Lost and Found

Chapter 17 - The Night Before the Night Before Christmas

"Are you certain she's safe? No one could have gotten in-"

"Quite sure, Sirius, for the last time. Now stop pacing and do sit down."

The younger man snarled something beneath his breath in frustration, running his hand through his hair for what had to be the twentieth time that day. "I just don't like the idea of her being out alone."

"Somehow I think she can manage without you for a few hours," Lupin said mildly. "In fact, I should hope so, considering her age."

"How come you're always the stupid voice of reason?" Sirius muttered ill-temperedly, looking very much like he wanted to kick something.

Luckily, just as his eye settled on a rather sturdy wooden trunk (which probably would have broken his foot), a knock sounded at the door.

"Are you two done?" came a muffled voice.

Hermione.

Sirius rushed the door, opening it wildly. "Where on earth were you?" he asked her. "Malfoy might've kidnapped you or something-"

"Well actually," she piped nervously, "he sort of did. I had hot chocolate with him."

Sirius stared at her.

She decided to plunge ahead, ignoring him. "I went to talk to Dumbledore and - well - we said a lot of things, actually, but I think it's all figured out in the end." Hermione winced and looked up at him hopefully. "Did you get done what you had to?"

Sirius suddenly felt uneasiness descend on him. At the time, the decision had seemed natural, but now that he remembered he'd been thinking of spending Christmas with her...

"Actually," he told her. "I'm staying with Moony for a while. I thought I'd catch up on a few things..." Dolt. What in hell was I thinking - well, maybe that I'd sort of kissed her and made things uncomfortable. Yes, I seem to remember thinking that.

Hermione's expression didn't change, but he sensed that she'd lost something. "Ah. Okay then. Did you want your things?"

Lupin was staring at him, trying very hard to mentally communicate with him, he was sure. Unfortunately, even in the wizarding world, that was fairly hard. "Yes. I'll come and get them-"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, I'll bring them back, don't trouble yourself." Hermione turned to leave, but Lupin moved to intercept her.

"Go ahead and use my fireplace," he told her in a deceptively calm voice. "I have some floo powder you can use."

Hermione blinked, then shrugged. "I suppose, if you want-"

"I insist," he told her. "It's not that hard to get more, you know, and it would save you quite a trip."

She was gone a few seconds later, and Lupin rounded on him. "You're not still planning on staying, are you?" he asked incredulously.

Sirius felt his brow knit. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I?"

His friend's face changed to one he was quite used to - exasperation. "I will have company for Christmas Eve, one way or another. If no one else, Dumbledore will come to see me. Hermione, on the other hand, will have no one. I would go myself, but I'm going to be busy." Yes. He was going to be Moony.

"I would've thought you'd like having me for that time!" Sirius said with a frown. "Besides which, I highly doubt she wants me there for Christmas. I snogged her, for God's sake!"

Lupin shook his head. "If you still want to stay, Lord knows I'm not going to stop you. Even though I should. But the instant you change your mind, leave."

Even as he said this last word, there was a pop! from the fireplace. Hermione set down his robes and a few small things he'd bought in Hogsmeade.

"Merry Christmas," she said wryly. "Go ahead and visit from time to time, Sirius. I'll keep a set of clothes for you."

He found himself nodding, and before he could think to ask if she wanted him to stay, she was gone again.

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Jerk.

Hermione tore into a strawberry viciously.

She should've expected it, of course. She had no real reason to be mad at him, but she really wanted to be anyway.

It was his choice where he spent Christmas. And she'd already had him for about a week. And she'd made things uncomfortable between them. So really, no reason to be mad.

None at all.

"Where's the nice young chess player?" her queen squeaked.

Hermione shot her a glare that clearly asked her not to mention him. "Would you guys mind just playing me the best you can?" she asked the other side nicely.

The king sighed. "I suppose. But it's really not quite as fun as having some idiot to taunt, you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'll have to do without, I'm afraid."

She had a few games with them, but it was harder than playing Sirius, and she lost every one. It wasn't because she was so distracted she couldn't tell her queen from her bishop. And it certainly wasn't because she was glancing up at the mistletoe so many times she saw it more than she saw the board.

"Honestly, woman, concentrate!" Her king yelled angrily. "I'm in danger!"

"I'm conceding," she muttered unhappily. "You guys go ahead and play between yourselves if you want."

Hermione found herself sitting in front of the fire with her journal, then.

Sirius is gone, and I'll probably never see him again. Don't know why I care-

She froze. Well, she'd already actually said it. So there was no point conveniently forgetting.

Yes I do. I liked him. He was good company. He won't be coming back any time soon, though, and if he does, we'll probably both pretend like the whole mistletoe incident never happened.

Bastard.

Why couldn't I have fallen in love with someone more sensible?

Hermione sighed and shut the journal with a sharp snap! not caring whether the ink stained the back of the last page or not.

She was just contemplating going to bed when someone knocked on the door.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Surely not. Surely not, he wouldn't have come back-

She walked as calmly as she could to the door, peering outside.

Something inside her plummeted as she let Prott inside.

"Hermione!" the old man said happily. "Nice to see you!" He hugged her tightly, and she coughed, trying to find some breath.

"Wha-" She gasped once before he put her down. "What are you doing here?"

Prott was looking over her shoulder curiously, though. "Is your friend home?"

Hermione frowned. "No, he's not - he's... out. He'll be gone for a while." For forever.

The storekeeper shrugged. "Just wondering. In any case, I brought you a little present." He pressed a small chocolate bar into her hand with a smile. "We just got in a nice shipment of them, and I thought you might like one."

Hermione found herself smiling back in spite of herself. "You know you don't have to-"

"Yes, well, I do." Prott scratched his head. "I had one of the boys here asking about you, you know. He's a nice one, good manners. Wanted to see if he could come over some time during Christmas."

Hermione sighed, knowing that the 'boys' he talked about were usually much closer to around her age and that he usually had ideas of marriage in there somewhere. "Prott-"

"Oh come on," he wheedled. "He's a good one, I swear. You can't keep shutting yourself away forever, don't you want to have someone pamper you every once in a while?"

A dark thought flitted across her mind. Yes, I did, but he left just a while ago-

And then...

"I simply wish to ask that you keep in touch and that you open up to other people a bit more."

"I suppose," she sighed, giving in morosely. "If you really think-"

"Wonderful!" he beamed. "I'll tell him tomorrow then, shall I? Finally coming to your senses, I'm so proud of you..."

She decided to send him off before she could change her mind. "I'll see how he is, Prott, I'm not promising anything else. Merry Christmas and thanks for the chocolate."

He chuckled. "That's m'girl. Get some sleep, then."

Hermione closed the door tiredly as he moved back down the front path and sunk to a sitting position, leaning against the door. She didn't want to see anyone tomorrow.

Well.

Except him.

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but there were some things a person just couldn't deny to themselves.

Hermione took an absent bite out of the chocolate bar and stored the rest in the refrigerator. She was probably going to have to get some sleep, but...

Her gaze flickered uncertainly to the bottom of the tree. Ugh, he'd left his presents. Oh well, she'd send them to him some other time. There were three presents there from him, though, stacked one upon the other. Surely, it wouldn't hurt...

With a sigh of self-indulgement, she moved to the faintly lit Christmas tree, trying not to look upward at the star and the mistletoe. Her hand brushed one of the packages in temptation, but she knew she'd already decided to open one. The small one, then.

The paper crinkled as she gently undid the taped edges, and something slid out of the packaging neatly. A box.

Before she could second-guess herself, Hermione pulled off the lid with her fingers, looking inside half expectantly and half fearfully. What if it's something too good... I can't go back and find him to give it back...

Gold glinted in the firelight, and she felt something in her catch.

Hermione stretched her fingers out toward the fine-linked chain, picking it up with the utmost care. A tiny, silver crescent dangled at the end, a star-like stone glimmering uncertainly in the center.

There was a note. She opened it quickly, wondering when he'd written it, what he'd been thinking... She started at first, surprised. She'd almost forgotten his elegant handwriting, tight and neat. Just one more thing his upbringing seemed to have influenced more than his personality.

Found it in the vault; thought it would look better on you than on me.

-Sirius

It was much too easy to imagine him saying it, grinning wryly, maybe tousling her hair. But no, that was a fifteen year old memory - these days, he would grin at her and maybe brush her cheek... Swallowing, she undid the clasp, pulling up her hair and, with a bit of work, managing to close it around her neck again.

Stupid. I'm such an idiot, I should just put it somewhere safe and forget about it.

A little tingle went up her back, though, at the feeling of the chain's weight on her collarbone. It was almost comforting.

Hermione turned off the fire and walked to her room tiredly, only vaguely aware that the chess pieces had now started re-enacting the battle of Philippi in Shakespearean verse ("Caesar now be still," one squeaked dramatically as he fell on his own sword, to tumultuous applause from his peers, "I killed not thee with half so good a will."). Falling into bed was, perhaps, the most contenting thing she'd ever done.

Well. Not the most...

She frowned and decided not to pursue that particular train of thought. Sleep was important.

So why couldn't she sleep?

Hermione pondered this thought unhappily for a few minutes before coming to the conclusion that she'd never really slept well in the first place. In fact, the first time in a while that she'd slept well had been when Sirius had been on the couch...

Made me feel safe, I guess. Being all alone in this house brings back memories...

A shudder went through her, but she quashed the unfortunate reminder of unending pain, of her own screams echoing distantly in her ears. There were some things a person just didn't revisit.

Instead, she found herself dwelling on the happy memories she'd had, just before the end. Which just wasn't much better... but she had to face it sometime.

Oh Harry, Ron... I'm so sorry...

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Hermione turned a page in her book quietly, but she couldn't read the words.

Dead.

They were dead.

It didn't really sink in completely.

How did you understand something like that? Something so sudden, there was no adjusting, not even a faint idea of what had truly happened.

She put her head down on the chair's arm tiredly, eyes looking upward into the flames of the fireplace and trying desperately to recall those faces she so loved, the ones that had looked on her with such adoration and caring for most of her life.

The portrait opened, and she swallowed, trying halfheartedly to look as though she were still reading.

Harry wasn't fooled in the least.

"Hermione," he said softly. "I got you some dinner from the kitchens. Dobby sent you a piece of that chocolate cake you like so much... And Ron... he's taking care of all the arrangements for you, so you don't have to... to deal with them..."

She bit the inside of her cheek, wondering idly whether she ought to respond. It was customary, wasn't it?

"I'm fine, Harry," she said dimly. "You don't have to worry."

Her friend sat down next to her, even though there wasn't room on the chair.

"You're not fine. Why should you be fine?"

But she didn't want to talk about it, and he should have known. If she didn't talk about it, she didn't have to understand...

"Hermione," he pleaded with her, "Please tell me. Anything - everything! I don't know what else to do, I just want you to feel better..."

She found herself swallowing back tears for the first time since she'd heard. Why did he want it to sink in so badly, couldn't he see she wanted to ignore it?

"Please?" he asked desperately, hugging her tightly.

And she was finally crying, even though she still didn't understand.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just-"

"It's fine!" he told her. "Why shouldn't you?"

And she gave in, letting him be her friend like she'd needed but not known. Harry was still in his Quidditch gear - they'd called him out of the game, an unprecedented act, to tell him about the news. He'd not changed out of the clothes all day. The crimson color was oddly disturbing on him, but his green eyes were as caring as ever, and his scent would always be the same as when she'd first met him.

Familiarity was comfort.

And when she finally got hold of herself, not finished crying, not in the least, but not able to continue yet, he spoke quietly to her about nonsense, the things that were so normal it made her almost believe it was okay. Their chances of beating Ravenclaw, the problems Fred and George were still having with the map because it couldn't possibly be monitored all the time, the Potions essay he still hadn't finished...

"Thank you," she squeaked in a choked voice at some point, but she didn't know whether he'd heard or not.

"It won't get better," he told her suddenly. "Ever. But me and Ron - we're here if you need us. And we'll get them back. It'll all turn out, Hermione, you'll see... and... and when we win, we'll all go to Fred and George's shop and have a party. You know they'll bring out those fireworks they've been working on..." She heard him, but didn't listen. For now, all she could do was try and remember her mother's soft touch and her father's fascinated voice as they learned about the magic world that would ultimately kill them.

"I know what it's like," he said, breaking through her thoughts, and a rage bubbled within her. How- how could he possibly know- he'd never grown attached to his parents- "I miss Sirius just as much. But he would've wanted us to keep fighting, no matter what - he would've wanted us to be happy too. In fact, I bet he's watching over us right now..."

But Sirius had never been watching over them, she thought bitterly. He had never been dead. And Harry had never had a chance to find out.

There was something else, something Ron had said defiantly as she greeted him, pale faced, as he asked, stuttering, if she wanted to attend the funeral...

"I'm really sorry, Hermione, there's just- you know if I could have stopped it, if I could have been there... me and Harry both, we'd die for you, but we couldn't..."

She remembered throwing her arms around him and sobbing that she didn't want them to die for her, that she wanted them to stay very much alive and never leave her.

He hadn't listened, had he?

Hermione's hand strayed unconsciously to the tiny pendant around her neck, tightening on it. And somehow, she felt just a little better. Because she knew Harry wanted her to be happy. And Ron - Ron had helped her so much, all he'd wanted was to see her smile again...

"I'll make it," she whispered, now clutching the necklace so tightly she would later be surprised the delicate chain hadn't broken. "Somehow."

She didn't really get to sleep fully that night. But she knew somewhere inside her that she'd manage it the next night, at the least. That things were finally beginning to turn around just a little bit at a time.