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Chapter Text

Over the summer, Harry asked Hermione to join him at Grimauld place to help him go through his inheritance from Sirius; understandably, he was unwilling to face this task alone.

When mid-August arrived, Hermione met Harry at a nearby park and walked the rest of the way to the house they were both emotionally unprepared to visit.

Since Sirius's death, the Order had moved out of Number 12, unable to access it without the last living heir. Harry, on his 16th birthday was named the new Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black— thanks to a clause in his Godfather's will.

(Felon or not, the Goblins upheld the will as a legal and binding contract.)

The two teenagers moved timidly through the house, which despite now belonging to Harry, was still frightening and dark and filled with unknown dangerous magic.

Harry quickly excused himself to Sirius's room to riffle through the man's sparse belongings. Hermione, electing to give her friend some privacy, found herself sitting once again on her preferred settee, overlooking the mess in the library.

The place had been ransacked. There were books and parchments littering the hardwood floor, crushed glass strewn across each desk and end table. Walburga's corner escritoire was demolished, wood splintering from three legs snapped down the middle and the central drawer left ajar, completely emptied.

Professor Lupin had written her earlier in the month to warn her and Harry that Mundungus Fletcher had been caught by Dumbledore's wards leading a pillage of the place. Hermione snorted without emotion, admitting the Library had been properly pillaged.

Only one corner of the library remained unharmed. The far corner to the right of the fireplace behind the settee looked as though it had been perfectly preserved by magic, as though it had been entirely disillusioned to the Order's token ruffian. It was pristine, free of dust and grime, all books perfectly ordered and tucked into the shelves. A single table stood between the two floor-to-ceiling shelves, with two muggle novels sitting atop it.

The Time Machine and Journey to the Center of the Earth sat stacked in the center, two books Hermione had lent to Sirius in the Fall when all the kids had returned to school.

Lifting Journey, a folded sheet of parchment fluttered back down to the table from between the pages. Hermione reverently set the book down and reached for the makeshift bookmark which had shimmered with a glimpse of ink.

She unfolded the parchment carefully, and recognized Sirius's neat penmanship.

Princess,

I told you this library was yours. The house may belong to Harry, but the library belongs, in its entirety, to Hermione Granger.

While the thought of Sirius caring enough for her to leave her a sizable library in his will made her giddy, it also unnerved her.

The bequeathment didn't bother her; no, Sirius making sure she and Harry were well looked-after was very him. In fact, Harry had made an appointment to meet with the barrister the following day.

No, what unsettled her was the note itself. It had been tucked into one of her own books, left in a place he knew she'd explore. Like he knew he wouldn't be ther.

"Hermione," Harry called from the floor above her. Cramming Sirius's note in her pocket, she skipped over the various disasters along the floor and flew up the stairs to Sirius's room.

Harry was sitting cross legged on the large king-sized bed, a rusting tin box on his ankles. He looked up at her with a crooked smile when she found him, and waved a thick stack of folded parchment letters in the air.

"These are all letters from my parents," He said in greeting. "We had a cat!" Hermione let out a startled laugh and climbed onto the bed with her best friend.

"I always knew you were a cat person," she teased, reaching for the box. She reverently shuffled through photographs and letters, most from James or Remus, two or three from Lily and a small handful from Alphard, whom she recalled was his favorite uncle.

"There's also a journal in here," Harry said, dropping a thin leather-bound book on her lap. She grimaced.

"Somehow, Harry, I don't feel right reading this." Harry snorted. "It's an invasion of privacy," she defended.

"I'm not sure how you can invade the privacy of a dead man, Hermione." His words were an icy javelin through her heart, one both of them felt. He smiled tightly at her, and ducked his head to keep reading his mother's letter.

Hermione played with the thin leather ribbon tied around the journal, feeling the pressure of the day and trying not to think about the note Sirius left for her in the library.

Her stomach was performing flips by the time Kreacher appeared to serve them finger sandwiches for dinner.

Both teens slept in Sirius's King-sized bed that night. When they woke, they continued to riffle through boxes until the barrister came knocking on the front door.

Kreacher led the short portly man down into the dining room where Harry and Hermione met him, seated, ready to begin without formal introduction.

To Harry's surprise, but not at all to Hermione's, he was left with every vault, relic and property left in the name Black. There was only one exception— the libraries at Grimauld Place and some manor in Spain were left in their entirety to Hermione. Harry turned to gape at his best friend, who sat primly blushing a deep red. One million galleons were also bestowed to the girl for the maintenance and care of her endowment.

Before leaving the estate, the barrister handed Harry a heavy leather satchel which he and Hermione promptly emptied onto the table as soon as the door closed behind the stout man.

Inside there were at least a dozen keys tagged with numbers which Hermione deduced were for specific Gringott's vaults. There was a handful of loose galleons and sickles, and a single wax-sealed envelope.

Hermione busied herself with placing all of the keys back into the satchel and began stacking the coins when Harry exclaimed, loudly, "Merlin's balls!"

Harry was harried; his eyes wide in hopeful surprise, hands shaking, mouth twitching at the corners as though he was trying not grin.

"Hermione," he said, clutching the letter tightly, crinkling the edges of the parchment. "We can bring him back."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"We can bring him back," he nearly whooped. "We just have to track down his girlfriend and she can help us bring him back!" Hermione's stomach fell.

"Excuse me," she gasped again. "Sirius didn't have a girlfriend!"

Harry pushed the letter into her hand. "It doesn't matter, 'Mione! We can bring him back!"

Steeling herself, Hermione smoothed out the letter and read.

Harry,

My boy. I'm very sorry. I know this must be very hard for you, and words cannot express how sorry I am that this happened so abruptly.

I have to let you know, though; my life has been intricately woven through with strong, binding, and ancient magic. I never knew why or how the ancient magics chose me, of all people, but I know now it was a blessing that I still feel I don't deserve.

I've known, for nearly two decades, how I would die. And when. When I first learned, it was a shock that I probably didn't react to or process healthily at all. Princess can tell you all about it, if she's up for talking, that is.

You see, Ancient Magic saw fit to pair me with a soulmate. And through the years we learned so many things together, including vital information about the bond between soulmates, and what the soulspace is.

I wish I could lay it all down on paper for you now, but you see, time works differently in the soulspace. I've held with me, through every trial of my life, the utmost faith in her— that she will put the pieces together to pull me out of that veil.

She might not believe she can do it at first, but give her time. Do what she says. And trust her. Implicitly.

I love you.

Sirius

He knew. Which meant, at some point, Hermione told him. What she tried so hard to keep from him, she told him anyway. She didn't know whether to be upset with herself or whether to be extremely grateful to herself.

This, she realized, was a tit for tat of sorts. She told him how he dies, and he told her that they figured out how to save him.

Playing with time was tricky; she'd learned that lesson years ago. Playing with time without a time turner was going to give her a headache.

Despite her conflicting feelings, Hermione felt a warm wave of genuine relief wash over her. She turned to Harry, who was watching her, hopeful expression still plastered across his features, and she broke out into joyous hysterical giggles of her own.

"We can save him," she cried, throwing herself forward into Harry chest, wrapping her arms so tightly around the boy's neck that she heard him gasp for air. His own arms tightened around her.

Her thoughts settled down and she pushed back with a gasp. "Harry! We have so much work to do!"

The boy nodded in total agreement. "Yeah, first we have to track down this soulmate. Princess, right?"

Hermione pulled back, heat rising to her cheeks, and began to fiddle with the torn end of the wax seal on the letter.

"We could probably owl her, I think," Harry was saying when he noticed his friend had stiffened. "'Mione," he asked with care. "What's the matter?"

There was no avoiding this conversation now. Sirius had told James and Remus everything in the first year of their clandestine meetings, and she'd kept it all to herself for fear of being teased. But now, with Sirius gone (but rescue-able), there was no way she could hide who she was. Her only prayer at this point, was that Harry would understand.

"There's something I have to tell you," Hermione muttered, hesitantly meeting his eyes.

It was imperative that he understood that the whole thing was Fred and George's fault.

She told Harry how the twins had cornered and coerced her into being their guinea pig. She told him about the ritual and the parchment outlining the incantation and how she had been transported to the Library at Grimauld place, nearly a year before she ever saw it in person.

Harry was regaled with Hermione's first encounter with whom she now knew was a fifteen-year-old Sirius. She told him about them not being able to see each other and how he dove right in to helping her research the soulspace, if only to prove to her that they were, indeed, soulmates.

She told him about when he could finally see her, but how she couldn't see him; she confided in him about how Sirius had tried to keep her out of the rooms she' would recognize from the Soulspace so she wouldn't find out who he was; how she figured it out the moment they broke into the dining room last summer.

She skimmed over the awkward conversation that had followed, and tearfully told him how she had completely avoided the Soulspace for the last year in an attempt to preserve the timeline. All until Sirius fell beyond the veil and she, in a fit of heartbreak, went back and was able to see him.

"Are you angry," she whispered timidly at Harry, who wore a puzzled expression as he looked at her. She felt naked, judged, by his gaze.

"No. I," he stopped to find the words he wanted to use. Finally, he asked, "why didn't you tell me?"

"A few reasons," she answered truthfully. "First, I knew you and Ron would have teased me mercilessly had I told you anything about the Soulspace or the boy I met there. Actually, you would have teased me. Ronald would have just been angry." Harry, shrugged, wincing in reluctant agreement.

"It all sort of happened during the tournament, and you were already so preoccupied with, you know, not dying." Again, Harry conceded. "And after, well, when I found out he was Sirius, that just added another layer of awkwardness I wasn't sure how to overcome!"

"And now?"

"It's still awkward, isn't it," she huffed. Harry grinned.

"Yeah, it kind of is."

Despite the awkwardness, Harry and Hermione worked together seamlessly. They went through all of the Blacks' belongings, sorting them into piles of what could be sold, destroyed or saved for Sirius to look through himself when he came back.

Harry seemed much more chipper now, following the directions on his letter to a T; he was going to trust that Hermione could pull Sirius from the veil.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt overwhelming anxiety whenever Harry would mention Sirius in the future tense. Both had placed their faith in her and she wasn't entirely sure she could figure out the puzzle now that it's solution actually carried stakes of life or death.

When they weren't sorting, they were sitting in the library going through as many books as possible. Hermione chose to change tactics —instead of looking for the soulspace, she had them searching for soulmates and other forms of ancient magic, or rituals of Greek origin.

Ron joined them at Grimauld, not long before the term started, and was absolutely perplexed when Harry dumped a stack of books on his lap.

"What're these for," he asked, eyes wide as he looked between his two best friends. Hermione just smirked and dove back into her own tome.

"We're going to bring Sirius back," Harry replied, very matter-of-fact. "But we need to know what we can about soulmates."

"What," Ron asked, perplexion only growing. "We can't bring someone back from the dead, guys!"

"Technically, we're not," Hermione responded. Harry grinned.

"Our working theory right now is that he's not actually dead," Harry sat by Ron on the settee. "He's more like, trapped, somewhere on the other side."

"And you two think we can pull him out?"

Harry's grin grew. "Hermione can pull him out!" She shot him a glare as Ron nodded.

"Right," he said, confusion still clearly lacing his voice. "Wait, why Hermione."

"We have to tell him," Harry said, looking at the girl who was growing a deeper shade of red by the second.

"Fine," she muttered, sinking lower into the seat, knees higher to cover her face with her book.

Harry handed Ron Sirius's letter. After only a minute, comprehension dawned on Ron's face. "Okay, I get it. Merlin's balls, Harry!"

"That's what I said!"

"So we learn about soulmates to track down Padfoot's girlfriend-"

"Not his girlfriend," Hermione called out from behind her book. Harry beamed.

"Don't be jealous, Hermione," Ron teased, but stopped short when he caught the amused, yet pained, expression on Harry's face. "Circe's tits," he breathed.

"Meet Sirius's soulmate," harry gestured toward the pile of hair barely concealing bright red ear-tips. Ron shook his head.

"Circe's tits," he said again, falling against the back of his chair in disbelief. "I expect you two are going to start explaining some things to me now," he groused.

"Would you like the honors, Princess," Harry smirked. Hermione groaned.

Ron's reception to the whole story went much better than she originally imagined it would. Instead of anger and disbelief, his reaction was instead peppered with genuine curiosity and annoyance that she hadn't confided in them earlier. He did, however, graciously concede that he would have, in fact, taken the mickey out of her had she told them.

"So you couldn't actually see each other," he asked. He shivered dramatically at her confirmation. "Didn't it feel like talking to a ghost?"

"Not really," she said.

"But actually, kind of yes, though. Because technically he was a ghost. The real Sirius was like forty-five, not fifteen." Harry tossed a rolled up sock at his face. "Think about it, though!"

"He wasn't a ghost, Ronald," Hermione argued. "And he was the real Sirius! He was never, at any time, a fake Sirius!"

"Didn't say he was! He just wasn't current Sirius. A ghost of his past," he explained.

"No, Ron. Just," Harry said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the hem of his t-shirt. "Just no. Besides, he was only thirty-six."

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to witness how diligently both boys conducted their research, jibbing them once or twice about why they couldn't put this kind of effort into their school assignments.

"That's not really life or death, though, is it," Ron snapped after a late dinner one night. "I mean, you make it seem like it is, sometimes, but this is your boyfriend we're trying to rescue, isn't it?"

Hermione bit her cheek as she muttered, "not my boyfriend," under her breath.

"Yet," both Harry and Ron said together. Grinning they reached over the table for a high-five while snickering. Hermione rolled her eyes and stomped from the room.

Like they had all summer, Hermione's hands itched to grab her wand and enter the soulspace. In fact, she craved the version of the library made warm by Sirius's buoyant youthful presence and the roaring fire. She wanted to know what he'd managed to find on his end.

Mostly, she worried about his well-being. Yes, the Sirius of her time was dead-ish, but sixteen-year-old Sirius was facing a difficult year if Harry's stories were accurate. She worried her lip thinking about how Walburga and Orion Black would react to his refusing to take the Dark Mark. She fretted over what state he'd be in when the Potters took him in.

She wished, more than anything, that she could be there for him when it all happened. The longing to help take care of him rivaled the longing she felt to help Harry when he needed her. It was just as strong, but the ache it produced in the pit of her stomach was incomparable.

Her fingers twitched toward the wand she kept in her back pocket once more before she collected herself and returned to her library.

The day before Lupin and Tonks would arrive to pick the trio up for school, Hermione heard a commotion down the hall in Sirius's bedroom.

There was a great thump, then a crash, followed by shattering. Quickly after came Ron's loud exclamation of "Fucking hell," and a deep and guttural pain-filled moan from Harry.

"You okay, mate," she heard Ron ask with a slight strain to his voice.

"M'good," Harry choked.

Hermione burst into the room where she found Harry on the floor amongst a sheet of shattered glass, nursing his hand.

"What in the world," she asked, glancing between the boys.

"Well," Ron began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Harry found a stack of books at the top of the closet and he couldn't reach them. So I helped."

"Helped," her voice rose in pitch before cracking. Ron grimaced.

"I wasn't exactly tall enough, either."

Hermione looked around at the broken glass, not entirely sure what the objects had been before meeting their fate.

"I think it was a stack of ashtrays," Harry supplied, wrapping a tissue around his bleeding finger. She wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. "The books were for you, by the way."

Ron was nodding his head enthusiastically as he lazily brushed up shards of the broken glass with the soles of his shoes. "Yeah, they said 'Princess' on them."

Hermione couldn't see his face, but she imagined the boy was smirking. Aggravated, she stacked two sturdy crates together and climbed them to reach the books which she threw roughly down onto the bed.

"That's one way to do it," Ron muttered quietly.

Safely back on the ground, Hermione inspected the books on the bed. When it became apparent that each volume was authored by one Martty Callaway, a single eyebrow shot up.

"I'm going to kill him," she cried, covering her face with her hands in exasperation.

"Not after we'd have worked so hard to bring him back!"

"Sirius Orion Black," Princess screeched as she materialized before him in the library.

"Princess—," he started, then struggled. "Kitten… Cutiepants!" He pouted. "It really isn't fair you know my name but I don't know yours."

Her indignant posture morphed, suddenly, as surprise colored her features. "You don't know my name?" He shrugged, smile tight. "Oh. I thought you did?" He shook his head. "Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger."

His face softened, thinking that might be the most beautiful name he'd ever heard. It surely suited her. Powerful, assertive, wild, enchanting.

"Hermione," he repeated with a dazed smile. "How do you even spell that?"

"H-E-R-M—, oh for Merlin's sake," she hissed when he couldn't hold back his laughter. He reached out and took her wrists, pulling her into a tight embrace and smiling in pure contentment as his chin rested in her curls.

"I've missed you, love," he whispered, squeezing her tighter as he felt her melt into him and bury her face in his chest.

"I've missed you, too," she sighed. "You've no idea," and gripped him even tighter.

"Let's start with why you showed up wands-blazing."

As though recalling her earlier fury, Hermione pushed herself out of his arms and slapped Sirius on the shoulder.

"You have my books!"

He blinked, utterly lost.

"The Callaway books I've spent forever looking for," she accused. "You have them and you never told me!"

Finally remembering the books Alphard had collected for him near Christmas, Sirius smiled. Just as quickly he furrowed his brows in annoyance.

"I was going to tell you, but somebody never showed up here for a whole year." He watched as her posture crumbled slightly and sighed. "My uncle Alphard found them in Knockturn Alley and bought them for me. I had them by Christmas. I wanted to tell you, but you were nowhere to be found."

Without wasting another second, he pulled the witch into his arms again, chastising himself for the cold he felt when he wasn't wrapped around her. He'd called Prongs pathetic once, but he feared he had now surpassed his friend in pathetic behavior. He craved Hermione's warmth, he needed the feeling of her body pressed against his. The smell of her hair anchored him.

"I read one," he sighed. "I didn't find anything in it. Honestly, I forgot about them and left them at Grimauld."

"Top shelf of your closet," her muffled voice asked adorably. He grinned into her delightful curls.

"Very top. They'll be safe there."

"You need to stop smoking."

"How do you know about that," he blinked, pulling back just enough to look into her face. She met his look with an unimpressed one of her own.

"Harry found the books. Smashed your ashtrays in the process."

"Why in Godric's pants would your friend be digging through my closet?" Hermione's answering smile was a sad one. Sirius's could suddenly feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Not good news, is it, love?"

Hermione had spent the last few weeks mentally preparing herself for this conversation. She knew it was imperative to tell him about his death, but he didn't need to know about anything else.

He didn't need to know about Lily and James. He didn't need to know about Azkaban, as much as it needled her. She wanted to tell him about all of it, if only he could avoid it, but she didn't quite care for the resulting complications.

Despite his not needing to know, Hermione had ultimately decided to give him the choice.

Gently leading him by the hand to the settee, Hermione began to explain.

"Sirius."

"Hermione," he responded, squeezing her hand. She sat beside him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between them. Sirius seemed unsatisfied with that, however, as he pulled her so close to him that she was practically seated on his lap. The rush of heat to her ears was distracting.

She cleared her throat. "You know I'm from your future." He nodded, fingers reaching up to twirl a lock of her curls. "I'm going to let you choose. Either I tell you everything your future has in store for you, or just the most important bit."

His eyes searched her face, mouth drawn tight in deep thought.

"What's the catch," he asked, finally.

"Well, I only know what happens if I tell you the important bit. You—, older you told me that I'd told you the important bit. So really, it's just a loop. I wouldn't be changing anything. Because it's already happened, you see."

She could tell he didn't see, confusion written clearly on his features.

"You're saying that's the safe option?"

She nodded. "The first option, telling you everything, well it comes with more risk."

"And what's the risk."

"The risk is that this never happens. Us, meeting here in the soulspace. Becoming friends. It never happens. I'm not entirely sure how time works, so I don't know if you'll even remember all of this, but if I tell you what happens in your future with enough warning to stop certain things from happening, there is a risk that me in your future will never encounter the soulspace spell."

"Things don't turn out well for me, I take it." Hermione heard the clear regret in his tone and swallowed back the pity she instinctively felt. Sirius never took well to pity.

"There is so much happiness for you to look forward to, Sirius. So many good things wait for you. But there's also incredible heartbreak, I'm sorry."

He studied her face, chewing the inside of his lip silently. "Okay," he breathed, closing his eyes. "Can't avoid heartbreak completely." Looking her dead in the eye, Sirius gently brushed her wayward curls behind her ear. "I don't want to ever chance not meeting you."

Hermione let out a deep breath, slumping forward in relief. She wasn't entirely sure which option she would have preferred him to take until the weight lifted from her shoulders the moment he spoke.

"Are you sure," she whispered.

"I'm positive, Hermione."

"Well," she steeled herself. "To answer your first question, Harry took over your room after you died in June."

"So how'd it go," Ron asked, pulling her to her feet after the enchantment ended. Hermione made a little huffing sound and began dusting her robes. "That good?"

Sirius's reaction did not, as it turned out, go well. He had leapt from the settee, Hermione tumbling from her comfortable perch across his lap.

It took her quite some time to calm him down so she could tell him the details of his death. Suddenly, as though snapping on a whole new personality, he'd gone from seething to laughing.

"Okay, so you are pulling my leg!"

"I'm not," she pleaded. "Sirius, please, listen!"

"No, because the veil doesn't actually exist! It's just a fairy tale."

Her face screwed up in disbelief. "What? What fairy tale?"

"You know! Like," he began pacing, running his hands through his hair. "I mean, it's no Beedle the Bard tale, for sure, but you know!"

"I don't, actually."

"It's the saying, when someone dies. They've gone beyond the veil."

"That's a fairytale," Hermione asked in disbelief.

"Well, no, but it's folklore, right? There's no actual veil, it's just a happy thought about life after death."

"Well, the thought of you beyond the veil doesn't give me any happy thoughts," she muttered. "And it does exist. It's in the Department of Mysteries."

"Why in the world did you idiots go barging into the Department of Mysteries in the first place?"

"I literally cannot tell you that."

"Okay. So the veil is real. And my older self left Harry a letter saying you could pull me out of it?"

"In so many words."

"Great. This is priceless."

"Sirius, I think you're disassociating again."

"Nope. Just imagining what kind of fucking wild life I'm on the cusp of living."

"It went fine, Ronald."

"You're lying," Harry said.

"Fine. He flew totally off the handle. I don't know how anyone could ever have patience for that man!"

"You keep going back to him," Ron smirked, sharing a look with Harry. "Besides, he'll calm down by the time you meet up again."

"I hope so," Hermione prayed. "It's not like I didn't just drop life-altering information."

Harry and Ron shrugged. "He'll be fine," Ron said. "We're on it, and he won't be in that veil for long."

Hermione pointed out that they didn't know how long it would really take to retrieve him, considering they still didn't have a strong starting point. Ron rolled his eyes muttering about having a shred of optimism as the trio slowly made their way out of the Arithmancy classroom and back toward the their common room.

"Ron, do you know any magical folklore about veils?"

"Vaguely. Fred and George were more into that superstitious stuff than I was."

"Any chance they can meet us in Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Remus eyed his abnormally quiet friend with such an intense skepticism that Sirius could feel it like a hundred tiny spiders crawling along his skin.

"I know you can't help but stare at me, Moony, but this is just ridiculous," he muttered.

Sirius and his fellow Marauders were strewn about the floor between two tall bookshelves in the library. Having arrived late in the day, the four boys had been forced to forego a table, as every fifth-year student in the school was hit with a wave of OWL-induced paranoia.

Sirius was cross-legged, leaning against the stone wall below a portrait of Gharahast the Wise and intensely scanning the pages of the book on his lap.

Remus and Peter were studying Ancient Runes while James was laid across the floor, doodling flowers on his parchment.

"You're acting strange," Remus noted, raising an eyebrow as Sirius readjusted his position.

"I'm acting strange? Moony, I'm reading a book," Sirius whined, sinking down further along the wall. "Worry about Prongs— he's about to start singing songs about Evans over here."

James snapped his head up, aghast.

"Evans? What do you mean Evans? I don't care about her," the bespectacled boy snapped.

Sirius, Remus and Peter all dropped their books and stared wide-eyed at their friend.

"Not Evans," Peter chirruped, looking worriedly from Remus to Sirius.

With a furrowed brow Sirius gently prodded the boy. "Okay, then who are you over here grinning about, Prongs?"

"Carrie Vane," James sighed, returning to his splotchy sketch of a large daisy. Remus broke out into a fit of coughs and Peter tried desperately to reach the werewolf's back with his fist; all three boys still stared at James.

When Remus recovered, he gently asked James to tell them why he had a sudden jonesing for the fourth-year Ravenclaw girl, to which the besotted boy responded by describing nearly every freckle on the girl's face, the silky texture of her hair, and the musical quality of her laugh.

Hesitantly, Sirius asked about Vane's scent, and James lit up, describing the honey and citrus tones the girl emanated. Sirius swallowed roughly, and leveled his other friends with a grim gaze.

"He's been dosed," he announced.

"What do we do," Peter cried, while Remus simultaneously asked Sirius how he could tell.

"I've been reading every book in existence about amortentia for the last two years," he snapped, annoyed at Remus. "I'm probably the bloody foremost expert on the stuff."

"Yet you can't even brew it," Remus needled, thoughtlessly kicking James's hand away from where the boy had started drawing hearts on his shoe.

"But what do we do about Prongs," Peter's panicked voice cried again. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"We wait for it to wear off!" Sirius pulled himself up to stand. "Watch him and don't let him leave this library, for Merlin's sake," he groused.

"And where are you going," Remus asked.

"I'm going to go find Miss Vane."

"And tell her to fix Prongs," Peter asked hopefully.

"No. I've got some questions about Amortentia that Slughorn refuses to answer."

Finding Carrie Vane was the easy part. The small brunette girl was sitting on a window ledge at the base of the Astronomy Tower, undoubtedly waiting for James to come join her. However, what Sirius hadn't expected was the way her face lit up when she saw him approaching.

"Hello, Sirius," she grinned, hopping up and reaching for his hand. Sirius merely crossed his arms and appraised her. Blushing, the girl continued. "I was starting to worry you didn't get my note."

"Sorry, kid, but what note?" The girl's eyes grew wide for a moment and she swallowed.

"The note I left by your yogurt this morning asking you to meet me here," she answered in an inflection that sounded more like a question. Sirius deflated, remembering the yogurt James had scarfed down that morning in his rush to make it to Charms on time. He was going to ask to partner with Evans that morning. He sighed.

"I don't eat Yogurt," He replied coolly, and took a frustrated seat next to the girl who had turned a embarrassing shade of red. "James does, though."

"Potter," Carrie exclaimed, unable to hide her shock and disgust. If he wasn't so annoyed, Sirius might have laughed. "How did it work on him? He's got a soulmate!"

Sirius's ears perked up. "Is Amortentia not supposed to work on someone with a soulmate," he asked, aiming to sound cavalier. Carrie scoffed.

"It's not Amortentia!" He blinked in surprise.

"So what is it?"

She shot him an uncomfortable glare. "Why would I tell you?" He smirked.

"Plently of reasons," he began counting on his fingertips. "My best friend is upstairs mooning over you because he was dosed with a potion meant for me, my other best friend is a Prefect, and you, Vane, have illegally brewed a potion on school grounds and served it to a fellow student. While amortentia merits detention, any other of the compelling potions are strictly prohibited on school grounds."

Carrie was fidgeting, glancing around them nervously, and then she deflated. "Fine," she muttered. Whispering she told him, "It was Geminae Animarum. The twin souls potion."

Sirius choked. He had only heard of the potion once or twice in his life; his father had once boasted that his own grandparents had come together as the result of the potion. As far as he knew, the effects were permanent. Sirius felt bile rise in his throat and wished he could swallow his own tongue.

Taking Carrie tightly by the shoulder he muttered, "I have a bucket full of questions for you, and when I'm done, you're going to find a way to reverse what you've done to James."

She gulped and chucked humorously, her own face rapidly losing color. "Where do you want to start?"

Sirius pulled the young girl into the empty classroom below the telescope deck and demanded she tell him how she knew about the potion along with everything she knew about it.

The Geminae Animarum potion turned out to be something of a Vane family legacy and all their children were raised with an in-depth understanding of the highly misunderstood potion.

"You said it won't work on someone with a soulmate," he demanded, interrupting her and ignoring her deep scowl. "That means soulmates are real?"

"Of course they're real," she rolled her eyes. "They're just incredibly rare. But that's the whole thing about Animarum. Since it's technically a soul-binder, it shouldn't work on someone who already has a soulmate because there's no openings left to bind."

"And you thought James had a soulmate?"

"I just assumed it was the Evans girl," she responded, carelessly shrugging. "Guess they aren't, though. Which is sad. I was rooting for them."

"So is there a way to determine if someone has a soulmate before using the potion on them?"

Carrie sent him a lingering look, brows furrowed, lips pinched. "There is," she finally said, guarded.

"And there's a way to find out who someone's soulmate is?"

"It's not that simple. The reason the idea of soulmates has been basically forgotten is because magic never seemed to assign them in a clean-cut sort of way. Wizards and witches, in ancient days, used to be paired with soulmates who existed outside of their own time. The only reason this was even determined was when Nimue herself was soulmated in her eighties to a newborn child. Ignoring their soulmates really became the norm and no one really paid the phenomenon any attention."

"So how did they even realize they had a soulmate?"

Carrie smirked. "An ancestor of mine uncovered a spell in Greece several centuries ago which is believed to have been used in determining if someone had a soulmate. The spell itself worked by revealing the soulbonds of an individual. If they were tied, that person had been soulmated by magic. If the bonds appeared loose, like ribbons in the wind, that person did not have a mate. In his research, my ancestor only ever came across one individual who had tied bonds."

"So your potion works by artificially creating those bonds," Sirius wondered aloud.

Carrie nodded. "Receiving a dosage repeatedly over a period of a few months will begin to tie those bonds to the person whose essence is added to the brew, which is what the Ancient Magic used to do. But it only works in the long-term if the brewer also doses themselves."

"And you were attempting to tie my bonds to you, then?"

"You have to admit, a soul bond into the prominent House of Black wouldn't be a bad thing. You're less disagreeable than your brother is."

"Well then I hate to share the bad news," Sirius's mouth twitched in a smirk. "I've been disinherited and I already have a soulmate. Didn't your spell show you that?"

Carrie's face darkened, and Sirius swore he could see steam rising in curls from her ears. "That spell's been lost for eons." Sirius nodded.

"Well, Miss Vane, one more question and then you can tell me how to free James from your misfired power-grab." The girl looked positively murderous, and Sirius split his face into a smug grin. "Have you ever heard of the Soulspace?"

According to Carrie Vane, the soulspace was nothing but a myth. This was disappointing, but as soon as he'd told everything he learned to Hermione, his soulmate looked positively ecstatic.

Her eyes shone with brilliant exuberance, like as though he'd solved the whole mystery without realizing it.

"The soulspace ritual is in Greek, Sirius," she exclaimed, hair bouncing as she paced in front of the fire. She shot him a toothy grin and grabbed his hand. "And there's a way to create artificial soulbonds! That means there's a way to strengthen existing bonds."

"Not understanding how that's a good thing, Princess," he muttered, gently brushing a wayward curl from her eyes. She slapped his hand away and grinned wider.

"Strengthening our bond could be a way to pull you back to us!" He blinked.

"Okay. Sure, darling. But how do you propose you brew a potion to feed me? Last I checked we can't actually bring anything in here with us," he gestured around the large library. Her smile faltered.

"I'll look into that." Her gaze flittered away from him as she lost herself in thought. "What's going to happen to James," Hermione asked suddenly, worrying her lip with her teeth.

"He'll be fine. Carrie said he should start getting back to normal after a week or two, seeing as how she's not going to keep dosing him."

Hermione scowled. "How do you know for certain? Potters are a pretty powerful family, too." He chuckled.

"She knows I'd turn her in in a heartbeat if Prongs doesn't start acting like himself in couple of weeks. However," he laughed, "it has been really funny watching Evans pretend she's not bothered by him ignoring her." Hermione smiled tightly.

Before he could stop her, Hermione peeled herself out of Sirius's arms and threw herself on the settee once again.

"Okay. Enough for one day. Tell me about this DADA assignment you're struggling with."

She was sitting on the blue velvet playing with the light vinewood of her wand and Sirius was entirely captivated by her. Despite the situation, he felt more secure in the direction his life was heading than he ever had before, because he knew this witch would be on the other side waiting for him.

Both Fred and George were glowering at the younger trio in front of them. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on the opposite side of the booth, with a mixture of hopeful, yet shamed, expressions.

"Is that all we are to you," Fred snapped.

"No," Hermione tried to appease, as Ron casually said, "what else would you be to us?" Hermione kicked him as Harry tried his best not to break his eye contact with George.

"I'll tell you what," George said, casting a sweeping glance over the quiet pub and winking at Madam Rosemerta. "We'll tell you all the fairytales your fickle little hearts want, but we will not be apparating you to the Ministry!"

"You lot have caused enough trouble over there as it is," said Fred.

"Since when have you cared," Ron accused. The twins exchanged glances and refocused their glares on their little brother.

"You," George said with a finger pointed straight at Ron, "almost got our little Ginny KILLED."

"That wasn't my fault," the younger Weasley argued. Harry looked sheepish but Ron continued. "She's the one that wanted to come. We didn't make her."

"We're not going to cause mischief," Hermione interjected, playing the diplomat. "I have an appointment with a Madam Carrie Vane who works with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Ron crossed his arms with a smirk at his brothers. "See, we've been invited."

"And why, Granger, should we believe we aren't being confunded by your wiles," Fred asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione reached into her pocket for two scraps of parchment and placed both on the table before the twins. One parchment was aged, frayed at the edges, while the other was crisp and pristine. Holding onto Hermione's gaze, both reached for a parchment. George coughed.

"This is," he wheezed, as Fred pounded him on the back. He turned a sharp look at Hermione. "You said you were getting rid of this," George accused the witch.

"I lied," she shrugged. George spluttered.

"And what does miss Carrie Vane have to do with this," Fred asked, lips twitching, light dancing with amusement in his eyes.

"Miss Vane comes from a long familial line of soulmate experts. Last I checked," Hermione said, "she believed the soulspace was a myth. But I'm living proof that it isn't, isn't that right, boys?"

George looked livid, his complexion quickly matching his hair. Fred was turning red, as well, but the amusement on his face told Hermione he was holding back guffaws instead of screams.

"What were you hoping to obtain through your meeting with Vane," Fred played along.

"A research partnership."

George splattered again.

"Granger! You'll be her lab rat!"

"Oh, that's exactly what I was hoping for."

In the end, George refused to tell the trio about any of the tales regarding the Land Beyond the Veil. While Ron and Harry didn't quite understand the boy's ire, they simply shrugged it off as they were apparated by the elbows into the Ministry of Magic and deposited without further farewell.

Carrie Vane was a short woman, with even shorter-cropped black hair and large rectangular glasses. When the trio marched into her office, her eyes first caught Harry's and she gasped.

"Harry Potter," she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and reaching for his hand. Harry shoved his own hands in his pockets.

"I know what you did to my dad," he said, casually leaning against the closed door. Vane grimaced.

"It was an accident."

"Miss Vane," Hermione interrupted, holding out her hand. "Hermione Granger. You were expecting me."

Vane looked over at the other witch and nodded in recollection.

"Too right, Miss Granger, please have a seat," she ushered the three teens to the small wooden stools in front of her small Ministry desk. "You said you came across some information on soulmates you wanted to discuss with me?"

"I did, thank you," Hermione responded, situating herself comfortably on the stool. "Sirius Black, whom you know has received a full government pardon, told me a little bit about a conversation you had with him about two decades ago."

Vane's face was a cool mask of indifference, showing absolutely nothing. Hermione continued.

"I'm interested in your knowledge regarding artificial soulbonds, created through the geminae animarum potion." Vane's cool mask cracked by a fraction, but Hermione was sure she'd lured the witch.

"How do you know about that potion," the woman asked. Yes, Hermione thought. She had her.

"Sirius told me."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

Vane snapped her mouth shut, scrutinizing the young witch.

"According to all magical record, Miss Granger, Sirius Black is dead."

Pulling the worn parchment from her robe pocket and placing it gently on Vane's desk, she responded. "Not in the soulspace."

Vane's eyes grew the size of saucers behind her large rectangular spectacles as they ran across the words on the parchment. She looked back up at Hermione in wonder.

"You're her," the woman breathed. Hermione raised her eyebrows in question. Vane shook her head and laughed. "You're Black's soulmate."

With that piece of integral information out of the way, Vane and Hermione began discussing the magic involved in creating soulmates.

Vane admitted she hadn't ever believed in the Soulspace, stating no one had ever found a way to enter the magical plane. However, as she dissected the Greek ritual on the parchment Hermione had produced, she admitted her family had simply written off the the possibility in their own arrogance.

The Greek incantation, she said, shared several similarities in wand movement and ritualistic chanting as the soulmate diagnostic spell she'd told Sirius about. What she didn't understand, she told Hermione, was how their souls were still connected if he was dead.

What she'd learned growing up, she'd said, was that bonds only existed, or showed themselves if both soulmates were alive.

"It doesn't make any sense if he's beyond the veil," Vane muttered under her breath. Harry startled.

"What," he asked, "how do you know that? I was told it was classified!"

Vane looked up in confusion. "What are you on about? We all know he'd died!" Harry. Ron, and Hermione all glanced at each other.

"Do you know how he died," Hermione asked the older witch. Vane shook her head.

Before returning to Hogwarts, Vane told Hermione she would dig into the family journals to see what she could find about the possibility of strengthening existing bonds, and if the Soulspace ritual could be used in the same capacity as the diagnostic spell her family used to use.

Finally, Hermione felt as though they were making progress. The knot in her chest, which had been tightening for months, felt as though it were loosening at long last. They'd made some progress, and even if they still had a lot of work to do, they were a step closer to saving Sirius.

She hated that her face betrayed every little surprise she felt around Sirius. He'd taken to intently watching her cheeks and her ears every time he slipped into his flirtatious demeanor.

He'd call her darling and run his hands up and down her arms, watching the natural rouge spread across her freckles. He'd grin with pride and catch her gaze before backing off and continuing with their conversation.

Hermione was frustrated. He certainly had an effect on her, and he knew it; she appeared to be at a disadvantage.

Especially right now.

Sirius was sitting next to her on the settee, telling her all about the plans he and James had made for the Christmas holiday. He was casually leaning back up against the armrest, leg crossed over his knee, gesticulating wildly with his hands. He was laughing about something, Hermione couldn't recall what about, eyes bright. From the far end of settee, Hermione watched him, feeling a familiar compulsion to snuggle right up into his side.

Hermione and Sirius had only ever hugged. Some hugs lasted longer than others, and occasionally Sirius would press his lips against her hair in what Hermione liked to think was a kiss. It wasn't, really. It was just a comforting brush of lips against her curls.

For a man who seemed determined for two whole years that they were soulmates, he sure hadn't made any moves on that particular front since she had joined him at that conclusion.

In fact, he seemed to be rather hesitant in making a move at all. Besides their very nice, warm hugs, they hadn't even talked about the ramifications of being soulmates outside of how that fact could lead to Sirius's ultimate salvation. Hermione wouldn't ever complain about that fact, wanting to save the man she realized she had slowly fallen in love with (in both ages). She was, however, beginning to feel somewhat self-conscious of the fact that he didn't seem to want to progress their relationship.

Logically, she knew they couldn't. Or shouldn't. Even though their souls were connected through an ancient bond and they could technically get to spend time together in the soulspace.

Until they were able to pull him out of the veil, their relationship was doomed. She hated to think about it that way, but even if she did ultimately succeed, she couldn't help but feel they were still damned. He was twenty years her senior. She was still in school.

This only fueled her desire to move forward here in the soulspace, where they were both young and alive and, she hoped, in love.

"Hermione," Sirius said, sitting up straight and gently tugging a curl. Her traitorous cheeks pinked yet again. "Princess, are you even listening to me?"

She shook her head and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I was thinking."

He pulled himself closer to her, cozying up to her side and pulled her into his crossed lap. He wrapped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her shoulder. "What's going on?"

Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing his sincerity would only push her over the edge she clung to and soon every worry she ever had would fall from her lips.

She turned her head to face him, realizing too late how close their faces were. Sirius's eyes grew by a fraction, pupil dilating noticeably to focus on her. She bit her lip.

"I'm worried," she whispered. He nodded and she felt his arms squeeze her middle.

"I am, too, darling," he admitted, looking into her eyes.

"What if I can't do it, Sirius? What if I lose you?"

He chuckled, but there was no humor in his features. "What if you can," he whispered, eyes pleading with her. "What if you can, and you do, but I'm too old for you?" Her breath caught.

"I don't want to lose you either, Princess, but what if don't want me?"

"Sirius," she gasped, lifting herself from his lap and turning to face him directly. "Why would you think that? I mean, I keep thinking you won't want me because I'm just a kid and you— you're thirty!"

His hands somehow found a perch on her waist and he smiled ruefully. "I couldn't ever not want you, Hermione," he breathed, closing his eyes.

"Do you," she started, timidly bringing her hands up to his hair and combing her fingers through it. "Do you want me now?"

With his eyes still closed, he let out an amused huff, corners of his lips twitching. "Darling," he breathed, fingers tightening around their perch on her waist. "Do you think I sit you down on my lap every week with absolutely no ulterior motive?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, suppressing any words she may have wanted to say in that moment. Instead she watched him; she closely followed the small bump of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, watched the slight tinge of pink begin trailing up his white neck and across his cheeks. His eyes were still closed, screwed shut as though concentrating very hard on some task.

"I just don't want to scare you away," he said, finally, gripping the knitted cardigan she wore, fingers grasping at the yarn similar to the way Hermione pictured herself grasping for branches or roots to catch herself from falling over the edge of a cliff until she was almost embarrassingly in love with Sirius Black. "You aren't, well to me, you're more than just a snog in a hidden alcove of the school, you know. I want to do this right."

His eyes hadn't opened once during his speech. Hermione reached forward and ran the pads of her thumbs over the crinkled skin near his tightly-shut eye, envisioning the crows feet she knew would develop there with time. She absently ran her palm down his cheek, against the clean, fresh skin, knowing in twenty year's time, this skin would thicken with lack of care and become prickly with hair which would lead down to a soft, sophisticated, close-cropped beard.

His lips and his eyelashes, and the structure of his cheeks would remain the same. Yes, the eyes would sink in a little further, the lips may chap, and his cheeks might lose the cared-for filling they currently boasted—but he'd still be the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. He'd still wink at her, guarding their secret while still respecting her space. His eyes would twinkle with the same mischief, his smirk would remain, causing butterflies to erupt throughout her body.

His hands, gripping her cardigan, right now we're clean and well cared for. In the future they'd grow calloused and rough and would become a canvas of several blocky runes. While she knew what these hands would look like, she had no idea what they would feel like. While the thought broke her heart, it also filled her with an awe-like respect for the man this boy would grow to be.

She had taken one of his hands off her waist, running her fingers along each of his long digits, massaging his palm with her thumb as she thought about the tattoos that would one day litter the soft skin at the top.

Sirius's eyes opened and beheld her face with contemplation as he allowed her to continue fidgeting with his hand. She stopped instantly, the minute her eye caught hisand, for once, didn't feel embarrassed.

"Can I kiss you now, Hermione?"

Again, words seemed too difficult to muster. Instead, she brought his hand up to her cheek, heart pounding through her chest, and nodded.

Sirius pulled her toward him, in a maneuver she didn't fully process, and brought her lips to his. Instinctively, Hermione's arms snaked around his neck, melting into him as his lips moved experimentally over hers.

It wasn't a sloppy kiss, nor was it practiced. It was a hard press of lips; an unmistakable connection which left no room for interpretation. You're mine, it claimed, and this is precisely where I want my lips to be.

Hermione pulled back, gasping for the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Sirius looked shocked. "Hermione," he wheezed, apologetically. "Can I try that again," he pleaded, refusing to relinquish his hold on her.

She moved first, this time, gently pulling herself up to his face and placing a softer press of her lips to his. She felt the tension melt off his hard body as he held her tighter.

Hermione was pudding. This kiss was just as intentional as the first, but it was also a great deal more tender. She relished in the feel of his chest against hers, his hands on her waist and buried in her hair. His lips were caressing hers with chaste pecks and intermittent suckling. Her hands and feet had gone fuzzy, as had her head, and she focused all of her attention on the hesitant pokes of his tongue which she welcomed with a delighted moan.

In yet another unnoticed maneuver, Hermione felt herself suddenly on her back, Sirius trailing sweet kisses along her jaw, settling just below her ear, the sensation making her shiver with both amusement and delight. She let out a strangled sound, caught somewhere between a giggle and a groan of utter contentedness.

She felt Sirius chuckle, his breath tickling her ear and her neck as he pulled himself up to look down at her.

"You okay," he gasped, toothy smile overtaking his face. She nodded.

"That tickled," she croaked out, growing red with shame that her voice had been stolen by a sheer kiss. If it were possible, his grin would have grown.

He pulled her up, settling her once more on his lap and instantly resumed playing with her hair, digging his fingers now closer to her scalp, emboldened by their new intimacy. Hermione couldn't bring herself to mind, finding it hard to be anything but purely content when his finger gently scratched at the base of her hair.

She snuggled her face into his neck, her own fingers having found his free hand, and drawing lazy patterns across his palm and fingers.

"Was that," he coughed softly, "Did you like that?"

"Yes," she whispered into the material of his collar. She couldn't see his face from her position, but she imagined a purely relieved smile gracing his features as he sank further down into the cushions, pulling her with him.

He really should have been more concerned than he could bring himself to be. It was his life on the line, after all. But he couldn't be bothered when he had Hermione laid out on the blue settee beneath him, his lips magnetically attached to the skin beneath her ear, her hair suffocating him in his endeavor like a warm and inviting crop of Devil's Snare.

Especially not now, when her hands had found their way beneath his uniform button-up, trailing light scratches up and down the skin of his mid and lower back.

He tried to carefully arrange his lower body in a way that would keep certain proof of his enjoyment from being discovered, still absolutely terrified that any more provocation may cause the witch in his arms to turn tail and run.

Since their first kiss, every visit to the soulspace had contained very little of any other activity. Sure, they caught one another up on their research, between kisses; updates given in hurried whispers, as though the words ran a race against the pull between their mouths.

Truthfully, their knowledge concerning the soulspace, soulmates or the Veil were on hold until Carrie Vane could reach out to Hermione.

Her theory, she shared with him only five minutes prior to their more invigorating activities, was the same as before. She thought she could create a variant of the Geminae Animarum which she alone would take to strengthen the natural soulbond between them.

Hopefully, he'd breathed against her lips as he grasped her hips like a lifeline, a more solid bond would create a rope between their souls, making it easier to pull him out of whatever awaited him behind the literal veil.

Thoughts of the veil made him uneasy. Not in the I-know-my-impending-demise sort of way. More of a where-have-I-heard-this-before-outside-of-nursery-rhymes sort of way. A chill ran through his body, causing him to bolt upright in shock.

"What's happened," Hermione was a mess beneath him, hair wild, lips cherry red and swollen from use. Her amber eyes stared him down, bringing his breaths in sync with her own without words. She pushed herself up and shuffled to his side, hugging a blue velvet cushion to her chest. "Sirius?"

"It's the veil," he choked out, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I read something about it last year, it just didn't register because I didn't know yet."

"What did it say?"

"I can't remember. Not really, but I feel like we're there. Right now. We're here."

"Yes we're here but—,"

"No, love," he shook his head. "We're there. I think."

"You're not making sense?"

Sirius hopped to his feet, pulling her up alongside him.

"Callaway's book on love potions, I think it was there. I earmarked the page, because Marley came looking for me."

He watched as Hermione bit her cheek at the mention of Marlene, and smirked when she chose to overlook the mention altogether.

"So I should be able to find it if I look at it now," she asked. He nodded.

"That was the last time I ever looked at that book. Now they're in my room."

"Which you left, because you went to live with James and his parents."

"I'll have to go back at some point and put your name on them, I guess."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I have a book to read," she muttered, fixing her uniform and pulling back her hair with a curiously large piece of elastic cloth. She rose to her tip-toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before muttering, "see you soon, Sirius."

The scent of someone's Amortentia brew will always replicate scents that are important to them, much the same way time beyond the veil will often manifest as a loved one or a loved setting. However, this magic cannot be proven to be connected as many mediwizards vehemently claim the scent of amortentia is based on memory receptors instead of destiny. This is why amortentia is not used to relegate or determine destiny in practices such as arithmancy or divination.

Not much has been released on the space beyond the veil, and not many have seen the other side of it, but if hints released as early as 1292 are to be believed, it's connection to love-magic may be someday, irrefutable.

The puzzle pieces were slowly falling into place. But as the pieces fell, interlocking with their neighbors, Hermione was surrounded with real physical pieces of burning embers and snowy ash.

Christmas wasn't ruined, but it certainly wasn't the merriest time for her or her friends; war was imminent and it's reality more sobering as each day passed.

The Burrow had been attacked by Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange had danced a taunting line for Harry, reminding him that she was the one who had killed Sirius. Harry wasn't nearly as affected by the taunts as she thought Bellatrix had hoped, igniting the woman's ire.

With her ire, the Burrow had also gone up in flames, and Hermione witnessed as Harry curled into himself that night in despair, blaming himself again for the ill-fortune the Weasley's seemed to collect each year.

The world was darkening around them, truths they had held as insurmountable had crumbled in her fists at the slightest shake and any sense of security she had felt as a muggle-born student at Hogwarts dissolved with the ash on the frozen ground.

Saving Sirius became her personal mission— her fated calling, much the same as defeating Voldemort was Harry's.

While Harry, once again, had locked himself in Ron's room, Hermione and Ron busied themselves in Callaway's books.

"But what does that even mean," Ron asked, tossing an empty carton of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans over the back of the sofa he sat in, into the bin by the door. "Does this guy think that the veil leads into the soulspace?"

Hermione buried her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes with her palms. "I don't know, Ron. That's what it sounds like."

Ron huffed and kept reading, flipping pages loudly, with a drama he typically reserved for showing Hermione he was, indeed, doing his school work. Hermione rolled her eyes as she leaned back against the armrest and sighed.

"Hold on," Ron exclaimed. "If the veil just leads to the soulspace, why isn't he there when you go there."

"He is, though. Every time."

"No, not young-him, old-him," Ron clarified. "Let's say Callaway is right: if Sirius fell behind the veil, then that's where he is. Stuck in the soulspace. But when you do the ritual to go there, you still only see him as a kid, not as the Sirius we lost."

"You're right," Hermione said, leaning forward with a furrowed brow. "That actually makes sense." She steepled her fingers and rested her forehead against them. She nibbled on her lip as she thought through Ron's assessment.

If Sirius was stuck in the soulspace, it would stand to reason that he'd be there when she entered through the ritual.

"Maybe," she started slowly, meeting Ron's questioning glance, "maybe because we're not the same age? Maybe we're tied by age and there's a future version of me visiting him in there at that time?"

Ron grimaced, his lip curling up in disgust. "Yeah, I don't like that idea. It would mean that we don't get him out of there for years."

"I know. I don't like it either."

"Or, and hear me out because it's just a thought," Ron said, crossing his arms and furrowing his own brow. "Maybe your bond isn't strong enough to reach the present-him."

Hermione's eyebrow shot up into a lock of hair. She gave her friend a single nod as permission to continue.

"So, like, you've said that each time you go to the space, you'll materialize in a different room. The library, the dining room, Buckbeak's room, yeah? So what if the soulspace is actually more like a hallway or alley or something of a bunch of different rooms and older-Sirius is stuck in one of those. And the reason you can only see younger-him is because your bond is only as mature as his was at that age, too."

Again, Hermione conceded that Ron had a point. She shut her own book and scooted closer to her friend in excitement.

"Then it doesn't have to do with our physical age, but with the soul bond's maturity?"

"Either that, or your age plops you in the same room as one another, and you just have to go to a different room."

Hermione scoffed. "Just go to a different room? I can't control which room I show up in, Ron."

"Well no, but you can find another one once you're there, right?"

She stopped, looking in an opposite direction.

"There are doors, right?"

There were. Each room was an exact replica of it's physical counterpart. Of course there were doors. But Hermione had never tried the doors. Embarrassed, she hung her head and stood, making her way to the opposite end of the room.

"Hermione," Ron asked, amused and frustrated at the same time. "You have tried the doors, right?"

"So, are we just going to stare at it until our enchantment ends," Sirius asked, leaning against a bookshelf as he watched his pretty little soulmate stare down the library door.

"Why have we never thought to try the door," she asked in an embittered whisper. Sirius sighed, pushing himself off the shelf and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

"Maybe because we don't want to go anywhere else when we're here," he whispered into her ear and dropped a kiss just below her lobe. He grinned when he felt her shiver against him. "All I want to think about is you, and me, and what sort of trouble we can get up to when we're here all alone, guaranteed no interruptions."

She shivered again, but pulled away from his soft lips with a grunt.

"Seriosuly," she chided. He grinned. "Don't do it!"

Taking a deep breath, she marched to the door and grabbed the knob. So far, so good, he thought as he watched her. She hadn't been shocked or anything like that yet, which boded well.

She turned the knob, and he held his breath. However, as soon as she pulled the door open he began gasping and coughing.

Opening his eyes, he looked around and recognized the empty charms classroom.

"Dammit," he yelled, picking up an extinguished candle and throwing up against the wall. "Fuck all!"

"Well that didn't work," Hermione said, dumping herself and her bag on the cushy red sofa between her best friends.

The common room was silent and mostly empty tonight, as most of the students hadn't yet returned from their Christmas Holdiay. Harry winced, pushing the heavy bag away from his ribs.

"What happened," he asked, noting Ron's annoyed pout.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure. Sirius disappeared as soon as I opened the door. I stepped out and was promptly pulled out of the trance." Ron shot up with a victorious yell.

"Then I think I'm right," he exclaimed. "Your bond isn't mature enough to keep going! You can open the door but you can't leave because the bond's maturity level doesn't let you stray too far."

Harry laughed. "Like a video game," he chuckled.

"A what?"

"A muggle computer game; the rest of the soulspace exists, but you can't access it because you haven't reached that level yet. You can't leave your corner of the map until you level-up."

Ron looked sick, and Hermione turned bright red. Harry looked between the two, confused.

"Guys, level up the bond," he snapped, feeling warm around the ears now himself. "The bond, not… that." All three avoided each other's gaze for a moment as they schooled their faces.

"So, er," Ron muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "How do they mature the soulbond, again?"

Hermione gasped and began to rummage in her book bag, pulling out a crumpled envelope and waving it between the boys. "Vane wrote me back! Her potion's ready!"