Metempsychosis

The next morning Hermione woke up, stretching her joints with a satisfied pop as she sat up in bed. The nightmares had still plagued her, but it felt muted, as if there was more distance between herself and her aggressors, the forest swallowing their howls and shrieks just a little more.

Arms finally propping herself up, she looked towards the wardrobe. It looked the same as it always had. She shook her head, dismissing the thought of a painting that flirted.

No, that was outlandish. “What a silly dream.” A small smile graced her face as she rose from bed, pulling a pair of leggings and a shirt from her beaded bag. Changing quickly, she made an attempt at wrestling her curls into a bun at the base of her head, letting out a huff of frustration when the band snapped.

And that was when she wasn’t quite sure her dream had been a dream. Because there was a knock that came from within the wardrobe.

Pulling open the door, she found the portrait exactly where it had been last night.

“Good morning.” Regulus said easily, arm leaning back against the frame of the portrait, just as he had done the day before. “Sleep well?”

“Did you knock on your own background to make that sound?”

He smiled at her, pearlescent white teeth and tinted cheeks. “Well I wasn’t going to just sit in the dark for another twenty years. That’s just ridiculous.”

A huff of laughter left her as she opened the wardrobe doors wider. “To be fair, I did think I was hallucinating.”

“Ah, so the pretty girl is a little loopy. Are you sure you don’t have any of the Black insanity?”

“Why? Is it contagious? Could I have gotten it from you?”

He shook his head, the slight waves flicking against his collar. “Gods, no. I have the Black charm.”

Hermione crossed her arms, watching the boy, “And who told you that?”

“Myself, obviously.”

A laugh slipped free. “Okay, Mr Charming, I’m going to find something to eat. Would you care to join me?”

Regulus stood back from his frame, clasping his hands together in front of his suit jacket. “I would, but I’m not quite acclimated with moving between portraits yet.”

“Is twenty years not enough time to practice?”

His chin jutted out in annoyance and let out a petulant whine, “It gets confusing, what would happen if I lose mine and get stuck in Mother’s portrait? No one wants to spend eternity with her.”

“Ok, what if you were to follow me, down the paintings on the staircase and into the kitchen so you won’t get lost?” In his own house, Hermione teased inwardly.

He nodded at her as she pulled the painting from the wardrobe and sat it upon the desk in the corner. She walked slowly through the house, allowing Regulus time to move between the portraits and landscapes until they arrived. Hermione in the kitchen, and Regulus in the landscape of a warm country pasture. She flipped open the small slip of paper left on the table.

Hermione,

I promised Ron and George that I would help them fix up the joke shop today. I won’t be back until later. Patronus me if you need anything.

Harry

Delightful. Another day in solitude. Well, sem-solitude. Regulus however didn’t seem to notice the slight drop to Hermione’s shoulders.

“What are we doing here?” He asked sincerely.

“To eat, I thought that much was obvious.” Apparently not.

“This isn’t the dining room, why would you eat here?”

“Because the dining room has your creepy family tapestry coating its walls and I don’t care for seeing all those faces.” She made her way over to the cooling pantry, pulling a jug of milk from its inside, and setting it and a small bowl of fruits. Hermione busied herself about the room, charming a kettle and pouring her tea. All the while, Regulus watched from just inside his wooden frame.

“I don’t remember this painting.”

“Oh, it was an addition from Molly. She said the house needed a bit of warmth in it.”

“And this was the Molly you were with yesterday?”

She nodded, putting the milk back in the pantry now that her tea was made. Turning around to sit in front of the painting, her eyes darted from the boy to the food in front of her. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t eat.”

He waved a hand as if to dismiss it, “No matter to me. What are we doing today?”

She paused mid chew to consider it. What would she do? She was at a loss for words.

“I have a suggestion.” He spoke, rubbing his hands together, “What if we tried to find my old secret stash? I don’t know if it will still exist.”

Hermione nodded, “What was in it?”

“Books. Ones that my Mother abhorred and ordered Kreacher to get rid of.”

She nodded again, listening to him tell her about a series that had gifted him for a Christmas one year. She listened to him tell her about the second tale in a series of books that she was quite familiar with.

“I think he had to have been a wizard. There’s no way that a muggle could come up with the idea of a Vanishing Cabinet.”

Hermione shook her head, “Nope. C.S. Lewis is not a wizard. He was very religious though.”

“But how would you explain the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Happy coincidence.”

He sighed, sagging against the frame as she took her final sips of tea. “You win this round. Purely because I have no way of fact checking whatever argument you come up with.”

She met his dopey grin with another smile, nose scrunching at his words. After cleaning up her mess, she let Regulus tell her about where he had hidden the books. So they began their hunt through the house. Regulus would regale her with a memory of each room as soon as he recognised it, and Hermione would listen.

After spending half the morning meticulously sifting through every room on the ground and first floors, Hermione sat back in a chair in the study. Regulus likewise, lounged in a painting of a large wingback chair with gilded armrests. What had previously occupied the chair, neither knew. 

Hermione’s hair had since defeated another hairband, snapping and trapping the elastic somewhere near her nape. Her skin had taken on a light sheen of sweat. Sitting back in the chair, she’d spied a book laying open face-down on the drawing table in the corner. Picking it up, she recognised the cover and its golden lettering, The Pure-Blood Directory by Cantankerous Nott. Flipping it over, the page open was that of the Black family. It was one of those books that was inherently magic, imbued with a myriad of enchantments that updated each page with every birth, death, and marriage. And there, laid out across the page were several names all written in red ink. All with deaths that washed over Hermione as if they had happened only a moment ago.

Sirius Black, no descendents: 18 June 1996.

Nymphadora Lupin, nee Tonks, one son: 2 May 1998.

Remus Lupin, husband of Nymphadora, one son: 2 May 1998.

And just up the page, another two names a darker hue, as if the ink had been allowed to set.

James Potter, one son: 31 October 1981.

Lily Potter, wife of James, one son: 31 October 1981.

Hang on. That didn’t seem right. She flipped through the book trying to find if there was a section dedicated to the Potters. Nothing. She shook the heavy tome - maybe something would fall out, maybe it had been stuck to another page. No such luck. So, falling back on her most reliable source to a time gone by, Hermione looked up at Regulus as his attention scattered around his new surroundings. “You’re related to the Potters?”

Regulus’ attention snapped back to her, “Yes, but Mother refused to acknowledge it. Felt that Aunt Dorea had snubbed the family by running off with a Gryffindor.”

“So all those years Sirius lived with the Potters, he was just living with your aunt?”

He nodded, sniffing a little at the notion, “Yes, but when he left Mother decided that I would follow in his footsteps. So I was forbidden from visiting any cousins, they all had to come here.”

“How dreadful.”

“Quite. How is Sirius?”

Hermione looked back down at the book in front of her, trying to find a way to say what she’d managed to avoid the night before. “He’s not here.”

“Don’t tell me he moved in with that Lupin fellow.”

“No, Regulus. He died.”

“When?”

“Couple years ago. Your cousin Bellatrix hexed him through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.”

He nodded, “Were you close?” Hermione took that as him asking if Sirius had ever mentioned him. Gods, you’re going to have to let a portrait down nicely.

“Not really, but Harry and I did help save him with a time turner and a hippogriff in our third year,” she began, before settling into the gentle lie, “I remember him telling us that he missed you.”

Regulus nodded stiffly, raising a sleeve to swipe quickly at his eyes before Hermione could spot even a shadow of a tear. “I don’t remember you telling me about a time turner.”

Nice going, Hermione, you’ve made him sad. She looked back at the book, closing it and stroking the spine almost absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I couldn’t pick any electives so I was given special permission to use one to study every elective.”

“That sounds like something my friend Barty would do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he was absolutely hellbent on trying to top my marks so he’d study as much as possible. I reckon he would’ve tried to convince his father to allow him one. Fun fellow to have around though, very dry humour.”

Hermione recognised the name as that of the man who’d impersonated their professor for an entire year. Somehow, this Barty that was competitive and funny clashed with that of the Death Eater who’d escaped Azkaban and tortured Neville’s parents. 

“So what would you do then, Regulus?” His eyes appraised her, so she clarified, “If you were given a time-turner.”

“I don’t know, I can’t imagine I’d want to use it purely for academic purposes. Maybe to perfect my quidditch manoeuvres.” She nodded, watching a small crease appear between his eyebrows, “Do you play the beautiful game?”

Hermione laughed, “The beautiful game is soccer, and I swear only my dad calls it that. No, I don’t play quidditch.”

“So you wouldn’t happen to know what a Wronski Feint is if I say I would give anything to perfect it one last time?”

“Yeah, two of my friends can do it.”

“Two?! That’s literally the toughest move there is.” He sounded like a child, huffing about how Harry and Viktor could both pull off the Feint. She watched as his hair flopped into his eyes a little at his exhale.

“Maybe you just weren’t a good player,” she shrugged, the joking lilt to her words as she watched him go bright red in the face.

“Eat your words, Hermione. I’m the team captain.” He looked down at himself in the chair, “Okay, maybe not here, but if we find a painting with a broom, I will prove it to you.”

“Noted.”

Following their brief reprieve in the study, the two continued on their quest to find Regulus’ books. With her head thoroughly craned into a lower cabinet in the third floor, Hermione continued in her barrage of questions.

“So how is it that you know all about quidditch maneuvers but don’t remember where you hid these books?”

“I’m sorry, your majesty. Let me just go back in time and tell the living me at the time that I really should keep track of my belongings.” 

Hermione’s head jerked at his tone, and she let out a yelp as her skull cracked against the heavy wood. There was an audible snort, before she locked her eyes on the painting, seeing the lightly rouged cheeks.

She cleared her throat, “Sorry, it was probably a bit rude.”

Eyes still alight with humour, Regulus shook his head, “Not a bother, honestly. He would have been lucky to know that he’d be able to woo a pretty girl, even in death.”

“Oh? You didn’t have any betrothals? I thought that was all the rage…”

“They were always hung in the air, but Mother refused most of the contracts, and Grandfather was never lucid enough to take on his Head of House role.”

“Did you want one?”

“Sure, I guess. There were plenty of girls that were alright, but they were morseo interested in Sirius.”

“Even if he wasn’t?” Hermione had heard and seen firsthand a lot of the nuances behind Sirius and Remus, from their prolonged eye contact across the dinner table every night before fifth year, and felt the loss of each quite strongly.

Regulus only nodded in response. 

Turning to the next cabinet, Hermione crawled over and pulled the tarnished handle. As the door creaked open, she waited with bated breath to see if their long-awaited treasure would be waiting for them.

And there they were, a little dusty, and covered in cobwebs, but each book was still bound and the covers still mostly intact. Hermione pulled the small stack out of their hidey-hole and into the light, brushing the dust off of each of them.

“Should I leave you to be with the books, m’lady?”

Hermione only hummed as she shook her head, “No, I just haven’t seen some of these in a few years.”

“May I request something of a beautiful witch?”

“You may try.”

“Seeing as I cannot physically turn a page, would you read them aloud?” She met his eyes, a soft grey like pigeon down. Biting her lip, she looked away, back at the books scattered on the floor.

Picking up the closest one, she pressed a palm to the green floral cover, and opened the book. “The last time I read this was when I was little, before starting Hogwarts.”

“Let it be a walk down memory lane for both of us, perhaps.”

Hermione only nodded, smile gracing her face once more before she began reading.

“‘When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seenWhen Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.’”