Back for Good

By the time Sirius had Apparated, under cover of Disillusionment, at least five times, he was beginning to give up on Snape’s idea of libraries.

It just didn’t fit. The groceries on the stoop indicated that Hermione had been taken against her will. Harry had tried to reason with him and say that maybe Hermione had just left them there—possibly because she was too angry to come back inside.

But Sirius wasn’t convinced. She wasn’t the type to waste food. She wasn’t the type to run away. And whoever had taken her, for that was what Sirius truly believed—and truly feared—certainly wouldn’t be taking her to a library.

But where would they take her?

Going from building to building had given Sirius something to do. Harry and his Aurors were paying visits to all the remaining Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort’s cause.

Snape and Draco were checking all the empty, abandoned, and otherwise derelict buildings in the area.

Everyone had a fucking mission. A goal.

But nothing about all that felt right to him. There was something he was overlooking, he was certain of it.

And he felt sick knowing that somewhere, Hermione was scared, maybe alone, wondering how to get out of her straits, thinking about what an arse he was for causing a fight before something like this happened.

If they didn’t find her… if she didn’t come back… he would never forgive himself. Without her, life looked so bleak. And he hated thinking like that, hated that he could feel himself giving up, not on her, never on her, but on hope. It had teased him and tormented him, and it had given him something worth really trying for, and without that stabilization, he was adrift.

Without Harry, Teddy, and even Draco, he surely would have nothing left.

But he pushed away his dark thoughts as unhelpful and simply morbid. Hermione was going to be okay because he needed her to be. She may have had only a part of his soul, but she had all of his heart.

Disapparating to Grimmauld Place to check in, Sirius nearly stumbled as he came out of the pull. He suddenly felt horribly ill, like he was going to vomit. Horrified.

But why?

He’d had an underlying sense of sickness through the search, but this was sudden and overwhelming.

Something was happening.

Sirius ran inside. “Andromeda!” he cried, though he knew she would be by the Floo.

“No news, Sirius,” she called back in a soft voice that still managed to reach him.

“None? No clues, no one’s come back, nothing?”

She shook her head slowly. Sirius suddenly noticed Teddy asleep on a tiny cot beside the wall, out of the way. How he’d managed to sleep through the noise and tension, Sirius had no idea.

Crossing the floor, Sirius knelt beside the child. So like Remus. He even had Remus’ hair right now, a soft golden that reminded Sirius of Hogwarts and mischief and laughter. Carding his fingers through it, Sirius wondered what Remus would do.

Research.

Sirius chuckled softly, his breath stirring the dandelion fluff of Teddy’s hair. That was Hermione’s call to arms, as well. She’d want to be out, fighting, but she knew her talents were better used in the intellectual pursuit of victory.

But who was doing that now, Sirius wondered. Without Hermione, there was no one to hit the books and make obscure discoveries that would lead to triumph.

Though he knew he had more talent as the fool rushing in, he decided, for her, he would put in some time researching.

Exactly what he would research, he had absolutely no idea.

---

“Isn’t she pretty?” Frankenhodge was asking, thumb smudging away a streak of Hermione didn't want to know what.

“Very,” Hermione agreed blankly.

Very dead.

“So, you can do it, right?”

Hermione’s knees suddenly felt completely inadequate to support her trembling weight. She sank to her knees on the kitchen floor, the body mercifully out of her sight on the table above.

With no warning at all, Hermione’s stomach clenched, and she was vomiting before she’d even had time to take a breath.

Over and over her muscles contracted and forced her to expel, until she was a pile of dry heaves and bile.

She heard her name from somewhere far away and blinked back tears. Her ears were ringing, but she could hear that it was Renworth, calling for her from his bound position in the living room.

“I-I’m fine,” she called shakily, though she knew he must have realised she was anything but.

Frankenhodge hauled her to her feet, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. He held her face in his hands as he searched her face. She couldn’t look at him.

“I cried when it happened, too. Don’t worry.”

The words were so incongruous that Hermione almost laughed incredulously. “What… what can you possibly expect me to do?” she asked desperately.

Frankenhodge sighed heavily. “I know things are a little different this time, but the logistics are the same, really. From what I’ve researched, the Veil is a midway point, a holding station, if you will. It’s literally an archway between the worlds.”

Hermione knew all this from her own research, of course. He wasn’t telling her anything helpful. She weakly gestured for him to go on, and he took her elbow and let her away from the body.

Stacia.

He directed her toward the simmering potion, and she pretended to tend to it, stirring it as she waited for him to speak.

“But if it is a halfway place, then the souls on the other side, the… the dead side, they would be able to come back to the midway point. That just makes sense.”

Hermione really wanted to deny that, but she remained silent, mentally calling for Sirius, as if the bond worked that way. She knew it didn’t, but it made her feel better.

“So,” Hermione said softly, “you think that you can get Stacia to come back to the midway point? How?”

“Well, by giving her something to anchor herself to. Giving her something familiar to bring her back within the Veil. From there, once we know she’s actually in the Veil, waiting, we’ll perform the spell and the incantation and bring her all the way through.”

“What will anchor her? You’re not talking about yourself, are you? Because I can’t bring her back, let alone both of you! Jimothy, if you go through, you’re gone for good!” Though she was sickened and horrified by what was happening, Hermione still didn’t want Frankenhodge to actually die.

“No, no,” he denied. “Not me. Her. We’ll push her body through the Veil. She’ll recognise it and come back through! Don’t you see? It’s perfect! She’ll reattach to her body, and the spell will bring her home, just like you did Sirius.”

Which reminded Hermione of another salient point. “Um, Jimothy, this isn’t something we talked about, but Sirius and I… we weren’t together before the Veil, okay?”

“So? Granger, this is about Sta—”

“No!” she interjected quickly. “Listen. When I brought him back, a part of my soul went into him, and, we think, vice versa. That connection created a very strong bond between us. Do you understand? A very strong, intimate bond.”

Frankenhodge looked at her bemusedly. “Stacia and I were always close—”

Renworth shouted from across the room, “She’s saying that she and Black are fucking because of what the Veil did to them! Damn you, Frankenhodge, if you somehow, beyond all comprehension and possibility, manage to bring your sister back, you’ll have to have sex with her! All the time! It was the same for my ancestors!”

A hush fell so quickly Hermione wondered if she’d gone deaf. Then she could hear the light panting of Renworth, who looked nearly frantic at this point, and the raspy inhalations of Frankenhodge beside her. Her own breath was shallow, but she wouldn’t let herself become lightheaded.

“What—is that true?” he finally asked, eyes wide and glimmering.

She nodded. “We don’t know how it happened, exactly, and maybe we never will, but yes. A sexual bond was forged and it becomes very punishing if not obeyed.”

Frankenhodge seemed to rally himself. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, gods. Fuck. But it doesn’t matter, see? Because she’ll be back. It’s okay. She’ll understand.”

Hermione felt that wave of sickness returning. Renworth let out an unearthly howl of frustration, and that brought her out of it. He wasn’t a man to lose control easily, she knew. In the short time she’d known him, he’d never lost his cool. To see him become unravelled meant that she had to remain in control for both of them. They were going to find a way out of this. Sirius would find her.

Sirius would save her.

“You can’t do it,” she said, her voice hard. “You absolutely cannot. The Veil has a plan for everyone. The Veil has a plan! This isn’t part of the plan, Jimothy. If you do this, I just know something horrible will happen. You’ll damage fate.”

Releasing a piteous moan, Frankenhodge dug his fingers into his hair, yanking on strands with ink stained fingers. “And what was the plan for Stacia, hmm?” he cried. “What sort of entity or deity or whatever kills a twenty year old witch? She’d done nothing wrong! She was so sweet and good. It was such a stupid accident! I told her not to wear those damn slippers, but our mother had given them to her before she passed away, and Stacia wore them every day! Every single day! But they didn’t fit, and she was always tripping, and she laughed when she tripped, you know? It never embarrassed her. ‘Just one of those things,’ she would say. ‘Keeps me on my toes!’ But the stairs were polished and the slippers had no soles left, and she just fell. And she fell and fell, but she wasn’t laughing. She didn’t laugh anymore, not after she fell, and I waited, and I took the slippers off and I asked if it was just one of those things, but she didn’t answer me, not again, not ever again.”

Tears were staining Hermione’s cheeks as she listened to Frankenhodge in his despair. He was crying noisily now, snuffling and batting at his tears as if they offended him. He suddenly turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen, and Hermione could hear him whispering to his sister’s body in a broken voice.

Her wand was still in his pocket. She could see it from here. He was occupied. She wouldn’t get another chance.

But the door was even more tempting. She could get help. If she went for her wand, Frankenhodge would pull his. She was the better duellist, she was certain, but he only needed one spell to put her down, and then Renworth would be alone.

Hermione jerked into a run, bolting for the front door. Renworth didn’t say a word as she passed him, and she was grateful that he didn’t give away her move. She silently promised she would come back for him.

Her hand was on the doorknob. She twisted it. It stuck, but she yanked, and it gave.

The night air was slightly damp as Hermione ran across the lawn. She could feel the tingle of Renworth’s wards as she slid through them. They were powerful, but they wouldn’t harm anyone leaving.

She ignored the cries of Frankenhodge inside the house. When they moved outside, she ignored them still. She was running faster than she had in years. There weren’t many houses, none at all, really, but soon there would be, she was sure.

Soon she would see Sirius.

“Stupefy!”

And Hermione saw black.

---

Sirius decided he really didn’t like fighting from this angle. If he thought he’d felt useless while actually doing something, it was nothing compared to sitting in a huge room full of judgemental books and pretending he knew where to begin.

He grabbed one book on illegal location charms, but quickly discovered they almost all needed fresh blood. The ones that didn’t asked for even more questionable fluids, which Sirius could only get if Hermione were here, and if she were here, he wouldn’t need a fucking charm, now, would he?

Another book on revealing enemies would have been very helpful, again, if Hermione were around to cast the spell, because it couldn’t be vast vicariously or by proxy.

Sirius dropped his head onto the desk. Her desk. It even smelled like her, which was strange. But then again, maybe not, because she always spelled a little like fresh parchment. Not something Sirius would have ever thought of as an arousing smell, but he couldn’t even write an owl these days without getting hard.

Thinking of fucking Hermione made it less likely for Sirius to think about living without her.

Lifting his head back up, Sirius reached for another book, knocking a small pile onto the floor. Sirius wearily picked them up. He immediately recognised them as the Alensky journals. Hermione had been meaning to return them, but she’d gotten caught up in Josef Alensky’s writing. Apparently the man had a penchant for the dramatic, despite his being of the medical profession, and she hadn’t wanted to give them back until she’d read them through again.

Sirius wondered if the man who’d lent them to her was looking for them. If he’d miss them. Because when Hermione came back, he was sure she’d want to read them, and he wasn’t going to return them until she was finished.

Remembering Alensky made Sirius think of that nasty reporter who’d been hounding Hermione for a story. Sirius wasn’t relishing having his name in the papers again, but he knew Hermione was a woman of her word, though she’d put the prick off longer than he’d expected. That had probably him riled but good.

Sirius lifted his head.

How good?

How far would a reporter go for a story?

Having heard all about the exploits of Rita Skeeter during Hermione’s fourth and fifth years, especially, Sirius knew exactly how far.

He leapt up from his chair and raced down the stairs. His noise prompted a cry from Teddy, and he called out an apology to Andromeda before he ran out the front door, forgetting that his own wards were down.

Not even bothering to Disillusion himself this time, Sirius Apparated to the Daily Prophet offices. Dark and closed, of course. He hadn’t expected the little worm to actually be there.

And he had no idea where he lived, either.

But Harry could find out.

And by a very happy coincidence, Harry was at Grimmauld Place when Sirius Apparated back.

“No sign of her anywhere,” Harry was saying, his face tight.

“Harry!” Sirius cried, approaching his godson. “I need to know where someone lives. A reporter.”

“You think you have something?” Harry asked eagerly, obviously desperate for some news.

“Fuck, I hope so,” Sirius replied. “Can you get me an address?”

“Of course. What’s the name?”

Sirius thought hard. “Fuck! I don’t fucking remember… something completely stupid and memorable, of course!”

And then Sirius remembered that Hermione had sent the reporter’s owl message to her desk on the main level. He ran for it, Harry following. Under a Daily Prophet and a perfectly filled crossword puzzle, he found the owl.

“J. Frankenhodge,” he shouted victoriously, thrusting the paper into Harry’s hand.

Harry immediately began casting spells, waving his wand, his brows furrowing in concentration.

“There,” Harry whispered, looking at the map that had materialised above their heads. “In Diagon Alley, above the haberdashery. Come on!”

Sirius’ heart was pounding as Harry grabbed his arm and Disapparated them both.

Once outside, Harry blasted the door to the shop open and ran inside. Another door led to a hallway, which led upstairs. Sirius followed Harry’s lead, unsure of how his godson knew exactly where to go, but trusting that he did. Harry had excellent instincts.

When they’d thoroughly destroyed Frankenhodge’s front door, they entered, wands drawn.

The place was nice enough, well taken care of and tidy. But it was empty. Harry went around casting spells and murmuring. He got to the bedroom, and Sirius heard him whisper, “No!”

Sirius immediately ran after him, but there was nothing there. No Hermione.

“What’s wrong?” he asked frantically.

“Oh, gods,” Harry said, over and over.

“Harry!” Sirius cried, shaking the young man, who was staring at the bed as if seeing a ghost.

“The spell shows dead energy… dead energy, Sirius.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. Dead energy meant there had recently been a dead body in this room. Magic left traces behind, even when a person passed away. It clung to the body for sometimes weeks after death, and it could be sensed by certain Auror spells.

“A woman… in her twenties… that’s all I can tell.” Harry’s voice cracked.

“No! No, Harry, it’s wrong. The spell is wrong. Maybe… maybe he just knocked her out hard enough to blast some of her magic off, or…” But Sirius knew that wasn’t possible. That type of energy wouldn’t have been picked up by the spell.

It didn’t matter.

“If she’d not here, I need another address.”

“Sirius,” Harry began, tears on his cheeks. But he couldn’t seem to go on.

“Harry,” he said softly. “No. I won’t let you believe this. I just won’t. Give me the address and go back to Grimmauld Place. Don’t tell anyone what you think you know. I don’t want them to stop searching!”

“Sirius—” Harry said again, face ashen.

“No!” he roared. “Give me the address, Harry James Potter! She is not dead!”

Harry didn’t seem to know what to do. He couldn’t stop looking at the bed, and Sirius wanted to burn it. Burn the whole building down, hats be damned.

“Name?” Harry said quietly, not meeting Sirius’ eyes.

“Alensky. I don’t know the first name.”

Harry cast the spell. Sirius memorised the coordinates.

“Don’t say anything,” he insisted again, hugging his godson. Harry was still and unyielding, but Sirius held the embrace. “She’s not gone,” he reiterated softly. “Not gone.”

Sirius Disapparated, coming out quite far from where he felt he should have landed. But there was only one house in the distance, and Sirius began to run toward it. He felt the wards immediately, but they were only protective, not preventative. They would alert the owner of his presence and disallow direct Apparition, but they wouldn’t stop Sirius from moving through.

The front door was open, and Sirius ran up the steps and inside.

It was empty.

---

When Hermione came to, she knew exactly where she was. And not because she could see; her eyesight was blurred even as she rapidly blinked.

No, she could hear the hissing. Just as she had in her dreams. Just as she had the last time she’d been here.

The Death Chamber.

Hermione, Renworth, and the body of Frankenhodge’s sister were all in the pit of the room, on the ground just before the stone dais. The black curtain of Veil fluttered ominously as if disturbed by invisible wind.

Looking around, Hermione saw the makeshift potion in a cauldron to her left.

“How did we get here?” she hurriedly asked Renworth. Frankenhodge was nowhere to be seen.

“He Confunded a guard into letting us in. Then he Stupefied him.”

“Just a Confundus?” Hermione asked. Usually the Department of Mysteries was better protected than that, though she, of course, had had little problem getting in when she’d needed to.

“Everyone else’s gone home,” Renworth whispered. His eyes darted to the side, and Hermione knew Frankenhodge was back.

“Okay,” Frankenhodge said in a way that would have been cheery if it weren’t so obviously forced. “Alensky, help me bring Stacia up here. We have to push her through now.”

Hermione watched, horrified, as Renworth and Frankenhodge took Stacia by the ankles and wrists and brought her to the Veil. Frankenhodge got down on his knees and kissed her softly on the cheek. Renworth looked away, but Hermione wouldn’t. He picked his sister up under the arms, struggling to lift her limp weight.

“I’m sorry,” Renworth said, very quietly. Hermione repeated his words. This wasn’t right, wasn’t fair to Stacia, who deserved a proper burial.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Frankenhodge said. He gave Stacia’s body a push, momentum carrying her weight through the Veil. Hermione clenched her eyes, waiting for the sound of the body hitting the stone floor, but it never came.

Stacia was gone.

Frankenhodge stared at the Veil for a long time. Renworth came back to sit with Hermione, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she shivered. She couldn’t lean into the embrace. She felt empty.

A loud sniff startled her. Frankenhodge was standing before them. “The potion,” he said in a flat voice. Hermione ladled some into a cup that was sitting beside the cauldron. There was absolutely no hope that Stacia was coming back, but Hermione really hoped the random combination of ingredients wasn’t going to kill Frankenhodge.

And she also hoped she wouldn’t regret thinking that.

Frankenhodge quickly downed the potion, trails of the vile fluid dripping down his chin. He gasped as he finished it, looking nauseous.

“Are you… are you all right, then?” she asked, watching him carefully.

“The incantation,” he rasped.

Renworth calmly handed him the sheet Frankenhodge had had Hermione dictate to him. He slowly moved to stand before the Veil, falling to his knees.

When he began to speak, the sibilance around them grew louder. A glance to Renworth revealed he heard it as well. Shaking, Hermione forced herself to watch.

Frankenhodge’s words were eerily familiar, though slightly off, as if he were speaking with the wrong accent.

The muted sounds of voices seemed to swirl and dance, but they didn’t sound malicious. They almost sounded confused.

When Frankenhodge’s voice finally died down, Hermione watched in detachment as he withdrew a blade from his robes. A decisive slice to his wrist made both members of his audience gasp. Hermione’s hand flew in sympathy to the half-healed wounds over her heart.

Blood dripped and pumped from the deep wound, staining the floor and draining toward the Veil as if the dais was on a bias.

The blood touched the Veil, and the roar was deafening.

---

A sharp crack behind him in Alensky’s house told Sirius he wasn’t alone. He whipped around, wand drawn.

When he saw it was Snape, he almost didn’t lower his arm. But this wasn’t Snape’s fault, much as Sirius wished otherwise.

“What did Harry tell you?” Sirius asked dully. Harry was the only person who knew of Sirius’ destination.

“That he found dead energy, and you refuse to accept it.”

“It wasn’t hers,” Sirius said, almost calmly but with an underlying sense of urgency. “I would have known, Snape. Her soul is in me. I would have known. ”

Snape walked up to the dining room table, perusing a jumbled mess of spills and stains.

“I agree.”

“You—you agree? With me? You think I’m right?”

Snape chuckled darkly, and Sirius scowled. “It is truly a day for the scrapbook, no? I do agree with you, Black. You would have felt her leave this plane if she had done so. I imagine it would have hurt very much, and as much as that might have pleased me, Hermione Granger’s death is certainly not the way I hope it comes about. Be that as it may, yes, she is still alive.”

“You know this for certain?”

Snape wet his finger and dipped it into something on the table. Sirius grimaced as the man licked his finger and nodded slowly.

“Well?” he prompted, desperate for confirmation.

“As certain as one can know anything, I imagine.”

“Where do we look now?” Sirius practically begged.

“I suspect our kidnapper has taken Hermione to the Veil.”

“What? Why? And how can you know that?”

Snape briskly walked back to where Sirius was standing. “I believe I know these ingredients from when Hermione came to me with a list of them. From when she brought you back. And where would one go with a potion of these ingredients but the source of all this trouble?”

Sirius was about to spin on his heel and Disapparate once more, but Snape snarled.

“You might encounter less trouble at the Ministry, Black, if you enlist Auror Potter to attend you.”

Sirius wanted to expound against being ‘attended,’ but he also didn’t want to deal with explaining to inept guards that Hermione was in trouble in the Department of Mysteries. Nodding his thanks, Sirius Disapparated to Grimmauld Place, instead.

And Harry was there. Ginny had her arms around him, and they were both in tears. Draco Malfoy was there as well, sitting beside Harry and looking very uncomfortable.

“Harry,” Sirius said urgently, beckoning him over. Harry got up reluctantly and followed his godfather into the hallway.

“Snape thinks she’s alive, too. We think she’s in the Death Chamber at the Ministry. I need you to come with me and get me in,” Sirius said in a rush, desperate to leave.

Harry’s eyes widened. Snape Apparated beside them, and Harry immediately turned to him. “She’s not dead?”

Snape shook his head.

“Why would she be in the Death Chamber?”

“We think whoever kidnapped her wanted to bring someone back from the Veil, like I was. We have to go, Harry! Another minute could mean the difference, here!”

Harry nodded quickly, taking Sirius’ arm. As the sharp tug took them away, Sirius heard Snape call for Draco.

In the Ministry atrium, Snape and Draco both appeared a moment after Sirius and Harry. Harry quickly got them passed the guards and into the lift.

The wait was torture, and the four men were utterly silent the entire ride. Harry was nearly bouncing with tension, Snape was as still as a statue and half as emotive, Sirius was beside himself with anxiety.

As they neared the floor they needed, Draco whispered, “I’m sure she’s all right.”

And they all took heart in those quiet words.

The lift door finally opened, and they rushed out, just as a roar sounded, like waves crashing directly overhead, stopping them all momentarily in their tracks.

Sirius was the first to regain himself. The noise was growing louder, but he didn’t care. He could feel Hermione’s presence, sense her soul as surely as if she were right next to him.

He threw himself through the door to the Death Chamber, immediately laying eyes on the frantically waving Veil. Someone was lying prone in front of it, a pool of blood beneath him.

Then he saw her.

Hermione.

Sirius crossed the distance like his life depended on it—and really, it did—and fell to his knees in front of the woman he loved. The man beside her he spared no glance.

“My love,” he whispered, so grateful, so thankful.

“Sirius?” she said, red-rimmed eyes wide. She smiled shakily. “I knew you would find me.”

“I found you, you’re okay. You’re safe, love. Come here.” Sirius held out his arms, and she fell into the embrace, body trembling. Her sobs could be heard throughout the room, but he only rocked her, shushing her gently.

He saw the man beside Hermione stand and walk over to where Harry and Draco were standing. Snape was attending the young man in front of the Veil. Sirius could see his back rising with his breaths. Everyone was alive.

All the better for him to fucking murder Frankenhodge.

But that would be later. Now he had the woman he loved, she was safe, and he’d never let her be hurt again.

“I sent Kreacher away,” he whispered.

Hermione laughed through her tears and clutched Sirius ever tighter. He didn’t mind, though.

She was safe.



_____________________________
Author's Note: The long-awaited chapter! For me, anyway. :)

Thank you so much to the reviewers who let me know this story is still being followed! You cannot imagine how good that made me feel! This story is coming to a close. There's only one, MAYBE two chapters left, and an epilogue!

Thanks to kazfeist for the amazing beta!

NutsAboutHarry--sorry about the cliffie! I can't seem to be able to contain myself. But at least it only lasted for one chapter, right?

Whisperwhite--glad you can commisserate with Frankenhodge. He's definitely not a villain. And I'm thrilled that you like my Sirius! I've had a blast writing him.

tambrathegreat--aw, it's okay! I understand that people have real life issues... I myself have had a few during the course of this WIP. And thank you so much for your sweet words.

Jessie--it's okay! Thank you for taking the time to review this time!

Narcissas Sister--well, it seems that I haven't lost readers, they are just the silent type! And that's okay, I'm just grateful to know people are following the story. I'm glad you like my Sirius, as I adore writing him!