The Light

Chapter 59- The Child

McGonagall made plans for them all to go to the Potters, with hopes that Sirius would be able to calm himself without causing any more trouble.

Normally, so close to their exams, Hermione would have been stressed to the very roots of her hair, but she found herself relatively uncaring. She still wanted to do well, but there was a large part of her that wondered whether there was any point. She hadn't even left school yet, and she was already fighting. What good would NEWTs do her on the battlefield? Who knew whether she would make it out of this one alive?

They had all just eaten, and Hermione moved to the sink, tying her hair back and rolling her sleeves up. She took the closest pot and the cloth and began to wash up.

Although she wouldn't admit it, she was glad for this temporary respite. The Potters had all but adopted her, and even the smallest smile from them made Hermione feel that whimsical sense of balance that only parents could evoke, when they looked at you and you knew, despite everything, it would all be okay. She was grateful for that, because there were parts of her, sometimes, that seemed disconnected from the rest of her, parts that nagged and made her question whether victory was possible. It was nice to have reassurance every now and then, especially when it came in the form of Dorea and Charlus' sparkling eyes and warm embraces. Hermione scrubbed the pot harder.

Remus appeared beside her, holding a pile of dirty plates, which he placed down on the countertop. His eyes flicked to her briefly, and she looked away from him, focusing all her attention on the pot. She heard him sigh lightly, and then she felt his hand taking the pot away from her, whilst the fingers on his other hand ghosted over hers.

"I can do it," Hermione said quietly, but she let him take her place anyway.

Remus didn't even look up, simply continued washing up for her. He said, "I made you a cup of tea. One sugar, no milk, with a spoonful of honey. The way you like it."

Her eyes fell on him and she opened her mouth, momentarily speechless before she murmured, "Thank you."

There were two teas by the kettle, and Hermione knew which was hers by the darkness of the beverage. She picked them both up, turning and heading to the living room but she paused in the doorway. An apology froze on her tongue. She closed her mouth and carried on walking.

The sheer scale of the living room was not only impressive, but also an asocial strategic advantage. There were three separate settees in this room alone, as well as a few armchairs, and her family were all scattered about. Dorea and Charlus sat beside one another, fingers loosely interwoven, watching as James and Peter conjured up little animals, made of multi-coloured sparks, to fight in the centre of the room.

Sirius was sitting on the floor, with his back resting against the front of the nearest sofa. He didn't look overly engaged with the battle before him, but was staring into space instead.

Hermione moved to sit beside him, bumping her shoulder into his. She passed him his drink and he sent her a small smile, holding it between his hands but making no move to drink it.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

Sirius didn't reply, his face was precariously blank, and as she glanced at him, she was struck, like she often was, at how beautiful he was. Eventually, he said, "When we were younger, he used to come into my room after I fought with mother... And we'd just lie there, staring at the ceiling. We didn't talk. And I knew that, as long as my brother walked the earth, I'd never really be alone. Not even in that wretched family."

Hermione didn't know what to say. There was a frightening tone of finality to his voice, of grievance, which she didn't think she could face. She lowered her eyes to the floor.