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Hermione was keen to get this ritual started. If it proved successful, it would make Harry happy, bring back someone who hadn’t deserved to die, and make her boss very happy. The Head Unspeakable had long shown a strong interest in the Veil and figuring out how to get it to give back those whom it had taken — starting with Sirius.
She looked to Harry and was pleased when he nodded back. He was ready. Off to the side, watching from beneath a hooded cloak, was the Head Unspeakable himself. This was the first time Hermione had ever seen him in person. Not that you could see much, just his hands, long and pale. The man’s hood bobbed in what could only be a nod. They could begin.
Lighting the candles all around them with a flick of her wand, Hermione began to chant the ancient words she had uncovered in one of the ancient books confiscated from Malfoy Manor. It was what most would consider a dark text, but Hermione found that rituals, including those that required blood, could be plenty grey. If it brought Sirius back, it would be even lighter magic in her eyes, even with the blood requirement.
As she chanted, Harry lifted the ritual blade, speaking back to her the counter-chant as he sliced open his hand and let the blood leak into the bowl full of herbs.
This was the part that made Hermione nervous. It would have been better done with a closer member of the Black family. But the person also had to have a deep connection to Sirius. So Harry was best for it. To be sure the connection was as strong as they could make it, Andromeda had also adopted him. It was legally done as well as bound with magic, but Hermione still feared it wouldn’t be enough.
Just as she began to feel doubt, questioning whether or not the ritual was working, the blood and herbs in the bowl began to glow. Slowly, they formed a thin cord that danced up into the air. Harry watched it with round eyes before reaching out to take one end as the other end stretched toward the Veil. It seemed to pull him closer.
Hermione stepped forward as well. She could hear the whisper of voices from behind that curtain getting louder, almost agitated as the cord of blood snaked closer. She wanted to reach out and take Harry’s hand in her own, feel him, know that he couldn’t step through, but maybe he had to. The book hadn’t been clear on that part.
Naturally, Harry being Harry, he wasn’t worried about it, certain he would “know what to do when the time comes.” She knew that often was how things worked with Harry, but it didn’t really make her feel any less worried.
The cord had reached the Veil now, the curtain whipping in an unseen wind around it. The tip was suddenly obscured, winding its way gently into whatever lay beyond the Veil.
Suddenly, the cord jerked and Harry took an involuntarily large step closer. It took every ounce of self control for Hermione to keep chanting rather than call for her friend. Thank Merlin, after a bit of a stumble, Harry yanked back on the cord, tugging hard as he, too, continued to chant. The cord was pulled taut between Harry and something on the other end.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed movement. Her boss had moved much closer, as though he could hear the voices of the Veil, too. She couldn’t pay attention to him, though, as Harry was struggling. Despite bracing himself and tugging hard on the cord, he was losing ground, being slowly dragged toward the Veil. Her heart was pounding as she tried to think what to do.
As the Veil steadily pulled Harry closer, Hermione abandoned her chanting. The candles abruptly went out. “Harry, let go!”
“Can’t,” he yelled back, forgetting his chanting as well.
Hermione rushed forward to grab the cord, but couldn’t. Instead, she reached for Harry, trying to take his hand, but it was as if he wasn’t there anymore, his form no longer solid. Merlin, no. She could not, would not, lose Harry. Snatching up the ritual blade, she drew it along her hand before reaching out to touch the cord again.
This time it was there, solid beneath her fingers, and she was able to begin helping Harry haul it away from the Veil. Still, they were making little headway wrestling the person — because Hermione somehow knew that’s what was on the other end of the cord — out of the Veil.
Suddenly, there was someone beside her, and a rough voice she had only heard a handful of times spoke.
“You don’t have the right blood,” the Head Unspeakable declared, cutting open his hand and grabbing the cord as well.
“And you do?” Hermione gritted out as she pulled with everything she had.
He didn’t answer, but she had to admit the tugging was easier. They weren’t being pulled perilously closer to the Veil and it actually seemed that whoever had the other end of the cord was getting closer to them now. She could almost hear his voice.
“Sirius!” Harry yelled as a figure tumbled out of the Veil and dropped to the ground.
“Don’t let go yet!” the voice behind her cried anxiously. “Get him away from it first.”
“He can’t walk,” Harry argued, but Hermione was following her boss’s instructions, continuing to pull the cord, though more lightly since Sirius was barely moving forward on hands and knees.
Finally, the man behind her dropped the cord, allowing Harry and Hermione to do the same. The cloaked figure rushed forward before even Harry could, grabbing Sirius by the shoulders.
“Are you okay? Can you talk? Get him some water!” Harry ran to obey.
“‘M fine,” Sirius mumbled before drinking the water Harry produced. More clearly, he said, “I’m just confused. How did I get here? And… Reggie?” The last was asked in astonishment as the Head Unspeakable lowered his hood.
“Reggie?” Hermione repeated, staring at the man she knew as her boss. There was only one person Sirius would refer to as that, as far as she knew. But Regulus Black was long dead.
Wasn’t he?
But the two men, obviously brothers or at least very close relatives by their looks, were embracing, tears rolling down each of their faces.
“I was here the night you fell through,” Regulus said, “I couldn’t stop anything, but I knew there was a chance. We just had to have the right mind… Hermione,” he called to her, turning to seek her with his eyes, beckoning for her to join them.
She walked closer, wondering if she was dreaming this whole bizarre thing. “Should’ve known you’d figure things out, kitten,” Sirius said with a smile.
“Kitten?” Regulus asked, his eyes darting between them as he frowned. “Isn’t she a little young for you to—”
Sirius chuckled and cut in. “Nothing like that, little brother. The first time she came to my house, I kept finding her curled up asleep with her cat. I’ve called her ‘kitten’ ever since.”
“Even though I’ve asked him not to,” Hermione pointed out. Leave it to Sirius to be back from the dead for two minutes and already getting on her nerves.
It was worth it, though, when she saw the look on Harry’s face, staring at his godfather in wonder. “You’re really here, really back.”
“It appears I am,” Sirius said happily, wrapping Harry in a hug, then putting him at arm’s length, giving him a good look up and down. “You’re grown up. You don’t need me now.”
Harry barked a laugh. “I’ll always need you,” he answered.
As the two of them began to catch up with one another, Hermione was surprised when Regulus approached her. “I couldn’t have gotten my brother back without you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? The ritual could have gone so much more smoothly if you had been the one calling him in the first place,” she admonished.
Regulus flushed. “I couldn’t. Years ago, when I was trying to escape Voldemort—”
“We know about your sacrifice in the cave,” Hermione told him excitedly. “But… how did you survive it?”
“I had asked Kreacher to take me to a safe place I had prepared to hide out in. I thought I was ready for anything, but the potion has been a poison in my blood until today. I couldn’t be seen, couldn’t rejoin society, but that’s all changed now.”
“How? I don’t understand,” Hermione told him.
Looking at her fondly, Regulus said, “How rare to hear you say that. I couldn’t be seen because I was literally falling apart, chunks of flesh, blood everywhere.” He shuddered.
“Why didn’t you go to St. Mungo’s? After Voldemort was gone, that is.”
“By the time the first war ended, I had already accepted a position here with the Unspeakables. I didn’t see a reason to let it be known I had survived, afraid I would be looked down on for having the mark. And I feared… I knew Kreacher hadn’t been able to destroy the locket, but I couldn’t figure out how to either. So I knew the Dark Lord was still out there somewhere.”
“And after the second war? When Voldemort was well and truly dead?” she asked.
“As you know since you’ve arrived, I have long been focused on the Veil. There was no reason to change my fate until I had fixed my brother’s. Sirius never deserved what happened to him.”
Hermione took a moment to process all this. It still didn’t make sense to her, but one thing she had learned from her Mind Healer over the years was that traumatized individuals didn’t always make good decisions when they approached things from their place of trauma. Regulus had certainly been through a lot of trauma and faced it all alone. Her heart went out to him.
“You’re not falling apart now,” she pointed out.
“Combining my blood with others of the Black line… and with fresh blood… allowed me to finally purge the poison from my blood,” Regulus explained.
Pursing her lips, Hermione asked, “Fresh blood?”
“Yours. You healed me, and gave me Sirius back. What can I do to repay you?” he asked earnestly, taking her hands in his.
She was blushing and she wasn’t sure why. “Nothing, Regulus. I wanted Sirius back, too. And you… if I had known who you were and what afflicted you, we could have worked on it long ago.”
“You are too compassionate,” Regulus said. “Can you do me one more favor then?”
“Maybe,” Hermione answered. She had worked for him long enough to know better than to just agree. Regulus laughed.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he suggested.
“Well, I am a bit hungry—”
“As my date,” Regulus clarified.
Scandalized, Hermione cried, “But you’re my boss!”
“Not after today,” he answered. “I got what I needed from the Department. I am going to recommend they promote you.”
“But I’m too young for that,” Hermione argued.
“You’re not,” Regulus disagreed. “Your mind is ready, and your heart is always in the right place. I just hope there’s also room in it for me.”
“I think I’m willing to try,” Hermione told him, already drawn to the man before her. Maybe it was the lingering magic in the air, the sharing of blood for the ritual, or the mere discovery of the mystery surrounding who the Head Unspeakable was, but she was interested.
And years later, they would look back on this day, when they described it to their children and grandchildren, Hermione would tell them that her Regulus swept her off of her feet right there. She would not tell them about the kiss he gave her, or the way it made her heart pound. That was hers, and his, and a lovely memory just for them.