The Return of the Last Black

by Beccax95

Summary:

Harry Potter is completely befuddled by the surprise resurrection of his long dead Godfather, and the knowledge that Hermione is pregnant with Sirius' child.

Chapter 1: The Unconscious Duo

Harry sat tiredly beside the bedside of one of his oldest friends in a state of disbelief. Hermione looked small, pale, and sickly as she laid unconscious in the bed, the starch white sheets drawn up to her shoulders, all Harry could see of her was her face, surrounded by a halo of messy springing dark curls. If she didn’t look so unwell, he might believe her to be just asleep.

“Draco, what’s wrong with her,” he asked, looking up at the blonde man. Draco had long since turned his life around, becoming a spy during the final year of the war against Voldemort. Without his vital information and help, Harry was certain they’d have ended up losing far more people than they had, Draco had saved Tonks, Remus and Fred during the Final Battle as well as countless others. In the years since the war, their childhood rivalries had given way to friendship though they still had moments of house pride and lively debates usually when Quidditch was involved.

“We don’t know Harry,” Draco responded quietly, shifting uncomfortably, Harry frowned at him.

“What aren’t you telling me”, he asked his friend.

“Oh I wish a different healer was doing this,” the blonde said, steeling himself.

“Get on with it,” Harry spoke firmly, whatever it was they’d find a way to fix it.

“Hermione’s pregnant,” Draco spoke quietly.

“But she isn’t dating anyone,” Harry spoke automatically.

“You don’t have to be in a relationship to get pregnant,” Draco spoke irritated.

“I know that, but Hermione isn’t like that, she doesn’t do casual sex, all her relationships have been meaningful, and she hasn’t so much as mentioned been attracted to anyone in at least two years,” he spoke, feeling flabbergasted.

“I imagine she wouldn’t considering who the father is,” Draco grimaced.

“Was she attacked,” he asked worriedly, wondering if Hermione had been the victim of a rapist, surely, she’d come to him for help, he was the Head of the Auror Department after all.

“We don’t think so, but Harry you are going to have to brace yourself, this case is most unusual,” Draco commented.

“Please just tell me”, he asked, whatever it was he could take it.

“The father is Sirius Black,” Draco responded.

“That isn’t possible, he’s dead,” Harry whispered, he was sure his face was as ghostly as Hermione’s.

“The other Unspeakables found her in the Death Chamber with the archway, she’s been experimenting on it for over a year, messing with the Veil. Harry, they didn’t find her alone,” Draco commented.

“I don’t understand,” he spoke feeling flummoxed, surely Draco wasn’t saying what he thought he was.

“Sirius is alive,” Draco spoke quietly.

“What, I, how,” he asked, not really believing it.

“I think the only person who can answer that is Hermione,” Draco whispered.

“Where is he,” he asked, rising to his feet, he had to see him to believe it.

“He’s unconscious and getting examined, as far as we can so far tell, he is as well as he was before he fell into the Veil,” his friend said.

“I want to see him,” he said, Draco nodded and gestured for him to follow him, he led him to the room next door to Hermione’s. Harry’s knees buckled at the sight of his godfather on a bed, his chest rising and falling evenly as though he was simply asleep.

“Are we sure it’s him,” he asked quietly, not quite believing his eyes.

“We are certain,” Draco responded.

“We need security, this can’t get out, not until we know the full picture,” he spoke quietly, running a hand through his hair uneasily.

“We’ve already closed off the ward, only essential staff are on it and they are the only two patients on it,” Draco told him.

“Good,” Harry breathed.

“How far along is Hermione,” he asked quietly.

“Three months,” Draco commented.

“So Sirius has been back for three months,” he asked.

“We don’t know, the Unspeakables are looking through her office for clues on what she was researching, we hope she has documented everything that has led to this point, but for now all we know is that she was found naked in a ritual circle, with Sirius on the floor in front of the Veil” Draco responded.

“Merlin, what was she doing,” he whispered more to himself than Draco.

“We had to contact you not only in your role as Head Auror but also because you are both of their Next of Kin,” Draco spoke.

“Of course,” Harry nodded, feeling not for the first time as though everything in the world was on his shoulders.

Chapter 2: The Ministers Office

Twenty-four hours had passed since Harry had learned of his godfather’s resurrection and Hermione’s pregnancy, both events leaving him feeling shocked and out of sorts. He’d given their ward around the clock Auror security, the secrecy of their situation of the most importance. Harry had barely slept over the course of the previous day, between his worries over the situation at the hospital as well as having two sick children under the age of three at home, he’d found himself working on little more than three hours of sleep.

“Harry, you look dreadful,” Kingsley commented as he made his way into the Ministers office, that afternoon.

“I’m fine,” he breathed, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist, he took a seat opposite his old comrade and supressed a yawn.

“Your no use to anyone if you aren’t sleeping,” Kingsley spoke quietly.

“James and Albus kept us up last night, but I am okay,” he told the Minister, Kingsley nodded.

“So why are you here Harry,” the Minister asked, holding out a tin of biscuits to him, Harry took a piece of shortbread.

“Head Unspeakable Crank won’t share what they discovered in Hermione’s office when the Unspeakables were searching for clues on how she brought Sirius back from the dead. They say it’s all confidential and the information they brought to St Mungo’s is that redacted that it is useless. If we don’t know how she did it or what happened, we can’t help either of them,” he told the Minister seriously.

“I see,” Kingsley nodded, “how are Hermione and Sirius doing,” he asked thoughtfully, he’d been informed of the situation the previous day.

“Neither have woken, potions and spells aren’t working to bring them round, the healers say both of their magical cores are drained and that they are experiencing symptoms such as a fever and seizures without any obvious signs of a cause. These aren’t good for Hermione’s baby,” Harry responded, his voice worried.

“It’s a difficult case for you, the line between professional and personal is muddled, I understand your frustration and concern Harry however a Unspeakables work is secret, they take vows of secrecy when starting their profession and take that secrecy seriously,” Kingsley spoke.

“I know that, but the vows aren’t the same as an Unbreakable Vow are they, besides you are the Minister, surely you can overrule Crank and get us the information we need. Three lives are at risk here,” Harry pleaded.

“I can speak to him and go through the official route of requesting information from the department, but it is a timely process, I will of course do this, but might I suggest searching Hermione’s home for information in the meantime,” Kingsley spoke quietly.

“She has a diary,” Harry said, remembering the bound leather journal he’d seen his friend writing in many times before.

“Then begin there Harry,” the Minister said, as Harry rose to his feet.

“Thank you, Kingsley,” he said politely as he made to leave.

“Try and get some rest Harry,” were the Ministers parting words to him as he exited the office with the intention of searching Hermione’s home.

Chapter 3: Mr Snuggle-Muffin

The sound of a meow greeted Harry as he let himself into Hermione’s home, the permanently squished face of Crookshanks looked up at him, the cats’ yellow eyes moodily glaring at him from where the large cat sat on Hermione’s royal blue sofa.

“Hiya Crooks, I’m sorry with everything going on I forgot about you,” he told the elderly half-Kneazle, as he reached down, and tickled the ginger feline between his twitching ears. This action did nothing to comfort the cat and Harry was treated to Crookshanks hissing at him and swiping one of his large, padded paws towards Harry’s hand, his claws extended to cause damage to Harry, thankfully he drew his hand back quickly enough to avoid injury.

“I bet your hungry,” he told the beast quietly, not holding the cats’ actions against him, he begun to make his way through to the small kitchen that adjoined the small comfortable living room of Hermione’s quaint cottage. Crookshanks followed him at his own pace, his large bottlebrush tail swinging behind him.

“Meow,” the cat let out a loud yowl, his eyes following Harry impatiently as Harry opened the cupboard, he knew Hermione kept all of Crookshanks’ food in, he pulled out a small tin of chicken flavoured cat food and a bag of duck flavoured cat biscuits, setting them down on the marble worktop he walked over to the small sage-green mat in the corner of the kitchen, and the two white ceramic bowls that sat atop of it.

“Your mummy’s not well so I’m going to have to look after you until she can come home,” he told the cat as he carried the bowls across to the large white country sink and begun washing them. Harry then started on refilling Crooks bowls. In the first bowl he used a baby spoon to mash up the tinned food and sprinkled a handful of biscuits across the top of the mushed chicken, the way Hermione so often did, while in the second he filled it with fresh cold water from the kitchens tap. Crookshanks was brushing around his legs, in a figure of eight motion and Harry stepped over the cat as he carried the bowls back over to the sage-green mat.

“Here you go boy, you eat up, I need to find something to help Hermione,” he told the cat as he set two bowls down atop of the mat, one filled with fresh water and the other holding a combination of wet cat food and dried biscuits, Crookshanks let out a chirp in thanks and began to eat the food ravenously, paying Harry no more attention, his focus solely on the food in the ceramic bowl he was eating from.

Hermione’s beast now fed; Harry began searching for Hermione’s journal. It felt wrong to be going through Hermione’s belongings, but he justified his actions with the knowledge that he’d hopefully find the means to help Hermione and Sirius. The rudimentary treatments the healers had so far used to rouse the pair had been unsuccessful, Harry knew they needed a better understanding of how the pair had ended in their current state if they were to have any chance at curing them.

“Accio Hermione’s Journal,” he called, waving his wand, as he’d expected no journal came flying towards him, the journal likely warded against such summoning and perhaps too against snooping friends. Harry sighed and begun searching first among the many bookshelves piled high with books and manuscripts that covered the walls of his best friend’s home. Hermione certainly read too much; he decided as he looked through what must be thousands of books crammed into every available gap on the living rooms many bookshelves.

“Meow,” Crookshanks sounded.

“I don’t suppose you know where your mum keeps her journal, he questioned the cat.

“Meow,” the cat blinked his yellow eyes up at him slowly and turned away from Harry, the cat took three steps before glancing back over his shoulder, “Meow,” the cat said again, and Harry got the sense that Crookshanks wanted him to follow him.

“I must be going crazy,” he mumbled to himself as he followed the cat out of the living room to Hermione’s small hallway and up the narrow wooden staircase that led to a tiny landing with three wooden doors: one to a bathroom, the next to the house’s spare bedroom and the third to Hermione’s room. Crookshanks let out another Meow and began pawing at the third door.

“It’s in Mione’s bedroom is it,” he asked the cat, reaching out he used the brass handle to open the door, pushing it inwards as he stepped across the threshold into the room, he had entered only a handful of times during the five years Hermione had lived in the property. Three of the walls in the room were decorated in a pale blue while the fourth wall served as a feature wall with flowered wallpaper, this was the wall Hermione’s bed leant against, Crookshanks jumping up onto it, settling himself onto the floral bedspread with a contented purr.

“Did you lead me up here just so I could let you into Hermione’s room,” he asked the cat quietly,” Crookshanks responded with a meow, his yellow knowing eyes fixed on a set of wooden drawers in the room.

“Is Hermione’s journal, in there,” he asked the cat, moving to inspect the drawers, they were made of oak and atop of them was a small vase of wildflowers. The unit consisted of five different drawers, two small ones on the top level and three larger ones below. Taking a breath, Harry pulled open the left top drawer and peered inside, in it there were skimpy pieces of lace, satin and cotton, atop of which sat a thick highly realistic vibrator and a bottle of strawberry flavoured lube, Harry hurriedly closed the drawer and opened the right one, inside were neat rows of folded socks but no Journal. The first of the large drawers held Hermione’s pyjamas, Harry had been about to close the drawer and move onto the next but noticed the smallest hint of the same Navy Blue he knew Hermione’s journal to be, pushing aside her pyjamas he pulled the journal out, receiving a slight zap of warning from the protected book.

“Meow,” the cat yowled at him, Harry carried the journal over to the bed and sat down beside Crookshanks, patting the cat lightly on his fury head.

“Thanks boy,” he spoke to the cat before raising his wand to the journal to see what protection Hermione had embedded into her diary, thankfully, nothing too difficult to break through, only a zapping hex, anti-summoning and password protection charm were present on the book.

“What’s your Mummy’s password,” he asked the cat, Crookshanks blinked sleepily at him, settling his head on his paws.

“Crookshanks,” Harry spoke, tapping the journal with his wand, the journal glowed red and zapped his fingers again, “not your name then,” Harry commented, shaking his hand of the tingling sensation in his fingers.

“Hogwarts A History,” was his next guess, knowing it was Hermione’s favourite book, that too was not the password and Harry received a cautionary zap. Harry’s next twelve guesses were wrong too and the force of the zap increased with each additional guess. Hermione had not set the password to be any of her favourite authors, foods, drinks or places and Harry was getting rather sick of been zapped by the spell in place on the book.

“What is the password, Mr Snuggle-Muffin,” he asked, using one of the many silly, babylike made up nicknames he’d heard Hermione call the cat over the years, his wand still in hand, Harry was surprised to see the Journal glow green, the once sealed cover flipping open to reveal the first page and neat familiar penmanship, spelling out his best Friends name.

“Let’s find out what your Mummy was up too, Mr Snuggle-Muffin,” he said cautiously turning pages, he began to skim the pages of his friend’s journal, that was immaculately written detailing Hermione’s daily experiences. Hermione wrote about every aspect of her day, innate things like what she ate, what she drank, little details about popping to the shops or people watching over her morning coffee at the Witches Brew, a coffee shop she frequented in Diagon Alley. Harry quickly realised that his friend had cast an undetectable extension charm on the book, it looked remarkably normal and small from the outside but, where a normal journal may only have a hundred or so pages, Hermione’s had many thousands all filled out with lines of neatly joined up small writing. Harry rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to sooth an ache within his head as he focused on skimming the text for relevant information.

“Mione writes everything,” he told the now sleeping cat, taking note of the red stars that denoted her period each month and the detailed notes she wrote regarding work meetings and friendship outings. He was certain it would take a while to find information relevant to the case, Harry realised he needed help in this. Standing tiredly he summoned Crookshanks’ wicker basket and lifted the cat into it, Crookshanks grumbled but did not wake up fully. Harry made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a selection of the cat’s food and treats before washing up the cat’s bowls and packing them too.

“You’ll have to come home with me Crooksie, hopefully you and Hermione will both be home soon,” he told the cat, as he extinguished Hermione’s lights and stepped into Hermione’s tiny fireplace to floo to his own home, with a pinch of floo powder and a call of his address he found himself and the now yowling cat swirling through fireplaces until he was deposited in the living room of Grimmould Place, the house fresh, vibrant and modernly renovated was homely and lived in, nothing at all like the house had been when it had been the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix a decade before.

“Dada,” James called, stumbling towards him on wobbly legs, his oldest child was almost three and had only just begun toddling around.

“Hiya Jamie,” he grinned leaning down to pull the tot into his arms.

“Love why do you have Crookshanks,” Ginny asked, looking up Harry could see that his wife was sat on the sofa, baby Albus suckling from her exposed breast. With a grimace, Harry realised he had yet to tell Ginny about what had happened to Hermione. The previous day, Ginny had already been asleep when he got home from the hospital and then they had been up with screaming and unwell children throughout the night. When he’d left for work that morning, Ginny, and the boys had all finally gotten back to sleep and Harry hadn’t told his wife about Hermione been in the hospital.

“Hermione’s in St Mungo’s,” he told her quietly as he opened the basket and allowed Crookshanks out of it, Crookshanks gave him a disdainful look and jumped up onto a plaid wingback chair where he begun to groom himself.

“What happened,” Ginny asked worriedly.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he whispered quietly as he sat down beside her and began explaining to her everything he knew so far.

“I’ll take the boys to the Burrow and then we can split the journal between us,” Ginny suggested when he had told her everything, Harry found himself nodding in agreement, as he massaged his temples, two heads would be better than one.

“You can’t tell your parents Gin,” he told her seriously, while he trusted his parents in laws, he knew that Molly would likely tell the entire family and gather everyone to offer their assistance. The more who knew of it, the more likely the information of Sirius’ return and Hermione’s pregnancy would be leaked to the general public. If Hermione didn’t know she was pregnant, he didn’t want the whole of Wizarding London to know before she did. There was no guarantee she’d want to keep the baby and it was her choice how much the world knew of her private life.

“I know,” she nodded, “get some rest Harry and we will sort this out together when I get back”, she told him leaning down she kissed his forehead sweetly and Harry let his eyes close for a moment. That made it twice today that he’d been told to get some rest, Harry decided to heed this advice and settled himself down on the sofa for a short nap while Ginny packed up their children and took them for a visit at their grandparent’s home, he’d be no help to Hermione and his godfather if he was sleep deprived. The last thing he was aware of was a warm purring weight settling on his chest, the comforting rumble of Crookshanks making him sleepy enough to allow unconscious ness to claim him, his restless worried thoughts easing into sweet dreams.

Chapter 4: Hermione's Secrets

3^rd May 1998

It’s done, Voldemort is defeated. I don’t know how to feel right now, relief, sadness, happiness. My body is jittery, achingly sore, overwhelmed. I haven’t written in my journal for a while, it felt endless our quest, to defeat the dark side. The past ten months have been agonising as we hunted pieces of Voldemort’s soul, we were cold and starving most days and been tortured by Bellatrix was no picnic. There was little levity, and great sorrow. Ron left Harry and I for a long time. I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive him but then he came back to us, carrying the Sword of Gryffindor and suddenly everything felt right in the world again. Ron kissed me during yesterday’s battle, it felt fantastic to finally experience his lips pressed against mine. After the battle we had sex, hidden away in one of Gryffindor Tower’s dorm rooms, it was messy and full of emotions, I cried and so did he.

 All the emotions of the past year seemed to surface all at once. We lost so many people in yesterday’s battle; the Daily Prophet is already calling it the Final Battle. I hope it is, I don’t want to fight anymore. Our future looks brighter now but there is so much to do. I feel like I could sleep for a month straight but find myself unable to. Ron is snoring next to me and all I can think about is the future and what needs to be done. Hogwarts is destroyed, there are bodies to bury, a school to rebuild, examinations to be had if I am to ever hope of having a worthwhile career. The Ministry needs reestablishing and recent laws need abolishing. There are innocent people, Muggleborn’s like me locked away in Azkaban for no other reason than for been born to Muggle parents, they need freeing and the scumbags who put them their need full trials and life sentences. My own parents are unaware of my existence somewhere in Australia. I need to find them and restore their memories; I worry they will never forgive me for what I have done. I don’t know what to do or where to start, I don’t know how Ron can sleep so peacefully right now Diary, I feel like I could explode.

5^th May 1998

Kingsley is now the Interim Minister; it feels right for him to be guiding our nation in the wake of the war. I helped out at Hogwarts today, we found another body, that of a Hufflepuff Third Year: Issac Jones. All of the children were meant to have been evacuated at the start of the battle but evidently not all of them made it out, or else they snook back in. Twelve children have now been found deceased. It is harrowing, I broke down crying, seeing his small broken body, killed by a blasting curse to his diaphragm. How anyone could be so evil as to kill children. It makes me mad. We should have stopped the war sooner; the Order should have done better. We’ve all grown up too fast, had too many responsibilities thrust upon us. Dumbledore set us on the Horcrux hunt before any of us were adults.

6^th May 1998

We laid to rest the first of the fallen today: Lavender. Our relationship over the years was complicated; like chalk and cheese we didn’t really get along. As roommates we annoyed one another but we had moments of comradery over the years. The first time I got my period, Lavender taught me a pain relief charm. When Lavender struggled with Transfiguration, I helped her to understand it. It was Lavender who gave me a morning after potion when I unexpectedly lost my virginity after the Yule Ball, she never told anyone that I’d slept with Victor, just made sure I was okay, and asked if I wanted to know any more about sex, Lavender was far more experienced then me and she reassured me that a little pain was normal after having sex for the first time. Lavender was funny and friendly, she always tried to include me in girly gossip sessions and beauty treatments. She loved the stars and predicting the future, I often found the art of divination to be utter hogwash, but Lavender didn’t. In way’s she was my complete opposite, the only thing we agreed on was that Ron was a catch. In life she was full of an endless joyful energy and seeing her laid to rest today felt wrong in so many ways. At one point I felt hatred For Lavender, it’s silly now. The anger I felt when her and Ron got together, the misery of that moment, the hatred and jealousy, is ridiculous. In the face of all that has happened since that moment, Lavender having her throat ripped out by Greyback and me been unable to save her, my adolescence grievances and broken heart seem of little consequence now. Lavender was the first to be laid to rest out of so many, the full body count is still unknown, and I feel an all-consuming grief for all of the lives lost. Ron was inconsolable at the funeral; I stood by and held him as he cried for his first girlfriend.

12^th May 1998

It’s strange to think that a battle fought over one night can be erased in ten days. Ten short days and Hogwarts looks as though a battle was never had. Magically repaired, blood and bodies removed. Hogwarts is as it once was, mostly. We will remember that night on the 2^nd of May as a night where so many were lost and where the world changed hopefully for the better. Minerva reported that there were four new ghosts in the castle, students killed too young, unable to move on to the beyond. I don’t think I want to return to the castle, to do a final year of education. I’d cry if I was faced with one of these new entities. I will sit my NEWTs at the Ministry and start a fresh in this new world as an adult, I can’t go back to caring about classes and having to abide by curfews after so much has happened.

20^th May 1998

We buried Colin today; he was the last of the thirty lost in the Final Battle to be buried. He was too young, an innocent school child taken due to a stupid in just war.

2^nd June 1998

A month has passed since the battle. I don’t know how to feel normal anymore. Ron and I were like a flame, that was quick to ignite and even quicker to extinguish. I’d fantasised about the two of us been together for ages but we both agree that our short-lived romance was a mistake of epic precautions. Ron and I make fantastic friends but should never have become more than that. Ron’s already moved on; he seems to be sleeping his way through London if Rita’s articles are right. I likewise have had a new conquest. I got very tipsy last night and slept with Seamus; nothing will come of it, but it was a fun night, and I was able to escape the constant nightmares I have for a while. Thankfully, I know Seamus won’t boast to the press about it, I don’t want my sex life in the tabloids like Ron’s.

10^th June 1998

260, that’s the number of people who were wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban. The Aurors have finally finished clearing it out. Of those imprisoned ninety died. It was worse than I could have ever imagined. Not only were there adult Muggleborn’s in prison but children too, the youngest just six years old, a little girl who has been kissed by the dementors and locked up in prison, after the trace picked up that she was a witch, that little girl is dead along with other children. Muggles had been locked up in the prison, unable to see the creatures that were feeding off of their souls. It’s sick and twisted. I’m glad I got my parents out of the country, that they are safe on the other side of the planet. I find myself wondering how anyone can lock away innocent children and leave them to suffer and die. Some days I wish I had never learned of the magical world, life would be easier, simpler. The trials start tomorrow, I will be summoned as a witness for many of them.

“Harry, it feels wrong to be reading this,” Ginny whispered, Harry lifted his eyes from the 1998 entry he was reading and cast a weary look over at his wife. In the short time he’d been reading Hermione’s diary, he’d learnt far too much about her than he ever needed to know. He now knew that she started her period on a rainy afternoon in the October of their second year at Hogwarts, she’d lost her virginity after the Yule Ball on the Durmstrang Ship with Victor Krum; an event that was surprising, messy and while painful was very enjoyable. He’d learnt that she’d had a brief relationship with Theodore Nott their Sixth Year after they’d been paired together in potions for the year. He was sure that he never needed to know that the dark haired Slytherin had taught the woman he considered a sister how to give blow jobs or that he’d introduced her to various kinks including bondage, something Hermione had found enjoyable and freeing as she relinquished all control to the man providing her pleasure.

“I agree, lets skip a few years, I doubt we will find anything relevant this far back. I don’t think I will ever be able to look Hermione in the eyes again after reading some of these entries. Did she really have a threesome with Theo and Draco,” he wondered aloud.

“Why is it so surprising that Hermione has a sex life, she’s hardly a blushing virgin,” his wife asked amused.

“I know that, of course I knew she’d had sex, Ron bragged about it after they got together but Hermione doesn’t do casual relationships and these sexual exploits seem pretty casual,” he told her as he flipped through Hermione’s journal for a more relevant entry.

“Currently she doesn’t but we are reading about younger Hermione here, she didn’t broadcast it to everyone, but she explored her sexuality quite a bit throughout her teens and early twenties. She had lots of casual sex back then, particularly after the end of the war. I know she had a friend with benefits thing going with Fred and George for a while and I’m pretty sure Oliver Wood and her got more than a little friendly at her twenty first birthday party,” Ginny commented.

“I didn’t need to know that” he told her with a grimace.

“Let’s start reading from the September of 2002, that’s when she became an Unspeakable isn’t it,” Ginny suggested.

“It is, before that she completed her NEWTs, restored her parents’ memories and worked alongside Kingsley to reconstitute the Ministry and it’s outdated laws,” Harry agreed, finding the entry for the day Hermione became an unspeakable.

2^nd September 2002

My application was successful, I had a meeting with Head Unspeakable Crank this morning. I was so nervous; I couldn’t drink the Pumpkin Spiced Latte I bought at the Witches Brew this morning. I was so worried that my application wouldn’t be a success. I don’t know what I’d have done if it hadn’t been approved. I considered working with Magical creatures but have already done so much to support them on a legislative level. I also considered going for Healer Training like Draco has but I feel I’ve seen enough broken bodies for a lifetime. The Department of Mysteries however has fascinated me for years, ever since we broke into it all those years ago. There's so much unknown and I love exploring and creating magic. I want to explore the unknown and make the world better somehow. I can’t wait to get started been in my new role as an Unspeakable. I’m not going to be alone, Theo’s application was also a success, I’m glad I will know someone as I start out in this career. Head Unspeakable Crank said I will be assigned to the Time Room to begin with as I have experience in using a Time Turner, most of them were destroyed during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and they have been trying to recreate them ever since. This is a task I can’t wait to get stuck into.

20^th September 2002

Something went wrong today at work; I was filling one of the trial Time Turners with the Sands of Time and accidentally spilt some of the sand onto my hand. I felt the jarring, spinning sensation of time travel and found myself face to face with a man I know to be dead. It was surreal and he was so much younger than I remember. Sirius Black kitted out in his Auror uniform was a sight to see. He stared at me wide eyed and drew his wand on me, he asked who I was but before I could reply I found myself been yanked back into the present. Theo found me after that, I was unconscious on the floor, and he revived me. I made him promise not to tell the other Unspeakables o f the mistake I made, I don’t want Head Unspeakable Crank to change his mind on hiring me.

8^th October 2002

It happened again but I haven’t spilled anymore of the Sands of Time on myself. I was at home petting Crookshanks on the sofa and felt the tug of time travel. I found myself in the Leaky Cauldron, it was a rowdy night and for a moment I thought I was still in the present as I saw a man who I thought to be Harry, he had the same messy black hair and was wearing Auror Robes just like Harry’s. I called out to him and moved towards the bar where he was stood with one of his fellow Aurors, getting drinks after a busy shift no doubt. Harry did not respond, and I tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned around and it was not Harry, he was younger than Harry is though not by much. If I had to guess he’d have been nineteen compared to Harry’s current twenty-one years of age. The man I was looking at looked so much like my best friend right down to the circular glasses, the only difference I could see was in his eyes, they were hazel instead of green. He told me he wasn’t called Harry and asked if I was okay, he said I looked pale. His friend turned around then, a bottle of Firewhisky in his hand and spotted me, his eyes lighting in recognition. It was Sirius Black; he opened his mouth to speak to me, but I felt the tugging of magic behind my navel and awoke alone to a darkened sitting room and a hungry Crookshanks. I wonder if it was just a vivid dream or if somehow, I am transversing time to the First Wizarding War. If I am traveling in time, it is dangerous, I know the secrets to defeat Voldemort. I’d be tempted to change history, but wizards have meddled with time before and wiped out entire families or made the future darker. I can’t play God, even if it is tempting. Hopefully it was just a dream, and it won’t happen again.

12^th November 2002

I thought I was in the clear, over a month has passed since I last felt the pull of time travel, but it’s happened again. Theo and I were working on a prototype time turner, and I found myself pulled once more into the past. Is it a coincidence that I have now come face to face with Sirius Black three times. Today, I was in the past for longer than my previous two experiences. Sirius was in a woodland, in the form of Padfoot, he saw me and transformed back into his human form.

“You again,” he spoke curiously as a howl rent the night air.

“Moony,” I spoke stupidly, and his look turned to suspicion.

“I don’t know how you know that name, but it’s not safe for you to be here,” he commented with narrowed eyes.

“I,” I don’t know what my excuse would have been, I felt myself getting pulled into the future and awoke to Theo standing above me. Theo is mad at me now, I had to admit that there is something wrong with me, that somehow, I am getting pulled into the past. We haven’t told the senior Unspeakables, we are going to try to solve this ourselves.

“We need to speak to Theo,” Ginny commented.

“She saw my dad.” Harry breathed staring down at the diary, wondering what else Hermione had experienced. How many times had she somehow travelled back in time.

“Are you okay love,” Ginny asked him, she took his hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly.

“Why didn’t she tell me,” Harry asked quietly.

“She wasn’t allowed too,” Ginny reasoned.

“We used to tell each other everything, now it seems she has so many secrets,” he commented.

“Even if she was allowed to, she probably wouldn’t have told you, its dangerous to meddle with time Harry. If you knew she was going back to a time when your parents were alive, you’d have wanted her to save them,” Ginny whispered.

“Not if it meant potentially risking the future. I wouldn’t change a thing if it risked the life, we live with Albus and James,” he breathed.

“Back then when this started for Hermione, you didn’t have children,” she told him quietly.

“Your right,” he nodded.

“I usually am, lets pay Theo a visit, I’m sure he has many answers for us, from the sound of it and we can always return to the diary later,” Ginny told him, Harry found himself agreeing. Perhaps Theo could help them get to the bottom of what was going on.

“You do the talking to him Gin, I don’t think I can look at him without the thought of him teaching Hermione the joys of bondage and oral sex,” he shuddered.

“For a guy who I know is very kinky you can be very prudish sometimes love,” she chuckled as they made their way to floo to the penthouse Theo owned.

Chapter 5: Visiting the Nott Penthouse

Notes:

Please pay close attention to the change in tags before preceding with this chapter. Theo needs a hug and shares some very traumatic experiences with Harry and Ginny about his childhood. Triggers apply in this chapter. Includes mention of child abuse and rape/non con of minors. All abuse happened in the past, you can skip past this section of the story if you need too, it gives a back story on Theo and his past relationship with Hermione. If you don't want to read it skip from when Ginny say's “You loved her,” to the section where she say's “If you loved each other so much, why did it end,”.

Thank you for all the feedback so far for this story, I'm glad so many people are enjoying reading it.

“Theo, you need to rest,” Luna’s melodic voice spoke softly to him as she took away the quill he had been writing hurriedly with. He wiped at his aching eyes and looked at his worried girlfriend. Luna was stood beside him in a short sheer floral nightgown, it had daisies artfully placed over it, covering her nipples from view. He could see she was wearing lace pink panties in the same shade of the sheer pink nightgown and was stroking one hand across the gentle swell of her stomach lovingly. Luna’s blonde curls were loose, falling like a waterfall down to her waist and her feet were bare, her nails painted the colours of a rainbow.

“Love, I can’t,” he told her, Luna stepped around his desk, pushing his chair backwards, she straddled his lap and took his face in her delicate soft hands.

“You can’t help Hermione if you are tired my love,” she told him softly, her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue, like a tropical lagoon on a hot summer’s day, they were watering, her worry for him palpable.

“I don’t mean to worry you, my sunshine,” he breathed, he brought one hand to her face cupping it affectionately as he swept away a fallen tear with his thumb all well settling his other hand on her stomach, stroking it lovingly, soothingly.

“I know you don’t love,” she breathed, she leant forward, kissing his lips, one hand still tenderly held against his stubbled jaw while the other tangled its way into his shaggy hair, scratching against his scalp in a way she knew he found soothing. Theo moulded his lips against hers, kissing her back affectionately, nibbling her lower lip, his tongue found hers when his lover let out a little sigh opening her mouth for him to devour.

Despite having had little sleep over the past couple of days, Theo wasn’t surprised to find his cock stirring to life as his witch, wiggled in his lap, sweet, pleasured sounds escaping her as she found friction against the bulge forming under her. Theo moved his hand from her stomach, tracing up her sides with featherlight touches until his thumb traced the circumference of her hardened nipple, Luna groaning into his mouth, her back arching at his touch. Since the start of her pregnancy, her nipples had been incredibly sensitive, Theo pinched the nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, knowing she liked the sudden painful pleasure this action stirred within her. Luna had been like a rabbit in heat since the start of the pregnancy, desperate for sex at all hours of the day, Theo could never say no to his needy little witch when she needed him, he was happy to take care of her sexual urges while her body did all the hard work of growing their twins.

“Oh Theo,” she moaned, pulling free of his lips she kissed and nibbled at his throat, her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt quickly. He massaged her breast with his right hand while his left slid under her nightgown, navigating under the lace of her panties with practiced ease so he could pump two long fingers into her.

“Your dripping love,” he moaned.

“You started without me,” an amused voice spoke, Theo opened his eyes to see Blaise stood in the doorway to his home office, his Italian friend had a smirk on his face as he took in the sight of Luna withering in his lap as Theo continued pumping his fingers into her soaked cunt.

“You didn’t tell me we’d have company tonight love,” he breathed.

“You need to unwind,” Luna whimpered.

“So you invited Blaise over,” he questioned, pinching her clit, Luna nodded, letting out a cry of pleasure.

“You are a little naughty minx,” he whispered, against her ear his eyes fixed on the growing bulge in Blaise’s pants, “for been so naughty, you can suck his cock while I fuck you,” he said this louder, Blaise grinned and crossed the room, quickly removing his trousers and boxers as he palmed his dark thick cock. Luna let out a breathy moan at his words and he could see that her eyes were clouded with lust.

Theo stood up and rearranged Luna, removing her panties as well as his own trousers and boxers before retaking his seat, Luna impaled on his considerable cock. Her back against his chest, she arched into him, whimpering as she began to ride him, her walls clamping tightly around his invading shaft.

“Good girl, now open that pretty mouth for Blaise,” he told her, he held her breasts, pinching her nipples, Luna riding him as one of his best mates stepped towards his lover, who leaned forward her lips closing around his shaft, Blaise let out a hiss, his hands taking hold of her blonde locks as he took control of the pace she used when deepthroating him.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE,” the sound of an unexpected yet familiar voice had all three of them freezing, Theo looked towards the open door taking in the sight of Harry Potters flushed face, partially obscured by the hands he had clamped firmly over his eyes. Beside him, Ginny Potter stood her eyes fixed on the trio, she looked intrigued, her eyes heated, the red headed witch began to chuckle.

“Must you have threesomes with all my friends,” Harry’s voice sounded choked as he stumbled away from the door, “Ginny, I need you to Scourgify my eyeballs,” he bemoaned, Ginny lost it and began to cackle, “this isn’t funny, I can never look at Hermione or Luna the same,” Harry’s voice sounded from outside the room.

“I think we might have to reschedule for another time,” Luna said as she removed her mouth from Blaise’s cock, Blaise nodded, gathering his things he turned on the spot and apparated, half naked form the office he had been standing in.

“Oh, I was looking forward to tonight,” Luna spoke, her voice full of disappointment as she shifted in his lap, Theo letting out an involuntary moan as she removed herself from his cock, Luna whimpered slightly as she did so, Theo steadied her with his hands as she re-found her footing. He could see that her thighs were wet with their combined essence as she lent down and picked up her panties, with great reluctance, he too got up and redressed, aware of the redhead who was still laughing in the doorway, her warm brown eyes still fixed on them, intensely.

“I’m going to have a bath love,” Luna told him, she padded across the room pausing just outside the doorway to the office, “Ginny you seem to have a voyeuristic kink, if you and Harry ever want to join us our door is always open to a foursome,” his sweet lover told her friend, Ginny it seemed didn’t know how to respond to this, Harry however shouted Luna’s name horrified at the thought, Theo couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Potters, how can I be of assistance,” he asked them as he too stepped into the hallway outside his office.

“We need to know what you know about Hermione, Sirius, Time travel and the Vail of Death,” Ginny spoke, suddenly serious. Harry still had his hands over his eyes in terror.

“Come into my office then, Potter stop been a prude you can open your eyes,” he commented as he turned on his heels, leading them back to his desk where he’d compiled everything, he knew on the situation so far. Both of the Potters followed him, Harry uncovering his eyes that were wide with horror as he stepped reluctantly into the room and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk from where the threesome had been occurring.

“Honestly how you and Red have two children if this is how you react to sex,” Theo shook his head at the green-eyed wizard.

“You and Hermione,” Harry blurted out, Theo looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“We’ve been reading Hermione’s journal, you two were together at Hogwarts, had a threesome with Draco,” Ginny clarified.

“Hermione was my first love,” Theo spoke, his voice soft.

“You loved her,” Ginny asked him quietly.

“Before Hermione I’d never loved anyone. I grew up with an evil man for a father who murdered my own mother in front of me when I was five. I was regularly beaten to within an inch of my life and subjected to dark curses including the cruciatus throughout my childhood. I grew up and was expected to act a certain way, to be the perfect heir, to hate those who weren’t pureblooded, I was expected to join Voldemort, marry a woman as equally as pure as I am and to continue the family legacy of causing misery to the scion of our house. No matter how hard I tried I was a disappointment to my father,” he let out a dark chuckle, his eyes fixed on a photo of Luna that sat upon his desk.

“The summer before our sixth year he followed me when I snuck out of our manor to sleep with a halfblooded wizard. Eric was already of age, a prostitute I had met in Knockturn Alley. Father killed him, then almost killed me. He was so disgusted in me, he gave me to Greyback, I was forced to become a member of his pack because my father couldn’t accept that I was bisexual. He banished me from the family and left me to be raped by a pack of deranged animals who instead of killing me turned me into one of them, tainting my pureblood, making me a half-breed. Father took a pureblood mistress the very same day, she was younger than I was, and he raped her intending to sire a new heir, thankfully he was never able to do so, but the experience ruined the poor girl’s life. As much as my father hated me, I hated myself more. I regularly slept with anyone who would have me and used them for my own pleasure,” he told them, pausing to summon a bottle of Firewhisky he took a swig straight from the bottle.

“How did you overcome it, grow to love Hermione,” Harry asked him, both Potter’s looked at him with pity in their eyes. The news of his messed up childhood or teenage sexcapades weren’t new to the couple, he’d spoken out publicly at his fathers trial many years ago and his sex life had largely been public knowledge too, Hermione had been the only person he’d kept completely silent about, only his closest friends and Luna new of their relationship his sixth year, at least that had been the case until the Potter’s unexpected arrival this evening.

“Hermione was everything I was told to hate but she was vibrant, intelligent, and beautiful. When we were paired with each other for potions, I tried to keep my distance but like a moth to a flame I found myself drawn to her. She was the first to learn that I’d been bitten and infected by Greyback, that I had been sexually assaulted by the very pack I was now a member of. I expected for her to be disgusted and afraid but instead she helped me when I hurt myself and brewed me the Wolfsbane potion, so I’d be safer. She showed me unconditional care and friendship during the first half of the year, and I couldn’t help but to fall for her. She knew of my reputation, and I could have so easily ruined hers, but she let me kiss her, touch her and I experience what it meant to love someone and be loved equally in return. In ways she heeled parts of me that had been broken for years. Hermione never pitied me, she saw me as a survivor worth loving,” he told them reminiscently, pouring the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, he raised it to his mouth and took a long sip, blinking away the tears that rose at the memories of that time in his life when he was a scared teen, hiding his status as a werewolf from the rest of the world.

“If you loved each other so much, why did it end,” Ginny asked.

“He found his mate,” Luna’s voice sounded from the door, Theo grinned at her, her hair was wet and plaited, and she’d changed into leggings and one of his old soft quidditch t-shirts.

“I found my mate,” he nodded at the couple opposite him, opening his arms for Luna to settle herself, sideways on his lap, he rubbed her tummy absentmindedly and kissed her cheek, “how was your bath love,” he asked her quietly.

“Lonely,” she replied.

“I’ll join you next time,” he promised, nuzzling against her clavicle, where the silver scar of his mating bite marked her flesh.

“If your mates, why do you share her, aren’t you meant to be possessive of a mate,” Harry asked, the bespectacled man looked confused and hesitant as he asked this question.

“Both of us are very open sexually, both of us are bisexual, we like to try new things, explore our kinks. Most werewolves probably are possessive of their mate, Luna is mine, I’d kill for her if I had too, did do during the Battle of Hogwarts. I can be possessive and enjoy sharing her sexually, only I ever come in her and it is me who is mated to her, whose children she carries,” he explained.

“Fascinating,” Ginny breathed, Harry looked a little green, Theo decided to put the man out of his misery.

“I’m sure neither of you want to hear more about our sex lives, you want to compile our information on Hermione’s and Sirius’ situation don’t you,” he spoke redirecting the conversation to the reason they’d invaded his penthouse that evening.

“How many times did Hermione go to the past,” Harry asked him, pulling a navy-coloured journal out of a magically expanded pocket in his dark jeans.

“I know of at least eighty occurrences,” he answered honestly.

“Hermione wrote of feeling the tug of time travel, did she actually move through time or was it just her mind,” Ginny asked him.

“Her entire body and mind were transported through time each time,” he answered.

“How long did she spend in the past,” Harry asked.

“You likely have more information in her journal than she told me, the more she travelled back the more secretive she became of what she had experienced. Time is a funny concept. She’d be gone for a matter of minutes here but could have spent weeks or months in the past,” he told them.

“Why didn’t she change anything,” Harry asked him, Theo looked at him sympathetically.

“She tried to, Time has a way of fixing itself, things happen for a reason, and you can’t change fixed points,” Luna whispered.

“You knew about it,” Ginny asked.

“I’m Theo’s mate, I know everything,” Luna told them sadly.

“What did she try changing,” Harry asked.

“At first, she tried to go to Dumbledore to tell him everything but each time she tried she was tugged jarringly back to the future with horrendous blinding migraines,” Luna told them.

“She tried to tell the Order, tried to tell your mother and father, tried to kill Peter Pettigrew and tried to destroy Horcruxes, she was unable to do anything, Time stopped her each time,” Theo explained.

“Why would Time let her go back if she was unable to change what had happened,” Harry asked desperately.

“So she could meet Sirius,” the soothing voice of Remus Lupin spoke, the older werewolf was now stood in the doorway of the office with a sad smile on his face.

“I thought it best to invite someone who was present during the time Hermione spent in the past,” Luna told the group gathered around Theo’s desk.

“We should invite Draco too,” Ginny suggested.

“I have already sent him a patronus,” Luna commented, distantly Theo heard his floo flaring to life and his best friends muttering about ash been on his robes.

“I suppose the more heads the better,” Theo commented, he’d been struggling to develop a solution to their problem on his own anyway.

“So it’s happening, Hermione is traveling back to before Sirius was in Azkaban, why does this require us to gather together,” Remus asked confused, Luna having not explained the reason of his summons to her home.

“Remus, Sirius is back, he’s alive and in St Mungo’s,” Harry spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on, the man who until recently had been the last of the Marauders. To everyone’s surprise, Remus Lupin a Werewolf, Dueling champion and ex leader of the Order of the Phoenix who was married to Auror Tonks, the current professor of DADA at Hogwarts and a father of three children under the age of ten had fainted at the news of his dead friend’s resurrection. He’d likely have injured himself had it not been for Draco catching him, preventing his head from clipping the corner of an antique sideboard that stood beside the door to Theo’s office.

“I have some smelling salts in my bag,” the healer told them as he lowered their former professor to the ground.

“Awe poor Remus, the news has given him a horrible Wrackspurt’s infestation,” Luna told the room, Theo chuckled fondly at her words, inhaling her sweet scent as Draco revived the older werewolf so they could devise a safe and effective plan for reviving Sirius Black and Hermione Granger.

Chapter 6: A Conference of Sorts

Summary:

Our group share information in the hope of helping Sirius and Hermione.

Notes:

So sorry that it has taken so long to update this story. I won't leave it so long before the next update.

Once Draco had helped Remus to regain consciousness, the older wizard regained his bearings, the group reassuring him that they weren’t joking, Sirius was back and Hermione was pregnant with his best friend’s baby, the group gathered up all of the information they had on Hermione’s and Sirius’ situation. Then the six of them relocated to Theo’s and Luna’s dining room where they could spread out pages of Hermione’s diary, the medical notes Draco had brought with him, and the information Theo had managed to gather from the Department of Mysteries and through his own research with Hermione, that they’d been working on since she’d begun jumping through time to the past.

“Where should we begin,” Ginny asked staring down at the oak table that was laden with documents, the task before them seemed to be a mammoth one, she wanted to be able to help Sirius and Hermione as quickly as possible, but it would take days to comb through Hermione’s diary alone.

“I think Remus should tell us what he knows, he must have seen Hermione in the past,” Luna suggested, the blonde witch smiled at their old professor, while the sandy haired man sighed looking much older than he was before nodding at the table at large.

“Hermione first appeared to Sirius at the end of the September of 1979. We’d been out of Hogwarts for a year, Sirius and James had both been fast-tracked through the Auror Program and had been qualified Aurors for six months. We were all members of the Order and I had begun to make myself known to the Werewolf packs, to see who would fight along side us and who had made alliances with Voldemort,” Remus told them.

“Hermione wrote about their first meeting, it was brief wasn’t it, she appeared in front of him, he drew his wand and then she returned to 2002,” Harry commented, remembering what he had already read of the meeting in Hermione’s diary, Remus nodded.

“That first meeting was short, Sirius tried to find the girl who had appeared before him, said she sparkled golden when she appeared and that it was unlike anything he’d seen before. We all thought he was joking, that it was a prank or something, girls didn’t just appear and disappear in golden sparkling light,” he chuckled.

“But she did, it’s how she reappeared too,” Theo commented.

“How did we not notice her disappearing and reappearing in golden light,” Harry questioned, he was Head Auror, he prided himself on his observational skills, yet his best friend had been experiencing time jumps, romance and had engaged in rituals without him been any the wiser.

“She’s always been good at keeping secrets, she’s also been very reclusive especially over the last year or so, she’s constantly working, constantly missing out on group get togethers,” Ginny whispered sadly.

“We should have checked in more, insisted she come to family meals and things,” he sighed running a tired hand down his face. It was difficult keeping up with everyone, when you worked full time and had a young family. Harry hadn’t felt the need to check in on Hermione, he took her at her word every time she said she was busy with work because Hermione loved work and always had. He’d had other things to focus on, like James who they’d worried about when he hadn’t met his milestones at the same rate as his cousins. The healers had assured them that there was nothing wrong with him and that he’d walk at his own pace, but it had been a worry for them when he was still crawling when other children his age were beginning to toddle around. The day his eldest child took his first steps shouting “Da-da, I got you,” as he stumbled towards Harry was his favourite memory, he’d scooped up his son and grinned at him, peppering his face with kisses.

“Hermione didn’t want to worry you, she thought she could handle everything herself,” Theo told him quietly, a look of guilt flashing across his face.

“Look how well that’s gone, why didn’t you tell someone about it, Theo you knew,” Harry accused, his voice raised at the dark-haired wizard.

“It wasn’t my secret to share, she asked me to not tell the other Unspeakables, made me promise not to tell anyone. I tried to help her the best I could, but she kept so much from me too,” he told him, his voice full of emotion.

“Arguing won’t get us anywhere, Remus please tell us more about the past,” Draco interjected, his voice a soothing baritone that cut through the mounting tension in the room.

“Hermione kept appearing to Sirius from the September of 1979 to the September of 1981. Sirius was beside himself when she disappeared that last time, it was a month before your parents died Harry and I think she’d somehow managed to convey to him that it would be her last time with him, he was distraught and wouldn’t talk to anyone, it was as though she had died, some of us thought she had. I now know that the last time she appeared in 1981 was the day that baby Hermione first used her powers and was registered as a witch with the Hogwarts's registry. It’s my belief that time wouldn’t allow for there to be both a baby and adult Hermione in the same place actively using their powers or else Hermione somehow managed to stop the jumps herself,” Remus told them.

“It could be a case of time not wanting two vastly different versions of the same person in the same moment using magic, or perhaps the sands of time that she accidently poured on herself to start all of this lost their potency. It could be something completely different, something Hermione did or perhaps even the pregnancy,” Theo mused quietly, “Please continue Remus,” he said, pushing his glasses up onto his nose with a single finger.

“At first it was for a few seconds but each time she appeared she stayed longer. She tried to keep her distance, to keep away from Sirius but she couldn’t. Every time she appeared she did so to him, in battlefields, on the Night Bus, in the apartment we shared in London. Eventually she had to speak to him, to us. She had no choice but to,” Remus told them, his eyes reminiscent.

“What happened, how did she and Sirius end up together,” Ginny asked curiously.

“Sirius was instantly smitten with the girl who glowed golden, appearing like his very own guardian angel. More than once she appeared during battles and saved his arse from Death Eaters before disappearing again. He had no idea who she was, but he was infatuated and wanted to know everything about her. After one such save before she could disappear, he kissed her, in the middle of a battlefield, it was the first time she didn’t disappear quickly, after the kiss he asked her what her name was and she told him before the golden light enveloped her,” Remus told them.

“After that her stays got increasingly longer to the point where she’d spend weeks or months in the past before returning to the present where only a few minutes would have passed since she had left,” Theo commented.

“She tried to keep her distance, but she couldn't help it, she fell in love with Sirius, she integrated into our friendship group and joined the Order,” Remus told them.

“How many times did she travel there,” Luna asked quietly.

“Countless,” Remus sighed, “It is heartbreaking what she had to experience. She loved Sirius, but the time jumps took a toll on her, she knew what was to happen in the future, that Peter was a traitor, that Lily and James would die. She knew everything and at times she was distraught, you could tell she wanted to tell us things, but she physically was unable too, she’d get so distressed and then disappear in a golden glow, often for weeks or sometimes months at a time. She was unable to tell us where she came from, we thought perhaps she’d taken a vow of secrecy,” Remus told them sadly.

“When did you learn the truth,” Draco asked curiously.

“Imagine my surprise when I was asleep after a vicious full moon on the Hogwarts Express and I awake to a thirteen-year-old reading my name off of my suitcase. Her voice was so familiar, like that of Sirius’ guardian angel. I thought perhaps it was a coincidence but then I opened my eyes and saw the same chocolate eyes and chestnut curls, the same freckles covering her cheeks. It was astounding, she was so young but so similar, I went to Dumbledore as soon as we got to the castle, and he too had seen the similarities between the young student and the strange woman who had fought alongside us in the first war. Obviously, we couldn’t tell Hermione anything, she was a young girl and didn’t need to know that her future held time travel, and a relationship with someone who at that time was facing a life sentence in Azkaban,” Remus responded.

“That’s why she was given the Time Turner,” Harry gasped.

“What do you mean Potter,” Draco asked, running a hand through his blonde hair.

“Third year, Hermione did every class going, Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall had petitioned the ministry to lend her a Time Turner for the duration of the year. I always found it stupid that they’d trusted a teenager, even one as smart as Hermione with such a powerful device, perhaps it was a way of preparing her, so she’d understand the complexities of Time Travel in the future when these jumps to the past began to happen,” he commented.

“That does make sense, I haven’t heard of any other students receiving such a device for extra studies,” Remus nodded.

“How did Sirius react when he met our Hermione, after she saved him at the end of her third year,” Luna questioned quietly, rubbing her round stomach soothingly with one hand.

“He was in disbelief; he couldn’t believe it for a long time. He kept away from Hermione as much as he could. He loved the woman she grew to be, not the version of her in the present. He didn’t want to think of them as the same person. To Sirius there was the girl with the golden glow, his guardian angel and soulmate and then there was Hermione Granger, his godson’s best friend who was an incredibly smart teenager.

“Must have been difficult for him,” Theo commented, wrapping an arm lovingly around Luna, his large palm joining hers on her descended stomach.

“He drunk a lot of Firewhisky in that time and kept away from Hermione as much as possible, and then he died and while he was gone, I watched Hermione grow up into the woman that my dead best friend loved,” Remus told them sadly.

“Why didn’t you tell Hermione once she was older, prepare her for what was to come,” Ginny asked.

“It wouldn’t have helped. Since been your professor I have done so much research into time travel, trying to find a way to help Hermione, especially after Sirius died, I didn’t want her to go to the past, to lose more friends and then to return here and loose the love of her life, her soulmate. But nothing I researched could help her. I didn’t want to burden her with what was to come before it did,” Remus responded sorrowfully.

“But he isn’t dead now, she’s somehow brought him back,” Luna commented, “they can be together now,” she told them quietly with a small smile.

“But how did she bring him back is the question, resurrections don’t happen every day. Harry when you used the Resurrection Stone, it didn’t bring back living breathing people, it brought back shadows only you could see. I doubt Black made a Horcrux she could use either, she must have been dabbling in truly dark magic,” Draco spoke, his voice worried.

“She performed a ritual in the Death Chamber,” Theo told them.

“Can you share the details Theo, Head Unspeakable Crank has been very tight lipped, the information he gave the Aurors was heavily redacted,” Harry spoke his voice annoyed.

“I shouldn’t share information from our department but Hermione’s more important than any reprimands’ I might get for sharing information” he responded, “The ritual she performed was old and dangerous, she drained her magical core performing it and could have killed both herself and her unborn child if it had gone wrong. It was a ritual to summon a lost loved one from the Veil of Death. It only works to bring one’s soulmate back and they have to be bonded with blood for it to work. It is my guess that during one of her time jumps, Hermione and Sirius performed an ancient bonding ritual and shared their blood with one another, linking their souls together through time and space,” Theo told them seriously, picking up a document from the table he duplicated it an passed it around the table to all of them, the document explained the resurrection ritual that she had performed to them.

“She intentionally got pregnant, during one of her time jumps,” Draco spoke after scanning the document.

“Why would you say that” Harry asked his friend as he slowly read his copy of the document and began looking at the diagrams that depicted lovers slicing open their palms in an ancient marriage bond, and a naked witch in a ritual circle trying to summon her lost lover. It required complex potions, expensive ingredients and came with a warning that it didn’t often work and could prove deadly to the person trying to bring back the deceased party.

“Blood calls to blood, she intentionally got pregnant. The baby she carries is a Black, is Sirius’ child. Sure they held their sliced palms together in a marriage ritual so a small amount of his blood flows through her veins, but she wanted this to work, Hermione wanted the man that she loves to be here in the present. She increased her chances that it would work by getting pregnant, the child’s blood and magic called out with hers to its father,” Draco explained, Theo nodded excitedly.

“Exactly,” the Unspeakable told his friend.

“Shouldn’t it have brought back the Sirius who impregnated Hermione, the one from 1981,” Harry asked confusedly.

“No because it was a ritual to bring back the dead. Sirius Black died on the 18^th of June 1996, falling into the very same archway of death that Hermione summoned him from nine years later.  His younger self did not die so could not be summoned, I expect it was easier to summon him than most, he physically fell into it when Bellatrix killed him while for most people there is no physical form to pull out, only their souls as they leave for their next adventure,” Luna mused, Harry nodded in understanding at her words and opened his mouth to respond but a dove patronus flew into the room and landed before Draco.

“Healer Malfoy, Sirius Black has awoken,” a female’s voice intoned from the corporeal patronus before it faded into nonexistence.

“I guess we should head to St Mungo’s,” Draco said raising from his seat, Harry shook his head.

“We don’t all need to go, its late. Ginny you should go to the Burrow and get the boys, head home, and get some rest. Luna you and Theo should rest up too, you both look exhausted. Remus and I will come with you Draco, we don’t know what state Sirius is in, familiar faces he trusts should hopefully sooth him. We don’t know what he remembers, his last memory could be dying, or appearing to me from the Resurrection Stone or perhaps memories from beyond the Veil,” he told them worriedly, he kissed his wife’s cheek and rose to his own feet ready to go and speak to his resurrected godfather in the hospital. If Sirius had awoken then hopefully that meant that so too would Hermione, after all both of their magical cores had been drained when they’d been found in the Death Chamber, hopefully they’d both just needed to rest for a bit so their cores could replenish and restabilise. He hoped that was the case and that his best friend would wake up soon.

Notes:

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments and Kudos are encouraged.

Chapter 7: Sirius’ Vigil

Summary:

Sirius awakes disoriented and protective, learns of Hermione's pregnancy, and professes his undying love while clinging to hope for their future.

Notes:

Sorry for the long Hiatus on this story. I hope you enjoy this update.

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the windowpanes; it cast a web of shifting shadows across the hospital room, the only witness to Sirius Black’s rampant vigilance. He stood at the foot of Hermione’s bed with his wand clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with a potent mix of anxiety and determination. His sharp grey eyes darted to every corner, every anomaly in the gloom, as if his very life depended on catching even the smallest hint of danger. Constant vigilance had once been his shield, and now, resurrected, and disoriented, it became both his armour and his torment.

Around him, remnants of overturned potion bottles and shattered equipment lay scattered on the floor. The chaos was not random; it was the physical echo of a man battling confusion and mistrust, the aftermath of a resurgence into a world that had moved on without him. The healers had long since retreated, their whispered conversations fading into the corridor’s distance; despite any soft words of reassurance, Sirius trusted nothing and no one. His gaze never wavered from Hermione, his Angel, who lay pale and motionless on the bed. To Sirius, her fragility was unbearable; it called him to protect her with every fibre of his being. He did not fully understand how she had come to be in such a state, but he knew one immutable truth: she had fought for him. In his heart, that was enough to forge an unbreakable resolve. She would not face harm while he stood guard.

The door creaked open, and Sirius stiffened instantly; his wand snapped into position, ready to ward off any perceived threat. His breath came low and measured, misting in the cool night air as he aimed at the approaching figures. Harry Potter stepped inside, followed by Remus Lupin and Draco Malfoy. Their faces were etched with concern and exhaustion, but in Sirius’s eyes they were mere shadows of suspicion until proven unequivocally true.

"Stop right there," Sirius barked sharply, his voice slicing through the silence like broken glass. "I do not care who you think you are. You come any closer, and I will hex you into next Tuesday."

"Sirius, it’s me, Harry," came the immediate reply. Harry raised his hands in surrender, his tone steady yet laced with caution. "It is safe. You are safe."

"Safe? Safe?" Sirius repeated, his voice rising in a crescendo of paranoia and raw emotion. "I do not know where I am or what is going on but let me make one thing perfectly clear. I do not trust a bloody word until I know you are who you say you are."

At that moment, Remus stepped forward with measured movements and open, visible hands. "Sirius, it is me, Remus. You are in St. Mungo’s. You are alive, and Voldemort is gone. Let us explain."

Sirius’s eyes narrowed further. "I will decide when and who to trust, thank you very much," he snapped. He flicked his wand toward Remus for a heartbeat before returning it to Harry. "You say you are Harry Potter? Prove it. Answer my questions."

Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Remus; uncertainty ebbed over him like a tidal wave. "What kind of questions?" Harry asked, his voice barely concealing his apprehension.

Sirius’s gaze turned icy. "Question one: What was the very first thing you said to me when we met in the Shrieking Shack?"

Harry paused, his mind sifting through the fragments of that fateful encounter. Finally, with careful deliberation, he replied steadily, "I said you were a murderer and told you to stay away from me and my friends."

"Correct," Sirius said curtly, as though stamping approval on the memory. "Question two: What is my Animagus name?"

Without hesitation, Harry answered, "Padfoot."

"Good. Question three: What is my favourite Quidditch move?" Sirius continued, his tone picking up a glimmer of reminiscent warmth even as he maintained his guarded stance.

Harry offered, "The Sloth Grip Roll. You once said it was stylish, yet effective."

A small smile tugged momentarily at the corner of Sirius’s lips, a memory of simpler, wilder days. "Question four: What were you holding the day you summoned me with the Resurrection Stone?"

Harry’s voice softened further, laced with tender recollection. "The Golden Snitch that I caught in my first match."

"Very well. Final question: What did you say to me when I disappeared into the Veil?" Sirius demanded, his gaze unwavering and his tone heavy with unsaid questions.

With a whisper thick with raw memory, Harry answered, "I shouted your name."

For a long, weighted moment, silence reigned as Sirius remained frozen, wand still raised, his eyes locked onto Harry with an intensity that transformed the room into a crucible of memories and emotions. Then, slowly, he lowered his wand. His posture gradually relaxed as the fiery suspicion in his eyes softened. "All right. You pass."

Turning his attention to Remus, Sirius said, "You are next. Five questions."

Remus raised both hands slightly and spoke in a calm, measured tone that belied the turmoil of the moment. "All right, Sirius. Ask away."

"Question one: What did you first say to me when we met on the Hogwarts Express?" Sirius asked in a low, almost mournful growl.

"You offered me a Chocolate Frog and asked if I knew how to get rid of Peeves," Remus replied.

"Correct. Question two: What spell did we use to charm Filch’s trousers, so they changed colour during our fourth year?"

"Colorus Varian; I recall we made them flash pink and purple and Filch only noticed at the end of the day," replied Remus evenly, a faint mirth softening his tone at the memory of youthful mischief.

"Question three: Where did you and I hide when McGonagall nearly caught us sneaking out after curfew?" Sirius continued, as if each question dredged up both nostalgia and pain.

"Behind the portrait of Boris, the Bewildered," Remus said firmly.

"Question four: What did I say to you the night I found out James was gone?" The weight of that night seemed to crack the air, and even Sirius’s hardened tone softened with grief.

Remus closed his eyes momentarily, as if summoning that memory, then answered, "You said the world no longer made sense."

"Question five: What did I ask of you regarding Harry the day I was arrested?" Sirius demanded.

"To ensure he grew up knowing the truth about his father," Remus replied quietly.

Sirius stared at him for a long, contemplative moment before finally lowering his wand further. "Pass."

Sirius then turned his unyielding gaze toward Draco. Before he could utter his first question, Harry stepped forward with determined authority. His voice rang clear through the charged silence: "Sirius, wait. I vouch for Draco’s identity. I trust him with my life, just as I trust every one of us who have been through everything together."

For a long, suspended moment, Sirius’s eyes flickered back and forth between Harry and Draco. Slowly, as if surrendering to the truth in Harry’s words, Sirius set his wand aside without any further inquiry toward Draco.

Harry exhaled deeply and took a hesitant step forward. "Sirius, it is really over. You are alive. Voldemort is gone. Hermione brought you back."Sirius turned his gaze toward Hermione, his face now a tapestry of conflicting emotions, relief, sorrow, and a dawning hope. "She brought me back," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "but why, how?"

Draco cleared his throat carefully and stepped forward with the measured calm of a seasoned professional. "She performed a ritual in the Death Chamber," Draco began in a grave tone, "one that required everything she had. Her magical core was nearly drained from the effort. There is, however, one more truth that you need to know." Draco paused, his eyes locking with Sirius’s in a moment of shared destiny. "Hermione is pregnant."

At those words, time slowed to an almost unbearable crawl. Sirius’s eyes widened, and his breath hitched as if gripped by an invisible shock. The revelation struck him like a sudden, brilliant lightning bolt; it was both terrible and beautiful. Emotions swirled within him in a maelstrom of astonishment and overwhelming tenderness. For several heartbeats the room seemed to hold its breath.

Then Harry stepped closer, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Sirius, listen. The baby, this little life growing inside Hermione, has your blood in it. I know how deep your feelings run for her. There is no doubt in my mind that this child, too, shares that bond. That child is yours."

A long, tremulous laugh bubbled from Sirius’s lips, a laugh that mingled disbelief with bittersweet joy. "Of course, the baby is mine," he managed through tears, his voice cracking with both humour and aching sentiment. "Hermione is my soulmate, my Angel, and I have dreamed of this day every single moment I was apart from her."

Overwhelmed by a tidal wave of long-suppressed emotions, Sirius sank to his knees beside the bed. He reached out, grasping Hermione’s hand as if by holding her he could tether himself back to a life filled with light and love. His eyes glistened with tears as he whispered, "Angel, please, wake up. I have missed you beyond words. Every moment apart has been a lifetime ripped from my soul. Now that you carry not only your life but our future, every hardship, every sacrifice, tells me that it was meant to lead us to this moment. Come back to me."

As Sirius’s plea reverberated through the quiet room, a fragile hope began to fill the space. The room, once heavy with dread and suspicion, now pulsed with a promise of renewal. Memories flooded Sirius’s mind, the laughter shared in sunlit Hogwarts corridors, whispered confidences in shadowed corners, stolen moments of tenderness amid war. Each memory glowed now with the deep, unyielding love that had sustained him through years of exiled darkness.

Harry and Remus exchanged gentle, understanding glances. Behind them, Draco’s expression shifted from professional reserve to genuine empathy. It was as if the revelation unlocked something within each of them, a mutual recognition of what was at stake. Harry placed his hand on Sirius’s shoulder, steadying him as he said softly, "I know how hard it has been, Sirius. I know how deeply you have longed for her. And now that she carries our future, it confirms everything. We are a family, bound together by love and sacrifice."

Sirius’s voice broke as he continued his desperate plea, "Angel, I have waited so long. Every day without you was a darkness I could not escape. I remember every laugh, every touch, every secret smile. I have clung to that memory all these years, praying that someday I might see you again. Now, with you back before me in this fragile state, I beg you: let me hold you once more, let me see your eyes open. Let our future begin."

Outside, the night air itself seemed to pause in silent anticipation, as though the universe recognised the gravity of their reunion. All the sounds, distant conversations, soft footsteps in the corridor, receded before the pounding of hearts in that sacred moment.

Draco moved closer, his professional calm softening with genuine concern. "She is improving," he murmured in a low, careful tone. "Her magical core is stabilising. She is strong, and she will pull through. We must have faith that she will wake when the time is right."

Remus nodded, his eyes shining with quiet compassion. "Sirius, we have witnessed miracles before. Lives have been reborn from the darkest depths. Hope endures even in the bleakest moments."

As if stirred by these words, in the wake of such raw sincerity, Hermione’s hand twitched ever so slightly. That tiny movement sent an immense wave of relief crashing over Sirius. Energy, fragile yet potent, blossomed in his chest. "Angel," he whispered again, his voice trembling with equal parts urgency and tender longing, "please, wake up.

In that moment, memories and emotions converged, a lifetime of love, hope, and promise weaving together in a crescendo of heartache and joy. Sirius’s laughter mingled with tears as he recalled every cherished moment of their past, every fragment of a time when life was simpler, and love was undaunted by loss. "Of course, the baby is mine," he repeated softly, his voice imbued with joyful certainty and the bittersweet weight of fate. "It is as if destiny itself has conspired to bring us back together, even after death. You are my soulmate, my Angel, and nothing in this broken world can ever change that."

Harry stood near, his eyes steady and kind; Remus offered a silent blessing in his gentle gaze. Together, they formed a bastion of hope, vowing that no matter how long the night, no force of darkness could ever extinguish the promise of new beginnings. The hospital room, once laden with uncertainty, now pulsed with an emerging light, a light born of their unyielding love and the miracle of a future reborn.

Slowly, as if drawn by the gravitational pull of love and destiny, Hermione’s eyelids fluttered and her hand, still held by Sirius, moved more decisively. In that charged, sacred moment, time itself seemed to slow further. The four hearts in the room, Sirius’s, Hermione’s, Harry’s, and Remus’s, beat as one, united by the miracle of life, love, and hope renewed.

Sirius’s voice, now clear and determined, whispered once more with quiet conviction, "Wake up, Angel. I am here. You are safe. We are safe." And with that, amidst tears, joyful laughter, and the tender hum of emerging hope, the promise of their future was sealed as an unbreakable vow, a vow that no darkness or grief could ever shatter.

Notes:

Thank you for reading. 😀

Chapter 8: Healing and Revelation

The soft glow of early morning seeped through the tall, narrow windows at St. Mungo’s, bathing the recovery ward in hues of gentle gold and lavender. In one quiet, private room, Hermione lay on a featherbed dressed in crisp pastel linens that spoke of renewal and hope. Where once pain and despair had marred her features, now the slow return of colour in her cheeks and the steady rhythm of her breathing signalled that healing had finally taken root. Each measured breath, every small shift, echoed like a note in a symphony of quiet recovery, gradual, tender, and full of promise.

At the foot of her bed, Sirius sat in a well-worn velvet chair, his hand resting tenderly atop hers as if he could imprint the memory of her warmth onto his heart. His eyes, soft and bright with unshed tears, moved slowly over Hermione’s delicate features. Every subtle flutter of her eyelids, every gentle movement of her hand, filled him with relief and a fierce certainty that the love they shared had finally bridged the long separation. In a low, trembling murmur meant only for her, he whispered, “Angel, each new breath you take fills me with strength. I have waited through endless nights for the promise of this day, the moment you would return to me, whole and hopeful.”

Outside her room, the corridors of St. Mungo’s buzzed with quieter voices and the soft clatter of caring footsteps. In a sunny nook near a broad window overlooking a newly blossomed garden, Harry, Remus, and Draco gathered together. The garden, bursting with vibrant wildflowers and carefully tended hedges, served as a living emblem of the regeneration taking hold in every heart present. Their hushed conversation mingled memories of brighter days with tentative dreams of a future filled with laughter.

A gentle knock on the door signalled the arrival of an important visitor. Earlier that morning, an extra copy of The Daily Prophet had arrived with a special edition that bore the bold headline:

  “Miracle of Renewal: Minister Shacklebolt Announces the Return of Sirius Black!"

The article detailed how, through a rare act of love and unfathomable magic, Sirius – long believed to be lost – had been restored to life. The careful words spoke of second chances and the power of hope, sending ripples of relief and wonder through the Wizarding community.

Shortly after, Ginny, Luna, and Theo stepped gracefully into Hermione’s room, adding a comforting warmth to the atmosphere. Ginny’s protective smile and gentle tone immediately brightened the space as she knelt beside Hermione’s bed. “Hermione, how are you feeling today? I have been praying every moment for you to find your strength again,” she said softly.

Luna, her gaze distant yet tender, added, “Your recovery sparkles like a constellation coming into focus, dear one. I always trusted that the universe would guide you back to us.” 

Theo, observant and quietly wise, simply murmured, “After the longest night, the dawn always arrives. We are here with you.”

Later that afternoon, when the initial excitement had dimmed into a more reflective calm, Harry found a quiet moment by the window. He retrieved the extra Daily Prophet and carefully read its headline and article. The news that Sirius had returned was more than just wonder, it was a turning point, a promise that the darkness was finally receding. With a quiet smile, he folded the paper and made his way back into the room.

As the warm glow of the setting sun filled the space, the room’s atmosphere shifted to one of intimate conversation. Harry pulled up a chair beside Hermione, the soft light intertwining their shadows on the wall. After a long pause amid the quiet hum of the ward, he spoke in a low, earnest tone.

"Hermione, there is something I have been meaning to ask. We have been as close as siblings through every trial, sharing our hopes and our fears. Yet, throughout all of it, you kept so many things hidden. Why did you keep everything a secret from me?"

Hermione’s eyes, now clear and bright with renewed hope, met his. With a slow, regretful sigh, she squeezed his hand gently. "Harry, I was terrified. I feared that if I revealed every detail of my struggles, even the painful, hidden parts, it might burden you or change the way you saw me. I thought that by keeping my worries to myself, I could protect our bond."

Harry leaned in, his eyes glistening with understanding and tenderness. "Hermione, our strength has always come from facing everything together. I need to know every part of you, even the difficult parts. Secrets only create distance, and I want us to rebuild that closeness of complete honesty." 

Her gaze softened further as she whispered, "I promise, Harry, from now on we share everything. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark."

Their intimate exchange, laden with honest vulnerability and renewed trust, filled the quiet room with a promise of deeper connection.

Not long after their conversation, a soft knock announced the approach of another caring presence. Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room with his measured grace, his dark eyes reflecting both concern and a steadfast reliability. Setting himself beside Hermione’s bed, he offered a kind, but firm, smile.

“Hermione,” Kingsley began, his voice gentle yet carrying an unmistakable authority, “it is heartening to see you recovering so well. However, I must speak frankly with you.” 

Hermione looked up, a trace of apprehension mingling with gratitude in her eyes.

“You gave us all quite a scare, dear,” he continued. “Your act of bravery, of risking everything to restore Sirius, was nothing short of miraculous. But you must understand, your actions did not occur in a vacuum. You frightened everyone who cares for you.” 

Hermione’s gaze dropped, her hands fiddling with the edge of her blanket. “I only wanted to save him,” she admitted softly. “I was convinced there was no other way. I never meant to put you all in danger or to cause such worry.”

Kingsley’s tone softened as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know your heart was in the right place, and your courage is truly commendable. But, Hermione, your life is precious, not just to you, but to everyone who loves you. Please promise me that, in the future, you will be more cautious. We cannot afford another scare, not when you are the one who holds so many of our hopes.” 

Hermione looked up into his compassionate eyes, a mix of regret and resolve filling her voice. “I understand, Minister. I assure you; I will be more careful. I will lean on those who care about me rather than risk everything on my own.” 

Kingsley nodded, his face registering relief and earnest hope. “That is all I ask. You have given us a miracle today, Hermione, but please remember that you are irreplaceable. Your brilliance and compassion light the way for us all. Promise me you will not undertake such dangerous measures again.” 

At that moment, Sirius, still holding Hermione’s hand, squeezed it gently. “She has already given us so much by returning to us,” he murmured softly. “Let’s ensure she stays safe, so we can build our future together.” 

Hermione managed a small, sincere smile. “I promise,” she replied, her voice steady in its determination. “I will trust our family more, and I’ll never let fear shut me off from those who want to help.”

As the evening deepened and the room filled with soft conversations and quiet support, the weight of the day’s events transformed into a tender promise of tomorrow. Outside, the world continued to buzz with the joyous news from The Daily Prophet, a nation now celebrating the miraculous return of Sirius Black. Yet here, in this gentle sanctuary at St. Mungo’s, the reunion of hearts was being written in whispered vows and lingering kisses.

Sirius, emboldened by the tender reassurances and the courageous promise they had all shared, rose from his seat and stepped toward Hermione. With reverence in every movement, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “Angel,” he murmured again, deep emotion resonating in his tone. “I have waited for this day, for the chance to see you whole again. I pledge that from this moment on; I will cherish you beyond all measure. I promise to create a future for us filled with laughter, love, and joy, a future where no fear or regret can tear us apart.”

In that quiet, transformative moment, Hermione’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude and yearning. Slowly, as if drawn by an irresistible pull, she allowed Sirius to close the remaining distance between them. Their lips met in a kiss that was tender and fierce, weaving together every long moment of separation and every dream of a shared tomorrow. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, and Hermione whispered, “I believe in us, Sirius. Together, every promise, every dream can be our reality.”

Surrounded by the soft encouragement of Ginny, Luna, Theo, Harry, Remus, and even the lingering echo of Kingsley’s caution, the room became a sanctuary of renewed hope. Outside, the Wizarding world, alerted by the miracle printed on every page, was learning anew the strength of love and the promise of second chances. In that sacred moment at St. Mungo’s, as old wounds began to fade into memory, Sirius and Hermione forged together their future, a future built on trust, honesty, hope, and the unbreakable bond that had returned to light after the longest darkness.

Chapter 9: New Horizons and Hidden Promises

Summary:

Hermione takes Sirius home and they get married.

Notes:

I am so sorry for not updating sooner. Life has a way of flying by. I was in a slump for a while with my writing and found myself so busy with real life. I have the summer off however so I am working on my WIP's.

Make sure you read the tags, this chapter has explicit sexual contact between Sirius and Hermione while she is heavily pregnant.

Ron hadn’t meant to slam the door, but it happened anyway. The sound echoed through the Burrow like a thunderclap, startling Molly and sending a flock of garden gnomes scattering outside. He stood in the kitchen, still in his Chudley Cannons training gear, clutching the crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet in one hand. The headline glared up at him like a betrayal:

  “Miracle of Renewal: Minister Shacklebolt Announces the Return of Sirius Black!”

His eyes had scanned the article three times, but the words didn’t change. Sirius was back, Harry’s Godfather was alive and somehow Hermione had done it. She’d performed a dangerous ritual alone. No warning. No conversation. No trust. The article didn’t give much information, only what the public needed to know but Ron found himself feeling hurt that Hermione, one of his best friends and ex-lover hadn’t shared with him her plans to resurrect the dead marauder.

Molly stepped into the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Ron, dear? What on earth?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Ron said, voice low and shaking. “Hermione. She brought Sirius back and didn’t tell me. I had to read about it in the bloody paper.”

Molly’s expression softened, but her eyes were wary. “I’m sure she had her reasons, love,” his mother reassured him, her voice a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves.

“She always has reasons,” Ron snapped. “But I thought we were past secrets mum, I thought she trusted me,” he sighed, running a hand through his red hair. After their breakup, Hermione and he had worked hard on rebuilding their friendship. It had taken months of work, but they’d ended up stronger than ever, their brief romance a distant memory. Hermione had always entrusted in him and come to him for help in the past when she needed it but since starting her new job, she’d been distant, not just from him but from everyone. Ron had missed her terribly but respected her need to prove herself in her new position. He’d never dreamed she’d be attempting such a feat as bringing back the dead, that she wouldn’t let him in on her plans before she put them into action. It angered him, what if something had gone wrong, what if she’d been injured or killed.

Later that day, he apparated to St. Mungo’s, his heart pounding with a cocktail of anger, confusion, and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak. He didn’t knock. He walked straight into Hermione’s room, where she sat propped up in bed, her hair brushed, and her cheeks flushed with colour. Sirius was beside her, his hand resting protectively on hers which caused Ron a great deal of confusion.

Hermione looked up and froze. “Ron…”

“You didn’t tell me,” Ron spoke, his voice tight. “You risked your life, and you didn’t tell me, why Hermione,” he questioned her, “I get bringing Sirus back for Harry, he’s lost so much but you didn’t have to do it alone,” he told her, his voice quiet and hurt.

Hermione opened her mouth, but Sirius stood first. “She did what she had to do,” he said, his tone clipped. “She didn’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “She owed me. We’ve been through everything together. I would’ve stood by her. I would’ve helped.”

“Ron, I didn’t bring him back for Harry,” Hermione spoke, her hand reaching forward to lace with the older man’s hand, Sirius glanced down at her with a look of devotion on his face that Ron found shocking.

“I don’t understand,” Ron snapped, looking between the pair of them.

Hermione spoke, her voice trembling; “Ron, I’m sorry. I was scared. I didn’t know how to tell you, to tell anyone, Theo knew some of it but only because he witnessed some of what’s happened since I started at the Department of Mysteries,” Hermione told him. He listened to her voice stumbling through an explanation of accidental time travel, romance and a risky ritual to bring back the love of her life, the father of her unborn child. At some point Ron took a seat, as he listened to everything his best friend had experienced. Ron’s anger faltered. He looked at her, really looked at her. The girl who had once been the fiercest voice in every fight, now sitting in a hospital bed with shadows under her eyes and a softness in her smile that hadn’t been there before.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, “I thought I’d lost you and then I find out you were fighting all this alone, it hurts. I wish I’d been there to support you.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, “Ron I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

Ron reached forward and took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly, “next time, ask, even if it’s terrifying, you me and Harry are a team.  I’d rather face it with you guys by my side than be left behind.”

Sirius watched them, his jaw unclenching. He nodded once, silently, and stepped back.

Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand, “Thank you.”

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to, Hermione would always have his support, she was his best friend and he’d be there for her in whatever capacity she needed.

---

That evening, Hermione left the hospital. The air outside was crisp, the sky streaked with gold and lavender. Sirius helped her into the carriage, and they rode in silence, her head resting on his shoulder. She didn’t take him to Grimmauld Place. She took him to her home where Crookshanks was waiting with a happy meow, having been returned to her home by Harry once her discharge had been confirmed with Draco.

The cottage was tucked into a quiet lane, surrounded by trees that whispered in the wind. It was small, warm, and filled with the scent of lavender and old books. Sirius stepped inside and paused, taking in the framed photographs, the worn armchair, the blanket folded neatly on the sofa.

“This is you,” he said softly.

Hermione smiled. “It’s where I feel safe.”

They ate dinner by candlelight, simple soup and bread with salty Irish butter, their evening was filled with laughter that came easily. Afterwards, Hermione curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, and Sirius sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders, Crookshanks purring in his sleep as he laid by his toes. They kissed slowly, gently, like they had all the time in the world. Her fingers curled into his shirt, his hand found the curve of her waist, and for a moment, the world narrowed to breath and warmth and the quiet hum of belonging.

Later, when she had drifted off to sleep, Sirius carried her to bed. He pulled the covers over her, brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and sat beside her in the quiet.

Her breathing was steady, peaceful and she was so young and beautiful, the way she had looked when he was a young man, having just become an Auror. He was older now, worn, aged, he was nothing like he was when he was a young man in his early twenties, yet Hermione didn’t care, she loved him so much she’d brought him back from the dead.

He looked down at her stomach, barely rounded, and placed his hand there with reverence.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered, “but I want you to know something, I’m going to be here, for you, for her, for both of you,” Sirius’ voice trembled as he placed his hand more firmly, protectively on the gentle swell that housed his future, a child, their child. He’d never dreamed of having a family of his own, not after Hermione disappeared for the last time in the past, or when he was confronted with the teenaged version of her, that night many years before in the Shrieking Shack, certainly not when his cousin killed him, many years before he knew Hermione would travel to his past.

During his final moments he’d felt shocked, unwilling to accept his death as he’d fallen backwards through the archway that claimed his life. As he’d died, he’d realised he’d never have a future with the witch that had stollen his heart, his angel, his saviour. He found himself saddened as death claimed him, because he knew that the young teenaged witch, his godson’s best friend would grow up destined to fall in love with a dead man. He was certain that she was destined for heartbreak, and he didn’t have the power to stop it, to change what would happen in the future because he was dead. For Hermione’s sake, he had hoped that Remus would stop her from going back in time, but selfishly he hoped that nothing would change because to stop her going to his past would mean that he’d never get the chance to experience true unbridled love like that of Lily and James. He didn’t want to lose the woman he loved but felt sorrow for the teenager that had no idea what was to come. Sirius had never felt an attraction to the teenaged version of his witch, but a part of him had longed for her to grow up, to travel through time and become the woman that he adored with his whole heart.

Sirius hadn’t known then that his smart and beautiful witch possessed the power to call him back from the veil. As she slept now, he looked at her smooth features with reverence, thankful for this second, no third chance at life that he had been granted. Sirius’ first two chances had been ruined by incarceration and death, but here now, in the quiet of the home he planned to share with Hermione, Sirius was determined not to make mistakes or ruin this unexpected chance at happiness.

“I’ve made mistakes, I’ve lost people, but I won’t lose you little one, I’ll protect you and I will love you. I’ll be the kind of father you deserve, and I’ll take care of your mum, every day, for the rest of my life,” he promised before he leaned down and kissed Hermione’s stomach, then her forehead, “I love you, Angel,” he whispered, “and I love our little one too.” Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Inside, the cottage was quiet, wrapped in warmth and the soft promise of a future just beginning.

---

The weeks that followed unfolded like petals, slow, tender, and full of colour. Sirius, still adjusting to life outside the veil, found comfort in the rhythm of domesticity. He learned how to make tea just the way Hermione liked it, with a splash of honey and a pinch of cinnamon. He discovered the joy of folding laundry, of chopping vegetables, of waking up to the sound of birds and the scent of fresh bread. He was fascinated by the toaster, baffled by the washing machine, and deeply suspicious of the self-sorting laundry basket until Hermione showed him how to charm it properly.

Hermione, meanwhile, began to swell with pregnancy. Her body changed in ways that startled her, aches in places she hadn’t expected, cravings that made no sense. One morning, she woke Sirius at dawn demanding pickled plums and mint ice cream. He blinked at her, bleary-eyed, and then laughed so hard he nearly fell out of bed.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

“I’m Hermione,” she replied, deadpan, “You’re Sirius.”

He groaned and kissed her nose, “You’re lucky I love you,” he proclaimed, rubbing his hand lovingly across her swollen stomach as he climbed out of bed intent on catering to her latest craving.

She grinned. “I know.”

---

They planned their wedding slowly, deliberately. Hermione wanted something small, something meaningful. A garden ceremony, surrounded by friends and family. Sirius wanted music, real music, not just enchanted strings. They compromised. They chose wildflowers for the bouquet, and Molly offered to bake the cake.

Every evening, they sat together with parchment and quills, sketching out ideas. Sirius was hopeless with calligraphy, but he tried anyway, his tongue poking out in concentration as he wrote her name over and over. Hermione kept every scrap.

They danced in the kitchen, sometimes to music, sometimes to silence. Sirius would spin her gently, careful of her growing belly, and she would laugh, breathless and radiant. He kissed her often, her lips, her forehead, her hands, her stomach. He talked to the baby every night, telling stories, making promises:

“I’ll teach you how to fly,” he whispered once, “not just on a broom but also in life,” Hermione would smile, eyes closed, content to listen to her lover as her hand rested over his large protective one, that always found its way to the swell of her stomach.

Their love was quiet, but fierce. It lived in the way Sirius carried her shoes when her feet ached, in the way Hermione rubbed his shoulders when memories crept in. It lived in the way they held each other in the dark, in the way they never let go.

Some nights, they made love slowly, reverently, as if rediscovering each other with every touch. Sirius would trace the curve of her spine with his fingertips, whispering her name like a prayer. Hermione would kiss the hollow of his throat, her breath warm against his skin, and he would close his eyes and let himself believe that this, this life, this love, was real.

---

Five months passed like a dream, the garden bloomed, the cottage filled with laughter and Hermione’s belly grew round and full, Sirius’ heart growing with it, excited for the day that they’d meet their newborn for the first time. They were building something, not just a life, but a legacy.

The morning of their wedding arrived wrapped in soft mist and birdsong. The garden behind the cottage had been transformed overnight, wildflowers blooming in every shade of spring, ribbons fluttering from low-hanging branches, and chairs arranged in a gentle curve beneath a canopy of trees. The air smelled of lavender and lemon balm, and the sky above was a pale, perfect blue.

Inside the cottage, Hermione stood barefoot on the wooden floor, her white dress flowing gently over her belly. Her hair was loose, soft curls tumbling down her back, and a crown of tiny daisies rested atop her head. She looked radiant, earthy, ethereal, and utterly herself.

Ron and Harry stood beside her, both in dress robes that didn’t quite hide their nerves. Ron kept fiddling with the cuffs, and Harry had already asked twice if he should be holding her arm on the left or the right.

“You both look terrified,” Hermione teased, smiling.

“We are,” Ron muttered. “You’re trusting us to walk you down the aisle. That’s a lot of pressure, are you sure you don’t want your father to do it, I can go and get Dan,” he suggested.

“You’ll be perfect,” she said, reaching out to squeeze their hands. “You always are, you and Harry have been so fundamental in my life, I need you by my side on today of all days,” she commented smiling first at her ex and then at Harry who was her brother in all but blood.

“We won’t let you down,” Harry promised, kissing her cheek.

“Let’s get you hitched love before our niece or nephew is born,” Ron grinned, holding his arm out to her, Hermione beamed, taking hold of first him and then Hary, letting her dearest friends lead her to the man she’d spend the rest of her life with.

---

Outside, guests were beginning to gather. Luna and Theo sat near the front, each cradling a newborn twin, one wrapped in pale blue, the other in soft green. Luna’s eyes sparkled with quiet joy, and Theo looked like he hadn’t slept in days but wouldn’t trade it for anything. Molly was already crying, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief as she arranged wildflowers in the centrepieces. Ginny adjusted the garlands with a practiced hand, and, surprisingly helpful, charmed the chairs to stay level on the uneven grass.

Remus stood beside Sirius at the altar, his robes neat, his expression calm but deeply moved. He reached out and straightened Sirius’ collar, then gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“You ready?” he asked.

Sirius exhaled slowly, “I’ve been ready since the day she brought me back, all I’ve ever wanted is for her to be my wife.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt, tall and dignified in deep plum robes, stood beneath the arch of flowering branches, his wand tucked into a ceremonial sash. His presence was grounding, his smile warm.

The music began, soft strings and a gentle flute, and the garden hushed.

Hermione stepped out, flanked by Ron and Harry. Her bare feet touched the grass like a blessing, and the sunlight caught the curve of her belly, the shimmer of her dress, the quiet joy in her eyes. She walked slowly, deliberately, her hands resting lightly on their arms.

Sirius’ breath caught. He had seen her in every light, fierce, broken, healing, laughing, but never like this. Never so full of life. His eyes filled with tears, and he didn’t bother to hide them.

When she reached him, she let go of Ron and Harry and took Sirius’ hands in hers. They stood together beneath the arch, surrounded by everyone who had loved them through every chapter.

Kingsley’s voice rang out, deep and steady.

“We are gathered here today to witness a union born of courage, forged in love, and sealed by the kind of magic that no spell can replicate. This is not just a wedding, it is a homecoming.”

Hermione’s fingers trembled slightly in Sirius’, and he squeezed them gently, grounding her.

“You have both walked through fire,” Kingsley continued, “and you have chosen each other, not once, but again and again. That is what makes this sacred.”

They exchanged vows written in quiet hours by the fire, promises of laughter and honesty, of shared burdens and gentle mornings. Sirius’ voice broke as he said, “I vow to love you through every storm and every sunrise, to protect you and our children with everything I am.”

Hermione’s eyes shimmered as she replied, “I vow to stand beside you, to trust you, to build a life with you that honours every moment we’ve fought to have.”

Kingsley smiled, his voice warm. “By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic, and by the love that surrounds you, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Sirius leaned in and kissed her, slow and reverent, one hand cradling her cheek, the other resting gently on her belly. The garden erupted in applause, laughter, and tears.

Molly sobbed openly, clutching Arthur’s hand, Hermione’s parent’s both smiled proudly from the front row, each crying as they watch their daughter become a wife. Luna and Theo kissed their twins’ foreheads. Ron wiped his eyes discreetly, and Harry grinned so wide it looked like his face might split.

Remus clapped Sirius on the back as they walked down the aisle together, and Sirius whispered, “Thank you for never giving up on me.”

Hermione laughed, feeling nothing but pure joy in this moment, walking barefoot through the grass, her dress trailing behind her, her hand in Sirius’. The sun was warm, the air was sweet, and every step forward felt like a promise fulfilled.

---

They danced under the stars that night, her belly pressed against him, her head on his shoulder. He whispered things only she could hear about the future, about their child, about how he had never known peace until her.

Once the guests had gone, and the candles had burned low, Sirius carried her inside their cottage where he kissed her slowly, his hands removing her dress with reverence. Hermione wore white lace below, a bralette holding her swollen milk laden breasts and a small pair of soaked lacy knickers. Sirius took in the sight of his bride appreciatively, her stomach round with his child.

“Please,” she groaned, her eyes dark with desire, Hermione had been insatiable throughout her pregnancy, needing his cock at least four times a day. Tradition dictated that you weren’t supposed to see a bride before a wedding however, so it had been over twenty-four hours since he’d last made love to his needy witch.

Sirius kissed at her throat, nipped at her collarbone and sucked on her pulse point, smirking against her skin as she whimpered, her legs spread, the scent of her wet heat, easily picked up by his Animagus senses.

“Hermione Black you are a goddess,” he praised, removing her bra, he kissed her left breast, taking, the darkened swollen nipple into his mouth. It was their first time together as husband and wife and Sirius intended to take his sweet time cherishing her body.

“I need you,” she hissed as he pinched her right breast, his lips suckling the sweet milk from the nipple that was in his mouth. In her frustration, Hermione banished his clothes and the panties she was wearing, one of her hands gripping his curls in a fist as she held him to her breast, Sirius swirled his tongue around the peak in his mouth and then scraped his teeth against the sensitive flesh.

“Oh,” she groaned, Sirius rolled her right nipple, pinching it slightly before taking her entire breast in his hand to squeeze.

“Yes,” Hermione sighed, Sirius then switched his ministrations, suckling milk from her right breast while he palmed at her left, Hermione whimpered. Her hips moving, searching for his cock, Sirius placed his knee in the gap between her thighs, allowing his lover to grind herself against him.

“You’re so beautiful love, round with my child,” he breathed, his mouth leaving her breast as he began to place kisses down her stomach, it was large and round, she was in her third trimester and eight months pregnant after all. She’d always been petite in stature, and she still was, but pregnancy had widened her hips, and her stomach had swelled considerably, looking so large on her small frame. Stretch marks covered the expanse of her stomach and the underside of her enlarged heavy breasts, each dark purple and evidence of the life she carried so wonderfully. Sirius had never before been attracted to a pregnant woman but, if he had his way, he’d keep Hermione this way, round and obscenely swollen with his child. They’d already discussed having more children, both of them wanted their child to have many siblings. Sirius couldn’t wait for her to give birth so they could set about creating their next child.

“Fuck me, please, she begged him as he kissed each line upon her stomach.

“Not yet love, he said as he moved the knee, she had been grinding her wet cunt upon, four fingers easily sliding into her as his thumb found her engorged clit. He pumped his fingers slowly into her as he rolled the sensitive bud; once, twice, trice.  Sirius watched in awe as his wife cried out, her back arching off of the bed of soft pillows she was laid upon, he felt her contracting around his fingers as she came but Sirius did not stop, he continued to play with her clit as he pumped his fingers within her. Hermione closed her eyes, her fingers playing with her nipples, each leaking the milk she was producing for their unborn child, neither of them wanted to know the gender of the life she was carrying, so long as they were healthy, they’d be happy.

“Oh, ah,” she groaned, her eyes opening to lock on his as she came again within minutes of her first orgasm.

“So gorgeous,” he praised her, Hermione smiled at his words, her chest heaving. He removed his hand from within her heat, he looked into her eyes as he brought it to his lips and sucked her juices from his digits, his wife panted, her face and body flushed a beautiful rosy shade of pink.

“Sirius, please,” she begged.

“Mrs Black, you are so needy,” he commented, as he brought his wet hand to his straining cock, palming it, stroking it.

“Let me suck you,” she breathed, her mouth opening, Sirius hissed.

“No love, it’s our wedding night, let me take care of you,” he reluctantly let go of his cock, Hermione looked disappointed but that changed a moment later when he took her by the thighs and spread her cunt wider, bringing his mouth down upon her core, to perform exquisite cunnilingus upon his young wife. Hermione’s hands clenched at his curls, and the sounds that left her lips were explicit and indecent, Sirius loved every moment of it. He made love to her with his mouth, Hermione shaking as orgasm after orgasm crashed down upon her. Sirius gave her three orgasms with his mouth before granting her a moment of mercy.

He sat back on his hunches, his cock aching as he took in his glassy eyed, stated bride.

That was,” she let out a groan, and reached out, her hand taking hold of his cock, “amazing,” she breathed after a pause.

“You’re amazing, he said, leaning down to claim her lips in a heated kiss, letting her taste herself upon his lips.

“Mr Black, I want you to fuck me, I want to go to sleep with your come leaking down my thighs,” she told him as her fist squeezed his cock, Sirius gritted his teeth and closed his eyes at the sensation, unwilling to let himself come before he was within her.

“What position do you want love,” he asked her quietly, this far into her pregnancy they were limited with the positions that were comfortable enough for Hermione to endure as he made love to her.

“I want to be on top,” she replied, Sirius nodded and carefully helped her move, changing their positions so that he was leant back against the pillows while she straddled his cock, he held her right hip while his left hand rested upon her stomach, gentle kicks reassuring him that their baby was safe within their mothers’ womb. With his hands supporting her body, Hermione lowered herself upon his penis, both of them groaning as he filled her.

“Yes,” she whimpered, Sirius was proud of his cock, it was long and thick, and Hermione was made for taking it. He felt the tip of his dick brushing against her cervix and growled, pulling her into a heated kiss, as he helped her rise up and move back down upon his manhood. It was slow but purposeful, he entered her with smooth thrusts hitting the same deep spot within her time and time again. Hermione despite her late stage of pregnancy, met him thrust for thrust. When they came, they came together and he watched her fall apart, shuddering as her strongest orgasm of the night washed over her.

Dark curls loose and long, falling to her widened hips, milk leaking from her swollen tits, leaving white trails down the swell of her stomach that rippled as their child moved within her. Sirius watched her scream, and shudder, her walls clamping upon his cock as he spurted his come within her. He held her as she came, eyes rolling, pussy squirting, he wasn’t surprised that this sixth orgasm had her gasping and panting, slumping against him, her body slack and beyond stated. Hermione’s eyes were fluttering, she was barely clinging to consciousness, he leant in and kissed her sweetly as he gently removed himself from within her, she whimpered at the loss, and he kissed her brow.

“Shush love, close your eyes,” he breathed as he adjusted their bodies, laying her upon the cushions, Hermione did as instructed and he conjured a damp cloth, wiping at her heated skin, he cleaned her milk and juices as well as his spend from her skin and vagina. Hermione moaned as the soft flannel moved across her skin but did not wake, exhausted from their many hours of love making.

Once she was clean, he cleaned his cock and settled in behind her, spooning her body to his chest, his arms wrapping around her to hold her swollen stomach. Sirius allowed himself to fall asleep, his wife and child safe within his arms, as he did so he felt a quiet certainty that this, this life, was theirs and that the future would be bright for their family.

Notes:

One more chapter to go, it is written and I am just finishing up on editing it. I will post it once it is complete, most likely tomorrow.

Comments and Kudos are appreciated. :)

Chapter 10: Epilogue: The Stars We Named

Summary:

This epilogue follows Sirius and Hermione as they cherish family, love, and the quiet joys of life across generations. It celebrates their enduring bond, the legacy of devotion, and the passage of time that makes ordinary moments extraordinary.

Notes:

This chapter is the epilogue, the final chapter of The Return of the Last Black. I first began this story in October 2023, and it has been a long and sometimes difficult journey to reach this point. Writing these ten chapters took much longer than I anticipated, as the past couple of years have brought personal struggles, loss, and challenges that made it hard to focus on fanfiction.

I want to give a content warning: This chapter includes graphic birth scenes, discussions of miscarriage, and depicts a traumatic birth experience. While no miscarriage occurs in this story, the material may be intense or triggering for some readers.

Thank you for following this story to the end. I hope you find the love, family, and hope in this final chapter as meaningful as I do.

Hermione went into labour just after midnight, as a thunderstorm raged outside. Wind rattled the windows, and rain tapped the roof in a steady rhythm. Sirius jolted awake at the sound of her sharp intake of breath.

“Angel… love, are you okay?” he whispered, already halfway out of bed. Her knuckles gripped the edge of the mattress, white and tense. “It’s time,” she groaned, voice tight with pain.

Sirius was upright in an instant, wand in hand. From its tip leapt a silver hound, bounding into the storm with a single, urgent message for Draco: It’s time. Come quickly.

He didn’t panic or freeze. He moved with quiet purpose, lighting the lamps with a flick of his wand before helping Hermione into a soft, dry robe. He magically cleaned the damp sheets of their marital bed, soaked from her waters breaking, murmuring reassurances with every breath: “You’ve got this, Angel. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hermione had insisted on a home birth. “No sterile corridors, no strangers,” she’d said. “I want warmth, and magic, a familiar environment, and you by my side.” Sirius had prepared as if it were sacred work: layering calming charms into the beams, filling the room with lavender and vanilla-scented candles, laying out towels, sheets, and potions sorted by colour. Hermione had laughed, kissed him, and told him she’d rather hear his voice singing to their unborn child than listen to his inventory.

In the months leading up to this night, Sirius had fretted and nested, wanting to be ready for the greatest gift Hermione could give him. All of that careful planning evaporated when he saw her in pain. He held her with steadfast devotion, a calm anchor as her body did what it was made to do. When the first wave of contraction hit, she buried her face in his shoulder, and he bore her weight as if it were a vow.

Between contractions, he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, breathing her in as if it steadied him as much as it soothed her. His hand spread over the small of her back, warmth and pressure moving in rhythm with her breath. In the brief quiet, he murmured her name; she answered with a gentle touch to his jaw that said everything words could not.

Draco arrived within minutes, calm, focused, drenched, sleeves rolled. He knelt beside Hermione, voice low and steady. “You’re doing beautifully. Just breathe with me. You’re strong, Hermione. You’ve already done the impossible, this is just the next miracle.” He checked her pulse, wand arcing over her body to conjure the rhythmic heartbeat of their child. Hermione whimpered, and Sirius encouraged her to match her breathing to his, as Luna had taught them in Lamaze classes.

Sirius never left her side. He held her hand through every contraction, whispered love into her ear, kissed her damp forehead, and reminded her she was magic incarnate. When the pain peaked, she pressed into him, and he held her as if he could absorb it all. He tucked curls behind her ear, steadied her rhythm with his own, kissed her temple, and whispered, “Right here. Always. I’ve got you. I love you, Angel.”

As the storm softened and dawn approached, their daughter entered the world with a fierce, indignant cry. Hermione trembled with relief. Sirius laughed and wept at once as the tiny body unfurled against Hermione’s chest.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, awe-struck. They named her Lyra, and the axis of their life shifted to revolve around this precious life, their daughter who expanded their family so perfectly. In those quiet hours before dawn, emotion surged through both parents. For Hermione, it was relief, exhaustion giving way to the overwhelming joy of having brought life into the world. Tears fell freely, not just from pain, but from gratitude. Their daughter’s cries were hope realized, every fear and ache eclipsed by awe.

For Sirius, the moment was transformative. Seeing their child’s dark curls and grey-blue eyes, distinctly both of them, filled him with wonder and pride. He was humbled and electrified, caught between astonishment and gratitude, feeling the axis of his world shift to revolve around this new life. Love, reverence, and relief bound them closer than ever, sealing their family in that first, extraordinary moment.

This moment marked the beginning, their family, destined to grow, expand, and change through the years, anchored in love, laughter, and the quiet magic of shared life.

---

During the first war, Sirius had been an Auror, fierce, fearless, always the first through any door, the first to face danger head-on. He had fought because he believed it was the only way to protect the people he loved. But after being granted not just a second but a third chance at life, the need to fight had vanished. He had already lost too much. Now, he chose to live. To love. To build. With Lyra breathing softly on his skin and Hermione’s hand laced with his own, the urge for battle no longer stirred within him.

Since his return from the dead, Sirius treated every day as a gift: kissing Hermione like the sunrise, laughing without restraint, crying when grief or joy struck, storing happiness as though it were treasure. Sirius had survived the war, and in surviving, he discovered that life could be far more thrilling in its quiet moments than in duels or daring escapes. He abandoned the Auror Office, traded his wand for flour-dusted robes, and found magic in small, ordinary wonders: the curl of a baby’s hand around his finger, the squeal of a child landing her first broomstick flight, the mischievous grin of a daughter hiding her homework in the dog’s bed.

Throughout everything Hermione remained beside him, brilliant and unwavering, her mind as sharp as ever, but softened now with the gentleness of home. Together, they built a life that required no battles, no accolades, only laughter, curiosity, and the slow, beautiful weaving of a family. The kitchen was always warm, the floors perpetually sticky with treacle tart or spilled pumpkin juice, and Sirius could often be found reading in absurd voices, inventing stories as dramatic as any prophecy, while Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled, secretly delighted. He never returned to the Auror Office. He didn’t want to. He became a stay-at-home father, devoted, and delighted, wearing flour on his robes and baby spit on his shoulder with pride, building pillow forts that defied gravity, reading bedtime stories in silly voices, and teaching their children how to fly before they could walk properly.

Hermione’s work as an Unspeakable changed the world. She pioneered magical-muggle integration, developed spell-safe technology, and after years of research created a cure for lycanthropy. Remus and Theo were her first patients. Both cried when she told them, and she cried when it worked.

Eventually, Kingsley stepped down as Minister for Magic, and there was only one name he put forward to replace him: Hermione. She hesitated in accepting the nomination, Sirius did not, “you were born for this,” he said encouragingly, holding her hand, “you’ve already changed the world, now you get to lead it.” After many pro and con lists, she accepted, knowing that she had the support of both her husband and their family. Sirius had no doubt that Hermione would win the election and at the age of thirty-two he stood with pride as his wife became the youngest female British Muggle-born Minister in history, after eighty nine percent of eligible voters, voted for her to lead their nation.

Their family grew. Sirius used to joke that they were trying to outnumber the Weasleys, a comment Hermione laughed at for years, amused by his exaggeration. But year after year, their brood grew, until the joke had become truth: they had doubled the number of children Molly had ever borne. Hermione, round with another child, would laugh and kiss him, her eyes glowing. “You’re the one who keeps saying ‘just one more.’” “I can’t help it,” he’d reply. “You’re never more beautiful than when you’re carrying our future.” Each new arrival brought more chaos, more laughter, and more love, until their home was a whirlwind of sticky floors, small feet, and the endless, beautiful noise of family.

---

There firstborn Lyra Black grew up beneath the apple trees, her childhood marked by Sirius’ affectionate chaos and the warmth of their close-knit magical family. From an early age, Lyra displayed a quiet confidence and a gentle curiosity, listening more than she spoke but rarely missing a detail. She adored stories, especially those Remus read to her in a soft, rolling tone, and she loved the starlit lessons from Sirius, who taught her to trace constellations with her wand in the night air. Outdoors, she felt most at home, barefoot in the garden, collecting unusual stones and leaves, or befriending the hedgehogs and Nifflers that wandered through their garden. Lyra’s interests spanned magical creatures, simple healing spells, music on a battered piano, and hours spent crafting small gifts for her siblings. She wasn’t the loudest, but she was the steadfast presence they all leaned on as the eldest of the Black siblings, she was empathetic, creative, and wise beyond her years. Curious about everything, Lyra pursued Arithmancy and Astronomy, loving both the logic of numbers and the mysteries of the stars. She blended Sirius’ daring with Hermione’s thoughtful kindness, and in a world of bold personalities, she shone quietly, her gentle heart the steady pulse at the centre of the Black family.

Cassiopeia, arrived next, her godparents, Ron, and Susan Bones, newly in love after Susan had mended Ron’s arm in a Quidditch accident gifted her a miniature Cannons jersey and a rattle disguising a diagnostic charm. Ever regal and self-assured, Cassie ruled her corner of the world with grace and a dash of mischief. She loved magical history, spell work, and directing her siblings in elaborate plays, but also relished a challenge, be it learning ancient runes or persuading adults to see things her way. One sunny afternoon, Sirius set off through the orchard to call Cassie in for tea, only to pause behind an apple tree at the sound of laughter. There, he found Cassiopeia in quiet conversation with Scorpius Malfoy, cheeks flushed, just as Scorpius leaned in for a shy first kiss. Cassie met Sirius’ surprised gaze without embarrassment, simply arching an eyebrow as if daring him to make a scene; Sirius, torn between amusement and parental outrage, just shook his head and called, “Tea’s ready, don’t be long,” before retreating, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

Beatrice entered the world showing curiosity and intelligence. At the age of six, she corrected a visiting professor's reasoning during a lecture and then climbed a tree in her dress robes to read a spell craft compendium. Her godparents, Theo, and Luna gave her an annotated Arithmancy book and a crown of dirigible plum blossoms, each stating their gift was the "more important" one. As she grew older, Beatrice displayed an adventurous spirit, often wandering through the family's library to discover rare magical texts or experimenting with charms in the garden. She formed close bonds with both her parents and godparents, eagerly participating in lively debates about magical theory at family gatherings. Her love for learning extended beyond books; Beatrice enjoyed exploring hidden corners of the countryside, sketching fantastical creatures she observed in the wild. Her inquisitive nature and quick wit earned her admiration from peers and mentors alike, and she became known for her imaginative ideas and ability to solve problems with unusual solutions.

Elara and Altair were welcomed simultaneously during a snowfall, their cries occurring together as Draco and Astoria, serving as godparents, arranged for the crib to display an accurate map of the stars above the orchard. From their earliest days, Elara showed a calm curiosity, quietly observing her surroundings with wide, thoughtful eyes, while Altair was energetic and expressive, always reaching out for movement or warmth; the twins often clasped each other's hands as they slept beneath the gentle illumination of starlight projected from their crib. As the snow settled outside, their presence filled the orchard home with a sense of wonder and promise, hinting at a bond that would only deepen as they grew. Elara’s fascination with constellations and storytelling led her to spend hours tracing her fingers across patterns in star maps, while Altair’s passion for music and inventing games brought laughter into every corner of their home, and together they shared a close relationship with their siblings, joining in adventures, settling quarrels quickly, and supporting each other’s dreams. Their strongest friendship outside the family blossomed with Remus’ daughter Celina; at five, both solemnly declared intentions to marry her, much to the delight of amused parents, and their older siblings organized a whimsical ceremony, complete with conjured blossoms and teacakes, while the adults looked on with smirks and gentle applause, celebrating the innocence and joyful imagination of childhood.

Viola arrived softly. At seven, she helped Sirius and Draco nurse a rescued owl. Blaise and Daphne, her godparents, gave her a silver locket and promised she'd always have treacle tart. From an early age, Viola’s fascination with magical and non-magical creatures was evident, she adored every living thing, large or small. She regularly brought home stray kneazle’s, Niffler pups, orphaned pixies, and once even a teacup dragon, much to the household’s astonishment. As a result, the house blossomed into a sanctuary filled with the cheery chaos of chittering, hooting, and the soft patter of paws and wings. Her compassion inspired others, including her best friend Lily Potter, who loved spending afternoons helping Viola care for each new arrival. Together, they became an inseparable team of young rescuers, always ready for their next adventure.

Perseus burst into the world mid-laugh and rarely stopped. His godparents, Harry, and Ginny gave him a toy broom and flying lessons that occasionally alarmed Hermione but delighted Sirius. From the very start, Perseus proved to be too clever for his own good, his sharp mind always whirring with schemes and pranks. He possessed his mother’s quick wit and knack for strategy, as well as his father’s penchant for mischief and charm. Whether devising intricate plans to sneak extra pudding at supper or orchestrating elaborate practical jokes that left the entire household in stitches (or mild exasperation), Perseus was a force of nature. He learned early how to twist words and rules to his advantage, debating adults into corners and cajoling his siblings into his adventures. Yet, beneath the roguish sparkle in his eyes, he had a big heart, using his intelligence just as often to smooth quarrels or cheer up anyone feeling down. Perseus was, in every sense, the child of both Hermione and Sirius, brilliant, bold, and delightfully impossible to contain.

The tradition of naming each child became a tapestry woven from Sirius’ passion for the night sky and Hermione’s love of Shakespeare, blending constellations with classic tales so that every name carried both a celestial story and a literary virtue. Before each naming day, Sirius would stroll the orchard at dusk to find inspiration in the stars, while Hermione immersed herself in her favourite plays and poems, searching for words that captured the hopes they held for their child. When the perfect name was found, the family would gather beneath the blooming apple trees, where Sirius traced constellations with his wand and spun legends of ancient heroes and friendships, helping each child feel their unique place in a vast, wondrous universe. At the same time, Hermione shared lines from her beloved texts, linking each name to a character whose spirit she wished upon her child, wisdom, wit, loyalty, or daring, wrapping them in a legacy both old and aspirational. Together, they explained to their newborn and all the siblings why this particular blend of sky and story had been chosen: Lyra for music and light, Cassiopeia for pride and resilience, Beatrice for cleverness and joy...

These tales and virtues became promises as much as names, whispered on birthdays, before sleep, and throughout the seasons, binding the Black children together into a constellation uniquely their own.

In the years between each child’s arrival, life in the Black household was anything but dull, filled with the everyday magic of laughter, work, and tangled limbs. Ginny once called it “real romance” with a wry grin, after stumbling into the kitchen to find Hermione pressed against the counter, Sirius looming over her and whispering something that left her cheeks flushed. These moments of stolen intimacy became something of a family joke, replayed throughout the house as Draco frequently barged into the library “for a book” only to retreat hastily, muttering under his breath. Ron, too, once caught them in the orchard at dusk; Hermione’s hair was tousled, and Sirius wore an unmistakably smug expression that made Ron shake his head in exasperated amusement.

Even as the family expanded and the chaos multiplied with toddlers crawling at their feet and Ministerial obligations piling up, Hermione and Sirius found time for each other in ways that made their love feel undiminished. They would steal moments whenever they could, slipping away between meetings and meal preparations, sometimes forgetting, or simply not caring if someone might walk in. Their friends and family grew used to these displays, alternating between teasing and affectionate eye rolls, but always recognising the enduring flame that animated the heart of their home. Through it all, the passion between Hermione and Sirius remained a constant, weaving its way through the seasons and anchoring their ever-growing family in joy and warmth.

Aquila, quiet and contemplative, appeared lost in thought. Remus and Tonks, as his godparents, gave him access to all British archives and a charm-compass guiding him to “true north.” From an early age, Aquila demonstrated an insatiable curiosity and an extraordinary ability to absorb knowledge from even the most obscure sources. He would spend hours poring over ancient texts and deciphering hidden meanings, his sharp mind always seeking connections that others overlooked. Though he rarely spoke aloud, his thoughtful silence was not emptiness, it was filled with keen observation and careful deliberation. Guided by the steady wisdom of Remus and Tonks, Aquila developed an innate sense of direction not only in the physical world but also in the labyrinth of ideas, always striving to understand the deeper truths of both magic and human nature.

Vela was all song and sparkle, coaxing birds down from trees with her humming, her earliest days marked by an unmistakable gift for enchanting even the timidest of creatures with gentle melodies and infectious laughter. Ron and Susan brought her a toy harp and a crash course in Weasley-level mischief, encouraging her playful nature. One summer afternoon, when Vela was six, the family picnicked beside the river winding past the orchard. While others sprawled in the shade, Vela wandered away, drawn by sunlight on willow leaves and the promise of adventure in the bubbling water. Her humming grew louder as she skipped along the bank, until she spotted a tiny fawn tangled in a reed and struggling in the shallows, its cries barely audible above the river’s rush. Without hesitation, Vela knelt at the water’s edge, her song soft and soothing, calling for calm; the fawn stilled, ears flicking toward her voice, eyes wide with fear yet reassured. Vela sang of safety and home while her siblings, alerted by her tune, ran for Sirius and Hermione. Together, they gently waded out, freed the fawn, and guided it to the grassy bank, turning the rescue into a family legend, how Vela’s melody had reached across water and wildness, not only saving a life but filling the moment with enchantment. For weeks, woodland creatures seemed to follow wherever she went, and the family affectionately called her the “river song,” proof that in their household, magic could be as simple and wondrous as a child’s voice on the breeze.

Oberon smelled of hay and starlight, coaxing injured creatures back to health in the sanctuary he and Sirius built. From the time he could toddle, Oberon possessed a quiet patience, a gentle touch, and an uncanny ability to soothe even the most skittish of magical beasts. Long afternoons found him knee-deep in straw beside Sirius, tending to unicorn colts, Kneazle kits, or battered owls, his hands steady and his eyes filled with compassion as he worked, weaving a sense of peace that calmed not only the creatures but those around him as well. The sanctuary became more than just a haven for magical fauna, it was a place where stories and stars intermingled, Sirius teaching Oberon the constellations in the soft evening light, tales shared between feedings and midnight rounds. Theo and Luna arrived one chilly morning with a crate of rare creature books and a telescope that could see into other magical realms, their gifts as whimsical and thoughtful as their presence. Luna, with her dreamy wisdom, showed Oberon how to listen for the music in a hippogriff’s wingbeat, while Theo shared meticulous notes on caring for the most delicate magical plants and beasts, lessons Oberon absorbed eagerly. With their encouragement, he became the keeper of the sanctuary’s secrets, cataloguing every new arrival and mapping out the stars each creature favoured, fostering a place where healing magic met wonder and Oberon’s kindness and curiosity flourished beneath the watchful gaze of the stars and in the quiet companionship of friends and family.

The triplets, Phoenix, Lupus, and Carina, were born when Hermione was Minister. It was an especially trying time for Hermione. While seven months pregnant with triplets, she continued to breastfeed little Oberon every night, her body exhausted as it worked overtime to nurture the children she carried and the son already in her arms. The physical pains of pregnancy, searing backaches, relentless fatigue, and swelling ankles were further compounded by the emotional weight of leading a nation and hosting the Quidditch World Cup. Organising one of the most anticipated magical events while fielding tensions between international delegates left her stretched thin.

The event was a success, she’d hosted the Quidditch World Cup, won by England with Ron as Keeper and Ginny as Captain. As the festivities faded and the echo of cheering crowds lingered in the air, Hermione found herself struggling to mask her pain and vulnerability forged during her last public appearance before the birth of her triplets. It was then that Sirius, ever steadfast and compassionate, quietly guided her home. In the privacy of their home, he wrapped her in comfort and understanding, offering solace, and reminding her she was never alone in these challenges. Their shared moments that night became an anchor for Hermione, just as much as the loving commitments made by the godparents for each precious child’s future.

Phoenix’s godparents were Draco and Astoria, Lupus’ were Blaise and Daphne, and Carina’s were Harry and Ginny, each making meaningful promises for their futures.

Sebastian, romantic, dreamy, was meant to be the full stop. For Sirius and Hermione, his arrival felt like the culmination of everything they had hoped for their family, a final, perfect chapter written after years of sleepless nights, gentle laughter, and a growing crowd of little hands tugging at their robes. They longed for rest and quiet stability, both knowing their hearts, and Hermione’s body, were finally full. Her strength was waning after so many years devoted to motherhood, and together they agreed, with a deep and peaceful certainty, that their brood was complete: no more children, just the time to savour the life they’d built.

In Sebastian, they saw the perfect blend of both his parents, he bore Sirius’ slate-grey eyes that shimmered with secrets and storms, and from Hermione a riot of chocolate curls was always tumbling across his brow and like his mother he had freckles that scattered on his cheeks from countless sunlit days in the orchard. His intellect was sharp and curious, a spark that clearly came from Hermione, yet beneath his quick wit and penchant for daydreams, there was a softness, an open-hearted gentleness, which was hers as well. Remus and Tonks claimed Sebastian as their own, gifting him quills, parchment, and the freedom to write his own ending. In Sebastian, Sirius and Hermione saw their past, their hopes for the future, and with him in their arms, they genuinely believed their family’s story was complete, had told to its very last, perfect word.

---

Sirius had revelled in life as a Stay-at-home father. He had learned that nappies were not as fearsome as some fathers claimed, that teething demanded as much courage as any duel, and that the secret to calming a colicky baby might simply be pacing the hallway at two in the morning while humming the refrain of a song he half‑remembered from childhood. He mastered the fine art of making porridge without magic so as not to scorch it and could coax a smile from Lyra in the time it took Hermione to hang up her cloak each day.

Hermione would come home from the Department of Mysteries and later her role as Minister with ink smudges on her fingers, the faint scent of parchment and spell‑energy still clinging to her. He’d meet her at the door, cloak already slipping from her shoulders under his hands, kiss warm and lingering, a tether back into the quiet chaos of home. Sometimes she’d find him asleep on the sofa, a baby sprawled over his chest, or kneeling in the garden helping Cassiopeia plant sunflowers “for the bees.”

He was there for everything: the first time Beatrice belly‑laughed, the day Elara painted more of the kitchen floor than her canvas, the moment Altair’s tiny fingers closed around his for balance. He was in the front row when Perseus nearly took out a window with a poorly aimed toy broom, and he was the one to catch Aquila’s whispered “look, Papa” when a charmed pebble successfully orbited his head for the first time.

In those years, their friends became an extension of their family. Ron and Susan’s son Henry had his first Quidditch lesson from Sirius, who ran alongside the broom until the boy’s confidence overtook his fear. He and Hermione became godparents to Harry and Ginny’s daughter Lily, to Draco and Astoria’s daughter Selene, to Theo and Luna’s twins Lysander and Lorcan, each of them given a piece of their hearts to carry into the world. Birthdays were shared, godchildren mixed freely with their own brood, and the garden always seemed just large enough to hold them all.

Threaded through it all was Hermione’s work, ground-breaking research that changed lives far beyond their own circle. Remus was the first to take her perfected lycanthropy cure, standing in the orchard beneath a sky the colour of relief. Theo came next, gripping her hands so tightly she thought he might never let go. Sirius stood beside them both, pride radiating like heat, certain that no dark mark in history could ever outweigh what she had given back to the world. Her cure spread quickly, freeing thousands who had been turned during the wars against Voldemort. Some were wary, fearing it might sever the bond to their mates, but Remus and Theo proved otherwise, still feeling the unshakable pull to Tonks and Luna, the other halves of their souls. In the end, it remained a choice: some embraced the freedom from the curse of the moon, while others chose to remain as they were. But for those who took it, the cure was not just medicine, it was the return of nights without fear.

These years became their golden season, not because they were free of challenge, but because they were rich in the currency they had both nearly lost when he had died; time, love, and the ordinary magic of seeing each other in all the small hours. The man who had once lived in the shadow of war now woke to the sunrise in Hermione’s hair and measured victory in the sound of his children’s laughter drifting down the hall.

---

As more of Sirius’ children grew older, receiving their Hogwarts acceptance letters, each in turn leaving to learn magic at the school he had attended many moons before, Sirius found his life shifting. With extra time on his hands, he returned to a skill he had always enjoyed, working with wood. Over the years, he had crafted countless magical toys for his own children and those of his friends, each piece made with care and imagination. Eventually, he opened a shop in Hogsmeade, filling its shelves with his creations. His work was in high demand; he had a gift for shaping wood into one-of-a-kind masterpieces, each lovingly enchanted to delight and endure.

Eventually, the day came to send their youngest, Sebastian, off to Hogwarts. He had left brimming with excitement for the adventures awaiting him at the magical school, while Hermione and Sirius faced an empty nest for the first time since Lyra’s birth twenty-five years earlier.

A year had passed since that bittersweet farewell. They had cherished every holiday visit and treasured each letter from their fourteen children. Now, with Sebastian, twelve years old and almost ready to begin his second year as a proud Hufflepuff, Sirius and Hermione felt their family was truly complete.

Hermione had carried fourteen children to term, and Sirius had stood by her through all eleven pregnancies, welcoming each new life into their ever-expanding cottage. Their eldest had long since finished school and moved on to lives of their own, leaving Sirius and Hermione to settle into a quieter rhythm, one that allowed them to rediscover the joy of simply being together.

Their cottage, nestled in the countryside, echoed with memories of laughter and bustling activity from raising such a large family. Each child had their own personality and talents: some excelled in Quidditch, others displayed a knack for magical creatures or potions, and several pursued careers across the wizarding world after graduating Hogwarts. As the years passed and their home quieted, Sirius and Hermione found joy in simple pleasures, long walks in the garden, evenings spent reading beside the fire, and occasional visits from their children who returned for holidays and special occasions. They cherished their rich family history and looked forward to new adventures together, confident that their bond was stronger than ever.

Six of their children had grown into remarkable adults, each carrying a piece of Hogwarts in their hearts. Lyra, 25, once a gentle Hufflepuff who always listened quietly during stormy family dinners, now walked hand-in-hand with Hector Longbottom; together, they nurtured rare creatures and plants, finding joy in every sprouting seed and healing touch. Cassiopeia, a bold Gryffindor at 22, could never stay still; her postcards arrived from far-flung places, tales of laughter with her daring Slytherin boyfriend, Scorpius, filling the family's old kitchen with a sense of adventure. Beatrice, just twenty-one and fiercely clever like all Ravenclaw's, followed her mother’s footsteps as an Unspeakable, forever chasing mysteries that tugged at her curious heart. The twins, Elara (a secretive Slytherin) and Altair (an inventive Ravenclaw), both twenty, found unexpected harmony living above Diagon Alley. Their bond with Celina, a sunny Hufflepuff, blossomed into a warm romantic triad, a haven where dreams spun late into the night as they debated what kind of shop would capture their hopes. Viola, the youngest at 18, now studied magi-zoology at a renowned wizarding university in Paris, where her hardworking Hufflepuff spirit continued to inspire everyone. Her letters home described bustling magical menageries and sunsets along the Seine, her proud smile shimmering through family portraits, evidence of the resilience and love that tied them all together.

With eight of their fourteen children still at Hogwarts, he and Hermione now had an empty, quiet home; their nights lacked the sounds of children, no footsteps, lullabies, or newborn cries. The once lively house echoed with silence, every room a poignant reminder of laughter and mischief that had filled their lives for so many years. They found themselves lingering in hallways, pausing by doors left ajar, too quiet now without the familiar chorus of siblings bickering or bedtime stories whispered in the dark. Sometimes, as dusk settled in, they would sit together remembering the comforting chaos, the rush of little feet on the stairs, whispered secrets after midnight, and the sweet warmth of tiny arms seeking comfort. The ache of longing was gentle yet persistent, woven through every shadow, making both grateful for the joy their children brought and wistful for the days when home meant never-ending noise and love.

Yet, in the midst of all this quiet, they also discovered each other anew, as partners rather than just parents, finding moments of peace together, lingering over tea and sharing laughter. They appreciated the calm but treasured every visit from their grown-up children and eagerly anticipated the holidays, when those still at Hogwarts would return, bringing fresh stories, radiant energy, and turning the house bright with warmth and exuberant love once more.

Among the eight children still studying at Hogwarts, each brings a unique spark to their family story. Perseus, now seventeen and a Gryffindor through and through, is always charging headlong into adventure, his protective nature often lands him in mischief, much to both the worry and pride of his parents. Sixteen-year-old Aquila keeps mostly to himself, quietly observing the world from Ravenclaw Tower; his recent coming out was met by Sirius’ unwavering acceptance, a moment that deepened familial love and trust. Vela, warm-hearted and fifteen, brightens Hufflepuff corridors with her generosity, while Oberon, fourteen and also a Hufflepuff, finds his joy caring for magical creatures, weaving tales about kneazle’s and Nargle’s to anyone who’ll listen. The triplets, Phoenix, Lupus, and Carina, each thirteen but strikingly different, weave strong connections despite being sorted into Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Slytherin respectively; Phoenix burns with justice, Lupus brings calm and healing hands, and Carina dazzles with clever inventions. Through shared triumphs and struggles, their bond never falters. The youngest, twelve-year-old Sebastian, writes poetry that captures the tender moments between them all, thoughtful verses that thread through their lives like spells of connection. Together, this eclectic group navigates the challenges of Hogwarts with courage, compassion, and an unbreakable sense of belonging. Their resilience and closeness reflect the guiding influence of their parents and godparents, whose wisdom and stories have shaped the values of this post-war generation, inspiring the children to embrace their identities and support one another through every adventure.

Hermione’s body had given more than enough, it had been shaped and reshaped by the long years of motherhood, but to Sirius, she had never been more beautiful. Their family was complete, and life had eased into a steady, comfortable rhythm. The sleepless nights of pacing floors and soothing cries were far behind them.

Each evening, Sirius took quiet joy in loving her. Her breasts, fuller now than in her youth, had fed each of their children; he cherished their weight in his hands, the way her nipples, once a delicate dusty rose, had deepened to a warm brown through the years. Her hips had softened, her stomach never quite returned to its earlier flatness, and her skin bore fine silver lines, tender proof of the lives she had carried.

To him, every change was a thing of beauty. He still marvelled at her responsiveness, her vitality, the way her body answered his touch. Time had only sharpened their passion. She was forty-eight now, he sixty-one, yet the hunger between them burned as fiercely as ever.

With their children grown, a new chapter had begun. Hermione’s cycles were now less regular, and she’d begun experiencing hot flushes while her days were often claimed by the heavy demands of her post as British Minister for Magic. Sirius, for his part, had been running his shop for the past four years, shaping and enchanting wooden toys and furniture by hand.

Still, no matter how busy the hours, every night ended the same, with them finding their way back into each other’s arms, making love to each other. Both of them knew the others body like the back of their own hand, but they never tired of exploring each other and they’re not so hidden desires.

More than once over the years, they’d engaged in sex with trusted friends, on one such occasion, Hermione had looked radiant as she ate Luna out, his cock in her cunt while Theo fucked her arse, it had been a wonderful evening until Harry had flooed into the room, shrieked and flooed away in a panic. His godson, always one to be prudish, though Ginny did eventually convince Harry to have a threesome with an unknown muggle, they’d found on a dating app.

---

The trip to Geneva was meant to be routine, if such a thing could be said for a gathering of the most powerful witches and wizards on the planet. Hermione had been there for just over a week, buried in the kind of dense diplomacy that could stretch on indefinitely. The International Magical Conference drew leaders from every nation: sleek-suited envoys from the American Confederation, stoic elders from the African Union of Magic, robed dignitaries from the Asian Consortium.

In endless chambers smelling faintly of parchment and old oak, they discussed everything from cauldron thickness regulations to the horrors of magical creature trafficking, to breakthroughs in sustainable spell work. For Hermione, it was familiar territory, intense, exhausting, important. It was also the summer holidays, and Sirius was back home in England, minding the younger children while the older ones came and went. She had hoped, desperately, to return before the school term began. But these summits had a way of stretching on for weeks, sometimes months.

She felt fine. Perfectly fine. There had been no sickness in the mornings, no heaviness in her belly, no change in the way her robes fell, her periods had been lighter, and less frequent but she was menopausal, it was to be expected. The thought of pregnancy, let alone birth, was so far from her mind that she might as well have been on a different planet.

Which was why, standing at the podium in the grand assembly hall, her voice ringing steady over the enchanted microphones, she never saw it coming.

“When we layer protective runes over the conductive matrix, we prevent interference while allow—,” her sentence collapsed with a sudden gasp of agony.

Heat flooded between her legs, sudden and drenching. A heartbeat later, the pain struck again sharp, low, deep, folding her against the lectern. She blinked down in disbelief. The dais beneath her was spattered with red, bright, and wrong against the polished wood, her floral white dress suddenly saturated with copper scented blood.

“There’s blood,” she gasped, panicked, pained, wondering if she had been cursed, was this the Sectumsempra, was she dying. The words sounded far away, her own voice tiny in her ears. Another contraction clenched, vicious and unrelenting, stealing her breath, it felt like labour pains, but it couldn’t be, she wasn’t pregnant.

For a moment, the room froze, hundreds of faces stunned. Then everything moved at once. Privacy screens sprang up with practiced precision. Hands, too many, too steady, caught her elbows. The French Minister’s voice threaded through the chaos, low and calm, though she caught none of the words. Swiss healers arrived, wands waving over her, preparing to transport her, as she clutched at her stomach, screaming from an agonising pain, worse than any she had experienced before.

The next thing she knew, the crisp alpine air slapped her cheeks, and then she was inside the cool, bright corridors of the Geneva Wizarding Hospital. The world narrowed to flashes: charmed-soft sheets under her palms, the steady hum of a Stasis Halo above an impossibly small bassinet, a Mediwitches eyes assessing her with quiet urgency.

“What’s happening,” she gasped, they’d given her potions to ease the pain, but they hadn’t worked, the pain only intensified.

“You’re in labour Madam Minister Black and the baby is early, very early,” the voice was kind, but firm.

Hermione’s breath stuttered, she shook her head in denial, “I’m not, it must be something else, I can’t be pregnant,” she cried, hissing as her stomach felt as though a knife was penetrating it.

The healer waved her wand across her stomach, and the image of a baby appeared, Hermione gasped, her hand clasping at her soft abdomen.

“I didn’t even know—,” she cried, “will my baby survive,” she gasped.

The woman took Hermione’s hand, her voice calm but steady, “Madame, my name is Adaline, may I call you Hermione?” Hermione gave a small nod, at the Mediwitches question, her throat too tight for words to form.

“Hermione,” the mediwitch continued gently, “your baby is in distress, your waters have broken, and you’re only five months along. That means your child will be four months premature.” She paused, letting the weight of the words settle before going on. “This will be a difficult birth. You’re older now than you were with your last child, this is considered a geriatric pregnancy, and it carries higher risks for both you and the baby. The sooner we can deliver, the better our chances of helping them survive.”

“I want my husband, where is Sirius,” she asked through tears,” Adaline squeezed her hand.

“Mr Black has been contacted,” Adaline told her, Hermione whimpered, knowing that it would be hours before Sirius would be able to make it to Geneva, until then she was alone in a room full of strangers.

There was no gentle, creeping start to labour. No hours of pacing their cottage floor with Sirius’ hand at her back. Just the unstoppable tide of pain, rising and breaking, demanding she give way.

She clung to the bed rails, teeth clenched so hard she worried they’d break, each contraction wrenching her open, feeling like her insides were ripping. The absence of him, of Sirius’ voice in her ear, of Draco’s cool healer’s hands, was a raw wound in itself. She sobbed once, hard, at the emptiness where her husband’s hand should be, but there was no space for grief not as she experienced unimaginable pain, far worse that the cruciatus she’d once been subjected too.

“Breathe. Now, push,” one of the many healers in the room instructed, there was no modesty. Hermione was naked, chest heaving, legs spread wide, each held open by strangers that were trying to aid in this delivery. Everything was happening so fast, the baby moving down even though her birth canal was hardly open, she could feel it moving down, the baby forcing its way out of her body. Hermione openly sobbed, this felt wrong and was so different to her other births that had been filled with home comforts and love.

Her body obeyed the tide of pain, all she could do was follow its command, pushing with everything she had. One last, tearing effort, one cry torn from her lungs, and then, impossibly, there was another cry, high and fierce for something so impossibly small.

“Strong lungs,” a healer commented, another cast diagnostic charms on the baby, “tiny but healthy,” she remarked surprised, Hermione still crying felt a small relief at these words.

The world blurred at the edges, sounds muffled as though she were underwater. She barely registered Adaline placing a tiny, fragile warmth against her chest, or the soft weight settling there. The afterbirth passed without notice; her focus fixed entirely on the newborn in her arms. Somewhere at her feet, a healer worked in brisk, practiced motions, stitching her torn flesh back together. The sharp sting of the needle was nothing, compared to the storm her body had just endured. Hermione looked down at her daughter in awe, the newborn was impossibly light, fragile enough that Hermione was afraid to breathe too hard in case she hurt her. Instantly she felt love for this tiny delicate entity, a daughter she hadn’t realised existed until she’d made herself known to the world mere hours before.

“She’ll need feeding soon,” Adaline murmured. “Your body isn’t quite ready yet, but… we can help stimulate colostrum and milk for her.” As she spoke, she and another healer worked in quiet efficiency, easing Hermione into a more comfortable position, slipping a cooling charm between her legs, casting a cleansing spell over her body and bed, and draping a sheet neatly over her hips.

Hermione could only nod, too dazed to find her voice. A murmured incantation followed, the healer’s wand tracing slow, deliberate circles over her. Then the ache came, it was deep, dragging, sudden, spreading through her chest until she gasped. Heat and heaviness settled there, a tender throb that drew her hand instinctively to grasp the new fullness, while her other arm curled protectively around the tiny weight of her daughter. “I know,” the Healer said softly. “It’s strong, especially this early. Just breathe.”

The ache sharpened as the tiny mouth rooted blindly. Hermione guided her in trembling hands, and after a moment of fumbling, the latch came, hesitant at first, then sure. The first pulls were light, tentative, but the heaviness in Hermione’s chest answered, heat and relief making her head tip back.

“That’s it,” she whispered as her child suckled, tears slipping free once again, “that’s your milk,” she breathed, kissing her daughters damp, dark hair.

The pain dulled into a steady, bearable ache as the baby, Hope, she realised without thinking, settled into a rhythm. Their breathing fell into sync, the fierce panic of the hours before easing into something quiet, fragile, and whole.

It was hours later when the door opened. Sirius filled the frame, wind-tangled, eyes wet, chest heaving from running. He froze, as though the scene before him was the only thing keeping him upright, Hermione pale but alive, and their impossibly small daughter curled against her.

She smiled through her tears. “Sirius,” she whispered. And then, finally, she let herself break again.

---

Sirius had never moved so fast in his life, one moment he’d been in the cottage kitchen, the sound of children laughing somewhere outside, when the Patronus came, sleek, silver, unfamiliar, and speaking in clipped French-accented English. Only some of the words spoken registered to his ear’s, each causing instant panic and a need to get to his wife as quickly as possible.

He didn’t remember grabbing his travel cloak, or shouting for Remus to take the kids, or the sick, swooping moment when he Apparated and felt the crack of distance too far for comfort. All he knew was the rush of wind and the pounding in his chest as he moved, Floo, Portkey, Apparition, each jump too slow, each second an insult.

By the time he reached the hospital, his lungs burned, his boots loud in the polished corridor. The healer at the desk started to explain, but he was already moving, following the faintest sound, not a wail, but something softer.

He stopped in the doorway of a room with his wife’s name upon it, Hermione sat propped in a narrow bed, her hair tangled, her skin pale and damp. A small, impossibly tiny bundle lay curled against her chest, wrapped in a white blanket that seemed far too large for the life it held. She was breathing in small, shallow bursts, eyes fixed on the baby as though letting go for even a heartbeat might make her vanish.

When she saw him, her face crumpled, “Sirius,” Her voice broke, and then she was sobbing, the kind of shaking, silent sobs that tore straight through him.

He was across the room in three strides, lowering himself onto the bed, his arms around her before she could fold in on herself. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” His own throat was tight, the scent of her hair sharp with salt and fear. “You’re all right. You’re both all right.”

She clung to him, her words muffled against his shoulder. “I thought I was losing her. There was so much blood. I didn’t know I was even pregnant,” she pulled in a shuddering breath. “I was alone. No you, no Draco, no one I knew. I was so scared.”

He held her tighter, one hand smoothing down her hair, the other curved protectively over the tiny bundle between them. “You’re not alone now,” he murmured, steady and certain, even as his heart rattled in his chest. “It’s over, Angel. You’re safe. She’s safe.”

It was only when her breathing began to slow, when her sobs faded into small hiccups, that Hermione drew back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks blotched, but her voice had softened to something almost reverent.

“Sirius,” she whispered, shifting the blanket so he could see; “meet Hope… our miracle.”

The baby was so small he almost didn’t trust his eyes, her skin flushed pink against the white folds, her chest rising in fast, shallow breaths. Sirius reached out a cautious hand, letting one finger brush the downy curve of her cheek.

“Hope,” he echoed, the name catching in his throat. He’d thought he’d used up all the wonder in his life, but here it was again, impossibly small and breathing against the woman he loved.

For the first time since the Patronus arrived, his lungs filled properly and he smiled, leaning down to kiss first his wife’s forehead and then that of their baby, “She’s perfect,” he whispered, and meant it with every fibre of himself.

---

The day Hope was cleared to leave the wizarding hospital in Geneva dawned bright and clear, the kind of crisp morning that seemed to hum with promise. Hermione had barely slept, not from worry this time, but from a restless eagerness that seemed to course through every nerve. For weeks, the small room overlooking the Alps had been their world, a cocoon of quiet spells, careful feeding schedules, and watchful Healers. Now, for the first time since that terrifying day, they were going home.

Sirius carried the travel bassinet as though it held the crown jewels, his hands steady but his eyes soft. Hermione walked close beside him, one palm resting lightly on the handle, the other tucked into his arm. The bassinet was charmed to keep Hope warm and to shield her from drafts, the faint shimmer of protective runes wrapping her in safety. She was still impossibly small, barely the length of Sirius’ forearm, but she had grown stronger, her cheeks filling out with the softest bloom of health.

The Portkey deposited them on the front path of their cottage, and Hermione’s breath caught at the sight. The garden gate was festooned with floating ribbons, enchanted flowers blooming out of season, and a banner that waved in the summer breeze: Welcome Home, Hope! The door swung open before they even reached it.

The cottage was full.

Every inch of the sitting room seemed to burst with life. Fourteen children, ranging from awkward, long-limbed Sebastian at twelve to composed and confident Lyra at twenty-five, crowded in, their faces alight with anticipation. Cassie was clutching Scorpius’ arm, stood near the hearth, having just returned from Sydney, tears already shining in her eyes. Harry, Ginny, and their brood were tucked to one side, along with Ron’s, Remus,’ and Draco’s families, their expressions softening the moment they spotted the bassinet.

“Let them through!” Lyra called, half laughing, half crying as she shepherded her younger siblings aside.

Sirius set the bassinet on the low table in the centre of the room. For a heartbeat, the chaos stilled. Then one by one, the children leaned in, some tentative, some bold, to look at the tiny face nestled in enchanted blankets.

“She’s so small,” murmured Sebastian, his voice reverent.

“Small but fierce,” Hermione said with a smile, brushing a fingertip over Hope’s dark tuft of hair.

The older children traded glances, and Hermione caught the unspoken memories there: the night they’d all received news from Geneva, the fear in the Patronus messages, the too-long wait for updates. At this moment, they appeared more at ease, their posture relaxing as they observed tangible evidence of her well-being.

Hope stirred, letting out a small, squeaky sigh, and the room melted, even the teenaged boys.

Cassie stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Hermione’s arm, “she really is a miracle mum,” she commented quietly.

Hermione met her daughter’s gaze, feeling the truth of it deep in her chest. “Yes,” she said, smiling softly, “she is.”

The afternoon unfolded in laughter and gentle awe. Cups of tea were poured, biscuits passed around, and every child seemed to take a turn just watching their new sister breathe. Hermione settled into her favourite chair, Hope sleeping against her chest, while Sirius leaned on the armrest, his hand covering hers.

For the first time since Geneva, Hermione felt the final knot of fear in her chest begin to loosen. Hope was home, she was surrounded by love and whatever came next, they would face it together, every single one of them.

---

Sirius hadn’t expected another child. After Sebastian, their fourteenth, he’d thought the house was full. That twelve years had passed so quickly, and now here was Hope, tiny, perfect, and entirely unexpected.

Watching Hermione feed her in the quiet of the nursery, Sirius felt a rush of awe. Hope’s dark hair curled softly against her forehead, her little hands clutching at Hermione’s fingers, and Sirius’ heart ached with a joy he hadn’t thought possible. He had known love before, but this was different, deeper, and more complete.

Even though he hadn’t changed a newborn in over a decade, it came back to him naturally. Looking after a newborn was like riding a bicycle, he remembered every motion, cradling her, burping her, soothing her cries in the night. He carried her to his shop during the day, let her feel the rhythm of the world in his arms, and marvelled at how someone so small could command so much attention.

Hope was small but mighty, and it seemed everyone could see it immediately. Lyra, at twenty-five, hovered protectively, already reading her bedtime stories with care. The older teens fussed over her endlessly, delighted by every coo and smile. And Sebastian, twelve years old and still one of their youngest, looked at her with wide-eyed wonder, thrilled to have a little sister of his own to dote on. Babysitters were no problem; their large family was ready and willing to help with their newest addition.

Sirius had never been hands-off with his children, and he didn’t intend to start now. He wanted Hope to know him as fully as she knew Hermione, to feel the safety and adventure he could offer. She became the spark in the house, the unexpected heartbeat that made every day feel alive.

Eventually, he went for the snip, a quiet, decisive choice. There would be no more surprises, no more additions, Hope was their final miracle, their unexpected blessing.

Sitting in the nursery one evening, holding her close as she drifted to sleep against his chest, Sirius let himself breathe. He had thought his family complete, and yet, twelve years later, he had been proven wrong, something for which he was infinitely grateful.

---

There were countless moments that defined the seasons of their lives, firsts that sparkled with newness, milestones etched deep into memory, each carrying its own weight of joy as the years moved steadily on.

Lyra’s first steps came on an autumn afternoon, the garden slick with fallen apples. Sirius was kneeling in the grass, arms out, coaxing her forward with an open smile and a ridiculous running commentary. She tottered two, three steps, then launched herself against his chest like a bird finding its branch. Hermione clapped, cheeks wet, the smell of crushed leaves and apples curling into the moment so vividly that even years later it came back as sharply as the click of a latch.

Among the many milestones that marked this new chapter of their lives, one of the most joyful was the homecoming of Cassie and Scorpius. After eight years of wandering the globe, chasing sunsets, and collecting stories, they returned to settle down for good. Cassie, his beautiful daughter, now thirty, glowed with both the warmth of her travels and the soft roundness of an unexpected pregnancy. The young couple, sun-kissed from their adventures, brought with them not only tales of distant places but the revelation that they had been married months earlier, in the shadow of an ancient Inca temple, vows exchanged beneath a sky painted with the colours of the Andes. Their first children, twins, were born in the very cottage where Cassie herself had taken her first breath thirty years before, Hermione holding her daughter’s hand and coaching her through the long hours of labour with the love and reassurance that only a mother could give.

Each child’s milestones became part of the family’s private calendar. Beatrice’s first published article at eighteen, Elara’s first enchanted canvas exhibited in Diagon Alley, Altair’s first night charting stars from the Astronomy Tower, Viola’s lullabies slipping into Hogwarts choir repertoires. Perseus’ first successful Quidditch catch, a dive that left his robes muddied and his grin unstoppable, Sirius shouting himself hoarse in the stands. And Hope, small but fierce, had her first day at Hogwarts, where she was eventually sorted into Gryffindor, her courage and curiosity immediately evident to all.

They filled the years between with motion and menagerie. The cottage became a sanctuary not just for their brood but for animals great and small: Oberon’s hippogriff, who considered the pantry fair grazing; Vela’s charmed songbirds who nested in the rafters; a Kneazle kitten Hope was convinced understood her every word. There was a Niffler once, smuggled home by Lupus and Carina after a Hogsmeade weekend, which caused a week-long treasure hunt for missing jewellery until Blaise lured it out with a pocket watch.

Holidays were loud and long. Summers in the Highlands with Harry and Ginny, where tents were charmed against midges and days began with broom races over lochs. Winters in southern France with Draco and Astoria, the air smelling of oranges and cinnamon, snow melting on warm red tile. One spring they all went to Greece, Theo and Luna acting as eccentric guides; the children swam in turquoise bays while Theo explained ancient wards carved into the cliffs and Luna collected shells she swore could hear the moon.

Adventure had its accidents: a Portkey picnic that landed them halfway up Ben Nevis in a squall; a sidecar motorcycle ride with Arthur that ended in the duck pond; the time Molly’s attempt at a giant treacle tart for all twenty-plus family members became sentient and had to be calmed with Vela’s singing. Each mishap was folded into their catalogue of stories, retold at birthdays and over cocoa.

The future began to take shape in proud, unexpected ways. Lyra, charting magical constellations beyond known maps, spoke of opening a sky school. Cassiopeia apprenticed in diplomacy under Hermione’s watchful eye. Beatrice planned to run for the Wizengamot before she was thirty. The twins dreamed aloud about establishing an artists’ colony. Viola trained in magical creature healing; Perseus coached Hogwarts’ under-thirteen Quidditch league. Aquila’s research into spell mathematics drew letters from scholars abroad. Vela booked her first international performance. Oberon petitioned for a protected reserve. The triplets plotted, variously, law, design, and mischief making as careers. Sebastian’s poetry began appearing, anonymously, in The Daily Prophet. And Hope, small but fierce, declared she would be Minister one day, and no one doubted her.

---

Sirius often reflected on the strange, winding path that had led him here. He had been granted three chances at life: the first, stolen by wrongful incarceration and the reckless shadows of youth; the second, cut short by death and the violence of war; and the third, miraculous, improbable, and hard-won, given back to him through Hermione’s courage and love. This final life was one he never took for granted. Every morning waking beside her, every afternoon filled with the laughter of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren felt like a gift wrestled from fate. The pain and loss of his earlier years had forged in him a fierce devotion and a gratitude so deep it became instinct. Nothing was wasted. Nothing overlooked. With Hermione by his side and a family expanding like the constellations he adored, Sirius lived fully, joyously, and without hesitation, his third chance not merely survived, but brilliantly, beautifully, exuberantly lived.

Through it all, Hermione and Sirius were the quiet axis of their ever-growing universe. He still kissed her in doorways and gardens, still danced with her in the kitchen when the wireless played a good song, still looked at her as though she’d hung the moon. She still called him ridiculous and reached for him anyway. On Lyra’s birthday each year, they told the story, the golden light of the Time Room, the out-of-order love, the ritual, the births at home and the one so early and far away and the younger generations gasped in the same places, every time. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren would crowd close as Hermione spoke, her eyes glimmering, her hand always finding Sirius’ across the table. Over decades, it became tradition: at every gathering, the impossible love story was told again, threaded with laughter, tenderness, and the quiet awe of those who had lived it.

At the end of each retelling, Sirius would take her hand and say, “We did it.” Hermione would rest her head on his shoulder, eyes lifting toward the constellations that bore their children’s names, and answer, “We’re still doing it.” She was always thankful that she had been strong enough to bring back Sirius, the lost heir of the Black family, the man who became her partner in building a world worth living in. Their love became an unbroken thread connecting every generation, a legacy that would endure long after their final breaths, their love story retold repeatedly as proof that even the unlikeliest of beginnings could lead to forever and true happiness.

---

The End

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading The Return of the Last Black all the way to the end. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story and the journey of these characters as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. Kudos, comments, and feedback are always welcome, they mean the world to me and help keep stories like this alive.