Disclaimer: All canon characters, places, plots and situations from the Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this.

Warnings: Rated M for language, violence and scenes of a sexual nature in later chapters.

A/N: Sorry for the massive break from this story, and thank you for your patience and reviews.

Chapter Twenty One: In the Empty Spaces

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Sirius watched Hermione sleep. The moonlight from their bedroom window cast dusty imprints across the soft skin of her cheek, spangled shadows from her eyelashes stretched out until they disappeared. She breathed deeply, and he couldn't help but snuggle closer, until the tip of his nose touched the fuzzy fabric of her pyjama sleep. He inhaled her comforting scent; normally it soothed him, having her beside him, but tonight he was struggling to quiet his mind. Disgruntled, he forced himself away from her quietly, rolled out of bed and onto his feet. The floor was cold; he felt his age as he kneeled to rummage beneath the bed. His finger snagged on the end of the box and he slowly slid it out, stopping briefly only when Hermione mumbled and fidgeted in her sleep.

It had been a few weeks since the big row, and they'd lapsed back into their way of life but Sirius was all too aware that things were not the same. He'd lost Hermione's trust, and he couldn't blame her, but both of them were far too hesitant to pull at the thread their argument had exposed. Sirius was aware he had some soul-searching to do, but the thought that it could be exactly what decided whether or not things worked out between them, terrified him. He wasn't so naive as to think that Hermione's own hang-ups had no part in it, but the difference, as far as he was concerned, was that Hermione had time. She was young.

With one last look at her, Sirius quietly left the room, box in hand. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where the remains of a fire glowed in the hearth. His hands shook a little as he placed the box on the breakfast bench, and opened the catch.

Inside, there were a few piece of jewellery, some letters wrapped in string – he could see the large, childish scrawl of a twelve-year-old James Potter, he'd have to show that to Harry some day – and a few photographs. He ignored the shiny objects and letters for the photographs, briefly looking at the one on the top of the pile. It was a family portrait, and in it his parents were dour and regal-looking, while he at twelve, was brimming with defiant energy. Regulus, beside him, scratched the side of his nose and stared. It was interesting to look at, but he lifted it, hands shaking, and carefully moved the next one into the light. A battered, time-aged and softened wizarding photo showed himself and his brother playing a game of hide-and-go-seek. The photograph had been taken by his uncle Alphard, and it stood apart in the soft-touch of the subject matter, completely alien amongst most of the photographs anyone would ever find of the Black boys. In the photo Sirius was no older than six, and had just 'found' Regulus, who was laughing. His little brother was still in nappies, Sirius sporting an awkward, toothy grin.

Sirius remembered a time when he had loved his brother fiercely. In truth, he always had, even after he'd run away from home and Reg had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters. Somewhere inside Sirius, all the anger and detest he expressed towards Regulus in adulthood had come from a place of complete bewilderment, the six year old inside him confused, hurt. After Azkaban, when Remus had broken the news – the truth – of what had happened to Reg, of what he had become, it ate away at Sirius to think that maybe, if he'd tried harder, he could have saved Regulus.

In the kitchen of the house where two little boys had once played, Sirius allowed the grief of what they'd lost wash over him.

Towards the early hours of the morning he gently returned the box to its place beneath the bed, and quietly crawled back into bed, his eyes rimmed red and raw with sleeplessness and sorrow. Hermione snuffled, turned in her sleep to face away from him, and he absent-mindedly stroked at the curve of her waist, his eyes wide and unseeing until eventually they fluttered closed.

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There was some irony in her friends attempting to use distraction to keep Hermione's mind off things when it was a part of their approach that caused the trouble in the first place. Still, Hermione bit her tongue, unsure it was worth the trouble of the conversations it might bring up – and besides, Ginny had been endlessly guilty since she'd spilled the beans, and the last thing Hermione wanted was to stress out her friend with a newly born to deal with. As far as the rest of the Order knew, all the fuss was about Hermione's history with Greyback and Harry's brotherly interfering. So the distractions continued.

"I think Arum lillies," Mari said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. It was after hours, the office auditorium dimly lit by the lamp on the witches' work station. Hermione, her cheek mashed into what was meant to be a delicately perfumed parchment sample, but which smelled rather like it had been soaked in Kneazle-piss instead, groaned.

Mari tutted. "It's almost like you don't want to be involved," she complained. "What kind of a best lady are you?"

Hermione responded with a half-hearted eye-roll. She still couldn't quite come to grips with the fact that despite all her early protestations, Mari had nevertheless turned into a typical bride-to-be, obsessed with the details of her upcoming nuptials. Obsessed, and stressed. Why they had chosen the rush of a February wedding was beyond Hermione's ability to understand, but Mari was on a roll, and it appeared, trying to outdo her own fiancé.

"Whose side are you on anyway? I have to choose the florals, otherwise the next thing you know Severus will have those awful black–"

"Violet–", countered Hermione.

"Black lilies, and the whole thing will turn out like a funeral," insisted Mari. "You're really standing up for Severus, aren't you?"

"Ugh, I know," said Hermione, ignoring the glare she received. In front of them, a pile of wedding-planner business cards were scattered. On the one closest to Hermione's left eye, a tiny, rather fat fairy relentlessly tapped a wand to the script, causing the text to erupt in an explosion of sparkles over and over again. 'For the most magical marriage and bewitching betrothals, trust Bertha Binns', it read.

"Look, I know his fashion sense, if you can call it that, is quite austere, but you like his cottage, don't you? And it's hardly a dungeon. He's a fool when it comes to you Mari, I don't think he'd work so hard to disappoint you. Black flowers are the least of it."

Mari reached over to tug the parchment out from under Hermione's face, forcing her to sit up.

"Speaking of black," the blonde-haired witch said lightly.

Hermione breathed out hard through her nose.

"How are things?" continued Mari, undeterred.

Countering with a raised eyebrow to match her friends, Hermione answered shortly. "Fine."

Mari stared briefly before her eyes flittered away. "And how's the research going?"

Hermione stubbornly pushed away the gnawing guilt that she was being short with Mari. She was tired, that was all. She'd been putting in extra time at the office, and she'd be lying if she didn't say that it also made her feel safer, being in a place where she didn't have to deal with a nosey Harry, a pensive Sirius or a half-crazed Death Eater with a taste for her blood.

"Witch to witch," Mari said, waving a hand in front of Hermione's face and breaking her train of thought.

"I'm sorry," confessed Hermione. "No, really, for being such a wet cloth. I'm just… so tired," she admitted. "The practicals are going well but it's really taking it out of me." Well, a half-truth was better than none. "I haven't even been dreaming."

"Oh. That's good at least, isn't it?"

"Well it's not helping Sirius. He still doesn't seem to be getting much sleep. I've been so knocked out I only know because of how he looks in the mornings."

"You've both been through a lot," Mari said carefully.

Hermione rubbed at her face. She'd plead off dinner at the Potters a second time in a row, citing a heavy workload. Harry had given her a knowing look, but Hermione felt only a twinge in taking advantage of Harry's natural propensity to guilt to slide out of the family commitment. Sirius hadn't said anything about it, but she could trust Mari to push.

"You're hiding," she said.

"I'm not, I've got lots to do here."

"Come on, Books," Mari said exasperatedly. Her usual good nature had melted away, replaced by clear concern. It made Hermione uncomfortable. "You can't think I don't see it."

Hermione sighed.

"I know I haven't been around much–"

"Okay, listen. I'm not going to argue with you because I get it, you're going through something. I'm just worried that you're pulling yourself away from everyone and it's not going to help– let me finish– I'm not going to tell you what to do, I know it's pointless but I also need you as a friend, Books."

Mari gathered her things, stopping to squeeze Hermione's shoulder warmly.

"So, Tuesday evening, okay? Severus is at a conference in Berlin and I need you to come help me figure

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, with a wan smile. "Not that I have the best decor sense, but your wish is my command." She accepted the warm hug she received from her friend before Mari also left the office.

Hermione knew she was disappointing her friends. She knew that she was obvious in her avoidance. She knew that they all knew, and that she was playing off Harry's sense of guilt for not telling her about Greyback. It didn't matter. She needed this, needed the time to herself. And to be fair, it wasn't as though she didn't have work to do – all the practice she'd been putting into her wandless magic was paying off.

And she had been putting a lot of practice in too, skipping out on runs for private practice in the woods. That, coupled with the growing appetite she was experiencing as a result of the energy being used, also left her feeling tired and lethargic. She case a sonorous; it was past 6pm. Everyone would be at Harry and Ginny's for dinner. Sirius would be there – he'd become almost religious about family dinners, especially any chance to see Harry's kids. He'd taken to Lily like a fish to water.

She missed him.

Letting out a shaky breath, she twitched her wand to turn up the brightness on her lamp and pulled out her papers.