Lost and Found

Chapter 12 - Of Scientific Effects

Sirius had long suspected that someone high up in the heavenly hierarchy had it in for him.

Now - now he knew it.

Because he was currently sitting in front of a blazing fire with a beautiful, unattached woman draping herself across him happily and causing all sorts of interesting reactions with the cold from her hands seeping through the silk of his robes (Silk, why had he gotten silk? Cotton would've done, damn it!).

Now, normally, he would've been absolutely thrilled at this.

But this was Hermione.

And Hermione... Hermione was supposed to be fifteen. She was supposed to play chess and smile at him in that heartwarming way of hers, but under no circumstances was she supposed to...

"You know, you're sorta handsome... must be that dratted beard..." She hiccupped yet again.

...flirt with him.

"Hermione," he said through gritted teeth, "You're drunk."

She giggled. "So what?" And she batted her eyelashes, quite becomingly if he did say so himself, and said in a low, secret voice, "You know, I used to have quite the crush on you, y'know."

He froze.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

"You are... definitely drunk," he said. Because she'd just repeated herself again. And because honestly, how could someone develop a crush on him when they'd seen him at his worst, hair ratty and matted, blood all over, an insane gleam in his eyes as he contemplated killing a rat-

"No really!" she protested, eyes unfocused. "You were- weren't really good at chess, but you protected me!" His eyebrows raised. When- "From that evil, evil portrait!" she grinned.

Oh. Well.

"And..." She leaned back against him again, and he couldn't find the will to pull away, afraid she would stop talking. "And you really cared. Y'know?" She paused as though realizing she'd said too much. She turned her gaze away and her eyes focused on the flames, now, somewhat sad. They danced and shone, reflected in pools of brown that reminded him of the chocolate she so loved.

"M' not a mudblood..." she whispered.

His arm tightened on her.

"No," he said quietly. "No, you're most certainly not." Guilt overtook him. He shouldn't have been taking advantage of her like this, having her spill her secrets like candy. It wasn't right. There were... private things. Things no person should ever have to divulge. But-

"You always were too nice to me," she said with a smile. "Gave me butterflies, y'know?"

He felt a strange kind of warmth suffuse him, and he found himself wanting to say Oh yes, I know...

Instead, he found himself saying, quite inappropriately, "You killed Bellatrix?"

And her grin abruptly vanished.

"Who told you that?" she asked, her voice sharp and pained. And he found himself inordinately relieved that she wouldn't have to remember in the morning.

"Malfoy. Apparently, he's privy to a few secrets now that he's a teacher. Or maybe he just eavesdropped." He wished he didn't have to bring this up, but it was important to him...

"Yeah, I did," she said, but her voice was trembling. "I- I used-" She twisted out of his grip, shaking, and stared at him. "I used Avada Kedavra."

He stared at her, amazed, because even though he'd heard it from Malfoy, it was a completely different matter listening to her say it...

"She was making fun of me before!" she choked. "Telling me how she k-killed you and how she tortured Neville's parents and watched as they-" Her voice broke completely then. "I hated her! I still hate her!"

Sirius watched as tears of fury and pain dripped down her face, and he felt something inside him clench. Because no one could ever use dark magic and have it not leave a mark, a hideous scar on their soul. And Hermione had known that.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, instantly repentant that he'd brought it up, even though she'd forget. "I'm- I'm so sorry-"

"She didn't have the right," Hermione said, shaking, her hair falling messily into her face and covering haunted eyes. "She didn't- she took you away - and I never got to play you again- and she laughed, she laughed and I hated her so much-"

He stretched a hand forward tentatively to grasp her shoulder. "I wish I could have stayed." For you, I wish I could have. Not just for Harry and Ron, for you too-

"I'm not an awful person," she whispered, something awful twisting her face, something he could feel and remember deep inside himself. "I'm not."

"You're not. You're one of the best people I've ever known." He pulled her forward gently, an invitation only. She resisted at first, but relented in a moment, letting herself fall against him and clasping him desperately to her as she missed him all over again.

He wondered in that moment whether it was possible to forget that you had told something so awful, so soul-rending and personal. He hoped, in that same moment, that she would both forget and remember.

Sirius moved his hand to tangle in her hair comfortingly. "Those games meant the world to me," he told her as her body shook in his arms. The next phrase made it past his defenses, because he knew she would forget: "Having you there meant the world to me."

Hermione. Unforgivable. Perhaps, they gave those curses that name, not because casting them meant Azkaban, but because a good person couldn't ever forgive themselves for using one. No matter how well deserved.

She swallowed, wiping at her eyes. "You're sure?"

He smiled. "Yeah. You were - still are - an extraordinary person." She didn't have to stay. She put herself out of her way for me so much...

Hermione smiled, and he found himself quite suddenly captivated by it.

"They meant a lot to me too."

Her face fell a moment later, and he was wrenched from his fascination. Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not going to remember this, am I?" She said it in such a tired voice that he found he couldn't lie.

"No," Sirius told her with a pang. "You won't. But that means I can ask you what to get you for Christmas."

"Flowers," she whispered, "Stargazer lilies." And she tightened her arms around him. "Will you tell me this again in the morning, then? Not - not about-"

"Bellatrix," he murmured. "No, I won't do that. But I will - I will tell you some of the other things."

Her face took on a strange expression, then, and her smile reappeared.

Sirius felt her rise, but didn't quite understand it until her lips touched his, brushing them lightly. A jolt went through him from the minor contact and he let out a gasp. She moved, as though to pull away, but he found himself unwillingly pulling her closer again, his teeth closing on her bottom lip roughly, pulling something from her that he had just found he so desperately needed.

Hermione made a small humming sound in her throat and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips. He groaned - this was not conducive to stopping whatever the hell she'd started.

Her mouth opened slightly, and he found himself taking advantage of the opportunity, his hand coming up to angle her head and allow him entrance. His tongue brushed hers, sending shivers through them both-

And he tasted firewhisky.

Sirius stopped abruptly, pulling away and swallowing. He didn't want to know how she could taste like firewhisky - it had been injected into her blood after all - but he was glad for the moment that she did. Because this was wrong, and it was taking advantage of circumstances and taking advantage of her.

Hermione opened her eyes and blinked once before settling on frowning. "Why on earth did you-"

He didn't let her finish.

"I think it's time for bed, Hermione," he told her, then winced. He hadn't meant for his voice to sound that strained.

"What-"

"I'll talk to you in the morning."

She seemed to deflate at this - but stood up shortly (if a bit wobbly) and said, "Fine."

He had to hold himself back from calling her name, bringing her back. But he managed it, somehow, and Hermione disappeared into her room.

.

.

.

.

.

Bellatrix Lestrange's cold eyes bored into hers, malicious amusement dancing in them.

"Did you know he was always the dumb one in the family? Deserved what he got, him and his stupid godson-"

"SHUT UP!" Hermione screamed, straining desperately against the man that held her, lashing out where she could. But the woman in front of her wasn't fazed.

"You should've seen his expression as he died, oh it was precious - lost and confused and still laughing as though he were alive, while he fell through the veil-"

An inarticulate sound escaped her, part a screech of rage and part of an indescribable grief. Neville watched her with a pale but oddly composed face from the other side of Bellatrix.

Hermione had not, in fact, seen him die.

And Bellatrix knew it.

"Just think, dear girl. You'll die by my hand too. You'll get to meet him up there and tell him what an awful job you did protecting your little friends..."

She hated her. Hated her with every fiber of her being, every nerve in her body, every breath she took. She had never hated anyone so very much, and it hurt with the weight of it. Her heart was tearing with it, and tears of frustration pricked at her eyes because she had no way to hurt her. She would scratch her eyes out, and kick her and dig her nails into her arm and pull-

"Go and take the boy to the master. He'll want to see him."

The woman in front of her never lifted her gaze from Hermione.

"Want to kill me, do you?" she asked, eyes glittering.

"Yes," Hermione gritted through her teeth. "You're evil."

Bellatrix's mouth widened into a pleased smile. "Maybe I should take my time with you..."

"Don't."

Snape's voice cut through her smile instantly. Bellatrix looked up at him angrily. "Who are you to tell me-"

"We don't have the time for you to play," the voice behind her sneered. "While our master may be invulnerable, need I remind you, we are not."

At this, Bellatrix's face soured, as though she'd sucked the juice out of a lemon. "Fine," she spat.

And Hermione felt her teeth begin to hurt as she envisioned getting hold of her wand and wiping that sneer from the awful woman's face forever, and tried to ignore the pain in her heart, as though it had been savagely cut open with a dull knife-

A high, cold laugh came to her from a few feet away.

"What's the matter, boy? Sad about your friends? Don't worry, you'll join them soon enough - I'll even let you duel me, feel like you've done something useful-" She watched and swallowed as the pale Tom Riddle's wand brushed gently across Neville's forehead; blood dripped from where it touched. "You wanted to be just like him, didn't you - everyone wanted to be like the Boy That Lived, to have that scar of excellence-"

Her mind numbed.

No.

Impossible.

Neville's eyes lit with a cold fire as he accepted his wand.

And something cool and flexible slipped into the hand that had been pulled behind her back.

Snape was whispering something furiously into her ear as she watched in a detached way, when Neville bowed curtly.

One.

She had her weapon.

Two.

Bellatrix wasn't looking.

Three-

Avada Kedavra.

Bellatrix turned, a vaguely puzzled and ultimately ironic look of surprise on her face.

There was a pulling, a jerking of the hatred within her, the all consuming fire and the memories of a troll and a storm and flaming red hair with hazel eyes-

Chess games and laughter and smiles, all for her and all gone, irrevocable- but she wanted him back-

The need for pain and death and terror and vengeance was forced through the length of wood, and a coldness chilled her limbs as she stared into a face, frozen, the same way they'd said his had been, for eternity.

She still hated her.

And she knew... it would never go away.

Hermione gasped, coming awake with a choked gasp. Her head throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the tear in her chest.

Something heavy held her down, and she thrashed desperately, trying to run and sob and hide from the monster she'd let herself become-

Someone was pulling her tightly to them, though, whispering reassurances in her ear and giving her something to hold on to.

She stopped, trembling, still stiff.

"Shhh," he told her. "It's okay, you're at home - it's snowing you know-"

She laughed at the utter strangeness of the remark and let her face fall into the pillow beside his, inhaling deeply the scent she'd thought she'd forgotten. She felt herself go slack, and he breathed a sigh of relief in response.

What on earth had happened? She had been... she had been looking at George, in surprise... there had been a snake. The rest came back to her, up to the point where she'd voluntarily downed the firewhisky, and she inwardly groaned.

"I- I'll go make breakfast, thank you-"

Hermione tried to move, but he only tightened his grip on her. An incredulous laugh escaped her, but it was too shaky to matter.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, his warm breath on her neck, a few strands of black hair brushing her face. And she realized guiltily that he hadn't exactly had the best week either. So she relaxed for as long as he needed.

But then, just as he began to breathe easy again, something hit her.

"Sirius," she said. "What did I do last night?"

An uncomfortable pause. He had tensed again, but she somehow knew the question was important, had to be asked-

"The games, Hermione," he said quietly. "They were important."

Her brow knit. "What?"

Sirius swallowed, uncharacteristically unsure. "It seems like only about a week ago, you have to understand. You kept staying with me, even though we both knew you didn't have to. It meant more than you can know."

A blush spread through her body, warming her to her toes with a kind of giddy happiness. She'd known there was something about those times, of course, but to actually have him tell her... her heart leapt at the thought that he might have cared just as much as she did. Which... it was improbable. She had cared a great deal. But it was a wonderful thought.

And, since he had told her, it suddenly seemed inexcusably wrong not to respond in kind. "It's been a long time, Sirius. But they meant - they still mean a lot to me," she told him, feeling awfully shy.

For a second, she thought he'd muttered something that sounded like I know, but she must have been imagining it because he seemed inordinately pleased with her response. That still didn't explain what had happened last night, but-

"Did you say it was snowing?" she asked, interest piqued.

Sirius smirked, hair tousled handsomely, and leaned back into the bed. "Thought you'd notice that at some point."

Hermione smiled back at him, no sarcasm included in it. "You, sir Padfoot, are about to get the worst beating of your life. Because I will have more time to build a snow fort."

With this, she dashed, and Sirius swore.