Chapter 27: Sands of Time

-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-

Chapter 27: Sands of Time

Must thick with ages past hung in suffocating veils, blurring crumbling stone walls in the limited wand light. Fine white cotton of her galabia reflected ghost-like in the narrow passageway, hinting at the remaining occupants of the centuries old pyramid. Hermione steadied her breathing, covering her mouth with a shaking hand in effort to keep out dust their feet kicked up. Regulus' presence did little to settle her nerves; someone was nearby, and friendly they were not.

"Remind me once more the brilliance of this little excursion," he drawled, casually flicking a rather large furry spider from his eggshell galabya sleeve. Cast light caught aristocratic profile in sharp relief, raven wisps fading into the blackness. Arched brow met her replying turn, halting progress of foot.

"Raj believes someone of Sir Galahad's party left evidence of the Grail's true home in one of their places of refuge on their journey. Chances are that one of these smaller pyramids was used, primarily due to the unstable political nature during that time period. Something in his grandfather's journal alludes to a haven whose descriptions – coincidentally – match up with this particular structure. As a measure of safety, they would have marked upon the walls their destination in the feasible event that unfortunate acts would –"

"Miss Granger," Regulus interrupted in stressed measure. "A complete history lesson is not necessary. What I do not understand is why we are traipsing about a pyramid in Cairo, when Sarras is hundreds of miles to the south. Why would they have congregated here when their destination is far from it?"

"Ash Shamaliyah in Sudan is modern day Sarras, Regulus. It's not ancient Sarras, which is where that meeting Bailey and St. Cyr were discussing is located. Honestly," she added, exasperation evident in drawn tone and glimpse of rolling eyes. "Don't you and Sirius ever listen? Raj and I discussed that very point over the last four days – the entire travel down here. Obviously your attention could not be held, though I specifically explained to you both several times that –"

"Yes, Miss Granger; so you've observed many times." Annoyance broke in a pained sigh, and mumbling beneath his breath sounded to be, "Sure you're not a bloody Ravenclaw in disguise after all, are you? Just to make my life a living hell..." But when she vocalized she'd not heard him clearly, he declined to repeat comment. Instead, he waved his wand about in measured, patterned movements, shedding light to the walls and ceiling in search for markings or clues. Reverting to their earlier task as well, Hermione fell into step, mimicking.

Locating what appeared to be a wall sconce and remnants of torch material, Hermione chanced the magic and lit a fire, illuminating several feet each direction.

"That's better," she murmured, glancing around. It seemed they had come to a dead end; meters ahead a stone altar dominated an alcove the full size of the corridor. "Well... that's not good," she observed, sour pursing of lips at the realization.

"You don't say," her companion quipped, sarcasm dripping. Glares exchanged, Hermione set to retracing former steps, locating another torch the opposite wall and lighting it. Though numerous indentations could be found indicating human presence well after original construction – grave robbers? – no existence was there that a message had been left as to the Holy Grail's true home.

Hermione snorted very unladylike. "Another clever clogs, I see. Just like your brother. You know, you and Sirius are quite alike."

"Sever your tongue, woman!" Regulus cried, a look of abject horror contorting his beautiful face. Then he shuddered at the apparent offending thought and moved back to inspecting, mumbling to himself.

Flicker of movement caught Hermione's eye, and she turned in a start toward the bend of corridor behind them. Positive she had seen someone peer round the corner, cautious footsteps edged her nearer, slowed breathing and tense muscles ready for the attack. Beneath the chants of strategic options running through her head, underlying sounds began to rise, and awareness hit that numerous voices were echoing from further down. Not far off, either, if estimation of acoustics was accurate.

Regulus had heard as well, for a spared look in his direction found him alert and very still, reflections of firelight discerning eye movement. Growing louder, closer, jumbles of noise clarified into speech, and enough was clear: they were searching for Regulus and herself, and they were not offering tea and scones.

"Shite," Regulus murmured, now looking round desperately for an escape. Hermione joined him, furtive glances verifying they'd not yet been found. Realizing a bit late the condemning glow of the torches, Hermione moved to snuff them out, in the same instance spotting a figure halfway round the bend, staring at her. Blood flushed from her face, a scream caught mid-throat. Lucius...

Malfoy's wand drew up, voices cried still further away – they'd spotted the flames carrying down the tunnel – and he fired...

Jet of bright light sped past Hermione's left shoulder, striking the wall behind in a great flash of impact. Shards of stone flew, scattering in a melee of dust and energy. Eyes closed instinctively against the cloud, reopening to find him gone again. She lowered her wand in confusion. Yet gone were not the hunters down the way, energetic voices now proclaiming, "Down here!" Footfalls fast and nearing. Only the heavy rock scrape behind her tore Hermione's attention from the now-empty curvature. Heart hammering, she questioned nothing and followed willingly Regulus' tug through the new opening aft. Hidden doorways should not surprise her, but fear left vulnerability to such developments.

Vaguely she took notice of Regulus' scurrying; he managed the stone door closed, draping them in utter darkness. He managed freshly-lit torches – had they been there or had he transfigured them? He managed to seat her upon rough shelving against the wall. Catatonic her state had nearly become; she'd seen him this time. Long, white-blond hair from beneath cloak hood; sneering mouth set in grim determination; flame and void tracing sharp lines of cheek and nose, though eyes were lost in shadow. But she'd seen him die...

"I'm not touched in the head, you blimey bastard! You saw the flames just as I did." Grumbling broke Hermione's daze, and she listened intently to the muted swearing. Through aged rock contention flowed.

"Look Meadows, I know I saw something, but it could've just been a ghost of one these old slaves. You know, one of them that got killed in the construction. I'd even buy a poltergeist. But you know as well as I do that you can't be Apparating in and out of here. Too many curses for that. Besides; I don't see no fires now, and those torches are cold. No footprints, either."

"That may be, Dougal, but... I'm right uneasy 'bout this. The Dark Lord's convinced Potter's hiding here someplace. What if he...?"

"What if he what?" Derisive snort followed closely behind. "Come off it; you're daft if you think the Dark Lord's fretting over Potter. The boy's naught more than a nuisance. A right aggravating one, mind you, but nothing more nonetheless. He's not power enough to blow his own nose.

"Now, look here; no trace of anyone. Nothing disturbed..."

Thuds and shuffles and jarring scratches suggested their continued verification that nothing magical was illusioning significant threat or opportunity. Hermione merely contemplated, slightly agape. Turning to Regulus in the dim glimmer of his torch, she met his eyes and with a soft whisper of realization, gave voice to hope before only dreamed.

"They don't have Harry – he's alive; he's got to be alive..." First true smile in weeks; first true progress in her heart. Renewed in energy, she suddenly found herself pacing the chamber, her own wand alight in acute study. Steps muffled by heavy sand below, six strides brought right angle one, right turn delivered another half dozen. Etchings revealed nothing of significance – not of the Grail, anyhow – and Hermione calculated instead ways to escape. Their guests were not yet leaving, and only a matter of time remained before their searching led to discovery of the room. Or their own lack of air. They needed a way out.

Fingers darted over ridges and valleys, taking great care upon crevices and cracks. A secret panel, hidden door... like the one they had come through. Surely there was one in this indecipherable chamber. Regardless its designed purpose, Hermione simply knew there must be a second exit. If not, they were doomed.

Peripherally she noticed Regulus doing the same, his movements stealth and fluid. Graceful as a leopard, actually, and were she to pause a moment to consider, quite elegantly handsome as one.

Shut up, Hermione. You're not getting a fancy over Regulus Black, now. Like you need another source of estrogen uprising. Besides... you'd never get Sirius out of your head. And Regulus would never settle for being second best...

Chink!

Echoes reverberated throughout the chamber, jerking Hermione into cringes with each damning, dimming sound. Bending to the source, glints of gold reflected her wand light. She'd kicked something into the wall. Something circular, a palm-sized medallion., a short fob and chain...

A pocket watch.

Studying closely, it opened to a face of strange symbols and stars, hands having disappeared entirely. An inscription of love on the inside cover –

It was Ron's watch.

Hermione squeaked, a noise loud enough to draw Regulus swiftly to her side. Wordlessly, she held the watch at an angle for him to view. His confusion evident, she whispered (as though her voice would have been able to accomplish more, even had circumstances allowed), "Ron's watch; a gift for his coming of age." Angling further into the wand light, intricate reflection of R B W glimmered its statement bold upon Regulus' refined face.

Attempting closer inspection, he took hold her hand to pull it to him and.... It caught. Withdrawing the chain from the sand, they followed its path to find its anchor in the floor. Beneath the desert's footing, a trap door lay – heavy, stone, indecipherable. The watch chain snagged in its edge.

Additional voices could now be heard outside the wall, strong and insistent. Time was running out. They had to escape.

"Fancy a drop into the unknown?" Regulus mused in strained humor. Tightened face, however, betrayed his concern.

Beating upon the door began in earnest, distinct warnings making their way through the wall. Amidst random spells, Hermione made out a line to turn her blood cold: "What's this? Looks like a hand lever... to a secret door."

The spell was cast so quickly that Hermione hadn't even a moment to consider such course. Regulus turned his wand from the door upon which he'd levied some sort of sealing spell, she guessed, and with his left hand pushed her kneeling body back has he levitated the loose stone. Her grip still upon the watch, the chain released with a jerk, sending her backward to her bum. Righting herself, she realized Regulus had already doused the single torch near the entrance, and was now casting light into the hole. His hushed voice shook.

"All right; it looks to be about three and a half meters' drop." His eyes in the florescent light turned to her in trepidation. "Think you can take it without incident? I don't see anything deadly down there – just a straight drop to a tunnel. But," he added with a furtive glace to the door, "we've run out of options."

Slight scraping of rock across the chamber chose for her. With a quick nod, she moved to the half meter wide opening, positioned herself above, and shrugged her way down, pressing her hands and feet against the wall opposing her back. Free falling that far was not a bright option. But then, neither was being in that room when their pursuers caught up.

Lit wand in her teeth, Ron's watch in her inside pocket, Hermione shuffled down quickly, knowing Regulus was maneuvering above to follow. Total blackness was broken only by her solitary glow, Regulus' wand but a white tip far away. Stone chiseled and jagged allowed grip and friction, yet also allowed flesh wounds, marring dusty cold rock in dark, flowing crimson. Steadying herself against rising bile, Hermione placed left hand down... left foot.... Right hand... right foot. Blood rushing in her ears, breath in gasps.

Suddenly the wall to her right gave way to empty space, and she dared a foot to dangle. It hit floor. Dropping to her feet, she stepped back against the chute wall and peered up, ready to warn Regulus. He wasn't far behind.

Though visibility was extremely limited, his wand waved above his head, his face staring up into the vastness, and she heard once more the scraping of heavy stone moving into place. Then more waving, more barely muttered incantations, and he turned to look about him.

"What was that last bit about?" Ever the intellectual, even in dire straits she could not contain her curiosity.

"Moved the stone back into place, then enough sand to cover it back up." Now his wand was hovering about the entrance to the tunnel before them, examining all surfaces intently without stepping in. "I'd already cleared our footprints, but I don't want to take any chances."

Regulus was surprising her all the time, now. Nonchalant about it he may be, such forethought was a quality underrepresented most times, and utterly necessary at present.

"Oh," was all she could muster. She hadn't even considered that.

"I'm not detecting any curses or Muggle spring-loads... Let us carry on carefully, but quickly. I don't trust what we could be walking into. Daylight is suddenly rather appealing right now."

Air stale and thick greeted each step through the narrow tunnel. Though Hermione could stand fully erect, Regulus' height forced him into a slouch most times, his gestures indicating the toll on his back and neck. Uncomfortable though he may be, his leadership was infallible. They moved swiftly, even for pausing every few meters for a non-verbal spell. Not yet had an encounter crossed their path with entrapments or attempted mutilation. Sometimes the path rose; mostly it fell in slight pitch, curving at odd angles.

No sounds aside their presence broke the stifling heat and ever-claustrophobic maze. Indeterminable time passed, progress steady and fraught with a tension palpable. It was not until they'd reached a dead end that Hermione froze at the sight greeting them. For upon the wall before them – marked in kohl of simplest form – was a drawing. A map. Of the Grail.

-o-

While Miss Granger sketched the symbols before them of the Grail's destination – she assured him the Roman numeral X with its horizontal lines above and below represented the Grail, she was positive – Regulus found himself casting illumination in a decidedly boring pose. She worked quickly, the kohl stick fleeting across parchment in drifts and shakes. He had to turn away; she was much too pretty by mysterious lighting, her hair coloring black in the shadows, her petite form studious over its work.

Gritting teeth against the pang, closing eyes against the vision, he turned instead to the barrier, sure it was merely a magical one and not the solid body of centuries old earth's crust. Mindset on breaking protective curses, Regulus set to work, methodically playing through patterns learnt now by rote. By the time "I've got it!" resounded from behind, he'd broken the spell.

Dissolving before them, light materialized like a sunrise behind clouds. Rock became translucent, an ethereal presence through which they now warily walked two meters. Similar to texture of a ghost, Regulus noted the bone chilling upon his skin, an uneasy feeling to be sure. But safely they reached the other end, walking directly into the sun and sand.

They were at the base of the pyramid, opposite side to primary foot traffic, thankfully. Turning to face the opening, Regulus considered briefly the best course of action, for he certainly could not leave a gaping hole for all the Muggle world – or wizarding, truth be told – to see. Contemplating, he settled on an obscure, complex spell, typically above his level of technique and power. Yet memory was good, and though style had waned in years since, he found himself successful in creating a similar barrier, complete with locking curses to keep out mischievous souls of the city... and keep in those already confined.

"Merlin's pants," came the statement in awe. Regulus turned, startled, to find Miss Granger staring at him wide eyed, her gaze occasionally drifting to the new barrier, then back at him. "Being in hiding all that time must have really sharpened your skills a thousand times over," she continued. "That was... impressive. And inventive. Something I'd have expected from Dumbledore, actually. And to be on the run and teach yourself such quality work – by need, I'm sure – and unable to practice magic much in the Muggle world.... Simply brilliant."

Color rose in his face, cheeks hot with more than midday sun. Nearly worshiping her face and words were, and chagrinned, he turned away, facing the flawless illusion rather than her expression. Busying himself with robe readjustment, he attempted to not hear her flow of endless compliments and expositions of how she believed him so creative and fantastic to have invented such quality spells. But attempts were in vain, and each syllable rung loud and clear to his ears, until he could no longer bear their weight.

"Seereetutmealt," he murmured. View still fixed upon the structure.

"Sorry?" she replied, her tone indicating she wasn't even sure he had spoken English. Regulus faced her again, roll of eyes, deep sigh, slow speech.

He dreaded this.

"Sirius taught me all of that. When we were children. He'd created it to thwart Bella and Cissa when they'd visited a little too long.

"However an arse he can be, he's always had an exceptional talent." Then, under his breath as he turned, "Like every bloody thing else."

Without offering opportunity for further discussion, he turned and began the long trek to home base. Miss Granger quickly fell in step. However, just as quickly came more commentary. Just grand.

"So... am I to understand that as a young teenager, Sirius was creating spells like that illusion charm?" Incredulous she was, much to his dismay.

"Yes." Curt and to the point. Perhaps she'd drop the subject.

Perhaps not.

"Nice one..." Filled with awe and hero-worship, her words now tumbled out in constant stream, praising the attributes of a young wizard who could conjure such complex efforts, never mind it was only the rudiments thereof; the finesse and true brilliance came many years later. ("Still, it was a feat most seventh years would not be able to accomplish, creating their own spell, much less fancying it up to something of that magnitude.")

In the midst of the throngs of the marketplace, Regulus decidedly kept his head bent, avoiding eye contact with locals. Miss Granger had the fortitude to do the same, at least, but nonstop rabble continued.

Pausing at a bottlenecked corner, Regulus pulled her up toward him out of the flow, while he scanned the adjoining alley. Careful and wary, that was the path to go. It wouldn't do for them to be seen by familiar faces.

"I cannot believe I'd never thought of him as particularly talented when we first met, or even that summer at Grimmauld when I had loads of time to ask about things. Just always figured Remus was ace of the group. But then, if Sirius had started that young, wouldn't you have learned it all as well? Or, perhaps not," she murmured to herself, her monologue growing with each passing moment. "You're more the 'play it by the rules' sort of boy, I'd think. Whilst Sirius is much more 'defines his own way,' I'd imagine. Where you're eager to follow, Sirius cannot bring himself to even consider –"

"Will you blasted well shut up?" he seethed, turning back to her, his face inches from hers. He'd had enough, really. "Honestly, I'm sick to death of hearing about bloody fucking Sirius. He's my brother; I know damn well what he's like," he threw in, anxious to get off the subject. "I don't need to be continually compared to him by you, thank you very much. Had enough of that throughout my life. I'm weary of it all."

Fingers ran through trim locks in frustration, jaw tightening and eyes seeking distraction. Deep sigh through grit teeth, then returned attention to a shocked young face.

"You cannot imagine what –" Explanation stopped in his throat. None was owed this slip of a girl, and self-preservation recalled to mind the last time he'd opened up. Was not pretty at all. And to this day he paid. "Just... let's go."

-o-0-o-

"So why the significance of the eleventh?" Hermione inquired from beneath her pale hijab. Several moments passed before Raj could answer, both Britons finding themselves weaving through thick masses of late afternoon.

Returning in time to meet up with Sirius and Raj before they again wondered off on their chase, Hermione and Regulus recounted tales of sightings of the dead, secret passages, gold watches and maps engraved in stone. By completion, all agreed a breakthrough had bestowed upon them essential light. Drawing in hand, Hermione fell in with Raj to check a last source, while brothers whiled away hours in hiding.

"Contrary to popular belief," he finally answered, voice low and carefully dictated, "the Christ child was not born on the twenty-fifth of December. That date was decided upon in the attempted conversion of the pagans to Christianity. It's not a coincidence it falls close to the Winter Solstice and the celebration of Mithras. Several theories exist as to the actual date, but one of the strongest frontrunners is the first day of Tishiri – the eleventh of September. Apparently some source has confirmed that for St. Cyr's people."

Steady progress against sweat laden bodies, the stream of peoples of many nations a flow opposite their own. Facts digested, pondered until they abruptly turned into a little shop of sandstone. Desolate here, no one seemed to notice their veered path. Rather like the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione noticed.

Limited light and heaviness of air, the room they entered lay thick with miscellany: chipped clay pot here, blue-green faience amulet of a man there, amber-esque red carnelian stone scarab by the way. Candles poured their muted light through chimney-ed wall scones, nearly opaque with grime. Objects unidentifiable hung from shadowed rafters, worn carpets draped along the sandy walls. Osiris smirked in private humor from an ornate quartz pedestal, reminding Hermione she knew not what lay ahead, but those around her did.

Shop keepers often abound when one enters any market or shop, prepared to haggle their wares with abundant show. But subdued was their greeting, a slight Anglo man of undeterminable years shuffling toward brittle hardwood countertop, back straight, eyes suspicious. Tongue silent, Raj was forced to approach the little man as opposed to waiting his sales pitch. Hermione followed, curious and not without worry.

"Hmm?" Gruff, annoyed. Raj – always the diplomat – ignored the dismissive tone, instead breaching silence directly with business.

"I understand you specialize in ancient texts, pictographs..." Hermione watched the antiques dealer closely; his closed-off expression unnerved her, and soon a need to depart was upon her.

But the man merely narrowed his eyes, and with a slight guttural noise and vague gesture of head and shoulders, indicated that perhaps he did deal in such. Attentive eyes surreptitiously darted to Raj's small rucksack hanging cross-shouldered. Could this Muggle handler sense the priceless artifact hidden within?

Raj had discreetly inquired about for such a person after learning Hermione's tale and studying her sketch from the pyramid. They needed to find something resembling the landmarks described, something of a transition from the age of that drawing to modern day. He was sure it was guidance to the Sangreal; they had but to translate through the ages.

"Might could say that," the man replied evasively in a northern English accent. "What's your purpose?"

Something about the dealer suddenly struck Hermione, and each nuance of movement, form, features was critically studied. Oddity... familiarity. Why was he so compelling to her attention? What drew her about him?

Hushed tones consulted and bargained, only tips of words did Hermione catch. His gaze flicked often to Hermione, as though he dared inquire her existence there. Deep were their negotiations when a call from the back room interrupted, heavy Arabic sluicing through the English, "Thomas! I have need of you!"

Thomas gave Raj a minute nod, glare still unwavering for either the Ministry employees. Once he'd disappeared behind the worn sandstone fabric separating the rooms, Hermione turned to Raj, confusion and feared amazement adding edge to her voice.

"Raj... that man. Thomas. I recognize him."

Raj's face tightened, and a quick glance about ensured their current privacy. "What do you mean, recognize? From where have you seen him? Who is he? We've but a moment to escape, so tell me if we need do so." An edge to his whispered voice betrayed his worry. They had come too far, were too vulnerable at present, and everything lay on very thin, very fragile ice. All they needed now was to be found out. Or worse – caught. Voldemort's eyes and ears crossed oceans.

She shook her head slightly, a soft, "No," falling from her lips. "I don't think so. I've never seen him before," she clarified, much to Raj's obvious confusion and even slight annoyance.

"Then what –"

"I've heard him. At the concert. He was in the men's... talking to Philippe St. Cyr. He's the one who wanted to interrogate your father. He's the one who knew about McCaine. Sarras. The Seventh Month..."

Raj stared at her, eyes wide. This was the man who'd learned of the secrets of the Grail? And if so, what other secrets had he availed himself? Scripted parchment suddenly called his vision, a short stack of elegant handwriting visible across the counter and workspace, ancient secretary littered with ink well and sharpened quills. A wizard. The signs had been there, yet he'd missed them.

Focus once more drifted over the aged letters. And a slight marring caught him with a jar: Distinctive flow and ebb of capital letters spoke, though their words he could not read at such distance. He knew the handwriting, for there had been such a single page of it etched in Galahad's journal.

Merlin.

"Come to a decision?" Thomas had re-entered the room, catching Raj in a jolt of surprise. Keen observer, Thomas stared pointedly at Raj and Hermione both, before dropping his voice further, syllables hinting at menace. Eye contact never wavered.

"You've a lot to learn, boy, about hiding your thoughts. Face reads clearer than Master Merlin's hand. Now why don't you explain to dear old Thomas just what you're playin' at, eh?"

And from beneath his sleeve, both could make out the tip of a very clearly present wand.

-o-0-o-

She'd ceased looking for constellations hours before, now simply allowing the crisp desert sky to relax all thought and worry, to take her away from confusion and desolation. No longer did she fear them dead, but Hermione keenly missed the camaraderie of Ron and Harry. And she knew time was no longer on their side. They had to be found, and soon, so that Harry could take the newfound knowledge and end what the Prophecy had long ago set in motion.

Scrape of boot on stone nearby drew her thoughts back to present situation. Sirius had shifted slightly in his casual seated sprawl by their tiny fire, the concealment charm small measure of comfort to the fears of the desert wild. They'd hiked this far in but two hours, and would find their way in the morning to the home of Abda Karim, a member of the Wizard Underground. He would safely ensconce them safe passage without notice into countries of the Continent. From there, others would take over to return them to England. After events of the day, they could no longer be found in the open. Not until they'd reached home.

"Your brother is a bit of prat, you know," Hermione suddenly stated, for once letting the random thoughts of her mind fall from chapped lips. "You should have heard the comments he made today to me. Snippy, scathing little remarks, all because he asked a question and I was trying to answer in a logical, intelligent format. Honestly. He's obviously clever, but you'd think he was just a petulant schoolboy who didn't get his way. He's friendly enough one moment, then acerbic the next. Going on like just because I know the actual information that I'm just a studious little witch trying to aggravate him. Holier-than-thou, he was. Really, I've no idea how one is to deal with him and that arrogance."

She'd not really expected an answer, feeling as though prattling on had been the primary purpose of her words. Stretching slightly, Hermione adjusted her head upon her hands, once more gazing to the heavens above, fire crackle filling the void left by only occasional night calls of desert life. It was this reason she started slightly at the soft sound.

Sirius snorted in wry amusement, reminiscent. "Tia wouldn't have put up with it. She'd have knocked him off his high broom, you can wager."

"Tia?" Hermione questioned, confused. She turned to her side, staring across the low flame to her companion's shadowed form, a three-dimensional outcropping against the shallow basin of rock behind him.

Sirius' eyes crinkled at the corners, a look of bemused remembrance transforming his face. Deep, throaty chuckle escaped. "Yes.... the one true love of his life. I don't figure he ever got over her."

Hermione's brows shot up, eyes wide. "But – but Regulus said he didn't believe in love, that he had no use for it."

"He would say that, the berk." Short, bark-like laugh. "But Tia was an exception to that. She was the exception to everything, really. Every self-imposed rule he ever had, every ingrained belief he'd been brought up to covet. She was a pureblood, but other than that was in no way acceptable to our parents. Yet Reg..." Here he leaned back against the cave-like wall, thoughtful creases in his brow. Sights she could not see held his gaze. His strained voice lowered into little more than a whisper.

"Yet Reg loved her with all his heart, regardless. She was good for him. Made him question his blind loyalties to Voldemort, to our family, to blood status fanaticism. She was as far from Voldemort's beliefs as was humanly possible, I think." His voice dropped even more, nearly to himself. "He was a different person with her..."

Hermione considered him carefully, nearly afraid of the answer to her impending question. "What – what happened to her?" Obviously she and Reg were no longer together. She held her breath.

Disgust shaped his words. "Reg was his usual self. Did something infinitely stupid." Hermione's arched brow asked for her. "He joined Voldemort." Long silence availed itself to creaks and rustles of the night. Finally he added the cementing phrase, sadness evident. "She never forgave him."

A short time later, mutual consent declared a night. The dawn would come soon enough, and each found little else to hold conversation. They lay close to the smoldering embers, Sirius on his side directly behind Hermione to shield her from the sudden chill of the desert night. Sometime beneath Orion, his arm draped across her lower ribs, clutching her to him in fierce protection.

Hermione had never slept better.