but still a Ravenclaw at heart. I miss her sometimes. I think he had, too.”

Regulus uttered a strangled cry, tipping his head towards the ceiling at her story. “Luna,” he choked out, “Yeah, I bet he was. Fuck you are telling the truth.”

“You already knew I was,” She countered gently. Regulus nodded, eyes still at the ceiling, not wanting to speak. She wished she could hear his thoughts—that she was a talented legilimens like the Black women. She wanted to know what he cared about and what was worth it for her to talk about, but sadly, she was not. All she had was her own thoughts and emotions, so that is what she offered him.

“I’m sorry you died in that cave the first time, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before sending you there. That wasn’t fair.” She offered—anything to see if he would stay with them on this. It was cruel what they had done, but what option did they have? Now he was needed to search for something in the room of requirement, still unknown to them what it could even be. But it was the last piece. They couldn’t lose him now over a fight with Sirius.

Gods. She hoped this hadn’t all gone to shit because of such a small oversight.

“It was the right call. I wouldn’t have agreed if I’d known. I needed to see what was possible, to remind myself of what the dark is capable of,” he offered. While she didn't know what the words meant, they felt familiar—like she’d heard them or maybe read them before, but she couldn't place them.

She could see the muggle clock on the bedside table flip to 3 p.m., and she knew Dorea wanted to be at the castle by 4. It felt like they were constantly running out of time. So much was being pushed to after this war that their futures might become a new enemy with all its unknowns. She reaches out to take Regulus’s hand, unsure how the boy will respond to touch, but she knows she needs it in moments like this.

He doesn’t pull away, letting her squeeze his hand like the motion might convey that since she loves his brother, she cares for him, too. A boy gone too soon, still stuck in a family of lunatics and zealots. Loving a free spirit who can’t be tied down.

She can do this for Sirius, a way to be his keeper. It's just another thing she can do to make this life easier. Keeping Regulus close will be good for them once they cool off and this war is won. They both deserve a relationship that is not poisoned by their parents and Voldemort.

They deserve to be young wizards, just like Harry and Ron had deserved the same. She’d make sure they got it.

Dorea’s side-along is jarring, and Hermione has to hold onto Regulus’s shoulder to stop herself from stumbling. She wished she could have slept better over the past few nights, her tired state wearing on her, but her past invaded her mind like an infestation, keeping her awake at all hours.

Her dreams were burdened with memories of Bellatrix and Leticia, together and apart, now and in the future. She let herself be distracted at all hours by planning and fear, anything to fill the void. Unable to let her mind slow, for if she did, the infestation would grow, insidious thoughts writhing like worms in the mud that had become her consciousness.

The thought of facing Dumbledore only added to her feeble state. As if her muscles weren’t tired enough from holding up herself and others, and her cheeks didn’t ache from the tears they had caught, now her heartfelt carved from her chest at what might happen in his office. She had not trusted him for so long. Even in the future, she had started to see his true character, and then she had followed Leticia and Dorea’s guidance in avoiding him.

Now, she was to face him.

At least she wasn’t alone. The only people who might be as mad as she was flanked her as they walked up the wooded path, worn and weathered stones that seemed to reflect her current state, guiding them to a place that once felt like home.

Only now, it felt like a cruel joke or a haunted house filled with tainted memories. Its stone halls were the show rings that held the catalyst to this cursed circus she found herself in, but she was determined to be its ring leader, not him.

It felt much like the last time tea was placed before her in his office, stuffy and formal, everyone dancing around their words like they were in a minefield. The only difference was that Remus was not present to stop her from drinking whatever might be laced in the brew. She still did not trust it, choosing to sit at the edge of her seat, her original wand holstered on her arm, her feet planted firmly on the ground—anything to make her feel like she had some semblance of control.

“And tell me again, Mr. Black, why you were unable to return to the castle before now when you left without permission?” Dumbledore had not addressed her since their arrival, instead focusing on Regulus and Dorea, Minerva and Slughorn in a far corner observing the strange meeting. She did not know what had caused the headmaster to despise her from the moment of her arrival, but his outward contempt at her presence was the least of her concerns.

She would let him dance with those two for a while before she struck, her living anger poised beneath her ribcage, fangs on display for when she would sink her teeth in to find out the truth. “Dorea, the boy is 17. He can do as he wishes. If he desires to list you as his guardian, that’s fine. He is, at the end of the day, his own decision-maker now.”

“I want to list Sirius and Hermione,” Regulus interjected, his voice filled with astounding arrogance, posh and condescending, as he corrected Dumbledore. Hermione tried to hide her surprise at his request. Dorea would be a much better option for support, but she wondered if this was an olive branch to Sirius, their spat from earlier still heavy on all their hearts. The brothers had come to a truce, an understanding that hurt people hurt the ones they love, but it was another tentative bond, the soil it was built on was gritty and dry, and no one knew if their connection would survive.

“Sirius is but a boy himself, and well, Miss Granger is not a suitable candidate for guardianship. You could ask Leticia, I suppose.” Dumbledore said her name with such disdain, sneering as each syllable rolled off his tongue like the word physically pained him. She wanted to lean across the table and rip his tongue from his throat at such disrespect for the dead. A pyre had not even been burned in her honor, and he had already spoken ill of her.

Peter had been right. Dumbledore hated Leticia, and she was not leaving here tonight without finding out why.

Hermione sat up in her seat, her back rigid, drawing the others' attention to her as she spoke, ready to take control of the floor. “I have told you it is Prewett. You will address me as such,” Minerva coughed in the background at Hermione’s boldness. “You claim you don’t yet know?” she asked, eerily calm in her question. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her as if asking her to explain more, and so she did.

The verbal materialization of what they had endured on Friday, to finally admit all she had lost at the hands of men who wanted to play god, wizards who thought their power was enough to rule the world, leaving her and other witches ruined in their wake. Leticia was just one of the many deaths and losses of the witches who had labored for their causes.

She placed her hands on the low table before her, her voice threateningly devoid of emotion as she steadied herself and continued, taking his lack of response as an admission to guilt. “Did you not hear? What, everyone who scurried out of your little Order meeting found? She was dead, murdered in her own home by the time anyone got there. The victim of a curse that cut her skin hundreds of times, still alive as her blood poured out onto the floors.”

“Do you want me to offer my condolences when you seem to carry an accusation in your words?” He scoffed, his typical jovial tenor broken by their shared disdain.

“No, I want you to apologize for your role in it.” Her fingers curled into the table, nails digging into the ancient wood. If she were not so tired, she wondered if her fingerprints would be burned into the grain from the hate that blazed inside her.

Dumbledore set his teacup down at her request for recognition, taking a moment to study her down the tip of his nose. His eyes trailed over her animalistic stance and open maw, ready to lunge. “I will not apologize for what I did not do. There are no condolences for a loss I do not mourn.”

“Why?” She cried, hands slapping against the table, the sting a welcome reminder that she had not died and gone to hell but that this conversation would continue to haunt her as if she had.

She remembered that Dante had said the fifth circle of hell was wrath, but as the rage rolled through her, she found her natural inclination was to the seventh, violence. That was what the beast of her heart preferred. “We deserve to know why! She had a family. We loved her.” She spat, angry and shaking, that he would be so callous about what happened to her.

The noise made the others in the room flinch, a sad look shared between Minerva and Dorea at what she was.

“Why?” he bellowed back, his anger at the situation rising to the surface at her challenge. “Witches like Leticia do not get to have it all. She made her mistakes, and these were her consequences. If you have nothing left to say but your childish shouts, you may leave.”

“What does that mean, witches like her? Mothers? Wives? Grandmothers? Healers? Witches who take in sick and dying witches and give them a chance? She was good, she gave everything to this fight, and you’ve done nothing but make it harder. It should have been you!” Her chest heaved, teeth aching from how hard she was grinding them, trying to contain the screech in her throat at his disdain for the tragedy that had unfolded.

He laughed roughly, the twinkle in his eye gone, transformed into a dark gleam as he watched her rant. For all that she imagined, that she was a snake striking to kill—it was he who wanted to maim. Dumbledore, who hoarded secrets and people, collected them and used their lives like they were nothing more than pieces on a macabre chess board—battle fodder in his games.

“You know nothing of the witch you let take you in. Did she tell you how long I have known her? The circles we shared as young people in this world? The twisted ideologies she let take over her mind. She was no better than the death eater that killed her.” She could see the trap he laid, hoping she would succumb to whatever gossip he had on her, even if it was true. Leticia had loved Hermione, she knew as much was true.

Minerva gasped from her spot in the corner, and Hermione hated that the witch she once respected would see her like this. But she would go down clawing for the truth and accountability he deserved.

Dorea tried to interject, warning in her tone, “Albus, that is too far,” but Hermione didn’t stop, her mind reeling at the possibility that he could imply such a thing.

“I do not care about her past—I care that she changed! Can you say that for yourself? Because right now, you look at the Order like puppets at your disposal, and you are on a path to continue that power trip until 1996. It’s the reason I’m here! You let children fight your war!” She desperately wanted the truth of her words to outweigh whatever he was using against her.

Dumbledore tutted, his eyes disappointed as he seethed, “She followed the dark for years, you insolent child. For years, she let another monster into her life and worshiped him like the fanatics we fight now. Can’t you see it? Her change can’t undo the damage she had already done.”

“Albus, that’s enough,” Dorea interrupted. “Do not bring that into this.”

Hermione turned to look at Dorea, stomach clenching and feeling betrayed that she would try to stop this. She was weak to his claims. If he wanted to give her this knowledge, she would take it, wanting to know more, but she wouldn’t let him see it hurt her. No, she would use it for her own good, whatever it might be. “Bring what? I deserve to know if I’m going to lay another life of mine on the line for this fight, and I want to know who I’m fighting for. I want to know what she overcame to be good!”

“You want to know, you say. Fine, sit down, and I’ll tell you, but don’t be angry with me for the situation you have found yourself in.” when no one moved to challenge him, just pitying looks from across the room at her, did he start. He spun a tale about a witch with Black blood who had found themselves in the grips of blood supremacy.

He spoke of Grindelwald and the crimes he had committed. He spoke of fanaticism and hate spewed by witches and wizards against those like Hermione. He spared no details telling her the repulsive things people had said of her kind. He did not hide his sneer and disgust as he talked about how Leticia had been just like her family, loyal to Grindelwald even as he got more and more extreme. Attending rallies and meetings, soaking up the prejudice that festered in their support of his domination.

He was right, it did make her sick. The thought of the woman she loved so much had at one point hated people like her. How, if she had landed on that beach years earlier, she might have been killed on the spot, murdered for sport if the heinous things Dumbledore described were true.

But she hadn’t. Hermione kept repeating it to herself, Leticia hadn’t done any of those things. She had kept her secrets and shame close to her chest, cards for only her eyes. She had gambled on letting Hermione in, and it had cost her hand, but she had not faltered in her devotion to family even as she looked down the end of Bellatrix’s wand.

She had told Bellatrix she had four children. That was what mattered.

Hermione had seen plenty change sides during the second wizarding war, had decoded the tale of Regulus and his subversion, and had watched the fear in Draco’s eyes as he helped her escape. Knew that Snape would one day be a spy who made a difference, even if he did betray them in the end. Witches and wizards were still humans. Capable of mistakes, but they held the innate ability to feel remorse and seek change for their missteps.

All those who had changed deserved the right to live, and so had Leticia. It was with that reminder that she let him finish. His tell-all tale of Leticia’s scandalous mistakes, her love for a dark wizard like it was akin to Bellatrix's, might have been true, but it reminded her of someone else—a hypocrite in the room with them.

“Are people not allowed to change?” she asked once he had finished, tired from the overdrawn way he told his hate-filled tale. Even though it may not have been slander against her name, the malicious intent of his words had been the final nail in the coffin that held Hermione Granger.

Hermione had thought that the old version of herself had bled to death alongside Leticia on Friday evening, but as she watched the hero of her youth try to manipulate her for the last time, she finally put the witch she used to be to rest. There would be no return to her innocence or youth when this war was over. He had made sure of it.

Dumbledore did not answer her, a frustrating, perplexed look on his face at her question. He looked as if he expected something else, like he wanted her to drink in the information like it was wine from the gods, to build an altar to his knowledge as she once did like he was a king among wizards like he had led Harry, Ron, and her to believe. But she was not the first to see his hidden truths.

She pulled her beaded bag from the floor, laying it on the table as she dug around for what she was looking for. The glossy cover of a book she had hated every moment of reading, but all stories had a purpose, she realized. With a satisfied grin, she placed the novel on the table between them. It was half biography and half fiction, but that wasn’t the point. The thread of truth in Rita Skeeter’s words had always been Hermione’s downfall, but now it was her triumph.

“Did you not love Gellert yourself?” She questioned, flicking her fingers to make the pages of the book fly open, flapping as the fancified tale of the old wizard’s life played out before them. Dorea smirked from her seat, her eyes meeting Hermione’s in proud triumph as she countered his claims, “You deserved a second chance, but she did not?” She snipped, landing on the page that described the day that it all changed, the day his sister passed.

“You know nothing of my life! You may bring your tricks from the future, but that means nothing to me.” He scolded, looking back to Minerva and Slughorn, each sharing concerned glances at Hermione’s bomb of information.

If Dumbledore wanted to strike so close to her soul with Leticia, she would match him. She would use his weakness and twist his grief if hers was fair game. “Your sister meant nothing? You did not mourn Grindelwald when he left you?”

Stunned silence filled the room, many looking confused. A vindictive feeling bubbled in her chest at the sight of his surprise and hurt that she would stoop so low. “Of course I did! But I could see evil when it came time. I tried to stop him, or did this book you’ve brought with you leave that out?”

“No, it did not. It tells your story of triumph, but it also says you were no better than him at one point. That you wanted to rule muggles and muggleborns like me. Yet you deserve a second chance, and she didn’t.” She let the book slam shut. It felt heavier than a Horcrux in the room, so much knowledge about someone who kept so many of his own and others’ secrets.

“She did not change. She married Ignatius Prewett, and he changed her. I have no doubt she was still filled with the hate she spewed when she died, and if she did change, then there was nothing that could have undone the damage she was a part of—not even taking in a muggle-born pet like you.” The words stung like a sectumsempra had hit her fragile, thin skin. Their comrades froze at the implication that Hermione was nothing more than penance in Leticia’s eyes.

But that wasn’t what stood out to her. It wasn’t that he tried to pull her down, to weaken her with grief and doubt like Peter had told James. No, it was the want in his voice. The cracking of his armor as he spoke about Ignatius.

With that information, she prepared her final attack and sharpened her claws so that they left behind scars that could not be undone with dittany. She would land the killing blow. Even if he kept trying, there was nothing he could do to her now.

The conversation had run its course. Dumbledore would not bend to her way, he would see her as an enemy fighting for the same cause, and she would have to live with the costs, but not without leaving him with the truth she had pieced together.

“I may have been nothing more than a project to her, but she showed me love when I needed it most, and I’m sorry the one you loved could not do that for you. But do not hold your bitter jealousy of her love for her husband and children against me. I want to make a final deal with you, and then we will be done. I can see now we will not be able to come to common ground.” She sat back at that, signaling her resignation to their disagreement. He could tell her more about the crimes and hate of the 1940s wizarding world, but she would always find it in herself to forgive Leticia no matter what, just like she would never forgive him.

He sat down in near-perfect unison, his tone final as he addressed her. “I do not find myself inclined to make a deal with your Miss Granger.”

“The Black Tapestry reads as Prewett Albus. You will do well to remember that,” Dorea spoke up from her spot, pride in her eyes at the fallout of their situation.

She debated telling him the truth about the Horcruxes, thinking the information might convince him to join their cause, proof of their work, but she chose not to. He had proven himself unworthy as an ally. She was not after his support. She wanted his resources. “All I ask is that when it is time to end this, and we call upon the Order, they will come.”

“You do not make decisions for the Order, and I do not trust their lives in your hands. We have seen how that ended for Leticia.” She let the implication roll off her shoulders even as others hissed at his shot. She could see the changing tide on Minerva’s face, the disappointment and surprise in his battering of Hermione’s life.

But he could not say anything to her that she had not already thought of herself. She knew the role she played in Leticia’s death. His reminder showed more of himself than it did of her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to keep more angry barbs from spilling off her tongue as she answered him. “Would you really stand in the way of ending all this death and destruction because of a young man’s loneliness?”

He looked down at her again, over the top of his glasses, as if surprised she had it in her to still ask for such a thing after their argument. “I will not make the Order do anything. If they want to support you when your fight comes to, they can decide independently, and I will not stop them.”

“And in return?” she questioned, debating how far she would go to get the support they would need in that final duel.

“As I said, I want nothing from you, Hermione Prewett,” he taunted her, drawing her name out as he spoke. “You can deliver this to Mr. Lupin, though.” In the blink of an eye, he conjured it from thin air, smiling as he handed her a familiar cream envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest.

It was heavier than any secret he might have shared of Leticia. He had made his strategy clear. He was not yet done making her grieve.

Chapter Text

Lily’s potion bubbled before her, but her eyes were elsewhere. Focused on a gaggle of red-headed children that were running around. She had relocated her workstation to the small cottage. It wasn’t ideal, but even if the Prewett library had been repaired with magic in just a few days, she could not stomach being in there again.

The memories seemed endless, an onslaught of visions, making her rewatch the horrors she had seen. Lily knew they would haunt her for long after this war. So here she was in the small kitchen, a tightly contained flame on the table she had magically raised to waist height. Little ones crawled between her ankles and the mismatched chairs all around as Barty magicked a ball off the walls for the older ones to chase.

He had become a surprise hit with the boys. Their favorite trick was when he began bouncing the springy ball off their foreheads. Their fake, exaggerated groans of pain caused all the childish wizards in the room to howl with laughter, Barty included. It would have been a good memory if there hadn’t been a war looming in the distance and she had not been forced into this room. If the reason Molly trusted her with the boys was so that she could finish laying her mother to rest.

Lily tried to focus on the positives of her new arrangement. She loved kids and was excited that hers would not be threatened one day, hoping that some of them might share her red hair like the young Weasleys. She told herself that repeatedly, at every spin of the copper stir bar in the cauldron.

There would not be many more days of this. They were close. She knew it. Even if she did not have the details that came with the gift of sight, she could feel the end.

But as she stirred potion number 5, keeping the copper stick constantly moving, her hopefulness was tainted. She wasn’t sure what they would use all this fiendfyre repellant potion for. Hermione had been adamant they needed as much as possible, and they would figure it out later. The need to protect so many from magical flames was a foreboding thought, but Hermione had not steered her wrong yet, so Lily would continue following her.

If Hermione found herself straying from their path, Lily had promised she would help guide her friend back. Even if the witch was kicking and screaming or she had to fight Remus and Sirius—Lily would help keep this operation in motion, just like the continuous scrape of her stirrer on the cauldron’s rim. Her support of her friends was one of the few things she could control, and she was unwilling to relinquish her power in this game of strategy.

So that was what she had been doing, making potions and playing games of emotional combat. It felt bloodier than a real duel. She missed her friend and the laughter they had shared while brewing in the previous months. Smiles and gossip over sandwiches in the libraries they had started to call home. She even missed the way Barty had teased them and how one of them would get worked up at his vulgarity.

When the changes felt heaviest, she would think back to her favorite memories—the joy that filled the space when Sirius and Remus came to steal Hermione away or how the witch would shoo Lily off when James came to pester her.

No one was oblivious to the change, the hardening of Hermione, but Lily worried she played a part in it. She had let Hermione grow soft in her presence, even encouraged it. Lily had been desperate to try and pull the witch from the terrors that haunted her over the summer until she trusted them all. And then, as soon as she had trusted, started to love and free herself from the shackles of her mind, their enemies had struck her at her weakest point. An opening in her armor that Lily had encouraged her to explore.

Lily knew what it was like for your trust to be so broken, for the things you loved to be ripped away by not just your enemies but also the people you care for the most. Sure, Leticia hadn’t done it to hurt Hermione. But as Hermione had told them what she had learned, Lily could not only see her anger towards Dumbledore and death eaters building metal sword-proof plates against her skin but there was also uncertainty like Hermione would forever look over her shoulder now. Unsure who she could love.

All the witch had was anger, so she forged it to herself like it was her last hope.

Lily didn’t immediately know how she would help lighten the burden of steel Hermione now carried, but she had to try. As she heard another round of giggles, the noise flowing through the open beach frame of the cottage, she had an idea. A way to bring them all a little joy, a distraction they needed more than air. To remind her friends, especially Hermione, that this was worth it and that more was waiting for her, even if Leticia had been stolen from them.

She wasted no time sending off a patronus to the wizard she knew would be a perfect partner in crime for this idea. Her doe galloped away, carrying her excited plea for help to its matching pair. Her fiance ran through the floo to her in mere minutes. An excited smile on his face as he engulfed her in a hug. Strong shoulders and arms lifted her off the ground like he hadn’t kissed her breathlessly this morning.

“My Lily flower,” James cooed against her neck as he pulled her in tighter. His lips brushed against her throat with every word as he breathed her in, and goosebumps broke out across her skin at the contact. That simple touch caused something to release in her that she had not known she was holding. Every embrace they shared since their screaming matches of the weekend had been more passionate.

It seemed everyone had cried on Sunday because even after she noticed the screaming from the flat above them stopped, a bit too sudden not to have involved magic, the fighting in hers hadn’t. She and James had fought like rabid dogs, bite after bite, as every perfect part of them crumbled to their feet. She had always hated how people told them they were perfect, so happy and in love, made for each other, their classmates said. Since James worshiped her in all his revered glory, then she must not carry any flaws.

The rumors that she had done so much as a muggleborn and that there must have been something special about her to win him over, the whispers often said. She hated the idea of earning James’s love and that since they had matching patronuses then they never experienced any hardships.

It wasn’t true. They were flawed humans, just like the rest of them. James might have been a legendary quidditch chaser, but he was competitive to a fault and often a sore loser. She might have loved learning, but she was scared of her failure. She made 17 different brews only for the fifth to work but never tested them because she could not handle her own mistakes. Her decision cost them vital time in their fight.

Imperfect people fought, just like they had in the small flat she shared with Mary. The stress of war heavy on their hearts, the secrets they each had kept bubbling to the surface like the potion she was not watching very carefully at the present moment.

James had told her his burdens, confining his insecurities, and pleaded with her as he admitted that he might not be enough for her. All the while, she whispered to him in between gasping tears that she was young and afraid to be happy in a way that seemed impossible to her at times.

But like all imperfect things, they found a way to make it work, between teary kisses and gasping breaths as they held each other much like they did right now. He had agreed to her want for Severus to live, and she had confirmed that she loved him and no one else.

A shared promise that they were getting married, sooner rather than later, damn this war and Voldemort. They deserved each other.

He had made love to her on the floor of her flat right then and there, not caring if Mary walked in at any moment. He had been slow and languid in his thrusts into her and had cradled her in sticky, sweaty arms. And she had kissed every inch of his face while rolling her hips against his, her fingers in his unruly hair as they crested together with stuttering breaths.

Because that was it, she and James were together in this. They had their friends, the group of family who had agreed to be a third party in this fight, but in the depths of all this turmoil, she knew they had each other first.

Their lovemaking was as imperfect as they were, she was certain she had rug burn on her back, and he had knocked over a table and broken a lamp. It had been messy, sweet, half tears and half laughter. It had been them, and they needed it.

Things were still tense in their group, emotions still running high, but they had each other, their little bubble of insular family to rely on. No more secrets and fears in the dark. And now, in the cottage, as he leaned against the deep porcelain sink filled with empty vials she had not yet washed, he asked, “So what’s the plan?”

She decanted the recently finished potion into new jars, glowing green but shifting with purple sparks, opposite of Fiendfyre’s red and orange. It was an ominous sight, as she considered it, so contradictory to her brainstorming of ways to bring even a sliver of happiness back to their once carefree friends. “I think we need to make everyone happy again. They need a distraction.”

“Like a prank?” He replied quickly, excited about the idea as he instinctively took the glasses from her hands, lining them up with the others she had already finished. James studied the lids to ensure he had sealed them the same, and his attention to detail made her melt. His effort was so apparent, and she loved him for it. Even after their biggest argument and reconciliation, he was still him, caring about what she thought and doing what he could to make things easier.

“Mmmmhmmm,” she hummed, excited and high-pitched, thinking about how she wanted to word her idea and how she would convince him of its ingenuity. It was far-fetched and would take more work than he probably expected. The moving target of her deadline only added to the pressure, but she felt this could be it.

“I was thinking more like a surprise, a present for all of us.”

____

Remus looked across the bed at the two sleeping forms next to him. One of them snoring softly, black hair twisted into a knot on the top of his head, and the other snuggled between them was nothing but a mess of morning curls and little puffs of breath as she dozed.

He had grown to love this time of morning, when Sirius, who always slept late, and Hermione, who had developed a penchant for sneaking out to the ocean every night, both stayed in bed past the break of dawn, sleeping through the fresh light of the sun’s rise.

He’d watch the rise and fall of their chests, bare limbs tangled together, and nothing more than knickers and briefs between the three of them, just existing as if that was all they had to do in the world.

Across the room, though, was his greatest threat to this existence. A letter still sealed, for he did not want the sender to know he had opened it if it was enchanted. He had a feeling about what might be inside. The idea Dumbledore had floated to him months ago, and he had brushed it off as a stretch of a concern.

His former Headmaster had initially seemed friendly, asking how the most recent moon had been. Still, in retrospect, he was fishing for information, building up a base of false security and care to land this blow. Trying to find out how Remus had been fairing was a guise.

All Dumbledore had wanted to know was if he was strong enough to venture out on his behalf. Hermione had later told him that in the future, he was known for these missions across the Order. Dangerous and impossible to communicate with during his work with other Werewolves, which resulted in so many of the scars that littered his face in her memory.

With a shaky, fear-filled voice, she told him a story that even left him nauseous. A tale of him apparating back into Grimmauld Place covered in wounds just days before Christmas, landing in a heap of bones and blood, muttering incoherently. Everyone present was frantically trying to heal him, and young schoolchildren watched the whole thing, realizing that war was not just on their doorstep but was in their home. Maybe that wasn’t quite right, though.

Rather, they had made their home in war, just like he had now.

He hated that she had the memories of two wars. She always thought about the worst-case scenario first because of it. But he knew she was right, that there was an ask he could not say no to in that envelope. And it taunted him, like schoolyard bullies, Dumbledore’s jeers and snide comments to Hermione and Leticia were veiled in threats against his safety and sanity.

The thought occurred to him that maybe Dumbledore had set him up for this type of danger all along. Sometimes, it seemed like everyone knew the future but him. Did Dumbledore plan to make Remus indebted to him since he was 11? Why else had he let the shy, lonely boy come to Hogwarts despite being a monster? The old wizard ensured he would have a good, happy existence, only to remind him how quickly it could all be taken away with one piece of crisp parchment.

It didn’t matter, really, whether Dumbledore had diabolically planned this for years or had used new cards in his favor. Remus had to decide how he would respond. He could take whatever task was in that envelope and ensure Hermione and Dorea had the support they needed when the time came.

He feared that when the day came and Voldemort would finally be mortal, would any of them still be human? The threat that maybe this war and task would tear away every bit of his sanity. Forcing him to serve as a liaison to other wolves or, worse, a spy had unknown consequences. Packs could be ruthless and brutal when threatened, and Remus would be the threat. All while leaving Sirius struggling with a distant strained bond and Hermione an unsealed one.

Remus’s pack had never been like that, though. While part of him hated that Dumbledore may have woven the twisted threads of his fate to arm himself with a beast, Remus couldn’t hate the by-products of this betrayal. To know James and Lily and to feel a call to them like family was a gift. To have friends that felt like sisters in Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas was something he would never trade. To have two mates in his arms every night was the highlight of his life.

He had never imagined a life where he would be so lucky.

Since Hermione’s arrival, it had felt like his pack had grown exponentially. Even during the magical Christmas he had spent with her, he started to feel the pull to the young Weasley boys and could sense when the twins were in the room. He wasn’t ready to tell Sirius yet, but even Regulus had pulled at the magical threads that bound him to his loved ones last weekend. And he would take to his grave that even the thought of Barty and Pandora stirred something in him.

So yes, his pack felt full, even if he was the only one with lycanthropy. And now, the idea of threatening it and submitting to another alpha made Moony howl. The wolf knew it was a bad idea, and the worst-case scenario was death or loss of these connections.

But Moony couldn’t see the best-case scenarios. He couldn’t comprehend that he would do this for her, to create a chance for a future with her.

So he continued to stare at that small cream envelope stark against the dark wood of their dresser, like it was a muggle gun in the room, pointed at all three of them. He wouldn’t know how many bullets it was loaded with till they opened it together this afternoon, with Dorea, and decided when to pull the trigger.

Until then, though, he curled in close to his loves. He whispered the words into her hair as she slept next to them, still afraid to overwhelm her with the promise of his heart forever. No matter his worries, he wanted to say them still and hoped that maybe the words would seep into her dreams and she would know in her heart how he cared for her. She would feel the innate warmth he felt for her through the bond in her core.

The same one he had felt for Sirius all those years ago. When he saw him on the train, he felt something different about the young boy with gelled black hair and gangly pale limbs.

Or, in the third year, when James started harassing Lily, Remus only thought about how he wanted to pester Sirius like that. A glimmering thread in his chest connected him to one of his best mates.

And then finally, in 6th, when they had caved, awkward boys desperate to feel real love for the first time with each other, nothing more than teeth and stumbling, but it had been the first best day of his life.

Sealing the bond with Sirius was the sheer pinnacle of his life after that. Even Hermione’s arrival could not compare to that feeling. Of knowing Sirius inside and out, the intimate knowledge of mates. He would forever cherish the moment he tasted the faint smear of blood on his lover’s clavicle and knew that it was forever, life and death for them.

He would have that with her too, soon when this was over. His magic was already reaching out to her constantly, feeling her like a ribbon, twin to Sirius’s, tied to his ribs, pulling him towards her. Moony begged for that exact moment with her as he had with Sirius.

But for now, he would relish what he had. He would whisper his promises into the vanilla-scented tangle of curls that was her hair and simultaneously use his fingers to play with the rings on Sirius’s hands. He would keep touching them, showing them his love by caring for them. So often, they felt everything like a torrential downpour, even when it was bigger than themselves, enough to drown in worry, and he wouldn’t allow that.

He thought of that later, how he wanted to ground them as he watched her face off again. “No, we can figure it out. I won’t allow him to do this. We’ve built enough support ourselves,” Hermione huffed beside him. They were gathered in Prewett Manor again. Despite the lingering memory of Leticia, it was the only place large enough and still standing for them to meet.

He could see how being here weighed on her, how Hermione’s eyes would dart to the still-empty portrait hung next to the lifeless one of Ignatius. Magical portraits had always been funny to Remus.

When did their inhabitants decide to join them? Why did some choose to hide? Did they even have a choice in the matter? Ignatius had joined his, but all this time he had spent in the dining room, Remus had never even seen him so much as breathe in the silver gilded frame. He knew it was magical, could feel its signature on his skin, and knew eyes were watching when he was in the room, but there was nothing there for him to see.

At first, he wondered if Leticia’s late husband had forgotten to include his memories in the piece. That was proven false when he saw her one day whispering to it. He had been early for one of their many teas, waiting for Hermione and Lily to finish their scholarly obligations and research, when he caught her.

She spoke in hushed tones while pulling memories from her mind and weaving them into the thick swatches of enchanted oil paint on her canvas. It seemed like a ritual to her, well practiced and mechanical, as she finished her chatting. He studied how her fingers lingered on her husband’s frame like the action had taken so much from her. At the time, he was surprised that the magic had left her exhausted. He knew better now. Despite all that work, the oil painting was still empty—a pewter silken tufted chair waiting for its mistress to sit and join it.

Hermione had continued her ranting on his behalf as he studied the paintings. He had seen this coming, too. Dorea and Charlus were pragmatic in their leadership, always allowing those who trusted them to make the final decisions, but they had their own agenda, everyone did. Her suggestion had been for them to try and end this before the next moon, and if they did not, he would go on the mission.

Hermione had not liked this idea at all.

The letter had revealed enough for them to strategize. It was a reconnaissance mission—not technically spying, but also not a liaison. In his mind, it was worse to be in the middle. He had spent so much of his life knowing right from wrong that the idea of floundering as a dark creature, walking the tightrope of good and evil during a war, made him uneasy.

He was jealous of Hermione in that aspect. Her ability to use dark magic for good, to handle the green curse that spiraled from her wand like a firework and know she had done the right thing. She was doing it now, getting angry at those around her, letting her magic crackle against her skin and flare from her hair. Her temper was on full display, an act of defiance and dominance at Dorea’s suggestion. Hermione wasn’t afraid to use what she had to get what she thought was right.

Despite his immense appreciation for her, he wanted her to relax, too. Not every battle was hers to wage, and this one was his.

He leaned across the arms of their chairs, taking her flailing hand in his, and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. For a witch with so many scars, he always found it funny how soft her hands were. These hands had clawed and fought for freedom in a dungeon, had supposedly punched the last living heir to the house of Black in the future, and had made polyjuice at fourteen, turning into paws, but still, they felt like doll hands in his.

She stopped ranting and raving at his touch, her shoulders dropping and her glare softening as she turned to look at him. Sad disappointment in her eyes, she knew why he wanted her to pause her tirade. He nodded when he saw the understanding in her watery gaze, their silent agreement.

Even without the mating bond, he could read her.

He turned to look at the last matriarch of their group, his voice definite as he spoke, “Dorea, that’s fine. Two weeks, and we hope the three in the castle find the last item, and we can destroy it.”

“Ten days, they won’t be able to get it to us until the weekend,” Hermione corrected quietly from her seat.

“What? Can’t Regulus sneak it out like he had for the calls?” Remus asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“He wrote to Barty in the journals. Said they cracked down on the wards, that McGonagall and Flitwick have been out every night updating and strengthening them. He thinks the only time they can get away is on a Hogsmeade weekend.” She sighed, her head resting on the back of her chair like it was too heavy for her tired neck to support. It was another blow on their path to winning.

“So in 10 days, they have to find an evil object hidden in a giant castle, from what you say, an endless room, and then we have four more days to get them out and destroy whatever it is and the diary, and then,” he emphasized, each task more unfathomable than the previous. “We challenge Voldemort to one final duel?” His lips pursed, annoyed at how complex but painfully simple the plan was.

“Yes, ten days,” Dorea answered. Hermione, looking at him with round, scared eyes.

He wasn’t sure how they would do it in the end, how they would find a way to defeat the most powerful wizard in the world. But he brought her knuckles to his lips, a gentle kiss to her hand as he agreed to the plan. “Ten days till the start of forever, then?”

______

“So we’ve been hanging out next to it the whole fucking time?” Evan grumbled from beside him, kicking around the mess of books on the floor of the room.

It was no longer the whimsical space of Dora’s imagination. There were no more pastel walls, floors covered in tufted pillows, or ceilings made of glowing silver stars. Her dream version of Grimmauld Place was now a vast room covered in rubbish that appeared to stretch for kilometers.

From the unkempt floor to the tops of vaulted ceilings, stacks upon stacks of garbage and decrepit furniture filled the space. Regulus couldn’t help but wonder why anyone had wanted to keep these things in the first place. Why the house elves never cleaned in here was beyond his comprehension, but now he was stuck digging around in these piles.

He swore to himself about the ridiculousness of it all, to have a room this cramped in a giant castle. It was the most chaotic space Regulus had ever been in, and he hated it. It made him claustrophobic, his skin itching as the walls seemed to close in on him. The cluttered, dingy space was a menacing sight in the face of what they needed to do.

Irritable nerves built in his chest as he thought about their task. Looking or rather trying to feel that sick pull of dark magic in the hopes it would help them reach their goal faster.

Hermione had said those who had dabbled in dark magic would know its draw, and she was right. He had done enough to taint his soul under Bella’s tutelage and received plenty of his mother's spells to feel the inclination she spoke of. He did not want to believe her initially, for he had barely felt the cup. The speed at which his companions needed to escape made the moment confusing and complicated, and he could not grasp the oily feeling of evil on his skin.

But he remembered that diary, how he could feel its tendrils tugging on his bones in a matter of seconds. When his cousin had placed the wretched, vile thing on the table before them, it had sung for him. Pulled on the dark mark on his arm until he felt like he had to lay his forearm up for it in supplication.

It had whispered, too, in an inhumane voice. It called him a disappointment and taunted him with his greatest fears and deepest secrets.

It had been the same voice speaking to him during their portkey, too, the locket having weaseled its way into his mind in just moments. Regulus was a skilled natural occlumens, but magic like that was insidious, almost impossible to fight fairly.

Regulus knew he couldn’t feel another right now, not in a room this big. It was a strange sensation, wanting to experience that sickly dark power again while also fearing it. His fingers clenched around nothing, seeking the cold bite of enchanted metal, and his hand shook at the memory of holding the locket. That was until Dora slipped her fingers between his.

The smell of lavender and the atmospheric wave of forest floor that seemed to permeate every cell of her filled his senses instead. The lightness of her touch was only comparable to the near glow of her eyes as she came to stand before him.

Her smile was serene as she studied him, wheat-colored braids swinging over her shoulders, watching for the signs of his madness in the face of their task. She would admonish him if she could hear him say such things. Dora always swore he was just a boy with many worries heavy on his heart, real fears that kept him alive all these years. But he swore it made him weak, putting him on the brink of panic when it mattered most.

That his fear was the maddest part of him, Bella’s was her lack of apprehension, her inability to feel concern made her mad. Narcissa and Andy had always had a balance and had been poised under pressure. They never tipped the scales of insanity.

He did not know how Sirius handled it all, maybe like Bella. His lack of personal perseverance was evident in his departure from their childhood home years ago, even if his actions and motives were the opposite of hers. Sirius lacked respect for the horrors of their world, the other side of Bella’s coin.

When he examined how each of them fell on that chaotic range of fear, it left him alone on the far end—the biggest coward among them.

The reminder of who he was felt like hot salt in the wound left from his fight with Sirius. Their pathetic agreement to try again was no more than a threadbare bandage. He would agree to anything they asked of him, that they were his only chance at survival, so he had to. His survival meant Dora’s, Evan’s, and even fucking Barty’s.

She squeezed on his knuckles, hers coming against his almost painfully as she toothly smiled up at him, dragging him from the depths of his thoughts. Her eyes resembled cat eye marbles, green twisting with something like blue and even purple, hauntingly beautiful as she grappled with Regulus’s demons for his attention. The sight was always enough to calm him, and he felt himself floating to the surface of his mind, cocking the corner of his mouth up to smile back at her.

“Hello, Regulus,” She airly sighed, walking backward as she tugged him deeper into the aisles of junk around them. Her touch was soft as she led him, barely pulling on his hand, letting him set the pace from behind her.

Holding Dora was often like holding air, hard to grasp but easy to follow. A summer breeze always pointed in the direction you needed to go.

He hoped she would find it tonight. That she had the answers for them, and maybe for once, those visions plaguing her mind had led Dora close enough to the truth to parcel out what they needed to do. She pulled him down row after row, and he followed closely, trying to feel the room and hear the sinister voice that haunted him.

He wondered if her laughter fluttering through the cavernous hall like butterflies was an antidote to the evil of the Horcrux because he had not yet heard it.

She continued, ignoring his plight, her whispers sounding like lightning bugs buzzing as she oohed and ahhed over the little treasures she found. She collected random trinkets along the way. Evan called out to them at some point, having felt nothing himself. And when Regulus did a quick tempus to check how long they had been at this, he realized it had been hours. Lulled by Dora’s guidance, he had lost track of time.

They had missed dinner, and he hated the idea of people noticing. It was attention all three of them could not afford. He knew he was on the faculty's radar after the showdown between Hermione and Dumbledore. And he had not yet heard from his family after his disappearance last weekend.

Regulus made his decision and chose his side of this war even if his arm told a different story. He would not be a part of the other two. He had held no love lost for his mother or headmaster, having always doubted Dumbledore’s ability, but to see him flail and rant so pathetically to a witch of what 19? It made him even more repulsed.

The Dark Lord was a liar, evil, manipulative, abusive, the list went on and on, but he did not pretend to be anything but horrid. Dumbledore had made Regulus sick in his attempts to hide his greed for power.

Dora tugged him further, taking his thoughts away from the headmaster as they traversed the switchback aisles of the room. That was till she stopped suddenly, and Regulus almost ran into her, pulling her close instead as she studied the room, the wading pools of her eyes a little cloudier than usual, like cataracts were blossoming in her eyes.

Many feared Dora when she looked like that. Whatever vision she experienced was now at the forefront of her mind, her eyes lost to it completely. Slowly, with precision and a bone-chilling crack, her neck craned at an unnatural angle as she watched it play out for only her. Sometimes, she shook and spoke, the convulsions often causing him or their friends to hold her up.

The voices fluctuated. Occasionally, they were of herself, and other times, she sounded otherworldly, prophesying or snarling, all of it a contraction of the ethereal way she usually spoke.

The worst were the dreams. When they struck, Pandora woke screaming from the terrors she had seen of the future, just snippets but enough to leave her stricken. For months, she had been dreaming of giant flames. They sounded like the ones Sirius had conjured in the cave, and he hoped that vision had already come to fruition.

He patiently waited for this one to pass, her head slowly returning to its natural state, her jaw closing and her lips pursing as she thought about whatever the fates had presented her. She turned to him, her eyes teary, but the smile on her lips was feral, all teeth and gums.

“The maze still moves, it seems. The Minotaur lives another day.”

Chapter Text

She had a feeling Regulus would disapprove of her actions, but as Pandora spun down the aisles of the room, she couldn’t help but enjoy the vast emptiness. She hadn’t meant to leave him and Evan alone in their room, but her visions had worsened since he had returned from his time away from the castle. Sleep evaded her, and something in the back of her mind told her she wasn’t the only one who sought out the solace of night.

Pandora wasn’t sure what had caused the increased activity in her mind. She feared it was the proximity to the Horcrux that the vile creation was playing with her mind and tainting her visions. Pandora was known for her games, but that did not mean she liked others playing tricks on her. Her mind had lots of nooks and crannies, holes of information that could be manipulated or used in catastrophic ways if they got into the wrong hands.

Her gifts were not for public consumption, only she could feast on their meanings.

She wasn’t sure how sentient this particular piece of the Dark Lord’s soul was. Did it know of the fire in Regulus’s stories, the ones Sirius had wielded? Did it know of the hot flames in her dreams—the ones that slithered out of their owner's wand that they could barely control? There was another option, though, one that seemed more ominous than the Horcrux’s tricks.

The fates could have blessed her with more information. It must have been dire for them to speak so directly, to push her to the answer. It was unlike them to depict more than a few wisps of the future or not blur the edges of the visions until she felt like she was watching through a pinhole. She feared it meant they, too, grew desperate with each hour that passed.

So she returned to this room, hoping that was what the fates had wanted with the vision. She hummed to herself, mimicking a summer breeze, cool air working its way towards the sun, carrying the wings of birds. Hoping the fates would hear her throaty plea for more information.

Pandora was not one to beg. She trusted the fates even if many would balk at their ask. Spreading her arms wide from her chest, she hoped to feel the silken caress of dark magic, not concerned if it touched her. Regulus and Evan were not alone in their exposure to wicked curses and hands that only meant harm.

Her humming picked up in appreciation and excitement, relishing Regulus's story of Hermione’s valiant disposal of Rabastan. Her smile stretched till it hurt her cheeks at the idea of his state, how their messenger had left even Regulus concerned with her vengeance.

Good, Pandora thought. They would need someone creative in their memorandums. Hermione was not far from her namesake after all, trickery in her tidings to a wizard who thought himself another god.

Hermes would be proud.

She did not fear the power that was untapped under Hermione’s skin. She felt it the first day she arrived, all the way in Ottery St. Catchpole. Pandora had sensed the world shift, her skin prickling in manic excitement before the messages started.

She vividly remembered them, the screaming that had invaded her mind in Xeno’s garden, and how her fingers had curled into the damp soil to steady herself against the onslaught of information—flashes of dates and names, scenes from battles that may or may not happen.

Images had pounded her mind for months since then, always the same. Some form of fire flowed from a wand that was not hers. It had taken a few times to realize she was in the wizard’s head, watching the cursed fire spring from their wand.

As their arm shook and the serpent made its way across the sand, she watched, trying to listen to the screams in the background, hoping she recognized the voices. Despite her attempts, she never had and was not sure she ever wanted to, if their bellowing was any sign. Over time, different visions had put more and more of the story together for her—a promise born from flames.

Something new in the ash, on the shores of ever-changing sands.

Regulus thought Sirius had spelled the fire in her visions, and she did not have the heart to tell him he was wrong. He had been so excited that they had conquered the inferi while in the cave.

So she let him believe that fire had already been cast, that it was a wizard’s hand holding the bumpy wand that sent the blazing snake forward. But Regulus was wrong, and Pandora had been wrong, too, so sure, she had the whole picture until that night. Just hours ago, as she stared up at the stars on Regulus's canopy, she saw something new. The snake had transformed, sprouting wings as it grew stronger, the arm barely able to support the power, the faintest hint of green in the mix of battle.

The vision had started to go black in the corners, white spots dancing in their eyes as she clawed at her watery eyes to see the last bit.

The fates did not speak to her directly, no, but they did plant seeds in her mind. She had thought of a maze for years, for an escape from the beasts of the halls they roamed. But she saw them differently now. No longer did she weep for the beast that would die, her lachrymose heart too caring in Regulus’s words. No, now she craved that death—to see the blazing winged creature destroy what lurked in this room.

Because the Minotaur was just another weapon of Minos, and she would not let Icarus burn under his reign either, even if he held the Sun in mortal hands.

She was disappointed when her private search of the room revealed nothing. They had a few days left, having spent every evening traversing the room, and she tried not to worry, cradling hope in her soul that they would find it. She was certain that the fates would not lead them to that room if they were not capable of it.

Pandora should return to the Ravenclaw tower, aware her roommates would start to say something about her absence if she kept this up for too long. Though soon, if things went to plan, she would be a distant school memory to them. That by Saturday, they would slip away from the maze through the sleepy village. But she had to make it to then, they all had to.

Word of Pandora’s fiance had reached her schoolmates, and the target on her back was growing each day. She did not know if she was up for claiming, but that did not stop the hunters from turning their attention to her. Regulus and Evan had crowded her in the hallways, their former friends having turned their dark stares on them, too.

Word moved fast despite their seclusion in the castle. The convoluted hallways of communication could not stop the rumors. Suspicions of Regulus grew every day, and thus, she and Evan were pulled in deeper, their small circle growing tighter with each word whispered about them. She had seen the mounting stack of letters from his parents on his nightstand and chose not to say anything. She hoped he threw them too into the fiery serpent of her visions.

The stone floors were cold against the bare soles of her feet as she took the steps back toward the dungeons two at a time. Luckily, she heard them before she saw them, their pompous laughter and whispers traveling faster than their heavy-booted feet. They entered the corridor, as she hid behind a tapestry to slow to fully escape them. They brought a sickening smell of blood and firewhisky permeating the space.

There were many frightening things in this world lurking outside of people’s nightmares, but to be cornered alone by boys who worshiped her former betrothed like he was a revered commander made her melancholy temper stutter. She held her breath as they passed her hiding spot. With each lumbering step, their leather soles dragged on the floor, like their limbs were too heavy to lift properly and they were too addled to move any quicker.

Her only hope was that her disillusionment charm would hold. It had never been her strongest spell—she had always been more inclined to distract by attraction than avoidance. That was not an option now. She could not charm with her oddities.

Pandora was unsure what she would tell them if they found her, how she would excuse her roaming the halls alone. Like a fox in a hunt, she knew they would be as vicious as dogs if they discovered her lying. So, like any animal that spent more time on the forest floor than the skies, she burrowed, pressing her back flat against the wall and covering her mouth to hide.

Their steps paused just mere centimeters before her. She tucked her toes behind the tapestry, nervous they might step on them.

Their laughter dimmed as they seemed to notice something strange, most likely the ripple of weak magic she had worked.

“Oi, Amycus. You swear you heard something?” Her eyes slammed shut at the sound of Avery’s voice. She tried to remember that Regulus often described them as simple-minded, dumber than most, but she was unsure that even a sightless bat couldn’t find her at this proximity.

“I told you I did. Do you think I’m a liar?” Amycus snarled back. Their bickering continued, with a third she didn’t know joining in now and then.

“Well, who was it?” Their slurred whispering caused the hair on her neck to stand.

“I heard them not saw you fucking cunt.”

“How was I supposed to know that!”

“Because I told you!” She cringed at how angry they sounded. How soon they could be taking that out on her if she was not careful.

“This is stupid, no one is out tonight.”

“You know we need to practice those spells. That crazy fucking Black bitch told us as much.” One said defeatedly, and Pandora shivered at the reminder of the last time she had seen the witch they spoke of. Of how her wand pressed into Pandora’s throat in the aftermath of her engagement party. When Bellatrix had accused her of helping Barty and Dorcas.

She did not let up till she had assaulted Pandora’s mind horrifically, not finding what she wanted because Pandora had not known—a blessing from the fates.

“Scared of a cunt are ya, Amycus?” Pandora’s legs trembled with fear as their bickering continued. Every moment they stayed close to her, she was fearful they would hear her pained breaths.

The realization of why they were out prowling the halls struck her, a wound to her soul at what she and others who found themselves out tonight faced. How many had been victims of these practices, they spoke of?

She felt one slow tear roll down her cheek, the worst of what they could do invading her thoughts. Biting her lip until it bled—anything to stop her whimpering and keep her spot a secret, she slipped her wand down her arm and debated how she might duel her way out of this. She was no expert, but she had surprise on her side right now, and if she could hit two at once, maybe she could run from the third.

With her wand in her hand, she took a breath, counting down from three, before stepping out of the tapestry and doing what she could. She couldn’t let them continue like this either. Who knew what they would do to the next person they found? They would at least let her live when they realized who she was. She could not say the same for her muggle-born classmates.

A small bell rang in the distance, making her unknown kidnappers pause. She breathed a sigh of relief, expecting to see Mrs. Norriss's orange and brown hide come pattering around the corner, Filch’s clumsy steps not far behind. Instead, she saw a small grey cat slink down the hall.

She felt a sob build in her throat when she heard one of the boys say, “Well, if we can’t practice on a wizard, then a cat will be fine.”

She peaked around the corner of the tapestry, hating that she would save a cat before herself. But as the cat seemed to look directly at her, the air in the room shifted. The cat began to elongate and grow before their eyes till it shapeshifted into a familiar face. Relief flooded Pandora’s chest.

“And what exactly would you be practicing, Mr. Avery?” Professor McGonagall drawled, not even looking at Pandora, but she knew she had been seen. Pandora again hid behind the tapestry, taking the witch’s lack of comment on her presence as a gift.

“Off to bed, the three of you, and 15 points from Slytherin each. Don’t let me catch you boys again,” she scolded, and three sets of feet scampered down the hall much quicker than earlier. The two witches stood there in silence, and then, once they were truly alone, she called out to Pandora.

“Miss Rosier, would you like to tell me why you are hiding behind a tapestry?” Her Scottish brogue bounced off the hallway walls, a balm to Pandora’s nerves.

“I was avoiding those wizards,” Pandora whispered, looking over her shoulder as she stepped out to ensure they were truly gone.

“And why were you out at this hour? It’s nearly 3 in the morning, dear. These are dangerous times to be wandering alone. Where are you friends?” Mcgonnagal sounded tired as she asked about her two shadows.

When Pandora did not respond, Mcgonnagal continued, her eyes soft as she studied her. “Back to the tower, safe in your bed, and don’t let me catch you out here where you don't belong again,”

Pandora turned to walk away, but she had never been one to lie. Sure, she hid the truth in riddles and clues with her words, but the truth was always there. “Sometimes we are meant to be where we are not supposed to,”

It felt like a lifetime under her stare, waiting for a rebuttal, but it did not scare Pandora. “Miss Rosier, that is not the way to the tower,” she finally answered, ignoring her statement with a tired sigh but not moving to stop her.

“It’s where I’m meant to be.” The older witch nodded, considering her response, looking as if she weighed the decision of all eternity on her shoulders before she spoke again. If only she knew that Pandora often felt the same.

She did not look at Pandora as she answered. Instead, she peered down the hall where the boys had just disappeared. “And if I trust you and your friends, Miss Rosier?”

“The fates are not witches rather goddesses, but sisters nonetheless.” the words rolled off her tongue as her visions often did, but that was all her. Her truth seemed to strike true, the older witch looking dumbfounded at the words.

After that, McGonagall’s curt voice was back, her tenor stern as she gave Pandora one last look as if McGonagall was committing her to memory. “Thank you, Pandora. Be safe. This is not a game for young girls.”

Pandora was halfway down the hall when she decided to speak again. Her words were imbued with disappointment, lacking her trademark whimsical song.

“It is not a game for old men either.”

____

Sirius felt adrift at the Order meeting. He knew it would be uncomfortable, but as Dorea told them the abbreviated version of all they knew, how to defeat Voldemort and their need for help when the time came, he expected a different reaction from those he had been fighting with.

Sure, their family was there to support them, the twins loudly clapping, and the McKinnons were the first to stand and promise they would be there, too. Even those on the outskirts of their group, like Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Longbottoms, had stood, immediately promising to answer their call when it was time.

But others looked less inclined. He wanted to be angry, but all he felt was betrayal-laced defeat, as families like the Bones, who had thanked Hermione for saving them last year, now did not stand with her.

Were they not grateful for all she had risked coming back in time? He looked over at her, how she anxiously tapped her wand against her thigh as she watched everyone battle with Dorea and Charlus. She nearly chewed through her bottom lip as if it had been the one to deny her request. He could see her fighting not to jump into the conversations.

The decision not to have her speak had been a battle in its own right that afternoon. Everything was a battle with her these days. Determined to do everything herself and act like she was invincible when presented with the consequences of her brashness. Sometimes, he wondered if there would be anything left of her by the time the final battle came.

Or would she be nothing more than a burnt husk of herself or a snuffed wick, a candle burning from both ends as she tried to fight this war alone. Leaving behind nothing but a puddle of old wax in its place.

He grabbed the back of her chair and tugged her closer to him while he leaned into Remus. It was one of the few times he felt less anxious in the weeks since Christmas, only feeling relief when the three of them touched in some way.

Sirius wasn’t dumb. He had read on bonds and scoured the libraries just as she and Lily had. He knew the longer the bonds were unsealed, the more irritable they would become. But it was not his decision. Sure, he had a say, but it would not be his teeth that pierced skin. Remus had already broken the skin at the crux of his neck. He was an observer in this dance.

Remus and Hermione would have to decide together when they did that. He hoped it was sooner rather than later. Worrying what this strain would do to them the longer it went on.

Their plea for support was not helped by the sour disposition she sported for the room. Hermione’s annoyance was palpable since Dorea had denied her. It was for two reasons. First, she would undersell their ask, knowing she would carry the brunt of the work for any weaker team members. That she would lay her own life down to avoid others getting hurt when the battle came.

They could not give a false sense of security with this ask.

The second was what was currently happening. She was too angry to be relatable. For all his conniving and trickery, Dumbledore was enigmatic. People flocked to his friendliness and keen memory. They liked being known by him. Being known by Hermione right now meant harsh words and even harsher glares.

Dorea went on another tangent, discussing their options. “And this is it? Do you want to have said you stood aside and did not do what you could to stop him?” she demanded, her cold elegance on display as she looked at everyone present.

A few more raised their hands in support, which brought them to 5, not including their family of 20 or so. 25 was not enough to defeat Voldemort.

“And how do you know, Dorea? Give us some proof, and I will gladly follow you.” Minerva Mcgonnogal said from her seat in the back with Poppy Pomfrey. Sirius hated the story Hermione had spun for him, of how she had just watched the battle of wills and wit between her and Dumbledore and said nothing.

He hated how disappointed it made Hermione, how she ranted and raved about some Gryffindor courage that was. Or that the Minerva she knew would never not support any chance to make a difference. That she lived on the calculated edge and was ignoring the signs now.

“You do not want to know what kind of evil some of us have faced to get here, Minerva.” Dorea’s eyes betrayed her, skipping over to him and Hermione. As the entire room followed, he tried to offer everyone a friendly smile—anything to offset the glower on Hermione’s face. Some of us have risked everything. Leticia Prewett died to protect the information we have.”

“So it’s true she is truly gone?” Minerva asked incredulously as if she could not believe that she was gone. The announcement had been made in The Prophet, a photo from Christmas with Sirius Remus and Hermione in the back row, grandchildren crawling around Leticia’s lap and feet to commemorate her life.

Minerva knew she was dead.

“Yes, another good witch,” Dorea hissed, her eyes boring into Dumbledore that time. However, people seemed not to notice her glare now that it was turned on the grey wizard, as she emphasized, “lost to this war.”

Minerva looked contrite as she let Dorea’s words settle. With a steady breath, she nodded her understanding before addressing Dorea, but Sirius felt it was a message for everyone “Someone told me the other day that the fates are sisters, and I will not stand for another witch or wizard to be lost to this war. Poppy and I will fight.”

“I will heal with young Miss MacDonald,” Poppy corrected, bringing a lightness to the room as the two older witches laughed in the face of the end. The pillar of strength was what others needed because slowly, more hands raised, and Hermione released a breath he had not known she was holding. Her scowl lessened only a fraction, leaving behind a little red mark on her forehead from its aggressive scrunching, but Sirius would take that any day.

One thing stood out to him, though, as topics moved on. It was almost funny how, without their knowledge, they had become pariahs to this group. Sirius wasn't sure how Dumbledore had done it or what webs of lies he had woven for the past weeks or even months, but it felt like as soon as their fight was nearing the end, the support of their allies was dwindling. He wished he had more time to investigate, but they were all out. Sirius would just have to hope.

Hermione moved to speak with Minerva, the witches painfully formal around each other. Sirius let Remus pull him in close, distracting him with whispers while playing with the loose ends of his hair—a much-needed antidote from the stiff conversations around them.

Remus loved to do this with Sirius, to act like they were the only people in a crowded room. They had done it since the moment they met. Glances and whispers as the others ran around, even when they were just friends. Sirius loved James like a brother, but no one had ever called the two of them quiet when they were together.

Something about Remus had always made him want to squirrel away, to seek out his thoughts and opinions. As they watched the room now, no one seemed inclined to speak to them about their options for fighting or trusting them to make the enchanted galleons James and Lily were handing out—they decided to play their game of secrecy.

“What ya thinking about Moons?” his lips barely moving as their friends bustled around them.

Remus smiled at someone who looked over at them, playing friendly till they were alone in company again, “I’m ready to tell her and ask her.”

Sirius nodded his understanding, again waiting to hear more about when they would complete this and finally feel settled.

“Are you ready for it, Pads? Things might change…” he trailed off.

“They have been changing for months. Why stop now?” he joked, but Remus scoffed at him and his ability to make jokes in the light of important conversations.

“If she says yes, I don’t want to wait, but I remember how this started,” Remus squeezed Sirius’s hand tightly. Sirius thought back to the fights and bickering they had shared over the summer, of the blow-up in the Hog’s Head. But they had made it here, and Sirius wanted this, too, knowing it needed to be their decision.

Sirius nestled in closer, ensuring no one would bother them. Everyone’s eyes averted when they saw how interwoven the wizards were. “I would be disappointed if you wanted to wait. When it’s time, we’ll know.”

“Yes, but will she?” Remus said with a tired sigh, his eyes lingering on Hermione. Sirius joined him, watching her in deep thought with Minerva. Still tense but on common ground, she looked so in charge, even as she spoke to someone who had been a leader to all of them.

Sirius hummed for a minute, thinking of the last words Leticia had spoken to him. That she was proud, that he reminded her of Alphard. It had felt like too much of a compliment at the time. To be compared to someone like that. A wizard who was so confident in himself that he didn’t need the judgment or words of others. Maybe he was, but as he looked at Hermione, he realized she was too. “She’s the only one who can decide to take her own risks. She decides if she flies or falls.”

“Are we to catch her?” Remus asked incredulously, his voice full of concern.

“If she wants to be, I trust her to ask for a net if she needs it.”

Remus was quick to respond, his voice thick, “I trust you, Sirius. I love you, Sirius.”

“Then we let her decide. But I think she’ll fly or swim or whatever it is that muggle saying Evans likes. When are you asking?” He laughed excitedly, having a good feeling about this.

Remus cleared his voice, finality in his decision. “Tonight.”

____

The water felt colder than usual when it engulfed her toes. Foamy waves rolled onto shore and submerged her feet in tingling pain. It didn’t feel like it had that first night—the rage in her burned differently now. She no longer wished to boil from the inside out. Now she felt like she was being baked, like her skin was crisped, and she would let it blister.

The sound helped, though, the consistency of the waves, no random breathing or voices to distract her. No limbs twitched near her, reminding her of how fingers and arms spasmed as someone took their last breath.

They didn’t convulse like that with an avada, though.

Maybe the thought should have haunted her, the understanding of the power in the little green curse, only two words said when you were full of more hate than anything else. But Remus’s question haunted her more. “Do you want to do it? To bond?”

He had been so earnest, excited even in the face of utter turmoil, and she had faked her shared joy. It’s not that she didn’t want that. She desperately wanted to be closer to both of them, give them everything, and have hope for after. She should have been happy at the chance, but her joy was blinded because it was also the answer to the nagging question in her chest.

The beast in her heart had asked for months, even if she did not know its presence until recently. It was one simple word, how? How would she get the power she needed to do what it would take to win? Hermione wasn’t sure what came first, the question or the answer, but here she was now with both.

Hermione saw the first clue the moment her core settled in their presence. Her magic felt like a bird’s song after she had caved to them in the small living room of the flat.

The terrifying part was realizing through careful experimentation that it went both ways, which was her second clue. Regulus’s tale of Sirius’s powerful incendio in the cave was proof of it. Their coupling that morning in the shower had worked. It had built the temporary connection they needed for him to pull on her core and save himself and Regulus.

Her gut churned with guilt about how she would use that combined power. Maybe all that pureblood ideology was right, that she could steal their magic, she wanted to wretch at the thought.

She wasn’t sure what tugging at their shared cores would do if she pushed too far, and she couldn’t ask anyone. She assumed, or rather feared, that if she wasn't careful, it could leave them all depleted, drained until they were nothing but corpses on the battlefield.

The guilt seared her throat like acidic bile that she would taint something as good and pure as their bonding with her plan to take and take till they won. She promised herself and any spirit that would listen that she wouldn’t take too much. She asked the fates to strike her down and cut only her threads if she did. She would not be the shears that tore them from the tapestry of life.

In a strange sense of deja vu, she stared at the glistening waves, her thoughts rolling, violent as the whitecaps in the distance, when she heard someone disturbing the tall grass around her. Hermione had expected to see another pair of flannel pajama pants, Gideon or Fabian’s annoyed face upon her waking of them. Instead, she was met with gangly pale legs, covered in scattered magically enhanced tattoos that she was concerned were illegally self-inflicted, spread out in front of her. Her favorite socks on his petulant feet.

“You make a lot of noise when you apparate out of the flat,” Barty grumbled before handing her a woolen blanket and groaning “fuck, it's cold out here. Two wands, and you can’t cast a Salazar damned warming charm?”

“I like the cold,” she snapped.

“No, you like being a miserable cunt, but you didn’t hear that from me,” he bit back, and something about the honesty made her laugh. The icy air burned her lungs like needle-thin icicles as she sucked in cackling breaths, and he stared at her in astonishment. “You are a strange one, curls. I swear something is wrong with you.”

“That’s a real compliment from the likes of you,” She quipped, a small smile tugging at her cheeks. It was a minor distraction, but every time she looked at Sirius and Remus, the Weasleys, even Lily and the girls, and sometimes James or the twins, all she saw was what she was risking with her plan. With Barty, she didn’t see that. His stupid, immature jokes made it easy for her to disappear from her thoughts.

“So this is what you do every night? Work on your big evil world domination plans in the bitter cold and ruin your pants with seawater and sand?” Barty dug around in the wet sand till he found a stone between them, throwing it into the water with no finesse, just letting it plop and sink back into the sea.

“It’s not evil domination, first off, but yes, I come out here and think about the plan.” the confession made her feel lighter. Barty, in all his ridiculous annoyance, got it, didn’t automatically tell her to come inside or chastise her for the reckless decision to freeze out there.

“Hmmm, and what is the plan? I’m assuming it’s not for the masses, or you would have the two puffs dressed as lions you call boyfriends or Circe herself Dorea here helping.” the insults lacked any real heat, and when she turned to look at him, in the glowing moonlight, she thought about how young he looked.

She must not have been more than 16 months older than him, but the past two years had pulled her farther away from her once brilliant youth than she knew possible. It was how round his cheeks appeared and the way his eyes still sparkled with excitement as he threw another heavy rock into the ocean.

She rolled her eyes at his immaturity, his pathetic attempts to seem unserious about the things before him. Like even the rock was too much work.

But she saw the fear in how he rolled the smooth stones between his fingers, tossed and studied them a few times before he launched them into the water, with too much strength not to bear any deep-rooted anger.

She wasn’t sure why she did it. Maybe she knew he wouldn’t stop her with his own demons, or perhaps the burden of all her secrets and truths was getting too heavy.

But for some reason, she started at the beginning, even when he had not asked. She didn’t want any fame or anyone to remember her role when this was said and done, but some part of her hoped that if anyone ever did document it, they would do it with the ornery lack of bias that Barty had.

He would tell the facts and state his opinions, allow you to form your own, and tell you when he thought you were wrong. But she theorized he would write her tale honestly and in detail like the secret academic he was. A Ravenclaw at heart, the truth more valuable than any theory he had.

So she started from the beginning. He was stunned, his arm stopping mid-throw, held high above his head when the words came from her lips.

“In March 1998, I was taken captive by snatchers in the Forest of Dean. They held me in the Malfoy dungeons for weeks.”

“1998?” He croaked, and she found it comical how Regulus had known but not told anyone. He would be a good brother to Sirius again. She knew it.

Nodding her confirmation, she didn’t take her eyes off the water as she skipped a rock smoothly across its surface. He scoffed at her skilled action but remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. She told him of the scratches on her neck and how she wished she could be the one to kill Fenrir but feared she would be preoccupied when the time came.

He offered to do it, “Can’t be that hard, a well-timed Avada. You’re the expert in them, and we both know I'm smarter,” and she tried not to cry at how he offered his innocence so wholeheartedly.

She told him next of the time-turner and how it was just one of many scars on her chest now. Explaining that she wanted to save so many yet-to-be-born friends, but she was unsure if the one that saved her would be born at all when this was said and done.

She described landing on this beach and waking up in the cottage, the long months that followed, and getting her strength back. It all started in the same living room he had spent the past few days entertaining redhead sprogs—little ones that she knew two times over now.

Barty asked her questions at a few points. A child-like interest in the future that few had. Most were afraid of where she had come from, but of course, not him, Hermione laughed to herself. She let it slip about how he and his friends faired in the end. Shoving his shoulder when she proclaimed she was proud he had turned it around, despite being such an arsehole.

She told him how she still missed her first mother and her secret of stealing her parents’ memories. Confessed that only Remus knew that and that she would never admit it to Leticia because she feared that she would disown her if she knew that Hermione was a monster before she came here.

Her stories of Leticia were filled with sob-filled laughs and grumbles about meddling mothers. When she mentioned the journal, it was her turn to be surprised.

Barty squeaked out a cough, a strange sound from him, before mumbling, “I knicked it from your room a few weeks ago.”

Hermione found she didn’t have it in herself to be mad. At least she didn’t have to explain it to him. “Of course you did. You’re a menace.”

“I’m a menace,” he exclaimed, pointing to himself frantically. “I can’t believe our savior reads that kind of stuff.”

She looked over at him sadly, finally waiting for him to put it together. She didn’t want to spell this part out “Well, that's where the big plan comes from, Barty. Alphecca and her husbands—that's how we knew what was wrong with my core. It took a few reads, but one of her husbands was a werewolf. It's why the Prewetts started to be shunned by Pureblood society and had to buy her hand.”

He was quiet as realization dawned, that marvelous mind he never used working overtime before asking, “So what? You plan to share magic with wolf boy and his mutt? In some final stand-off? You’ll be the one to take down the dark lord? Come off it. You don’t need to do that. Let someone else. Fuck let someone old risk it.”

“It’s the only way to be strong enough,” she confessed, looking out across the water, the truth on her tongue, but she was growing too afraid to admit it.

“If I remember, the old bat called taking on that much power addictive. No one calls good things addictive.”

“Everything can be good in moderation. My muggle parents used to say that about sweets and teeth. They were teeth healers.” It was funny how guidance from two mothers was the key to her strength. Their words kept her from backing down when she remembered her actions would save and hurt the ones she loved.

“And what would those muggles say if they knew you planned on playing with risking bond magic?” She rolled her eyes at his faux authority. The tone sounded too much like mocking Flitwick to be serious.

“I don’t think they would understand the concept.” She quipped back, trying to distract from the greater issue.

Barry did not care about her need for distraction. He cared very little for others' wants. “What would Remus and Sirius say? Or Red? Those damn twins? Dorea and Andromeda? Leticia? Have you thought about anyone, or are you designating yourself the selfish sacrificial lamb?”

“That is a contradiction. You can’t be selfish and sacrificial.” she groaned, wishing she had taken Sirius’s cigarettes to occupy her twisting hands. “I hope they will see that they were worth it. And we don’t know if it’ll be too much. I have the elder wand that should temper some of it, and there’s three of us. It’ll be enough, I know it. Alphecca lived a long life, I think I will too.”

Tears stung her cheeks, hot against her cold skin. Leaving drippy trails against the salt on her cheeks.

“If you believe so, Hermione.” It was the first time he had ever said her name.

They stayed quiet for a long time after that, not even throwing rocks. Her truth now free on the ocean breeze.

Chapter Text

His lungs burned as his legs pumped, sweat dripping down his back as he propelled himself forward. He clutched Pandora’s wrist so hard he worried she would bruise, and Evan wasn’t far behind, bringing up the end of their feeble escape attempt.

Their wild race to the finish line seemed like a cruel joke after how their week of searching had gone—the cherry on top of their particularly arduous day.

They had started their search this morning, rabid in their hunt, using spells to knock over giant piles of extra furniture and supplies, leaving half the room in rubble, but they didn’t have a choice. If they didn’t find that cursed object today, they wouldn’t be able to leave for another month. Stranded in the damn maze, Pandora would not stop talking about it while a war raged on without them.

And Regulus was not going to be the reason this war was lost.

He had tried to persuade the headmaster to give him more time, but Dumbledore had just looked down at him with patronizing eyes, and Regulus hated the arrogance and faux concern in his tone, “There is nothing I can do. I can not risk the safety of my students so that three may leave to play a game they do not understand.”

Regulus had considered choking him on the spot. The dignified thing to do was to challenge him to a duel, but Regulus thought that using his hands would bring more satisfaction to the job. He felt an animalistic rage at the selfish thwarting the old wizard tried to use on him.

He wondered if he felt more like Bella or Hermione at that moment. Their shared hatred for the petty old coot was an astounding connection between the three.

Flamed by his cowardice and fear, that anger made him frantic in hopefully their final search. He grew paranoid as they continued to come up empty-handed. Casting tempus after tempus, seeing the hours dwindle down. Regulus felt like he was trapped inside an hourglass with the shifting sands of time swirling around him, and he was choking on the dry substance.

That was until 15 minutes ago when he saw just the faint glint of purple and green magic. Or it could have been the bezel stones embedded in the object reflecting the light in the room. But it did not matter either way because it had caught his eye.

Maybe it was Dora’s fates or sheer dumb luck, but whatever it was, it slowed him down for a moment, and he felt its slimy pull. The sickening tug was like a string attached to the mark on his arm, pulling at him until his feet moved of their own accord and his forearm burned.

That dark magic called out to him like a siren on the rocks. Even the roar of waves crashing could not have stopped its enchanting song.

Thankfully, Evan had been quicker, smacking his hand away before touching it, unaware his body was outstretched towards the glinting metal. Hermione had said they wouldn’t do permanent damage when touched, but he wasn’t trying to feel the abomination any more than necessary.

Pandora had appeared with a bag that felt conjured from thin air for them. Her smile stretched to her ears as she approached, and the twins worked in perfect synchronicity to ward away the small tiara. “A Diadem,” She whispered, childlike awe in her voice as she tightened the silken cords around the bag.

Evan chuckled, looking up at the ceiling till he cackled uncontrollably. Regulus stared at him incredulously, annoyed at his flippant response to finding the thing. Finally, Evan turned to look at them with unhinged glee.

It was an uncomfortable sight for his quiet friend. The one who lurked in shadows and observed more than he shared. A perfect match for Barty, who never shut the fuck up and spoke too often.

“It’s the four founders. That fucking pompous cunt took Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, and the damn Ravenclaw diadem. I’m surprised he doesn’t have that fucking sword of Gryffindor.” he wheezed, laughing at the situation as if it were some drunken antics in the common room, not the end of the wizarding world in their possession. “He thinks he’s as important as the Salazar damned founders.”

Regulus shivered at Evan’s maddened state, wondering if the Horcrux was playing games or if his dear friend had finally cracked. He turned to look at Pandora, who only gave him a cheeky shrug as she shrank down the satchel, paying her twin and his antics no mind.

Ignoring Evan’s obvious cracking, Regulus realized they needed to move. By that point in the day, the tempus charm felt like second nature, and his stomach dropped to his feet when he saw the time. They had to reach the gates in less than 15 minutes before the wards locked again.

Once there, Barty could deal with Evan’s brand of whatever insanity Rosiers were afflicted with, and he would be free of the noxious power that seeped from Dora’s pocket.

“Come on, we need to move on,” he gruffly ordered, and Evan shook his head a few times as if he could bodily shake the humored madness off him before turning towards the door. He walked out ahead of them and did not say a word to either, expecting them to follow.

And they did just that, on quickened feet through the corridors, out the front door, and past the main courtyard, but Regulus felt a nagging concern building in his mind. He cast one last tempus—7 minutes, it flashed.

He looked down the path, seeing more meters ahead than he would have liked.

His feet picked up, and he started to jog, his legs moving faster until he led their group. He wasn’t sure why they seemed to be lagging more and more, but as he turned to look back at Pandora spinning and dancing down the path and could feel the magic from the bag, he knew.

Still, the Horcrux fought them even if they had tried to ward it away. He wasn’t sure how much of the Dark Lord’s soul was in this one to be so strong, and it made him woozy to consider.

So he did the one thing he could think of, he started pulling her. That was how he found himself here, running these last few minutes as his counterparts lagged.

Evan seemed to get the picture as Regulus tugged her more, desperate for her to pick up her feet and move faster, but she seemed distracted watching the trees that lined the path, spinning in half circles despite his hold on her. The effects of the Horcrux appeared to play his favorite parts of her, her free soul and wonder for more, against them.

Regulus’s lungs burned from the way he pushed now, hoping the force of his running would snap her out of her delusion. Sure, he played quidditch, but there was nothing quite like pushing yourself on the ground and trying to pull someone as hard to balance as Pandora behind you.

He could hear her sharp intake of breath behind him as she tried to keep up with his pace, and he could see the gate getting closer and closer. With his heart in the pit of his stomach, he cried out when he saw the wrought iron doors currently open to the path to Hogsmeade start to close.

He wasn’t even sure who he was calling out to, but he was pleading with whoever or whatever may be listening to stop them. He could see the ripple of the evening wards around the spindles of black metal. How they seemed to breathe, coming alive with the night time, like the stars fueled them, another way the very things he was named after betrayed him.

With his hand extended, he kept going, hoping to physically hold the doors open. The last few seconds slipped by until he saw the sliver of opening getting smaller and smaller, too small for even Dora to slip through. He knew they were too late, that they had not made it out in time.

It was an ominous sound, the click of its heavy latch, the metal rattling as a blue spell spread from the soon-to-be rusted metal. Regulus’s shoulders shook, his chest rising and falling as the panic set in watching the sight.

That cowardly panic had been haunting him since he was a boy. It was the same feeling when his mother called his name, or he heard his father's footsteps. It reminded him of the tears he cried for Sirius when he left and himself when he agreed to take the dark mark. It was all his failures rolled into one noise, so small and quick one might miss it.

But to Regulus, that sound was worse than an Avada because it would kill more than just one.

The twisted bars of the gate looked like a prisoner’s cell door, locking him into a life of despair, and it was all his fault. His fate would be worse than Azkaban if he didn’t get this damned horcrux to his brother. His cousin and fellow death eaters would delight in the torture they would bestow upon him till the Dark Lord finally ended his pathetic life. The consequences of his actions were suffocating him, filling his lungs with water like he was drowning on dry land.

Death would be a mercy for the crimes he had committed against them.

All of that work wasted, only for him to fail in the end. He could feel small hands on his back, trying to coax him out of this state, but his vision was gone, a blurred mix of tears and his blacking out.

Regulus felt dizzy, as if the scene before spun together into one cruel mix of colors and shapes. While he was sure Pandora and Evan were speaking, it sounded more like the gibberish of pixies than any language he knew, and Regulus knew plenty.

He was spiraling, his final failure burning into his mind, until he felt the cool brush of fur against his arm. He wasn’t even sure when he had sat down, his trousers soaked through on the arse from the damp early spring weather. A little grey cat circled him, shocking him from his panic, and it felt like a lifeline.

He’d never seen the thing before, but it was silky and smooth, and as he ran his fingers through its hair, the softness overtook him. The feeling was so different from the sharp, pointed harm his mind wanted to inflict on himself. The purr of its body was consistent against the thrashing of his emotions, something to hold onto in the tidal wave of his mind.

Soon, he realized it was Pandora’s hands and nails on his back, working through his hair as she always did when he grew anxious. She and this random beast calmed him as his failure settled in his chest. Heavier than the iron gates before him, their defeat felt all-encompassing as his panic grew to grief.

“Breathe with me, Reggie,” Evan said, coming to squat in front of him, pressing his warm hands to Regulus's cold cheeks, reddened from their running. And he tried to, eventually caving to their care and holding his breath until it was time to release. It was a miracle, but as he sat there, he started to calm down. “Think of what you can control,” his oldest friend beside Sirius said.

It was slow, but he got there. With angry fists, he wiped the tears from his eyes, shoving Evan’s hands off his face, but his friends did not falter. They knew he was more upset with himself than anyone else at this point—Evan, the wizard who had broken down not even an hour ago, chuckled at the sight. “There you are. Now get up. We're going to the forest.”

“Evan, it’s warded. We were too late. The wards are in place. We have to go back to the castle,” he moaned. The cat from earlier meowed loudly, having had enough of his antics now that he was doing better, and walked away from them towards the gate.

“I don’t think we will do either, will we?” Pandora cooed from beside him, her smile beaming as she watched the little cat meander towards the gates. Regulus looked at her, confused. His brows scrunched almost painfully as the headache built from his panic.

Pandora paid him no mind, just like she had her brother. Instead, she watched as the magic around the gate rippled again, and with a sense of confusion he had never felt before, Regulus could have sworn the cat undid the wards on the gate.

The realization was building slowly in his mind. The cat looked more familiar with each passing second. His anxious, foggy mind was too slow to understand what was happening until Pandora held out her hand to him. She pulled him up to stand with her and followed now as if the Horcrux was no longer poisoning her mind. She dragged him to the miraculously opened gate, just barely enough for them to slip through.

He turned himself flat against the metal so he could shimmy his shoulders through the tight space. One by one, the three of them made it through.

Pandora leaned down, her braids brushing her feet as she spoke to the cat through the bars, and Regulus felt foolish for not having recognized it earlier. “Are you coming with us, Professesor?”

The little thing only hissed back, and Pandora shrugged, so understanding and uncaring about the small feline's aggression. “That is fine. We will see you soon. I do not think it will be long now,” she said before the witch and the animal bobbed their heads towards each other once in understanding.

“What in the fuck is happening?” Evan whispered to him, and despite his painfully sore throat from his tears, Regulus answered.

“I believe that our transfiguration professor just let us walk out of the castle after hours.”

“She did not just let us. She helped us. We were too late,” Pandora scolded before leading them down the rain-slicked path to the town. Regulus still felt like eyes were on him as if the anxiety was so deep in him that it had infected his marrow.

But he did not have time to hesitate. They needed to find a beast in man’s clothing, and he wanted to be free of this foul creation sooner rather than later.

____

Remus was leaning over the counter, listening to Marlene prattle on about Dorcas, when he heard the door open. She was joining him on lookout at the present moment, ready for anything when the three hopefully arrived. James and Sirius had taken a turn earlier, and even Molly Weasley had popped by with lunch for a bit, her food a welcomed bright spot to the worrying day.

But currently, He was disappointed when another ancient wizard entered the bar. He had felt like his head was on a stick all day, constantly looking over at every little noise to see if they would make it.

He grew morose as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky. With each passing minute, he knew they may not have found it and that this final plan would be delayed. It was a depressing thought, what a delay meant for him, the ones he loved, and potentially the world.

He longed wistfully for the days of this past fall when he tried to convince Hermione to relax from her research and Sirius from his missions with work. How far away those laughs felt at times.

Now, during the dreary early days of spring, as he ran a towel over the glass in his hand another time, he felt like his heart was shattering when it had only just become full. The idea of being away from them for a moon made him sick, and now it was all but confirmed that he would be. Night had started to claim the sleepy village outside the pub's windows, and the three had not made it.

He was mad, not at them, but at the entire situation they were stuck in. They were given such a short time to find it, but still, the failed attempt at their task marked him as in danger. He hated the toll it would take on his two loves more than anything. He could handle the pain, he had survived the transition and his self-harm under the moon's control for years, but he feared the agony of not waking up next to Sirius and Hermione could be lethal.

If Hermione were serious about sealing the bond in the next few days, it would be difficult for her as the newest member of his pack. It had taken a lot of prying to get Sirius to admit that he felt the pain Remus endured during the first bonded full moon. It was not to the same extent as Remus's, but Sirius could feel the pull of magic and the fear he had been plagued by since he was a boy.

He didn’t want them to feel like that and then be far away from each other in an unknown place. It was a horrible situation, and he wasn’t even sure if it would work. He was concerned that it could all be for naught if whatever pack Dumbledore sent him to would even accept him, and after the last meeting with Hermione, he worried the packs could be worse than imagined.

Remus felt sick that Dumbledore could play with his life to spite Hermione, and for what? That was the true evil—he didn’t even have a reason. The other night, Remus had woken in fright with the thought that Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, and even Grindewalt were nothing more than selfish, jealous men, and it had driven them to do unspeakable things. Ego was their greatest weapon and crime.

“Are you paying any attention?” Marlene asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face as he zoned out on the old wooden door in front of the pub.

Remus turned to her with a dull, deadpan look as he recited whatever she had been saying back. “You miss Dorcas when she has to work during the day, and you don’t because you only practice for a few hours. So you have come to bother me at work and tell me all about yourself that I did not ask for,” he quipped, and Marlene, in all her glory, chuckled into her glass of butterbeer.

“Read me like a book, didn’t ya? Well, tell me about your wild,” she wiggled her eyebrows, looking a bit too much like Sirius at that moment, and he debated keeping them separate in the future. They had always had a knack for finding trouble between the two of them. “Love life. Or you can tell me why you have a stick up your arse right now?”

“They didn’t make it,” he confessed, and Marlene's skin turned ashen at the statement. Her head whipped around, a flurry of blonde hair, as she turned to look at the door as if their combined stares might manifest their appearance.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” she whispered, not turning back to look at him. The heaviness of her disappointment made the air between them stale.

“It’s not your fault, Marls—it’s not anyone's,” he added, running his thumb under the band of the watch on his wrist. He dreaded having to send the message that they hadn’t made it. He knew it would send Sirius into a panic spiral, and Hermione would go quiet and contemplative. She’d find Dorea, devise a horrible plan he would hate, and be forced to watch.

He was still upset with her about New Year's Eve, and the Gaunt Shack, and how she had to be the one to visit Dumbledore. He hated to compare them, but Sirius never wanted to do anything alone, at least not anything important, but Hermione always seemed determined to do it herself.

He hoped the bond would improve her self-sacrificing nature, that she would know how much he craved her and wanted her safe.

He was thinking of the bond, hoping it would be a bright spot to talk about tonight as the day’s disappointment settled when he heard it. That ominous door slammed closed, joined by panting breath as someone entered.

It wasn’t an unheard-of sound. The patrons of this dump were either him and his friends or old wizards who probably weren’t served in other places. Remus took a deep breath, trying to shake the depression from his gaze. He didn't want the customers to see the shell he had become in the last few minutes. He needed them to drink and tip, not be afraid of a scarred man with war-torn eyes.

When he finally raised his head, he was frozen in shock. He dropped the glass he had been cleaning in his hand, shattering the fragile cup and filling the room with a wretched, crunching noise. Marlene called out in surprise, but when she saw his face and turned around herself, she let out a sob, and she didn’t even know the half of it. What seeing them meant in that moment.

She didn’t know about Sirius and Regulus’s fight, that Remus, with his lupine hearing, sometimes heard Barty crying for his friends at night, Dumbledore’s threats, or that they had not only one but the last Horcrux. Dorea and Hermione kept such precious information close, and the three standing in the bar's entryway represented so much hope and relief that Remus felt like he might explode.

The two were up in an instant. With a feat of strength he didn’t know he had, Remus hopped over the bar, and Marlene threw her bar stool on the ground as they scrambled over to the terror-stricken three.

Remus knew none of them well, only stories from Sirius, and Pandora had spoken to him a few times, but he couldn’t stop the pack-driven need to wrap his arms around Regulus and ruffle his hair like he had known him since he was a boy.

“You did it?” he said excitedly, overwhelmed with hope as he studied their tired, ruddy expressions, chests rising and falling as if they had sprinted the entire way from the castle there. Based on the time, he wondered if maybe they did.

Regulus nodded yes, and Pandora smiled up at him. Her teeth seemed to have grown almost pointed since the last time he saw her, and her eyes flashed a concerning shade of milky green before she said, “The maze is no more. We had some help from another named after the gods,” while holding up a velvet bag as if it were a prize bird shot down in a hunt.

He nodded, concerned with her statement but choosing to take her words at face value and ask Hermione what the riddling witch meant later.

“We did it,” Regulus breathed, as if he did not believe it himself but was relieved nonetheless. Remus understood the feeling, how it often felt like a dream when they won these small battles in this ever-tiring war.

Remus studied them each for another moment before jumping into action. He called out to Aberforth, telling the old wizard he needed to leave and that there was a broken glass behind the bar. When he limped forward from the back storerooms of the pub and took in the five of them, he nodded with a huff.

The old wizard was never one for many words, but that felt more like approval than Remus had ever received from him. He could have sworn he saw the greying man smile underneath the oversized beard on his face. As Remus corralled the three newcomers towards the floo, he saw the flash of a gold galleon in Aberford’s hand—a reminder that he had been more than willing to fight with them, unlike his brother.

Family was a funny thing, it seemed. While he contemplated the dynamic between Ab and Dumbledore, he was soon distracted by the screeching of excitement coming through the floo. He had chosen the cottage to send them, knowing that many would be doing their last-minute scheming in the small home, and that felt safer than the manor.

While Prewett Manor had served its purpose in the last few days, it had grown to be too much. It was as if the empty portrait and memories contained more painful magic than the vile Horcruxes themselves. The good memories in the home felt like taunting fetid wounds torn open by the most recent events. They needed a new space, even if that meant they spent most of their time on top of each other.

Sirius, Remus, and Hermione had even taken to staying in her old cocoon-like nest of a bedroom. The window-covered room and the sounds of the ocean seemed to keep her in bed longer each night.

So, the tight cottage it was, warded and unplottable, he thought would be the best place for his three new blood traitor friends to hide out. Marlene was in first, her voice ringing through both floos, “I come bearing gifts!”

Remus shoved the three through together, a little tight, but it was the best he could do. He threw the floo powder for them and whispered the location, doing his best to keep it secret. Using his magical connection to the place, he allowed the green flames to spark and let the two new strangers and Regulus through.

He was last, the sound of someone’s excited crying carrying through as he felt the smallest bit of heat lick at his clothes and the smell of soot take over his senses before he opened his eyes to the shell and driftwood-decorated room.

It was a surprising sight but not wholly unexpected. First he noticed Barty wrapped around Evan like he was part marsupial. Evan seemed to embrace him with equal enthusiasm, and Remus decided now was the time to look away so the two could have some privacy. He turned to find Hermione having engulfed Pandora in a hug of her own, Pandora smiling at her with that dazed glee she was known for.

But the moment that struck him the most was Regulus and Lily Evans. He wished Sirius could be here. It would be a much more fitting welcome, but instead, there was Lily holding a small bespeckled Weasley boy on her hip. Maybe Percy? Was that the toddler's name? There were too many of them to count, but it was his best guess based on the glasses the boy was wearing.

Lily looked at Regulus like he was an old friend, but who knew what Regulus thought of witches like Lily and Hermione? He didn’t know the younger Black’s reasoning for fighting in this war. He could be helping them for his own selfish needs, to become a dark lord himself when this was all said and done.

Remus wasn’t trying to be pessimistic, but when faced with what you had been taught for so long was the demise of the wizarding world, an infestation he had attempted to eradicate till recently. It made Remus nervous for his best friend.

But Lily Evans, Merlin bless her soul, did not think that way. She flashed that bright, toothy smile and handed him the baby she held. “So glad you’re here! Watch this one, Hermione, and I need to finish brewing. Your brother will be here soon,”

She treated Regulus as she had Remus all those years ago like all she cared about was the present. She trusted how he presented himself on the surface and ran with it, always looking for the good in people who may not deserve it. She had looked at a scar-faced boy across from her at the breakfast table and commanded him to study with her, not giving him an option.

Today, she looked at Regulus Black and gave him a job, not caring about his titles and upbringing.

Regulus seemed to stutter, but then Barty was over, helping him and dragging his friends towards the rest of the small redheaded army and a pink-haired witch, excited to introduce the two groups to each other. Remus watched Regulus freeze at his notice of the young witch, studying her keenly as he leaned down to get a better look at his unknown cousin.

He felt Hermione slide up next to him, her arms wrapping around his waist as they both took in the scene. Barty introduced Evan to Charlie and Bill as his boyfriend and explained how he was not sharing this toy. Hermione scoffed at the inappropriate joke but made no attempt to stop Barty and his musings.

They watched Pandora move to study the walls covered in shells, humming a chant that only she knew the words to. And Remus could have sworn he felt the wards tighten with her strange breeze like magic.

Lastly, they watched Regulus hold out his hand to the shy, now blue-haired girl and introduce himself, “Hello, I’m Regulus Black. What might your name be?”

“Dora Tonks,” she explained, her hands on her hips as if challenging him to call her out on not using her full name like so many often did. Remus thought he had permanent cochlear damage the first time he had done it to her by accident.

“Ahhh, are you named after a star, too?” Regulus asked, watching as she thought about the question intensely.

“Yes, but I do not always like it.” She scolded him as if he should know better as if he had seen all her fighting.

“Neither do I, Dora.” He responded as she took his hand. It appeared another member of that twisted family tree came to a truce. The young witch beamed before running off to play, and Regulus watched the scene, looking lighter than Remus had ever seen the wizard. Despite their distance, Remus had seen a lot of Regulus over the years, often following Sirius in his stalking of him around the castle.

For one brief fleeting moment, Remus thought that maybe this was how it could be forever. This big extended family they had built would all make it through this. They had won this penultimate battle. Hope bloomed in his chest as he saw people who barely knew each other slip into routine and continue their war prep and child-watching as if they did it daily.

He wanted this to be over badly, but he didn’t want to lose this either. He didn’t want this family scattered on the wind when it was all said and done.

____

Lily and Molly looked much too excited as they sat around the now-extended table at The Burrow. Hermione could admit she, too, felt lighter now that she did not have to see everyone in Prewett Manor.

It had been a difficult call to decide where to host this last meeting when they made their final plans and drew their last maps. But the cottage felt too cramped even if they added extension charms.

It had been serendipitous. With a few warming charms and a tent that Hermione knew had been in the Weasley family for centuries, the Burrow worked perfectly. They had found a way to meet in the garden she had loved for many years.

Sure, it was different. It was too cold for gnomes to be out yet, but if things went to plan in a little over a year and a half, a young Ron and Harry might be out here, and Lily and Molly would still be cornered up chatting. That was the hope she clung to as they made those final decisions.

They had a plan of attack, a way to cross the finish line and give her new and old friends that life—the simpler, the better when it came to this last march, she realized. They hoped it might be a bit of an ambush, giving them an element of surprise to end this, but there were still so many unknowns.

“They know I’ve deflected. I have not read Mother’s letters, but I can only assume their contents,” Regulus had shared when they asked if he could use his mark to call Voldemort to them.

“Then we will prepare either way. We have a good-sized team, about 30 or so.” Charlus nodded, scribbling a notebook and talking about pairs of fighters.

“And if he doesn’t come?” Lily asked with concern, but Hermione had the answer. She knew what would drive any monster from its den. They needed to make it hurt and force it out.

She looked at everyone, her eyes dancing around the long table till they landed on the pile of scattered scorched remnants and a box of freshly warded still breathing Horcruxes, not allowing any arguments with her idea. “We need to destroy them right before you call. He’ll come for those.”

“I can write to Severus, too. See if we can get some final information. Maybe he could even join us at the last minute for some surprise?” Lily added nervously, looking around.

James gave her a surprisingly gushing and proud smile at her idea, and Regulus piped up again. “I am happy to sign it as well. Sev and I have remained friendly at meetings. I believe he is sympathetic.” Lily looked like she was about to burst with the news, and Hermione breathed a little easier, knowing one more life might be saved.

Dorea hummed her approval before she turned to Molly “And what would you like us to do with the little ones? We have yours and Andromeda's. Should the Bones deign to join us, I assume they might want to place theirs somewhere safe.” Molly and Andy looked at each other, two younger women giving themselves up to battle. A sick club of mothers who may say goodbye to their children for the last time in the next few days.

“Barty has taken a keen liking to babysitting!” Lily offered on his behalf, looking over at their begrudging friend with calculated amusement. Barty mumbled something about her fucking off, but Hermione could see the softening of his shell, how he blushed at the compliment.

“Barty can duel. He’s usually my partner in defense. I think we will need him. Dora, could you watch them all?” Regulus asked her, and Hermione sensed his unspoken request. He wanted her to stay back and not put herself in harm’s way. They all hoped this would be the final battle, but it was a bloodbath in the making.

“I think they could stay where we have Mary and Poppy, yes? Pandora, would that work for you?” Dorea asked her, giving the witch the final say, as she always did.

“If that is where I am called, it is where I will be,” Dora answered, looking sharply back at Regulus, who just rolled his eyes but nodded. Hermione wondered how many times they had fought about this already and if this was as much of a win as he could hope for.

They continued like that, planning and thinking through all the details. Some were small, like where to stand and how to hold your wand and feet in the sand. It might have seemed second nature to wizards and witches who had been practicing for months and had known their wands and magic since they were eleven. But Charlus took his time to explain the finer details of staggered duelists, and the twins explained the need for a good partner.

The partners started forming almost immediately. James and Lily instantly looked into each other’s eyes in agreement. Evan and Barty and Marlene and Dorcas were much the same. The older couples at the table did not even have to look, Charlus taking Dorea’s hand in his as if it were second nature. So on and so forth, couples decided that the intimate knowledge of love was akin to the dance of paired dueling, and everyone seemed to pair off until there were five left.

Regulus. Pandora. Sirius. Remus. Hermione.

Regulus and Pandora were at a standstill. It was reminiscent of the fighting stance she had taken with Hermione all those months ago over Barty and Evan. Only Hermione knew better this time. She knew Pandora was not to be questioned.

The tension between the two opposites was palpable. Finally, she turned to Hermione, her voice smooth as silk and otherworldly as she looked at her, a serene smile on her lips as she spoke. “Who will you choose, oh messenger? Who carries wings like yours?”

Hermione felt every eye at the table turn towards her, waiting for her to make the final decision for all their fates. She knew how each would look. To pick Sirius or Remus would be like picking a side, potentially upsetting their balanced union and causing a rift. Each would take it differently, and both would be upset with whatever she chose to do.

Choosing Regulus was risky. It would send a message that she trusted him, believed in his support, and that they were indeed on the same team, their blood differences forgotten. But it would also tell Sirius and Remus that she felt outside their bubble. That she knew how much closer they were than she was, a hideous fear she was unsure she could admit out loud.

But the answer was simple. People were bound to be disappointed in whatever she chose to do, and this gave Regulus the best chance of survival himself. He would not distract her from what she needed to do, even if he did not know or Barty did not tell him.

With her heart in her throat, she turned to Regulus and smiled cautiously, “How do you feel about being in the center of it all?”

Gasps broke out, and Remus and Sirius were spouting their disagreements, but Regulus looked at her with keen understanding, his head cocked to the side as he studied her ask of him. He held out his hand to her, a gentleman’s agreement. “I won’t let you die if you offer me the same.”

“A promise I intend to keep,” she said, shaking his hand. While there was no magic binding them together, she felt the pull of fate in their shared grasp. It was the second-to-last step in her plan, and by the time the night was over, she would have all the pieces to her chessboard of war.

The only difference between her and Dumbledore was that she was every pawn, rook, bishop, and knight on her board. She was the queen without a need for a king and was not afraid to face the king on the other side. Ron had once told her in front of the warm, glowing fire of the Gryffindor common room that the queen was the most critical piece on the board. It had felt silly at the time, explaining a game with so much passion, but she had indulged him.

Hermione wished she could thank him for it now.

She had not understood then, but as she positioned herself at an advantage against a champion who had not yet lost, she understood the power of being underestimated.

Some tried to fight her decision. She could see the argument brewing in Sirius’s eyes and the way Remus’s jaw ticked, but she ignored it. Letting Dorea and Charlus lead them through the last few pieces. The timeline had been set. Two more sleeps until she stared down a monster who had haunted her dreams and ruined her life twice over.

She tried to pay attention to the rest, the conversation tiring for even her war-hardened heart, but she persevered, her ears perking up when James stood by Lily and Molly. A brilliant smile on his face as he played with his unruly hair nervously, his other hand on Lily’s shoulder, and she nodded her head up at him, encouraging him to speak.

“With the help of Molly, and we apologize for the short turnaround, Lily and I would like to invite you to a surprise tomorrow night,” he paused to stare down at her. Hermione choked up at the memory of Harry and how they both embodied him so much at that moment, shy and excited and full of life even in the dark. “We can’t go through with this and not be husband and wife. We’re going to seal it tomorrow with food and a bit of drink, and we’d like you all to be there. Lils has brewed plenty of pepper up and hangover tonic for it!”

He turned to look at everyone nervously, but he shouldn’t have feared. Excited cheers, even in the face of potential death in the hours after these nuptials, didn’t stop them. People were up hugging them, Sirius being the first as he wrapped his arms around James’s neck. Hermione laughed, wondering if he had ever held her and Remus that tightly.

Remus must have been practicing his legilimency because he moved to sit next to her, leaning in close, bumping their shoulders, an excited smile on his face. “I’m not going to announce it, but I plan on bonding you before the battle, too.” He kissed her cheek chastely as he told her his plan.

She nodded her throat tight at hearing the joy in his voice. Remus was known for a chuckle or self-deprecating joke, so his happiness was always a little dimmed. But as he promised her forever right now, she couldn’t help but cherish the love and excitement in her chest at what was to come, even if she was one of the few who knew the actual risks of the coming days.

There was a lot of love crammed into the small tent between reunited friends and old and new lovers. She kept reminding herself that love saved Harry the first time around and would do so again as her emotions somersaulted in her heart.

It was that reminder that pushed her to make her final move and fill her board. She let them all be distracted by Lily and James’s good news. Remus was giddy with his own planning, detailing for her how he planned to bond her and how it would feel. As he rambled on next to her, despite his proximity, he, too, was distracted.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she did it. No one paid attention to her for once as she swiped her hand across the table. Her fingers closed around the sharp, polished edges of a black stone sitting among the ruined Horcruxes quickly as possible, slipping the little gem into her pocket unnoticed.

It was just a precaution, she reminded herself.

Chapter Text

Hermione had never seen this part of a magical wedding. Sure, she and Ginny had been put to work prepping for Bill and Fleur’s nuptials, but Hermione had spent most of her time helping the Weasleys primp and fluff around the Burrow. Fleur had sisters—she hadn’t needed Hermione to help with these pieces.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when really it hadn’t even been two years, but still, she had been fascinated by all the intricacies of the magical binding. Sometimes, in the darkest hours, when Ron and Harry were asleep in the tent, and she was trying to fight the searing burn of the Horcrux around her neck, she would read about them. Too afraid of their ridicule to tell her companions, she would let her romantic heart win out and imagine what it would be like one day when she might bond.

Her imagination had been one of the few things successful in warding off the dark magic that plagued their minds, but now, as she watched Lily, she realized that no text could compare to seeing firsthand and being part of each step. Now, she knew how much preparation went into the binding of two souls. She finally understood how each word chanted and elixir brewed would guide Lily and the importance they carried for the ceremony.

It was different from a werewolf’s bond, sure, something she had researched to no end recently. But it carried deep, powerful magic all the same, and she was grateful to be a part of this day.

Still, despite all her reading knowledge and the glimpses she had seen, nothing was quite like this. She looked around the small bathroom, enlarged to fit those who had joined to help Lily. The bride-to-be was currently in a porcelain clawfoot tub, and Hermione wondered if Lily felt like a bag of tea, soaking in herb and oil-scented hot water for what felt like hours. But even if she did, Lily did not show it. Instead, she spent the entire time with her vibrant red hair draped over the back of the tub like a cascading waterfall of flames.

Part of her balked at the sight, the brilliant reds and oranges making Hermione’s heart race—the reminder of what she would face tomorrow when she would finally destroy the last remaining Horcruxes and the intricate deceit that had been haunting her thoughts since she had made the fateful decision.

Another part of her wanted to melt under the imagined heat—to feel the steam that rolled through the small, tiled room and prepare herself for the burn of fiendfyre when it would leap from the elder wand in her hand.

But this was not about her. No, Hermione focused on her support of Lily, letting the smell of the eucalyptus and lavender they had helped work into Lily’s alabaster skin ground her. Now, they let her soak in the mix, puffs of steam radiating from the charmed water. While Hermione worked with Dorea and Mary, putting the finishing touches on the dress Molly had worked her magic on.

In just a few days, she had spun, woven, transfigured, and tailored a simple white sheath into something that would flow around Lily like wings. Lace and silk, long bell sleeves, and a square neck that framed her face like a work of art, something Lily deserved. Mary, a fellow Muggleborn and apparently holding the same penchant for knowledge as Hermione, joined her in pelting questions about Wizarding weddings at Dorea. The lack of a veil was the most prominent to both of them.

“Veils are not common in wizarding weddings,” Dorea explained with poised grace as Hermione studied the flowing garment hanging from an enchanted ceiling hook. “Witches of old only wore them for their casting and brewing to hide, protecting their identities. They whispered it was what their sisters, the goddesses, did to hide from gods, so we do not emulate it. We don’t want to be mistaken for such.”

Listening to Dorea tell the fable and explaining the still foreign customs to Hermione was a relief, and Mary seemed to have a knack for asking the same questions she had. But while she was grateful to know, her mind was always hungry for more. Something in her ached, too. The thought that Dorea was now just another mother, aunt, or sister who would impart wisdom on her, but like all those before her, their time would be cut short at some point. She didn’t know how many more connections would be severed, but it was a constant burden, always in the back of her mind.

Hermione wasn’t sure how many more losses she could bear. The names of those she wished would one day prep her like this was nearly half empty. There would be no Helen or Leticia, Ginny would not know the true Hermione when or if she entered the fold of their lives, and Dorea may not make it that far, leaving only Lily and Molly. And while she was grateful, it still made her heart feel like it was full of melancholy when it should have been bursting with happiness for her friends.

No one else seemed weighed down by the potential loss. Instead, the room buzzed with energy. Eager enthusiasm bloomed on Dorea’s elegant face as she spoke more about what Mary and Hermione could expect one day and what Lily was planning to do in a few short hours.

Hermione did not know much about Lily and James's wedding in the future, having only seen the few pictures Harry had been gifted, but she imagined it was probably much grander than this, Dorea having had a hand in crafting a spectacular event.

They deserved to feast and drink while dancing the night away like lovers in the movies, but they did not have that luxury with darkness on the horizon. Lily had done her best, brewing more pepper and sober up potion than one knew was possible so those who wanted could indulge a bit. However, it would still be tame compared to the possibilities Hermione knew this group was capable of.

Lily had joked the night before, as they huddled around in her flat to give her the simplest hen party Hermione had ever seen, that the two of them would make it right one day in the future when all this business of war and evil was done.

“It is all the rage, I hear, to save a little money and have a bigger party later,” Lily explained over an exceptionally large glass of wine to Marlene, who looked puzzled but nodded along.

“All the rage or the only option?” Hermione questioned, the wine in her belly making her bolder than she normally was—a tricky feat with the brashness that had overtaken her in the past few weeks.

“I don’t think muggles are at war like we are, and don’t be down. It’s the night before my wedding,” Lily teased before leaning forward and wrapping her arm around Hermione. Lily’s elbow caught on her neck, pulling her close. “We can both have them, big parties where we dance all night and drink till dawn.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, declaring she would never want such a thing, but Lily shushed her, “Oh, come off it, Sirius will want the biggest party known to wizarding kind. You can’t deny him that!”

“She’s right, but Lils, why can’t Hermione just have a normal wedding? Why does she need this big after-party? She’s not getting married tomorrow,” Someone questioned. Molly and Lily's shared look hinted that those two knew much more about werewolf bonding than they had previously let on and that they planned to finalize their bond tomorrow, too.

Hermione found her voice at that, the attention on her status with Remus and Sirius making her stomach sour, even if they had no idea, the secret she held curdled in her chest. “That’s enough about any potential weddings for me. This is about Lily!” she declared, faking her excitement and drunkenness by placing a fat, wet kiss on the redhead’s cheek.

Lily laughed, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, unsure how long she could keep this burden inside her.

“Hermione, do you think I should plait my hair?” Lily asked her, dragging her from the anxiety-inducing memory. Hermione’s knee-jerk reaction was to scold herself internally, snapping in her mind that she needed to pay more attention. Lily deserved to have someone present, focused on making this day memorable despite the rush and the looming danger.

“I can. What would you like?” she asked, running a pearl comb across Lily’s scalp and through her auburn locks, the pieces by her forehead starting to curl in the humid air. Even though they were different shades, Hermione couldn't help but think how similar Lily looked to Ginny from behind. She wondered briefly if Ginny might have asked her to do this for her one day, the only girl of seven, and Hermione, her orphaned friend, a proper pair they made.

Hermione tried to tighten the reins on her nostalgia, locking it into her heart. She decided to feed those clawing emotions to the beast that still lurked in her, prowling around, waiting for permission to strike again. They would both need that hurt for later.

“Could you wrap it around my head? Like a halo? I think it might be too early in the year for flowers,” Lily leaned her head back till her neck was completely bent over the edge of the porcelain tub. Looking at Hermione upside down, a brilliant smile on her lips.

The picture of a happy bride-to-be.

“Of course I can, but Lily, you're a witch. We can transfigure or find you some flowers.” Hermione would have offered her friend anything in the world to keep that brilliant grin on her face today.

Lily giggled, excited at the idea but embarrassed that she had not thought of it herself. The ribbon connecting them both as muggleborns was still tied taut in their clumsiness to remember what they could do sometimes. “You’d do that for little ole me?”

“Of course, Lily, I’d do anything for you,” she meant it. She was not replacing Ginny, Harry, or Ron with Lily, but she was the closest she had to them—that overwhelming feeling of friendship and love like someone was family. Hermione smiled back at her, working the final oils into her locks, beginning the synchronized motions of weaving her hair. The sporadic golden strands glistened as the red-hued braid came together, mid-morning light pouring in through the window, making Lily look like she was glowing.

Looking up to see if anyone else was taking in Lily Evans's effervescent beauty, she found Dorea watching her, studying her moves with her hawk-like grey eyes. Gone was the witch who wanted to teach three muggleborns as much as she could about bonding. Replaced with someone who seemed to see through Hermione like she was made of the thin, perfumed cotton muslin they would soon dry Lily with.

Her fingers froze under the watchful gaze, having not expected their scrutiny. She wasn’t sure if Dorea could read her mind, but she could not let anyone else find out her plan or hear the wistfully grim musings of her thoughts.

Barty had been risky enough, a pathetic attempt to absolve herself of guilt, really. She could not face Dorea and hear the elder and much wiser witch’s thoughts on the risky plan. She could not lie to the witch who had done nothing but give her options and let her control her future since she had landed at this time.

If Dorea asked, Hermione would tell her about all the threats and consequences she had sequestered to a far corner of her mind.

Hermione knew deep in her heart that hiding behind the beast of rage was her truth. She did not want to do this–she did not want to risk everything after finally finding it. She wanted to be selfish, to hoard her new life like a dragon hiding the finest jewels. But she did not have that option when so many lives depended on her.

She debated staring back and offering her eyes and mind freely to Dorea, begging to be searched and challenged—defiant like she had been since that fateful night in Prewett Manor. But instead, she averted her gaze, letting Dorea track her without question. That was the greatest sign that something was wrong. Hermione had never been timid.

Hours later, after Lily had been thoroughly pampered and trussed, Hermione found a moment to sneak away and pour herself into one of the frilly, diaphanous dresses Leticia had bought her months ago. The layers of incandescent organza felt decadent as she snuggled between Sirius and Remus and watched, using them for warmth in the early spring weather.

The ruins of Potter Manor were behind them, but they did not mind. James and Lily decided that marrying on the ancestral ground was more important than the rubble that had recently taken over the land. Hermione thought that while the ash might have seemed stark in contrast to the day's celebrations, it was an equal reminder of why they were here, why Lily and James had sped this date up.

The couple stood gazing into each other’s eyes like only young lovers could, sprawling orchards and forest beyond them, framing them like a portrait of old. Even the greatest of artists could not capture the infatuation on their faces, the type of love that could only be witnessed with human eyes. A shy tug hit her lips as Lily smiled up at James, and James beamed down at her, proud and excited to have this day between them.

Sirius had wrapped his arm around her waist, snaking it between her back and the bench they sat in, playing with Remus’s belt, and Remus was draped across the top of the pew-like spot, playing intermittently with both Sirius and Hermione’s curls.

It was nice, for once, that everyone might be packed into a space together and not discuss the war or attend an Order meeting. Many joined to support the young couple as if they all wanted this last reprieve before risking everything. A couple who had changed the world in her timeline would now have the life they deserved.

Lily and James grasped their hands tightly. Ribbons and cords wrapped from their shoulders to their clasped fists, and the same magic she had felt at Bill and Fleur's wedding filled the tent. At the sight, she felt a warm tear start to track down her cheek, letting it settle under her chin, happy to shed the emotion in support of her friends. Overwhelmed by the bright warmth of their shared magic washing over everyone present.

Sirius was not much different as he rested his head on her shoulder, moved by the scene needing to touch Remus and her. They watched the happy couple finish their ceremony, throats tight with emotion and a proud-looking Minerva McGonagall casting the final spell that would make them husband and wife.

Much like the last wedding she attended, Molly Weasley found her soon after the ceremony, giving her jobs to complete since she had not been around to help earlier. She had heard Sirius grumbling in the distance about how Molly had barked orders at him about raising the tent and placing chairs by hand, that magic did not have the same finesse as his human touch.

Hermione indulged her commands for help and worked on popping open sparkling champagne bottles, their dewy necks covered in glittering magic, another decoration for the space, as everyone filtered into the tent.

The ceiling was covered in small orbs of light, floating around like fireflies and butterflies as they gently roamed around the room–lighting the way for the guests toward long rectangular tables covered in bountiful food. Hermione wondered how the elves had pulled off such a feat, there were only a few on the paid Potter staff.

The sight was reminiscent of feasts in the great hall, and she grew teary-eyed again, thinking of her first meal at the Gryffindor table. It was almost like, at every turn, this wedding was a manifestation of her past life. Even the dress she wore reminded her of the one her mother Helen had sent for the Yule Ball, with its velvet belt and thin, ruffled straps.

She eyed the massive wooden tiled dance floor, laughing to herself about whoever had the arduous task of installing it for the festivities, and in the background was the growing roar of the enchanted record player starting up. Sure, they could have found some magical band to play the small, humble reception, but James had asked Sirius to ensure that they had something to keep people lively, let them forget for just a few short hours, and enjoy themselves.

In the back corner, she saw a collection of remarkably familiar vinyls and felt her heart race in excitement about what he might choose and whether she would be so lucky to be spun around by both him and Remus that evening. She wanted to relive the moments she held close to her from her time at Hogwarts. And if things went her way, she would get some new ones, too, like watching her wizards bask in each other's glow.

Others trickled in, the tent filling with faces she was relieved to see. Everyone joining them that evening had pledged to help them tomorrow, the message of this event sent on the charmed galleons everyone had now.

She prayed they had not gotten into the hands of those who did not believe in their mission. She had not told anyone of the nightmare that had awoken her last night, trying now to replace her less savory memories.

Like images of a lynx patronus announcing the ministry had fallen and the screams of her friends and loved ones as dark, twisted apparitions appeared in the same tent, she had just finished charming. Hermione had not wanted to burden anyone with the horror that was weddings from the future, even if they stalked her consciousness. So, she locked them away, trying her best to focus on the tent she was in now.

She heard the excited squeal of the newly married Lily Potter as she entered the space, her green eyes wide in wonder as she took in the temporary room. She leaned into James as they basked in all the love gathered for them.

Off to the side, taking in the sight, Hermione let her shoulders relax, trying her damndest to forget the weight on her soul and enjoy watching the scene. When Sirius came up behind her, she didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Instead, she let him embrace her, resting her head on him as he wrapped his arms around her ribs.

Maybe it was that she had already learned the cadence of his footsteps in these short months, or perhaps it was the way she had grown to love the smell of worn leather, firewhisky, and cigarette smoke, or that her body was just attuned to his perfectly, but it did not matter which. She let him pull her back against his chest, his chin resting on the crown of her head, as they watched the happy couple spin around the room, dancing and laughing as champagne flutes were raised in their honor.

“I think I’d like a big party” he whispered and she smiled thinking of Lily’s predication.

“Sirius Black? A party? What would it even be for?” she teased back, watching Remus not so subtly watch them from the corner of his eye despite his chatter with Gideon and Fabian. 

“Nice try witch” Sirius groaned, lightly tickling her sides till she squirmed, “you just need to decide, is it Granger-Prewett-Lupin-Black or Granger-Prewett-Black-Lupin?”

The hope in his voice stung, but she bit her cheek to hide the tears that threatened to spill. “That’s a lot of names.”

“Yes, well, you are a lot of witch,” he teased. 

“We’ll flip a galleon when this is all done, and we’ll all take the same name,” she said, praying his competitive side would win out and the conversation would be done. 

And it did. With a smuggness only Sirius was capable of, he quipped back, “You are on future Mrs. Granger-Black-Lupin,” the ridiculousness of it all making them both chuckle. 

It did not take long after the newly married Potter’s first few turns around the dance floor for the party to delve into whims of fancy and fun. She had let Sirius pull her out to the dance floor early on, spinning her around like a top. Laughter poured from their lungs as he flung his arm out, gripping her hand tightly. She spun away, only to boomerang back into his arms.

She hadn’t expected him to let go the second time he pulled the move, letting her spin around the room until she landed in Remus’s arms with a huff. She looked up at him and found the moody werewolf appearing lighter and happier than ever, staring down at her like she had hung the stars and the moon in the sky above them.

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” he whispered to her, her cheeks turning pink as he laid his hand flat against her back and pressed her against him. The music shifted to something slower, and Remus swayed her in his arms, her feet gliding across the floor with his lead.

“You look very handsome, Remus. I say the three of us clean up pretty nicely,” she joked and practically melted into him as he leaned down to kiss her, chaste and sweetly. She knew he was thinking of later, of the promise they both had made, even if he behaved himself now. His fingers drawing lazy circles on her back was the only sign of his anxious excitement for the moment ahead. The idea of bonding made her blood run hot, her skin pricking in anticipation of being one with them.

His fingers seemed to span the entirety of her exposed back as he flatted his hand, somehow pressing her even closer to him. He played with the soft chiffon straps of her dress as he told her all about his night of watching her and Sirius and how, despite having two left feet, he found he couldn’t be left out of the fun.

She stayed like that, head against his chest, and even when the beat picked up again, and she could hear Sirius begging Dorea to dance with him, they didn’t stop their slow serenade around the dance floor.

It was a perfect balance. Sirius spun and spun her till she was dizzy, excited, and vibrant, making her laugh and her skin feel alive. And Remus held her through it all, comforting and calming her as if he knew the dark thoughts that seemed to plague her on this happy day.

She took advantage of the moment, supported in his arms, following his lead, to look around the room to see everyone who had joined. She watched Barty and Evan dance like they were the only two in the room, with more fighting and wrestling than any waltz she had seen.

She even saw how Barty had cajoled Lily into letting him give her a spin. It ended in some kind of curse and smack from the redheaded bride, but both walked away with a smile from the encounter.

Marlene and Dorcas weren’t far off, hanging off each other as if they had been away for ages, clinging like two long-lost lovers who had only been able to send letters. She knew they appreciated this time together the most after Hermione had grimly told them they were the first to perish originally. They were all soft caresses, bodies moving in perfect harmony, fluid in their steps and affection, silken in their whispers— and Hermione wondered when they might all be dancing like this for them one day soon.

Hermione marveled as Pandora spun a young Charlie Weasley and Dora Tonks around in her arms, distracting the two in a game of dancing ring around the rosie from the older Tonks. The couple that often looked like opposites, with dark curls and blonde tufts or sharp eyes versus gentle round ones, seemed to be having their own private moment.

Andromeda was teaching Ted whatever formal dance she thought went with the muggle tune that played on the record player. All the while, Ted indulged in her need to lead while pulling chuckles from her with questions and his unique take on the steps. Bawdy moves against her graceful ones, but still in step with the other, like they had done this new blend of dance a million times before.

Even Regulus indulged in stilted conversation with the newlyweds, the drowsiness of war no longer in his eyes.

As Remus continued to move her about the space, somewhere along the way, she became overwhelmed with just how much there was to protect here and how they had so little time left to enjoy it if they could not. Despite Remus’s hold on her, slowly, her joy morphed into something darker, no longer able to keep the thoughts she had been running away from at bay. It was as if even happiness was a pitiful signal of what was to come, and each step around the dance floor was a march into battle.

Panic rose in her chest, and she wanted to scratch at her swelling throat when she saw the owner of that lynx patronus looking solemnly as he spoke to Charlus. The idea that this could still end up like the eldest Weasley boys bombarded her, making her see stars and black spots.

It would not take much to spill the location of this gathering, to bring on the unwanted attention they had evaded for so long, to spoil their plans just one day early.

A glass shattered somewhere in the distance as if her paranoia had conjured the sound. The crunching mimicked the screams of August 1997, making her jump in Remus’s hold. His fingers curled into her back, pressing her nose and cheek to his cool, crisp shirt, but still, even the sensation of pressed cotton and the smell of old books and tea was not enough to calm her now-reeling mind.

Mixed with all that fear was an ugly bubble of jealousy as if the breaking of that flute tore apart the dam of her emotions, the bars that locked away the hate that lived in her. All it took was a broken glass for her to wish they could have had this in 1997, that Harry, Ron, and she had been robbed of these joys. A painful rage flickered that she was now stuck fighting this war twice and that all she had shared with the boys was floating away on the breeze like the orbs above her head.

Hermione was not proud of that feeling, the guilt and shame worsening her condition. Despite the love she felt for Sirius and Remus, she hated that so much had been stolen from her that it took away from even the good moments like this. She wondered if this jealousy would one day spout its own horns or claws and if it would rot her from the inside out like the hate she still harbored.

Disgusted by her petty thoughts, selfish heart, and treacherous mind, which often threatened to win over in these final days, Hermione looked for a distraction or a way to escape. She just wanted to breathe, take a minute, and calm herself.

She looked up at Remus, only to find him already staring down at her. That happy look had vanished from his eyes, and now they seemed to fill with watery pity and disappointment at the mess of witch she had become. Like he could read her mind, even with her curls obscuring any legilimency skill he might have.

She pulled back to look at him, despite his fingers protesting on her skin, letting her hand slip up to the front of his chest, playing with a button on his shirt. “Why don’t you go save Dorea from Sirius’s brand of vertigo?” she tried to joke, and Remus entertained her pathetic attempt at distraction by looking over at the two. Dorea, on what must have been her fifth or sixth spin, laughing but looking a little green.

“And what if I like dancing with you? Charlus will save Dorea, or she will save herself. Formidable that one,” He challenged, his knuckles brushing up and down against her spine, trying to calm her, she realized, sending shivers and goosebumps across her flesh.

But even Remus’s teasing did not break the fog of her mind. She gave him a crooked smile, well-rehearsed by this point, the one she wore when others became leery of her anger. She had become an expert in trickery and letting them believe she was making a joke. She knew Remus did not always believe it, but she needed him to try tonight.

“You will have plenty of time with me later, Remus Lupin. Go save Dorea. I need a bit of air,” she hoped that with enough truth in her words, it would deter him from her diversion.

He took her bait, a suspicious furrow of his brows, before kissing her one last time. A promise for later whispered against her lips before he finally released her. His long legs covered the distance of the dance floor in seconds, and soon, a laughing and jovial Dorea and Sirius embraced him into their dance.

Backing away slowly, avoiding attention, she let the drink and conversation act like the invisibility cloak as she escaped through an open flap in the tent. She did not even make it a few meters before she slipped her shoes off, the fresh dew and sticky mud of the garden guiding her just out of sight to a small tree.

It was not remarkable by any stance, one of many on the Potter ancestral lands, but to Hermione, its rough bark felt like a sanctuary, its coarse grain a welcomed ally in fighting the panic closing her throat.

Hermione wanted to drop to her knees, to let memories overtake her, visions of how things could have been different if she had not been forced to live this life twice. She was about to succumb to her desires, ruining the dress that was a final gift from Leticia, staining the chiffon in the grass and dirt, and working the soil under her nails till she felt one with the earth.

But she stopped, halting, when Pandora’s chorus floated down to her. “I, too, find the soil a reprieve, as if it is a physical reminder that I am no longer in the maze.”

Hermione looked up to see two dirt-stained feet dangling from a branch not far away, swaying and kicking in tulle skirts. The tinkling of gems mingled with the call of the crickets around her. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have someone who may understand her confusion more than herself.

She was unsure how the witch had gotten out here when she had just been dancing moments ago, but Hermione did not know how much time had been lost to her panic, and she was grateful for someone to distract her with games, a challenge.

“Pandora, I thought we were all out of the castle.” Hermione let the words calm her, as if forming the syllables with her mouth and tongue were some kind of meditation. The promise of being far from Dumbledore and the memories of her friends was vital to her sanity.

Pandora stared down at her, head cocked to the side as she studied Hermione’s blase answer, unlike their typical games of conversation. “Mmm, that was one maze, but does the King of Crete not rule an entire island? Who is to say he has not built many?”

Hermione hated how jumpy that statement made her, and she looked over her shoulder, wondering if Pandora knew something. Was she warning and guiding Hermione? Was that why she was outside? Did she know there would be an attack tonight or if they would fail tomorrow? She turned to look back up at those watercolor eyes, finding a strange look of pity in the round orbs. Turned down, blonde brows stark against dark skin. It was hard to make out all of her features in the moonlight, but Hermione had seen that pity before.

The look was not just limited to those who had sight. No, she had seen it in Leticia in the days before her murder. Lily had given it to her in the cottage bed when she held Sirius and Remus back after her splinching, Molly had done the same in her scoldings both in the nineties and now, and Dorea had given it to her just this morning in the bathroom. It was a look between witches, imploring you to know better but feeling disheartened on your behalf that you do not.

“Hermione, do you know who else escaped the maze of King Minos? It was not only Ariadne and Theseus trapped like the minotaur?”

Hermione sounded petulant, like an annoyed child, but her fear was no longer contained. She felt no need to put up airs for Pandora.

But Pandora was not bringing her relief, and the bark of the tree no longer stung her palms. It was as if every step she took tonight was a reminder of what dawn meant. But still, she dug into her catalog of knowledge, thinking of who else had escaped Crete—hoping the game would win out soon and she would feel better. “Daedalus could not leave either, if I remember correctly.”

Pandora hummed her agreement before she broke into a smile, white teeth flashing in the light of the stars. “You do know your mythology messenger, but yes, you are correct. When Ariadne and Theseus left, Minos trapped Daedalus and his son Icarus.” She paused, looking expectantly at Hermione, waiting for the witch to nod her understanding. When she did, Pandora excitedly continued a tale Hermione had read plenty of times before.

“They could not leave by sea, watched by many, much like us, and while I know you have found comfort in the waters, I do not think it will be your escape either. But Daedalus was a great inventor, oh messenger. He fashioned them after your namesake, Hermes. They built wings and escaped.” She spoke like Hermione’s mother, Helen often had when she was a child, excited and imbued with humor in her storytelling.

The lilting rhythm of Pandora’s tale made Hermione lean closer to the tree, captivated and fearful of what she knew was next in this story but dependent on Pandora’s wisdom all the same. “But Icarus did not escape Pandora. The wax melted, and he plummeted into the sea, tempted by the sun and freedom.”

“Ahhh, but you quite like the frigid water, yes? Do you think that after the heat of the sun, maybe the icy water was a comfort to Icarus?”

The question made Hermione freeze. She had never thought about it that way. Was Icarus burnt and scorched when he let the water take him? Did he cry out for his father in misery or relief as the waves swelled?

No one knew. She looked at Pandora, mouth open, horrified at how narrow-minded she had been about the tale in the past. Pandora said nothing else, though. Knowing she had said enough already, she leaped from her tree and held out her hand to Hermione, not asking if she wanted to return to the festivities.

While letting Pandora lead her back to the party, the image of melted wax and feathers washing up on the shore played on repeat in her mind’s eye—visages of blistered carnage that she could not fathom, consequences of someone who wanted it all.

Trying to shake the scene from her thoughts, she entered the tent, seeking out Remus and Sirius, two stragglers on the dance floor, swaying to the last few dredges of a song. 

Hermione hung back to the side of the floor, happy just to observe this moment and commit it to memory, replacing the nightmare Pandora had bestowed upon her.

She would have never made a great spy, though, because it hadn’t taken long for Sirius to spot her. Pulling back from Remus and opening his arms, he motioned for her to slip between them, his hand flailing about. Hermione debated, saying no, worried that if everything went wrong tomorrow, she could just be tainting another memory of theirs. But Remus gave her no choice either, dancing Sirius over to her until they grabbed her shoulders and tucked her in the middle, boxing her between them.

“And where have you been kitten, hmmm?” Sirius teased, kissing her head before moving to kiss Remus’s cheek.

“Mmm, yes, Hermione. I see you’ve lost your shoes.” Remus ran one hand down the back of her arm, and the other reached over her head to hold Sirius’s neck while Hermione leaned into Sirius's chest as if they were both boxing the dark-haired wizard in, too.

“I needed a bit of fresh air. Pandora said the grass and dirt are good for the soul.” She hoped again her half-truths were still enough to fool the observant werewolf.

“Pandora says a lot of things,” Sirius agreed above her, and she did her best to school her expression from Remus, a pliant smile on her face as she answered.

“Yes, Pandora does say a lot of things, but she is often right,” the image of roaring waves and charred skin invaded her mind, making her shiver.

Remus watched the room overhead, blind to her sudden chill, letting the three of them bask in this moment for as long as possible as if it were just as notable as what lay in store for them.

Even with the subtle droning of anxiety in her chest, the promise of how their night would end caused her breath to catch, Remus’s eyes narrowing as Sirius’s hands found the curve under her breast, stroking the soft skin with his thumb, her nipples hardening through the gauzy chiffon. It appeared they were all thinking of the next step if the tenting of Remus’s slack meant anything.

She wasn’t sure if Remus heard her heart rate pick up or maybe he could smell the arousal pooling between her legs. But he zeroed in on her chest, his tongue darting across his lips before dropping his voice to a low growl more Moony than wizard. “And I believe we have done enough dancing. Is it time, my loves?”

His eyes shifted from Sirius to hers and back again before a proud smirk appeared on his lips, and Hermione could feel Sirius’s length hardening against her arse. The two wizards moved quickly, not saying a word to her, only heated glances with each other as they grabbed onto her tighter. Sirius leaned down to the side of her neck, trapping her lips in a kiss as she turned to face him, just as she felt the tug of apparition in her gut.

They were working in tandem, taking her by surprise as Sirius kissed her breathlessly, only the burn of firewhisky on her tongue as Remus disapparated them. The usually dizzying pull of magical travel wasn’t enough to distract her from the overwhelming sensation of being in the middle of them.

Excitement coursed through her veins, not feelings of discomfort and nausea, as Remus and Sirius guided her through their jump. It was only a fleeting moment, but her wizards managed to make her melt in their grasp, even with the colors flying by.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, the three of them stumbled through frantic kisses and touches, frenzied in their grabbing and caressing while blindly leading themselves toward the bed tucked into the corner of the room. They hadn’t taken long to decide where they would seal their bond. She knew instantly the mountains of white linen and cotton, the stars shining on them through the wall of windows, and the ocean’s lullaby in the distance was the place that truly felt like home.

Sure, it would give them a chance to be ready for the morning when Regulus would summon Voldemort to the unsuspecting shoreline, but more than that, this little beach in Cornwall was where everything that had made them possible happened. It was solitude in the shadow of battle and strategy, and she wanted it to be remembered for the good, not the havoc that might come tomorrow.

Remus fell to the bed first, and Hermione found herself rushing to straddle him, her knees on either side of his hips, knickers and slacks still between them as she ground down. She did not want to waste any time. Her magic invaded every nerve ending, demanding she feel him.

Sirius’s fingers trailed up the back of her thighs, bringing her dress with them, the gossamer she wore pooling around her waist as he helped her press down onto Remus, grinding her hips and sodden knickers against the bulge of his cock beneath his pants. The sensation sent shivers up her spine. How both of them knew to guide her and the way she trusted their every move.

Sirius’s lips were on her throat as she worked, her head thrown back on his shoulder, giving him all the access he wanted to her. He could leave whatever mark he desired because she wanted to carry them with her always—wanted to feel the burn of his lips and beard, a twin to what Remus’s teeth would leave, on the battlefield tomorrow.

As Remus’s hands moved up the curve of her waist and stomach, helping push the fabric of her rumpled dress up even higher till he could toy with her breasts, she realized she wanted to feel the sore stretch of their cocks between her legs too. Wanted each step towards Voldemort to be a reminder of who she was fighting for.

Two sets of rough palms and calloused finger pads made her feel alight, already the warmth of her neediness building in her gut, clouding her mind with desire. She did her best to fight the haze of lust that was already building in her mind, trying to undo the buttons of Remus’s shirt. So desperate in her attempts to touch him that she was popping buttons off, while her fingers sought out the scars and soft dusting of hair on his chest. Hermione wanted to see him, both of them, wanted to brand the image in her mind forever.

She must have said that part out loud because Remus’s laugh cut through her foggy mind, allowing her to lean back against Sirius as he finally pulled her dress over her head. Remus’s eyes met hers as soon as the fabric passed over her face. His golden stare was sharp, and his voice rough as he commanded, “Hermione, you will never forget this.” His hands came down to squeeze her inner thigh, and she whimpered at how close but far away he was from where she wanted him to touch her. “Why don’t you help Sirius with his clothes while I work on the last bits of yours?”

His eyes flew to the darkened pale blue silk that sat atop him as he snapped the elastic around one of her legs, and she obeyed without question, nodding her head frantically and scrambling to spin around on his lap. With skillful fingers, she didn’t start with Sirius’s shirt like she had Remus’s. No, Hermione was ready. She needed to see all of Sirius, and he could take care of his shirt. Moving to grab at the loops of those Merlin damned leather trousers, tugging him till his knees bumped the bed, and then she was yanking his zipper down.

Sirius looked down at her with something akin to awe, and she never took her eyes off his, not wanting to miss a moment of his expression as she continued. The connection made her skin prick in excitement as she let his cock fall from his trousers and onto her tongue. She wished they could take hours worshiping each other till all three of them were nothing but boneless messes tangled together in a sweaty knot of limbs, but they did not have hours, so she wasted no time teasing and slowly tasting.

Her tongue swiped over the tip as she grasped him in her palm, tasting a salty bead of precum, and his hands flew to her curls as he made a choking sound. Remus seemed to have perfect timing because as she started to take Sirius deeper into her throat, she felt Remus’s teeth on the edge of that ruined blue silk. Nipping and playing with the crux of her thighs, the bottom curve of her arse, and then kissing gently on the gusset till she was mewling on Sirius's cock.

Remus took his time, not in the same rush as she was, working his tongue against her, using the wet fabric as an added layer of friction. The new sensation made her pant as she continued to pump her lips up and down Sirius. They filled the room with wet smacking sounds almost as loud as the waves crashing outside, as Sirius’s adoring comments made her shiver.

“Gods, look at you two, filthy for each other,” he’d say, and Remus would pick up his pace, sucking on her clit and making her squeal around Sirius.

At one point, he groaned as her throat vibrated around him in a moan, commenting, “She liked that one, Moons, do it again,” and so he did. Remus slipped his fingers underneath the elastic and pushed the destroyed fabric to the side to work his fingers into her.

She had genuinely dissolved into a puddle of lust when she felt the flat press of his tongue against the tight ring of muscle they would use tonight. “Open her up for me, Remus, leave her begging love.”

It could have been the way he called Remus love or how they lavished her with affection while talking about her body as if she weren’t there. But whatever it was, it made her hollow her cheeks, taking Sirius down her throat till he had to roughly grab her curls and beg, “Oh gods, that mouth, fuck she’s going to make me come.”

Remus took Sirius’s begging into consideration and picked up his pace, fingers moving to work in and out of her, prepping her for the wizard, who currently made her jaw ache as she rolled her hips back towards Remus. When she did that, she felt Sirius's hands tugging on her scalp, pulling her back, taking him till her nose brushed his hips, nearly pulling her off Remus’s talented hands.

The growl from the werewolf made her spine tighten, and as Sirius pushed till she was near tears, she finally exploded for the first time. She could barely even form a moan, her jaw held wide open around Sirius as she came on Remus’s fingers, her cunt fluttering around nothing.

When Sirius pulled her off him and leaned down, cupping her cheeks, she whimpered into the kiss, wanting nothing more than to finally be full of them. Having been denied the ability to taste him, she was clawing with wanton need.

They worked quickly, perfectly in tandem again, like only lovers could, spinning her around, and with Sirius’s hands under her shoulders, he placed her on Remus's cock and smacked her arse lightly. “Ride him, kitten,” he growled into her ear, and her body instantly moved on its own accord. She could feel her magical core building, bubbling to the surface like the champagne she had drank earlier, ready to pop like the cork from the bottle around them.

Remus’s hands flew to her hips, and she pushed down, undulating her pussy on the shaft of his cock, letting his head bump against her clit. “Ride him, Hermione, and let me fuck you while you bounce, please,” Sirius begged from behind her, whispering a lubrication charm for them, the cool liquid making the hair on her arms stand, excitement in the goosebumps across her entire body. Remus took the chance to pinch and pull at her nipples, eyes boring into her, a silent command to listen to Sirius.

Without looking away from Remus, she rose to her knees, taking him in her hand between her thighs, and sunk down, all while he never let go of her tender nipples, making her sob at the sensation. The pain of his fingers would never be enough to distract from the stretch and fullness of him. Hermione did not stop till they were both panting in relief as she settled down flush against Remus. She wasn’t sure how she could get fuller than this movement as she began to roll her hips, her mind already thinking of what was next.

She leaned forward as Sirius gently pushed between her shoulder blades, kissing Remus as her clit rubbed against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The combined sensations made her clench around him, and a moan tumbled from her lips.

“Pads, please, I need to feel you too,” he pleaded in response to her reaction, and Remus looked like it, eyes golden in the silver moonlight, as he started to suck and nibble at the base of her neck. Teasing her with nips of teeth, leaving red marks in their wake, glorious pain blooming on her shoulders and chest from his mouth as Sirius started to push in.

Her eyes slammed shut, and her breathing stuttered as he began. It burned, and she would never deny that those first few moments were overwhelming, almost too much. The sensation made her hair spark, her magic wild at finally having them both.

Sirius and Remus whispered praises to her, encouraging her to keep going. Things like how proud they were and how she took them both so well. But they sounded fuzzy, far away, as her body tried to acclimate to every inch of them combined, the pressure maddening as it was pleasurable.

It wasn’t until Remus started chanting, “You were made for this, fuck you look so beautiful stretched around us,” that she began to come back to reality, floating down as the burn softened into uncontrolled pleasure.

“I want another Hermione. I want to feel you come around us one more time together. You look so perfect when you’re full of us.”

She looked down at him, tears in her eyes. Had she really already come again? She wasn’t sure where they started, and she ended. The room was a swirl of magic and sex as Sirius and Remus began to move in tandem. She was screaming, unable to control the rolling fire that built in her, the sensation of being totally theirs.

It didn’t take long to arrive at her orgasm. The rhythm Sirius set for them from behind, combined with her flustered state, made that wave of euphoria in her crest. It was stronger this time, as if her magic was overflowing from her core, skittering across all three of them, tracing the trails of sweat, marks from teeth, and the scratches she’d left on their skin as she felt herself start to fall apart again.

Remus wasn’t far behind, and as soon as that last silent cry left her lips, he struck, his teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of her collarbone, Sirius following Remus’s cue from earlier, fucking into her with abandon, gripping her hips till she was sure there would be little crescent-shaped marks later.

It was like a bomb had gone off, her body shaking as the bond formed. Her orgasm was ripped from her by Remus’s magic, and she could feel it working, the undeniable ecstasy of that much magic in one’s veins. She could feel Sirius’s, too, flowing through her like water, seeping into every pore of her body and crevice of her soul. Where Remus was bright and warm, burning to fill her, Sirius’s was icy and erratic, mixing together, racing to her core until her vision swam.

If she had thought her nerves were full of magic earlier, well now she realized she had been wrong. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, burning with pleasure and the need to feel them. An uncontrollable urge to never let go of them, to lock themselves up in this room till they turned to dust. All she needed was them. 

So distracted by the overwhelming sensation of love and magic, she barely noticed their hips stuttering or the sticky, wet mess that filled her and coated her thighs. She was in a high that no drug could compare to, drunk on their bond and combined orgasm as she let her arms drop, unable to support herself, Sirius and her rolling to Remus’s side. All three of them panting at the ecstasy they shared. 

Despite the nebulous state of her mind, threatening to pull her under from exhaustion, there was no forgetting the words that came from her lips to both of them, separately and as one, for the first time.

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

Sirius looked around the cramped seaside home, the one he had grown to love more than the Gryffindor tower or the little flat he had made a home in with Remus. The salt-weathered roof and sun-bleached wood held memories he would never trade for all the galleons in Britain. His favorite still lingered on his skin as he thought about last night. Humming to himself at the secret the three of them kept about how they spent their evening after James and Lily’s wedding.

It was the perfect distraction from the commotion around him, listening to everyone bicker over what was to come, volleying for control over plans that felt much too simple. Friends and members of the Order had been popping in as the morning dragged on. He was pleasantly surprised by the number of people who had joined them, but still, Sirius was always wondering if it would be enough, worried that he could lose it all.

The sources of his worries were too far away from him at that moment. Remus was leaning over, hunched at the waist, to talk to Pandora and Mary about some healing book he had read. Sirius didn’t know where Hermione was sequestered, but he assumed she was snapping at those who weren’t listening to her while laying out the final details of their plans.

Sirius found himself in a tight corner, too far away from them, even if he could feel the threads of their magic in his fingertips, with other Aurors while Moody barked orders like he had been part of this planning at all.

“And remember quick! Head on a stick, swivel lads!” the brazen Senior Auror shot a mild yellow curse from his wand, landing on Frank Longbottom’s arm. The wizard yelped in surprise and shot a sad look at his wife, who rolled her eyes at Moody’s use of lads—as if Alice wasn’t one of the best on the team.

But while Sirius debated if he was ready, anticipation and a sick sense of excitement for what they would face brewed in him. He couldn’t help but scan the room again, wanting to see if others were as eager for the end as he was. His eyes finally snagged on Hermione in a corner, whispering with his brother and his friends.

He may not have had a ring like Frank or a ceremony like James, who stood by his side, but he knew the bond that they now shared was just as deep, coursing through the three of them till the end of their days.

“Black! Are you paying any attention?” Moody shouted, and Sirius barely jumped away in time as the wizard hurled a more intense-looking orange curse his way— biting out a curse at the old auror and rolling his eyes before settling them back on Hermione and her current choice of company.

He wanted to believe that he simply missed her touch even though he had just held her that morning, and that was what had drawn his eye to them. But it was more than that, an uneasy guilt pricking at his skin as he watched her practice a few curses with Evan.

Last night, Sirius felt as if he could breathe for the first time in his entire life, feeling her power course through him along with Remus’s, like fireworks popping against his nerve endings. Even now, he could feel its sparks on the edges of his core. But there was something else lurking in their bond, and he wasn’t sure if Remus could feel it, too.

The power of a bond was not unfamiliar to him, having found comfort in Remus’s magic for months now, but Hermione’s felt different. It was like a rolling storm inside his veins, rumbling with a need for release. It reminded him of when the wind swept ships out to sea, violent and blustering. Something was tugging at him, testing the strength of their bond, and he was willing to let her pull as hard as she pleased.

At one point, the brush of her magic caused Remus and him to look up simultaneously from opposite corners. As if he, too, could feel that ribbon tied around his gut, the one that pulled their gazes to her and made their feet move on their own accord.

Sirius wanted to ask Remus if that was how it had felt when he settled into the bond with him and if Remus could feel him like a shackle on his wrist. It was an ugly way to describe the sensation of their pooled magic, but Sirius embraced it— wanted to be chained to them for an entire lifetime and would gladly sink to the bottom of the ocean like an iron anchor if they would have him.

“So, does all the staring mean?” James whispered to him, using the droning of chatter in the crowded space to offer them some privacy.

Sirius welcomed the reprieve of his thoughts, grateful for a moment to brag when the hairs on the back of his neck stood tall with worry. “Prongs it is very rude to ask a wizard to kiss and tell,”

“Well, it’s a good thing Moons is a werewolf, isn’t it?” James said cheekily as if he felt no fear for what would come. Sirius couldn’t tell if it was a facade or some form of armor, but at this hour, they all had to take what they could to keep their feet moving forward.

“They’re mine.” he breathed a sigh of relief at saying it out loud, the three having promised to tell everyone after, Hermione’s mark hidden under her clothes and not wanting to distract from what needed to be done.

James’s smile was proud and brilliant as he smacked Sirius’s shoulder in silent support. Sirius couldn’t wait to celebrate and get that reaction from everyone. But until that moment, he would remember the night before and how it had felt to be one with them. The memory of being with the two of them made him shiver, coughing to cover the groan that wanted to escape at the vision of her between them.

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he leaned over to whisper, even the chatter of their friends not enough to hide for this part. With his voice low, barely audible, he taunted, “And I’ll tell you all the juicy details after you nosey prat. It's true what they say two is better than one,” and James gagged faux disgust at the idea of hearing of his bedroom endeavors.

But his best mate’s mask slipped for a moment, his eyes looking over to a corner filled with red hair, Lily and Molly taking in a few last pointers from the twins.

It reminded Sirius of the moments before OWLs when they would cram as many bits of information in as possible. The topics most likely to disappear from their minds when the parchment was placed before them, but it was still a comfort trying to use their last minutes wisely. He had no plans on prying into the newlywed’s evening, but he could imagine James felt the same sting of uncertainty, that what should have been the best night of their lives was overshadowed by today.

Sirius changed directions, trying not to let the weight of what was to come press down on him more than it already did. Remus was still with Pandora, a glazed look on his face, so Sirius turned to Hermione. She looked much like the twins had in their teaching, calmly speaking and making concise movements with her hands as she walked through another spell with Barty and Evan. Regulus added comments, looking much sterner, and that prickly guilty feeling returned as he considered whatever dark curse she knew from the future and Regulus knew now.

Hermione looked over her shoulder to find Sirius watching her as if she could sense his tugging on the bond, a cat-like smile stretching across her cheeks that did not reach her eyes. With a little wave, a flirty wiggle of her fingers, she smirked before turning back and blocking his view of their conversation. It appeared that after enough time with Dorea and Leticia, even in the end, she kept her secrets close.

He had known she was intelligent and clever in her planning, but it seemed she was sneaky, too. Her knowledge of dark curses had been on full display recently, and he wondered what other secrets she harbored and how much knowledge she could fit in that encyclopedia she called a mind.

Sirius bristled at the idea of being left out of whatever she was planning, letting the bond guide him as more and more people swarmed the home, making it hard to see her. It felt like wading through mud to try and get to her, forgoing polite pardons, as he used his shoulder to move between bodies.

When he finally got to her, whatever plotting she had been doing was long over. Hermione was the cherub-like face of innocence as she let him pull her in for an embrace, his brother was flippantly annoyed, as if Sirius’s presence caused him pain.

“How are you feeling, kitten?” he asked, running his knuckles against her forehead, brushing a wayward curl from her face. Barty coughed under his breath, an immature flush to his cheeks that let him know the little prat was more aware of their situation than most.

Sirius gave her a once-over, ignoring Crouch Jr. and checking her for any signs of fatigue, worried they might have overdone it the night before. But she had been adamant from the moment they woke up that she was fine. Sirius had watched her get ready that morning like he always did, studying her for any soreness or limping, but she held strong.

Hermione had been meticulous in prepping herself, sweeping her hands over her clothes multiple times and braiding her hair back till it was as tight as a helmet. But despite all her planning, curls still escaped, and she looked like she was going to a pub instead of fighting the supposed greatest wizard ever to live.

Something about the soft jumper from Molly she wore today, and the same flared jeans she had dawned in at the Gaunt shack felt personal. He had asked her why she hadn’t gone for something with movement that might allow her to duel with more grace and ease when the time came.

She had simply stood between his legs, looking down at him, playing with the bits of fringe that couldn’t be contained in his hair, a downward turn to her lips as she told him, “Because I want to wear things that make me feel good.”

Sirius followed her lead, inspired by her sentimental thoughts. Slipping on the almost transparent band T-shirt and wiggling his hips to zip the leather pants that had now grown holes in the knees from all the scrougifies and missions they endured. It really was the little things in those moments when all the planning and work came to a head. Who knew how many little moments mounted in the room? Were there enough pebbles to cause a landslide when the time came?

When she turned to look at him, her eyes as dark as they had been in the days after Leticia’s death, he knew she wasn’t focused on those little defenses.

“I’m ready,” was all she said, confirming what he already knew: Hermione had spent most of her hours and days since appearing in their lives preparing for this moment, while the rest had only started recently.

Sirius tugged her close, using the hair at the nape of her neck to tilt her face up to his. He kissed her hairline despite the need to kiss her lips thrumming under his skin. He wasn’t ready but did not want to wait any longer. He wasn’t sure anything had prepared you for this. And while she might have already known that about him, he wasn’t inclined to say it out loud.

Regulus shuffled beside them, and while Sirius could not confirm where the two stood as brothers, friends, or reluctant allies, he did what he could to show his concern for him, too. He ruffled his hair, like he had always wanted to as a boy but was too afraid of his mother's scorn. Fingers carting through glossy black curls, messing up the cast of gel that had been applied. Even as his brother tried to fight him, he lacked any real strength.

The two understood that now was not a time for their brawl, they could do that after.

When Regulus had had enough and stepped away, seeking what little space was left, he looked up at his brother with the type of defiance that only siblings could share. The petulant annoyance in his eyes was a welcomed sight to the cold indifference they had been raised on. And Hermione must have sensed the shuffling air between the two.

Patting Sirius’s cheek before she ducked under his arm, bringing Barty and Evan with her, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two brothers alone. Sirius knew there were a million things he could say. He could use this point to apologize for all his sins and cleanse his soul before whatever their fates might be. But the minutes dwindled, and he wanted to save his words for what meant the most.

“She has to live,” he blurted out, but even in the rushed delivery, he could hear the strength, not desperation, in his plea. He was asking for a favor, for a promise that Regulus would do everything he could to keep Hermione safe when Sirius knew that she’d do anything to put herself in danger.

Grey eyes meet a matching set, and Regulus looks pained. Sirius wondered how long he fought the same internal battle with Pandora until he won. He hoped Regulus understood how much this meant to him, that losing her or Remus would be the thing that severed his last bit of sanity.

He didn’t have to worry about Remus, he would be right beside Sirius, but Hermione would be as far from their reach as she could get. He needed Regulus to understand that if he had any hope of reconnecting when this all was said and done, she had to make it, too.

Regulus nodded, short and clipped. “I think she wants to live with Sirius,” he whispered as if it were a secret, and maybe it is based on how blase she’s been with herself for weeks.

Sirius isn’t sure how to answer, but Regulus saves him from addressing the hippogriff in the room, which is Hermione’s willingness to martyr herself because he says it himself: “She just needs to decide if she wants to live as much as she wants to save those she loves.”

The words are hot, piercing in their truth, and Sirius wonders if this is what it feels like to be stabbed by one of those glowing space wizard wands. Like a wound cauterizing on impact, the truth of the words hurt just as much as the delivery. Sirius let the silence linger between them, unwilling to show his brother see how deep the truth cut, worried it would put the freshly sealed bond he cradled to his chest in the path of carnage.

Dumbledore had arrived last, the hour striking near when the first part of their plan was to be set in motion. Many in the home, spilling into the lawn and sandy garden, were happily surprised by his presence, unaware of the turmoil the older wizard had inflicted on Sirius’s family. But for those who had been forced to watch his hate for Hermione mount for months, his presence brought a sickening sense of unease.

Pointed glances and cold shoulders were common as Dumbledore approached the kitchen table, peering down at the plan he had so eloquently told them he would want no part of and would not support but did not plan on stopping.

Sirius wondered how Dumbledore would spin this, so he came out as the true victor of the day. Would those who heard this tale one day believe that Hermione, a witch of nineteen, had crafted this with the help of two pureblood witches whom she was never supposed to meet? It was unfathomable, and he hated the resentment for what came after in his chest when they had not even made it out of the fight.

“Ahhh, I see you have chosen to spread everyone out,” Dumbledore crooned, looking over the crude map of sand dunes and tall grass chalked onto the table. Charlus turned to look at him, not answering, his face blank, waiting to hear what more Dumbledore would have to say when no one had asked.

“Who will be facing Lord Voldemort?” he followed up with, and everyone looked around, deciding who would bring the newcomer up to speed.

Sirius flinched when he heard Minerva McGonagall speak, knowing what the strife between her and Hermione had caused his witch and still carrying the muscle memory of her scoldings from school. “I believe Miss Prewett has decided to destroy some artifacts, and from there, Mr. Black will call him to the beach,”

“Ahhh, and who will join you then, Mr. Black?” Sirius’s blood boiled at how the wizard he once respected continued to overlook Hermione. The petty games of jealousy would make him no help in this fight, and only Remus’s grip on his collar stopped his progression forward.

But it appeared Hermione was in a forgiving mood, and Merlin did admire her for it. He wished he could see the bigger picture like she often did, trained in the art of strategy from her time in two wars. Sirius was jealous that she could forgive in the hopes of better and put aside her grievances for the greater good.

She placed her hand on Regulus’s to stop him from speaking, turning to look at the wizard who had taught her once, even if he had no memory of it, and asked, “If you are willing, I think it would be best if you joined us. Dorcas Meadows, Gideon, and Fabian will also be in the beach clearing because of their sheer power and the twin connection, but I think you could be an asset with your experience in the front.”

Sirius felt like his teeth might grind to dust as he watched her offer that honor, one he and Remus had been denied, relegated to another part of the beach away from her.

“I am honored you see me as such an asset. If that is where I am needed, it is where I will be. Now tell me how do you plan on using my so-called experience,”

“He will be weakened after the Horcruxes,” Dumbledore hissed her mention of such horrid magic—the rest who could hear mumbled their confusion. “And we will need someone to move quickly. Regulus will be helping me with the fiendfyre, and the twins are back up and Dorcas, but without a partner near,” she bated, and Sirius felt his cheeks ache with pride. It was magnificent to watch her dangle such glory and honor in front of a wizard who seemed to thrive in the limelight, gorged himself on the admiration and praise of others.

She had made an offer that someone as self-righteous and plotting as Dumbledore could not turn down. With a greedy smile, lacking the twinkle Sirius had once found comfort in, Dumbledore finished her sentence for her, smug and pompous as he finalized their plan for good. “It would be my honor to destroy him. I am sure the DMLE will forgive my use of a killing curse for this.”

Charlus and Moody nodded, not verbalizing their agreement to something so staunchly against their morals, but it was like a bell’s final toll, the confirmation of how this would be done.

There were no more questions after that, the agreement between wizard and witch as strong as an unbreakable vow as Hermione turned over all the glory to him. The only sign of her apprehension was the fiddling she did with the Prewett family locket around her neck, strung on a simple chain with the portkey charm from Remus.

Remus had asked her to wear it today as she handed the weighty locket to Sirius to clasp on her neck. She had tried to ask why she would need an escape plan, but one look from Remus was all it took for her to add it. He could still hear the soft tinkling of metal as it rolled down the polished gold chain and settled under her sweater, right over her heart.

The smell of Lily’s potion was strong on the wind, the overly sweet mix of asphodel and cherry filling his senses. Everyone had doused themselves in the sticky substance, spraying and rubbing it into their skin, except the fingertips and palms that wrapped around their wands. Lily had explained that fiendfyre fed itself on other’s magic, and if they could cut off or weaken the source, that was the best protection against it going rogue.

Hermione didn’t trust herself with the spell that caused most to quake in fear, and Sirius couldn’t blame her; it was a daunting task. But they trusted her. She had been the only option to cast it, the elder was their greatest tool in controlling it. They had taken the opportunity to destroy the previous Horcruxes away from her, and she had earned the right to end these final ones.

He had watched as she carefully brushed the green liquid all over herself, saying she did not need help from others. She was deliberate in her strokes, taking her time to cover every inch of her, switching the brush and bottle between her hands as she covered herself from her ankles to the tip of her head. It was thin, leaving a ghostly film on her normally freckled and warm skin, and Sirius shuddered at how corpse-like it made them all look.

The image was ominous, and her need to do everything alone chafed at him. It was one of those moments he wanted to protest, to allow someone else to double-check her work. She would be the closest to the fire, her unprotected hand only centimeters away. But Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him, shaking her heavy, damp curls once she had finished.

With dread in his gut, the three stared at each other with gentle eyes. There was no more avoiding the inevitable. Hermione took her time, kissing Remus and him once each. It was not obscene or frantic—no, it was soft as if she were savoring them. He could feel the tingle of their bond at the touch, smiling against her lips and holding her close to him as long as she would allow.

With a gentle “I love you” spoken against both of their lips, she pulled back, her eyes glassy. Sirius squeezed her hip once as he said it back while Remus looked down at her. Just like the night he had sent her off to the LeStrange Chateau, he demanded, “Come back to us.”

Hermione nodded once, stiff and with lips pressed into a tight line, before looking at them one last time and backing away—making her way to the clearing on the coast.

Remus and Sirius were back a bit. The carcass of a large driftwood tree obscured them from where the last three Horcruxes rested on the sand. Hermione, Regulus, and Dumbledore were just steps away. Dorcas and the twins had their wands raised, waiting for her to begin.

Sirius wished he could see her face but leaned into Remus’s chest, his head on his shoulder, all while the wind died down—as if even the ocean and the skies knew what would come. Her curls stopped fluttering, settling in the middle of her back, touching the top of her other wand standing in her back pocket as she raised the elder wand.

Watching the movement through the haze of the disillusionment charm they had all cast on their spots, he felt his heart start to race, bile rising in his throat as he saw her wrist tremble. He couldn’t hear the vile taunts of Voldemort’s magic, but he assumed she could. It always started like that, tempting, almost seducing in nature, as it ridiculed you and sought out your weaknesses.

Only the feel of Remus’s fingers on the ring of teeth-shaped scars on Sirius’s neck could calm him as he watched the flames explode from her wand. He had heard about the cursed flames. They all had read the stories in school about how the brilliant fire would take shape and attack like it had a mind of its own. It was nearly impossible to control while engulfing its victims. And here Hermione was, her mouth wide as she screamed the word over and over again till the flame took shape.

Fiendfyre

Fiendfyre

Fiendfyre

Sirius had never seen a creature like the one that leaped from Hermione’s wand. The sight made his chest tighten and reel back as if he could feel the flames from half a beach away. He watched in horror as it moved gracefully, a snake stalking its prey as it made its way across the sand with its fangs on display. It was winged like an Amphiptere of old—creatures he once read about in a random magical creatures text when studying about werewolves.

Only crude cave drawings are left of them.

They did not have time to admire the beast she had conjured because, in seconds, it was descending on the sand, swallowing the Horcruxes whole, but the wretched things would not go down without a fight. Their screeching filled the beach with piercing chords in octaves he did not know humans could process.

Sirius pressed the heel of his hands to his ears, bent at the waist to escape the sound, and tried to block the deafening noise released from the last pieces of Voldemort’s soul. He felt every scream from them against his bones, their wails spilling everyone's secrets on the sand. The waves of sound reverberated off his limbs, crawling up his clothes and pinching at the exposed skin in the tears on his knees.

The tsunami of magic made the tides pull back in horror at the massacre of evil taking place on the beach. Only when he looked up with watery, red-rimmed eyes, the magic exerted pressure, making them feel like they might erupt in their sockets, and ignoring the spitting truths of his own insecurities, did he see it.

Hermione did not flinch. With the elder wand raised high, chocolate curls flew in the air from the force, unwavering in her dedication to destroying them. What he had not expected was for Regulus to grab her arm and be the one to cut off the power that spilled from her, putting himself in peril to help keep her alive.

In weeks to come, he would think of this moment, remembering how it had felt like her energy had been expelled for hours as she fought against the Horcruxes when it had only been minutes. He would think about how his knees hit the wet sand like he had been ripped apart from the inside out, and it felt like the lights went out in the world when her magic stopped.

Sirius would remember how foolish he was in thinking it was just the sheer force that caused his reaction.

—

It appeared Regulus had not needed to call Voldemort with the mark on his arm, no, in the end, Hermione’s power and the charred Horcruxes had done it for them.

As soon as her flames halted, stumbling back into Regulus’s arms, black apparitions started landing on the beach before them, and all hell broke loose. Remus watched in abject horror as figures in varying shades of black with twisted silver masks started appearing before them. His eyes had been glued on Hermione, but as fights broke out and disillusionment charms were dropped, he lost sight of her.

He barely had enough time to spin and stun someone who had landed behind him and Sirius. Despite the ache in his joints and pounding in his head, Remus persevered. He grabbed Sirius by his collar and yanked him up. The other wizard looked the same as he felt at that moment, and with the full moon less than 48 hours away, it was a troubling sight.

As spells continued to fire across the beach, Remus grew increasingly concerned with Sirius’s slowness to bounce back. He had felt the blast through the bond the same, but something about sluggish movements made him pause, tucking themselves back under the dead tree to examine him.

Sirius looked sallow, his eyes sunken and breathing heavy. Even over the clashing of duels and screaming of spells around them, he looked worse for wear, so different from how he appeared just minutes ago. Fishing a vial of pepper up from his pocket, Remus didn’t even ask before uncorking it with his teeth and shoving it down his lover's throat. His hand shook as he tipped the glass against his lips, glass clinking against teeth, and considered what kind of rogue spell could have hit Sirius without him knowing.

It could have been minutes or hours passing as he stared—as if his eyes might will Sirius to perk up before him. So, he crouched there, waiting while a sense of dread filled every crevice in his body. Something was terribly wrong.

He wasn’t sure if it was the mass panic invading the beach as everyone fought or if there was something more, but this wasn’t going to plan. He popped his head up to look for Hermione, ready to drag her out of there with Sirius. Damn, this mission. They could try again, it wasn’t worth their outnumbered risk. But Remus was unable to spot her. Both she and Regulus seemingly disappeared in the crossfire.

His stomach sank, and he felt the need to find her clawing at his ribs like a cat on a curtain, scratching until he could barely breathe. He frantically let his eyes ping back and forth from where he had last seen her to Sirius, Moony joining his rising panic to howl at him. The beast demanded that he hurry up in roaring growls and tugs at the bond in his chest, but he was stuck waiting.

Finally, after an eternity of holding his breath, it seemed the potion had started to work. The color returned to Sirius’s cheeks as his love realized what was happening.

“What the fuck?” Sirius hissed through clenched teeth, and Remus still wasn’t sure what had hit him, but it had to have hurt, whatever this pain was that made the infallible Sirius Black groan.

“Something's wrong. Death eaters everywhere. I haven’t seen Voldemort yet, but I also can’t see Hermione and Regulus,” he rushed out, trying to convey the urgency of their situation.

Sirius’s eyes flashed with concern as he rubbed his sternum, and Remus could feel the phantom pain of Sirius's chest as he pressed the heel of his palm into it. It was hard to differentiate in the bond—usually, nothing more than a natural draw and desire for the other—but something about the cracking he felt in his breastbone made him nervous about whatever impact Sirius had experienced.

“Can we find her with the bond, fuck it hurts,” Sirius complained, and Remus paled. The bond hurt? He had never experienced that before, and his heart sank like a stone into the bottomless pit of worry that was his stomach. The implication was terrifying that maybe these mystery gauges in the muscles of his chest were something much worse.

Remus grabbed Sirius under his arms and pulled him up, every alarm in his head alighting in fear of what this meant. He didn’t stop to explain what they were doing, just making sure Sirius was on his feet and started moving, letting Moony howl out their directions.

The beach was cramped as they danced and skirted through the throngs of duels, each bloodier and deadlier than the last. He tried not to focus on the sights around him, of putrid-colored curses flying towards people he loved. Out of the corner of his eye, he barely caught a flash of red hair, Lily and James back-to-back as they dueled like one.

Remus felt guilty that they had never understood Lily’s power and had underestimated her for years. So often, the witch was focused on potions and texts, but now, as she glided through each curse, cries of anger tearing from her lips, he understood that she had been hiding her talent. She had hung in the back of defense class innocuously only to grin as she threw a terrifying cutting charm, diffindo belting from her lungs at a masked figure before the wizard or witch cleanly split in two at the waist.

The smell of blood filled his senses, and Remus thought he might be sick when he realized why the scent was familiar. Moony prowled around his mind, mewls of rejoicing at the spilled werewolf blood seeping into the sand. The metallic blood was sharp on his nose, but something musky was also in those iron notes.

Lily Potter had just killed his maker, and she didn’t even know. He wouldn’t know if it wasn’t for the wolf in his soul celebrating the murder of Fenrir Greyback—the monster who attacked him and his love. Remus wanted to run to her, spin, and hug her in thanks but stopped when he saw her husband embrace her.

James spun at the sound, gazing at Lily as he had during their binding last night. Love and adoration were in his eyes as he kissed her despite the splatter of blood that covered her. Sirius, next to him, gasped, tearing him away from the loving moment amid chaos. Remus whipped his head to see another death eater approaching quickly, running through the sand, wand raised. Both Sirius and Remus reacted on instinct, Sirius sending an Incarcerous at the figure, and Remus, so close to the moon and seeing his friends threatened, snapped.

He thought of Hermione as he conjured the little birds chanting avis repeatedly, but unlike her dainty sparrows, which reflected the fury caged in her soft exterior, Remus was making ravens. Their beaks and claws sharpened like knives as he shouted the opungo, sending the flock on the unsuspecting victim.

Lily and James turned to look at them, sheepish in their gratitude, as the squalls of the magical birds rang in the air as they plucked at their whimpering victim. In Sirius, Remus saw glimpses of Hermione, the pleased smile he wore as he watched the birds descend made him shiver, proud that he would not be judged for the violence he would inflict for those he loved.

While he wished to wait and ask if they were okay to help them fight off any more opponents, he knew they didn’t have time. Hermione was still somewhere. He could feel her power across the beach calling to him and was ready to move again. With Sirius’s hand in his, he kept running in the direction that called subtly, Moony growling his agreement as he took steps towards the center of the fray.

Lily and James weren’t the only ones they saw as they pushed forward. They caught sight of Andromeda and Ted looking across at her sister, mirror images of each other as curses met in the middle. Remus had heard the tales of Bellatrix Lestrange’s prowess and had seen the type of damage she could inflict on Hermione’s skin. But watching her cackle and laugh while casting Avadas at her own blood made his stomach turn.

Sirius was again distracted, pulling behind as if he might help Andromeda, but Remus could see Molly and Arthur Weasley approaching and knew they had to let it be. Time was slipping through their fingers, and the longer it took to get to Hermione, the more his skin pricked with unease. It seemed unlike her not to be in the throes of battle, suspicion lurking in his gut at where she had gone.

Remus continued moving through the sand, the wet mass making it hard to keep his footing, but never stopped his forward progression despite the sinking traction. He wasn’t sure where they stood in this battle, unable to see what was transpiring as bodies and curses blurred along the coastline.

His chest burned from the exertion of running through the sand. Sirius could be heard behind him panting, but he was near the center of the battle when he saw the pathetic sight. Two of the supposed greatest wizards in the world stood no more than twenty paces apart, watching the turmoil around them, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Remus felt furious as he watched Dumbledore observe Voldemort, his wand to his side as the two eyed each other. Others had been fighting for who knows how long, and these two stood there with a line drawn in the sand, not wanting to be the first to strike.

It made him rabid, foaming at the mouth like moony under the light of the full moon, and he debated casting the first curse himself. The power in his core sparking at his fingers like Hermione’s often did from her hair, he had never felt so out of control. Remus didn’t care who he hit, just so one of them would do something. He might have found some perverse satisfaction in taking down Dumbledore at that moment, his disregard for the lives of The Order on full display.

The tyrant had let Hermione think he was helping them when he arrived, and now he stalled, letting his soldiers grow tired in the ambush. There was carnage around them. He could hear the cries of his friends and all those who had joined them today, and here was their supposed fearless leader waiting.

Remus’s palm would be raw soon with the force of his grip on the wood of his wand. He worried he might snap it from the pressure, angry at the sight that would cause him so much loss if something didn’t happen.

It felt like time stood still, watching them glare like petty housewives. He wondered how he would do it, what spell would get this show started and make things move along. But he did not have to because it was Peter who stepped up. A different sense of disappointment and rage filled him. Something pathetically sad made him choke, suffocating on memories of who Peter had been and whatever this third monster in front of him was.

He wasn’t sure where the rat came from, but Remus snarled at the sight, ready to unleash every bit of hate-filled beast he was on his former friend. He could barely believe his eyes when the person he thought was rotting in an Azkaban cell or still magically chained to a Mungo's bed started speaking to both Voldemort and Dumbledore as if he were their equal, a mediator between them.

“My lord, they are here. I know it,” Peter whimpered as Voldemort turned a twisted grin at him. He was almost handsome, and the realization made Remus’s skin crawl. Voldemort was supposed to look like the monster under his bed, noseless and waxy like the supposed future miniature James had told Hermione. He wasn’t supposed to look inviting or fatherly, even as he smiled at Peter proudly.

Bile rose in his throat as he watched Peter flush under the acceptance that desperate need to belong on display. His pathetic life as a follower had led them all to this moment, and Remus could have ripped his throat out for it.

Remus wished desperately he could transform on command and finish all three of them, starting with Peter.

But as Voldemort spoke, he lost his chance. The smooth rhythm of his voice was domineering and silky. Like the inky chill of the Horcruxes but enticing in a different sense. The inhumane nature of his bidding made Moony howl and Remus froze, concerned by how enticing it was.

“Thank you, my servant. You have done your part. Albus, If you turn over the wayward Heir Black and the time traveler, I will leave you be,” Voldemort offered, and Remus took a step forward. He’d put himself between both of their wands before he let anyone leave with Hermione. His mind reeling before he had time to think about his actions.

Why would they know about Hermione? Why would they want her? A flash of blonde hair to the side caught his attention again, and when he looked at Peter, he knew. Whatever had happened today was the fault of the three wizards before him, and Peter had found himself in the middle of it all. A broker of unforgivable deals, facilitating sins that would haunt wizarding Brittain forever.

Dumbledore surprised him, but Remus was still suspicious of the words, unsure what part of this botched plan he controlled. He wanted to bark out a laugh as the old wizard pretended like he was doing anything helpful for Hermione or Regulus. “I apologize, Tom, but I cannot do that. I do not know where they are, and I will not make anyone do something they do not want.”

Beside him, he heard a feminine scoff at the words. Remus’s heart leaped and stuttered when he realized she was here. He turned slowly to not expose her to the embodiment of evil before them, but he found the beach clear next to him. He blinked, worried his eyes were playing tricks on him. As he stared at the spot, he was certain he had heard her. Gasping at how he had finally lost it at the worst time, in the heat of battle.

Even as duels ended all around him, everyone moving to see what the two could be discussing, he could not see her, despite knowing it had been her voice. Discreetly as possible, he let his hand float out to the side as if to prove he wasn’t as mad as he felt. He had been so sure, his hope so high, to find her finally. He couldn’t let it be crushed now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shuffling of sand where no one stood, and while whatever it was tried to escape his reach, his fingertip brushed velvet. He pulled his hand back like he had been burned. Surprise shooting through the nerve endings on his fingertips and frying the last of his sanity.

Bloody brilliant witch. He smiled like a madman to himself as he thought it. The cloak— she was under the invisibility cloak. He choked down a cry of relief, happy that she had finally listened to him and that she was hidden from the battle. He wanted to crawl under it with her, to feel her skin and prove she was safe.

But he had outgrown it long ago, had been the first who could not hide his ankles in it, but now he would have gladly chopped off his feet if he could.

Moony rumbled happily when he breathed in deeply. Over the suffocating smell of cherries and herby potion, he could smell her vanilla and strawberry, old books, and flowers. He savored it, relieved for one brief moment that she was okay for now.

He wasn’t sure if she could hear it through the heavy draped fabric, but he said it anyway, begging like he never had in his entire life. Hoping she would listen, and trusting she would do the right thing for Sirius and him.

“Activate the Portkey Hermione, please.”

—

Hermione’s heart raced, the cloak stuffy as she held a wand in each hand. She prayed that the two before her would not leave the beach alive today. The battle had raged around them, and while she had been nervous, it was ultimately no different than running from snatchers. Maneuvering and fighting were like riding a bike. You never really forgot the call of battle.

Only now, she had the upper hand, the element of surprise. No one would be apparating her away today.

She and Regulus huddled together as soon as her flames were cut off, him following her instructions from that morning perfectly as they scrambled to a corner of the beach that would allow them to watch. They had waited, sending random curses and protegos through a thin sliver of fabric, when they could for their friends and family, but sat in hiding for her moment to strike.

But most had not needed it. She had watched her brothers plow through death eater after death eater, curses she had never even seen before, jealous of the knowledge and their ruthlessness when it came time. Gideon and Fabian danced and cajoled through the damage they inflicted till their opponents were nothing more than dust on the wind, mixing with the sand at their feet.

She had watched a giant sword appear in Marlene’s hands as she chased after Dorcas, her family following suit as planned, plowing through a swarm of rushing adversaries as she struck them with the Sword of Gryffindor. Hermione couldn’t think of anyone who deserved to wield it more, a match to the seismic waves of power that rolled off Dorcas. Knocking the death eaters who approached her on their backs so that Marlene could finish them with the swing of the ancient blade, the sickening crunch of its steel against bone, and the relief on their faces when it pulled away, shining with blood.

Hermione was not sure how the rest faired, but she had seen enough to turn her focus back to those who mattered. Watching two masterminds of power dance around each other was maddening, but she had to bide her time. The fiendfyre had left her shaky and unsteady, and if she wanted to finish this how she planned, she needed to recoup.

Regulus cast a muffilato around them but kept his voice low. “How long will they keep this up?” His disdain-laced words pulled at the hate she was trying to keep locked tightly in herself.

It had been paralyzing to see the manifestation of all the hate she had allowed to infect her in the flames. It was as if the curse had released some of that pent-up agony that had lived in her since Leticia’s death while also calling to her, asking her for more power, more anger, and magic to feed it.

If Regulus had not stopped her, she was unsure how she would have done it herself. Hermione understood why wizards like Dumbledore and Tom Riddle went mad with that kind of power, hungry like famished dogs to lap at the smallest morsels.

“Till the carnage is enough to solidify their legacy,” she offered, and something dark passed over Regulus’s eyes. It was as if he was finally realizing how far their destruction ran, how infamy and power were the undoing of all.

His lips were pressed into a tight line, white with pressure, as he debated how to respond, and she let him stew. Hermione feared they had more time than needed as the two wizards circled each other. She saw a shared disappointment in his eyes, that he, too, was not surprised by the games that played out before them but was so used to it that the surprise no longer stung. Finally, having had enough, he asked her, not looking away but with a dark knowing chuckle, “So who do you think will win?”

She did not look at him either, both staring straight ahead, afraid the remnants of Sirius in his face would make her falter. Instead, Hermione looked out through the hazy fabric, as she promised, “Neither, hopefully.”

Regulus did not bother her again until Sirius and Remus approached, both of them standing centimeters away. It was tempting to reach out and seek comfort, to offer what she had to heal them, but she needed to stay hidden. If Regulus wanted to join the fight, he could, but she needed this last bit of protection—she couldn’t give up the cloak until it was time.

When Peter made his way to the dune, she felt her heart start to race again, the calmness she had adopted for battle growing weak as the last pieces of her plan clicked into place. Hermione shivered when she remembered what she had found in his mind before Andromeda obliviated him. The memory of what she had asked Dorea and Andromeda to do, and the disappointed look in Dorea’s eyes when the ask was made.

“Voldemort needs to know it’s me. He won’t let me get close if he doesn’t. He’ll want to kill me because of the threat, but his ego will want him to make a show of it,” Hermione explained as she caught Dorea in the halls of Prewett Manor just before leaving for Hogwarts.

Andromeda looked down her nose at the idea, worried they were stretching this plan too far. “And if this Tom Riddle can tell that we’ve altered his mind that much? Peter is not bright enough to find a loophole in an unbreakable vow,”

“No, but Dumbledore is. He’s been using Peter as a messenger, making secret threats, and offering chances of surrender. It won’t seem odd that Dumbledore can.” Dorea’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered how to use whatever scorn Dumbledore felt for Hermione in their favor. Her nod was slow and grim as she conceded to the idea.

Andromeda did not respond verbally either, simply turning on the spot to finish the job and be done with the rat. As if they both hated that she was right, but they would never hate it as much as she did.

Hermione had found it funny then how much could be said in angry glares and disappointed glances, but now as she watched Sirius and Remus observe their former friend’s final betrayal, she understood the true power had been in the secrets bartered, the words that were said to only a few. No mind games would overshadow what a few choice phrases could do.

The bickering between Dumbledore and Voldemort came to a head, an argument over lives that did not matter to either of them. Regulus and Hermione were the dirt beneath their shoes but bartering chips for popularity all the same.

“Albus, if you turn over the wayward Heir Black and the time traveler, I will leave you be,” Voldemort offered like it was as simple as snapping his fingers, his ease at this negotiation unnerving.

Dumbledore remained calm, chipper even as he peppered back, “I apologize, Tom, but I cannot do that. I do not know where they are, and I will not make anyone do something they do not want.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes at the worthless signal of support for her. He had every opportunity twice now to do right by herm if he would have just thought about someone else besides himself. What could have changed if he actually cared? He should have done so many things to save witches and wizards like her. But he hadn’t, and now here she was, all their regrets coming to a head.

And so, it continued dissolving into jabs and demands. She had been surprised by how young the supposed Dark Lord looked, like a sneering teen against the aged and greying Dumbledore, proof that greed was the same no matter the experience. The seconds ticked down, each wizard growing angrier, poking the other with insults and barbs.

When Remus tried to reach out to touch her, as in the scene before they drew a crowd, she leaned in close to Regulus instead. Her heart was in her throat at them being so close. She couldn’t have them in the way of whatever happened or stopped her plan. She double-checked the muffilato, layering a ward over the cloak to ensure she had the utmost privacy when she asked him or really demanded. “You must hold Sirius and Remus back when the time comes. You’ll know.”

Regulus tried to open his mouth and object or maybe clarify what she meant, but they didn’t have time. All those dragging minutes from earlier had been spent, and now, at last, Dumbledore raised his wand, a silent threat to the man who would one day be the darkest wizard to ever live.

Voldemort did not back down. Instead, he raised his voice in defiance, his voice like silk as he challenged, “I grow tired of your games, Albus. Always the same teasing and offering and never following through. Make no mistake, I will kill everyone on this beach if you do not!”

“Even your own followers?’ Dumbledore countered.

“The ones worth having will know when to leave.”

Voldemort was quick on the draw, the bone-like wand he held flying up from his hip, a purple curse flying towards Dumbledore. Her former headmaster did not hesitate, meeting him in the middle with a flash of vibrant blue, the two spells colliding in an explosion.

By that point, Hermione was no stranger to duels, whether in her day-to-day training or just by observing the wreckage that had transpired around her, but still, she was mesmerized by the ferocity of the spell work and fighting.

Each wizard moved with enough force that it seemed to rattle the earth, almost all of it wordless as they tried to predict what the other would do next. Her jaw hung open in awe at the rainbow of colors before her. She could respect their expertise in pushing and pulling off skilled wizards, even if she hoped they both perished. Even the beast of anger she had chained down into her chest was cowering in the face of their mastery.

For the first time since starting this journey, despite all the grief and agony at her strategic risks, she felt fear. Hermione had thought that when it came time to face Voldemort, she would feel vindicated, excited to finally unleash all that she could, and willing to risk those she loved and pull on their power to do it. But now, as Dumbledore and Voldemort struck in rapid succession, she found herself asking why her?

Hadn’t she given enough?

Why did she have to face this?

She had laughed to herself once at the idea of dominating such a wizard, but now, as Dumbledore started to struggle and Voldemort’s green light advanced on him, she felt her eyes prick with tears. She pulled at her cuticles until they were raw and bleeding and pushed her hair behind her ears anxiously. It would be her soon. Voldemort was not weak enough to be defeated by just the Horcruxes; he was stronger than she ever imagined.

She had hoped he would put on a show to finally be done with Dumbledore, and she hated for one brief moment that she was right. Voldemort, despite having only fragments of his soul left, was still the most powerful wizard in the world. As the gasps and cries of other witches and wizards around her grew, so did the yells for joy as death eaters joined to watch, all abandoning their previous duels to take part in this final battle.

Slowly, inch by inch, green pushed red back, and Voldemort advanced on Dumbledore.

Grain of sand by grain of sand, Dumbledore started to stumble. Hermione didn’t feel pity for him. She felt it for those who would lose a hero today, for the man he might have been at one point before entitlement and greedy love poisoned his mind.

For all the anxiety that crawled over her skin like ants, the pity she felt for him burned like a single candle in a window, a call to action so that no more like him could hurt her and her family. That pity extinguished, though, snuffed as Voldemort shouted “Avada Kedavra,” one last time, his voice hoarse, and the spell struck Dumbledore’s chest, the light and devious twinkle leaving his eyes.

Voldemort threw his hands wide, spinning in victory. His loyal followers cheered in the background and shot dark marks into the sky at his triumph.

With a painful swallow, she knew it was her time to act. Hermione shed herself of the cloak, leaving a gaping Regulus behind her. If she were going to do this, she could not hide from death. Hermione would face him head-on and hope that the gods were in her favor.

At one point, she had dreamed of giving a giant speech, something poetic in these final moments, but instead, she presented herself like a pig for slaughter. A wand in each hand as she trudged forward. She could hear the pounding footsteps of others following but blocked out their voices.

She couldn’t afford the distraction of love at a time like this.

Hermione found herself before Voldemort in an instant, her strides long and quick as she settled her feet shoulders width apart, just as Gideon and Fabian had taught her. Someone called for her in the distance, and Voldemort looked up from his gloating at Dumbledore’s death, shock morphing to pleasure on his face when he saw her.

“Hermione Prewett, are you here to surrender since-” The handsome man before her spat the next word, refusing to even use Dumbledore’s name. “he would not?” but she could hear his panting breaths, a sign her plan was working.

She held onto that little bit of hope, keeping it from the beast in her heart. Hermione released the breath she had been holding on her walk over, her voice shaky as she raised her eyes to meet his. His lack of humanity was confirmed in his crimson eyes.

She thought of Sirius when she faked a smirk, of Remus when she relaxed her shoulders, and of her love for them both when she raised the elder wand and said, “Hello, Tom.”

Before screeching “fiendfyre” again, the same horrible pain traveled up her arm as the winged serpent exploded from her wand. Her smile became true when surprise lit up Voldemort’s face. Her muscles ached, but she held fast, funneling every bit of her magic into the spell that slinked across the sand. Fast and vicious, it began to strike Voldemort. She let the pain ground her, thinking of the water she had loved, of how good it would feel when the waves finally caught her when this was done.

The water would be a comfort her to when she finished this.

She learned about fiendfyre weeks and months ago, in an old account tucked deep in the Prewett library, when Lily discovered it fed on magic. It’s a simple curse. It maintains itself to a fault. It’s designed to be instinctual, layered as one with the caster.

So, she let it take over her, poured her soul into the flames even as she felt them rise inside her, licking up her nerves as if she might combust herself. Voldemort sent his own curses, but the serpent had become alive with all the magic she pushed into the wand. It twisted and taunted him, and while he tried to defend against it, she started to tug. It consumed everything he threatened her with like a guard dog. Swallowing his dark magic whole and fueling its flames even more.

Hermione pushed all her guilt away, seeking out the threads that tied her to her loves. She had tugged them earlier and had been practicing all morning, and now she knew she could do it. It was like occluding, something she had practiced for hours in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, separating her magical core from her mind.

As her core continued to push the fiendfyre, she stole. Like a thief in the night, tainting the joy and love she had shared with Remus and Sirius the night before, she took from them. She tried to be conservative, to not drain them like she was herself. But it took everything she had to make the second wand in her hand spark green.

It was subtle at first, but it felt like a current of electricity swirling with the flames in her. She raised that other arm and thought not about love this time. Peter had told her you needed to mean it. And Hermione meant it, she really did.

She hated Voldemort with more passion than she had ever felt before. She hated him for Harry, Ron, and Ginny from her past. Her first mother Helen and Leticia. Fo Sirius and Remus, Lily, and James, who had accepted and loved her now. And for the Prewetts she had never met, and Molly, who had her family ripped from her.

She hated him, even more so than with Dolohov, because this time, she didn’t even need to whisper it. Hermione knew how much fury it had taken last time, and she felt that a million times over now.

She felt like her chest was cracking open with rage as Remus and Sirius’s power flowed through her. Black spots invaded her vision, and her mouth went dry as she started. Her lungs felt as if they had turned to ash, the taste of soot on her tongue.

Hermione was not sure she could have said the words even if she wanted to. So she thought of the spell, formed an image of green light in her mind, and believed that all the hate she felt in the world was greater than the love she cherished.

Avada Kedvara, Hermione chanted in her emptied mind, like the muggle prayers of her parents. The last thing she saw before everything disappeared, the colors swimming together just as they had when she had been sent back in time, was another flash of green light, stronger this time, barreling from the wand she had gotten at 11—the one Olivander had chosen for an eager and scared muggleborn girl.

She was still afraid now, less eager and more jaded, but finally proud as the neon curse hit its target while dancing flames swallowed their victim whole.

—-

Pandora felt it first. Even half a country away, she could feel the world shift again, the island they called home quaking beneath her feet. Like that day in Xeno’s garden, she buckled, the weight of life-changing magic overwhelming her.

She had never hated her gift more than she did then. She had always known this was coming but pathetically wished she could have seen past this moment, but she never had, despite all her begging to the goddesses who taunted her with their clues. All the fates had ever shown her were flashes of light, green spells hitting each other, and a sea of flames shaking the entire beach. She didn’t know how this war would end, and now she’s afraid because this much magic can’t be good.

Charlis stands there, frozen in his spot on the sand with his wife by his side, like everyone who has caught wind of what is happening. He’s looking across the beach at the sight, and something akin to awe builds in him.

James had never known a world without love. He grew up in a loving home with friends who are like family. He thought he would die for them, but as he watched Hermione cast the final spells, he realized he would never know what it is like to love that much.

Fabian had never felt so angry, holding onto Gideon as the fury burned him. He could sense his knuckles turning white, a physical protest at what was happening. His anger rolls inside him, filling every inch of his soul till he feels little else. He watches one witch give herself up for all of them. Because she felt like she had to, and they had done nothing to stop her. They hadn’t done enough to make her want to stay. He hates that Hermione doesn’t even look back at them to say goodbye. She just stares death down and never once flinches.

Dorea had never respected someone as much as she did Hermione. High and mighty, narcissism was in her Black blood. At one point in her life, she thought she had given up everything for this cause. Turned her back on her family and started a new, found Charlus, and committed herself to this fight through the Order and her personal bidding. It all felt so small as she watched Hermione give everything for a world that would never thank her. Who may never know who she was.

Gideon had never wished for death before. He had a good family and a best friend in his twin brother. But he did then. He wished for the death Hermione had initially told them would come. Because then he wouldn’t have to see her do this. He wanted to look away, to stare at his brother, and forget this was happening, but as her cries swelled and his hopelessness built, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Lily had never felt so foolish. She prided herself on being the smartest person in the room, but right then, she felt like a fool—a broken, helpless fool because she did not see this coming. She looked at Barty, hoping to see his signature annoyance on his face, anything to escape the sight before them. What she found only makes her shame worse. The lanky boy she’d let into her life looked unsurprised, his face blank as Hermione held both wands out. He knew, she realizes. She spent hours with them both, and yet Barty figured it out, and she didn’t—a proper fool.

Barty had never made anyone proud, but Hermione told him she was proud of him on this same dreary stretch of beach. He missed the burn of cold salt water and the sting of the nighttime ocean air. Any of it would be better than the grief that mounted in him. Hermione told him she was proud of what he had become and of the fate he had avoided, laughing when offered anyone else besides her to do this. She said it would be okay that she was confident despite the risks, but it seems she lied. He wished he was still a disappointment, it must be better than this feeling.

Regulus had never known a life without regrets. If being born was a choice, he would wish he could take it back. But his greatest is that he did nothing to stop this. He had been so blinded by how happy his brother was that he didn’t see the signs and had ignored them. He let hope sink its teeth into him, blinding him to reason. Sirius asked him to help keep her safe, and Regulus failed. He feared the consequences of his inaction would be irreversible. As his brother's screams float to him on the icy wind whipping around them, Regulus’s heart hurts. He regrets that he’s let another person ruin his brother again.

Pain is not a new experience for Remus. He has grown used to the feeling of his skin tearing and bones breaking, but nothing can prepare him for the utter devastation that rips through him like knives as he feels her give up every ounce of power she has into the curse. He can feel his power leach out of him like the sun's burning rays have pierced holes in his weak human flesh.

The light of his magic drips from his core like a tap that has been left to run. He can’t even fight it. He knows that if he does, she won't win. She’s almost done it now. He can see the green light from her wand gaining traction, pushing forward. He’s not excited, though. No, he’s angry. He feels someone grab him by his chest. Their arms banded around him, dragging him away from her down the dune. This stranger trying to hold him back from grabbing Hermione and shaking her in anger. He’s like a dog on a chain, clawing in the sand to get to her, and it matches the monster within him. Remus loves Hermione, but he’s never hated someone more at the same time.

Guilt has always been a comfort for Sirius. But as he watches her crumple to the ground like a rag doll, her body wrung dry, the guilt is unbearable. He can hear someone screaming angry, wretched sobs in the distance. He doesn’t know that it's him. Sirius breaks free of whatever pathetic hold someone has on him, their feeble attempts at keeping him away from her were pointless.

He crawls across the wet sand, the rough granules digging into his knees, and he finally understands how she finds comfort in the frigid water of the beach, the pain feels better than whatever is building in his mind and heart. Sirius can’t stop himself from pulling her limp form into his arms, her limbs leaving trails in the sand as he grapples for her like a greedy child. It is with horror that his stomach is threatening to come up because she’s cold to the touch.

Hermione’s never cold. She’s the sun, warm and bright and good.

He leans down to kiss her, to tell her she’s done it. Something must be wrong with his mouth and tongue, though, because every kiss they’ve ever shared, even when they were lost to grief, held a spark and had been sweet. But all he can taste is the metallic tang of blood. He pulls back, horrified, watching it drop from her nose onto her colorless lips.

Chapter Text

The water was soothing as it rushed onto the beach and engulfed her, waves brushing against her limbs, the foam coating her. Yet somehow, it didn’t soak her jeans like it usually did. There was no biting chill left as they retreated into the ocean. Instead, it seemed to cleanse, washing away all the sore muscles and grime of battle, counteracting the aftershocks of magic that made her aching muscles twitch.

For once, the sea’s embrace felt warm and welcoming on her raw skin.

Hermione could feel the sun’s rays as they cascaded down on her. Another comfort helping to banish the torment that had taken over in those last few moments of battle—it was the best she’d felt in months. Warm and downy, like a comforter fresh from the line, having baked dry in the garden—one that her mother had brought inside, wrapping her in the toasty cotton.

Pandora had been right, even if the water was not cold, the ocean and the beach still held her like a small child after everything Hermione had done. Weightless like a feather in its swells, her burdens were finally gone.

She kept her eyes closed, letting the sun wash over her with a humid breeze. She wanted to enjoy that feeling for a little longer—that floaty feeling, like her body was nothing more than fresh-washed cotton on the line. Hermione was not sure she’d ever felt that good. The closest had been was when the bond formed in her chest. But it’s faint now, and her skin craves the magic that seems to twist and reach for the beams of light pouring down on her as her heart calls for Sirius and Remus.

Even the sand is soft and wispy, pillowing her head and filtering through her curls like a sieve. Hermione finds she likes this version of the beach more than the one she had made her safe haven. So, she stayed for as long as she could, letting the hours pass as her body shed its skin and dawned anew.

She finally opened her eyes when the heat started to make her brow sweat and her cheeks pink and hot to the touch. Using her hand to shield herself from the rays, Hermione found the sky bright blue above her, opposite the grey that welcomed her to 1978.

Fluffy white clouds moved slowly on the wind, calming her racing heart and distracting from the prickling thoughts in the back of her mind. She took a deep breath and let the smell of brine and seaweed fill her senses. Thinking that maybe she could stay for a while, that this must be good for the soul, she’s earned this little moment.

Would it be so bad to meet her maker here when she feels like this and has to come to peaceful terms with ignoring her choices?

She’s not sure her heart can admit to the selfishly selfless act she performed at the end. Imagining what Remus and Sirius’s fury or Lily and Molly’s disappointment would look like is an ugly sight, and her chest twists with grief.

But somewhere in the distance, she can hear voices, delicate like a bird’s wings fluttering in the sky, and knows it is time. Her choices always catch up to her, don’t they? Even when Dorea let her make and did not stand in her way, she had warned Hermione of the fall out with her glances and stares from the begining.

No matter how tender the voices are, they still shatter her faux reality of relaxation, and Hermione’s heart picks up at who it could be. Painfully hopeful that maybe it’s not death just yet. A greedy part of her wants it to be her friends and family. The ache of not having them is growing now that she remembers more of why she’s here, the image of Tom Riddle being hit with her Avada.

Morbidly, she wonders if dead witches' prayers mean the same as the living ones. She hopes they do, as she prays that no one else received one after him. The thought of anyone else joining her makes her stomach fill with lead, sinking down at the reason why. No one should be here yet. That was the whole point of her choices.

Hermione has found that waiting rarely goes in her favor. Pushing herself up, surprised that her arms weren’t sore, and took a deep breath. Relieved that her lungs no longer felt like they were full of burning charcoal and ash, as the beach cured her of all her wounds. The painful memory of Voldemort’s demise at her hands is a last bit of twisted comfort before moving ahead, nervous that it might be him she meets here.

With a slow turn of her head, she looks out into the distance, trying to find the voices and decide if she is strong enough to face them. On a far dune, just in front of Shell Cottage, she can see two figures. It’s hard to make them out as the heat distorts the air, waves of warmth squiggling across their features, but she stands anyway. It appears her maker will not wait for her any longer, her weak and brittle magic pulling in the direction of her former home.

The steps are light, and the dry sand is much easier to walk on than the wet soupy mass she had trudged through earlier, but the feeling of dread is the same. Her reprieve from it was short-lived, and the feeling that consumed her before the battle seeps into her gut. Hermione already misses the sunbathing she had indulged in, her dark, magic-tainted mind wondering who might have been unlucky enough to join her here.

When she spots a head of salt and pepper grey hair, though, she starts running. Even through the heat waves, she knows who those locks belong to. The faintest hints of strawberry weave in and out of the lightest pieces, glittering like the sand under her feet. She wonders if Cornwall has become some kind of desert and if this is a mirage because the sight of Leticia feels like a gift and a curse at the same time, almost too surreal to accept.

She skids to a stop in front of a garden table she’s never seen before, white painted iron and cushioned chairs like from a fairy tale, with a full tea set out. The sight of Leticia sitting there, waiting for her with tea, affection, and sympathy in her motherly gaze. Leticia looks exactly like she has done so many times before in Prewett Manor, and it makes Hermione choke.

“Hello, Hermione,” Leticia smiles gently, not showing her teeth, but it’s genuine as it dips into the corners of her cheeks. Her head tilts to the side, motioning towards a seat beside her on a little loveseat, as she looks up at Hermione. Leticia looks remarkably younger but still carries graceful wrinkles around her eyes and laughter-earned brackets around her mouth. Her wizarding mother’s skin is still smooth and creamy, light as a sugar cube, but now it has color on the high points of her face. And most of all, her eyes sparkle, that dove grey glinting like feathers in the sun.

Tears well in Hermione’s eyes, and she’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that or how different she looks. It would be impossible for Leticia to look like this in life. A horrible realization that her fears are true, that she’s past the point of breathing and now shares this space with healthy Leticia.

When Hermione doesn’t immediately respond, Leticia chuckles, motioning towards the empty seat again. “Will you join us, sweet girl?”

Hermione scrambles to her spot, only now realizing another is with them. Her treacherous heart had hoped for a fleeting minute that it might have been her first mother, Helen, but she finds a stranger looking back at her with opal-like grey eyes, glistening in amusement at Hermione’s lack of manners.

“You two have not met before but know each other well, Hermione. This is Alphecca Black Prewett.” Her head feels like it’s on a swivel, spinning back and forth from Leticia to Alphecca, trying to process how she ended up here with them.

With the few pieces of sanity she has left, she faces the distantly familiar witch, taking in her smooth porcelain skin, like cream in a saucer, her dark signature Black hair pulled back in smooth braids that wrap around her head. There is no sign of shiny ringlets and curls on her, but Hermione can see the resemblance all the same. Dressed in intricate lace and pearls traveling up her neck, Hermione offers a hoarse “Hullo” to the beautiful but intimidating witch.

Alphecca’s smile is more of a curling smirk, half her mouth pulling back into a dimple, reminding her of Sirius. “It’s lovely to meet you finally, Hermione Prewett. Leticia has told me all about you and your paramours.”

Leticia’s laugh is bright and loud, making Hermione’s head spin even more. These two seem to share some deep camaraderie, and the only relationship she can imagine between them is nestled into the pages of an overly descriptive journal—one that guided Hermione to this exact spot.

Sensing her confusion, Leticia interrupts. Her voice is warm and smooth, her smile is gentle and motherly, much like the one she uses with her grandchildren. “Well, my dear, what would you like to ask us?”

“Ask you?” Hermione’s mind stumbles at the idea. Ask them? What is she to ask two dead witches? One she barely knows, and the other she misses like a limb. This feels like either a cruel game or a trick for someone who has lost their way, but the desperate are always willing to play.

“Yes? With the time you have with us, what do you want to know? Who knows, maybe we can tell you the new future as you told me the old one once,” she winks at Hermione, more playful than Hermione remembers her. She had always been quick and full of knowledge, but now she seems so free that it cracks something in her chest. Sad that she never got to see this side of Leticia.

Hermione is stuck for a few moments, a million questions running through her head, but one word seems to dominate them all. The two witches watch her eagerly to see what she might say, and she hopes she doesn’t disappoint them when the only thing she can think of is, “Why?”

Leticia purses her lips, tapping her finger against them as she considers the possibilities, her other hand weaving with Hermione’s to hold it, reaffirming squeezes as she answers. “Hmm, that is quite the question, is it not? Why what? Why did all three of us find ourselves in this family with little choice? Why did you and Alphecca find yourselves loved by two wizards, one sharing a predicament few do? Why did you land on this beach? Why did Alphecca and I carry a blood curse? Why did Voldemort exist at all? Why did you ever meet a Mr. Harry Potter? The questions are endless, and thus are the answers.”

Leticia teases her, her tone buoyant and jesting, but Hermione wants to know everything. While she can’t find the anger that has fused itself to her ribs—as if her lungs are no longer filled with viscous bloody rage—she can still feel some frustration.

She has always wanted to know more and consumed knowledge like air. She hungers to understand why them. Why did this path have to be the way? The reality of her situation settles on her shoulders as she examines them, waiting for Leticia to start on one of the questions that swirl in her mind. She knows the witch can see into her thoughts. Hermione doesn’t even try to hide her irises, offering them up freely for invasion.

Only after raising one elegant eyebrow in question and pride at Hermione’s plea for everything does she finally clarify, looking over to Alphecca, “Why did it have to be this way?”

“Mmmm, that is a tricky one. The fates make their decisions and cut the threads as they see fit. They hide their faces from us, so we may not know if they are doing it for malice or entertainment. But they do it all the same. I can’t tell you why, Hermione, only that it was you, us, and them. Would you change it? Give them up for a different path?” Alphecca’s voice was cooler than Leticia’s, more practiced like it often graced courts and balls.

But it also reminded her of Pandora’s sing-songy lilt in its delivery, her words spoken confidently despite their dance around the question.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Hermione answered honestly. The thought made her heart feel heavy, and her mind slowed with grief.

Leticia squeezed Hermione’s hand tighter, pulling them closer. The cool touch of Leticia’s skin was a welcome memory, and like a cat, Hermione laid her hot face on their clasped palms. Leticia did not hesitate to cup her cheek, cooling her sunburnt cheeks and speaking to her. “You did a remarkable thing, Hermione. You deserve to reap those benefits, my love. You earned them.”

“I earned their scorn.” She knows the witch doesn’t need legilimency to understand that. The loss is written all over her face. Even with this chance to be with Leticia again, she still misses Remus and Sirius more.

“Ha! You did, but they are forgiving wizards. They have loved you through worse.” Alphecca laughs at her, which makes Hermione bristle. Who is she to try to understand her wizards? Just because they shared a connection does not mean they are the same.

She turns, her eyes narrowed, as she bites, “I lied.” Hermione drags the word out as if it might be the final nail in her forever coffin—the most damning thing she’s done in this life.

“And so did Leticia, but here you are mewling in her lap like a cat,” the reminder strikes deep, and Hermione turns with watery eyes to look at the woman who gave her this path, with hardship and love.

“A kneazle, most likely for this one. She holds a grudge like one, too. I can see it in her eyes. Our Hermione is not happy with me, but I love her the same.” Leticia brings Hermione’s head down all the way to her lap. Running her fingers through Hermione’s curls, the nails on her scalp lulling her to sleep, making it hard for her to fight back against the statement.

It feels like all those nights when she was drained and injured before she knew what Sirius and Remus’s love could do. Cool hands on her clammy forehead like shes in a fever dream. Hermione feels herself growing tired again, and she debates, just sleeping forever. Her emotions were a heavier burden than what had become of her body in the end.

Leticia whispers, pressing the chilly back of her hand to Hermione’s now sweating hairline, her icy knuckles jerking Hermione awake again. “Hermione, the longer you stay, the harder it will be to go. Ask your questions, but if you wish to leave, we will not hold onto you.”

“How? I can’t just, what? Wake up?” She says through yawns and sleepy blinks, her limbs getting heavier and heavier.

“Can you still feel them? Is the pull of the bond still lurking?” Alphecca asked eagerly, and Hermione placed her fingers against her sternum, surprising herself by finding a gold locket against her skin. Her eyes widened when she remembered what she had.

She fished the locket out of her sweater, her limbs slow to move as she begged the two witches, “Will it work here? I can see them. Ask if they want me to come back,” hoping for the best but scared of the worst.

“No, not exactly. They live, my dear, and that is not how the tale goes, but do you live? With secrets and two lives? Do you breathe child of time?” Hermione wasn’t sure what to do. The missing pain from her lungs no longer felt like a relief. It was a death sentence now.

“But Death is like any other God. He likes to play games and barter with the fates when he does not like their decisions. Let it roll three times, but do not think of the living. Imagine the dead. I think you will find that your wizards have just enough to help you wake.” Alphecca’s voice had grown ethereal, entrancing, pulling on the tiredness of Hermione’s mind as she tried to interpret what she meant.

She looked at the witch who shared so much but also so little and asked, finding her face now obscured by a veil, lace netting draped over her braids, sitting high on her head like a crown, “Will I see you again?”

“Mmmm, not me, but I think Leticia has someone she needs to visit soon. Maybe you can meet him, too.” The voice was inside her head now, sweet and smooth, and she could feel the timber of Alphecca’s voice down her spine. “Let it roll,” whispered into her like a song, even as Leticia began to address her again.

She pinched at Hermione’s cheeks, though, trying to keep her awake, “You will see me again, sweet girl, just as you see Helen in the waves, Sirius in the stars, Ginerva in the garden of Molly’s home, and Remus in the moon. You will see me in many ways, and I will see you, too. It is time, Hermione, roll the stone.”

“And if they don’t want me to come back?” Her voice was fragile, shattering on the potential truth, her cheeks wet with tears she didn’t know she had.

“When has fear ever stopped you, my time-traveling daughter? Find the threads to them and pull. They will guide you home.”

She had one last question, not for herself but for them. Her weighty tongue, too large for her mouth, made her slur, “Will I take too much? I have already stolen so much from them.”

“They have just enough for you.”

She could no longer tell who was speaking to her, “I’m ready.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Goodbye, I love you.”

“And I love you. Till we meet again, Hermione.”

She fiddled with the ancient locket’s clasp with shaky, sticky fingers, working the fine metal until it clicked. Her arms burned again much like they had when holding the fiendfyre, the effort to keep them up overwhelming, but once again, she persevered. Hermione let the locket pop open, a little black stone tumbling into her palm.

She squeezed it once, tears pricking her eyes. She felt fear, regret, excitement, joy, and unease at the unknown but was ready. She could no longer wait. Hermione let the little stone tumble between her fingers, feeling every sharp facet and edge as it fumbled around three times in her palm.

She tried to laugh, but no sound came out, the humor in it all that the accidental spin of a broken time turner against her chest could feel so similar to the bite of a jagged stone in her fist.

Her vision blurred with tears as she looked back up at Leticia, committing this rosy, bright-eyed version of the elder witch to her memory before the world started to blur. The colors spun again, but much slower this time, and she felt her core reach out on its own to tug on the magic that had woven itself with hers.

Eventually, everything goes white instead of black this time—almost fluorescent—and she blinks, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes as she squints, shouting making its way through her cotton-stuffed ears.

“Barty, can you bloody not today?”

“Oh, come off it, Red, you know it was funny.”

“Pretending Hermione has perverted dreams while in a coma isn’t funny.”

“She has two husbands. Why wouldn’t she dream of them? I dream of multiplying Ev all the time.”

“You are gross.”

“And you are a prude.”

“I am not!”

Hermione’s throat and tongue are dry, like on the beach with Voldemort, and she misses the relief of tea in the sun with Leticia and Alphecca. But she tries to wet them, swallowing painfully. Separating her lips is another obstacle, but she feels frantic to interrupt this bickering. The motion felt like scraping them against the concrete. The skin on her mouth was tight, and there was the faint taste of iron on her tongue as she tried to speak.

“I did think of them. It just wasn’t dirty.” She offers to their quarrel, hoping the humor garners their forgiveness. Wincing at the brightness, she tries to open her eyes again too see if her joke land. The two stop quarreling immediately, and Hermione can barely see anything, blurred by tears and her eyes stuck together with the remnants of sleep, as she slowly adjusts to the harsh light.

Suddenly, she can feel hands on her face and in her hair, paired with happy coughing sobs. Hearing Lily’s gasping screams makes her break. Tears pour down her face in earnest, and she fights the blanket she’s been tucked into, grasping blindly at her friends, even though it feels like her limbs are moving through sludge.

Someone is in bed with her, and all three are crying in earnest now, “Fucking Salazar, you are awake. Crazy bitch can’t even die in peace,” Barty laughs through hiccups, and someone has thankfully lowered the lights, and she can open her eyes to get a better look at him, even if it’s just his shoulders and the arms around her neck.

When she turns, she finds Lily has crawled into the cot with her. “Let her go. It’s my turn,” she demands, red-faced and tear-stained already. What Hermione doesn’t expect is that when Barty pulls back, Lily smacks her arm.

“What the hell?” Hermione shouts, pulling her arm to her chest, and Barty returns to his cackling just as she remembers.

“That is what you get for that stupid shite you pulled. Bloody martyr that no one asked for! Just wait till Molly gets here. She’s going to rip you a new one.” She sniffles as she scolds, and Hermione relaxes at the normalcy of it all.

“I don’t think I’ll mind, but before her, can I see–” she can’t even say their names, her throat clogging as she imagines their anger, but will take it now, feeling foolish that she ever thought being away might be worth it.

“Oh, Salazar fuck, we need to call them” Hermione watches in awe as a small raccoon leaps from Barty’s wand and scampers away. She turns to him wide-eyed and stunned, the two smiling at each other in wonder and pride at the miracle the other just committed.

—

Remus paced the dining room of Prewett Manor. He wasn’t sure why he had come here, still unable to step foot in Shell Cottage. The smell of Hermione had sunk into every crevice in the wood and ingrained itself into every soft fiber. He’d debated putting a permanent locking and sticking charm on the door of her room when he’d found Sirius angry and crying in it one night.

It was like a shrine to what they had been, all those good, happy memories preserved in a space that felt more like a museum than the cozy home it had been. Now, when he thought of her, all he smelled was the clinical clean of St. Mungo’s, masking the scent of strawberries and books. It was stringent and abrasive, making Moony howl in displeasure.

He’d gotten sick the first week she was in the coma, almost unable to move, drained of energy and magic. Molly had forced him to eat something, thinking it was an act of kindness, not another form of torture. She had placed a fresh pile of strawberry scones before him, and the response had been instantaneous. He’d leaned over and wretched right then and there till he was nothing but a gagging sobbing mess.

Sirius had tried to rub his back, but Remus had brushed him off. He was too mad to even consider the comfort, the stages of grief working through him like a plague. By that point, he was past any denial of their situation, smack dab in the middle of anger.

Rage had boiled in him and left his throat raw, just like the bile that held residency in his stomach. That stage had been the worst, angry at her for the selfish decision to risk herself, and he was mad at everyone else too. Remus even snapped at Lily when she came over to help, only for the witch to snip back, her emotions becoming painful triggers. Both of them ended up in a screaming match about who was more upset.

Sirius had spent longer in denial, and Remus had known much too quickly what had transpired. There was no ignoring the situation for him. He had felt Hermione drain them until he could barely move, laying on the sand like a shell of a wizard, and it had only taken hours to understand what happened.

Remus had looked down at her hospital bed and sneered, not even days after, and he had demanded of her why. Hermione hadn’t answered, of course, almost looking like she was sleeping, but there were no little snores or twitches of her lips as he wailed and gnashed his teeth. Hating himself for being cruel to her when she was so still and pale. Her lips were white, and her freckles were stark against what had been golden skin.

Molly had braided her hair, and Dorcas had painted her nails, but still, the sight of her so lifeless for weeks had left him bitter. Anger soon fizzled to a brief stint in bargaining, going as far as to beg Sybill Trelawney to look into the future as to what might happen if she ever woke up. He knew Hermione would hate him for pursuing such a ludicrous option, but he was desperate to know anything and not willing to upset an already distraught Pandora.

And now, on week eight, he was deep in depression. Lily had banished him from mopping around the hospital room. Claiming his energy was terrible for her healing and that he had gotten too thin. It had just made him feel shittier that if she did wake up, he would look like this. Sunken eyes and grey pallor to match hers.

It was that depression, that need for hurt, that drove him to Prewett Manor. The twins had been doing everything they could to clean it up, having gone into slight disarray in the few months without Leticia, but he was alone today. Walking the halls in Hermione’s invisibility cloak, hiding from his own reflection. He remembered Hermione’s curls bouncing down, a stack of books levitating beside her, and a finger sandwich in her hand that she had swiped from tea with Leticia.

The memories made him wheeze. Each one was like more water filling his lungs, a choking reminder that here he was, walking around like an invisible ghost while she lay on a cot looking like one.

The memory of the former Lady Prewett and the phantom comparisons pulled him to the dining room. Wondering if he was slipping back into bargaining or anger, he sought out her empty portrait. His teeth ground against each other, and his hands balled into fists as he stomped down the stairs toward the glass French-encased room.

He started before he was even through the threshold, ripping the cloack off to lash out at a dead witch, “This is your fucking fault, you know!” Remus was panting as he picked up speed once in the center of the room, pacing back and forth. He couldn’t even look at the barren frame. It would ruin this cathartic experiment to know she couldn’t actually hear him. He couldn’t be distracted by her selfishness not to return while he spouted his truth.

“She had options! You gave her that fucking journal. Barty showed us, fucking rat, but he was useful, unlike you,” his words hurt him, the spite and contempt landing like axes on dry wood, exploding and splintering his sanity as he got it all out.

“You read our minds and played us. Maybe Dumbledore was right to hate you. You and Pandora and your fucking riddles and tricks. She’s all you have left, you know? Your own blood even doubts you, Leticia! Dorea won't even say your name!” Moony howled, and Remus couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or scorn. It didn’t matter he’d been so lost to the blackness of his own heart he taught himself how to ignore it recently. It had taken the loss of Hermione to make him finally master the beast inside of him.

And on days when he struggled to control everything in his head, he mimicked Sirius and drank till he couldn’t think.

He’d been shit to Sirius, but the only time he felt a glimmer of hope was when they fell into each other, trying their best to find comfort in their teary kisses and sweaty thrusts. He missed the days when that had been enough for both of them, but with the bond so thinly stretched to Hermione, it felt like every time together was draining, and they ended things panting like overworked dogs in each other's arms, not even sure what to say.

The thought of Sirius burned more anger in him, bringing up all the nasty thoughts he had saved, how Leticia and Hermione had left them both numb now. It was his worst thought, certainly the only one that made him feel like he had crawled into a deep hole of shame, but he wanted to say it now. He wanted to voice all that.

“Was it because she was muggleborn? A witch from the future who had no blood to her name. That was why it was easy to manipulate her into this? You hated her, and what about me? Because of my infection?” The words felt like a swift punch to his gut. Even though he had been the one to say them, they still surprised him.

“Are you finished, Mr. Lupin? Is that what I should call you now that you no longer consider me an acquaintance?” Remus stopped mid-step, his foot in the air. He turned his head to look at the portrait.

His jaw fell open when he saw her, regal in silver and grey brocade robes, clasped closed with opulent giant gemstones. He could see the glint of diamonds on her neck and the flow of lace around her hair. It was odd he had never seen her like this, looking every bit the pureblood he knew she was. He had forgotten about what she really was until he cast that horrific accusation at her.

But the words still rang true in his head. The only difference was now she looked the part of all the cruel theories he voiced. Her voice and the sight of her were petrol on the bonfire that was Remus’s sanity, amping up his anger. Mortified and deranged, the ability to speak to her with Hermione still in a coma ignited him. He bared his teeth like Moony did once a month and approached the gilded frame.

“Acquaintance? I should burn this fucking portrait down for what you did” he pressed his finger against the rough strokes of thick dried oil paint, his nail dug into them, and he debated if he could flake it off and banish her. She would probably find a new frame to haunt, but he was sure she did not deserve this beautiful one.

“Whatever we may be or what you think I did, why are you here yelling at me? Shouldn’t you be with Hermione?” Leticia looked down her nose at him as if she had the right. He hated how she looked at him with pity, as if he were an animal when she had been the real monster.

His finger pressed harder, and he wondered if he could puncture the canvas as he laughed darkly, chuckling like a madman. “Oh, do you not know? You don’t even know what you caused! She can’t wake up. Hermione is a goddamn vegetable, has been for eight bloody weeks!”

“Still? Well, you better hurry on then, Remus. She should be up soon,”

“Do not tempt me, you fucking harpy, don’t dangle miracles in front of my face.”

Leticia opened her mouth to respond, but they were both stopped by the little raccoon scurrying across the floor. Remus froze, unsure what Barty could want or how much worse he could make his mood.

Remus was about to kick the bloody patronus, even though he knew his foot would just go straight through it, anything to work some of this anger out. Leticia’s cheeks pulled back in a proud grin when it opened its mouth, and Barty screamed into the room, “HURRY, SHE’S AWAKE!” Remus could hear crying in the background, female sobs almost drowning out the ear-shattering octave that was Barty.

Grabbing his wand to apparate immediately, he paused for one last word. Remus turned to look back at Leticia. The witch appeared excited for him, like she had so many times for tea or when she read in his mind that he loved Hermione. But Remus maintained his sneer. His lips trembling from how tight he had pulled them back, his grimace at her correctness making his anger flare. He wanted to get it out before he saw Hermione.

So, he landed his final blow, “I don’t care what you fucking know right now, I will never forgive you what has happened, and I’ll make sure the rest don’t either. You, Leticia Prewett, will wish you had never placed your memories in this cursed frame.” with that, he was off, spinning on his heels and heading straight to her room.

Remus felt like the ground had come out from underneath him as he landed. Somehow, in those seconds it had taken to apparate, his heart had nearly fallen out of his chest. He couldn’t believe the withered and achy thing could beat that fast in its current state. The abused muscle was painful in his chest, thumping against his ribcage in anticipation.

He managed to stumble forward, his eyes drawn to the figures on the bed.

Remus felt that pull in his chest again, the one that seemed to drag him forward, feet moving without thought, always towards Hermione or Sirius. Now, the force of the bond in his chest was too much, like someone had placed a hook in his sternum and yanked him in their direction. He fell forward, stumbling the last few steps. His hands wrapped around the rail at the end of the bed, shaking as he lifted his head to look at her.

Hermione was still pale, her eyes red-rimmed from tears, and what he remembered as soft, plump lips were now cracked and chapped. Merlin help him. All he could think was that she was still the most beautiful witch he’d ever laid eyes on. How he had gotten so lucky, her and Sirius, was a mystery for the ages. Remus had missed seeing her glowing next to Sirius, but he would take this tired, exhausted version of her over the misery that had been her coma.

All his rage for Leticia started to melt away as he stared at her, dumbstruck that she could be awake after all that time away from him.

“Hi, Remus,” were the first words she said, shaky and dry, more like a cough than her regular milk and honey voice. The last thing he heard her say was, “Hello, Tom,” the similarities now felt like an arrow through his heart. No longer a cold, indifferent challenge but a sad plead for him. Two words made him cry out, a choked sob coming from his throat. He could see Lily grab Barty and hustle him out the door, leaving the two of them alone for however long they had before Sirius showed up.

The door closed behind him, the slam of wood shocking Remus into movement. “Hermione,” he breathed like it might be his last word. She held out her arms wide and trembling, and he crawled up on the bed and towards her. Settling his head on her chest and looking up, stunned that this could be real.

Remus’s chest hummed and vibrated in happiness like the growls Moony made when the wolf was happy. The bond seemed to rumble all the same at their proximity. His fingers ached to reach out and cup her cheeks as he continued to stare into the brown eyes had missed dearly.

His vision was slightly blurred as he looked up at her, feeling like a new person now that he was in her presence again. He watched her try to open her mouth a few times, only a couple of words tumbling off her tongue, “Remus, I am so—”

He stopped her, grabbing her by both cheeks and pulling her in for a kiss, relishing in how he seemed to become whole again with her at the contact. Remus didn’t care in that moment. No hate or anger could compete with the overwhelming relief and joy at being with her when he had fretted for weeks that he might never again.

She could say sorry later. They had a lifetime together now, and he was just going to be happy to have her, damn all grief and pain. He had her and Sirius, and that was most important.

—

Sirius considered murder in cold blood for the first time that day. Not the kind of death that came from all those missions and duels on the beach, the forgivable type of fighting where you accidentally hit someone in the wrong spot with a curse that wasn’t supposed to be deadly.

No, right now, Sirius Black was considering murdering Alastor Moody with his own two hands, an image of his tattooed fingers wrapping around the old auror’s throat like some kind of medieval torture device. He wouldn’t need a wand to inflict the type of pain he desired. But he held off. His hands balled into painful fists in his pocket as he stomped around the pompously depressing home.

The rage in him had been building for 184 minutes, precisely when his joy at the doe patronus interrupting their raid shifted to whatever this darkness was when Moody said he couldn’t leave. Counting each painful minute was the only way to keep his breathing calm, his hands in his pockets, and out of trouble.

He whispered the numbers to himself with each tick of the large grandfather clock in the background, the same he had done as a child when his mother had ignored him as punishment. Like a crippling sense of deja vu, he was once again ignoring, pushing down the anger that had finally come to him in Hermione’s absence. Remus had been nothing but biting and mean for a month, while Sirius had dwindled around in a desperate depression, asking the Mediwitches and wizards what all could be done. Promising the entirety of the Black Vault once it was in his possession to figure something out.

But they had been at a standstill, a promise not enough, so he had pushed for the raids of those who called themselves his family first—hoping that banishing them to whatever crevice of Azkaban they would be chained to as some kind of reparation. Maybe if he rid the world of them, some easily impressed God would take pity and bring Hermione back. They had already been through Lestrange and Malfoy, and he had still clung his secret hope that turning on the home he had been raised in would be enough.

Thus, when that hope had swelled and then extinguished because of one man’s obsession with work, Sirius felt close to snapping, losing his mind entirely. Would they throw him into Azkaban if he lost it and murdered Moody? Snap his wand? That didn’t matter because moments before Lily’s patronus, the other wand he had claimed burned like hot coals in its holster across his chest, taunting him to use it and get it back to her—like it knew she was awake before he did.

He wasn’t sure why he picked it up on the beach when they hauled her away, tearing Hermione’s limp body from his clutches. His brother, of all people holding him as he thrashed to get to her.

Through the chaos, though that was his screaming agony, something in him had told him to grab it. Even as Death Eaters disappeared into the grey sky, he didn’t want to risk one of them taking it, and he knew it was his despite never holding it before. It was supposed to only work for her, but as he remembered her cold and lifeless, shallow breaths he hadn’t been able to see at the time, he wondered who the wand's new owner would be when someone took their own life with it, intentional or not.

It was him, like a beacon calling to his shredded and split-open magical core, almost as strong as the bond weaving through his pulverized ribs he had felt a need to own it. Sirius had ignored it for days, probably weeks, but time was a myth to him at that point. Enough grief and firewhisky, and the days meant nothing to the lonely. But then, one day, after crawling into that slim cot with her and whispering the words of a tune he didn’t know, he slept well for the first time since losing her. There, Sirius had dreamed of Hermione and the beach, sunny and cheery, and she had given the wand to him.

It had felt so real despite his constant drunken confusion. That dream had been more tangible than any conversation or step he had taken in the waking world. The flecks of gold in her bouncing curls as she spoke to him felt like a grotesque nightmare when he woke up and remembered how dull and limp it looked in the hospital bed. Her skin had been tanned and glowing, freckles over her nose and cheeks in that beach dreamscape, when in real life, he knew the mint-tinted glow of St. Mungo's linens made her look sickly.

But it had been a bright spot when so much had felt like a pit. He could almost feel her words in his chest like the bond was crafted with one of her vocal cords. So, he listened and started wearing the stupid stick in a holster over his heart. Sirius had only used it once or twice, but each time, his magic felt funny, not strained or weak, just off, like he was missing something.

The elder wand did not reject him, though, and despite his disappointment in her choices, he held onto it and his ebony simultaneously. Once in the weeks she had been gone, he thought it had gotten warm. As he dug around Malfoy Manor during a raid, he could feel the heat against his sternum. Sirius wondered briefly if this was what it had felt like when it had tried to control all that Fiendfyre.

He debated talking to the slender piece of wood, asking if it was hot or was just a ghost of the power it had carried. It wouldn't talk back, though, and he wasn’t in the mood to look like a barmy arsehole for Narcissa and her suspiciously free husband. There had never been a clear answer on whether Lucius had been on the beach that day if he had seen the force that was Hermione with the elder wand.

But Sirius couldn’t stop seeing the image of her, wreathed in flames as she cast the spell, like a star burning up before them. It played on repeat behind his eyelids, taunting and cursing him with that last image of her.

He was the one named after a star, but there she had been, the brightest thing in the whole damn country, maybe even the continent, as she set the beach ablaze and scorched herself. The Mediwitch had said her hands were covered in burns, but that they would heal, and he hated that he had not stopped her from earning more scars. All because she had become the owner of this wand.

So here he was now, eight weeks later, finally able to see if Hermione was okay, and Alastor fucking Moody thought he could challenge him? Stepping right up to the wizard, he leaned down, face as cold as ice as he spoke, “If you don’t drop the anti-apparition ward right now, I will set this whole fucking house on fire.”

“It's your bloody home! I don’t care what you do with it! But no one is leaving till we're done searching!” Moody yelled back, but Sirius could see the guilt. Alastor had watched the same patronus, heard Lily’s frantic sobs, and stood still. Sirius wasn’t sure what he would do with his boss one day if he couldn’t murder him right now. But his time with Alastor was far from done.

Sirius stepped up to him, the need to inflict this newfound rage onto him growing uncontrollable, “Where is Charlus? Because you know damn well that Grimmauld isn’t my home. Go find my fucking brother and ask him for help with this shit. Take the ward down.”

“Gonna run to your daddy? Ha! I ain't asking your death eater-” Sirius stopped him with a press of the elder wand against Alastor’s throat. Gods, he missed Hermione and the days when she’d done the same to him.

He snarled, confident he could cast an unforgivable as his arm vibrated. “Finish that sentence, Moody. I swear I’ll cast the fiendfyre on you first.” Moody could get away with a lot of shit, but dragging Hermione and his brother into it was too far. His biases were bringing them all down, and Sirius was ready to be free of the nuisance.

“Hey! What's going on? Sirius, what are you still doing here?” Alastor paled as James and Oliver came around the corner, both of them watching the situation with shock and concern. James, a braver wizard than most, or maybe just used to Sirius’s erratic demeanor these days, placed his hand on Sirius’s shoulder and pulled him back.

James didn’t stop there, though. As Oliver spoke to Moody, he kept pulling Sirius through the narrow hallways, the ones he had blocked out to numb with grief to even processing being in this prison again. Grimacing at the elf heads that lined the wall but not saying anything, James kept leading him out of that god's forsaken house. It was moments like this where Sirius most appreciated his friends and family.

Remus had done all he could to keep Sirius in line as they took turns at Hermione’s bedside, but it had taken a village of people to keep them both alive. James had done it for them, but also Lily. Sirius had struggled to keep Remus afloat, and Remus did the same for him. Hell, even his brother had done what he could for Barty. It was a cycle of healing yourself just enough to help someone else as they struggled again. He could barely even look at the Prewetts and Weasleys unsure how the coped with that much loss so quickly.

It had taken a lot for Sirius to be there today. Doing his job had been a burden, and he felt drowning in the weight of it all these days. But maybe there was something perversely poetic about it all—that he would walk away from this home forever the day she woke up. Perhaps that was his payment to whatever God listened to.

He followed the rhythm of James’s footsteps; the cadence was a comfort to him after all these years. He had memorized the slight skip to his step, always cheery, and Sirius focused on that. Just a few more of those friendly steps would drag him away from his childhood cell one last time.

James grabbed his wrist as they approached the door, the wards not applicable to those who had already been coming and going, and pulled him through. Sirius was no stranger to wards and had grown used to them as a child, and then with Hermione, who could cast them as beautiful as she had destroyed them in that first mission together.

It was no surprise when the magic pressed against his shoulders, squeezing his entire torso as he waded through the waves of magic with his best mate. If anything, the magic felt good—a calming pain, one last penance before he saw her, like when he fell to his knees on the beach he relished the success.

He had long forgiven her and, in those early weeks, had come to terms with what she had done, for he would have done it the same. Now, he just wanted to see her, hold her again, and tell her he could never hold what she had done against her. Remus had every right to carry his grudge, but Sirius knew he did it with love.

Remus wanted and expected the best from them, that he only got upset when he cared—that his anger was the greatest sign of his love and Moony’s acceptance. If Remus did not love you, he would not care and that was another driving force in letting the wizard feel.

Once they were through both the Black and DMLE wards, James squeezed his shoulder in support once, and he was gone. A frantic rushed goodbye on his, half of it disappearing into the void of magical travel.

He could feel the bond in his apparition, pulling him faster and with more force than he had ever traveled before toward the clinically sanitary hospital room they had all spent so much time in. He wondered if maybe they would be fighting or bickering about what had happened. If Hermione would be desperate to know everything how things translired while she had been gone.

Instead, he found them asleep. Hermione was still propped like a doll against the fluffy pillows Dorea had brought over the first day and tucked into the quilt Molly had made in a day so she would be warm. This time, instead of sitting straight up against the headboard, her head was slumped, looking down as her lips released soft little snores.

And there, between her legs, snuggled against her stomach, was Remus. His arms wrapped around her waist, her fingers forgotten in the werewolf’s hair. Sirius paused to look at them and could have sworn there was a faint glittering glow, like a thread woven between all three of them.

She was alive, that subtle glow washed away the sallow film that had taken over her skin. Like the sun on the beach and in his dream, Sirius could get to tell she was more alive than before, and he needed to touch her. With all his clothes and shoes still on, he climbed in beside her and felt something in him release when Hermione snuggled in closer and not lay stagnant like a corpse.

It made his chest twist in relief, and tears escaped his eyes and dropped into her hair when he realized she was moving again. He wanted to squeeze her till his fingers left divots, hold her against his chest like a prized heirloom. But for now, he would settle for how she mewled and rolled her head into his chest.

Sirius had forever now to ensure she was still there.

—

The room was dark when she woke, unsure how many hours had passed, but it didn’t matter now. Surrounded by the warmth of Sirius and Remus felt much like the water and sun on the beach had. A soft embrace that cushioned her to this return.

Hermione knew it would be weeks and months before she understood the gravity of how this all came to be, but for now, she silently thanked and praised all those who had worked in tandem to get her here. It wouldn’t be easy, but the consequences of uncertainty were what made the outcomes worth it.

It could have been anyone but her to receive the gift of Remus and Sirius and their bond. Anyone could have gone back in time and befriended Lily and found a home with Molly and the twins. But Hermione considered herself lucky.

Just as Daedalus loved and cared for Icarus in Minos, Leticia and Alphecca guided and cherished her in Cornwall. Who knew how or who had worked her threads so that they had been woven across time and space, but that did not matter now.

As Hermione sank lower into the cot and felt all the magic of her loves flow through her, she was grateful for them, excited for a lifetime away from the heat of the sun and in the ocean that was their arms.