Back for Good
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Sirius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
33
Views:
18,347
Reviews:
89
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Sirius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
33
Views:
18,347
Reviews:
89
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter and made no money from this story.
Chapter Twenty
“Leave?”
Hermione was looking at Sirius aghast, which pissed him off to no end because he was the one who should be aghast. She had no right to look so hurt when she’d lied to him.
If there was anything that mad Sirius boil over with rage it was liars. Something he’d never thought he’d accuse Hermione Granger of being. As far as he’d known, she was the quintessential Gryffindor, honest to the point of stupidity. Rather like him.
“Yes. You need to leave.” He wanted to tell her how he could barely look at her right now, how he felt she’d betrayed him in more ways than he could really recognize.
And with Snape. The one man who Sirius had such an innate dislike for it felt as though it was ingrained in his very bones. The one who was always right, the one who got away with everything. With killing Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake! And exonerated by Sirius’ own godson. It was unbelievable!
Severus Snape. The man who was a match for Hermione in so many ways.
Hermione took a deep breath in front of him, and he nearly exploded. She needed to stop her deep breathing and get away before he did something really stupid. He felt out of control. His blood was hot and sluggish, there was ringing in his ears, his sight was greyed and fraying.
He just needed to be alone.
Sirius fixed Hermione with a glare, hoping she would get the point and just get out. He would leave, if he could. Well, he could. Maybe he should leave. After all, she really was here first.
But this was his home!
“Argh!” he screamed, running his hands brutally through his hair, feeling strands tug and give at his insistent yanking. Hermione was standing still, looking at him with those huge fucking eyes, looking as though he’d eviscerated her rather than having politely asked her to leave.
He stormed past her, careful not to touch her, careful not even to breathe the air around her. He closed himself in his old room, the room he hadn’t stayed in since he’d begun sleeping with Hermione. It felt familiar.
He still didn’t hear her moving.
“Leave!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, a fierce shriek that sounded nothing like his normal self. Finally footsteps sounded, and he heard her walk to her room. Their room. Her room.
He could hear her packing; she was making no effort to be quiet. He thought he might have heard a sob or two, but that didn't make any sense since she was the disloyal one. He was the one who had a right to be hurt, to be sad, to be destroyed. Not her.
A few moments later, the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place slammed, and Sirius exhaled sharply. Nothing made any sense.
He had honestly believed she’d loved him.
When Hermione finally found Godric’s Hollow, she was completely dehydrated. She had no more tears, only a deep burning anger and an even deeper sorrow.
She’d only been to Harry’s home a few times, and it was almost always by Floo. But she’d needed the time to calm down, so she’d walked a while before Apparating. She’d wanted to think things through but she found that she became quickly worked up and unable to rationally analyze the situation. So instead, she just wandered aimlessly, her mind strangely blank. She wasn’t able to stop the tears, but at least she didn't have to think about what caused them.
She knocked on the door of the completely renovated home.
Ginny answered, looking surprised that anyone was there, let alone a very dishevelled and obviously distraught Hermione.
“What’s wrong?” she immediately demanded.
Hermione only entered the house, sitting gracelessly on the sofa and sighing. She found it difficult to look at Ginny, and she found herself thankful that Harry didn't appear to be home, because that soft, searching look he did would have been her undoing.
Ginny took the seat beside her, immediately folding her into a hug.
“Tell me what’s happening, please,” Ginny whispered, obviously worried.
“We had a fight,” Hermione said softly. She snorted a little. “Just a fight, nothing big.”
“I’ve never seen you cry over something that wasn’t big, Hermione! You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”
Hermione smiled. “I do know that. It really isn’t anything. I lied to Sirius when I should have told the truth, and he got angry when he should have heard me out. It was a silly fight.”
Ginny was rubbing Hermione’s back, but the contact only irritated her skin, so she sat away from the embrace. “Could I have some tea, Ginny?”
The redhead nodded slowly, eyes probing Hermione’s. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Once Hermione was alone, she found it difficult to breathe. Her lungs felt empty even after she’d taken a huge breath, as though the air was doing nothing to satisfy her most basic need. She tried not to panic, tried not to swallow air in her desperate attempt to bring oxygen into her body.
When Ginny entered the room again, Hermione gasped, gulping air as if she’d been underwater. She could breathe again, but she felt lightheaded. And suddenly, she was crying again.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered as Ginny bit her lip and tried to make Hermione’s tea the way she liked it. But Ginny didn't know that Hermione’s taste had changed, that now she took her tea more like Sirius did, a little sweeter but with less milk.
She drank the old Hermione’s tea anyway, forcing a smile for her friend. The tea tasted bitter and just wrong, just like everything she’d wanted to leave behind, like an old life that no longer fit her. Sirius made her tea perfectly. It hadn’t started out perfect, but she hadn’t bothered correcting his technique until eventually, she grew to enjoy the new, foreign taste until it wasn’t foreign at all, but familiar and desired.
But now Sirius wasn’t there.
Three days.
Three long, empty, ugly days had passed since Sirius had told her to leave. Harry had, of course, been furious with his godfather, but she suspected he was almost as angry with her. He’d told her he didn't believe she should have kept the truth from Sirius. He was of the opinion that lying only makes the actions seem worse than they really are.
Obviously he was right, since Sirius thought she’d slept with Snape when all she’d really done was ask for his help. Again. And the accusation hurt all the more because Sirius was the only man she’d ever been with. That he could accuse her of something like that made her blood boil and her heart break.
Despite being metaphorically kicked out on her arse, Hermione spent most of the time thinking about that damn Daily Prophet article. Had Sirius read it by now? What would he think about not being the first person to come back from beyond the Veil? Or about Snape being the Bonder?
Hermione wondered if Sofie and Rolpho Alensky had any living descendents. It might be helpful to speak to them and find out exactly what had happened. Had Sofie and her husband experienced the bond? The ripping feeling? The dreams?
She’d shown the Prophet article to Harry and Ginny, and they’d been just as shocked as she had, offering nothing but support. When she’d asked Harry if Sirius had mentioned it, she’d been surprised to learn that Sirius had not allowed Harry to come over the past few days. And when Harry had tried to barge through the Floo, Sirius had barricaded himself in his old bedroom immediately, not even answering his godson’s pleas to talk.
Hermione needed to do something since it was becoming obvious that Sirius didn’t want her back and wasn’t planning on hearing her out. But that didn't negate the responsibility she had to him. After all, she’d brought him back. He was hers now.
Maybe... maybe instead of doing all the research herself, she could just go to the person who obviously had some answers.
A certain Jimothy Frankenhodge.
“Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Frankenhodge.”
Hermione shook the young reporter’s hand before taking a seat across from him. His home was humble but very tidy, and Hermione sat in a well-loved armchair, smiling gently in that new forced way of hers. She couldn’t make her muscles move as they’d used to, and every smile was a concentrated effort of pulling here and loosing there. She felt like a puppet.
“No, thank you, Ms. Granger. And please, call me Jim.” His smile was winsome, not forced at all. He was younger than she’d expected, not much older than herself. His sandy blond hair might have given Harry’s a run for its money, it was so messy and wild. But he was continually flattening it with his hand or tugging it with ink stained fingertips until it was clear that his hair sported blackened strands from the actions. His light brown eyes were warm but highly intelligent, and Hermione knew from their brief owl exchange that the man was articulate and clever.
Hermione did not offer him the informality of referring to her by her first name, and the lack of cordiality was not lost on Frankenhodge.
“As I said in my owl, I was hoping you could provide me with some information on the Alenskys.”
Frankenhodge nodded slowly, tapping a black fingertip against his chin and anointing it with a smudge of ink. “Why do you want to know?”
Hermione grimaced, though she meant it to be a smile. “I was the one who brought Sirius Black back from the Veil.”
She watched with detached amusement as the reporter’s eyes widened almost comically. He took a noisy breath through his nose and eyed her unabashedly. “Is that so,” he said, phrasing it so it wasn’t a question. “And can you prove this?”
Hermione shrugged. “Do I need to? No one else will come forward and admit to doing it. You’ll have the whole story, an exclusive. But the longer you wait, the less interested the public will be. Fascination with Sirius is at a peak right now, but I’m sure you know how fickle the public can be. In a few weeks, no one will remember your article if you don’t keep the story fresh in their minds.”
He seemed to consider her words. “You are right about that, Ms. Granger. You might have made a good reporter, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” she rejoined. “However, I have a healthy disregard for the profession. Here is my offer: you tell me everything you know—everything you didn’t write up in your article—about the Veil and the Alenskys, and I’ll give you your exclusive. My only condition is that I read the article before it gets published, and that you not disturb Sirius Black. I am the only one you can talk to about this.”
“What makes you think I know more than I printed?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Everyone keeps a couple of cards close to their chest. Especially reporters.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, leaning back and eyeing her intently. Suddenly, his face fairly exploded into a smile. “You have a deal, Ms. Granger. But I have conditions of my own.”
She bristled. “And they are?”
“First, I want two exclusives. The first, and then a follow-up interview. Just you, unless Mr. Black would like to join you, of course. Secondly, if you use this information for anything, I want full credit. If you intend to write a book or anything like that, you will annotate me. Lastly, I want to come with you to meet the Alensky heir. Do I presume, or am I correct in guessing your intention?”
“I agree to your first two conditions. But why would you want to come with me? It is simply for my own interest, nothing more.”
He smiled a shark’s smile, but his eyes were still soft. “I know who you are, Hermione Granger. Your story is not unknown. I also know that you and Sirius Black live together. I’d guessed that you were the one to bring him back, and I’m pleased to see I was correct. You were right about reporters keeping information to themselves. We are both lucky that I withheld that morsel, or we would have less to bargain about. I’ll be coming with you because I want to know what you know.”
Hermione was quiet for a long time. Frankenhodge was obviously an intelligent man, unfortunately for her. She wouldn’t be able to convince him to drop his last condition. But she needed to know that he wouldn’t print the more... intimate parts of the bond.
“I agree to your final stipulation with one more of my own.” When he gestured for her to continue, she said, “There are aspects of the story you know nothing about. I am not willing to expose every part of my life or Sirius’. I need veto power over your final article draft. I won’t restrict anything other than the parts that are unnecessary to the larger picture, or are personally intimate and could be embarrassing to our families. And you can’t blackmail me with this information.”
Frankenhodge thought for a long time. “Okay, Ms. Granger. I trust you. Maybe I’m a fool for doing so, but I do. I don’t think you’ll go back on your word to allow to me to print the important parts of the story. But I will need a Wizard’s Oath from you. It’s just good business.”
Hermione agreed and asked for one in return. The soft swirl of magic surrounded her with cool tendrils, and the deal was done.
“Excellent,” said Frankenhodge. “When shall we go?”
“When are you available?” Hermione knew she could ask for the next day off from work. She’d been rather useless over the past couple days anyway, and she knew her team would be relieved to hear she’d taken some time to herself.
“To do my job? Always.” He smiled at her, and she had the feeling he truly enjoyed his work. Good for him.
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.”
Sirius had taken to pacing from room to room. There was little else to do, though he knew what he wanted to do.
Kill Severus Snape.
But as angry and hurt as he was, he maintained rationality. Mostly. If he could guarantee he wouldn’t be caught, he might actually do it. But not even the pleasure of seeing Snape devoid of life and snark was worth going back to Azkaban.
Not to mention if he killed the bastard, Hermione would hate him forever.
Growling, Sirius stomped out of the kitchen. Obviously it was one of the rooms that made him miss the chit. The sitting room and upstairs bathroom also had that effect. It was highly annoying. He shouldn’t care if Hermione hated him, because she obviously didn't care about him as he did her.
And the funny part? She’d actually had the gall to tell him she didn't stand for cheaters. That day he’d teased her about the witches who would want him after he’d “come back from the dead.” What nerve. And now she was gallivanting about with another man? Hypocrite.
Sirius felt like his entire body was on fire. He’d never felt so conflicted. He was usually easygoing to an absurd degree. Like with this whole bond. He’d obeyed it pretty much without compunction. It was easy because what it wanted him to do was something he also wanted to do. Be with Hermione? It was not exactly a brainteaser. She was beautiful, smart, witty, sexy....
“Ugh!” he cried out. Apparently the dining room was also unsafe.
Sirius went to bed.
Hermione had allowed Harry to put her to bed. He’d sat by the bedside and spoken softly to her in that Harry voice that made her feel so safe. Ginny had sat on the other side of the bed, tracing her hair and telling her everything was going to be okay. It felt so nice to be taken care of. And yet, it felt all wrong.
She’d wanted to pace from room to room, but they’d stopped her. When they’d forced her to sit, she’d felt restless, and she hadn’t been able to stop her legs from bouncing. Finally, she’d become unaccountably tired and allowed Harry to practically carry her up the stairs.
Now she was pretending to be asleep as Harry and Ginny whispered over her still form. They were worried about her. They were angry at Sirius. They didn't understand.
Neither did she.
Finally, the pair left her, Ginny pressing a soft kiss to her brow before leaving, shutting the door softly. Hermione pressed her face into the pillow to stifle a sob, and she wished she was with Sirius. She’d rather be fighting and together than sad and alone. At least if she was there, she could explain....
But the proper thing to do would be to go back when she had a reason. That way, he couldn’t kick her out; he’d have to hear what she had to say first.
So she’d go see the Alensky heir and gather as much knowledge as possible. Armed with that, she would go to Sirius and force him to listen to her. She would explain about Snape, what little there was to explain, and everything would be fine.
As Hermione’s overworked and overwrought brain finally began to shut down for the night, she had the final thought that she was grateful that at least the bond between them was gone, because being away from Sirius was torture enough on its own.
Everything was black.
She hated the darkness. It always felt like it was eating her alive. She couldn’t see her hands in front of her face, making her wonder if she had hands at all. Maybe she wasn’t even human. Maybe she was nothing.
There was nothing in the darkness. Nothing for years. She closed her eyes. They were useless anyway.
A slight change in the atmosphere brought her attention to her surroundings. A shift in energy. Another form. Another non-form. Something like her. Whatever it was, she could see herself in it. It was beautiful. It wanted it, it needed her. They were meant to be together. If they were together... something... if they....
It was gone.
__________________________
Author's Note: Hey! Thank you all for reading. I know we all hate Sirius, but I promise it's all part of the plan. Thank you for the amazing reviews! I am thrilled beyond belief that people enjoy this story.
Also, you should all read my creepy (as described by reviewers and my beta) non-con threesome (Hermione/Draco/Blaise) story called "In the Hands of Monsters." Unless you don't like that sort of thing; in which case, you shouldn't read it.
Many thanks to kazfeist for the beta.
Hermione was looking at Sirius aghast, which pissed him off to no end because he was the one who should be aghast. She had no right to look so hurt when she’d lied to him.
If there was anything that mad Sirius boil over with rage it was liars. Something he’d never thought he’d accuse Hermione Granger of being. As far as he’d known, she was the quintessential Gryffindor, honest to the point of stupidity. Rather like him.
“Yes. You need to leave.” He wanted to tell her how he could barely look at her right now, how he felt she’d betrayed him in more ways than he could really recognize.
And with Snape. The one man who Sirius had such an innate dislike for it felt as though it was ingrained in his very bones. The one who was always right, the one who got away with everything. With killing Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake! And exonerated by Sirius’ own godson. It was unbelievable!
Severus Snape. The man who was a match for Hermione in so many ways.
Hermione took a deep breath in front of him, and he nearly exploded. She needed to stop her deep breathing and get away before he did something really stupid. He felt out of control. His blood was hot and sluggish, there was ringing in his ears, his sight was greyed and fraying.
He just needed to be alone.
Sirius fixed Hermione with a glare, hoping she would get the point and just get out. He would leave, if he could. Well, he could. Maybe he should leave. After all, she really was here first.
But this was his home!
“Argh!” he screamed, running his hands brutally through his hair, feeling strands tug and give at his insistent yanking. Hermione was standing still, looking at him with those huge fucking eyes, looking as though he’d eviscerated her rather than having politely asked her to leave.
He stormed past her, careful not to touch her, careful not even to breathe the air around her. He closed himself in his old room, the room he hadn’t stayed in since he’d begun sleeping with Hermione. It felt familiar.
He still didn’t hear her moving.
“Leave!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, a fierce shriek that sounded nothing like his normal self. Finally footsteps sounded, and he heard her walk to her room. Their room. Her room.
He could hear her packing; she was making no effort to be quiet. He thought he might have heard a sob or two, but that didn't make any sense since she was the disloyal one. He was the one who had a right to be hurt, to be sad, to be destroyed. Not her.
A few moments later, the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place slammed, and Sirius exhaled sharply. Nothing made any sense.
He had honestly believed she’d loved him.
When Hermione finally found Godric’s Hollow, she was completely dehydrated. She had no more tears, only a deep burning anger and an even deeper sorrow.
She’d only been to Harry’s home a few times, and it was almost always by Floo. But she’d needed the time to calm down, so she’d walked a while before Apparating. She’d wanted to think things through but she found that she became quickly worked up and unable to rationally analyze the situation. So instead, she just wandered aimlessly, her mind strangely blank. She wasn’t able to stop the tears, but at least she didn't have to think about what caused them.
She knocked on the door of the completely renovated home.
Ginny answered, looking surprised that anyone was there, let alone a very dishevelled and obviously distraught Hermione.
“What’s wrong?” she immediately demanded.
Hermione only entered the house, sitting gracelessly on the sofa and sighing. She found it difficult to look at Ginny, and she found herself thankful that Harry didn't appear to be home, because that soft, searching look he did would have been her undoing.
Ginny took the seat beside her, immediately folding her into a hug.
“Tell me what’s happening, please,” Ginny whispered, obviously worried.
“We had a fight,” Hermione said softly. She snorted a little. “Just a fight, nothing big.”
“I’ve never seen you cry over something that wasn’t big, Hermione! You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”
Hermione smiled. “I do know that. It really isn’t anything. I lied to Sirius when I should have told the truth, and he got angry when he should have heard me out. It was a silly fight.”
Ginny was rubbing Hermione’s back, but the contact only irritated her skin, so she sat away from the embrace. “Could I have some tea, Ginny?”
The redhead nodded slowly, eyes probing Hermione’s. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Once Hermione was alone, she found it difficult to breathe. Her lungs felt empty even after she’d taken a huge breath, as though the air was doing nothing to satisfy her most basic need. She tried not to panic, tried not to swallow air in her desperate attempt to bring oxygen into her body.
When Ginny entered the room again, Hermione gasped, gulping air as if she’d been underwater. She could breathe again, but she felt lightheaded. And suddenly, she was crying again.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered as Ginny bit her lip and tried to make Hermione’s tea the way she liked it. But Ginny didn't know that Hermione’s taste had changed, that now she took her tea more like Sirius did, a little sweeter but with less milk.
She drank the old Hermione’s tea anyway, forcing a smile for her friend. The tea tasted bitter and just wrong, just like everything she’d wanted to leave behind, like an old life that no longer fit her. Sirius made her tea perfectly. It hadn’t started out perfect, but she hadn’t bothered correcting his technique until eventually, she grew to enjoy the new, foreign taste until it wasn’t foreign at all, but familiar and desired.
But now Sirius wasn’t there.
Three days.
Three long, empty, ugly days had passed since Sirius had told her to leave. Harry had, of course, been furious with his godfather, but she suspected he was almost as angry with her. He’d told her he didn't believe she should have kept the truth from Sirius. He was of the opinion that lying only makes the actions seem worse than they really are.
Obviously he was right, since Sirius thought she’d slept with Snape when all she’d really done was ask for his help. Again. And the accusation hurt all the more because Sirius was the only man she’d ever been with. That he could accuse her of something like that made her blood boil and her heart break.
Despite being metaphorically kicked out on her arse, Hermione spent most of the time thinking about that damn Daily Prophet article. Had Sirius read it by now? What would he think about not being the first person to come back from beyond the Veil? Or about Snape being the Bonder?
Hermione wondered if Sofie and Rolpho Alensky had any living descendents. It might be helpful to speak to them and find out exactly what had happened. Had Sofie and her husband experienced the bond? The ripping feeling? The dreams?
She’d shown the Prophet article to Harry and Ginny, and they’d been just as shocked as she had, offering nothing but support. When she’d asked Harry if Sirius had mentioned it, she’d been surprised to learn that Sirius had not allowed Harry to come over the past few days. And when Harry had tried to barge through the Floo, Sirius had barricaded himself in his old bedroom immediately, not even answering his godson’s pleas to talk.
Hermione needed to do something since it was becoming obvious that Sirius didn’t want her back and wasn’t planning on hearing her out. But that didn't negate the responsibility she had to him. After all, she’d brought him back. He was hers now.
Maybe... maybe instead of doing all the research herself, she could just go to the person who obviously had some answers.
A certain Jimothy Frankenhodge.
“Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Frankenhodge.”
Hermione shook the young reporter’s hand before taking a seat across from him. His home was humble but very tidy, and Hermione sat in a well-loved armchair, smiling gently in that new forced way of hers. She couldn’t make her muscles move as they’d used to, and every smile was a concentrated effort of pulling here and loosing there. She felt like a puppet.
“No, thank you, Ms. Granger. And please, call me Jim.” His smile was winsome, not forced at all. He was younger than she’d expected, not much older than herself. His sandy blond hair might have given Harry’s a run for its money, it was so messy and wild. But he was continually flattening it with his hand or tugging it with ink stained fingertips until it was clear that his hair sported blackened strands from the actions. His light brown eyes were warm but highly intelligent, and Hermione knew from their brief owl exchange that the man was articulate and clever.
Hermione did not offer him the informality of referring to her by her first name, and the lack of cordiality was not lost on Frankenhodge.
“As I said in my owl, I was hoping you could provide me with some information on the Alenskys.”
Frankenhodge nodded slowly, tapping a black fingertip against his chin and anointing it with a smudge of ink. “Why do you want to know?”
Hermione grimaced, though she meant it to be a smile. “I was the one who brought Sirius Black back from the Veil.”
She watched with detached amusement as the reporter’s eyes widened almost comically. He took a noisy breath through his nose and eyed her unabashedly. “Is that so,” he said, phrasing it so it wasn’t a question. “And can you prove this?”
Hermione shrugged. “Do I need to? No one else will come forward and admit to doing it. You’ll have the whole story, an exclusive. But the longer you wait, the less interested the public will be. Fascination with Sirius is at a peak right now, but I’m sure you know how fickle the public can be. In a few weeks, no one will remember your article if you don’t keep the story fresh in their minds.”
He seemed to consider her words. “You are right about that, Ms. Granger. You might have made a good reporter, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” she rejoined. “However, I have a healthy disregard for the profession. Here is my offer: you tell me everything you know—everything you didn’t write up in your article—about the Veil and the Alenskys, and I’ll give you your exclusive. My only condition is that I read the article before it gets published, and that you not disturb Sirius Black. I am the only one you can talk to about this.”
“What makes you think I know more than I printed?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Everyone keeps a couple of cards close to their chest. Especially reporters.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, leaning back and eyeing her intently. Suddenly, his face fairly exploded into a smile. “You have a deal, Ms. Granger. But I have conditions of my own.”
She bristled. “And they are?”
“First, I want two exclusives. The first, and then a follow-up interview. Just you, unless Mr. Black would like to join you, of course. Secondly, if you use this information for anything, I want full credit. If you intend to write a book or anything like that, you will annotate me. Lastly, I want to come with you to meet the Alensky heir. Do I presume, or am I correct in guessing your intention?”
“I agree to your first two conditions. But why would you want to come with me? It is simply for my own interest, nothing more.”
He smiled a shark’s smile, but his eyes were still soft. “I know who you are, Hermione Granger. Your story is not unknown. I also know that you and Sirius Black live together. I’d guessed that you were the one to bring him back, and I’m pleased to see I was correct. You were right about reporters keeping information to themselves. We are both lucky that I withheld that morsel, or we would have less to bargain about. I’ll be coming with you because I want to know what you know.”
Hermione was quiet for a long time. Frankenhodge was obviously an intelligent man, unfortunately for her. She wouldn’t be able to convince him to drop his last condition. But she needed to know that he wouldn’t print the more... intimate parts of the bond.
“I agree to your final stipulation with one more of my own.” When he gestured for her to continue, she said, “There are aspects of the story you know nothing about. I am not willing to expose every part of my life or Sirius’. I need veto power over your final article draft. I won’t restrict anything other than the parts that are unnecessary to the larger picture, or are personally intimate and could be embarrassing to our families. And you can’t blackmail me with this information.”
Frankenhodge thought for a long time. “Okay, Ms. Granger. I trust you. Maybe I’m a fool for doing so, but I do. I don’t think you’ll go back on your word to allow to me to print the important parts of the story. But I will need a Wizard’s Oath from you. It’s just good business.”
Hermione agreed and asked for one in return. The soft swirl of magic surrounded her with cool tendrils, and the deal was done.
“Excellent,” said Frankenhodge. “When shall we go?”
“When are you available?” Hermione knew she could ask for the next day off from work. She’d been rather useless over the past couple days anyway, and she knew her team would be relieved to hear she’d taken some time to herself.
“To do my job? Always.” He smiled at her, and she had the feeling he truly enjoyed his work. Good for him.
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.”
Sirius had taken to pacing from room to room. There was little else to do, though he knew what he wanted to do.
Kill Severus Snape.
But as angry and hurt as he was, he maintained rationality. Mostly. If he could guarantee he wouldn’t be caught, he might actually do it. But not even the pleasure of seeing Snape devoid of life and snark was worth going back to Azkaban.
Not to mention if he killed the bastard, Hermione would hate him forever.
Growling, Sirius stomped out of the kitchen. Obviously it was one of the rooms that made him miss the chit. The sitting room and upstairs bathroom also had that effect. It was highly annoying. He shouldn’t care if Hermione hated him, because she obviously didn't care about him as he did her.
And the funny part? She’d actually had the gall to tell him she didn't stand for cheaters. That day he’d teased her about the witches who would want him after he’d “come back from the dead.” What nerve. And now she was gallivanting about with another man? Hypocrite.
Sirius felt like his entire body was on fire. He’d never felt so conflicted. He was usually easygoing to an absurd degree. Like with this whole bond. He’d obeyed it pretty much without compunction. It was easy because what it wanted him to do was something he also wanted to do. Be with Hermione? It was not exactly a brainteaser. She was beautiful, smart, witty, sexy....
“Ugh!” he cried out. Apparently the dining room was also unsafe.
Sirius went to bed.
Hermione had allowed Harry to put her to bed. He’d sat by the bedside and spoken softly to her in that Harry voice that made her feel so safe. Ginny had sat on the other side of the bed, tracing her hair and telling her everything was going to be okay. It felt so nice to be taken care of. And yet, it felt all wrong.
She’d wanted to pace from room to room, but they’d stopped her. When they’d forced her to sit, she’d felt restless, and she hadn’t been able to stop her legs from bouncing. Finally, she’d become unaccountably tired and allowed Harry to practically carry her up the stairs.
Now she was pretending to be asleep as Harry and Ginny whispered over her still form. They were worried about her. They were angry at Sirius. They didn't understand.
Neither did she.
Finally, the pair left her, Ginny pressing a soft kiss to her brow before leaving, shutting the door softly. Hermione pressed her face into the pillow to stifle a sob, and she wished she was with Sirius. She’d rather be fighting and together than sad and alone. At least if she was there, she could explain....
But the proper thing to do would be to go back when she had a reason. That way, he couldn’t kick her out; he’d have to hear what she had to say first.
So she’d go see the Alensky heir and gather as much knowledge as possible. Armed with that, she would go to Sirius and force him to listen to her. She would explain about Snape, what little there was to explain, and everything would be fine.
As Hermione’s overworked and overwrought brain finally began to shut down for the night, she had the final thought that she was grateful that at least the bond between them was gone, because being away from Sirius was torture enough on its own.
Everything was black.
She hated the darkness. It always felt like it was eating her alive. She couldn’t see her hands in front of her face, making her wonder if she had hands at all. Maybe she wasn’t even human. Maybe she was nothing.
There was nothing in the darkness. Nothing for years. She closed her eyes. They were useless anyway.
A slight change in the atmosphere brought her attention to her surroundings. A shift in energy. Another form. Another non-form. Something like her. Whatever it was, she could see herself in it. It was beautiful. It wanted it, it needed her. They were meant to be together. If they were together... something... if they....
It was gone.
__________________________
Author's Note: Hey! Thank you all for reading. I know we all hate Sirius, but I promise it's all part of the plan. Thank you for the amazing reviews! I am thrilled beyond belief that people enjoy this story.
Also, you should all read my creepy (as described by reviewers and my beta) non-con threesome (Hermione/Draco/Blaise) story called "In the Hands of Monsters." Unless you don't like that sort of thing; in which case, you shouldn't read it.
Many thanks to kazfeist for the beta.