Chapter Text
Hermione stood in front of the full-length mirror in her old room at Grimmuald Place, turning slightly from side to side as the candlelight caught on the gold buckles of her costume. It was still her room, somehow, even though she had her own flat not far away. Sirius had made that very clear after taking the house back from dust, misery and whatever awful interior design choices his ancestors had considered respectable. She would always have a room here, he had told her, with the sort of careless firmness that made arguing with him feel pointless before she had even opened her mouth.
It was Halloween, and Hermione Granger, former war heroine, current Unspeakable, part-time necromantic disaster, was dressed as a pirate. Not a sensible pirate either. There was no attempt at historical accuracy. Her costume was black leather and dark red silk, all sharp edges and deliberate sin. The corset hugged her waist tightly, pushing her breasts up in a way that made her stare at herself twice because, frankly, she had not realised that her boobs could do that. The skirt was split high over one thigh, layered in ragged strips of velvet and lace, with a wide belt sitting low on her hips and a fake cutlass hanging over it. Her boots came up over her knees, her curls had been left wild around her shoulders, and one gold hoop earring brushed her neck whenever she moved.
She ran her palms down the front of the corset and let out a slow breath. A lot had changed since the war ended. Once the dust had settled and everyone had realised they were still alive, there had been this frantic, almost embarrassing rush to make things normal. People got jobs and got married far to young and far to quick. Ron and Hermione had been a part of that madness, along with nearly everyone else, rushing into a marriage before either of them had properly turned twenty-one.
Ron had wanted children almost immediately. Hermione had not. Hermione had always been ambitious, hadn't she? She loved Ron, once, or at least she had loved the idea that loving him would make everything simpler, but she had never been the kind of woman who could fold herself neatly into someone else's expectations and smile about it over breakfast. So she had put her foot down, got herself covered on both Muggle and wizarding contraceptives, and threw herself into a mastery in Necromancy. It all made poor Ron and her professors very nervous when she announced what her mastery will be. After that, she became an Unspeakable, because apparently one career-risking decision was not enough for her.
It all kind of stem rolled after that, because a year later, with Theodore Nott's help and several laws bent, she pulled a dead man out of the Veil. Teddy Lupin was a tiny, hair-changing little boy who deserved to know his father as something more than a photograph and a handful of stories told by adults who did not even know him. Or Merlin forgive, form prejudiced arseholes, who still roamed around and are scared of Remus's Lupins name. Hermione told herself that all of it was researched and justified. Theo told her she was a lunatic, then rolled up her sleeves, showed the perfect veiny forearms and helped her anyway.
A week after Remus came back, they did it again.
Sirius Black came through the death arch looking furious, half-mad and impossibly beautiful. Naked and very angry. He had hit the stone floor, sworn at the room, tethered the Department of Mysteries, and then broken entirely when Harry reached for him. Hermione still remembered the sound Harry made. It was not a sob, exactly. It was something far worse and heart-shattering. A sound of somebody who had spent too long being brave and had finally been handed back something he had stopped allowing himself to want.
Hermione kept going after that. There were more names, more ghosts, more empty chairs at tables where laughter should have been. She had already made notes. Her worst habit had always been assuming grief could be solved if she found a correct method. Theo and her tried for Tonks next, but with no luck on making her reappear in the land of living. Then they tried with Fred, but he too had moved on from the beyond and was not coming back. That one hurt the most, she wanted to that for Ron and the rest of the Weasley. She wanted to try with Lily and James too.
Harry stopped her on doing that. He did it in Grimmuald kitchen, white-faced and shaking, with Sirius standing behind him and Remus watching her with narrow eyes. She might have gone a bit barmy in the months that followed their return. But, hey, who could have blamed her, she did the impossible and was riding on high. Harry told her, very calmly and very seriously, that if she dragged his parents back form beyond the Veil, he would shove her through the milky curtain himself and then Avada himself on the spot. It had been a grotesquely dramatic threat, even for Harry, but nobody in that kitchen was laughing. Just staring at her with narrow eyes and fumes going out of their ears, so to speak. They all had been angry at her even for proposing it. Hermione had opened her mouth to argue, she would not be Hermione if she did not try to reason with Harry but then seeing that his hands were trembling around his mug she shut up and nodded. He did have a point, in the bleakest possible way. Nobody wanted parents who were younger then they were.
So she stopped. She promised everyone she would not pull any more dead people out of the Veil, no matter how much unfinished business they had left behind. Everybody patted her head and called it personal growth. Hermione rolled her eyes and called it being emotionally manipulated by the Boy Who Lived Twice. Sirius kissed her cheek and said "Probably for the best, love, before the Ministry had a collective stroke."
Then came the divorces. Apparently, all those fast-tracked marriages everyone had flung themselves into after the war were about as stable as a chair repaired with Spellotape. Harry realised he liked men far more than women. Ginny realised, with alarming amount of confidence, that she did not, like men that is. Ron found out comfort in someones else's bed, and Hermione found him there, which had made the end of their marriage less tragic and more administratively exhausting. There were tears, mostly from Ron. There was shouting too, again mostly from Ron. Because the red-haired git thought he was owed something for him enduring a "frigid" wife. It was all Hermione's fault apparently, even though he cheated, but Hermione drove him there somehow. There was lots of paperwork form the Ministry, because divorces were almost unheard of in the Wizarding world. There were also awkward dinners and Ginny, along with George, sliding with Hermione and hexing Ron's eyebrows off because he dared to hurt their best friend. George might have even thrown a punch there when Ron said Hermione was "frigid".
All of that had happened six months after Hermione and Theo brought Remus and Sirius back and this is exactly why Hermione was standing in Grimmuald Place on Halloween, laced into a pirate costume that would probably make Molly Weasley choke on a sausage roll. Sirius had decided he was reclaiming the holiday, dragging it away from death anniversaries and bad memories through sheer force of will, alcohol, and wildly inappropriate decorations. Remus had gone along with it in that dry, long-suffering way of his, pretending to disapprove while quietly making sure the good whisky was put somewhere Sirius was sure to find it. Hermione had agreed because, well, frankly she was done being everyone's good reliable girl. That realisation came after a great deal of therapy and several humiliating conversations about repression. Of everything, but mostly sex.
This led to her, for the past five months, flirting ruthlessly with not just one, but both Marauders.
It had stared by accident, or at least that was what she told herself when she wanted to sleep at night without examining her choices too closely. Sirius had leaned too close one evening, at their weekly dinner at Grimmuald, while refilling her glass, his fingers brushing the back of her hand and Hermione had looked up to find him watching her mouth with absolutely no shame. Remus had caught the moment across the table, lifted one eyebrow over the spoon full of pees and smiled like the smug bastard he secretly was. After that, Hermione had decide that if two older, unfairly attractive men were going to look at her as she was a very beautiful thing, then she might as well enjoy herself.
Because Holy Merlin, they were fit as fuck.
Sirius was all dark hair, sharp cheekbones, expensive arrogance and that lazy, ruined elegance. Remus was leaner, quieter, softer around the edges until he smiled, and then there was something wicked there shining in his eyes. They were older, but not safe at all and that was the trouble of this little predicament. In the last five months Hermione had discovered that she rather liked that, she liked that they were not safe and would mean trouble. For her. For the world. Hermione grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She would very much enjoy breaking the two Marauders tonight.
There was knock on the door, followed almost immediately by a flash of red hair poking through the gap before Hermione even managed to answer. Ginny leaned into the room with a grin already pulling at her mouth, eyes bright and wicked beneath the little white nurse's cap pinned crookedly into her hair. She took one proper look at Hermione in the mirror and let out a sharp wolf-whistle that echoed around the room.
"Good?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual as she smoothed her hands over the leather at her waist. It came out a bit too pleased with itself, which, frankly, she felt she had earned.
Ginny stepped inside properly and kicked the door shut behind her with one heel. Her nurse costume was already slipping off one shoulder. She did not even pretend that the little white scrap of fabric covering her was decent. She crossed the room and dropped onto Hermione's bed with a bounce, eyes still travelling over Hermione in the mirror with open admiration. "Shit, Mi," she said, dragging the words out as her grin widened. "You're about to kill half the men and women downstairs."
"Oh, stop," Hermione said, though she laughed as she turned slightly to check how the skirt fell over her hips. She could feel her face warming.
Ginny propped herself up on one elbow, her red hair slipping over the pillow as she gave Hermione the sort of look that usually came before trouble. "So," she said, far too innocently, "who are you trying to impress? Or is this juts so my dumb brother can choke on his drink and have a public crisis?"
Hermione met Ginny's eyes in the mirror and let her mouth curve into a very wicked grin. She adjusted the belt around her hips slowly, mostly because she knew Ginny was watching and partly the whole thing was too fun now. "A very tall, dark, brooding wizard," she said, letting the words sit there for a second, "and his equally tall, lean, sandy-blond, professor-type friend."
Ginny went very still for about half a breath. Then he head tilted, her eyes narrowing as the meaning of what Hermione said landed. "If I didn't know better," she said, voice already climbing with delight, "I'd say that sounded an awful lot like Sirius and Remus."
Hermione raised one eyebrow in the mirror and Ginny squealed. The witch on Hermione's bed actually squealed, hands flying up before she clamped them together like Hermione had just handed her the best Christmas present of her life.
"Oh, brilliant. That's brilliant. Ron's going to have an aneurysm." Ginny declared with delight, clapping her hands like overly enthusiastic toddler on too many sweets.
"You are wishing your brother's death with too much enthusiasm, Gin," Hermione said, snorting as she turned away from the mirror at last.
Ginny waived a hand, completely unbothered. "He's a part. He lost the best thing that ever happened to him and hurt my best friend, so really, if he collapses into a punch bowl, I hope he chokes in it."
Hermione looked at Ginny for a moment, the smile softening on her lips. There were still things about the divorce that stung, even now. Silly things. Familiar things. The way people still sometimes say Ron and Hermione in the same breath. The way she sometimes turned in bed expecting to hit a solid lump of warm male body. But Ginny, her sweet Ginny, had never made her feel like she had failed at something. Ginny had taken one look at the wreckage and chosen Hermione without backing or bowing down.
"I love you, Ginny Weasley," Hermione said quietly.
Ginny's expression changed at once, the teasing easing into warmth and softness. She pushed herself off the bed and came up behind Hermione, sliding her arms around Hermione's waist with an easy familiarity that made Hermione relax back against her. Ginny rested her ching on Hermione's shoulder, and for a few moments they just looked at each other in the mirror, both of them smiling softly at each other.
"I love you too, Mi," Ginny said, squeezing her gently. Her eyes flicked over Hermione's reflection again, and the wickedness returned with impressive speed. "And I want details in the morning. Proper details. None of your vague, prudish nonsense."
"You are shameless." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Obviously," Ginny said, then leaned in and kissed Hermione's neck with a loud, affectionate smack before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze in the mirror. "You look fuckable, Mi. Terribly, dangerously fucakble. If they don't noticed, they are either blind or dead and I know both Sirius and Remus are neither that."
Hermione laughed properly then, head tipping back against Ginny's shoulder and for the first time that evening, the nerves sitting low in her stomach loosened and were replaced by excitement.
"Also, while we're on the subject of being fuckable," Ginny said, already reaching for her wand with far too much confidence, "hold still."
Hermione barely had time to blink before Ginny stepped in front of her and tilted her chin up with two fingers. The tip of Ginny's wand glowed warm gold, and Hermione felt the light brush over her face in quick, careful strokes. Ginny worked with concentration of someone who had absolutely done this for half the girls in Gryffindor before parties, her mouth pursed slightly as she softened one line, sharpened another, then leaned back to check the effect in the mirror.
The make-up was bolder than anything Hermione would have chosen for herself, which was probably the point. Her skin had warm olive undertone that Ginny clearly knew how to flatter, because he deepened Hermione's cheeks with bronzed flush that make her look alive and dangerous rather then overdone. Her eyes were the real focus. Hinny swept dark brown and burnished gold around them, blending the shadow out just enough to make Hermione's large honey-coloured eyes look even bigger. A thin black like lifted at the corners, subtle enough not to look theatrical, sharp enough to make her gaze feel deliberate. Her lashes darkened and curled with another flick of Ginny's wand and then her lips turned a deep wine-red, glossy at the centre in the way that made Hermione's mouth look softer and far less innocent than she was used to seeing.
Ginny stepped back with a pleased little hum. "There. Bold, slightly slutty, but still clever enough to terrify men. Perfect."
Hermione started at herself and pressed her lips together gently, careful not to smudge anything. Even though she knew in the back of her mind that even if she was properly snogged the make up would stay put. Magic, what a brilliant useful thing it was. "I don't know whether to thank you or take offence."
"Thank me," Ginny said at once, tucking her wand behind her ear. "You look obscene in a tasteful way."
Hermione laughed under her breath, still looking at her reflection, but Ginny was already moving on with gossip of the evening.
"And speaking of obscene," Ginny said, sitting back on the edge of the bed, smoothing down the front of her nurse costume, "Sirius and Remus look properly shaggable downstairs. And I'm saying that as someone who spent years thinking she liked men, only to discover she likes cunt much better. Even so, I'd climb either of them like the tall trees they are."
Hermione's hand paused on the little gold buckle at her waist. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but Ginny caught the tiny moment and grinned like a can with cream on its chin.
"Sirius said he's dressed as someone called Tom Cruise," Ginny went on, frowning slightly as he tried to remember the name. "From some Muggle thing called Risky Business. Black silk briefs, white button-up shirt, sunglasses, and that is it. O, yeah and socks with ducks on them, because he is still Sirius. " Ginny giggled not noticing that Hermione had gone very still, wide eyed watching her.
She knew exactly what Sirius was wearing. They had watched Risky Business a few weeks ago. curled up in the sitting room after Harry had insisted on a Muggle film night and then promptly fallen asleep halfway through. Hermione had started laughing so hard when Tom Cruise slid into the doorway in nothing but a shirt, socks and those ridiculous little shorts that she nearly spilled wine all over Remus's jumper. When she had finally managed to breath again, she had looked over and found Sirius watching her instead of the screen. There had been something soft on his face then, Something unguarded. It had warmed her in a way she had not been prepared for, so she had covered it quickly by saying that scene had always been her favourite. Sirius had smirked, of course, but his eyes had stayed on her for a moment longer than thy needed to. Ginny carried on talking, completely unaware of the direction Hermione's thoughts had taken.
"And Remus," Ginny said, pressing one hand on her chest with exaggerated reverence. "Oh, my Merlin, Mi. Remus is in a white suit. Very vintage. The trousers are tighter than Gringotts security and I do mean that with respect. It is a three-piece thing, all sharp and fitted, with a black silk shirt underneath that's buttoned down enough to prove the man has been hiding far too much chest hair under those tired professor jumpers."
Hermione's eyebrows rose to her hairline. It simply could not be!
Ginny nodded, delighted by the reaction. "He said he's John Travolta from Saturday night fever, whatever that means Honesty, I don't understand half of the Muggle things you all say, but I do understand thigh white trousers perfectly well."
Hermione stopped mid-step and gripped Ginny's forearm without thinking.
"Ow! Mi!" Ginny yelped, looking down at Hermione's fingers. "What the fuck?"
Hermione loosened her grip at once, but her mind was already racing back to the previous weekend. Another film night. Another sofa. Remus sitting in the armchair with a glass of whisky, long legs stretched out in front of him, pretending he was only watching because Hermione chosen the film and he was being polite. Hermione told herself that was all it was. That it did not mean anything. Sirius usually flirted right back whenever she made an offhand comment about an actor, while Remus tended to pull a face, mutter something dry, and excuse himself form the room before thing got too ridiculous.
She remembered John Travolta in those white bell-bottom trousers, remembered laughing into her glass and saying he had a nice arse. She had said something worse during the dance scene too, something about him looking rather edible, and Remus had choked slightly on his drink while Sirius made a filthy comment from the other end of the room. But Hermione mind was stuck on the notion that they had listened. Both of them had listened. Sirius in his Risky Business shirt and black silk briefs. Remus in a white Saturday Night Fever suit with trousers fitted enough to make poor Ginny temporary reconsider her sexuality. They had chosen those costumes because Hermione said she liked them and not as an obvious hint, just in passing during tow silly film nights when she had thought they were all only teasing each other.
O, Gods, they listened. The realisation hit her, warm and dizzying. It was such a small thing, really, and somehow it wasn't small at all. They remembered. They had payed attention. They had tucked away those careless comments and brought them back out weeks later simply because they knew she liked them. Hermione felt her heart performer a ridiculous little somersault in her chest.
Merlin, she loved men who listened.
Hermione bit her lower lip and smirked. "Oh," she said softly.
Ginny narrowed her eyed at her and pointed at Hermione's face. "That is your dangerous face."
Hermione's smile grew slowly, and this time she did not bother hiding it. "I'm going to have so much fun tonight."
Ginny blinked at her, then threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, thank fuck. It's about time."
Still grinning, Ginny caught Hermione's hand and gave it a tug toward the door. Hermione let herself be pulled along, her own smile lingering as they left the bedroom together. Hand in hand, with laced fingers, the two women stepped out into the corridor and headed downstairs, straight into the chaos unfolding on the main floor.