Selected Listening: 'I Of The Storm' by Of Monsters And Men

Being afraid of windows was irrational. She had told herself that on a near daily basis but it had yet to fully sink in. Windows made you vulnerable and if you weren't careful anyone could see in.

She wasn't supposed to worry about things like that anymore but that knowledge didn't seem to stop her. Even when going down the street to the market or to work at the Ministry she was always making note of the exits, cataloging them away according to which would be easier to access should she need it. It was exhausting living like this, but her mind couldn't seem to let go of the information that she'd stored away out of necessity.

So she stood there staring out the large windows in her flat, her eyes scanning the city skyline for signs of anything that shouldn't be there. Of course there was nothing, except for the odd airplane, and that would make her feel foolish all over again. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be like this.

Crookshanks leaned against her ankles and let out a sound somewhere between a purr and a meow. It was enough to pull her from her stupor and she felt her lips curl into a smile as she bent down to pick him up and drape him over her shoulder. The half Kneazle pressed his squished face into her mess of curls and she could have sworn that the creature let out a contented sigh.

Hermione made her legs move across the room and she sank down in an overstuffed arm chair as her familiar began to doze. From here she could see the windows and the door and the fireplace. She pressed her face into Crookshanks's thick orange fur and squeezed her eyes shut. This was home, she told herself. This was home and there was no war. There was no need for this paranoia.

The clock on her mantle chimed one and she knew she was late. Sundays meant lunch at The Burrow. Sundays meant that she had to be social and speak to people and be cheerful. She hated Sundays. At least during the week there wasn't a pretense that had to be kept up. Work interactions were simple with no strings attached. People asked how she was and her reply of 'Fine, thank you. And yourself?' were enough. Sundays meant that she was vulnerable, that there were windows all around her and still no way to get out and run.

Crooks pulled himself from her grasp and climbed up on top of the chair and settled down. There was only so much cuddling he could handle at a time. She let her body sink back into her seat, her sock covered feet tucked beneath her as she stared at the rug on the floor. For a moment she wondered if she could just go back to bed. That would be alright, wouldn't it? She chose to ignore the answer to that question as it occurred to her that her socks didn't match. That was decidedly a first.

A rush of green light flared up in her fireplace before dying down once more. Head tilted back, she watched as her visitor dusted soot from his robes and stepped out of the hearth.

"You're hiding again," Harry pointed out as he removed his glasses and wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt.

"Is that what we're calling it now? I rather thought I was having a lie in."

He gave her a level look as he slipped his glasses back on and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.

Dying had changed Harry Potter, that was something she'd decided not long after the Final Battle. Whether it was for the better or not, she still wasn't sure. Maybe it was that death had curbed some of his recklessness, tamed the Gryffindor lion as it were. Then again, death had changed all of them in some way or another. She was certain that a part of her had died on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor, but that wasn't exactly something one ought to bring up in casual conversation.

"Mione," he began. Her mouth twitched; she still wasn't overly fond of the shortening of her name but was something that she had come to tolerate. "It's good for you to get out. You know that."

"I do get out. I get out every day," she replied as she sat up and tucked a curl behind her ear.

Even if she hadn't been looking up at him she would have been able to hear his eye roll.

"Work doesn't count. You know that."

Heaving a sigh, he shrugged off his robes and tossed them over the arm of her sofa before sitting down on the floor in front of her chair and leaning his head back against her knees. It was funny, she thought, how such a simple action could take her right back to that tent, right back to how they'd sit together in silence after Ron had deserted them. In its own way, it was comforting and she let her fingers comb through his unruly black hair, no doubt making it worse than it was on its own.

"You scare me when you do things like this, Mione," he said after a while.

"What? Play with your hair?" She was being deliberately obtuse and she could feel his shoulders tense against her legs. Her fingertips pressed against his scalp as they trailed down his neck and over his shoulders. Maybe she'd get lucky and a neck rub would distract his train of thought.

"You know what I mean." Harry's voice was gruff as an exasperated sigh left him. Without looking at him she knew that his eyes were closed, his brows tightly knit together as his mouth pulled itself into a thin line. How was it that she knew him better than she knew herself, she wondered. Then again, she wasn't even sure if she really knew who she was at all anymore.

"I didn't sleep well," was all she gave for an explanation. Her hands stilled on his shoulders as she let herself slump forward, her forehead resting on top of his head. His hair smelled like soap, the scent clean and comforting, and was almost downy to the touch. Harry's hands came up to rest over her own and he gave them a gentle squeeze before his fingers laced with hers. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she fought to keep them from escaping.

"Why didn't you take some Dreamless Sleep?" he asked, his thumb moving over the back of her hand.

Hermione sighed as she sat back again and pulled her hands from his grasp. "Too addicting," she replied as she scrubbed at her face, wiping away the moisture that had gathered along her eyelashes. "I have to get myself back on a regular sleeping cycle on my own." Lavender helped, so did the Melatonin from the Muggle chemist around the corner, but it still didn't stop the nightmares.

Harry turned and let his chin rest on her knee. For a moment he looked just like the eleven year old boy she'd met on the Hogwarts Express, large eyed and slightly bewildered as he looked at the world through broken glasses. She could almost forget that in the place of rounded cheeks was stubble and a strong jaw and that his eyes now looked much older than they had any right to be. At least his glasses were no longer broken.

"Come and eat. Stay for just a little while," he said, his voice pleading as his fingers plucked at the knitted material of her socks. "Sirius is coming home today."

She pressed her fingertips against her temples and rubbed them in small circles. He'd thrown his trump card and they both knew it. If she didn't show up at The Burrow to see her best friend's Godfather then he come bursting through her Floo to bug her anyways. At least in a crowd of Weasleys and Order members she'd be able to sneak away. Maybe that would satisfy the heir of the House of Black- at least for a few days.

"Just for a little while," Hermione finally agreed as she reached down to ruffle his hair up at bit more.

Harry smiled up at her, his green eyes bright in triumph. "Excellent," he pronounced as he got to his feet and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Oh, and Mione? You might want to put on matching socks."

Loud had always been an understatement when it came to the Weasleys. Morgana knew that she loved them all dearly, but being an only child had spoiled her on solitude and quiet. But she navigated it all the best way she knew how and that was keep to the corners and stay out of Molly's range of vision for as long as possible. The last thing she needed was for the matronly witch to start playing matchmaker.

She and Ron had made an honest go of it but once she was back at Hogwarts to complete her final year and he was established at the Auror academy it became glaringly obvious that it just wasn't going to work. It had all been puppy love and adrenaline and both had faded. It was for the best, and they both knew it. Besides, she was sure that she would have ended up hexing him on a daily basis.

Still, none of that had deterred Molly in the slightest. Everyone, it seemed, needed to be settled and starting a family now that the chaos had subsided. But she couldn't do that, not right now. Not until she had her own mind sorted out and had lost the need to check all of the exits of every room she entered. No husband or child deserved a paranoid wife whose nightmares made her wake screaming and covered in sweat. Gods, she was fucked.

Taking a sip of her butterbeer, she slipped outside and away from the cacophony of voices that seemed to echo in the cramped space of the house. The afternoon breeze was cool against her cheeks and she pulled her sweater tighter around her slim frame. It was better out here, she decided, it was better out in the crisp autumn air with bright blue skies overhead.

"You're hiding, kitten."

Turning her head, she looked up at Sirius and rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone think I'm hiding?"

He let out a laugh, the sound a soft bark, as he leaned back against the side of the house. There was a glass of fire whiskey already clutched in his hand and she couldn't help but smirk as she returned her attention to the cloudless sky. Some things would never change, and that including him insisting on calling her kitten.

"Well, you have tucked yourself back into a little crook there," he pointed out, nodding towards the corner she'd chosen to occupy.

Hermione just shrugged. "It keeps me from getting the brunt of the wind."

Sirius snorted. "Whatever makes you feel better, kitten."

They stood in companionable silence for a long time, each sipping their respective drinks and watching the few clouds roll by. If someone had asked her years ago if something like this would have even been possible with Sirius Black she most likely would have laughed in their face. While she had always respected him as a wizard, and for his devotion for Harry, she had always thought him cruel and arrogant- and that wasn't including his treatment of Kreacher. But war has a habit of changing things, changing perceptions, and Hermione Granger was no exception to that.

She never saw him fall through the Veil. In fact she didn't even know about it until she regained consciousness days later and even then the look of Harry's face was enough to tell her that something was very wrong. What none of them had expected was from the drapery of doom to spit him back out as soon as Bellatrix Lestrange breathed her last. No one understood it and the Unspeakables, as per usual, refused to talk about it. The general consensus after that was not to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth. Harry had a father back and had some happiness again and that was good enough for her.

"I made a stop in Sydney," the older man said, breaking the silence. Hermione was sure that her heart had stopped beating, just for a moment, and she swallowed thickly. Sydney only meant one thing: he'd gone to see her parents. The memory charm she'd placed on them had been too thorough, too powerful, to break without landing them in the Janus Thickney ward at St. Mungo's. So Monica and Wendell Wilkins had stayed in their modest home near their modest dentistry practice on the other side of the globe.

"How...how are they?" she asked, her voice trembling as she raised the butterbeer bottle to her lips.

"They're good. Happy and tanned." Sirius tried to joke but it caught in his throat and he quickly took a large gulp of whiskey.

Hermione just nodded as she let her now empty bottle slip from her fingers and fall to the grass. "Good. That's good," she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

The next thing she knew a large hand wrapped around her shoulder and was pulling her to the side. She let her body fall into him, his chest broad and warm beneath her cool cheeks. A shuddering breath left her and the floodgates seemed to open. This time Hermione didn't stop herself, she let herself cry, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open in a silent scream as her body shook.

"It's alright, kitten, just let it out," his voice was a low rumble that seemed to seep straight through her bones as his other arm wrapped around her and held her tight against him. Hermione cried until her eyes were raw and dry and her head throbbed. That was it. The fact that Helen and Richard Granger would never come home was finally sealed for her and she let her last thread of hope disappear with the final tear that fell from her lashes.

The material of Sirius' shirt felt cold beneath her cheek and as she cracked open her tired eyes she could see that the sky had begun to darken. She felt suddenly ashamed for blubbering all over the man at his own welcome home party. Letting out a hiccuping breath, she pulled away and pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," she said, her voice raw. She glanced over at his shirt, her shoulders slumping at the sight of his damp shirt. "I think I've ruined your shirt."

"Shut up, kitten. I have more shirts and you needed to get that out of your system," he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "But, I think a Calming Draught would do you some good. Maybe a slice of that chocolate cake I saw on the counter."

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. Of course, chocolate would fix everything. She wiped away the last of her tears and looked up at him. "I suppose," she said with a nod. Letting out a breath, she watched as it became a thin white puff in front of her. It was growing colder, and quickly. Maybe a cup of tea would be good as well. "I look terrible, don't I?"

The older man shook his head, his long black hair fluttering around his shoulders, and gave her a wide grin. "Not even possible, kitten," he replied.

She wanted to contradict him, to tell him about how thin she was in the lead up to the Final Battle, to show him all of the scars she'd garnered. But she didn't. Instead her eyes just narrowed and her mouth quirked slightly. "That's bullshit, but I'll take it."

He laughed, this time letting the sound carry into the growing dusk. Bending down, Sirius picked up her discarded butterbeer and clutched it in a hand along with his glass. "Whatever you say," he said as he slung an arm lazily around her shoulder and guided her back inside.

Please read and review! This is my first Harry Potter story, and the first thing I've written in a long while, and I would love some feedback. Also, a massive thank you to starrnobella for betaing this story and helping me sort through the mess in my head.

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