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Grimmauld was silent; as far as Sirius knew, his mother, father, and brother had left the house for his Uncle's, to celebrate his cousin Narcissa's wedding. It was the perfect opportunity to slip into the manor undetected.

His only obstacle was Kreacher. The vile house elf had likely been ordered to report to Walburga if he ever saw Sirius step foot in the house again, which was why Sirius took the stairs as quietly as he could, hidden securely beneath James' invisibility cloak.

James took the lead, stepping quietly around banisters the whole way up, heeding Sirius's warnings about which floorboards groaned the loudest. Upon finally reaching Sirius's bedroom, the cloak fell off, pooling at their feet. Sirius made for his closet, where a tall set of books sat on his top shelf, and gently pulled them down. James got to work silencing the bedroom in case any human or elf came up the stairs.

"What exactly did you need me to do?" James asked, picking his cloak up off the floor. Sirius glanced at him, only briefly taking his eyes off the shuffling pages.

"Use the cloak," he muttered. "Go back up to the roof and tidy up. Bring in all the ashtrays." James nodded and climbed out the window without a word.

When Sirius's eye finally landed on the page he sought, he grinned and folded the page down from the corner in the most obnoxiously large ear-mark he could, and chuckled to himself. That ought to annoy her just enough to roll her eyes, he thought.

He took some twine from his pocket and tied the pile of books together, tucking a large parchment card underneath the tight knot. Princess, it read, in his neat handwriting.

"We should take these back over to my house," James said, tripping back into the room from the window, carrying an armload of newly-scourgified glass ashtrays. "Mum's been finding ours and vanishing them."

"No dice, Prongs," Sirius laughed, stacking the circular trays in front of the books he'd just stashed. "These stay here. Besides, I'm quitting."

James gaped at him. "What'd'you mean, you're quitting. You're the one got me hooked to the bloody things in the first place," he accused.

"Trust me. You'll want to be quitting, too, mate. I hear Evans hates the smell."

James only shook his head slowly, disbelief coloring the wry smile on his face. "Hermione's got you by the balls, Pads. You've changed."

Sirius sagged his shoulders and sighed, "and?"

James' grin only stretched. "Never thought I'd see the day, is all," he said, punching his friend's shoulder. "You're certifiably whipped. I cannot wait to finally meet this girl and shower her with my awe!"

"You'll not speak to her. Ever," Sirius snapped, biting back a grin of his own. "I'm keeping the two of you far away from each other."

"Oh, c'mon," James whined. "We're bound to meet at the wedding. I'm going to Godfather all your children anyway— that is, if she even wants to procreate with your old arse."

Sirius scowled again, searching his surroundings. He knew he had a few empty vials from pepper-up potions in this room somewhere. "You're wrong. I've already asked Moony."

"Don't be like that, Padfoot," James laughed, throwing himself down on the bed and watched as Sirius searched the room. "I'm your best friend. You'll be too excited to introduce us once she turns of age. I bet she already knows me! Moony and I have probably told her all about your pathetic arse by now— got her questioning her taste."

Sirius snorted. "She wouldn't believe a word from your mouth."

"What are you looking for, anyway?"

"She said she needs me to leave her some DNA, and I know I have a few vials in here somewhere I could spit into." James made a face.

"What does she need DNA for?" He asked, scrunching his nose. "Why can't you just give it to her in the future?"

One of the hardest things Sirius had ever done in his life, other than running away from home, was keeping his future a secret from his friends.

Yes, he'd told them about Hermione. He'd even told them her name and that she was about twenty years than younger than them. But he thought it might be wise to keep his impending death a secret.

If they found out, he knew they'd do everything in their power to stop it from happening. He also knew that there was nothing to do to stop it. If they did, his progress with Hermione up to that point, could disappear. He would never risk that.

So he'd kept it to himself. He put his faith in his soulmate and when the time came, his mates would have to also put their faith in her. And her friends. He winced, knowing Prongs would find it particularly difficult to put his faith in bunch of kids he'd never met before.

"Don't worry about it," Sirius waved him off.

James smirked. "Is she making a doll with your hair to make you behave right?"

"Don't be daft."

"She's potioning you, I bet. Or, ooh," James rotated on the bed to lay on his stomach and rested his chin on his fists. "She's going to find a way to make you younger so she can stomach having to kiss you."

Sirius grabbed a stuffed quaffle from the floor and threw it at his friend's head. "You're a prat," he groused. James laughed, catching the quaffle with ease and tossing it at Sirius's back.

"I'm only teasin'," he rolled his eyes. "Don't you think your spit will dry up in twenty years?"

Sirius stopped, and turned to his friend again, dropping the handful of clothes he'd just lifted. "I didn't think about that," he admitted, slumping down on the foot of the bed. "What else could I leave for her?"

James lifted an eyebrow and focused on a distant corner of the room, his mouth twitching wildly in an attempt to stifle a smirk. Curiously, Sirius followed his friend's gaze to a haphazard pile of crumpled, crusty looking socks.

Eyes wide, Sirius turned and slugged James in the gut.

"How about not," he yelped, face flaming. Instead, Sirius snatched up a knife from his desk and sliced through a lock of hair at the base of his skull. He tied the thick lock up with a gold strand he'd quickly ripped off a Gryffindor flag. James was still clutching his stomach and laughing up a storm when Sirius kicked open a loose floorboard under the window and dropped the hair within.

"Let's go," he growled, grabbing his old broomstick from beside the wardrobe and climbing out the window toward the roof. James, wiping his eyes, slowly made his own way toward the open window. The floorboard wasn't secured, so he looked around and doubled over with laughter once again "Accio," he wheezed, and climbed out the window with his cloak as soon as he secured the board once more.

"Are you sure he said it'd be in his room?" Harry asked, moving boxes of his own stuff he'd had delivered from Privet Drive.

"He said there would be a loose floorboard in here somewhere which would have the sample hidden inside it," she replied, using her toes to test floorboards one by one.

"Did he say what he left?" Ron asked, sitting on the windowsill of the open window, soaking up the cool spring breeze and refusing to help.

"He hadn't actually left it yet," she mumbled, poking at a board. "Said he'd figure it out when he got there, and I haven't seen him since."

"Not very helpful," Ron said. Harry threw a musty old stuffed quaffle at Ron's head, eliciting an indignant, "Oi!"

"Speaking of not being helpful," Harry muttered and went back to pushing around boxes and kicking at floorboards. "You'd think Sirius would have left us a hint when he came back here after Azkaban. I mean, he did stay in here for a whole year."

Hermione only shook her head. "I imagine he was too wary of changing much and risking our chances." Harry shrugged, not quite buying it.

"Or he forgot," Ron said from his sunny perch. "I mean, the guy had just spent over a decade in Azkaban, and he was kinda screwy in the head because of it."

Both Harry and Hermione leveled the ginger with unamused stares. "What," Ron asked defensively. "The exposure to the dementors alone can drive you barmy, you know that. He probably forgot about a lot of stuff!"

Hermione felt a knot tighten in her stomach at his words, recognizing the validity of his assessment. She had avoided speaking with him too much in the time she'd spent at Grimmauld before he fell, out of sheer discomfort; she had no idea what he had remembered from their time together in the soulspace.

He remembered the rooms, she knew, or else he wouldn't have tried so hard to keep her out of them. He remembered what he called her, referring to her as Princess even in person. He seemed to remember her favorite books, and some of the hi-jinks he and his mates had gotten up to. She wondered if he remembered their first kiss; she knew he must have forgotten their agreement to quit smoking as the library still smelled pretty heavily of muggle cigarettes.

Shaking her head, she resumed her search and tried to ignore the sick feeling of not being able to prevent the worst thing that would ever happen to him. Her heart was breaking.

"Could you please help, Ronald," she pleaded. She heard him sigh as he slid off the windowsill and slipped onto the ground.

"Whoa," he called, losing his balance and falling into the curtain which he grasped in an attempt to remain upright. "I think I found it," he called, pushing the drapery off of him and looking toward his foot, which was caught in the concave floorboard. The others rushed toward him and knelt at the hole as he pulled out his foot and joined them.

Carefully, Hermione lifted the board from where it sat askew and placed it beside her. The three peered inside the dusty cavity as Hermione used her wand to knock the cobwebs out of the way. She reached in and pulled out what she thought must have been an old sock, and looked questioningly at her two friends.

Thinking the sample must be inside the balled up old sock, she carefully began to stretch it out. The two decades it had been hidden had obviously not done it any favors, as it was nearly stiff as a board— rough to the touch.

"Hermione, stop," Harry said, voice cracking with… horror? She glanced up at her friend and noticed he was red around the ears, looking for all the world like he wanted to throw up.

Ron suddenly snorted and fell back onto the torn curtain laughing hysterically. His face was red and tears were practically falling from his lashes in his hysteria. Confused, Hermione looked between the two boys, curious as to the their vastly different composure.

"He," Ron hiccuped, "he sure left you a," hiccup, "a DNA sample!" His laughter overtook him again.

"Hermione, put that down," Harry begged, falling from his knees to his rear and burying his face in his hands. "Just stop touching it."

Even more confused, Hermione only held it tighter.

Wheezing, Ron continued, "think that one was," he gulped down a breath, "was about you?"

Oh.

Oh.

Hermione squeaked and flung the old sock across the room and hopped up to her feet.

"Ew ew ew," she whined, running from the room with her arm stretched out away from her body. Only the running of a distant faucet could be heard from the room.

"I can't believe that was what Sirius could come up with," Harry grumbled, disturbed.

"Bloody hilarious if you ask me," Ron said, sitting back up and wiping his eyes. Harry glared at him.

"Bloody disgusting."

Ron looked back into the hole, a soft Gryffindor red catching his eye. He reached in and pulled out tied lock of black hair just as Hermione came angrily muttering back into the room.

Ron made a face as he held the lock of hair by the ribbon.

"Well the good news is that his wank-sock was probably a prank," he said. Hermione and Harry both looked relieved.

When Hermione began consistently taking Carrie Vane's altered Geminae Animarum potion, things starting getting a little too dicey for anyone's comfort.

After only the first week, the ever-present buzzing Hermione had experienced throughout her body since Sirius's death had increased. Before, she could almost ignore the discomfort; now it made her restless and jittery. She often found herself pacing the common room late at night just to try to expel the energy she felt build up in her legs.

Hermione needed help with the potion, though, and Carrie Vane had recommended she never be alone when she consumed her dosage each week. This potion was stronger than the Animarium she had dosed James Potter with in her youth, making the pull Hermione felt toward the subject that much greater.

However, as the soul bond between her and Sirius was already completed, the potion didn't make her love-sick. It just made her sick.

After her very first dose, Hermione felt faint and nauseated. Her body began to vibrate, exacerbating her dizzy anxiety. Harry and Ron guided her back to the common room where they forced her to lay down and rest, but she couldn't rest.

As the week progressed, she found she was able to sleep a little bit more each night, until it was time for her second dose.

The Second dose was worse. Hermione did pass out, and when she came back to consciousness, she was pale and clammy, the vibration even worse.

Harry wrote to Vane soon after the second dose, begging her to tell them why the potion seemed to be poisoning Hermione, instead of helping.

Mr. Potter,

I've done some research of my own after you told me how Miss Granger has reacted to the potion. I believe the negative side effects can only be attributed to Black's death— or, more accurately, his absence from this plane of existence.

If I'm correct, she should feel less ill in the Soulspace, where the bond will likely feel sated — not pulled as thin as it is right now.

Miss Granger did mention to me that when Black first fell through the veil, she felt the same echo throughout her body. I'm positive that pull of the bond was what drove her back to the soulspace. The bond itself recognized what it needed to relax the pull when Black ceased to exist in this plane.

I did warn her the effects would be uncomfortable, though I will recommend someone stay with her during each dose, to ensure she isn't alone or in physical danger following the treatment.

I'm sorry, but where Black is gone, the pull will only become more and more uncomfortable as the bond strengthens.

C.V.

"What she says is reasonable," Hermione groaned from her prone position on one of the common room couches. "I should have seen it coming."

To try to stave off the ill effects, Harry suggested sending her into the soulspace after each new dose. Ron agreed, and Hermione would have, too, if she had felt energized enough to have to an opinion.

However, the first time they tried it, Ron had to swallow his insecurity and perform the ritual on Hermione on his own. Hermione had nearly collapsed after drinking the potion, and had lain on a messily stacked bunch of pillows and cushions in the center of the ritual circle.

"I can't do it on my own, right now, Ron," she had pleaded, choking back the bile she felt burning back up her throat.

Ron grimaced, feeling his annoyance at Harry's absence re-emerge. However, the boy cleared his throat and lit all the candles with a single wave of his wand. Confidence bolstered with the success of his non-verbal spell, he took in a deep breath and began the soulspace incantation, wrapping his mouth around the strange Greek words he had only ever read and heard Hermione chant to herself. Feigning self-assurance, he heard, had a powerful effect on one's ability to successfully perform any kind of magic. He just hoped it would help him this time.

When Hermione's eyes rolled back, exposing only the terrifying whites he'd unfortunately grown accustomed to seeing, he finished his chant. Since Harry was out with Dumbledore tonight, he took a seat in one of the dusty desk seats and looked on at Hermione.

He hoped Sirius would be able to help her somehow, or at least give her the comfort he and Harry were unequipped to give her. He shook his head and chuckled darkly. He also found himself hoping that whatever Harry and Dumbledore were out doing wouldn't be too important.

He wasn't sure he could properly handle two different life-or-death missions this year.

"You alright, Princess," Sirius asked, concern lacing his words as he pulled the girl into him. "You look like shit." There wasn't a trace of laughter in his words.

Hermione just sighed, relief flooding her system with every second she spent wrapped in his arms.

"It's the potion," she mumbled into his chest, grabbing the folded breast of his school robes with one tightly clenched fist. "Can we sit?"

Settled comfortably on her favorite settee, Sirius began to rub gentle circles over the expanse of her back, and placed a heavy kiss on the crown of her head.

"What's happening, Hermione," he asked plainly. "What's the potion doing."

She took in a deep shuddering breath as she replied. "It makes me sick. Since you're not there anymore, the bond is strengthening and looking for you, but you're not there. So it hurts."

"Stop taking it," he demanded, pulling her down on top of him as he laid across the seat. "If it's hurting you, stop taking it."

She pushed herself up far enough to look at his face. "You know I can't do that," she whispered.

"You can."

She huffed, "I won't," and laid her head back down and burying her face in his neck.

"Listen to me, Princess," he whispered, dragging his hand up her scalp and gently through her long curls. "I'm not worth the pain. If the potion is hurting you, then we'll just have to find another way."

"There is no other way," she argued, and then pinched his side.

"Ow," he exclaimed, jerking to the side and causing Hermione to fall between him and the back of the settee, sandwiched in a perfectly cozy little nook.

"You're worth this pain and more, Sirius. I'm doing this because we need you. I need you."

"You look like, death, love."

"And I'd do it over and over again if it means I can save your life and bring you back to me."

Sirius bit his tongue, arguments and protestations lining his lips, ready to spill. But as he watched the girl in his arms curl into his chest, breath evening out, he knew he'd never win.

His heart ached as he watched her slowly fall asleep. This witch was risking her own life now, it seemed, to save his. This witch, who hadn't even wanted to believe in Soulmates was sacrificing her comfort, her youth, to bring him back to her.

He didn't know what he'd done for Magic to see fit to tie him to her. To Hermione, of all the witches in all of time and space, but his stomach clenched with fear that she wouldn't survive what was coming. That she'd give too much and that it wouldn't work. Or that she'd sacrifice it all to bring him back, only for her to slip away in the process.

As Hermione began to softly snore, Sirius felt his heart fly despite his fear. He tightened his arms around her frame and buried his face in her hair.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed aloud for the first time, kicking himself for not having said it while she was awake. "I don't deserve you."

"You're being silly," she replied sleepily, eyes still closed, soft smile on her lips. "I love you, too, Sirius.

Hermione felt warm, comfortably so, and secure. She was struggling to move her arms, but the inability wasn't something that frightened her. The sensation was much like being trapped in a warm cocoon of her own making; safe, protected, loved.

She cracked an eye open and was instantly met with a familiar face wearing an equally familiar smug grin.

"I take it you had some sleep to catch up on," Sirius teased as he leaned back to allow her to stretch her limbs. "That potion's really doing a number on you, love."

"I know," she yawned and giggled. "But I think I figured out how to make it better." Sirius chuckled lowly and shook his head.

"You don't know that yet. You still have to go back out there and it might all catch up to you again." He was grinning, but he was worried; the tell-tale line between his brow and the deep set of his voice served as indicators. So Hermione stretched up along the length of the couch and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

"I know. But I think this will help in the long run."

Sirius pouted, and leaned back in to capture her lips for a another kiss and Hermione realized she might never tire of kissing him.

"So what's next, Princess," he breathed. She shivered, holding herself back from the urge to kiss up and down his long neck. When she realized her fingers were tied around the belt-loops of his trousers, she blushed.

"Next," she croaked, clearing her throat and trying to tamp down the pink she knew was creeping up her cheeks. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips informed her she was unsuccessful. "After we sufficiently fortify the bond, we look for a way to use it to pull you back through." Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"And how will we know if the bond is sufficiently fortified," he asked. Hermione grimaced.

"We try the door again?"

"Great plan," Sirius deadpanned.

"It's all I have so far," she whined. "The twins have refused to help me with anything to do with the Soulspace, and believe it or not, but I have no idea where to find actual fairy tale books."

Sirius blinked. "What twins," he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron's brothers."

Sirius nodded. "Right. Ronald. Harry's boyfriend." Hermione shook her head and tried not to smile.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sirius."

"I never have trouble sleeping when I think of you, pet," he replied, then scowled. "Really though. Why don't you have any girlfriends?"

"I do," she protested. "I have… Ginny."

"Okay, tell me about Ginny."

"She's Ron's sister," she started, but deflated when Sirius leveled her with a look. "Oh, come on," she groaned. "You'll come to realize, at some point, that neither Harry or Ron are even close to threatening."

"Of course. Because they're lovers," Sirius agreed.

Hermione chuckled. "Sure, Sirius."

"How about," Sirius grinned, pushing a stray curl off her forehead, "I owl my uncle Alphard for a collection of Fairy Tales."

"I think you'll find you're running out of hiding places for all the things you're leaving me."

"I'll leave them at James' place," he shrugged. Hermione's smile faltered.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She couldn't tell him. She couldn't. She promised she wouldn't.

"Why? I'm sure you could just ask him for them. If I tell him they're for you and I just need to store them, he'll give them over to you as soon as you ask."

Hermione bit her lips shut, thinking quickly.

"I've never met him," she whispered, praying this wouldn't open a can of worms. Instead, she was surprised by the barking laugh Sirius let out.

"I actually did it," he gasped, between guffaws. "I actually kept the bugger away from you! I warned him," He told her. "I told him I'd keep the filthy git away from the girl at all costs! And then I went and died before letting up. Merlin," he laughed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "That's too bloody good."

Hermione tried to laugh with him, but that little ever-present drip of guilt over her conscience stopped her, pulling at her chest as she watched her soulmate laugh with glee.

"Okay. We'll learn about fairy tales. Why, though," he asked, settling down.

"Well, you said it was folklore. I think if I'm going to find a way to use the bond to pull you through, I'll need to learn more about the folk legend of the veil to find out how."

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor didn't distract him from the book he was currently leafing through. The perfectly manicured hands waving between his face and the book, did, though, and he looked up into Lily Evans' annoyed face.

"I have been trying to talk to you for ten minutes, now," she snapped. "What are you even reading?"

Sirius sat back, flipping the book closed and watched as Evans spun it around to read the cover.

"Fairy tales," she asked with disbelief. Her features were colored with frustration, but he could see the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. After he noticed how Hermione tried to hide her own curiosity, he'd made a game of watching everyone around him to see who else could match the girl's insatiable thirst.

So far, only Remus and Lily Evans had managed to come close. If he played this right, he may be able to dodge whatever pious lecture the Prefect had sought him out to give. All he had to do was give her information in exchange for her silent forgiveness.

"Not just simple fairy tales, Evans. Folklore. Traditions of the Fae."

The girl snorted. "I see. And what has you so interested in the traditions of the fae, Black? Shouldn't you be doing homework instead?"

"Are you familiar with the Fae, Evans?"

"I'm from Cokeworth," she said. "But my mother's family are all Irish. We've had our run-ins."

Got her, Sirius thought as he watched the witch settle into her seat and let her book bag slide down her arm to hit the floor with a heavy thunk.

"You've seen the folk," Sirius asked, feigning surprise and leaning in. Lily reddened.

"Well, not exactly. Not as such."

"Please, tell me what you know," he prodded.

"Why? What are you planning," she questioned suspiciously. "I'm not going to be fooled into aiding you and your friends in your dumb games."

"Why do you think this gas anything to do with a prank," he asked.

"You four— er, three, Remus I exclude from this— only ever crack a book when you're planning something."

Sirius bit back the preen he felt at her words. "Have you ever heard of sheer curiosity, Evans?"

"Your curiosity is a dangerous one, Black," she snapped. He shrugged.

"If you didn't actually know anything about the Fae, all you had to do was say."

"I know stuff," she claimed, hackles rising in defense. "I just need to know you aren't going to try to enlist any brownies in a plot to move the entrances to the Slytherin common room or anything like that." Sirius grinned.

"The castle itself is warded against faerie interference, Lils, but I like the way you think!"

"Don't call me Lils, Black. What are you up to."

His grin slipped. "An aunt of mine recently passed away," he said quietly. Lily frowned.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not," Sirius waved off her sympathy. "Aunt Druella was a certified cow, blood supremacist bitch," he said.

"Oh. Well, good riddance?"

"Exactly," he agreed. "But during the memorial service they held for her, they said something like 'in her journey beyond the veil…,' Which got me thinking where we as a society even came up with that stupid term."

He looked up at Lily who was still frowning, brow creased in the center.

"That saying isn't just a wizard saying, Sirius." This stopped him short.

"What do you mean," he asked. "I have a muggle-born friend who'd never heard it before in her life."

"Yes, that makes sense, if your friend never spent any time in Ireland."

"I think her family is full English with a hint of French," he admitted, knowing the name Granger didn't originate from anywhere in the British Isles.

"Muggles in Celtic tradition have used that saying for centuries, as far as I know. It's reassuring. It's like the Christian concept of purgatory."

It was Sirius's turn to look confused. "What the flying fuck is a purgatory? I've never heard that one before."

"Language, Black, or I'll deduct points." He rolled his eyes but listened. "Muggle Christians believe in a liminal space where souls travel after death. It's where they atone for their sins before entering the Kingdom of Heaven."

"Oh," he said, feeling like he understood. "It's hell."

Lily laughed, "No, actually," she said. "It's like… Between heaven and hell."

"You're making this up," he accused. "Pick on the Pureblood."

Lily laughed even harder, "I'm not, I swear. Catholic beliefs are different from the popular protestant beliefs in England, so honestly, it makes sense you've never heard of it. Most protestants don't believe in purgatory at all, so the popular conception of life after death is split between just heaven and hell. Irish are strongly Catholic."

Sirius nodded, feeling a bit better, but still wildly confused. "So the place beyond the veil is purgatory?"

"Oh, no," Lily exclaimed. "The Irish, who have heard this phrase for centuries have actually come to equate the saying with their religious belief of purgatory, which is how the phrase and idea itself has spread in muggle spaces. However, according to folklorists, the term itself refers to another magical liminal space between here and the afterlife."

"Like for Wizards?"

"For the folk, specifically."

"How do you know so much about this?"

Lily smiled. "Impressive for a muggleborn, isn't it?"

"For anyone, really," Sirius admitted. "It's a bit suspicious."

She let out a deep laugh, but quickly pulled herself together as the Librarian scowled at her.

"I'll probably regret telling you this, but I had fixating obsession with the fae when I was a kid. Whenever we'd visit my grandfather, he would tell us stories and take us for walks around Glen to find Brownie doors," she told him, her features overcome with fondness at the memories.

Surprised as he was to have found a fountain of coincidental knowledge, he found it was actually a pleasant experience to talk to Lily Evans without her scolding him. It was doubly relaxing to listen to her talk about Faeries, which was strange enough.

"I promise I won't tell a living soul," he crossed his heart, noting Hermione wasn't alive yet. "So Faeries die and go beyond the veil before moving on to the afterlife. Does that mean they're not really dead?"

"I don't know of the specifics," she admitted. "I did read a tale once about a Faerie King who had taken a mortal bride. She was able to enter the liminal space to retrieve him when he was killed, bringing him back to life before the Kingdom could fall."

"How was a mortal able to enter," he asked, resting his elbows on the book, giving the girl his full attention.

"She had to find a door," Lily said.

"A door," Hermione asked, chewing on the inside of her lip. "Just any old door?"

"Not like a door we can find in here, Princess," Sirius explained. "A door from the outside world into the soulspace."

"Like the physical veil itself," she asked. Sirius felt his stomach sink to the ground at the mere thought of Hermione stepping through that bloody veil.

"Hypothetically, yes. That's how older me gets here, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Did Lily say anything about how the mortal was able to find the king once she was in there?"

"No, but I'm guessing they had a bond," he responded, shooting her an exasperated look. "We already have that part taken care of."

"Where did the mortal in the story find the door," Hermione asked. Sirius shrugged.

"She couldn't remember the whole story. Said it had something to do with the arms of Morpheus."

"Morpheus," Hermione exclaimed, sitting up straight. "Greek!"

"Morpheus wasn't real, Hermione," Sirius said dryly.

"No, but he's from Greek mythology. The soulspace and the soulmate spells are Greek in origin, right? So why haven't we focused more on Greek mythology, or Greek magical history?"

"Because we're in Scotland and don't have access to unchaperoned travel."

Hermione stopped and studied Sirius. When they had met up in the Soulspace that afternoon, he'd been excited, ecstatic even. He had swept her up into his arms and placed a large sloppy kiss on her cheek while dancing around and singing that he'd made a promising discovery.

Now, as she asked questions and poked at the theory, his demeanor began to crumble. His answers became more terse, and now he was speaking in a tone dripping with a thick layer of annoyance.

She pursed her lips.

"What's the matter, Sirius?"

He sighed. "Nothing, love, just my impending demise and the idea of you putting yourself in danger just to get me out of it."

"We've talked about this," she said, gently, reaching out to brush his cheeks with the back of her hand. "It's going to be alright."

"If the veil is a physical door, I don't want you anywhere near it. You'll just get stuck in here like I have."

"You're not stuck in here now," she said, smiling encouragingly. He returned the look, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yet."

Hermione rose to her tip-toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, and in his melancholy, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tighter to him. One gentle kiss quickly turned into two or three harder kisses, rougher, and suddenly, Sirius's lips felt rougher than they had before, dryer — tougher.

She pulled back to look into his face, but saw only the other Sirius. His cheeks and chin were shadowed with a thin layer of beard growth and the rim of his eyes were sallow and purplish, adorned by lines of laughter at the very corners. His hair was longer, just a bit, not as shaggy, and his frame was broader, harder.

"Hello, love," he said, voice deeper than it had been only a minute ago, but his hold on her was just as tight. She stepped back.

"S-Sirius," she stammered. "You're you?"

He chuckled in response, brushing a stray lock behind her ear and beaming.

"Imagine meeting you in here," he practically sang. Hermione looked around quizzically. The library was exactly the same as before, only a fire was roaring now, where it hadn't been.

"Not that I'm not glad," she began, her hands dancing down to take purchase on the lapel of his gray vest, "but how did we get here. I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

Sirius, older Sirius, grinned. "I was sitting on the settee here, you see, minding my own business as I've been doing for God knows how long, and suddenly, there you were. Sitting next to me." His hands were in her hair, petting back the curls and surveying every inch of her face as though he hadn't seen a face in ages, as though she might disappear again at any moment. Granted, she might. His hands were gentle, reverent, and despite the niggling in her brain yelling that this was inappropriate, it was still Sirius.

"You were talking, but I couldn't hear you. You were saying something, so I focused as hard as I could. I moved down to kneel in front of you, and I heard you. You said, 'We've talked about his,' and I remembered. You must have been talking to me."

Hermione pulled back and stood up, pacing. "So I must have fazed out of that conversation onto this plane?"

"That's my guess. I think your potion is working, love."

She felt a shudder building at the base of her spine and she was gripped by sudden fear. "Will I ever see you again? That you?"

His smile lost it's brightness, though the shape remained plastered to his face like a mask void of emotion and trying desperately to be unaffected. Hermione's heart sank again, this time for a different reason. She approached him again, taking his hand in hers and he nodded, bashfully.

"Yes, you will, love," he said. "But your time with him is coming to an end. In a matter of weeks you'll stop visiting the Soulspace. Something is coming — I know now that it was Voldemort. You have to help to Harry and I won't ever see you again. But it's okay. Because in the end, you'll get me out of here."

"This is where your faith in me frightens me," she admitted. He shrugged.

"I've never not had faith in you, Hermione." She swallowed, an attempt to dislodge the lump growing in her throat. It sounded like her time was running out, and she didn't feel any closer to freeing him from this dreadful, stupid soulspace.

She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in— leather and cinnamon and cigarettes. She'd missed this version of him. "I wish we'd never found this stupid soulspace," she muttered. She felt his chest rumble with soft chuckles as he lovingly scratched at the back of her head.

"Not me. I don't think I would have ever survived being stuck in here if I didn't already know where I was." Then he barked a familiar, hearty laugh. "Can you imagine it, Hermione? Never having been in the soulspace before and then just waking up in here forever? No, I think we were lucky to have found it when we did. Because now we know where we are."

Something fell into place and Hermione jumped back, eyes wide. "We're in the arms of Morpheus.

He arched a brow. "Yeah, pet. We know that."

"No, I mean, you are in the arms of Morpheus! The veil is a door, but you only find the door in the arms, like Lily said!"

"I'm not following."

"When we come in here, on purpose, we do the enchantment which puts us into a trance. So you fell through the door while stupefied, which means…."

"Hermione," he said, voice hard. "You promised me you wouldn't go in that veil; don't even think about it." She smiled.

"What if there's an enchantment to pull someone out of the trance?"

When Hermione was lifted out, it was dark. Harry and Ron were both slouched in the abandoned classroom desks, fast asleep. She woke them by shaking their arms and grinning.

"We're looking for another enchantment," she told them. Harry was rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Ron stretched.

"Didn't Carrie have another enchantment? Y'know," asked Ron sleepily. "The one to help you find your soulmate?"

"No," Hermione answered. "The spell her family lost was only to determine if a person had a soulmate. We would be looking for a spell to wake someone up; the opposite of the one we use here every week."

Both boys nodded their heads as they stood and sneaked their way back up to Gryffindor tower.

The following week, Hermione met a young Sirius in the Soulspace and told him everything that happened. The prospect of not seeing Hermione again for several years terrified him, but he understood she had another, very pressing, issue to take care of.

It scared him, because she seemed rather frightened of this task, but she wouldn't tell him what it was. It had nothing to do with him, but had something to do with her other friends. He tried, and failed, not to appear jealous and terrified. This other task could delay their mission and he was, for the first time, anxious and Hermione could only sympathize; she was also anxious.

What if they couldn't keep working on this next year? What if they came up across a hurdle they couldn't overcome? What if it was all a dead end and Hermione wouldn't be able to retrieve him? What if the veil truly was the end of him?

They spent their time in the Soulspace that night wrapped in each other's arms, each taking comfort from the repetitive thrum of the other's heart.

That night, when Hermione left the Soulspace, Hogwarts castle was under siege.

"Princess," Sirius whispered just as she pulled herself out of her slumber; his voice echoed in her head louder, stronger than it had at first, but with just the same careful adoration as it had always been.

She heard his call, growing stronger and stronger, over the last year and took it to mean their bond was only growing stronger. If her calculations were correct, she may be able to attempt the extraction soon.

Hermione had continued to take her potion every two weeks without fail for the last five years; throughout everything.

Harry and Ron had praised her brilliance exhaustively. The undetectable expansion charm she'd used on her small beaded bag had, in many ways, kept them alive. She stored books, portraits, supplies, clothes, a tent— everything they'd needed as they scavenged the English countryside for those cursed pieces of Voldemort's soul.

What they didn't know was that Hermione kept a near-bottomless thermos, as well. Part of her felt silly, selfish even, for ensuring she had an endless supply of her potion when they often were scarce on food. They were out, child soldiers, attempting to gain the upper hand in a high-stakes war, and Hermione was obsessed with maintaining a dosage schedule to build a stronger bond with her boyfriend.

It felt juvenile, at the time, but it also felt important; she argued with herself almost every cold night, huddled tightly in her cot in the Forest of Dean, while Harry kept watch outside the tent and Ron snored through the buzz of voices on his wizarding wireless radio, that this was also a high-stakes, life or death, cause.

She wasn't building a stronger bond to keep a boyfriend. She was doing it to save a life; one which was important to her and to Harry, and truly, to the world as a whole.

After the war ended and the world began the process of rebuilding itself, Harry had turned his full efforts to convincing the Ministry of Magic to grant Sirius a full pardon. They had rescued Peter Pettigrew from Malfoy Manor and kept the man trapped in his animagus form (in a box kept in Hermione's bag of wonders) and presented him to the Aurors immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts. That got the ball rolling rather quickly and Harry was rather proud of himself.

Nearly everyone, their friends and family included, often asked Harry why he was working so hard to have Sirius pardoned; he was dead. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pestered him about it, as did Ginny and the twins. Remus and Tonks wouldn't, though.

Hermione never knew, nor did she ask, if Remus had any idea what she and Harry were doing. Sirius never told her if he'd shared "the Plan" with Remus or James, though she knew James had known she was up to something.

He never asked why. Instead, Remus would always step in when the entire world persisted to know why Harry wanted this so much.

"Sirius Black was a good man. He was a loyal friend and a fiercely protective godfather to Harry. I think it's important that the Wizarding World take their part in the responsibility for what was done to him. He was an innocent man, incarcerated for over a decade, without trial for a crime he never committed. Whether he is alive to enjoy the spoils of freedom or not, his legacy must be cleared and his involvement in our efforts to end Voldemort must be fully recognized," Remus had stated in the Daily Prophet the day the pardon was issued.

"Now," Harry told her happily from the comfort of the flat she had rented for herself, "when he comes back he won't have to hide. Or worry about the Aurors." Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek, feeling the familiar sense of inadequacy and anxiety. She had a niggling fear that she wouldn't be able to pull it off; that every important person in her life had put their faith in a girl who wasn't as brilliant or as skilled, or even as capable as they had thought.

What if she had a soulmate, fell in love with him, and then he died and that was just the end of the tale?

But the years crept on, and as she continued to strengthen the bond, she also continued to search.

She scoured libraries and bookstores and wizarding museums all over the continent. She used the funds Sirius left her in his will to purchase a permanent home in Greece, where she secluded herself for months on end before returning to her life in London.

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt offered her a post as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries two years after completing her NEWTS, an offer she snatched as quick as the words fell from his mouth. She had all-hours access to the Veil of Death, as her fellow unspeakables referred to it.

Just as quickly as she took up the post, she made the Veil her primary interest. Her research was kept secret from even her superiors; special orders from the Minister. Hermione had sneaking suspicion that Harry had set a worm in his ear— either Harry or Remus, both of whom acted incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing.

Even with all the resources available to her, and an endless supply of income (from an account she would eventually love to berate Sirius for), she still felt lost. She'd made no progress in finding the awakening enchantment. She met with several different fae in the wilderness across Europe and found no special doors. At one point, Ron had teased her about the small Brownie that had taken up residence in her London flat's kitchen cupboard, beneath a ceramic mug.

Every avenue she tried, she came up empty, and yet she chugged her potion every two weeks.

Sirius's voice, whispering, "Princess" in her ear woke her from a cold sweat one November night. The word was gentle and distant, but it felt like a soft woolen blanket draping over her shivering body. At first she'd mistaken it for a dream— a wish she held so dear in her heart, that her mind was manifesting it in her sleep.

It had been years since she'd visited Sirius. She knew, at this point, if she were to visit the soulspace again, she wouldn't see him as she had before. At this point in his timeline, if the timelines ran adjacently, he'd be in Azkaban already, unable to complete the enchantment without candles and a wand. There was a chance she'd meet with the Sirius she was trying to save, but she fretted facing him without having made any progress.

He'd been trapped in the soulspace now for six years; six years and she, who was supposed to be capable, had nothing to show for it.

Every morning, as Hermione pulled herself out of her slumber to prepare for her day, whether it be at the Ministry, with friends, in Europe, or traveling from archive to archive in Greece, she heard the caress of Sirius's voice in head; "Princess."

Each month, the voice grew stronger. Instead of a niggling and comforting presence in the back of her mind, it transformed into a strong, present sound, as though Sirius were speaking directly into her ear. Sometimes, if she was still enough, she could feel him pressed up against her arm, his chin resting on her shoulder, breath tickling her ear and her neck.

A year later, on another cold November morning, Hermione could feel the brush of his hardened fingertips across her brow.

"Princess," he repeated, something the voice had never done before. "It's time. I can feel it."

She crammed her eyes shut, stilling her body as completely as she could and thought, "I don't have the ritual. I can't wake you up," but there was no reply. So she did the only thing she could think of. She got up, and she called Ron and Harry.

"What do I do," she asked, the three of them leaning against the counter in her kitchen.

"I'm not sure there's anything else you can do now, but just try," Harry said. "You've been working on this for years and haven't found anything else—maybe there isn't anything else!"

"But what would I even do? I can't just go in with no plan. I haven't the foggiest idea how to even attempt it," she cried, wringing a worn dish towel, strands of released terrycloth falling down to the floor at her feet. Ron cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking about it and— hey! Don't look at me like that, I've been known to ponder things," Ron exclaimed at his friends' surprised looks, ears turning a bright red. "Anyway, what if the enchantment you've been looking for existed but is gone now? You'll never find it. Besides, Vane said as much about the other spell. Why don't you just, make your own spell?"

"That's really dangerous, Ron," Hermione said. "I could hurt him. I could hurt myself."

"But it's already laid out for you," he persisted. "In the soulspace enchantment. The Greek incantation revolves around entrancing you and sending you in to the soulspace. Why can't we just, I dunno, swap the verbiage?"

Hermione bit down on her lip, working the suggestion through the mill of her thoughts. Harry, on the other hand, just stared at his red-haired friend.

"Mate, you learned Greek?"

Ron shrugged. "Hermione keeps the books around. I was curious, so I translated the whole incantation one night."

"That's incredible," Harry exclaimed. "Hermione, did you know?"

Hermione looked up and grinned. "Of course I knew. Why do you think I left the books out? I knew he couldn't help but look through it all if I left it there while you and I talked shop."

Ron looked thoroughly played, but proud of himself nonetheless. "I didn't actually learn Greek," he muttered, holding back a bashful smile. Hermione beamed at him before continuing her thought.

"I'm scared to try it that way, Ron, because there's no way to test it. The only way is to perform the whole ritual, and any number of things could happen… I could get stuck there, he could be killed… anyone standing around me could be killed. I'd be essentially creating my own door to the soulspace, and that seems a bit volatile."

"Volatile!" Came a small voice from above their heads. Hermione angled her face toward the cupboard and caught sight of her resident Brownie; small feet hung off the shelf storing Hermione's teacups, though the feet may have appeared large in comparison to the rest of the fae's body, which was slender as a stick up to his disproportionately large head. His wide grin legitimately stretched from ear to ear, showing off an impressive collection of small, razor-sharp teeth. His brows were furrowed with mischief. "Volatile is my middle name," he giggled.

Harry's own brow flew into his fringe, amusement painting every feature, and glanced back to Hermione before addressing the creature.

"You can help Hermione create a door to the soulspace?"

"I can create a door anywhere I want," he replied, puffing up his minuscule chest. "I am a prince!"

Ron snorted, "Prince of the cupboard, maybe."

"I am!" The faerie jumped to his feet and slid down to the shelf directly below him. "I am a prince, my mama told me before I left home! She said I better find a princess before I could claim my kingdom!"

"Oh yeah," Ron laughed, "were you hoping that was Hermione, here? The woman with a soulmate?"

"No!" the Brownie hissed, landing with a soft plop onto the kitchen counter. "Miss Mione is too ugly for me! I need a princess of serpentine beauty, like me!"

Hermione, being far too amused to feel at all bothered by the accusation of ugliness, watched the interaction unfold. Ron and the faerie continued their banter about princesses and kingdoms when the little one's claim came back to her.

"Wait! You told me you didn't know how to reach behind the veil," she accused. The self-appointed prince faced her slowly, curling lips upward to display all his lovely little teeth again.

"I said, miss, I didn't know where to find a door."

"Bloody faeries," Ron yelled, slapping the counter-top and making the faerie in question jump and giggle with absolutely glee. "Can't trust a word they say!"

"On the contrary," said Harry, grimacing, "you seem to have to trust every word, implicitly, and at face value."

Ron scowled. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, wondering how she had forgotten the very first rule of working with the fae: always ask tertiary questions to get a true answer from them.

"I can help miss open the door," the little one informed them. "But she must do the incantation to wake the soul behind the veil. Afterwards, Miss must help Topher Volatile Wildheart find his princess."

"That's not really your name," Ron muttered, unable to help arguing with the little guy.

"Is, too," Topher replied. "It is because I will it to be!" Ron groaned.

"Okay," Harry clapped his hands, impatience winning out. "Where do we go? How do we do this?"

While Hermione and Ron worked together to rewrite the soulspace ritual, Topher found a perch in Harry's hair and told them all about his adventures in the Welsh countryside, from right before he met Hermione.

"Then when miss found me and asked about the veil between worlds, Topher was ecstatic. Topher's ancestors knew the veil intimately. Many many centuries ago the Wildfae of Ireland protected the doors between worlds, but the mortals wanted to take possession of the doors— they wanted to infiltrate the space found there and bring the dead back to life," he said. "That's not how the space there works, though, and we Faeries knew that. But it was so funny to watch them try and try and try, some crying big ugly tears, others screaming and kicking because their loved ones weren't there. It was fun until mortals started hunting the wildfae; stealing us and forcing us to guide them toward their dead mortals. But the dead don't stay in the space.

"When fae or mortal die, they visit the space. They see everything that could have been of their life. They see their soulmates for the first and only time, before the doors judge them and move them to the afterlife. Magic mortals, wizards and witches, found a way to enter the void without dying. Soulmates are tied to the same place in the void, so when the wizards entered and met their mate, they believed the void was a land for soulmates. Quickly, they made magic and spells that borrowed essence of the void, but they didn't understand it. They know nothing. It is not a place for lovers; it's a torture chamber— to show the dead what they missed in their life."

Hermione shivered, appalled in the way only an adult can be when the full realization of the dangers they put themselves in during their youth comes crashing into them. Each time Hermione visited the soulspace, she was entrancing herself to enter a purgatorial torture chamber. Willingly. A shiver ran up her spine as she chastised herself.

"That makes sense," Harry said. "If the soulspace is just a torturous pit-stop for the dead, that's why the ritual knocked you out! You were, like, comatose— almost dead," he cringed.

Hermione nodded. "Which is why Sirius hasn't moved on— he's not dead." Topher hissed in approval.

"Even the living eventually die in the void," Topher lilted. "To rid ourselves of the mortals who hunted us, the Wildfae closed every door to the void. They locked them and made them disappear. But the brownies, we like a bit of fun, so we made one half-door, and we made it so pretty and we bolted it to the earth. Mortals wondered about the void and searched and searched for their dead, and the brownies led them to the void they sought, in the one-way door they went!"

"The veil," Hermione breathed. "In the ministry."

"Government ruins all our fun," the Brownie lamented. "They seized our door and our game, they put it inside magic mortal walls. Not even brownies can trick anyone anymore."

"You're horrid little creatures," Hermione tutted at him, flipping the pages of her Greek dictionary.

"If your folk are from Ireland, why is everything about the soulspace in Greek," Ron asked, crossing out a scribble on his parchment.

"What's a Greek?" Topher asked.

Harry sighed. "Mum's books said the folk don't actually care for geography. They can travel to Athens from Cokeworth with a single step. I'm guessing his story isn't set entirely in Ireland, but across the world."

"Hairy Harry is wise," the faerie trilled, hanging from a strand of Harry's fringe to pat him with a cold stick-like hand on the cheek. "Anyway," Topher crawled back to his perch. "The mortals that fell into our one-way door would die inside their chamber. No one ever lived as long as Miss Mione's Handsome. Pesky Greeks figured out how to use the ties to the void to tie soulmates to one another."

Carrie Vane had explained to Hermione, several years ago, how her family's understanding of Soulmates started with the ties. The spell they'd created showed ribbons or ropes, connecting the person to their soulmate. Some of those ropes weren't tied.

"Why doesn't everyone have a soulmate, then," she asked the faerie. He responded with a sour look.

"Most souls don't have to share a room," he snapped quickly. Hermione wondered if he just didn't know the answer. Maybe no one would ever truly know the mystery of soulmates. The Vanes came close and the Folk knew their own folk tales, but perhaps there were still secrets in the universe, secrets no one could truly unveil.

"And Sirius is still alive because," Ron asked.

"Miss Mione lives and tied a strong bond to Handsome's soul. She has tethered and tightened and pulled, keeping him in the void. She is drenched with the void's air."

"There," Hermione exclaimed, gathering up the parchment from Ron's hands. "It's ready. Now what?"

Topher grinned a toothy snarl. "Now we wake him up."

Hermione sat on the hard, cold stone of the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries, in the center of a candle-lit five-point star, for what she hoped would be the very last time.

Topher explained that she would have to enter the soulspace one last time and perform the ritual with the new incantation on Sirius from the inside. While she did that, the Brownie would open the exit through the veil, for the first time in all of history.

Harry would perform the ritual to send Hermione in and Ron would stand guard at the door to the chamber. Hermione's heart was pounding with nerves. Anything could go wrong, she thought. She was placing all of their lives in the hand of a Brownie from Wales.

She was even more terrified by the prospect of succeeding.

She wanted this, to save Sirius, for over half a decade. So much of the life she had built for herself revolved around saving him and bringing him back to her and she didn't know what to do with herself once she had him back.

"What do we do when he's back," Hermione asked Harry softly, but Harry couldn't respond before Ron called out.

"Don't worry Hermione, Harry and I'll keep these doors locked for as long as you need!"

Harry balked, face reddening to a concerning extent. "Fucking Weasley," he growled, then shouted over his shoulder at his friend, "Could you not? I didn't need that image in my head, thanks!" Ron only guffawed and closed the door to the chamber behind him as he left.

Topher was sitting cross-legged in front of the veil, giggling madly at the whispers coming from it. "Are we ready," he asked.

"We've been ready for years," Hermione muttered as she laid back on the stone floor and closed her eyes, Harry's voice transporting her to that familiar library; books scattered in disarray atop the desks and tables. A warm fire was crackling in the hearth casting a dim glow throughout the otherwise dark room.

Two ugly velvet armchairs sat side-by-side before the fire and the top of a black-haired head was peaking out from the front of the plush blue settee.

Sirius was asleep on the couch, mouth only slightly agape as he whistled a breath gently in and out. He looked exactly as he had the day he fell into the veil, five o'clock shadow painted his cheeks and chin, his button-down shirt wrinkled and askew, tattoos peeking out from behind it at his chest and along his arms.

"Princess," he whispered, eyes still closed. He must have dreaming, because he whispered again, "it's time, I think," and flopped around on his other side, face buried in the cushion of the settee.

Hermione was left breathless, seeing him again. He looked so young, she thought. Not young, like he had been when they first met in the Soulspace, not fresh-faced and juvenile. Younger, though, than she had imagined him in her mind. He had been 36 when he fell into the veil. Despite the weary slouch of his frame, he looked 36.

She kneeled beside the settee and reached out to shake him, timidly grasping the tangible arm before her. Her cheeks must have been cherry-red, with how warm she felt.

"Sirius," she whispered. "Sirius, wake up."

He stirred, but when his gray eyes landed on Hermione's frame, he jolted up and pulled her face near his.

"Princess," he breathed, searching every inch of her face. "Why are you back so soon? Is everything OK? Is Harry—" but his voice trailed off as he took her in. His hand caressed down there cheek, taking in the angles which had grown in prominence, her eyes, which had brightened with experience, her hair, tamed and tied up in a single cascading ponytail.

"Princess," he said again, this time more like a question. "How long has it been?"

She grabbed a hold of the hand in her hair and wove their fingers together tightly. "Five years," she breathed. "I'm sorry you've had to wait."

His eyes widened comically in surprise before he threw his head back in a barking laugh. "I've only waited about twenty or so minutes, love. I just sent you back off to school."

Hermione recalled that day in her sixth year, when this Sirius's presence had overtaken the other one in the soulspace. The day she had learned that their time was short.

This Sirius's thumb was rubbing gentle circles into the base of the hairline at her neck, scrutinizing every inch of her again.

"Hermione, you're radiant," he breathed. "I mean, it could just be the fire behind you…" he laughed, "but I think you're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

Hermione chuckled, too, "aren't you romantic," she teased with the same ease she always had with him in this place. "Hurry up, then, we haven't got all day!"

She had him help her fumble around for candles and he set up the star behind the settee, doing everything the exact same way he remembered doing in his school days.

Sirius did as instructed and laid in the center of the star, his eyes closed, and listened to Hermione's voice alter the words he'd come to memorize, her cadence varying from his or Remus's. Instead of feeling sleeper, Sirius felt a wave of hot energy run through his veins, waking up every sense, every synapse in his brain and opened his eyes just as he crashed on the cold stone floor, heaving.

"It worked," came a voice similar to Harry's, only deeper— steadier.

"Bloody hell," Hermione's voice gasped from across the room. Sirius was kneeling on the floor, eyes wide, seeing nothing but the stone beneath his knees when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso and pull him up. Focusing, he saw the grown-up face of his godson.

"He's breathing," Harry called out to Hermione.

"Of course I'm breathing," he muttered and snapped into action, throwing his own arms around the man holding him up. "Harry, my boy," he cried, "I am so sorry I did that to you! I'm so sorry," he apologized, over and over.

"It's okay, Sirius, we got you out! We— or, actually," Harry laughed, clinging to his Godfather and sniffling, just a little, "Hermione did. Just like you said she would. I put all my faith in her, just like you told me to."

Sirius grabbed Harry's chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked him dead in the eyes. "Good man, Harry. Well done."

He let go of the boy-turned-man and wrapped Hermione up in his arms before she had the chance to say anything. "Shh, Princess. Just shut up, a sec. Let me enjoy this." He felt her grin against his neck, where he had buried her face as he held her, tighter by the second.

In his periphery he saw Harry scoop up a small stick-like creature and slip quietly out of the Death Chamber, door sliding closed behind him with a reverberating click.

He was out. He had Hermione in his arms again after years and years of missing her. Nothing in the world was right, he knew that. James and Lily had still died, Peter had still defected and betrayed them; but he had Harry and Harry was safe. He had Hermione, his soulmate, who had worked tirelessly for years to save him. She had given up her time for him, and he owed her everything. He owed her the world. He even told her as much, whispering the thought into her ear and making her giggle uncontrollably.

"I'm not going to keep score, Sirius. I love you. I rescued you for entirely selfish reasons."

He loved her, too, he told her, laughing and trying not to let her see him cry— he was the happiest he'd ever been— and he kissed her soundly on the mouth.

"I'm actually kind of glad it took you a while to get me out," he said, breathless and resting his forehead on hers. "I mean, it'll still be weird and it'll still cause whispers either way, but maybe it won't be as weird, if I ask you to marry me?"

"You're right. There will still be plenty of whispers," Hermione agreed, clutching him around the waist and walking them toward the door.

"You didn't answer my question," he pouted.

"You didn't really ask it, did you," she teased. God. He loved her smile.

"Well, I mean—," but she interrupted him.

"Oh! Speaking of proposals! I have one for you," she grinned up at him. "While you may not owe me anything for saving your life, we definitely owe Topher!"

"Who the bloody fuck is Topher," he asked curiously.

"A faerie."

"A faerie?"

"Yep," she grinned wider. "A brownie."

Sirius couldn't help it, he returned her grin ten-fold and punched the air.

"Didn't I tell you the whole thing was a Faerie tale, Princess?"

"Don't gloat, Sirius."

"I told you it was the faerie tales! The folklore! I did, didn't I?"

"You did," she conceded.

They had to go deal with the world, now. He knew Harry had his pardon granted, but there was still the small detail of having him legally resurrected from the dead. The press was going to be a nightmare, Hermione warned him. Mrs. Weasley would be just as bad, Harry and Ron assured him.

He couldn't find it in himself to care. He had his life back. He had his love in his arms and didn't plan to let her go for the foreseeable future. She seemed amenable to this, so he was satisfied.

Later, after all the legalities were finished and the shock started to wear off, he and his soulmate would embark on a different journey with Topher, the ugly little sprite. They had a promise to keep, after all.

Perhaps, while they were out searching for an equally ugly little Brownie Princess, he'd take his own Princess in his arms and ask her his most important question again.

And perhaps, like their little faerie friends, they could live happily after after.

That is, if he survived telling Molly Weasley that he was Hermione's Soulmate.