FicWad

Sirius sat in the library. It was dark, and the only light came from the end of his wand and the multiple lamps distributed on the shelves and tables. Even though there were no curtains, the October sky outside was dark, and his bleary eyes knew that he’d have to get back soon, that he’d have to give up and just go to bed.
The book in front of him was unbelievably thick, and the sheer size of it made him want to groan and give up. Sure, he enjoyed reading, but his lack of sleep was quickly gaining on him. His eyes attempted to trace the words once more, but they just smudged into nothing.
Peter snored to his right, head resting on the book he’d barely read a page of. Although he had offered to accompany Sirius to the library to read up on this PTSD, he’d pretty much instantly fallen asleep. It was a gift Sirius had always marvelled at; Pete’s ability to just fall asleep everywhere and anywhere.
He sighed raggedly, running a hand through his hair, distressing it to reflect how he felt inside. The librarian, doing her hourly rounds, poked her head around the shelf. Her eyes widened behind her glasses at the sight of Sirius, and she smiled warmly at him.
“Good evening, Sirius. I haven’t seen you here in a while.”
He’d insisted that the teachers call him by his first name. He refused to be in anyway associated to the noble house of Black.
Letting his lips curl wearily, he replied, “Hello Irma.”
The woman’s hair was a jet black, and her face was aristocratic and pointed. She was an equally elegant and terrifying witch, who also happened to have a soft spot for Sirius.
“You look positively dreadful,” she commented, replacing some books she had in her hands to their correct places.
He chuckled, though everything he said and did was half-hearted. “Thank you.”
Madam Pince shot him a good-natured glare and clucked, “Oh, you know what I mean!” Then, in a softer voice, added, “Maybe you should get to bed, get a couple extra hours sleep. And take him whilst you’re at it!”
She nodded her head, and arched one disapproving eyebrow, at Peter’s slouched form, as a loud snore erupted from his mouth.
Sirius looked tiredly at her. “I wish I could, Irma. But I can’t.”
“Well, why ever not?”
Because whenever I close my eyes, I see my Mother beating my brother, who now hates me. I see my cousin lurking in the darkness. I see my Uncle’s dead body. Because I need to understand what this bloody PTSD, or whatever the hell it is, is. I need to know if I can save her. If I can save Remus.
Closing his eyes briefly, he just shrugged.
Madam Pince smiled knowingly. “Who’s the lucky lady, then?”
Sirius raised his eyebrows, temporarily alert. “Pardon?”
“There are only two reasons a boy your age with your looks and charm stays up at night; either he’s haunted by his demons, or he’s haunted by a girl,” she said, lips pursed innocently.
He allowed himself to smile and said, “There’s no girl, I can assure you.”
“She must be something if you’re stealing into the time you’d otherwise be spending sleeping,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.
Sirius didn’t reply. He thought about it. He guessed she was something. It wasn’t like she was ordinary- in fact, he almost laughed. Hermione Granger, ordinary? No, she was something.
“Ah, I know that look,” Madam Pince said, her tight lips smiling.
And although he rarely did it, Sirius blushed. He tried to laugh it off, but he still couldn’t shake the awkwardness and heaviness that had invaded him at her words. Why was he acting like this?
Kicking Peter hard under the table, his friend shot up abruptly, eyes wide and searching. His face scrunched up in pain, and he looked around hastily, but dazed, to try and make sense of what had happened. Sirius took advantage of this.
He got to his feet, pushing his chair under the table and placing the book under one arm. “Well, Irma, I must get going. Lots of homework to do, you see.”
Madam Pince raised her eyebrows. “Homework. Of course.”
Flashing a dazzling smile at her, he tugged a still half-asleep Peter out of the library, only just hearing the librarian call after him, “Have fun with that homework, Sirius! And tell her hi from me!”
oOoOo
James stared at her. It was hard not to.
She was lied across Sirius’ bed, the thin bedsheet covering her waist. Her hair, tangled and curled, fanned across the pillow.
He was sat on the next bed over, elbows on his knees, eyes glued to her arm. It was bent, her fingers curled near her head, forearm bared. The engraved scars (what else could he call them?) were ugly against her skin.
Of course, James remembered her story. She’d told them after knowing them for not even a day. The reason for the scar, that was jagged and raw, boiled down to a despicable act of torture. Just staring at the red marks made his stomach clench uneasily.
She’s hiding something.
Sirius had told him in Transfiguration. He’d told him everything he could remember from the conversation he’d overheard. How magic was a fickle thing, how time was not to be meddled with, how it was dangerous.
But she was suffering- Remus had said as much! Of course she was hiding something.
The door to the dormitory opened then, and Sirius walked into the room. He looked tired and numb and James stood up immediately. They stared at one another.
Sirius dropped his book and schoolbag on the floor on a pile of clothes. James studied his appearance. His best friend had heavy bags under his eyes, dark and unyielding. He looked tired beyond belief, but where Remus, when he was deprived of sleep, appeared smudged, like he was fading away, Sirius looked clearer than ever, more there, to James.
He didn’t even say anything, just sat back down on the bed, patting the space next to him. Sirius didn’t hesitate, but paused when he saw Hermione lying on his bed.
His steps faltered, his eyes widened fractionally. Her hair was like a golden halo, splayed around her head. Her lips were parted and plump. Her skin was passionately flushed. Sirius’ pulse fluttered. The conversation with Madam Pince echoed in his ears.
She must be something.
He sat beside James and their knees bumped against each other, they were that close.
“She fell asleep as soon as we got in,” James said. “Literally. We stepped through the door and she collapsed. Your bed was closest, I guess.”
Sirius didn’t reply.
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he continued, and his voice was suddenly strangled and small. “Look at her arm, Sirius. Look at how little she is. How did she fight in a war? How did she survive?”
With a ragged breath, he broke off, closing his eyes. It was so hard to understand! Why did he care this much about her? It felt like a part of him was yearning to look after her, to make sure Hermione was never put in harm’s way again. But they’d only just met!
“I feel so much responsibility for her,” James said.
Sirius sucked in his lips. “So do I.”
He shook his head. “No, I mean, like I should protect her.” He laughed. A short, humourless sound that burst, almost strained, from his lips. “It’s so crazy.”
“I know,” Sirius replied. His dark eyes travelled over every inch of her body. James was right- she was little. “I can’t imagine her in a war.”
James chewed his thumb.
“She must’ve fought. Hell, she must’ve hurt people… With the intent of hurting them.”
“I know.”
Silence fell over them. It was such a weird situation to find themselves in, and both their minds were raging.
“Where’s Remus?”
“Doing homework in the Common Room. Pete’s with Mary.”
“Well,” James cracked a grin. “At least something good’s come of all this.”
Sirius dragged a hand over his eye and said, “Shit, I’m so tired. Where am I going to sleep?”
“You can sleep with me, if you want,” James offered, reluctantly getting to his feet.
“I’m a restless sleeper,” he warned.
“Trust me, I know. I’ve lived with you for almost seven years, Pad. Oh, and you talk in your sleep.”
oOoOo
Hermione laid in the bed, staring at the blackness of the ceiling, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible blackness of it all. The room was positively swathed in shadows, an obdurate darkness that meant she couldn’t even make out the bottom of her bed. Well, Sirius’ bed.
She’d slept well, for the few hours she had slept, but now she felt restless. The image of Ron’s pale face was etched on the insides of her eyelids, and she could see him every time she blinked or so much as closed her eyes.
Hermione’s stomach churned. It growled, hungry for something other than food, and her mind seemed to agree. There were so many questions whizzing around her brain. She needed answers.
Slipping out of bed, she picked up her wand, and whispered, “Lumos.”
Light flared into action, and she hastily wrapped her hand around it, not anticipating the brightness of the glow. Hermione glanced at the boys. They were all fast asleep, unmoving.
She padded over to the door, edging through it. The Common Room was just as dark, and she allowed the tip of her wand to guide the way out through the Portrait Hole and down the corridor. She knew exactly where she was going; exactly where she would find her answers.
The journey was quick as her step was fast and determined and before she knew it, she was closing the door behind her to the Defence classroom.
Hermione, back against the solid wood, exhaled deeply.
The room wasn’t as dark as the rest of the castle, as the large windows let moonlight spill in. Her eyes narrowed on the door at the top of the steps, where she knew Professor Meryl to be sleeping. Under her breath, she said a quick but efficient locking spell, ensuring her teacher wouldn’t interrupt.
She couldn’t risk anything tonight. This was something she needed to do.
The chest was at the front of the room, in the same position it had been in the day before. Hermione moved slowly towards it and, as if sensing her presence (and her fear, she swallowed), it juddered restlessly.
Her throat felt dry. She got close enough. Her fingers were trembling.
She opened the latch.
Hermione stumbled backwards, as the lid flew open, but no monster emerged for a while. Catching her breath, she simply stared at it. Her heart was beating erratically and she was scared she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Then, something crawled out of the box, like a darkness crawling and clawing its way into existence. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, even as it morphed into something- someone else entirely.
“Hermione.”
His voice was the typical drawl she used to associate him with. His platinum blond hair seemed to glow, reflecting the light of the moon. His skin was pale and looked strangely like plastic.
Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him.
“Draco.”
He smiled at her, his lips curling upwards. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile and it struck a chord in her.
She had no idea what to say.
“This is peculiar.”
Hermione agreed. Finding her voice, she asked quietly, “Why did you save me?”
He acted as though he didn’t hear her.
“You know, I remember when you were at the Manor and my Aunt was torturing you. Your screams tore into my flesh. When she carved into your arm, it felt like she was cutting into me as well.” His voice was so nonchalant, as though everything he was saying wasn’t changing her life.
“Why did you lie to them? You said you didn’t recognise us,” she pressed.
Draco Malfoy finally stared at her. He looked exasperated and ragged, closer to the broken boy she remembered in the Room of Requirement, falling before her eyes-
“Because it’s you, Hermione! It’s always been you! It was never Potter. People claimed he was the saviour, but it was never Potter we relied on! It was you. You were supposed to save us.”
He faltered before her.
“You’re supposed to save us.”
Hermione shook her head, ignoring the tears. “What are you?” She asked. This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real.
“I’m what went wrong. I’m a consequence, Hermione.” Draco smiled at her, but his eyes were sad and his lips were shaking. He was drawing away and she desperately longed to reach out and drag him back to her. “I’m what happened. I’m what you need to change for this to work.”
She didn’t understand. She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age and she didn’t understand!
He was fading fast, slipping away.
“Draco!” Hermione cried, starting forward. “Draco!”
But he was gone, changing and shrinking, bubbling and shifting, until there was a body on the floor.
Hermione was frozen to the spot. She daren’t move forward, but she knew she had to. Her fear was eating her alive, but her curiosity was louder, egging her closer.
A horrified gasp tore itself from her mouth and her hand shot up to her face.
James Potter lay on the floor. He was dead; hazel eyes staring but not seeing, glasses askew on his nose. His normally expressive face was empty.
Then he was transforming again, and then Sirius Black, much older and shabby looking, was falling backwards, fingers stretching forward to wave one last goodbye, smile dying on his face.
Remus was next, and though Hermione hadn’t seen his death, she witnessed it now. He looked to be fighting diligently and his matured, scarred face was ferocious, but he froze and a small scream escaped her. He, too, began falling, tipping forwards and as he fell, he shrank in size to accommodate Peter Pettigrew’s adult body.
His metal hand twitched, reaching up for his own neck and the terror was poignant on his fat and dirty face. Closer and closer and closer, and then it encircled his thick, tree-stump of a neck, squeezing and his lips turned blue, his eyes popped, wide and sorry-
And he was James again, the young James, young and free. Still dead.
And he was Sirius, but the Sirius she knew belonged to this time, falling and falling, youth-splashed and beautiful.
And he was Remus, freezing. His teenage untidiness looking elegant in that way teenagers pull off effortlessly, but he was freezing and dipping.
And he was Peter, skinny and innocent. His protruding bones and ears exploding from the lack of oxygen…
And then it started all over again, and all Hermione could do was watch as the four people she had come to care about, more profoundly than even herself, died over and over and over and over-
“Hermione!”
She whipped around, wand pointed.
James stood there, evidently shocked. He was in his pyjamas, wand in one hand, paper in the other. He noticed her tears and frowned, starting forward to comfort her before he caught sight of the boggart behind her. The boggart that showed his own dead body, momentarily, as it flashed into Sirius’.
This was an even bigger blow for him. James’ eyes widened and he stumbled, looking faint. His hand reached out for support as he watched his best friend die.
“How did you find me here?” Hermione asked quickly, alarmed. Although her wand was lowered, her grip was still tight. Call it a side-effect of war paranoia.
James was still focused on the scene at the front of the room. She noticed, and tried to recapture his attention.
“James!”
He started, shaking his head slightly, but he was still sickly pale.
“How did you find me?”
James raised his eyebrows, and held up a large piece of parchment. Even though the darkness obscured the barely visible writing, she knew what it was immediately.
“The Marauders Map,” Hermione commented. Her voice was wistful.
He had clearly not expected this. James halted. “What?”
It was then, by the stutter and shock of his voice, that she realised her mistake.
She looked away, but her attention snagged on the body of Peter Pettigrew, strangling himself into oblivion.
James watched his smallest friend, and as it returned once more to his own body, his lungs felt like they were filling up with something denser than water. He needed to breathe, but he couldn’t. It felt like he was suffocating.
“Hermione?” He asked, his voice broken and fragile. “Hermione, what’s going on?”
She shook her head slowly, staring at the corpses. She murmured, “I just wanted answers.”
They were both spell-bound for a second, and then James couldn’t take anymore. It felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t breathe. He ran forward, throwing his wand and map to the side. The stick clattered on the floor. Hastily, he pushed the lid of the chest down, and the boggart (in the form of Sirius. James closed his eyes) was sucked back into the shadows of the box.
The emptiness of the room was resonating and hollow.
He focused on Hermione. He was gasping. “What was that?”
She raised her eyes to him, opened her mouth to speak… And broke down.
Her sobs echoed off of the high ceilings, and Hermione would have collapsed, if James hadn’t rushed towards her. He gathered her, absorbing her into his warm body.
James held her close, clutching her to him. Her hands gripped his pyjamas, digging into the skin of his arms, but he didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were still wide, shocked at everything she had just witnessed; her lips were parted in a silent plea for help. James was holding her so close, as though she might break, and this time, she didn’t mind. He was her lifeline, the only thing she could cling to, to cement her ties to this time period.
Because Hermione realised then, as the bodies of the Marauders as she had known them, as Voldemort, as Harry, Ron and Draco flashed before her, fading into the darkness, what her fear was.
She was scared of the future.
And, more importantly, she was scared of leaving time to destroy the people she loved most, while she sat back, and let the opportunity to change the world, trickle through the gaps of her fingers.