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Chapter Text

A dull pain throbbed at the back of her head and it was sharp enough to make her wince with each beating. She felt the electric irritation in her veins as if something foreign was surging beneath her skin while her muscles groaned with soreness. 

Her throat ached to make each breath feel like shards of glass scraping against tender flesh.

But there was something else. Something warm. Someone was holding her right hand. Rough yet careful fingers were tracing smooth patterns over her knuckles. The touch was strong but gentle.

She squeezed her eyes and tried to pry them open, but it was as if they were glued closed. Panic nibbled at the edges of her thoughts. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was being on the road to Hogwarts, ready to destroy the final Horcrux. Then—blackness. 

Were they captured? Did something go wrong? Where was Harry? Ron? Had they made it to Hogwarts? Had something terrible happened?

She tried to remember, to push through the thick fog in her mind, but it only made the throbbing at her temples strengthen. She let out a soft groan.

The hand gripping hers froze for a heartbeat, then tightened. There was a sudden shuffling and the sound of feet scrambling closer then she felt warm breath fanning over her face followed by a gentle touch cupping her cheek.

"Love?"

The voice was deep and roughened by fear and the sound of it vibrated through her with a strange comfort. It felt familiar. She could feel the tension beaming from him and she had a sudden urge to comfort him. Summoning what little strength she had, Hermione tried to give his hand a little squeeze.

A soft, choked sound escaped him before she felt the press of his warm lips against her temple. "Oh thank fucking gods," he whispered in relief. "It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re safe."

She tried to speak but her voice cracked under the dryness in her throat. "Wh—wh—where’s…." 

His thumb gently began to rub along her jawline. "Don’t worry about Reggie." His voice was thick with lingering emotion. "He’s fine. Perfectly fine."

Reggie?

She slowly opened her eyes in a very small amount but as the brightness hit her and she slammed it shut with a wince.

“Shite” The grip on her hand loosened and he pressed another kiss on her forehead. “Just wait a second, love. I’ll find someone.” 

Then came the echo of booted footsteps retreating rapidly across the room. The door creaked open and clicked shut again, followed by the hurried clatter of more footsteps coming, closer and faster now.

“You need to stay outside.” She heard someone saying in a hushed voice.

“What in the bloody hell do you mean by that?” This voice, she knew it. Heard it so many times but couldn’t place who. Harry? No, no. It was someone close but not too close to her.

The voices outside faded into the background as someone gently pried her mouth open.

“Hermione, I’m going to give you some potions. Please do your best to swallow them.” A woman’s voice said. It sounded familiar too.

Suddenly, a thick, bitter liquid filled her mouth. Hermione almost gagged, the taste so foul that it nearly made her throw up. But she forced herself to swallow even as her throat protested against the dryness and the horrid taste.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” the woman encouraged. “You’re doing okay.”

Another potion, then another, and finally a third slid down her throat. With each one, the bitterness faded and was replaced by a warmth spreading through her body. Her nerves began to unwind, with the tension in her muscles easing. Her previously clouded and chaotic mind started to clear, and the relentless pain subsided into a dull throb. She felt calmer, her thoughts less frantic, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, a touch of relaxation washed over her.

“Alright.” The woman’s voice came again. “Now I need you to slowly open your eyes.”

Hermione obeyed. Her eyelids fluttered open cautiously. This time, the light didn’t burn her retinas, and the fog around her vision began to clear. The first thing she noticed were two healers in lime green robes who were busy checking her vitals, scribbling notes on parchment with swift quills. The setting felt unmistakably familiar. She was in St. Mungo’s.

She turned her head slightly to the right, and her gaze settled on a familiar figure. A healer, black hair neatly pinned back, brown eyes focused on her work, and warm brown skin glowing faintly under the light. She wore the same lime green robes as the others but looked older than Hermione remembered.

“Parvati?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Parvati Patil smiled warmly down at Hermione as one of the other healers approached to help her sit up. "Hermione, don’t worry." Parvati said softly. "You’re perfectly fine. Your vitals are normal, and the cut has healed."

Parvati turned to the other healer. "Give her some water." The healer quickly brought a cup of water to Hermione’s lips. The cool liquid slid down her throat, easing the dryness, and Hermione felt a bit of strength returning with each sip.

She looked at Parvati with her eyes wide. “Where’s Harry?”

Parvati blinked. “Harry should be here any minute now. I’m sure Mr. Black has already informed him and I–”

“Mr. Black?” Hermione’s eyebrows narrowed.

Parvati’s smile widened slightly. “Yes, he’s waiting just behind the doors. I’ve asked him to wait because I know he’ll have a million questions and will keep interrupting. You know how difficult he can be sometimes." She sighed. "Don’t worry, I’ll send him right in after I finish your chart.”

“No, Parvati.” Hermione shook her head. “Who’s Mr. Black and where is everyone? You look different…older. Why are you so calm? There’s a war out there or something has already happened? I need to see Harry right now, please.” Her gaze was urgent and laced with panic.

Parvati’s eyes widened momentarily then she turned to one of the healers. “Get Mr. Spleen here.”

The healer nodded and quickly left the room. Parvati turned back to Hermione and opened a small vial. “Here, take this.”

Hermione eyed the potion with suspicion. “What is it?”

“For your health,” Parvati replied gently.

Hermione took a deep breath and downed the bitter liquid and the harsh taste lingered on her tongue. Almost immediately, she felt her nerves unwind, the weight of her fears about the war and Harry’s safety easing. The anxiety that had gripped her began to reduce, leaving a more tranquil state in its wake.

“Hermione,” Parvati said, her face now serious as she held a notepad. “I’m going to ask you a few questions.”

Hermione nodded.

“What year do you think it is?” Parvati asked with her quill poised over the notepad.

“1998,” Hermione replied without hesitation.

Parvati’s eyes flickered with a note of concern as she wrote this down. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“That I was with Harry and Ron, going to Hogwarts...for a mission of ours.”

Parvati looked up. “Do you feel anything weird or tense inside your head? Like a dull pain or something?”

“It was there before, but after the potions, it’s gone,” 

“Hm.” Parvati jotted down a few notes, then passed the notepad to the other healer, who immediately began casting diagnostic spells over Hermione. 

Parvati folded her hands and looked at Hermione with a calm expression. “Now, Hermione.” She began softly. “I need you to take everything as normally as possible. I know it’s difficult and confusing, but please try not to panic.”

Hermione straightened in alarm. “What happened? Is Harry alright?”

Parvati’s smile softened. “Harry is perfectly fine. So is everyone else. But, Hermione, you’ve been through an accident. You had a minor brain injury, and you’ve been unconscious for a week. We’ve run every possible test, and while there was no major damage, it seems that somewhere deep within, there’s been an issue we couldn’t detect initially." She took a long breath. "It might have caused some memory loss.”

The words hit Hermione like a cold wave, but the potions still kept her from panicking. Instead, her mind began racing to process this new reality.

“Me–memory loss?” Hermione whispered feeling her body getting a bit cold.

“Yes.” Parvati said with a sigh. “Hermione, it’s not 1998. It’s 2005. The war is over. Harry has defeated Voldemort. Everyone is perfectly fine. And as for Mr. Black...Do you remember Sirius Black ?”

Hermione's eyebrows rose and she nodded. “Yes." Oh, how could she forget! "Yes, of course. He was Harry’s godfather. He died at the ministry...” She looked down at her hands as she felt a sharp sting in her heart. “He fell through the veil and we couldn’t save him. Harry was devastated and…It was awful.”

When she looked back at Parvati, Hermione's eyebrows scrunched seeing her weird expression. “He’s not dead, Hermione.” 

Hermione stared at Parvati for a minute. “He… he’s not dead?”

Parvati gave her an encouraging smile. “No, he’s not. I don’t know all the details, but he’s alive and well. And, Hermione…" She reached out and took Hermione's hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. "He’s your husband.”

Husband.

Hermione's muscles stiffened. “Husband?” She echoed.

“Yes.” Parvati let go of her hand and smiled. “As far as I know, you’ve been happily married for over three years, and you have a one-year-old boy. And you both love him more than anything else.” Parvati paused. “You and Black were on a bike tour in the Muggle world when a truck hit you both because of Mr. Black's mistake. His injuries weren’t as bad, but yours were more critical, which is why it took you longer to wake up.”

Hermione felt the air leaving her chest and she whispered. “I… I have a son?”

Parvati nodded with a quiet smile as she opened another potion. “Oh yes, Regulus. And he’s beautiful,” she said as she gently pushed the potion toward a stunned Hermione’s lips. “He’s the perfect combination of you and Mr. Black. I was the one who delivered him, by the way. ”

As Hermione swallowed the potion, Parvati laid her back down on the bed. “You should sleep now. I know it’s a lot to take in, but when you wake up, someone will be here to explain everything.”

Parvati’s voice became distant and muffled as Hermione’s eyelids grew heavy.

The world faded away, and soon she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

When Hermione woke up next, the light filtering into the room didn’t sting her eyes like before. It merely felt like she had woken from a deep peaceful sleep. 

She swallowed and stretched barely, feeling the remains of her previous tension fade away. Then, as she turned her head to the left, her eyes enlarged. 

Wide green eyes were staring back at her.

“Harry,” she gasped and bolted upright and practically threw herself into his arms. Harry caught her and wrapped her in a strong embrace as her sobs broke free.

“Oh, Harry, you’re safe,” she choked out with tears streaming down her face. “I-I…” Words failed her as she burst into an ugly cry.

Harry patted her back. “Yes, Hermione, don’t worry, we’re all safe.”

But she didn’t stop. She cried for a solid few minutes until her tears were tired. And all this time, Harry silently comforted her. Suddenly, her breathing paused as she remembered what had happened when she had woken up before or was that a dream? It must be, right?

“Oh, Harry.” She finally let go of him and lifted her head and wiped her tears. “You’ve no idea what have I—

Her words froze in her throat as she looked at him, clearly looking at him. Harry looked grown up. His hair was now a little extended till his ears and was perfectly combed, pretty unusual for a Potter, his face had lost all its babiness and was now looking more mature with a perfectly square jaw with soft stubble and he was wearing an Auror uniform.

Cold fingers wrapped themselves around her. 

No.

No, no, no, no!

She must be dreaming. She had to be! She must still be in a coma or something. Or perhaps Voldemort had killed her? And now she was in that moment when you saw ridiculous shits before dying?

Harry must have noticed the horror on her face as he gently said. “Hermione?” He searched her face. “Are you feeling better than before?”

She tried to swallow but couldn’t as panic settled in her chest and her eyes darted around her bed looking for her wand. This couldn’t be real, right? Whatever she had seen and heard couldn’t be real. 

Harry’s eyes momentarily widened before he grabbed a potion jar from the side table. “Hermione, why don’t you take this and we can talk?”

Her eyes barked back at him and he gave her a tentative smile. “Please, Hermione, trust me, I know you’re having a very hard time but please, trust me.”

Something in his words tugged at her heart and a thousand emotions slammed into her as another tear skated down her cheek.

She hiccuped. “Ha–harry…”

His gaze shifted sympathetically and he pulled his stool closer to her bed and took her hand and gave her the potion jar. “Trust me like you always do, ‘Mione.”

Right. It was Harry. Dream or not. It was Harry. She would always trust Harry. In every universe. 

“What is it?” She whispered.

“It’s just to keep you calm.” He nodded. “Please.”

Well, she did need to be calm.

Of fucking course she needed to calm down.

She clutched the jar tightly between her fingers then gulped the whole liquid down with a huge breath. As the liquid slid down her throat, Hermione felt her shoulders relax. The stiffness of her muscles and the panic of her chest eased.

She let out a light breath but still questions after questions were piling in her mind. And she still was halfway sure she was dreaming. She gave the jar back to Harry and looked at her fingers for a moment.

Even the potion couldn’t keep her from feeling like she was insane. She looked at Harry with partly wide questionable eyes. “Harry?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and took off his glasses. “Hermione, I know—

“What?” She demanded. “Just say it, Harry.” Her heart was beating frantically. “Am I dreaming?”

He blinked in surprise and wore his glasses back. “No.”

She took a breath. “Did I—have I woke up before or...what happened, Harry?”

He studied her face with a very calm gaze. “Hermione, do you remember what Patil told you?”

She kept silent for a second then slowly nodded.

He brought both of her hands in his. “Then, Hermione, you know what happened.” She stared at him in silence. “You had an accident and you’ve been asleep for a week. While there’s nothing major, it seems you might have lost a part of your memory which the doctors still aren’t sure about what happened or how long this will last. They’re still checking your brain images they’ve conjured and trying to figure out—

She snatched her hands back because a certain concept had just flared in her mind from what Parvati had said earlier.

Voldemort was dead.

The war was over.

Harry was fucking alive.

They were alive.

That snake was dead.

“Harry,” Her voice trembled, barely escaping her lips, as if afraid of her own words. He widened his eyes in panic, but when she managed a tearful smile, his confusion took over. “You killed Voldemort?”

Harry’s brows shot up in surprise a flicker of something like relief passed over him. “Er, yes, Hermione. We did it. Together.”

A shuddering breath left her as if she’d been holding it for years. “We’re safe? Everyone’s safe?”

He nodded with a small smile. “Yes, everyone’s safe.”

Tears brimming over, a sob broke through her smile as she whispered, “We did it?”

Harry paused then gave her an empathetic smile. “Yes, Hermione, we all did it.” And she jumped on him again and cried while Harry again tried to calm her down. 

They had done it. Together, they’d survived the nightmare and banished the terror. They’d killed that snake of a man, and everyone was finally, blissfully safe.

But just as she allowed herself to sink into the relief, a cold thought crept in, chilling her.

No one was ever totally safe in a war.

She pulled back, a sudden fear widening her gaze as she met Harry’s eyes. “Harry.” Her voice was a shaky whisper. “Who…who did we lose?”

Harry’s soft smile dropped.

It hit her and she looked around the empty room. Despite the soothing effects of the potion, an unbearable weight pressed on her chest and she gave Harry a panicked look. “Ron?"

“No, Hermione.” Harry sighed like he was in some sort of pain. “Ron’s fine. He’s perfectly alright.”

She closed her eyes with a breath of relief then looked around again. “Where is he, then? Why isn’t he here?”

“Er…” Harry looked conflicted as he scratched the back of his head. “He’ll be here. Just don’t worry about him right now..”

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the crisp white sheets. A small ache began to build within her. She wanted Ron to be here, beside her, holding her hand, like Harry was. Shouldn’t he be here, sharing this relief? 

The creeping thought that maybe he’d abandoned them, left them behind again, sent a sunken pang through her chest. 

She sniffed and twirled the sheets tighter between her fingers. “Who did we lose, Harry?” She knew the smile didn’t drop because of nothing.

“Hermione, please,” he scooted closer, a protective hand on her shoulder. “You’re still recovering. Maybe we should wait until—

“I need to know, Harry.” She looked at him with a stony expression. “I need to know who I lost, whom I’ll never see again.” Her lip quivered. “I promise I won’t cry.”

He studied her for a moment with concern then got up and sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him. “I need you to know this has all happened way before and we’ve already mourned them, loved them, still love them, still remember them every day and I need you to take this as strongly as possible, okay?”

She gave a weak nod.

“Hermione, we.” He pursed his lips. “We lost around fifty people that night in Hogwarts.” She gasped as tears broke through. “Tonks, Remus…and Fred being some of them.”

Hermione went completely still.

Harry rested his chin gently on her head. “There’s something else, Hermione. Professor Snap—

The door burst open with a force that rattled the walls and jolted both of them.

A furious roar filled the room. “Potter, tell me this fucking idiot didn’t lose her mind!” The voice was icy, and lethal, but threaded with an unmistakable concern. A tall, lean figure stormed into the room, every inch of him radiating fury as he strode toward them with a murderous expression, a tensed-looking healer trailing behind him in a hurry. “And why the hell do I find out from bloody Kingsley that she’s awake? And you,” he jabbed a finger toward Harry “had the audacity to come here alone and didn’t think to let me know?”

It took a few heartbeats for her to register the familiar features, the cold, steely grey eyes, the platinum blond hair, the pale, aristocratic face that had haunted her in more ways than one.

She gasped.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Alarm shot through her, though not with the kind of dread she expected. Instead, it was a strange, jumbled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name, a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and something unsettlingly close to relief.

He was here, looking at her with an intensity that made her stomach twist, his expression equal parts furious and…protective?

“Ma—Malfoy?”

His eyes widened and went back to Harry. “It’s true? She lost her mind?”

Harry glared at him. “Draco, you know what they told you. Act accordingly and sensibly.”

Hermione’s gaze darted between the two of them and her eyebrows narrowed. “You’re calling him Draco.”

They both looked at her. Malfoy groaned and facepalmed. “Merlin, this is a disaster.”

“Please.” The healer requested. “Her mind is in a very critical condition right now, try not to raise your voices or cause any unnecessary distress.”

Malfoy paused then scowled at the healer. “Not cause any unnecessary distress? It’s your bloody mistake. Do you realise what I can do to the hospital and your badge?”

“Draco.” Harry let out a warning tone and stood up and gave a small smile to the healer. “Apologise on behalf of my husband, he tends to—

Hermione choked on nothing then looked at them in mild panic. “Husband? What—

A sharp, searing pain bloomed at her temples and she clutched her head and whined.

“Hermione?” Harry and Malfoy both rushed to her side. 

She barely registered their voices as the throbbing reached a crescendo and darkness swallowed her. 

And in the depths of that darkness, fragments flickered, snatches of memories and fleeting glimpses of faces she couldn’t recognize, all slipping away before she could grasp them.

“Mrs Black?”

Her brows started to draw together.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice was male, unfamiliar, and calm, coming from somewhere beside her.

She nodded weakly and her muscles responded sluggishly.

“Good. Now, I need you to take a breath and open your eyes slowly.”

Hermione drew in a deep breath and slowly blinked her eyes open. The room swam into view, shapes and colours sharpening with each blink. 

Beside her stood an older man in healer’s robes watching her closely. “Welcome back.” He smiled. “You had us all a bit worried there for a second.” Parvati was standing just beside him. 

Hermione’s gaze drifted to Harry, standing near the foot of her bed beside another healer. She felt oddly detached as if watching through a fogged glass.

​​The man beside her cleared his throat, drawing her attention back. “I’m Healer Spleen,” he introduced himself calmly. “I specialise in neuro and psychiatric healing and have been overseeing your care along with Healer Thomas.” He gestured toward Parvati, who offered Hermione a warm, reassuring smile.

Hermione blinked, processing the words. So, Parvati was married too. Oddly, the realisation didn’t spark any real surprise or much of anything, really.

“Please, tell me.” Healer Spleen asked. “How are you feeling?”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to examine her own state of mind, only to come up blank. “Nothing.” She said slowly. “I feel nothing.”

He nodded as if expecting this. “That’s understandable. We’ve given you a blend of potions to stabilise your emotions temporarily. This will help you cope with everything without overloading your mind, which is crucial right now.”

She nodded absentmindedly.

“Now.” He looked at Harry. “Are you certain Mr. Black shouldn’t be here? As her husband and legal guardian, he has a right to be present.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked over to Harry who looked at her with a clear layer of concern in his gaze. “Er, I believe Hermione and I need to talk alone first.” He nodded. “So, anything you have to say, you can say in front of me.”

Hermione frowned.

Mr Black?

She recalled Parvati’s words and all flashbacks from earlier came back. 

Sirius. 

He was her husband. Her husband. Sirius Black. She was married to Sirius Black who she couldn’t remember. No, she could remember but couldn’t remember that part of life where he was alive and her husband. 

And they had a child, a boy. Parvati had said. Reb—Regulus. Right, Regulus. Wasn’t that Sirius’s brother’s name? The brother who died in the cave to destroy a Horcrux and they found his letter? Yes, of course, Hermione was the one who read the letter after all.

Logically, she knew she should feel something, some wave of emotion that connected her to these revelations. She should feel grief, shock, nostalgia. But instead, there was only an empty void, a hollow stillness she couldn’t fill.

And she pouted at that.

"Alright," Spleen nodded and motioned to Parvati. Together, she and the other healer cast diagnostic charms over Hermione, and a blue sphere appeared, hovering with unfamiliar symbols glowing inside. Spleen examined it, his wand weaving through the air until additional numbers appeared, causing the sphere to pulse and vanish.

“Is something wrong, Spleen?” Harry asked in concern.

Spleen looked at him and shook his head. "Oh, no, Mr. Potter. There's nothing to worry about for now, at least."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, 'for now'?"

"You see, Mr. Potter," Spleen said, taking Hermione's hand and performing a complex gesture over her wrist. A soft glow spread through her arm, bringing a strange calmness that settled over her like a warm blanket. "Memory loss and brain injuries are delicate matters, especially for someone of a magical nature. We've examined everything thoroughly, and while everything seems fine for the moment, we need to keep her under observation. We'll prescribe some potions which must be strictly maintained, and if any significant changes occur, we’ll be prepared to address them."

"But her memories," Harry persisted. "Will they come back? Is this temporary?"

“We can’t assure you of that yet, Mr Potter.” Spleen pocketed his wand back. "We’ll be watching her progress carefully. The nature of her memory loss depends on how her mind heals. This was, after all, a brain injury, which should never be taken lightly." He nodded toward Parvati. "For now, Mrs Black seems stable, so as long as she rests properly tonight, we’ll consider discharging her tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded. 

Spleen looked at Hermione and smiled. "Don’t worry, Mrs. Black. You’re in good hands, and we’ll do everything we can to help you recover."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione replied softly.

Spleen gave her a kind pat on the hand and turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, if you would, please follow me."

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand. "I’ll be right back." She offered him a small smile as he followed Spleen from the room. Her gaze lingered on the door as it closed, catching a fleeting glimpse of someone outside just before it vanished shut.

"Hermione?" Parvati’s voice gently drew her attention back. "Could you sit up a bit so I can check the injuries on your back?"

Hermione nodded as Parvati helped her sit up. Just as she adjusted her position, she felt a sudden warmth spreading around her right breast, damp and unfamiliar. She glanced down and furrowed.

"What’s happening here?" She looked at Parvati.

Parvati raised her brows, then chuckled softly. "Oh, that’s just your breasts leaking," she said, giving a casual wave of her wand to vanish the dampness. "Lucky you, I had to rely on potions. I was quite dry in the early days."

Right, she had a one-year-old son who she probably still breastfed.

Hermione asked as Parvati lifted the back of her shirt. “You’ve children?”

“Er..” Parvati cleared her voice. “Twins actually, a boy and a girl.” 

Hermione felt only a strange emptiness where surprise or delight might have stirred so she just gave a forced smile.

"Well, everything looks fine," Parvati announced, straightening Hermione’s shirt and offering her a reassuring smile. "For now, just rest. I’ll have some food sent over, soft foods for now. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me."

Hermione nodded. "Could you send Harry in?"

"Of course," Parvati replied warmly before motioning to the other healer. Together, they exited the room, leaving Hermione in solitude.

She glanced around for the first time and realised dusk had begun to settle, the sunlight was fading softly through the window. Her room was private, clean, and quiet. She wondered how much more the world might have changed. How much her life had changed? What did she do now?

The door of her room opened, distracting her as Harry came inside and she looked up and smiled at him. “Hey, how are you feeling?” He rushed towards her looking worried. 

“Nothing, I feel nothing,” Hermione murmured as if speaking to herself. She blinked slowly. “Is this how Luna feels?”

Harry tilted his head, a confused frown crossing his face as he sat beside her on a stool. “No, Luna feels everything, Hermione. You’re just under the effects of the potions.”

Hermione hummed softly, her gaze drifting toward the door. There was something strange outside the door or maybe in the air, a silent pulse of power that she couldn’t quite place, but that felt undeniably real. It called to her, like an invisible thread tugging at her.

“Hermione.” Harry’s voice drew her back, and she turned to find him watching her with a mixture of sympathy and hesitation. “Sirius is outside the door.”

Her heart thumped, suddenly and loudly.

Right. Sirius. She looked back at the door. Suddenly, her breathing started getting faster and a strange ball started growing in her stomach. Like she was desperate for something…something she knew yet didn’t know.

“He…” Harry’s voice faltered a little. “He went back to Reggie when he found out about your situation…because, well…it’s Sirius, Hermione. He loves you more than anything, more than anyone. You and Reggie are his world. He couldn’t bear to see you like this, to see everything change so suddenly. But when he heard about your fainting in front of me, about what happened, he couldn’t stay away. He came rushing back, Draco's there with him but he’s not doing well. He’s blami—

“He’s alive.” She turned her eyes back to Harry then reached out and took his hand. “Are you happy?”

Harry’s smile turned warm. “Of course I am, Hermione. I have everything I could have ever wished for.” Then his gaze turned more serious. “So do you.” Her eyes cast down. “You might be confused now, but you have a beautiful life, a family that loves you beyond measure—

“That’s the thing, Harry.” She stopped him. “I don’t know, I don’t remember any of it, and while I feel nothing now, I know that soon I’ll feel confused, mental maybe even heartbroken.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “So, please, Harry, while this potion’s still numbing me, tell me everything. What’s happened? What’s changed? Who am I now?” A  strained edge crept into her voice. “Parvati said I have a son. A son, Harry. I remember myself at eighteen, and now—now I’m here, with a husband who I’d once thought was dead…no, I still knew a few minutes ago that he was dead and a child, and everyone around me had grown up. And me too.” She pointed at her chest. “I’m leaking milk, Harry! something I’d only heard about from my mother and the shy giggles of the girls in my dorm. I never thought I’d be here, doing this. And the healers, they don’t know what’s happened to me. I’m just… this mess that no one knows how to fix.” She drew in a shaky breath. “And then—and then there’s you. I’m trying to recognize you, but it’s hard because how in the name of all that’s twisted on this earth is Draco Malfoy your husband?”

He blinked a few times before his ears turned a soft shade of pink. “Well, Draco and I have been married for two years now.”

Hermione knew if she didn’t have that potion in her, she would’ve fainted again. So, with no feeling, she blurted out. “Did Ginny die or—

Harry’s eyes widened. “No, Hermione, she’s fine. She’s happy, actually. We just…” He shook his head, clearly uncomfortable. “Anyway, forget about it. You’ll see her soon enough.”

“I can’t–I can’t just forget it.” She shared a look at the door. “He’s a death eater, Harry.”

“No.” Harry let out a snappy voice that raised her eyebrows. Seeing her raised eyebrows, he softened and dragged a hand through his hair. “Hermione, Draco was a spy for the order working with Professor Snape.” Her eyebrows lifted more. “I know it sounds unbelievable. I’ll tell you about everything sometime else just know, yes, he took the Mark, but he isn’t a Death Eater—not anymore. He’s… actually a senior Auror now. And your best friend.”

“My best friend?” She repeated, sarcastically.

“Yes,” Harry insisted, nodding. “You and Draco are inseparable. Didn’t you see how he reacted when he heard about what happened to you? You both practically shoo me away whenever you’re together.”

She blinked then looked down at her fingers.

Draco Malfoy and her best friend?

She cringed visibly despite the effects of the potions. “This is unbelievable.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Hermione, let’s not talk about me and Draco or your friendship, we’ll have enough time for that.” He bit his lip. “We need to talk about your family, Hermione. That’s what’s important right now.” He gestured toward the door. “Sirius is absolutely devastated. I can see how hard he’s fighting against the darkness that’s trying to swallow him whole. We’ve all tried to keep him from bearing this burden alone, but it has to be you who helps him understand he’s not to blame for any of this.” He took both of her hands in his. “Hermione, Sirius has been through so much in the past few days. And I’m not just saying this as his godson—I’m saying it as your friend. You both matter to me more than words can express. Ever since that terrible accident, he’s been at your side, holding onto hope and waiting for you to wake up. When he found out about your memory loss, it shattered him. I’ve never seen him so broken, not even when he found out about Remus.” He looked into her eyes. “He needs you, Hermione. Your son needs you. And if I’m being honest, you need them both more than you realise.”

Her breathing started growing fast. “Sirius.” Harry nodded. “Why—why did I marry him, Harry? Why did we get married? He’s your…godfather and I don’t ever remember us even liking each other, it always felt like we were just, putting up with one another because of our connection to you. And he’s what? At least twenty years older than me? How did we even end up in this situation?”

Harry searched her eyes then gave a sad smile. “That’s not my story to tell, Hermione.” He softened his voice. “That’s something you need to talk to your husband about.”

“How did he got—” She sighed and looked down at the white sheet. Perhaps, that was a discussion for another time and a mystery she needed to find out. She looked back at him. “And,” she swallowed. “I–I have a son.”

Harry smiled. “Yes, the most beautiful thing you have and Hermione, Reggie never stayed away from you and has been struggling this entire week, and it’s clear how much he’s missing you. He always calls for you.” Her heart suddenly squeezed hard. “Yes, Draco and I have been there for him, and we’ve had support from others too and Cissa and Andy are always with him, Sirius has come by, spending time with him, bringing him here to see you but Hermione.” He talked slowly. “You’re his mother.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He needs you, not me, not Cissa, not anyone else. You.”

She sniffed and looked down. “But.” She whispered. “I don’t even remember him.”

Harry squeezed her hands firmly. “A mother doesn’t need her memory to recognise or love her child, Hermione. And you’re one of the best mothers I’ve ever seen.”

She fell silent only listening to the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat, feeling a certain emptiness inside her. “Can I…” Her lower lip trembled. “Can I see him?”

Harry’s eyes partly broadened. “Regulus?”

She showed a slow nod.

“Yeah.” He said with a grin of excitement. “Of course, you—” His grin faltered a bit. “Oh, although, we should probably talk to your healers first. But I’m sure they’ll figure something out.” He pursed his lips, glancing toward the door. “Will you be alright if I step out to ask?”

She nodded with a sniff. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He searched her face looking worried so she reached and cupped his cheek. “I’m still Hermione, remember? I may be missing a few memories, but I’m still in the mindset of a war out there, and I’m a bit tougher than I look.”

Harry laughed with a gentle sound that eased some of the tension in the room. Then he reached out, pulling her into a tight hug. “Everything’s going to be alright, Hermione” She felt a lump forming in her throat as she tightened her arms around him. “And even if it’s not, I swear I’ll do everything in my power to fix it, okay?” She nodded, pressing her face into his shoulder. When they broke apart, he held her face in his hands with a fierce determination in his gaze. “I promise.”

All Hermione could manage was a sad smile, but it seemed at that moment, it was enough.

When Harry finally closed the door behind him and left her alone, Hermione laid back on the bed and her gaze stared at the white ceiling above. 

The silence settled in around her as thick and heavy as a winter fog. She could feel the effects of the potion starting to wear off, each passing second bringing a clarity that made her pulse pound in her ears. 

Harry’s words replayed in her mind and they began to collide, piling one on top of the other until they swelled into a single, overwhelming truth.

She was married to Sirius Black. 

The man who had been a legend, a mentor of sorts, her connection to Harry’s past and family, a friend but nothing more. Dead. And now, somehow, he was her husband.

The father of a son she couldn’t even remember.

Her son. 

Her heartbeat kicked up and it felt as though the air was slowly being sucked out of her lungs.

A single tear escaped, slipping silently down her cheek, then another, and another, each one carrying with it fragments of a life that felt foreign. Her chest tightened between sorrow and an unfamiliar ache. 

She had lived her life with the certainty of who she was, of the people she loved and fought beside. But now? Now she was supposed to believe that everything had shifted, that her life had transformed into something she couldn’t even recognize.

Malfoy, her best friend? Harry, married to Malfoy? It was like she’d fallen through a crack in reality itself, some strange, twisted version of the world where everything she once knew was turned upside down. 

Her mind spun and she squeezed her eyes, grasping for some anchor, some fragment of the life she remembered, but all she found was a gaping void. 

Nothing felt real. 

It was as if she’d slipped into an alternate universe, one where she had somehow grown up, lived, loved, and even created life without ever feeling a single heartbeat of it.

The tears came faster now, streaming down her face as the weight of it all bore down on her. 

How could she be a mother, and yet not know the soft touch of her son’s fingers wrapping around hers, not remember his first laugh, not recognize the scent of his hair? 

She felt hollow…so so hollow like a shadow of herself…disconnected from her own life.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them, staring at her fingers as though they might hold answers. But they were just hand-hands that felt like hers and didn’t, all at once. What kind of mother didn't know her own child? A soft sob escaped her, echoing in the quiet room. She wanted to remember, wanted to reach out and grasp the life she had supposedly built, but the memories were as unreachable as the stars.

And then there was Sirius. How had they gone from distant allies to husband and wife? She remembered him as a fierce, reckless spirit, a man haunted by his past but driven by loyalty to his godson and the fight against darkness. 

How had that Sirius become her Sirius? Her partner, her…love? 

The idea felt unfathomable. 

Her gaze drifted to her left hand and then she froze. A flash of pale white caught her eye. There, on the fourth finger of her hand, was a faint, lighter circle—a small mark, just a shade whiter than her skin, that hinted at something once resting there. Her heart clenched as she sat up suddenly.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

It must have been there.

Her fingers trembled as she traced the empty space. She tried to imagine its weight and look, but it all felt like a shadow slipping away.

This mark on her finger was proof that she had been someone else's. That someone had chosen her, had maybe even loved her, had placed a ring on her hand in a gesture of devotion. 

But she remembered none of it. 

Not the warmth of that promise, not the touch of the hand that had given it to her. And yet her body remembered. It had cradled that memory every day, sheltered and protected it and carried it even now.

Her hand felt impossibly light without it…exposed—like a tree stripped of its last leaf before winter. She tried to imagine that moment when he'd slid it onto her finger—had it been simple? Was it in private, some tender moment, or had it been bold and proud, a vow in front of others? 

The sudden creak of the doors cut through her fog, making her jump. Her tear-filled gaze snapped up just in time to see two figures entering—Harry, unmistakably, and another taller man moving tentatively beside him. 

But her eyes immediately latched onto something small and precious, wrapped securely in the man's arms. So tiny. So impossibly small.

As they came closer…her heartbeat started pounding like a drum in her chest. Her eyes couldn’t stray from that small figure, wrapped in a blue jumper and clutching a stuffed grey otter nearly his own size. 

Harry came beside her and said something softly to her, but his voice faded into the background, distant and unimportant. The world shrank to the little boy in front of her...his small black curls bounced just a little as he turned his head. They weren’t untamed or wild like hers. She felt her breathing quicken and a quiet desperation built with every step closer.

When they finally stopped before her, the man holding him whispered something and gestured toward her. The boy looked around, his wide eyes searching, before finally landing on her. 

Her breath hitched. 

Her heart plummeted and soared all at once. 

Those eyes—they were hers, brown and warm, catching the light like caramel.

The little boy’s eyes widened and a big grin broke out across his chubby cheeks. But as quickly as it appeared, it faded. And his lip quivered forming a small pout with his eyes growing misty. 

With a small, tremulous voice, he whimpered, "Mm...mama."

A choked sob escaped her. In an instant, she scrambled to the edge of the bed and her arms reached out desperately. She barely registered the man who handed him over as she wrapped her arms around her son and drew him close. The stuffed otter tumbled onto the bed, forgotten, as she pulled him tightly against her chest.

A piece of her shifted almost immediately, a part that had been lost in the emptiness, slotting into place with such powerful finality it was almost painful. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. "I'm sorry." Tears flowed freely as she pressed kiss after kiss against his small, round cheeks, his soft curls, the curve of his brow—anywhere she could reach. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He nestled against her and his tiny arms wrapped around her neck. She felt his warmth and breathed him in. Her son—this sweet, perfect child who had somehow come from her and had waited so patiently for her.

His small hands patted her hair and she sobbed again and tightening her hold, pulled him closer to feel his little heartbeat against her own, the quiet strength of his small, miraculous life. She rested her cheek against his head. The ache in her chest began to ease as she held him, piece by piece settling into a new, unfamiliar, yet irrevocably beautiful part of herself.

Then.

Her eyes fell on someone.

A pair of grey eyes fixed on her.

Chapter Text

Dear Prongs and Moony,

I don’t know if you’re listening or wherever you are, but I have no one else to turn to. I thought I was strong enough to carry the weight of the past, to live without you both, but I’m not.

I never was.

Hermione…she's my everything, my anchor, my reason to keep breathing. But now, she doesn’t even remember me or our son. My wife, my bloody wife, doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t remember the nights we spent tangled in laughter and limbs, the quiet mornings with her head on my chest. She doesn’t remember the vows, the promises, the love.

The life we built together feels like smoke in my hands and it's slipping away because of me.

All because of me.

It was my fault. She told me. She told me her heart wasn’t in this trip, that riding through the Muggle world without magic didn’t feel right. She warned me, but I didn’t listen. I never listen, do I? That damn reckless streak of mine, the one you both used to laugh about, it’s not funny anymore. It’s ruined everything.

I remember the sound. The crash, the way her body crumpled and the silence afterwards. I thought I lost her then. And now, even though she’s alive, it feels like I’ve lost her all over again. For her, I’m a stranger. My wife. The mother of my child. And I can’t fix it.

What do I tell our son, huh? How do I explain to Reggie that his mother doesn’t remember him? That she doesn’t remember his laugh or his first steps or the way her eyes used to light up when she held him? How do I tell him that his father, a man who swore never to ruin what little happiness he’d found, shattered it all?

Harry said she remembered me as dead. Azkaban wrecked me, aged me, turned me into something unrecognisable, and that’s the only version of me she knows. How do I make her fall in love with me again when she thinks of me as the shadow of her past? How do I make her see me, see us, when all she sees is a stranger twice her age?

It's like dying in slow motion. She doesn’t know how I kiss her scars to remind her that she’s stronger than her pain. She doesn’t know the way we’d sit by the fire and dream of all the places we’d take Regulus when he is older.

I never thought I’d get this, you know? A family. After losing you both, I didn’t think I could love anyone the way I loved you two. And then she came into my life like a damn sunrise after years of storms. She pieced me together when I didn’t deserve it. She made me believe in hope, in us. And now I’ve wrecked her.

You both always believed in me, even when I didn’t deserve it. But now, what would you say if you saw me like this? I’m a wreck. A husband without his wife. A father without his family.

I destroyed it.

Prongs, I need you right now. So damn much. I need you to calm me down like you used to, with that ridiculous grin and the way you’d say, “Come on, Padfoot, it’ll all work out.” I need you to tell me how to breathe, how to stop my hands from shaking, how to believe I haven’t destroyed everything. 

Tell me, Prongs, tell me that if I escaped that damn family of mine, the dementors of Azkaban, death itself, then I can fucking fix this too. Because right now, it doesn’t feel like I can.

Moony, you always had the words, the wisdom to pull me out of my spiral. What would you tell me now? To hold on? To fight for her? I’m trying, I swear I am, but I don’t know how to keep going when she thinks like I’m nothing to her.

I’m scared, Moony. Scared of losing her all over again, scared I wouldn’t be enough to fix this. I can go through hell, but this? This is breaking me.

I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you, get your advice, and hear you laugh at me for being a bloody fool in love. I never thought I’d miss your teasing this much, Prongs. I never thought I’d crave Moony’s quiet wisdom like air.

How do you fight for someone who’s forgotten why you’re worth fighting for? I want her back. I need her back. But if she never looks at me the way she used to, what will I do? What do I do without her? What do I do if I lose her for good? What will I be without her?

Please help me, Prongs. Help me, Moony.

Please.

Padfoot.

Chapter Text

He looked…alive.

Healthier than she remembered.

When was the last time she saw him?

Right—at the Ministry, just before he fell through the veil.

He was beautiful.

Yes, Sirius Black had always been beautiful—arrogant, stubborn, far too proud—of course, but undeniably beautiful. 

And she remembered worrying about him in those quieter moments, his loneliness, hollow laughter, the weight he carried beneath the sharp edges of his nonchalant behaviour. 

She’d never told Harry that during those brief exchanges through the mirror, she always felt as though Sirius was unravelling, bit by bit. There had been a fragility to him then, a sickness she could sense but never name.

But now—now he looked different. His black curls, once haphazard and rebellious, had grown a pinch longer, grazing his shoulders and framing his face in a way that felt almost deliberate. His beard, now peppered with silver, didn't quite match the memory of the reckless man she once knew. It was jarring because somehow, he appeared younger, like a man who had clawed his way out of the abyss.

Except for his eyes.

Those grey eyes looked empty, cold, tamed, and rimmed with dark shadows that betrayed sleepless nights and restless dreams. They held a haunting emptiness, a hole that pulled at her, demanding something unspoken. And the longer she stared, the more she felt the ache of that hole, as though it was burrowing into her chest.

Her pulse quickened.

A strange, prickling sensation crawled up her spine.

Regulus blabbered something and her eyes widened as she realized she had been staring—no, gaping—at him.

Hermione tore her gaze away, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Her throat tightened as the truth pressed down on her like a crushing weight.

He wasn’t just Sirius Black.

He was her husband.

Her bloody husband!

She quickly wiped her tear-soaked face and sniffed. Regulus babbled happily, his small hands tangling themselves into her hair with a childlike possessiveness that made her wince. The sting should have been grounding, but it wasn’t, not when her heart was doing that strange, erratic jump again.

She couldn't understand it.

Her chest felt tight, and the tips of her fingers itched as if they were grasping for something just out of reach. Sirius, the man she didn’t know how to think of as her husband. It was easier, safer to keep her gaze fixed on Regulus. So she did, offering him a forced smile as he tugged on her curls again and mumbled nonsense words.

“Harry,” She stiffened as Sirius’s voice cut through the tension, deep and rough, carrying that familiar edge she remembered, though now it felt strained. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Hermione didn’t dare look up, not even when she caught Harry’s fleeting expression, sadness, worry. She couldn’t trust herself to look at Sirius. Not when every part of her felt raw and exposed.

“Of course, Sirius,” Harry replied gently. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

There was a soft clearing of Sirius’s throat, a sound that shouldn’t have made her pulse leap but did. “Er, if Reggie needs anything or if there’s any problem, I’ll be right outside.”

Hermione swallowed hard but the lump in her throat refused to budge. The heaviness in her chest only grew as she heard his footsteps retreating. And then, without warning, a strange sense of desperation bubbled up inside her.

But for what?

Regulus shifted suddenly, his little arms flailing as he clumsily climbed off her lap and stumbled on the bed. “Dadda,” he called, his small voice high and insistent.

Sirius paused mid-step. Hermione’s gaze darted to Regulus, then back to Sirius. He turned slowly, his expression unreadable as his grey eyes flicked from their son—their son—to her.

As soon as his eyes met hers, she flushed—hot and sharp, her cheeks burning for no understandable reason. She ducked her head quickly, her curls falling like a shield around her face.

Regulus stretched his arms toward Sirius again, his lips puckered in a tiny pout. “Dada.”

Sirius sighed, the sound low and weighted, and looked at Harry then tilted his head toward Regulus. Harry nodded and stepped in smoothly. He grabbed the stuffed otter from the bed, holding it up. “Reggie, look. Otti’s feeling sad. He needs a cuddle, don’t you think?”

It worked. Regulus’s focus shifted to the otter, his little fingers reaching out with delighted curiosity. Harry’s soft chatter filled the silence but Hermione’s attention was elsewhere.

Sirius.

He smiled faintly at their son. A small, fleeting curve of his lips barely touched his hollow eyes. Then, those eyes met hers, and Hermione felt the air leave her lungs.

It wasn’t just the emptiness in them. It was the depth, the weight, the unspoken things she couldn’t grasp. And this time, she didn’t look away.

For a moment, they simply stared.

Something thick and unspoken crackling in the space between them.

Then he broke the connection, his gaze dropping as he turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Hermione felt it. The absence, the way it hollowed her out. Her heart gave a painful stutter, and she pressed a hand to her chest as though that might steady it.

She couldn’t breathe.

The morning light filtered through the curtains and Hermione was seated on the edge of her hospital bed. She absently nibbled on a slightly stale sandwich, the plate balanced on her lap. Her thoughts churned like restless waves, but she felt steadier now, more in control—at least, for the moment.

After all, she was Hermione Granger…er…Black, now.

The name felt foreign, like a borrowed robe that didn’t quite fit, but she couldn’t let that crush her. She knew how to figure everything out and cope. She had a mystery to unravel, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger—no, Hermione Black now—did, it was solving mysteries.

Last night was a whirlwind. Harry had stayed with her, patient and steady, walking her through the impossible reality of her life now. Parvati had been a godsend, answering Hermione’s panicked questions and guiding her through the overwhelming process of mothering a one-year-old she didn’t remember.

Regulus had clung stubbornly to her, refusing to take a bottle and babbling “Bobo” over and over. Parvati had smiled softly, showing Hermione how to breastfeed, and when Regulus finally latched on, Hermione had cried, silent, shuddering sobs she couldn’t hold back. She’d felt helpless, heartbroken, and yet connected in a way that soothed something raw inside her.

And now, her son slept peacefully beside her, clutching the stuffed otter to his chest. His dark curls framed his tiny face, his lips slightly parted in sleep. Hermione leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

At least with him, there was peace.

Her gaze lingered on Regulus. There was so much to piece together—her parents, Hogwarts, her family, friendships. And where was Ron? He still hadn't come to see her. And that made Hermione wonder what was her relationship with everyone. If Draco Malfoy was now her best friend then Hermione could only imagine how fucked up her life was.

Hermione sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The weight of it all threatened to press down again, but she shoved it aside.

One step at a time.

Her fingers absently brushed over the empty space on her ring finger. It was a gesture she’d caught herself doing countless times since waking up in this strange new reality, an unconscious habit her body seemed to remember even if her mind didn’t. 

And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about him.

On the contrary, Sirius Black occupied every corner of her restless thoughts. The man who was her husband. Her husband. The title still felt unfamiliar, like a word mispronounced, yet she couldn’t shake it off.

Harry’s words echoed in her mind, a soft reassurance from someone she trusted implicitly.

You loved each other, Hermione. So much.

But how much?

Her brows furrowed as she stared at her hands, still tracing the ghost ring. Was their love the kind that burned bright and wild, full of passion and fire? Or was it steady, comforting, the kind that wrapped around you like a warm blanket? Did they fight? Laugh? Cry together?

Where had they lived? Was it a home filled with laughter and love? Or were those just the pretty words people said to soften hard truths? What kind of marriage had they shared? Had they been happy, truly happy? Or was this relationship born of circumstances she couldn’t yet comprehend? Why had they married?

Could she ever love Sirius Black?

Could he ever love her?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure even the faintest flicker of a memory—a touch, a whispered word, a smile. But there was nothing. Just a void where those moments should’ve lived.

And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way Sirius had looked at her. There was a quiet devastation in his eyes, a reflection of her own turmoil. He had looked just as damaged as she felt, his every movement was careful, as though afraid one wrong step would shatter what fragile threads still held them together.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. The more she thought about it, the more the questions clawed at her, leaving her restless and unsettled. Her fingers stilled on her ring finger, and she let out a shaky breath. One thing was clear. She couldn’t avoid these thoughts forever. Answers would come, whether she sought them or they found her. And when they did, she would have to face them.

The door creaked open, and she straightened, her eyes darting toward it. Parvati entered first, followed by Healer Spleen and another healer she didn’t recognize.

“Ah, Mrs. Black,” Spleen began, but Hermione quickly raised a finger to her lips and gestured toward Regulus. The healers exchanged a glance, Spleen muttering an apology before lowering his voice. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Hermione forced a small smile, keeping her voice soft. “Better than before.”

“Good.” Spleen turned to Parvati with a nod. “Please call Mr Black inside.”

Hermione froze. Right, he hadn’t left. He hadn’t left since last night. She knew that. Before Harry had left, he had told her that. Regulus had slept with her and Hermione had spent most of the night staring at the door and still, couldn't gather the courage to invite him inside. And she didn't think she was still ready to meet him again. What a Gryffindor!

Her grip tightened on the plate. “Umm…”

Both healers turned to her. Her voice wavered as she asked, “Can’t Harry….”

Parvati’s expression softened with sympathy, while Spleen gave her a patient smile. “Mrs Black, Mr Potter isn’t your legal guardian. Nor is he your husband.”

The words landed heavily, and Hermione dropped her gaze to her lap.

Right. Sirius was her husband.

She would have to see him again.

But she didn’t know if her heart could take it.

The reality still felt fragile, as though it might shatter if she examined it too closely. But she couldn’t avoid it forever. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, as Parvati stepped out of the room.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The remaining healers spoke in hushed tones about her discharge, but Hermione barely heard them. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, anticipation building with every passing second.

The unknown healer approached her, his wand drawn as he began casting diagnostic charms over her. Hermione set the plate aside, her hands trembling slightly, and allowed him to work. 

Her mind was a tangle of questions and half-formed emotions, swirling too fast to pin down. She tried to focus on the faint hum of magic but it wasn’t enough.

Then the door opened again.

Her gaze snapped toward it instinctively.

There he was. Sirius.

Parvati stepped inside but he paused in the doorway, his broad shoulders framed by the light from the hallway. For a fleeting moment, he looked as uncertain as she felt. But then he stepped inside.

Hermione felt her breath catch, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t explain. She didn’t trust herself to talk, so she simply watched him. What the fuck would she talk anyway!

“Ah, Mr Black.” Spleen said.

Sirius gave a curt nod, his grey eyes flicking to the sleeping child on the bed before meeting hers. Hermione swallowed hard, her throat suddenly too dry. She glanced down at her hands, unsure what to say or do. There was too much between them, too many gaps in her memory, too many questions she wasn’t ready to ask.

The unknown healer finished his charms, the faint hum of magic fading as he stepped back. His expression softened into a professional smile. “You’re in good health, Mrs Black. No lingering issues from the accident, physically at least.”

Hermione nodded, forcing a polite smile in return. Her fingers clenched slightly at the edge of her blanket as she muttered. “Thank you.”

Healer Spleen stepped forward, his movements deliberate, as if mindful of the boy sleeping soundly beside her. He clapped his hands together, the sound muffled. “Well, Mrs Black, I’m pleased to say you’re ready for discharge. We’ve covered everything, but if you feel any unusual symptoms, for example, headaches, pain, or even sudden fatigue, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”

Spleen turned his attention to Sirius. “Mr Black, ensure she gets ample rest. The prescribed potions and activities are non-negotiable, and under no circumstances should she experience undue stress. She needs time.”

Sirius nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to Hermione before returning to the healer. “Understood. I’ll take care of it.” His voice was even, and calm, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “When is her next check-up?” 

“In a week,” Spleen’s eyes glanced between them. “We’ll assess her progress and recheck her brain activity after the potion regimen. Mrs Black,” he turned to Hermione. “Try not to worry. You’re in good hands, and we’ll do everything we can to help you through this.”

Hermione offered a hesitant nod. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He turned to Sirius, extending a hand. “I’ll have the paperwork sent to you shortly. Once you’ve handled it, you’ll be good to go.”

Sirius shook his hand firmly. “Thank you, Spleen. For all your help.”

“It’s been our pleasure,” Spleen replied, his gaze flicking briefly between them. “Take care, both of you.”

With a quick gesture, he motioned for Parvati and the other healer to follow him, leaving the room with a quiet click of the door.

And then there were two.

The silence settled around them like a thick fog, charged with a pressure she couldn’t name, an undercurrent of something that made her stomach tighten. Hermione’s fingers drifted absently to Regulus’s curls as he slept beside her, his tiny chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Sirius stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture unsure in a way that seemed so uncharacteristic of him. His gaze rested on her shortly before shifting to the boy on the bed.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “He’s in a deep sleep.”

Fuck! She needed to talk.

She swallowed and stiffly nodded. "He looks so peaceful." 

Sirius took a step closer. "He sleeps better when he's near you."

Her heart did a strange little twist at that, a mix of emotions—gratitude, guilt, longing, and something else she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. "I... I’m still figuring out how to be near him. How to be near..." She trailed off.

Sirius watched her, his grey eyes shadowed but steady. "Hermione, you’re doing better than you think."

Her breath hitched at the way he said her name—so familiar, so stable like he’d said it a thousand times before.

It was maddening and comforting all at once.

Before she could respond, Sirius cleared his throat. “I’ll go handle the paperwork.” 

She clamped her lips shut and nodded. 

He took a step toward the door, then hesitated and turned back. “If you need anything in the meantime, call for me.” 

For a moment, her voice caught in her throat. “I…I will.”

He nodded, his grey eyes holding hers for a moment too long then turned away. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then he was gone.

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding and a tear formed in her eyes.

Hermione sat on the edge of her hospital bed, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. She had changed into a simple set of clothes—a soft sweater and jeans that felt foreign against her skin, more like borrowed memories than her own choices. Her gaze flickered toward Regulus, still asleep and clutching his stuffed otter.

A healer had helped her dress earlier and packed Hermione’s belongings into a small case before leaving with the promise that her things would be sent to her home.

Home.  

The word felt like an anchor pulling her deeper into the unknown. 

Where even was her wand? Did she still have it? Perhaps Sirius would know. Her eyes darted to the door as her chest tightened. He should know, right? He was her…husband. 

Hermione swallowed hard, the word sticking in her throat. She had decided to adjust to the idea, to take it one step at a time. But sitting here, surrounded by the walls of the hospital and the uncertain path ahead, her anxiety bubbled to the surface.

What would her life look like now? What had it looked like before? The ache for her old life—the one she did remember—was a constant hum beneath her thoughts, a yearning for the stability of familiarity. Yes, she was happy Voldemort was dead but she missed her life already.

The door creaked open, and Hermione stood abruptly, her heart stuttering as Sirius stepped inside. She forced a smile, but it wavered, trembling at the edges.

Sirius cleared his throat, his voice soft but steady. “It’s done. We’re ready to leave.”

Her gaze darted to Regulus, and she hesitated. “Er… 

Sirius’s lips curved into a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about him,” he murmured, stepping closer with a quiet confidence that made her step aside instinctively and he froze.

Something raw flashed in his eyes that painfully squeezed her chest but it was quickly gone. "I was just..." 

She inhaled deeply. "I know, I was just..." Her words caught. "I was just stepping out of the way so you can..."

He blinked down and a muscle of his jaw ticked. He nodded. She watched as he leaned down, his movements careful, almost reverent, as he scooped Regulus into his arms. The boy stirred only slightly, his small arms wrapping around Sirius’s neck as his head nestled into his shoulder.

Hermione reached for the stuffed otter, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. Sirius’s large hand moved in gentle circles against Regulus’s back as he swayed ever so slightly. “Shhh, it’s alright, love,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly but tender in a way that caught Hermione off guard.

Regulus stirred again, a soft whine escaping his lips, and Sirius adjusted his hold effortlessly, cradling the boy closer to his chest. His dark hair fell over his face, but not enough to hide the quiet devotion etched into his expression. Slowly, the toddler’s tiny fist unclenched, and his breathing evened out, signalling his descent back into a deep sleep. Sirius brushed a stray curl from the boy’s face before pressing the lightest kiss to his temple.

Hermione watched them as an unexpected warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t just the sight of Sirius, rugged and undeniably paternal in a way that seemed to defy everything she remembered about him from before, when he was still Sirius Black, the reckless, charming rebel she’d known through Harry’s stories.

No, it was something deeper, something that felt unspoken yet undeniable.

She just couldn’t look away.

There was something impossibly endearing in the way Sirius held their son as if Regulus was the most precious thing in his world. A soft smile spread across her lips, her heart doing an unfamiliar flutter. His movements had softened, and his every action was careful and deliberate, as though the weight of fatherhood had smoothed away parts of his infamous recklessness.

An ache formed in her throat, bittersweet and confusing. The sight started something unfamiliar in her—warmth mixed with the ache of a memory she couldn’t grasp. Was this who Sirius Black had become? A father? Her husband?

Sirius’s eyes flicked to hers and caught her in the act of staring. She straightened reflexively, her cheeks heating as though she’d been caught doing something improper. But Sirius didn’t tease or smirk. He just held her gaze for a moment, something soft and unreadable flickering in his stormy grey eyes.

For a moment, they stood there, staring at each other in the stillness. 

“Umm…” Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Harry isn’t coming?”

He cleared his throat. “Harry was called in by his head of department. He wanted to be here, but…” He trailed off. “Don’t worry. He’ll stop by as soon as he’s free.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor as she hugged the otter tighter. “Where are we going?” she asked quietly then lifted her eyes to meet him.

Grey held Amber.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

Hermione stumbled out of the Floo as the green flames spat her into a room that made her blink. 

It looked like a drawing room and it was beautiful, bright and airy, sunlight streaming through tall, clean windows that stretched nearly to the ceiling. The walls were a soft cream, framed with subtle gold trim. A chandelier sparkled overhead, and the air carried the faint scent of wildflowers. 

Cream sofas sat neatly arranged, a low oak table held a scattering of colourful children’s drawing books, and a vase of wildflowers added a pop of colour to the mid-morning glow.

She turned in a slow circle, her brow furrowing. 

Grimmauld Place. Sirius had said they were going to Grimmauld Place when she asked where home was. This couldn’t be right. Her mind scrambled for the Grimmauld Place she remembered, dusty, grim, and heavy with shadows. This was different. Too different.

Sirius stepped out of the Floo behind her, Regulus perched on his hip. The toddler was awake now, blinking sleepily as he rubbed his eyes with tiny fists. 

Hermione’s gaze softened as she looked at him. “Where are we?” 

Sirius shifted Regulus to a more comfortable position, running a hand through his dark hair. “Grimmauld Place,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her mouth dropped open. “Grimmauld Place?” She glanced around again, her eyes darting from the pristine windows to the fresh flowers. “No, you’re lying. This doesn’t even seem like—

Her words were cut off by the sound of footsteps pounding down the hall. Before she could react, a small boy burst into the doorway, a shock of purple hair catching the light, his hazel eyes bright and wide. He skidded to a stop, then broke into a grin.

“Minnie!” he shouted, darting across the room toward her.

She barely had time to brace herself before he threw his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. She stiffened, hands hovering awkwardly over his shoulders as her brain scrambled to catch up. Who was this? She shot a wide-eyed gaze at Sirius, who was watching with a faint, amused twitch of his lips.

“Teddy, mate, ease up.” He stepped forward to rest a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Give her a bit of room, yeah?”

The boy, Teddy, pulled back, glancing up at her with a pout. “Did you really forget me?” He tilted his head. “They told me you did.”

Her stomach flipped. She glanced at Sirius in panic and whispered. “Another kid? Do we have another one?”

Sirius blinked then his lips tugged which made her cheeks flush. “No, no. This is Teddy. Moony’s son.”

For a second she forgot breathing. The pieces clicked into place, Tonks and Remus’s baby, born during the war. She’d never even met him because of everything. 

“Oh,” she breathed, her gaze dropping back to the boy. His purple hair shifted to a muted brown as he watched her, his expression wavering between hope and disappointment. She forced a smile, her lips trembling with the effort. “Teddy. How…how old are you now?”

He shuffled his feet, kicking at the edge of a rug. “I turned eight a few weeks ago,” he sulked. “You promised you’d get me a Muggle television. For my next birthday. But…” His eyes glistened, and he looked away. “You don’t remember.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “A television?” She glanced at Sirius. “I said that?”

“Yeah!” Teddy bobbed eagerly. “You promised. On my birthday, when we were talking about Muggle toys. You said it’d be fun to watch cartoons.”

Her head spun.

“Ted.” Sirius pulled Teddy a bit back from her. “Aunt Minnie needs rest, okay?” He ran a hand through the boy’s now black hair. “You can talk to her about those later.”

A woman’s voice sliced through the room. “Teddy, I told you not to disturb Aunt Minnie.”

Hermione’s head jerked up, her breath catching as her eyes landed on the woman stepping into the drawing room. Narcissa Malfoy. The sleek blonde hair, the poised stance, the piercing blue eyes, it was unmistakable. 

Her pulse quickened, an old, ingrained defensiveness surging within her. She shifted instinctively, her body tensing as if to shield Teddy and Regulus from the woman who’d always been an enemy. 

“Cissa,” Sirius’s voice cut through her spiralling thoughts. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

Cissa? Her eyes flicked between Sirius and Narcissa as she tried to make sense of it. Narcissa Malfoy was here, in Grimmauld Place, and Sirius wasn’t reacting the way she’d expected. Didn’t he always hate his family members?

Harry’s words from the hospital echoed back to her. “Cissa and Andy are always with him.” Narcissa and…Andromeda? 

If Draco and Harry were married, senior Aurors, partners in life as well as work, did that mean the Malfoys were part of this? Civil? Where was Lucius Malfoy? Did he also, was he also civil? The idea felt surreal.

Narcissa stepped closer. “Teddy wouldn’t stay put,” she glanced at the boy with mild exasperation. “He insisted on seeing Hermione. And we thought you might need some help.” She paused, her gaze softening as it settled on Hermione. “Andy’s gone to pick up some groceries as it seems you didn't have much items suitable for a patient. She’ll be back soon.”

Hermione shifted awkwardly, discomfort prickling under her skin. This was Narcissa, the woman who’d stood by Lucius, who’d raised Draco to despise her. And now she was here, talking about groceries and help as if they were what? Friends?

“How are you feeling, Hermione?” Narcissa's blue eyes studied her with calmness.

“Er..” Hermione stammered, brushing a hand through her hair to buy time. “Fine. I think. Better than before.”

Narcissa’s lips curved into a small smile. “It’s alright, you don’t have to sort it all out now. We’re all here for you, every one of us. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Hermione nodded stiffly, unsure how to respond. 

Narcissa then turned to Sirius. “You should give Hermione a tour,” she said. “Take her to her room. She’s just come from St. Mungo’s; she needs to freshen up and settle in.” She reached for Regulus. “I’ll take care of these two.”

Sirius hesitated, his grip on Regulus tightening for a moment before he relented, handing the toddler over without a word. Regulus went willingly, his hands patting at Narcissa’s robes as she settled him against her hip, his black curls stark against her blonde hair. Teddy darted to her side, glimpsing up at her with a grin, and Hermione felt another wave of disbelief. 

Narcissa Malfoy, holding Hermione's son, managing Teddy who was a werewolf's son, acting as if this was routine.

Merlin!

“Go on,” her tone left no room for argument as she waved a hand toward Sirius and Hermione. “I’ve got this.”

Sirius gave a tilt of his jaw, a faint crease forming between his brows before turning to Hermione. “Shall we?”

Hermione's eyes lingered on Narcissa and the children for a moment longer. Then, with a shaky breath, she followed Sirius. He led her out of the drawing room as they moved toward the stairs. He stayed close, hovering just a step behind her and his eyes were on her, watching every move as if she might collapse at any moment. 

It made her skin prickle with discomfort, but a pang of pity stirred in her chest, too. He looked lost like a man trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers and she knew the reason was her.

Before they reached the stairs, he paused, turning to her with a soft wrinkle between his brows. “You alright?” he asked. “Got the strength for this? I can help if you need it.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine,” her tone was sharper than she meant. “I can manage stairs, Sirius.”

He paused. “Right. Just checking.” And gestured toward the staircase, waiting for her to go first.

She started up and glanced around at the transformed space. “It looks nothing like before.”

He climbed just behind her. “We renovated it, structure’s the same, though. The layout hasn’t changed. I reckon you still know where everything is, just brighter now. Took a while to get it like this.”

“It’s hard to believe it’s the same place,” she glanced back at him. He was watching her again and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Then a sudden memory jolted her. “What about your mother’s portrait?” She frowned. “The one that screamed at us?”

He was close—too close—and she could feel the heat of him at her side. “Took it down muggle way. Ripped it off the wall with a crowbar and burned the damn thing in the backyard.”

Hermione turned fully to face him. “You burned it?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “Sticking charms were too strong for magic to undo. Figured brute force was the only way. Took a few swings, but it came down eventually.” He paused, then added, “Thought it might help. Make the place feel less… like hers.”

She stared at him, trying to picture it—Sirius, wielding a crowbar, tearing apart the last vestige of his mother’s venom. Merlin, Hermione, herself wanted to rip apart that photo. “Why didn’t you just move out?” Her curiosity overrode her hesitation. “Or stay somewhere else?”

“I was already living here,” He cast a peek around before glancing back at her. “And then you moved in.”

She frowned. “After we got married?” 

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the steps. “No. Long before that.”

Her stomach twisted. “Why?” She pressed. “Why would I move in here?”

He breathed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s a story for another time,” it felt like he was avoiding her eyes. “The healers said not to push you too hard. Too much at once could overwhelm you.” He glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her pity for him warring with her frustration. “Let’s keep going.” He stayed close as they reached the top floor. She paused at a door she recognised instantly, Sirius's brother's old room. She stared at it. Sirius stopped beside her.

“Is this Regulus’s room?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, meaning her son, not his brother.

He nodded, pushing the door open. “Yeah. His nursery.”

She stepped inside, and he followed. The room was beautiful with soft blue walls, a crib of dark wood, and tiny stars spinning lazily above it with sunlight streaming through a large window. She moved to a chair where clothes were folded, her fingers brushing over them, tiny shirts and trousers, soft under her touch. A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

“We painted it ourselves,” he expressed. “You picked the blue. Said it’d calm him.”

She glanced at him, her heart softening slightly at the effort he was making. Then her gaze landed on a pair of framed photographs on the shelf. Her heart squeezed as she stepped closer. 

The first was a loop, a moving image of her in hospital robes, cradling an infant. She kissed his forehead, her face breaking into a tired, radiant smile, and the loop reset. The second showed her, Sirius, and the same tiny baby in this very room. They sat on the rug, Sirius’s arm around her shoulders, her head resting against him as they gazed at the child between them. They looked happy—uncomplicatedly, impossibly happy—and the loop replayed.

She slowly picked up the frame, her fingers tracing its edges like a delicate secret she wasn’t sure she was ready to uncover. A sharp pang settled deep in her chest, familiar yet foreign, like déjà vu wrapped in longing. She had forgotten this—this happiness, this piece of a life that should have been hers to remember.

“When was this taken?” She sensed him before he spoke, the heat of his presence radiating against her back, tethering her to the moment.

“When Reggie was three months old,” the warmth of his exhale ghosting over her shoulder. “A few weeks before Halloween.”

Her lips twitched into a small, wistful smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to remember; she did. Desperately. But there was a void, vast and unreachable, swallowing the memories before she could grasp them.

She frowned slightly, her gaze fixed on the photograph and turned. “When is his birthday?”

The air in the room seemed to be still as she lifted her eyes to his. His gaze was mercurial, endless, like storm clouds over restless seas as he held hers in a way that made something shift inside her, an odd flutter deep in her stomach.

He inhaled, the corner of his lips curving just slightly. “July 31st.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, that’s Harry’s birthday.”

A smirk ghosted his lips and he tipped his head. “Yes...he was actually due in late September,” he admitted, “but he surprised us by arriving early.”

She glanced back down at the photo. Of course. Harry’s godson was born the same day as him. It felt fitting like fate had orchestrated it with quiet precision.

“You named him…” Slowly, she looked up. “After your brother.”

His expression softened, the subtle shift in his features barely visual but it was there. A flicker of something raw, something deeply held. He shook his head. “You named him.” 

Her breath caught. “Me?”

The spirit of a smile played at his lips. “Yes. You insisted on it.”

She swallowed, something unnameable rising in her throat. “To name him after…”

“Regulus.” His voice wrapped around the name, and for a moment, it felt like a prayer.

She named her son after Regulus Black. But why? Her gaze lingered on the photograph, tracing the looped motion of her past self, smiling with a joy she couldn’t feel now. 

The ache in her chest deepened.

Slowly, she turned, setting the frame back on the shelf carefully. Her eyes drifted to the other pictures lining the nursery. There was Regulus toddling across a rug, his curls bouncing, his eyes bright with determination. She paused.

“How old was he here?” she questioned.

Sirius’s grey eyes followed her gaze. “It was just a few weeks ago, He was trying to learn to walk a bit.”

“Was I there?” she pressed, turning to him, her eyes searching his. “When he took his first steps?”

A faint flicker of something tender crossed his features. “Yeah. You were. Screamed louder than he did when he stood up by his own and walked toward you, though he fell right after two or three steps but it was a success.”

A thoughtful smile tugged at the edges of her lips, but it faded as her gaze shifted to another photograph. Regulus lay sleeping in the crib, black curls splayed against the pillow. A woman’s hand, unmistakably hers, with its familiar lines and the faint scar across the knuckles, brushed gently through his hair, the motion frozen in the loop. 

She turned to Sirius, her gaze narrowing with a silent glare. “Tell me I never let him sleep here alone.”

He blinked, caught off guard, and for a moment, she thought she saw the hint of a grin plucking at his lips before he reined it in. “He only sleeps here during the day,” his voice laced with a quiet amusement he couldn’t quite hide. “No, you never let him sleep here at night unless Teddy is staying over and can bunk with him. And we always kept him under protection charms. Still do.”

Relief flooded her, a slow exhale she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She smiled and her eyes flicked back to a beach photograph—her and Sirius, windswept and sunlit, kissing each other before turning to kiss Regulus’s chubby cheeks. 

Heat rushed to her face, a flush of red creeping up her neck, and she quickly turned away. “Where’s my room?” 

Sirius flinched, his hand pausing mid-air as if he’d been reaching for something—her, perhaps? 

His grey eyes flickered like a storm brewing beneath the surface, but he nodded. “This way,” and led her out of the nursery. He opened the door just beside Regulus’s room and gestured for her to go inside and she did with her eyes roaming the room.

The room screamed of her, bookshelves lined with familiar titles, a desk cluttered with parchment and quills, a soft blue quilt draped over the bed. The walls were a warm cream, adorned with framed sketches and photographs. 

She took it all in. It was hers, undeniably, but a trace of him lingered beneath it.

“Wasn’t this your room?” She turned to face him. "I mean, haven't this always been your room?"

He stood near the doorway with his hands shoved into his pockets. “It was,” he gave a nod. “It’s been yours too, for a while.”

Her heart stuttered as the realisation sank in. They shared this room. The bed, the wardrobe, the space itself, it was theirs. They had been physical, intimate in this very room for Merlin knows how many times because of course, Regulus wasn't born from a tree!

She swallowed as her cheeks bloomed red. “Are you… going to stay here too?”

Silence stretched between them and something flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a quick ease. “Don’t worry about it. There are plenty of rooms. I’ll manage.”

He stepped further into the room, gesturing toward a door on the far wall as if to change the subject. “Bathroom’s there,” then moved to the wardrobe, sliding it open to reveal two distinct sides—hers, neatly organised with robes and Muggle clothes, and his, a chaotic jumble of leather and dark fabrics. Her eyes caught on the jackets, worn, black, unmistakably his and exhaustion crept into her voice.

“You still haven’t given up on your rebellion, have you?” Her tone was almost resigned.

He sighed. “I don’t think I can…ever.” They fell silent again. “Freshen up,” he broke that silence, his tone softening as he stepped back. “Take your time. Call me if you need anything—anything at all.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on Reggie.”

She awkwardly shifted on her weight and nodded. He lingered for a moment then turned to leave. He was halfway out when she stopped him. “Sirius.”

He turned, the motion was so swift and expectant, grey eyes locking onto hers with a ferocity that squeezed her heart.  She hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing against her, then spoke. “Do you know where my wand is?”

For a moment, he didn’t move, then he slowly closed the distance between them, reached into his pocket and took out the wand she had known all her life. She instantly sighed in relief, seeing it, and took it from him. His fingers brushed hers; the contact was brief but sparked goosebumps along her arm. 

Her fingers closed around the wand, its familiar weight settling into her palm like a long-lost friend. The rush of magic instantly warmed her up. A small smile tugged at her lips as her eyes turned up at him. “I was wondering where it was since yesterday.” 

He looked at the wand. “Only I have the right to keep it,” And tipped his chin toward it. “That’s why I had it. Should’ve given it to you earlier, though. I guess I…forgot.”

Her chest tightened, a familiar pang of sympathy stirring within her. She and Sirius might have had an argumentative relationship in her fractured memory, sharp words and stubborn wills clashing like flint and steel but it was never hatred, never the cold disdain she’d felt for Malfoy. 

Sirius had been a saviour, a misunderstood soul caught in a web of injustice, and she’d always seen that, even through the haze of war. Now, though, questions swirled in her mind. How was he here? How had he come back from the dead? What had made her marry him? What had happened was so epic?

The thoughts pulsed at her temples, a headache blooming with every unanswered thread, and she pushed it aside. 

Later, she told herself, her fingers tightening around the wand. She’d unravel everything later.

“Thank you,” she met his eyes.

For the first time, a genuine smile gleamed across his face. It softened the storm in his eyes, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath. “Call me if you need something.”  

She nodded automatically and watched as he moved toward the door. Just as he reached it, a rush of guilt, or an ache she couldn’t name, surged through her. 

“Sirius,” she called again, a lump forming in her throat.

He turned, his hand pausing on the doorknob, grey sealing onto amber. 

The words trembled on her tongue. “I’m sorry.”

The air stilled and they stared at each other, the silence pushing like a tight thread. Then, slowly, a small smile curved his lips again, softer this time, tinged with something bittersweet. “It’s okay.”

She gave him a small twitching forced smile in return.

And with a final nod, he closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Darkness.

Thick and unfamiliar, pressing against her senses like a weighted fog. Hermione blinked awake, mind sluggish as she tried to piece together where she was. The air was still, save for the soft rustling of fabric as she shifted.

A blanket.

She frowned. She didn’t remember taking one. She barely remembered crawling onto the bed at all, only that exhaustion had pulled her down after the shower, lulling her into what was supposed to be a brief nap. But the darkness outside the window told another story.

Pushing up on her elbows, she reached for her wand from beneath the pillow and flicked it.

"Tempus."

A swirl of silver numbers floated in the air. 23:00.

She exhaled, rubbing her eyes. Merlin, had she slept the whole day?

She let herself fall back against the mattress. She should sleep. Let the heaviness pull her under again. But then a loud growl tore through the quiet. Her stomach twisted. She groaned, pressing a palm over her abdomen as if that would muffle the betrayal of hunger. Maybe she could ignore it. 

Another growl.

She sighed in defeat and sat up. Her eyes drifted to her wet chest, and she pouted. Her breasts were full and slightly painful as they leaked. Bloody tities! She waved her wand and cleaned them, and thought of her son. If she was getting up, she might as well check on Regulus. Perhaps he needed to be fed?

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she paused. Her eyes landed on the bedside table. Two pictures.

The first—Regulus, barely an infant, swaddled in deep blue blankets.

The second—

Hermione swallowed hard.

The second was her wedding picture.

Daylight had bathed that frame earlier, and she had cried. It wasn’t just the sight of herself in white or the way Sirius looked at her like she was his whole bloody world. It was the fact that she forgot this. Forgot them. She had never thought she could look that happy.

She clenched her fingers into her sheets, guilt curling around her ribs. How could she have lost something so precious? How could she not remember them?

A shuddering breath left her lips.

Enough.

She pushed herself up, the lingering haze of sleep making her sway for a moment before she steadied herself. Barefoot, she padded to the bathroom, twisting the tap and letting cold water spill over her palms before splashing it onto her face.

She looked at the mirror, which reflected someone older, more mature.

The soft roundness of youth had faded, leaving behind sharper angles and keen eyes. There was no trace of the nineteen-year-old girl she last remembered being. She tilted her head slightly, and there, just below her ear, three small paw prints were inked onto her skin.

She lifted a hand, running her fingertips over the ink.

Paw prints.

Sirius’s Animagus form?

A shaky sigh escaped her lips. She didn’t remember getting it. Didn’t remember anything. Perhaps, she should ask him? Forcing herself to breathe, she stepped back into the dimly lit bedroom and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

Then, without another glance at the pictures, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Silence pressed in around her, broken only by the soft creaks of the house settling in the night. She moved instinctively, her body drawn toward Regulus’s room. The door let out a whisper of a groan as she pushed it open, and she blinked against the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window.

Empty.

The cot was undisturbed, the small blanket folded neatly over the railing. No tiny form curled beneath it. No slow, rhythmic breaths fill the quiet. A strange worry coiled in her chest. Where was he? Her fingers curled around the edge of the door frame. Maybe Sirius has him. Right…he won’t leave him alone.

She exhaled, rubbing at her temple before stepping back into the hallway. The moment she reached the kitchen, a flicker of recognition sparked inside her. Sirius was right. Everything was still in its place—just different. Familiar yet new, like an old song played in a different key.

With a flick of her wand, candle flames sprang to life one by one, casting a golden glow over the space. The kitchen was warm, inviting, filled with small details she hadn’t noticed before, soft, mismatched rugs on the stone floor. The wooden counters bore marks of years of use, but they were polished and well-loved. Delicate herb bundles hung from the ceiling, drying in the air, filling the room with the faint scent of rosemary and thyme. A large oak table sat in the centre.

Her kitchen.

She swallowed.

Then turned toward the cupboards, wondering where she could find food. She pulled open one, then another. Finally, she settled on something simple.

An egg.

She grabbed a pan and set it on the stove before cracking the egg against the rim, letting the golden yolk slip into the pan. The familiar sizzle filled the air.

And then—

Footsteps.

She turned, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

Sirius. 

His dark hair was tousled, his grey eyes shadowed in the candlelight, and he paused, taking her in with a flicker of surprise.

“You’re awake.” His lips twitched. “You should’ve called me.”

She glanced away, poking at the egg in the pan. “I was just a bit hungry. Just woke up. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

He scoffed, stepping forward. “You shouldn’t worry about that.” He reached for her wrist, fingers brushing her skin, the touch alone raised strange goosebumps on her skin as he gently but firmly led her toward the table.

She frowned, stubbornness flaring. “I just need one egg. I can—

“No, you can’t,” he interrupted, guiding her into a chair before she could protest further. “I already have your food ready. You didn’t have lunch. Or dinner.” His voice softened at the edges. “So you don’t need to worry about it. Just give me five minutes to reheat it.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I can reheat my own food.”

He shot her a knowing look as he put the pan off and turned the stove off. Then he moved toward the cabinets. “I know you can.” His hand found the drawer, pulling it open before retrieving a teacup. “But you also missed your potions because you were sleeping. You need one before dinner.”

She blinked.

Oh.

He didn’t look at her as he poured a small vial of liquid into the cup. “I get it, you’re exhausted. It’s the potions. That’s why I didn’t wake you. Didn’t let anyone wake you.”

She brushed a stray curl from her face. “I don’t even know what happened. I just fell asleep. Didn’t even realise when.”

He nodded, swirling the potion before adding measured water. “Yeah. They hit hard sometimes.” He placed the cup in front of her.

She wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain. “Where’s Regulus?”

“Asleep,” he replied and went back to the counter before taking out a bowl with a plate on top from a cabinet and waving his wand over it. “Took a while, though. He does that sometimes. Bit of a night owl.”

A small smile ghosted her lips. “I checked his room but he wasn’t there. Figured he might be with you.”

“Yeah.” He glanced toward the hallway as if he could see straight through the walls to their son’s room. “But don’t worry. I put a charm on him; if he so much as stirs, I’ll know.”

She nodded and brought the cup to her lips and immediately gagged at the sharp, bitter smell. She scrunched her nose, pulling the cup away like it had personally offended her. “That’s disgusting.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, giving her a pitying look. “Wish I could help, love, but I can’t.” His voice was warm, teasing. “It’ll cool your mind off, though. You need to take it.”

She sighed, steeling herself as he uncovered the bowl of food. He casually began plating greens onto a side dish, the scent of roasted vegetables filling the air.

She inhaled deeply, holding her breath before tilting the cup back and swallowing the potion in one go. It burned. Bitter and awful, coating her tongue with an aftertaste so vile she nearly gagged again. “I am never drinking that again.”

Sirius shook his head as he set the plates down. “You need to. Two more days, and then you’re free.”

She groaned dramatically, pushing the cup far away like it might attack her. But the second he placed the bowl of warm pumpkin soup in front of her, her mood shifted. The fresh, hearty aroma made her stomach growl in approval.

She grinned. “Thank you.”

He handed her a spoon, and she wasted no time digging in. The soup was smooth, rich with spices, and the warmth spread through her like a comforting embrace. Sirius leaned against the counter, watching her with something unreadable in his expression. She caught his gaze mid-bite, and heat crept up her neck.

“Why are you staring at me?” She couldn't help questioning, swallowing.

His lips quirked, but he turned abruptly toward the stove. “Kettle’s on,” he uttered as if that explained anything and grabbed a mug. “You want tea?”

She swallowed again, her voice coming out more awkward than she intended. “Er…yeah.”

Her thoughts tangled as she went back to eating. There was something about him, the way he moved, the way he looked at her, that made her feel. But it wasn’t strong enough to name. A pull, distant yet undeniable, as if something inside her recognised him even if her mind didn’t.

It left her more confused than ever.

Her eyes flickered down to her hand as she reached for another sip, and she froze.

Her ring finger was bare.

A strange, hurting emptiness curled in her chest. She lifted her hand, staring at the spot where something was meant to be. Her throat felt tight as she lifted her eyes to him. “Where’s my ring?”

He stilled. Then, slowly, he turned his head, dark brows furrowing. “What?”

She lifted her hand, showing him her empty finger. “I think…” Her voice wavered. “Something was here.”

His gaze dropped to her hand. A long hush stretched between them before he moved. Crossing the space between them, he kneeled beside her chair. Her heart climbed up her throat, breath hitching as he raised his wand. Magic curled in the air, wrapping around his fingers like threads of molten gold. With a soft tap, something shimmered into existence on his pinky finger.

A ring, deep red as dragon’s blood, set in a band of cursed gold that pulsed faintly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own, just beside his own gold band.

Her lips parted as she stared at it then looked back at his eyes.

His eyes were grey clouds against her brown soil. A quiet pull in their depths, something that made her breath seize and her pulse stutter. He exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around the ring. “I didn’t think you’d even ask about it,” he whispered. “Figured you wouldn’t want it.”

Her brows furrowed, and a rare annoyance thumped into her pulse. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He didn’t answer. He only looked at her.

A look that said everything.

Something in her throat closed up.

Slowly, he slid the ring off his pinky, holding it between them. Her fingers trembled as she willingly lifted her hand. She didn't know why. She couldn't tell why. But she wanted, no, she needed that on her finger.

She needed that where it was supposed to be.

His gaze flickered down, his lips pressing together as he took her hand in his—warm, steady, his touch grazing her knuckles before sliding the ring onto her finger.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Magic pulsed the moment it settled on her skin. A quiet hum, a wave of something warm and calming curling through her bones. She inhaled sharply, staring down at it.

“There are charms on it,” she whispered, turning her hand slightly.

He nodded. “It’s an heirloom. It belonged to Aunt Druella. She passed it to Cissa. And Cissa gave it to me when we were getting…” He hesitated, watching her. “Married.”

Her head snapped up. Her mind stuttered at his words, processing them one by one. “You,” She blinked. “You took a ring from Narcissa Malfoy?”

He huffed a quiet laugh at the disbelief in her tone. “Yes.”

She gaped at him. “Wha—When did you even become so civil with her? As I remember, you quite despised your family.”

He tilted his head. “I still despise my family.” He paused. “Just not Narcissa. Or Andromeda. And Aunt Druella was never as cruel or heartless as any Black, so I didn't have any protests when Cissa insisted on an heirloom which didn't belong to this side of the family.”

Hermione gasped loudly, barely resisting the urge to clutch her chest. And then, she started blubbering. “What—what is happening?” Her voice pitched higher as she waved her hands, gesturing wildly. “Why is everyone so friendly with the Malfoys?” She paused and quickly shared a look at the door and hissed at him. “Is she still here?”

His lips twitched and he shook his head. “They left after lunch.”

She inhaled. “Good.” And started again. “As I was saying.” Sirius leaned back slightly. “Narcissa is here, in this house. This house! ” She pointed at the floor as if it personally offended her. “Taking care of the kids, bossing you around like it’s completely normal, and talking to me like we’re relatives. And Harry—oh, Merlin—Harry.” She clutched her forehead, her breath coming short. “Harry is married to Malfoy.”

Her stomach twisted, and she looked at Sirius with something akin to pleading.

“Please,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Please tell me I’m dreaming. No, a nightmare. That’s what this is. I’m stuck in some twisted, absurd nightmare.”

Sirius remained silent, still watching.

“Can you believe that?” She let out a near-hysterical laugh, hands trembling. “Harry married Malfoy? How? ”

He blinked.

She let out another breathless sound, half a laugh, half a wheeze. “It’s impossible. Do you know I fainted when I heard it? Fainted.” She pointed to herself. “But of course, can you blame me? It was like getting hit with an Avada.”

He quirked a brow.

She groaned, pressing her hands over her face. “Like how? It’s more shocking and unbelievable than,” She flailed a hand between them, voice dropping. “This.”

His expression barely changed.

“But them,” she gasped for breath. “I thought this, our marriage, was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard, but it’s nothing compared to Malfoy and Harry—

She stopped.

Her breath hitched as she registered the change in him.

The glint in his grey eyes had disappeared. His expression, unreadable before, lowered into something more guarded. Closed off.

A horrible, suffocating feeling inched up her throat and she didn’t know what to say, how to fix it, how to handle it.

The air felt tight.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

And then—

His wand buzzed.

Sirius glanced at it, already knowing. His posture shifted, and he pushed himself up from the floor. “It’s Reggie.” 

She inhaled, gripping the table’s edge. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’ve got it,” he cut in smoothly, already stepping away and turning off the stove. “Finish your soup.”

“But I want to see him.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Soup first, Hermione. I’ll be right back.” Then he left the room. 

She slumped against the chair. 

It felt like she was being strangled.

Her fingers curled against the wooden table, nails pressing into the grain as if levelling herself would stop the awful feeling seeping into her bones. She felt horrible. Her throat burned as she blinked against the sting in her eyes, but it was useless. Tears welled up, slipping past her lashes before she could stop them. Her gaze dropped to her hand, to the red ruby ring now snug around her finger. She had been wearing this for two years now. But she didn’t remember. It had been on her hand, a part of her and yet, she had woken up today without even noticing it was missing. Without feeling its absence.

A sob clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it down. Why was this happening to her of all people? How was she supposed to get used to this life? How was she supposed to take him as her husband when she had always thought of him as a godfather figure? This was ridiculous. 

She was trying….was she? 

She wiped her face quickly, pushing her half-eaten food away before standing up and padding out of the kitchen. She couldn’t face him again right now. She needed to get away. Perhaps she should owl Harry to meet her. 

As she took steps toward her room, a sudden cry rang through the quiet halls.

A baby’s cry.

Her heart lurched, panic flaring in her chest.

Regulus.

She followed the sound without thinking, her feet quickening until she found the right room. The moment she stepped inside, her breath hitched. Sirius stood by the window, gently rocking a red-faced, sleepy Regulus against his chest. The baby’s cries had softened into quiet whimpers.

Sirius looked up in surprise at her entrance. But Regulus noticed her first. “Mama,” the little boy hiccupped, his voice still thick with sleep, and she felt something deep inside her contract painfully tight.

Sirius gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s alright. He just woke up and must be hungry. I’ll take care of it.”

She swallowed. “I—I got scared,” she admitted, feeling foolish, but she had. The moment she’d heard him cry, something inside her had feared the worst. And she had no idea from where those emotions surfaced.

Sirius’s expression softened. “Nothing to worry about, love.”

She barely registered the endearment, too focused on Regulus, his big, wet eyes staring at her, his little mouth wobbling. She inhaled deeply and hesitantly reached for him.

“I,” her fingers trembled slightly. “I should feed him. My milk…”

Sirius nodded as if understanding without her needing to say it outright. He carefully transferred Regulus into her arms, and the little boy curled against her immediately, whining, “Mama.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, cradling him, running her hand down his back in slow, soothing strokes. “Shhh.” She hesitated for a second before glancing up at Sirius. “Would you,” she cleared her throat. “Could you step out for a moment?”

A faint pink bloomed across her cheeks.

Regulus whined again, tugging at her hair. 

Sirius didn’t even blink, simply nodding. “Of course.” He stepped toward the door, pausing just as he reached it. “Call me if you need anything.”

He had barely taken a step out when Regulus whined louder. “Dada.”

Sirius exhaled slowly before turning back, his grey eyes gentle as he stopped closer and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Regulus’s dark curls. “Dada will be right back, little one.” He shot Hermione a small, unreadable look before slipping out and closing the door behind him.

Regulus immediately squirmed in her arms, whining, trying to reach for the door.

“No, no, dear,” she whispered, pressing him closer, rocking him slightly, but his little fists pushed at her, his cries growing. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t easy.

He fought her, twisting, kicking, his cries sharp and distressed. Her heartbeat spiked, panic rising. Why couldn’t she calm him? She looked at the door. Should she call Sirius? No, she stubbornly told herself, she’d handle her child by herself. She needed to. She sat down on the bed, adjusting her hold, muttering soothing nonsense as she rocked him, but he wasn’t having it.

“Bobo,” he snivelled, his tiny hands gripping at her shirt.

She inhaled deep, steeling herself, before she carefully lifted her t-shirt just enough to free one breast, guiding him toward it. It took a few attempts as he writhed and struggled, but finally, he latched. The moment he did, his little body relaxed, his cries fading into soft, breathy hiccups as he suckled.

She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily and let her head fall back against the headboard, resisting the urge to groan.

Why was this happening to her?

Frustration clawed at her ribs, but then a soft exhale against her skin.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked down.

Her son.

His tiny body was still nestled against hers, little lips lazily suckling in his sleep. A bittersweet smile pulled at her lips. The feeling of breastfeeding was odd. Intimate in a way that startled her, yet natural, as though her body knew what to do, even if her mind was still reeling. The warmth of his small form, the gentle pull at her breast, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, it was grounding.

And terrifying.

Because if it weren’t for this child, this undeniable proof, she would have never believed any of this. She would have thought this was a cruel illusion, a twisted trick crafted by Voldemort himself.

But Regulus was real. 

Too real.

Her eyes traced his features, committing each tiny detail to memory. His irises were brown, her brown, but the contours of his eyes, the heavy-lidded shape, the eyebrows those were Sirius’s. His nose was still a soft little bop, not yet fully formed—hers. The thin lips and hair—black, thick and unruly—curling at the ends? It was all Sirius.

She swallowed.

Back at the hospital, she had spent so long staring at him, studying every feature, as if trying to catch a lie. As if she could find some mistake in this absurd story and prove that she didn’t belong here. That this wasn’t her life.

But there had been something about him. Something in the way he fit in her arms, in the way his small fingers had curled around hers, that had made her immediately accept him.

Her son.

Hers and Sirius’s.

It felt unbelievable yet believable.

When she noticed his tiny mouth had gone slack, she gently pulled his mouth off, mindful not to wake him. He barely stirred, only making a quiet, content noise as she pressed a kiss to his soft curls. She held him close for a moment longer, inhaling his familiar, baby powder scent, something deep inside her twisting in confusion.

How did she know how to do this? How to cradle him just right? How to rock him instinctively when he stirred?

She didn’t remember being a mother.

It was not like she never wanted to have kids.

She’d always wanted to be a mother.

Ever since she was little, she had imagined it. Played with dolls as their mother. Dreamed of it.

But then—

Dolohov’s curse.

She slowly reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the long scar which started from her chest and ended on her lower stomach. It was a bit faint now. But it was a reminder. A wound that had stolen her dreams. She had convinced herself right after that night at the ministry that she would never have children. That she would never get to be a mother. The same night when Sirius died.

Yet, here they both were. 

She swallowed, her fingers trembling slightly as she cradled Regulus closer, then carefully shifted to lay him on the bed. She moved slowly, cautiously, making sure he didn’t wake. He stirred, a tiny whimper leaving his lips, and she instantly reached out, patting his small back. “Shh, darling,” she whispered, rubbing soothing circles until he relaxed once more.

She let out a slow breath and put the small blanket over his body, tucking him carefully. A small smile tugged at her lips as she pulled out her wand and cast a silencing charm around him and she placed another kiss on his head. Then, standing, she turned to the door. Her hand hovered over the handle.

Was she ready to face him again?

She opened the door and stepped out and nearly stumbled, only to find Sirius sitting right outside the door, legs sprawled out on the floor, arms resting loosely on his knees. The moment he saw her, he pushed himself up, his sharp grey eyes scanning her as if assessing something unseen. “Is he alright?”

She swallowed, still feeling the ghost of Regulus’s warmth against her chest. “Yes, sleeping but I don’t know the protection charms, so you need to cast them.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I got it. Give me a minute.”

She nodded stiffly, watching as he slipped past her back into the room. And then she was alone. She let out a slow, shaking breath and rested her head against the cool wall, squeezing her eyes shut.

She felt off.

Everything was pressing down on her. Too much, Too fast. Her head throbbed, the edges of her thoughts blurring, emotions crashing over her in waves she couldn’t control. She wanted to breathe, to think, but all she felt was this—this tightness in her chest, this aching loss she couldn’t even remember.

She clenched her jaw, willing the feeling away.

A minute later, the door creaked open, and Sirius emerged, stretching his arms once before glancing at her. “All good.” 

She nodded, shifting on her feet.

For a long, heavy moment, they simply stared at each other.

Grey clouds on autumn leaves.

She didn’t know what to say.

That awkward, suffocating thing sat between them again—thick, unspoken, wrong. Like there was something just beyond her reach, something she should know but didn’t.

“I should go to bed.”

He blinked, then frowned a bit. “You have two potions left.”

She groaned, already dreading it.

His lips tugged. “Come with me.” 

She sighed in frustration but followed. When they reached the kitchen, Sirius opened the cupboard, glancing at her. “Do you want me to reheat your food? You left your food.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she rubbed her temples.

He scoffed. “You need food. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

His jaw tensed, but instead of pushing, he exhaled sharply and leaned against the counter. “Fine. I’ll make you something else.”

That startled her enough to glare at him. “What?”

“I’ll make something else. Something you’d actually want to eat.”

Her annoyance flared. “Sirius, I,” she started, snapping at him, only to stop halfway, blinking in surprise.

Wait.

“…You can cook?”

He arched an eyebrow at her reaction. “Yes.”

Her frown deepened. “Since when?”

He shrugged. “Since after graduation. Moony was a stubborn sod and refused to let me survive on burnt toast and Firewhisky, nor would he cook for me.”

She stared at him. “I didn’t know that.”

But he gave her a look, one that sent a discomfiting cold down her spine. “You do know that,” he said. “You just don’t recall.”

Something in his tone—something aching—made her flinch. She bit the inside of her cheek, gripping the head of the chair. “Well,” her words were laced with something sharp, something defensive, “in case you forgot, I lost my bloody memory.”

The room went silent.

He didn’t move, his lips parting slightly as though the words had physically hit him.

A beat passed.

Then, slowly, he said, “I told you when you were in your fourth year.”

She stilled.

“When I asked Harry to live with me,” He continued. “You asked what we’d eat and I told you I can cook…I also made you a sandwich to have your approval.”

She blinked rapidly, her mind shuffling through broken, scattered pieces, flashes of the past that had once been so whole, until—

"But what would you eat? Can you even make a proper sandwich?"

"Don’t you worry, Kitten. I’ve got the best cooking skills. Ask Moony, he approves."

She swallowed.

Gods.

“I… I forgot about that,” she admitted awkwardly.

“It’s okay,” he said, too quickly.

She nodded stiffly, looking away, suddenly feeling small. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Tea, then? With biscuits? Water’s already heated, so won't take much time.”

A fresh wave of guilt crashed into her.

He was just…trying.

“No,” she said, softly this time. “It’s okay. Just…just give me the potions.”

His lips pressed together for a moment before he moved to grab the two potion jars from the counter. She walked up to him, closer than she intended, and took—snatched them from his hands.

“How do I drink these?” She scrunched her eyebrows.

“In one go,” he said simply. “Nothing else.”

She nodded, gripping the jars tightly, the glass cool in her palm.

“I’ll take them to my room,” she mumbled, already stepping back.

“Hermione—”

But she didn’t let him finish.

She turned on her heel and bolted. She hurried toward the stairs as if running would somehow quiet the storm in her chest. But by the time she reached the first step, she felt it.

The sting.

The burn.

Tears...falling...her...failing.

Chapter Text

A sharp sting on her cheek made Hermione wince in her sleep. 

She barely had time to blink before two tiny palms smacked against her face again—quick, playful pats that came with a gurgling giggle.

“Mama woo!”

Her lashes fluttered open, and she was met with bright brown eyes, round and gleaming with mischief. Before she could fully process anything, another tiny palm smacked her face, gentler this time, just a tap, as if ensuring she was awake. “Chu Mama.”

For a moment she was confused then her heart swelled painfully in her chest as she took hold of the reality. 

“Hey, good morning,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and something tender as she reached for him.

Regulus squealed as she pulled him into her arms, his chubby cheeks irresistibly soft beneath her lips as she peppered them with kisses. He squirmed, kicking his little feet against her stomach, his giggles high-pitched and infectious.

“Ako!” he babbled, little fingers tangling into her curls.

She had no idea what that meant and decided it didn’t matter. Holding him closer, she let out a soft sigh, savouring the way he curled against her, all baby warmth and sunshine scent.

“Oi, Granger, don’t kill my god—

She sat up swiftly, every muscle in her body tensed, and her instincts kicked in before reason could. One arm tightened around Regulus while the other snapped her wand toward the source of the voice.

Regulus let out a startled wail and her heart pounded violently, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears until she saw him.

Malfoy.

Casually lounging in an armchair by the desk, legs crossed, expression utterly unimpressed. He arched a pale brow, looking completely at comfort as if he hadn’t just given her a near heart attack. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t raise your wand at a senior Auror,” he drawled, standing up in a lazy stretch. Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward Regulus, whose hiccupping cries had softened into pitiful sniffles. “And look, you’ve gone and made an angel cry.”

She blinked. Then, her brain caught up and she glowered at him. “Get away from him.”

Malfoy scoffed before standing up and stepping closer. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Give him here.”

She clutched Regulus tighter, heart hammering, a strange fear crawled up her spine that she hadn’t even felt during the run. All she could think was…him being a death eater and killing innocents. And he’d hurt her child. “Like hell, I will.”

He rolled his eyes. “You have no right to stop me.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” she snapped, voice rising. “Sirius!” She called out toward the open door. “Sirius!”

Regulus squirmed in her hold, reaching—toward Malfoy whose smirk faded and gaze sharpened, cutting through her panic. “Stop scaring my godson, Granger.”

Hermione froze.

Regulus, still sniffling, reached for Malfoy again. “Ako.”

Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wha…what did you just say?” 

A sudden thunder of footsteps echoed down the hall, the sound of someone sprinting at full speed. She barely had time to process it before—

Sirius stormed inside like a force of nature, wand drawn, his eyes wild with panic. He scanned the room quickly, muscles coiled tight like a predator ready to strike.

Harry was right behind him, glasses slightly askew, also holding his wand, but Hermione barely registered his presence. Her entire being zeroed in on Sirius—on the overwhelming relief that crashed into her the second she saw him, the deep, undeniable certainty that she was safe now.

He went straight to her, his brows furrowing in sheer concern. “What happened?”

She didn’t even think.

Regulus still clutched tightly in her arms, she rushed toward him, pressing into his chest as she stumbled to her feet. “Sirius! Malfoy—he’s—he’s trying to hurt Regulus.” Her voice tumbled out fast and frantic, hands gripping his shirt. “He’s saying all this nonsense, calling Regulus his godson.”

“Excuse fucking me?” Malfoy’s scandalized gasp cut through the air. He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “I am his godfather, you absolute menace.”

Hermione barely spared him a glance, too wound up to acknowledge him. “Sirius, hex him. Throw him out of the house.”

A heavy silence settled in the room.

Something felt off.

Still tucked against Sirius’s chest, she blinked in confusion, glancing up at each face.

Harry, standing by the door, was visibly biting his lip, shoulders shaking slightly—was he trying not to laugh? 

Malfoy, arms crossed, was shooting her an indignant glare as if she had personally offended his entire bloodline. Regulus, little hiccups still bubbling in his throat, was squirming in her grasp, still reaching for Malfoy.

Sirius let out a long, deep sigh. Then, before she could react, he pulled her closer, pressing his cheek against her curls. “Merlin, love,” he muttered, his voice a strange mix of exhaustion and passion. “I thought something horrible had happened to you.”

Her breath hitched.

Her body stilled.

Because what was this? This warmth in his voice, the quiet rasp of it as it settled deep inside her? She didn’t understand why it felt like her heart clenched in her chest at the way he held her like she was something precious.

It confused her.

Badly.

He inhaled slowly, then turned his head, his entire demeanour shifting as his dark eyes snapped toward Malfoy. “Draco.” His voice was sharp this time. “I told you not to come in here.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Reggie wanted to,” he said as if that settled the matter. Then, with a casual shrug, he added, “And I never deny Reggie anything.”

Regulus hiccupped and whined, still reaching for Malfoy and Sirius scowled at Malfoy. "Draco." There was an elderly warning in his tone.

Hermione felt dizzy. The edges of her vision blurred, confusion pressing against her temples like a storm threatening to break. She tilted her head up, locking eyes with Sirius, searching desperately for an answer.

“What,” her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “What is happening?”

Sirius turned his eyes back at her and opened his mouth but before he could answer, Malfoy stepped forward and plucked Regulus from her arms.

Her hands instinctively reached out, ready to fight but she barely got the chance. The moment Regulus was in Malfoy’s arms, the little boy stopped crying. Just like that. His tiny fingers clung to Malfoy’s robes, his face pressing into his shoulder, a soft, relieved sigh escaping his lips as if he had just returned home.

Hermione swayed on her feet slightly.

Malfoy shot her an unimpressed look as he rubbed Regulus’s back. “Honestly, Granger, I don’t think you took me as someone who’d hurt a child even during the war. Let alone my own godson.”

Her spine stiffened. Dazed, she turned to Harry, her voice shaky. “I—you aren’t his godfather?”

Harry shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Er, no. Draco is.”

She felt like the floor had vanished beneath her. Her mind trying to grasp onto something, anything that made sense. But nothing did. Nothing at all.

Sirius tightened his hold. “Hermione—”

She flinched. His touch burned as she jerked away from him, shaking his hold off like it hurt. “Don’t touch me.” 

A suffocating silence followed.

Thick, heavy, unbearable.

She pressed a trembling hand to her temple, her skull pounding with the weight of it all. Her chest ached as she exhaled sharply. 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

She just needed—needed space.

“Get out,” she murmured, her voice barely stable.

Sirius stepped closer. “Hermione—”

“I said get out,” she snapped, and her voice cracked, raw with something unsteady and breaking. “All of you. Out. Now.”

For the first time, even Malfoy looked taken aback. Regulus let out a tiny, startled whimper at her tone, jumping slightly, but Malfoy soothed him instantly, rubbing small circles on his back as he murmured something to the boy. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

Harry hesitated, glancing at Sirius but at the look on Hermione’s face, he sighed and followed Malfoy out, shutting the door gently behind him.

That left him.

Sirius stood there.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then slowly he stepped back and turned before walking out. The soft click of the door closing echoed in the silence.

Hermione stood frozen.

The room was too quiet.

Her fingers trembled as they came up to her lips, pressing against them like she could somehow ground herself. But the moment she did—

It broke her.

Her vision blurred. Her breath came out in a harsh, ragged sob.

Something inside her was screaming, screaming to remember, to understand.

But she couldn’t.

She sank onto the bed, her shoulders shaking, tears slipping down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.

Hermione nearly stumbled as she rushed down the stairs. The muffled voices from the kitchen reached her ears, a blend of deep murmurs and light laughter but the moment she stepped inside, silence crashed over the room like a wave.

Malfoy sat at the table with Regulus nestled against him, the little boy giggling as Malfoy wiggled his fingers against his tiny hands. It was such a painfully normal sight that her stomach twisted violently. Across the room, Sirius and Harry stood close, their conversation abruptly cut off as they turned to look at her.

She ignored the questioning looks, swallowed against the lump in her throat, and forced out, “Harry, I need to talk to you.” A pause. “Alone.”

Sirius’s gaze burned into her, but she refused to meet it. Harry hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

As she turned to leave, she caught the tail end of Sirius’s quiet exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath. It sent another painful pang through her chest, but she shoved it down and led Harry up the stairs.

The moment they were inside, she locked the door with shaking hands and cast a silencing charm. Only then did she turn to face him, but as soon as she met his eyes, warm, understanding, filled with something so painfully familiar, the fragile dam inside her broke.

Her face crumpled, and the tears she had fought so hard to suppress spilt down her cheeks.

Harry exhaled softly. “Oh, Hermione,” he murmured, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her.

She collapsed into his embrace, fingers clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. “I don’t—I can’t—” She choked on a sob. “I don’t understand anything. It all feels unreal. I feel like—I feel like I’m dying, Harry.”

His hold on her tensed. “It’s okay. Shh. You’re alright.” His hand ran soothingly down her back.

She shook her head against his shoulder, voice shaking. “At every step, it’s like I’m failing. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

“I know,” he held her closer. “I know, Hermione. But I’ve got you, okay? You’re not alone.”

She let out another shuddering sob. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do, Harry. Every time I try to make sense of this—this life, this world, it just slips away. I feel like I woke up in someone else’s story, and I don’t belong in it.”

He gently pulled away, just enough to guide her toward the bed. “Come on,” he murmured, helping her sit down before conjuring a glass of water.

He pressed it into her shaking hands and sat beside her. She took a small sip, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He took them in his own and squeezed lightly. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, Hermione. And it’s okay to cry, okay to break down. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the panic clawing at her. “I want to leave.” The words tumbled out. “I don’t want to stay here. Please, Harry, take me with you. I can’t do this. I don’t know this world, I don’t know this life.” A shaky puff. “I don’t want it.”

There was a pause.

His grip tightened just slightly. “Okay.”

She froze.

Her red-rimmed eyes snapped to his. “Okay?” she repeated, almost disbelieving.

He nodded, unwavering. “I’ll tell Sirius.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m an Auror, it won’t be hard to move you somewhere else. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

Her breath came faster and he continued. “Draco and I can take care of Reggie. Cissa adores him. She’d love to have him with her. And, well, Draco and I have been thinking about adopting anyway. Teddy would love a little brother.”

Something in her stomach twisted.

He gave her a small, encouraging smile. “And Sirius, he’ll understand. He can find another wife, someone else to be with. But at least you’ll be happy. You can live your own life, however you want. I’ll make sure of it.”

Another wife.

There it was again. 

That tight, unfamiliar feeling in her chest.

Like a rope was wrapping around her chest and strangling her.

The words sat heavy in her mind, making her grip tighten around the glass.

She didn’t want to be here. She knew that. But something about the way Harry said those words, about the ease with which he spoke of Sirius moving on, about the thought of Regulus no longer reaching for her but for someone else—

She couldn’t name the feeling. 

But she hated it.

He stood and gently tugged her hand, urging her to follow. “Come on, let’s go.”

She didn’t move.

Her fingers twitched in his grasp before she lowered her gaze to their joined hands. The red ruby on her finger seemed to stare at her. Seemed to dare her. 

Slowly, she pulled hers away, curling them into her lap instead.

His brows furrowed. “Hermione?”

She swallowed hard, unable to explain the sudden weight in her chest.

She wanted to leave.

Didn’t she?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before sitting back down beside her. Without a word, he took the half-forgotten glass from her shaking hands and vanished it with a flick of his wand.

He waited for a beat. “Sirius told me you took care of Reggie last night,” he murmured. “Fed him, rocked him to sleep.”

She sniffed as her fingers pressed together.

He continued. “You asked about the pictures. You wanted to know about his first step, his birthday, first words, every little memory of those pictures.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

“And you wanted your wedding ring back.”

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. 

His voice softened. “You don’t want to leave, Hermione.”

She looked back at him and he only gave her a knowing look. “You’re confused. You’ve been thrown into something extreme, and it’s too much to take in all at once. I get that. I really do.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “But you don’t want to leave.”

She had no words to refute him.

He gave her a small smile. “You don’t want to see your child being mothered by anyone but you. And you don’t want your husband with another woman.”

Her stomach clenched and again that unfamiliar itch took form. She felt like she wanted to throw something at the wall.

“You just need time, Hermione. Time and love. You’ll adjust. You always do.” His voice grew thick. “You’re the strongest person I know. You saved the wizarding world when it was impossible. Without you, we would’ve died in our first year.”

A weak, watery laugh escaped her at that, but it was drowned in another sniffle.

He beamed softly, shaking his head. “I know you’ll get through this. And I’ll be here. We all will.” He nodded as if saying something very important. "Your husband will."

She swallowed hard, dropping her gaze back to her ring. She twisted it slowly, feeling the weight of it press into her skin.

They were silent for a long moment then, in a quieter voice, Harry added, “I know you’re confused about the Malfoys.”

She looked up at him, wiping at her damp cheeks.

“Sirius originally wanted Teddy to be Reggie’s godfather.” He admitted. “He thought it was the right thing to do since Moony was his father.” She frowned. “But you fought him on it.” He said. “You argued with him, hard. You wanted Draco to be Reggie’s godfather. You made that choice.”

Her confusion only deepened.

He squeezed her hand once more. “You always made sure Reggie had the best of everything including the people who love him and you trust Draco the most," he said softly. "Out of everyone, you always did. You made him Reggie's godfather because you knew he'd protect him with his life. You knew he'd be the best person for him."

Her head spun. She didn’t understand, why Malfoy? When had she become close enough to him to trust him with her son?

He leaned forward slightly. "You weren’t always like this with them, you know. The Malfoys, I mean."

She blinked up at him, waiting.

"But things changed after the war," he continued. "Narcissa saved us all that day. She lied to Voldemort, looked him straight in the eye and told him I was dead, just so she could get back to Draco."

Her eyes slightly widened. She still didn't fully know about how the war ended. But she'd think about that later.

"That was the only reason I survived," he admitted. "Because of her. She took a gamble on me, and it changed everything."

She stared at him, trying to piece the story together in her mind. What did he mean? What happened?

"After that, I started noticing things." He murmured. "You were different. You grew closer to the Malfoys. And to Andromeda too. I didn’t know why at first. Then one day, I asked but you told me you'd explain later."

She frowned. "And?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And then, a few weeks later, you stormed into my office at the Auror Department, telling me Sirius was back.”

She did?

"You took Narcissa and Andromeda’s help to bring him back. How? I don’t know. You never told me." He shrugged. "But you did it."

Her pulse roared in her ears. Her body trembled, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the weight of Harry’s words or the suffocating fog of confusion that pressed against her skull.

"When Sirius came back and heard about Cissa, well, he wasn’t thrilled." He nodded. "But Andy wouldn’t leave him alone. She kept scolding him to give Cissa a chance. And, of course, you always poked at him about it. You never let things be."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips.

"Sirius didn’t have much of a choice. So he made amends. And when he married you, well," He sighed. "That made you and Malfoys family. And you started growing even closer to them."

She had helped bring Sirius back? She had pushed him toward Narcissa? She had built bridges where before there were only walls? She had done all of that?

And the worst part was she wasn’t sure if she wanted to remember a memory where she and Narcissa Malfoy were…relatives.

"And Draco and I," He trailed off with a quiet laugh. "That just happened. Neither of us knows how, really." His expression softened. "But you were happy. More than happy."

A tangled web of unfamiliar emotions clawed at her insides.

"You know," he murmured, "Draco loves Reggie more than anyone else. And if you don’t believe me, just look at Reggie. His most favourite person in the world is Draco."

She sniffed. “It’s..I don’t know Harry. It’s too much.”

He looked at her, really looked at her like he was weighing his words carefully before he spoke. "You need time, Hermione," he said gently. "No one expects you to wake up and be okay with everything. No one expects you to know how to feel." He paused. "But you can’t figure this out by running away."

Her fingers curled into the sheets.

"You fought too hard to build this life," he murmured. "And I know it doesn’t feel like yours right now, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. Just take it slow. One thing at a time. If you don’t understand something, ask. If you feel lost, say it. If you're scared, let us help you. Let Sirius help you."

She stared at her hands, her nails pressing into her palms.

He then stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "And, you know." He shot her a meaningful look. "It’s okay to make your husband sit in front of you and demand that he tell you things. That’s a very wifely thing to do."

A small sound escaped her lips, something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so broken.

"And I’m pretty sure," he continued, offering her a tiny smile, "that, at the very least, Sirius wouldn’t mind. If anything, he's dying for you to talk to him."

Her stomach twisted.

"And you have no idea what this is doing to him. If you think you’re failing." He shook his head. "Then just know that he already believes he has." A shuddering breath left her. “Instead of pushing him away, perhaps it’s time to start over.”

He patted her head like he used to when they were kids. "Now, come on," he said. "Let’s go have breakfast. I don’t trust Draco and Reggie alone together for too long. They’re chaos in a package."

She almost smiled. Almost.

He turned toward the door, but before he could take a step, her voice stopped him.

"Harry," she whispered, gripping the sheets. "Did I…" She swallowed thickly. "Do I love him?"

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. The corners of his lips lifted in something tender, something knowing. "More than anything else." A beat of silence. "Perhaps not more than Reggie."

She bit her lower lip as he grinned. "Now hurry and freshen up. I can’t promise Draco won’t eat your breakfast, his favourite pastime is annoying you."

She gave him a small nod and then he turned to the door but just before he was about to cross the doorway, he paused and turned a bit. "If you still have doubts about him." She looked at him and he raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps, think, why did you call for Sirius instead of anyone else when you felt scared by Draco?"

Her throat burned.

He smiled before walking out letting his words echo in her head, reverberating through the hollow spaces of her heart. 

Why did you call for Sirius instead of anyone else when you felt scared by Draco?

She didn’t know what to do with that. With any of it.

She buried her face in her hands. It was too much—this life, this world, these people who looked at her with so much familiarity while she felt like a stranger in her own skin.

Her chest ached, like something inside her was splintering apart, piece by piece, and she had no way to stop it.

Her gaze drifted absently across the room, searching for something, anything to anchor herself. That was when she saw it again.

The wedding photo.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the frame, hesitating just for a moment before lifting it into her hands.

The image flickered to life.

She was laughing, her head thrown back, happiness written across every line of her face. And she…she looked like she belonged.

A sharp pang shot through her chest.

Who was this woman? This version of her who smiled so easily, who leaned into Sirius’s touch without hesitation, without confusion? Who loved and was loved without question?

She swallowed, her fingers gripping the frame like it might slip away if she let go. Her vision blurred, the edges of the photo smearing together.

Her lips parted, and a whisper broke from them. "Where are you?"

The Hermione in the picture only smiled back, untouched by the wreckage this Hermione had become.

Where had that woman gone? The one who had built a life here, who had loved so deeply, so completely? Had she disappeared the moment Hermione woke up in that hospital bed, lost to the chasm between memory and reality? Or was she still buried somewhere inside her, screaming to be found?

Tears slipped down her cheeks, landing on the glass of the frame.

She wanted to reach through it. To pull that woman out, to ask her how she did it—how she loved, how she lived, how she made this life her own.

But all she could do was stare.

Lost.

Chapter Text

Hermione approached the bedroom and paused just outside the door, taking a quiet breath.

It was afternoon now. Harry and Malfoy had left after breakfast—breakfast she had barely touched. They had spoken about ordinary things, a new case at work, paperwork, something about Kingsley’s latest policy. She had sat among them, not truly hearing a word.

She told Harry she was tired and wanted to go to bed. Then she locked herself in the room and made a list.

A list of questions.

Questions she had no answers to. Questions that gnawed at her mind. Questions that, once answered, might stitch the broken pieces of her life back together or shatter them completely.

Either way, she had decided. She would go forward.

With or without her memory.

And when the final question had been etched onto the parchment, she set it aside and took a shower. Now, dressed in a soft t-shirt and shorts, she stood at the threshold of Sirius’s bedroom. Carefully, she peeked inside.

The friendly hue of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. It illuminated Sirius, highlighting his figure in soft, warm light. His hair was tied in a knot at the back of his neck, with a few strands falling loosely around his face, and his brows were furrowed in deep concentration.

He stood by the window, next to the desk, going through a spread of parchments. His dark, short-sleeved t-shirt clung to his form, revealing lean muscles and the inked lines of his tattoos. His attention flicked from one parchment to another, scanning them, as if wrestling with an urgent matter that refused to make sense no matter how many times he reread it.

Hermione’s attention drifted.

On the bed, Regulus was half-crawling, half-walking. A soft, shimmering glow surrounded the bed like an invisible barrier of magic; delicate white dandelions floated around him, drifting lazily in the air.

He stretched toward them with giggles, his small hands swiping at the seeds as they danced just out of reach. Each time he tried to jump, he stumbled, landing with a little huff before trying again.

In his grasp, his stuffed otter dangled, half-forgotten in his excitement.

Her lips curved. Then, as if sensing her, he turned, his gaze landing on her, brightening before he let out a shrill of pure joy. “Mama!”

Sirius’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting hers, and for a moment, he simply stared. He looked surprised—no, she decided, he looked rather shocked.

She offered a faint, tentative smile. “Hey.”

He faltered. “Hey.” His voice was barely there, a breath of sound. Then his expression shifted, turning serious. He set the parchments down, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered quickly, pocketing the parchment and stepping toward Regulus before she could second-guess herself. He was already stretching for her, the otter slipping from his hold, though the invisible barrier kept him contained.

“Wait.” Sirius’s voice halted her mid-step. He closed the distance between them, brushing his wand through the golden glow surrounding the bed. The magic shimmered before dissolving.

Regulus let out a triumphant squeak, wasting no time as he lunged toward Hermione, his chubby arms outstretched.

She smiled and carefully lifted him into her arms. “Oh, look at you,” she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

At once, the dandelions floating around them stirred, twirling in lazy circles. Regulus gasped. “Mama woo,” he babbled, his hands lifting as if to snatch the seeds.

She paused, then turned to Sirius, confusion etching her features. He gave her a slight smile before guiding a floating dandelion toward Regulus with a flick of his wand.

The toddler pursed his lips and leaned forward, trying with great determination to blow it away. What came out instead was a loud, wet brbrbr noise, more spit than air.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, her shoulders trembling with the effort. “Here, sweetheart,” she said, adjusting her hold on Regulus before blowing softly on the dandelion herself. The white seeds scattered into the air like stars, vanishing with a twinkle before reappearing as a whole flower.

He let out an excited squeal, his whole body wriggling in happiness. “Dada boo woo!”

Sirius grinned, tousling the boy’s dark curls. “Yeah, yeah, love, I know.”

She watched them, a gentle heat blooming in her chest. The scene before her suddenly felt so… right. So whole.

Did she want to hold onto it, to let herself sink into the ease of it? Or let the nagging weight of uncertainty gnaw at her?

She cleared her throat. “Do you always do this?”

Sirius leaned back on his heels, studying her. “Only when we need to keep him busy. He gets too caught up in them, completely distracted. It’s an easy trick, really.”

She glanced back at Regulus, who remained mesmerized by the dandelions drifting around them.

“It’s… adorable,” she admitted, her voice softer now, more thoughtful. “Will you teach me how to cast it later?”

Sirius tilted his head, surprise flickering across his face as he regarded her carefully before nodding. “Yeah, sure, it’s quite easy.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken words, lingering between what was and what might have been.

She swallowed, adjusting her grip on the squirming child in her arms. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He straightened, brows knitting together. “About what?”

She shifted Regulus against her hip as he stretched for another floating dandelion. “I need to ask you about everything.” She paused. “About us.”

The air between them seemed to shift. He didn’t move, but his expression softened, almost vulnerable.

And before he could respond, before she could dwell too long on what she’d just admitted, she blurted out, “Will you make me some tea?”

Sirius blinked.

Then, to her utter surprise, a slow, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter, warmer. “Yeah, I can do that.”

She didn’t know why her heart gave a small, unexpected flutter at that.

“Just give me a second.” He turned back to the desk, his wand sweeping the scattered parchments into neat stacks. It was effortless, but she caught the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightened around his wand.

Her frown deepened. “What are those?”

He glanced at her as if weighing his words. “Er, your reports.” His tone was casual, but something in it felt too calculated. He cleared his throat, refocusing on the papers. “I was just going through them a bit.”

Her reports.

A sudden pang gripped her chest. Was he searching for something? Some medical note, some breakthrough that might magically restore her memories? Was he hoping for an answer to make their life—his life—easier?

She clenched her fingers.

She should ask. She should demand to know what he was looking for, what he hoped to find. But the words knotted somewhere between her mind and mouth, and instead, she inhaled slowly, forcing herself to look away.

You’re overthinking.

She’d promised herself just minutes ago that she wouldn’t do this, that she’d take things one step at a time, without getting lost in the what-ifs and maybes.

“Alright, I’m done,” Sirius said, and when she looked back, his gaze was already on her. “Kitchen?”

She nodded, watching as he waved his wand, banishing the last of the dandelions.

A gasp. Then sudden, frantic distress. “Dano? Dano?” Regulus’s head whipped around, curls bouncing. She pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh at her son’s panic.

“Mama dano!” he cried.

She arched a brow at Sirius, who sighed, already reaching for the boy. “Give him to me.”

She lingered for a moment before handing him over, her fingers grazing Sirius’s as Regulus passed between them. A faint spark tingled up her arm at the contact, and she resisted the urge to pull back and shake it off.

Her cheeks warmed.

But she didn’t have time to dally on it, because the moment Regulus was in Sirius’s arms, he lunged for his father’s beard, tugging hard.

Sirius winced. “Bloody—Reggie.”

Regulus pouted up at him, oblivious to his own strength. “Dada dano!”

“Yeah, love.” Sirius gently pried the boy’s grip loose before twirling his wand again.

This time, something new happened. From the tips of Regulus’s barely visible nails, miniature dandelions sprouted—small, thin, and glowing softly. He let out a high-pitched sound of pure joy, waving his hands in excitement.

Hermione’s lips parted. “Wow,” she breathed, captivated. “That’s impressive.”

Sirius flashed a brief smile before Regulus turned to her, holding out his hands.

“Mama boo woo!”

Something inside her softened. With a gentle smile, she leaned in and blew lightly over his fingers. The dandelions scattered into the air, their white shreds drifting briefly before reforming on his fingertips.

Regulus gasped, then puffed out his cheeks, exhaling with all his might. The same wet brbrbr noise erupted, complete with an adorable spatter of spit.

She grinned.

But when she glanced up, she caught Sirius watching her. Warmth lingered in his grey eyes—like sunlight breaking through clouds—making her face flush hotter.

She stiffened, standing abruptly. “Kitchen,” she said, the word quick and clumsy.

She turned and strode out of the room without looking back, her heart thumping too fast. She sensed him following, still holding their son, as they stepped into the kitchen together.

“Come on,” Sirius urged, glancing back at her as he entered.

She trailed behind, watching as he settled the still-distracted Regulus onto the table, his legs kicking.

“You’ll need to distract him a bit,” Sirius muttered, smoothing Regulus’s hair. “He has a”—he frowned barely—“weird attraction to fire.”

She tilted her head. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, giving her a pointed look. She turned to Regulus, who gazed up at her with an innocent expression. “That’s not a nice thing,” she said, tapping his nose lightly.

“Nich!” he chirped, completely missing the point.

Sirius pulled out a chair for her. “Do you want something to eat? You haven’t had lunch.”

She pressed her lips together. “Er, I’m not really hungry.”

He scoffed. “Right.”

She shot him a look, but he only raised an expectant brow. She waved a hand vaguely, relenting. “Fine. Just give me whatever you have.”

He nodded, looking far too pleased with himself, and headed to the stove. She shifted, glancing at Regulus, who babbled happily to himself, still playing with the dandelions.

But the second Sirius turned on the stove, the gas igniting with a soft whoosh, Regulus froze, his head snapping toward the flickering flame.

Hermione reacted instinctively, leaning forward to cup his chubby cheeks and guide his focus back to her. “Hey, sweetheart,” she cooed, tipping her head. “Tell me about the flowers. Do you like them?”

Regulus stared at her, momentarily thrown, then grinned. “Mama boo woo!”

She gasped dramatically. “No way! That’s amazing!”

He bounced a bit, and without warning, sank his teeth into her finger.

“Ow!” she yelped, more startled than hurt.

He cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh with him. She wiggled her finger in his grip, and he nipped again.

“Oh, you little menace,” she teased, tickling his sides.

He released her finger, fidgeting with mirth.

She grinned, then paused.

Sirius was watching her.

She felt it before she saw it. The subtle shift in the air, the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Slowly, she looked up, catching him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his expression warm, fond, and a bit unreadable.

Her stomach fluttered.

She quickly averted her gaze, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

A few minutes later, he walked over, setting down two steaming cups of tea and two plates. One with only eggs, the other with eggs and sandwiches.

He placed the tea and sandwich plate in front of her just as Regulus zeroed in on the food, his hand poised to slap it.

She barely had time to react before Sirius moved, his hand darting out to gently but firmly grasp Regulus’s wrist, stopping him just in time. “Oi.”

She sucked in a breath, realizing—too late—how close Sirius had gotten in that split second.

She could feel the heat of him, the solidness of his presence as he leaned over her. His skin brushed hers faintly, and his scent—clean, musky, smoky, and undeniably him—filled the air.

She swallowed hard.

But he didn’t seem to notice, already lifting Regulus into his arms. “None of that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Regulus kicked his feet in half-hearted protest. Sirius glanced at Hermione as he moved to the other side of the table, settling Regulus down before grabbing his own plate and tea. “Reggie loves eggs,” he said easily, sitting across from her and placing Regulus back on the table. “You can’t eat them in front of him unless you want them stolen or worse, a full-blown tantrum.”

It took her a moment to steady her racing pulse before she huffed a quiet laugh, watching Regulus lean eagerly over his plate.

Her gaze slid back to Sirius. “You didn’t need to make him his own plate,” she said. “He could’ve shared mine.”

Sirius shook his head. “Yeah, that would’ve ended well.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t share food, love,” he said, taking a sip of his tea, and her heart skipped oddly at the word “love.” “He plays with it, smashes it, and makes a mess of everything before actually eating. You wouldn’t get a bite.”

She glanced at Regulus and gave a faint smile. “He’s very energetic.”

Sirius snorted. “Energetic is putting it lightly. He’s never quiet for a full minute unless he’s distracted.”

Just as he said it, Regulus’s attention snapped back to his plate, his hand rising to smack the egg.

Sirius intercepted it at the last second, holding his wrist gently. With a wave of his wand, the dandelions vanished. “Here. Carefully,” he instructed, handing Regulus his plate.

Regulus stared at it, then smacked the eggs in one swift motion. Yolk splattered onto the table, his fingers, and his round cheeks. For a second, he just looked at it. Then he grinned like he’d invented something brilliant, proudly bringing his messy palms to his mouth.

Sirius didn’t even look surprised, grabbing a small towel to wipe the yolk off Regulus’s face, and shaking his head. The boy giggled, smearing more across his forehead.

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, watching their easy rhythm. Sirius managing the chaos, Regulus basking in his father’s attention. When Regulus finally started eating his eggs, mostly with his hands, Sirius sat back with a sigh and reached for his tea. He took a slow sip, then met her gaze.

That’s when she realized how intently she’d been watching them.

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked down at her plate, forcing herself to take a bite of her eggs as if she hadn’t been caught.

For a moment, they ate in silence.

Then Sirius cleared his throat. “You wanted to ask me something?”

She swallowed, nodding as she pulled the neatly folded parchment from her pocket and smoothed it out on the table. “I made a list.”

He paused mid-sip. “You made a list?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I was getting too confused, so I wrote down all the questions I need answers to. If I can’t remember, I can at least understand.”

He leaned forward, eyeing the parchment like it held the universe’s secrets. “And how does this work, exactly?”

“I ask the questions,” she said simply. “And you answer them.”

He hummed, considering it. “How many questions?”

“A lot,” she admitted. “Around twenty so far. But I’ll be adding more whenever something new comes up.”

He exhaled, scratching his beard. Then, after a moment, he gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

She perked up. “Alright?”

“I’ll answer one question at a time.”

She faltered. “One?”

He nodded. “One.”

“That’s ridiculous!” She straightened in her chair. “Sirius, I need answers—

“The healers were very firm,” he cut in smoothly, feeding Regulus a small piece of egg, which the boy happily chomped. “No pressure on your memory. Pushing too hard could make things worse.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not putting pressure on my memory. I’m asking logical, reasonable questions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “One at a time.”

She let out an exasperated noise. “That will take forever.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “We do have forever.”

That stopped her cold. A strange ache coiled in her chest. Forever. They were tied to each other for forever. They had to stay together for forever. She pressed her thumb against her ring.

It should’ve felt comforting. Instead, it stirred a restless unease. Did she even believe in this forever? How could she, when her own mind had stolen years from her, leaving her stranded in a life she didn’t recall?

She pushed past the tightness in her throat. “Two questions.”

He exhaled, giving her a long, unimpressed look. “Hermione—

“I need to understand,” she pressed, her grip tightening on the parchment. “You say we have forever, but right now, I feel like I’m nowhere. Two questions aren’t going to kill me, Sirius.”

His jaw tensed, but before he could argue, Regulus crawled toward her across the table, his palms smacking the wood with eager pats. She reached out instinctively, steadying him as he grabbed for the eggs on her plate.

She huffed, scooping some onto a spoon and offering it to him. “Here, aaaa.” Regulus opened his mouth, chomping away as she continued. “It’s not like I’m asking for my entire life story in one sitting,” she said, glancing at Sirius. “Just two things.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning like a man at his wit’s end. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. Two.”

Victory sparked inside her, though it faded quickly. He fixed her with a firm look. “But if I think a question is too heavy, that’s the only one for the day.”

She frowned. “You can’t just—

“I can.” His voice was low, final. She wavered, wrestling with her mind.

Then, finally, she groaned. “Fine. Two. But that’s my limit, not yours.”

He closed his eyes, as if exhausted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to the parchment, smoothing it out on the table. Every question mattered; every answer could be a piece of the puzzle. But which one to ask first?

Before she could decide, sticky fingers snatched the parchment. She gasped. “No, no, Regulus, give it back.”

His yolk-smeared hands clutched it to his chest like a treasure.

“Regulus,” she tried, tugging gently at the corner. “Darling, that’s Mummy’s."

His face crumpled. His lower lip quivered, his body stiffened, and he whined. Sirius groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh, brilliant.”

She panicked, patting Regulus’s back. “Alright, alright, you win. Keep it.”

She released the parchment. The whining stopped instantly. He blinked, then grinned as if nothing had happened, crumpling his new favourite toy, now streaked with egg yolk and drool.

She slumped back in her chair, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Merlin, help me.”

Sirius chuckled, reaching for his tea. “Told you. Doesn’t share food, doesn’t share anything.”

She watched Regulus mangle the parchment with glee. “Well, I do have all the questions in my head.”

She turned to Sirius, weighing her options. What their life was like, how they fell in love, how she ended up here. But something heavier pressed at her, hovering on the edge of her tongue.

Then, before she could rethink it, she asked, “…Did you die?”

He’d just taken a sip of tea. The moment the words hit, he choked and coughed harshly, doubling over as tea sputtered from his lips, one hand clutching his chest.

Her breath caught. “Sirius!” She scrambled to pour him water, heart pounding as she hurried over and thrust the glass toward him. He waved her off between coughs, struggling to breathe.

“Merlin, breathe properly,” she fussed, rubbing his back. “You absolute idiot, drink slower.”

Regulus, meanwhile, found it all endlessly entertaining, crawling back to Sirius with a satisfied squeal, patting his cheeks curiously. “Da!” Sirius exhaled and shot the boy a mildly exasperated look.

He finally straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before fixing her with a stare. “You really shouldn’t drop questions like that when someone’s drinking.” His voice was hoarse. “Especially when it’s hot.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Then, softer, “Sit down, love.”

Her heart did that odd skip again. Instead of returning to her seat across from him, she grabbed her tea and settled beside him.

He raised a brow.

“It’s easier,” she said, nodding toward Regulus who had already turned back to the table, smearing yolk into doodles with glee. “He won’t have to keep crawling over.”

She let out a small breath, her hands warming around her cup. Then, carefully, she glanced at Sirius. “So?”

He breathed, raking a hand over his hair. “I don’t know if I was dead.”

She stilled, brows furrowing in confusion.

“It was like waking up from a long sleep,” he said slowly as if dredging the memory from deep within. “I remember seeing Harry’s face, he was running toward me, Moony holding him back. My skin felt strange like it wasn’t mine anymore. And then…” He paused. “It was like being tripped backwards. Something strong yanked me off my feet.” His tone grew hushed. “And then everything went black.”

She barely breathed.

His hand tightened against the table. “It felt like a second later, I was staring at you.”

She started, caught off guard. “Me?”

He turned to her. “Yeah.” He nodded. “When everything came back, you were right there, tapping my cheek, telling me to wake up.”

She inhaled sharply, her gaze drifting forward. She tried to summon it—the image of Sirius unconscious, her voice calling him back.

It hovered just beyond reach, slipping away no matter how hard she chased it.

Her head throbbed.

Her chest constricted.

His voice cut through the haze. “If every answer’s going to push you like this,” he said, watching her closely, “I won’t tell you.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “Sirius—

“I mean it,” he interrupted. “Forcing it won’t help.”

Frustration surged within her. “I have to try.”

“Trying and forcing aren’t the same thing.”

She huffed, glaring at him. Then, without a word, she dragged her chair to face him fully, tucking her legs beneath her. “Fine,” she said, planting her elbows on the table. “Then what happened?”

He studied her for a moment before sighing and leaning back. “It took me ages to breathe right again,” he admitted. “And somehow, you knew what to do. I don’t recall much—just you pouring potions down my throat, your hands on my face, yelling at me to stay awake.” A wry smile flickered across his lips. “I think Cissa and Andy were there too, trying to rouse me, but…” He exhaled slowly. “I blacked out again. The next thing I knew, I woke up two weeks later in St. Mungo’s. That’s it.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

“So you never died?” she asked.

He was quiet for a beat, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I don’t think so.”

She frowned, puzzled.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “After I fell through the Veil, something happened to the Black family tapestry. It reshaped itself. Names that were blasted off reappeared. The family tree kept growing like it had never been broken.” His gaze darkened. “And there I was, still alive, even after the Veil.”

She stared at him, her mind spinning.

A million questions crowded her thoughts, but before she could speak, Sirius continued. “Regulus was dead,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, in a voice that seemed to ache, “He’s still…” His jaw tightened. “…Dead.”

The silence thickened. She swallowed hard, watching grief shadow his features, his hand resting motionless on the table.

“Do you know?” she asked softly. “That your brother wasn’t a bad person?”

He stilled. Then, slowly, he nodded, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “I never really understood him.”

His voice was hushed now.

Her chest twinged.

Her gaze dropped to his hand, where his thumb idly traced circles around his wedding ring, rolling the band between his fingers.

A sharp ache pierced her ribs. Before she could stop herself, her hand twitched toward his—

A piercing wail sliced through the air.

Both their heads snapped to this Regulus. The boy squirmed, his face crumpled in distress as he clawed at his eyes.

Her stomach sank. “Regulus.”

Sirius swore under his breath and sprang up. It took a second to see it. Regulus, in all his messy, sticky glory, had shoved his yolk-covered fingers into his eyes. Now, he was rubbing at them furiously, making everything worse.

She let out a breathless, half-exasperated laugh. “You absolute disaster.”

Sirius groaned, scooping the boy into his arms. “Merlin, Reggie.” He cast a quick Scourgify. “There, there, you’re alright, buddy.”

Regulus wailed louder. Hermione grabbed a clean towel, shaking her head as she charmed it with a cooling spell. “Hold him still.”

Sirius complied, jostling Regulus gently while she dabbed at his eyes, the cool fabric to soothe his irritated skin.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured.

But Regulus only cried harder, his fists flailing. One smacked Sirius’s jaw hard, while he shoved her hands away.

Sirius grunted, his head jolting. “Alright, that’s it.” He shot her an exasperated look. “Take him.”

Her breath hitched. “What?”

“Hold him.”

“I—how would I—?”

“It’s the only way when he gets like this,” he said, thrusting Regulus into her arms before she could protest.

She caught him with a startle, his wriggling body pressing against her chest. His hands gripped her shirt, tears streaking his face as he hiccupped miserably. She tightened her hold, heart racing, and tried to wipe his cheeks. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

And before she could say more, Sirius shifted. A flicker of movement, a blur of black and where he’d stood was a massive, shaggy black dog.

Her lips parted.

Padfoot.

She’d nearly forgotten how huge he was, how his thick fur curled at the edges, how his silver eyes—unmistakably Sirius’s—gleamed in his canine form. His ears perked up, tail wagging slightly as he let out a soft, puppy-like bark.

Regulus’s crying stopped. His sniffles slowed, his teary eyes widening as he stared at Padfoot.

Then, in a small, breathless voice, he whimpered, “Pado.”

She felt him tremble with excitement, twisting in her arms toward the dog.

She snorted, unable to help it. Padfoot’s ears flicked indignantly, and he let out a sharp, huffing bark as if offended by her amusement.

Regulus fiddled harder, arms outstretched. She adjusted her hold, kneeling to bring them closer to the floor.

The moment they were level, Regulus beamed. Padfoot huffed again, softer now, then dipped his head, swiping his tongue across the boy’s face in quick, affectionate licks.

Regulus shrieked, clutching Padfoot’s fur, his body shaking with uncontrollable giggles as the dog lavished him with kisses.

Hermione watched them, a quiet warmth spreading through her.

Her son glowed, his tears forgotten, replaced by pure joy at Padfoot’s presence. He squealed as the dog nuzzled him.

She smiled, wiping his runny nose. Padfoot licked him again. “Pado!”

Her laughter caught in her throat when—flash.

A flicker of movement.

A whisper of warmth.

Her brows furrowed as scenes burst before her eyes—quick, faint, like grasping at smoke.

“—Padfoot, stop—!”

Her own voice… soft, breathless, laughing.

The sensation of skin against hers. A familiar weight pinning her to something soft.

“—Sirius—!”

Another flicker.

A blur of dark hair above her. Rich, teasing laughter. His grin—mischievous, playful. Fingers danced over her ribs, relentless, tickling.

She squirmed, breathless, laughing until it hurt.

Another flash.

Lips.

Warm. Slow. Lingering.

The faint press of his mouth against her neck, hot breath, soft pressure—she moaned.

Her vision swam.

A loud ringing filled her ears.

The world tilted.

And before she could process it—before she could breathe—her eyes rolled back.

Everything went black.

Chapter Text

A faint tapping against her cheek roused Hermione from the depths of sleep. A voice pierced through the fog.

"Hermione, can you hear me?"

Her brows creased slightly in response. The voice, distinctly female, continued. "Slowly, try to open your eyes."

She obeyed.

At first, the world was a blur, shadows dancing against the dim light of the room. As her vision cleared, the figure before her came into focus—Sirius.

He was close, far too close, as though he’d been hovering over her. When her eyes locked onto his, his face softened into something unguarded, vulnerable. The intensity in his gaze made it seem as if the universe had righted itself.

"Love?" His voice was hushed. "Are you alright?"

She blinked, confusion settling deeper. "I… I think so." Her words sounded strange to her own ears, sluggish and heavy. She glanced around, mildly startled to find Parvati standing nearby, her face marked with concern.

"What?" Hermione swallowed, her throat parched. "What happened?"

Parvati gently took her wrist, feeling for her pulse. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Hermione replied instinctively. "Just…like I’ve been asleep for ages. That’s all."

Parvati exhaled softly. "I got a Floo call from Mr. Black saying you fainted." She pulled out a notepad and quill.

Hermione’s brows creased as she shifted her gaze to Sirius. "I fainted?"

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moved closer, kneeling beside her as if to anchor himself, and clasped her hand in his.

"Yeah, love," he said at last. "Out of nowhere. Scared me half to death."

The depth in his eyes sent an odd ache through her chest—something profound, unfamiliar, yet achingly tender. 

"I’m sorry," she murmured, unsure why she felt compelled to apologize.

"Don’t. Just…" His thumb traced lightly over her knuckles. "Don’t do that again." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm.

A shiver coursed through her.

Heat flooded her cheeks before Parvati’s pointed cough broke the spell.

"Ahem," she said, drawing Hermione’s attention back.

Hermione swallowed hard, her pulse racing and forced herself to focus on Parvati.

"Do you remember what happened before you fainted?" Parvati asked.

Hermione frowned, sifting through the haze in her mind. "Yes." Her gaze darted to Sirius for confirmation. "We were trying to calm Regulus down and you turned into Padfoot."

Sirius inclined his head in agreement.

She pressed her eyelids shut, grasping for more, but the fog refused to lift. "That’s it," she admitted with a frustrated breath.

Parvati scribbled a note, then looked up. "Did you feel dizzy or unwell before you lost consciousness?"

Hermione considered the question carefully. "No," she said, shaking her head once. "I don’t recall anything like that."

A brief silence fell before Sirius turned to Parvati. "She hasn’t been eating."

Hermione shot him a glare. "Sirius."

Parvati remained unruffled. "Her blood pressure’s normal, and her vitals are steady. No signs of weakness." She tapped her quill against the notepad. "It’s likely something else. I’ll prescribe potions for tonight. If there’s any trouble, we’ll look deeper. For now, I’d say it’s exhaustion."

Sirius’s hold on Hermione’s hand grew firmer. "Shouldn’t we keep her under watch? What if it’s more than that?"

Parvati offered a calm smile. "It’s not. I’m certain. Don’t overthink it, Mr. Black."

Hermione studied Sirius—the taut line of his jaw, the way he clasped her hand as if she might vanish.

"Where’s Regulus?" she asked quietly.

He released a slow breath, edging closer. "With Andromeda and Teddy."

"You called them?" Her brows lifted.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Someone had to look after Reggie."

Her stomach churned. "Did I faint in front of him?"

Before Sirius could answer, a wave of shame and panic washed over her. The idea of her son witnessing her collapse twisted her insides. What kind of mother let that happen?

Parvati handed Sirius a parchment. "Here’s the potion she needs tonight. Ensure she eats something fresh, and she’ll be fine. And don't forget about your appointment with Healer Spleen tomorrow."

He stood, accepting the note with a curt dip of his chin. "I’ll handle it."

Parvati turned to Hermione, her tone gentler. "Rest. Let Mr. Black take charge for now." She paused, then added, "Don’t feed Regulus tonight. The potion might affect him."

Heat crept up Hermione’s neck and she nodded, keeping her eyes averted.

Parvati smiled faintly. "I’ll go now. Call if you need me."

Sirius peeked at Hermione. "Will you be alright if—"

"I’m fine," she interjected, gesturing dismissively. "See Parvati out."

After a final, searching look, he gave her hand a light press and led Parvati out.

The door clicked shut, and Hermione released a trembling breath. She sat up, leaning against the headboard.

She remembered Regulus’s distress, Sirius transforming into Padfoot to comfort him. But beyond that, nothing. No warning, no sensation of falling. Just a void.

That emptiness gnawed at her.

She loathed the fear in Sirius’s eyes, the tremor in his voice, the way he’d gripped her hand like she was slipping away. He wasn’t the Sirius she knew—brash, irreverent, unshakable. 

And her chest tightened at the thought of Regulus seeing her collapse. He was too young to comprehend, but not too young to feel the terror. She’d failed him.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Night stretched beyond, moonless and infinite, mirroring the blankness in her mind.

Frustration simmered beneath her skin. She’d endured war, grief, and sleepless nights, exhaustion was nothing new. So why now? Why, when she craved stability, did her body falter?

A soft knock broke her reverie and she cleared her throat. "Come in."

The door opened, revealing not Sirius or Parvati, but a woman with greying brown hair and brown, familiar eyes. "Ah, you look alright," she smiled, her tone carrying a healer’s scrutiny softened by care.

Hermione blinked in recognition. "Andromeda?"

Andromeda’s smile widened faintly. "So, you do remember me."

"Of course," Hermione replied, adjusting her posture as Andromeda approached and settled on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Andromeda asked, her eyes assessing Hermione with quiet precision.

"Fine," Hermione said, though the word felt hollow. "A bit tired, perhaps."

Andromeda hummed, unconvinced. "I wanted to see you myself. You gave us all a fright."

Hermione nodded, a flicker of guilt surfacing. She knew Andromeda, not intimately, but enough to admire her resilience and kindness, forged through loss.

"Where’s Regulus?" she asked after a pause.

Andromeda’s expression softened and she took Hermione’s hand, giving it a light press. "With Teddy. They’re with me. He’s fine. Laughing, playing, content." She paused. "I know you’re worried. I understand."

Hermione’s fingers curled in return, comforted by Andromeda’s steady presence.

"Motherhood never ends, does it?" Andromeda murmured. "No matter how much you give, it always feels insufficient."

Hermione’s gaze dropped, a lump rising in her throat. "I’m sorry."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Hermione inhaled, shaking her head faintly. "Not for me. For Remus and…" She faltered, but the name hung unspoken between them. Tonks.

Andromeda regarded her for a moment before offering a weary smile. "No need, Hermione. I’ve mourned, and I still do. But I’m proud of them, of their lives. And of you all."

Before Hermione could say anything in return, the door creaked open again, and Sirius stepped in, pausing at the sight of Andromeda. His gaze moved between them before settling on his cousin.

"Oh," he said, brow arching. "You’re here."

Andromeda smiled faintly. "I wanted to check on her."

He exhaled, stepping further into the room and walking over to Hermione’s side.

"What did Parvati say?" Andromeda asked.

Sirius tore his gaze from Hermione and looked at Andromeda, rubbing the back of his neck. "She said it’s probably exhaustion, but we’ll know more after her appointment with Spleen tomorrow. She gave me a list of potions she needs to take tonight."

Andromeda hummed in approval. "Good. That’s simple enough." And gave him a pointed look, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Go get the potions.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Already ordered. The shopboy from the Apothecary will be here any moment.”

Andromeda raised an unimpressed brow, unimpressed but unsurprised. “Then bring Hermione something to eat,” she said smoothly. “I brought chicken soup, it’s in the kitchen.”

Sirius hesitated, his eyes lingering on Hermione but Andromeda didn’t let him dwell on it. She gave him that look again, the one that reminded him she was older, wiser, and, most importantly, not in the mood to argue. “I’m with her,” she assured. “Go.”

With a reluctant breath, he relented. "Fine." After one last look at Hermione, he left.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Andromeda exhaled and turned back to Hermione. “Pardon him, he’s still a teenager at heart and just overly worried.”

Hermione shifted, uneasy under the sentiment. "I—"

"It’s not good for him," Andromeda cut in gently. "His health’s been delicate since the Veil. But he can’t help it. When he cares, it’s absolute. And when he loves…" She gave Hermione a meaningful look. "It defines him."

Hermione swallowed hard, warmness spreading beneath her skin. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, not when Sirius’s touch still lingered on her skin, not when his voice was still wrapped around her name like a plea.

Then, she remembered what he had said earlier. What Harry had told her. She turned back to Andromeda, pausing only for a moment before asking, “Harry told me that you and Mrs. Malfoy helped me bring Sirius back. That I brought him back.” Her voice was careful, questioning. “How did we do it? What did I do?”

Andromeda studied her before smiling softly. "You just woke up. Perhaps that’s a tale for later."

“But—”

Andromeda raised a hand. "Sirius forbade us from discussing anything heavy with you."

Hermione blinked. “Forbade?”

Andromeda nodded once at her reaction. “He strongly believes you fainted because he answered your question.”

Hermione groaned, dropping her head back against the headboard. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Now he won’t answer anything. He was already impossible about it before!”

Andromeda’s laughter was soft but filled with understanding. “Give him some time, Hermione,” she said, reaching over and squeezing her hand again. “He’s going through a lot too.”

That familiar guilt crept in again, seeping into her bones, curling around her thoughts like a persistent whisper. She swallowed, suddenly feeling unbearably heavy.

Andromeda seemed to sense it before she could speak. “None of this is your fault,” she said firmly, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze.

Before Hermione could reply, Sirius returned with a plate of food. He set it before her. "Here you go."

She looked at the food, then up at him, and offered a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

He nodded curtly as she adjusted the blanket and picked up the fork. Andromeda’s gaze flicked between them before she leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Why don’t we have dinner at my place tomorrow?” she suggested casually. “You can leave Reggie with me when you go to your appointment, and then afterwards, you can visit. I’ll make something nice. We can make it a proper meet-up. I’ll invite everyone, it’s been too long since we all had dinner together and perhaps it’ll also be a good opportunity for Hermione to meet everyone.”

Hermione didn’t miss the way Sirius immediately tensed. She could tell, even before he said anything, that he was preparing to refuse.

So, before he could, she spoke first.

“Yes,” she said, setting her fork down. “I’d love to.”

He turned to her sharply, as if she had somehow betrayed him.

But she ignored it. Her mind had already wandered to something else.

Meeting everyone.

The Weasleys.

Ron.

Hermione woke before dawn, long before Sirius.

She had planned it that way. There were things she needed to investigate, and she couldn’t do that with him hovering over her like a storm cloud.

Slipping out of bed, she quickly tied her hair into a ponytail and tiptoed toward the door. Her feet barely made a sound against the wooden floor as she reached for the handle, slowly easing the door open.

Just outside her room, she paused.

A faint glow of candlelight spilt through the gap in the door to Regulus’s nursery.

Someone was inside.

She narrowed her eyebrows before carefully pushing the door open.

Sirius was asleep in the rocking chair, his head tilted back against the cushion, arms curled protectively around their son. Regulus was nestled against his bare chest, small fingers clutching onto his father’s skin even in sleep. A tiny blanket had been haphazardly draped over the baby, but Sirius had none, leaving his upper body bare to the cool night air.

Her eyes drifted over him, trailing along the dark tattoos inked into his skin. Ancient, tangled runes across his ribs, the outline of a stag and a wolf near his collarbone along with a kitten, his Azkaban prisoner ID number just beneath his ear.

But it was the scars that held her attention.

Thin, silver lines of battle wounds marred his body, some shallow, some deep. A long, jagged scar ran from his left shoulder to his ribs which he had covered with tattoos. Another trailed down his forearm, faint but deliberate, the sort of wound that told a story he had never shared.

Hermione swallowed.

He must have slept here so he could be close to her room. That strange guilt curled deep in her chest again, wrapping around her ribs like ivy.

She glanced around the nursery, then turned back toward her room. A minute later, she returned with a thick blanket.

Moving carefully, she draped it over both of them, tucking the edges so it wouldn’t slip. The tips of her fingers brushed against Sirius’s shoulder, warm beneath her touch. A quiet breath left his lips, but he didn’t stir.

She tried hard not to blush.

She leaned down and brushed a tender kiss across Regulus’s head, her lips just touching his fine dark curls. The baby shifted but stayed asleep.

With one last look at them, she stepped away, reaching for the window. She drew the curtains closed, shutting out the pale glimmer of dawn.

Then, as silently as she had come, she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her before descending the stairs. At the end of the hall, she entered the room where the Black family tapestry had once hung and with a flick of her wand, the candles in the sconces flared to life, their golden light flickering against the dark walls.

There it was.

The tapestry stretched across the stone wall, massive and ancient. The fabric was thick, woven with deep green and gold threads. Names curled across it like branches of an old tree, tracing back centuries.

But there were no burn marks.

Not a single name had been scorched away.

She stepped closer, fingers ghosting just above the threads. She followed the familiar names, scanning each one carefully.

Andromeda. She was still there, her name intact beside Ted Tonks, a skull with his birth and death day. Right below them, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. Dead. Under them, Teddy Lupin.

Her throat tightened before her gaze drifted across the tapestry, falling next to a familiar name.

Narcissa. Beside her Lucius Malfoy, dead. Hermione didn’t know what to feel about that. Good riddance, perhaps.

And just beneath them, Draco and Harry Potter.

She wanted to slap that part of the tapestry. She glared at it instead. Then she kept going. Bellatrix Lestrange, dead.

Her breath caught as an icy chill raced down her spine. Instinctively, her hand covered the scar on her arm. No, she wasn’t going to waste her time on that. She exhaled sharply, pushing forward.

Her eyes landed on Walburga and Orion. Just beneath them Sirius and Regulus.

Her gaze locked on Regulus’s name.

A dark skull and spiderweb marked his branch, alongside his birth and death date. Hermione suddenly didn’t like that. That his name was the same as her son’s even though she got to know she named him.

She swallowed, willing herself to move past it.

Her eyes landed on Sirius.

Unlike Regulus’s, his name was still alive. No death date. Her pulse thundered as she followed the branches attached to him.

Hermione Black.

Right beneath them was their son.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted them to the tapestry, tracing over her own name. The fabric beneath her fingertips was warm. A sudden pulse ran through it like the tapestry itself was alive.

The golden threads shimmered, moving beneath her touch, like they were acknowledging her, accepting her.

Her chest tightened.

This was no ordinary tapestry. It had woven her into its history. Into its bloodline. And it wasn’t letting her go.

Her eyes narrowed.

The Veil.

What was it?

If Sirius had come back, did that mean anyone could return? Or was he a rare case?

Could Remus have come back? Could Fred? Or only those who fell through the veil could?

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. This was madness but she needed answers.

The library it was.

She turned on her heel and hurried down the hall, the house silent around her save for the creaks of old wood beneath her footsteps. When she reached the library, she found it different.

The room had been organized, the chaos of cluttered bookshelves now arranged in an order she could recognize, sections on magical theory, ancient artefacts, pureblood customs, duelling strategies, and even a shelf that looked specifically dedicated to her.

She gasped with delight and went inside. Why hadn’t she entered it before? She strode to the windows and unlatched them, pushing them open. A crisp morning breeze filtered through, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh air and casting a soft light across.

She inhaled deeply before turning back to her task with the largest grin. She could explore the library later, but now, before Sirius woke up, she needed to finish her search mission.

She was Hermione Granger. Surely, surely she had kept something hidden.

She began her search, methodically combing through the shelves, her fingers running along the spines of books, scanning titles, looking for anything out of place. Then, she moved to the desk, opening drawers, and filtering through papers, half-written notes, and old ink bottles.

Her gaze caught on something.

A book, tucked away in the darkest corner of the shelf, hidden behind stacks of parchment and a wooden box.

Her pulse quickened as she moved the objects aside, carefully pulling it out.

Little Women.

It was beautiful, a worn but elegant edition, its green cloth cover embossed with faded gold lettering. Dust clung to its edges like it hadn’t been touched in years.

A book like this hidden away?

She frowned and slowly flipped it open.

A small slip of parchment fluttered from between the pages, drifting to the desk.

Her heart stuttered.

She picked it up.

One sentence.

It must be in Parseltongue.

Her eyebrows wrinkled.

What?

Her eyes scanned the note again. It was her handwriting. That much was clear. But why? Was it something related to the war? Had she left herself a message?

She wracked her mind, searching for any memory, any scrap of recollection but nothing came. Oh, how she hated her memory loss right now!

She stared at the note, chewing on her lip.

Parseltongue.

There was only one person she could ask.

Harry.

The hospital smelled sterile, like too-clean linen and faintly bitter potions. It had been the same for as long as Hermione could remember.

The waiting area had been busy when they arrived, filled with quiet murmurs and the occasional cry of a restless child. But now, as she sat in front of Healer Spleen in his private office, she felt trapped in an unbearable stillness. Sirius sat beside her, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers idly toying with his ring. They had left Regulus with Andromeda before coming here.

She still had that note on her mind and was looking forward to dinner, hoping Harry would be there. Thankfully, she had returned to her room before Sirius woke up, so he never found out what she had done. She didn’t want to worry him more than necessary.

The appointment had been routine. Some scans, a few diagnostic spells, and then Healer Spleen had leaned back with a small, professional smile and said, "You're perfectly fine, Mrs. Black. No further complications. Physically, at least."

Hermione clenched her jaw.

Fine.

Perfectly fine.

Then why did her mind still feel like a shattered mirror, pieces slipping through her fingers every time she tried to put them back together?

Her hands tightened against her skirt, irritation bubbling inside her. She was aware of Sirius beside her, watching her carefully, but she kept her gaze locked on Spleen.

Spleen, however, seemed to notice her frustration as he asked, "You look like you have questions."

She did. She had many. But her chest tightened as she darted a glance toward Sirius. She didn’t want him to hear this. Didn’t want him to see how much she was cracking.

But she also didn’t have the spine to tell him to step outside.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, Spleen turned to Sirius. "Mr. Black, would you mind giving us a moment?"

Sirius’s lips pressed together before his gaze diverted to Hermione, searching her face, and for a brief second, she thought he might refuse.

But then, after a measured pause, he nodded. "Of course."

He stood, and she could feel his eyes lingering on her as he walked to the door. It shut softly behind him, and suddenly, she could breathe again.

Spleen’s attention returned to her. “Now. Tell me.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, unsure where to begin. "I... I don’t understand anything." Her voice was quiet at first, but the words spilt out faster. "Reality. Dream. I can’t tell the difference sometimes. My moods—" she let out a sharp breath, rubbing her temple, "—they’re ruthless. And I hate seeing myself like this. I hate failing."

Spleen remained silent, watching her with calm patience.

Her throat felt parched. "I have these feelings toward Sirius and Regulus even though I don’t know them. Not really. I feel the gap all the time, and it’s infuriating. I know when something’s missing. I know when I should remember something, but I don’t. And yet," her voice wavered, "I know what to do, automatically, even when I have no memory of it. I don’t know how, but I do.”

She exhaled shakily, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "And there’s this guilt." She stared at the floor, her jaw tight. "I don’t even know why it’s there, but it won’t go away. And I hate it." Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I hate myself when I see Sirius’s face fall. When I see him trying to control himself, trying not to look as if my forgetting hurts him. But I know it does."

A lump rose in her throat. "And I hate it even more when I don’t know how to give my son what he needs. His protection charms, what soothes him when he cries, the things that make him feel safe." Her hands shook now, nails pressing into her palms.

"I broke down in front of Harry." She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "I told him I wanted to leave."

Spleen’s expression remained neutral, but she caught the faintest flicker of understanding in his eyes.

"I did want to leave," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

The air in the room grew heavy.

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. Then, in the quietest whisper, she said, "But I didn’t." Her eyes stung. "I couldn’t."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

"And I snapped at Sirius." Her words were faint now. "When it wasn’t even his fault. It was mine."

She felt raw. Her memories. Her emotions. The person she was supposed to be. It was all slipping away.

Words escaped her, and she kept her gaze fixed on her lap, unable to meet Spleen’s eyes. She wiped at her cheeks, frustrated at herself for breaking down like this.

Spleen let out a slow breath, shifting slightly in his chair. “Mrs. Black, what you’re feeling is not failure.”

She exhaled unsteadily. “Then what is it?”

"Grief."

She looked at him, and he leaned forward, folding his hands over his desk. "You are mourning a version of yourself that you can’t reach right now. You’re grieving the loss of familiarity, the loss of certainty. And grief is never logical, nor is it something you can simply force away.”

Grieving? Grieving a life she didn’t remember. A son she was still learning how to mother. A husband whose every look felt like a silent plea for her to come back to him.

How cruel it must be for them, she thought bitterly. To have her right in front of them but not really have her at all.

"I could give you potions,” Spleen said carefully. “There are memory stimulants. Even potions to suppress the emotions that are overwhelming you.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened. That was an option? She could just fix it? She could be who she was supposed to be?

But before she could cling to that hope, Spleen shook his head. "But it will have consequences."

Her stomach tightened. "What kind of consequences?"

"The kind that will do more harm than good," he said simply. "Memory potions work unpredictably, especially on injuries like yours. You might get fragments back, but there’s no guarantee they’ll come in order or make sense. You might recall the scent of a potion you once brewed but not something as vital as holding your son for the first time.”

Hermione’s insides twisted. "And if I take an emotional suppressant?" she asked, though she already sensed the answer.

Spleen sighed. "It will numb you. But it won’t heal you."

The moment Hermione stepped into the corridor outside Spleen’s office, she spotted Sirius. He was pacing, hands shoved deep into his pockets, brows crumpled as if trying to carve answers from the stone floor. He didn’t notice her at first, not until she inhaled softly and took a step forward.

His head snapped up, and sharp grey eyes swept over her face, searching, scanning. Too intense, too careful, like he was bracing himself for something terrible. "Everything alright?" 

She straightened, pushing away the remnants of her breakdown. “Yeah, we just talked. He didn’t add any potions because of Regulus and told me to stick with the old ones.”

Sirius studied her for a long second. Then his shoulders sagged as if an invisible weight pressed harder on him.

"And your health?" he asked cautiously. "I can talk to Spleen if you need, he should at least give you something to make sure you don’t faint again.”

He turned, moving to walk past her, but her hand shot out, pressing lightly against his chest to stop him.

"No."

His body stilled under her touch. She could feel his heart beneath her palm, warm and steady, rising and falling with his breath.

She forced herself to look up. “Potions will only make my situation worse,” she said firmly. “No one knows why my memory went away. And no one knows if it’ll ever come back.”

The last part barely made it past her lips before she saw it, a shadow passing over his eyes, dulling the silver in them like storm clouds rolling in. 

Her mouth went dry.

She pulled her hand away, stepping back as her pulse raced. She needed to change the subject before the silence crushed her.

Clearing her throat, she said, "I’ve been meaning to ask you about my job.”

He blinked. "What?"

She lowered herself onto a chair in the hospital lobby, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.

Sirius followed immediately, brows drawing together as he sat beside her. “What happened? Did something Spleen said make you—”=

"Nothing happened."

Lie.

Everything was happening.

Everything was too much, too tangled, and she couldn’t keep up. She had pieces of herself, scattered fragments of someone she was supposed to be, but they didn’t fit. And the ones that did only made her feel more like an imposter in her own life.

She pressed a hand to her temple, exhaling shakily. “Could you,” she paused, then met his gaze. “Could you get me some water?”

His frown deepened. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m just feeling tired.”

He sat up straighter. “You don’t look well. Maybe I should—”

"I’m fine."

"You don’t seem fine.”

"Sirius."

He started standing up and she reached out before she could think better of it, fingers circling his wrist, stopping him before he could fully stand.

"Snuffles, don’t," she huffed. "Just bring me some water, and I’ll be fine."

The moment the words left her mouth, she felt it. His whole body froze, his fingers flexing under her grip, his eyes widening with something more than surprise.

"What?" she asked warily.

He stared at her like she’d said something impossible. Then he moved before she could process it. His hands, warm and calloused, cupped her cheeks gently, the touch sent a jolt through her, a mix of comfort and something too unfamiliar to name.

"Do you remember something?" His voice was hushed, searching, laced with something she didn’t want to place.

Hope.

Hermione didn’t know where to focus. The question or the warmth of his hands.

"Why?" she asked, brow furrowing. "What does it mean?"

He held her gaze, his thumbs brushing absently against her skin, his face too close, his eyes too intense, like he was seeing something she wasn’t.

"You only ever call me Snuffles when you’re annoyed with me or when you need me to do something." His voice was quieter now, almost cautious.

She searched his expression, then turned inward, her mind chasing shadows.

Snuffles.

It was familiar. Too familiar.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to grasp the memory, but it slipped away like sand. Hadn’t she called him that before? Yes, in school. She was sure of it.

"I used to call you Snuffles when I was at Hogwarts too, remember?" she said. "You and Harry made it to—

"I know." His voice cut through her words. "But this is different."

Hermione’s stomach twisted. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, the way his grey eyes darkened, the way something fragile flickered in them, threatening to crack.

"Sirius." Her voice faltered. "Stop getting your hopes up."

His hands tensed against her skin.

"I don’t remember." The words felt heavy and bitter. "And I hardly believe my memories will come back."

She lifted her hands, gently pulling his away from her face. The loss of warmness sent a shiver down her spine, but she ignored it and turned away, unable to meet his gaze. Couldn’t bear to see whatever emotion was tightening his expression, whatever weight was dragging behind his eyes.

Instead, she forced out a soft, "Just get me some water. Please."

He didn’t move. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, slowly, he stood and conjured a glass of water. Hermione reached for it, her fingers brushing the cool glass.

"Thanks." She took a slow sip, the cold easing the tightness in her throat.

After a moment, he sat beside her but stayed silent.

The weight between them hung thick in the air, pressing against her ribs like an unseen force. It made it hard to breathe.

She didn’t like it.

She’d felt uncomfortable plenty of times since waking up in this strange, half-familiar life, but this was different. It was the way Sirius sat next to her, his body tense, his expression guarded, the sharpness of his gaze dulled by something she didn’t want to name. She hated the silence stretching between them, full of things unsaid. Full of things she didn’t remember.

So she cleared her throat, the sound breaking the quiet. "So," she started, forcing her voice to sound casual, "what do I do?"

Sirius turned his head, brows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she let out a small, dry laugh, shaking her head, "what’s my job? Do I even have one? Or am I just a stay-at-home mother?"

His eyes widened just a little as if the thought had never occurred to him. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she cut in.

"Spleen said I can know everything. Slowly, but I can know everything." She straightened in her seat, tilting her chin. "So you don’t have to worry about me fainting again."

He frowned at that. "That’s not what I was going to say."

She blinked. "Then?"

His lips tugged, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t waver. "You own a bookstore in Diagon Alley."

The words hit her like a gust of wind, stealing her breath for a moment. "I what?" A thrill sprinted up her spine. "I own a bookstore?"

He nodded, watching her closely. "You opened it in 2001. After…" He trailed off.

Hermione’s stomach twisted, taking away the thrill. "After what?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, something cautious in his expression.

"After you left the Ministry."

Her brows crinkled, confusion sparking inside her like an untamed flame. That didn’t make sense. She had always wanted to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It had been her dream. She could’ve opened a bookstore on the side, sure, but why would she leave her job entirely?

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly. "Why would I leave? That doesn’t make sense."

He let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You didn’t leave, Hermione. You got fired."

The words slammed into her like a hex to the chest. She sucked in a sharp breath, her gasp echoing through the hospital lobby, drawing a few curious glances.

Sirius cast a quick look around, his posture shifting as his gaze sharpened into something hard and warning. The witches and wizards who’d been staring quickly looked away, suddenly engrossed in their own business.

But Hermione was still frozen.

Her mind latched onto those two words, got fired, trying to make sense of them.

"That’s not possible," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don’t get fired. I’m Hermione Granger."

"Black."

She glared at him. "That’s not what’s important right now!" His lips twitched again. "Why did I get fired? How did I get fired?"

He sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Hermione—" He reached for her hand, but she yanked it back stubbornly. A faint line appeared between his brows before he grabbed her hand again, fingers curling around hers in a way that made her stomach flip. The action startled her, her eyes flicking up to his.

"Can you, for once, not give me a panic attack and just listen before reacting?" His voice was tight, threaded with exasperation.

Hermione pouted—actually pouted—turning her face away. "I don’t want to talk to you." And yet she didn’t pull her hand away.

He tugged on it. "Look at me."

She turned her head further, nose in the air.

He let go of her hand and stood up. "Fine. Have it your way." And turned to leave. Before she could stop herself, her hand shot out, catching the sleeve of his robes.

Her fingers lingered on the fabric for a brief second before she realized what she was doing and quickly pulled back, pressing her palm against her lap.

"I," She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to steady. "I won’t say anything out of turn."

Sirius studied her, eyes narrowed, but she swore, just for a second, his lips tugged again like he was holding back a smirk.

Then he sat back down, exhaling slowly. "You were an Unspeakable."

The word barely registered at first. But then it sank in, slipping into place like a puzzle piece she hadn’t known was missing.

Hermione blinked. "I was what?"

"An Unspeakable," he repeated. "That’s how you figured out how to get me out of the Veil."

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She had worked in the Department of Mysteries. Not just with magical creatures, not just something safe and logical. No, she had been buried in the most secretive, most dangerous kind of magic. And she had used that knowledge to bring Sirius Black back from the dead.

"But." Her mind spun too fast, grasping for something to ground herself.

"By doing that," he continued, voice even, "you broke every rule in the book. And more than that, you broke records."

Her chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

His expression grew grim. "Love, they would’ve sent you to Azkaban."

Her stomach lurched. "No."

"Yes."

A cold, sick feeling spread through her, creeping into her fingertips, and settling behind her ribs. She couldn’t make sense of it. She—Hermione Granger—had been reckless enough to break laws? To risk Azkaban? That wasn’t possible. 

"The only reason you weren’t sent there was because you were a war hero, a member of the Golden Trio."

She couldn’t breathe. "No." She shook her head again. "No, I don’t break laws like that. I don’t get fired. I don’t—”

Sirius gave her a look. "Did you not break rules when you were in school?"

"That was different!" she protested. "It was because of the war. And I always kept in mind that I couldn’t get expelled."

Sirius arched an eyebrow.

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to argue then stopped.

Damn him.

They both knew she was stretching the truth.

She pursed her lips, then slapped his hand anyway. His smile widened.

"It was to keep Harry alive," she challenged.

Sirius didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. Instead, his voice dropped, something softer creeping into his tone. "And this was to keep me alive."

Her breath caught.

A strange, unwelcome flutter twisted in her stomach. She felt abruptly too warm, her skin prickling with a heat that had nothing to do with the hospital air.

She tore her gaze away, fixing her eyes on an assistant healer in the distance. The man was talking to another patient, his gestures animated, his voice carrying across the room. She forced herself to focus on that. On anything but the weight of his words.

Sirius, of course, wasn’t having it. He bumped his shoulder against hers, casual and light, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just shattered every illusion she had about herself.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let the heat rise to her face. She was already flushed enough as it was.

But the questions wouldn’t stop. Why had she risked her job? What was it about the Veil that had been so urgent she’d thrown everything away for it? And what exactly had she done that cost her everything?

"Your bookstore," Sirius said suddenly as if plucking a thought from the air.

Hermione frowned, turning back to him. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring ahead like he was speaking more to himself than to her. "You have every type of book, neatly categorized, every genre, every theme." His tone was softer now, almost thoughtful. "You hold author signings sometimes. You even have a little café in the corner," he continued. "You told me once you got the idea from the Muggle world."

Her hands shifted in her lap.

"You take Reggie with you most of the time. If he gets too difficult to manage, you leave him with Andy or Cissa and open the shop."

She could almost see it now—rows of bookshelves, the scent of coffee mingling with parchment and ink, the smell of baked goods. A small boy, messy-haired and grinning, with her as she ran a hand over book spines.

Sirius kept talking, still not looking at her. "You have a shopboy. He’s looking after things while you’re here." A pause. "I checked in, everything’s running smoothly. You don’t have to worry about it."

Finally, he turned his head, meeting her gaze.

And for a moment, everything stilled.

The noise of the hospital faded, the world outside this moment blurring into nothing.

Words failed her.

So she said nothing.

She just held his gaze, the lump in her throat returning, heavier than before.

"You love it, you know," Sirius said, his voice low and thoughtful like he was still lost in the memory of her bookstore. "The shop. It’s yours. Every inch of it has you written all over it.”

She narrowed her brows, trying to picture it, the bookshelves, the lighting, the scent of parchment and coffee. "I mean, obviously, I love books.”

"No," Sirius interrupted, shaking his head. "Not just books. The whole thing. You love managing every shelf, making sure people find exactly what they need. You’ve got recommendations written on little cards, you even charmed them so they change depending on who’s reading them. I’ve seen you talk about books for hours with customers."

A strange warmth spread through her chest.

"You light up when people ask for suggestions," he continued, watching her closely. "You’re—Merlin, you’re a menace if someone walks in looking for something new to read. You will find them a book, whether they like it or not."

Hermione felt a small, startled laugh escape her.

Sirius grinned. "There it is."

She quickly pressed her lips together, but her heart had already stuttered.

"And you realized," he added, more serious now, "that you hated working at the Ministry."

That caught her off guard.

"What?"

"You hated it," he repeated, leaning back against his chair. "You told me once that you thought it would be fulfilling, but it wasn’t. Too much red tape, too many rules, ones that should’ve been broken but couldn’t be. You got tired of people telling you what to do but never actually helping you."

"But I wanted to work in the DRCMC," she argued, clinging to something familiar. "I wanted to make things better.”

"And you tried," Sirius said. "You really did. But you weren’t happy."

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like me. I don’t just quit things.”

Sirius studied her for a long moment before saying, “Maybe you finally found something you loved more.”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t know how to respond to that.

So instead, she buried her face in her hands, her mind whirling with too many thoughts, too many emotions she couldn’t name.

Then he cleared his throat. “Do you want to see it?”

She froze. Lifting her head, she peeked at him through her fingers. “See what?”

Sirius had already stood, stretching before turning back to her and extending his hand. “Your shop.”

Hermione’s stomach swooped.

Her gaze locked onto his outstretched hand, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her fingers shifted against her lap. “But don’t we have to go to Andromeda’s?”

He gave her a small, knowing smile. “We still have time.”

There was something in his voice—soft, steady, coaxing—that made her insides twist. The room felt too warm, too quiet as if the air itself was waiting for her to decide.

He didn’t rush her. Didn’t say anything else. Just held his hand out, waiting. A strange, unfamiliar pull urged her to reach forward. The second her fingers brushed his palm, goosebumps raced along her skin. She swore she felt his thumb graze her knuckles.

Her breath hitched.

Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave her hand the smallest squeeze before pulling her up.

Hermione let him.

Because maybe—just maybe—she wanted to see the life she had once built.

Even if she wasn’t sure she was ready to remember it.

Chapter Text

Her wide eyes took in the painted soft green and white. It had large windows displaying rows of books and flickering candles, a few small tables arranged outside where people sat with steaming cups, books, jackets draped over chairs. 

Through the glass, she could see a corner of a café tucked inside, with wooden shelves lined with jars and a counter with handwritten chalk signs.

The sign above the door read Jean’s Pages.

This was hers?

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Her gaze dropped slowly, lashes fluttering, then turned to the man standing beside her. Sirius watched her quietly, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets, grey eyes calm and soft.

“This…is mine?” Her voice came out in a breath of wonder.

His lips tilted up just slightly, a gentle nod following. “Yours.”

She gasped and looked back at the store. “Oh, Sirius, this is beautiful.”

She didn’t care anymore if she’d gotten fired or not. Whether she was still in shock or floating in some quiet dream. This was magic, holy, beauty wrapped in stillness.

Her brows furrowed as she squinted at the familiar outline of the building. “Wait, isn’t this where Flourish and Blotts used to be?”

He nodded once more. “Yes. After Mr Blotts’s death, his wife had trouble managing everything on her own. She wanted to sell it and it was around the same time you needed something new to do. So you bought it back then and gave it a name. At first, it was just like it used to be. Then, slowly, you redecorated and added the café on the side.”

She stared at the storefront again, eyes tracing every inch. Then, as if something tugged her forward, she took a small step then another and before she realised it, her hand was pushing open the door.

A soft chime rang out as she stepped inside and her heart thudded like a bird freed from its cage.

The scent of paper, coffee and cinnamon floated in the air and she stood still, letting it all wash over her. It was beautiful. Shelves upon shelves of books filled the space, some floating gently through the air, rearranging themselves. Wooden boards hung from above, each marked with a different genre in curling script. 

Near the back, a separate counter held the café. A few customers moved about, picking and choosing books. One of them smiled in her direction and she only stared, not having any idea who that was.

The chime rang again as Sirius stepped in behind her. “Do you like it?”

She turned to him. “Like?” Her eyes swept across the space once more. “It’s so beautiful.”

He smiled, looking as though he wanted to say more, but a sudden rush of footsteps interrupted him. She turned to see a young man, around her age, hurrying across the place. His ginger hair bounced as he stumbled to a stop in front of her, grinning. 

“Hermione! You’re here. You’re—

Sirius cleared his throat.

The boy froze and his smile faltered. He glanced at Sirius then back at Hermione and visibly shrank. “I mean… Mrs Black.” 

She blinked, confused. The boy glanced once more at Sirius, then tried to muster a polite nod. “I’m Alex. I—I work here. Shopkeeper. Well, assistant. Welcome back. Truly.”

She smiled. This might be the boy Sirius told her about at the hospital. She extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Alex.”

He hesitated, began to raise his hand then his gaze flicked sideways to Sirius again and, instead, stepped back with a nervous laugh. “Would you like some coffee? Or tea? I can get something from the counter. Sir? Do you want anything too?”

Sirius said nothing. Alex mumbled something incomprehensible and scurried off, nearly knocking into a shelf of quills. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Sirius. “What was that?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing.”

She crossed her arms on her chest. “Of course, it was something. He looked terrified of you.”

“Did he?” He rubbed his jaw. “He’s young, nervous. You hired him because he reads poetry out loud to the plants.”

She tilted her head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

He blinked, then his eyebrows narrowed a bit. “Mm, you often caught him sleeping instead of working, he burns coffee, puts sugar in tea when asked not to.”

She pursed her lips. “Those are human mistakes.”

His left eye twitched a bit. “Childish behaviours don't count as human mistakes.”

She frowned. “Why’re you acting like this?”

“Like what?"

“Hermione.” Her attention shifted as an old lady with a book in hand walked toward her. “Oh, dear, how are you? Heard you had an accident, we were all so worried about you.”

An awkward itch crawled under Hermione’s skin as she had no idea who that lady was. Sirius seemed to realise as he stepped closer and smiled at that lady. “Mrs Jonas,” he kept a hand on Hermione’s back and she stiffened just for a second before melting because somehow that touch alone was enough to make her feel a lot better. “Thank you for your concern. Like I said the other day, she’s doing better now.” He turned his head toward her and gave her a smile.

She swallowed then smiled softly before looking back at Mrs Jonas. “Yes, he’s right. I’m doing better than before. Thank you so much for your concern and I’m sorry that I have been absent for so long....I hope you haven’t had any trouble while I wasn’t here.”

Mrs Jonas smiled. “Oh, no, not at all. Alex has been handling us well, but of course, you are you.” She gave a beam. “It’s nice to have you back, dear.”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled again.

Mrs Jonas looked like she was about to say something else and Hermione already stiffened again, unsure what to say when Sirius again became the saviour. “Mrs Jonas, did you find the book you were looking for, you told me the other day? I hope you didn’t go empty-handed.”

That seemed to make Mrs Jonas pause and blink before looking at the book in her hand. “Oh, thank you for reminding me. I was about to return it.” She looked back at them. “I’ll see you later. Take care, dear.” And she walked back inside, slightly swaying.

Hermione sighed and smiled gratefully at Sirius. “Thank you, I was scared for a moment.”

He gave a soft rub to her back. “I know, don’t let it pressure you. You’ll learn to get used to them and slowly know them all.”

Her heart did that odd little thing again and the warmth of his hand seeped through her clothes and settled deep under her spine. She didn’t know what to say so she stayed silent and just stared at him. And he too silently stared at her.

Grey clouds calmly drifting over autumn leaves.

Was it a motion or imagination or was she really leaning toward him….

Chime.

She jumped and stepped away from him, making the warmth of his touch vanish as a man entered the shop. The unknown man blinked between her and Sirius, tipped his head in greeting, and Sirius welcomed him as he made his way further inside the shop.

She curled her fingers together to keep the colour rising on her neck and cheeks at bay. Unfortunately, the second those grey eyes looked back at her, the colour rose like a tide hitting the surface during a cyclone. She took her eyes to the ceiling, to the books, to the floor—anywhere but him. 

Then he cleared his throat. “Come on, there’s something you should see.” 

Only then did she look at him, and his neutral expression only made her flush deepen. “Really?” She hated that she sounded almost breathless. “What is it?”

He only smiled and motioned for her to follow him, and she did. He led her to the other side of the corner. It was a whole new section with colourful books and a sign written on a board, Muggle Classics.

She gasped. “Wait, we have Muggle books on show?"

He smiled at her. “Yes, you made sure people knew how Muggle classics are way better than wizarding ones."

She stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before taking in all the books. A grin broke her lips as she stepped closer and took in the Muggle titles and the beautiful covers. “This is amazing.” Her eyebrows narrowed a bit and she turned back at him. “Did the ministry allow it? For me to stock and sell Muggle books?”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why won’t they?”

She shifted from one foot to another. “I mean.” She whispered. “I was fired after all and Muggle books in the wizarding world seem very…problematic.”

He blinked then stepped closer to her with a sigh. “Hermione, you were fired, not discarded from the wizarding world, that you can’t do what you want and might I remind you that you’re the mastermind of the golden trio, a war heroine and won the Order of Merlin award and this is not the same wizarding world like before.” He leaned a bit and looked directly at her eyes. “No one has the right to tell you what you can or not.”

Her cheeks warmed again and she turned back to the books, muttering. “I really should get used to this after-war world.” Then her eyebrows crinkled and she looked back at him. “Um…” She paused then pushed the words out. “Do you do something?”

He blinked.

“I mean.” She tried again. “Do you have a job or…” She trailed off.

He blinked again then his lips tilted up a little. “I do. I’m a.” He cleared his throat. “Professor at Hogwarts.”

The gasp she left was enough for the whole store to hear. “You.” Her jaw fell apart. “You what?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the shelves beside her. “Well, not really a professor but a coach actually. I teach flying and Quidditch.”

She gasped again but this time in fright. “Did Madam Hooch die?”

He snorted. “No, she got transferred to Ilvermorny. After the war, she was feeling suffocated in Hogwarts as.” He grimaced. “A lot of her students died there in front of her. So Minnie talked with the administration at Ilvermorny and repositioned her. For a while, Minnie hired a substitute professor, but of course, they needed someone permanent.”

“And you applied?” She crooked her head to her left.

He stared at her for a second before softly shaking his head. “You applied for me without me knowing.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I did?”

“Mhm.” He gave a nod. “You made a witty plan behind my back with Minnie and made sure I had no way of refusing the post.”

Her lips twitched. “Minnie?” Her eyes rounded for a second. “You mean Professor McGonagall? Oh, I completely forgot about her because of this ongoing mess. How is she? Did the war affect her too much? Is she alright?”

“Hey.” He straightened, stepped closer and grabbed her shoulders. “Stop worrying, she’s perfectly fine…better than anyone actually.” He wrinkled his nose. “Somehow she doesn’t age at all.”

She blinked then slapped his arms away. “Stop it.” 

A smirk ghosted his lips. “Lo—

“Er…” 

Sirius’s jaw tightened before his gaze moved behind her and she turned to find Alex standing with a tray of two cups. “Pardon me.” He beamed at her. “Your tea, just like you like it.” 

Hermione smiled as she took the cup. “Oh, thank you so much. It’s so sweet of you.”

He smiled proudly then he turned his eyes to Sirius and the smile dropped; he trembled slightly. “Sir—you—your coffee.” He held it up for Sirius.

Hermione’s eyebrows crinkled as she looked back at Sirius, who was watching the boy with the calmest expression as he took the cup. "If you need anything else, please let me know," Alex said, somewhat rushed, giving a tip of his head before bolting away—literally.

Her eyes narrowed again. “Okay, what is this about? Why is he so scared around you?”

Sirius merely raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sirius!”

“Love.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s half my age, works with you and you’re my wife.” Her heart jumped, fucking cheeks reddened again. “And I am an Azkaban escaped prisoner, returned from death, so clearly he is bound to be cautious around me.” He took a sip of his coffee and muttered against the rim. “Besides, I don’t like redheads.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sirius.”

“Oh, look, it’s time for us to go.”

“Sirius.”

“Reggie must be waiting for us.”

She glared at him. “Sirius!”

“We’ve a floo.” He gestured with his free hand. “In the staffroom.”

She was about to snap, but something in his stillness stopped her. Instead, her eyes lingered on his face, tracing the curve beneath his eyes, the lines of his cheekbone, the tilt of his mouth. He looked calm, comfortable and the tight-wound coil of tension was nowhere visible. Now that she realised, he had been like this since morning.

Why, though, she wondered? Why was he looking so calm all of a sudden? Ever since she had woken up to this new fucked up world, she had always noticed the shadow he carried even though he tried to hide it in front of her. So what happened now?

“What?” His voice jolted her out of her thoughts. “What happened?”

She blinked twice and a furious blush spread across her cheeks like wildfire. Gods, had she been staring? Her fingers tightened around the teacup.

“Nothing.” She dropped her gaze and forced down two scalding gulps of tea, ignoring how it burned on the way down. “You’re right.” Her eyes flitted upward with forced composure. “Regulus must be waiting for us. We should let Alex know and leave.” She looked around. “Where’s the staffroom?”

He tilted his head and gave her a strange look as if he knew her far better than she could ever guess. “Alright.” He said slowly. “Come on. This way.”

She followed him, matching his long strides with smaller ones of her own and she swore the very air shifted when he walked beside her.

Warmth spilt from him like sunlight bleeding through a canopy and it was impossible to ignore. 

Her heart fluttered.

Why? No idea.

Her fingers itched to do something. To brush against his sleeve, to clutch his hand, to run her hands through his salt and pepper hair, or—quite stupidly—fist his beard like Regulus and tug just to see him wince.

Why? No idea.

She didn’t dare look at him. Not when her pulse raced like a snitch loose in her chest, not when every inch of her was aware of him. Because if he looked at her with those storm-grey eyes one more time….

Merlin, help her.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her heart thudding as she took in the dining room. The house was beautiful, tidy, warm, with soft light spilling from candles but it wasn’t the polished floors or the scent of rosemary that made her stomach twist.

It was the people.

Was she in Andromeda’s cosy cottage as Sirius said, or some bizarre version of the Slytherin common room? The faces around her were familiar, Slytherins, all looking much older than she remembered. Malfoy sprawled on the couch, chatting with Teddy and rocking Regulus like it was the most natural thing. She unmistakably recognised Theodore Nott slouched nearby. At the table, Harry and Pansy Parkinson squabbled over place settings while Blaise Zabini played peacemaker with a calm smile. Then Narcissa glided over, handing Draco something.

Where in Merlin’s name was she?

Her head spun, and she barely had time to catch her breath before Regulus’s eyes found her. “Mama!” he squeaked, his tiny voice cutting through the chatter.

Every head turned. The room froze, all eyes on her, some shocked, some soft. Harry’s face broke into a grin, and Narcissa smiled toward her. Hermione’s breath hitched, her chest tightening like a vice.

A warm hand settled on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles. “Hey, breathe,” a familiar voice murmured.

She turned, meeting Sirius’s grey eyes, warm and steady, like a Lumos cast in a darkness. “You know them,” he said softly. “They’re your friends. No need to panic.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, letting it fill her lungs, easing the knot in her chest. Friends. Right. Sirius had told her they’d be here, told her how Draco’s crew had somehow become her crew too. She knew them, even if her mind felt like a foggy maze. She tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace.

“Hermione!” A blur of red hair launched at her, and strong arms crushed her in a hug that squeezed the air from her lungs. “Gods, I missed you,” Her voice muffled into her shoulder. “Harry was acting like you’d kicked the bucket.”

She pulled back, her grin bright and teasing. “But look at you, glowing, like always.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Ginny...” She yanked her back into a hug, relief flooding her. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Ginny patted her back, her touch warm and familiar. “I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to come sooner, but life got in the way and Blaise was stuck at the Ministry, and I had that final Quidditch match. Total chaos.”

Hermione froze, still hugging her. “Blaise?”

Ginny blinked, then flashed a grin that was a little too wide. “Oh, right. Forgot you’re playing catch-up.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Blaise, get your arse over here!”

Blaise sighed, sharing a quick look with the others before sauntering over. Sirius’s hand traced another soothing circle on Hermione’s back.

Blaise stopped beside Ginny, his hand settling on her lower back like it was second nature. “Granger,” he said. “Good to see you in one piece.”

Ginny shot her a look, all cheek. “You remember this one, right? Death Eater, bad attitude?” Blaise’s frown was half-hearted.

Hermione let out a breath, her eyes wide. “Yeah,” she said faintly. How could she forget?

“Right.” Ginny’s grin grew. “He’s my boyfriend now. Wild, huh?”

Oh, Hermione was going to faint.

Hermione sipped her tea as her eyes darted around the room. Everyone was busy setting the table, passing dishes, and laughing over small things. She sat on the sofa, Regulus’s small, warm body curled asleep in her lap. Teddy toddled around, acting like a tiny, fussy adult, helping with all the seriousness of a Ministry official. Harry and Sirius had vanished somewhere and she had no idea where, leaving her in the den of Snakes.

And with Malfoy, who was lounging beside her, all lazy confidence that grated on her nerves. He’d helped her settle Regulus, casting charms with an ease that made her jealous. She hated that he knew those spells and she didn’t.

The night had been one shock after another. Ginny and Zabini, of all people, were head-over-heels, stealing kisses while Ginny tossed a salad, their affection so easy it hurt to watch. Then Pansy had dropped the bomb that she and Hermione were best friends. Apparently, Hermione was best friends with everyone. Nott, sulking in a corner with a face like a kicked puppy, had muttered about promises she didn’t remember making. Malfoy had already swatted him once; she wouldn’t mind a repeat for real.

Andromeda and Narcissa were in the kitchen, probably the masterminds behind the mouthwatering smells filling the house. Ginny was also moving to the kitchen every now and then. Hermione kept telling herself this was normal, that she’d get used to it, that this was home .

But the absence of the Weasleys—except Ginny—gnawed at her. No one else had shown up. Not even Ron.

Was he coming? Where were they? Didn't she agree to this dinner just because of them? Should she ask?

Her gaze flicked to Malfoy, who was sprawled with his eyes closed, looking infuriatingly relaxed. She narrowed her eyes.

“Granger,” he drawled, not even opening his eyes. “Stop staring like you’re planning to hex me into next week.”

She scoffed. “Don’t tempt me.”

He cracked one eye open, smirking. “I’d love to see you try.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away, sipping her tea to hide her annoyance.

“What’s on your mind?”

She blinked, turning back. “What?”

“You were about to say something. Spit it out,” he said, eyes closed again, like her hesitation was boring him.

She frowned. “How do you even know that?”

He opened both eyes, his expression dripping with mock exasperation. “Granger, I’m an Auror. And I know you better than you think.”

She glared, then tilted her head. “Why do you still call me Granger? Am I not a Black to you now?”

He snorted. “Because it’s you. Calling you anything else would be weird.”

She sighed into her cup. “Bloody idiot.”

“He’s not wrong,” Nott piped up, flopping onto the sofa beside her. “You’re Granger.” He paused, then pouted dramatically. “Draco, she’s giving me that look again.”

“She lost her memory, you prat,” Malfoy said, voice flat.

“But she doesn’t look at Blaise like that.”

“It’s all in your head.”

“It’s not,” Nott insisted. “Granger, be honest, don’t I feel like a stranger?”

“What kind of question is that?” Malfoy snapped.

“It’s a fair question,” Nott shot back.

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed, silencing them both. Thank Merlin for the silencing charm on Regulus, or her son would have been awake by these dorks. “You two are unbearable.”

Nott opened his mouth, but her glare could’ve melted steel. He shut it, pouting again.

“You know what?” she huffed. “I’m glad I lost my memory. Nothing other than mortification can be present when you two were in there”

Their lips twitched, and they shared a look—that sly, troublemaking glance that made her stomach sink.

“What?” she demanded, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Malfoy inspected his nails with excessive nonchalance.

“Yeah, nothing,” Nott echoed, failing to sound convincing.

“Malfoy.”

“Nope.”

“Nott?”

“Still nope.”

“Tell me.”

“Not happening.”

“I will hex you both.”

“We said it’s—”

“I’m asking one last time—”

“Just a small thing,” Malfoy cut in, still studying his nails. “Those embarrassing memories? Mostly us catching you and Sirius shagging in all sorts of places.”

She froze, her heart stopping.

“Including, but not limited to,” Nott added, far too cheerfully, “the library, the garden shed, and once in the laundry room while the magical washer was running.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “The sounds. Ew.”

Her face burned, her ears probably glowing red. Her soul might’ve caught fire.

“And you used magic terribly during,” Nott muttered, shuddering. “An insult to wandcraft, honestly.”

She stood so fast her tea nearly sloshed over. Regulus stirred with a soft grunt, but she was too mortified to care. Of course, she’d been intimate with Sirius—Regulus didn’t just appear by magic. But hearing it like this made her want to crawl into a hole. Since when did Hermione become so careless that people would catch her having sex so openly?

And, because the universe loved to torment her, Sirius chose that exact moment to walk in with Harry.

His eyes found hers instantly, softening with a warmth that made her stomach thrash. She turned beetroot, her heart raced, and before she could think, she thrust Regulus into Malfoy's arms and the teacup into Nott's. “Take him,” she hissed.

Malfoy's smug grin widened as he cradled the sleeping toddler like he’d won a prize. She didn’t wait. She stormed across the room, dodging Sirius, grabbed Harry’s wrist, and yanked him toward the back door.

“Whoa, Hermione?” Harry stumbled after her, confused.

The door clicked shut behind them, and she let out a shaky breath, gripping his arm like it was keeping her upright. “You need to leash your husband,” she snapped.

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“Malfoy,” she hissed. “He and Nott." Her cheeks burned again. "They just went on about my sex life!”

His eyebrows shot up. “Okay, hold on—what?”

She gave him a death stare. “They said I was shagging Sirius in every corner of the house like it was a bloody sport. The laundry room, Harry!”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking at her like she was a spooked cat. “Well… they’re not wrong. I caught you two a few times. So did everyone.”

She went still, her jaw dropping. “Excuse me?”

“Look, you two weren’t exactly subtle, especially Sirius,” he said quickly, wincing. “I think Headmaster McGonagall walked in once too.”

If possible, her jaw dropped more. That couldn't be true. Harry's face said otherwise. She covered her face with both hands, groaning. “Merlin’s beard, just let me die.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You caught us. Professor McGonagall saw us!”

“Yeah, a couple times.”

“A couple?”

“Okay, maybe more. I stopped keeping track.”

She turned, pressing her forehead against the cool wall, her voice muffled. “How am I supposed to face him now?”

He leaned beside her, the faint clink of dishes and laughter drifting from inside. “Come on, you’re married. It’s normal. Regulus didn’t just show up out of nowhere.”

She scowled at him. "Harry, in case you forgot, my memory is gone and now everything is new. I can't just go and face someone knowing I shagged him in front of most people. I don't even know how I will look at him without turning into a tomato."

He shook his head with a laugh. “It’ll be okay. You'll feel just fine in front of him and I’ll talk to Draco and scold him about it, okay?”

She paused as the reality settled in. She had been so comfortable with these people inside in her forgotten self and now she was drifting without anything. "Harry, I." Her voice softened as she looked down. “I don’t know how to be that version of me. The one who belongs here. Who's comfortable with all of this.”

“You don’t have to be her,” he stated, his voice warm. “You are her. You’re just finding your way back. Like remembering spells, it’ll come. This, us, Sirius, it’ll feel right again.”

She stared at the stone floor, her throat tight. “He took me to the bookshop today,” she murmured.

Harry’s grin was instant, bright. “Yeah, he told me. Said you looked happy, relaxed.”

She smiled a little. “He seemed happy, too.”

He nodded, his grin softening. “Probably because of you.”

Her eyes flicked to him, a question in them.

“Well, you are now quite normal with him and,” he wiggled his brows, “he told me you came to Reggie’s room while they were sleeping and put a blanket on Sirius because he didn’t have one. You gave him yours.”

Her fingers toyed with her sleeve, her stomach fluttering, cheeks warming for a different reason now. “I just, he’s always looking out for me and Regulus. It was cold and he was sleeping shirtless. I felt bad, that’s all.”

Harry paused, then pulled her into a hug. “No, Hermione. You didn't do it because you felt bad. You did it because you care about him.”

Her heart gave a flip, his words sinking deep, the thump thump thump echoing in her ears. She nodded against his shoulder, unable to speak.

He squeezed her once before stepping back. “He told me about the healer visit. Don’t worry, time will fix this. It’ll feel normal.”

She shook her head, voice small. “What if time isn’t enough?”

“Then you let us help you.”

She swallowed, her throat tight.

“Hermione, Sirius isn’t waiting for you to be the old you. He’s waiting because he loves you. And Regulus.” His smile turned soft. “He’s not going to stop needing you just because you don’t remember how to be his mum yet. We’re not going to stop being idiots around you either.”

Something in her chest cracked, a mix of ache and warmth.

“I feel so lost,” she whispered.

His gaze held hers. “Then let yourself be lost. And let the people who love you bring you home.”

She fell silent, the words settling like a warm blanket. “Come on,” he said, nudging her gently. “It’s chaos in there without us.”

She hesitated, then stopped him. “Wait.”

He turned, concern flickering back in his eyes. “Yeah?”

She took a shaky breath. “Where’s Ron?”

Harry’s face changed, a shadow of discomfort crossing it. He looked down, jaw tight, then met her gaze. “He’s not coming.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

He hesitated, fixing his glasses. “It’s complicated.”

She crossed her arms, a knot forming in her chest. “Harry, don’t dodge it. Just tell me. You've dodged enough already.”

He sighed, leaning against the wall. “You and Ron weren’t in a good place, even before the accident. You were still together when Sirius came back. But then…things shifted.”

Her heart gave a strange jolt.

“You started spending more time with Sirius,” he said carefully. “Little things at first. But those little things grew. You and Ron were already struggling, and that was the final straw.”

She swallowed hard, staying quiet.

“He didn’t take it well.” He continued. “Neither did you, really. It all sort of fell apart.”

“And the others?” she asked softly.

He nodded slowly. “Most of the Weasleys sided with Ron. Not out of anger, just loyalty, you know? It created this quiet gap no one really bridged.”

Her eyes stung, but she didn’t speak.

“Ginny stayed close,” he added. “Partly because of Blaise, too. But the rest they just drifted away.” He touched her elbow gently. “We didn’t tell you right away because we didn’t want to overwhelm you. Sirius thought it might make things harder. And, well, he doesn’t like talking about Ron.”

She frowned. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes met hers. “He’s your husband, Hermione.”

The words landed like a stone. She didn’t need him to explain. She knew. Deep down, in that space between memory and instinct, she understood. It wasn’t jealousy, not entirely. It was something deeper, something that curled and tightened in the heart. That old, unspoken ache of choosing someone and fearing they might still be looking over their shoulder. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, slowly.

“Come on,” He tugged her hand gently. “Let’s go back in.”

She followed this time, stepping into the dining room as someone shouted, “Food’s ready!” The room buzzed with life, chairs scraped across the wooden floor, dishes clinked, and laughter wove through the rich scent of butter and herbs. It was chaotic, overwhelming, but somehow comforting. She found herself grateful that no one was tiptoeing around her, treating her like glass.

Sirius stood by the table, and his eyes found hers before he made his way towards her. “You okay?” His eyebrows knit together with a care that tugged at something deep in her chest.

She looked at him, at those grey eyes, the quiet strength in his gaze.

He’s your husband, Hermione.

She managed a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He didn’t look convinced but didn’t push, guiding her to the table. “Come on, dinner’s waiting.” He pulled out her chair, and she gave him another smile, softer this time, before sitting.

“Where’s Regulus?” she asked.

“Asleep.” He settled beside her. “I tucked him into Teddy’s room.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did he eat?”

“Draco handled it while you and Harry were outside.” He said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “We’ll feed him again at home before bed.”

Her gaze drifted to Malfoy, who was bickering with Pansy over a bowl of mashed carrots. She didn’t catch his words, but Pansy swatted his arm, and he muttered something that made Nott laugh.

Her son’s godfather.

It was odd. She should’ve felt more out of place. But as plates passed around and conversation picked up, the room swelled with something else, warmth, familiarity. Teddy sat by Malfoy, chomping on something orange, a streak of it smeared across his cheek like a badge of honour. Zabini poured wine for Ginny and Narcissa, who handed Harry a dish of roasted vegetables.

“Settling in?” a gentle voice asked.

She turned to see Andromeda easing into the seat beside her. “Trying to,” she replied, offering a shy smile that felt a little less fragile than before.

Andromeda’s eyes crinkled warmly. “That’s more than enough.”

Hermione nodded, the knot in her chest loosening. Her gaze flicked to Narcissa, who was now serving rolls. “Do you and Narcissa live together now?”

Andromeda smiled softly, following her gaze. “We do. After the war, things changed. Both of us are widows, I am without a child. It wasn’t easy, but we found our way back to each other. Living together, it feels like home again.”

Hermione’s throat tightened at the mention of their loss. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Andromeda squeezed her hand. “Thank you, dear. But we’re okay. Having Narcissa and Ginny fussing in the kitchen today gave me a break from all the extra tiredness.”

Hermione’s smile grew steadier. “It smells incredible. They outdid themselves.”

“They did,” Andromeda agreed, her eyes twinkling. “Speaking of home, I’m thinking of tackling the garden. The back hedge is a disaster, and Teddy’s obsessed with planting his fairy beans.”

Hermione’s lips quirked. “Fairy beans?”

“Not real, of course,” Andromeda said with a wink, “but he’s convinced they’ll grow into something magical. When you’re feeling more yourself, could you help? Sirius mentioned you went to the bookstore today. Maybe you could find a book on gardening?”

Hermione’s fingers moved instinctively, reaching for the breadbasket. She selected a slice of white bread and began trimming its crusts. “I’d love to,” she replied, her voice warmer now. “I was thinking of going to the shop every day, you know, to keep myself busy from all this. I’ll ask Alex for a book.”

“That’d be lovely, dear.”

Hermione smiled and, without realising it, set the crustless bread on Sirius’s plate. A sudden squeal broke the moment and she looked there to find Teddy lobbing a carrot at Blaise, who was laughing. Andromeda’s head snapped toward him. “Teddy Lupin!” she scolded, as Narcissa flicked her wand to clean the boy’s face.

Hermione chuckled then glanced at Sirius and she froze. He was staring at her, his grey eyes intense, searching, like he was trying to unravel a mystery. No teasing, no smile, just a raw, almost desperate look that stole her breath.

Her heart pounded, heat creeping up her neck. "What?" Then her eyes fell to the crustless bread on his plate, something she’d done without thinking. Her pulse stuttered.

“Oh—” she stammered, her voice tripping. “I didn’t mean—I just—” She reached to snatch the bread back, to undo whatever she’d done.

But his hand caught her wrist, stopping her. Her eyes flicked up to his, and the room seemed to shrink to just them.

“Hermione,” he said, voice low, barely audible over the chatter. “How do you remember I don’t eat the crust?”

She froze before her eyes flickered down to the bread. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Her throat tightened. “I…” she tried, but the words dissolved under the intensity of his stare. Her mind scrambled for logic, for an explanation, but all she could feel was the warmth of his fingers, the unspoken question in his eyes and her mind went blank.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, voice barely a breath. “Is this something I do?”

He nodded, his voice softer than she’d ever heard. “Do you…remember something?”

The question hung there, fragile and heavy. She blinked, her chest tight.

That’s when she noticed how the room had gone quiet. Laughter faded, forks stilled. She glanced toward them. Pansy’s wineglass hovered midair. Malfoy was silent beside Zabini. Andromeda’s knife paused over a potato, Narcissa’s fingers froze on her napkin, and Ginny and Harry stared at them, food forgotten. They were all looking at her with hope.

Then, as if caught, everyone looked away. Spoons clinked, Pansy muttered to Harry. Blaise asked for salt. Someone cleared their throat.

Hermione turned back to Sirius. He hadn’t moved, still holding her wrist gently, like he was afraid she’d bolt. His eyes held a flicker of yearning, bright and reckless, teetering on the edge.

Her stomach twisted, guilt and panic rising.

“No.” Tears filled the edges of her eyes. “I… I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean to—I just…” Her words faltered, helpless. "I'm sorry."

The light in his eyes dimmed, pulling back like a tide. But he didn’t let go, just lowered her hand to his lap, covering it with his own.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out.” He reached out and wiped her tears. "It's okay."

Her fingers twitched under his, her heart aching.

Will we?

The question echoed in her mind.

She stared at their hands then at the crustless bread, perfect on his plate. Her stomach churned. Her mind was blank. And she was so so scared now. But the question clawed at her.

How did I know?

Chapter Text

The clink of cutlery against plates faded into the background as the last threads of dinner conversation gave way to the subtle sounds of tiredness. People shifted in their seats, reaching for water, stretching shoulders, murmuring about pudding and tea.

Hermione, however, barely registered it. Her skin felt tight, as if her own body didn’t fit quite right. An itch stirred beneath her skin, not physical, not even magical—something deeper, restless, uncomfortable. Her temples throbbed faintly, and her breaths came in shallow pulls.

She leaned toward Sirius. “I want to go home.”

He turned to her instantly, brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just a headache. I think I need to lie down.”

He studied her face, worry etched into every line. She wasn’t sure if he believed her. “Alright,” he nodded eventually. “Wait here. I’ll get Reggie.”

He rose, his hand brushing down her arm before he disappeared down the corridor. She exhaled. Still seated at the table, fingers twisted in her lap, she looked up as Narcissa approached. “Hermione, are you feeling alright? Sirius said you want to leave.”

Hermione blinked, instantly awkward. “Oh. Yes. Just a little tired. Long day.”

Narcissa nodded once. “Understandable. These dinners can be overwhelming.”

A moment of silence hung between them. Hermione wanted to say something polite but drew a blank. Narcissa, surprisingly, smiled. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask me. We are family now.”

Hermione swallowed. That word again. Family.

She nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa offered a slight smile. “Narcissa.”

Hermione managed a small smile in return. Narcissa gave a final nod and turned back to the table to tidy up. Hermione stood and moved to the single sofa with a sigh. She needed a moment alone to catch her breath without pressure. Then a flicker passed through her memory. A note. It must be in Parseltongue.

Her eyes darted to Harry, laughing at something Nott was saying in the corner of the room. She opened her mouth to call him—

And then she heard it.

A soft, breathy whimper.

Her feet moved before her mind caught up, carrying her past the edge of the dining room as the sound of soft whimpers grew clearer. Rounding the corner, her breath hitched.

Sirius stood just inside the threshold of the guest room, cradling a restless Regulus, who squirmed and let out small, unhappy cries. His cheeks were flushed, fists clenched tightly in his father's shirt, eyes scrunched shut as if trying to force himself back to sleep and failing.

She approached quickly. “What happened?”

Sirius looked up, his features pinched with concern. “He was crying in his sleep. Must’ve been a bad dream or something. Woke up all startled.” His voice was soft, almost apologetic, as though he felt responsible for the disturbance.

“I’ll take him,” she extended her arms. He paused only a moment before gently passing Regulus to her. The baby didn’t settle immediately. She felt the warmth of his upset radiating through her blouse. He let out another high, hiccuping whine, nuzzling into her shoulder with a confused, frustrated sound.

Sirius placed a comforting hand on Regulus’s back. “He’s alright. Just a bit shaken. He’ll calm down in a minute or two.”

She kissed the top of her son’s head, breathing him in, swaying gently. “Oh, my baby.” Her tiredness and headache faded, forgotten. “Maybe he’s hungry,” she muttered. “Should I try feeding him? It might help him fall back to sleep.”

Sirius gave a small, uncertain nod, but before he could respond, Hermione turned toward the room. “Close the door, please.”

She didn’t wait to see if he followed. Stepping inside, she moved instinctively to the chair by the bed, adjusting Regulus in her arms. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unbuttoned her blouse and carefully positioned him.

He resisted at first, turning his head away, lips wobbling. Her heart tightened. “Come on,” she whispered, trying again, gently brushing her nipple against his mouth. “It’s okay, Reggie. Mummy’s here.”

Eventually, he latched, and her whole body exhaled a sigh she hadn’t known she was holding. The discomfort eased into a strange calm. His limbs relaxed, and with the quiet suckling, the room stilled.

Only then did she glance up—and freeze.

Sirius hadn’t left. He stood at the far end of the room, by the dresser, his broad back turned toward them. His posture was still, arms loosely crossed, head bowed slightly.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She watched him for a beat, two, taking in the curve of his shoulders, the silent respect in his posture.

He hadn’t left.

And he was giving her privacy.

A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, equal parts comfort and ache. She looked back down at Regulus, his lashes fluttering, the tension slowly melting from his small body as he fed.

She cleared her throat softly. “You can sit, you know.”

He didn’t move. “I’m alright here.”

She hesitated, unsure what to do with the tenderness clawing up her throat. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were still in the room,” she admitted quietly.

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone with him crying like that,” he replied. “And it didn’t seem right to walk out while you were figuring it out. Reggie can be tough to handle sometimes.”

She looked down at her son, her thumb brushing the curve of his cheek. Something flickered in her chest. It didn't take long before he went limp in her arms, his breathing settling into the soft cadence of sleep. She watched his tiny face a moment longer before gently adjusting her hold. With a soft sigh, she eased her blouse down and carefully pulled her nipple from his mouth.

“Sirius,” she whispered, careful not to stir the baby. “Come here.”

At her voice, he turned, and she instantly flushed. In her focus on Regulus, she’d forgotten to button her blouse properly. She scrambled to cover herself with one arm, cheeks burning as she fumbled with the buttons using her other hand. Two remained stubbornly undone, but she gave up, refusing to make a scene of it.

As he came closer, she mumbled. “Cast a Silencing Charm?” 

Without a word, he flicked his wand, a shimmer of magic slipping like a veil around them.

“Here, I’ll take him,” he offered, reaching gently.

“No,” she rocked Regulus slightly. “He’ll wake again. He just went down. Let’s not disturb him.”

Sirius nodded and instead reached out to help her stand, one hand steady under her elbow as she rose slowly from the chair, careful not to jostle the baby who whimpered, his head shifting.

She hushed him instinctively. “Shh, it’s alright, love. Mummy’s got you.” She rubbed small circles into his back, keeping him close, his arms tucked against her chest, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. Sirius stayed near as she swayed gently, her breathing softening, calming herself as much as the child in her arms.

After a moment, Regulus fell back to sleep again.

“I think we can go now,” she said quietly. “Before he wakes again.”

Sirius nodded and moved ahead to open the door for them.

They stepped out of the Floo together, Hermione steadying Regulus in her arms as Sirius brushed a few specks of soot from the baby’s hair with gentle fingers.

“Thank Merlin, he didn’t get my curls,” she shifted him slightly on her shoulder. “It would’ve been a nightmare.”

Sirius snorted softly. “Your curls are beautiful.”

She scoffed, not bothering to hide it. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” he said simply, glancing at her. “Why would I lie about that?”

She didn’t answer, not because she lacked one, but because she didn’t know how to. Her face warmed. Her throat felt tight, and the tired weight of the day pressed heavier on her shoulders. Instead of arguing, she turned toward the hallway.

“I was thinking,” she glanced at him as they walked. “I should keep Regulus with me tonight. I mean, I’m starting to know how to handle him now. A bit, at least. And if there’s anything, I’ll call you.”

He walked a step behind, quiet for a moment too long. “Sure,” he said finally. “He’ll probably sleep better with you anyway.”

She nodded, though the stillness in his voice struck something sharp in her.

“But I don’t want to disturb your sleep,” he added carefully, “or give you too much. You’re still healing, and you need rest more than—”

She stopped walking and turned around. Regulus shifted in her arms, his tiny nose scrunching, but he didn’t wake.

“My son needs to sleep with me,” she stated firmly. “And I need to get used to that.”

He froze for a moment before giving a simple nod. But she saw it. In his eyes. Just for a moment. A flicker of something—not anger, not pain exactly, but an absence. A quiet pulling back. Like a door closing between them, so soft it made no sound, yet she felt it all the same.

And it hurt.

Merlin, it hurt.

Not because he made her feel guilty.

He didn’t.

He hadn’t even said a word.

But in that silence, something twisted inside her, guilt and something else she couldn’t name, pulsing low in her chest, curling in her stomach like shame.

Because Regulus needed to sleep with her.

Yes. Of course.

He was her son.

She needed to learn how to care for him, to find comfort in his breathing, warmth in his weight. That was her place now. His mother.

But what about her husband?

What about Sirius?

What about his empty arms tonight, reaching for nothing in a bed built for two? What about his breath warming the curve of her neck, his lips pressed against her hair in the hush between dreams?

Wasn’t that his place, too?

Didn’t he belong there, next to her?

Didn’t she belong with him?

Her throat tightened as those thoughts rose, uninvited and terrifying. They scared her, cracked her, hurt her.

So she stepped forward, her voice softer now. “Will you help me put him in bed?”

His expression warmed instantly. “Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Of course.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile as they moved together. In her room, Sirius lit a single candle with a wave of his wand. Together, they settled Regulus on the bed, Hermione tucking him into the blanket, Sirius casting quiet protective enchantments around the room.

She watched him work. “I want you to teach me those,” she said, running her fingers through Regulus’s curls. “All of them. Tomorrow, though. I’m too tired tonight.”

“Sure.” He turned to her, lips quirking slightly. “You haven’t taken your potions yet.”

“I’ll take them before bed.”

He nodded. His smile was small, hesitant, like it didn’t quite settle.

They stared at each other.

The silence felt different now.

Too quiet.

Too close.

Her eyes flicked to the bed.

Their bed.

She blinked once, then again. She hadn’t thought about it before—not really—but suddenly she did.

This was the room they shared. The bed they shared. Where they had slept, talked, laughed, fought, made love.

The word sat heavy in her chest.

She remembered Malfoy and Nott’s mocking, Harry’s awkward talk. Everyone knew. Everyone remembered.

Everyone but her.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned quickly, busying herself with nothing—picking up a towel from the chair, then placing it back down.

Don’t look at him.

Because she knew, if she did, her thoughts would slip. They already were.

Sex, with Sirius, on this bed, probably more than once, countless times. She must’ve moaned his name. Kissed his chest. Touched his face.

She swallowed hard.

What did it feel like?

How did it feel to want him?

Her chest tightened. Her thighs tensed slightly. A slow heat prickled low in her belly, confused and uninvited. She didn’t know this version of herself. She didn’t know how to be her. And it made her panic.

She clenched her hands into the fabric of her shirt and didn’t turn around.

Behind her, he spoke. “You okay?”

She forced a nod, still not looking. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She didn’t see his face, but she felt his gaze linger. Like he knew. And she hated that part of her didn’t want to stop him from knowing. When she dared to glance at him, he was standing by the bed, hands loosely in his pockets, watching their son sleep with a quiet softness on his face—the kind only exhaustion and something deeper could draw out.

She watched him, the way his jaw ticked and then stilled, the way his shoulders shifted, uncertain whether to leave or stay. He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t even looking at her now, but his presence filled the space between them like gravity.

She swallowed. “I think I’ll just freshen up,” she said quietly. “Wash my face, change.”

He looked at her now. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

She nodded once.

He hesitated, then turned to go.

Her heart twisted.

“Sirius.”

He turned at once, as if her voice alone could pull him back, his full attention fixed on her, brows slightly raised, open and waiting.

Her throat closed up.

Because she wanted something she couldn’t voice.

She wanted to say Stay. Or don’t go far. Or maybe just sit with me until I feel like myself again.

But none of those words made it past the pressure in her chest.

So she gave a small, watery smile instead. “Thank you for today.”

He blinked, just once, then the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t mention it.” And then he left, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment it clicked shut, she exhaled sharply and dropped her face into her hands with a groan.

Gods.

What was wrong with her?

Her palms were damp against her cheeks, skin hot with embarrassment or silent longing or both.

She hadn’t even asked him to stay.

And yet, somehow, it hurt that he didn’t.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her. Elbows on her knees, hands loose in her lap, she stared at the closed door where he’d disappeared.

It was too quiet now.

Too still.

But inside her, it was anything but quiet. Emotions crashed in waves, one after another, piling atop each other like being dragged under with no air to gasp. Dread, longing, guilt, ache, confusion—all fighting for space, collapsing into each other like dominoes until she couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

How was she supposed to accept all of this?

This life. This house. This marriage. This child. The bed she sat on. The body she lived in.

But hadn’t she already accepted it?

Somewhere, unconsciously or consciously, she had agreed to this reality.

And that terrified her.

She looked down at her hands. They didn’t look like the hands of an 18-year-old. And yet that’s what she was or at least, that’s all she could remember being. A girl still caught in a war’s haze, still reeling from everything that had happened before she went to King’s Cross to finish it all.

But she wasn’t 18 anymore.

She was twenty-five, if she was counting right.

Twenty-five years old.

Seven years of her life—gone. Erased like chalk on stone.

She clenched her fists.

Seven years. Seven birthdays. Seven winters. Seven Springs. Seven whole years where she’d fallen in love with Sirius Black, fought with him, made love to him, chosen him. Built a family. Had a child. Lost time. Spent mornings where she might’ve woken to Regulus babbling beside her.

She hadn’t just lost memory.

She had lost living.

And now? Now she’d done something she couldn’t explain. That damn piece of bread. She still remembered the look on his face when he saw it on his plate. The way his voice had cracked just a little when he asked, “How do you remember I don’t eat the crust?”

But she didn’t. She didn’t remember. It just happened. Just like when she’d called him Snuffles in the hospital without thinking. It had come from nowhere, like some invisible string pulling her toward pieces of herself she didn’t recognise but that still belonged to her.

She ran both hands through her hair and closed her eyes tightly.

Was it muscle memory? Emotional memory? Magical memory? Was there a difference? Maybe. Maybe not. Should she talk to her healer? But it didn’t matter now.

Because sitting there, in a too-large bedroom and too-big silence, she made a decision.

No more waiting for the past to return. No more begging memories to find her. No more sitting in this bedroom, watching her life unfold around her like a stranger to it.

Fuck sorrow.

Fuck fate.

Fuck crying over what was lost.

She was Hermione Granger.

Correction—Hermione Black.

And she was going to take back her life, memory or not. She’d learn everything again if she had to. She’d relearn Sirius, relearn how to mother her son, how to fit into this reality even if it meant building herself from the ground up.

Now, she just needed to put her brain to work.

Chapter Text

Dear Prongs and Moony,

I know, I know, I’m being a pain in the arse again. Just bear with me. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. One second, she looks at me like she remembers everything, like she’s still mine and the next, it’s as if I’m a stranger she regrets ever knowing. One moment, there’s warmth in her eyes, that same softness I’ve held onto all these years, and then it’s gone. Like I never meant a thing.

It’s driving me mad. She gets close, close enough that I can feel her again, like she’s there beneath the surface, and then she’s gone. Just like that. Fleeing like I’m something to be afraid of. I don’t know how to hold on to someone who keeps slipping through my fingers like smoke. How do I do it? Because I want to do it. I need to do it. I need to hold onto her. I don’t know how not to hold on to her.

And she remembers. I swear she does. At the hospital, she called me Snuffles. And when I asked, she said it was normal, said it was from Hogwarts, but I know better. I know her voice. I know the tone she uses when it’s real. That wasn’t normal. That was her. And today she pulled out the crusts and gave me the bread. She does that every day, has done that for years. Said she didn’t think about it, just did it. What does that mean? Is it buried in there somewhere? Are her memories just waiting for the right push?

I’m seeing Spleen tomorrow. There has to be something he can tell me. Something that makes sense of this. What if it’s all right there, just out of reach? What if I’m losing her all over again and she’s right here waiting for me to pull her out?

She took Reggie with her tonight. I’m in the nursery. It’s too quiet, too empty. I don’t remember how to sleep without her beside me anymore or Reggie. And tomorrow’s the full moon. I can already feel it crawling under my skin. I feel raw, stripped bare. I wish you were here, Moony. I need you now more than ever. At least your dramatic wolf would have distracted me. And you, Prongs, even if you’re useless at the emotional stuff, at least you’d make me laugh through it. Or punch me and tell me to stop being such a dramatic tosser. Either way, it would help.

She looked beautiful today at the bookstore. Of course she did. That’s her happy place, always has been. I could see her just for a little while, the way her eyes lit up when she found something new. I miss her. Gods, I miss her, and she’s right here in the next room. I don’t know when or if she’ll ever look at me that way again.

Why doesn’t she remember me? What did I do so wrong that her mind decided I was the part worth forgetting? When will she remember me? When will I stop being just a name people tell her she once loved? When will she look at me and know, not guess, not pretend, but know that I’m hers?

When will I get to sleep beside her again, arms around her, her breath soft and warm against my chest? When will I feel her sigh and know it’s because she feels safe? When will I stop waking up in this half-life where she’s here, but I’m the one haunting the room?

I don’t want to survive this if it means surviving without her. I don’t want to be brave about this. I don’t want to be patient. I don’t want to give it time. 

I want my life back. I want her back. I want the mother of my son back.

My wife back.

Padfoot

Chapter Text

She woke to a soft whimper in the dim morning light as Regulus stirred against her chest. The sheets were warm, the room cloaked in the hushed silence only early dawn could bring. 

She’d slept—truly slept. Not with the aid of potions, not in fractured hours, but in long, deep stretches between the moments her son woke. Each time she fed him, he nestled back into her with such trust, such easy comfort, that something inside her quieted too. As if his peace granted her permission to find her own.

She shifted, rubbing her eyes with one hand while gently running the other down her son’s back. He whimpered again, then kicked, squirming until she pulled him upright.

“It’s alright, love,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “Mummy’s here.”

She rose from the bed and padded around the room, rocking him gently, whispering nonsensical comforts into his hair until his breaths steadied and he blinked up at her, fully awake.

“There you are,” she said, pressing her forehead to his. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep better than Mama?”

He let out a yawn and lightly smacked her face with his palm. She laughed softly and made her way to the chair by the window, settling with him balanced on her lap. His head tilted, and he flashed a gummy grin.

A knock came at the door. Regulus, wide-eyed, whipped his head toward the sound, and she followed suit. She stood, cradling him close as she crossed the room. The door creaked open, revealing Sirius.

His hair was a deliberate mess, tousled yet slept-in. A grey jumper clung to his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal the ink on his forearms. He looked… tired. Not wrecked, just worn, as if sleep came in fits and starts. But his eyes warmed the moment they landed on them.

“Did I wake you two?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No. We were already up.” Her voice carried the husky edge of morning. “Good morning,” she added, softer.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Regulus shrieked, “Dada! Dada!” and launched himself forward with all the force of his tiny limbs.

Sirius caught him just in time, grunting slightly. Hermione bit her lip to stifle a laugh as their son tugged hard at his beard.

“Circe, you’re trying to rip my face off,” Sirius groaned, his arms instinctively tightening around the boy. “Let go, let go.”

She looked at him properly then. He did look tired—eyes slightly red at the corners, shoulders held a touch too straight, as if compensating for something. Before she could stop herself, before she even thought it through, she asked, “Did you sleep well?”

He stilled, his gaze finding hers, lingering a second too long, as if trying to decipher whether it was his wife or a stranger wearing her skin who asked.

“Yeah.” It sounded like a lie.

She didn’t press. Her throat felt too tight for it anyway.

“I’ll get him cleaned up.” He shifted Regulus in his arms.

She nodded. “Alright. I’ll come down in a minute.”

He lingered for half a beat, as if he might say more, but then turned, murmuring to Regulus as they headed to the nursery. She sighed and closed the door behind them.

The shower was hot, washing away the night and the weight clinging to her skin. She towel-dried her hair, pulled on soft jeans and a pale top, then headed downstairs.

The smell hit her first—warmth, salt, butter, garlic, and something hearty humming through the walls like a spell. She smiled unconsciously, following it down the stairs to the kitchen, where she froze at the threshold.

Regulus sat in the middle of the table, babbling at floating dandelions within a safe, shimmering containment charm. His hands slapped the wooden surface as he laughed, cheeks pink. But it wasn’t her son that stopped her cold.

It was her husband.

Sirius stood at the stove, back to her, stirring a heavy-bottomed pot. His wand was tucked into a messy bun, holding his hair away from the nape of his neck. His torso was bare, trousers hanging low on his hips, the fabric tracing the rough lines of his body. His back flexed as he moved, muscles shifting beneath sweat-dusted, inked skin. A rune she didn’t recognise curved around his ribs, disappearing along his side.

She blinked. Then swallowed.

She hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until he half-turned, glancing over his shoulder toward Regulus and spotting her.

Their eyes met, and her knees nearly buckled.

“Hey.” His voice curled into her like steam from the stovetop. He offered a small smile before turning back to the pot. “I’m making beans and mash for Reggie. Want something else?”

The spoon clinked against the pot as he set it down and turned fully.

And just like that, she forgot how to speak.

His chest—broad, lean, scarred—rose and fell slowly. He didn’t move closer, didn’t smirk or tease. He just stood there, looking at her in a perfectly normal way.

Her lips felt dry. She licked them.

Her eyes dragged down his torso, involuntarily—or perhaps very voluntarily—to the way his trousers clung to his hips, then back up. Quidditch and flying had done him well. Or maybe he’d always looked like this. Maybe she’d once known every inch of him.

But now? It felt like a discovery. Like fire and panic. Like wanting something that already belonged to her, yet not knowing how to reach for it.

He looked… good.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Regulus squealed and tossed a dandelion into the air. Sirius glanced at him, and Hermione crossed the room too quickly, her slippers nearly skidding as she made a beeline for her son. She scooped him up with forced ease, pressing a kiss to his temple to hide her flushed face.

“Hey there,” she murmured, brushing a hand through his soft curls. She tried not to look at Sirius. She tried. But the heat behind her wasn’t just from the cooking. It curled along her spine, prickled her neck, and made her painfully aware of the man standing half-naked in the kitchen.

She cleared her throat, focusing harder on Regulus, who was now chewing her sleeve. “What’s he having today?”

A pause, then Sirius’s voice came from behind her. “Mash and eggs. That’s all he’ll touch in the mornings.”

Right. He’d just said that. She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her son. “Right. Of course. What’s he having for juice? Should I make something?”

“He doesn’t like juice,” Sirius replied. “Not even pumpkin. He’ll pitch a fit if you try.”

She frowned, glancing down at her boy. “That’s not nice. He needs to drink it.”

Sirius hummed. “Try telling him that.” He glanced at her. “Want something else or…?”

“No.” She sat, pulling her chair close to the table, and settled Regulus on her lap. He leaned into her chest with a mumble. “Give me whatever you have and give my portion of eggs to this little duck.” The little duck mumbled again, wiggling the dandelions in his fingers. “Oh,” she added, “Harry’s coming.”

Sirius paused, then looked at her. “Harry’s coming?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. “I asked him to drop by.”

“Mm.” He nodded. “Two more then.”

“Two?” She blinked.

“You can’t expect Harry without Draco. If Harry comes, Draco will follow on his heels.” He gave her a look.

She groaned. “I hate this.”

He snorted. “You’ll get used to it.”

She exhaled slowly, staring at him. He was still by the stove, stirring, his wand tucked into the messy bun, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to the ink on his skin. He looked… domestic. Comfortable in a strange, intimate way.

“Is this what we do?” she asked suddenly.

He looked over. “Hm?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely. “You cooking, me being a pain in the arse?”

He raised a brow, amused. “You’re not being a pain.”

She smiled faintly, embarrassed.

He turned back to the pot. “And yeah, this is pretty much it. We split everything. When I’ve got school, you handle most of it. When I’m off, I take over.”

She blinked, her brows furrowing. “Sirius?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s May, right?”

“Yeah.”

She frowned. “Why are you home then?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I mean, don’t you have school? This is Quidditch’s final month, isn’t it? If I remember right.” She winced as Regulus tugged her hair, trying to chew the strands.

“Ah.” Sirius plated the mash. “I took leave for a while after…” He cleared his throat. “After the accident.”

Her throat tightened. “Oh.” She focused on Regulus and muttered, “Right.” Then she looked back at him. “You should go back. I’m doing better now.” She forced a light tone. “I was thinking of going back to the store. I hate sitting here, doing nothing. Maybe I’ll head out today, walk around a bit. How about lunch outside? Then from tomorrow, I can properly return to work—the store, I mean. You can go back to school too. I’m sure the teams are barely holding it together without you.”

He didn’t respond immediately. The silence itched under her skin. Then he exhaled. “I won’t stop you, but you need rest—”

“Come on, Sirius,” she cut in, shifting Regulus on her lap. “I’m fine.” She pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek, more to ground herself than anything. “I need to feel normal. I hate being treated like I’m fragile, like I’m not capable of managing my own life.”

She was fragile. She knew it. But she didn’t want to wear it like a signboard around her neck.

She nibbled her lip. “And you don’t need to worry about Regulus. I’ll take him with me. I want to get back to my life, the way it was before the accident.”

He fell silent, jaw tight as he plated the eggs. She watched the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles pulled taut. He wasn’t saying anything, but she could feel it.

She swallowed hard and whispered, “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He paused, then let out a low breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to face her fully. “It’s not that,” he said gently. “Love, you fainted just yesterday. Your body’s still recovering. Your mind—” He gestured vaguely. “You’re not in a place to push yourself. And don’t give me that look,” he added quickly, pointing a finger at her. “I know you. You’ll take it all on at once. And I know why. Ever since you woke up, you’ve had two things on your mind: our marriage and everything you’ve forgotten, and how you brought me back from the Veil. You’re trying to scrape your memory back by force, to fit into a skin you can’t feel yet.” He tilted his head. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She flushed, snapping her attention to Regulus, who was now picking at his sock as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. She scowled, more at herself than him.

She didn’t like how well Sirius read her. If he could see her so clearly, how would she ever keep anything from him? How would she keep herself from him? How would she stop herself from wanting to jump him and… bite him? Okay, that was a bit unhinged.

Yet there was a strange comfort in it too. A warm ember in the cold corners of her chest. It felt good—too good—that someone knew her so well. But it wouldn’t always work in her favour.

He approached with three plates levitating behind him and, with a flick of his wrist, lowered two onto the table before her and set the last at the empty chair beside her.

“But,” he sighed as he sat, “if you promise not to push yourself, to actually rest and prioritise yourself over mystery-solving, then I’ll go back to work and let you return to yours.”

That should’ve irked her. The Hermione in her head, the one she remembered, the one she still felt tethered to, would’ve bristled at anyone letting her do anything. She didn’t need permission!

But she didn’t bristle.

Instead, she scratched her arm, her lips twitching into a smile—not a habitual or polite one, but one that bubbled up shy, warm, and soft. The kind you tried to hide, but it bloomed anyway, pink across her cheeks.

She looked at him through her lashes and murmured, “Promise.”

His mouth curved into something crooked, just for her, and he opened his mouth to speak, but—

Hermione yelped as something warm and wet smacked her cheek and eye. She jolted, blinking rapidly, her hand flying to her face. “Ow, bloody hell, my eye.”

“Shit, Hermione?” Sirius’s voice sharpened as his chair scraped back. “Reggie!”

Regulus jumped at his father’s raised voice, his face scrunching in fear before he burst into loud sobs. “No, Sirius, don’t—” She winced, pressing her palm over her eye. “It’s okay, don’t shout at him.”

“I know.” His voice, taut but quieter now, softened. “I didn’t mean to scare him. Let me see—love, hold still.” He flicked his wand. “Scourgify.” But she flinched again, and he cursed under his breath.

“It burns,” she hissed. “Merlin—”

Regulus wailed louder, fists thumping her arm where he clung to her lap. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t open her eyes fully. Instinctively, she reached out, rubbing circles on Regulus’s back with one hand while wiping under his chin with the other. “Shh, darling, it’s okay, nothing happened, shh.”

Sirius shifted closer, leaning in until she felt his breath brush her face. He gently took her chin in one calloused hand. “Let me see.”

She tilted her face toward him. His breath fanned her lashes as he blew gently, slow and deliberate.

“Still burning?”

“A bit,” she whispered, her voice dry.

He raised his other hand and blew softly over her eye again, warm puffs that smelled faintly of coffee and clove. Her lashes fluttered as the sting eased.

And that was when she really looked at him.

The crease between his brows, the silver strands at his temples, the strong line of his jaw, dusted with salt-and-pepper stubble, his lips parted slightly in focus.

Her gaze lingered.

Gods. He was so close. And he looked beautiful. Raw. Honest. Hers, even if she didn’t fully remember how or when.

Something tightened low in her belly. Her hand stilled on Regulus’s back. The crying had dulled to sniffles, but she barely noticed. All she felt was Sirius’s palm on her cheek, the heat blooming where he touched her.

Her eyes dipped to his mouth, just briefly.

What would it feel like to kiss him?

Had she kissed him first? Had he?

Did he taste like cinnamon, smoke, or addiction?

He blinked, searching her face with an unreadable expression, like he knew what she was thinking. Maybe he did.

“What the hell happened?” A loud voice shattered the moment. “Why’s he crying?”

Hermione startled as if yanked from sleep, and Sirius’s hand fell. Rushed footsteps followed, and within seconds, Malfoy and Harry stood at the kitchen entrance, faces tight with alarm. Regulus whimpered and reached for them, wiggling out of her lap. “Akooo.”

“What did you do to him?” Malfoy rushed forward, scowling, and snatched Regulus into his arms as if they’d dropped him. The toddler clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

Harry appeared behind, looking confused. “Everything alright? Is he hurt?”

Regulus wailed louder, burying his face in Malfoy’s chest, blubbering, “Ako! Da–da!”

Sirius sighed, pushing his hair back, still seated close to Hermione. “He smashed his hand on the eggs, and it hit her eye. I raised my voice out of reflex, and he got scared.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, holding Regulus tightly as the toddler sniffled. “So you shouted at a child?” His voice was icy. “Brilliant. Maybe next time you’ll hex him too.”

Sirius groaned tiredly. “Oh, come on, Draco.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Malfoy bounced Regulus, rubbing his back. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t cry. We’ll throw eggs back at them in public if we must.”

“Are you alright?” Harry turned to Hermione.

“Yes.” Her voice was steady, but her body was not. Her shirt clung to her lower back, damp with sweat—not from the egg or drama, but from the lingering heat spreading like fiendfyre through her chest, neck, and cheeks. Her skin prickled where Sirius had touched her.

She tugged at her collar, trying to shake it off, to think clearly. “Actually,” she said, “I need to talk to you.”

Before she could stand, Malfoy turned, teeth gritted. “No. Go away. We don’t want you here.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” She glared at him.

“Draco, stop,” Sirius said.

“We don’t want you here either,” Malfoy hissed. “Raise your voice at him again, and I’ll cut your bloody tongue—”

“Language,” Hermione snapped.

He turned his glare on her. “And you, if you weren’t so useless, maybe you’d have noticed he was about to throw that egg. Next time, I’ll poke your eyes out first. Thank Merlin, I arrived in time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Funny, I don’t recall inviting you here.”

He narrowed his. “Funny of you to think I need an invite.”

“Listen here, Malfoy—”

“Listen here, Granger—”

A sudden giggle cut through the tension like a dropped glass. Their heads turned toward the source. Regulus, cheeks blotchy and hands sticky with egg yolk, was laughing—a wheezy, delighted sound that dissolved Hermione’s frustration like steam.

She reached forward, gently cupping his flushed, messy face, brushing back damp curls. “Happy now, are we?” Her thumb stroked his temple.

Regulus sniffled, blinking up at her with wet lashes. “Ako!”

She closed her eyes in defeat. Malfoy, smug and unrepentant, kissed his cheeks with a loud smack. “I win.”

She sighed dramatically, already done with this. “Sirius,” she said, looking at him, “don’t ever leave Regulus alone with this ferret again. Not even for a second.”

Sirius’s lips twitched, holding back a chuckle. Malfoy gasped, feigning deep insult. “Excuse me—”

But she grabbed Harry’s hand. “We’ll be right back.” She led him through the house to the quiet hush of the library, not letting go until they reached the far corner by the desk.

Harry gave her a look. “Everything alright?”

“Yes.” She reached for a book, pulled out a folded slip of parchment, and handed it to him, watching his expression shift as he read.

“‘It must be in Parseltongue,’” he read aloud.

She nodded. “I found it inside this book yesterday. I was going to bring it up last night but got distracted by Regulus. Harry, I know it’s connected to the Veil. I wouldn’t ask if Parseltongue wasn’t mentioned. You’re the only one who… well, you know. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

He frowned, eyes fixed on the parchment. “You made me open a box.”

She blinked. “What?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You brought this ancient-looking thing to me once and said I had to speak Parseltongue to it. Just one phrase: ‘I command you to open.’ It worked.”

Her heart hammered with excitement. “What was inside?”

“I don’t know. You never told me.” He looked at her. “As soon as the box opened, you took it away and said you’d explain later, but you never did. You didn’t say what it was or where it came from.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t I tell you? Why would I keep that to myself?”

Harry’s expression softened. “I don’t know, Hermione.”

She pressed a palm to her forehead. Why would she have kept something like that secret? What was in the box? “Was it something I used to bring Sirius back?”

“Perhaps.” He pursed his lips. “Like I said, you never told me anything about how you did it.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” she shook her head. “You’re Harry. How could I not tell you?”

He stepped closer. “Hermione, you shouldn’t be thinking about this right now.”

“But I want to know,” she threw up her hands. “Sirius won’t tell me. He says he doesn’t know how it happened. Andromeda won’t either. And I’m not exactly comfortable asking your mother-in-law.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But why do you need to know?”

She looked at him. “Because I have to.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe you don’t, not yet. Your life’s a bit of a mess, yeah? At least you think it is. Maybe focus on untangling that first. When the rest comes, you’ll be ready. Maybe you won’t even have to ask. Maybe it’ll come out on its own.”

She hated that. Because he was right. She closed her eyes, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I feel weird.”

He gave her a look so full of quiet sympathy she nearly teared up again. “I’m sure you do,” he said gently. “But it’s okay. It’ll settle.” He paused. “How are you doing? With everything? With Sirius? All good after last night?”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. She pressed a palm to her face, ducking her head. “It’s fine,” she said too quickly.

His brows knit. “Hermione, what happened?”

She shook her head, stumbling through a breath. “It’s nothing. Just—my cheeks are burning, Harry, don’t look at me like that!”

“Then what is it, tell me?” He adjusted his glasses.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was about to kiss him.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

She groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “I know. It’s so low of me. I don’t even know him anymore. He’s my husband, yes, and I was this close to kissing him and—”

“Why would that be low?” He interrupted, almost amused. “You’re married to him. It’d be weird if you didn’t want to kiss him. I mean, it wouldn’t be a surprise if you were about to shag him either.”

“Harry!” she gasped.

He shrugged.

She stared at him, horrified. “I’ve been awake for like six days in this fucked-up alternate reality where everyone knows more about my life than I do, and I already want to snog him.”

He grinned. “And?”

“Bloody hell,” she groaned, turning to bury her face in a bookshelf. “Shouldn’t I… I don’t know, wait?”

He leaned against the table. “Nope.”

She let out a strangled sound, forehead pressed to the woodgrain.

“You love him,” he said, folding his arms. “Clearly. You feel close to him. So what if you want to snog him already? That’s not wrong. It’s just real. Go shag him if that’s what you want.”

She turned a deeper shade of red than she thought possible. “Harry!” she hissed, scandalised. But then, as if possessed, she blurted, “And why is he always naked in there?”

He arched a slow, teasing eyebrow. “Naked?”

She covered her face with both hands. “Not completely, obviously. But without a shirt. Just walking around like… like it’s nothing, and he doesn’t realise the effect it’s having on me.” She stammered, then froze, horrified by her own words. “Oh fuck, what is wrong with me?”

Harry burst out laughing.

She slapped his arm. “Stop laughing, you absolute prat!”

“What?” He grinned. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle your husband shirtless.”

She groaned dramatically, muttering into the air, “He really shouldn’t do that. Just casually taking his shirt off, walking around, cooking, talking…” Her voice dropped so low she barely heard herself. “Or touching me.”

Harry leaned back, far too amused. “He’s Sirius. He’s comfortable around you.”

She let out a long, strangled groan. “I just want to be normal. I want to take things slow.”

“Didn’t sound very slow when you were almost shagging him.”

She turned and glared, but he only grinned wider. “Snogging, not shagging.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she sighed. “I feel so stupid.” She paused. “I asked him to go back to work and let me return too. I get bored just lying around, and it’s messing with my mind.”

He raised a brow. “And what did he say?”

She hesitated, her voice lowering. “He asked me to promise not to stress myself, to prioritise myself over mystery-solving. And when I promised, I don’t know, it made me happy. Like, stupidly happy.” She confessed the last words quietly.

His grin turned wicked. “Ohhh, you’ve got it bad.”

She slapped his arm again. “Stop it. You’re becoming Malfoy by the day. You’re acting just like him.”

He shrugged, far too pleased. “Well, I do live with him twenty-four hours a day.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

She leaned in, voice sheepish. “Do you also feel like shagging Malfoy when you see him shirtless?”

His eyebrows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his fringe. She let out a mortified sound. “You know what, don’t answer that. I’m a fool. A pathetic fool with no filter and a head full of hormones and—”

A soft throat-clearing cut through the air.

She went rigid. She and Harry turned slowly toward the door, and her breath left her lungs as her eyes landed on… Sirius.

Leaning against the frame, half-smiling, still very, very shirtless.

Her cheeks turned tomato red.

Oh, she was going to die.

Right here in this library.

Just curl up and die.

He’d definitely heard her. He had to have. He was right there. Oh, Merlin, what part did he hear?

“If I’m not interrupting,” he said, his voice smooth, too smooth, “breakfast’s getting cold. Reggie’s refusing to eat without his mother.”

His eyes flicked to hers with an intensity that made her stomach drop. She forgot how to breathe. Her mouth opened, but her brain stalled. “Right. Yes. Of course. Let’s go.”

She practically ran past him, chin down, refusing to glance at his very bare, very broad chest. But she felt his gaze follow her, trailing down her spine as she darted down the staircase.

Calm down. CALM DOWN, she begged herself.

She was not a teenager. She was a grown woman. A mother, for Merlin’s sake. She’d promised herself last night to reclaim her life—her body, her voice, her sanity, her family.

So this attraction? This constant breathlessness? This heat every time he looked at her like she was something precious? It was fine.

It was fine!

She had to get used to it. She had to accept that it had always been there and would keep showing up. By the time she reached the kitchen, she was barely composed, but composed enough.

What greeted her nearly melted her again, for an entirely different reason. Malfoy was swinging Regulus gently by the arms, and the boy’s laughter echoed like bottled sunshine.

She smiled despite the madness inside her. “Dada said someone’s hungry.”

Regulus squealed, head snapping toward her. “Mama!”

“Come on, love,” she said, stepping in and lifting him from Malfoy’s arms. His curls bounced against her cheek as he hugged her tightly. She kissed the side of his head. “Let’s get you fed.”

She slid into her seat with Regulus on her lap, grabbing his plate of fresh eggs to keep her hands busy. Anything to ground herself. Anything to settle the storm inside.

Malfoy hadn’t moved. He leaned closer to her shoulder. “What did you do now?”

Her head whipped toward him. “What?”

His grin was wicked. “I know you, Granger. You’re too easy to catch.”

Her eyes widened, panic flaring. “I didn’t—I don’t—what makes you think that?”

He smirked, giving a lazy shrug as he lifted a strawberry to his mouth. “Mmm,” he hummed, “spill it.”

Before she could hiss at him, footsteps padded into the kitchen, and just like that, she remembered how utterly fucked her life was.

“It’s all the same,” she wrinkled her nose. “They could’ve at least tried to improve something.”

“Well,” Sirius chuckled, “they did open a bunch of new shops.”

“Still the old-fashioned way.”

“Old fashion is the wizarding way.”

She huffed, adjusting Regulus’s weight on her hip. “I don’t like this.”

Sirius sighed. “Love, there’s nothing you can do about it. Besides, Reggie loves this place. Their lemon tart’s his favourite.”

Hermione glanced at her son, mesmerised by shop windows, floating signs, and passing people. He clutched his stuffed otter to his chest, as always. Apparently, Otter had feelings. She hadn’t known that when they were getting ready for lunch. She’d tried to take it from him to button his shirt, and he’d thrown such a fit that his face turned red. It had taken Sirius a full fifteen minutes to calm him down, and that’s when she learned: never take the otter away, especially when going out.

Now they were walking through Diagon Alley toward a new restaurant Sirius had suggested. And it was exactly the same. The shops might be new, but they were ancient in design—no innovation, no change, just new names with crooked-lettered signs and that musty, magical charm everyone seemed to worship.

“Well,” she glanced back at Sirius, “he’s not old enough to have a favourite anything. He’s only eleven months old. Barely a full one. He’s got years of favourites ahead, lemon tarts included.” She rubbed her nose against Regulus’s cheek, making him giggle. “Whose birthday is coming? Is it yours?”

Sirius shook his head. “Can’t argue with you, can I? And here we are.”

He opened the door to the shop, which looked suspiciously like the Leaky Cauldron. She wrinkled her nose again as she stepped inside. “Not impressed.”

He snorted but said nothing as they slid into a booth. He reached for Regulus, claiming the boy would throw a fit if he didn’t come with him. Honestly, how many trigger warnings did her son have?

She watched them walk to the counter, a strange warmth blooming in her chest. Regulus clung to Sirius’s leather jacket, little fingers gripping as if to tear it to shreds. They looked so alike it almost hurt. She wondered if Regulus would grow up loving leather jackets and dangerous hobbies like his father.

Merlin help her if he ever asked for a flying motorbike.

Wait.

Where was Sirius’s bike? Everyone mentioned the accident. Had it broken? Had he not bought a new one?

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her thoughts were interrupted when Sirius set a warm plate of fish and chips before her, another across from her for himself, and a smaller plate for their son with mashed something, a sunny egg, and two mini tarts.

She frowned at the plate. “Sirius, two tarts are too much sugar.”

He gave her a look. “Love, he’ll only eat one bite, if that. The rest is for him to play with.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t argue. She reached for Regulus, but Sirius shook his head. “No, let him stay with me. It’ll be better. You eat.”

She pouted but let her hands drop. He sat across from her, pulled out his wand, and with a quick twirl, raised half the seat to a proper height before settling Regulus beside him. She couldn’t help but smile at how tightly her son clutched his stuffed otter, which looked almost exactly like her Patronus.

“Tat tat,” Regulus chirped, beaming at the food.

She watched quietly as Sirius adjusted him, murmuring soft, coaxing words. He handed the child a chunk of tart to keep his hands busy while sneaking in spoonfuls of mash. Regulus, of course, threw the tart to the floor. Sirius, unfazed, levitated it into the bin with a flick of his wand and handed him another.

Then his eyes met hers.

She flushed, caught staring, and quickly dropped her gaze to her plate, taking a bite of fish. “Mmm,” she hummed. “It tastes good, at least.”

Sirius smirked. “See? Told you. Reggie knows taste.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at their messy son, now trying to eat tart off his fingers, though his cheeks seemed to be doing more of the eating. She smiled softly, then glanced back at Sirius.

“Do you…” She licked her lips. “Is he like your brother?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” she flicked her eyes to Regulus, “does he have any habits that remind you of your brother? When he was a child? Or were you too young to remember?”

He considered the question deeply, chewing a fry slowly. Regulus babbled, and Sirius’s attention shifted as he cut up egg and mash to feed him.

“I don’t remember much, to be honest,” he said finally. “Not because I was young. I think I could remember, but Azkaban… it took its toll.”

Her heart squeezed painfully.

“But from what I do recall,” he continued, “Regulus was composed, quiet, obedient. He didn’t even cry when he was born. And…” His eyes crinkled as he searched his memories. “He was born on the darkest night of the century, during a lunar eclipse. Someone said he’d never see the light.” He paused. “He was destined to be born in the dark and die in the dark.”

Her stomach tightened. Before she could question the impulse, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Sirius.”

His eyes dropped to their joined hands.

“He didn’t deserve it,” she said softly. “He was such a good man. And I hope you know he didn’t die in the dark. He died saving the light.”

He didn’t speak, just stared at their hands. The silence, the weight of his gaze, made her uneasy. She started to pull back, but he gently turned his hand, and hers settled into his palm.

His skin was rough, calloused, but warm and comforting. Larger than hers, yet somehow fitting perfectly. 

Thump thump thump.

Her heart fluttered sharply.

Her wedding ring glinted between them.

He traced lazy circles over her knuckles with his thumb, and she felt dizzy. A hot flush crept up her neck. Her breath caught, then stopped entirely when a smaller, stickier hand plopped onto theirs, rubbing with a squealing giggle.

She blinked, heart racing, and looked over.

Regulus grinned with his two tiny front teeth, eyes bright and crinkled with delight, as if nothing could be funnier than interrupting his parents.

Emotion welled up, thick and uninvited. She nearly teared up but swallowed it down. “He’s finding it funny,” she whispered.

When she looked back at Sirius, his eyes held something new—molten, soft, unbearably warm. She felt like she was melting under it, like snow meeting fire.

Before she could speak, Regulus smacked their hands again.

Sirius caught his tiny wrist just in time. “Ah, ah. Enough of that.”

Hermione smiled wistfully and pulled her hand back. Sirius passed the tarts to Regulus, who squealed and began mashing them into a sticky mess.

“And no,” Sirius added, sighing as he ruffled Regulus’s hair, “he’s nothing like my brother.” His gaze found hers again. “Regulus was born in darkness. But this one came in full light, a glaring noon sun. You were in labour for eighteen hours.”

Her jaw dropped. “Eighteen hours?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, biting into his fish. “Patil said she’d never forget it.”

“I thought magic made things easier!” she exclaimed.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Apparently not for childbirth. Magic follows old ways. It had to be a proper, long, exhausting ordeal.”

She pressed a hand to her stomach instinctively. “Oh, that must’ve been painful.”

He snorted.

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not funny.”

Regulus giggled.

Her eyes snapped to him, wide and betrayed. “Regulus? My own son!”

Sirius chuckled, and she pouted. He gave her a slow, fond smile. “Relax. It was worth it, after all.” He poked Regulus’s stomach, making him kick in glee. “Just look at what you pushed out.”

Something clenched in her chest, her heart too full for her body to contain. Her eyes teared up again.

Sirius noticed, worry etching his face. “Hey, what happened?”

She shook her head quickly, laughing, but it caught halfway, sounding watery. “Ignore me,” she swiped at her eyes. “I’m just too emotional these days. I swear these potions are messing with my hormones. I cried when I saw the brush. Can you believe that?”

His brows furrowed. “The brush?”

“Yes.” She gave a small, embarrassed smile, avoiding his eyes. “The fact that I still have a toothbrush, Sirius. A manual one. And when I picked it up, I just… cried.” She sniffed, rubbing her nose with the heel of her palm.

He looked like he was fighting a grin, and she narrowed her eyes, half-hoping he’d laugh so she could throw a napkin at him. But his expression softened into something almost reverent.

Still, she gave him a watery glare. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, palms up in surrender. “Promise.” Then, quieter, “Hey.” He leaned across the table, eyes holding hers. “It’s alright.”

She blinked slowly. The restaurant’s din faded, as if the world stepped back to give them space.

“It’ll all be fine in a moment,” he said gently. “You lost a part of your memory, not yourself.”

That shouldn’t have hit so hard. But it did. The words found a quiet, aching place she hadn’t named yet. Her chest and throat tightened.

And the way he was looking at her.

It wasn’t pity or patience. It was something else.

Her fingers itched. She wanted to reach for him—not out of grief or comfort, but something heavier, warmer.

Her stomach fluttered as her eyes dropped to his mouth, just for a second, to see if it still curled the same when he smirked.

She looked away quickly.

“I just feel…” she whispered, “so far from everything. Even when I’m here, with you two. I know I should feel at home, and sometimes I do—like when I watch you with him or when he laughs or when you say things like that.” She let out a shallow breath. “But it’s like I’m walking through a version of my life where everything fits, but I don’t know how to wear it yet.”

He reached across and wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist, his thumb moving in slow circles over her pulse.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low. “It is far, I know. But you’re not walking alone.”

She stared at his hand on her. Her breath caught, half from the touch, half from the way his voice softened. There was no pity, no frustration.

“You don’t have to rush back to who you were, Hermione,” he whispered. “You’re here, and that’s enough.”

She blinked fast, something thick tightening in her throat. “But how?” Her voice cracked. “How are you so patient with me? Don’t you feel mad at me? I woke up and don’t remember anything after I was eighteen. I don’t remember you. I forgot our son.” Her eyes shimmered.

His eyes softened, like smoke and sunlight. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asked. “You haven’t done anything.”

She searched his face for cracks—for disappointment, weariness, anything to justify her guilt. But it wasn’t there.

And for the first time, she realised she’d never talked about this with him, her husband. She’d confided in Parvati, Harry, anyone who could hold her questions safely. But not Sirius. The one who should’ve heard them first. Saying it now, to him, didn’t feel awkward or wrong.

It felt like exhaling.

“I just don’t understand,” she shook her head. “Why are you still here? Why haven’t you left me the moment you knew?”

He leaned in slightly, hand still on her wrist. “Because I love you.”

She froze.

“You can lose your memory a thousand fucking times,” he said, unflinching, “and I’ll gladly make you fall in love with me again those thousand times.”

She stared, wide-eyed, breath shallow. Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading through her blood, over her body.

His grip tightened. “And I would never give up on you. Not now, not ever. It’s only been a few days, and I know you’re more fed up and struggling than I am. So don’t worry about me, love. I’m here. Reggie’s here. Everything’s in its place.”

Her throat tightened. “But I’m not here.”

“Who said that?” His eyebrows drew together. “You’re right here. I see you.”

The silence between them felt like suspended breath. The world shrank to just them and the spaces between their words.

She studied his face—the way his mouth shaped that vow, the lines at his eyes, the leather jacket creaking as he shifted. Something fluttered in her chest, warm, desperate, aching. She didn’t remember their life, but she believed it without question. And now, she felt it.

It surged through her like heat, like longing. Like her body knew before her mind could catch up. Her eyes drifted to his lips. She wanted… something. Just one second of closeness, of what they used to have.

Just as she parted her lips, a wet splat hit the floor.

They both blinked.

Regulus had tossed his egg with terrifying speed. It landed with a disgusting plop at Sirius’s boots.

Sirius closed his eyes, sighing long. “Of course.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. He let go of her wrist, reached for a napkin, and shot Regulus a look with no real bite. “Mate, we talked about the eggs.”

Regulus giggled, face smeared with sugar, yolk, and mischief, his little fingers flapping. Sirius crouched to clean the mess, grumbling under his breath. Regulus grabbed the plate to throw, and Sirius scrambled to take it from him.

Hermione couldn’t stop smiling. It bloomed soft and unbidden, curling her lips as she watched them—her messy, frustrating, imperfect boys.

Her family.

Even if she didn’t remember the start, she felt the roots.

And suddenly, that was enough.

Deep in the night, a soft whimper broke the quiet. Hermione stirred, her body heavy with sleep, but her instincts sharper than her haze. Her eyes opened slowly in the dark, adjusting to see the small figure curled beside her.

Regulus whimpered again, a soft, pleading sound. She reached over, her hands finding his tiny form nestled under the duvet. “Shh…” she murmured, brushing his messy curls. “Mummy’s here.”

She shifted, cradling him against her chest. He nuzzled her sleepily, and she knew what he needed. Guiding him with one arm, she unfastened her night robe with the other. Her body ached from the day’s exhaustion, but as he latched onto her breast, a soothing stillness settled over them. He fed slowly, rhythmically, and she closed her eyes, rocking gently against the headboard.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the enchanted clock and his soft suckling sounds. He began to drift off, his grip weakening, breathing deepening. She carefully detached him, pulled her nightshirt together, and laid him back beside her, close enough to feel his warmth. He stirred slightly but settled, one small fist curled by his cheek, his otter plush tucked tightly in the crook of his arm.

She lingered, watching him. Then, a sudden pressure in her lower abdomen urged her up. She padded softly to the bathroom.

After relieving herself, she washed her hands and face, patting them dry with a towel. On her way back, passing the window, something made her pause.

She turned, frowning, scanning the back garden.

Nothing.

Just the quiet garden, the stone path faintly visible in the moonlight. But she could’ve sworn she saw something. Her heart gave a soft lurch.

She blinked hard, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. Maybe it was the fog of sleep. Maybe nothing at all. She looked up.

The moon hung glaring and round above the house, clouds curling around it like breath.

She exhaled, turning from the window. She padded back to the bed, easing the covers aside carefully, and slid beneath them. Her arm curled around Regulus, her body curving to make room for his.

She pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, then let her eyes flutter closed.

Chapter Text

Regulus had a fever.

He was just alright even in the morning when she took him with her to the bookstore but as the day deepened, she realised her son was becoming quieter which already felt odd because if anything Hermione had learned for the last month, it was that her son was never quiet. Then after a few moments, he started whimpering and became reddish. Only then did she panic and tell Alex to take care of the shop and went to St Mungo’s and there Parvati told her he had a wizarding fever which happens to toddlers.

“Will he be alright?” Hermione clutched her son tighter who was quite numbly resting his head on her shoulder. “I never saw him this quiet, Parvati. It’s worrying me.”

Parvati passed her an understanding smile. “I know but don’t worry, it’ll go away.” She scribed on the parchment. “I’m writing down a potion but he won’t want to take it because it tastes horrible.” Her nose wrinkled. “So I’m giving small doses two times daily for a week. Make sure he takes it and we can hope he’ll be just fine.”
“It will stay for a week?” Hermione’s eyes widened a little.
Parvati sighed. “I’m hoping it’d go away after tomorrow's doze, but if it does, don’t stop the potions, otherwise it’d return again.” Hermione nodded. “And keep an eye on him tonight, the first night is often problematic and in any need, don’t hesitate to floo me.”

“Do I need to be alert about his food?” Hermione bit her lower lip.

“Not really.” Parvati set her quill down. “But I’d suggest you stick to breastfeeding as he won’t want to eat anything else either.”

Hermione swallowed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Parvati was about to say something then paused before opening her lips again. “Where’s Mr. Black? He usually always comes with you.”

Hermione blinked then pursed her lips. “He’s at school. I haven’t informed him yet.”

“Oh.” Parvati exclaimed. “Do you want me to send him an owl so he can come and get you two? You can wait here until he arrives.”

Hermione debated in her mind. The Quidditch finale was next week, and because of it, the school needed him all the time. How would he even come right now? And if he got to know about Regulus, he wouldn’t be focused on his work or most probably would leave his work in the middle.
She opened her mouth. “Actually, can I trouble you to owl someone else?”

Parvati did as she said, and as the owl took flight, Hermione went to the sofa by the window and sat down, curling Regulus on her lap. As he whimpered again, she cooed at him. When he became limp again, she breathed and worried her bottom lip. Life was so unpredictable right now. She had been having the most normal day so far.

Yes, Hermione was having normal days these days. She now went to the store every morning and would open it with a smile just as the morning sun beamed upon her shop. Chatting with the customers about books, offering them services, and running after her son so he wouldn’t tear a book apart or chew someone else’s belongings or—the worst—slap a customer in the face and then pull their hair until he had some strands torn in his fist, was something she now enjoyed. She enjoyed wrapping up the shop, learning more about which customer was who from Alex, more about herself as an owner, and how she directed the store.

She’d find excitement in discovering the new wonders of the world, for example, Rita Skeeter, now a published Muggle author who had written a book named Harry Potter to expose the wizarding world, was the wildest. And because she did that, she was stripped of her rights in the wizarding world. W.I.L.D. To be honest, nothing had shocked her more than learning the truth about Snape.

Hermione had gone to the Ministry and found out every inch of information about the war, the aftermaths, her parents and anything that was left, as well as her own contributions to the wizarding world, and she was happy knowing that even though she had been fired, she was still 100% respected in the Ministry and her opinion mattered above all. 

She’d learned that Sirius stayed home and not in the Hogwarts staff quarters, as he refused to stay there without his family, and his Minnie was bound to listen to him. Hermione had gone to Hogwarts with Sirius one day and met her remaining professors and some of her old friends. They all knew her condition and treated her well, which made her feel at home. She’d come to tolerate Malfoy and the Slytherins more, among whom Nott spent way too much time in her bookstore, stating he was bored and needed a distraction. Hermione was frustrated at first but then welcomed his presence, as while he was there, Regulus had a buddy to play with and she had less on her shoulders. Occasionally, Pansy would join, but Merlin help Hermione when there was a fight between those two about who Regulus loved the most—it was tiring and dissatisfactory for customers. But at the end of the day, it was normal and better. She’d met Molly once by accident and shared a tea and conversation, during which Molly still treated her as before, but yes, there was still a gap; she couldn’t learn enough about Ron, though.

In her personal life, she would like to tell the readers that yes, she had made progress…at least that’s what she believed. She and Sirius had fallen into quite a routine with a homey environment. They still didn’t sleep in the same room—no, she wasn’t that comfortable yet. But they followed a normal day every day. She’d wake up with Regulus, then Sirius would take him while she freshened up, and he’d make breakfast. Sometimes she’d wake up early because of Regulus and make breakfast herself. Then they’d share a very messy meal with their son being the most chaotic, and they’d talk about what they wanted to do that day before heading off to work. And that was the hardest because whenever Regulus realised his father was leaving him behind, the toddler would bring hell to earth.
When they’d both return home, they’d make dinner, and over the meal, Sirius would tell her what she wanted to know about them or her life. Sometimes the questions wouldn’t be asked, either because Regulus demanded too much attention or because Hermione could see how tired her husband was after bickering with students.
When they’d go to bed, every day she’d see the longing in his eyes, or she’d feel her heart somehow whimpering like a wounded dog, and would hesitate before deciding she wasn’t ready and would go to her room alone with her son.

As for her mental health, she went to her healer every now and then, and he just scraped potions after potions and listened to her. He said whenever she did anything unconsciously, those were her magic responding because, apparently, magic had a separate brain. And as for her actual brain, it was dead, nowhere near remembering anything. But she had tried learning many things. For example, Sirius now couldn’t handle loud noise because of the side effects of the veil and his so-called death, and Hermione could tell he was frustrated about it beyond the end. Being the rebellious man he was, he couldn’t listen to Muggle rock bands or shout too loudly and it was a humiliation for him. She learned his bike was destroyed in the accident, and he didn’t know what happened to it as he had left it there in the Muggle world. And when Hermione asked more about it, and why he hadn’t bought another one, he had gone silent and didn’t want to talk about it.
Harry had later told her that he blamed himself hard for whatever happened, which was the reason he gave up on most of his hobbies and passions that were dangerous. Hermione had never felt more guilty than that day, and she had tried telling him it was not his fault…she just couldn’t bring up the courage to, as she had no vivid idea about what happened that night. Perhaps one day, conversations would lead to that night, and she’d finally tell him there was nothing that was his fault.

She did want to buy him a bike herself, but she wasn’t sure he’d like it, so she let it go. And yes, she was still sometimes acting like a fool whenever she found Sirius shirtless or, incredibly, insufferably attractive and her hormones would act crazily. 

As for the mystery of the veil, after a few more attempts that made Sirius mad, Hermione had given it a pause and also after Narcissa advised her to give it a rest.

And as if summoned by this narration, a knock came on the door and Narcissa opened the door of Parvati’s office and entered with a clipped smile toward Parvati and worried eyebrows. Her eyes immediately fell on the couch, and her worry lines deepened.

Hermione stood up as she came toward them. “Is he alright?”

Hermione shook her head as Narcissa put a hand on Regulus’s forehead. “I don’t know what happened.” Hermione pursed her lips. “He suddenly got a fever.”

Narcissa’s eyes traced Regulus’s flushed face, her fingers brushing his curls off his damp forehead. “Where’s Sirius?”

Hermione hesitated before replying. “At school. He’s got final flying lessons today and some disciplinary matters to handle with Minerva, I didn’t want to worry him. And I know Andromeda’s busy with that healer conference so,” she gave a small shrug. “I reached out to you.”

Narcissa’s eyes softened. “You did the correct thing.” She placed her hand lightly on Hermione’s arm. “Wait here for a moment.”

Without another word, she walked to the desk where Parvati was handling another patient. She leaned in, speaking to Parvati with that clipped cadence Hermione had grown accustomed to, sharp enough to cut through any nonsense. Parvati responded with nods and a few quick gestures. Narcissa then gave a nod and said something back before returning.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a faint smirk, a kind of maternal confidence replacing the concern from earlier. “I know exactly how to deal with this. Draco and Teddy both had one, the same age, same fuss. It’s very common. Come on, let’s go home, and we’ll take care of it.”

Home. Yes, it didn’t even sound strange anymore, even when it’s coming from Narcissa.

Over the past month, their relationship had shifted into something oddly natural. Narcissa had started spending more time at Grimmauld Place, mostly because Teddy was practically raised between their household and Andromeda’s, and when Hermione and Sirius both had their hands full, it became a quiet agreement that Regulus could be left with them, as Harry and Draco both were mostly busy with Auror duties. Narcissa rarely commented on the chaos. She'd simply take Regulus in her arms, fix his curls, and set him beside Teddy with a few conjured toys and the grace of someone who had raised children in stormier times.

Sometimes she and Andromeda would show up unannounced, brushing past the doorway like they owned the air, and make themselves comfortable with tea and sly gossip about old friends or Ministry fools. Hermione had never imagined she'd enjoy the company of two women older than her by decades, let alone find their presence comforting. But it had grown on her, the way family grows on you and was surprisingly welcoming. She’d learned to lean on them in small ways, and more than that, she’d learned to see them as hers, and it was not forced upon her; it came as naturally as the sun rising in the east.

The moment they stepped inside Grimmauld Place, Narcissa reached for Regulus. “Go freshen up,” she said, already settling him in the crook of her arm.

Hermione frowned, her arms tightening around her son instinctively. “I don’t want to leave him—

Narcissa gave her a look. “You look like you’ve been up for days. He’ll be fine for ten minutes.”

Hermione hesitated, her eyes flicking to Regulus, who had buried his flushed face against Narcissa’s robes, and then back. “Fine,” she mumbled, already tugging her cloak off. “I’ll be right back.”

She was quicker than that and rushed upstairs. Rinsing her face, changing into something more breathable, brushing through her hair, none of it took long when your mind was downstairs. When she stepped into the hallway again, she didn’t have to search. The nursery door was slightly ajar, and soft murmurs leaked through.

Hermione pushed it open gently. Narcissa was by the crib, dabbing a damp towel across Regulus’s forehead, cheeks, and the back of his neck. His little limbs had been stripped bare, his tiny shirt folded on the side. The window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that moved the curtains in lazy waves.

Hermione stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

Without turning, Narcissa answered, “Cooling him down. A lukewarm towel always helps bring the fever down if it rises too quickly. If he ever burns up like that again, wet a cloth and wipe him, especially behind the neck and under the arms.”

Hermione nodded slowly, filing that away and helped Narcissa. Once they’d dressed him again in soft cotton, Narcissa declared she’d make soup.

“Parvati said to stick with breastfeeding,” Hermione said, half-apologetically.

Narcissa waved a hand, already heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, I already had words with her. Don’t worry.”

Hermione didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the back-and-forth when her head felt clouded and Regulus looked too small in her arms. So she settled into the sofa with her son. He struggled at first, but eventually gave in. It took effort, but less than usual, somehow, things moved smoothly today. Narcissa had this unspoken way of steadying the energy in the house.

By late afternoon, Regulus had eaten a bit of the soup, sucked on her breast for comfort, and then, somehow—Merlin knew how—Narcissa managed to rock him into a full, uninterrupted sleep. They’d cleaned the sheets, changed the curtains to something lighter, before setting him on the bed.

“Don’t move from his side tonight.” Narcissa pulled the sheets over Regulus. “At night, fever can rise too much and he probably won’t sleep at all.” She looked at Hermione. “Someone will perhaps need to stay awake with him all night.”

Hermione sighed and cast a silencing charm and protection charms around him. “Yes, Parvati also told me that.”

Later, the two of them sat in Hermione’s room, tea warm in their hands and Regulus asleep between them. The sun had begun to lower and Narcissa shared more about toddler sicknesses that might show up in the future, as well as how they should already give Regulus a potion dose for dragon pox and other diseases. And then, half an hour later, Regulus stirred awake and when Hermione checked his temperature, the heat had returned to his skin. Narcissa immediately brought the potion. They administered the potion together and the relief came slower this time, but it came.

And just as Hermione settled him against her chest, something shifted in the wards. She turned her head, eyes meeting Narcissa’s. “Sirius is home.”

Narcissa stood, smoothing the front of her robes. “I’ll go see him.” With a last glance at Regulus, she slipped out of the room.

Hermione bit her lip and slowly rose from the bed, shifting Regulus gently against her chest. His skin was still warmer than she liked. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Dada’s here,” she murmured against his hair and sighed. “Why do I feel there’s going to be chaos?”

And she was right because the next second thundering sounds came from the stairs, each step louder than the last, like someone wasn’t walking but leaping, taking the steps two at a time. Hermione barely had time to react before Sirius burst into the room with a panicked, wild look on his face. 

“What happened?” he rushed forward. “Is he alright?”

Before Hermione could muster a reply, Regulus’s face twisted and he let out a sharp wail, arms stretching desperately toward his father. “Oh boy, it’s okay, I'm here,” Sirius said quickly, taking him into his arms. "Everything's okay."

Hermione rubbed her temple, suddenly aware of how drained she felt. “He’s had a fever since morning.” Sirius wiped Regulus’s tears then pressed a hand on his forehead, checking the boy’s temperature. “Don’t worry.” She kept a hand on Regulus’s back. “We just gave him the potion so it’ll cool down in a bit.”

Sirius then looked at her with a hard stare. “And you didn’t think of informing me?”

She blinked, startled at his tone. “I—I didn’t want to worry you.”

“And keeping it away from me was supposed to do what?” he snapped again.

She flinched this time and gaped at him. “Why are you talking to me like that?” Her throat tightened and the corners of her eyes burned. “Why are you behaving like I’ve done something wrong?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, falling silent for a moment. “Look—

“Ahem,” Narcissa interrupted as she stepped into the room, taking their attention. “Now that Sirius is here,” she said with a small smile toward Hermione, “I think I should leave.”

Hermione’s lips wobbled as she tried to return the smile. “You’re not staying for dinner?”

Narcissa smiled gently and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, Hermione, it’s alright. In fact, I’ll send over dinner. You two need to focus on Reggie. There’s no need to bother with cooking tonight.”

Hermione gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Narcissa. And thank you for today. I can’t even express how grateful I am. If you hadn’t been here, I think I would’ve gone mad.”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” Narcissa replied. “I was glad to help. And of course, if there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to reach out. Our Floo is always open.”

Hermione forced a smile again and Narcissa turned to Sirius. “Sirius, walk me to the Floo.”

He frowned. “Cissa—

“I said,” she cut him off with a cold stare. “Walk me to the Floo.” She tipped her head. “Come on, give Reggie to his mum.”

Sirius glared at her for a second before letting out a frustrated sigh. He gently handed over Regulus, who immediately cried out at being separated from his father, his small fists reaching back as though refusing to let go. Hermione struggled to soothe him, adjusting her grip.

“I’ll be right back, love. It’s okay,” Sirius patted Regulus’s back before giving Hermione a short nod and following Narcissa out.

Hermione watched them go, her gaze lingering as they disappeared from view and just before they did, she caught Narcissa sharply smacking the back of Sirius’s head and saying something she couldn’t quite hear.

She sniffed and conjured a puff of dandelions to try and calm Regulus, but he still hiccupped and whimpered, barely sparing the golden tufts a glance. She rocked him gently against her chest, pacing the room in slow steps.

She understood Sirius’s concern, of course, she did. Finding out that Regulus had been sick all day and that she hadn’t told him would upset anyone. He had every right to be angry. But what she didn’t understand was why his reaction had cut so deep, like a quiet spell that hit harder than it should’ve. It was just a worry, she reminded herself. That was all. She was being ridiculous. This wasn’t the time for selfish emotions. Her son was ill. That was what mattered right now.

Regulus rubbed his eyes, and she dabbed them softly with her thumb before blowing a gentle stream of air to cool the irritation. Then she resumed rocking him. “Your father is an idiot,” she murmured. “I hate him.”

After a while, her son had finally gone quiet on her shoulder, his breath warm against her collarbone and she cast a silencing charm around him. Then, she heard the soft creak of the door opening behind her and turned her attention there. Sirius stepped in quietly this time and he tilted his head in question and Hermione gave a nod.

The joint of his eyebrows deepened as he approached her. “Cissa said she’ll send dinner with Andy as Andy’ll probably want to check on Reggie herself.”

She gave a small nod but didn’t say anything.

He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. “And I told her not to let Draco or Harry know yet. It’ll just create unnecessary panic.”

Another nod from her. He inched closer and reached his hands out slightly. “Let me take him—

She shook her head before he could finish. “You just came in. Go freshen up first.”

He frowned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” she stated, a bit more firmly this time, adjusting Regulus’s head on her shoulder. “He’s already got a fever. You just came from outside. I’m not handing him over until you wash up.”

He paused then, and his grey eyes traced her face as if he was really looking at her for the first time, entering the house and there was another worry replaced over the worry of a father. “You’re tired,” he said quietly.

The words settled into her like warm water, and for some reason, her heart fluttered. She looked away, her cheeks warming up.

“Give him to me for a few minutes,” he said gently. “Just sit. I’ll freshen up after.”

She couldn’t help the tiny smile that curved at the corner of her lips. “You’re tired too,” she whispered. “And once he goes to you, we both know I won’t be able to take him back without a screaming match and it’s not good for him to throw a tantrum now. So go. I’ve got it.”

He looked like he might argue again, but then he exhaled and gave a short nod. “Alright. I’ll hurry up, but if anyt—

“I will call for you.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I know. Go, take a shower, we’ll be fine.” 

His lips twitched before he dragged a hand through his messy hair, making the salt and pepper hair stand up. “Alright.” Then he turned and disappeared from the room.

Hermione smiled and kissed Regulus’s curls and swayed a little on her feet. “Dada is a good man,” she whispered softly into his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “And he loves you very much.”

Oh, how easily a small thing can make an opinion shift!

By the time Sirius returned, now in fresh clothes and his hair knotted back into a low bun, she was curled into the rocking chair, her arms loosely around Regulus. The potion must have begun to work, his feverish skin not as hot under her touch.

Sirius crossed the room in just a few steps and crouched beside them. Without a word, he gently eased Regulus from her hold and she let him, watching as Regulus clung to him again with the first tiny smile. Sirius smiled at him and kissed his cheeks before settling him back on the shoulder and looking at Hermione. “You should lie down for a while.” 

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically.

“I didn’t say sleep,” his eyes briefly scanned her face. “Just lie down. You need rest too.”

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, quieter.

He didn’t budge. “Humour me, then. Sit on the bed. You don’t have to close your eyes.”

Hermione exhaled being annoyed but stood up. “Alright. Only if you sit, too. You’ve had a long day with the kids.”

Sirius shook his head, a small huff of breath escaping him as he adjusted Regulus in his arms. “It’s alright. Besides, Reggie might not want me to sit.”

“He’s under the potion,” she pointed out. “He’s calm now. The fever might spike again, and then one of us will have to walk him or calm him. So for now…just sit. Please.”

She moved to the bed and scooted a little farther, her hand brushing across the blanket as she made space. Sirius stared at the spot for a second too long. She followed his gaze and suddenly couldn’t breathe right.

Was he thinking this used to be his side? That this was his bed, once? That he used to sleep here with her and now, even with her in it, he had nowhere to go?

Or maybe he wasn’t thinking anything at all. Maybe it was she who couldn’t stop overthinking.

She patted the space again. “Come on.”

He sighed, not dramatically but more like someone who needed to let something out. Then he sat down slowly, back to the headboard, adjusting Regulus gently against his chest. Hermione watched both of them for a long second—the little boy tucked safely into the hollow of his father, the man who looked too big for the bed but somehow like he belonged again.

She rubbed her lip and hesitated. Then, quietly, cautiously, almost like sneaking into a moment that didn’t want her, she inched closer and, terrified of misreading it, rested her head on Sirius’s shoulder.

The moment her cheek touched him, his whole body stiffened. Her heart dropped.

Maybe she’d gone too far. Maybe she should pull back. Maybe she was crowding him, making things worse. She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t breathe, her panic clawing up her throat.

He exhaled, long, deep, as if his breath had been locked somewhere under his ribs for days. His body softened under her, his shoulder settling naturally beneath her head. Her cheeks burned like fire.

For a moment, none of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn't awkward; it was the kind that settled into the bones like an old song. Their son’s tiny breaths rose and fell against his father’s chest, and she found herself staring at the slow, steady rhythm, as if it alone could keep her anchored.

She cleared her throat softly, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “He looks more comfortable with you than with me.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His chest simply expanded with a long, calm breath. “I think he looks equally comfortable with both of us.”

She nodded, even though she didn’t fully agree. A second passed. Two. Three.

“How’s everything in school?” she asked to break the silence.

He shifted slightly. “It’s hectic. Had to review all the ethics and the first year’s last lesson was chaos. Minnie was not satisfied with the groundwork; it needs to be done again.” He scowled. “And Slytherins are already being a pain in the arse. Always walking around like the Cup belongs to them already and never listening to anything I say.”

She smiled faintly against his shoulder. “You just don’t like the Slytherins, so you notice their faults more.”

He gave a low scoff. “They are little bastards, that’s why.”

“Language,” She cut in, a familiar snap to her voice.

He paused, looked down at the boy in his arms. “He’s sleeping.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “He can still hear it all.”

He gave her a half-hearted, annoyed glance. “You and your logic. I’ll never understand it.”

She chuckled, quietly this time, more in her throat than her mouth. Her eyes drifted to Regulus again. Something knotted tight in her chest, and without really thinking, she shifted closer to Sirius’s warmth. Her voice trembled when it came out. “I was scared, Sirius.” He turned his head toward her slightly but didn’t say anything. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Since when did he have the fever?” He questioned.

She exhaled. “After we went to the store, he was alright. A bit quiet, but fine. Then at some point, he just stopped talking or moving. I touched his face, and he was warm. Then he started whimpering, and I”— she looked down—“I panicked and took him to Parvati and she checked him and gave the potion and told me what to do. Then I called Narcissa there, and she helped me with the rest, the things I didn’t know. It helped a lot.”

He hummed. “Yeah, Cissa told me everything, along with what else to do.” He shifted a little again, the mattress dipping under his thigh. “Love,” he dipped his head toward her and said quietly. “I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier.”

She blinked. Her fingers stilled where they’d been brushing along the hem of her dress.

“I know you didn’t want me to worry,” he said, voice softer now, like it hurt him to even explain, “but you could’ve told me, at least send an owl.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. His jaw flexed, like he was trying to contain too much at once. “I’ve lost too many people, Hermione.” She paused her breathing. “And I wasn’t there for most of them. I didn’t get to see them go. Didn’t get to say anything. I just heard it after the fact, and that’s how they were gone.” He looked down at the sleeping baby, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “I don’t want to miss anything anymore. Not even the bad days. I don’t care if he’s screaming or if you’re losing your mind or if it’s the middle of a bloody storm or accident. I want to be there.”

She didn’t say anything right away. She only looked at him—really looked at him. The lines time had carved, the grey that shimmered faintly in his dark hair even under the firelight, the tension he always tried to hide in the corner of his mouth.

And something swelled in her chest.

Her hand moved before her brain caught up and he startled before looking at her with partly wide eyes. Her hand brushed his cheekbone, then the edge of his brow, then the slant of his nose with her knuckles. Every inch like it was hers. Like it had always been.

“I know,” she whispered. “You’re always here, Sirius. You always are.” Her voice dipped further. “And I’m sorry. I should have let you know. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want you to..it’s because you already carry too much. If I told you, you’d have dropped everything. You’d have worried, and come running, and—

“I should have,” he cut her gently. “There’s nothing—nothing—that matters more than you and Reggie. You think any match, any lesson, anything else would’ve meant more?” His brows twitched downward, and for a moment, he looked young and furious, not at her, but at the sheer absurdity of her logic. “Don’t you dare think that again. Not even for a second.”

Her breath caught in her chest.

Her throat closed. She could feel deep in her bones how he meant it. He meant every word like it was stitched into the fabric of him. And somehow, after all this time, that still caught her off guard.

Her lips parted. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

He blinked.

She gave a soft, breathless laugh and shook her head. “What you just said, it…it makes my heart do something stupid. I think it’s actually tripping over itself. Bloody unreal, I think—

She froze.

So did he.

And after two blinks, her eyes rounded, the slow realisation crashing over her like a low tide she hadn’t seen coming.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I—I think we should have tea,” she blurted out fast and scrambled off the bed before he could say a word, too quickly, startling Regulus awake with a tiny squeak but she didn’t even look at him.

“I completely forgot!” she said, far too brightly, like someone announcing sunshine during a funeral. “You just got home, didn’t you? You must be starving. Merlin. I’ll bring tea—snacks too! You stay here, yes? Watch over Reggie. Make sure he doesn’t start kicking again.”

Sirius raised a questioning eyebrow. She blinked then her face burned more and she opened her mouth. “I mean, make sure the fever doesn’t rise again.”

She didn’t wait for his reply—wouldn’t have survived it—and rushed out, shutting the door behind her. The moment she was alone, she stumbled around the corner like her own feet had betrayed her, and pressed her back hard against the wall. Her chest rose high, fell low then again.

Then her palms covered her face in a quiet groan. “Bloody hell,” she whispered into her hands, fingers dragging across her flushed skin. “What in the name of Circe!” Her head hit the wall behind her. She didn’t even know if she was mortified or melting. 

Possibly both.

Chapter Text

“Let me take him.”

“No.”

“Sirius.”

“I said no.”

Hermione closed her eyes in frustration. It was the middle of the night, and Regulus hadn’t slept for even a second. The moment anyone dared to stop walking with him in their arms, he’d start crying and even while being rocked, he whimpered and sobbed. His fever had worsened after dinner and stubbornly refused to break, no matter the potions they gave him.

Andromeda had stopped by earlier with Teddy and brought dinner. She’d checked Regulus, helped with the chores, tried everything. But even after all that, Regulus wouldn’t eat a bite, and now Sirius had been pacing with him for what felt like hours. Hermione had tried more than once to take Regulus from him, but he wouldn’t let her. And honestly, at this point, she was starting to feel afraid. 

“Should we take him to Parvati?” She pursed her lips.

“I don’t think so, love.” Sirius adjusted his hold. “They said tonight’s going to be a little different. I think we should wait it out.”

“But he’s in so much pain.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss against his son’s head. “But he’s strong. Stronger than we give him credit for. I very much believe you'll wake up tomorrow to find him healthy as ever.”

She studied the boy’s features, a smile ghosting her lips. “His birthday is coming soon.”

“Ah.” 

“What do you think we should do? Something simple, or—

“Nah.” He crinkled his nose. “My boy deserves nothing less than a proper blast. I’ll make sure he remembers his first birthday forever.”

Her lips twitched. “Sirius, he’s one. He won’t remember anything.”

He scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that. I know he will.”

She shook her head with a laugh. “Harry’s birthday is that day too. Maybe we could arrange something for both?”

“No.” He looked angry. “Harry’s had plenty. He doesn’t need to feel special at every turn. This year, and the next, and every year after, Reggie’s day is his alone.”

She bit back a laugh. “That’s really not the kind of thing a godfather is supposed to say.”

“Well.” He adjusted Regulus again. “I’m not only a godfather, am I? Harry’s grown. He doesn’t need pampering anymore. Reggie does.” He dipped his head, murmuring something low and secret into the boy’s ear.

The sight somehow made warmth spread through her chest until it almost hurt. Yes, Sirius was a good godfather. But he was a great father. And more than that, he was an extraordinary husband. He was everything she could have asked for in a partner—rough edges sanded down by love and patience, tempered by a loyalty that never wavered. He had been gentle when she couldn’t remember him, steady when her world felt like a stranger’s. He never made her feel foolish for forgetting, never let her feel abandoned or afraid.

Her smile trembled as the thought twisted inward.

But was she a good wife?

Regulus stirred suddenly, his head lifting from Sirius’s shoulder and rubbed his eyes, taking Hermione’s attention. 

“What happened, love?” Sirius asked, pushing his curls back.

Regulus blinked bleary-eyed, then looked around before noticing Hermione and pouted. “Mama.” He leaned forward, arms stretching in her direction.

She was on her feet and gathered Regulus into her arms, kissing his temple as she swayed with him. “What is it, hmm? Feeling bad?” Regulus only whined. “He’s hungry,” she glanced at Sirius. “Should I try feeding him milk?”

Before he could answer, she had already carried the boy over to the bed, sitting with him perched against her. “Sirius, help me, please.”

He settled the little pillow at her front. She undid the top buttons of her blouse, shifting to bring Regulus closer. Sirius’s hand lingered at her elbow, steadying her as she tried to guide the boy.

“Come on, love,” she coaxed gently, pressing his cheek against her. But Regulus turned his head, lips brushing but not latching. She tried again, adjusting him. Finally, he opened his mouth—only for her to hiss a sharp breath as tiny teeth grazed her.

“Ah, ah, don’t bite, Regulus,” she hissed, “Let go let go.”

Before her panic could rise further, Sirius reached out and rubbed their son’s cheek with two fingers, and after a few seconds, the boy loosened his jaw, the bite easing into a hesitant suck. Still, most of the time he just lingered there, mouth barely working, brow creased.

She exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Sirius gave her a small smile before cupping her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin. “Take a breath, sweetheart. You’re worrying yourself raw.”

“I can’t help it.” She leaned back a little, shifting Regulus against the crown and winched. “Sirius, my back’s been aching all day. It was ignorable before, but now it’s,” She groaned.

“That’s no good.” His brows furrowed. “You should take one of those Muggle pills you use when your back’s bad. It’s been happening too often since the pregnancy.” 

“Muggle pills?”

“Yes, you relied on muggle in many things, especially as potions didn’t help much.” He eased off the bed. “I’ll go find it. Should be in the kitchen cupboard.”

She adjusted Regulus with one hand. “If you can’t find it, bring me all of them. I’ll recognise which one.”

“Alright,” he called back over his shoulder.

Her eyes lingered on the empty doorway long after he disappeared. A small smile tugged at her lips. Then, quite suddenly, she realised how she hadn’t even hesitated to bare herself in front of him, not this time. Before, she always told him to step out or look away so she could feed their son, but tonight it had felt natural, almost easy. The realisation brought heat rushing to her cheeks, yet…there was no embarrassment. 

He came back quicker than she expected with a glass of water in one hand and a pill. “Here we are.” He offered both. “I remember this one, it’s pink. You let me rummage through all your pills once and told me what does what. So you can trust me. This is the right one.”

Her smile softened as she took it. “I wasn’t going to question you.”

His lips twitched. She placed the pill on her tongue, and he tilted the glass for her, careful as she swallowed. “Thank you,” 

He set the glass down on the bedside table, then pulled the desk chair closer. Dropping into it with a long exhale, he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees.

“You should nap,” she said gently, “while he’s quiet. You’ll be the one walking him again if he starts up.”

He reached across and caught her free hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”

She let it be, her eyes drifting back to Regulus’s little face. Her voice was quieter when she asked, “He’ll be alright, won’t he?”

“Hey.” Sirius’s thumb rubbed her knuckles. “Of course he will. He’s a storm, you can’t quieten that down so easily. By tomorrow, he’ll be tearing the place apart again, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

Silence settled between them before Sirius spoke again. “Harry got fevers, too. I remember Lily going spare over it. Not just because it was magical, and she didn’t know what to expect, but because it was wartime. Everything felt twice time chaotic that time. James was worse, though.” A crooked smile. “He was a pain in the arse. Even Moony was frustrated with him; James always managed to make a bloody mess of things.” Hermione listened quietly, her thumb stroking over Regulus’s little arm. “But I can’t blame them,” he went on. “They were locked inside themselves for months; they didn't leave the house. And Merlin, Prongs was a social bloke, for him staying indoors all the time was horrifying. And on top of that, Harry was the most targeted child alive by some arsehole– 

“Language.” She cut in.

He looked at the boy’s sleeping face. “He isn’t hearing.”

Her raised brow said otherwise.

He groaned. “Fine. Some noseholes who wanted him dead.” Hermione snorted, trying and failing to cover it with a cough. “So every sneeze, every cough, James and Lily went bloody mental. Understandably.” He paused, then his expression dimmed with thought. “I wonder how Moony would’ve reacted to his son. He never got to see it.” Her throat tightened, but she stayed silent. “He’d have freaked out,” His gaze flicked to her with sudden seriousness. “Yes. Moony would’ve freaked out. Being the whiny ar—werewolf he was, he’d have driven everyone insane, and probably made me want to slap him.”

She took a clear look at him. His mouth was set, eyes distant, his thoughts buried somewhere far from the room. A thoughtful look—too thoughtful. She wondered what occupied him. The story he’d just told her, perhaps. He must have shared it before, countless times, only to tell it again because she couldn’t remember. Did it weary him, carrying their memories alone? Did he ever resent the constant repetition, the gaps she could never fill in? The thought pinched at her chest..

“Sirius.” 

He turned his head at once, startled out of his thoughts. “What?”

“Come to bed.”

He blinked, as though the words had struck him sideways. “What?” 

She glanced down at Regulus. “He’s asleep. We should get some rest too, before he wakes again.”

He gave a short huff of a laugh, gesturing vaguely at the chair. “I’m fine here.”

“You can’t rest on a chair,” she countered, meeting his gaze.

His brows lifted in faint surprise, as though the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“I mean, we’re not really going to sleep properly. Just…rest. And I can’t move with him in my arms, and you can’t sleep elsewhere either because I don’t think I can handle it all alone,”

His expression softened into something unreadable, and her heart gave an unsteady jump. She tipped her head slightly toward the empty space beside her. For a moment, he didn’t move, as though testing the air between them. Then, finally, he rose from the chair and crossed to the bed, settling down carefully on the other side. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, nerves prickling at her skin. It wasn’t the act itself—Merlin knew he had seen her like this before—but the awareness of it now felt different.

“Do you want me to take him for a while?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. He just fell asleep. If we move him, he’ll wake up.”

“But you’re in an uncomfortable position,” he murmured a silencing charm around Regulus, then shifted closer. His touch was careful as he eased her back, adjusting the pillow behind her so she could lean against the headboard.

Relief slipped from her in a sigh. “Thank you.”

His hand lingered for a heartbeat longer before withdrawing. He adjusted himself, too, pushing back into the headboard with a low groan. The sound made her lips twitch into a tired smile.

“Sirius.”

His eyes flicked toward her. “Hm?”

“Blanket.”

“Oh.” He reached down and pulled the blanket carefully over them.

“Get inside it.” 

“I don’t need—

She gave him a look, and his protest died. After a beat, he slipped beneath the blanket.

“Now scoot closer,” she added. “I need somewhere to keep my head, or how will I sleep?”

He froze, studying her for a long moment. Then, finally, he shifted closer. She lay her head against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of him, and felt the subtle exhale he let out, as if something had been unclenched inside him. Silence stretched for a while before gathering the threads of her courage, she whispered, “Do you miss them?”

He stilled. She immediately regretted asking, certain she had crossed a line—

“Every day.”

Her chest ached at the sound of it. “I’m sorry to hear it.” 

“It’s alright.” His voice was neutral, though she felt the stiffness behind it. “I’m used to it by now. I spent more than twelve years without Remus, lost count on James. And then I was dead for a while.”

“No.” Her head lifted. “You weren’t dead. Just…in a state of sleep or something.”

“But it was kind of—

“No.” Her tone cut across his. “And I don’t want to talk about that.”

For a moment, only the soft breaths of their son filled the room as he stared at her before nodding. “Alright.”

But she couldn’t shake it. She didn't know why but even the idea of him being dead, even in the veil, tightened something in her until she could barely breathe.

After a while, she found herself asking, “What did you do after…after you came back?” She hesitated. “Did you look for them? Did you think they were alive, like you?”

His eyes clouded with thought. He was quiet for a long moment before answering. “Kingsley told me about Moony in the hospital. So I knew. No one was alive. It was strange for a while. But I got used to it.” His lips curved faintly. “Watching Teddy helped. It felt like Moony wasn’t gone. Though he reminds me more of Dora than of him. And, of course, Harry is Harry. He doesn't look like James anymore, like he used to...but perhaps that's because I never got to see how James would've looked when he would get older.” 

He was silent for a full minute before his voice dropped. “I went back, you know.”

She blinked. “Back where?”

“The flat. Mine and Moony’s. After graduation and before that Halloween, we used to live there.” He gave a faint huff. “Never thought of it after Azkaban, home arrest, then falling through the veil. I don’t know why I never went back. I don’t know why Moony never did either.” He turned to her. “When I went there a few weeks after waking up again, the building was still there. We’d put it under Fidelius, so no one could enter or see it but me or Moony. It was exactly as it had been. Just now it was layered in dust and mud, the walls crumbling, the magazine on the floor, a half-eaten plate, a half-drunk firewhiskey bottle. Just where I’d left them when I got the news of James and Lily, everything was rotten.”

Her throat closed.

“I realised then why Moony never went back,” he pursed his lips. “He must’ve gotten the news, thought I’d killed them, and couldn’t bear to set foot in the place we’d shared. Better to leave it to rot than face it.”

Her chest hurt. She wished her arms were free, wished she could reach for him, take his hand. The thought of him, rotting away in Azkaban while the world believed him a traitor, burned through her like fire. How she wished she could demand answers from them all. How could they have abandoned him? How could they not believe the man who had lost the most?

“What did you do with that flat after?” 

His head tilted back against the headboard, thumb tracing an idle circle on the blanket, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer. “I collected a few things. Pictures from school days, some of my old clothes, a photo I had of Regulus.” His jaw flexed, bitterness slipping in. “Burned anything that smelled of that rat. I couldn’t stand the sight of it. There were some things I gave to Harry, James's things. And Moony’s, those went to Teddy.” A faint shake of his head. “But the flat, call me selfish, but I didn’t want anyone else to touch it. I never lifted the Fidelius but I cleaned it. Sat on the same sofa after, drank firewhisky and pretended it was the same. That we were all young again, right after school. Everyone was too happy to know what was coming. It was kind of a crash in place for everyone whenever something happened.” His mouth tugged in something between a smile and a grimace. “James and Lily fighting, Peter needing—” He cut himself short then cleared his throat. “Anyway. I just sat there, pretending it was one of those nights. Then life moved, it always does. Things settled into their own kind of routine, and I got used to the absence.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she asked the only thing that clawed its way forward. “Did you tell me this before? Did I…know what you did?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah. You knew.”

And with that, guilt swelled in her again. She dropped her gaze, fingers curling around Regulus tightly. How long would it take until she remembered all of it? Until she could stop asking him to reopen the same wounds? When would the guilt give way to something lighter, happiness, maybe? Could they ever be normal again? A normal couple, even? When would she wake up and say she remembers everything? When would she wake up not to ask what happened but to say 'I love you'?

Suddenly, she heard a sound and glanced at him. He had dozed off, his head tipped slightly toward her shoulder, breaths evening into soft snores. She wanted to cry. She wondered how someone could carry so much weight and still look so young and calm when sleep claimed him. Before she even realised it, her eyes slipped shut too.

Hermione woke with a sharp start. The bed was empty beside her, the blanket tucked close around her. For half a breath, she thought Sirius had only gone to fetch something, but then she noticed the silence.

Her baby.

Her stomach dropped.

“Reggie?” She pushed herself upright, panic flaring as she called louder, “Sirius?”

No answer. Her pulse kicked into a sprint. Throwing the blanket aside, she stumbled out of the room. What if something had happened? What if Regulus had gotten worse in the night, and Sirius hadn’t woken her, hadn’t had time—

“In the kitchen!” Sirius’s voice cut through her panic.

She nearly collapsed with relief. Bursting through the house, she found them at the table in the kitchen, Sirius with a steaming mug of tea, Regulus perched on his lap and a plate of eggs sat between them.

Sirius frowned at her sudden entrance. “What’s wrong?”

Her gaze darted between them. “He..he’s alright?” she stammered.

Sirius’s brow creased more. “He’s fine. Didn’t I tell you last night you’d wake up to find him perfectly alright?” Regulus looked up at her then before dropping back to his yolk. “He’s got a cough, and his nose is still running but otherwise, he’s perfectly alright.”

Her chest squeezed painfully. “I was so scared,” she moved quickly toward them. “I thought something must have happened, and you didn’t want to wake me, or you didn’t have the time to and I—

“Hey, hey,” Sirius stood with Regulus in his arms, catching her before the words drowned her. His free hand rubbed gently up her arm. “He’s fine. I promise. I just didn’t want to wake you; you looked like you were finally sleeping soundly. When he stirred, I checked him, and there was no fever. So I freshened him up and brought him down. Thought I’d let you rest until breakfast.”

Her eyes flicked to Regulus, still unconvinced, and Sirius gave her a sideways hug, pulling her briefly into his chest. “It’s alright. Everything’s fine. Sit down, yeah? I’ll get you some eggs and toast. Tea, too. Maybe Reggie’ll share his yolks with you if you’re lucky.”

She let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him stiffen for a second. “Don’t—don’t do that again. Please. I was terrified.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry, love” he muttered against her hair, then pulled back enough to look at her. “I didn’t realise it would scare you, it won’t happen again.”

She sighed, some of the fear bleeding out at the warmth in his voice. Pulling away, she took Regulus from him, pressing her palm lightly to his forehead, then brushing back his curls. His cheeks were still flushed, he looked tired and quieter than usual, but not nearly as bad as the night before.

Relief softened the tension in her chest and she kissed his head. “Thank Merlin.” As Sirius went to the stove, she shifted Regulus into her arms and carried him to the table. She sat down slowly, pulling her son close, trying to quiet the leftover panic still rushing through her veins. “Do you think we should visit Parvati after breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Sirius cracked eggs into the pan before tying his hair up with his wand, the strands falling neatly behind his neck. “I was thinking the same. Already gave him his morning potion dose. We’ll go after, see what she says.”

Regulus squirmed, reaching for the spoon on the table, and with one swing, knocked it onto the floor. Hermione sighed, picked it up, and wiped his hands with the corner of a napkin while he tried to wriggle free.

Sirius came over a moment later, sliding a plate in front of her, tea, toast, and a perfectly fried egg, before going back to the stove to fetch something else.

“Thank you.” She took a sip of her tea. “When are you leaving?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“School.” 

He was rummaging through a drawer. “I took the day off. Already sent a letter to Minnie and she said it’s alright.”

“You shouldn’t,” she narrowed her eyebrows, “not when finals are a few days awa—

“Love.” He didn’t look at her, still rifling through cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you? You and Reggie come way before other people or school. And when it’s about him—” he nodded toward their son, “—you shouldn’t even question it.”

Her stomach tickled. He went back to whatever he was looking for. She could tell he was angry. Oddly enough, it pulled a smile from her. “What are you looking for?” she shifted Regulus as he made another grab for her teacup.

“Reggie’s panda bowl.” His reply was muffled by the drawer. “I remember putting it here the other day.”

“It’s in the second high cupboard.” 

He paused, then straightened and pulled open the cupboard. The bowl was there. He muttered something under his breath, frustratingly as he plucked it out. 

She bit back a grin. If she thought about it, this wasn’t the picture-perfect family she might have once imagined. There was mess, there was worry, there were mornings filled with stubbornness and frayed nerves. But as she looked at Sirius, at the way his hair slipped loose from its knot and the way Regulus reached for him with sticky hands, Hermione realised with memory or not, she still had the kind of loving family anyone might wish for.

And she liked it….admittedly so. 

Chapter Text

It was Regulus’s birthday.

And it was chaos.

“Harry, no!” 

“Oh, ‘Mione, come on.”

“I said no—” A gust of air whooshed by, and her panic spiked. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, get my son down before I hex your bollocks off!” 

“Love, calm down, it’s on—

“Listen, Sirius Black! You tell him to get our son down from that bloody thing, or I will take my son and leave this house. Right now!” 

Sirius groaned. “Draco, get him down.”

“But it’s a toy broom with the safety on it, and look at how he’s laughing.” 

“I do not wish to see him laughing. Get him down now.”

Malfoy threw his hands up in exasperation, then summoned the toy broom. Regulus, whooping and wheezing as tiny fireworks popped around him, sailed down into Sirius’s arms. Hermione rescued him before anyone else could, clutching the protesting, half-screaming child to her chest.

It had been something like this all morning. The first thing she’d seen when she woke was Malfoy’s face—bloody, in the purely expletive sense—and Harry standing on tiptoe looking pleased with himself. Since it was Harry’s birthday too, she’d decided to make a proper breakfast with beans, toast, and eggs. Then the three of them—Sirius, Harry, and Malfoy—had gone into the other room with Regulus “to see a thing.” A few seconds later, laughter, bangs, and the sort of noise that made her drop the spatula.

She’d rushed in, heart ready for joy, and instead found her son careening around the drawing room on a buzzing broom, unattended except for three grown men who clapped as if they’d just invented laughter. Malfoy was the architect of the stunt. Harry was celebratory. Sirius looked like he had never felt this proud before.

She held Regulus tighter. “You’ve all lost your minds, haven’t you?”

“Love—

“Don’t you love me, Sirius!” Her glare landed on him. “I expected better from you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m telling you, he wasn’t going to be hurt, and it wasn’t dangerous.”

“Everything could’ve gone wrong,” She snapped. “And I don’t care how many safety charms Malfoy swore he put on it; children still fall.” She jabbed a finger at him, Regulus squirming in her arms. “He could’ve panicked and flown straight into a wall while you three idiots were too busy cheering him on like it was a bloody Quidditch final!”

“I am here, nothing would’ve gone wrong,” Sirius said, stubborn as ever.

Harry raised a brow. “You might be forgetting you’re talking to three Quidditch experts, Hermione. Sirius bought me that same broom when I was one. I survived.”

“I don’t care.” 

Regulus stretched his little arms toward the broom again, whining for it. She shifted him to the other hip, out of reach. He let out a piercing cry.

“See?” Malfoy drawled. “You made the birthday boy cry.”

“Shut up,” she bit back. Then she turned her glare on Sirius. “Make breakfast. Enjoy it with your godson—” her eyes sliced toward Harry, “—since someone—” her glare shifted to Malfoy, “—doesn’t care about his godson.”

Malfoy gasped. She threw one last look at Sirius before storming out of the room. Sirius followed, calling after her, trying to soften her anger, but she didn’t stop. She went straight to their room, shut the door in his face.

Muttering nonsense under her breath about reckless men, she set Regulus on the bed and pulled out fresh clothes. “Just like his cousin. Of course. Both Blacks, crazy, insufferable, careless people putting children at risk.”

She dressed the still-crying Regulus, his little fists smacking against her collarbone, and then threw on her own outside clothes. When he whimpered again, she picked him up and pressed him against her shoulder and picked up his otter.

The moment she opened the door, Sirius was there, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t moved. His eyes flicked from her face to Regulus, who was already reaching for him through teary sobs, hiccupping out, “Dada.”

Sirius’s eyebrows narrowed. “Are you going somewhere?”

She didn’t answer him. Just adjusted her hold on Regulus and walked past before taking the stairs. Sirius followed. “Hermione, wait.”

She didn’t. She reached the sitting room, straight to the floo. The child in her arms hiccupped between sobs, reaching over her shoulder again for his father, but she ignored it. By the time she grabbed the pot of floo powder, Harry appeared from the corridor, Malfoy right at his side, both looking far too curious for their own good.

She turned on them. “The guests will arrive by evening. Everything should be ready by then.”

Harry blinked, baffled. “But where are you going?”

“Away from men.”

And before any of them could say another word, she threw the floo powder into the flames, stepped in with Regulus pressed tight against her, and vanished in a swirl of green fire.

“Do I expect this from Malfoy? Yes, of course. But do I expect it from Harry? No. Do I expect it from Sirius of all people? No.”

“I understand.”

“And he tells me to calm down? You throw my son in the air and tell me to calm down? How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Merlin knows what they’re doing to the house right now, but I am not going back until evening.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Pansy, stop trying to make her more angry.”

“You shut up.” Pansy turned her glare on Neville. “This is a woman’s matter. Go pluck some tomatoes for lunch and take the kids with you.”

Neville sighed before scooping Regulus off the mat and leaving the room, Teddy trotting behind. Yes, in the past month, those two had started dating, and Hermione—strangely—liked it. And yes, she had come here for a breather and had picked up Teddy on the way for Regulus. Now both children were delighted with the garden, chasing enchanted butterflies, poking at bees, and playing with toys scattered under the trees. Pansy had even made Regulus a small cake at breakfast, a second candle stuck between stacks of waffles. 

And now, for at least the fifth time, Hermione was circling back to her complaint about the morning. They sat in Pansy’s small drawing room, tea steaming between them, overlooking the riotous green of the overgrown garden.

Hermione sighed, hands tightening around her teacup. “I know you’re tired of hearing it, but they were all out of their minds, Pans. All three of them. Sirius, especially.”

Pansy tilted her head. “Or maybe they did know what they were doing. Flying looks childish to you, but to them? It’s second nature. You’re talking about three men who lived half their lives in the air. If anything, they’re safer up there than on the ground.”

Hermione gave her a look. “That’s exactly what Sirius thought the night he took that blasted motorbike. He didn’t listen to me then, and look what happened, I lost years of memory and woke up to this…mess.” Her throat tightened. “What if something like that happens again, Pansy? He should be careful now, shouldn’t he?”

Pansy leaned back, fingers tapping her teacup. “You’re right. But he’s Sirius. He’s tame compared to what he used to be, but some habits don’t vanish. He didn’t mean any harm, Hermione. I think you know that.”

“I do.” Hermione pressed her lips together. “I know he only wants Reggie’s happiness. But I wouldn’t be acting like this if it wasn't a flying thing. He’s one, Pans. A toddler. Sirius should know better. When will he act like a grown man? He’s always risking everything, himself, the house, me, now Reggie. He doesn’t stop to think.”

Pansy gave her a sly little smile. “They’ll get their lesson today. Let them handle the house, the guests, the decorations, everything. We’ll see how far their proud little Quidditch egos take them when there’s no woman to save their arses.”

They both snickered, tea nearly spilling. Hermione exhaled, shoulders loosening just a fraction. “Okay, I’ll admit I was probably overreacting. I know Sirius or Harry, or even Malfoy, would never let a hair on Reggie’s head get hurt. But—” she sighed, fingers smoothing an invisible crease in her skirt, “—ever since his fever last month, I’ve been scared.”

Pansy softened. “I understand. It makes sense. And honestly, it’s probably a better way to tame that man of yours than nagging.” Her eyes gleamed. “Should we call Theo over for backup?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head fast. “I’m in no mood for man today.”

Pansy snorted. Then she leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper that was far too conspiratorial. “Speaking of mood, did you and your hot husband do anything of mood lately?”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed instantly. “Shut up. Neville’s here.”

“He’s miles away.”

“Shut up anyway.” She swatted Pansy’s arm, but the damage was done; her blush only deepened.

Over the past few weeks, she had found herself growing close to two people in ways she hadn’t expected, Theo Nott, who was like a muggle nanny most of the time; and Pansy, who was—well—Pansy. Not Malfoy, no, he still managed to irritate her at every opportunity. But Pansy was something different. Pansy didn’t give a damn about judgment, about Hermione’s rules or anything at all. And somehow, that made Hermione feel safe and realise how she never had a girl as a friend before and how it actually felt nice to have one.

Friendly enough that Hermione had even told her things she’d never admit to anyone else. Like the strange, sudden surge of desire she felt around Sirius, what Pansy had bluntly called lust. The word had made Hermione squirm, but it was the truth. It started in small ways, when he stood a bit too close, brushed her arm, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When he kissed her forehead or rested a hand on the small of her back. When he was half-dressed, or when he wore something sharp and tied his hair back, or Merlin help her do anything in general, even then, her thighs pressed together before she could stop herself. 

Of course, she couldn’t tell Harry. Or anyone. But Pansy had noticed her flushed cheeks, her sudden silences, the way her eyes followed Sirius across a room. And Pansy had poked and prodded until Hermione spilt everything. Since then, Pansy had become her diary, the keeper of all her messy, dramatic thoughts about Sirius, Regulus, and this life she still wasn’t fully sure how to live.

As for her married life, no, she hadn’t made any move. Nor had Sirius. And honestly, this unknown physical feeling scared her more than she cared to admit. Each time it crept up, she’d run like a complete idiot. And sometimes she caught that flicker in Sirius’s expression, the way his brow tightened, and she knew he thought he frightened her. But that wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t him that scared her. It was this aching, restless pull inside her that she didn’t understand.

She’d never admit it aloud, but she’d been sad the night Regulus got better and Sirius quietly slipped back into his own room. For days, she wanted to call him back, to tell him to stay, that she slept more easily when he was next to her. But she hadn’t had the courage. What a Gryffindor, indeed. 

She found herself piecing together her marriage like a puzzle, scraps of information dropped by others. Some days she felt lucky, and yet on other days, she felt unlucky. Unlucky because she couldn’t remember any of it for herself. It was like being handed someone else’s love story and being told it was hers. 

The breakdowns still came. Sometimes she managed to hide them, other times she couldn’t. She tried to calm herself down each time, telling herself that she was Hermione Black now, that this was her family, her life.

She had asked Sirius questions about the Veil, what it had felt like, what it had cost, and why they got married. And sometimes, halfway through his answers, her head would throb and she’d think she was losing her mind, and she’d shut it out before she drowned in it. 

But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she didn’t know how she was going to manage the rest of her life like this. Regulus was turning one, toddling and laughing and already too clever for his age. Soon, he’d start asking questions. Why did his parents live like strangers? Why did his mother stiffen every time his father touched her hand? Why did his father linger outside her door at night but never walk in?

What would she say then?

How could she explain to her son that she loved a man she couldn’t remember loving? That her heart tripped over itself when his father smiled, but her mind refused to let her trust it. And worst of all, how could she admit that part of her didn’t want the memories back? Because then she’d have to face the truth of who she had been, and who she was now.

Hermione let out a long sigh. “I just…I feel scared more these days.” 

Pansy tilted her head. “Oh, what’s so scary about it? I told you how to give a blow job, didn’t I? Just take the dick out and—

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Then what?” 

“This entire dramatic life I have.” 

Pansy shrugged. “Well, it’s been almost three months since your dramatic life started. By this time, you should be too used to it to even like normal life.”

Hermione glared harder.

“Look,” Pansy tapped her teacup like she was counting points, “you obviously want to have sex. Actually, no, you need to have sex with your husband.”

Hermione flushed scarlet. “Merlin, this is so embarrassing—

“No, what’s embarrassing," Pansy drawled, “is having a literal Greek god for a husband, sharing a bed with him for three years before your accident, and then spending the last three months acting like he’s a particularly aggressive blast-ended skrewt.” She huffed. “Like girl, you haven’t had a dick for three months now. I’m shocked that you’re alive. I can’t. My cunt will be dried as fuck if I do.

Hermione groaned and rubbed the area between her eyebrows.

“And Sirius won’t make a move,” Pansy said. “No, he won’t. He doesn’t want to scare you or anything and still thinks you’re made of glass. Not to mention you act like a psychic all the time.”

Hermione huffed.

“So no, he won’t. Whatever you need to do, you need to do.” Pansy leaned back smugly. “I can go and tell Sirius to his face, ‘Sirius, darling, your wife is about to combust from sexual repression. Do the noble thing and dick her down.’ Unfortunately, you won’t let me, even though that’s the best option.” 

“Pans, stop trying to make me crazier.”

“I can’t make you crazier,” Pansy deadpanned. “You’re already crazy.”

Hermione wanted to argue. It all sounded so simple when Pansy laid it out, but living it? Disaster. She didn’t know anything about sex other than whatever crude, bizarre things Pansy shoved into conversation like confetti. And what if Sirius turned her down? He could barely handle answering her simple questions, let alone this.

And she feared it too. Not rejection—well, yes, that—but also the humiliation of walking up to her husband and saying she wanted sex. She pressed her palm to her forehead. No. Utter disaster.

“Perhaps you should talk to him,” Pansy said. “Or lead him a little tonight. You know, after everyone’s gone, after you’ve put Reggie to sleep. Have some wine with him. Talk about things, no, not your mental disorder things, but comfortable, funny things. Wine sets the mood, loosens the tongue. It’ll help you ease into him.”

The tension in Hermione’s stomach knotted tighter. “But won’t it be too early? It’s only been three months and—

“And?” Pansy cut in, rolling her eyes. “Girl, do you have any idea how many times you’ve had that dick in your mouth and all the holes?”

Hermione choked on air. “Pansy!” she hissed. “And stop calling it a dick.” 

Pansy looked bored. “Alright. A cock.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “That’s even worse.”

“Calm down. Everything will eventually become great again.”

Hermione wanted to believe that. She really did. But would it? Doubt crawled up her throat like smoke. Her life hadn’t exactly given her peace lately.

Her mind flickered to last night, Sirius had stayed up late playing with Regulus, even though he looked so tired, just because the boy wanted to play with his otter more. That same morning, he had burnt the eggs because he was too busy writing what things to bring for the birthday evening. He had always jumped into rescue whenever he saw she was having difficulty with anything in general. It was stupid and sweet, and it was…Sirius. 

She wondered how he was handling things right now. Because no way in hell were Harry or Malfoy lifting a finger beyond pouring themselves another cup of tea. Perhaps she had overreacted. Just a little. Maybe. Okay, yes, she overreacted a lot.

She groaned internally before sighing loud enough for Pansy to raise a brow. “I’m going home.”

Pansy blinked. “Why? Weren’t you going to stay till evening?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t trust Malfoy. And yeah, Regulus doesn’t deserve to cry on his birthday or be away from his father.” 

“Oh, really?” Pansy wiggled her eyebrows.

“Really.” Hermione smacked her arm before standing “I’m going to get Regulus.”

“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Pansy followed her.

They went to the gardens, and Hermione scooped her son into her arms. “We’re going to Dada,” she whispered to him, ignoring the way his fists reached for the plate of butterflies Neville had conjured.

“Teddy, come on.” She turned to Neville and Pansy, managing a smile. “We’ll be leaving now. Thank you, both of you. And don’t be late tonight.”

Neville stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. “At least eat lunch before you leave.”

“Thank you, Neville,” she said, shaking her head, “but sometime later.”

“Oh, love,” Pansy smirked. “I’m sure she has better things to do than lunch with us.”

Hermione rolled her eyes before they all went to their drawing room, where the floo was. She covered Regulus’s eyes and mouth in one swoop and said another thank you to Neville and Pansy. Then, looking at Teddy, she said, “Go on, throw the powder, sweetheart.”

With a little too much enthusiasm, Teddy did, and green fire swallowed them whole. They tumbled out into Grimmauld Place and Hermione dusted soot from both children before straightening herself.

At the sound of footsteps, she looked up and was startled to find Andromeda stepping into the hall.

“Andy,” Hermione shifted Regulus on her hip. “What are you doing here?”

Teddy’s face lit up, and he bolted over, hugging her tightly. “We had so much fun, Nana!”

Andromeda smoothed his hair, then looked back at Hermione. “After you took Teddy from the house, Cissa and I thought something was wrong. We came here to check and, well—” her mouth twitched “—we found out about those three making you mad. Cissa’s in the kitchen making lunch, I’m handling the evening snacks, and the boys are decorating the house.”

A pang of guilt struck Hermione. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overreacted that much, and you all now need to take the burden.”

“It’s no burden, dear.” Andromeda rubbed her arm gently. “It’s alright. It happens. And we’ve already scolded them, so they won’t try anything unnecessary today.”

Hermione snorted. “I doubt it.”

Andromeda chuckled. “So do I.” 

Hermione’s eyes softened. “Thank you.”

Andromeda squeezed Hermione’s hand. “No need for thanks.” Then she paused. “He’s in the drawing room.”

Hermione felt warmth creep up her neck and busied herself with adjusting Regulus against her hip. “I’ll join you and Cissa in a while.”

Andromeda gave her a knowing look but only nodded before heading to the kitchen. Hermione turned toward the drawing room with both boys with her. She stopped at the doorway, taking in the sight before her.

The room was not at all decorated or transformed. Harry was bent over a table, arranging a row of miniature brooms. Merlin knew what he was doing. Sirius was trying to set up a banner with Regulus’s name across the wall with magic, which was not doing a good job. His hair was tied back, his shirt was untucked, and he looked irritated. And above them all, Malfoy hovered on a broom, doing whatever to the ceiling with his wand. 

None of them noticed her standing there. Not until Regulus squealed, “Dada!” and reached toward his father. Teddy bolted across the room to Harry.

Sirius turned, then stilled when his eyes met hers. She held his gaze, something tightening in her chest. The room fell away for a heartbeat—just her, him, and the way he looked at her, relief and surprise and something softer bleeding through all at once. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re back.”

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile she hadn’t meant to give.

Chapter Text

“Draco did a good job.”

Hermione sighed as she guided Regulus’s left hand into his shirt sleeve. “As much as I hate to admit it, yes, he did.” Sirius’s mouth curved like he was fighting the urge to laugh. She huffed. “It was with magic, all right? Not like he did it all by himself.”

“Of course,” he drawled, grinning.

She arched a brow at him. “What are you trying to imply, Sirius?”

“Nothing.” He crouched down, tying the shoes on Regulus’s feet.

They were still in Regulus’s nursery, struggling through the tail end of their son’s tantrum. The guests had already arrived downstairs but neither Hermione nor Sirius had gotten ready yet. Dressing their boy had taken a series of drama, and finally, at long last, he had given in.

As for Malfoy’s good job, the ceiling of their drawing room gleamed as though the night sky itself had unfurled above the constellations glowing, starry animals roaming lazily across the expanse, and right at the centre, the constellation Regulus shone brighter. Regulus had lit up with joy the moment he’d seen it. For the first time in weeks, Hermione had seen her boy so utterly, breathlessly happy. And she didn’t want to admit that it was all because of Malfoy.

Regulus rubbed his eyes, curls falling over his forehead, making Hermione grimace. “His hair has grown longer. It needs a cut.”

Sirius scoffed, lifting his head to stare at her as if she’d gone mad. “You are not touching his hair.”

“Really?” Her brow arched higher. “You don’t actually expect him to keep long hair like you, do you?”

“Of course.”

She pressed her lips together, steadying the urge to laugh. “Sirius, he’s a child, not a miniature version of you. His curls are already falling in his eyes, and he scratches at them constantly. If we trim just the front—

“Absolutely not,” Sirius cut her off. “If you touch his hair, I’ll leave this house.”

She stared at him, snorting. “Are you throwing my words back at me?”

“Maybe.” 

She huffed, folding her arms, but warmth crept along her cheeks anyway. 

“You’ll thank me when he grows up and has hair people write songs about.” Hermione rolled her eyes as he bent to fasten the second shoe. “But perhaps—” he tilted his head—“the front curls, if he’s really itching. We’ll see.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “We’ll see?”

“Exactly.” His grin widened. “Why don’t you go get ready? I’ll take care of him. Besides, we don’t need much time. You, however…” His gaze swept over her, “might.”

She blinked “And you’ll handle it all right?” He gave her a look, one of those wordless, Sirius Black looks that dared her to doubt him. She pursed her lips. “Fine.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek. “Mama will be right back.”

She smiled at Sirius before slipping into her room. Fingers tugging absently at the buttons of her blouse, she stilled when her gaze fell upon the bed. Draped across the covers lay a maroon dress. For a heartbeat, she simply stared before stepping closer.

She gathered the fabric into her hands and stared at it. It was rich and warm as autumn wine. She walked to the mirror and held it up. Against her skin, it seemed to glow, the deep hue wrapping her in quiet splendour. Heat crept swiftly into her cheeks. Well, she very much knew who left it here. She could almost picture his expression, the curve of his smile, the light in his eyes and the imagining made her press her lips together.

With a cautious glance at the door, half-afraid he might stride in and catch her, she retreated quickly into the bathroom, clutching the dress. Getting out of the shower, she dusted on a touch of makeup, then slipped into the maroon dress. The fabric settled naturally on her. She looked at herself and couldn’t help but grin. Thin straps formed the sleeves, and the open back was held together by more straps.

She looked beautiful.

She felt beautiful.

She was just about to leave when her gaze snagged on the mirror again. She lingered, biting her lip as a wave of nerves crept over her. With hesitant hands, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun, leaving a few curls loose around her face. Then she tilted her head, just enough for the faint outline of paw-shaped marks to peek into view.

Her entire body flushed hot.

With a small, mortified gasp, she fled the bathroom. It took her a good two minutes of pacing, palms pressed against her middle, before her frantic heartbeat settled enough for her to gather herself. At last, she found the courage to open the door and step out.

When she peeked into Regulus’s nursery, she found it empty. A little tug pulled at her chest. Not that she had expected Sirius to be waiting for her, why should he? He had a houseful of guests to host. She lingered at the doorway a moment longer before turning away and making her way downstairs.

The hum of voices met her before she even reached the first landing. Everyone had arrived on time. Narcissa and Andromeda had overseen the food. As it was the start of Hogwarts holidays, Sirius had invited some of his co-workers, while Hermione had invited Alex—an inclusion Sirius had greeted with barely concealed displeasure. She had also sent invitations to the Weasleys, but none had come. Only Ginny, arriving with Blaise at her side.

The drawing room had been stretched wider by magic, a photographer had been hired to capture the evening. There was already a pile of gifts for Regulus. Hermione had brought him a box full of learning tools, an entire miniature arsenal for a mind that was still too young to comprehend them. It did not matter. She would teach him, little by little. He would grow into them.

Sirius, to her relief, had not indulged himself with a broom or motorbike. Instead, he had brought a small enchanted telescope that could tell stories of each star when touched, a Muggle toy guitar and, of course, jackets. Hermione had been quite thrilled seeing the telescope. The broom Harry and Malfoy had conspired to gift, however, she had banished at once to the store room, the thought of her baby anywhere near it making her blood run cold.

She only hoped nothing would go wrong tonight. It was her son’s birthday, after all.

She suddenly paused midway down the staircase. The laughter and voices blurred, her vision stinging. How she wished her parents were here to see their grandson. They would have adored him, spoiled him mercilessly, fussed over his teeth, filled him with treats when she wasn’t looking. Her mother would have baked him the softest carrot cake, her father would’ve taken him fishing. Regulus would never know any of it. He would never know how much he had missed. Perhaps she would tell him stories of them, so they would not vanish entirely.

But it was a misfortune. His maternal grandparents were gone, and as for paternal—no, even if they were alive, Sirius would never let him near the shadows of them. Nor, truthfully, would she want him to.

A sigh left her as she descended the last of the stairs before stepping into the drawing room and she offered polite smiles and greetings to the cluster of guests nearest to her. “Pardon me for keeping you waiting,” she said. “I do hope you’ll enjoy yourselves tonight and thank you so much for coming.”

She made her way through the crowd, exchanging nods and thanks where they came, but her eyes kept sweeping the room in search of him. It was Malfoy she found instead. Regulus perched comfortably on his hip as Malfoy spoke to an Auror. Yes, Sirius had been reckless enough to let everyone bring anyone.

She excused herself from the group she was with and walked over, ready to speak, but Malfoy was quicker. “Granger,” he said smoothly, “meet Auror Fraser.”

Hermione smiled at the man and extended her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr Fraser, thank you so much for coming.”

“An honour, Mrs Black,” Fraser replied with a grin. “I must say you’ve a lovely son and a lovely house.”

“Oh it’s very kind of you.” She smiled. “Please enjoy yourself and do not hesitate to bother Malfoy when needed.”

Fraser laughed and Malfoy rolled his eyes. She turned back to Malfoy. “Have you seen Sirius?”

He adjusted Regulus. “Oh, he handed me Reggie before disappearing off with Harry. Can’t say where.”

Hermione’s lips curved into a forced smile then gestured at her son. “Right. Well, would you keep an eye on him for me? I won’t be long.”

Malfoy raised a scandalous brow and she ignored it and pressed onward. She caught sight of Minerva standing with Neville near one of the bookcases. She grinned before approaching. “Professor,” she greeted warmly. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Ah, it’s my pleasure, dear.” Minerva gave her arm a gentle squeeze.. “Besides, Mr. Black would have had my head if I’d refused. He can be insufferably persistent when he chooses.” Hermione laughed, Neville joining her. “And of course,” Minerva went on, “I had to give your son my blessings.”

Hermione smiled. “That means the world to me, professor, truly. Thank you.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Mrs. Black I believe I’ve asked you several times to refer to me as Minerva.”

Hermione grinned. “When you’d start calling me Hermione.” Minerva shook her head as if fake disappointment. Hermione turned to Neville. “Where’s Pansy hiding herself?”

“She’s with the others in that room,” he tilted his head.

She excused herself with a quick farewell and crossed into the smaller adjoining parlour. The moment she entered the room, she paused. Pansy, Theo, and Ginny were in the thick of an argument, voices raised high enough to draw wary looks from the guests loitering nearby and Blaise looked like he was trying to calm them down but was failing a lot.

Hermione groaned before striding toward them. “For Merlin’s sake, will you lot keep it shut?” she snapped. “It’s Regulus’s birthday, not a chance for you to show the entire house who can yell the loudest. We are not creating chaos today.”

That did it. Four sets of eyes blinked at her. Then Ginny gasped so dramatically it almost made Hermione roll her eyes. “Sweet Circe,” Ginny breathed. “Look at you.” She slapped Pansy’s arm. “Pansy look at her!”

Pansy gave a wicked smirk. “Oh, I am. I am looking at her.”

Hermione frowned. “What exactly do you—

“Don’t play innocent,” Pansy cut in. “You look like a cake sponge begging for a dollop of cream.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Er…that’s the weirdest compliment someone has ever given me.”

Ginny let out a giddy laugh. “You do look like it! And that cream surely doesn’t come from a jar.”

Hermione didn’t even know how to react to that. Theo’s mouth fell open. “Wait, what—what are you two on about?”

“Oh, Theo, please,” Pansy drawled, flicking her hand at him like he was an inconvenient gnat. “Go fetch yourself another drink before your ears burn off.”

Blaise placed a steadying hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Come on, mate. You don’t want to be here for this. Trust me.” And with that, he guided him firmly towards the door.

The second the boys were gone, Ginny wasted no time. She leaned in with a grin so wide it was almost feral. “Are you planning to fuck tonight?”

Hermione choked on her own breath. “Ginny!”

“A very good question,” Pansy nodded, giving Hermione a once-over. “You haven’t looked this good in years. And you certainly haven’t worn a dress this sinful in…Merlin, I can’t even recall. Which means you’ve got a plan. Don’t bother denying it.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Pansy was already dabbing dramatically at the corner of her eye. “I’m just so proud,” she sighed, like she was watching a child graduate. “I can’t believe I just gave you this idea this morning and you’re already working on it.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione scolded, though her voice lacked any bite, mostly because she could feel the heat climbing up her neck. “You’re both being absolutely insufferable.” She paused, cheeks burning, then muttered almost under her breath, “Sirius gave me this.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped, Pansy let out a little gasp, and then they both exploded into delighted noise. “Oh, we knew it!” Ginny squealed, holding Pansy’s hands and wiggling like schoolgirls. “Merlin, he’s going to be a real dog tonight, isn’t he?”

Hermione flushed more. Pansy leaned forward. “Oh, I’m sure he’s starving. If he doesn’t drag you off before dessert, I’ll lose all respect for him.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “Tell you what, why don’t you give Reggie to us for one night? You and Sirius can…enjoy yourselves properly.”

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hand. “I cannot believe I’m standing here listening to this. Shut up. Both of you. I’m going to the kitchen to check if dinner’s ready,” she announced stiffly, trying for dignity and failing spectacularly.

“Oh, do go,” Pansy purred after her. “Because soon, darling, you’re going to be the dinner.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide in sheer horror. She spun on her heel, cheeks flaming, and all but fled the parlour, throwing a desperate glance around to make sure no guests had overheard. Once she reached a clearer stretch of hallway, she pressed her hand to her burning face and cast a cooling charm. Merlin, she was going to melt into the floor if this carried on.

She blew out a breath, forcing herself to stand straight. Where was Sirius anyway? Maybe in the kitchen? She turned, ready to head that way, when the door to the back garden creaked open. Her eyes flicked over automatically, only to find him stepping inside.

Her nervousness picked up at once restlessly fluttering beneath her ribs. She had been thinking about how she looked all evening, but the thought grew sharper now that his eyes found her. And he looked so infuriatingly good that it made her doubt her own appearance in front of him.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched beside her hips before she made herself move, each step feeling heavier for how hot her cheeks had become. His eyes dragged over her slowly, and to her undoing, he too began to close the distance. When at last they stood before each other, she had to tip her chin up to properly meet his eyes. Grey against Amber. For a moment, there was nothing but the silence between them, and it wasn’t those uncomfortable, stiff silences. No, if anything, this silence spoke louder than any noise.

“I.” She whispered. “I was…looking for you.” 

“Ah.” His eyebrows rose just a bit. “I was,” he threw a look at the door, then back at her with a small shrug that made him seem suddenly younger. “I just took Harry out to buy him something. You know, it’s his birthday too. I wanted to make sure he didn’t feel as though we’d forgotten him.”

Her lips curved at once, a strange kind of pride warming her expression. “Oh, Sirius, that’s thoughtful of you. What did you get him?”

“Oh, he’s been after that new broom…” he trailed off.

Hermione’s lips twitched first before laughter broke free and she caught the twitch of his own mouth, the way he was barely keeping his own amusement in check. “Sirius, I won’t scold you for getting him a broom.” 

“You can’t blame me.” He shook his head. “I have to be cautious.”

She giggled again and it subsided seeing him watching her. His eyes softened, almost unbearably so, then he said in a voice that barely rose above a murmur, “You look beautiful.”

Butterflies erupted in her stomach so violently she almost swayed. Heat licked across her skin. For heaven’s sake, she had never felt such a giddy thrill before—it was ridiculous, schoolgirlish. Her throat worked soundlessly as she cleared it once, then again, stumbling over herself. “I—I—I…”

Oh, come on, just say thank you for the dress! 

“I…well thank—

“Hermione. Sirius.”

Oh, it was as if the world hated her, Narcissa called from the end of the hall and Hermione nearly closed her eyes in defeat before turning toward her. 

“Cissa,” Sirius’s voice carried a faint surprise.

Narcissa glided closer. “Where is Regulus?”

Hermione blinked, hiding her disappointment behind a tilt of her lips. “I just left him with Draco.”

“Good. Bring him to the Tapestry Room.” Narcissa gave them an excited look. “It’s important.”

Hermione frowned, confusion prickling. 

Sirius inclined his head. “Er…alright.”

Narcissa’s smile widened before she swept away and vanished from sight. Hermione turned back to Sirius. “What was that about?”

“No idea,” he admitted, his brow drawn. “I’ll go fetch Reggie.”

She nodded mutely, watching as he disappeared down the corridor. A frustrated groan broke from her chest the moment he was gone. Her foot nudged the floor in a useless kick. Not even a minute! She hadn’t even managed to thank him or say anything that mattered. The words had been right there, only for fate to snatch them away.

Honestly, Hermione, what’s wrong with you? she scolded herself. It was Regulus’s birthday. She ought to be focused on her son, not on her own foolish feelings, not on how Sirius’s voice made her blush or how his eyes had softened when he looked at her. She was a mother before anything else. At least for tonight she should let this whatever stupid crush she had developed aside.

She straightened her shoulders and made her way to the Tapestry Room. By the time she was near, Sirius arrived with Regulus perched in his arms. The boy’s cheeks were flushed, his hair sticking up in untidy curls, his little chest rising and falling with quickened breath.

Hermione frowned and rushed to them. “What happened to him?”

Sirius adjusted his hold. “Love, don’t worry. He was playing with the other kids. Running himself ragged, I’d say.”

Hermione gave her son a disappointing look. Ever since he had learned to walk, it was impossible to keep him seated or in one place. Especially whenever Teddy was around. She shook her head, though a fond smile showed up faintly at her lips. With a flick of her wand, she cast a cooling charm that rippled over his small frame, smoothing away the sweat, then gently combed her fingers through his messy hair. “Listen young man, just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can get sick again,” she told him firmly.

He ignored her, turning his face away with the kind of stubbornness that made Sirius snort outright. Hermione shot him a look sharp enough to silence him, though the corners of her own mouth betrayed her with a twitch. She sighed. “Come on, then.”

Together they crossed the room, only to find it empty save for Narcissa and Andromeda, who stood waiting beside the sprawling tapestry of the Black family tree.

“Come here,” Andromeda beamed.

Sirius’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Andromeda replied, drawing her wand from her sleeve as Narcissa stepped forward with her arms extended to take Regulus. “We just need to perform a very important duty of ours.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “What duty?”

Narcissa adjusted Regulus against her hip. “In case you’ve forgotten, my dear, your son is the new heir of the Black family.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that at all. And by the way Sirius’s nose crinkled in quiet distaste, she could tell he was thinking precisely the same.

Andromeda turned toward the tapestry. “It is the Black tapestry’s duty to protect its heir,” she explained. “To keep him safe, to preserve the bloodline and to ensure the branches continue.” Her wand gestured toward the woven names. “When Sirius was born and turned one, the tapestry was bound to him. It vowed to protect him and to keep his bloodline alive.”

Hermione’s brows drew together. “Unfortunately,” Narcissa’s face bore a gloomy expression, “when Sirius was blasted off the tree, Aunt Walburga neglected to take the vow again, to have the tapestry accept Regulus as the new heir. It meant that when Sirius was removed, the tapestry still recognised him as the carrier of the bloodline, and its vow was never returned.” Hermione turned to the tapestry, her eyes drawn to the embroidery of her son’s name. It glowed faintly against the old fabric, as if aware of its place. “And just like that,” Narcissa continued, “today our little Regulus reaches one year, and he is the only paternal son who carries the Black name. The tapestry has already accepted him as heir. Now, we must take its vow to ensure his safety at any cost.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and they went back to Narcissa. “Is that why Sirius survived the Veil?”

Silence fell for a heartbeat. And Hermione would admit, Sirius did not look like he knew the answer. In fact, he looked more confused than Hermione. 

“That,” Andromeda snapped her fingers, “is a matter for another time. For now, we must focus on the vow. It must be done tonight.” She grinned very excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes faintly. “Of course you have.” She looked at Hermione. “The vow can only be conducted by the eldest matron of the family.”

Hermione forced a small smile. They still wouldn’t tell her anything about the Veil, about how Sirius had come back, or what the tapestry had to do with it all. Her mind was already turning over the pieces. It couldn’t be a coincidence. If the tapestry could vow to protect, could it also restore? Could it have reached through that darkness to return him? Like they said to ensure his safety at any cost. 

“Hermione,” Andromeda’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Take Sirius’s hand.”

She blinked, then obeyed. Their fingers met, warm and rough against her palm, and they lifted their joined hands as instructed. Andromeda moved closer to the tapestry, her wand tracing a pattern in the air until a golden thread shimmered into being. It drifted down like silk, winding around their wrists before stretching outward, connecting to the tiny hand Regulus held out as Narcissa guided him forward.

Andromeda began to chant something in Latin before giving a small nod, and Narcissa stepped closer, lowering Regulus’s hand until his palm pressed against his embroidered name. The entire tapestry shuddered, then glowed, a deep, golden light rippling through its fibres as if the old fabric had drawn breath after centuries of sleep. The branches reformed, curving and twisting, bright and alive, until the whole tree looked newly grown, vibrant as a young boy.

Regulus giggled at the glow, fingers splaying over the light, and Narcissa gently lifted his hand away.

Andromeda lowered her wand, smiling in satisfaction. “It is done. The tapestry no longer recognises Sirius as the heir. It now belongs to Regulus.” She reached inside her robes and drew out a small velvet box. When she opened it, Hermione caught sight of a thin black thread resting inside. “Hermione,” She held it up between her fingers. “Tie this around Regulus’s wrist.”

Hermione nodded and took it before going near her son and taking his hand, but he immediately pulled his hand away, lips puckering in protest. “Darling, just for a moment—” she tried, but he shook his head and let out a disappointing noise, keeping his arm far.

Before she could try again, Sirius waved his wand, and a few dandelions floated in the air and Regulus’s eyes widened. He reached for them, giggling, completely forgetting his defiance. Hermione smiled gratefully at Sirius before looping the thread around their son’s small wrist. The moment the knot was tied, the tapestry shimmered again and just as quickly, the black string vanished.

Interesting.

Andromeda brushed her hands together, looking satisfied. “When he gains magic and you get him his signet ring, remember to remove it. Until then, this will protect him from anything dark. After that—” she shrugged, “it’ll only rot away, become visible again, and smell dreadful.”

Hermione smiled at her. “Thank you for doing this. It means a lot.”

Andromeda smiled, giving her arm a squeeze. “No need to thank me, dear. It was my responsibility.” 

Narcissa adjusted Regulus and vanished the dandelions. “Well, now that the serious matter is over, it’s time for family pictures. I shall be the first to have one with little Reggie.” Before anyone could say anything, she glided out of the room, murmuring something to Regulus, and Andromeda followed with an amused exasperation. Sirius started after them, but Hermione didn’t move.

Her eyes went back to the tapestry again. Eyes fixed on Sirius’s name. What kind of magic could have pulled him from beyond the Veil? How had she even known what to do? What did she do?

“Hey.”

She startled and turned to find Sirius still standing there, one hand tucked into his pocket.

“Oh!” She shared a look at the tapestry. “Er…I was just—

“Thinking too much again.” He gave a nod. “I know exactly what about. But I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt because the family picture can’t be complete without the mother.”

She felt a guilty smile tug at her lips. “Sorry.”

“Come on then,” he said, taking two steps toward the door.

“Sirius?”

He turned and lifted an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flamed. “I…I…um..” she cleared her voice. “thank you.” Her voice was breathless. “For the dress.”

For a heartbeat, he only blinked. Then his lips curved into an infuriating, knowing smirk. “Careful, love. If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll forget we’ve got company waiting.”

Her eyes widened and face went up in flames. His eyes glinted as if too pleased with himself. “Come on,” she swore his voice was rougher now, “Reggie’s waiting.”

When he left, she let out a gasp and pressed both hands to her burning cheeks.

“Gods!” 

Chapter Text

The night went by far better than she had expected. By the time all the pictures were taken and the cake had been cut, the dinner served, and desserts brought out, the air had settled into something warm and easy. There had been laughter, so much of it that her cheeks still ached and when the night deepened, Regulus began to grow tired, half asleep against her shoulder. 

Most of the guests had left by then, but Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Malfoy, along with Harry, Ginny, and Neville, were still lingering near the long table with far too much energy left. Theo suggested a “dare or drink”, which sent the others into loud agreement. Hermione didn’t remember playing it nor does she know what even that is.

Before she could ask, Sirius spoke up. “Not tonight,” he shook his head. “Reggie is tired, and it’s been a long enough day for all of us.”

Pansy gave Hermione a look, one of those looks that said far too much and Hermione felt a pulse of panic before narrowing her eyes at her. The last thing she needed was for Pansy to say something utterly mortifying.

“I’m rather tired myself,” she covered a fake yawn with her free hand. “I’ll see you all later. It’s time I put him to bed. Sirius, please see them to the floo.”

She didn’t give anyone the chance to protest. Instead, turned and made straight for the stairs. At the second step of the stairs, she paused. She wanted to wait for Sirius.

Because tonight—Merlin help her—she wanted to ask him to stay.

But could she? The thought alone sent a ripple of nerves through her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, not even when she’d had that silly crush on Krum, nor the awkward, fleeting thing with Ron. She’d never had the courage for such things.

She had asked Sirius to stay before, hadn’t she? That night when Regulus was ill. But that had been different. Their son had been sick and asking had felt natural. But what’d she do now? How’d she do now?

She heard the soft whoosh of the Floo and her panic rose like a fool’s flutter in her chest. Oh, gods! What’s she going to do?

Before her thoughts could spiral further, Regulus stirred in her arms, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes with tiny fists before blinking up at her. The sight alone was enough to calm her frayed nerves.

“Aww,” she brushed a curl from his forehead. “Someone had too much fun today.”

Regulus blinked again, looking around the space before his lips parted. “Teddy?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, “Teddy had to go home. You two wasted far too much energy today, hm? Both of you need some proper sleep.”

She leaned forward and rubbed her nose against his, earning a soft giggle that melted the last of her earlier panic. Then, he gave her a hopeful look. “Dako?”

She sighed, shaking her head. Yes, somehow her son’s attempt at Draco’s name had shifted from Ako to Dako. She still couldn’t quite understand why her son adored Malfoy so much. Yes, she supposed it made sense—he was his godfather—but honestly, was Harry this besotted with Sirius?

…Well. 

She sighed again, smiling faintly at the thought only to jump when a low throat-clearing sounded from below the stairs. She turned sharply to find Sirius standing at the bottom, his eyes immediately going to the boy in her arms.

“He’s awake.” 

She inhaled deep. “Yeah.” 

Regulus perked up instantly. “Dada!”

Sirius took a step up the stairs, reaching for his son, and Hermione’s supposed Gryffindor courage evaporated like mist. Regulus stretched his arms eagerly, and Sirius gathered him in his arms.

“Teddy go?” Regulus asked.

Sirius nodded, smiling. “Yeah, Teddy had to go.”

Regulus pouted, then looked up again. “Dako go?”

Sirius gave him a sympathetic grin. “Draco’s gone too, little man.”

Hermione crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes in mock severity. “Do you not trust your mother’s words, Regulus?”

Regulus ignored her entirely, resting his head contentedly on Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius’s grin widened, and Hermione swatted his arm. “Don’t look so proud of yourself.” 

He chuckled under his breath. “Can you blame me?”

She narrowed her eyes more but before she could say anything else, he spoke. “Do you have a minute?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Whatever for…?”

He didn’t answer, just tilted his head towards the back of the house and started down the stairs. Curiosity tugged at her, and she followed. When he reached the garden doors, her eyebrows narrowed. “Why are we going outside?”

“You’ll see.” He opened the door and nodded for her to follow. She hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping out and the moment she did, she froze.

Under the great old tree was a small space bathed in soft light, with floating candles hovering gently above a mat spread neatly across the grass. There were flowers and stuffed toys laid out, and a small cake sitting perfectly in the middle as if waiting for them.

Regulus made an excited little sound that jolted her out of it. When she turned, Sirius was already looking at her, his lips curved in that quiet, crooked smile. “You said you wanted something simple. So I thought why not we do something alone too?”

Oh, she was going to die!

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. For a second, she thought her eyes might actually sting, but she blinked the tears away quickly. Oh, she wanted to kiss him right now—Merlin, she wanted to! 

Regulus began to bounce in Sirius’s arms, reaching out and babbling with excitement. Sirius laughed softly. “Easy, mate.”

He lowered the boy to the ground but kept hold of his tiny hand as Regulus tugged him eagerly towards the little setup. Sirius glanced back, giving Hermione a tip of his head. She smiled helplessly and trailed after them. Regulus squealed with laughter as soon as he got under the candles and when Sirius flicked his wand to make the candles float around him like tiny golden stars, the boy’s joy grew louder, brighter. Hermione stopped beside Sirius, watching them both, warmth blooming under her ribs.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered.

He gave her a look, the kind that said he wasn’t entertaining that sort of nonsense. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Then he reached for her hand, guiding her down to sit on the mat, then he coaxed Regulus closer despite his protests. “When did you do all of this?” 

He only smirked. “I have my ways.”

She blinked at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Did you lie about getting Harry that broom?”

He bit his lip, grinning like a boy caught out. “No. I did buy him the broom. Just in the afternoon, not the evening.”

She laughed before her smile softened. “This is so sweet of you, I can’t even express how thankful I am that you did all this for him.”

“Are you forgetting I am his father?” He passed her another one of those looks. “I was more than happy to do it.”

She could swear that despite the beard concealing part of his face, his cheeks had gone a faint shade of pink. Before she could tease him about it, Regulus reached for the cake. She took him from Sirius’s arms. “Ah, no you don’t,” she chided. “Just because your father decided you can cut another cake doesn’t mean you can eat it at this hour. We’ll celebrate for fifteen minutes, then it’s straight to bed, got it?”

Regulus made another grab for the cake, but she held him back and Sirius shook his head with disapproval. “It’s his birthday, love.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And his teeth and sleep are more important.”

Sirius rolled his eyes before bringing the cake closer, setting a single candle right in the middle. Hermione helped Regulus hold the knife while Sirius guided his small hand through the first slice and they both sang “Happy Birthday” to him which made their son giggle more.

Sirius grabbed the camera after. He snapped a few pictures of Hermione holding their son and some of the natural chaos then Sirius set the camera to snap some pictures of them three. And while they were doing it, Regulus wriggled out of her arms again and plunged both hands into the cake, smearing icing everywhere before shoving a lump of it straight into his mouth.

“Regulus Black!” Hermione gasped. “Don’t you—oh, honestly—

Sirius threw his head back with laughter. “He’s a child, love, let him have his cake.”

“No,” she tried to pry the cake from Regulus’s sticky fingers. “Alright, that’s quite enough fun for one night. Time for bed.”

The words alone were enough to set him off. Regulus began to shriek in protest, squirming out of her hold, kicking her and the ground. Hermione scolded him again only to make him louder.

“Give him.” And, of course, the moment Sirius took the boy, Regulus went quiet, nestled straight into his father’s arms as if he hadn’t just caused a scene.

Hermione folded her arms. “Sometimes I think he’s biased towards you.”

Sirius smirked, rocking him gently. “Can you blame him?”

She gave him a look and he grinned wider, as if he’d won something. Then he stood, still holding Regulus, and extended his free hand towards her.

For a moment, Hermione just stared at it—the broad, calloused palm, the faint glint of his wedding ring under the candlelight. She hesitated before finally slipping her hand into his, letting him pull her up. His fingers lingered around hers longer than necessary. It was warm.

“Let’s put him to bed,” he said softly.

She nodded. As Sirius started towards the house, Regulus’s head resting against his shoulder, her heart began to thud faster, way faster.

What did Pansy say again? Wine, right. Ask him for wine.

She followed him inside and back to her room, they worked together as she held out the pyjamas while he tried to get Regulus’s wriggling arms through the sleeves. Once the little one was dressed, Sirius adjusted him onto his arms and started walking and patting him. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching them with a faint smile at her lips.

It took a while. Every few steps, Regulus would lift his head, mumbling something only Sirius seemed to understand, and Sirius would answer before starting to pace again.

“Go on, love.” He glanced at her. “Freshen up. You must be exhausted too.”

She shook her head lightly. “I’m fine. You’re doing all the hard work anyway.”

Truthfully, she didn’t want to change. No, she wanted to stay in this very dress when she’d spend some time alone with him.

When Regulus finally fell asleep, Sirius lay him down, tucking the covers around him and she cast a few protection and silencing charms while Sirius checked once more that their son was comfortable.

And then it was just the two of them.

She stood, pressing her damp palms against her dress. “Do you—” she cleared her throat softly—“do you want some wine?”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

Oh no. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

“Forget it. I’m rambling.” She gave a weak laugh. “I just—I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “No, don’t forget it.”

Her heart gave a sharp thud. “Oh.” 

He smiled a little, eyes soft. “I was only going to say you must be tired and—

“No, no, yes, no, yes, I mean, well, I am tired,” she stammered, waving her hands a little. “But I could use some wine to…” She shrugged helplessly. “you know.” 

He tilted his head. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he said again, one brow raised in that maddeningly charming way of his.

She felt her cheeks warm. “Right. I’ll just…um..go to the kitchen. Er..I’ll meet you there.”

And before she could embarrass herself any further, she turned and almost fled the room. By the time she reached the kitchen, her heart was pounding in her ears. She gripped the counter, whispering under her breath, “Get a grip, girl. You wanted this. You said it. Now you do it.”

Do what, exactly?

Oh, Merlin. Wine. Right. They were just having wine. Perfectly normal.

Perhaps she should have a glass first. Just to calm her nerves. Yes, that would help. She opened the cupboard and took out two glasses, then reached for the bottle—only to stop halfway as something in the air shifted.

It was warmth. Heavy, close and unmistakably his. The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her, and suddenly it felt as though a thousand suns were burning quietly behind her back. Every nerve in her body seemed to recognise him.

A  hand brushed over hers, reaching past her for the bottle. His fingers didn’t touch her skin, but it was enough. Her heartbeat roared in her ears as he took the bottle from the cupboard.

When she turned, she found herself staring straight into his chest. The kind of sight that made her forget what she’d meant to say or think. She swallowed hard before slowly lifting her gaze until her eyes met his. She didn’t breathe. She was sure he didn’t either.

“Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa?” His voice was a low hum that settled somewhere deep inside her. “I’ll bring the wine there.”

She tried to respond but the words wouldn’t come, so she just nodded, lingering for a moment longer. There was something calm about the way he looked at her and it only made her pulse race faster.

“I yes, I’ll just…” she stuttered over her words. “I’ll go.” Her voice sounded much too high, so she cleared it and tried again. “I’ll just go sit.”

“Mm,” he hummed softly, still watching her as the cork gave a gentle pop.

That sound alone nearly made her flee.

She slid out of his warmth at once, walking out with what she hoped was composure, though her steps felt anything but that. By the time she reached the drawing room, she had to press a hand against her chest. “It’s fine. Perfectly fine.”

She looked around the room where laughter and music had filled the air only an hour ago, now felt impossibly still. The constellations glowed faintly on the ceiling, and now the silence felt too hushed, almost intimate.

She sank on the sofa, smoothed her dress, and told herself again that it was just wine. No need for her heart to still refuse to slow down. She should focus on something else to distract herself. For example, her feet hurt as if someone had slammed her with a beater’s bat. She was a fool. She could’ve just used a cushioning charm on her heels.

With a groan, she slipped them off and rubbed her ankle, wincing as she did.

“I knew this was going to happen,” came an amused voice from behind her. She startled, turning her head to see Sirius walking in, carrying two glasses and the wine bottle, while a plate of sandwiches floated obediently behind him. “You always complain about your feet after parties,” he settled the bottle and glasses on the table. “Doesn’t matter the time, apparently.”

She blinked. “So I used to do that before I lost my memory too?”

He hummed as he poured the wine. “Habits don’t change. Memory or not.”

She smiled faintly as he handed her the glass, their fingers brushing for a fleeting second. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he poured himself one and settled beside her with a long sigh.

The sofa dipped slightly under his weight, and she immediately straightened, her body suddenly too aware of his nearness. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods! He took a sip, set the glass down, and reached back to gather his hair into a loose bun. Then he shrugged off his jacket, loosened his shirt’s two buttons, leaned back, and closed his eyes with a low groan that sounded far too comfortable.

At that moment watching her husband like that—his head tilted back, collar loosened, lashes brushing his cheeks—Hermione felt every tension of her slip away. The corners of her mouth curved. “Aw, you’re exhausted.”

He exhaled. “Can’t handle noise the way I used to. I’m getting old, you know.”

She let out a small laugh. “Well, it was your plan to throw the biggest birthday party imaginable.”

He cracked one eye open and looked at her. “Reggie needed it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You mean you needed it.”

He only gave her an innocent smile and lifted his glass again. “Maybe both.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached for a sandwich. “Thanks for this. I was starving, actually.”

“I’m not surprised,” he took a sip. “You barely ate anything at dinner. With all the running around you did tonight, it was only a matter of time.”

She handed him the other sandwich. “I will have you know I did eat dinner.”

“I saw.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice before he took a bite. She narrowed her eyes at him but ate her sandwich instead of arguing. They chew the sandwiches for a while in silence. She glanced at him.

It was nice, she thought.

It was very, very nice.

She should talk.

Yes, she should talk.

She cleared her throat softly. “I was wondering,” she cleared her throat again, “now that school’s closed, what do you usually do during this time?”

He glanced at her mid-bite before chewing and swallowing, “Mostly spend time with Reggie. Sometimes go around here and there, Quidditch matches, practice with Harry, visit ministry…you know, all that.”

She tilted her head. There was something unsaid in his tone, light on the surface, but with a pocket of silence beneath it. “You’re leaving something out.” 

He lifted a brow, feigning innocence. “I’m not.”

“Mm-hm.” She leaned forward a little. “You just paused like you were thinking whether to lie or not. So what is it?”

He shook his head with a small smirk. “Nothing.”

She crossed her arms. “Sirius.”

Instead of replying, he finished the last bite of his sandwich and set his glass on the table. She frowned, thinking he was about to get up but then he reached forward, caught her by the ankles, and tugged until her feet rested across his lap.

She nearly choked on her sandwich. “What—what are you doing?” she asked through a mouthful with eyes wide.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took hold of her right foot and gave her ankle a careful twist. There was a small, satisfying snap, and she let her head fall sideways with a groan. “Ughh, Merlin, that felt good.”

“Mhm,” he moved to the other foot. Another small twist, another release of tension.

“Ohhh,” she sighed again, eyes fluttering closed.

He began rubbing slow circles into the arch of her foot with his thumbs pressing with that perfect pressure. She couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped her throat, a contented little moan and she felt, rather than saw, his hands stiffen for a fraction of a second before relaxing again.

When she opened her eyes, he looked very focused, working over the muscles. She swallowed the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “Have you done this before?”

His lips twitched as he pressed a thumb into her heel. “Kind of. You never gave up your Muggle habits,” he nodded. “Never liked glamour much either. So yes, you tend to have sore feet, unmanageable hair, and you still do your makeup or remove it the Muggle way. And after pregnancy, your body started aching more in little ways.”

She blinked, cheeks warming fast.

“It’s understandable,” he added. “You’re still breastfeeding Reggie so it makes you more exhausted than before and I am happy to help however I can. It’ll ease soon.”

Her blush deepened until she had to avert her gaze. To hide it, she popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed far too quickly. He knew so much about her. Her routines, her habits, the tiny things she herself hadn’t remembered yet. It wasn’t just familiarity; it was as if he saw her.

Did she know that much about him?

Her chewing slowed. She looked at his hands, strong, scarred, yet gentle as they moved across her feet and then at his face. His brows were faintly furrowed as though he were genuinely concentrating on the task.

“Sirius?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you smoke?”

When he blinked at her, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I actually found a Muggle cigarette on the kitchen counter a few days ago. Didn’t ask you about it though, I didn’t want to nag you.”

He gave her feet a gentle squeeze. “You’re not nagging me, love.” Then raised a brow. “You think I smoke?”

She gave a small shrug. “It does sound rather natural, don’t you think? Any habit that could’ve annoyed your family probably belongs to you.”

He barked a laugh, his eyes creasing in the corners. The sound made her smile without meaning to.

“So you do, then?” she looked up at him through her lashes.

“I do,” he admitted. “But not in front of you. Or Reggie.”

Her lips parted. “You hide it from me?”

“I do not hide it but rather….okay I hide it from both of you,” he said with mock sternness. “You’ve got that look that makes me feel twelve again and you’ll start making a list of reasons why it’s bad.” She giggled. “And I don’t want the little cub thinking it’s cool. But I don’t smoke like before,” he nodded. “Not like when I was young.”

She tipped her glass toward him. “You’re still young.”

He pursed his lips. “You know what I mean.”

She hid her smile behind a sip. “Do I?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and before she could blink, he gave her feet a sharp pinch.

“Ow—ouch—Sirius!” She gasped, laughing and slapping his arm. “Stop being so mean!”

He laughed with his head thrown back. The sound filled the room and something warm curled inside her chest. It was so rare, so real and so out of the everyday jungle they’d grown in their lives.

She let her head fall back against the sofa, quietly watching him with a small smile tugging at her lips. Then she remembered it and her hand drifted behind her ear, fingers brushing the paw marks there.

“When did I get this?” she asked softly.

He furrowed. “Get what?”

“This tattoo.” She lifted her head to show him.

His grin returned. “Ah. That was on my birthday.”

Her eyes widened a little. “On your birthday?”

“Yeah,” he leaned back a little. “I may have forced you into it. Though, for the record, you didn’t protest. In fact, you seemed to like it rather a lot.”

Her lips twitched. “Did I?”

“You did.” 

She smiled faintly, fingers tracing the ink again. “Do you have one?” 

He granted her another one of those looks.

“Right. Of course,” she snorted. Of course he had. His entire body’s covered in tattoos.

The image flashed through her mind—his skin, his build, those tattoos that trailed down his chest—and suddenly her throat went dry. She swallowed, heat rising up her neck.

“Can I…” she hesitated. “Can I see?”

For a moment, he just looked at her until she began to panic. “If you don’t want to, you don’t—

“Come here.”

She froze. His voice was low, almost velveted with something dark and deep that curled straight through her chest. She’d never heard him speak like that before, it felt like a spell, and before she even thought about what she was doing, she kept the wine glass on the table and scooted closer until instead of her feet, her thighs were on his lap and no, she did not bother removing them.

Caution thickened in the air.

His warmth was everywhere, under her palms, beneath her skin. His breath fanned across her flaming cheeks. He gently brought his hand up, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. His other hand came to rest on her thigh, where her skirt was hitched up, revealing her skin. She shivered and no, she didn't try to hide it.

“Which one do you want to see?” He asked quietly.

She swallowed. “The paw one.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “There are a lot of paw ones.”

“A lot?” she blinked, surprised.

He chuckled before the hand from her cheek moved and he unfastened another few buttons of his shirt, eyes never leaving hers. The fabric fell aside to reveal dark ink tracing along his chest.

And without hesitation, she leaned closer. It was there, just beside the amalgamation’s right side, a circle of paw prints etched into his skin. Her lips curved into a pleased smile, and she didn’t even know why she was pleased.

She lifted her hand but paused. Her finger hovering a breath away from touching him. She looked up only to find his grey clouds now darkened to the colour of a coming storm. There was something raw in them. He looked almost...hungry.

She swallowed thick.

“Can I?” she whispered.

Instead of answering, he covered her hand with his and guided it there. The warmth of his skin against her palm was startling and it burned in the gentlest way. When he lifted his hand away, she left hers there, taking a quiet second just to feel. Then, slowly, she traced a finger along the paw marks. His chest rose under her touch.

And there was something growing under her thighs. No, not inside her thighs but an outside contact was pressing itself against the back of her thighs. And it was growing stronger and stronger and warmer. Her fingers paused when suddenly her centre gave an unexpected squeeze by itself as if being summoned to something. 

Was he....was she...is that…

She shook her head slightly and focused on the tattoos instead. “It’s Padfoot.”

He made a soft hum of agreement.

Her eyes drifted up, finding a few more paw marks etched along his collarbone. She took her hands there and traced their shape. Then she found another two on his left chest and she wiggled a little to get closer and stopped when he let out a hiss and his fingers dug into her thigh. 

Oh.

Oh.

A bead of sweat slipped down the side of her neck, and her pulse thundered so loudly she could hear it echoing in her ears. Every inch of her skin felt alert, too aware of how close he was, of the situation they were in. 

What was she supposed to do? Say something? Move? Breathe normally again?

She cleared her throat, searching for words but then her eyes caught on another tattoo. Ink just below the previous one. A tree with branches bent and wild and beneath it, three small figures—a stag, a dog, and in the centre, a wolf. They looked like they were circling one another.

Her chest tightened. Without thinking, her fingers brushed the design, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breathing beneath her touch. “It’s you,” she said quietly. “Harry’s dad and Professor Lupin.”

A moment passed before he suddenly laughed. A deep, unguarded sound that made her jump and look at him. Her brow furrowed. “What?”

He grinned, eyes still bright with laughter. “You’re still calling Moony ‘Professor’. Merlin’s sake, love.”

“That’s not funny,” she frowned harder.

“It is,” he chuckled again, and she pouted, smacking his arm.

“What else am I supposed to call him?” 

He lifted his shoulder with a casual shrug. “Well Moony. Or maybe Remus. Even Lupin sounds fine. And James James.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “That would be disrespectful.”

That only made him laugh harder, and she rolled her eyes, turning her face away in mock irritation. When he finally stopped laughing, she glanced at him. “Did I used to call him that? Before I—” She licked her lip. “Before the accident?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “From what I’ve heard, it took you a while, but yes, you stopped with the ‘Professor’ but that was before I became alive again. You just call both of them James and Remus now.”

She crinkled her nose. “It’s not proper.”

He laughed.

“That’s it,” she wriggled to get off his lap.

He caught her easily, an arm firm around her waist and the other on her legs. “I’m joking.” 

“I do not like it,” she glared.

He raised a brow. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

She sighed, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s been said before.”

She shook her head before her eyes drifted back to the tattoo and she softened. “It’s beautiful, though.” She traced the little wolf again with her fingertip. “When did you get it?”

“It’s quite recent,” he said after a moment. “Got it about four years ago.”

That explains why Peter wasn’t there.

“Oh.” her thumb brushing absently along one of the small paws. “Do you have more?”

He chuckled softly. “Plenty. Most of the ones from when I was younger are about our days.”

She smiled at that and her eyes drifted up to his neck and she stilled. Her lips pressed together in a faint frown. “Why didn’t you get rid of this one?” Her fingertips hovered near the dark etching of his Azkaban number.

“Can’t,” he said simply. “It’s permanent.”

“That’s barbaric,” she frowned.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, the kind that said he’d long made peace with it. “I’ve had worse souvenirs.”

Her eyes dropped then, all of a sudden too aware of the closeness between them. She cleared her throat, “Do you…have one of me, too?”

He went quiet. So did she. She didn’t dare look up. Stupid! When he finally moved, it was only to bring his hand between them. Slowly, he twisted the gold band on his finger, just enough to reveal what lay beneath.

Tiny, neat letters carved faintly into the skin: Kitten.

She blinked and then the heat rushed so fast to her cheeks she was sure she could’ve lit the entire room.

“It’s written Kitten,” she managed, her voice somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

He hummed, the sound deep and teasing.

“Why does it say Kitten?” she finally dared to glance up at him.

His lips curved. “You know why,” he said quietly. “You remember.”

Yes, she did.

She remembered it far too well, the way he’d used to call her that, back when everything about him was half-mad from Azkaban. How he’d grin at her irritation, lean against the doorframe with that infuriatingly lazy charm, and purr the word like it was supposed to make her hex him.

She’d hated it then, or at least pretended to. But now, seeing it etched beneath the ring he never took off, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

She tried, valiantly, not to grin. “Look, I’m not going to admit I remember you always calling me that.”

He barked a laugh again and she let out a helpless sound of mortification, covering her face with both hands. “Oh, Merlin, I can’t believe this.”

“There’s more, if you wish to see.”

Her brows lifted before she looked at him. “There’s more?”

He hummed before rolling up his left sleeve. She leaned closer. Two small animals, an otter and a dog, circled each other in a perfect loop. Her heart gave a strange flutter, something giddy rising in her chest. “Our Patronuses?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He pulled his sleeve a little more revealing his bicep and there was a tattoo of a baby that looked exactly like the picture she had seen of Regulus when he was born. 

Her throat tightened. “Oh…Sirius,” she breathed. “It’s our baby.” She swallowed past the lump rising in her throat. “He’s going to love this.”

He looked at the tattoo for a moment.

Warmth rose up her spine. “You’re a great father, you know that?” 

He was neutral and silent but the slight pink that crept over his cheeks said more than any words could. She grinned, leaning in a little closer. “Are you blushing, Sirius Black?”

“Stop it.” he failed to scowl.

“Aww you’re blushing.” She poked his cheek, and he jerked back, startled.

“Hermione—”

“What?” she poked him again.

“Don’t,” he warned, but there was laughter in his voice. She poked again. The next second, his hands caught her waist like a cage. She squealed, trying to wriggle free as his fingers found their way to her sides. “Sirius! Stop—

“Not a chance,” he grinned as she laughed, twisting in his hold.

She tried to push him off, breathless from laughing, but he only tickled her more. And then, in a blur of laughter and movement, his teeth found her neck. The bite was quick, playful but the gasp that escaped her wasn’t.

He stoned. 

Thump Thump Thump

The air changed. The laughter that had been spilling between them moments ago faded. She didn’t move. She could feel the weight of his hand on her leg and her eyes stayed on that hand, on the way his fingers curved against her skin.

He shifted slightly, as if to pull away and for a fleeting second, she felt the same fear, fear that if he did pull back, the air would never quite feel this alive again. His hands were growing cold. So were hers.

Before she could think herself out of it, she tilted her head to give him access, to invite him in. And she waited with her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. It was nothing but silence for a whole….well she couldn’t tell the time and when his lips finally brushed the side of her neck, a sound of content escaped her. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her skin warmed beneath his mouth; her heart seemed to climb higher with every second he lingered.

He hesitated again, his breath trembling against her before kissing her there. This time his lips pressed more firmly, as though testing the boundaries. She tilted her head more. The scrape of his beard grazed her skin, pulling her in the moment, in the closeness of him, in everything she couldn’t stop needing. 

His hand on her waist tightened, drawing her closer, and the soft press of his lips turned into something firmer, hungrier, and she clutched his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

Her breath came unevenly. Heat unfurling low in her stomach. When his teeth grazed the edge of her throat, she let out a sound that just came out on its own. He didn’t stop. His hand left her leg and cupped her cheek. She leaned into the warmth instinctively as his mouth wandered higher, along the line of her jaw, closer—so close—to where she wanted him most.

Her heart was a wild, breathless thing, and the space between them barely existed anymore. His thumb brushed her chin, coaxing her face upward, and his lips moved towards hers and she parted her lips—Flash

“Love, give him to me and go freshen up.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“But—”

“No buts. Go.”

Flash

“Sirius, I’m not getting a tattoo of paws of all things.”

"Of course, you are.”

His lips hovered over hers.

Flash

“I thought we were having wine only.”

“There is no wine without Firewhisky.”

He pressed his lips gently on hers.

Flash

“Sirius!”

She cried out and pushed him away with all the force she had, stumbling off his lap and staggering away. The sudden movement sent the glasses from the table, clattering to the floor and she stood there with chest heaving, eyes wide, like a wild thing cornered in her own home. Across from her, Sirius stared at her with shock painted across his face.

There was a ringing in her ears, shrill and endless, and the room seemed to tilt. Her eyes darted from him to the bottle to the glasses to the sofa as if searching for escape.

Flash

“Say Mama, say it, Ma-ma.”

"Dada!"

"Ha ha."

"It's not funny, Sirius!"

Flash

“Sirius, my feet are killing me.”

“Aw, love, come here.”

Flash

“Oh, that feels so good—wait, stop! Sirius! Stop it! It’s not fair! You’ll wake Reggie up!”

“Ah, don’t you make excuses. You know he won’t wake up. Now come here.”

Her lips were forming words soundlessly. She looked at Sirius and something in her expression must’ve scared him, because his shock turned into alarm.

“Love?” his brows pinched and he rose to his feet. “What ha—

“This happened before.” The words fell from her lips and he stilled completely. “This... this happened before.” She shook her head as if trying to clear the static in her mind. “My my feet were hurting and and it was because because...” Her chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. “Because Reggie was teething and we we both had to keep walking with him, and we’d take turns. And you—” she gestured at him, “you were rubbing my feet and you started tickling me and I was telling you Reggie will wake up but you said he won’t because we’d put a silencing charm on him.”

Sirius’s eyes widened more and a glimmer of something passed in them. Her eyes brimmed over before she realised she was crying. The tears came hot and fast, and she couldn’t stop them. His throat bobbed and his hand hovered mid-air as though approaching a wounded bird. “Love, it’s okay, alright? Don’t push it, it’s oka—

“You always trick me into drinking Firewhisky instead of wine,” she cut him off, voice rising. “When Regulus is around, you guide him to mess with the house, so I get mad. You—” she clutched her head, the ringing growing louder, “we always fight over who will put him to bed.”

Dark spots began to bloom at the edges of her vision.

“We always...”

Her knees gave way.

“Hermione!”

Then everything went black.