Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Parallel Dilemma	By : MJurjevic Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 8115 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter fandom, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author's Notes: First, my greatest thanks to nottonyharrison for her wonderful prompts, and the mods over at GE for advising me to give this story more love and care! As so wisely and kindly pointed out, this story needed more proper development and connective narrative, so it is with the deepest appreciation to all my lovely betas, helping me revise and fine tune the original: lyn_f as the initial SOS beta, then stgulik and proulxes—as alpha betas extraordinaire, broadening my universe further—you ladies are the best!
Originally conceived as a gift, written for nottonyharrison for the GE Fic Exchange 2013, based on her wonderful prompt.

Chapter One: Perturbations
Chapter Notes: Investigative Auror, Hermione Granger, and Hit Wizard Marcus Flint are making their rounds in the Department of Mysteries, working on an assignment, when something unexpected and unimaginable happens. Hermione awakens, unable to believe her senses and the little sanity she has left.

                                                                oOoOoOo
Hermione gave a pensive look around the Time Room and tucked a loose lock of frizzy hair behind her ear. She looked back at her assigned partner, Marcus Flint, trying to hide her irritation with her colleague.
It'd been six years since the destruction of Voldemort. Six years since Kingsley Shacklebolt had become Minister of Magic, leading a massive reform of the Ministry. She had been proud to support Kingsley when he asked her to take a leading role in the newly established office for eradicating pro-pureblood laws in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had flourished under the pressure, impressing colleagues who were years older and more experienced than her—so much so that, once the new legislation was in place, Hermione had been offered a transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and placed into the elite Intelligentsia Unit of the Auror Office.
True, Kingsley had chosen her for the Investigation Department, a subdivision of the Auror Office, rather than placing her as a regular Hit Wizard Auror, such as her current partner Flint was. But the Minister had again emphasized that he prized and needed her intelligence over her brawn for selective, clandestine assignments, such as this current one was. Hermione knew that Investigative Aurors duties centred on the investigation and tracking down dark wizards; whereas Hit Wizards were more of the muscle power when it came to the actual, physical arrest of dangerous criminals.
Muscle power was something that Flint had in abundance, she thought. The man radiated a kind of brutality that was deeply unsettling. He slouched against the wall of the corridor, chewing a nail, the muscles of his arms shifting and moving under the sleeve of his too-tight jacket.
Catching Flint giving her an odd look, she suddenly shuddered, and the memory of reading about how it took a team of Hit Wizards to arrest Sirius Black when he was thought to have murdered Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles came to mind. Yes, it would take the likes of Marcus Flint to go after murderous criminals, she thought, giving her partner another wary glance. That was why she was determined to be thorough in any calculations and investigations which she was in charge of—one could always be deceived by seemingly obvious facts right in front of your nose and be completely wrong about someone!
Focusing back on the here and now, she sighed again, frustrated by her lack of progress in this current assignment. Someone had forcefully entered the Time Room and the Space Room in the Department of Mysteries a week ago. But the manner of the break in was disturbing to say the least. So Kingsley had chosen her to investigate and Flint more for the physical arrest, defense and back-up protection in case she needed it—or so Minister Shacklebolt had said.
At the initial briefing, Hermione had been ecstatic at the prospect of solving an impossible crime, one that had never been committed before. She had immediately consulted the criminal record archives and was intrigued by all of the different cases; some had come close in attempts of breaking into and entering the Department of Mysteries, but most of those were illegal attempts into the Prophecy or the Love chamber. So far in her research, she hadn't come across one that had involved the Space and the Time rooms.
That was why her botheration with Flint was increasingly difficult to keep at bay. From day one, he had struck her as disinterested and ambivalent about each and every step of the investigative process. He had been utterly bored at researching and cross-referencing any former cases even remotely related, and Hermione had ended up doing all the parchment reports herself. It was only when they actually moved on to physically check the Department of Mysteries itself that he had somewhat perked up. But that had only lasted until they arrived there. Then, Flint's disinclination seemed to consume him full force, and Hermione had to prod him along, searching the main rooms that were targeted.
Nothing appeared to be missing in the Time Room except one old astrolabe, but in the Space Room, the constellations and planets had been disturbed—she had cast detection spells throughout the week revealing that their longitudes and latitudes had been misaligned. Although just today, when she and Flint had made the first round of checking the Space Room, the heavens seemed to be back in line and in harmony. Hermione was stumped, but didn't want to admit it. There was a deviation there and now it's normal… Or does it just seem to be normal? Maybe that's what the phantom intruder wants me to see—wants me to believe! Maybe there's some Charm cloaking the true situation… I detected the briefest abnormality just this morning even though visually everything seemed in place… I must check the room once more before we leave today!
It was a conundrum Hermione wanted to find out the answer to. Along with all the many others: Who and what had caused the disturbances? When and how had they accessed the rooms? Was it an inside job? Outside? This is a terrible situation to have some phantom intruder gain access and who has the skill to produce unknown havoc, thought Hermione fretfully. The Minister chose me to head this mission, so let's get to it!
She raised her wand to cast again a detection spell in the Time Room before moving on. She felt a surge of pressure because of Kingsley's faith in her—pressure to solve the mystery in the face of 'proper police work', such as Flint offered. She tried not to let it make her more nervous and unsure.
She gave her partner another look and said, "Let me check one more time before we leave here."
Casually, Flint pushed himself away from the wall and spat the fingernail he had been chewing onto the floor.
"Yes, why don't you do that, Auror Granger? That's an absolutely brilliant idea," commented Flint, smiling pleasantly.
She blinked, unsure of his ingratiating manner. His expression indicated that he wasn't being disrespectful, although his words bordered on the sycophantic with her.
Hermione didn't care; well, she tried not to care. Ever since her first encounter with Flint at Hogwarts, she'd felt a mutual dislike to him. She knew it was a lingering childhood peeve. Although the strong memory of Draco Malfoy calling her a Mudblood, and Marcus and the other Slytherin cronies laughing, encouraging his cruel racist behavior, had happened so long ago, some days the painful memory still flared up now and then.
She'd been surprised someone like Flint had made it into the Auror squad, but Harry had let her know that the former Slytherin classmate was exceptionally clever and skilled. Additionally, after the Second Wizarding War, Marcus was a willing and enthusiastic informer for the Ministry, very cooperative in helping root out and lead raids on former Voldemort followers who were still very active in causing harm.
So Hermione had bitten her lip, held her head high, and tried to ignore any dirty looks she thought Flint gave her. The past is the past, Hermione. Let it go, she told herself.
"The intruder isn't here," stated Hermione as she finished casting her Homenum Revelio spells around the Time Room.
"Surprise, surprise," muttered Marcus sarcastically.
"What's that supposed to mean exactly, Flint?" demanded Hermione, trying to remain calm and professional in the face of his obvious derision.
She was trying hard not to let him unnerve her, reminding herself yet again that many Hit Wizards shared his attitude and behaviour.
Marcus smirked and shrugged his shoulders in response.
Hermione's eyes narrowed in pensive thought. "You agreed to this assignment, Flint. You needn't have if you weren't planning to cooperate."
"I'm cooperating…" He cocked his head and gave her an odd look again. "I'm here for you, Granger."
She gave the tall, muscular Slytherin a cool stare. There was something about his barely concealed smirk that she couldn't quite put her finger on that bothered her. After several seconds of staring him down, she said, "Very well, Flint, follow me."
The two Aurors left the long, rectangular room of the Time Chamber and made their way back into the Department of Mysteries' highly polished dark corridor. Hermione checked her watch, her heels clicking sharply on the polished marble of the flooring as she set a quick pace along the passageway. Flint was walking more languidly, deliberately falling behind her as she walked.
"Keep up, Flint," she snapped, irritated. "Our allotted time is running out for today—we need to push on."
"We've been given specialized, authorized clearance. What's the rush, Granger? Our clearance here is for as long as is needed. Besides, we haven't checked out what's behind those two doors." He nodded towards two doorways at the farthest side.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you even listening when Doctor Bridenbough was showing us around, Flint? What part of "The Love Chamber's door cannot be unlocked by Alohomora, or other straightforward magical means" did you not understand?" She saw his face flush with the insult, but pressed on regardless. "It is not possible for anyone to enter or leave that chamber without half the Ministry knowing that the door has been breached. The thief was detected for the first time along this corridor - but he or she could not have come out of the room because the door cannot be opened."
Flint's upper lip began to curl back in a sneer, but Hermione continued on. "However they got into the Department of Mysteries in the first place, they were undetectable until he or she entered the Time Chamber, stole an astronomical clock, an ancient clockwork astrolabe, and then came here…" She pointed at the Space Chamber's door which they had arrived at. "This door – unlike the Love Chamber – shows signs of a forced entrance."
"And that one?" Marcus pointed to the farthest door.
Hermione's throat tightened as a flash of that horrid day when the battle in the Department of Mysteries had taken place over Harry's prophecy. The screams, the pain, the hexes and spells that were thrown around still caused a sickening feeling in her chest. And Sirius Black went through the Veil! It was horrible!
Hermione's thoughts flew to another time and place. She remembered one evening staying at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, right before her fifth year going back to Hogwarts, during the time of the Order of the Phoenix meetings and helping Molly Weasley de-spell the place from Dark magic. One late evening after all had gone to bed, she had crept down to the kitchen for some milk, feeling her stomach upset, only to find that the glasses and cups were on a top shelf, unreachable without magic or a chair.
Oh, Hermione! she thought, berating herself. Having not brought her wand, she pulled a heavy old kitchen chair from the corner to stand on. She carefully climbed up on it, trying not to worry by the cricking and slight wobbling her weight caused. As she reached for a cup, she felt her body waver as the chair shifted sharply to the right.
But she immediately felt a strong hand firmly hold her at the waist. She glanced down to see Sirius steadying her with one hand and his other on the back of the chair.
"I'd be careful if I were you. Kreacher's probably spelled it to break. He's, um, mischievous that way. "
Hermione held the cup in her hand, not knowing what to say. She was embarrassed that Harry's godfather had caught her in such a mundane, yet potentially dangerous act. That's all I need to do, fall on my arse right in front of him. He'll let Lupin know how so very wrong he was about me being the brightest witch of my age—look at me without a wand… What he must be thinking! Can't even Accio a cup!
In the second it took for the chair to fully crack and give way, Sirius had caught and swooped Hermione down, standing her carefully on her feet.
"There you go, all safe and sound now." Sirius gave her a broad grin as she stood there dumbstruck, holding the cup in her hands. "Glad to help a young damsel in distress." He let go of her waist and raised an eyebrow. "Did you just need a mug or something else to go in it?"
"M-Milk," she answered, finding her voice. "Thank you for—I'm not always wandless. Didn't think anyone else was up—I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"Nah, I barely ever sleep," said Sirius, whipping out his wand and Accioing a bottle of milk from the larder to the table. "Here you go."
He flicked his wand once, repairing the broken chair and waving it back to its corner, and then he flicked again, and a whisky glass along with an accompanying Firewhisky bottle landed on the table's other side.
"I'll join you for a late nightcap, shall I?" He plopped down not waiting for her to answer.
Hermione smiled shyly, but joined him, sitting and pouring herself a cup of milk while he gave himself a generous shot of liqueur.
They sat there in comfortable silence, each sipping their own beverage, until Sirius said, "Glad I was up, prowling around. That could have been a serious accident there, Hermione."
"I'm usually not like that," she said, still abashed at appearing foolish in front of him.
"Not like what? You're human. It's all right, kid. Accidents happen. Merlin knows, they happen to me all the time."
Stubbornly, she insisted, "I'm not like that—I usually have my wand; I'm fairly good in Charms, Transfiguration class—" she began to list, feeling a need to prove herself in front of the distinguished wizard.
"You like books, right?" asked Sirius, interrupting her.
"Yes."
"Take your milk, kid, and follow me. There's a book I want to show you—and it's not cursed," he added with a cheeky grin.
Hermione followed him as he led her to the front parlor in front of the fireplace. She sat as he put his drink down and then watched Sirius' gaze begin to roam over the shelves. "Is it Magical Constellations? Or is it Constellations of the Magical Heavens?" she heard him mumble.
" Ah, what the hell…" she heard him say as he cast his wand across the rows. Several books flew from the shelves, piling themselves on the coffee table before her.
It had been a wonderful night. Sirius had double-checked each and every book for Dark Magic before handing it over to her. They were lovely ancient tomes from his family's private collection, all going into exquisite detail of the history and related fields of magic which the constellations affected. Sirius had pointed out to her the beautiful moving pictures of the heavens and relayed humorous stories of his times in Divination classes, particularly when he had to cover Astrology.
Hermione had smiled and laughed so much that evening with Sirius. So that now, as she stood staring at the dubious doorway that Flint was pointing out, she could only think, There was so much more to Sirius than people knew. He could be kind and so funny. He died so young… died before his time, before he should have…
She forced herself to swallow hard to relieve the tension caught in her throat before replying, "The Death Chamber? Nothing there. If the perpetrator went in undetected and hasn't come out by now… they never will."
Flint seemed disgruntled, pursing his lips in deep thought about this. His heavy brows were knitted and his lower lip thrust out. He looked like a child who had had his Gobstones confiscated.
"Fine!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "If it means so much to you, we'll take a look in the Death Chamber—but only after we search the Space Chamber..."
"The Space Chamber, again?" He rolled his eyes, clearly giving her an it's-a-waste-of-time expression. "We've already checked it once today. Thoroughly."
"I detected an anomaly for the briefest second, but an anomaly nonetheless." And if I don't double-check now, I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight! she added to herself.
"You detected a lag of time in your spell applications," quipped Flint belligerently, "So what? I thought that was normal for this… place."
"Oh, so now you're the expert?"
He shrugged, irritating her. "I wasn't assigned as your partner for this just because of my good looks," he joked caustically. His shifty grey eyes looked her up and down. "Are you telling me that you got your measurements wrong, Granger?" he smirked rudely.
Choosing to ignore any innuendo, she stubbornly reminded him, "There's an anomaly. We need to check. It's our job." Turning back to the Space Chamber's door, she offered, "Look, I know you weren't keen on the floating about in here so you can wait outside while I run a series of spells to distinguish and identify any irregularities in the space between Uranus and Pluto—that's where there was a fluctuation."
"As you wish," he replied darkly. "That fucking place makes me want to throw up."
His surly manner only accentuated her annoyance and increased her determination to get to the bottom of whatever this burglary really meant.
She had enough to deal with in her personal life—Ron was being unbearable at times; far too self-centered on his career; oblivious to her needs, both professional and personal ones… Everyone said it was a natural phase in their not-even-close-to-officially-announcing, pre-engagement period, as well as it being a necessary time to think things over in regards to their professional ambitions. She gave a heavy sigh.
Still, I can do without getting noncooperation at work from colleagues… She gave Marcus a frown. "Why don't you go interview the ninth floor caretaker or something? I'll meet you at the lift."
"Yes, why don't I, Granger?" Flint sneered. "But you see, Shacklebolt told me not to wander too far away from you. So I think I'll wait outside."
Irked, Hermione turned from Flint and made her way into the dark room full of planets floating in mid-air; she let out a deep sigh reflecting on how in this chamber wizards studied the aspect of space, and how it was considered one of the limits of magic along with time. Mmmn, the Space Chamber… She felt immediately at peace in this room.
Hermione allowed herself a small smile as she gazed between the last two planets, peering intently up into the darkness. She raised her wand to cast first the same identification incantation she had used several hours earlier, but paused right before incanting it.
She blinked in disbelief as she was struck by the realization that she definitely could see, visible to the naked eye, an abnormality wavering in the dark mass for a split second.
There's—there's something there—an anomaly, fluctuation—something irregular here!
As if hypnotized, she stared into the uncanny heavens and began to make out the faintest star formation, some constellation; she couldn't quite put a name to it at that exact moment. Just as the recognition of what it exactly was came to her, a hex hit her full in the back, and she felt herself falling forward into the darkness of the mysterious space, the black void consuming her utterly.

                                                                       oOoOoOo
Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She felt faint. She was aware of who she was, and she knew she'd been hit by a powerful hex, but couldn't remember who had cast it. Like faraway echoes, the sound of worried voices reverberated around her, but she was unable to make out the words yet… The lights danced as her eyes grew more accustomed to the glare from them, and her heart pounded as it dawned on her that she wasn't in the Space room. Unlike the cool darkness and crisp, clean peaceful atmosphere she was surrounded with there, wherever here was had a musty warmth, like a faded liqueur scent, and she detected sweet tobacco lofting in the air somewhere.
Her head was pounding and she tried to speak. But her mouth was too parched and her jaw felt stiff as she tried again to utter a word. She felt the smoothness of leather under her fingertips, confirming that she was lying on a soft sofa of sorts, but was confused as to how she got here. I'm not supposed to be here! But where…?
Like a bolt of lightning, a pain struck through her head as she tried to remember where she was supposed to be and, frightened, she cried out, not knowing where she was now. The muddled echoes of male voices started to become clearer, one very distinct, but her head was killing her, and she felt like she would slip into unconsciousness. She whimpered, thinking, Has my memory been modified? Her vision was blurry. But slowly, with muddled awareness, she recognized where she was. Minister Shacklebolt's office!
Dully, she could hear Kingsley arguing with someone. "You found her just as we found you—unconscious and on the Space Room's floor. A Healer should be —"
"Wait, Kingsley—it's probably just a case of exhaustion, over-exertion. It even happened to me there, remember? And I snapped out of it immediately. She, especially, shouldn't have been allowed to go directly back on duty, so shortly after—"
"Look! She's coming to!"
The voices ceased and Hermione felt someone near her.
"There, there, Hermione, take it easy," came the rich, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, responding to her struggling attempt to sit up. "Easy does it!"
"Minister, what am I doing here? What happened?" she asked, her voice and energy weak.
Kingsley gave a grave, uncomfortable look to another figure on her other side.
"Well, we were hoping you might be able to help us out there, Granger. What's the last thing you remember?" questioned a haughty, smooth voice.
As the sound of that voice, who exactly was speaking, dully registered, Hermione felt a wave of nausea roll over her. It—it can't be!
Willing herself to turn her head to the commenter, her mind incredibly registered the incongruous realization that she saw black, Muggle motorcycle boots joined with black denim trousers. As her eyes caught a heavy-metalled belt buckle and slowly rose and locked on to his upper body, she swallowed hard as she took in a very fit form. She gazed at a very masculine form with a taut tattooed chest barely concealed by a half-opened, deep purple tunic, layered with a form-fitting velvety jacket. She gasped as she made eye contact with the dark poised form of a wizard who, her rational mind screamed out, could not possibly be there: Sirius Black!
Oh my god, but it can't be! Sirius? He went through the Veil! He's—he's dead!
It wasn't the hex she'd been hit with in the Space Chamber that affected and made her black out momentarily again, but rather the overwhelming emotions of sheer disbelief. Her rational mind folded in on itself, disappeared, and she went weak with shock, and fainted.

                                                                  oOoOoOo
Where am I? This must be a dream—he's not real, not alive… What's happened to me?
Hermione kept her focus on the snifter of Firewhisky, which had been handed to her by none other than one of her best friend's previously deceased godfather! Sirius looked the same to Hermione, maybe only a little older, which had only added to the masculine, virile energy he exuded. She tried to dampen her awareness of his vigorous physicality by focusing on the more immediate predicament.
His chiseled features, accented by the very trimmed, stylish moustache and tousled, long hair she remembered that he wore, heightened the concerned expression that he was giving her.
She avoided looking further at Black directly, as her mind was racing, irrational and wild. He's dead, but then, am I? Where am I? This is a dream—no, it's real... Shacklebolt, the Minister—he's the same; he's real! But, Sirius…? Oh my god, oh my god… I've lost my mind! Can't wake up!
Feeling panic set in, she forced herself to take a sip of the burning liquor.
"Just take it slowly, Hermione," offered Kingsley gently. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Hermione blinked hard in thought. She desperately searched her memory and bit her lip in frustration before finally mustering enough will to vocalise bits and pieces. "The Ministry… The Department of Mysteries… We were in the Time Room…" God, and then what happened? I—I can't remember details! Her brow furrowed, deep and pensive, and she tried to piece together step by step what she could. But she could only jump sporadically in her thoughts. "Then we were—I was… I entered the Space Chamber."
Sirius made a sudden movement at this revelation, but Hermione saw Shacklebolt stop him with a sharp glance and hand held up.
"We?" asked Shacklebolt, concerned. "Who else was with you? You started to say 'we'. Please, Hermione, take a moment and think hard. Who was with you?"
At this, Hermione's mind went blank. Her mouth dropped open in momentary confusion, searching her memories as hard as she could. There were gaps in her mind—huge, gaping gaps. "It's difficult. I have these holes in my memory. I—I don't know…"
"You said 'we'," pointed out Sirius patiently, although his voice seemed strained and forced. "Think! Who was the last person that you were with?"
Being addressed by Black startled Hermione, and she snapped around to him, but froze momentarily as if Petrified.
"You!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "How are you even here? I don't understand…"
Sirius eyes' flashed with a painful emotion, and he clenched them closed. But when he opened them again, he gave her a deliberate cheeky grin, his undeniable handsome features almost softening the burning intensity he showed as he flippantly remarked, "I'm here because I've been laying off the liquor. Your number one gripe, yes, Auror Granger? The reason you've deemed me lacking in perfect form?"
"What?" gasped Hermione, utterly confused.
Taking in her mouth opened in shock, a scowl suddenly crossed his face as he barked, "Needed to catch up on my paperwork, being reinstated and all the fuddy-duddy, bureaucratic—you know, Granger, ministerial obligations and such! But today, be rest assured, your superior is completely in top form and ready for duty, ready to serve you, princess!"
His gruff change of tone and sudden surly countenance towards her enabled Hermione to clear her head a tad. "W—What?"
If she wasn't mad, if this was a dream, she was ready to wake up.
"You heard me," he said, swaggeringly pouring himself a Firewhisky. "Ironically, I believe this calls for a drink." He lifted the snifter and announced, "Let's celebrate, shall we, Minister? The return of our top girl!"
With his back to the Minister, but facing her, Sirius' expression changed to one of desperation at Hermione, as if there was something she should be seeing clearly, something she was supposed to be responding to. He had a look of expected hope battling with profound disappointment. The more she stared at him confused, the more the pain deepened in his eyes.
What does he want of me? What is he searching for looking at me like that? she thought frantically. What am I supposed to say and do? He's looking at me as if… as if he knows me, but… How could he? He's dead! He's supposed to be dead!
"That'll do, Sirius. Hermione needs time to recover from," Kingsley gave a long sigh, "whatever this is—whatever has happened to her."
Looking at the recognizably trenchant Sirius Black and then at the austere, earnest Shacklebolt, Hermione's head was in a whirlwind as an inconceivable truth dawned on her. This truly was real. She wasn't going to wake up. Kingsley—Sirius—everyone, everything is real!
Keep it together, Hermione, she commanded to herself. I need time… Time is of the essence!
Her thoughts raced, I must find out exactly who and where I am in this… this—whatever, wherever this is —if Sirius is alive, what else is… different? The possibilities astounded her. Keep calm, just keep calm…
She looked up again and Sirius locked eyes with her.
Yes, kitten, keep calm… bide your time… just keep calm… She gasped softly, hearing Sirius' thoughts in her mind.
Impulsively, Hermione knocked back another gulp of Firewhisky, relishing on some level the burning realness of it. She forced yet one more swig, seeing Sirius' eyes glint with a secret, and slowly the swanky tall wizard tossed her a flashing grin. She finished off the fortifying liquid, giving her the sensation that she was thinking clearer and in control.
Sternly, Kingsley announced, "We'll put you under twenty-four hour observation, Hermione. Sirius will watch over you. If all is well tomorrow, we can slowly start retracing your steps." Shacklebolt turned to the impudent Black. "Summon a Healer at the first signs of anything… further abnormal in her condition. By rights she should be on the Janus Thickey Ward." Then the Minister gave a long, deep sigh and pointed out, "You told me that you wanted a second chance for redemption, Sirius. Don't blow it. I'm trusting you."
This seemed to pacify Black, as he now peered at Hermione with a somber and grave look.
Kingsley turned back to the frizzy-haired witch. "Granger, we need to get to the bottom of what is happening in the Department of Mysteries. Black is Head Auror, and doubly, the best Investigative Auror besides you that I have, despite his… weaknesses… and you clearly need better back-up. Now that he has his drinking under control, are you prepared to work with him again… to make restitution for your loss?"
"My loss?" Hermione's heart began to beat harder, faster. She wasn't sure if she could take much more and so simply nodded in reply. She needed answers, and she needed them now.
If anything, she'd get them out of Black, one way or another—especially as it appeared that he owed her something, was in her debt. Shacklebolt trusts him enough… but he seems to be laying it on thick as if he's covering up… something… There's only one way to start finding out about things! She gave the Minister another nod of agreement, hoping that this would placate any suspicions Kingsley was having about her stable mindedness.
I refuse to accept that I've gone mad. I refuse it! As she gazed at Sirius, internally confused and bewildered, she pleaded with herself, Don't let them see you sweat, Hermione! Just nod in agreement and keep your chin up! You've got to work out what's going on and the last thing you need is to be committed to St Mungo's… Taking a deep breath, she nodded carefully and schooled her face into a suitably calm and determined mask.
"Very well, then. Black?" Kingsley crossed over to the large fireplace in his office and indicated it as he spoke. "You can Floo to Alphard's place; I've had it directly connected. If Granger's well enough in the morning, try to get here around ten, and we can start putting the pieces together as best we can. For now, I think we all can do with a good night's sleep."
Sirius came and stood in front of Hermione, offering his hand to help her up.
She took it lightly and allowed him to tug her to her feet.
There was something about the now softness in his eyes as he gazed at her that made her shy at his touch. It reminded her suddenly of how Ron looked at her whenever he was about to kiss her. And this wasn't Ron. It was Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. He was debonair, a risk taker, and—as she stared into his intense eyes—yes, undeniably handsome.
Even as a young woman, she had admired him from afar on several levels, ever since she and Harry had rescued him from Hogwarts, from being delivered to the Dementors.
She swallowed hard, remembering back before that, how brave he had been holding off the transformed Remus. He was willing to sacrifice his life for us! Her throat tightened even now with the vision of Sirius, transfigured into his Animagus form, throwing himself at the rabid, murderous werewolf.
Abruptly she dropped his hand, embarrassed, and she flinched away.
Obviously miffed, Black bit his cheeks and then said as neutrally as he could, "You'll need to let me hold you… the first time—wouldn't want anything else to happen to you today, Granger."
"It would be advisable, Hermione," assured Shacklebolt. "Just this once, or until you're stable enough on your feet."
She protested, "Stable? Of course I'm stable enough! I don't need—" She broke off, stumbling, the hard liquor and an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion struck her like a sickening wave.
Black steadied her on her feet, ever so gently holding her, pulling her closer to him.
Hermione looked up into his stormy grey eyes, frowning and unsure, a frisson of unexpected excitement mixed with guilt coursed through her. Not having any other choice under the circumstances, she masked her flustered state with a huff and said, "Very well. Let's get this over with."
Tentatively, Sirius held her even closer to him; she could feel the heat radiating off his taut, muscular form. As his distinct masculine scent hit her, she heard him utter the address as they both stepped together into the fire, Flooing themselves to a safe space, and just as important to Hermione, somewhere which she prayed held answers for her.
                                                                        oOoOoOo
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Parallel Dilemma