He was sitting in the corner of his cell, the one he always sat in because he was convinced it was warmer than any of the other corners. Curling in on himself for warmth didn’t do anything anymore, not even as Padfoot. It was cold, damp, and dark— as it always was in Azkaban.
Sirius could have sworn he heard screaming but he no longer knew what was real and what was in his head. He didn’t even know how long he’d been in there anymore. The perpetual night sky made it impossible for him to be able to tell time.
He saw the shadow of the prison guard outside his cell and then he heard the sound of a metal tray sliding across the floor. Food. Sirius frantically crawled over to the tray, when a loud crack of thunder came down outside his small window—
The rumbling of thunder outside the bedroom window jolted Sirius awake. His heart was beating fast and his breathing was shaky and shallow. You’re no longer there. You’re in your room, in Grimmauld Place in London. You’re notin Azkaban. You’re not in Azkaban. Sirius repeated the phrase to himself over and over until both his breathing and the beating of his heart were calm once more.
He looked over to the pillow next to him and slid his hand under it to grab his wand to cast a tempus charm.
2:00 am. On the dot.
Although his time in Azkaban was far behind him, thunderstorms still unsettled him, bringing with them nightmares in the form of memories from his time in the wizard prison. They reminded him of the cold loneliness he felt and hatred he once carried.
Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not without a cuppa and a book to help. He rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes and planted his feet on the ground. He stood up to put on his old grey sweatpants from the floor before making his way out towards the kitchen. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, even as he softly stepped over them so as to not wake up Harry.
The light in the basement was already burning bright and when he walked further into the kitchen he noticed the tea kettle already on the stove top. He carefully tested its temperature with the back of his hand, taking note that it was still warm. Have I been sleepwalking again? He thought. Nah, it was probably Harry.
He lit up the burner under the kettle and waited for the water to boil once more. Sirius meandered around the kitchen, collecting his mug, honey, and a lemon for his tea. Another ripple of thunder cracked down outside as he was cutting the lemon in half, causing him to flinch and his knife to almost cut through his finger.
Sirius put the knife down and planted the palms of his hands on the kitchen counter. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. I fucking hate this. Why the bloody fuck am I still like this?
The whistling of the kettle interrupted his thoughts. Sirius shook his head, forcing himself to get it together. Rather than cut the lemon with the knife, he took his wand and sliced it in half. Sirius made his tea to his liking before heading to the library.
He noticed the flickering of light glowing from the bottom of the library’s sliding doors. Someone’s here… he thought, gripping his wand. Sirius cast a silencing charm on the doors before he slowly slid one open and stepped inside.
There, in front of him on the settee, was Hermione. Her back was turned to him and her head was bowed down reading a book on her lap. The fire in the hearth was burning and its crackling was loud in the silence of the room. Well, aside from the rain that was pouring down outside.
“Hermione?” He quietly called out to her.
She gasped softly and closed the book she’d been reading, abruptly standing up from her seat to face him. “Sirius, did I wake you? I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.”
Sirius set his mug on a bookcase and reached his hands into his hair, twisting it into a messy bun and securing it with his wand. “You didn’t wake me, sweetheart. It’s alright.” He smiled at her, and grabbed his mug once more. “Is everything okay?”
He walked over to the settee, sitting on the opposite side of where Hermione sat, facing her. She nodded her head. “Yeah…yeah, I’m alright. What time is it?”
“Last I checked it was two am and that was about twenty minutes ago.” He looked up at her. “Please, sit back down. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“This is your home, Sirius. You didn’t interrupt.” She smiled at him, taking her seat once more. “Harry only fell asleep an hour ago. I hope it’s okay, but I decided to stay the night just to make sure he’s fine.”
“Of course, it’s okay. You can stay whenever you want for however long you want to.” I can’t stand being alone in the silence. It’s deafening. “How’s he doing?”
Hermione let out a heavy sigh. “He’s alright. He and Theo got into a big spat and he’s convinced they’re over. I let him cry it out, and I listened, but I know he’ll feel better tomorrow once he’s got a better handle on himself.”
“Am I allowed to know what happened?” Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle into his tea. His eyes unintentionally wandered over to the coffee table where another mug sat. That explains the warm kettle on the stove.
“Well, it seems that Theo declared his love for Harry tonight, for the first time, might I add. And Harry…” she trailed off, doing her best not to laugh.
Sirius didn’t take his eyes off of her. It was cute, the way she covered her mouth as she laughed. “Harry blew it, didn’t he?”
Now, in full laughter, she replied. “How did you know?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that James did the exact same thing when Lily told him she loved him for the first time?”
Her eyes widened at his confession in genuine shock. “But I thought he was always declaring his love for her?”
Sirius sat his mug down besides hers on the table. “That’s why it’s so funny. He told her ‘thank you’ when she said it.”
She laughed even harder at that. Her nose wrinkles when she laughs.
“Would…” she stopped. She laughed harder as she tried to speak. “Would you believe me if I told you that he told Theo the same thing?”
Sirius' laugh escaped him at full force. He often, to himself, compared Harry to Lily. Besides the physical attribute of sharing the same emerald green eyes Lily had, he was also very compassionate. He was always willing to help out those who were in need, and was fiercely loyal.
Harry, though, was also a lot like James. The same messy hair that had a mind of its own, he was also a risk taker, and, even though James was his best mate, he could admit that Harry sometimes carried the same sort of arrogance about him that James did. Along with being very aloof.
“You’d be right, though,” Sirius commented once he was able to get his wits about him.
“About what?” She wondered.
“He just needs the night and I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow. I stayed up with James that whole night. Of course, he was right pissed but he was hysterical. ‘ My Lily flower will never forgive me!’” Sirius laughed again.
“The next morning he woke up determined and hungover, but determined nonetheless to make things right and well,” he sighed, “they were together until…until the end.”
Way to go, old fuck. Here she’s making you laugh and what do you do? Talk about your dead friends.
“I’m sorry, Sirius.” She whispered, looking down at her hands twisting into her shirt. “I didn’t mean to—”
Sirius lay his hand over hers, stopping their ministrations and interrupting her before she could finish her thought. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Hermione. Nothing. It’s a fond memory, truly.”
He removed his hand and settled further into the settee. They sat in silence for a moment. “Couldn’t sleep?” She questioned.
Yes, tell her how you’re still dealing with trauma from Azkaban. Tell her how you can’t sleep, how you can’t grow up and get over it. “The uh…the thunderstorm woke me up.” He pointed towards the windows of the library.
She hummed in response. “It is coming down rather hard.” At some point, Hermione had gotten more comfortable on the settee because now she was hugging her legs which were folded in front of her chest.
He looked ahead of her, out towards the window, watching the rain hit the glass. He refocused his eyes on her. “Yeah, it is.”
A loud crack of thunder came down once more as Sirius went to grab his mug, making him flinch again and causing him to spill his tea on his hand. Boiling hot tea.
“ Fuck .” He said through gritted teeth.
Sirius felt Hermione get up from the couch and watched her walk over to a side table that stood beside the sliding doors where her purse was placed. He heard her mutter something and watched a small jar jump from her purse to her hand.
She walked right back over and stood in front of him. “Can I help you with that?” Her voice was soft.
Sirius looked into her soft brown eyes and nodded, offering her his hand. It was burning and he could swear he could feel boils start to form. She sat next to him, their knees brushing together and placed his hand on her thigh.
Hermione grabbed the bottom of her shirt and dabbed it over his hand, drying it from the tea. The texture of her shirt against his burn caused him to flinch his hand away on instinct. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, I should have said it would hurt.”
He placed his hand back on her thigh, trying to smile through his pain. Although he was sure it looked more like a wince. “No, it’s alright.”
Hermione took hold of his hand again with one of hers, and with the other brought the bottle she’d retrieved from her purse up to her teeth — uncorking it.
She took the bottle, poured out some of its contents on the burn and began to gently massage it into his hand, instantly soothing it.
Sirius looked down, watching Hermione apply the potion to the burn. He was so relaxed and lost in watching what she was doing, that he hadn’t noticed the way his hand was trembling.
Hermione must’ve noticed it too because she stopped her movements.
They both looked up to look at each other. Sirius searched her face and he thought he’d find the one thing he hated; pity, but instead he found concern. You’re fucking pathetic. Truly.
“It’s Azkaban, isn’t it?” Her voice broke through his thoughts. He looked down to where her hands were still holding his.
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but his mouth was dry.
“Back in third year — after we saved you from the Dementor’s Kiss — I did some research on Azkaban. I’d heard of it, of course, but I’d never read about it before.” She was fiddling with his fingers.
Sirius struggled with not knowing if he should be upset with her or not. He didn’t need her to tell him what she learned about Azkaban, he was bloody there for twelve years. But he’d since found that when she talked, the voice inside him kept quiet.
She rearranged herself, settling further into Sirius’ side. Without letting go of his hand, she gently looped his arm around her shoulders and continued to fiddle with his fingers.
He kissed the crown of her hair and rested his cheek on her head, inhaling the smell of her shampoo. He didn’t know how to describe it, but she smelled like the fresh morning air.
“Those… arseholes at the Ministry set charms all over the place to make it perpetually rainy and dark all the time. I think that you not being able to sleep during thunderstorms might have something to do with that.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and kissed each of them, one at a time.
“You’re a clever little witch, you know that?” He murmured into her hair.
She hummed in response.
“The Dementors used to attack prisoners when it would storm out. The thunder would drown out the screaming.” Hermione intertwined her fingers with his, bringing their joined hands to her chest, the coolness of her bracelet pressing against his skin.
“Usually, I was able to ignore it, but…but I remember this one night, in the cell next to mine, someone was screaming so loud, I could feel it in my bones. And this melancholy took over me and I knew. I knew it was a dementor sucking out their soul. It felt like it went on for hours. Then, it stopped and I heard a thud on the ground.”
He pressed another kiss to her hair. “I’ve never told anyone that. Not even Remus.”
While Remus and Sirius’ relationship had been repaired since his escape from Azkaban, considering Remus helped shelter him for a couple of days before he had to continue moving, their relationship hadn’t been quite the same since 1981.
Sirius would be lying if he said that Remus’ belief that he played any part in the murder of James and Lily didn’t still hurt him. Sirius had fought for his life and against his family for trying to turn him into a Death Eater against his will. Anyone that truly knew Sirius knew he would’ve never willingly given up any information about his friend’s whereabouts. Or so he thought. How anyone could ever believe that, including the other person who spent every day with them at Hogwarts, was a load of hippogriff shit.
On the other side of that galleon, he knew that Remus could not fully forgive Sirius for believing that he couldn’t be trustworthy simply for his being a werewolf, a condition Remus had no choice in.
The two friends were still close, but since his escape and eventual clearance from the Ministry of Magic, Sirius kept a lot to himself. The so-called life he had in Azkaban and his now slowly developing relationship with Hermione.
Hermione became his best friend.
Years had passed since the war ended, and even more so since his escape from Azkaban. Everyday was still a struggle. Besides the nightmares that still plagued him, guilt from his past choices still haunted him like ghosts. He was a man lost in a dark sea, fighting and gasping for air, trying to stay afloat to keep from drowning. He had no way back to shore.
Until she showed up as bright as a lighthouse. In her he found safety, shelter, solace, and strength. She helped him find his way back to land: to himself.
The warmth and brightness of her light, as strong as the sun’s, made the clouds of his melancholy that floated over his head dissipate into a slight fog. Not quite gone, but still there to gather once more over his head when his brain decided it didn’t want to play nice.
At first, he thought her awareness of him was because she felt bad for him. That she pitied him. He’d put up a struggle at first, pick a fight with her when she’d offer him the last waffle, or when she’d check in on him in his room when he’d slept in a little too long. Until he realized that she didn’t just do that with him, but with everyone. She took care of people. Sure, she’d done it out of obligation during the war, but helping the people she was closest to was Hermione’s way of showing how much she loved them. It made her happy.
Sirius began suspecting that Hermione was no longer taking care of him just because she took care of everyone. He noticed how she’d buy the specific brand of biscuits he liked to eat with his afternoon tea, how she liked to cook his favourite meal when he wasn’t having such a good day. How, every once in a while, she’d come to his place after doing errands with something for him because, “I thought of you when I saw it.”
Hermione was thoughtful and considerate. She had every reason in the world to no longer care. To no longer give a shit about anything. She had every reason to hate, to be angry at their world because at one point, it wanted to kill her for a designation she had no choice in.
Still, she remained kind and patient. She checked in on everyone once a week to make sure they were okay. The mental strain the war did on them all had Hermione making sure they were still taking care of themselves but she wasn’t pushy. She was also fearless and spoke and fought for herself when others would tread on her. She set boundaries and took care of herself and her own mental health, making sure she didn’t lose herself in helping others.
Everyone played an important part in their little make-shift family, but without Hermione, everything would fall apart.
Sirius didn’t only appreciate that but he’d begun showing her just how much he cared. He’d always make sure to buy her flowers when he knew she’d be there for a gathering, he’d bought her a dainty charm bracelet that held a tooth for the parents she’d lost during the war, a book for her love of reading, a kitty face for crookshanks, a thunderbolt for Harry, and a wand charm he himself made to look just like her wand to symbolize her magic.
They grew confident enough to be openly affectionate but not too affectionate. He’d mindlessly caress her hand if they were sitting or his arm always somehow found its way around her waist if they were standing. Hermione would play with his hair, often braiding it when he’d lay his head down on her lap as they watched movies.
It’s not as if he’d even have anything to say to anyone, they could all see it. He knew his friends weren’t stupid. When Hermione and Sirius were in the same room together, they naturally gravitated toward the other. It never failed. As soon as they sensed the other’s presence, they were glued to each other’s side.
He and Hermione stayed pressed in each other’s arms, in each other’s comfort, talking about anything, everything, and nothing at all. Laughing and giggling and stealing kisses when he needed the comfort from the thunder still raging outside.
It wasn’t until she began to yawn when he checked to see how late it was. “We’ve been talking for two hours.” He chuckled.
Sirius grabbed her hand and raised her sleeve to kiss the inside of her wrist, with a perfect view of her charm bracelet. He smiled against her wrist from the knowledge that she always wore it, and then he noticed it; Hermione’s bracelet had only ever carried five charms. There were six now.
He pulled her arm away slightly to take a better look at the new charm. It was a series of stars forming his constellation, Canis Major.
He looked up from her wrist to find her looking at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “When did you get this?” He whispered, baffled.
“It arrived this morning,” she whispered back.
He looked back down at it and fiddled with the constellation. “Why?” He asked without looking at her.
“This bracelet holds a charm for all my favourite things and people I love in the world.” He heard her say, still not looking at her. He found it hard to swallow against the knot in his throat.
“When this bracelet was given to me, the person who gave it to me forgot one important charm,” she began.
He didn’t know why but he couldn’t look at her. No. No, he did know why. Sirius didn’t feel like he was even worthy of the love she was now confessing to him.
“When I’m alone in my apartment at night, because I can’t be here or you can’t be there, all I have to do is look outside my window and find you in the stars and I don’t feel so alone anymore. When I’m at work during the day and I miss you, I can’t look outside the bookshop windows to see you. So, I bought this so that I’d never be alone without you. Because I love you and don’t want to be away from you for a moment.”
Sirius dropped her arm, and reached over to reposition her onto his lap. He brought his hand up to her face, his palm on her cheek and his thumb softly running over her lips, and kissed her. Tasting something that was just Hermione, feeling her magic coursing through him from her fingertips that gripped him, swallowing the involuntary moans that escaped Hermione’s lips.
He broke their kiss, his ears only picking up the crackling of the fire and nothing else.
“The storm stopped.” He smiled at her. But he caught the movement outside the window, proving to him that the storm was still furiously coming down outside.
He looked at her questioningly. Tightening the grip he had on her hair from sheer desire for what she’d done.
“I silenced the room when you weren’t paying attention,” she announced, as if he hadn’t already figured it out.
“I love you somuch.” The confession tore from his throat, hurting him to say only because he never thought he’d ever love anything or anyone as much as he loved her. He never dreamed he’d have anyone reciprocate those feelings for him.
Sirius readjusted her to straddle him, stood up from the settee, and held her tight against him with his hand on her arse. With his other hand, he wandlessly extinguished the fire and carried her upstairs to his bedroom.
Sirius softly stirred from his sleep to the sound of the soft tap, tap, tapping of the rain hitting the roof. The soft breeze of the cool afternoon air tickling his face finally woke him up.
Hermione liked to keep the window slightly ajar to let in the smell of petrichor. She often said the smell of the rain brought a peace upon her she never thought she’d ever feel again during the war. To her it symbolized a new start and reminded her that no matter how long it rained, it would always clear up.
He went to pull in the body he expected to find asleep next to him, the way he’d done a million times before, only to find it missing. The room suddenly felt colder from her absence.
Rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes, he planted his feet on the ground, his legs automatically guiding him to where he needed to go.
To his lighthouse.
To Hermione.