Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The scroll had been tucked betwixt the tomes piled in the back of the Divination classroom— a pile of records none of them believed had been touched for a century or two with dust so thick Lily joked she could knit a sweater with it.

The assemblage of Gryffindors gathered in an empty charms classroom several hours past curfew. Mary read from the enigmatic scroll that, "once under the trance of the spell, the subject would be transported to a place sacred to both them and their fated soul mate. There, the ancient magic would grant them the opportunity to safely acquaint themselves."

Remus and Lily both scoffed at the spell, stating it was highly improbable such a ritual could truly work, or, that such a place as the "soulspace" could truly exist without having been thoroughly researched by now. Mary, Marlene and Sirius were skeptical as well, but James was properly enthusiastic.

The catch was that the soul mate also had to use the spell in order for it to work— from any point in time or space. This, Remus scoffed, was a conveniently pitiful justification for a fruitless and phony incantation, seeing as how the scroll had been hidden for centuries and the chances of anyone else using it were close to none.

Despite the heavy cynicism permeating the group, Mary had cast the spell on James who came out the other end entirely disenchanted, knowing Lily had refused to participate. Sirius had asked him how he knew it was Lily he would have encountered, but James only stared at his friend as though the boy had dribbled on himself.

Hating to be outdone by his best friend, Sirius was the next and the last, to undergo the ritual.

As she was nearing what he knew were the final utterances of the spell, Sirius felt his eyes glaze over as a blanket of soft fluffy clouds enveloped his senses. He was floating in the middle of the room, his entire body encased in thick rose-scented perfume. All he could see was mist, curling upwards and downwards in thin ringlets all around him.

When his vision finally cleared, the humid dusty charms classroom had morphed into his mother's library. The room was unerringly familiar in its cases filled with volumes depicting images of dark artifacts from A to Z and her writing desk nestled into the corner of the room almost camouflaged into the drapery hanging at the window.

Only it wasn't the library at Grimauld Place as he knew it. The room, which he intimately knew to be his mother's favorite in the whole dreary house, was pristine; not a book or a quill out of place, not a speck of dust on a single floorboard. This room, while identical in structure and organization, was stodgy.

The rarely-used fireplace was ablaze and the drapes spread open, painting the walls with the dim light from the street lamp below. Thick crystalline snowflakes, invisible in the dark, were floating like jewel encrusted clouds in the light of the lamppost, down to the quiet blue-gray stone.

The library itself looked in disarray; while mostly wiped down, Sirius could smell the stale stench of muggle tobacco and old ancient parchments. Quills lay forgotten around the room, parchment strewn across the chaise lounge, books piled between the armchairs and left haphazardly laying horizontally on the shelf.

Walburga would have had a fit to see the state of her precious scriptorium— a library used for social calls and business arrangements and gave the appearance of education and proper pureblood breeding, finally being used as Merlin intended.

The library was empty of any other human presence, as far as he could tell. In fact, by the look of the place, it may have been void of any life for several years. Regardless, he called out into the room to learn who may have joined him in this bewildering echo of his family's home.

"Is anyone here," he demanded.

"I'm here," came a short, startled reply from directly behind him. Sirius spun on his heel, expecting to find the owner of the voice, but found nothing more than two cushioned green armchairs.

"Where are you," he asked, now confident the voice did not belong to anyone in his family.

"I'm on the armchair," the girl called back into the room. Sirius eyed the two chairs before him. Both were vacant. "Where are you," the girl asked back. Sirius felt a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm in front of the armchairs, pet."

"I can't see you," the girl huffed in frustration.

"Yeah, figured as much," he said, biting back the sarcasm he knew he usually spat whenever he was uncomfortable or scared. This spell, so far, was really freaking him out. "Which chair are you on?"

"It depends," the voice posed. "Are you facing their seats or their backs?"

Unable to help himself, Sirius grinned. "I'm facing the seats, pet."

"In that case, I'm in the one to your left." He cast a glance toward the chair on the left, narrowing his focus and willing to see past the large open space of not-a-girl. "Have you taken your own seat, yet," the voice asked. Sirius dropped his shoulders in defeat, and threw himself down in the chair to the right.

"Yeah," he mumbled, disappointed. "I thought this spell was supposed to work differently."

"To be quite frank, I'm surprised the spell has produced even this much," she said with a sigh. "I thought the whole thing was utter rubbish."

Sirius snorted. "You and the rest of my mates."

The following silence crept over Sirius like an itch beginning in his legs and crawling across his arms. The longer he sat there, the faster the itch spread through his limbs, causing him to squirm in place. This was awkward, he thought, hopping back to his feet and pacing.

"So," he said, hoping to break the silence, "you're my soulmate, then?" It was the girl's turn to snort.

"Hardly."

"You seem so sure that you're not?"

"Do you really believe in soulmates?"

"Well, no," Sirius stuttered. "But, to be fair, I didn't really believe in the existence of a soulspace either, but here we are." He stopped his pacing in front of her seat, knowing she was in it, but contemplating it's vacancy nonetheless. He frowned. "Which, by the way— isn't this soulspace supposed to materialize into a place that's special to both of us, or some rot?"

"Yes," came the girl's reply.

"Well, why'd you choose my mother's library?"

The girl was silent for a moment, and Sirius couldn't help but imagine she was looking around the room. "This is your mother's library?"

"Last I checked," he confirmed. "Only, it's not as neat as she usually leaves it."

"I didn't choose this place. I've never been in here in my life," the voice responded. Sirius frowned deeper.

"So I'm guessing Mary's just a bit shit at incantations, then. Didn't get it right."

"If your friend got it wrong, yet we're both in here, then that means my friend got the same thing wrong."

Sirius grinned again, "Or," he drawled. "They both got it right and for some reason we're supposed to fall in love in my mum's library." However, his words caught up to him the second they were out of his mouth and he gagged, shaking his head from side to side hoping to dislodge the distasteful thought. "You're not a Nott are you," he demanded sharply, "or a Zabini or MacMillan?"

"No ,I'm not," she spat, affronted. "Why would you think so?"

"Just thought maybe you were some poor pureblood heiress my mother arranged for me, is all."

"Arranged?" Her question came out strangled, surprised, as if marriage arrangements weren't common where she was from.

"Yeah, arranged. You know," he said casually, dropping down to his rear against the leg of her vacant armchair, "for marriage?"

"I didn't think this library was that old," she whispered. "That is such an antiquated concept."

He smiled, shaking his head. "You have no idea, pet, but such is the life of a pureblood wizard."

The witch's voice hummed in understanding. "I guess I should pity you purebloods, and the hard lives you lead," she lamented derisively.

"Oh no, purebloods won't be pitied. They're better than everyone else, you know."

"Aren't you one of them?"

"Oh, I am better than everyone else, but it has nothing to do with my blood status. I'm just handsomer and more clever than any other bloke around," he flashed her a smile before coughing with the embarrassing realization that this witch couldn't even see his flirtatious expression.

She giggled. "I see you're choking on your own ego." A beat. "So what house are you in?"

"I'm in Gryffindor," he said, hoping the pride of this fact was obvious to her. However, she didn't reply. "Pet?"

"Sorry, what year are you?"

"I'm a fourth year. You?"

"Fourth."

"House?"

"Gryffindor."

"Do I know you?" Sirius tried to recall hearing a voice similar to hers, but no other girls in his year sounded quite like her. Her voice was soft and her tone was assertive. Besides, nearly every Gryffindor fourth year girl had been with them in the Charms classroom when Mary cast the spell on him.

"What's your name," the girl demanded. Sirius, unable to explain why he'd had an onset of nerves, panicked.

"Isn't it more fun to not know?"

"Considering we may never meet again, I can see your point," she agreed. "But I know it'll eat at me— I'll wonder for the rest of my life."

He snickered. "Are you saying you believe I'm your soulmate now?"

She scoffed in return. "Not one bit."

"What a pity."

Instead of hearing the witch's voice, Sirius swore he could hear the panicked voices of his friends. He looked up into the vacant armchair once more before the mist began to swirl into his vision again, carrying him away in the cloud that had dropped him into this library with the incorporeal voice.

Everything was dark, but James and Remus's voices were growing louder. Marlene and Mary were crying, and Peter was trying assure the girls that Sirius's death wasn't their fault.

Suddenly, as if all the breath had been siphoned from his lungs, Sirius heaved a large airy gulp and sat up straight. His vision was blurry, but he felt what he thought must have been eight pairs of arms tightening around his torso as the girls kept crying and his mates only laughed in poorly disguised relief.

"You weren't waking up," Lily was wailing as she tightened her arms around his neck from behind. Mary was using his tie to wipe her tears, gripping the front of his robes in her shaking fist. "Your eyes were white, and you were so still!"

Sirius was glad to be back, touched that every female he knew had been worried for his safety. But none of the voices he heard that night, or the days following, even came close to hers.

"What happened, Sirius," Remus asked him, curiosity piqued. "Where'd you go?"

Sirius met his friends look with a bewildered one himself. Not quite sure why he did so, he replied, "I can't remember."

In the coming weeks, Sirius had never been more despondent. He avoided his fellow marauders, and most importantly, avoided the girls.

Seeing how the spell had affected the boy, Mary and Lily became wary of the parchment still tucked safely in Mary's book bag. They and Marlene and Alice quickly agreed the spell itself was a danger to the school and attempted to set it aflame.

However, upon touching the flame, the scroll had glowed a bright white and hardened against the sparks.

Instead, they agreed to hide the incantation in the Room of Hidden Things, hoping it would safely evade victimizing students for a century, at least.

Unbeknownst to them, Sirius had followed them in their quest to hide the spell and had taken note of the chest in the corner of the room they had spelled to lock it away. Lily might have been quite adept at charms, but Sirius had been breaking locking charms since he was a toddler.

His friends told him he'd been unconscious for five minutes, so he'd decided he needed five more minutes with the girl. He was compelled, like a moth to a flame— like a hummingbird to the nectar of the sweetest flower in the garden. He had to speak with her again, he needed to know more about her.

She may not have believed in soulmates, but after his five minutes (which truthfully felt like an hour) in Walburga's library-through-the-looking-glass, he was never more certain that this nameless girl was his soulmate.

"Hermione!"

Two pairs of strong hands were gripping each of her elbows when her consciousness shifted back to the empty arithmancy classroom. She shook her head to clear it of the rosy mist she'd inhaled, and blinked rapidly in the hope of refocusing her eyes.

Fred and George Weasley sat before her, faces twisted in a hysterical mixture of panic and relief. Served them right, she thought, for attempting an unknown ritual incantation on a fellow student.

A sharp piercing jolt lit up along the front of her own head, causing her to jump from the twins' grasp and cradle her forehead in her arms; and that served her right for agreeing to it.

"Are you alright," Fred probed carefully, hovering a hand over her shoulder as though she were a wounded animal ready to lash out. "What happened?"

"Where is that parchment," she snapped, looking up over her arms, hand outstretched in wait, demanding, "give it here."

"Did it work," George asked, trying and failing not to look excited. "Is that why you went limp? Your eyes, Hermione! They were ghostly white!"

"Only a little bit spooky, really," added Fred. "We've seen worse," he lied.

When her eyes finally settled, Hermione took in the twins appearances, and both were white as sheets— very telling.

"I'm fine, but I cannot in good conscience let you ever perform that enchantment on anybody else," she snapped. "Give it to me."

George's hackles were clearly raised, his mouth pinched tight and eyebrows blending into his ginger fringe. "Now, look here, Granger," he started, but his brother cut him off.

"It worked, didn't it? That's why you want it. You met someone," he poked, looking the exact opposite of his twin, the picture of amusement and gaiety. "I think we'll just keep, it, then, now you know who your soulmate is and all."

"You clearly underestimate me," Hermione smirked. "I am not your brother nor your sister and you cannot goad me into dropping this. That incantation is ancient and untested and clearly very dangerous. Look at yourselves," she indicated toward the two older boys who had yet to recover from their earlier pallor. "You were absolutely terrified something bad happened to me— and what if something had?"

"You're fine, Granger," Fred laughed, gesturing loosely in her general direction. "You're all prim and you about it, so you're clearly unharmed. You can tell us about him, you know. I'm curious about the poor sod."

She fixed the boy with a stern glance before holding out her hand once more.

"If you give it to me, I can dispose of it quietly and no one needs to know. Otherwise, I'll report you. I'll say you practiced an ancient ritual, which may have actually involved dark magic, on school grounds."

"Come off it," George's voice had risen an octave in frustration. "This wasn't dark magic!"

"How do you know?"

"You're alive, aren't you? We didn't bleed you for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione responded with a single arched eyebrow.

"Fine," George hissed, shoving the brittle parchment into her hands, stomping out of the classroom.

"Where did you find this?"

"In the Honeydukes passage," Fred said, easily, avoiding her gaze. Hermione harrumphed, remembering she had threatened to turn them in if they ever used that passage again. Especially now, with so many interesting people roaming the castle at all times.

She didn't mind the foreign students, but she grew daily more suspicious of their headmasters and a handful of the Ministry officials. The ministry was hiding something. Sirius had as good as said so when he last spoke to Harry in the fireplace.

"Be careful," she sighed to the remaining twin.

She carefully slipped the old parchment in her book bag as she left the classroom, carefully descending the rafters in the dark. She'd have to visit the library and look into this so-called, "soulspace."

The idea of predestined soulmates was ludicrous and there had to be something else going on. A thought occurred to her.

"Fred," she asked the boy she could hear trailing behind her on the wooden steps. "Are there any pureblooded Gryffindor students I don't know about?"

Fred's footsteps stuttered and stopped altogether. "You met someone in there," he breathed. When Hermione turned to look at him, his eyes were wide, almost defeated.

"Of course I didn't," she huffed, but Fred's knowing look shamed her; she quickly looked over his shoulder. She could feel him smirk.

"C'mon, Granger," he asked, patronizing her. "Who'd you meet?"

Deciding she was entirely finished with this discussion, she spun on her heel and stomped the rest of the way down the Astronomy tower.

Over the next two weeks, Hermione was on a mission. She spent every free moment she had in the Hogwarts Library juggling her two self-imposed tasks; helping Harry survive this archaic tournament and learning all she could about the Soulspace.

However, until Harry put his head in the game and figured out his eggs clue, she was at a standstill on that front. Really, she was at a standstill on the other front, as well, since not a single book she had looked at in the following weeks even mentioned the Soulspace, or referenced it in passing. She'd have to visit the restricted section soon if she was to find anything on it.

She, Harry and Ron were lounging in the common room one afternoon, near the window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Her boys, both with drawn features and wistfulness written in their eyes, stared out longingly at the disused pitch likely lamenting the canceled sport. She did pity them, a little. At least during Quidditch games, she was moderately more prepared for the dangers which may befall her best friend.

She, however, was preoccupied with the mystery of the Soulspace and had little sympathy for their plight. She hadn't shared with either boy what had occurred in the arithmancy classroom with the twins. Truthfully, she wasn't sure how she would explain it to them, not fully understanding what had taken place, herself. She had no idea how to describe where she had been, or who she had spoken to and grimaced at the use of the word "soulmate."

Knowing the boys would only tease her if she said anything about meeting someone, especially a (charming) boy, she chose to keep to the entire debacle to herself. This would be a mystery she'd have to solve on her own. However, that didn't mean she couldn't use them for whatever information they might be willing to impart.

"Which pureblood families are represented in Gryffindor," the question was directed toward the tall, pouting, ginger boy.

Ron lifted his head from where it rested over his crossed arms on the windowsill. "Well," he started slowly, "like right now?" Hermione nodded. "I guess ours, the Weasleys." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as he began listing names. "Of course the Longbottoms and Patil. Potter is still an old pureblood family whether Harry's half or not." Then he made a face. "Avery, I think. I'm not sure."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Neville's mum doesn't happen to have a favorite library, does she?" She was sure the voice she spoke to did not belong to Neville Longbottom, but she had to follow her process and rule out every possibility.

"I'm not sure Neville's got a mum," Harry mumbled, looking directly at Hermione. "His gran always picks him up at the station and he only ever talks about her and an old uncle."

"We'd know if he was an orphan, wouldn't we," Ron asked. Hermione had thought so, but looking back, she never had asked Neville about his family. When he had spoke of them, he only mentioned obscure relations and his fearsome grandmother. She filed this away for later.

"Why are you wondering about purebloods," Harry asked. She shrugged in defeat.

"Nothing really. Just curious, I guess."

Either the boy in the private library had lied to her about his year and house, or this mysterious Soulspace could somehow transcend time. Only one option was logical, but Hermione had come to learn that in the world of magic, the latter was equally as inconveniently possible.

That night, Hermione sneaked back up to the arithmancy classroom, careful not to tread heavily on the wooden floorboards of the rafters.

She settled down in the center of the floor, wand and incantation in hand. Beginning the ritual, she conjured candles, lighting them and placing them at certain points around herself to form a five-point star. She felt rather silly, reminding herself of witches from her storybooks instead of the modern witch she was.

She lifted her wand and recited the Greek spell, familiar mist rising and enveloping her just as it had before.

She shut her eyes tightly and focused all her energy on completing the incantation; she allowed herself to fall back into the warm comfort of the surrounding mist which swaddled her like a newborn baby.

Uttering the last syllable, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. She wasn't in a library this time. Instead she stood in a long dark dining room. The table was littered with blank parchment and only two chairs at the end were pulled out. There were no windows, but the sconces lining the walls were dancing with flames giving the room a chilling ambiance.

The room, while frightening, was also decorated somewhat haphazardly for Christmas— green and silver tinsel garlands were stuck to the door frame and bordering the back of each long-back dining chair. Garlands of greenery tied up with red bows hung in scallops across the ceiling and potted poinsettias were placed in increments down the long table. The attempt at cheer was noble, she thought, but ultimately hopeless.

"You know, I think I should be worried that you keep bringing us back to my family's home," the familiar timbre of the faceless boy's voice came from directly behind her. It sounded so close she nearly jumped in surprise, having not heard anyone approach.

"I've never been here before," she breathed, turning to find the expected emptiness. "It's your family's home. How are you so sure I'm the one bringing us here?"

"Because," the voice came from farther away this time, "This place is anything but special to me." She heard him sniff then mumble, "I'd never intentionally bring anyone I love to this place."

"Where are you," she asked, ignoring the way her chest tightened at his last comment.

"End of the table," he said. "Join me?"

Hermione sank into a chair and stared hard at the space she assumed he was supposed to be. Perhaps if she squinted she'd be able to see at least an outline of him; she had no such luck.

"So, you came back," he said in a tone Hermione believed sounded rather guarded. "I almost thought you wouldn't."

"Why did you come back, then?"

She heard him splutter, "Well, you know. You're my soulmate." She rolled her eyes, entirely aware that he couldn't see it.

"We are not soulmates," she said primly.

"And what makes you so sure of that, Princess?"

"Well, soulmates don't lie to each other."

He was silent for a minute. "Dumbest thing I've ever heard, but I'll bite. When did I lie to you."

She could feel the first signs of her irritability flare at his condescension. "You told me you were a pureblood Gryffindor!"

"I am," he laughed. "That's hardly a lie. Part of the bloody Sacred Twenty-eight. My pedigree is so pure it should be illegal."

"No," she snapped, "because there are only five pureblood houses represented in Gryffindor right now!"

"Well yeah, the rest of those bloody wankers prefer Slytherin or Ravenclaw," he agreed. She almost though he was enjoying the spat.

"Weasley, Longbottom, Potter, Patil and Avery!"

The boy was silent, no more laughter or chuckles.

"What," Hermione asked hesitantly.

"There's no Weasleys or Patils at Hogwarts this year," he said seriously.

"What do you mean? of course there are," she huffed. "The place is littered with Weasleys."

"So why did you come back," he asked, voice suddenly strained. "If you don't believe we're soulmates, then clearly you don't care about me, so why come back here?"

She sighed, feeling marginally guilty for finding truth in his statement. She cared about finding out who he was and about the incantation or this soulspace; she hadn't formed any type of attachment to him specifically.

"I came back because I had a few questions for you," she said sullenly.

"Well, go on then." His voice was hard again, like a wall had gone up between them.

She pushed back the guilt. "Where did you find the spell?"

"Not sure. It was in the Divination classroom somewhere. The girls found it."

"The girls," Hermione asked, and immediately regretted it.

"You jealous," he asked, humor trickling back into his voice.

"Hardly," she deadpanned.

"Marley and Alice and them," he responded flippantly. Hermione didn't recognize those names at all. The longer she sat there, across the corner from this frustrating flirt, the more she was becoming convinced that they weren't from the same time.

"Hey," she started. "I think we may be--,"

"Playing with time magic here? Yeah, cottoned on to that, pet."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Truthfully, she didn't know, she only knew there was a part of her heart that went out to this boy, for whatever reason that may be. The possibility that they weren't from the same time, especially since he was so determined that they were soulmates, broke a small piece of her heart for him. If they were soulmates, she didn't see a happy ending for them.

"I'm not sure. But do you want to hear my theory?" She heard him chuckle. "I've been doing some research and there's no record of a Soulspace anywhere. There's no proof of soulmates in any book in the Hogwarts Library, though I haven't looked in the restricted section, yet."

The boy hummed in acknowledgment, prompting her to continue. "I bet this place is just another plane of existence; an alternate reality created by the spell."

"So why are we both here then? At the same time," he asked.

"I haven't figured it out yet," she admitted. "Maybe there's something we share in common that brings us both to the same reality. It can't be blood status, since I'm a muggleborn, but it could be something else. Birth-date? Zodiac sign?"

"Or," he interrupted, "magic has seen fit to bind us together. Soulmates." Hermione snorted.

"I want to get to know you," she said finally.

"Likewise," he drawled. She felt her cheeks warm and thanked Merlin profusely that this boy couldn't see her.

"In getting to know each other, we'll likely determine our common factors and I can deduce from there."

"Am I an experiment?"

"Well you're certainly not my soulmate," she retorted. He snorted this time.

"I'm pretty sure you're mine, even if it weren't for this stupid soulspace," he said honestly. Hermione's breath caught.

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered. He never answered though, because the next thing she knew, she was gasping for air on the floor of the arithmancy classroom. There were no Christmas garlands in sight.

Sirius sat behind the teaching lectern in the Charms classroom, knees to his chest, sighing in deep relief.

The past two weeks had been torturous, trying to determine who his soulmate was. After figuring out that she was a muggleborn Gryffindor, he'd been panicked that it had somehow been Evans, even though she had refused to do the ritual. Still, the gut wrenching fear was put to rest.

His witch was from a different time. Either the past or the future, he wasn't certain. But she was a clever little thing. She sounded like a swot, if he were completely honest with himself. Her determination endeared her to him.

All the other swots he'd ever known were too antisocial and too focused completely on grades and performance; It was like they didn't have a life outside of academia. He wrinkled his nose. Aside from the Ravenclaws, they all only cared about outperforming one another. Princess wasn't like that, he could tell.

She had a hunger for knowledge, a thirst for the satisfaction of putting a puzzle together with all the right pieces. It wasn't a competition for her. In fact, and this worried him, it seemed to him that the stakes she put on figuring this all out were critical. Life or death.

Secure in the knowledge that his Princess wasn't the love of his best friend's life, Sirius once again began to fret. The next time he met up with her, she was sure to have a long list of questions to ask him; she'd likely also have several details from her research for them to mull over and discuss and he refused to let her dominate the conversation this time.

To prove he was able to pull his own weight in this mystery, he made time to slip away from his friends and do his own research. When James, Remus and Peter were heading down to the Transfiguration courtyard to spy on the Hufflepuffs, Sirius took off to the Library.

He flashed Madam Pince a charming smile and slipped her a note from his grandfather (forged, or course) asking to allow him access to the restricted section. The librarian glared at him, but slid him the heavy key nonetheless.

Truthfully, he had no idea where to start. There were books on experimental magic all over the the restricted section, in a variety of different subsections such as Potions for Paupers, a guide in securing generational wealth as well a Protective Wards and Other Curses, a tome he'd seen in his own family's library.

He perused titles for hours, picking up books that looked promising and sending them over to a velvet cushioned workstation near the mezzanine. One book, Amor Eterno; Ancient Love Spells and Bonding Rites, looked particularly promising.

"Padfoot," he heard a hissing from his pocket. Quickly, he pulled out a hand mirror displaying James's face. "Where the hell are you?"

Sirius didn't answer, rather flipped the mirror around to show his friend the shelves of books.

"What are you doing in the library," James hissed.

"He's in the library," came Remus's more muffled, highly surprised, response. "Sirius, what on Earth," the sandy blonde boy asked in astonishment, squishing his face next to James's in the mirror. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I'm coming up in a minute," he whispered. "I'll tell you what I'm doing but you have to swear not to tell the girls."

Both his friends shared looks of shock before nodding vigorously. Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He shoved the mirror back in his pocket and bit his cheek in thought.

He probably shouldn't tell the guys, he knew they'd get mad at him for hiding this from them in the first place, and Remus would likely scold him for having done the ritual on himself. Something about possible danger.

But if anyone would understand the pull of the girl you were meant to be with, it would be James. James, the most loyal and resolute of his friends, who had been in love with Evans since she yelled at him the first day of first year. Surely he would understand Sirius's need to be with Princess, to help her in her quest?

James, it turned out, did not understand.

Neither did Remus, to no surprise, but both boys promised not to tell any of the girls and promised to help him research the incantation if it would put the obsession to rest.

"Well, she doesn't believe we're soulmates," Sirius told the boys sitting opposite him on his bed, books scattered over the covers.

"Good on her," Remus said, "at least one of you's got their head on straight." Sirius tossed a Bertie Bott's Bean at the boy's head.

"As I was saying, she thinks the spell creates a new plane, a— a… an ultimate universe."

"Alternate universe," Remus corrected, biting off the head of a chocolate frog as he turned the page in Potions for Paupers. Sirius nodded.

"That sounds right. Anyway, the reason we both get pulled in—"

"Is because you're both stupid enough to keep doing the spell," James said curtly. Sirius was just about to throw a bean at him, too, when a thought occurred to him.

"You mean if someone else did the spell, too, then they'd join us at Grimauld Place," he asked. James shrugged and looked at Remus. Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I don't think so. Mary tried the spell on James first, remember? As far as we know, it didn't work on him."

James nodded, "I don't remember anything happening at all. I didn't even leave the classroom."

"What if," Sirius started, holding his quill to his mouth, "what if she didn't do it right that first time and that's why nothing happened?"

"It's possible," Remus said, then suddenly looked deeply pained. "There really is only one way to find out for sure."

"Absolutely not," James splattered. "Not after what it did to Padfoot."

"I'm fine!"

All three decided they would keep researching for a week to see if they were on the right track before they attempted to put James under the enchantment again.

Sirius swore he'd never read so much in his life, of his own free will. He'd read before classes started, during breaks, at dinner and before bed almost every night.

Potions for Paupers had nothing useful, nor did Protection Wards and Other Curses though it did have a lot of interesting anti-muggle curses and how to dismantle them. He might be killed for it, but his new Christmas Holiday goal was to dismantle as many of Grimauld's wards as possible without getting caught. His notes were extensive.

In the entire stack of restricted tomes he had spirited out of the library, only Amor Eterno had even a single passing mention of the word soulspace.

"Many of the world's most renowned love Potions (most of which were criminalized in the mid eighteenth century) even borrow from certain forms of ancient magic. Amortentia, for example, steals from Martty Callaway's research into the void between spaces in how it reproduces the smell of the loved one. However, modern researchers have concluded this phenomenon is merely psychological as the smeller likely already knows what smell they hope to wiff off the brew. In fact, the smell of Amortentia is even likely to change throughout one's life, a point which largely leads us away from Callaway's fabled soulspace in the use of potions."

Sirius nearly fell over. In his week of nonstop reading, he hadn't come up on a single detail about the elusive soulspace, but this book had mentioned it so casually, as though it was common knowledge.

The name Martty Callaway even looked familiar, like he'd seen it before.

Snuggling down into the blankets of his four poster bed, he extinguished the lights and tried to remember where he had seen Callaway's name before.

Groaning, he remembered. It was in his mother's library, a place he had no intention of snooping through anytime soon.

Luckily, he threw together a wild plan. He had no idea if it would actually work.

When he woke, he met James, Remus and Peter in the common room.

Peter had not been included in this quest, due mostly to his close relationship with the girls. Remus, James and Sirius knew that Peter would be unable to keep the secret from Mary and Mary would cry to them and beg them to stop. What had happened in the Charms rooms that first night had truly terrified the girl.

Between the four of them, there were already so many secrets they all had to keep. Peter, they knew, could only handle so many, and the poor boy was already struggling to keep their weekly animagus meditations from Remus. One more may just cause boy to break down.

"Oi Pete," Sirius called out as he fell onto the ottoman by the boy's feet. "Mary was looking for you. Wants to borrow your tabletop quidditch set to settle an argument with Longbottom."

Pete heaved a great sigh. "They're still on about that?" Sirius, James and Remus all watched as the smaller boy sulked up the stairs to find his figurines.

Sirius turned his attention to the others and said simply, "We're doing it tonight. Arithmancy classroom, at eleven. James?"

The raven-haired boy nodded resolutely. "Remus," Remus nodded just as gravely, a flare of excitement flashing in his eyes. Sirius chuckled softly. The werewolf never could resist testing a theory, even if it was dangerous.

Sirius was the first to go under that night, and instead of thinking about Princess, as he'd taken to calling her in his head, he was determined to open his eyes in the library like the first time.

When he cracked one eye open and saw the messy echo of his mother's favorite room, he yipped in excitement and hopped up to his feet, running for the corner where he thought he remembered seeing the name Martty Callaway.

"I'm guessing you're the one that brought us to your mother's library this time," came Princess's teasing voice from across the room. He grimaced, but continued scanning the shelf for anything familiar.

"Sorry about that Princess," he said, "but I've been doing some reading and I think I've actually found something on the Soulspace. But I need a particular book I know my mother has and I'd much rather find it in here than out there."

Princess was silent. Finding the dark green fabric-bound book with the name Martty Calloway, he removed it from the shelf and flipped it open. The pages were blank.

He blinked in surprise as he flipped through the aged pages, but all of them were completely bare. "Fuck," he muttered.

"What's happened," Princess asked, still across the room.

"The book is empty."

"It's possible the book is only an echo of the real thing. The real book won't be empty," she muttered. "Aha, see!" She exclaimed. Then quieter, "no, no you don't see. Because we can't see each other, but this book I'm looking at is also blank! As is this other one!"

Sirius put the Callaway book down and grabbed another, flipping through plain pages, then another and another; all the books were blank.

"Okay," he breathed out, satisfied. He walked back toward the stiff armchairs they occupied last time and sunk down into one. "Alright, I'll just owl my uncle and have him send the book to me."

From the chair beside him he heard, "why don't you just ask your mother?" Sirius snorted.

"My mother is a bitch," he said lightly. "She'd rather have me murdered than help me do research of any kind. Blood purity fanatic, muggle hater. Not me, though," he told her gently.

He was battling the most ridiculous urge to reach over and take her invisible hand in his, only he couldn't see her hand. He was imagining where she had placed it on the armrest.

"She hates me because she failed in raising me to her standards. I'm a Gryffindor in a family full of slimy Slytherins, and I'm friends with my muggleborn classmates. I've told her to her face that she's fucking nutter, but that only landed me a broken ankle and a week of summer hols locked in my room with no food."

Princess gasped quietly and he could sense her stiffen next to him; he berated himself for giving away too much too quickly because the last thing he wanted was for her to pity him. Instead, she giggled.

"I'm so sorry," she claimed, tampering down giggles. "Wrong reaction to that, I know. And I know your situation is anything but funny! It's absolutely dreadful, actually and I'm sorry that's your life, but good Merlin," she exclaimed. "What is it with everyone's families being so awful?"

Her laughter showered him with relief, and he soon gave himself over to chuckles as well. "Tell me about your awful parents, then," he said casually.

"Oh, not to brag, but my parents are wonderful," she stated. "It's my best friend. He was raised by his aunt and uncle and they had him sleep in a cupboard until he was old enough to come to Hogwarts!"

Sirius chose to ignore the sting of jealously he felt at the mention of her best friend; his skin had actually prickled when he heard her say "he."

"A cupboard? Merlin, was this bloke raised by my parents?"

"They were muggle, actually," she said. This surprised Sirius.

"I guess muggles really are human like the rest of us. They can be just as cruel."

"And just as wonderful," Princess said solemnly. Sirius felt warm.

"So," Princess said after a while, "You've been doing research," she asked tentatively.

Sirius grinned. "You should be proud of me, actually. I have read so many books I'm sure my professor's are worried about me!" He brightened further at her giggle.

"In fact," he continued, turning in his chair to face her empty space fully, "James should be joining us shortly if our theory about an alternate reality is sound."

"Who's James?"

"My best mate!"

So Sirius regaled the girl with the theories he had discussed with his friends. From the alternate universe, to why only the two of them seemed to be present in their plane, to their plan to put James under once again, correctly this time, to test Remus's theory on why.

Princess listened intently, asking the right questions to keep him talking, and even asked about Martty Callaway, as Sirius seemed to have made more progress in finding any mention of the Soulspace than she had, which he desperately hoped had impressed her.

"You made quite a bit more progress than I did," she lamented. "But, do you mind if I look into Callaway, as well?"

"Be my guest, Princess."

"Why do you call me that? It doesn't suit me," she whined.

He chuckled, "of course it suits you. Don't know how yet, but I'll figure it out."

"I'd rather you didn't," she said. "I don't like nicknames."

"Yes, but pet," he grinned, "we don't know each other's names. What am I supposed to call you?"

Princess was silent for a moment, as though debating something. "I supposes you have a point," she concluded. "So what can I call you?"

"Will Handsome work?"

Princess snorted. "I'd rather not. You see, I can't see you and I'd rather not be stating falsehoods." Sirius was aghast.

"I would never lie to you, Princess," he gasped in faux despair.

"That remains to be seen," she laughed.

"Are you teasing me," he asked, wiggling his eyebrows stupidly. "And here I thought you too prim to tease someone!"

"I tease!" She laughed. "Harry and Ron just don't get it because it flies over their heads."

"Who," he choked?

"Oh well, I guess Harry gets it most of the time. He just doesn't laugh too hard because Ron doesn't."

"Is Ron Harry's boyfriend," Sirius asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Princess laughed again.

"No. Might as well be, with the big fight those two prats had earlier this year. They were so angry at each other, it was stupid! They used me as the go-between for months!"

"Lovers' spats are difficult, I hear," he lamented. "Did they ever resolve it?"

"Yes. Stupidly. Is it a boy thing?"

"Is what a boy thing?"

"You know, not apologizing and just… Pretending the fight never happened?"

"If we're lucky," he deadpanned. Princess groaned.

Feeling light, Sirius looked around the musty library, watching flecks of dust dance around the air in the soft light from the window. It was daytime, and he felt surprisingly warm and cozy in a way he never had before in this room. It must have been her presence. Whether she believed it or not.

The following silence wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was welcome. He wondered what it would be like to sit in silence in this very library with this very girl. He wondered if someday he might be able to see her, or hold her hand. He wanted to hug her and feel her warmth, because he was sure a girl like her would exude warmth, either physically or not. Just talking to her warmed him up.

"Did your friend make it," Princess asked suddenly. Sirius frowned; he wasn't sure.

"James," he called out. "James did you make it in here?"

There was no response.

"Guess not," he said, again relieved. He would have absolutely hated having to share his Princess time with his prat of a best friend. "So," he said casually, "you had questions for me?"

"I did, but honestly, I think we've done a good job getting know each other organically," she said. He smiled.

"I'd say we did pretty good today, myself."

"Honestly, my questions were kind of pathetic."

"I doubt that," he assured her. She chuckled.

"I was going to ask you your favorite color," she said. He grimaced.

"Amber."

"What?"

"My favorite color is amber. It's not red, it's not yellow. It's not even orange. It's liquid gold."

"Silver," Princess's voice sounded distant again as mist started enveloping Sirius once again.

When he opened his eyes he saw James and Remus sitting at opposite ends of the classroom, shooting glares at each other.

"What happened," he asked them.

"Nothing," snapped James. "Remus didn't do it right!"

"I did it perfectly, thank you very much," Remus sniped. "I did it exactly the same way I did it on Sirius. We tried about seven times before James started yelling at me, so I quit. I will not be yelled at."

"Good for you," Sirius quipped at Remus, approvingly. James sneered at them from the other side of the room and Sirius smiled widely. "This means there's gotta be another reason that only Princess and I show up in there, meaning, her being my soulmate is still on the table."

"If you'll excuse me," he said, hopping up to his feet, trying to hide his wide grin. "I've got to go write to Uncle Alphard!"

Hermione had created three primary goals for herself during Christmas Break, since everyone was staying at the school for the Yule Ball.

First, she would come up with a way to help Harry solve the egg clue. The second task was roughly two months away and he hadn't made heads nor tails of it.

Second, she would learn all she possibly could about Martty Callaway, whom she found, had been a renowned potioneer. She was unsuccessful in finding any books about him, and even more unsuccessful in locating books he'd written. However, Madam Pince had been kind enough to help Hermione draft a letter to the Ministry Collection for further assistance.

Third, Hermione was determined to come up with a name for the boy. It was silly for her to continue calling him "the boy," she told herself. So she had to come up with a suitable moniker.

Her last visit with him had surprised her. Never in her life had she expected him to have joined her in research. In her experience, a boy willingly taking on research for a non-academic pursuit was unheard of. But he had looked into the soulspace, roped his friends into helping him conduct an an actual experiment to test a hypothesis, and made a much larger dent in the mystery than she had.

She had been impressed, and flustered, she admitted to herself the next morning as she stared into the bathroom mirror. The way he had chattered on excitedly about what he had read, and the theories he'd concocted with his friends made her stomach do flips.

She eagerly listened to everything he said, hoping not only to glean the information he was spilling out into that dirty library, but also hoping to keep him energized. She had never before experienced that with a peer. The boy was intelligent, if a bit unserious, but clever and funny.

In fact, Hermione found herself distracted far more often than usual, grinning to herself while thinking about how they had talked, and how much she'd very much love to hear his voice again.

More than once, she found herself suspiciously watching some of the pureblood students at the school, wondering which families would have the indecency required to abuse their own flesh and blood the way he said his family abused of him.

She wouldn't put it past the Malfoys, or the Notts. Part of her wondered about the Parkinsons or Zabinis, but she didn't know enough about them. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the Slytherins in her class, knowing their home lives were likely very different from her own; possibly unloving and cold.

She wanted to tell Harry what she was doing, but Harry had his own worries and telling Ron without the buffer Harry provided could only be disastrous. Especially if Ron ratted her out to the twins.

At least he had help from his mates. But he and his mates didn't happen to have the weight of the world on their shoulders every year. The only person she felt she could share this particular burden with was him, and she found herself wanting to visit the soulspace more and more.

Maybe she could tell him more about her life, her worries for Harry, her constant anxiety about the state of the world. Maybe he'd back her up concerning house elves.

Hermione was pulled out of her musings when Viktor Krum took the seat across from her at her favorite library table. He looked nervous.

"What can I do for you," she asked kindly. The Seeker gave her a small, appreciative smile.

"Will you do me the honor of attending the Yule Ball with me," he asked. Hermione blinked. Twice. Caught in total surprise.

"Sure," she replied nervously. When Krum left her table, all she could think was, I have to tell Handsome.

"I'm attending a ball as the date of an international Quidditch star," Hermione said the moment she fell into the green armchair.

"Okay," Handsome said from directly in front of her. She reached out her hand in a desperate attempt to feel him there. No such luck. "What?"

"A rather famous quidditch player asked me to the upcoming Yule Ball at Hogwarts."

"And you accepted?"

"I did."

"So…" he was silent for a moment. When he spoke again the voice came from behind her chair. "Why are you telling me this?" She spun around in her seat to face in his general direction.

"I don't know, exactly. I felt like I should. I had to tell someone."

"You couldn't tell your Harry?"

"He's not my Harry, and no. I mean," she sputtered, "he won't believe me? Ron will get mad, I know it. I can't tell them these sort of things," she groaned, absolutely embarrassed by the conversation.

"Hey, hey," Handsome said. "You can tell me anything, Princess. It's okay, really." He was still standing behind her seat. She imagined he had his hands on the backrest of the chair, leaning over it to look into her face. She wished so hard she could picture the face in front of hers. "We're friends, right?"

"I'd hoped so," she replied with a small voice. She swore, at that moment, she could feel the brush of wind as he moved around her seat and kneeled in front of her. She bit her lip.

"We are," he said, from exactly where she'd imagined he'd be. She held her breath. "Besides, you can date whoever you'd like, famous or not; I'm your soulmate. I'm not threatened." Hermione snorted.

"Not soulmates," she muttered.

"So. Do you like him?"

"He's nice, I guess. Quiet."

Sirius made a noncommittal noise before responding. "Doesn't sound like your type."

"Because you know my type," she laughed.

"I do. And of its shy, quiet athletic types, I'll eat my left shoe."

"He really isn't my type," Hermione conceded with a laugh.

Handsome gasped. "Princess, he's a celebrity! What do you mean he's not your type?" If she could have smacked him, she would have.

"Oh. Get a grip" she moaned. "Harry's a flipping celebrity, and he's not my type, either."

Handsome didn't respond for a minute, and Hermione feared he might have left the soulspace without letting her know. However, just a quick as she thought it, he responded, directly in her ear.

"I'll probably be forced to start researching famous Harry's if you don't stop dropping hints like that, sweetheart."

Sirius really didn't want to be jealous. He told her he didn't mind her dating, even though she made it perfectly clear that it wasn't his blessing she sought.

But good Merlin, he was seeing green.

He and James had chosen to remain at the castle during Christmas Break this year, since the Potters were abroad in Russia for some gala or other. Sirius refused to go home to Grimauld Place.

The break flew by quite smoothly, though all of Christmas day he tried exceptionally hard not to picture Princess out on a date with some burly Quidditch star. By the time he went to bed that night, the hinge of his jaw was throbbing with pain from having ground his teeth all day.

The day after Christmas, he received a short missive from Walburga.

"My mother is arranging a marriage for me," he announced, laying dramatically across the rug before the fire. "How was your ball?"

"Excuse me," Princess asked, sounding properly scandalized. "A betrothal this early? You're only fourteen!"

"Fifteen, actually," he corrected, closing his eyes. "And, usually, betrothal contracts are arranged a year after birth. I bet Walburga was just holding out for me to die."

"That's awful," she said.

"That's mother."

"Can you get out of it?"

"I could die," he suggested.

"That's not funny. Be serious."

"I'm always Sirius," he said absently, immediately wincing at the reflexive joke that had slipped, unbidden, from his idiot lips. He changed the subject.

"Tell me about the ball. How did it go?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"That bad, huh?"

They sat in the heavy silence for the rest of their time together, staring into the library's roaring fire, trying not to think about their real lives but simply enjoying each other's wordless co-misery.

"I think this might be my mother's bedroom," Handsome stated, kicking a tuft of the plentiful straw littering the room.

"I didn't realize she was cow," Hermione responded, icily. Handsome let out a barking laugh, startling her. "I meant, a literal cow," she muttered, kicking the straw.

"You sure hit the nail on the head, though, Princess, for a cow she most definitely is."

"Why did soulspace materialize as your mother's bedroom?"

"Well, it doesn't usually look like this, if I'm being honest. This is hilariously messy. Whoever did this probably did it as a big old 'eff-you' to the bitch."

"It smells like Hippogriff in here," She said, wrinkling her nose and falling on the springy broken bed.

"And how, my dear, are you so intimately familiar with the smell of Hippogriff?"

Hermione laughed, falling back on the mattress. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh come on," Handsome pried from somewhere beside her on the mattress. She felt heat rise up into her cheeks and thanked the soulspace for making her invisible to him.

"Nope," she sang, popping the 'p' with extra gusto. "It really is incriminating and I'd better not speak of it without an attorney present." Handsome barked out a large laugh again.

"You really are something, Princess. You'll tell me someday, yeah?"

Hermione thought about it. Someday, face to face, sounded nice.

"Yeah. Someday."

"Did your uncle ever send you that book," Princess asked sometime in February. They were in the dining room again, all remnants of Christmas cheer stripped from the furnishings. Sirius grimaced.

"Yeah. But it wasn't very helpful. It was an autobiography— interesting at least, but didn't mention anything about the soulspace, or his research of it."

He heard Princess's groan of defeat from beside him. He pictured her burying her head in arms in frustration.

"I've collected a list of his works," Princess said, voice clear, disproving Sirius's imaginings. He sighed in his own frustration. Princess continued, "I'm probably going to have to look in Knockturn Alley for them, as I checked both Tomes and Scrolls and Flourish and Blott's inventories and came up totally empty."

"I can't believe Callaway is our only lead," he whined.

"You mean your friends haven't found anything else," she asked.

"They've kind of… forgotten about it, honestly," he responded, scratching the back of his head and leaning his chair back on two legs. "We've gotten a bit busy with another project that James has thrown himself into."

"Sounds suspicious," she taunted. He grinned.

"You know me so well, Princess," he drawled.

He used that drawling tone on purpose, hoping to hear some kind of reaction to the girl. He'd accidentally used the tone on Marley the week before and the girl had blushed from her ears to her toes.

He hoped Princess was blushing. He bet she blushed prettier than Marley, and Marley blushed quite handsomely.

"What, may I ask, is this project you're working on," she teased. He smirked.

"That would be telling, sweetheart. It's incriminating and I refuse to speak without an attorney present."

Her laughter rang brightly in his ears, illuminating the world around him.

"Alright, alright. Touché."

He basked in her laughter just a little longer before he remembered something.

"Hold on, no way you're going down Knockturn Alley!"

She and Krum had only been on one date, if the Yule Ball could even be called a date. So when Professor McGonagall had taken her and Ron aside in preparation for the second task, she was mortified to find she was something "precious" to the Durmstrang Champion.

As Mr. Crouch prepared them for their night underwater, all Hermione could think about was what Handsome would have to say about it.

By now, she knew him well enough to know he'd be absolutely furious that the game makers had chosen her to be put at the bottom of the lake with the mermaids. But she also knew he'd find it absolutely hilarious that her first and only date had rendered her precious.

To say she was relieved to finally be sitting on the damp grass, soaking wet and under a warming charm was a severe underestimation. In fact, she'd be pleased to never have to leave the ground, in either direction, ever again.

Droves of students were working their way back up to the castle when someone came up behind her and sat down just within the boundary of her warming charm. Turning, her eyes landed on a familiarly massive black dog.

"Snuffles," she called out kindly, holding out her hand in invitation to the large beast. He approached her carefully, sniffing her palm like he couldn't remember having met her before now. "Did you come to watch Harry? I do hope no one recognized you. It was very risky to come."

The dog tilted his head as she spoke. He inched a little closer and nudged her outstretched hand with his snout, jerking his head back toward the castle.

"I know. I'll go back inside in a minute. I told the boys I'd meet them here and we'd go see Hagrid." But the dog only groaned loudly. Knocking his head into her arm. Immediately she dug her fingers behind his ears and gave him a firm scratch. "You're such a needy dog," she laughed. Her laughter died as soon as she realized exactly who she was speaking to and suddenly her face was hot with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, sir," she said softly. If dogs could roll their eyes, Hermione was certain Snuffles just rolled his.

"Hermione," Ron called out, approaching with Harry, both shivering with soaking towels draped across their shoulders. "Oh look, Snuffles found you!"

When the boys entered the bubble of her warming charm, both instantly relaxed.

"You are brilliant, you are," Harry muttered, tackling the large dog into wrestling hug. Snuffles barked, in a way that made Hermione think of laughter, and licked the boy's face.

"Krum," Ron finally said, looking at Hermione with a raised brow. Hermione turned her nose up and focused on Harry and the dog, who were still wrestling on the grass. "Really, Hermione. You have to stop it with him."

Snuffles barked, less playfully, pinning Harry down with one paw while staring intently at Ron.

"I don't have to stop anything, Ronald. There's nothing to stop."

"Right, that's why they dragged you down to the bottom of the lake and told the mermaid not to let anyone else rescue you," he accused.

"And that's my fault, it's it," she spat. Snuffles barked again, louder. Hermione looked over and saw the dog was no longer engaged with Harry, but looking between her and Ron rather intently. Harry sat behind him, cleaning his glasses and looking up in concern.

"You could have died down there, is all," Ron said, bowing his head slightly. Hermione felt herself release the tension in her chest. "If Krum was somehow stopped, or couldn't finish?"

"I really don't know what would have happened to Gabrielle if I hadn't cut her rope," Harry interjected, looking up at Hermione over his fogging glasses. "I don't know what would have happened to any of you."

"It's a dangerous game," Ron said, quietly. Hermione deflated.

"I know," she assured them. "But we were all drawn into it without our consent." She glanced at Harry, who wore a guilty expression, and held up a finger toward him. "No, Harry. It's not your fault. You were drawn into this, too. You never asked for this, any of this!"

Snuffles stretched out and laid across the space between the teenagers, resting his chin comfortably on Hermione's shoe as his legs flopped over Harry's lap.

"I think," Hermione said gravely, "We're all in danger all the time. As long as we stick together, we'll be okay."

"And CONSTANT VIGILANCE," Harry and Ron yelled in unison, breaking into laughter.

Hermione almost told the boys about the Soulspace that night. However, the tide turned when Barty Crouch was murdered. The dread all three kids had been feeling that day tripled in an instant. Instead of staying up and celebrating Harry's excellent Moral Fibre with the rest of Gryffindor house, the trio turned in early and slept through the following day.

Later that week, Hermione received a correspondence from a Mr. Archie Flint who ran a used bookstore in a hidden corner of Knockturn Alley.

"Miss Windsor," it read, because she wasn't naive enough to have used her own name when writing to anyone in Knockturn.

"I regret to inform you that I did at one time posses a single copy of each title you requested by Sir Callaway, though they were sold nearly twenty years ago. You may be in luck, though, as I sold them to the heir of an ancient and noble house, one which has been decimated for over a decade now. For the right price, I might be willing to brave the family's old stronghold and reclaim the volumes for your purchase."

Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste; she'd never understand the wizarding aristocracy and their back-alley dealings. This route was yet another closed door, she thought, as she crumpled up the missive and tossed it into the common room fireplace. She was quickly running out of leads on Martty Callaway, and she and Handsome had learned next to nothing about the soulspace.

She wished, not for the first time that she knew what it was that Handsome had read that brought him to Martty Callaway's name in the first place. He had been searching for books on ancient magic, he'd said, and found one specifically about love potions.

Love potions weren't introduced until sixth year Advanced Potions classes, as they were both volatile substances and highly regulated. Nothing in her own potions text book would touch on love potions. There had to be, she thought, a copy of Advanced Potion Making somewhere in the common room; Gryffindors weren't known for keeping a particularly tidy common room and many of the sixth-years Hermione knew had a tendency to leave homework strewn about it and in the various study nooks.

Looking around the dark and nearly abandoned room, Hermione had no idea where to start. Angelina Johnson, she thought, had plans to be a healer. Healers were required to take NEWT level potions. If Hermione could just remember where it was that Angelina often stole away to complete her coursework, she might find the girl's copy of the potion book.

Or, she thought, she could borrow Harry's cloak and map to dig up a copy of the book from the potions classroom in the dungeons.

Standing, Hermione made her way to the girl's staircase and slowly crept up to the first landing and took a sharp right to the mezzanine sitting room overlooking the common room. Angelina's latest charms essay was sitting on the table looking quite undisturbed along with the her books on transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Fighting her strong sense of morality, Hermione began digging through the books piled beside the table she'd seen Angelina sit at for several hours at a time. There were books on Defense, special medicinal potion recipes, charms for wellness and three werewolf romance novels. Advanced Potion Making was nowhere to be seen.

A large leather book bag was slumped up against the single leg of the table, and Hermione warred with herself.

Knowing she better really not stick her nose into the girl's personal bag, the thought of making progress on her own personal mystery weighed heavy on her. If she could go to bed tonight, knowing more than she already did, or having a new lead, she'd sleep as soundly as a kitten in a sunbeam. Then she could share her newfound knowledge with Handsome and they'd be that much closer to learning why they were both called to the same plane.

Her stomach twisted at the thought; if they really did solve the mystery, would they be able to continue meeting? Loathe as she was to admit it aloud, Hermione could concede to herself that she was beginning enjoy the boy's company. He made her laugh, and it was always so easy to spend time with him. In fact, most days, she found herself craving the boy's company.

Anytime she had a judgmental thought, instead of scolding herself, she found she wanted to laugh and tell Handsome about it because he would laugh about it with her. Whenever Malfoy or any other Slytherin made disparaging remarks about her appearance or personality, she wanted to tell Handsome knowing he would either vividly describe dismembering the snakes, or would give her pointers on collecting her vengeance.

Whenever she'd done well on a test this year, all she wanted to do was tell Handsome and have him celebrate with her.

This was all just friendly, of course. He was a very different type of friend from Harry and Ron. She told herself it was because he had a strikingly different personality from her boys. With Handsome around, she felt supported, not resented. He was interested in her research; he got just as excited as she did when they'd stumble on another plausible theory, and he was the one to run wild, concocting experiments to help them test their theories.

It was like they were kindred spirits, two halves of he same coin. They were just similar enough, but different enough to complement and one another. Two souls created to become one of the most powerful units —

Hermione gasped. No.

What she was thinking sounded suspiciously like a soulmate.

Gnawing on the inside of her fleshy cheek, she shook her head resolutely and dove for Angelina's bag. The quicker she could prove the soulspace was not a meeting space for soulmates, the quicker she could dodge her own delusions.

Handsome really was starting to rub off on her.

"Princess," he breathed, taking a cautious step toward the armchairs. He couldn't believe it. "Can I ask you two, maybe three questions?"

"Sure." She was looking into the fireplace, face dazed. "Just don't ask about Callaway—I've got nothing."

"Yeah, okay," he swallowed nervously. Slowly approaching he started, "is your hair brown?" Princes tore her gaze away from the fire, startled, and nodded. "Are you wearing your uniform without the jumper?" Again, she nodded, glancing around the room. "Do you ever brush your hair?"

"Can you see me " she gasped. Before he could answer, Sirius was kneeling at the small witch's knees, gazing at her face and at quite an astounded loss for words.

"You still can't see me, then," he muttered, his eyes roaming her features, from her wild brown hair, haphazardly piled on the top of her head, her olive complexion tinged with pink now at the apples of her cheeks and across her nose, settling against the numerous freckles. Her lips weren't large and pillowy as he'd imagined, but they weren't small either. In fact, they were about normal, he thought.

But her eyes, the soft brown eyes glowed a tiny bit amber in the firelight. His breath caught as she looked directly into his own eye, unseeing, and glanced away just as quickly, searching.

"No," she pouted, her bottom lip protruding by only a fraction. Sirius couldn't tear his gaze away from the minuscule movement. She was beautiful. There was a prickle of heat creeping up around his neck, nerves he hadn't felt since he climbed onto the stool in the Great Hall to be sorted. "Well that's just not fair," she breathed.

"Can I try something," he asked her, cautious. She nodded, blushing deeper. He chuckled lightly, too scared to make any sudden sounds or movements. Gently, his hand moved forward toward the witch's shoulder. Settling, Sirius was able to feel the stiff cotton of her button-up and the firm shoulder beneath his palm. Princess gasped.

"You can feel that?" She nodded in affirmation. His hand trailed up her shoulder toward a stray lock of her frizzy hair, and tugged it gently.

"Hey," she chided, though it didn't come out quite as forceful as it normally would have. "That's my hair," she whispered. A grin spread across his face.

"I know."

Breaking the spell between them, Princess hopped up on her feet, knocking Sirius over in the process, and paced the length of the room.

"Okay," she said, as though forcing herself to relax. "You can see me. I can feel you. What's changed? Why is the soulspace shifting?"

"Maybe," Sirius started, pulling himself back up to his feet, "it's decided we're ready to see each other?"

"Two large assumptions you've just made, considering we don't have any solid evidence of exactly what the soulspace is," she replied, pulling her wand from the mess of curls at the top of her head. Sirius watched the chestnut hair fall and cascade down her back. "We don't know if this place is sentient enough, or at all, so we don't know if it can decide anything, much less if it can decide whether we're mysteriously ready for something."

However, the 15-year-old wizard was, for once, not listening to her. He was entranced by her every movement, watching as she continued to pace, hair bouncing along behind her, face screwed up in consternation.

"This is what James feels," he muttered under his breath. Princess stopped her pacing and looked at the armchair he might have sat in had he not been so occupied in looking at her.

"You said something?"

"Oh no, uh, I just was talking to myself. Sorry." The witch nodded.

The truth was, Sirius had fully and truly only just accepted the idea of soulmates the previous night, and his soulmate had to be Princess.

Following up on her letter several weeks prior, Walburga Black paid a visit to the Headmaster; it was a routine visit. Most pureblood parents would visit with the school administration to inform of a change in betrothal contracts so the headmaster could provide instructors with guidance to watch over a betrothed couple.

In this case, Walburga had asked for Sirius to be summoned so he could sign his new contract. He sat in the Headmaster's office, slouched against the uncomfortable seat and staring out the tower's top window at the rapidly moving clouds.

Professor McGonagall sent him repeated glances varying in degrees of sympathy and frustration as his mother chatted stiffly with Professor Dumbledore. In the end, a piece parchment was placed before him and Walburga shoved a quill thanklessly into his hand.

Defeated, he put the quill to the parchment; but then something interesting happened.

"Princess," Sirius said, firmly this time, so she'd know he was being serious for once. "My mother brought my betrothal contract to me last night." He faced her directly and watched as she drew in a sharp breath.

"Those contracts are binding," she whispered, horrified. Her eyes glistened with a desperate sheen which brought him a twinge of satisfaction.

"I couldn't sign in, Princess."

"You mean you didn't? "

"I mean I couldn't." The witch's brows furrowed, as though she didn't comprehend what he was saying.

"She gave me the quill, in front of Dumbledore and Minerva--"

"Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall," she corrected. Sirius grabbed her hands in his, finally able to after months of wishing he could.

"I signed my name but nothing appeared. I tried again. I tried a different quill. Mum went completely barmy, but I wasn't able to sign the bloody thing."

"What does that mean?"

"Dumbledore said I was spoken for."

Princess swallowed.

"He doesn't know how or why, and believe me Walburga is bloody pissed, but apparently, magic has tied me to another, Princess."

"And magic overruled the legal bind," she muttered. "You think it's me?"

"Who else?"

Princes jerked her hands from his gentle grip and buried them in her hair, pulling at the strands in frustration. Sirius tried to stop her, but she moved away.

"It could be literally anyone your own age!"

"You are my age," he reminded her. She huffed.

"Someone in your own time. Look, I could be dead by your time, or you dead by mine, separated by hundreds of years!"

"Princess, Dumbledore is headmaster for both of us. I doubt there's hundreds of years between us."

"You could be grown up and married, I could be grown and married!"

"Wouldn't be," Sirius interjected. "Magic won't let us."

"There are such things as civil unions," she snapped. She was pacing again; he was staring again. "Magic could have chosen literally anyone for you," she said. "Why would it choose me?"

Sirius never had the chance to answer her that night, as Magic swept her away before the end of her final syllable.

He was irritable for the next week. Sirius barely spoke to his friends and threw himself further into his reading and his studies in preparation for his final exams.

When James had finally had enough of Sirius's despondency, he cornered him by the lake and demanded the boy tell him what had happened.

Heaving a great sigh, Sirius told him everything. From how he learned she likes her tea, to the things she's said that made him laugh— like really laugh. He told him about how clever she was and how wise she could be.

He told James about the betrothal contract and how he couldn't sign the bloody thing, and how Walburga had threatened him to within an inch of his life if he didn't tell her how he'd bonded himself to someone else. How absolutely terrified he was to return home because of it, because he really couldn't recall bonding himself to anyone and the only possible option he could think of was Princess.

Through the whole spiel, James sat still and listened, nodding at the right parts and chuckling at others. The bespectacled boy slung his arm around his mate when told him about seeing the girl for the first time.

"She was probably the most frayed little thing I've ever seen, James, but she was.." he blushed. "She's beautiful." James smirked.

"Do you finally get it, now, too?"

"There's no one else for me, mate. It's her, or it's no one."

The boys sat together hearing nothing but the waves hit the rocks by their feet and the birds calling to one another in the sky.

He may have felt better, but there was a big gnawing weight in the back of his head. A shadow with large teeth threatening to consume him.

Something bad was on the horizon.

"Where are you," she called out into the room, tears still wet on her cheeks.

When Harry had been taken up to Headmaster's office following the third task, she and Ron were at a total loss for what to do. She knew they wouldn't allow her in the office, and while the rest of the school was in chaos, she slipped off to the dark arithmancy classroom

"I'm here," Handsome's voice came, followed by the feeling of his warm hands enveloping her own icy and shaking fingers. "Princess, what happened? What's wrong?"

She couldn't see him, but if she could feel his solid hands, she had to believe he could hold her up. She launched herself into what she prayed was his chest, and grasped for purchase on his shirt as she fell apart into heaving sobs.

His arms wrapped firmly around her small frame. Instantly petting her hair down in soothing strokes. "What's wrong," he pleaded again, gently pulling her down to the ground and positioning her between his legs as she sobbed.

"Cedric, he--" she hiccuped, "and Harry and Vol-vold--," she pulled harder at the fabric of his shirt, trying not to open her eyes and see herself leaning against a solid nothing. She took a couple deep breaths, trying to get her thoughts straight. "I'm sorry, I-- I shouldn't have-" her eyes widened in mortified realization. "I shouldn't have come."

Trying to push herself off him and up to her feet, Hermione felt Handsome's grip tighten on her back.

"You're staying right here," he muttered. "Tell me what's going on. Who is Cedric, what's he done to you?" His voice was sharp.

"He's -- he was--" she searched for a way to tell him without giving too much away, still too conscious of the potential affects any knowledge of each other could have on reality. "He's dead."

She felt the boy's hold on her tighten even more. "How?" She swallowed, sniffling as she buried her face in his chest. She could smell him. Cedar. Fire. Cinnamon.

"He and Harry were taken from school grounds," she said. "I can't really tell you how or who did it, because I don't know. But Harry came back, he was holding Cedric so tight, but Cedric was dead!"

Her hiccuping resumed as she tried to calm herself again. Sirius's hands started running up and down the length of her hair again. She wished she could see his face, but was satisfied with the feeling of him holding her.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I came here first, because, I'm sorry, but I have to go to Harry. I have to make sure he's okay."

"Harry is so lucky to have friends like you," Handsome whispered against her hair. She shivered as she felt him place his forehead against hers. Despite the tears running in rivers down her cheeks, she felt a blush creep up on her at his proximity.

"I need to go help him," she cried. A gentle press of lips brushed her head.

"Yes. But first, sit here with me and cry. You won't be any help to anyone if you're beside yourself."

"How do you know," she sniffled, hoping she sounded defiant.

He chuckled. "Mum doesn't just beat me. Reggie, my little brother, she hits him, too." Hermione held him tighter, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm. "I couldn't help him if I was still crying from my own beating."

"That's awful," Hermione told him, eyes still screwed shut. This boy was so good. She could hardly believe the life he'd survived so far. "I wish you didn't have to know that."

"It's alright, pet. I wish your friend hadn't been killed. Life's not easy for any of us, is it." She shook her head. "Go on," he whispered, resuming his ministrations on her hair. "Cry, pet. I've got you."

Voldemort was back. Cedric was dead. Harry saw it all. The whole school saw Cedric's body. The world was becoming more dangerous by the tick of a clock— by each beat of her heart.

For now, though, while she was terrified, she felt safe in her soulspace. Safe in the arms of a boy who may or may not be her soulmate; her star-crossed lover.

"We can't use magic outside of school," she chided from her place on the settee. She was lounged across the seat, a velvet pillow hugged to her chest. She was adorable, laying there, staring at the wall with a pout. His heart sank.

"Oh yeah. Lily was saying something about that rule not being optional for muggleborns." He bowed his head to hide the sheepish expression from the witch who still couldn't see him.

Princess's head snapped to the side at the mention of this. "Lily?" Sirius swallowed.

"Just a girl I know. I swear," but Princess started laughing.

"M'not jealous," she chuckled. "It's a clue. It might be a fake clue, but a clue nonetheless."

"I could tell you about her," he offered. Hermione looked tempted, but reason seemed to prevail as she responded that he probably had better not tell her anything. She looked uncomfortable and he grimaced.

"So we'll meet back up at the start of next year," he changed topic. She grinned, throwing her head back up against the armrest.

"That we will."

Quietly, as to not disturb her peace, Sirius crawled over to the settee and carefully peered down at her face. His own face was probably red, knowing what he was about to do.

James had told him he'd better try it just in case they never met up again. Sirius didn't believe that would happen, but James had insisted it was a possibility.

He counted to three, closed his eyes, and gently pressed his lips against hers.