Look at the Stars

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the ledge, and both remained silent for a strange, yet surprisingly unawkward, moment.

Sirius continued gazing at Hermione, who seemed almost asleep, and in one spontaneous second, he embraced her and cupped her head with his hand. Feeling her stiffen slightly, he turned around and said, "Good night, my friend," as he exited through the tower door to begin the long trek back to his room.

In the silence of the corridors, he felt haunted not only by the Hogwarts ghosts, but by the brief memory of her small form in his arms.

He was having thoughts, he realized, that he never would have conceived of when he first met Hermione. Ah, how different things were now!

Hermione was an accomplished young woman, with the intelligence and wisdom of someone twice her age. That's me, he thought bitterly. I'm nearly twice her age, he told himself, she thinks of me as nothing more than the godfather of her best friend.

When he first returned to Hogwarts as a teacher, he'd expected to find a slightly older version of the studious girl he'd known a few years earlier. From their very first conversation there, she had proved him all wrong.

"Professor Black!" she'd exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. (Ah, what I wouldn't give to feel that now! he sighed.)

"Hermione Granger? Or, I should say, Professor Granger?"

"Yes," she'd beamed, her pride in her work apparent in her expression. But even in her youthful enthusiasm, there was a maturity in her eyes that bespoke of a heart that had suffered much.

"You seem happy in your work."

"Oh, yes! At first, I came here to remember, and my memories were painful. I couldn't bring myself to let go of the past. . . but now I've grown to love teaching. Really, it's what I always wanted."

"Oh, Hermione. . . If you don't mind my asking, what was your pain? Was it Ron?"

A cloud of emotion passed over her face, but was quickly replaced by a quiet strength. "After he died, I threw myself into my work. I barely slept, and I scarcely had contact with anyone. I'm so glad I came back here and confronted the past. . . You do know that Ron and I were engaged when. . . it happened?"

"I remember. . . Harry told me. He had so much pain of his own then, he was afraid he couldn't help you much. But you seem to have come through it."

"I'm stronger now. . . I feel like I've lived for ages, like I'm on my second lifetime. I've learned to be happy again. But I'm still learning not to be afraid of loving again. . ." Hermione had said, and then she'd sighed a little, and walked down the hall alone.

Even then, he'd felt a fatherly urge to comfort her, but he could see that she'd pulled herself through.

After serving on the faculty together for a year now, his feelings had shifted from fatherly to friendly, as the age difference had disappeared in the camaraderie of the coworkers. And he feared that they'd begun to shift again, from friendly to another place he wasn't sure he should go. . .

He smiled bitterly at those words now: "I'm still learning not to be afraid of loving again." He too, had been afraid of loving for the longest time after he'd lost his closest friends in Voldemort's first reign of terror. Now, after coming through heartbreak and pain, he was only afraid of Hermione's fear.

He finally reached his room, an out of the way chamber at the end of a remote corridor. As he walked into the cold room alone, he felt more than ever the absence of the one thing his heart desired more than anything.