Chapter 5:  Missing Harry and Ron

Hermione justified hiding in her room by telling herself that she couldn't possibly get any work done with Sirius glaring at her. She explained over and over again to herself that the only reason she was staying ensconced away was to help speed her work, but after a day and half her rations ran out. The single box of crackers that had been tucked under her bed had been a godsend but now she was left with a dry wrinkle in her throat and a bed covered in crumbs. Hermione couldn't lie to herself anymore. She could work perfectly well with a distraction, even a large, darkly brooding one. What Hermione couldn't work with was a lack of sustenance, so on the fourth day since Harry and Ron's funeral, Hermione silently opened her bedroom door and crept out into the living room.

It was empty. She knew that Sirius hadn't left, Hermione had heard him prowling the flat during all hours of the night. He seemed unable to stay still for any length of time. On more than one occasion his footsteps had echoed throughout the flat as he determinedly made his way to her room. He would always stop though, his shadow slipping under the crack below her door, and after several minutes it would drift away again. Sirius never came into her room.

There was a pile of blankets on the sofa, proof that Sirius had refused the thought of using one of the other rooms. Hermione crossed to these blankets without making a sound. A year of living in this flat had taught Hermione every creak and groan that it possessed and as second nature she now skirted these with her bare-foot feet. She reached out a slender hand touching the dark cloth with her fingers; it was still warm. Puzzled, Hermione turned away.

She found him in the kitchen. His back was to one counter and his shoulders hunched forward, his too long hair hiding his eyes. He stood so still that Hermione was reminded of a victim of petrifaction. She stayed where she was, one hand wrapped around the arched wall of the kitchen entrance way. His hands were clenched but as she watched they relaxed slightly and his head rose up the faintest of smiles smoothing lines of pain in his face.

"Sirius?" Her voice, spoken into such a void of silence, surprised even her.

He stiffened abruptly, turning his head to look at her, though he made no move to approach. His dark eyes were so black they reminded Hermione of polished coal and as often happened when Sirius fixed her with such a stare she felt a swirl of nerves in her stomach.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, feeling a completely uncontrollable desire to know what had caused him to smile.

Sirius studied her closely for almost a minute. Hermione knew what he was seeing; a pale girl that was too thin. Ron and Harry were always telling her so. His eyes traced her up and down, lingering on her bare feet and the magenta Weasley sweater that Ron had gotten for Christmas last year. She had found it under her bed along with the crackers. He had left it in there weeks ago, probably intentionally since he was desperate for any reason to get rid of it. It still smelled like him. Hermione had snuggled into it feeling a little better about everything.

"I was thinking," Sirius spoke to her as if she hadn't locked herself away from him for almost two days, "of the Canons game Harry and Ron smuggled me to last fall." A nostalgic smile crossed his face again.

Hermione nodded and finally entered the kitchen. She asked for no more explanation as she opened the pantry door and searched for something to eat.

"Why didn't you go?" Sirius asked suddenly as if he had never wondered about it before.

Her hands found an old tin of treacle fudge and she pulled it forth. Hermione turned, her eyes immediately being caught by Sirius' who was still waiting for an answer.

"You didn't want me to go." Her voice was quiet and bereft of emotion. If Harry and Ron had been there she would have sworn up and down that her not going to that Quidditch match had nothing to do with Sirius, but they weren't there, and she wasn't going to lie anymore than she already had to.

Sirius' eyes widened. "What do you mean by that?"

Hermione was now fighting with the coffee pot. She had never quite been able to make it work right. Ron, who had little knowledge of Muggle appliances despite being Arthur Weasley's son, had managed to coax perfect cups of the dark liquid out of it every morning, but Hermione had spent many hours cursing it's very existent.

Sirius stepped forward, removed the bag of grounds from her hand, and began to fill the paper filter. He kept looking at her, expecting an answer to his question although Hermione had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of getting into an argument with her over it. He would deny it of course, he would say that of course he had wanted her to go, why wouldn't he? It wouldn't change the fact that when he had arrived that afternoon so many months ago he had been visibly crestfallen when Hermione had come out of her room wearing the Canons pin attached to the lapel of her robe. He had studied the door as if contemplating escape. Harry had worked so hard to convince Sirius to come with him, Hermione would be damned if he was going to back out of it because of her. Thinking fast, she told them that she had made a dinner date with Ginny and just couldn't go to the game.

The coffee machine seemed just as enamored with Sirius as it was with Ron. Deep russet liquid began to drip into the glass pot. Hermione closed her eyes and massaged her temple with her fingers. Now that she had left the seclusion of her room she was beginning to wish she had showered before emerging. Their flat had the added amenity of having two baths, one which the boys had shared, and the other in her room. Hermione decided that as soon as she was able to drink something hot and loaded with caffeine she would be visiting it.

She watched as the pot filled, her fingers tapping along the edge of the counter as she waited with a touch of impatience. It was becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

"I wanted you to come," Sirius said in a voice that wasn't quite persuasive.

"My mistake," Hermione replied without meeting his eyes.

She broke off a piece of the fudge and let it melt on her tongue. It was too sweet and wasn't generally something she would have eaten by choice, but food was running low in the flat. Without Harry and Ron her mind rarely considered food.

The pot was finally full. Hermione filled a mug, the one that had shattered the day before yesterday, and started to leave the kitchen.

"Hermione," Sirius said following after her as she headed back towards her room.

Hermione pointedly ignored him. She reached for the knob and opened it. Sirius' hand hit the door far above her head, snapping it closed.

"Hermione," his voice was commanding yet with a hint of desperation, "it's not good for you to lock yourself away like that."

"I wasn't intending on locking myself away," she replied without looking at him. She found that it was far easier to talk to Sirius if she didn't meet his eyes. "I only wanted to go get cleaned up, if that's all right."

His hand relaxed and slipped away from the door. Hermione turned the handle again, and then slipped away from him, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

~*~*~*~

Hermione had the unfortunate habit of taking showers that were too long and far too hot. She would always reappear in the living room as brightly colored as a phoenix at its peak. One of her marathon showers was usually followed by Ron's complaints that she had once again used all of the hot water for the entire building. As Harry would always point out, one simple little charm could warm the water if Ron was so cold, but this would spoil Ron's fun. There was very little that Ron could fault Hermione for and it had become quite the tradition for him to harp on about her long showers, but Hermione wouldn't be having one of these arguments today. She doubted that Sirius would care or even notice that she had used all the hot water.

Hermione slipped back into the pair of old jeans that she had been wearing and Ron's sweater. It fell almost to her knees, the sleeves went several inches past her fingertips. But who was there to impress anyway? Her hair was still wet. Though she could have dried it instantly with a charm, Hermione liked it best immediately after a wash. The weight of the water pulled the curls straight and the wetness slicked the bushiness down. This was the hair she had always wanted, the hair that she had stared at in the mirror as she grew up, willing it to stay that way. It never had of course.

After leaving her small bathroom she surveyed her bedroom. It was so very tempting. It was comfortable. It was safe. It would be completely childish for her to spend any more time in it than was necessary. Hermione groaned and walked back out into the living room. Sirius was waiting for her.

He was sitting on the far sofa that faced her door, his elbows resting on his knees, his callused fingers knitted together in contemplation. Sirius watched her as she crossed the room to nearest library shelf. So far she had spent her time making a rough outline of what she needed to accomplish, now she had to get the sources. Her library was already fairly extensive but she would definitely have to make a trip to Diagon Alley in a day or too. Obscuras Books might even have what she had ordered by now although Hermione didn't think she was up to speaking with Linus Leoquill yet. It was hard to see anyone that knew the trio.

She started pulling books off the shelves. Someone who didn't know better would have thought she had gone mad and was just pulling them at random, but Sirius knew better. Hermione's stack of books had grown so high that it teetered as she reached for just one more book.

"Let me help you," Sirius took the stack of books away from her. Setting them on the nearby table he read the title of the first one aloud. "Madame Zora's Magical Guide to Skin Care?" He turned incredulous eyes to Hermione.

She had just retrieved her desired book, Most Potente Potions, and replied, "Sometimes the hardest questions have the simplest answers."

"What is Madame Zora going to help you with then Hermione?" Sirius sounded amused. "Some unpleasant rash somewhere?" Sirius chuckled.

For a moment Hermione was amused, a smile, the first one in days broke across her face, but then years of being afraid of what Sirius might say to her scared it away.

"Actually it has a very good section on banishing." Hermione pulled the chair out from the table and settled herself in it. "Even if they are talking about banishing blemishes, I think some of the theories could be manipulated to serve a higher purpose."

"What type of purpose?" Sirius was cautious but interested.

Hermione had explained it all to Ron and Harry before so now she felt no qualms about sharing it with Sirius. "We have to destroy Voldemort's soul." Her simple answer drew a reaction from Sirius that she hadn't anticipated.

He grasped her shoulder tightly. "What are you saying?"

"Voldemort is still out there," Hermione tried to wrench her arm away but he held it very firmly.

"Hermione, no one expects you to continue on as an Auror now, you've done more than enough!"

His grip tightened. Hermione writhed in his grasp a whimper of pain finally drawing his attention to the death-like grip that he had on her. Horrified he let go and stepped back.

Hermione scowled at him as she rubbed the tender part of her arm but he looked so upset that her fierce gaze softened. "Just because Harry and Ron are gone doesn't mean that there is nothing left for me to do."

But Sirius continued to back away from her. He didn't stop until he reached the sofa and collapsed back into it. He buried his head in his hands. Hermione couldn't bear to see him like that; she rose from her chair and went to him. She knelt on the ground before him and cautiously touched his hand with one of her own.

"It's all right Sirius, you didn't hurt me." She tried to sound soothing.

He raised his head to look at her when she touched him. His eyes were so wild. She wondered if they had always been like that. She couldn't remember them being so dark when she was younger.

"It isn't safe Hermione, haven't you learned that?"

She tightened her hands on his. "It has never been safe. We all knew that. We didn't enter into this blindly."

"They're dead Hermione," Sirius leaned forward, and took her hands in his, "and I cannot protect you if you won't let me."

Hermione stayed where she was completely disbelieving. "Protect me?" she asked.

"You have to tell me what happened," Sirius continued quickly sensing danger. "It's going to come out eventually. If you don't tell me then I can't protect you. Please Hermione."

She pulled her hands out of his, got to her feet, and said, "You've never been concerned with my well-being Sirius, don't start now. Harry isn't around anymore, you don't need to tolerate me for his sake." She ended bitterly.

Hermione turned back to the desk. Sirius was back on his feet immediately after her words. He grasped her arm and swung her around. Her hands went up to keep herself from colliding with his chest.

"Tolerate you?" His face was ashen. "You think that is what I've been doing?"

"Not very well, I'll admit it."

She was uncomfortably close to him, her hands against his chest, his hand still gripping her arm. Hermione wished fervently that she had never left her room that morning.

"Hermione," he began softly, his voice holding an emotion that Hermione didn't readily identify, one that she didn't want to hear.

"Let me go Sirius, I have work to do."

As if admitting defeat in a battle, Sirius released her arm. "I don't want to fight with you anymore," he said finally.

Hermione allowed her eyes to meet with his. He was being honest, and she was so tired of fighting. There was so much she had to do. She would never finish if every few minutes she were about to come to blows with Harry's godfather.

"All right, no more fighting, but you need to let me do this. Won't you please?"

Sirius nodded. Hermione walked back to the table and sat down. She spared one more glance in his direction before she began the long process that was before her.

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