Lost and Found

Chapter 9 - Hogsmeade

Dinner was surprisingly delicious. Or, perhaps not, considering that anything at all tasted wonderful when you were alive and free. Hermione shot him a surprised look when he dug into it with fervor. Sitting on the couch, now, he thought she really should have known better. Didn't she remember when they ate Mrs. Weasley's home cooking...

Sirius frowned at that thought, a slight twinge going through him as he thought of what the poor woman would've had to go through. He didn't have time to contemplate this, however, before Hermione threw a pillow at him. He caught it just barely, and realized she'd been aiming for his head.

"Not very nice," he said with a mock glare.

Hermione smiled and chuckled to herself. "Get some sleep. I was thinking of going out to Hogsmeade tomorrow."

Sirius snorted. "Right. When everyone mistakes us for muggles, don't complain to me."

The woman rolled her eyes and swept some of the chestnut hair from her eyes - to no avail; it fell back into place stubbornly. "That's why we're going, you twat. I'm assuming you want something to wear other than those clothes." She gestured at the shirt and slacks he'd had to wear for about three days (with a washing in between when Hermione insisted they needed it). Apparently, his robes had been in such a sorry state from wherever he'd been that she'd thrown them away.

Sirius privately thought she had a point, but he couldn't let her leave with the last laugh. "What?" he asked, pretending indignance. "I happen to think I look like a rather dashing wizard. In a... muggle type way." Wait. There it was again. That flash of irritation. Sirius tried not to wince and grinned, making it into an obvious joke, but Hermione turned away and moved toward her bedroom. The sound of a door closing quietly made him sigh and lean back into the couch.

Hermione seemed to have a few sore spots, actually. He wasn't entirely sure what they were, really. But then, it might be best to just ask her about them later. The fewer uncomfortable, unspoken things between them, the better.

Because... well, he really did care what she thought of him, when it came down to it. Hermione was a very intelligent, mature, no-nonsense person, and if she didn't approve of you, it was hard to disregard her. Sort of like Dumbledore in that respect - except that Dumbledore was a very strange, silly, and potentially insane person.

He remembered meeting her for the first time, two years - no, twenty-one years ago. As frightened as she must have been of him (convict, murderer, dark wizard, madman), her distaste for him and Remus had struck him immediately.

"I don't believe it!" He turned to look at the girl in surprise - he'd barely noticed her before, just as another one of the people with Harry. The girl that had kicked him, the girl that had called for Lupin's help, was now staring at him - at them both - with the utmost horror and revulsion. "You- you-"

Sirius stared at her as she pointed with a trembling finger at Lupin. And, quite suddenly, she became more than just a girl. She now had a voice to go with her, and a name, and a history, and (funnily enough) a brain. It was so strange, realizing for the first time since Azkaban that people existed.

And then, Harry's surprising attack on Snape - he only realized a little later that both she and Ron had echoed it. And now, the thought of it, of them, alive and well, still at school-

"Er - Mr. Black - Sirius?" Someone real, someone talking to him because he was real, too... it was real, it had to be. Because otherwise, he was still in his cell...

Sirius put his head into his hands as the contrast rose in his head, unbidden. The intelligent girl, the one that suspected him and barely knew him, then listened to him- and then, the girl that played chess with him, that nibbled on carrot sticks- the girl that trembled in a corner, not because she was afraid, but because she was ashamed, and now...

"...but if you're hit with enough Cruciatus curses - all in a row, I mean - your heart can stop from the strain-"

His hands tensed, and he realized he was close to crying, as strange and awful as it was.

"I believed them. When they said they wouldn't die."

Dead. Ron and Harry were dead.

And he hadn't been there for them. Not when it counted, not when he wanted to, he'd missed - he'd missed everything he'd ever cared to live for, and he couldn't do a thing!

He trembled, grasping at the place where his heart would be, wishing it could somehow fill up again like it had. Because the more he thought of how gone they were, the emptier it became. And the emptier it became, the worse the pressure just behind his eyelids, the biting warmth he refused to let free.

But... there was no one here to see. So it didn't really matter, did it?

Sirius Black cried, silently and bitterly.

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Somewhere in the night, after he had done his best to get rid of it all, there was a soft touch on his hand. He realized, half awake, that it was Hermione.

Wordlessly, she slipped her arms around him and clung, as though her life depended on it. He hesitated a moment, his sleepy mind trying to process the fact that someone was trying to comfort him - or maybe she was the one that needed it - and then he put one arm around her, without moving from his position. Hermione let her head fall to his chest for a moment, assumedly trying to remember he was there.

"Don't leave again," she begged him in a choked whisper.

Her fingers dug into his back, but he didn't respond. He simply squeezed her around the shoulders, once, and she rose to her feet again, wiping a hand across her eyes. Sirius realized, as she went back to her room, that neither of them had slept since they had supposedly gone to bed. That, most likely, at the same time he had been trying to remember, she had been lying awake in her room trying to forget. Because it went in stages, like that, where you would picture their faces as clearly as you could - and then, you'd try to forget they'd ever even existed.

But it was different, when you had someone to hold on to, he realized tiredly. It was so much different than being alone with it that you might start being scared they would leave.

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to force some sleep out of the night. He wasn't very optimistic about his chances, but sleep was, and would always be, a necessity. For some reason he couldn't quite remember anymore.

Sleep was being elusive, though, so he opened his eyes again - and groaned.

Birds were chirping. Light was shining into the living room through that blasted window in the kitchen. And Hermione was in the kitchen too, sitting at the window in a comfortable looking set of muggle clothes and staring outside. It was looking like another overcast day - rain was not a possibility, but an inevitability.

He had fallen asleep, somehow, in between thoughts. The idea was most unnerving.

Hermione, meanwhile, sighed to herself and took a sip of her hot chocolate. She was, apparently, unaware that she was being watched. Sirius decided to take full advantage of the situation.

She was the kind of person you could watch for hours and not lose interest. The way she stirred her drink absently, the way her eyes stared at everything and nothing all at once - the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit at her lower lip-

Sirius realized he was staring. Rather unabashedly, at that. Not really wanting to think on that more, he moved from the couch and stretched, brushing himself off.

Hermione turned in surprise at the noise, and he gave her a tired grin. Her own lips twitched once in return - apparently, she wasn't a morning person. Either that, or she'd gotten very little sleep.

Sirius moved into the kitchen and poured a cup of hot chocolate for himself. He set the cup down momentarily to move Hermione's legs from the window seat (she gave a tiny squawk of indignance) and settled himself quite comfortably across from her.

She eyed him defensively over her cup.

"I don't like coffee," she said. "I could make you some, if you want, it's just a little too tangy for me-"

Sirius took a long swallow from the cup and smiled, patting her on the leg. "Hot chocolate is fine."

Coming down to breakfast, knowing he looked awful but not quite caring.

No one at the table. A note, saying they'd had to leave a little early for some shopping, but they'd left him some coffee so could he please go ahead and not worry on their account.

Sirius scowled and ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. Perfect. Another day out without him, because he couldn't go outside, because people would recognize him...

He sat down and drank his coffee, not wondering why it suddenly tasted so bland.

Steps on the stairs startled him, however, and he whipped out his wand in surprise. A million thoughts flitted through his head - no one was home, but no one could have gotten in without Dumbledore's help, so maybe it was Kreacher, but he'd been in the attic-

Hermione blinked and came to a halt as she turned the corner, eyes trying to focus on his wand. "Well," she said with a laugh. "Well."

Sirius lowered the wand, abashed. "Ah. Sorry about that. Why aren't you with the others, though?" He gestured at the note.

The girl's face turned uncomfortable, and she looked down to fiddle with her oversized shirt. "Yes, well, I wanted to have a bit of a lie-in... told them they could pick a few things up for me..." Awful liar. Truly horrendous. But he felt his heart grow warm at the thought that she'd stayed to keep him company yet again.

"Sit down and have some coffee, then," he told her with a smile, sitting down again. Hermione did so - one of her hands came up to fret at her tangled hair before giving up, in the end, and dropping to her lap. She blew a disgusted breath out and accepted the cup he offered her, taking a quick sip - then spitting in surprise.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and she blushed.

"I - ah - that is-" She looked down at the cup again. "I've never actually had coffee before. The stuff's horrendous -how do you drink it?"

He chuckled. "With cream and sugar, usually."

Her blush deepened, and he noted the expression on her face. Embarrassed to the point of shame, as though she had been held to some standard and fallen short-

Sirius pulled back the cup and shrugged it off. "Not everyone likes coffee. Actually, I mostly drink it for the pick-me-up, myself... hot chocolate?"

"I was thinking."

Sirius looked up, realizing he'd been staring at the chocolate. Hermione was still gazing out the window, but it seemed deliberate this time. An attempt not to look at him, as though she were afraid she would give something away.

"Yes?" he asked, watching her calm expression turn to that strange, uncomfortable look.

"Hogsmeade has a café. It would be nice to eat breakfast there, instead of making it..." She trailed off uncertainly, and he realized she was asking for his opinion.

"Certainly." He picked up on it immediately. "In fact, let me go shower real quick, and we can go then. I'm sure I look a right mess." She glanced at him, then, and her expression turned unreadable.

"Go ahead," Hermione said. "I'll try and find you another set of clothes if you want." He shrugged noncommittally, although really, the idea of clean clothes sounded wonderful. Sirius walked to the bathroom, unaware of the pensive look Hermione's face wore as she stared after him.

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It was a strange feeling. This need to be perfect, to not say a word out of place, to look as though she knew what she was doing when she was truly frightened out of her wits in regard to the magical world.

Hermione went to her room to rummage through her closet, thoughts in disarray. She'd been off balance ever since Sirius had arrived. Not surprising, considering he was supposed to have been dead, but the truth was that she always felt just a bit unbalanced in the presence of other wizards.

She'd always felt the need to be better than average. That hadn't changed from her youth. She suspected it came from the fact that her parents had told her it was okay to not be the best - so damn supportive, she wanted to retch. It was as though it was always a pleasant surprise when she came home with an A. She was sure they hadn't meant it to feel as though they were underestimating her. Surely, they'd wanted her to be happy.

The feeling of inadequacy had developed into something slightly more frightening when she'd started her magical education and realized that she wasn't ever going to be completely accepted. Something inside her died a little more every time the word 'mudblood' was spoken...

Moving into the kitchen, pulling out the board as though it were just another day, but keeping her eyes carefully down on the floor. He didn't need to see she'd been crying.

If he noticed this, he didn't say a word. The pieces moved to their spaces and the game began - but neither had spoken except to tell them where to go.

The game took longer than it should have. She'd not been concentrating hard enough.

"Hermione," Sirius said quietly. "What on earth is wrong with you today?"

She frowned. Was she really that obvious?

"I just had a run-in with Malfoy, in Diagon Alley... nothing spectacular, it was just a little annoying, really..."

Sirius' expression seemed to indicate he wasn't convinced. And really, she wasn't sure she wanted him to be.

"Fine," she sighed, rubbing at her face with a hand. "He said some rather more nasty things than normal. That word popped up more than once..."

The older man watched her carefully. "Mudblood, you mean?"

She flinched as though struck, and he swore under his breath. "Sorry. Just... wanted to make sure." He looked uncomfortable, and she suddenly regretted ever bringing up the subject.

"Don't worry about it," she told him, forcing some cheer into her voice. "He's a stupid git anyway, he wouldn't know a good defensive spell if it bit him in the-"

"You're not listening to him, are you Hermione?"

She fell silent, trying to find the correct response, the one she knew she should say at the moment. It just wasn't coming, though, and she decided to put her head in her arms as though she hadn't heard him completely and was simply tired... "It's hard not to when he's shoving it down my throat every time I see him."

"You are, then." Sirius' hands locked on either of her arms, pulling them out from under her and holding her up to look at him. "Malfoy is a git. Don't pay him any mind except maybe to hex him. You said he couldn't pull a defense, didn't you?"

Hermione stared at him, wondering... then decided he could be told. He wouldn't say a word. "Do you know," she whispered with a swallow, "Do you know what it's like to be hated? Just... despised, because of what you are?"

Sirius' face took on a funny expression, and she regretted the question, almost. But a smile played across his lips, then, and he set her down, his hands sliding down her arms to lock on her hands. "Yes. I know precisely what you mean." He seemed to choose his next words carefully. "I was a part of the illustrious house of Black, Hermione. By the time I was sixteen, I'd run away, and if I'd dared to show my face at this house again, my own brother would have killed me."

Her mouth fell open - she'd known from hints and clues, of course, that he hadn't been welcome - but to run away... "That's horrible!" she said indignantly. "Why on earth would they treat you that way?"

Sirius leaned back again, and she realized he was still smiling. "Because I hung around with half bloods and werewolves, of course. Being sorted into Gryffindor really didn't help matters either, but it was my 'associates' that really steamed them up."

He really didn't seem to mind, but she felt enraged on his behalf. She couldn't imagine it, couldn't comprehend it. "Excuse me for saying so, but it seems your family wasn't very..." she searched for a word that wouldn't offend him. "...nice," she finished lamely.

Sirius grinned. "You can say they were bastards, Hermione, it's no skin off my back." At her disapproving expression (not for calling his relatives bastards, but for saying the word, period), he put up his hands. "All I'm going to say on this matter is that you really got the better end of the deal, being muggleborn. You're intelligent, attractive, and rather good with magic - had you been born pureblood, I can almost assure you, you'd be stuck up, bratty, ugly, and inbred."

Hermione gasped and tried not to laugh - failing this, she covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. "Sirius - you're pureblood."

He shrugged. "I like to think I was adopted." With this, he prodded his king, who was still lying on the board, defeated. The piece glared at him before getting to his feet in a dignified manner and hustling his troops back into position. "Now," Sirius said in an official tone. "Are you going to wipe the floor with me again, or must I force you?"

She tried to calm her laughter, but only managed to pull it down to a quiet snicker every few moments. "Sure. I'll do my best."

Ah yes. This set of clothes would do. A bit old, but nothing a quick spell couldn't fix.

She left them by the bathroom door and went to get changed into something less casual. She didn't have any robes that fit her - she'd outgrown her seventeen-year-old Hogwarts robes long ago, and besides, they still had her Gryffindor badge on them. Be rather funny, a thirty something woman in student robes...

Hermione came out and almost took another sip of her hot chocolate before realizing it was no longer quite so hot. She made a face and turned as Sirius walked out, buttoning up the shirt.

"To Hogsmeade?" he asked. "Perhaps a butterbeer to celebrate freedom?"

She snorted. "Maybe later. Breakfast, Sirius." Hermione smoothed down her blouse and walked to the fireplace, ignoring Sirius' bewildered look. The witch reached for a small drawstring bag resting on a table near it, and drew out a fistful of powder.

"Where did you get that?" Sirius asked, surprised and just a little suspicious.

Hermione shrugged, but she knew she must've been blaring warning signs - so she said, as clearly as she could, "Hogsmeade," and threw the powder into the grate. As the whirl of fire enveloped her, she heaved a sigh of relief. While she was a grown woman now, Sirius would probably not have been happy to know she'd apparated to Diagon Alley again that morning to buy some floo powder. But really, it wasn't that big of a deal - she'd only thrown up once.

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The floo powder let her out into a public grate, beneath a small overhang. Hermione stepped out into the street, a little bit unbalanced, but otherwise none the worse for the wear.

A pop from behind her signaled that Sirius had appeared. Hoping he was following, she took a side street, past Scrivenshaft's and Gladrags and toward the small café she'd seen that morning. The place was still open, despite the fact that lunch was quickly approaching - she noted with interest that the seats were near full now, where before they'd only had a few customers. With a shrug to herself, Hermione sat down at a table and turned her head to see if Sirius had kept up.

He had. But he was now staring at another building with a broad frown on his face.

The triple "W", again.

Except this time, there was a window into the shop, and it seemed very busy indeed.

Teenagers were pulling things off shelves, buying small trinkets, and laughing with each other. And as Hermione looked closer, she realized that they were buying Christmas presents - it was the winter holidays now, and Hogsmeade was in business. Which meant...

She tore her gaze from the store and looked through the window of the café, into the building itself. Certainly not. Certainly not.

"Hello, my name is Jenny, I'll be your waitress today, Miss. Here's your menus, and if you need anything, please press the bell at the center of the table and I'll be here right away." Hermione looked up into a young teen's face and smiled.

"Could I possibly get a hot chocolate and..." She thought for a moment. "An apple juice."

The girl wrote her order down quickly and made ready to leave, but Hermione stopped her. "Wait," she said. At the waitress's twitching smile (which spoke of other things that needed to get done), Hermione thought she may as well ask quickly. "What is that building, over there?"

The twitching smile stopped, and turned immediately bright. "That's the new prank shop. They replaced Zonko's a couple years back - everything on their shelves is on the caretaker's list." She snickered, apparently in memory of a particularly fun use for one of those forbidden items, before remembering her job and rushing back to the building.

Hermione caught her breath, though, and turned back to Sirius, who was definitely trying to place where he'd heard of the place before. She motioned for him to sit down, though, as the girl came back with their drinks. The confused expression left his face as he saw the apple juice.

"Ah," Sirius said, his mouth twitching into a grin. "You're awful."

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The drinks went down rather quickly - and the two found that neither of them was really hungry for anything, having filled up all the space in their stomachs with chocolate and apple juice.

Hermione was watching him, now, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked her concentrated expression. It reminded him uncannily of Lily, of the times right before she'd ask him some entirely personal question that would make him blush so hard his glasses turned red.

Sirius turned his head around to frown at her.

"What?" Hermione asked, arranging her face carefully into innocence. But Sirius was well acquainted with such an attempt, having done it many, many times before, many times more than she-

Except.

Well.

She'd been through seven years of Hogwarts now. And then, she just about matched him year for year. In every way that counted... he was now her age.

What a disturbing thought.

"What is it?" her voice cut into his thoughts, concerned. Sirius shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. This would take some thinking on.

"It's nothing," he replied, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "Just- just wondering what that building is."

Hermione turned to regard it and bit her lip in concentration. Sirius wasn't quite certain he was supposed to be watching her lips so closely, but he pushed the thought away as suspicion darkened her eyes to a deep brown.

"I have a hunch..." she muttered. "But, no, that would be-"

"Granger?"

Her face went utterly white, and a hand went over her mouth.

A man stepped around the table with an almost amusingly shocked expression on his face, as though he'd seen a ghost. Perhaps he had - his hair was almost pure white, and his skin might have been pale enough to make him sickly. Yes, in fact, had he not held himself so high, he would have looked like he was dying.

Hermione stared up at him, something like guilt on her face.

"Malfoy," she whispered.