A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWELVE

Page count: 15

Sirius' Apartment – Thursday 31st December 1981

There were only a few minutes left until midnight. Until a new year.

Hermione sat alone on the front step of Sirius' apartment, boots buried in freshly fallen snow, breath curling in soft white clouds in the cold night air. The muffled hum of Diagon Alley's anticipation drifted up the street — distant voices warming up for the countdown, buildings strung with magical lights flickering expectantly.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself, staring out at the dark sky.

She had survived another year.

But so many hadn't.

She tried — really tried — to do what James told her. Forgive yourself.
But survivor's guilt wasn't a wound easily stitched. It echoed. It gnawed. It whispered.

She was in the middle of forcing down the swell of memory — Harry's body, the screams, the battlefield, the Horcrux's cruel whispers — when two familiar bodies dropped down on either side of her.

James on her left. Sirius on her right. Warmth on both sides.

"Why," Sirius demanded, "are you freezing your arse off out here?"

Hermione huffed a quiet laugh. "I'm waiting for the fireworks."

"They won't beat yours," James said automatically.

Her mouth twitched upward, a small but genuine smile. "Maybe not. But it's tradition... and I miss it."

She drew her knees up slightly, gaze softening with memory.

"Every year, no matter where we were, Harry and I would sneak out to watch the fireworks. Hogwarts, the Burrow, Grimmauld — didn't matter. We always found a way." She swallowed. "The last year... we didn't get to see any. We almost died on Christmas Day, and on New Year's, we were hiding in the woods."

James and Sirius exchanged a brief, sorrowful look — the kind that proved just how much they listened to her.

Down the alley, voices lifted in a roaring countdown:

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE—HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Diagon Alley erupted — brilliant showers of magic exploding into the sky in shimmering ribbons and spirals, enchanted fireworks that formed animals, stars, flowers, constellations bursting across the night.

Hermione smiled, her breath catching.

"Better than Muggles," she murmured, "but nowhere near as good as Fred and George."

Before either man could respond, she leaned over suddenly — kissing James on the cheek.

He froze.

Then she leaned over and kissed Sirius' cheek, too.

He also froze.

"Happy New Year, boys," she whispered, settling back and letting her head rest lightly on Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius cleared his throat — loudly. "What—what was that for?"

"Muggle tradition," Hermione said simply. "At New Year's, you kiss the person — or the people—you want with you in the next year."

Both men went utterly still.

"And I want both of you to be in my future," she added softly. "If I didn't have you two — and Harry, and Remus — I'd be drowning. In pressure, in research, in dark magic. You're... my life raft. I don't know how to repay you for everything you've done."