Lost and Found

Chapter 8 - The Wand

"Ollivander," Hermione breathed, just surprised and changed enough not to add her customary 'mr' or 'sir'.

Sirius stared at him.

Exactly the same.

Exactly the same.

How was that possible?

"Let's not linger on trivialities, hmm?" Mr. Ollivander said pleasantly, as though he could read Sirius' thoughts. "You came for a wand." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the older man held up his hand. "He doesn't know it yet, but he has. Unfortunately, I cannot help you."

Sirius worked through this in his head before realizing he did, indeed, wish for a wand. He couldn't live in the wizarding world without one. The rest of the old man's words impacted him then. "What do you mean, you can't help me?" he asked incredulously, gesturing at the wands around them.

Mr. Ollivander smiled.

"I cannot help you on the grounds that you were already given a very unique and very beautifully made wand. Ebony and powdered unicorn horn, nineteen inches, inlaid with silver, if I remember correctly." At Sirius' sudden baleful stare, his smile did not waver. "Special request from your family."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the core of the wand, but she had a feeling she'd rather not know where Sirius' family had come across the horn of a unicorn. Thinking on some of the things he'd said about them, he probably didn't want to know either.

"That wand is long gone," Sirius said with a frustrated sound. "Even if I knew where to get it from, it's probably still behind so much red tape you couldn't touch it."

Hermione, watching Mr. Ollivander's expression, seemed to have doubts about the truth of this statement, but she didn't say them aloud if she did.

"Um. About that," she murmured. Mr. Ollivander heard her, though she hadn't spoken very loudly at all, and turned to look at her.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, amusement in his eyes. Hermione frowned, then moved to take him aside, talking about something... secret.

This bothered Sirius in ways he hadn't known he could be bothered. What was it with this girl and secrets?

He crossed his arms irritatedly and glared at the two, waiting for the conversation to end. Eventually, Hermione nodded, looking thoughtful, then turned to Sirius.

"Well," she said. "There's no point staying here, then."

His mouth dropped open.

"W-wait!" he said disbelievingly. "After all of that, nothing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "Look, he's not going to give you another wand. I promise I'll do what I can to get hold of one for you, though, I promise." At his sudden surprised look, she smiled. "There are other people that sell wands, you know. If worse comes to worst... well, I can call on some of those war hero connections."

Something about this statement froze him, reaching deep into him and squeezing his heart. Maybe it was the fact that she'd stated quite clearly she didn't want anything to do with those connections. Maybe it was just the fact that someone had offered to help him for no reason other than he needed it. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was suddenly forced to realize she was old enough to do something like that.

"Thank you," he said in a dazed voice.

Hermione looked down from his gaze involuntarily. "Yes... well. You don't expect me to throw you out without a wand, do you?"

At these words, he noticed that Ollivander's eyes flashed in an amused way. But Hermione coughed then, and his attention was distracted. When he turned back, the old man was gone.

"I would think that's our cue to leave," Sirius muttered, trying to ignore the angry knot in his throat. He pushed away the strange gratitude that had risen in him and moved for the door. Hermione watched him beneath a curtain of her hair before following. The bell rang softly as they left.

The two stood silently for a moment, as though trying to figure out where to go next. In more ways than one.

"Well," she said. "Unless you have a need for a broom or a new pet-" Sirius snorted. "-I think it would be safe to say we're apparating back home?"

"Yes," he replied. "And, as I'm apparently not a very safe ride, you're free to try yourself-" Pop. Hermione was gone.

"All right, then," Sirius muttered, only somewhat offended. After looking about for a moment, he too disappeared.

.

.

.

.

.

This time was much better. Less nausea, at the least. And look, his vision was only slightly blurred this time around.

Funny.

Where was Hermione?

Shit. He wasn't in the wrong house, was he?

Sirius looked about him for clues that he had just broken and entered. Well... didn't seem too likely on second thought. His eyes fell on the same exact sofa he'd slept on the night before, the dark green pillows in precisely the same places they'd left them, a cozy quilt in a mess at the edge of a cushion. A window seat, in the kitchen, looking out over the same town.

He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Hermione had said she was apparating home. Why, then, was she not at home?

BANG.

Something hit him in the back forcefully. Sirius swore, turning to land on the couch, and something soft brushed his cheek. He opened his eyes a moment later - and swallowed.

Mousy hair hung messily about her face as though she'd gone and ridden a motorcycle. But her face was much too pale - almost bloodless - and her skin, where it touched him, was icy cold.

Dead. She couldn't be dead. Because he'd never heard of someone dying from apparation, and it was too unfair to do this to him and to her-

Hermione shuddered against him and groaned unhappily, immediately dispelling the thought. Sirius grabbed her by the shoulders immediately, letting out his breath in relief. She opened her eyes blearily - and immediately squeezed them shut again.

"Head hurts like hell," she muttered.

His hands tightened on her. "And how long," he said, grimly but not without humor, "has it been since you last apparated?"

Hermione let her forehead fall against his chest, but didn't answer. Maybe she was attempting to do the math. Sirius rubbed at his back unhappily. That was going to smart.

"Seventeen years," she said unhappily. "A little less, maybe."

He opened his mouth to tell her something snide, to point out her stubborn stupidity... but closed it again as he realized she knew it all too well by now. Instead, he scanned her for her wand, then snatched it from her pocket. She managed to let out an indignant sound, despite her condition - then realized he was trying to remember some charm or other for magical snapback.

"Bother," he sighed. "Can't think of it. Too long ago."

A shaky Hermione disentangled herself from his grip and rubbed at her arms. "I need some chocolate," she muttered.

"Oh?" he asked. "Does that work for this too?" He seemed to remember eating chocolate after encounters with Dementors.

"No," she said, perhaps with an added bit of irritation. "I just like chocolate." With that, she stumbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, shoving things about and looking for something. Sirius frowned and spun the wand in his hand, trying to focus his mind onto what he could think of in the way of fixing headaches. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind while the wand was in his hand was a mental complaint that it wasn't his.

Why is it every person from here to the coast seems to think they know what's best for me?

He remembered Dumbledore refusing to let him out of that damn house. It was only just beginning to dawn on him that he could move about freely now...

"You know you can't go out."

"Play me again."

Compassion. Caring enough to actually sit with him for hours on end, doing nothing at all, when everyone else left him alone to brood. Not quite understanding his need to do instead of sit, but trying, and that counted more.

"I was just... scared."

An expression of undiluted terror and shock, and the slightest hints of a deep-running shame, a shame that contradicted itself, that was so completely irrational as to be laughable, had he not wanted to make it better...

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I failed..."

Hermione. He hadn't had enough time to think on her. Not nearly enough. It was so hard to reconcile the two different people. One was a girl - easily described, easily understood, because she was loyal and caring and studious. And, he thought almost absently, her hair was curlier.

But this one.

Tired. Haunted. Tortured, sometimes, but it was expected when one was presented with a ghost.

And, but this was the most disturbing thing of all, she had grown up.

In the blink of an eye, Hermione the shy girl who liked to play chess had changed into the woman that stared out of windows and cried when she thought no one was looking. How was it possible? How could he rationalize it? He knew that parts of the girl were still in there - she was still loyal and kind as ever. Her hair was still messy, just not in the usual way - it was mousy, now, and hung into her eyes limply, still retaining a slight twist at the ends.

He had to admit to himself that while he missed the old Hermione dearly - happiness was a prized possession - he could also understand the new one in ways he could never have imagined before.

Sirius frowned and gave himself a mental slap on the hand. He wasn't supposed to be happy that she had learned to grieve, and learned it badly. It was... unbearably selfish.

But the fact remained that there was no going back - and the new Hermione was now sitting beside him, pulling pieces off of a chocolate bar.

She looked up at him with a blink, feeling his stare on her.

"Do you want a piece?" she asked.

Sirius winced. Caught. "No, thank you," he said, eyes now stuck very stubbornly on the green and black pillow at the other end of the couch. "I wouldn't dare try to deny you your chocolate."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Oh, bravo. You almost convinced the pillow behind me." She broke off a piece anyway, and let it fall into his palm. "Have at. Just remember me next time you go to Honeydukes."

If it still exists, was the unspoken addition.

Sirius weighed the chocolate in his hand, then pushed it into his mouth. It was almost comforting, for a moment - but the taste passed, and he realized he was still hurting. He wondered if he would ever stop.

He had to say something. It was too wrong to do this in silence, to pretend to normalcy...

"It's not any better, is it?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him with a suddenly pained look. He realized, though, that it had been there all along and he just hadn't noticed it because she had been smiling.

"No," she whispered. "It's not."

The strangest thought crossed his mind then. That she understood, and that he really wished she didn't.

Good. We're on the same page, then.

Despite his earlier comment, made in full honesty at the time, as far as he'd known, he'd uncovered a new and rather uncomfortable part of himself that irrationally wished she could have been spared - even though she'd been at the center of it all.

Hermione looked away from him, to the clenched hands on her lap. The friend in him, the loyal Padfoot, the uncomfortable Sirius, wanted to make it better. But he didn't know how. And it was hard to do when he felt so lost himself.

Her hand moved to settle on top of his - it was slightly cold, and her nails pricked at his skin a bit. But it was one of the most comforting things he'd ever felt, and a sudden warm gratitude rose within him. Hermione hadn't changed in the places that counted. She still looked after everyone but herself.

Because he knew she wanted him to believe, or at least to pretend, that she wasn't crying. So he turned his hand over and slid his fingers through hers and did so.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He thought on Harry - it was undeniable that he should've lived. And yet - and yet, he was gone. So strange that he'd talked to him days before, saved him from a premature death. He couldn't make himself believe that had been for nothing - it had felt too real. And then, the disturbing thought hit him, finally, that it hadn't been just a few days ago. That it only seemed that way. One would think this was obvious, but it hadn't been to him. As though sensing his sudden discomfort, Hermione's fingers tightened.

After she had time to suitably compose herself, Hermione excused herself on the pretext of making them some kind of dinner. He was relieved that he wasn't required to help this time around (he was, apparently, a kind of anti-help - not that she would admit to this). However... his hand, which had warmed hers to a similar temperature, was now without something to grasp.

Strangely, the warm gratitude in his chest kept swelling, until it took the place of the things that had been so brutally torn away, and even strained at being so-confined. For no reason that he could pinpoint, Sirius felt that he was fixed. Just a little, just for a while, but it was enough.

There were people who still cared about him. There was someone that cared enough to try to make the burden lighter, to take even more onto her shoulders, though it might cripple her in the process. And there were good people left in the world, despite it all.

Sirius leaned back into the pillow he'd stared at and rubbed at his hand absently, not daring to explore this new contentment for fear it would pop like a bubble. What had he asked her, earlier? He'd wanted her to tell him what to do. He'd wanted some kind of goal, something to focus on because all of his earlier ones were gone. But he'd found one.

And he resolved...

He would make it better.

For her.