Sang Sacré

Chapter 9

June 19th, 2000

Days passed in a flurry as Hermione spent every waking moment overthinking every possible aspect of the upcoming ritual. Now the night before, she stood in her room running her hands over the fabric of the dress she was meant to wear the following day.

It currently appeared to be entirely white linen, which disappointed Hermione immensely when it first arrived days ago. Theo had laughed at her frown and shook his head as he just told her to wait until Litha to judge the garment. This had only motivated her to keep checking the dress over the past few days and holding it up to the light, squinting to try to see a difference.

Still just plain white.

She couldn't sleep. She was a mess of nervous and anxious anticipation, reminiscent of the night before she got on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Her stomach was in knots and nothing made her relax enough to sleep. Dressed in just a t-shirt and shorts, she tiptoed down the hallway and peaked her head into Theo's room, hearing his soft snores as soon as she cracked the door open.

He was sleeping on his side, facing away from the door, and Hermione sighed before shutting it. She wouldn't wake him up. It was a big day for him too, one he had been excited about for most of his life.

Even still, he had been amazing the past few days dealing with her increased anxiety and incessant need to speak her worries out loud. Theo listened, comforted her, and offered his input to help her relax.

"Just try to take a deep breath, Mia, and remember what happens is what is meant to happen. Your magic knows what's best for you. Trust your magic, there's nothing that knows you better," the words echoed through her mind, spoken with such repetition due to the fact they were the only ones that seemed to calm her down.

Hermione hesitated, barefoot in the hallway, before turning away from the direction of her bedroom and padding down the stairs. She ducked into the drawing-room, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and whispered 12 Grimmauld Place before she thought better of it.

Green flames subsided as she carefully stepped out of the fireplace and looked around. It was the middle of the night, and while it was likely Harry might still be awake, she didn't want to provoke his Auror reflexes and risk being hexed.

The lights on the first floor were all blown out, bathing the house in entire darkness. She muttered a Lumos, gingerly holding her wand in front of her as she crept up the stairs. Hermione came to a stop outside of a cracked open door.

Soft, warm light pooled in the gap between the door and the frame, and she pushed the door open quietly as she called out, "Harry?"

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling off his boots. His Auror uniform hung open from his shoulders, already unbuttoned, his wand on the bed next to him, and an open bottle of Muggle gin on the floor next to him. He looked up, assessed her as he always did, and greeted her with a sleepy smile as he beckoned her to come in.

"Hey, 'Mione,'' his voice was hoarse, betraying how tired he actually was. His right boot joined the other on the hardwood with a loud thump as he opened his arms for her, clinging her to his chest when she nearly leaped into his arms.

"I'm sorry, I just can't sleep and I need you," she mumbled into his chest and sighed as he began rubbing small circles on her back, his chin falling to its usual position on the crown of her head.

"Don't apologize," he murmured, smoothing her hair down with his other hand. He wouldn't tell her, but it mattered immensely to him that she had come and sought him out like she used to when they were younger. Harry and Hermione had bonded as only children, especially in the years since the rest of their families (adopted or otherwise) dwindled. They'd always behaved like siblings, but a warmth blossomed in his chest at the ability to look out for the woman he considered his sister. He cherished the ability to care for and protect someone else. "You know you're always welcome here. What's going on, nightmares?"