Metempsychosis

Harry had flooed into the kitchen that night, met by the sight of Hermione stirring a pan on the stove. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, used to her attempts at cooking for them during their stint in the tents, but what was unusual was the tone of her voice. It was lighter than he’d heard in months, a lilt that spoke of joy.

“Do you think you’d ever visit other places? Like your cousins’ houses?”

“It’s not like I have a portrait there that I can just swan in and out of like Great-Great-Grandfather. It was quite a nuisance act-”

“-Hermione, who are you talking to?”

The girl in question looked over her shoulder, almost stunned to see Harry had arrived. “I found a portrait. Harry, meet Regulus, Sirius’ brother.” The little quirk in her cheeks dropped, as her eyes flickered between Harry and a painting hanging on the adjacent wall.

Harry stepped closer to the painting, the young man lazing in the eternally sunny field near identical to the albums Harry had pored over. He’d seen a young Sirius in pages upon pages of photos, muggle and magical alike, all given to him as possessions of the now deceased Remus Lupin. This fellow had the same sharp cheekbones and refined nose, the same black hair that bordered on curls and waves. 

“Hello, Harry. I’ve heard a bit about you.” He gave a quick wave of his hand. “I’d shake your hand if I could.”

“Come now, Regulus. That joke is already old.”

Harry looked back over to Hermione, her wooden spoon dragging slow circles through the vegetables currently sauteeing away.

“Hi.” Harry nodded, before leaning closer to Hermione, his voice dropping, “When did you befriend a portrait?”

“Yesterday, he was hidden away in the closet in my room.”

“And you didn’t question why it appeared just now?”

“I can still hear you, you know?” The two looked at the painting, Regulus now hovering on the edge of the frame. “I don’t know if much has changed in twenty odd years, but last I checked, speaking about someone was a tad rude.”

“Sorry, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione responded quickly, knocking Harry in the ribs with her elbow. He followed with his own apology.

“I’d like to speak to my friend, alone, if that’s alright with you.” It came out short, but the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck were raised, the little cracks of paranoia manifesting.

“Quite alright by me, thank you. I’ll be in the study.” Regulus had broken eye contact with him, looking back over to Hermione before stalking out of the oil painting. That didn’t stop Harry from throwing a Muffliato and an imperturbable spell upon the room.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

Hermione shook her head, attention switching from the pan of veg to the pot of rice, steaming further back on the stove. “If you’d like to have some garlic soy stir-fry, I’d suggest setting the table.”

He didn’t move.

The silence sat for a moment before Hermione put down her utensils, turning to face him completely. “Lost my mind?”

“A painting of a Death Eater shows up less than a month after Voldemort died, and you don’t think that’s a reason to worry?”

“First of all, ex-Death Eater, you read his little locket letter, the same as me.”

“You make a portrait before you’re dead, Hermione. Last I checked, he was a Death Eater for a while there. Or did you forget?”

“Did I forget?” She repeated sharply, arms crossing against her chest. “This portrait was from when he was seventeen, I asked -” 

“He got the Mark at sixteen!”

“Well, the portrait doesn’t have it.”

“Have you been looking at his arms?” It was an absurd comment but this was an absurd situation. “Hermione, that is not a living thing.”

“I know.”

“How long have you been talking to it?”

“I’ve been speaking with Regulus since yesterday.”

“And you didn’t think that was significant enough to tell me?” Her eyes cast down as she moved towards the cabinets, grabbing the dinnerware and moving it to the counter. 

“You were busy.” It was a quiet sentence, spoken to the food. Harry knew that voice. It was how she sounded when she’d recited the textbook to him and Ron before she’d realised they’d lost focus, or how she’d apologised for missing a quidditch practice for her separate study, or how she’d almost disappear for hours on weekends over their schooling to follow whatever train of questions she’d needed answered.

“Hermione,” he took the plates from her hands, setting them down softly. “I care about you. Ron cares about you. We care about you. I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much these past couple days.”

She looked back at the stove, extinguishing the burners. Harry only sighed, enveloping her in a hug. Her own arms hung at her sides for a breath before she wrapped him in a hug too. 

“I know you’ve been going rough, I’m sorry I haven’t helped as much as I should.”

Hermione let out a little sniffle, “It’s okay, the Weasley’s needed you.”

“It’s not okay. You’re more important. You’ve stuck by me since the beginning, even when I was horrible to you. I owe you so much, and I should be here more.”

“It’s alright-”

“-God, Hermione. Stop saying it’s alright.” He set his head against hers, “I forget sometimes that you have had to go through it too, that you’re trying to be strong for the others. Let me be strong for you, at least for dinner.”

She nodded, giving him a tight squeeze before pulling away. Her hands drew up to her cheeks, wiping away faint traces of dampness. She loaded up the plates with food, bringing them to the table as Harry worked to grab cutlery and the pitcher of water. They sat next to each other, on the corner of the table.

“Hermione?”

Harry was met with a hum.

“How often have you been talking with Regulus?” The name felt strange in his mouth, like he shouldn’t be referring to someone who he had never met. This was an unknown.

“Just a bit,” her fork moved around the plate, colliding carrots with broccoli florets. “It was easier to do that than to just talk to myself. And it’s too quiet here.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Anything. Everything, maybe. We went on a hunt for some muggle books he’d hidden when he was alive, and spent the afternoon reading in a study.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to approach it, this elephant that seemed to be in the corner of the room, growing only to him.

“What do you mean everything?”

“I told him about how he died, if that’s what you mean. And about Voldemort dying.”

“Did you tell him about the Horcruxes?”

“Sort of. I alluded to it, but you never quite told me all the details about how they were made. And I only said that we destroyed them.”

“Was he interested in it?” God, it was like trying to unravel a ball of yarn, figuring out how to tease the information out without her shields locking him out.

“Not really, he was more interested in hearing about quidditch breakthroughs and whether or not Horace Slughorn still held his parties.”

“Quidditch?”

“Yes, Harry. He’s seventeen, and was captain and seeker of his team, of course that’s all he spoke about for like an hour. He was quite surprised to hear that you could do that wonky faint-”

“Wronski Feint.” His cheeks rose a little, a light laugh escaping. It was one of the things they used to talk about in the tent, imagining an alternate life where there was no war. Harry had been determined that he would play seeker for England and best Krum in the next World Cup. And everytime he would describe his plays to her, she would always come up with a wrong way to say them.

“I know, it’s just nice to see your reaction.” She took a bite of her zucchini, before continuing. “But yeah, he doesn’t hound me on anything. If anything, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“And that still doesn’t seem off to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hermione, he showed up out of nowhere. Surely, Kreacher would have seen that portrait while cleaning.”

“Maybe he just didn’t look in the closets. There were some pretty moth-eaten pieces in some of the other rooms.”

“I’m just worried. We know Voldemort liked to have backup plans, like the Horcruxes. He could be one of those, asked to learn all types of information and reel you in.”

“It’s harmless stuff, though.”

“That’s how Ginny said it started too.”

Hermione only nodded in response, attention dropping back to her plate. They continued to eat in silence save for the scrape of cutlery against ceramic. Harry stood before she did, hand dropping over hers.

“I care about you Hermione, and sometimes you get too wrapped up in something to realise you’ve gone the wrong way. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I know, thank you.”

He nodded, taking both their now empty plates to the sink to begin cleaning up.

Excusing herself from the kitchen, Hermione dropped Harry’s wards and hurried upstairs to the study where she’d left her new collection of novels. Regulus was seated in his frame, eyes flitting about the room. A small voice whispered in the back of her head, Harry’s right. You’re the weakest link and easiest to manipulate.

She shook her head, leaving the door open behind her, “What’re you doing?”

He broke his scanning, “Counting the books. How was dinner? It smelled delicious.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t smell anything.”

“No, but I’m sure it would have been divine.” He purred the last word, watching the red tint creep up her ears and cheeks.

“Stop that. No flirting in a study, this is meant to be a serious place.”

“Nonsense, I know for a fact that my Uncle Alphard used to partake in a fair amount of congress in here.”

“And by congress… you mean?” Dear God, please don’t be what I believe it does.

“Amorous congress.”

“Brilliant,” She brought her palms to her eyes, rubbing them as if it would drop the rose-coloured glasses back into place. “Looks like I’m going to have to sanitise this whole place.”

“You could just ask Kreacher to.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“For a multitude of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“First of all, he’s not here, he prefers working for the Malfoys, I only hope they pay him. Secondly, he wouldn’t listen to me because I’m muggle-born. Thirdly, I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

“Why’s he working for the Malfoys?”

“Because you and Sirius are dead, Andromeda is estranged and didn’t want a house-elf, and Bellatrix is dead. So it was Narcissa Malfoy, or… I don’t know. I didn’t think to check if he may have wanted a job at the Ministry or Hogwarts.”

“Sweet Circe, he never would have liked Hogwarts, he abhorred children.”

“Weren’t you his favourite Master, though?”

“Yes, but I was family. That’s different.”

Hermione sat in the study for a couple more hours, allowing Regulus’ attempts at flirting and reading to settle her. No, Harry was being unreasonable. Ginny was an eleven year old girl when she’d written in that diary. Everyone at eleven was naive and listened to whatever they were told. Hermione wasn’t a child, she had a rational mind. She would know when she was being deceived, she told herself as she flipped the pages for Regulus.

And this was different to the Horcruxes. They had an energy, an aura, of malevolence. Wearing the necklace had made her feel worthless, and banal, and a fraud. She didn’t feel like that around Regulus. He made her laugh, and smile, and feel like a girl in the best way. 

But Harry’s worries had still stuck with her, like he’d written on her arm in permanent marker. So when she did her nightly routine, she sat at the foot of her bed, meeting Regulus, eye to eye.

“Do you ever try to sleep?”

“Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if I slept or if I just blinked my eyes shut for a long time.” He made to touch his cheek, “Why? Do I look tired? Is this why you haven’t agreed to have dinner with me?” 

“You’re such a fool.”

“Only for you.”

“Stop that. I’m too old for you.”

“Eighteen, to my seventeen. That’s hardly a scandal that’ll shake society.”

“And you’re a painting.”

“So? Last I recall, Mary Shelly did quite untoward things with her husband posthumously.”

“That was his heart. I doubt anything happened apart from mourning, and poetry reciting.”

“Then do an Oscar Wilde, and I shall be Dorian Gray.”

“How witty.”

“You know you enjoy our banter.”

He was met with a roll of her eyes. “So what shall you do while I sleep?”

“I’ll try to do the same and hope that I see you in the morning.”

“You will. Goodnight, Regulus.”

“Goodnight, sweet Hermione.” He replied as she closed the closet doors.

She stood at the doors a second longer before the little voice spoke again. He'll be telling people about how easy he was able to gather information from you, he might even tell them about how you scream in your sleep.

No, she wouldn’t let the voice win, but it mimicked Harry’s worries. So she pulled her towel from its place on the rack in the bathroom, hanging it over the front of the closet, placing a sticking charm and warding it with an imperturbable spell, making sure that there were no portraits out within the room. With her final sweeps, she finally trudged over to bed, tugged the covers down and settled in for the night.