Chapter 22

"Go away," Sirius moaned, pushing at the obnoxiously warm body currently attempting to crawl up him like a ladder.

"Aw, honey, I told you I could show you a good time. You don't really want me to go, do you?"

Everything was blurry and fading in and out of focus. Sirius thought he was probably at number twelve, he was probably the drunkest he'd ever been, and he was definitely being accosted by a small, aggressive brunette with hair too perfectly coiffed to belong to the one he really wanted.

"I really, really want you to go," Sirius slurred, pushing again at the leeching form.

"But Siri," the woman whined, trying to place a kiss on his lips, which he thankfully avoided with a rather skilled swivel of his head. "You asked me to come home with you!"

"No," he said, trying to get to his feet from what seemed to be the couch. "No, I wanted her to come home, not you! I don't even know you! Why aren't you leaving?"

"Fine! I will leave, and you'll be sorry, you prat. You'd have been lucky to fuck me, and now you can just fuck yourself!"

He'd never been so grateful to hear a door slam in his entire life.

Sirius allowed himself to fall back onto the sofa, now that he was no longer in danger from cloying barflies. Hermione was going to be so pissed. Even though he suspected the woman had more followed him home than he'd brought her there, he knew Hermione would not appreciate that at all.

Not after everything else he'd done.

And there he was, accusing her of sleeping around...Hermione, the perfect Gryffindor, the perfect girlfriend. The perfect woman. And he'd done so wrong by her. Twice, now.

It had been nearly a week since she'd left. Since you kicked her out, you mean, chimed in his very unhelpful brain.

"I only wanted her to myself! What's wrong with that?" he asked the room at large. "Nothing, that's what! A man should be allowed to be selfish once in a while! And haven't I spent seventeen years of my life locked away one way or another? Shouldn't I get just one thing that's supposed to be all mine?"

Sirius was pleased that he sounded so entirely reasonable, even when drunk beyond all comprehension. He certainly didn't think it was too much to ask to have Hermione to himself. Snape didn't deserve her. Hell, Sirius knew he didn't deserve her, but that didn't stop him from wanting her.

He groaned piteously as Ogden's finest threatened to reintroduce itself. When he suddenly heard the front door open, he pretended it was Hermione coming in from work. She'd be wearing silk, because she always Apparated when she wore silk. The Floo ruined too many of her good shirts, she'd said, and she had so few nice things.

Sirius wanted to give Hermione nice things.

"I thought I told you to get out, you bloody harpy!" he cried, realizing it was far more likely to be that annoying brunette than Hermione.

"Honestly, Black. Can't you behave like a normal human for two days in a row? You're absolutely disgraceful."

Ah, just the voice he wanted to make shriek in pain and beg for mercy.

"Shut your stupid mouth, Snape." Yes, that was very cutting.

"You are going to listen to what I have to say, and then we are going to pretend this discussion never happened. I do not want any contact with you after this day. And do not believe for a moment that I am here for any reason other than Miss Granger."

"Well, she's not here! But you already knew that, didn't you?" Sirius accused.

"Of course I knew that, you great fool. I came to speak to you, not her. But I came here for her. I can't expect you to understand the nuances of that sentence, so let's just get this over with, shall we?"

Snape strode into the room as if he owned it and took a seat in an armchair by the fire. Sirius remained reclining on the sofa, half out of comfort, half because sitting up straight was a feat of which he was currently incapable.

"What on Earth are you doing here?" Sirius belatedly demanded.

"I'm here to tell you you've been a complete and utter ass, and if you want to keep the only good thing that's ever happened to you, you'll do as I say."

Sirius groaned. Even the harpy was better than this. "And what pearls of wisdom do you have to bestow upon me this evening, Snape?"

Rolling his eyes, the Potions master stared at Sirius as though a simple glare could convey his lecture. If only, Sirius wished.

"Potter told me that you believe Hermione and I are having some sort of illicit affair. Do you honestly think that?"

Sirius shrugged. He didn't, not anymore. But either way, he looked like a fool, which, of course, he knew himself to be. "I didn't know what to think. I was confused, okay?"

"No, Black, it's not 'okay' to accuse the woman you love of cheating on you. Especially, you cur, when that woman has only ever been intimate with you. How disgusting can you be without turning in a maggot before my very eyes?"

"Couldn't you, oh, I don't know, continue this fascinating lecture with less sarcasm? I'm finding it hard to keep up," Sirius drawled. His brain ignored the fact Snape knew he loved Hermione. He wasn't ready to deal with that.

"That does not surprise me in the least. Hermione has come to me on several occasions for my help. Nothing more. She has never given me the impression that she was unhappy with you, though Merlin knows that concept is incomprehensible to me. She has never breached the professional barrier between us, and believe me, Black, I have been looking for it." Snape looked away for a moment, and Sirius believed he'd never seen the man look anything akin to vulnerable before this moment. He wanted to jump on it and couldn't tell why he didn't.

"I wanted to be the one to help her," Sirius confessed, hoping to Merlin it was the Ogden's talking and not some deep-seated need to expose himself to barbs from Snape.

"And, in your way, I suppose you have. But that is not the relationship you share with her. She seems to be the one helping you, while I seem to be the one helping her. Trust me, Black; the revelation in the Prophet was just as shocking to me as it must have been to you."

Sirius' addled mind was, indeed, having trouble keeping up and not just thanks to Snape's condescending tone.

"What article?"

Snape looked incredulous, but Sirius didn't think it would make sense to gloat at having finally shocked the man into a reaction.

"I suggest you try to find the paper from about eight days ago. You may find it enlightening. In the meantime, I suggest you put your insignificant grey matter to good use and figure out how to deserve Hermione's forgiveness. She cares deeply for you, whether you see it or not."

"I care about her, too. I just... get scared sometimes. I don't know why I'm telling you this," Sirius groused, looking put out.

"I don't either, but I suspect you need someone to talk to. You have, admittedly, been through a great ordeal, both with Azkaban and now with the Veil. You cannot expect to have recovered immediately from such a physical and mental shock. As much as it may seem impossible, you have pushed yourself too hard. I also suggest you refrain from inviting any more... unsavoury characters in what has been Hermione's home for years. She may be an understanding woman, but her forgiveness knows bounds."

"I didn't want that woman here!"

Snape smirked, making Sirius feel more at ease than the other man's calm suggestions had. "I know. She took great pleasure in telling me and everyone on the street who cared to hear exactly how... unable... you were to keep her company."

Sirius groaned, but none of that mattered. His world was turning upside down. He was turning down sexual advances and putting stock in Snape's advice. But even the shock of those developments was nothing compared to his raging regret and sorrow over losing Hermione.

But for the first time since she'd left, Sirius knew something for certain. He'd be getting her back.

Snape seemed to see the determination on his features, because he nodded curtly and stood up. On his way to the door, he paused and turned.

"You may be in the habit of having people risk their lives to save yours, but for the rest of us, that is very rare. You should cherish it as she obviously cherishes you."

Sirius closed his eyes, hating that he had fucked things up so tremendously.

The more familiar Snape re-emerged for a moment as he added, "For no reason discernable to me."

And when Sirius was alone, unfortunately sober, he was glad Hermione was not here to see the utter wreck he'd become in her absence.

"Hermione, someone is here to see you," Harry announced.

She looked up from the pile of books she'd been staring at for the past several hours. Research now yielded less than it had before she'd begun to look into bringing Sirius back. There was simply no information to be found, and her desire for more information didn't automatically equate to an appearance of information.

"Who?" she asked. It would be difficult enough to unbury herself from the mess of books she found herself in. If it was someone she didn't want to see, she wouldn't bother. Of course, there was only one person she wanted to see, and she equally didn't want to see him, so that was a dilemma in itself.

"He said his name was Alensky. That you'd met the other day? Should I tell him you're not available?"

"No, no," Hermione said quickly, dumping the tomes unceremoniously to the floor. "I'll see him. Do you mind if we talk in the sitting room?"

"Of course not. You're family, Hermione. Stop acting like an unwelcome guest."

Giving Harry a quick hug in thanks for his endless patience with her, Hermione greeted Renworth, once again garbed in head-to-toe earth tones.

"Please, come in," she offered. He followed her to the sitting room, talking an armchair across from the sofa upon which she sat.

"Thank you for seeing me. I realize our meeting the other day might have created more questions than answers, and I thought I'd check in on you to see how you're doing."

Hermione was surprised. It was very sweet of him to be concerned, especially since they hardly knew one another. But one could never be too careful, so she asked, "How did you know where to find me?"

"I didn't," he answered easily, his casual smile putting her at ease. "I had to contact that Frankenhodge, and he did some sleuthing. Didn't take him too long at all; the man's a genius at what he does."

"He certainly is," she agreed, making note to ask him exactly how he'd found the extremely elusive Godric's Hollow, and how he'd known she would be there at all. "Well, I'm fine. My friend, Sirius, and I, well... we had a fight. I did something I shouldn't have, he said something he shouldn't have, and now we're sort of at an impasse. I know I want to see him, but I don't know if he understands how I feel." Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this! I'm so sorry. Things have just been... strange."

He nodded sympathetically. "Listen, Miss Granger, there's something I didn't tell you in our last meeting. I hope you understand, but I just didn't want all my family's sordid history becoming gossip fodder for the masses. We are a very private family. We've had to be, with the fame that Josef Alensky brought to our name."

Hermione could easily understand that. She'd had more than her share of time in the limelight, and after her relationship with Sirius and her role in his return became public knowledge, she knew she would be under the harsh glare of the spotlight once again. She didn't relish it, but she'd accepted it as part of her life.

"Of course, Mr. Alensky. I didn't and I still don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or puts you in an awkward position."

He nodded graciously. "I know. You are a benevolent young woman. You know, I couldn't have met Sofie Alensky, but from Josef's diaries, I feel like I know her. And you remind me a lot of her. You are both very strong women. And it was that similarity that actually brought me here today."

Renworth lifted a briefcase onto the coffee table opened it. His hands hesitated only for a moment over the latch before he opened it. Hermione was shocked to see him take out a number of worn and weathered journals. She gasped when she realized they must be the diaries of Sofie's and Rolpho's son.

"Mr. Alensky, I couldn't...." But Hermione could. And wanted to, very much. Those could contain all the answers she'd been searching for.

Or they could contain nothing simple impressions and memories, nothing of use.

That was true. There was no reason to believe they held some important answers, either for the bond or Sirius' reaction to her from a week ago.

And that was when Hermione realized she was hoping his comments had been a side effect of the bond or the Veil and not just... the way he was.

"They are replicas, Miss Granger. I have the originals in my safekeeping. I have also changed all the names of the people mentioned, including Sofie, Rolpho, and Jessop Manilla, who are, respectively, referred to as Samantha, Ryan, and Jackson. Just a precaution in case they fall into the wrong hands. Nothing personal, of course."

"Of course," she murmured agreeably, caressing the surprisingly supple leather cover of one of the journals. It only looked cracked and torn, but was, in fact, in perfect condition.

"Now, I wish I could help you more directly, but I think you'll find more answers if you read them yourself. And even if I did try to help, I have the feeling you'd read the journals anyway. This, at least, saves me the trouble." He laughed, and Hermione did as well, out of instinct only, because she hadn't really heard anything he'd said. She was too busy reeling both from her belated discovery about her hopes that Sirius was influenced by the Veil and not just inherently cruel, and the fact that she now had the only documented information about the only other person who'd ever returned from beyond the Veil.

It was enough to make her vow to write as much on the subject as she possibly could, so that the next person, for inevitably there would be a next person, would not have to suffer and struggle as much as she had to learn the truth.

"I really must be going. I hope the journals are of some help to you. And I also hope things work out with you and your friend. It is a complicated situation, as you know, and it's likely that he is suffering as much as you are."

She nodded absently, rising to show him to the door. Renworth reached out to shake her hand, saying, "I hope you will let me know what happens."

"If you like," she offered, knowing that she probably wouldn't unless he specifically sought her out to ask. She didn't like airing her dirty laundry in public, let alone in front of strangers, and she felt, between Renworth and Frankenhodge, not to mention Harry and Ginny, she'd done that entirely too often these days.

When he was gone, Hermione immediately set to work on the journals, deciding to read them chronologically. Since the author was Sofie's son, the information would mostly be regarding things that happened before he was born, but she hoped their family was close and Sofie had shared her experiences with him.

She absently waved to Harry when he announced he was going out for a bit, but she didn't look up from reading for many hours.

"Sirius," someone was shouting, shaking the bed and altogether being a nuisance and pain in his arse.

"What!?" he cried, desperately regretting it when the pounding in his head multiplied exponentially.

"It's Harry," the voice announced, as if that excused its loudness.

Except that it did.

Sirius pushed the blankets back, looking blearily at those familiar green eyes, eyes that looked very concerned and possibly a little pissed off.

"Hey, Harry. How are you today?" he managed weakly, sitting up and wincing as he waited for the inevitable explosion. He'd been treating Harry very poorly this past week and a bit, ignoring his owls and Floos, ignoring him. His godson didn't deserve that treatment, but Sirius felt so out of sorts, so strangely not himself lately.

"I'm fine. You're not, though," Harry announced, as though Sirius didn't already know that.

"No," he agreed. "I'm not."

"And why is that?" demanded Harry, whose skills at interrogation could use come work, but which gained points for sheer bravado and indignation.

"Because I hurt the woman I love," he said simply, closing his eyes and taking a moment to hate himself.

"Oh," Harry said, voice blissfully softer. "You...you love her, then?" Sirius felt the bed dip a little and surmised that Harry had taken a seat.

"I do. I love her. I really hope it's me and not just the bond, but one way or another, I love that woman."

Harry was quiet for a while, and Sirius wondered what the young man thought about his godfather falling for his best friend. It must be very odd, but Sirius found himself not caring. Harry was adaptable. And he seemed okay with them being together. Now it would just be a little more permanent, official.

If she forgave him, that was.

"How is she?" Sirius asked softly. He'd been dying to ask every time Harry had come over, but couldn't bear to hear she was doing fine without him, even though he hoped she was. He'd even almost asked Snape the night before, but he did still have some pride, after all.

"She's... well... she's okay. She's been doing a lot of reading. Research, I think. And she goes to bed really early. She says she's dizzy a lot around bedtime, which worries me a little. But she seems... fine."

Sirius took in this information. He was dizzy a lot around bedtime, too, though he doubted Hermione's was due to the fact that she'd indulged in bottle after bottle of rotgut Firewhisky like he had.

"I want her back," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"She never really left, Sirius," Harry said, patting the older man's shin. "You just have to bring her home, that's all."

Yes, Sirius thought, hope rising for the first time since he'd shouted those ugly words.

Bring her home.