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Chapter Text

May 2, 1998

Hermione was cornered.

Her back against a crumbling wall, the castle was a smoking pillar of debris all around her, and she was trapped.

Fenrir Greyback had come calling, and the sick sneer on his face was highlighted by the deep, gouging scars that tore a line across his features.

“Your fear smells delicious, Mudblood.”

He stormed towards her, and Hermione raised her wand at him, but each spell she levied was easily brushed off. Werewolves were impervious to most spells; it was what made them so dangerous while transformed.

“Stay back!”

Greyback was always in a state of half transformed, half human.

He laughed at her, a gurgling, disturbed thing that erupted from the back of this throat.

He was terrifying.

Hermione shuddered as he growled deeply, the sounds of explosions combining with his roar rocking the ground beneath them.

This was it. Now or never. She didn’t want to know what kind of person it made her that she didn’t hesitate to wield a dark curse against him.

“Sectumsempra!”

A few lacerations opened up on his face and chest, but he remained undeterred.

“You’ll have to do better than that, little lion.”

Hermione was contemplating her last resort when he was suddenly upon her.

His hot breath steamed her ears and she jabbed her wand into his abdomen but he easily jerked it out of her hands, holding it aloft as he pressed her body into the wall.

She cursed herself for being so weak, so unprepared, so fragile after nearly a year starving and on the run.

And for what? For nothing?

For everything to end with her broken, alone, drowning in the grief of Harry’s death—

His mouth descended upon her cheek and she cringed, trying to flinch back as far as she could but it was futile.

There was the unmistakable lap of a rough tongue against her skin.

“Your tears taste like honey, little lion.”

And then his extended claws ripped into her jacket, tearing fabric and jostling the item hanging around her neck.

He had just slid one sharp talon against her chest, shredding skin and drawing blood, when it happened.

A pulse wrenched the world apart as golden threads hung in the air like wisps of clouds. Fabric that shimmered and glittered as if held aloft by pure starlight floated by her head. 

Hermione wondered if it was a figment of her imagination, this manifestation of golden light before her as if to comfort her in her last moments.

Greyback growled into her hair as her jeans were ripped, his hand and sharp claws descending where no one but her had ever been before, but she closed her eyes and brought a hand up to his face.

Without thought, she jammed two fingers directly into his eyes while he was busy trying to shred her undergarments in two.

His scream was guttural and unnatural, a braying, whining thing, and she felt satisfaction curl in her gut before the threads wriggling and dancing around the air pulled taut like a bowstring.

Her entire body lifted in the air by some unseen force, her arms pinned behind her.

Hermione’s head was wrenched backwards as she stared at the sky as night brushed hands with the silken effervescence of dawn.

Greyback had finally gathered his bearings, but she could hear him below her yelling in shock.

Whatever happened now, at least he couldn’t get to her anymore. That was some small comfort, she supposed.

Her last resort, the Time Turner around her neck, grew scalding where it lay beneath her torn jacket on her chest.

She couldn’t move a single muscle, not to cry out in fear or pain, or to discern what was happening to it.

Perhaps it had been Greyback’s claws ripping through it and he had turned it accidentally, or it could be that it was finally gaining sentience as she’d once theorized the objects could do if the wearer utilized it enough.

Whatever it was, though, Hermione would never know, for she was sure this was her end.

Suddenly, the brewing dawn shrunk into pitch black night once more, except now there were no stars guiding her way.

Hermione became unmoored as the golden threads released her from their bindings, but she did not fall to the ground where the battle was still raging at Hogwarts, no.

She simply fell.

Fell into cold, dark oblivion.

She didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed.

She knew nothing of herself but a tiny, imperfect piece of her soul that urged her to remain.

She was suddenly reminded of a quote from a story she’d once read.

“Look, don’t be afraid, it is nothing, it is only eternity.

“Silenced she sank easily through deeps under deeps of darkness until she lay like a stone at the farthest bottom of life, knowing herself to be blind, deaf, speechless, no longer aware of the members of her own body, entirely withdrawn from all human concerns, yet alive with a peculiar lucidity and coherence; all notions of the mind, the reasonable inquiries of doubt, all ties of blood and the desires of the heart, dissolved and fell away from her, and there remained of her only a minute fiercely burning particle of being that knew itself alone, that relied upon nothing beyond itself for its strength; not susceptible to any appeal or inducement, being itself composed entirely of one single motive, the stubborn will to live.”

And live, she would.

Though oblivion, she observed, was a strange thing.

For there was laughter here.

Laughter, and soft music.  A song she remembered her Mum and Dad used to dance to in the living room.

Hermione smiled as eternity sucked her under, and she bled, and bled, and bled.

Chapter Text

May 2, 1977

“Prongs, are you sure about this?”

Sirius looked at his best friend skeptically as he withdrew the seemingly innocuous grimoire he’d nicked from Grimmauld Place before his timely departure when he was sixteen. 

The magic between the ancient, weathered pages seemed to thrum to life as he opened the heavy tome.

“Of course I’m sure, Pads. I have to have the proof of what I know in my heart. My Lily Flower is my soulmate, and this will just cement it in her eyes when she learns the truth and finally gives in to me.”

Remus groaned from his spot on the bed beside them.

It was the full two nights ago, and he was still a bit fatigued from its effects.

The charmed record player droned on in the background, playing a new Fleetwood Mac song that had recently come out, and James had been so kind as to use his talents for making Muggle objects work in Hogwarts to allow them to listen to it.

“Anyone else think this seems a little manipulative?”

James snapped his neck over to Peter, who’d been quiet up until that point.

“Mind your business, Peter. Besides, we’re doing the spell for all of us; you’ll get to find your bird, too.”

An uncomfortable grimace flashed across Peter’s features before they settled into blank indifference.

Sirius eyed his best friends for one more moment, waiting with bated breath for any more objections, but there were none.

“So what’s the obsidian salt for? I’m aware it’s a summoning circle, but why doesn’t it call for plain salt? Why obsidian?”

Remus, always the swot, began inspecting the spell and its contents.

Sirius read through the directions again, his Latin still a bit rusty, but couldn’t find the answer to Remus’ question. 

“It doesn’t say; I’m assuming because it’s no ordinary spell. This is a copy of the Black family grimoire—these spells aren’t to be performed lightly,” Sirius said, looking pointedly at James, who’d had the decency to look a bit abashed at his demand that they perform this exact spell. 

The spell to reveal his Godsdamned soulmate. 

Sirius knew soulmates existed, though he wasn’t in much of a rush to discover his. 

He preferred his rakish and infamous ways that made him a god among men in the Hogwarts halls. 

The truth was hidden much farther than his consciousness was willing to dive into at that moment—the truth that whispered to him that he was a coward. That he was afraid to find his soulmate, afraid that they would find him as lacking as his blood family had. 

Of course, those old insecurities would rear their ugly head the moment he was trying to make sure nothing went wrong with a spell as complex as this one. 

“And you’re aware that this is blood magic, right, Prongs?”

Having grown up in a Pureblood household, the fact that this was blood magic should’ve been a much stronger deterrent to perform this spell than it was, but James was set on his decision that this was the only way. 

“I have to do this, Pads.”

“What if she doesn’t believe it, though? She’s Muggleborn. She probably doesn’t even believe in soulmates like we do.”

Remus posed a great question, but James shook his head. 

“No, I heard her discussing it in Divination with Mary. She knows they’re real. This will work.”

Sirius stepped up to the circle without preamble and raised his wand.

“Alright, Prongs, let’s see if you can back up your words with actions. Hold out your hand.”

James did as he was told, and Remus and Peter scuttled to their feet, eyes wide and concentrating on the circle before grabbing their candles and lighting them with their wands.

They were nearing the end of their Sixth Year at Hogwarts, and James was growing restless with the notion that Lily would find someone else if he didn’t do something drastic soon.

Sirius knew the two would find a way to each other, it was obvious to him in the way Evans would stare when James was looking the other way. 

It had all changed when she broke off her friendship with Snivellus; she wasn’t defending the greasy git any longer, and she wasn’t angry when they debuted any new pranks. The pranks had slowed considerably since the Shrieking Shack incident a year prior, but still, she no longer defended him like he was her little lion cub. 

Peter’s candle was shaking where it sat in his hands.

“It’s not going to explode, right?”

Sirius grunted.

“It’s not supposed to.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Supposed to?”

Oh well, too late for arguments now. 

Sirius began the incantations, the memories of sitting through dull Latin courses with his private tutor in Grimmauld Place starting at six-years-old allowing him to sharpen his accent and form his tongue around the harsh sounds coming from him. 

The summoning circle glowed silver and then suddenly red as Sirius slashed a slicing hex across James’ palm. 

He hissed in pain, but otherwise remained steady. 

Though the incantation was short, the magical acuity needed, as well as the blood sacrifice, classified it as a 'dark' spell, but the requirements were thus:

Obsidian salt in a circle and a few drops of the intended’s blood, add a little Latin and some candles, and then voila: the birthdate of the soulmate would flash above the circle. 

The circle flashed, and suddenly the date appeared:

January 30, 1960. 

Lily Evans' birthday.

James suddenly whooped loudly, punching the air in victory as a megawatt smile beamed across his face. 

“I knew it! She’s my soulmate! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! We are meant to be!”

James jumped up to embrace Remus before running over to Peter to do the same. 

When he came before Sirius, he pounced on him with all the energy of a new puppy desperate to play. 

“Thank you, Pads. You have no idea how much I—and I don’t even know how to repay you for this! She’ll finally see. She’ll finally see we’re meant to be!”

James choked on his words, pressing his face into Sirius’s shoulder. 

“I know, Mate. I’m happy for you.”

“Now we have to do you!”

Sirius backed away, hands up in the air as he tried to refuse graciously, but Prongs was having none of that. 

He pulled his glasses off his face to rub at his eyes before putting them back on, and then suddenly the emotional display was gone and in its place was the familiar mischief that usually resided there. 

His hazel eyes gleamed with happiness that he was begging to bestow upon others.

Sirius backed away a bit. 

“I don’t know, Mate. Maybe we could do Remus or Wormtail next. I--"

“No, fuck that, Pads. I know you don’t think you deserve this, but you do. You think we don’t all see what you’re doing?”

Sirius scratched the back of his neck while doing his best to ignore their knowing glances. 

“Doing what?”

Remus came closer, putting an arm on his. 

“After everything that happened with Marlene in Fifth Year, and how you refused to have another girlfriend after? How you started fucking any girl with a pulse? Yeah, we noticed, Padfoot. You don’t have to pretend, not with us. It’s okay to want someone who will want only you, someone who won’t cast you aside for someone else.”

An old wound ripped his chest open just a little bit at the mention of Marlene and her betrayal with an older Claw in a common space where anyone could stumble upon them. 

It just so happened that it was Sirius himself who found them, the older student wrapped around his then-girlfriend without a care in the world. 

Sometimes when he thought back on it, he wondered if Marlene had done herself a favor by cheating on him. 

With a last name like his, he could only bring her down. 

What would be the point of bringing another person into his fucked up world?

But simply knowing the birthdate of his supposed soulmate wouldn’t condemn them to a life of misery at the hands of his psychopathic family, surely. 

He could simply ignore it. 

At least, to placate his ever-prying but well-intentioned best friends. 

“Alright,” Sirius conceded. 

“But no steamrolling my soulmate if we discover who it is tonight. Their date of birth isn’t exactly a foolproof way to discover someone’s identity.”

“Unless it’s someone in our house that we already know,” Pete chimed in.

“Right-o, Petey! Now, can you do the chanting thing for your own soulmate spell, or does one of us have to learn Latin for that?”

Sirius huffed at James’ question, rolling his eyes as he relit the candles wandlessly. 

“No, I can do it myself. Everyone, back into position. Remus, will you do the honor of slicing my palm?”

“Sure, Mate.”

And then they were all ready, and Sirius began to chant.

“Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare.”

Remus sliced his hand open with a slicing hex to the palm, and Sirius placed his hand over the circle. 

His blood sizzled over the salt. 

Strange. That definitely hadn’t happened with James. 

The circle glowed golden and then—

Nothing. 

He tried again. 

And…nothing. 

“Did we break it?”

“Hush, Pete,” Remus scolded. 

“Slice my hand again,” Sirius ordered Remus, who did as asked without question. 

More of Sirius’ hot, thick blood dribbled over the circle and he began to chant again. 

“Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare.”

The world around them seemed to pulse, like it was alive with this magic that they were summoning to them. 

Suddenly, the golden light from the circle seemed to hover in the air like threads from a spool. 

“What the fuck—"

He wasn’t even sure who’d just spoken as the lights from the candles flickered and then went out, bathing the room in darkness. 

Their silhouettes were only visible from the minuscule glow coming from the pulsing golden threads hovering around their heads and the cool light of the waning moon in the window behind them.

“Are we sure it’s not going to blow us up?”

“No, Peter. Sirius just probably said the words wrong.”

“I did no such thing. It just needs more blood. Remus?”

“Mate, I think that’s enough blood—"

“No, one more time. I can do this.”

“If you’re sure…”

He was sure. 

Sirius had never been more sure of anything in his life. 

He had to do this. It was like there was some preternatural force that was pushing him to keep going, to just give a little bit more. 

Sacrifice. 

He had to sacrifice his life force, but for what, he wasn’t sure. 

The magic was calling to him, the golden threads wrapping around his entire body like a coat. 

“I thought the birth date was supposed to hover in the air, not look like fireworks,” Peter interjected, motioning towards the threads with his hands. 

“Maybe it’s malfunctioning because Sirius’ blood is so inbred,” James joked, though it fell flat when more of his blood hit the circle, and the room seemed to vibrate beneath their feet. 

“I’m not sure I like this anymore—"

“Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare. Anima Mea Revelare.”

Sirius’ voice deepened, the tone becoming something animalistic as it got away from him, the stretching of the words a lyrical dance and a growling timbre and cadence. 

“ANIMA MEA REVELARE ANIMA MEA REVELARE ANIMA MEA REVELARE—"

A loud crack wrenched the world apart as suddenly a body fell from the ceiling and landed directly in the center of their summoning circle. 

It was…it was a girl. 

She wasn’t moving. 

No one spoke, no one even dared to breathe or move a single muscle as the lights from the candles flickered back to life, the golden thread around Sirius seeming to retreat into his skin before settling around the stranger and seeping into both of them. 

The moment it disappeared, something snapped into place between Sirius and the stranger before him, something like a tether connecting both of them to each other. 

At first, there was only the silence and the shock. 

And then—chaos. 

“WHAT the FUCK just happened?”

Sirius was on his knees beside the girl in an instant after James’ shocked voice disturbed the silence between them. 

“Is that a girl?! Is that your soulmate? Padfoot, what the BLOODY HELL did you do?!”

Peter and James were panicking, but it was Remus and Sirius who were staring at the battered girl who lay at their feet with grim faces, smelling the blood before seeing the injuries. 

Moony, who had had too much experience with mortal injuries at such a young age, waved his wand above her form as Sirius’ hands shook above her. He shook his head. What was he going to do to help her? He had no healing training, not like Remus.

He stared, taking in her appearance once the shock faded a bit for his mind to begin absorbing the details. 

She was a brunette with fair skin that pulled a bit too taut over dirtied, pale cheekbones, almost like she’d gone without a good meal for far too long. 

She had a pert, delicate nose and a soft pink mouth that was curled in a grimace of pain.

Her brown hair fell in curly ringlets in some places, dusted with soft golden strands in others. The rest of her hair was matted with blood. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck, what the fucking fuck…”

“Who even is she? Where did she come from?”

“Did you see that? She just…just fell from the fucking ceiling!”

“I know I joked about Sirius’ blood being inbred, but what if his blood was so powerful he summoned a girl from somewhere in the world and splinched her or something just to get her to this summoning circle?”

“Do you think we’ve broken any laws? Can Dumbledore expel us for this?”

“SHUT UP!”

Remus yelled at them, and James and Peter immediately quieted, just as the girl before them jerked from the loud voices. 

She stilled, and Sirius noted her clothing was drenched in blood as well. 

She was dressed in a Muggle top and jacket, her Muggle denims ripped down the front seam, exposing her—holy fuck, exposing her knickers, like someone had—

He immediately tore off his leather jacket and covered her as best as he could, but then Remus went rigid, his nose taking a long, deep sniff. 

“What? What is it? Does Moony smell something?”

Sirius had only seen Remus so scared once before, after he found out about the prank they’d tried to pull on Snape with the Shrieking Shack. 

“She smells…she smells like him. Like Greyback. I don’t know how. She’s not like me, I could scent that if she were. But she’s definitely been around him, and recently.”

“Fuck.”

They all seemed to echo Sirius’ sentiments. 

Remus produced a diagnostic charm, courtesy of the tutelage of Madam Pomfrey after one too many nights spent in the hospital ward with Hogwarts' only Healer, and suddenly a red pulsing light was shining over the girl, its intricate Runes dancing and spinning around as they spelled out a diagnosis Sirius hadn't studied enough to translate.

Remus swore under his breath.

“I’m guessing that’s not good,” Peter whimpered, face pale from all the blood. 

“Not good at all. Petey, run to Pomfrey right now and tell her we’re bringing her, tell her to get Blood Replenishers ready.”

James jumped around Peter at Remus' order. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute. We don’t even know this bird. She just shows up in our dorm, summoned by Sirius. What are they going to say when we bring in this unknown person on death’s door? What will they think?”

Sirius shook as he stared at the broken girl before him. He shook for the state she’d arrived in, for the fact that he’d most likely done this to her, Remus’ revelation about Greyback be damned. Sirius knew this was probably his fault; most terrible things that happened in his life were because of him. 

Sirius snarled in anger at the thought that James didn’t want to immediately get her help. 

She jerked, then, and reached one single arm toward him. 

Toward Sirius.

The room went quiet as he touched her arm, and she stilled, letting out a contented sigh from her pretty pink mouth. 

Her charcoal lashes fluttered, and whiskey amber eyes locked onto his as they opened sluggishly. 

“S-Sirius.”

His name from her lips wrenched his dirty fucking soul apart. 

And she'd said it so, so sweetly.

A smile that looked equal parts resigned and happy tilted her lips at the edges, and then she was out again, eyes closed, hand still outstretched to him. 

To Sirius. 

She had said his name. 

His, no one else’s. 

She had looked at him like she knew him. 

Sirius’ blackened heart skipped a forsaken beat in his chest. 

Fuck. 

“Peter, you will go to Pomfrey now, and tell her to get ready for us. I will carry her to the hospital ward. Is that understood Wormtail?”

There must have been a dangerous note in Sirius’ voice, that madness his family was known for shining through on his face, because Peter jumped to attention and skittered out the door.

Sirius scooped up the girl in his arms and had to hold back his shock when she let out a sweet little sigh against the curve of his neck. 

The scent of her was earthy and metallic, like she’d been rolling around in dirt and blood, which, he assumed, given the state she appeared in, she most likely had. 

He would hate himself if it were his fault that she’d been so seriously wounded; if he’d splinched her in some kind of way by ripping her away from wherever she’d been. 

She clearly wasn’t a Hogwarts student; was she even their age? She looked young, but Sirius could never be sure. 

He glanced back down at that small button nose of hers and the curve of her pouty pink lips. The sharp jutting of her cheekbones, the inky black lashes that framed what he knew were startling amber eyes. 

She was godsdamned beautiful.

“Mate, what are we going to tell Dumbledore?” James asked, face white with contemplation as they left their dorm and made their way to the common room and then out of the portrait hole. 

The halls were quiet and tense, like the castle was holding its breath after the magic they’d just invoked. 

“The truth,” Sirius growled, unable to suffer any foolishness on behalf of James when this girl in his arms was clinging to life by a taut thread.

“Who do you think she is? I mean, do you know her? Have you ever seen her before? She said your name,” James questioned, but Sirius tuned him out as he strode faster down the corridors. 

“I don't think he knows her; she probably heard his name when you and Pete were freaking out on him, Prongs,” Remus reminded James, but for some reason, Sirius didn’t think that was the case. 

The look on her face…

He stared down at the nameless girl resting against his chest, so close to his heart. That strange connection tethering him to her that snapped into place when she’d fallen into their room seemed to tug in his chest at the sight of her there, burrowing against him, like he could protect her from all the horrors of the world. 

His eyes burned. 

He couldn’t protect anyone. He couldn’t even protect his own fucking brother from his family, how was he supposed to protect this tiny slip of a girl, when he was the one who probably brought this harm to her?

He made a vow to her, then, in the dark and echoing halls of Hogwarts. 

He would do everything in his power from that moment forward to protect this girl from harm. He would watch over her, stand vigil at her bedside, and make sure that she would be alright. 

It was the least he could do for her, whether she was his soulmate or not. 

At this point, he wasn’t sure of anything except for the fact that she was fragile and in need of someone to take care of her. 

And he would be damned if that would be anyone other than him. 

Chapter Text

May 3, 1977

Hermione Granger was no stranger to pain.

It was why, when confronted with the absence of it, she melted beneath the confines of a comfortable blanket and the strong yet familiar scent of cigarette smoke, cloves, and an intoxicating men’s cologne.

Gods, she hadn’t smelled that particular combination of scents in ages, not since Sirius—

Sirius.

Something was burrowing at the edges of her consciousness, yelling at her to get up and figure out just what the hell was going on and where she was, but she was warm.

So, so very warm, and comfortable.

She felt safe for the first time since Dumbledore had been killed on the Astronomy Tower.

But even then, maybe it hadn’t been since Fifth Year, in the Department of Mysteries, when he’d fallen through that damned veil.

Hermione snuggled closer to the warmth that was melting her numbed body, pressing her nose into hot, flushed skin that was all male and scented with that intoxicating, familiar blend she’d missed so much.

Hermione and Sirius had had a somewhat strange relationship before he passed.

It had been obvious to everyone who walked into a room with the two of them present that she had a crush on the older man, though he didn’t tease her for it or make her feel ashamed for it.

It must’ve been something he was accustomed to, considering his ridiculously handsome face and wickedly charming persona.

He was never improper toward her, being his godson’s underage best friend and all, but she knew he was fond of her.

Maybe, had he survived, he would have wanted them to be friends.

Of course, that had all gone to the wayside when he’d been struck by Bellatrix LeStrange and Hermione’s heart had been ripped in half with the force of the curse, and then stomped on when he fell into that fucking veil.

Hermione hadn’t been the same since, truly.

After receiving news that she would likely never bear children due to Dolohov’s cursed wound on her scarred chest without major hospitalization, Hermione put off her healing to focus on other things—namely, keeping her best friend alive in a war.

She no longer cared about Ronald Weasley’s romantic affections and instead focused on their friendship.

She knew Ron got the wrong idea when she was upset about him and Lavender. She wasn’t jealous of Lavender because she got to have Ron; quite the opposite.

She was jealous of both of them, that they got to have each other when it felt as if Hermione had no one.

Sometimes she wondered if Sirius had been the only one who truly saw her for who she was and didn’t judge her for it, and now he was gone.

Or maybe not, anymore.

The body clutching her to their side shifted, and Hermione sighed in contentment.

Maybe this was him.

Maybe she’d found him in the afterlife, and suddenly their age difference didn’t matter. Maybe they were simply two spheres of pulsing, biological, cosmic matter that, when combined, created an effect that gave them real bodies and thoughts and feelings.

Maybe matters of the soul were real, and she’d found him in another life.

“I think she’s waking up.”

Hermione groaned. If only she could be so lucky.

Her best friend’s voice cut through the air, and she could only surmise that he smelled so much like Sirius by stealing his cologne or his leather jacket.

Surely it was Harry that she was cuddling into; Sirius Black was dead.

She kept her eyes closed and clutched tighter to her lifeline.

“Hush, Harry. We can talk later, I’m so tired.”

“Miss? Could you perhaps tell us your name and where it is you came from, so that we might assist you in your healing?”

The voice of Albus Dumbledore shook her to her core before remembering that she was likely dead.

Right.

So then this was dead Sirius that she was clinging to, and that was Harry’s voice she’d heard before, and now Dumbledore.

All dead.

She startled at the revelation, blinking her eyes blearily open before scanning the people congregated around her bed.

Yes, she was definitely dead.

Every single person she saw before her were ghosts.

Peter Pettigrew, dead.

Remus Lupin, dead, along with his new wife.

James Potter (not Harry, as she’d thought), dead.

Albus Dumbledore, dead.

And then she turned her head to the person clinging onto her with tight arms.

Hm. Curious.

Sirius Black, dead.

But also…not quite.

She reached a hand up to caress his cheek, slightly rough from day-old stubble, and a placating smile formed on his lips.

Gods, he felt so real.

His grey eyes lacked the haunted quality she’d come to know. There were no frown lines, no laugh lines yet, either.
His skin was clear and bright, his hair inky as charcoal.

The irises of his eyes held endless depths of wondrous ice, grey as melting glaciers.

She shivered with the full weight of his attention on her.

“Can you tell us your name, Love? You gave us all quite the scare, appearing like you did.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What? What do you mean? Appeared?”

She remembered the falling, the displacement through time. She just couldn’t exactly remember the landing, which was the true problem.

Madam Pomfrey came around the hanging sheet, and Hermione stiffened.

“You’re—you’re not dead,” Hermione stated, and, unless she had missed it during the final battle, Poppy Pomfrey was very much still alive and tending to the wounded in the Great Hall.

“Well spotted,” Peter Pettigrew murmured beneath his breath before James Potter slapped him behind the head.

If Pomfrey was here, and she was alive…

“I’m alive.”

The statement rocked Hermione to her very core.

Hermione was alive.

Sirius Black was holding her, and he felt like home.

Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Albus Dumbledore were all alive as well, and all looking decades younger than the last time she’d ever laid eyes on any of them.

What the hell had happened to her?

“It was touch and go there for a moment, Dearie, but these boys ran you down here quick as they could. If they were even a few moments longer, things could’ve taken a turn for the worse, and I would have had to place you into a magically induced coma. Now, is there anyone we can send for who can come for you? Parents, guardians, relatives of any kind?”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice was kind and quiet, her questions more about her wellbeing than trying to wriggle answers out of her about what had happened, like Dumbledore’s had been.

First, she needed to discern when she was, considering she already knew the where.

She remembered the Time Turner growing hot and shattering after Greyback’s attentions.

She remembered hurtling through time and space before landing…

In the boys’ dormitories at Hogwarts.

She remembered breathing Sirius’ name.

Fuck, that wasn’t good.

She wasn’t sure if they’d pieced anything together yet, but from the state she’d arrived in, she was going to have to play up the damaged damsel in distress.

Not like that would be too hard, considering how they were all looking at her like she was a broken and wilting flower.

Well, everyone except Dumbledore.

If anyone was going to be able to help her do what needed to be done whilst trapped in another time, it would be him, though she’d have to tread carefully.

She still hadn’t forgiven him for the wild goose chase he’d sent them on.

A simple note detailing how to destroy Horcruxes and that the Deathly Hallows were real would have saved them months on the run, but alas, this Dumbledore hadn’t succumbed to such machinations yet.

Hermione intended to make sure he never did.

Sirius nudged her a tiny bit, and she suddenly realized he was on the small hospital bed with her, lying back between his arms.

Curious that he’d do that for a witch he didn’t even know that had quite literally dropped into his lap.

“Miss?”

“Oh, sorry. My name is Hermione. I’m a Muggleborn, so I doubt anyone would be able to come fetch me here from Hogwarts. Besides, my family…my family is dead.”

Hermione had briefly considered lying that she was a Halfblood, but from the gauze around her cursed arm, she knew the wound had opened up and Pomfrey had seen the word carved there. It wouldn’t do to lie in front of Remus either, considering he could sniff out falsities and half-truths from a mile away.

And she hadn’t lied.

She was a Muggleborn.

Her parents, as she knew them, didn’t exist anymore.

Technically, they were dead…to her.

Everyone in the room quieted at her admission, and Hermione almost felt a bit bad about using her parents’ ‘untimely deaths’ to her advantage in order to garner sympathy and dissuade any suspicion about who she really was, but desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

“I am so sorry to hear about that. Your parents…I apologize, I do not mean to be insensitive. Did they perish in the skirmish before you were brought to us?”

Dumbledore’s question was not insensitive, and she knew he knew it. He was trying to seem magnanimous; like the twinkling grandfatherly powerful wizard that he projected himself as right up until the moment of his gruesome death.

Of course, Hermione now knew the truth:

Albus Dumbledore was a master manipulator.

Whether he could be trusted remained to be seen, though Hermione was under no assumptions that he wanted Voldemort destroyed.

“Yes,” Hermione responded, hoping Remus wouldn’t be able to discern her bending the truth as a lie.

Sirius flinched behind her and she felt his hand come up to rub soothing circles into her back.

So what if she leaned a little bit more into his touch and enjoyed it a bit too much; it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone.

Except her poor broken heart, that is.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Dumbledore said, looking downcast. Hermione truly believed he felt bad for her, but not enough to not want to question her within an inch of her life.

“Is she going to be alright?”

Remus pointed the question toward Madam Pomfrey who clicked her tongue at the gaggle of Marauders collected before answering.

“Yes, she will be just fine. I’d like to perform a cognitive function test in order to see if you’re of sound mind before discussing your injuries, alone, unless you decide you’d like others to be present for that. Is that alright with you, Hermione?”

“Yes, that sounds fine. I don’t see a reason to hide my condition from anyone, considering how bad it was when I arrived. They’re the ones who brought me here and saved my life.”

“Well, be that as it may, you are still my patient, and I take your confidentiality quite seriously. Now, tell me, what year is it?”

Shit.

Of course she’d ask the one question that Hermione wasn’t quite sure on.

She knew it was the Seventies, late Seventies, to be precise, considering the likely ages of the Marauders.

They graduated in 1978, so maybe this was their Seventh Year? They all looked to be about eighteen, like her, though she was set to turn nineteen in four months—at least, in 1998.

“Um…1978?”

Their faces gew pale and they each shared a look.

“Was that—is that the wrong year? I’m sorry, I must have had it off. It’s 1977. Yes, ’77, I’m sure now. Sorry, had my dates mixed up.”

Hermione let out a nervous laugh before Madam Pomfrey affixed her kind eyes to her.

“Yes, Dearie, it is 1977. Now, do you know where you are?”

“Well, I must be in Hogwarts. I’ve…I’ve never been here before, of course, but that’s Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. I’ve got his chocolate frog card. If he’s here, this must be Hogwarts. Plus, these four are definitely students.”

James strutted up to the end of the bed before pointing to Hermione and Sirius, like he was accusing them of something, before speaking.

“Earlier, you said his name. You act like you know him from somewhere, but he told us he’s never met you before. So, how do you know him?”

Now, this was going to be much trickier.

Hermione, keeping Remus’ nose in mind, tried for the truth as best she could as Sirius tightened his hold on Hermione, sending her belly flipping at the closeness of his chest against her back.

“You all said his name multiple times after I…appeared. I assumed that was his name. Also, he was the one who picked me up. Why should I not feel comfortable around him? He clearly means me no harm.”

“Mr. Potter, please refrain from asking questions until I’m done. Now, you are a Muggleborn. Who is the current Prime Minister?”

Shit, again.

“Um…I don’t usually keep up with Muggle politics, to be fair. Is it…Callaghan? Wilson? One of those?”

Hermione crossed her fingers for luck before Pommfrey nodded in acquiescence.

“Where have you been going to school, if you’re a Muggleborn and live in London? I am assuming because of your accent.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“Ah, I remember now. If I do recall, there was a ‘Hermione’ in the Book of Admittance a few years ago. The family, as I remember it, had a Squib in the family tree and they were able to homeschool with approval from the Ministry. Was this your family, Miss?”

Dumbledore was giving her an out.

She felt the whisper of Legilimency on her mind and she immediately allowed him entrance.

“My, my, I’ve never seen a mind scape quite so organized. I assume you do not want the others to know your true history?”

“Yes, Professor. I am not of this time, but I can promise you I did not end up here of my own free will. I mean you no harm, nor anyone else aligned with the Light. Perhaps when everyone stops fussing about, we can have an acutal conversation about the next steps that doesn’t have to take place inside my head.”

“Right you are, Miss?”

“Granger. Hermione Granger. I’ll be born in two years time, and I attend Hogwarts in 1991 for my First Year.”

“Curious, time magic. And soul magic, as well.”

“Soul magic, sir?”

His blue eyes twinkled infernally.

“Ah, I believe I’ll allow Mr. Black to catch you up on that when things settle. Tell me, you knew him in your time?”

Hermione projected a few images to him, then:

One of Sirius in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, fighting with a Muggle coffeemaker and faux-bowing to Hermione when she fixed it for him.

Then there was the time he procured a text on Ancient Runes that had been out of publication for centuries, just for her, including the hug that she bestowed upon him that knocked the breath out of him.

The first time he called her ‘Kitten’ and she smacked him on the side of the arm for it.

The night she woke in this very ward and was told that Sirius Black had died, and her reaction to it.

This seemed to make Dumbledore pull from her mind without preamble, and suddenly Hermione realised they were waiting for her to say something.

“Do you need to stop, or can you finish Madam Pomfrey’s questions, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up to Sirius’ concerned glacier eyes and nodded her head.

“I can continue, please.”

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up?”

“Oh, um, the attack, of course. The werewolf had me cornered and he slashed my chest with his claws. Then there were these golden threads everywhere and suddenly everything was black until there was music and laughter. Then I heard his name, Sirius, and then I was being carried, and then I woke up here.”

Silence met her, though Sirius never ceased the soothing circles into her shoulders. She melted into his body, more than grateful that some parts of him stayed the same through the years, his need for physical touch in emotionally charged moments ever present no matter his age.

Hermione felt the odd urge to cry, suddenly, remembering the way Sirius would give her great hulking bear hugs that would squeeze the breath out of her.

She remembered when he would tangle his fingers in her hair to make fun of the wild coils but then would smooth them down and twirl a few strands around his fingers absentmindedly, especially when she lost herself in a book on the couch beside him.

Gods she missed him, and this version of him was alive and breathing beside her.

Madam Pomfrey continued her questioning.

“Do you know the names of your attackers or why you and your family were targeted?”

Hermione looked to Dumbledore who nodded his head slightly.

“They wore black cloaks and silver masks. They were terrifying. Before I was somehow transported here, they cast an evil looking mark into the sky, a skull and a snake.”

Everyone in the room sucked in a sharp breath, and Hermione knew it was the right thing to say.

She technically hadn’t lied, so Remus’ werewolf lie detection didn’t pick up anything suspicious.

“Well, that truly does sound like an awful ordeal, Miss?”

Dumbledore cut in.

“Granger, wasn’t it? Of the Dagworth-Granger Potioneers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wasn’t aware Hector Dagworth-Granger had any children,” Madam Pomfrey said.

“It was his Squib nephew that married a Muggle, if I recall correctly, right, Miss Granger?”

“That’s right, Sir. My grandfather was a Squib, and his uncle is Hector Dagworth-Granger.”

Thank the gods Hermione had looked into the family and verified that the Dagworth-Grangers actually had a Squib in their family tree. Hopefully the boys wouldn’t think too much of it and look into it.

Hermione planned on telling Madam Pomfrey about the time travel, mainly because as her healer she was sworn to secrecy and also because she trusted her in the future.

Dumbledore and Pomfrey aside, though, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever divulge the truth to anyone else in this new life she’d been given.

Glancing behind her at Sirius, however, and she wondered how she’d ever be able to keep a secret from him.

“Well, perhaps we can have the Headmaster reach out to your next of kin. Now, you boys will need to return to your dormitories. And no more theoretical and experimental magic, understood?”

Three of the Marauders acquiesced, but Sirius didn’t budge.

The boys were almost to the door when they turned around and saw that Sirius was still firmly wrapped around Hermione in the hospital bed.

At their questioning glances, he smirked and Hermione could practically feel the charming aura seeping from him.

“Head on up without me, gents, I have a few questions for Professor Dumbledore here.”

James started to argue before Remus slapped him on the shoulder and angled him out the door with Peter not far behind.

They were almost gone before Peter turned around to speak to her.

“I hope you feel better soon Miss Granger.”

His watery blue eyes locked onto hers and she couldn’t help the soft smile that came to her lips unbidden.

He wasn’t as evil as his future counterpart had been, not in the slightest.

“Thank you.”

And then they were gone, and Hermione braced herself with what would come next.

“Miss Granger, perhaps you’d like to have this conversation alone?”

Madam Pomfrey pressed her question to Hermione but her eyes were trained on Sirius.

“That’s fine, Madam Pomfrey. We’re just discussing my next of kin and my treatment care plan moving forward, yes?”

“I—well, yes.”

“Alright, I don’t mind him being there for that.”

Dumbledore cut in then.

“I must apologize, Hermione, but if your parents are gone as you said, I’m afraid you have no more next of kin in the wizarding world. Hector passed with no children not two years ago, and his sister was gone years before that. Her only child was your grandfather, who only had your father in return. You are, essentially, a ward of Hogwarts.”

“That’s bollocks.”

They all turned sharply to Sirius, whose soothing circles on her back had turned into a fierce, protective embrace.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Black?”

“She cannot be a ward of Hogwarts, because I am her next of kin.”

Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to twinkle even further in delight.

“Oh? And how do you figure that?”

Sirius took a deep breath before pulling away from Hermione until they were face to face.

“Listen, I’m sorry you had to find out about this in this way, but if what I think happened is true, then I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I somehow pulled you out of that battle, and I’m glad you survived.”

Hermione wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. Her Time Turner broke and sent her to the past—this version of Sirius had nothing to do with it.

Right?

“I don’t—”

“Mr. Black, what exactly was the spell that you performed in your dorm room tonight with your classmates?”

Dumbledore’s eyes were practically as blinding as airplane runway lights with how fucking twinkly they became.

“Please understand,” Sirius began, never taking his eyes off her, “it was supposed to be a lighthearted spell. It was never meant to just…summon someone from the ether or wherever the fuck—sorry—anyway, it wasn’t done intentionally. But it seems like it saved your life so for that I can’t be sorry. But I am sorry in that you’re now going to have to be stuck with me for a while. Likely…for a long while.”

Hermione’s heard pounded painfully in her chest.

Something important was happening and there was information she didn’t know, and that was the worst part of it all—the not knowing.

It was driving her mad.

“Please, what don’t I know? What did you do?”

Sirius sighed heavily, and his breath fanned out against her face. She shivered from the heat of it.

“The spell is from the Black family Grimoire that I’d stolen before running away from home—surprise, that, you’re shackled to a runaway! Anyways, the spell is called Anima Mea Revelare. It’s supposed to—”

“Reveal one’s soulmate,” Hermione interrupted with awe, remembering a time when she’d found that exact spell in the Grimoire Sirius was talking about. Of course, it had never worked for her. She’d tried the spell after he had died, and she’d tried it with Ginny. Surprise, surprise, Harry had been her soulmate, but for Hermione, a birthdate had never appeared.

Could that mean…

“How did you know that?”

Suddenly, the rest of the hospital ward disappeared and it was just Hermione and Sirius together, no madam Pomfrey, no Dumbledore watching curiously, just them.

Alone on an island of eternity with waves of forever lapping out around them.

She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her miserable, pathetic excuse for a life.

She’d always been the strange child; the weird girl with no friends in her Muggle school. She’d never truly fit in until Harry and Ron, and even then, their love had always felt conditional, like they only loved her for what she could do for them.

But this…

This could be really and truly hers.

If only she were brave enough to reach out and take it between her fingers.

“I—I can surmise the intention of the spell because of the name. Revelare—reveal. Anima Mea—similar to soulmate or soul bond. Reveal the soulmate.”

Sirius gulped, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with the movement, and Hermione ached to run the pads of her fingers along the stubble lightly growing there.

“Right. So then, it stands to reason that since you appeared in the summoning circle during my spell to reveal my soulmate—”

“Holy Gods,” Hermione breathed, bringing her hands up to her mouth in shock, eyes watering with the full force of the want that was pulsing and shimmering behind her ribcage.

“Oh, how wonderful. It’s been so long since Hogwarts has seen a bonded pair!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her voice full of mirth and unrestrained happiness. Hermione decided she could research what that meant later.

“What does this mean?” Hermione breathed.

Sirius’ smile lit up his entire face.

“It means, Love, that you’re not a ward of Hogwarts. Once I claim you, and believe me I will, then you’ll officially have a different next of kin in the wizarding world. It means we’re soulmates, Hermione Granger.”

Chapter Text

May 3,1977

Sirius Black was many things: a charmer, a rake, an all around ladies man. He was not, however, a monogamous lover. 

Throw in a bleeding, broken and cursed soulmate into the mix, though, and suddenly he was finding himself beginning to change his tune on that matter. 

Hermione appeared stunned by his revelation; her eyes wide and mouth gaping open in shock.

“That’s…that’s not possible. Soulmates do not exist.”

Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom and batty old grandfatherly demeanor, stepped closer to the bed.

“Actually, my dear, they are very much real. We keep a record of confirmed bonded pairs at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. There have only been twelve known bonded pairs which have attended Hogwarts together, and only one pair belonged to the same graduating class. Some were much older, some younger. Madam Pomfrey, however, could tell you much more than I.”

There was something mischievous in Dumbledore’s eyes as he turned the floor over to the school’s resident healer.

She blushed and wiped her hands down the front of her apron.

“Honestly, Albus. Oh, alright. I found my bonded mate here at Hogwarts many years ago, and we still live here together to this day. If you stay on At Hogwarts to finish your schooling, provided you’re underage like I assume, then you’ll meet her as your Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall.”

Hermione appeared to be even more shocked at learning that news than discovering Sirius was her soulmate. Curious, considering she didn’t necessarily have a dog in the fight, as they say. when it came to Hogwarts professors.

“I’m sorry, this is all just…so much to process.”

She put a hand to her forehead and Sirius felt an immediate pull to try and comfort her through any stress she might’ve been feeling, all because of him.

All because he’d—

No. She was being attacked.

He had pulled her away from that fate.

He’d torn her from everything she’d ever known, and somehow saved her in the process.

It was wild, ancient magic that had done this. He could only thank the stars that were watching over him for bringing her to him. 

He would protect her now, this beautiful enigma of a soulmate he’d been gifted.

He’d never had anything that was truly his; sure, he had his family but his brother had always been there in the shadows, waiting to take his spot when he eventually ran away. It was a family that spurned him at every turn, but he still would’ve liked to call a family his own.

Then there was James, his chosen brother, and Potter Manor and everything that came with it.

He would never resent James for anything; he’d been the one to give him shelter, but Fleamont and Euphemia weren’t his parents by birth, no matter how much they claimed to love him.

He tried not to let it sting too much when they brought out the baby pictures and Sirius was forced to confront the fact that he’d never had a mother or father who’d protected him as a child, who’d wanted to take photos of him laughing while playing on toy brooms or getting into sticky jam and capturing silly, embarrassing bath times.

But this?

Her?

This fragile, sweet, trembling girl in his arms?

Maybe she could be his.

If only he didn’t scare her off first.

Dumbledore took over the conversation, next.

“Well, Mr. Black, if you’d like to go about this by sticking to the old ways, I could give you permission to hold a meeting with a Ministry official in my office before the end of term, thus allowing Miss Granger here to return home with you. That is, of course, if she is underage?”

“I—I’m eighteen, but I haven’t finished my last year of schooling. My birthday falls late, so I’m a year ahead of all my friends. I was supposed to start my Seventh Year this September but, well, I’ll obviously need to find other accommodations.”

Dumbledore brought his hand to his beard, stroking it slightly as Madam Pomfrey flitted around Hermione’s bedside, checking diagnostics and a bloody bandage on her arm that Sirius hadn’t noticed when he’d first brought her in.

“Quite right, Miss Granger. Do you have any keepsakes from your previous home you’d like to have the Aurors recover? We’ll have to send them to the site of the attack, of course.”

She went rigid in his arms, and Sirius rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders, satisfied when she seemed to melt back into him.

“R-right. I’ll just…write down an account of what happened, as well as the address of our home, and that’s could be handed off to the Aurors, yes? I’d really…I’d really just like to rest, if possible?”

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue.

“Of course, dear. If I had it my way, these two wouldn’t have been able to even speak with you until morning after a proper rest but, considering the strange circumstances, I allowed it. Now, Albus, if that is all?”

Dumbledore nodded his head and his eyes twinkled as they rested on Sirius and Hermione.

“Mr. Black, I believe we are being politely evicted from the hospital ward. If you’d accompany me to our storage facilities, I believe there are some spare robes for Miss Granger with no house affiliation. We can, of course, get her sorted in the new year. Miss Granger, would you be against taking an entrance exam to verify your grade level?”

A light came on in her eyes that has seemed previously diminished.

“An exam? Oh, of course, sir! There were multiple subjects that I was taking for my NEWT’s: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies.”

Sirius was speechless.

Was his soulmate…a swot?

Oh, Remus was going to have a bloody field day with this one.

He bet she even loved to read.

“No Divination, dear?” Dumbledore asked. 

Hermione grumbled something under her breath, but Sirius caught the tail end of it.

“—rubbish subject. Total waste of time.”

Sirius chuckled at her vehement hatred of the subject. Maybe that was why she refused to believe in soulmates.

“Well, that’s wonderful. I’ll set everything up, do not worry. Now, Mr. Black, I believe we have an errand to run?”

Sirius looked back to Hermione, something like panic flaring in his veins.

Why was he so terrified to leave her? She would be safe in Pomfrey’s care.

He noted the dirt streaked on the pale skin of her cheeks, the wreckage that was her voluminous curly hair. He wondered what color it would shine in the sunlight, free of dirt and sticks and blood and whatever the hell else (was that rubble?!) that was stuck inside of it. 

Fuck, he still had her blood staining his robes. 

Her blood for Merlin’s sake.

It hit him suddenly, how close she’d come to dying on him.

His soulmate, dying before he’d ever had a chance to know her.

“I’ll be back soon, alright? I’m sure Poppy will get you right as rain, loaded up with some Dreamless Sleep Potion, and you’ll never even know I was gone. You’re going to be quite sick of me here soon, I predict.”

Her face transformed into a beautiful, soft smile. It was something filled with emotions that didn’t make sense: nostalgia, a hint of something bittersweet, maybe even some contentment. There was gratitude there, too. 

He wondered if he lived up to what she would want in a soulmate.

He wanted to know who she was, but most of all, he wanted to keep her safe.

The memory of rushing her down to Pomfrey as the healer performed emergency diagnostics rushed to the forefront of his mind—the way Hermione had needed powdered silver for the claw marks on her chest, the way that he’d had to massage her throat to get her to swallow phial after phial of Blood Replenishers…

Sirius suddenly felt the weight of everything that had happened that night bearing down upon him like a tiny ship in the midst of a hurricane. 

And my, what a force this woman was unto him. 

She stared at him with honey amber eyes, and he sank into her depths, unwilling to ever find a way to pull himself back out. 

He extricated himself from her on the bed, pausing quickly as she hissed out in pain, but then Pomfrey was there, shooing him away, and it was all he could do to keep his feet firmly rooted to the floor while the healer hovered over Hermione, checking and re-checking her diagnostics that floated above her head in a colorful array Sirius couldn’t make out. 

Fuck, he wished Moony was there—at least he would’ve explained what the flashing lights next to the swirling runes meant. 

Dumbledore clapped a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. 

“I see they have this well in hand, my boy. Why don’t we set about finding Miss Granger some spare clothes? I am positive she wouldn’t want to spend her remaining time here in hospital robes.”

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. It was…nice to meet you.”

“You as well, my dear. Sirius?”

But Sirius hadn’t looked away from Hermione, and her eyes were still locked on his. 

“You’ll…you’ll come back?”

Her voice was a sad whimper against the backdrop of his thudding heart, and there was nothing in this godforsaken school, this country—hell, even this world, that would keep him from her. 

“Before you even notice I’m gone.”

Pomfrey gave her a dose of what he was sure to be Dreamless Sleep, and he returned to her side for just a moment more, clasping her hand with his, careful of the scratches and cuts along her fingers, the callouses from where her wand sat. 

There were older scars dotting along the skin, burn marks warping it where only softness should have been. 

She should never have had to endure what she had, and Sirius would make damn sure that, once healed, her body would never see such turmoil again. 

He didn’t take having a soulmate lightly. 

“T-thank you.”

Her words slurred as her eyes drooped, but her hand never let go of the vise grip on his until every sliver of her irises had disappeared. 

There was an aching in his chest at the sight. All he wanted to do was gather her up in his arms and make sure no more harm ever befell her, but, alas, Dumbledore probably wanted the entire nitty-gritty of the spell, and would most likely punish him for his transgressions, considering it was his family’s spell, not to mention his own idea to perform it. 

He could only hope his punishment would allow him to see Hermione while she recovered. 

It was almost the end of term, with only the end-of-year exams to go. Perhaps he could persuade Dumbledore to allow him to serve his detentions in the hospital ward with Pomfrey, where he could watch over Hermione. 

He mulled that thought over as he walked silently through the castle with Dumbledore, pausing only when they reached the entrance to his office and the Headmaster gave the password.

Soon, he was seated before a roaring fire, portraits of long-dead headmasters staring down at him in curiosity. 

“Now, Mr. Black, why don’t you tell me what it is that compelled you to perform an illegal spell involving blood magic in my school?”

There was no twinkle left in Dumbledore’s blue eyes. 

He gulped. 

“Peer pressure?”

A tick passed, then two. 

Then—

“Am I to assume Mr. Potter had his hand in this?”

Fuck. He couldn’t rat out the rest of the Marauders, especially not his brother. 

“What makes you think that?”

He’d learned a thing or two growing up in a Slytherin household—the art of deflection. 

“Oh, nothing of note. Just that the young Mr. Potter seems utterly besotted with a certain redhead of your house, and a soul to reveal one’s soulmate sounds like something he would have come up with in order to, how do you say, persuade her on the matter.”

Sirius huffed a laugh, realizing that the old Headmaster was clearly more perceptive than his persona let on. 

“You might be correct on that front, though I reserve the right to hold my tongue on the matter.”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently at him. 

“Loyal to a fault, as always, Mr. Black. Now, to the matter at hand: your newfound soulmate. This is…a bit unprecedented, you know. Soulmates have fallen to the wayside as modern times have arisen, and as the staunch blood purity circles have amassed more power. A Muggleborn and a Pureblood having a soulmate match would be detrimental to their cause, you see, since it is ancient magics that are not to be trifled with. Easier for the blood purists to lie and say their progeny has never found a true match than to allow their line to be ‘sullied’ with what they claim to be inferior blood.”

“I am aware, sir. I am a Black after all, much as I am loathe to admit. But, Hermione has no living family around, and I have the Potters. Surely, something can be done to find her proper lodgings soon?”

Dumbledore, head tilted down in acquiescence, gave a slight nod as he brought his hands up to smooth his long beard. 

“Yes, yes, I have some ideas on that front. Have you met Mr. Potter’s uncle, Charlus, and his wife Dorea?”

“Of course, Headmaster. Charlus and Dorea have been at every Potter holiday function since I came to live with them. What do they have to do with this?”

Dumbledore smiled brightly, then. 

“And you are aware that Dorea is your great aunt? Her maiden name is, after all, Dorea Black.”

“Yes, we are all related in some way or another around here. Hell, I’m sure you and I share some blood in a roundabout sort of way--er, Sir.”

Sirius watched as Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully to himself. 

“Yes, Dorea and Charlus had such a hard time conceiving a child that they decided to give up. I’m sure having any child, even one grown enough to be on their own, would be a boon to their household. I will write to them at once; any young witch with a claim to Fleamont’s newly acquired son will need to be protected within the Potter family.”

“Wait, you’re saying…you want Dorea and Charlus to adopt Hermione? I just assumed…”

“What, that your chosen family would allow an unwed Witch and Wizard with a soulmate claim to one another to live together in the same household? You’ve lived with Fleamont and Euphemia long enough to know what they will and will not tolerate, and grandchildren out of wedlock--”

“Alright, alright, no one said anything about children here.”

Sirius nearly choked on his own words as they came out of his mouth. 

Gods, children. 

He didn’t even know this Witch, but somehow it sounded right. 

He could see it--Sirius Black, family man. 

Even with his sizable inheritance from his Uncle Alphard, he’d still need to provide for this fictional family he was creating in his head. 

He’d go off to work, maybe as an Auror, and come home to Hermione and their young children. 

Or maybe she’d like to travel, he didn’t know much about her personality yet. 

She could want to be a working Witch, given how driven she’d seemed with all the classes she’d listed off to Dumbledore that she’d been taking before the attack on her family. 

Then, there was her family. 

Where had she lived before? What was her childhood like? Did she have a boyfriend out there somewhere, waiting for her to return to him?

The thought sent unchecked and immediate anger rushing through his system.

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing. 

“Be that as it may, Mr. Black, I believe this course of action is best. I will write to them at once, and it would be best if you could write them something as well, apprising them of the more nuanced details of Miss Granger’s sudden appearance, as well as your thoughts and feelings on the matter. Perhaps Charlus and Dorea can arrive with the Ministry personnel when they come to oversee the soulmate claim.”

“I--yes, yes that sounds alright.”

Dumbledore smiled brightly back at Sirius, and he wondered if something had shifted between the two of them in the course of this discussion. 

It was something massive, a schism that appeared between them, but Sirius wasn’t quite sure what had caused it, or why. 

There was a new reverence Dumbledore appraised him of after learning of Hermione, almost like there was something that he knew that Sirius didn’t. 

Suddenly, Sirius wished he was better at Legilimency, just so he could divest his Headmaster of all his secrets regarding the Witch who suddenly had such a tight grip on him. 

“Wonderful. Now, about Miss Granger’s particulars. We’ll need to enlist the help of the Head Girl to find her the appropriate clothing and belongings for the rest of her stay here, not to mention her wand. We can make arrangements to take her to Ollivander’s to remedy that. My dear boy, why aren’t you taking notes?”

Sirius quickly jumped as Dumbledore handed him a pad and quill and Sirius dutifully wrote down dates and times and appointments and tasks that he needed to perform and was hit with the sudden realization that he was in charge of the well being of an entire person. 

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling; being needed. 

Sirius smiled as he took notes. 

***

Hermione woke feeling warm and comfortable, someone warm snuggling her legs. 

No, not a person--a dog. 

Padfoot. 

She smiled into her sleep and threaded her fingers through his soft fur, wrapping her arms and body along his even if it pulled at the stitches on her chest. 

Muggle stitches, she noted, thankful that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t against using different methods of healing when it came to cursed wounds. 

She knew the scars would never leave, but at least they would close, in time. 

She sighed out contentedly, unaware of the other three Marauders hiding beneath an invisible cloak in the corner. 

At least, until she heard their frantic whispering as they thought she was asleep. 

“--bloody soulmate! This is insane!”

“Hush, Wormy. If they truly are soulmates, then I’m quite happy for them. About time Pads settled down, and this one seems alright enough from what I’ve seen of her. Tough as nails, looks like.”

Peter--at least, she assumed it was Peter--scoffed. 

“You’re just saying that because you know Lily is your soulmate and you want the rest of us tied down so we can go on group dates with you while you act even more disgustingly in love with each other than you already are.”

“You think Lily is disgustingly in love with me?”

Remus’ soft laugh carried in the air to her ears and her chest ached. 

She had missed her kind professor. Maybe this meant she could help save him, especially from himself. 

“Not really the point, Prongs. I think what Peter is trying to say is that he doesn’t necessarily want to be left behind now that you and Sirius are most likely going to be coupled up for our last year at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? And what about you, Moony? Don’t think we didn’t notice you eyeing Macdonald all year.”

“That’s nothing. We all know I can’t…have anyone, in that way. If I want to look, I’ll look, but I’ll always keep my distance.”

Hermione’s heart was near to bursting for her old professor, but there was nothing she could do about it at that moment. 

She kept her breathing and heart rate steady as they kept speaking in low whispers. 

She smirked to herself. So much for sneaky Marauders.

 “Oh, save us the self sacrificing routine, Moony. We all know the girls around here are desperate for a bite of you, even if you won’t let them get close.”

“A bite, Pete? You couldn’t have used a different word?”

“Sorry, sorry. But you know it’s true, Moons. Anyway, I thought we were talking about the new bird? She’s Sirius’ soulmate for gods’ sake! He’s going to want to tell her, like, everything.”

“He won’t tell her everything, not without asking me first.”

“Remus, how are we supposed to know if she’s trustworthy? She just fell out of thin air and practically landed in Sirius’ lap. How are we supposed to know if its real or if its a trap set by his evil family?”

“Much as I hate to agree with you on that front, Wormtail, you have a bit of a point,” James responded, his voice tight with unguarded loyalty to his chosen brother.

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on her. At least until she proves her loyalty. We can’t risk our secrets with just anyone, especially such an unknown like her. Imagine the sway she’s going to have over Sirius--he’s already wrapped around her finger, and so protective over her. Or do you all not remember how he snapped at us when Pomfrey peeled her shirt back to check her injuries on her chest when we first brought her in? He acted like we were perverted leeches and like it wasn’t a life or death situation; as if anything untoward was going on in our brains in that moment.”

“I assume it was instinct,” Remus rebutted to James. 

“I have the wolf in my mind constantly telling me what to do, what to say, how to feel. I’m sure now that Sirius has a soulmate, the ancient magic of what that means is trying to…guide him, in some way or other.”

As if in response, Padfoot huffed a hot breath against Hermione’s thigh and curled even tighter around her. 

Her heart fluttered at the movement, remembering lonely nights in Grimmauld Place when older Sirius would do something so similar and she would wish he would just transform so he could wrap his arms around her and make her feel the safety he always gave her. 

“Well, instinct or not, it's our job to protect him from anyone or anything that might hurt him. He’s too close to this, too far in it to see any faults with her after finding her the way he did. She’s hurt, yeah, but we have no idea where she really came from, or who she really is. Dumbledore vouched for her family, but how could he know after just talking with her? She could’ve come up with that name on the spot, or maybe she took the identity of the girl she’s pretending to be. We just have no clue, and that’s the scariest part.”

“You’re right, Wormy. And that’s why we’ll stick close, just like glue to his side, and hers by extension.”

“And if we see anything suspicious, and we tell Padfoot? What if he doesn’t listen?”

James posed the question, but no one really had an answer until Remus responded. 

“Then we’ll make him see reason. If she’s suspicious or evil, or planted into his life by his family, he’ll never want anything more to do with her, trust me. Anything to do with his family, and she’ll be out before she can say anything to her defense.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered a bit as a flare of hurt tore through her chest. 

They didn’t trust her; they probably wouldn’t even like her if they got the chance to know her. 

It was hard enough for her to get some allegiance with Harry and Ron after they begrudgingly became her friends after the troll in First Year. 

It was always in the back of her mind, the niggling doubt that they only kept her around for convenience. 

She didn’t think she could take it if yet another possible friend group rejected her before they ever even gave her a chance. 

Remus sniffed the air, and they all went still. 

“What is it?”

“I thought I smelled…no, it couldn’t be.”

“What? What did you smell Moony?”

Remus responded to James’ inquiry with a stunned reply: “Pack. But…but not us four. It’s almost like Moony is trying to recognize a new member. A…this is insane, but he keeps screaming at me the word ‘Pup’. It can mean a new baby in the pack, a small child, or someone innocent we need to protect.”

“But there’s not a kid in here,” James responded. 

“No, but there is someone who could be innocent. Someone hurt, someone who needs protection,” Remus pointed out, and Hermione tried her hardest not to stiffen at his words. 

Had Moony recognized her scent from the future? 

“It can’t be her, can it? I mean, we just talked about this. She’s not pack, she can’t be trusted.”

“I know that, Wormy. I’m just telling you all what Moony is screaming in my head.”

“Come on, let’s collect Padfoot before he gets found by Pomfrey.”

And then they were silently shaking Padfoot awake, trying to get him to transform back into Sirius and get back to their dorm before the rest of the castle woke up. 

Sirius, however, was proving to be a problem. 

“Come on, Pads. Hurry up or you’ll wake her up!”

“Hush Wormy!”

But the damage was done. 

Hermione couldn’t possibly pretend to be asleep after Peter’s loud outburst. 

“Who’s there?”

Hermione pretended to be scared at the disembodied voices coming from her bed as the three boys hid under the cloak. 

Padfoot shifted in her lap. 

“Oh, hello. And who are you and how did you get into a hospital ward?”

She scratched the back of Padfoot’s ears as the dog relaxed into her palm. A wistful smile fell onto her face at his reaction. 

“I suppose you’re my protector then, aren’t you? There seem to be ghosts in this place,” she said quietly, knowing the boys were watching her interaction with their best friend. 

A light flicked on in Pomfrey’s office and Padfoot stood at attention and jumped off her bed at once, and Hermione hissed in pain as the action caused the bed to jostle and pull at some of her injuries. 

Padfoot turned concerned eyes back to her but she merely gave him a wry smile. 

“You’re a perceptive one, aren’t you? You’d better go, before you’re found. Thank you for the cuddles, I quite needed them.”

Padfoot chuffed and trotted off, and she assumed the trio of boys under the cloak followed him because there were no other voices when the Animagus disappeared. 

Pomfrey came to check on her and sprinkled some powdered silver over her injuries on her chest, and Hermione lied and told her she would take the Dreamless Sleep but left it untouched. 

It always gave her nightmares. It was not, in fact, so dreamless for those who’d experienced torture. 

It was the quiet solitude where she began planning. 

If she was truly stuck in the past, which she believed herself to be, she was going to make the most of it. 

She would, of course, research ways to get back to her time, but there was no way that she had been Sirius’ soulmate in her time and he wouldn’t have told her about it. 

Not to mention the fact that Dumbledore or Remus hadn’t recognized her. 

So then, the way she had fallen back wasn’t through the time loop like with her Time Turner in Third Year. 

This…this was uncharted territory, and she would be damned if she allowed the mistakes of the past to happen again. 

But first, she was going to need a few books. 

And, perhaps, a Mandrake leaf.