Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trains were places where every kind of person gathered—children clutching backpacks, teenagers with earbuds, salarymen dozing in their suits, blue-collar workers staring out at the blur of city skies. For a few stops, strangers of every age shared the same rhythm, the same silence.

Each carried a life that revealed itself in the tiny details most people overlooked: a keychain of a childhood hero, a faint tattoo half-hidden beneath a crisp sleeve. Some would find a comfortable corner to make up for the sleeping hours they'd lost watching TV or playing games. 

And there was Kagome Higurashi. 

In her early thirties, she was unremarkable at first glance—save for the piercing sapphire of her eyes. She wasn't someone you'd look twice on the street. Long dark hair tied in a neat ponytail, flat shoes, a mid-length skirt, a simple sweater — and always, a book in her hands. 

Kagome flipped through the pages of the book with the attention of someone studying for a board exam. Every word carried the soul of the author. One of her favorites was about a girl who found a secret door in her new house. The Unseen Academy and its shenanigans was also high on her list. Of course, Ainur, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits and Humans never left her reading list. If there was fantasy, magic and adventure, she would at least give it a try. 

Her love for books was one of the reasons she ended up going for a librarian position. Most people found the job boring, repetitive, but to Kagome it was something entirely different. It was her connection to another time - another life. 

With a book in hand, she wasn't just a librarian who helped students to find a particular author or pointed out where the history section was located. She was a long lost princess with dragon blood reuniting an army to reclaim her throne, an office worker turned into a rat and taken into the maze of London’s sewers, a girl who fell down a rabbit hole. 

Kagome, who once fought alongside her companions to save Japan from an evil hanyou, now could be anything - as long as it was in her mind. She missed these days and that's why she chose to stay at the shrine when her family moved away - the hope of maybe, just maybe, one day the old well would open again and take her back to a world where fantasy wasn't limited to paper and ink was enough to keep her going. 

Steadying herself against one of the wagon's walls, Kagome found the bookmark she left just a few hours ago. In the sixth book of the series, the story that once felt like a thrilling escape now carried the ache of inevitability—each laugh between friends shadowed by the weight of what the protagonist knew was coming. She found herself lingering on small, ordinary moments: a shared joke, a fleeting smile, the warmth of a common room fire. For a heartbeat, she wondered what it would feel like to live in a world where magic was real, at the same time knowing loss was inevitable. 

She climbed up the stairs to her home, already making plans of heating up some leftovers from her mother's visit last weekend, preparing a steaming cup of tea and sitting down on her old chair with a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. 

Kagome waved at the visitors - some whom she had known since she was a small child - and the part-timers who kept things running. She still performed her priestess duties on special occasions and blessed most of the charms they sold, but preferred to let others take care of daily tasks. 

As she crossed the patio, she noticed the well house’s door was ajar and made a mental note to finally put it under a lock - from time to time, a wandering child or a sneaky teen ended up there. The tales of the Bone-Eater Well was part of the Higurashi Shrine’s history and she couldn't really blame those who got too curious. 

She turned on the light and checked the small shed - just to make sure there was no one inside - when a black mass called her attention. 

It laid just beside the well’s rim. If not for the up and down from its chest and the pained whine, one would think it was dead. Dirty and tattered dark fur covered its body. There was no visible wound but it was hurt. 

It was a dog, the snout and barely audible woof when she touched its ear were enough of a proof. It was massive, bigger than any breed she had ever seen outside specialized journals, but still a dog. And she had a soft spot for canines. 

She got a hold of a painkiller she knew was safe for pets, heated up some broth with shredded chicken, grabbed some blankets and went back to the well house. The dog hadn't moved but watched as she knelt down by his side. Its black piercing eyes followed her every movement. 

Kagome’s hands hovered right in front of its mouth , her eyes never leaving his. As in a silent agreement, The dog sniffed a couple times before licking off the pill and going for the food. 

Realizing the time, Kagome placed the blankets over the dog, got on her heels and headed out, not before giving it one last glance and swearing it was staring back at her back.

Chapter Text

When he stepped back to dodge Bellatrix's Avada Kedavra, the pull of the Veil came stronger than the fear he saw reflected in Harry's eyes. As the fog clouded his vision, his mind went to the events that led to this moment.

From Peter's betrayal, to his imprisonment, then finally going mad from being stuck in Grimmauld Place for what felt like a lifetime. Maybe he really went mad, after all, if Azkaban came to mind in his final moments.

Flashes of his life passed through his eyes. At every turning point, he wondered if things could have been different. If he didn't stand in front of the Veil, if he fought harder for his innocence, if they never made Peter the secret keeper, if they realized Peter's cowardice sooner. Small changes that could have made everything different.

Sirius wished things had been different. Wished he could save Harry from all the challenges he had to face since that day. Wished to be there for Remus on full moon nights. But it was too late now.

Then came the pull.

It wasn't death's cold embrace but something heavier, older, like gravity with intent. He tried to fight it — to move, to shout, to breathe — but every motion dissolved into nothing. When the light returned, it wasn't the afterlife he'd expected - not that he expected anything.

It was a tree.

Cold earth pressed against his palms, damp leaves clung to his hair, and air — real air — filled his lungs with the smell of moss and the warmth of the sun slipping through the tree tops. Sirius groaned, pushing himself upright. His body ached in a way that told him he was still painfully alive - more painful than alive.

"Bloody hell…"

His voice rasped like gravel. There was no sign of the archway, no whispering Veil, no echo of the Department of Mysteries. Just trees, wind, and the sense of being out of place.

Instinct kicked in. He reached for his wand. It wasn't there. Neither was his coat. Panic clawed up his throat — a familiar, sharp reminder of Azkaban's helplessness — and he forced it down. Not again. He wouldn't go without a fight this time.

He needed cover. He needed to think. And more than anything, he needed to survive.

Voices echoed in the distance. Sirius froze, senses honed from years of running. Without hesitation, his body rippled, bones shifting, fur erupting across his skin. Within seconds, Padfoot stood where Sirius had been — a large black dog blending into the shadows.

The forest air hit differently in this form. Sounds sharpened, scents layered. He smelled wood, earth, and something faintly sweet — incense? Civilization couldn't be far. He moved, silent and quick, around the wide tree where he woke up.

A building.

Old wood, faint lights, the scent of humans and… something else. He crept closer until he saw the structure clearly — a small shrine surrounded by ancient trees, its steps leading to a courtyard. Bells hung from the eaves, swaying with the wind. The air thrummed faintly with power.

He didn't recognize it — the style, the symbols, the foreign writing etched on the plaques — none of it belonged to his world. But it felt alive. Magic, though not the kind he knew, lingered in the air like a heartbeat - the kind that just exists without needing an explanation.

His legs trembled. The transformation, the fall, the pain — it all caught up to him at once. He stumbled toward the smaller shed at the far end of the courtyard, drawn by the scent of old dust and stone. Inside, it was dark and cold, the floor uneven beneath his paws.

He curled up near what looked like an ancient well, the faint hum of energy rising from its depths. His sides heaved with shallow breaths. He thought of Harry — of the boy's wide eyes as he fell — and a wave of guilt crashed over him.

"I'm sorry, James," he thought, too tired to speak it aloud.

The darkness around him pulsed once, like an answering heartbeat.

Sirius tried to stay awake, to make sense of it, but his body was done fighting. The world blurred, sound slipping away until only silence remained.

Then footsteps came.

Sirius's ears twitched. Whoever it was, they moved carefully — not the hurried steps of someone frightened, but the deliberate, gentle rhythm of someone used to tending to sacred places. A soft click followed. The light overhead flared, chasing shadows across the dusty floor.

He squinted against the brightness, instincts screaming to flee, but his body refused to move. All he could do was watch as a figure stepped into the room.

A woman — younger than him, with long dark hair tied back and eyes the color of the ocean. There was something… serene about her. Not the brittle serenity of Ministry officials or Healers, but a quiet, grounded calm, like she belonged here — part of the shrine itself.

She froze when she saw him. For a long moment, neither moved.

Sirius's muscles tensed, ready to flee if she screamed or ran. He'd been hunted before — mistaken for a monster, cornered like one. But instead, she only tilted her head slightly, studying him with cautious sympathy.

"Oh, you poor thing…"

Her voice was soft, almost melodic, carrying a kindness that disarmed him.

She knelt slowly, keeping her distance, hands visible. The air around her felt… different. Calming. Clean. Like a breeze on a warm summer day. His instincts told him she wasn't a threat.

When her fingers brushed his ear, warmth rippled through him — not the heat of healing magic, but genuine compassion. For the first time since the fall, Sirius felt safe.

She disappeared briefly and returned with a tray. The smell of broth hit his nose, rich and savory. Hunger overrode pride; he licked the pill from her palm and began to eat, keeping one wary eye on her.

Every movement she made was patient. No sudden gestures, no fear. Just quiet acceptance.

Sirius wanted to thank her, to tell her he wasn't just some stray. That he'd fought beside his friends, that he'd fallen through a cursed arch for a boy who deserved a better life. But all he could do was meet her gaze — and in it, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time.

Kindness.

Pure in its sincerity.

She tucked a blanket around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Rest," she murmured, almost to herself. "You'll feel better soon."

He let out a low, grateful sound before settling his head on his paws. As her footsteps receded, Sirius's heavy eyelids drifted shut. Something told him it was safe - and he chose to believe it.

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through the paper doors, painting the wooden floor in gold and white. Kagome blinked awake, unsure at first if the night before had been a dream — the injured dog, the frantic search for blankets, the low rumble of his breathing.

But the faint aura coming from the well house proved otherwise.

She slipped into her shoes, grabbed a small bowl of water, some light food, and made her way down the worn-out path. The air was crisp and filled with the soft steps of the young keepers starting their activities. When she opened the door, two dark eyes met hers.

“You’re awake,” she said softly.

The dog was still lying where she’d left him, though the rise and fall of his chest looked steadier now. He blinked once, slow and deliberate, and she smiled.

“Good morning to you too, I guess.”

Kagome crouched beside him, checking the bowl of broth she’d left behind. Empty. Even the smallest bit of chicken was gone. “Well, that’s a good sign.” She set down the water and reached to brush the fur on his head. It was coarse, tangled, and still damp in places, but he didn’t flinch from her touch.

That was strange. Most strays she’d helped before had been wary for days — snapping, growling, testing her patience. But this one just watched her, quiet and unblinking, as if measuring her instead of fearing her.

“I wonder where you came from,” she murmured. “You don’t look like any breed I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you have a name? I’m Kagome and this is the Higurashi Shrine.”

The dog tilted his head slightly, as though he understood her.

Kagome laughed under her breath. “Right. And now I’m talking to a dog. Maybe mom’s right and I’ve been reading too much.”

Still, something about his gaze unsettled her — not in a bad way, but in a way that reminded her of a dog trying too hard to be dog-y. She shook her head, pushing away the thought.

She spent the rest of the morning cleaning the shed, laying new blankets, and bringing more food. The dog — she decided to call him Kuro, at least until someone came for him — followed every move she made with quiet attention. When she left, he would rest. When she returned, he’d lift his head, ears flicking toward her.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t stop checking on him — because helping something heal was the closest she’d come to feeling whole again.

The weekend passed like that. His strength returned faster than she expected. Soon enough he was standing without wincing; his fur began to shine again. Kagome started leaving the door open, letting him wander the courtyard. To her surprise, he never tried to run off.

By the end of the week, Kuro waited by the steps each morning as she left for work and was there again by evening, tail swishing slowly when she came home.

It was impossible not to grow fond of him. Or maybe she missed company more than she dared to admit.

“Alright,” she sighed one afternoon, when the sky was darkening and the air was damp, kneeling to scratch his head. “You win. You can stay inside for tonight. But no chewing shoes, got it? And stay out of the furniture.”

He blinked again, solemnly, as if promising to behave.

She shook her head with a grin. “You’re way too smart for your own good.” 

Kuro followed her in with a wiggle of his tail.

That night, as Kagome sat curled up in her chair with her book and a cup of tea, Kuro lay near her feet, silent and still, warm and coarse, with his fur brushing against her ankle. Every now and then, she caught him watching her, eyes bright in the lamplight.

There was comfort in his presence — the steady breathing, the warmth of another living being in her quiet house.

As she turned a page, she murmured absently, “You know, Kuro… if you were a person, I’d say you’ve seen a lot.”

He made a soft sound — almost like a sigh. She wondered how much he understood her words.

Chapter Text

It was strange, being cared for again. Having someone near who expected nothing from him.

Sirius couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him without suspicion, fear, or pity. Maybe before Azkaban. Maybe before the war itself.

Even in his Animagus form, he could feel it — the quiet warmth of her presence, the unspoken kindness that seeped into the air around her.

Kagome.

She introduced herself once, said her name as if knowing he would understand. Since then, it had become an anchor in his drifting mind. The only ray of sanity that filled his days.

Days blurred together in gentle repetition — her voice humming somewhere nearby, the faint clink of porcelain, the warmth of firelight. He'd long learned to read the world through small things: footsteps, tones, breathing. And this woman… she carried the sound of loneliness, but not despair. A kind of peace that was earned through sorrow. The kind of solitude that was chosen, not forced upon.

When she brought him inside, she only sighed, brushed the dirt from his fur, and told him to stay off the furniture.

He obeyed. Mostly. At least until she forced him into a bath and, in retaliation, he spent the night on her couch.

The house was modest, filled with books and a faint scent of old paper and tea. It felt lived in, not lonely. From his spot near the window, he watched her move about — preparing tea, organizing shelves, muttering to herself when she misplaced something. She seemed ordinary, but there was a presence in her, a quiet energy that prickled beneath his fur.

Magic. But not the kind he knew.

He caught flickers of it — the plants moved toward her whenever she walked by, blossoming in happiness as they basked in her energy; how the paper charms she touched seemed to pulse faintly, as if responding to her; even the ground she walked on sparkled at every step. Invisible to most, clear to anyone who was paying attention. He doubted she even noticed. Her power wasn't deliberate. It simply was.

One evening, when she dozed off in her chair, Sirius padded closer, drawn by curiosity. The table beside her was scattered with papers, a half-finished cup of tea, and a thick, well-worn book lying open on its spine.

The cover caught his eye.

Gold lettering glimmered faintly under the lamplight, etched into a dark background. He moved closer, tail flicking, his heartbeat loud in his chest. The words were clear.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

For a moment, the world tilted. His breath caught — or it would have, if he weren't a dog.

His eyes darted across the cover again, reading and rereading the name until the letters blurred. Harry Potter. The boy on the cover, with round glasses and the forehead scar, so much like his Harry it ached.

He took a step back, nearly knocking against the leg of the table. Kagome stirred, murmuring something in her sleep, and he froze.

When she didn't wake, Sirius lowered himself slowly to the floor, heart pounding.

He'd seen many impossible things in his life — magic, death, time itself — but nothing like this. A book. With Harry's name on the title. Of course, neither Harry or Potter were particularly unique names, but together, it seemed too much of a coincidence.

Sirius rested his head on his paws, staring at the title as if the words themselves might vanish come morning. But they didn't. They stayed there, gleaming softly under the light — silent, accusing, and impossibly familiar.

Somewhere deep inside, an old instinct stirred.

He had fallen through the Veil. He hadn't died.

So where, in Merlin's name, had he landed?

Chapter Text

Kagome had nursed stray animals before, but none quite like this one.

Kuro, as she’d decided to officially name him, was far too clever for a dog. It wasn’t just the way he watched her — quiet and alert, eyes following every movement — but how present he seemed. Most animals sought comfort or food; this one sought meaning.

He seemed to listen. He wasn’t the most obedient dog, but his stubbornness was almost deliberate.

When she spoke to him, his ears tilted toward her voice, not lazily, but with the sharp focus of someone catching every word. He’d respond too — not with barks or whines, but with small gestures, a tilt of the head, a faint huff of air, an expression that felt almost… human.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kagome muttered one afternoon as she cleaned his feeding bowl. “You’re going to make me feel like I’m being judged.”

He blinked. Slowly.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

She sighed, setting the bowl aside. “You’re way too smart for your own good, Kuro. Are you sure you aren’t a witch’s familiar or something? I don't want to wake up and find someone in a broomstick flying over my windows.”

The joke lingered longer than she expected. Because every now and then, when she reached for one of the old charms from the shrine, she swore his gaze sharpened, as if he recognized what he was seeing.

Weeks passed, and the dog’s health returned. His coat grew glossier, his gait steadier. Kagome eventually gave up and let him into the house permanently. He didn’t touch a thing, just lay nearby, head resting on his paws, perfectly still except for the flicker of his eyes. 

That was true — until the day of the bath. After that, the couch became his throne.

One evening, she came home with a paper bag of takeout and a book tucked under her arm — Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

She set it on the table while unpacking dinner. When she turned back, Kuro was sitting in front of the book, staring at it intently.

“You like the cover?” she asked, amused. “You’ve got good taste — this one’s one of my favorites.”

He didn’t look away.

Kagome knelt, holding the book in her hands. “It’s a story,” she began softly, the words coming easily as if she were explaining it to a child. “About an orphan boy living with his relatives, thinking he’s just an ordinary kid, just to find out on his eleventh birthday that he’s a Wizard and that there’s a whole Wizarding World hiding under everyone’s nose.”

At the word wizard, Kuro’s ears twitched.

“He goes to a magic school, makes friends, fights dark wizards… you know, the usual fantasy stuff.” She smiled faintly. “There was a long waiting list at the library whenever a new book was released. I had to buy a copy of my own to be able to read it.” She traced the designs on the cover. “Maybe I’m too naive thinking children’s books are supposed to be lighter, but it’s actually a lot heavier than I thought it would be. There’s so much loss, so much…” She let the words linger.

Her voice softened. “But there’s also courage. And loyalty. Things that make you remember why people fight for each other in the first place.”

For a long moment, Kuro didn’t move. Then, quietly, he leaned forward until his nose brushed the book’s spine.

Kagome blinked. “You really do like stories, don’t you?”

She reached out, scratching the fur between his ears. “Alright then, how about a deal? I’ll read you a little before bed. But only if you promise to stop judging my cooking.”

His tail thumped once against the floor — just once — before he settled down beside her chair.

Later that night, Kagome read aloud from the first chapters, her voice soft in the quiet of the house. She didn’t notice the way Kuro’s breathing stilled when she said certain names — Harry, Sirius, Dumbledore. She didn’t see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes or the way his muscles tensed.

To her, he was just a rescued stray who liked the sound of her voice.

But as she turned another page, she pretended not to notice the way Kuro’s gaze lingered not on her, but somewhere else. Somewhere she couldn’t reach.

Chapter Text

The following morning, for the first time since he woke up, Sirius was looking forward to being alone.

He'd grown used to her voice filling the silence — soft and steady as morning sunlight through paper walls. Her hums as she cleaned, her sighs when she sat to read, the quiet tunes that slipped past her lips when she thought no one was listening.

ABBA, of all things. He'd nearly laughed the first time he caught the familiar melody. Somehow, it made her more real — more human — in this place that felt like it had slipped out of time.

And yet, as much as he found comfort in her presence, he'd begun to crave space. Time to think. Time to shift back and stretch the stiffness from his limbs without worrying she'd walk in and find a naked stranger where her rescued dog should be.

When she'd spent all of yesterday dusting, sweeping, polishing every inch of the house, he'd known something was off. Kagome liked things tidy, yes, but she wasn't the obsessive sort. There had been a kind of nervous energy in the way she'd moved — humming louder than usual, glancing toward the clock, pausing at mirrors as if checking for signs of fatigue.

Now, seeing the reason, it made sense.

The young man who arrived by midmorning had her eyes — same shape, same calm sincerity — but his were a beautiful brown instead of sapphire. His hair was shorter and neat in a way that made Sirius itch to ruffle it just to see the reaction.
Brother, he realized. The resemblance was unmistakable.

From his spot near the porch, Sirius watched as Kagome rushed to greet him. The way her face lit up was something he hadn't seen before — not even when she was reading or lost in one of her quiet smiles. Family. It hit him in the chest harder than he'd expected.

He turned his head away, pretending to doze.

But he couldn't ignore the way the boy's voice carried — light, teasing, alive.

"Are you sure this is a dog?"

He put deliberate emphasis on dog.

"That's the ugliest breed I've ever seen."

Sirius cracked one eye open, fixing the boy with the flattest canine glare he could muster. He'd like to see this kid outrun him across a full moon's clearing.

If he'd been human, he might've smirked. Instead, he huffed through his nose, tail thumping once against the floor in a display of exaggerated disinterest.

Kagome rushed to his side, placing a protective arm around him. "He's not ugly. Don't mind him, Kuro. Sota is just being a mean younger brother."

Sirius let out a low growl when the boy crouched and reached toward his head. His fur bristled. Ugly breed, was he? He'd been called worse — traitor, murderer, madman — but somehow, this felt like the one insult that demanded a response.

Kagome's voice softened. "You offended him."

"You speak as if it can really understand Japanese."

"It's a he, not an it. And yes, I'm sure he can understand somehow."

Sirius huffed through his nose, pleased at the defense. Finally, someone with manners.

The boy arched an eyebrow. "And it's not a demon?"

The word hung in the air, weighted and familiar. Demon. Sirius stiffened slightly.

Kagome's sigh carried years in it. "You know the only yokai I still see from time to time is Tatarimokke."

Sota's teasing expression faltered.

"It's been almost twenty years, Sota. You're not even a child anymore to fear him."

"Sorry if thinking of a child being dragged to hell still gives me nightmares," he muttered. "Especially now with Mei-chan."

Silence settled, heavy and brittle. Kagome turned away, pretending to fuss with the tea cups. Sirius felt the shift in the air — grief wrapped in domestic calm, the kind he'd learned to recognize during war. He wanted to say something, anything,but all he could do was tilt his head and watch the two of them through lowered lashes.

He'd never heard of "Tatarimokke" or "Mei-chan," but something in Sota's tone — that sharp edge of fear tucked behind casual words — pricked at him. Another story Kagome carried quietly.

He settled back, tail flicking once against the floorboards. His mind turned the words over, memorizing them like puzzle pieces. Yokai. Child dragged to hell. Not exactly reassuring.

For now, he wasn't Sirius Black, or even Padfoot the loyal companion.

He was Kuro — silent, observant, pretending ignorance.

There was more to this world than strange writing and shrine magic.

And if Kagome was tied to it, then so was he.

Usually, their exchanges were brief — a few words here and there, quiet comfort wrapped in routine. She talked to him like one might to a houseplant or an old friend who'd long forgotten how to answer. But now, with her brother there, her voice carried warmth he hadn't heard before.

She laughed. Freely, unguarded. Her face lit up in a way that seemed to push back the shadows clinging to the old wooden walls. The sound of it caught him off guard — light and genuine, nothing like the restrained smiles she gave when she read aloud to fill the silence.

Sirius stayed under the table, chin resting on his paws, pretending to doze while his ears caught every word.

He learned that her grandfather rested in the small family graveyard behind the shrine; that her mother had moved in with her brother's family after a complicated birth; that both wanted Kagome to leave this quiet place — to stop isolating herself between the library and the shrine.

He could imagine that conversation: the concern in her mother's voice, the frustration in her brother's, and Kagome's gentle deflection. She didn't resist out of stubbornness, but out of a quiet grief he recognized too well. It was easier to live among ghosts than face a world that had already moved on.

"I'm not alone anymore!" she said suddenly, smiling as she reached down to brush her fingers through his fur. "I have Kuro."

Sirius forgot to breathe.

There was pride in her voice — light, certain, heartbreakingly sincere. And all he could think was how wrong it felt to be the reason for it.

She was clinging to him — a stranger in her world, a man pretending to be something harmless — while he was already thinking about leaving. Planning it, even. Every day, between the moments she fed him and spoke to him and smiled at him, he thought about how to find the magic that had brought him here and force it to take him back.

And yet she said he made her feel less alone.

Guilt twisted deep in his chest. He'd spent a lifetime losing people, but this — this gentle trust — felt heavier than loss. She didn't deserve to be left again.

Kagome wasn't someone who should fade into silence. She shone in the presence of others — brighter, steadier, alive. He'd seen it tonight, how laughter reshaped her face, how her voice softened when she spoke of her family. This shrine, this solitude — it didn't suit her. It dulled her light.

Sirius lowered his head, pressing it lightly against her knee when she smiled down at him. He wanted to believe her words, just for a moment.

That neither of them were alone.

That maybe he could stay.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn't meant to belong here — not in her world, not in her story.

And the thought of leaving her behind was beginning to hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Sota kept sending him looks, the kind that lingered a little too long — curious, calculating. As if Sirius were a puzzle missing just one obvious piece. Every time their eyes met, Sirius resisted the urge to bare his teeth in silent warning. He'd been watched before — by guards, by enemies, by the Order itself — but never quite like this. This boy didn't look at him with suspicion. He looked at him with wonder, and that was somehow worse.

When Sota finally stood to leave, he bent down to tie his shoes and cast one last glance toward the hearth, where Kagome was cleaning up the remains of dinner.

"You're getting a little too attached to that mutt," he said lightly, though his tone didn't quite match his smile. "Are you sure he's really a dog?"

Kagome paused, her hand resting on the rim of a teacup. For a heartbeat, she didn't answer. Then she looked up, her expression soft but unreadable.

"He's not a demon," she said quietly.

Sota frowned, studying her face, then glanced at Kuro one last time before slipping on his shoes and heading for the door.

The silence that followed was oddly heavy. The fading sound of Sota's footsteps mixed with the soft creak of the house settling around them. Sirius lifted his head, watching Kagome as she stared at the closed door, her features thoughtful in the dim light.

He couldn't quite understand the weight in her words — not the hesitation, nor the certainty. Not a demon. It should have been comforting, but it wasn't.

She turned back to him, her smile faint but sincere.

"Don't mind him," she murmured, reaching down to scratch behind his ear. "You're exactly what you need to be."

Her touch lingered for a moment before she withdrew her hand and turned off the light.

Sirius watched her go, the echo of her words settling deep in his chest. He didn't know what she meant — or whether she did — but the sound of it stayed with him long after the room fell dark.

He waited until she retracted to her room. Kagome had that book - Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince - and was probably finishing the chapter she managed to start earlier. When the thud came and her breath evened out, he was ready.

The transformation was slower than usual — his magic still sluggish, his body stiff from staying in his Animagus form for months — but when it was done, Sirius Black stood in the small living room, barefoot, unshaven, wearing nothing but the oversized shirt Kagome had draped over him when the temperature dropped.

He exhaled, steadying himself. The air smelled faintly of incense and tea - and Kagome. She had a particular scent he couldn't describe - or forget.

A small bookshelf stood by the wall, crowded with worn paperbacks and a few hard covers stacked neatly. From time to time, she would pick one of them and read a chapter or two, just to put them back and go back to the one laying on the coffee table.

And there they were.

At first, he didn't bother much with books, focusing more on understanding where he was. Now, he saw it. The same gold-lettered spines he had seen on her table — Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, The Goblet of Fire, and The Order of the Phoenix.

For a long moment, Sirius simply stared. The rational part of his mind screamed that this was impossible. Fiction. Coincidence. A sick joke of fate. But the other part — the part that had survived Azkaban on instinct alone — whispered that there were no coincidences left for him.

He reached out and slid the third book.

Prisoner of Azkaban.

The name was too familiar to be ignored.

The cover was worn, the pages soft from use. He turned the book in his hands, flipped a few pages until his eyes found a familiar name — his name — printed there as if it were some child's bedtime story.

With trembling fingers, he began to read.

It started innocently enough. A boy, alone at his relatives' house, dreaming of a world beyond his reach. Harry's world. His godson's world.

Then came the whispers of a mass murderer, an escaped convict named Sirius Black.

The words hit like a physical blow.

Sentence after sentence unfolded with horrifying precision — his escape, the Firebolt, the Shrieking Shack, the confrontation with Peter. Every memory he'd carried like a scar laid bare on a page in someone else's voice.

Harry's voice.

He sat down hard on the floor, the book open on his knees. He read until his eyes blurred, until the lines between memory and narration bled together. The ache in his chest grew sharp and familiar — grief, guilt, and a kind of amusement at the fact Harry never really feared him.

Sirius closed the book, pressing it against his chest.

Whoever Kagome was, wherever this place might be — somehow, impossibly, someone here knew everything.

Or worse, maybe it was him who never existed at all.

Chapter Text

“Kuro?”

Her voice carried softly through the room, followed by the familiar rustle of paper bags and the faint clink of keys against the table. The late-afternoon warmth still lingered, but something in the air felt… off. Not wrong, just different — heavier somehow, as though the house itself had been surprised at her early return.

Kagome slipped off her shoes and glanced toward the living room. The first thing she noticed was the book.

It lay open on the couch, pages spread wide as if someone had left it there mid-read. She frowned. That was strange — she hadn’t left anything there that morning. And she definitely hadn’t been reading The Prisoner of Azkaban recently.

Her gaze lingered on the open pages for a moment before she felt it — a faint, almost imperceptible ripple in the air. Not spiritual energy, not the comforting hum of the shrine’s wards. This was something else, something wilder and less familiar - but not menacing, fading even as she became aware of it.

She hesitated only a second before following her instincts down the hallway. The faint scent of damp fur met her near the restroom.

“Kuro? Are you there?” she called again, sliding the door open.

There he was.

The large black dog was sprawled on the cool tile floor, head resting lazily on his paws. His fur was still damp in patches, and a crumpled towel lay beside him, evidence enough of mischief. When he lifted his head to look at her, the deep brown of his eyes gleamed with unmistakable guilt — or maybe defiance.

Kagome crossed her arms, fighting the small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t tell me…” She glanced at the towel, then back at him. “Did you somehow figure out how the faucets work and decide you wanted another bath?”

Kuro gave a sharp huff, indignant, as if personally offended by the accusation.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said, pretending to bow dramatically. “Didn’t mean to insult your intelligence — or your dignity.”

Another huff. This one sounded even more deliberate.

Kagome couldn’t help it; laughter slipped out before she could stop herself. “Alright, alright. You win. I guess I should just be grateful you didn’t flood the place.”

She crouched beside him, brushing a damp strand of fur from his face. “Still… what were you up to, huh? You’re too smart for your own good sometimes.”

Kuro tilted his head and met her eyes. There was something steady in his gaze — something that made her chest tighten for reasons she couldn’t explain. For a moment, the air between them seemed to hum again, faint but real, like a whisper of unseen magic fading into quiet.

Kagome blinked, breaking the spell, and gave him a gentle pat on the head. “Whatever you’re doing when I’m not around, please keep it safe — and preferably dry. Tatami floors aren’t exactly water proof.”

He let out a low grumble that almost sounded like agreement.

“Good,” she said, standing and picking up the towel. “Now, come on. Dinner’s not going to cook itself. I hope the stew from yesterday didn’t disappear this time.”

Kuro stretched, shook out his fur, and padded after her — tail swishing with the kind of smugness only a dog completely certain of his victory could manage.

As they walked, she cast one last glance toward the couch, at the open book still lying there. The ripple she’d felt earlier lingered faintly at the back of her mind — not threatening, just waiting. But with Kuro trotting at her heels, she let it fade into the rhythm of their evening.

Chapter Text

Days slipped into weeks. Weeks folded quietly into months.

Before he realized it, half a year had passed.

When Kagome left for work each morning, the sound of her soft footsteps faded down the shrine path, and the silence that followed became his cue. He would wait a few minutes — long enough to be sure she was gone — and then shed his canine form like an ill-fitting coat.

It never stopped feeling strange. The air always seemed thicker as he stood on two feet again, breathing in freedom that didn’t belong to him. Her house had become his refuge. Warm. Peaceful. Fragile. The kind of quiet home he once dreamed Harry might have, in a better world.

He never touched much. Just looked. The tidy shelves, the framed photos, the little notes she left herself near the kitchen counter — “buy tea,” “don’t forget umbrella,” “feed Kuro” — all so mundane and alive it hurt to read them. He’d sit by the window sometimes, hidden behind the curtains, watching the woods and the top of buildings beyond the shrine gates, the simplicity of it both comforting and cruel.

She lived in a world untouched by his kind of war. And yet, she carried something that felt familiar — a weight in her eyes, a quiet grief she never named aloud.

On her days off, she’d take him — Kuro — for walks around the shrine grounds. Whenever the weather allowed, which was somehow more often than chance should allow, she would hum softly as they walked. Visitors came and went, offering prayers, tossing coins, bowing before the small altars. They smiled at her, but most gave him wide berth once they noticed the size of the dog walking freely at her side.

Sometimes a child, brave or foolish, would approach, hand outstretched to pet him. He’d let them — tail still, eyes calm — until their parents called them back with nervous apologies. Kagome always laughed softly after, brushing her fingers behind his ear as if to say see, you’re not so scary.

Those moments were... dangerous. They made him forget he was supposed to be trying to find his way back.

Their usual first stop was the oldest tree on the grounds — the one Kagome called the God Tree. Its trunk was thick and scarred, roots coiled deep like veins in the earth. She told him it had stood there for over five hundred years, surviving storms and wars, its presence a constant blessing over the shrine.

Kagome always lingered by the tree, her hand resting lightly against the bark as though greeting an old friend. She never spoke aloud, but the air around her seemed to shift when she stood there — a silent conversation that even the wind respected.

And just like the plants she nurtured inside the house, the leaves of the God Tree always seemed a little greener when she came around. The branches swayed even when the air was still, and the roots — ancient and deep — shifted ever so slightly, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. Yet Sirius saw it. Nature itself reaching out to her, like an old companion remembering the shape of her soul.

Every month, they made another pilgrimage — a quieter one. Past the shrine paths, through the shaded woods where few visitors ever ventured. Kagome always found the way without hesitation, no matter the time of day or season. The clearing was small, swallowed by moss and silence. Only a few stones stood there, their inscriptions long since erased by time.

Graves. Forgotten to most, but never to her.

She would kneel before them, sleeves brushing the dirt, and begin her quiet ritual — clearing moss from the stones, pulling weeds, whispering words he never fully caught. The soft rhythm of her movements carried both care and mourning.

He always stayed close, a silent shadow beside her, his paws sinking into the damp earth as he watched her tend the forgotten. There was reverence in her stillness, something sacred that went beyond religion or duty.

And he knew — with a sudden, almost painful clarity — that this was not something she shared with others.

There was a unique privilege in being allowed into this side of her life. To stand near her as she bared the quiet, hidden parts of her heart.

For a man who had spent years surrounded by walls — prison cells, locked doors, unspoken guilt — that trust felt like a gift he could never repay.

He tried, for a while, to accept it — to believe that maybe this quiet world was meant to be his new reality.

There were worse fates, after all. Since his days with James’s parents, he hadn’t felt more at home than here. The air was clean, the house warm, the presence beside him gentle and unjudging. Kagome gave without asking, spoke softly when he needed silence, and never pried where others would have demanded answers.

It was the kind of peace he had never thought he’d be allowed to have.

But the books… the books were a mirror he couldn’t look away from.

He told himself at first that reading them was harmless — curiosity, nothing more. But each time his fingers brushed those worn spines, the illusion of peace cracked a little further.

He started with The Goblet of Fire, tracing the words that matched the fragments of memory burned into his mind. The Triwizard Tournament, the graveyard, the name no one should have spoken — Voldemort. He remembered the cold, the screams, the unbearable relief when he realized Harry had survived again.

Then The Order of the Phoenix.

Each chapter filled the hollow spaces in his recollections — the things he hadn’t seen while locked away in Grimmauld Place, the moments he had only heard about too late, the choices that haunted him still.

And with each page, a strange, chilling pattern took shape.

The books didn’t just tell Harry’s story. They told his. Every word was a reflection of his life — not just the public pieces, not just what others might have guessed — but the details no one could possibly have known.

The damp rot of Grimmauld Place’s corridors. Kreacher’s muttering echoing through the dark. The sharp sting of hearing Harry’s voice through the fire, close enough to touch, and knowing he was miles away. The bitterness that came after every argument, every near-confession swallowed by pride.

It was all there.

Every scar, every regret, every fragment of a life he thought had ended.

He could almost believe this was some cruel joke — punishment from falling through the Veil, forced to live forever in a world where his existence was nothing more than ink and paper. Words written by someone who thought they knew him.

By the time he reached the end of the fifth book, his hands were shaking.

The moment came quietly, almost tender in its cruelty. That familiar scene — the Department of Mysteries, the chaos of light and shouting. His own voice echoed back at him from the page: “Nice one, James!” followed by the line that should never have existed.

He stared at the words until the letters blurred, the ink seeming to ripple like water under his gaze. His throat constricted; his heart stumbled, then raced as if trying to escape his chest. It wasn’t just memory — it was recognition, something deep within him responding, knowing.

A tether, invisible and ancient, pulled taut between two worlds.

The air in the room shifted. It began as a whisper — the faintest hum against his skin, like static before a storm. The curtains stirred though the windows were closed. The hair on his arms rose.

It wasn’t emotion. It was magic.

But not the kind he knew.

This was different — unpredictable, ancient, raw.

He looked around sharply, half expecting to see the shimmer of a spell, the flicker of a wand’s light, something that explained the surge. But there was nothing. No wand, no incantation, no Veil whispering from the edge of sight. The energy had risen and vanished in the same heartbeat, leaving only its echo thrumming inside his chest.

Sirius pressed a hand to his sternum, feeling the aftershock of something he couldn’t name — a pulse that wasn’t quite his own, fading even as he tried to catch it.

The words on the page blurred again — not from tears this time, but because they wouldn’t stay still. The letters seemed to waver, slipping just out of focus no matter how hard he tried to read them, as if the book itself refused to be looked at too closely.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

The pages stilled. The hum faded. The world righted itself.

He closed the book carefully, almost reverently, fingertips brushing over the worn cover. For a long moment, he simply stared at it, the quiet pressing down like a weight.

If these books were a map, they should have ended where his life did.

But he was still here.

His part wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

At first, Kagome didn’t think much of it.

Books moved sometimes.

From experience, she knew some of them had a life of their own — stubborn things that refused to stay on the shelves where she placed them. Some slipped out of order for attention, others hid behind thicker tomes as if sulking, and a few simply vanished for a day or two before reappearing in plain sight.

Words were the only kind of magic left in her life, and books just happened to accumulate too much of it.

She looked over the small library she kept at home — a modest shelf tucked between the window and the old desk, sunlight pooling over the spines. Having access to countless tales at work, she only kept her favorites here, the ones that felt like old friends.

She might have pulled one from the shelf and forgotten to put it back properly. Or left it on the table while making tea, only to reshelve it absentmindedly later. That was normal enough.

But for some reason, it was always one of the Harry Potter books that seemed out of place. The others sat obediently where they belonged, but those five… they had a habit of shifting.

Sometimes it was Prisoner of Azkaban leaning against Order of the Phoenix. Sometimes Goblet of Fire turned up on her bedside table with a bookmark she didn’t remember using.

Kagome frowned softly, tracing the edge of one cover with her finger.

“Maybe books about magic just have more magic in them,” she murmured, half to herself.

It was a harmless thought — the kind that should’ve ended there.

But then, small things began to add up.

Her food didn’t last as long as it used to. The leftovers she carefully portioned out seemed to vanish faster than before — soup bowls emptier than she remembered, rice containers lighter. Once or twice, she opened the fridge certain she’d made more than what was left.

Of course, she cooked for two now. Kuro refused anything resembling dog food, and she wasn’t about to let him starve. She still remembered which dishes Inuyasha had liked and which he’d avoided — though she’d drawn the line at letting Kuro live off instant ramen. So she cooked properly, separating his share before adding spices, just to be safe.

Still… when her precious oden went missing, her mind started working overtime.

She’d blamed her own tiredness — long days at the library could make anyone forgetful. That was logical. Sensible.

But when she found a strand of coarse, dark hair on the bathroom sink — not hers, not quite like Kuro’s either — she felt the first faint twinge of unease.

And then, her towel was damp.

She stared at it for a long moment, the unease curling at the back of her mind like a half-remembered dream. Then she laughed softly to herself, forcing the tension away.

“I’m losing it,” she muttered, shaking her head as she hung the towel up again. “I’m in dire need of a vacation.”

Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness. Even Kuro, lounging nearby, didn’t stir — just flicked an ear, eyes half-closed, pretending to nap.

Still, the little details refused to fade from her mind.

The way Kuro would stare at her when she came home — perfectly still, eyes fixed, as if waiting to see whether she’d notice something. The way his gaze followed her with a kind of… awareness.

She’d always known he was an unusually clever dog — that had been clear from the start. But lately, his behavior had changed. When she reached out to pet him, he sometimes drew back slightly. Not out of fear, but hesitation — as though weighing a decision, deciding whether he should act like a dog at all.

The feeling built slowly, day by day, until it settled in her chest like a quiet certainty: something was off. Something about Kuro didn’t fit.

She knew he wasn’t exactly normal. She’d accepted that long ago — the faint hum she sometimes felt near him, the uncanny intelligence in his eyes, even the strange coincidences she couldn’t quite explain. But danger? No. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

A stray she’d nursed back to health — that’s all he was. Loyal, quiet, strange, yes… but hers nonetheless.

And if there was anything dangerous about him, he’d had plenty of chances to prove it.

So, she did what she always did when her thoughts began to spiral: she read.

That week, she finished The Half-Blood Prince.

The final chapters left her raw — the ink still wet in her mind. Dumbledore’s fall, Snape’s betrayal, the ache of inevitability that came with every great story she wished would end differently.

When she closed the book, she sighed softly and ran her thumb over the embossed title.
“That was… unexpected,” she murmured, voice low in the quiet room.

She rose, placing the book neatly back on the shelf beside the others — Philosopher’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban. Then she hesitated.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she made a small adjustment.

The sixth book’s spine was angled just slightly forward, its position memorized down to the millimeter. If anything moved it — even by a hair — she’d know. A harmless little trap, a test for a mystery she still refused to name.

She wasn’t sure whether she hoped to be proven right or wrong.

“Kuro,” she called softly, turning toward where the dog lay in his usual corner. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been borrowing my books.”

His head lifted slowly. Those dark, knowing eyes met hers — steady, silent, and far too human.

There was no wag of the tail this time. No sound at all.

Just that quiet awareness between them, the kind that felt too heavy for words.

Kagome laughed softly under her breath and shook her head. “See you in the morning, mystery friend,” she murmured, switching off the lamp.

The room sank into darkness, and the faint hum of magic brushed against her senses again — gentle, but unfamiliar, and gone before she could reach for it.

She let herself drift to sleep, pretending she hadn’t felt it at all.

Chapter Text

Sirius wasn't sure when things began to shift.

The food came first. There was suddenly more of it — a few extra containers in the fridge, a plate left on the counter when she went out, a new loaf of bread where there hadn't been one before. Small changes, subtle enough to pass for coincidence. But he noticed. He always noticed.

Then came the towels.

And the toothbrush.

It appeared one morning beside hers in the bathroom cup — almost the same color, the same brand. Unassuming. Ordinary. As though it had always been there. Sirius stared at it for a long time, the quiet weight of realization settling in his stomach.

She knew.

Not everything — maybe not even enough to name it — but something. Kagome was far too sharp to ignore the pattern.

And yet, she didn't act afraid.

If anything, she'd grown gentler.

It scared him more than anything.

She still spoke to him as though he were a dog — Kuro, her companion, her quiet shadow — but her tone had changed. There was something careful in it now, deliberate. Less like someone filling silence, more like someone trying not to break it.

Sometimes, when she thought he was sleeping, she would talk anyway. About her day, her coworkers, the new books that arrived at the library. About the cherry blossoms starting to bloom and the strange comfort of watching people pray for the same things year after year.

She never asked him questions, but she left space for answers — as if she expected them.

And that, somehow, was worse than her finding out.

Sirius had spent a lifetime lying — to enemies, to the Ministry, to himself — but never like this. Never to someone who looked at him without expectation. Kagome didn't want anything from him. No loyalty, no apology, no explanation. Just… presence.

And every day he stayed, every time she smiled at him like he belonged, the lie felt heavier.

He wanted to tell her the truth. Merlin, he ached to tell her — about the Veil, about the books, about the boy who'd carried his hope through a war.

But how did you explain to someone that you'd fallen out of the pages of her favorite story?

How did you begin to tell a truth you didn't understand yourself?

He'd faced trials, curses, Azkaban — things that broke men far stronger than him — and yet none of it compared to this: standing in a quiet house, surrounded by warmth he hadn't earned, terrified of the one person who had only ever shown him kindness.

"You don't like this kind of tea, do you?" she asked one morning while stirring her cup, as though she genuinely expected him to answer. "I can tell. You always wrinkle your nose when I brew it."

Sirius, sitting near the table, blinked slowly — the best he could manage by way of response.

Later that evening, when she came home from work, she sank onto the couch beside him with a sigh. "Today must've been 'let's make your librarian mad' day," she muttered, tossing her bag aside. "Why do people hate order so much?"

Her voice was tired, but not heavy. Just… lonely.

And even though he didn't move or speak, she went on.

"I don't mind it most days — the kids, the noise. They're always so curious, so alive. But lately, it makes here feel a little too quiet, you know?"

He did know. More than she could ever guess.

Sometimes she'd ask for his "opinion," tilting her head as if she really expected one. "Should I make soup or ramen tonight, Kuro?" she'd ask. And when his ears twitched toward one or the other, she'd smile softly.

"Soup it is."

It wasn't pity that made her talk to him that way. Sirius could feel it — that quiet, steady compassion that didn't come from loneliness but from understanding. She wasn't trying to fill an empty space; she was sharing hers.

And somewhere in that silence, he began to notice her, too.

The way her eyes lingered on the horizon at dusk, as if waiting for something she'd stopped believing would return. The way her fingers brushed over certain book covers again and again, as though the stories inside could still reach her. The warmth she carried in small gestures — helping a lost tourist, lighting incense for someone else's prayer, speaking gently to every living thing around her.

Kagome Higurashi wasn't a woman surviving quietly. She was someone who healed simply by being.

And he was lying to her.

Every word he didn't say, every truth he hid behind those brown eyes, every breath he took under the name Kuro — it was all a lie she didn't deserve.

Each time she smiled at him, each meal she shared, each quiet word she spoke believing he was just a clever dog — guilt tightened its grip a little more around his chest.

She'd taken him in. Healed his body. Given him warmth, safety, and something dangerously close to peace. And he repaid her with deception.

He told himself he had no choice — that he was protecting himself, that she wouldn't understand the truth. But with every passing day, that excuse wore thinner, stretched to transparency.

That evening, when Kagome knelt beside him to refill his bowl, her eyes caught his — steady, thoughtful, too perceptive for comfort.

"You're different," she said softly. "I don't know why, but… you see things, don't you?"

Sirius froze. Her tone wasn't accusing. It wasn't even curious. It was certain.

He held her gaze, caught between instinct and the unbearable urge to confess — to tell her everything, to stop hiding behind borrowed fur and half-truths. But there was no fear in her expression. No suspicion. Only quiet acceptance, as if she already knew and had decided it didn't matter.

And that, somehow, was worse.

Because he wasn't ready. Not yet.

So he stayed still — silent as her fingers moved through his fur, each slow stroke a wordless kindness he hadn't earned.

And all the while, the ache in his chest deepened, swelling into something sharp and tender, caught between gratitude and shame.

Chapter Text

Kagome had stopped pretending she didn’t notice.

There were too many small signs now — things that couldn’t be explained away by forgetfulness or coincidence. The extra toothbrush getting signs of use. The dishes were being washed when she hadn’t done them. The faint sense that someone else’s breath lingered in the air after she came home.

But Kuro… he never hurt her. Never broke anything. Never acted like something dangerous hiding in plain sight. If anything, he looked guilty, like a child caught with crumbs on his muzzle.

So Kagome chose patience.

One quiet night, she sat on the couch with a cup of tea, Kuro resting nearby, his dark fur almost blending into the shadows. The soft hum of cicadas filled the air.

“Do you want to hear a story?” she asked suddenly.

The dog lifted his head.

“It’s about a little girl named Mayu,” Kagome began, her voice calm but distant — the tone she used when peeling back memories. “Do you remember when I teased Sota about not getting over Tatarimokke?”

Kuro’s ears flicked, the faintest twitch of acknowledgment.

“Sota had a friend — Satoru,” she continued softly. “He was about eight back then. He had an older sister, Mayu. She was ten when she died in a fire.”

Her gaze drifted toward the window, where moonlight caught on the glass. “She didn’t understand what had happened to her — she thought her mother had chosen to save her brother and left her to die. But her mother didn’t know she was hiding in the closet. She wasn’t even supposed to be home at the time.”

Kagome paused, her thumb tracing the edge of her teacup. “Mayu couldn’t move on. That’s when Tatarimokke came — a youkai that stays with the souls of dead children until they’re ready to leave this plane, either to heaven or to hell.”

She let out a slow breath, then reached down absently to rest her hand on Kuro’s back. Her fingers moved through his fur in slow, rhythmic strokes — not seeking comfort, but offering it.

“When I met Mayu, she was… angry,” Kagome said. “She wanted revenge. She tried to take her brother, Satoru, with her — to the afterlife. Not because she hated him, but because she didn’t want to be alone. But that kind of love can twist into something dark. And so, even though she was just a child, Tatarimokke sentenced her to hell.”

The room seemed to quiet around them, the cicadas’ song dipping low. Kuro shifted, his flank brushing against her knee as if sensing the heaviness of the memory. She smiled faintly, letting her palm rest there — a silent thank you.

“The gates of the Underworld opened,” she murmured. “I tried everything I could to stop it. I didn’t want her to suffer — she was just… lost.”

Kuro pressed closer, his head nudging gently against her leg. The weight of it grounded her — a quiet, living presence anchoring her to the now.

“But once she understood,” Kagome continued, her fingers absently tracing the line of his ear, “once she saw that her mother hadn’t abandoned her — she let go. She found peace. Before she left, she came to me. She said she wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Her hand lingered there, stroking behind his neck in slow circles. “That was a long time ago,” she said quietly. “I was barely fifteen. Back then, I thought ghosts and curses were rare things. Turns out, they’re everywhere — you just have to look in the cracks of the world.”

She took a slow sip, then chuckled under her breath.

 “You’d think after all that, I’d be better at living a normal life. But it’s strange, isn’t it? Once you’ve seen other worlds, it’s hard to forget the color of them. The air here feels… thinner.”

Her voice was soft, but something in it wavered — like the echo of wind through a place that no longer existed.

She smiled faintly, though her eyes carried an old ache. “You could say I’ve met more than my fair share of the impossible.”

A small, wistful laugh escaped her. “So if you’re worried I’ll run away screaming — don’t be. I’ve seen worse. Much worse.”

Kuro’s tail gave a nervous flick, a small betraying motion that made her lips curve.

Kagome set her cup down, her gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes I think that’s why I like books so much,” she said quietly. “They’re the only place where magic doesn’t hurt anyone. Where you can lose yourself in wonder without blood or loss.”

Her eyes drifted to the bookshelf — to the row of worn spines that caught the light like familiar friends. “The difference between fiction and real life is that fiction needs to make sense, but I still want to believe in both.”

She let out a slow breath, one that trembled at the edges. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things, Kuro. I doubt there’s anything that could surprise me at this point.”

Then she turned toward him. The movement was small, unhurried — but it carried the weight of quiet decision. Her hand reached out, hovering just above his fur. Not touching. An invitation, not a demand.

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of,” she said softly. “But I trust you. Whatever you are, however you look — I trust you.”

The silence that followed was thick with something neither could name. The kind of silence that feels alive, waiting to be broken.

Outside, the cicadas fell quiet, their song replaced by the steady hum of the night breeze.

Kuro didn’t move.

Kagome turned back to her tea, her expression unreadable — but the faintest smile tugged at her lips, small and knowing.

She had given him space.

Now it was up to him to step into it.

Chapter Text

Days passed, measured not by calendars but by quiet rituals — Kagome’s soft voice before leaving for work, the faint click of the door behind her, the rustle of pages as she read at night, and the warmth she left in the air long after she’d gone.

Her words from that evening lingered like an enchantment he didn’t know how to undo. I trust you.

It wasn’t the kind of trust born from ignorance. She knew something was off — maybe not what he was, but enough. And still, she’d looked him in the eye and said those words without hesitation.

Sirius had faced curses, Dementors, betrayal — but trust was something else entirely. It cut deeper than fear, because it demanded something in return. Something he wasn’t sure he could give. Something she wasn’t asking for.

He found himself thinking of her far too often. Of her hands brushing against his fur with absent tenderness, of the way her laughter softened the edges of his guilt. She had a stillness to her — not the hollow quiet of loss, but a peace carved out of surviving it.

And she’d offered that peace to him, without knowing who — or what — he was.

That thought kept him awake.

So one morning, when the sun was still soft and the shrine bathed in gold, Sirius finally decided to go out as himself. He waited until her footsteps faded down the path before he shifted out of his Animagus form. The air was cool against his skin as he reached for the bundle of gender-neutral clothes she’d left folded in a corner after the talk.

She’d said it with a wry smile — “In case you ever want to stop pretending.” It was half a joke, half a challenge. And the fact that she’d thought about it at all made his chest ache.

He dressed quickly, fingers clumsy from disuse. The fabric smelled faintly of her — tea leaves, incense, and something softer, like the air after rain. There was also the trace of her unique magic.

He needed air — and answers.

The path led him back to where it had all begun.

Past the main hall, past the prayer trees hung with white paper slips. The shrine was waking slowly — a few caretakers sweeping the steps, the distant clatter of offerings being arranged. No one paid him any mind.

The shed still smelled faintly of straw and herbs. The well beside it sat in the shade, silent and watchful, its surface reflecting only the pale sky above.

And beyond them, rising like a sentinel between worlds, stood the Goshinboku.

The God Tree.

It wasn’t just a tree. There was something alive in its stillness — something vast, ancient, 

Sirius stopped at its base, the rough bark cold beneath his palm. He didn’t know why he’d come here — only that something in him had been pulling toward it for weeks.

His breath caught. The air here shimmered differently — thin but charged, as if every leaf carried a secret too old for words. He could feel it again, that faint pull deep in his chest — a thread tugging gently at the edges of his soul.

Whatever bound this place, whatever connected Kagome to it — it was the same kind of power that had pulled him here from the Veil.

Sirius wondered if the path home didn’t lead backward at all.

This wasn’t spellwork or ritual. It was older. The kind of magic that belonged to the earth before anyone thought to name it. It sang through the bark, through the roots, through the very air — low and resonant, like a heartbeat beneath the world.

And now, standing there as himself — not Padfoot, not a shadow behind fur named Kuro — he could feel all of it.

As a man, the tree’s power resonated deeper, unfiltered. The thrum of life beneath the bark echoed through his bones, filled his lungs. The longer he stood there, the more it built — not overwhelming, but insistent, like the world itself was breathing through him.

Then came the pull.

Soft at first — a whisper under his skin — then sharper, a current tugging inward, toward the hollow in his chest where the Veil had once claimed him. He staggered, breath catching, his fingers tightening against the bark.

Sirius gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay grounded. “Not again,” he muttered under his breath, though the words came out more as a plea than defiance.

The Goshinboku didn’t relent. Its energy surged — not hostile, but testing, as if weighing him, recognizing the echo of what he carried. The space between them vibrated with a rhythm that was neither his nor the tree’s alone — a resonance that blurred the boundary between them.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pull eased.

What remained was quieter — a hum beneath his ribs, steady and deep. For a fleeting moment, he thought he heard whispers in the stillness: warmth, sorrow, memory, reunion. Not words, but impressions — as though the tree itself remembered every soul it had once touched.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Time seemed to dissolve — the rustle of leaves, the hum of cicadas, the far-off noise of the city all fading into silence.

That’s why he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind.

“Kuro?”

His head snapped toward the voice — and froze.

Kagome stood just a few feet away, framed by the pale morning light filtering through the branches. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with the kind of stunned disbelief that comes from recognizing something the world said was impossible.

She wasn’t calling to a dog anymore. She was calling to him — a man, fully, unmistakably human.

Panic surged through him like an instinct reborn. His first thought was to run — to vanish into the trees before she could speak another word. He’d been careful for months. Careful enough to make this impossible. He wasn’t ready.

But before he could move, she took a single, steady step forward.

“Wait!” Her voice was soft but sure, carrying through the air with startling calm. “Don’t run.”

Her hands lifted slightly, palms open — a quiet plea. “I’m not scared of you.”

He froze again, caught in the quiet gravity of her presence.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Didn’t even blink. Her gaze met his with the same calm she used when she first saw him at the shed.

“You don’t have to explain,” she continued. “I just… I just want you to know you’re safe here. Please, stay. Don’t disappear.”

The world tilted around him. Every instinct screamed run, every memory of betrayal and imprisonment clawing at his throat — yet her words cut through it, gentle and steady, like a spell cast without a wand.

The hum of the Goshinboku lingered under his skin, alive and insistent — the same pulse he’d felt when he first touched its bark. It wasn’t pushing him toward her or away from her; it was simply binding the moment in stillness, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

He opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, to invent a lie, to dissolve into the safety of fur and silence — but nothing came out.

Something in him — the same something that had reached for warmth through cold stone walls, that had answered her kindness even when he didn’t deserve it — softened.

So he stayed.

And when she smiled, it wasn’t surprise or triumph. It was recognition — quiet, knowing, and impossibly kind.

Chapter Text

That night, Kuro didn’t come inside.

Not that she expected him to. The way he’d frozen when she spoke his name — wide-eyed, startled, almost guilty — had been almost endearing. Like a child caught eating ice cream before dinner.

She hadn’t meant to frighten him. She’d only wanted to understand. But after standing by the gate for over ten minutes, waiting for some sign that he might shift back, curiosity had tangled quietly with patience. She had never seen him change before, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to — or if she just wanted to how he did it.

Still, he didn’t leave. And that, somehow, was enough.

It comforted her, that lingering presence just beyond the walls. She slept soundly, knowing he was there.

When morning came, sunlight spilled like liquid gold across the shrine grounds, catching in the old bark of the Goshinboku. Kagome paused by the window and drew in a soft breath.

He was there.

Not the sleek black dog who shadowed her steps, but the man — tall, still, outlined by the pale shimmer of morning. The light caught in his hair, the faint silver glint threading through the dark. His shoulders were straight, his movements calm, though his posture betrayed a quiet readiness — as if he were half-expecting to vanish again. 

Their eyes met for a second.

For a moment, Kagome simply stared.

There was something otherworldly about him, and not just because of what he was - whatever he was. He looked both real and impossibly out of place — like a figure from another lifetime who had accidentally wandered into hers.

She gathered a tray of food before stepping outside: rice, sausages, tea — the small offerings of routine she hoped would bridge whatever distance remained between them.

“Kuro…” Her voice came softer than she intended. The name felt too small now, too simple for what stood before her.

He turned toward her then, and the world seemed to still. His eyes — the same deep gray she’d seen in the dog — met hers with quiet intensity.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she managed.

He hesitated before replying, as if testing the shape of human words again. “I didn’t want to leave.”

Something inside her eased at that — a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She smiled, not questioning, not demanding. Just quietly in awe.

He turned to meet her, hands raised in a quiet, open gesture.

The morning light caught on his form — unmistakably human now, though something about him still shimmered with otherness. His posture was calm yet wary, as though every movement was a negotiation between instinct and trust. The oversized clothes she had left for him hung loose across his frame, soft from wear. She’d begun to notice the subtle signs — the faint creases at the sleeves, the way the collar never sat quite the same again. Proof that he had worn them, returned them, almost guiltily.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said at last, his voice low and rough from disuse — deep and steady, carrying an unfamiliar cadence that made the air seem to hum around him. “I’m… not what you think. But I’m not dangerous.”

Kagome tilted her head, studying him carefully. Her spiritual sense stirred, brushing against the faint hum of his energy. It wasn’t youkai, nor the echo of a restless spirit, nor anything she’d ever encountered before. It was old and strange, and yet—gentle.

Something real, but not of this world.

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried both kindness and quiet resolve. “You don’t need to explain everything,” she said. “I can tell you’re not from here, and… that’s enough for now.”

He blinked, surprise flickering across his expression. “Not from here,” he echoed, as if testing how the words tasted on his tongue. Then, quieter: “I… came from somewhere else. I don’t know how I got here. Or… how to get back.”

Kagome crouched, her movement unhurried, her hand extending toward him — not a command, but an offering.

“Then stay until you figure things out,” she said gently. “You’re welcome here. You can rest, eat, or just… be.”

He simply looked at her — really looked. The kind of gaze that felt like it reached through years of loss and silence.

And though the world between them was made of two different kinds of magic, something wordless passed in that moment — a promise, fragile but real.

He nodded once, a small, unspoken agreement.

Days passed gently — enough that she stopped counting. Two months - maybe more - slipped quietly through the seasons, marked not by calendars but by the rhythm of shared mornings and unspoken understanding.

Kagome found herself noticing the smallest things. How he seemed to sense when she was tired and quietly took over her chores. How her shawl would appear on the window before she realized she’d left it behind. How her tea never went cold — though she never saw him near the pot. His care was wordless, quiet, so seamlessly woven into her days that she didn’t realize how much she relied on it until she tried to imagine the silence without him.

He was becoming more present now — not as the black dog who once shadowed her every step, but as the man who had emerged from that shape. At first, he lingered at the edges of her days, shy of being seen. But as the weeks passed, he began joining her more openly. Sitting by the God Tree while she worked. Sharing meals instead of watching from a distance. Speaking softly when the evenings grew long.

Still, there were nights when she would wake to find the house empty and, through the window, catch sight of Kuro — the great black dog — padding silently through the shrine grounds. Sometimes he disappeared into the forest paths for hours, perhaps to explore or to be alone with his thoughts. But he always returned before dawn, curling by the couch as though he’d never left.

She never questioned it. Some habits, she knew, were not easily shed — even for those who had once lived another life.

She learned his quiet rhythms — how he studied the shrine with reverence, how his attention lingered when she spoke, even when his gaze drifted elsewhere. He listened — really listened — as though every word she said mattered.

And then there were moments she couldn’t explain.

Like the morning he helped her sweep the shrine steps: a gust of wind rose suddenly, gathering the fallen leaves neatly into a pile. Sirius only raised a brow, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Or when she spilled tea on the floor, and the liquid froze midair, sliding back into the cup as though gravity itself had paused out of courtesy. He said nothing, only handed her a dry cloth — a small, quiet act of grace.

Sometimes the fire in the small hearth burned brighter than she struck it, filling the room with warmth that wrapped around her like a soft embrace. She would glance up to find him watching from across the room, expression unreadable but kind. One look, one small shrug — you were cold.

She didn’t question it. He was different. That was enough. He would open up when he was ready.

Their lives found rhythm in one another’s company. He fetched water, repaired things she hadn’t even realized were broken, kept the grounds immaculate. She cooked, read aloud, and sometimes talked just to fill the air, knowing he was listening.

“I trust you,” she said one evening, tucking a blanket around his shoulders as dusk crept through the window. Her fingers lingered longer than she meant them to. “I know you’ll tell me more when you’re ready. You don’t have to rush.”

He didn’t answer. But his eyes — steady, deep, quietly searching — said enough.

And suddenly, her house wasn’t as empty as before.

And that scared her — not because he was strange or powerful, but because he made her feel safe. Because the ease between them had begun to feel dangerously natural, and she didn’t know how to stop herself from wanting it to last.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered through the leaves of the Goshinboku as Sirius lingered near the shrine. He had grown accustomed to the quiet rhythm of the place — the soft sound of Kagome moving about, the faint hum of her voice as she hummed to herself, the rustle of her clothes as she passed through rooms that now felt far too warm and alive to ever be called empty.

It was impossible not to be drawn to her. She carried a gentleness that didn’t fade with time or fatigue, a calm that asked for nothing and gave everything. Even the way she moved seemed to heal the air around her. But behind her kindness, there was always something else — a heaviness she never spoke of. He saw it in the pauses between her smiles, in the faraway look that sometimes crossed her face when she thought he wasn’t watching.

It made him want to protect her — or maybe, more truthfully, it made him wish he could rest beside her without the constant ache of guilt.

He told himself he was only observing. That was easier.

He watched her from a distance, pretending to study the garden while truly studying her.

A young visitor had come seeking guidance — a faint cough, pale lips, a worry that didn’t belong to their years. Kagome knelt beside them, hands brushing gently over their shoulders. Sirius felt it immediately — the subtle shift in the air, the ripple of power.

Magic. Not the kind he knew — not bound by incantations or wands — but something older, quieter. A natural current, flowing from her hands to the child’s heart. No show of light, no dramatics. Just grace, and warmth, and a tenderness that reminded him too much of what he’d lost.

He could feel it under his skin, humming in response — like the magic within him recognized hers, or longed to.

Later, he watched her speak to the Goshinboku, her hands hovering near the bark as though listening. Her words were too soft to catch, but the tree seemed to breathe with her, its branches swaying though there was no wind. And when she prepared charms and remedies for the shrine — herbs drying neatly on their racks, parchment charms brushed with care — he saw the precision in her touch. The sort of instinctive, exacting craftsmanship that would have made even Slughorn pause and murmur approval.

She had an artistry that no spell could replicate.

And she had no idea how remarkable she was.

He found himself laughing quietly when she muttered under her breath, or when she scolded him for tracking dirt into the house — her brows drawn in mock sternness, her tone far too gentle to convince anyone she was truly angry. It took several scoldings before he remembered to leave his shoes by the door like a proper guest. The first morning he noticed a pair of inside slippers set neatly beside hers, his chest went strangely tight. Something small and wordless settled in his heart — a quiet belonging he didn’t dare name.

There were times, fleeting and dangerous, when he almost forgot what he was supposed to be — a man out of place, a shadow from another story.

With her, he simply was.

And yet, every moment of peace came with its quiet terror. Because for the first time in years, Sirius Black wasn’t looking for a way out — he was beginning to imagine what it might feel like to stay.

Kagome made that impossible not to imagine. Her presence was sunlight after years of rain. Her laughter felt like an echo of something he’d thought he’d lost long ago. She looked at him not as a stranger, not as a curiosity, but as someone meant to be there — and that frightened him more than the Veil ever had.

He could feel himself unraveling in the warmth of her world.

And yet, when night fell, he still turned back into the black dog and slipped quietly through the shrine gates — wandering into the woods, letting the cool air bite at him until he could remember who he was.

But no matter how far he walked, he always returned before dawn.

They ate dinner together in silence at first — the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, but careful, as though both were afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them.

Then, slowly, Sirius began to speak. Not about magic, or the strange fracture of worlds that had dropped him into hers. Just… pieces of himself.

“I never had much of a family,” he said quietly, eyes tracing the weave of the tatami. “Or at least… not the kind that cared if you lived or died.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I lost someone I should have protected. My best friend… gone, and I couldn’t stop it.”

He paused, feeling the old weight settle in his chest, then forced a crooked smile. “I miss school sometimes. The simplicity of it all. The stupid things we thought mattered — detentions, pranks, bad grades. The laughter.” He glanced at her. “Feels like another lifetime.”

Kagome’s gaze softened. There was understanding there — not pity, never pity — but recognition, the kind born from her own scars.

“My life started like anyone else’s,” she said, voice low but even. “Until it didn’t. I thought I’d just grow up, study, help at the shrine…” She smiled faintly, eyes distant. “But the world had other plans. I did what I had to do. What was asked of me. And in the end, I still lost everything I tried to protect.”

Her words lingered in the air — not bitter, not resigned, just true.

“I’m here,” she added softly. “I’m alive. I guess that’s enough.”

Sirius felt it — the quiet echo of shared loss, the strange comfort of being understood without having to explain. Both of them shaped by grief, by choices that cost too much, by the stubborn will to keep moving anyway.

And yet she hadn’t hardened. She hadn’t let her pain turn sharp. Her gentleness, her strength — all of it radiated something unyielding yet kind. A defiance born not from anger, but from compassion.

He found himself smiling faintly, though his throat felt tight. He didn’t trust his voice, so he said nothing — just watched her, the soft flicker of firelight painting her face in warmth and shadow.

Sirius felt a flicker of something dangerously close to hope. Maybe he didn’t have to run anymore — not from this life, not from her, not from himself.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a place he could stay.

But first, he must find the courage to tell her everything.

Chapter Text

Kagome had begun to pay attention to the small things.

The way he moved quietly around the shrine, never disturbing her routines. How he seemed to sense when she needed a hand or a moment of rest, without her having to ask. How he lingered near the edges of her tasks, always helpful but never overbearing, as if respecting some invisible boundary she hadn't even realized she had set.

He was slowly opening up. She could see it in the brief flickers of expression that passed across his face — a shadow of humor in his eyes, a subtle weight in his shoulders, a small hesitance before he spoke.

Kagome moved about her chores, humming softly, and he watched her with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she hummed an old tune one morning, he joined her — almost unconsciously — his low voice blending with hers for a few quiet bars. The sound startled her, not for what it was, but for how right it felt. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if songs could cross worlds too.

"Careful," he called out later, leaning lazily against a tree trunk. "Those leaves won't prune themselves. Unless you've trained them. In which case… impressive."

Kagome glanced over, raising an eyebrow but smiling anyway. "I'm sure they're very obedient," she said, shaking her head.

He snorted quietly, letting the sound drift in the air like a note of relief. It was small, but it felt like a crack in the weight he had been carrying.

Later, as she prepared charms on the table, Kuro leaned closer, tilting his head. "You know, I think these would sell better if you added a little flair. Maybe make them sing when someone opens the box. Or, you know, explode harmlessly — that tends to get attention."

Kagome laughed, the sound light and musical. "Exploding charms are not exactly standard practice," she teased, though she shook her head at him with affection.

He grinned, clearly amused by her restraint. "Ah, then I'll settle for politely singing charms. Less messy."

"I don't think students wanting to do well in their exams will appreciate the distractions, but I'll save your suggestions," she said, fighting a smile.

He leaned back with a mock sigh. "So practical. Tragic, really. You're going to make me behave."

Kagome arched an eyebrow, pretending to focus on her work. "I think you could use the practice."

"Harsh," he said, but there was laughter in his voice — and something gentler underneath.

These little interjections were new. Dry humor, sarcasm, playfulness. Not loud, not overwhelming, just enough to remind both of them that life could be lighter, even for a soul burdened by so much.

When she caught him tidying up the kitchen a little too meticulously, she joked, "You're trying to impress me with domestic skills now?"

"Absolutely," he replied, tilting his head with mock solemnity. "Next, I'll be whipping up breakfast and giving unsolicited advice on tea brewing techniques."

Kagome laughed again, shaking her head, but she didn't push him. She saw it — the humor, the subtle teasing — and she understood it was part of him returning to life, to himself, piece by piece.

She had grown used to his presence — the quiet footsteps padding across the wooden floors, the rustle of pages when he pretended not to read over her shoulder, the faint warmth that seemed to linger even after he left a room.

But the days she spent at the library made her realize just how much she'd come to miss him.

The long, quiet hours between the shelves felt heavier now. She caught herself glancing at the clock more often, wondering what he was doing — if he was sweeping the steps, fixing something near the storage shed, or sitting by the Goshinboku with that faraway look in his eyes. If he missed her.

And every evening, when she climbed up to the shrine, she'd find him there.

Sometimes near the torii gate, leaning casually as if he'd only just wandered by. Sometimes kneeling by the old well, pretending to check something. Sometimes sitting on the steps, a cup of tea already waiting beside him.

Always there. Always waiting.

And every time, the sight of him — that steady, quiet presence — made her chest feel too tight, in a way she wasn't ready to name.

One evening, as they sat together organizing small charms for the shrine, he murmured something almost offhand.

"James always said…"

Kagome paused, frowning. James? The name sounded familiar, yet she couldn't place it.

Later, he muttered another: "Lily wouldn't have…"

She blinked. Lily? It stirred something deep in her memory, but it didn't resolve. The words hung in the air, strange and almost otherworldly, like echoes from a place she could not reach. These names, together, held a significance she couldn't exactly pinpoint.

She chose not to press. It wasn't her habit to pry, especially with someone who clearly carried a burden.

Instead, she watched him — the careful way he cleaned the hearth, the attention with which he placed herbs into the small preparation bowls, the subtle pride in his movements when he felt he had done something right.

And with every quiet gesture, Kagome felt the bond between them strengthen. He wasn't just a visitor in her life anymore — he was becoming a part of it, slowly, deliberately.

She smiled softly to herself, letting the names float unanswered in her mind. It didn't matter that she couldn't place them. What mattered was the man before her — patient, kind, strange, and quietly extraordinary.

And in that calm, shared silence, she trusted that someday, he would tell her the stories behind those names.

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled gold across the shrine, catching on the soft edges of life that had quietly become his — the faint scent of incense, the clatter of breakfast dishes, the soft echo of Kagome’s footsteps as she moved about her morning.

Sirius sat near the door, sleeves rolled to his elbows, pretending to fix the broom he’d already repaired twice. He didn’t need to be there — he just liked watching her start her day.

“Are you planning to glare that broom into working order,” Kagome asked, pausing by the door, “or are you just thinking very hard about sweeping?”

Sirius lifted his gaze, lips curving in that lazy half-smile she’d grown used to. “I’m waiting for inspiration to strike. You’d be surprised how motivating your disapproval can be.”

She crossed her arms, though the edge of her mouth betrayed a laugh. “Flattery won’t save you from chores.”

“Wasn’t trying to be saved,” he said lightly, rising to his feet. “Just buying time to admire the view.”

Kagome rolled her eyes, though she turned a shade warmer in the morning light. He didn’t press — just let the tease settle in the air between them, a comfortable little thread neither of them hurried to cut.

They had grown used to each other in the strangest, softest ways. She never asked where he went when he vanished into the woods at dusk, and he never questioned the moments she stood before the Goshinboku in quiet prayer. Their silences spoke easily now — a rhythm shared by two people who no longer needed to fill every pause.

Still, he found himself wanting to.

“You know,” he said one afternoon as she prepared charms at her worktable, “if you keep working this hard, I might start feeling useless.”

“Then you’d better find a hobby,” she replied without looking up.

“I have one,” he said, leaning against the frame of the open door. “Watching you do everything better than I can. It’s humbling.”

That earned him a laugh — light, unguarded, the kind that brushed at the hollow places inside him and made them feel less empty.

And then there were the moments between those small exchanges — the way she would hum absentmindedly while arranging herbs, and he’d find himself joining her under his breath. The melody was familiar, achingly so — something he half-remembered from another life. Their voices wove together without thought, and for a few brief seconds, it felt like they had always shared that sound.

These little connections — the glances, the teasing, the quiet harmonies — pulled him closer to her orbit before he even realized it was happening.

When she caught him reorganizing the kitchen one evening, she raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to make me feel bad for not cleaning, aren’t you?”

Sirius smirked, setting a neatly stacked bowl aside. “No, just trying to impress the lady of the house. She’s got high standards.”

Kagome gave him a mock glare, but her lips softened. “So you admit you’re trying to impress me?”

“Constantly,” he said without hesitation, his tone easy but his eyes sincere. “Can’t let you think I’m only good at fetching things and scaring off raccoons.”

Her laughter filled the space like sunlight, and for a heartbeat, Sirius almost forgot what it felt like to carry the weight of his past.

He told himself his little gestures — sweeping the steps before she came out, mending small things around the shrine, making sure her tea never ran cold — were acts of gratitude. But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous: he wanted her to notice him. He wanted her to see him — not as a stray she’d taken in, but as someone who belonged here beside her.

When she left for the library each morning, the world dimmed a little. He’d tell himself not to linger by the path, but somehow, he always did.

And every evening, when her silhouette appeared at the top of the hill — shoulders weary but eyes warm the moment she spotted him — he felt that same, quiet pull inside his chest.

“Welcome back,” he’d say, trying not to sound too eager.

And she’d smile, that same gentle smile that undid him every time. “I’m home.”

He would look away, pretending to busy himself with nothing, but her words always lingered. Home.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Sirius leaned back against the torii gate, watching her move about the shrine, the light painting her in gold. He didn’t know how long he would stay here — what the future might demand of him, or if the magic that had brought him through the veil would ever pull him away again.

But for now, in this quiet, shared life — with her laughter in his ears and warmth where emptiness once lived — he felt something dangerously close to peace.

And as the seasons turned, the cicadas faded to autumn wind, and the nights grew cool again, Sirius realized with quiet astonishment that nearly a year had passed since he first stumbled into her world - almost six since he showed his real face.

A year of borrowed mornings and shared dinners.

A year of laughter that still felt new.

A year of finding himself again — one smile, one gentle moment at a time.

He exhaled softly, watching the lantern light flicker across her face.

For now… this was enough.

Chapter Text

Kagome hummed softly as she moved through the shrine, preparing tea and arranging the small charms that lined the shelves. The morning light slipped through the open screens, painting the room in gold.

Kuro — though by now, the name felt both familiar and unfit for the man he truly was — sat cross-legged on the floor, thumbing through one of the smaller books she’d left on the table. He hummed along with her tune, just slightly off-key, a faint smile curving his mouth as if he enjoyed pretending he didn’t know the melody.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a teasing look.

He lifted his eyes, all innocent mischief. “Doing what? Appreciating art in my own… interpretive way?”

She sighed, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’re making me sound like a bad singer.”

“Untrue,” he said with mock seriousness. “Merely improving your musical performance.”

She rolled her eyes, but the air between them felt lighter than it used to — a warmth that had crept into their mornings without either of them quite noticing when.

He had grown comfortable here. At home, even. He moved through her world now with the ease of someone who belonged: lighting incense before meals, setting cushions out without being asked, sometimes even teasing her about being too serious when she worked too long.

He was also, Kagome had noticed, talking more.

They spent evenings sharing idle comparisons between their worlds — hers filled with technology he half-recognized, his laced with cultural quirks she didn’t always understand. His world sounded like hers seen from a slightly different angle — enough to prove he came from Earth, but not exactly her Japan.

He never mentioned names or places — not in full, at least — but Kagome had learned enough to place him roughly in the mid-nineties. A handful of offhand comments about cassette players, a song he thought was new that she’d seen re-released in a restoration collection, and the faint scandalized look he gave her when she mentioned computers and the internet had been more than enough clues.

Kagome herself still didn’t have much of those at home — the shrine’s old architecture made installing the proper infrastructure nearly impossible — but the library where she worked provided enough access for what she needed. She smiled sometimes at the contrast: he, so old-fashioned by accident of time; she, living between the past and present by choice.

And somehow, they met in the middle — quietly, comfortably — in the soft rhythm of shared space and lingering conversation.

She caught herself smiling. It felt strange, almost luxurious, to watch him so at ease. The sharp edges of the past, the tension he carried like armor, seemed to be softening day by day. His quiet humor had started to appear in small moments — teasing remarks, subtle jabs, playful expressions — and it made her heart lift more than she expected.

For a long moment, she paused by the window, watching the way sunlight drifted across his dark hair. Even with all the solitude she had grown accustomed to, she realized something she hadn’t admitted to herself before: his presence was welcome. His company, once unneeded, was now a comfort.

She moved back to her tasks, but her mind lingered on him. She had noticed the subtle signs of his mystery — small things she couldn’t explain. The leaking corner of the roof had fixed itself overnight, the splintered edge of the shrine gate was suddenly whole, and yesterday, a small vase she had accidentally knocked over had righted itself before hitting the ground.

Every time she caught one of these moments, she glanced at him. He would give her a calm, unassuming look, as if to say, don’t worry, it’s nothing. But she knew better. Something about him was extraordinary, though she didn’t yet understand how or why.

Her gaze softened. Despite everything — the burdens of her priestess duties, the memories of strange adventures, the ghosts of responsibilities past — she found herself enjoying these quiet days more than she had expected.

As the afternoon light waned, she stepped out of the shrine to run a quick errand into town. She returned with a small package, carefully cradled in her hands.

Kuro’s dark eyes followed her curiously.

“I found it today,” she said, placing the package on the table with a soft smile. “The last one. It's been sold out for weeks.”

He tilted his head.

She unwrapped the package to reveal a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

A small thrill ran through her fingers as she held it, imagining the story waiting within. She looked up at him, and for a moment, their eyes met — a silent acknowledgment of the worlds they each carried, the mysteries between them, and the quiet comfort of sharing even small pieces of themselves.

The final book now rested among the others on the shelf, waiting to be read.

And Kuro, sitting close by, watched her with a quiet curiosity, as though sensing that the story would become more than just words in her hands — perhaps, in time, a bridge between their two worlds.

Chapter Text

The shrine was quiet, the late afternoon sun filtering through the paper windows in soft golden slants. Sirius sat near the Goshinboku, fingers tracing the grooves of the ancient bark. The hum of old magic pulsed faintly beneath his palm, steady as a heartbeat, but his thoughts were elsewhere — on the small stack of books she’d collected over the past months, on the familiar names and stories that now sat in her care.

“Kuro…” Kagome’s voice drifted through the still air, pulling him from his reverie.

He looked up, startled, and met her gaze — gentle, knowing, touched with that teasing warmth that always seemed to catch him off guard.

“I know you’ve been reading the others,” she said lightly. “The bookmarks keep moving, the pages are a little more worn than before.” She paused, bringing something forward from behind her back. “I don’t mind. I just thought… you might want to read this one with me.”

She held up the book — Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Sirius froze. His chest tightened as if the air itself had turned solid. Of all the things he had faced — Dementors, Azkaban, the veil itself — nothing felt as quietly terrifying as this: a story that might hold his end.

The last book.

The final reckoning of who he had been.

“I… don’t know if I should,” he said, his voice rough, the words barely escaping him. “It’s a lot. There are things I’m not sure I’m ready to see written down.”

Kagome crouched beside him, the scent of tea and sunlight clinging faintly to her. “Then we’ll take it slow,” she murmured. “If it’s too much, we stop. You don’t have to face it alone.”

Her hand brushed his — a fleeting touch, warm and grounding — and suddenly, the tightness in his chest eased. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the calm washed over him. It wasn’t just her voice, though that alone could steady mountains; it was something deeper, quieter — a warmth that sank past his defenses, soft and golden, as though the air around her carried peace itself.

He didn’t know it was her aura — that faint spiritual current she couldn’t help but release when she wanted to comfort someone. But he felt it all the same: the quiet pulse of safety, the unspoken promise that he was not alone.

He drew a slow breath, shoulders loosening as the heaviness receded. Looking at her, he found courage stirring where fear had been.

“I think…” He hesitated, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I think I can try — if you’re with me.”

Her eyes softened. “Always.”

She handed him the book, their fingers brushing just long enough for that warmth to pulse again through him — subtle, steady, like sunlight breaking through fog.

Sirius’s hand lingered, just a fraction longer than it should have, and when he looked up, their eyes met. The moment stretched — quiet, fragile, but filled with something that didn’t need words.

There was no pity in her gaze, no curiosity sharpened into questions. Only sincerity. Only warmth. And in that stillness between them, something inside him shifted.

He’d been seen before — by friends, by comrades, by lovers, even by enemies — but never like this. Kagome didn’t look through him or past him. She looked at him, the man behind the name, the person beneath the weight of his past.

And without meaning to, he gave her what she never asked for — his truth.

He realized, with a sudden ache that both frightened and steadied him, just how deeply he’d come to depend on her presence. On her voice, her quiet strength, her way of anchoring him without ever demanding to hold him in place.

Sirius held the book carefully, reverently, as though its weight might tip the balance of his soul. For the first time since the veil, the thought of facing his past didn’t feel unbearable. Not when she was here.

He didn’t know what truths these final pages would hold — whether they would bring closure or pain — but with her beside him, her calm seeping into him like magic older than his own, he felt safe enough to look.

And that was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Something dangerously close to love.

Chapter Text

Days slipped by softly at the shrine, their rhythm marked by the turning of pages and the low murmur of shared reading. The world outside seemed to slow, held at bay by the fragile peace of their routine — the faint hiss of tea being poured, the rustle of paper, the quiet exhale of breath between paragraphs.

At first, Kuro read with a kind of quiet hunger — small, fleeting smiles at gentle moments, a spark of warmth at the bits of friendship and mischief that mirrored a life long gone. But as the chapters deepened, Kagome began to see it — the subtle unraveling beneath the surface.

His fingers would tighten imperceptibly around the spine of the book when certain names appeared. His jaw would set, hard and silent. Sometimes he would pause mid-sentence, eyes distant, as though the words themselves had opened old wounds he wasn’t ready to touch.

She never interrupted. She only turned another page when he nodded, let the silence stretch when he needed it. Whatever war was being waged behind his eyes, she could feel its echo — grief, guilt, and something quieter but no less raw: longing.

By then, Kagome had pieced enough fragments together to guess at the truth — a truth so wild it should have been impossible, even for someone who had lived among gods and demons. The coincidences were too many, the hints too deliberate to ignore.

But she didn’t ask. She wouldn’t. Whoever he had been before — whatever name he had carried, whatever world he had lost — it didn’t change who he was now.

He was Kuro. The man who teased her about her singing. Who helped sweep the shrine before dawn. Who laughed quietly at his own bad jokes. Who was, for all his mystery, her constant companion — loyal, restless, impossibly human.

And so she stayed beside him as he read, feeling his turmoil ripple through the air like the trembling of an unseen string. He was fighting ghosts she couldn’t see, but she could stand with him in the silence between the words.

She didn’t speak much at first, letting the silence settle between them like a fragile truce. But her heart ached quietly each time he recoiled from a passage — when his breathing grew shallow, when a shadow passed behind his eyes and stayed there. She could feel the war inside him, the clash of memory and grief pressing against the surface.

And then it came — the chapter where Harry visited Godric’s Hollow.

Kuro went still. His eyes traced the words as if each one struck a wound that hadn’t yet scarred. Then, suddenly, he slammed the book shut. The sharp crack echoed through the shrine, startling the birds outside.

He sank to the floor, the book slipping from his grasp. His hands covered his face; his shoulders trembled once, twice, and then the dam broke. The composure he always fought to maintain crumbled, and for the first time, Kagome saw the full weight of his grief — the years of loss, of guilt, of love that had nowhere left to go.

She was beside him before she realized she’d moved, her hand finding his shoulder with instinctive gentleness. “Kuro…” she whispered, her voice barely above the wind rustling the paper screens. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He shook his head, breath uneven, words catching against the memories that refused to stay buried. “It… it shouldn’t be this way. It’s— it’s all coming back. Everything I tried to leave behind…” His voice cracked on the last word, the sound small and broken — not the voice of the sharp, wry man she’d come to know, but of someone much younger.

He looked like a boy lost in the dark, trapped between what he had been and what he could never be again.

And Kagome, feeling that ache coil through her chest, did the only thing she could — she stayed. Her presence quiet but unyielding, her hand steady against his shoulder, grounding him when his world threatened to fall apart again.

She pressed a hand to his back, feeling the tremor beneath her palm — the uneven rhythm of a man breaking open after holding himself together for far too long. She let him lean into her, let him breathe, let him be.

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice a steady thread in the quiet. “You’re not alone. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he buried his face against her shoulder, his body trembling with the force of it — not from weakness, but from the exhaustion of years spent enduring in silence. And for the first time, Kuro allowed himself to be entirely human. No masks, no half-smiles, no charm to deflect the pain. Just a man, frightened and grieving, finally letting go.

Kagome stayed with him through it. She didn’t fill the silence with questions or platitudes. She only breathed with him, her hand moving in slow, grounding circles between his shoulder blades. Sometimes she whispered something — a word, a breath, a promise — and sometimes she said nothing at all, letting the stillness speak for her.

She noticed the details: the way his hands shook when he tried to steady himself, the way his breath caught like it hurt to inhale, the faint, inexplicable scent of smoke and rain clinging to him — the ghost of another world, another life.

And as she held him, something unexpected bloomed in her chest — gratitude. Not pity, not sorrow, but a quiet thankfulness for the trust he placed in her. For the fact that he let her see him, unguarded and raw, when the rest of the world had only seen his strength or his scars. She knew what it meant to be let in like that — what it cost. And she would not take it lightly.

In that small, sunlit room — filled with the scent of herbs and the soft rustle of pages half-forgotten — a fragile trust deepened into something steadier, truer.

She wouldn’t pry beyond what he was ready to give. But she would stay, unflinching, until he was strong enough to face the rest.

Because she had seen the weight of extraordinary lives before — and somehow, she knew that his was no different.

Chapter Text

The shrine was quiet, the fading light stretching long, trembling shadows across the wooden floor. Sirius clung to that dimness, to the silence, to the faint smell of incense — anything to ground himself as he folded into Kagome’s arms and let the world he’d buried come roaring back to life.

Peter’s betrayal.
James and Lily’s faces.
The thunderclap of loss.
The cell. The cold. The Dementors.
Twelve years of hollowing.

It all tore out of him at once.

His magic surged before he could rein it in — the air around them shimmered like heat rising from stone, a candle flared violently, and papers lifted from the nearby table as though the room itself shuddered with him. He felt split open, his grief no longer something he could hide behind teeth and silence.

Kagome’s hand moved in slow circles along his back, steady and warm. Her scent — clean, soft, familiar — mixed with the sting of salt on his skin. Somehow, impossibly, it softened the edges of the memories. For so long he had held onto only fury and regret. But here, in her arms, grief took its true shape — sharp, aching, unbearably human.

“It’s… it’s all coming back!” he choked, voice breaking apart in the middle, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Peter — he betrayed us! James and Lily… I couldn’t save them… I couldn’t!”

His shoulders shook violently. He hated how he sounded — wrecked, helpless — but the truth refused to stay buried. These were the names that had shaped him, haunted him, defined every corner of the years he had lost.

Kagome said nothing at first. She didn’t ask who they were. Didn’t demand explanations. Didn’t try to make sense of the names or the pain. Her hand simply continued its slow circles, the gentle pressure anchoring him in the present. That quiet, wordless acceptance made his chest tighten even more.

“I… I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered eventually, voice soft but steady, her presence a calm counterpoint to his storm. “But you can tell me. You don’t have to hold it in.”

Something in him cracked at that — not painfully, but with a kind of aching relief.

Because she meant it. She knew nothing of the wizarding world, nothing of his past, nothing of the monsters and war and loss that had shaped him — and still she stayed. Still she held him. Still she offered him a place to break without judgment.

Sirius pressed his forehead deeper into her shoulder, letting the last of the tremors run through him. For the first time in years — maybe since Godric’s Hollow — he let himself mourn without shame.

And as the papers settled back onto the table and the candle steadied, he realized that her presence… steadied him too. Her calm wasn’t magic as he understood it, yet it soothed him more deeply than any charm could.

The world felt impossibly small — not in a suffocating way, but in the way grief sometimes narrows everything to a single point of warmth, a single anchor. Right now, that anchor was Kagome’s arms around him and the quiet, steady pattern of her breathing.

Sirius couldn’t stop shaking.

His chest ached with every uneven breath, and the sound tearing out of him didn’t feel like his own voice. It was too raw, too exposed, the voice of someone he had worked decades to bury.

A ragged laugh escaped him, breaking almost immediately into another sob.
“I thought I could carry it,” he gasped. “All those years — Azkaban, the fear, the loneliness, the guilt — I thought I could keep it locked away. I thought I had to.” His voice cracked, splintering. “But reading this… seeing it all again… I can’t— I can’t do it!”

The next words ripped out of him without permission, torn straight from the place he’d kept sealed shut:

“I loved them,” he whispered, and it felt like tearing open old wounds. “James… Lily… Remus… I loved them. They were my family. I wanted to save them… and I failed. I failed so badly…”

He hadn’t meant to break. He hadn’t meant to fall apart like this — not here, not now, not in front of her. He’d sworn after Azkaban that no one would ever see him this weak again.

But his face was buried against Kagome’s shoulder, and the floodgate had shattered. The tears came hot and fast, burning his skin and hers alike. He clutched at her almost desperately, like the memories might pull him under if he let go for even a second.

Kagome’s hands tightened around his. He didn’t see her expression, but he felt the steady, grounding warmth of her presence — a presence that never demanded, never judged, only held.

“I don’t know who they are,” she whispered, her voice soft but unwavering. “But I feel your pain. It’s alright… let it out. I’m here. I won’t leave.”

Her hand slid to the back of his neck — warm, sure, steady — and the simple touch rooted him in the present. Calmed the frantic edge of his breathing. Softened the scream inside him he hadn’t realized had been echoing for years.

Sirius pressed his forehead harder against her shoulder, letting the tears fall unchecked. Letting himself be held. Letting himself be human.

When the sobs finally eased, the silence that settled around them wasn’t empty. It pulsed softly, like a living thing—gentle, heavy, breathing in rhythm with them. Sirius felt Kagome’s fingers tracing slow circles between his shoulder blades, grounding him with every steady touch.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

That quiet, wordless presence struck him harder than any sentence could have. She stayed. Through all of it. Through his silence, the months he hid in a dog’s skin, the moments he pushed her away without meaning to. Through the unraveling of everything he pretended wasn’t broken inside him.

Kagome stayed.

And as his heart slowly steadied against her shoulder, a new ache rose beneath the old grief — something warmer, sharper, frightening in its simplicity.

She cared.

Kagome didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations he wasn’t ready to give. She didn’t try to make the pieces fit. She just sat with him on the wooden floor, her hands resting lightly on his, letting him spill grief he’d locked away for half a lifetime. She murmured quiet, gentle words — not to fix him, but to keep him from drowning in the weight of his own memories.

It was the closest thing to safety he had felt in decades.

Sirius allowed himself to be completely, painfully human — vulnerable, raw, unshielded. Not the rebel, not the convict, not the dog, not the ghost of someone he used to be. Just a man breaking open in the arms of someone who refused to let go.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breath trembling.

There was something almost cruel in the irony of it. From the beginning, he had hidden who he was — his name, his past, the scars Azkaban carved into his soul. He had built a quieter version of himself here, a smaller one, one that felt safer to show her.

And she had accepted him anyway.

Not the name. Not the legend. Not the fugitive or the hero or the failure.

Just him — the man afraid of his own ghosts.

He remembered their late-night talks—how she would sit cross-legged by the hearth, hands wrapped around a teacup, sharing strange little stories about her past as if they were nothing at all. The way she laughed softly when she teased him about his quirks. The gentle honesty in her voice when she spoke of her hopes, the quiet tremble when she revealed her fears.

Things he had long convinced himself he no longer had the right to dream about.

She trusted him with those pieces of herself. The soft ones. The fragile ones. The parts people usually guarded.

And somehow — even as he hid — she saw him.

Not the smudged, infamous name the world had dragged through the mud.
Not the inmate number Azkaban etched into his bones.
Not the shadow who had walked between guilt and rage for so many years.

She saw the quiet, broken man beneath all of it.

And she never flinched.

It hit him then, a truth so sharp and soft it nearly stole his breath: she had known the real Sirius—the real him—longer than anyone else ever had.
Even without his history. Even without his confessions. Even without his name.

She had learned him through the silences, through the small gestures, through the way he moved and breathed and existed beside her. She had listened not only to what he said, but to everything he didn’t.

The thought hollowed him out and filled him at the same time.

He didn’t deserve that kind of grace. He didn’t know how to hold it. But it had already carved itself into him, reshaping the parts he once believed beyond repair.

Somewhere in the shared quiet of those nights, in every hesitant smile and every lingering glance, she had become something he had never dared hope for again — truth.

Sirius drew in a shaky breath and let his forehead rest against her temple.

She didn’t pull away.
She didn’t ask for more.
She just stayed — steady, warm, and impossibly Kagome.

And as the rain whispered against the roof and the fire crackled softly beside them, Sirius understood with a clarity that unsettled him to his core:

The anonymity he thought protected him had only ever kept him lonely.

She had found the man behind the name — the one he’d buried beneath years of grief, guilt, and silence.

And without ever meaning to, without realizing when it had begun, he had let her in.

His heart, locked away for so long, had opened in her presence — quietly, instinctively — as if it had been waiting for someone who simply cared enough to stay.

He wasn’t sure what that meant yet.
He wasn’t ready to name it.
But he knew this:

Something inside him had changed.

And there was no going back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 – Kagome XI

The shrine seemed to hold its breath.

Kuro’s magic had flared again — faint but volatile, the air rippling with currents strong enough to lift loose papers and bend the candlelight into wild, flickering shapes. Kagome felt the surge like a pulse beneath her palms, hot and frantic, the echo of a storm he couldn’t quite contain.

With his forehead still pressed to hers, she murmured a soft purification chant. Her breath warmed the air between them as the barrier unfurled — a pale shimmer that expanded gently outward until it wrapped the room like a second skin. The moment it settled, the air grew still. Anchored. The chaotic quiver of his magic softened, as if soothed into obedience by her voice.

Only then did he lift his head.

He stared at her, eyes still red with tears, wide with a mix of awe and something close to fear — not of her, she realized, but of what he had let spill free.

“You… you can do that?” he asked, his voice rough and unsteady.

Kagome gave a small smile — soft, reassuring, careful. “I can contain it for now. You don’t have to fight it by yourself.”

His breath left him in a trembling exhale, the weight in his shoulders loosening just enough to show he’d heard her. Really heard her. She kept her fingers in his hair, her nails barely scratching his scalp in slow, calming motions, grounding him back in his body as the last remnants of panic drifted away.

He stayed like that for a moment — close, breathing her in as if trying to steady the fractured places inside himself. And then, slowly, he pulled back. Not far. Just enough to look at her, to search her face for something he couldn’t quite name.

It was only when he rose to his feet — still shaky, still gathering himself — that Kagome felt the full weight of what had just happened settle into her chest. His breakdown. His whispered confessions. The names. The grief that seemed far older and far deeper than anything he had ever admitted.

She had suspected for weeks. Months, even.
But tonight — with the book open between them, with his sobs against her shoulder, with magic cracking through the air — certainty had crystallized quietly inside her.

She knew who he was.

But the truth should come from him, not from her.

Kuro — Sirius — took a steadying breath, then turned toward the bookshelf. His fingers drifted along the spines of the paperbacks she had collected for him, lingering on the creases he had made during his late-night reading. She watched the way his hand shook as he reached the fifth book.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

His touch slowed. Stopped.

The moment stretched — quiet, heavy, trembling at the edges.

Kagome’s heart tightened.

He was readying himself for something.
Something important.
Something that might break the fragile silence between them.

And she waited.
Softly.
Patiently.

Exactly where he needed her to be.

“There’s… something you should know,” he said at last, fingers tightening around the worn spine of the book. He lifted the paperback as though it were fragile, sacred. “The books — they aren’t just stories. They’re my life. Everything that happened to me, to my friends, to the people I loved — it’s all in there.”

Kagome stilled, breath caught quietly in her chest.

“You mean…” she began slowly, “they describe your world?”

He hesitated — the kind of hesitation that came from the edge of a cliff, not uncertainty — then nodded. His throat worked as he swallowed.

“More than that.” A breath. A tremor. “They are my world.” His voice cracked, soft but cutting, and he forced the words out before he lost his nerve. “My name is Sirius Black.”

The room seemed to still around them.

“Yes,” he continued, voice trembling at the edges, “the same Sirius Black you’ve been reading about in those books. The fugitive. The man who escaped from Azkaban. The one who—” He exhaled shakily, jaw tightening. “The one who fell through the Veil at the Department of Mysteries.”

The barrier flickered in response to the jolt in his magic. Kagome didn’t move, didn’t gasp, didn’t recoil — but her expression froze, as if suspended between disbelief and something far deeper.

Sirius looked down at the open book in his hands. The pages quivered slightly; whether from his hands or the air, Kagome couldn’t tell.

“I should have died that day,” he whispered. “I expected to. Everyone expected me to. But instead…” He flipped through the print until he reached a familiar chapter — the one Kagome knew he had dreaded. “Instead, I woke up here. In your world. A world where my entire life…” His voice thinned. “Is fiction.”

He stared at the text as if it could swallow him whole.

“Everything that happened — James, Lily, Harry — it’s all written down like a story that already ended. Except I’m still here.” His breath trembled. “I don’t know why or how. I don’t know if I’m meant to fix something or simply… live. But it feels like—” He closed the book gently. “Like a second chance. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Kagome slowly pressed her palm against the barrier. It pulsed once beneath her touch, then dissolved into the quiet air.

When she looked at him again, her eyes were warm. Steady. Brimming with something gentle enough to hold his trembling truth.

“I’ve known for a while,” she said softly.

His head jerked up. “How?”

Her lips curved faintly, a soft teasing note amid the gravity of the moment.

“A black dog?” she said, raising a brow. “Really? That was my first clue.”

He blinked.

“But honestly,” she continued, stepping closer, “it was when we started Deathly Hallows that everything clicked. The names. James and Lily. The way you looked at certain chapters.” Her eyes softened further. “And you’ve murmured ‘Moony’ and ‘Prongs’ in your sleep more than a few times.”

Sirius went still. His breath stopped for a moment.

“Kagome…” His voice cracked faintly. “Where does that leave us?”

The question wasn’t casual.  It was a confession — Tell me I haven’t lost the only safe place I’ve had in years.

Kagome stepped closer, slowly, giving him time to pull back if he needed to. When he didn’t, she let her fingertips brush his arm, anchoring him with a touch as steady as her voice.

“It leaves us,” she said quietly, “right where we already were.”

His eyes widened — hope flickering through the cracks of grief and exhaustion.

“You only gave me a new name, Sirius. That’s all. You’re still the man who made this place feel less lonely. The one who helps sweep the steps, who pretends he can’t sing, who listens when I talk about nothing at all.”

A soft, broken sound escaped him.

“I trusted you,” Kagome continued, “before I ever suspected the truth. And knowing it now doesn’t take anything away.”

He bowed his head, as if the weight of her acceptance was almost too much.

“Would you trust me if I tell you that you coming from the pages of a book isn’t the strangest thing to ever happen to me?” There was uncertainty in her words. 

He froze — in the same careful, attentive way he listened when she read aloud, or when she stitched charms with her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re not afraid of my story,” he murmured, almost disbelieving. “After everything you heard… everything I—”

“No,” she said immediately, gently. “I’m not afraid. But… for you to understand why, you need to know where I come from.”

Her voice faltered.

It surprised her — how foreign it felt to even approach that part of her life, how the words snagged on wounds she thought had healed but had only been packed away neatly.

Sirius didn’t move. Didn’t press.
He simply watched her with the same quiet reverence he had shown when she bandaged his injuries or murmured sutras under her breath.

“I haven’t spoken about this in a very long time,” Kagome admitted, fingers curling slightly at her side. “Not because it’s a secret, but because… it hurts. And I didn’t think I’d ever need to go back to that story.”

“You don’t have to,” Sirius said quickly, almost urgently. “Not for me.”

“I want to,” she whispered. “Because you deserve to know why your past doesn’t scare me. Why none of this has made me pull away.”

The room seemed to hold its breath — quiet and expectant, as though the shrine itself leaned in to listen.

Sirius nodded once, carefully, giving her space.
“I’m listening,” he said, voice low, steady, sincere.

Kagome drew in a slow breath, steadying herself before touching a wound she’d kept undisturbed for years. She walked to the window, the one that gave her a view of the old shed housing the well. 

“Funny enough,” she murmured, almost to herself, “my story begins exactly where we met — right there by the old Bone-Eater’s Well.”

Chapter Text

For a long moment after Kagome spoke, Sirius found himself unable to breathe.

My story begins exactly where we met… by the old Bone-Eater’s Well.

The words lingered in the quiet like a soft draft under a door — subtle, but signaling that something vast waited on the other side.

She had grown silent after saying them, her gaze drifting toward the window, toward the small shed that housed the well… and then upward, to the Goshinboku towering above it. She looked as though she were seeing two places at once — the present in front of her, and something long past layered over it. Sirius followed her stare.

Both stood in the late light like ancient witnesses. Both seemed to breathe with the same hush that had settled over her.

And he couldn’t stop the shiver that slid down his spine.

He had never pressed her about her past — partially because she didn’t offer it, and partially because she carried the kind of silence that felt like it had teeth. Not dangerous, but deep. Carefully maintained. Like a sealed door she had chosen not to open again. And now that she stood in front of that door, her fingers trembling slightly at her side…

Sirius realized something he probably should’ve seen sooner.

Her chosen isolation. Her refusal to leave the shrine despite the inconvenience. Her instinct to give and give and give… while taking nothing in return. Was it all tied to whatever happened by that well?  To whatever memory was reflected in the Goshinboku’s bark when she looked at it too long?

He swallowed, throat tight.

What kind of story taught someone to be so gentle with pain — even someone else’s pain — that she moved toward it without hesitation?

He had fallen apart in her arms. Sobbed into her shoulder. Revealed scars he had spent years pretending were healed. And she had held him like she’d long ago learned how to cradle broken things. Now, seeing her standing so still… staring at the well house like it was a past life staring back…It struck him that she had known grief long before he ever arrived. 

He stepped closer — quiet, careful — standing beside her. Not touching, not intruding, just entering her space with the same patience she’d offered him hours ago.

“Kagome,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “you don’t have to hide anything from me. Not anymore.”

She didn’t look away from the window. But the moonlight caught her profile — the tightness around her eyes, the softness in her lips, the ache she had kept buried under years of kindness. And Sirius felt his heart twist painfully. Her isolation, her selflessness, her loyalty — none of it was random. She had been shaped by something. 

He drew a slow breath, bracing himself, steadying his voice into something soft and unwavering. “I’m here,” he said, offering her the same quiet resolve she had shown him. “And I’m listening.”

Kagome inhaled — slow, deliberate — as if preparing to open a door that had stayed locked far too long. “It started,” she whispered again, softer this time, her gaze pinned to the well house as if it were a doorway only she could see, “with the old Bone-Eater’s Well… and a world five hundred years in the past.”

He could feel something shifting in her — not her voice, not her words, but beneath them. That tense quiet of someone preparing to reopen a wound. He stayed close, his hand resting on the wall beside hers, not touching but close enough that she could reach for him if she needed to.

When she finally spoke, her voice had changed — distant, steady on the surface but trembling underneath. She was talking, but not to him. 

“In the Feudal Era,” she murmured, “when demons and humans shared the land… there was a priestess named Kikyou.” Sirius watched her throat bob, watched her fingers curl slightly against her own arms as though holding herself together. “She protected a sacred jewel that could grant any wish,” Kagome said. “It was her burden. Her whole life.” A pause. “Until she fell in love with a half-demon.”

He didn’t interrupt.  He just listened — really listened — as she crossed her arms over her stomach, bracing herself.

“She wanted to be a normal woman so she could marry him,” she continued. “And he… he wanted to be human for her. They planned to use the jewel on him - setting her free as a consequence.” Her voice faltered. Sirius leaned slightly closer, gently—just enough for her to feel the steadiness of his presence. “But fate…” Kagome whispered, “had other plans.”

She moved to the cupboard, almost on instinct, and picked up one of the shrine’s trinkets. Her fingers trembled around the shining bauble. Sirius knew then—this wasn’t just a story. This was a scar.

“Inuyasha wasn’t the only one who wanted Kikyou,” Kagome said. “There was a man… a bandit. He was dying, unable to move. He gave up his body to demons for power. Enough power to trick them both.”

Sirius’s stomach dropped. He saw the shape of it already: Betrayal. Manipulation. Love turned into a weapon.

“He disguised himself as the half-demon and attacked Kikyou, making her think she’d been betrayed. Then he did the same to the half-demon.” Sirius’s jaw clenched. Hard. “The half-demon,” Kagome whispered, “went after the jewel in anger. Kikyou… still loved him. She couldn’t kill him. So she pinned him to the Goshinboku and sealed him there.”

Sirius felt his breath catch. He looked at the sacred tree outside the window again — and suddenly, it looked far heavier. Older.

“Kikyou was fatally wounded,” Kagome said, her voice barely holding. “She asked to be cremated with the jewel. And in her last moments… she made three wishes.” Her eyes glistened.

Sirius leaned in, steady and quiet, instinctively reaching out — stopping just before touching her hand in case she needed the space.

“She wished for the jewel to follow her into the afterlife.” A breath. “For the chance to be… a normal woman.” Another breath. “And to see Inuyasha again.”

The name struck Sirius like a quiet blow. A person. Not a legend. Not a myth. Someone Kagome said with the tenderness of memory.

“I’m… the result of those wishes,” she confessed, voice trembling despite her composure. “I’m Kikyou’s reincarnation. And I was born with the Shikon Jewel inside my body.”

Sirius felt the world tilt—just slightly—as the truth settled. She swallowed tightly.

“On my fifteenth birthday,” she said, “a centipede demon dragged me down the Bone-Eater’s Well.” Sirius looked at the shed. “A portal opened,” Kagome whispered, “and I was sent five hundred years into the past.” Her voice softened even further, weighted with longing and sorrow. “Fifty years after Kikyou died.”

Sirius felt his heart fracture a little at the rawness in her tone.

“There,” she whispered, her eyes drifting to the sacred tree, “I met Inuyasha… the half-demon Kikyou loved. He was still pinned to the Goshinboku, quiet and silent in his magical sleep.”

The truth settled around him like snowfall. Kagome had carried a lifetime before he ever arrived. A story. A destiny not entirely her own. No wonder she wasn’t afraid of his ghosts. She had survived her own.

Slowly — carefully — Sirius reached out and placed his hand over hers. No pressure. No demand. Just a touch that said he was there, she wasn’t alone. Kagome didn’t pull away. Her fingers curled back around his — tiny, grateful, trembling. Kagome’s gaze stayed fixed on the well house, her voice thin but steady as she continued.

“I broke his seal so he could save us both from the centipede. We didn’t trust each other at first… but when more demons came after the Jewel, and I accidentally shattered it into countless fragments, we joined forces to collect them.”

Sirius didn’t speak. He didn’t dare. He could feel the fragile line her voice walked — memory and pain, strength and sorrow.

“My life was split between traveling to Feudal Japan… fighting demons… collecting shards… and then coming back here to take tests and attend school.” A bitter laugh escaped her — small, tired. “I did my best to balance it. But my heart always lingered in the past.” She drew in a breath, shaky. Her eyes softened with something far older than her years. “I made friends who became my second family. And I… fell in love.”

Sirius’s heart clenched.  Not with jealousy — he didn’t have room for that — but with the ache of hearing someone speak about a love they had buried alive.

“It was hard at first,” she whispered. “I was afraid Inuyasha would never look at me and not see Kikyou. But I loved him enough to stay. He never had the chance to grieve properly. And I just… wanted to be by his side.” Her voice wavered.

Sirius moved — slow, cautious — and stood closer beside her. Just close enough so she could lean if she needed to.

“I killed more demons than I can remember,” her voice hollow with the weight of it. “Buried more people than I dare to think about.”

Sirius inhaled sharply. There was no horror in him — just a deep ache at the thought of how much she had carried alone.

“All because the same demon who tricked Kikyou and Inuyasha was trying to complete the Jewel and make his wish.” Her voice softened. “The graves in the woods… they’re from Sango and Miroku.”

Sirius’s eyes widened slightly. He was finally understanding.

“Sango’s entire clan,” Kagome continued, “was killed so Naraku could blame Inuyasha and make her hunt him down. He revived her brother so he had leverage against us. Because he knew we’d do anything to save him.”  Her fingers tightened around the trinket she still held. “Miroku’s grandfather was cursed with a black hole in his hand. A curse passed down, generation to generation, until the one who put it there was taken down. He lived his whole life knowing it could kill him.”

She swallowed, her breath catching. “And Shippo…” A small, heartbreaking smile touched her lips. “My baby Shippo. An orphaned fox demon. Loyal down to the bone. He lost his father because of a jewel shard.”

Sirius felt his throat tighten — the image of a child forced into bravery far too young striking something deep in him.

“They were my family,” she whispered. “I would give up my life here without a second thought… if I could be with them again.”

The raw honesty of it made Sirius’s breath hitch.  He had lost family too. He knew exactly how a heart tore when forced to keep living without them.

“We fought together,” Kagome said, her voice faraway. “We laughed together. We cried together.” Her shoulders sagged — the weight of years settling over her like a mantle she rarely allowed herself to feel. “In the end… when the Jewel was complete again, it pulled me into a void. I was trapped there for three days. Three days of nothing but the Jewel whispering to me. Taunting me. Trying to make me wish for my own escape.”

His stomach twisted with quiet horror.

“And then…” her eyes softened with remembered relief, “I heard Inuyasha’s voice. I waited for him. And when we were together again, I made the right wish. I wished for the Jewel to disappear forever.”

“I woke up here. In my bed. My mother said Inuyasha carried me home… then went back to check on the others.” She closed her eyes. “But he never came back.” A pause, sharp and aching. “And I never went back either.”

Sirius swallowed hard.

“The well stopped working,” Kagome finished, barely above a whisper. “My mission was done. And the door to that world closed behind me.”

Silence settled — thick, tender, heartbreaking.

Sirius didn’t think. He reached for her hand slowly — giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. Her fingers curled around his like someone who had stood in the dark for a long time and was finally letting herself admit she was cold. Sirius held her hand gently, reverently, as though it were something sacred.

And his thoughts were a quiet storm: Of course she was never afraid of him. Of course she recognized grief when she saw it. Of course she stayed, even when it hurt.

Because she had lived through pain that mirrored his own — different shapes, different monsters, different scars — but the same weight.

He exhaled shakily. “Kagome…” he whispered, voice soft and cracking around the edges, “you didn’t survive a story. You survived a lifetime.”

She looked at him then — tired, aching, open in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. And finally, since he’d arrived in this world…

Sirius truly understood her.

Kagome’s voice grew quieter, almost fragile. “For three years,” she whispered, “I jumped into that well every morning. Every night. I prayed it would let me pass one last time.”

Sirius felt his breath catch. He had seen desperation before — his own, Harry’s, Remus’s — but hearing hers was different. There was a softness to it, a loneliness that felt too familiar.

“But it never happened,” she continued, fingers tightening slightly. “Eventually I accepted that my journey there was over… and I moved on with my life.”

Sirius watched her profile — the way her eyelashes trembled, the faint crease in her brow. She looked like someone standing in the doorway of an old, beloved home they could never re-enter.

“But I couldn’t let it go completely,” she admitted. “So I stayed here.” Her eyes drifted again to the well house, to the shed that held so many of her secrets. “Where I can live in the present… while still keeping my connection to the past.”

Her chosen isolation. Her refusal to leave the shrine. The quiet generosity, the endless giving without asking anything back. This place wasn’t a cage. It was a lifeline.

He leaned closer —  offering warmth, presence, understanding.

Kagome exhaled, the breath shaky with memory. “Once, when I was organizing one of the shrine’s storages, I found Inuyasha’s kotodama necklace and Shippo’s spinning top.” She held her hand in front of her as if she could still feel their shape.

“They aren’t part of history. Not really. Nothing in the records mentions them except the old name for these woods… Inuyasha’s Forest.” A small, aching smile flickered over her lips. “So… I guess it was their way of letting me know I wasn’t forgotten.”

Sirius’s chest tightened painfully — sympathy, awe, and the quiet grief of knowing what it was to be remembered by those you could no longer reach. He moved then, slow, deliberate. His hand brushed hers, offering a silent I’m here.

Kagome didn’t pull away.

Her fingers curled around his, steadying herself as if grounding the last tremor of her past. “I’ve done things most people wouldn’t believe,” Kagome whispered. She turned to him. He expected to see the sorrow from her tale reflected there, but all he found was strength — quiet, exhausted, but unbroken, “and survived. So… you showing up like this, telling me you’re not from here… it doesn’t scare me. Or shock me. Not really.”

Sirius didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at her — truly looked — and the quiet ache in his chest lessened. He had known many kinds of people in his life:  the cruel, the cold, the burdened, the desperate, the broken, the fierce. He had known love wrapped in recklessness, loyalty sharpened into weapons, and compassion threaded with sorrow.

But Kagome…  Kagome was something different. Something rare.

He watched her quietly, almost reverently. The way she laughed softly when she miscounted the offerings. How she handled even the simplest tasks as if they mattered — sweeping fallen leaves from the steps, mending a charm with careful fingers, pausing to murmur something gentle to the sacred tree as though greeting an old friend.

There was a tenderness in her that no one in his world had ever carried. A softness without fragility. A patience without condescension. A strength without bitterness.

He had grown up surrounded by ambition and cruelty. He had survived years of suspicion, betrayal, imprisonment, and war. His world was built on caution and teeth, on choosing who to trust with the precision of a knife’s edge. But Kagome…She moved through life as though the world hadn’t managed to harden her — even when she had every reason to be carved into stone. She was the opposite of everything he had ever known — and yet she felt strangely, impossibly familiar.

As he watched her, a small smile — barely there, almost shy in its existence — curved against his lips. Something about her steadiness, her unassuming courage, had become an anchor he hadn’t realized he’d needed. She didn’t understand his world.  She didn’t understand his magic.  She didn’t understand the war he’d lived through. But she understood him — the parts that mourned, the parts that trembled, the parts that longed to be seen and forgiven. And somehow… that was enough.

He didn’t need her to know every detail of Azkaban or the Order. He didn’t need her to understand the shape of a Patronus or the sting of the Veil. Her compassion alone eased something inside him that had been screaming for years.

He let out a slow breath, closing the distance between them just a little. “Kagome…” he said softly, voice warm, quiet.  There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her — gratitude, awe, a kind of tenderness he hadn’t dared feel in a long time.

But as he watched her — small smile, steady breath, eyes shining with honesty — only one truth settled gently in his chest:

He felt safe.

He allowed himself to notice someone in this way — not as a comrade, not as a survivor beside him, not as a burden or a threat — but as a human being whose simple existence softened the noise in his chest.

Kagome.

Her presence didn’t silence the chaos inside him so much as quiet its edges, turning the sharpest parts into something he could finally breathe around. And in that softened space, something stirred — fragile, unspoken, almost frightening in its simplicity.

Gratitude. Relief. And the faintest, flickering ember of something he couldn’t name yet.

His thoughts lingered on her: her steadiness, her quiet courage, her impossible gentleness. But beneath all of that, he saw something else — something he hadn’t had the clarity to notice before. Kagome lived gently… too gently. As if afraid to take up space. As if her life here was a quiet echo of something she had already lost. A girl who smiled, but never fully. Who tended others, but never asked for anything. Who filled her days with rituals and caretaking because there was nothing left that belonged to her.

And the realization unsettled him.

This life — this half-lived, half-haunted existence — was killing her soul by inches. A shrine full of memories she tended like graves. A future she never spoke of. A heart tied only by a thin, fraying wire to a world five hundred years gone. She deserved so much more.

He didn’t just want to lean on her kindness. He wanted to give something back. He wanted to give her a reason to look forward, not just back. To offer her a life that wasn’t built on grief and waiting and ghosts. Something worth living for — not because of him, but because she deserved it.

Because Kagome Higurashi was not meant for lifeless existence. She was meant to live.

Chapter Text

Days later, the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the shrine's windows, casting golden streaks across the floor. The Deathly Hallows lay open on the table between them, its pages well-thumbed, but the silence carried a new texture now — not distance, not hesitation, but the kind of quiet shared only by people who had seen each other break and chose to stay anyway.

Sirius sat across from her, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed on the text with a quiet intensity. Kagome watched him, not from afar, but from close enough that their knees brushed under the table — an accidental habit that neither of them corrected anymore. He didn't seem to notice the closeness. Or maybe… he did, and simply didn't mind.

She had seen him like this during their reading sessions: the subtle flinches, the way his breath caught at certain names, the tremor in his fingers when words echoed memories he wasn't ready to speak aloud. But ever since they'd told each other their truths, something had shifted. He no longer pulled away when she reached out. And she no longer hesitated before doing so. Now, when his hand shook, her fingers brushed his knuckles without thought — a silent I'm here he accepted with a soft, barely-there sigh.

Even now, she felt the warmth of his arm near hers, and some quiet part of her found comfort in it. The kind of comfort that didn't demand, didn't overwhelm — it simply existed, like a gentle pulse beneath the skin of their days.

Sirius turned a page. The rasp of paper was too loud in the hush of the room.

Kagome's eyes softened.

He wasn't just reading. He was revisiting himself. The man he had been. The man the world had made him. The man he didn't quite know how to be anymore.

She recognized the look — the distant, aching pull toward a life lost to time. She had worn it too.

Her hand shifted almost involuntarily, fingertips brushing his wrist in a featherlight touch. He didn't startle. He simply turned his hand, letting their fingers graze, linger, settle. A quiet warmth bloomed in her chest at the contact.. Something awakening, fragile and unspoken.

We're not strangers anymore, she thought. Not even close.

Sirius exhaled then, long and steady, and closed the book. His thumb traced the edge of the cover, but he didn't pull his hand away from hers.

He didn't look up — not immediately — but something in him had shifted again, like a door opening another inch.

Kagome waited. She had learned that some truths needed silence, and some wounds needed room to breathe.

She finally closed the book gently, brushing her fingers over the worn cover.
"It's done," she said softly — almost hesitantly, as if speaking too loudly might break something delicate between them. "We… finished it."

For a heartbeat, Sirius didn't move.

He sat very still, staring at the closed book as though it were a gravestone and a mirror at once. A long, shuddering breath left him — the kind that carried months' worth of weight, years of ghosts. Only then did he lift his eyes.

Kagome's breath caught.

His gaze was dark and stormy, but edged with something fragile — a raw, unguarded vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. The kind he had only ever shown her.

She curled her fingers against the table, resisting the urge to reach for him too quickly. The lingering space between their hands pulsed with quiet awareness.

"What… what did you think?" Kagome asked gently. Her voice was careful — not demanding, not pushing — just offering him a place to land.

He swallowed, his throat working around the words. "It's… strange," he murmured, voice roughened at the edges. "Reading it… it's like reliving parts of myself I thought I'd buried."

His fingers hovered near the book — not quite touching it, not quite pulling away — as though the mere surface might burn.

"Seeing it written down," he continued, softer now, "seeing it from someone else's perspective… it hurts, but it also…" He exhaled shakily, eyes flicking away for a moment. "It makes sense."

Kagome leaned in slightly — not enough to crowd him, but enough that their knees brushed beneath the table. Sirius didn't flinch. If anything, his breath hitched the tiniest bit at the contact.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Because it's real."

His eyes lifted toward hers again — sharp, searching, aching.

She reached out then, slowly, giving him every chance to move away. He didn't. Their fingers brushed… lingered… settled into one another with surprising ease, warmth blooming quietly between their joined hands.

Sirius let out another breath, this one smaller, gentler — like a wound loosening its grip. The warmth of his skin lingered in hers, and emboldened by that small connection, she leaned forward slightly — close enough for him to feel her presence, not close enough to overwhelm.

Kagome hesitated, the question forming slowly in her mind before she let it slip into the quiet between them. "If you could… reshape anything," she asked softly, "even just one moment… would you want to?"

The effect was immediate.

Sirius' jaw tightened — the telltale, rigid line she had seen whenever a memory blindsided him. His gaze drifted past her, through the doorway and toward the Goshinboku outside. The sacred tree stood still, ancient and patient, bearing witness to her past… and to the weight gathering in his shoulders now. His expression softened, but the shadows in his eyes deepened.

"So much," he murmured — raw, unguarded. "But I don't know if I'd really… dare." The breath he released wasn't bitter, nor resigned. It sounded like a man standing at the edge of too many scars, uncertain which ones he could bear to reopen. "Some of it made me who I am," he said quietly. "But some of it…" His voice frayed, barely audible. "I'd give anything to change."

He didn't name the losses. He didn't have to.

She reached out again, slower this time, laying her second hand over his, enclosing his fingers gently.

"I can't pretend to understand every part of what you've lived through," she said softly, her voice warm as the afternoon light, "but I can feel how deeply it still lives in you."

Sirius' breath hitched — not sharply, but like someone unaccustomed to being met with such quiet understanding.

Kagome's thumb brushed the back of his hand, an instinct she didn't second-guess anymore. "If life ever offered you a chance to… rewrite something," she murmured, more contemplative than probing, "would you take it? Or would you rather let things lie where they fell?"

That made him look up — slow, searching, as if trying to understand how she always managed to aim for the truth without hurting him. The silence that settled afterward wasn't empty. It was the kind that held possibility — like the air before a storm chooses whether to break. Kagome let him keep that space, let it breathe between them.

A breeze slipped in through the window, stirring a strand of her hair across her cheek. The sensation tightened something in her chest — a prickle of awareness she hadn't felt since her days jumping between eras, something like… warning. Or change.

"I have a feeling…" she said quietly, eyes drifting toward the God Tree for a heartbeat, "that things aren't done yet." Sirius blinked — and she offered him a small, steady smile, gentle but edged with intuition she didn't fully understand. "I don't know what's waiting for you," she murmured. "But… I'm here."

His fingers curled beneath hers — small, instinctive, but enough to warm her skin and her heart.

Chapter Text

Sirius sat on the edge of the shrine’s grounds, the remnants of daylight fading into a soft twilight. The Deathly Hallows lay closed beside him, but the story didn’t leave his mind. He read the book again, mapping every word as if they could give him more answers. He found himself thinking less about the events themselves and more about how he had come to be here — in this world that wasn’t his, yet somehow felt like a second chance.

He didn’t mention it but Kagome’s question lingered on his mind. Would he change anything? Was there a single event that could  reshape a future that was set in ink and paper?

He let out a low breath. I couldn’t just appear at the end of the book, he thought. Nineteen years had passed since Voldemort’s final defeat… even longer since everything had gone wrong. If he could appear somewhere earlier, all the mistakes, all the pain, could be undone in an instant. But reality was far more complicated. Somehow, he had been ripped from the world he knew, dropped here, and now… he wanted to find a way back.But wanting and doing were two very different things.

Sirius dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily.

There was only so much he understood — only so far the pages of the book could guide him. And beyond that narrow boundary, the future went dark. Blank. A cliff edge he couldn’t see past.

Every change he imagined tempted him with a sweetness so sharp it almost hurt: James alive; Lily alive; no Azkaban; no twelve years stolen; no boy forced into heroism before he could even grow.

But beneath those beautiful possibilities lurked consequences he couldn’t predict.

A future he couldn’t read.

What if saving James and Lily meant Harry never grew into the person he became? What if he erased the child he’d sworn his life to protect?

His stomach twisted painfully.

Harry deserved peace. He deserved a family. He deserved the childhood the war ripped away. But Sirius didn’t know what kind of boy Harry would be without hardship. He didn’t know if Voldemort would fall… or rise stronger. He didn’t know if love would shield Harry again — or if fate would simply reshape itself around a different horror.

He didn’t know.

Then his thoughts shifted — inevitably — to Remus. Sirius clenched his jaw, a tightness coiling in his chest. He didn’t know enough about Remus’s life between the night he was arrested and the night they reunited at Hogwarts. Twelve years. Twelve entire years of Remus living alone, grieving, surviving, suffering, scraping by in a world that had turned its back on him. What had he endured? What had he become? 

A single shift in time could ripple outward like cracks in glass. A butterfly effect born from hope — or from desperation. And if he misjudged even one thing, he could break more than he healed.

He only had scraps from the book: battles, losses, fragments. No details. No certainty.

What if he failed Remus again? What if he made things worse?

The thought knifed straight through him.

There was also the Weasley boy, so young, full of plans and mischief, another war casualty.  

He wanted to fix everything. He wanted to save everyone. But he feared, deeply, horribly, that he would only break what little remained.

That his presence alone — in the wrong moment — could tilt fate into something even crueler.

He looked toward the well house, toward the Goshinboku rising tall and unmovable behind it. Kagome had once looked at that tree as though seeing two lifetimes at once.

Now he understood why.

Time was fragile. Stories were fragile. Second chances… were dangerous things.

He wanted to reach backward and pull the people he loved into safety. But he was terrified of what else he might drag with them.

A soft rustle came from inside the shrine — Kagome tidying up after evening prayers. Her presence was steady even when she wasn’t beside him. He could almost feel her warmth from here, like a small fire keeping the night from creeping too close.

Something shifted in his chest.

He wanted to return. He wanted to change history. But for the first time, he questioned whether he had the right.

Whether grief made him short-sighted. Whether longing made him reckless.

And whether fate — or the universe, or whatever mysterious force pulled him here — had placed him in Kagome’s world not to rewrite his past…

…but to rethink it.

He bowed his head, breath trembling, and pressed a hand to his sternum as if steadying something fragile inside him.

“Merlin,” he whispered, voice barely there, “what am I supposed to do?”

Twilight deepened around him, the shrine quiet, the well house still.

And yet Sirius felt it — subtle as a shift in the wind:

Fate wasn’t finished with him. And the fear coiling in his chest told him he could no longer pretend he didn’t know it.

If he ever did go back, he thought, he would start at the beginning. James and Lily. Peter. Azkaban. Harry. He would change everything—tear history apart and rebuild it with his own hands if he had the chance.

He wanted that. Gods, how he wanted that.

But as the thought sharpened, another rose with it—unwelcome and undeniable.

A longing just as fierce.

A longing for her.

Somewhere between the stories they shared and the grief they laid bare, he had grown attached in a way he hadn’t let himself be in years. Kagome wasn’t just kind. She wasn’t just steady. She wasn’t just the person who held him together when he thought he’d shatter.

She had become something he wanted.

And  Sirius Black wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted a future—his future—where she existed beside him. He wanted change. And he wanted her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs, stealing his breath.

Sirius pressed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily.

If he went back… if he somehow stepped into his own world again… Kagome wouldn’t hate him for leaving. She wasn’t built for hatred. She would understand. She would forgive him.

But he wouldn’t forgive himself.

He would loathe himself for walking away from her— from the quiet steadiness she offered him, from the warmth she breathed back into him without even trying, from the first fragile peace he had felt in years.

A part of him twisted painfully at the thought.

And then another truth—sharper, cutting in a different way—slid into place.

His world… his broken, war-stained, magic-scarred world…

It had what she longed for.

The magic she tended like a secret flame — tucked behind old shrines and brittle charms, folded into prayers she no longer believed would be answered. The creatures she dreamed of with that soft, wistful ache. The spells she watched him cast with quiet wonder, eyes brightening as if remembering something she thought she’d lost forever. The myths she spoke of in half-whispers, like lullabies she wasn’t sure she was allowed to keep.

She would fit there — in his world — so much more than in this one.

Not in this quiet life she endured out of loyalty to memories. Not in a shrine that felt more like a waiting room for ghosts than a home. But in a place where magic was not a relic of the past, but something alive. Where compassion like hers wasn’t dismissed or overlooked, but needed. Where fox-demons and spirits weren’t bedtime stories, but neighbors. Where someone like her didn’t have to shrink herself to fit a mundane world.

She belonged in a world that breathed wonder.

And his world… could give her that.

He could give her that.

The thought settled in him with startling clarity.

He was the last living Black — heir to vaults overflowing with old gold and older expectations. A fortune wasted, gathering dust in Gringotts, tied to a family whose legacy he had spent his life running from. He had never cared for any of it.

But for her?

If it took every galleon in those cursed safes to make her smile — to give her a home where she belonged, a life filled with the magic she missed so fiercely it hurt to look at her — he would spend it all without hesitation. Every last coin.

And suddenly, the choice before him felt cruel.

He wanted to fix the past. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted her. He wanted all of it.

Sirius realized—the thing he feared most now wasn’t losing his future.

It was losing her.

Chapter Text

The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of moss, earth, and the faintest trace of old magic. Kagome sat cross-legged before the Goshinboku, a worn copy of a Harry Potter book resting open but unread in her lap. She had come here often over the years, drawn to the tree’s steady presence, but tonight felt different — heavier, quieter, as though the branches themselves were watching her with ancient understanding.

She closed the book gently, fingers lingering on its frayed edges. She wanted to help him. That part was easy. Sirius had slipped into her life like a half-forgotten melody, one she hadn’t realized she had been waiting to hear again. He filled a space she had carefully patched but never healed — the part of her that longed for companionship, for magic, for someone who understood weight and loss the way she did.

But wanting him here… and doing right by him… those were no longer the same thing.

His heart wasn’t rooted in this world. His grief, his loyalty, his unfinished battles — all of it pointed somewhere else. And she knew, painfully, that he deserved a chance she would never have:  a chance to rewrite what had destroyed him.

A chance she would give him without hesitation… even if it meant breaking herself again.

Kagome looked up at the wooden plaque she’d hung earlier that day, the one carved from a fallen branch of the Goshinboku — a branch she had been saving for years, waiting for a wish precious enough to lay upon it. Her fingers traced the grain in her memory, the quiet plea she’d written: A better outcome. For him, not for herself.

The God Tree had been the one constant in her life across two eras. Under its branches, she had met Inuyasha; beneath its shadow, she had discovered first love, first grief, first hope. She had cried against its trunk, laughed in its shade, and leaned on its roots when she was too tired to stand. It had carried her through time once — and now it stood quietly, witnessing her heart fracture all over again.

She knew, with a clarity that stung, that when Sirius left — because of course he would, of course he should — the emptiness would come roaring back. She was already bracing for it. Already imagining the lonely meals, the cold futons, the silent rooms. The way the air would feel wrong without the faint electric hum of his magic. The way the shrine would feel like a tomb again, instead of a home.

Maybe this was the last curse of the Shikon no Tama:  to keep surviving every loss, to be strong enough to go on,  but never fortunate enough to keep what made life worth living.

Kagome wrapped her arms around herself, nails pressing lightly into the fabric of her shirt. She whispered the same quiet mantra she had repeated for years: It’s fine. I’m fine. I survived once; I can survive again.

But tonight, the words trembled. Tonight, they felt thin.

How many times can a heart break before it stops rebuilding itself? How many times can a person lose what they love before they lose themselves?

The wind rustled the branches above her, soft and sympathetic, and Kagome closed her eyes.

She knew what was right. She knew what she wanted. She knew they couldn’t coexist. 

As she flipped through the pages, her fingers lingering over familiar lines she’d read too many times to count, a faint sound stirred above her. Not quite wind. Softer. Intentional.

The leaves of the Goshinboku rustled with a cadence she recognized — not a breeze, but a whisper. She froze, breath hitching, tilting her head as if listening with more than her ears. The whisper wasn’t words. Not exactly. It was more like a tug in her chest, a warmth along her spine, a quiet knowing settling into her bones.

Kagome’s eyes widened, her heartbeat quickening.

It was the same thread of magic she had felt when she first traveled through time — subdued now, thinner, but familiar. A connection, subtle and ancient, humming beneath the bark of the tree she had leaned on for half her life. And she understood. Not fully — not with logic — but instinctively, the way she had once sensed Jewel shards in the wind.

The answers she sought were here.
How Sirius had arrived. Why the Goshinboku reacted to him. How the strings of space and time wove his world and hers together.And most of all: How he could go back.

Her fingers tightened around the book. Sirius had said he appeared by the Goshinboku — dazed, confused, barely alive. If the tree had pulled him here, or caught him after he fell through the Veil… then it could also send him back.

The realization struck her like a blow.

Her pulse thundered in her chest.

She wanted to run to him — to tell him, to share this spark of hope, to put their pieces together and find the path forward. She wanted to watch his face light up with that fierce, stubborn determination he carried beneath all his grief. She wanted to help him.But another feeling rose up faster, hotter, heavier than curiosity or hope.

Fear.

Not the kind that froze her.  The kind that cleaved. If I speak to him… If we really do find a way… He might leave. Her throat tightened painfully. And then what?

The wind sighed through the branches above her, as though urging her gently toward truth, but Kagome pressed the book to her chest, bowing over it as if it could shield her from her own heart. Because she already knew the answer.

What awaited her wasn’t danger. It was emptiness. Silence. Lonely meals. A shrine that echoed again. A world too quiet without the warmth of his magic and the steady presence he had woven into her days.

And this time — unlike so many years ago — she didn’t know if she had enough pieces left to survive losing someone again.

Kagome closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She wanted to do what was right. She wanted to give him his second chance. But for the first time in years — maybe ever — doing the right thing and doing what she wanted were not the same.

And she wasn’t sure which one her heart was strong enough to choose.

She traced a finger over the worn spine of the book, the motion slow, almost reverent, as if the answer hidden within its pages carried both salvation and heartbreak. The weight of possibility settled heavily in her palms — possibility and consequence, intertwined so tightly she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

Sirius had become part of her world in ways she hadn’t anticipated. His presence had woven itself into her days with quiet inevitability. She had grown accustomed to the steadiness of him, the comfort of knowing he was near. The thought of losing that — of losing him — tightened painfully in her chest.

She didn’t want to rely on him. She hadn’t meant to. And yet here she was, sitting beneath the same ancient tree that had once anchored her life, now afraid it might anchor the unraveling of it.

The Goshinboku’s leaves rustled above her, a low, knowing whisper. The sound mingled with the faint rustle of pages as she shifted the book in her hands. The answer was there. She knew it — too simple, almost insultingly so. A truth she had felt in her bones the moment the tree stirred.

But to speak it aloud… To act on it… It meant stepping toward an outcome she wasn’t ready to face — a path where Sirius might return to a world that had once broken him but that still held everything he had lost. Everything he loved. Everything she could never replace.

A world she could not follow.

Kagome shut her eyes, exhaling softly as she tilted her head back toward the canopy. The branches swayed gently overhead, patient and ancient, as if telling her it was alright to hesitate. That it understood the ache of choices shaped by love.

Perhaps, she thought, the Goshinboku would wait with her — just as it had before. Wait until her heart stopped trembling. Wait until courage, however fragile, outweighed fear.

And when that moment came, she would speak. She would help him face whatever path lay between worlds. She would guide him if she could — even if guiding him meant guiding him away from her.

If letting him go was the only way… If that was the price of giving him a life worth living…Then she would endure it. No matter how deeply it broke her.

Chapter Text

He found her sitting beneath the Goshinboku, the familiar book open on her knees. The late-afternoon light slipped through the leaves in thin, shimmering ribbons, brushing her hair with a halo-like glow. To anyone else, she would have looked serene — almost otherworldly. But Sirius had learned to see the small things people tried to hide.

She looked up with a smile, warm and bright on the surface… yet something inside it wavered. A thin crack in the light. Her fingers curled tighter around the book, knuckles blanching, as if she needed the pressure to keep herself steady.

“I think I finally understand,” she said, her tone light — too light — the careful kind of cheerfulness that made Sirius’s stomach twist. “It all traces back to Goshinboku. The God Tree has always held some sort of awareness, a connection between different points of time. It responds to strong emotions — love, protection, devotion. I think…” she hesitated, turning to press her palm to the bark, “your wish to protect Harry when you fell through the Veil… resonated with the tree. It pulled you here. And… maybe that’s how you can go back.”

Her words spilled out quickly, tumbling over one another, a rush of theories and possibilities. And though Sirius heard the explanation, the logic, the hope threading through her speech…

He wasn’t truly listening to any of it.

He was watching her.

The slight tremor in her voice before she said back. The way her smile wavered at the edges, like something fragile she was forcing into place. The way she didn’t quite meet his eyes — her gaze drifting anywhere but him, as if she were afraid of what she might see reflected there.

She was excited — but it wasn’t real excitement. It felt like fear wearing excitement’s mask.And he felt it, like a pull in his chest — that quiet, aching awareness of someone trying too hard to be happy for you… while breaking quietly behind their ribs.

Sirius’s breath caught. He didn’t need Legilimency to read her. He could feel the falseness in her cheer, the forced brightness in her voice, like an instinct.

She wanted him to go back. She was trying to believe it. Trying to be strong. Trying not to show the part of her that didn’t want him to leave.

And the realization hit him with the weight of a blow — sharp, unexpected, and impossibly tender.

She was trying too hard to sound happy.

Sirius lowered himself across from her, leaning back against the ancient roots of the Goshinboku. The bark pressed reassuringly against his spine, grounding him even as something in Kagome’s forced brightness tugged uneasily at his chest.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said gently.

Kagome nodded without looking up. Her fingers smoothed the book’s edge, over and over, like she needed the motion to keep herself from unraveling.

“Of course. You deserve to go home, Sirius.”

A pause followed — stretched thin, quiet, and unbearably heavy. Sirius didn’t rush to fill it. He let it settle, let it breathe, until she finally risked lifting her eyes to him. Her expression was calm, composed… but not whole. There, beneath the surface — a flicker of hesitation, a shadow of longing she was trying very hard to bury.

“You don’t seem very thrilled about it,” he said softly.

She froze. A tiny stiffening of her shoulders. “What? No, I am—”

He tilted his head, studying her with an almost painfully gentle scrutiny. “Kagome… you’re a terrible liar.”

At that, she let out a soft, breathy laugh — but the sound was fragile, like the shell of something breakable. Her shoulders lowered a fraction, the mask slipping as the truth rose through the cracks.

“I wanted something different once,” she said quietly, her voice trembling at the edges. “I had plans… dreams… and life didn’t follow them. It never really does.” She swallowed, gaze drifting down to her hands. “But I’ve learned to accept it. To… make do with what I’m given. And to find meaning in what’s left.”

Sirius watched her, feeling something in him twist sharply — a mix of admiration and grief. Her words weren’t the resignation of someone who had given up. They were the confession of someone who had learned to live with heartbreak by folding it neatly and tucking it into the quiet corners of her life.

She wasn’t detached. She wasn’t indifferent. She was surviving in a way he recognized too deeply — turning loss into gentleness, loneliness into compassion. And as her voice faded into the rustling leaves, Sirius found himself wondering — with a cold, sudden fear — what would happen if she stopped “making do.” If she reached for something she actually wanted. If she chose a future instead of a memory.

Would she stay here?

Would he?

The thought lodged itself in his chest, impossible to ignore. Sirius was struck with a quietly devastating realization:

A world he had longed for his entire life… felt less certain, less welcoming, when he imagined stepping into it without her.

“Would you… consider leaving this world?” he asked, voice low. “Joining me… if there was a way?”

The question slipped out before he had time to second-guess it, but once spoken, there was no pulling it back. It hung in the air between them — fragile, trembling, like a thread stretched too thin.

Kagome’s eyes widened, but not with fear. Surprise softened her features first… then something heavier, deeper, flickered underneath — a sadness he didn’t yet know how to name.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Her lashes fluttered as she looked away, not evasive but searching, as though the words he asked required her to sift through years of memories and wounds she’d buried beneath quiet smiles. Her fingers tightened around the book in her lap. Her breath hitched — small, so small most people wouldn’t notice. But Sirius did.

Because he had learned to read the quiet things about her.

Her hesitance wasn’t rejection. It was the ache of someone who had already lost too much. Someone who knew that every choice carried a price.

He felt it — the tug-of-war inside her. Her home. Her family. This shrine. This tree. The life she had painfully rebuilt, piece by piece.

And then him.

Sirius swallowed, forcing himself to stay still — to let her think, to let her feel, to not push her where she wasn’t ready to go. The urge to reach for her hand burned in his chest, but he didn’t move. Not yet.

“Kagome…” he murmured, softer, careful, “you don’t have to answer now.”

Her gaze flicked back to him — just for a breath — and in that moment, something in her eyes cracked open. Not enough to speak a decision, but enough for him to see the truth she was trying so desperately to hold steady:

She wanted to say yes. And she was terrified of wanting anything again.

Sirius’s heart clenched.

He didn’t look away from her. He didn’t soften the question. He simply let the space between them pulse with possibility and fear — and with the unspoken truth neither of them had dared to name yet:

If he left this world alone… he would lose something he wasn’t sure he could ever replace.

And if she followed… she would be risking the fragile life she had only just begun to mend.

He waited — not for an answer, but for her breathing to steady, for the tension in her shoulders to ease, for her to know that whatever she chose… he would not break her for it.

Chapter Text

The morning mist still clung to the air when Kagome stepped outside, her sandals brushing through dew-wet grass. Sirius was already there, standing before the Goshinboku. His posture was still, but she could feel the hum of magic in the air — faint, pulsing, curious.

He had been visiting the tree more often lately. Sometimes he would linger there for hours, palms against the bark, eyes distant, as if listening to something only he could hear. Today was no different.

She stopped a few steps behind him. "You've been coming here a lot," she said quietly.

He turned, offering a half-smile that didn't quite hide his restlessness. "It feels familiar somehow. Like it's… alive. Like it knows me."

"It does," Kagome said softly. "It brought you here once, then it can take you back."

Sirius nodded, his gaze drifting back to the tree. He reached out, fingers brushing the rough surface of the bark — and a shimmer of energy rippled outward, faint but unmistakable. Kagome's breath caught. The Goshinboku responded to him.

The shimmer faded, but Sirius didn't step back. He looked almost… hopeful.

It shouldn't have hurt. But it did.

Kagome forced herself to breathe around the tightening in her chest. She kept her expression composed, gentle, the way she always had — but inside, it felt like a hand was slowly closing around her heart.

He wanted this.

Of course he did. Returning home, fixing what had gone wrong, protecting the people he loved — it was everything she would want in his place. And seeing that spark of eagerness in him now, the subtle way his shoulders straightened, the light that flickered in his eyes…

It was beautiful. It was devastating.

She didn't let herself look away. She didn't allow the pain to show. Instead, she managed a small, steady smile. "The tree answers to strong wishes," she said, keeping her voice soft but even. "If it's responding to you… that means your heart is clear."

Sirius exhaled slowly, almost in relief. "Maybe it is," he whispered.

Kagome's fingers curled at her sides. For a moment, an irrational part of her wanted to reach for him, hold on to his sleeve, anchor him to her world just a little longer. But she didn't move. She couldn't ask him to stay — not when she knew he'd already lost so much, not when a second chance was finally within reach.

Her heart ached, but she swallowed it down.

"You're getting closer," she said, steadying her voice. "Closer than before."

He turned toward her again — fully this time — and something in his expression softened. Not excitement, not even hope… something gentler, something that made her chest tighten all over again.

"Kagome," he murmured, "I don't want to leave you behind."

The words almost broke her. But she smiled — warm, unwavering, even as her chest trembled. "You won't," she said, though she wasn't sure what that meant anymore. "No matter where you go… you won't leave me."

It wasn't a plea. It wasn't a tether. It was a truth, spoken with the last of her courage.

Sirius stepped closer — close enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating off him, close enough that the mist-washed morning felt suddenly too small, too fragile. But he didn't touch her. He only searched her face, as though looking for an answer she didn't know how to give.

Kagome lifted her gaze to the branches above them. "The Goshinboku brought you here for a reason," she said quietly. "And when it's time… it'll show you the way."

Her voice nearly wavered. Almost. But not quite. She wouldn't ask him to stay. Even if every part of her wished he would.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, stepping closer.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It's like… the same kind of magic that pulled me through the veil. Just quieter. Gentler." He hesitated, then added, "It must be the key."

Kagome wanted to be happy for him — and in a way, she was. This was what they'd been searching for. The answer, the bridge between worlds. But the sight of him standing there, bathed in the soft morning light, made something ache inside her.

"So this is it, your answer," she said, her voice steady even as her chest tightened.

He turned to her, his eyes thoughtful. "It might. If we can figure out how to trigger it."

She nodded slowly, clasping her hands together. "Then we'll find a way."

He looked at her for a long moment — long enough for her to feel seen, completely. "You'd really help me go," he said quietly. "Even if it meant…"

"Even if it meant losing you," she finished for him.

The words hung between them like the echo of a truth neither wanted to face.

Kagome forced a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I told you, Sirius. Life doesn't always give you what you want. But sometimes, it gives you something worth cherishing, even if it doesn't last."

He didn't answer. He only stepped closer, his voice dropping low, almost reverent. "You make it sound easy."

"It's not," she admitted. "But it's right."

Sirius' gaze softened, but she could see the conflict flickering behind it — the push and pull between the world he'd lost and the one he'd found here. He reached out, brushing his fingers against hers in silent thanks, or maybe apology.

And though the morning was bright, Kagome felt the weight of goodbye settle somewhere in the distance — faint, inevitable, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

The wind around the Goshinboku had shifted. It wasn't just weather anymore — it was presence. Awareness. Intent.

Sirius felt it the moment he stepped beneath its branches. A quiet hum in the ground, a faint warmth brushing the back of his neck, a pull threading through his bones like a memory he hadn't realized belonged to him.

He exhaled slowly and placed his palm against the bark.

The response was immediate.

A thrum rippled beneath his skin — not violent, not demanding, but unmistakably alive. It seeped into him like a heartbeat syncing with his own. His breath caught as the magic coiled around him, gentle but impossibly vast, brushing against corners of his mind he hadn't opened in years.

It knew him. It knew what he wanted.

The pull deepened, tugging at something raw inside him. Images flickered behind his eyes — James laughing as he dodged a hex, Lily leaning over Harry's crib with soft affection, Remus smiling despite exhaustion, a home that had never been whole but had always been his.

A whisper formed in the back of his mind, made not of words but of longing:

You could fix it. You could make it right.

His breath shuddered. God, he wanted to.

He leaned his forehead against the trunk, letting the tree's magic seep deeper. It wrapped around him like a memory of warmth — the kind he'd been denied for so many years — and he felt his resolve tremble.

But as the pull drew him closer, something else stirred. A faint, cold tremor beneath the warmth. Not rejection. Not refusal.

A warning.

Sirius stiffened.

The magic around his hand flickered — just a whisper's shift, a subtle tightening, like fingers closing around a wrist to keep someone from stepping off a cliff.

His heart pounded.

The Veil had felt different — cold, hungry, consuming — but the Goshinboku was not that. It did not want to take him. Its magic flowed around him, not through him, and the sensation pressed into his chest like a quiet plea:

Time does not bend without a price.

Sirius swallowed hard.

Another pulse vibrated through the bark, slower this time. Heavy. Weighted. And with it came a sensation he could only describe as memory-shame-regret — the emotional echo of countless lives, countless timelines, countless people lost or saved by a single choice.

It wasn't speaking. It didn't need to.

In its warning, he felt flashes: A boy growing up without parents. A war fought too soon or too late. A friend saved only to lose another. A life rewritten — at the cost of something he couldn't foresee.

His fingers curled against the bark.

The desire to go back surged — fierce, selfish, aching — but beneath it was fear. Not of danger, but of consequence. He had spent his whole life making reckless decisions, trusting instinct over caution.

But this time… this time it wasn't just his life on the scale.

He drew a breath and let it out slowly. The tree's magic softened, brushing against him like a steadying hand.

"I hear you," he murmured.

And he did.

For the first time since he'd begun entertaining the possibility of returning, Sirius understood the true weight of it. The tree wasn't urging him toward fate — it was reminding him that fate had edges. Sharp ones.

He rested his hand fully against the bark again, grounding himself.

"I want to fix everything," he whispered. "I want them back. All of them. But… I can't lose another world to save mine."

His voice trembled.

"I can't lose her."

The wind shifted, rustling through the leaves, brushing his hair gently — almost like acknowledgment. Almost like promise. But the warning remained.

Choose carefully. The past is a fragile thing.

Sirius closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of moss and old magic. He felt the tree's pulse slow, settling once more. Waiting.

And he understood: The Goshinboku could open a door. But he would have to decide whether to walk through it. And whether the future he wanted… was worth the past he might destroy.

His heart clenched. He wanted that — Merlin, how he wanted that. To stop Peter before he ever whispered Voldemort's name. To save James and Lily. To give Harry the childhood he deserved. The ache of all those lost years surged through him like fire, hot and blinding.

And with every desperate wish, the pull of the Goshinboku grew stronger.

The air thickened around him. Leaves trembled overhead, not from the wind but from anticipation — as if the tree itself leaned forward, ready to reopen the path he'd fallen through.

He took a step. The magic surged. And then— he stopped.

Kagome's voice slipped into his mind like a warm hand catching his wrist. Life doesn't always give you what you want… but sometimes it gives you something worth cherishing, even if it doesn't last.

His breath hitched. Her words had gentled him once. Now they rooted him in place.

He opened his eyes.

The Goshinboku glowed in the afternoon sun, its bark shimmering faintly. The doorway was there — trembling like a thin curtain in the wind, responding to his longing with a dangerous eagerness. He could step through. He could try right now.

But then he thought of her.

Of Kagome kneeling by the hearth, steam curling around her hands as she poured tea. Of her voice, always steady even when she was breaking inside. Of her laughter — soft, unexpected, something he treasured more than he should. Of the light in her eyes when she looked at him — unafraid, gentle, seeing him in ways he hadn't allowed anyone to in years.

And the pull suddenly became agonizing. Because answering it meant losing her.

He didn't want to watch that soft strength dissolve again into the quiet solitude she pretended was acceptance. He didn't want her mornings to return to silence, her evenings lit only by old memories. He didn't want the spark she'd regained with him to dim again.

He didn't want to be the one to hurt her.

Sirius' hand hovered an inch from the bark, fingers trembling with want and fear. The magic surged toward him — and he whispered:

"Not yet."

The air shivered. The pull receded. The Goshinboku's magic settled back like an exhale, the sensation brushing his mind with something that felt almost like approval — or relief.

He sank to his knees in the grass, chest tight, heart pounding in conflict.

The doorway waited. Patient. Ancient. Ready. But his thoughts were full of sapphire eyes and the quiet, steadfast warmth of the woman who had somehow become his anchor in a world that was never meant to be his.

He wasn't ready to leave. Not yet.

…Maybe not ever.

Chapter Text

When Kagome found him, he was still at the base of the Goshinboku. The air shimmered faintly, rippling like water after a stone had been thrown. A sign that something powerful had happened — or almost happened.

Sirius sat in the grass, shoulders taut, fingers digging into the earth as though he needed something solid to hold onto. The magic clung to him like mist, ancient and whispering.

Kagome's steps slowed. Her heart clenched with a quiet ache she refused to show.

"You felt it, didn't you?" she asked, her voice gentle despite the sharpness pressing beneath her ribs. "It's getting harder to ignore."

He lifted his head. His hair fell messily over his eyes, but she could still see the turmoil there — longing, fear, the exhaustion of wanting something he could barely speak aloud. "It's getting stronger," he breathed. "The more I… want to go back, the more it calls to me."

Kagome swallowed, throat tightening around the words she knew she had to say. She forced her lips into a soft, steady smile, even though it felt like stitching a wound without medicine.

"Then… maybe it's time," she said quietly. "You've found the path home."

Sirius didn't answer. He didn't even look away — and that almost broke her. The wind rustled through the leaves, sending fractured sunlight dancing across his face. She imagined, just for a heartbeat, what it would look like to have him stay… to choose this world… to choose her.

But that was selfish. And she had promised herself long ago that love would never make her selfish again.

Kagome knelt beside him. Close enough for him to feel her warmth, but not close enough to lean on.

"You deserve a chance to fix what was taken from you," she murmured. "To protect the people you love. To have the life you were meant to live."

He flinched softly at her words, and she felt her heart fracture — a small, quiet hurt. But she kept going. He needed strength, not attachment.

"And if Goshinboku is offering you that chance…" Her voice nearly faltered, but she pushed through, gentle and composed. "Then I want you to take it."

She smiled again — soft, warm, convincing.

She hoped he wouldn't notice how her fingers curled into her palms to keep them from shaking. It didn't matter how much it hurt. It didn't matter that the thought of him leaving hollowed out her chest. It didn't matter that she had only just begun to feel alive again — because of him.

What mattered was that he had a future waiting for him, one brighter than anything she could offer here. And Kagome Higurashi would never be the reason someone stayed behind.

She knelt beside him, close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands. Up close, he looked unbearably human — torn, shaken, pulled in two directions by forces larger than life.

"You can't ignore it, Sirius," she said softly, even as her throat tightened. "You've been given a chance — one no one ever gets. You can go back. Fix things. Save them." Her voice wavered, but she forced herself forward, each word heavy and deliberate. "You have to go."

He didn't answer right away. His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking slowly as though each possible response hurt to consider.

Finally, he breathed, "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," she whispered. "But it's right."

He turned his head toward her then — and the look in his eyes knocked the air from her lungs. Not anger, not confusion. Something gentler. Something that saw straight through her resolve.

"Right for who?" he asked quietly.

The question cut deeper than she expected. "For you. For your world."

But Sirius only shook his head, slow and disbelieving. He pushed himself to his feet, and the sunlight filtering through the branches cast a halo along his outline. He turned toward the Goshinboku, then back to her, something unspoken burning behind his gaze.

"You don't understand," he murmured. "I've already lost one world. And for the first time in a long, long time… I found something worth staying for."

Her heart lurched painfully. "Sirius…"

He stepped toward her — not urgently, but purposefully, as though he were crossing a line he'd already decided on long before he moved.

"I don't want to go without you," he said.

The words fell between them like something sacred and dangerous, soft enough to tremble but strong enough to shake her.

Kagome stared at him, her pulse stuttering. "You can't mean that," she whispered, even though part of her knew he did.

"I do," he said simply. "You think you've made peace with a quiet life, Kagome, but I see it. The way your eyes light up when you talk about magic — real magic. The way you come alive when the world feels bigger than this shrine. You weren't meant to fade into stillness."

She looked away, unable to bear the tenderness in his voice. Her pulse raced, her thoughts scattering like startled birds. "That world isn't mine, Sirius."

His hand found hers — warm, steady, confident in the way she no longer knew how to be. "It could be," he said. "If the Goshinboku can send me back, maybe it can bring you too. Maybe I didn't come here by accident. Perhaps it also heard the wish you never dared to say out loud. Maybe it's calling both of us."

She stared at their joined hands. Her fingers curled instinctively around his, betraying her. The idea terrified her — not the world on the other side, not the magic, not the chaos of another time. What terrified her was hope. Hope meant wanting. Wanting meant risking. Risking meant losing — again.

And yet… His hand didn't waver.

She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. There it was — that fire she thought she'd never feel again. The fire that once sent her leaping into a well after a half-demon, unafraid of time or fate. The fire that whispered she could be more than a ghost clinging to the past.

Her voice trembled. "You'd risk everything for that?"

Sirius' smile was faint, but sure — quiet certainty wrapped in softness.

"For you?" he murmured, thumb brushing her knuckles. "I already have."

Chapter Text

Higurashi Rina had always known when her daughter was hiding something.

Even as a little girl, Kagome's eyes had been incapable of lying. She would say everything is fine, but her gaze — bright, restless, full of unspoken things — always revealed the truth she refused to voice.

Kagome had always protected them from her pain. Always.

She watered down the dangers she faced in the Sengoku Jidai, and Rina pretended to believe that the blood stains were "just school accidents" or that the cuts were "barely scratches." Kagome would limp, saying she'd tripped; Rina would fetch bandages without comment. Kagome denied her growing love for Inuyasha, and Rina didn't push — she simply offered her lap, letting her daughter rest her head and cry without ever asking why.

When the time-traveling ceased and Kagome returned for good, Rina watched her daughter fold quietly in on herself. Not broken… just dimmed. Kagome never complained, never asked for help, never admitted to missing the life she had lost. Her daughter—her brave, stubborn, too-kind girl—chose isolation so that no one else would worry.
Rina wanted her to live again. To take risks. To laugh freely. Not to surround herself with memories and relics of a past she could no longer touch.

For ten years, she tried to gently guide Kagome back to the world. But Sota needed her, life moved forward, and Kagome was a grown woman. Rina had to respect that — even if it meant watching her daughter shrink into a quiet, lonely stillness.

So when Rina climbed the stone steps of the shrine that morning and saw Kagome waiting at the door, she knew instantly something had shifted.

But this time… the secret in Kagome's eyes wasn't heavy. It was alive.

"Mom," Kagome greeted, offering a smile that made Rina's chest tighten. It had been so long since she'd seen that expression — that quiet spark, that soft light she once thought had gone forever.

The shrine looked the same, and yet… different. The air felt warmer. Lived-in. There was movement, color, even a subtle vibrancy that hadn't existed in years. The place no longer felt like a mausoleum of beautiful memories.

The plants looked greener. A kettle was steaming somewhere inside. There was laughter lingering faintly in the air — not loud, but present.

Rina felt herself breathing a little easier.

And Rina found herself thinking, Whoever put that light back in her… I need to meet them.

And then, she saw him.

The man standing by the kitchen counter was tall and lean, dressed in clothes that didn't quite hide the fact he was more comfortable moving than sitting still. His dark hair was wild in a way that spoke less of neglect and more of nature refusing to tame him. When he turned at the sound of her voice, Rina caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes — the look of someone unused to being welcomed anywhere.

Rina blinked. "Oh. You must be… Sirius?"

He hesitated only a beat, then nodded with a faint, almost boyish awkwardness. "Yes, ma'am."

Something about the way he said it — respectful, but with a roguish cadence that hinted at mischief long suppressed — tugged a small laugh out of her before she could help it.

As they sat down for tea, Rina let her daughter do the talking. Sirius didn't speak much, but he didn't need to — his eyes followed Kagome with a tenderness so startlingly natural Rina almost pretended she hadn't seen it. He leaned forward when Kagome spoke, softened when she smiled, relaxed when she laughed.

And Kagome… gods, her daughter looked alive.

She hadn't laughed like this in years — not the polite, carefully measured little chuckles she reserved for neighbors and old friends who didn't know how to look at her anymore. No, this was real. Unburdened. Kagome's shoulders, which had been hunched with invisible weight for so long, had loosened. Her eyes sparkled like they used to when she was fifteen and still believed the world could surprise her.

Sirius teased her gently, shared strange stories with embarrassed sincerity, and each time she hid her face behind her hands or swatted his arm, her smile lingered a beat too long. Their touches brushed, lingered, returned like magnets — small, unconscious motions that spoke volumes.

When Sirius excused himself to fetch something, the air shifted instantly. Rina reached across the table and touched Kagome's hand, thumb brushing the knuckle the way she had when Kagome was little.

"You're different," she said softly. "Happier."

Kagome's smile faltered, her gaze falling into her teacup. "He's… going to be leaving soon."

Rina let out a quiet hum — not judgmental, not surprised. "And you're letting him?"

"It's where he belongs," Kagome whispered. "He has people waiting for him. A life that was taken from him. I have no right to keep him here."

There it was — the wound Rina recognized too well. The same one Kagome had carried after Inuyasha. The one that made her daughter believe she was meant to be a temporary haven, never a destination. That loving her was a detour, not a choice.

Rina studied her daughter, her voice soft but unyielding. "And what about you, Kagome?" she asked gently. "Don't you deserve a life too? Not just memories. Not just goodbyes. A life."

Kagome's breath caught. "Mom…"

Rina smiled faintly, the kind of smile meant to soothe and nudge at the same time. "You've spent so long taking care of everyone else — your friends, the shrine, the visitors who come here with their little wishes. You've carried responsibilities since you were fifteen, Kagome. Maybe it's time to choose something for yourself."

Kagome's fingers tightened around her teacup, porcelain clinking softly. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" Rina asked gently. There was no sharpness in her voice, only a quiet, steady truth. "You've already done your part. You brought peace to the past, you helped anyone who crossed your path, and you built a life here out of pieces that would've broken most people." She reached across the table again, her touch feather-light. "You've earned the right to want something. Just for you."

Her gaze softened as she brushed a loose strand of hair from Kagome's cheek — a mother's gesture, one she hadn't used in years but still carried effortlessly. "If that means going with him, then go. You're not a little girl anymore. You're a woman who knows her heart."

Kagome swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something fragile and exposed. "What if… what if it doesn't work?"

Rina's smile deepened, warm in that way that held both past and future. "Then you survive. Just like you survived the well closing. Just like you survived losing your home in time. Just like you survived coming back to a world that no longer fit you." She squeezed Kagome's hand tenderly. "There are no ifs in this world, Kagome. There are the things we do… and the things we're too afraid to do. You once jumped down a well to follow your heart. Maybe this isn't so different."

A silence settled between them, peaceful and heavy with understanding — the kind that only existed between a mother and a daughter who had weathered years of unspoken storms.

Rina watched Kagome's eyes drift toward the yard, toward the old tree pulsing with its quiet ancient magic. She followed her daughter's gaze, seeing the shift in her expression — fear laced with hope, longing edged with resolve.

In that moment, Rina knew. The decision was already made.

Chapter Text

The days had grown longer. Or maybe it only felt that way.

Sirius found himself pacing more often now — from the kitchen to the yard, from the yard to the Goshinboku, then back again. The air around the shrine seemed thick with something unspoken, every hour stretching thin around the question he didn’t dare ask aloud.

Would she come with him?

Kagome hadn’t brought it up again since the moment he confessed he didn’t want to leave without her. She had offered him a gentle smile — too gentle — and changed the subject as though her heart weren’t caught on the very same precipice. But the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It brimmed with tension, with thoughts she kept pressed behind her teeth, with choices too tangled and fragile to speak before they fully formed.

He couldn’t blame her for needing time. Merlin knew he barely understood what he was asking of her — to leave her world, her family, everything familiar. But patience had never been his strength, and the quiet between them had become unbearable.

Every time he glimpsed her standing by the Goshinboku, fingertips brushing the bark, he wondered whether she was saying goodbye — to the shrine, to him, to this fragile life they had built in the cracks of two broken paths. He wanted to ask, Have you decided? but the words stuck in his throat, heavy with fear.

So he waited.

And waiting, he realized, was its own kind of torment.

It was the silent sort — the kind that happened in stolen glances and half-finished conversations. He watched her move through her day with that serene composure she wore like armor, brewing tea, tending the grounds, lighting incense. To anyone else, she looked unchanged. But Sirius saw the way her hands lingered too long on certain objects, the way her breath caught when she passed the God Tree, the way her smile flickered at the edges like a candle touched by wind.

And every time she looked away from him, he wondered if she was already slipping through his fingers.

He said nothing.

He made himself small, quiet, patient. He tried to pretend he wasn’t watching every tilt of her head, every sigh, every moment she paused as though weighing something deep inside herself. But the truth was simple and cruel: each silent day chipped at him, inch by inch, because he wanted her — wanted them — and he had no right to ask for more than she freely chose.

So he waited for her to be ready.

And with every sunrise and every breath, the waiting carved itself deeper into him.

At night, when Kagome retreated to her room, Sirius lingered under the sacred tree. The Goshinboku’s presence wrapped around him like a second heartbeat — ancient, patient, inexorable. The pull of the magic rose and receded like the tide, each swell stronger than the last, as if the veil itself were preparing for his return.

Preparing for him to choose.

But he wouldn’t cross. Not yet. Not without her answer.

He told himself he could stay as long as it took — a week, a month, forever — if it meant hearing her say yes. If it meant she was choosing him. He wouldn’t beg or pressure or plead. His freedom had been stolen enough times for him to know what a precious thing choice was. He wanted her to come of her own will, not out of duty or loneliness.

Just before dusk melted into night, he heard her approaching. Soft steps, careful steps — the way she always walked when her heart was full of something she wasn’t ready to say.

He didn’t turn immediately. He was afraid she’d see too much in his face — the hope, the desperation he tried so hard to hide, the fear that had crept into his bones these past days.

Kagome stopped beside him. Her presence was quiet but unmistakably steady, like the calm before a storm. The Goshinboku loomed above them, its branches stirring in a wind that hadn’t existed moments before.

“Sirius,” she said, and though her voice was soft, it carried a certainty that made his breath catch.

He looked at her then — really looked. Her eyes were clear, bright with something fierce and fragile all at once. Her shoulders were squared, her posture unshaken. Whatever battles she had fought inside herself, whatever doubts or fears she had carried, she had made peace with them.

“I’m ready,” she said quietly. “To give you an answer.”

The leaves slowed their rustling, the air seemed to hold its breath, and even the magic humming beneath the earth paused, as though leaning in. Sirius felt his own pulse stop and then thunder in his ears, every nerve in his body drawn taut like a bowstring.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

He simply stood beneath the sacred tree, caught between hope and heartbreak, waiting for her next words — knowing that whatever she chose would change everything between them, for better or worse.

Chapter Text

When Kagome made her decision, it wasn’t sudden. It didn’t strike like lightning or sweep her up in a wave of reckless longing. It came quietly — like dawn creeping past the horizon, slow and gentle and utterly unstoppable. A truth that had always been there, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

She spent the following days in motion, because if she stopped — even for a heartbeat — she feared the weight of what she was about to do would crush her.

At the library, she handed in her resignation with steady hands and a voice she barely recognized. Her coworkers reacted with startled protests, confusion, and worry.
“You’re sure, Higurashi-san?”
“You’ve been here for so long…”
“This place won’t be the same without you.”

She smiled the way she always did — warm, apologetic, distant. A smile that said she was already halfway gone. She bowed deeply when she left, hiding the sting in her eyes. She had built a quiet life among those stacks. A safe life. A small life.

And she was about to leave it behind.

At the shrine, she moved with the precision of someone preparing for a long journey — or a permanent departure. She called the part-timers together, patiently explaining every detail: the charm inventory, the donation logs, the proper cleansing rituals, the festival preparations for the next season. She taught them how to read the subtle moods of the old buildings, how to coax the stubborn stone lanterns into lighting in humid weather, how to listen to the Goshinboku when it sighed.

Every instruction felt like closing a door she wasn’t sure she’d ever open again.

One evening, she took her mother’s hand and led her across the grounds, pointing out which roof tiles whistled during heavy winds, where stray cats slipped in, which offerings needed replacing more often. Her mother watched her with quiet, aching eyes.

“Kagome,” Rina said softly. “You’ve made your choice.”

Kagome didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not when her throat felt tight enough to break.

Because it was a goodbye. A farewell to the life she had spent nearly a decade holding together with quiet acceptance and small routines. A life she had convinced herself was enough. A life she chose only because everything she truly wanted had been lost to another world.

Leaving meant moving on from the ghosts that tied her to the shrine; turning her back to the world she grew up in; leaving her mother, brother, and niece; no longer caring for her grandfather, Sango and Miroku’s graves. Leaving meant stepping into a world where nothing was certain — not safety, not survival, not even whether magic would welcome her again.

But staying… Staying meant choosing emptiness over possibility. Silence over connection. A heartbeat that barely flickered over one that finally felt alive again.

She stood beneath the Goshinboku one evening, hands pressed to its bark. The old tree thrummed with a soft, familiar warmth — a blessing, a nudge, a whisper from a time when she had been braver.

“You carried me once,” she murmured. “If I go again… I need to know you will take care of everything here for me.”

The tree rustled, leaves shimmering with a wind that didn’t reach the shrine grounds.

Kagome closed her eyes.

Her choice was already made. It had been made the moment Sirius Black looked at her with a kind of broken hope.

She was no longer a teen. This time, she wasn’t following a destiny set before her birth. She was choosing herself - a path that terrified her, because it felt like something she wanted — not something she owed. She was allowing herself to want something without apology.

She was choosing Sirius. Even if it cost her everything she knew.

She didn’t rush. She wanted to leave things right, to honor the life she had built here before stepping into the unknown again. This wasn’t the reckless courage of a fifteen-year-old girl who had fallen through time by accident. This was a woman making a choice — deliberate, clear-eyed, and heavy with everything she understood she was giving up.

The final thing she packed wasn’t clothing or supplies, but a small envelope she slipped into the inside pocket of her bag - no longer her big yellow one, but one that reminded her of it. Inside were photographs of her family, a few worn charms that had once protected travelers she loved, and a dried leaf she had gathered from the roots of the Goshinboku. A piece of her past — of every world she’d lived in — to carry forward, wherever she might land next.

When she finally stepped outside, the sun was dipping low, setting the sky in shades of gold and rose. And just where she expected him to be, Sirius stood beneath the sacred tree, its branches arching above him like a guardian.

The magic around him shimmered faintly, responding to the pull of his heart, his fear, his hope. It danced around his silhouette in soft pulses, like the Goshinboku itself was exhaling around him.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps and simply looked at her — really looked — his eyes tracing her face, then the satchel at her side, then back again. Questions flickered there. Worry. Hope. Something almost reverent.

He didn’t speak. And she didn’t need him to.

Kagome stepped closer, her hand brushing the strap of her bag as if to steady her resolve. The movement was small — almost nothing — but Sirius’s breath caught.

The satchel wasn’t just packed.  It was ready. A choice made, a life gathered, a quiet declaration that she wasn’t here to say goodbye.

She had come prepared to join him.

Something in him stilled — hope flaring so sharply it almost hurt.

Kagome felt the decision settle inside her like a flame — steady, strong, and no longer afraid to burn. She smiled — soft but firm, the kind of smile that had always held more strength than she allowed others to see. The kind of smile that sealed her choice.

And he understood that she had chosen him.

“Sirius—”

But the rest of her words dissolved when he kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate — it was reverent, almost trembling, like a vow formed on instinct. A promise shaped by every shared silence, every confession, every moment they had stitched themselves quietly into each other’s lives.

The world around them seemed to still: the leaves stopped rustling, the magic in the air drew close and held its breath, even the distant pull of the veil quieted, watching.

When they finally parted, Kagome’s forehead lingered against his, breath warm between them. Her heart was racing — not with fear, but with certainty so profound it rooted her more deeply than any tree ever had.

Whatever came next — whatever waited beyond the Goshinboku, whatever dangers or miracles the crossing held — she knew, with quiet, steady conviction, that this was where she was meant to be.

With him.

Chapter Text

He remembered the taste of her lips — soft, steady, impossibly gentle — the moment that had felt less like a beginning and more like something coming home. There had been no desperation in it, no grief, no spells pressing them together. Only her warmth brushing against the hollow places he had carried for so long, as if she had always known how to fit there.

For years, that hollow had been filled with ghosts — laughter he’d never hear again, promises shattered by betrayal, the lingering weight of a life carved apart long before he was ready to let go. But Kagome’s touch, her quiet strength, had slipped into those fractures like morning light seeping under a closed door. She didn’t erase his darkness; she softened it, gave it edges he could bear, gave him room to breathe again.

He had accepted, long before she made her choice, that she might not come with him. And he had already decided what he would do if she didn’t. He would stay.

Because the world he left behind would survive without him. Voldemort would fall; Harry would grow into his strength; the arc of that war had already been carved by countless hands braver and younger than he felt. His absence wouldn’t break the future that was already written.

But losing Kagome would break something else — something he had only just begun to reclaim.

He had braced himself for that sacrifice, prepared to shut the Goshinboku’s pull out of his heart and choose the quiet life here with her. Not because it was easy, but because she was worth it.

Yet now, with her standing beside him — not uncertain, not afraid, but ready — something inside him shifted.

Kagome deserved a life that met her magic, her courage, her quiet fire — a future where she didn’t have to settle for surviving.

And Sirius dared to hope he might be the one to build that with her.

And as if the universe itself had heard that wish, the Goshinboku awoke.

Sirius felt it first — a deep, resonant hum that rippled through the air and into his bones. The magic was different now, not the faint echo he had felt before, but alive, surging, answering. The tree’s leaves shivered though there was no wind, and the air grew thick with light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Kagome stood beside him, her gaze lifted to the glow spreading through the bark’s ancient lines. The ground trembled softly beneath their feet - it felt as if the world itself was holding its breath.

“It’s reacting,” she whispered. “The gate is open.”

Sirius nodded, eyes never leaving the light. “To us.”

The glow deepened, golden and blue intertwining like threads of fate twisting together. Then, with a sound like a sigh and a crack of air, the space before the Goshinboku tore open — a rift of light and shadow, swirling with the same terrible, beautiful power that had once dragged him through the Veil.

But this time, it wasn’t chaos. It was calling.

Kagome took a half-step forward, her breath unsteady. “This is it…”

Sirius reached for her hand before she could move closer. His grip was firm, grounding. “Stay close,” he said quietly. “The space inside… it’s not gentle.”

Her fingers tightened around his, trust shining in her eyes.

The pull of the portal was stronger now — a tide against their skin, tugging at hair, clothes, breath. Sirius could feel the familiar force pressing against him, wild and ancient, but now it responded differently — recognizing his will, not fighting it.

Kagome’s reiki shimmered faintly in answer, a pure light twining through the storm of magic like a counterpoint melody. The two forces resonated — her spiritual power and his magic blending until the air around them blazed white. Goshinboku answered their call.

Goshinboku answered their call - its leaves rustling in what sounded almost like approval.

Sirius turned to her, his voice steady despite the surge of power around them. “Together, then.”

She nodded. “Together.”

Sirius needed nothing else. The only thing from this life he needed was just beside him.

And with that, they stepped forward.

The light engulfed them.

They were no longer falling — they were crossing.

Around them stretched a corridor of living light. Its walls rippled like water, each wave forming moving panels that shimmered with memory and time.

At first came the gentle moments:  Harry on his first day at Hogwarts, wide-eyed and full of wonder. His laughter echoing through the Quidditch pitch as he caught the Snitch for the first time. The warm firelight in Gryffindor Tower. A shy smile exchanged with Ginny.  The day he held his newborn children.

Then, as they walked, the panels darkened.

Harry in the cupboard under the stairs, tiny and forgotten. Harry kneeling beside Cedric Diggory’s body, tears streaking his dirt-smeared face. Remus and Tonks lying still after the Battle of Hogwarts. Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower. Sirius himself — falling through the Veil once more. Harry screaming, clutching at empty air.  The war, the fear, the loneliness. Each victory paid for in grief.

Kagome’s breath trembled. “These are his memories… his pain.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened. “His life.”

The panels stretched endlessly in both directions — a story already written. The good and the terrible interwoven, inseparable.

“If we cross through,” Kagome whispered, clutching to his arm, “we’ll change all of it. The suffering… and the joy.”

Sirius’s eyes darkened with resolve. “Then let it be changed. If we can rewrite the pain, if we can give him one day outside that cupboard, one moment with his parents alive — I’ll take the risk.”

Kagome looked at him, reading the fire in his gaze, and nodded once.

At the corridor’s end, a portal appeared — vast and radiant, shining with constellations and ancient runes that shimmered like breathing stars. It pulsed gently, waiting for them.

Sirius turned back one last time.
The panels hanging in the air—each one a moment of Harry’s life he remembered too well—wavered like reflections on disturbed water. One by one, they began to dissolve into drifting particles of light, their stories unraveling as he stepped past them.

There was no turning back now. The future Harry had lived was already being erased, piece by piece.

“Goodbye, Harry,” he murmured, the words soft but full of iron. “Let’s see if we can give you something better.”

The gate flared, and the corridor’s images collapsed into a cascade of golden motes.

They stepped through — leaving behind the life that had been, and entering the one they were about to rewrite.

The world snapped back around them with a sound like air rushing into a vacuum. By the time they stepped out, Sirius’ ears ringed.

They stepped through the Veil together — hand in hand — and the world settled around them in a slow, humming swirl of magic. Sirius inhaled sharply. The Death Chamber looked… almost the same. Almost. But the longer he stared, the more the differences tugged at him. 

There was less dust along the stone steps, fewer scratches carved into the floor from decades of Auror boots. The torches burned steadier, newer, as though they hadn’t been replaced a hundred times yet. Everything looked cleaner, not altered but untouched by the years he remembered. 

Sirius swallowed and turned.

The archway.

“This isn’t…” He trailed off, scanning the chamber. “It’s newer.”

Kagome steadied herself beside him, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “Sirius… where are we?”

He turned to her — and froze.

She looked younger.

Not in a jarring, unnatural way, but as if time had peeled back the quiet loneliness she had worn for years. Her eyes—already one of his favorite things about her—shone brighter than he’d ever seen, wide with wonder, cleared of the heaviness he had always sensed lingering beneath her smiles. Her features held a softness, a freshness, as though the world’s burdens had slipped from her shoulders the moment they crossed through the Veil. The room’s torchlight danced along her skin, and she looked almost radiant, as if magic itself had chosen to reveal the version of her unshadowed by solitude.

She had always been beautiful to him. But now she was luminous.

His breath faltered.

He lifted a hand to his own chest in disbelief—and stilled. The years that had carved him hollow, Azkaban’s shadows, the exhaustion of grief—gone. His hands were steady. His body light. His reflection, caught faintly in the Veil’s shimmer, showed a man barely twenty-one.

The realization struck him like a thunderclap.

“This can’t be…” he whispered.

Kagome frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius tore his gaze from her and looked at the archway again. The air thrummed with old, familiar magic, but beneath it, something deeper—time, bending and rewinding like a whispered promise.

“The Goshinboku didn’t just send us back to my world,” he said slowly, voice trembling with revelation. “It sent us back in time.”

Her eyes widened. “Back… when?”

He looked around, noting the cleaner stonework, the newer enchantments humming faintly in the walls, the lack of dust and relics that had once cluttered the chamber. And then it clicked—cold, certain.

“1981.”

He said it aloud, and the name alone made the air feel heavier.

Before the war’s end. Before James and Lily’s deaths. Before everything had gone wrong.

Kagome’s breath caught beside him. “That means—”

“That I have a chance,” he finished, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

He looked down at her hand still in his, his grip tightening slightly. “The Goshinboku didn’t just answer my wish. It gave me the moment I lost.”

Kagome’s gaze flickered to the archway, its pale shimmer whispering like distant voices. “Then this is where it begins again.”

Sirius nodded slowly, a strange mix of fear and hope twisting in his chest. “Yes,” he murmured. “And this time… we do it right.”

Chapter Text

The air felt different here.

Kagome drew a slow breath, letting the lingering hum of magic wash through her. It wasn't like her reiki — not pure and warm — but rich, layered, and alive, thrumming with centuries of nurtured power. Every stone, every whisper of enchantment in the walls sang to her soul like an unfamiliar melody that somehow knew her name.

She also felt a difference in her comprehension. There were small writings around that - things she logically knew were in English, but she could read just as if in Japanese. She was right, back then, when she thought whatever magic brought Sirius to her time and dimension, also made him fit in.

She could feel the world recognizing her — not as an intruder, but as someone who was welcomed here. The sensation made her heart ache with an odd, bittersweet familiarity.

Kagome tested her powers quietly. Her aura flowed down her feet and expanded through the room, touching the magical artifacts that leaked an energy that reminded her of Urasue's , everything resonated with her reiki - as if this magic was just like hers, but different.

She sent a mental prayer to the Goshinboku, thanking the Kami who watched over it for helping her all this time. Whatever allowed her to join Sirius, was making sure she wouldn't stand out in this new world.

Beside her, Sirius stood in silence, scanning the room as though half-afraid it would vanish. The glow from the Veil flickered against his face, softening the sharp edges of disbelief.

Kagome couldn't stop staring at him.

The Sirius before her wasn't the worn, haunted man she had first met beneath the Goshinboku's branches — this was a younger version, startlingly so, almost impossibly vibrant. His hair fell in soft, dark waves around his face, unruly yet effortlessly elegant, beautifully contrasting with his pale skin. The angles of his jaw were sharper now, unburdened by years of strain, and his grey eyes — Kami, those eyes — gleamed with a restless fire, clear and alive, framed by lashes far too long for someone who carried such danger in his smile. He looked like a portrait come to life, all reckless charm and breathtaking sharpness, the kind of beauty that felt unfair to the world.

Kagome's fingers lingered on his cheek, her thumb brushing the faint stubble along his jaw. He leaned into the touch with a boyish smugness that made her heart twist and flutter all at once.

"You look different," she murmured, marveling at him. "You look like… like the world finally gave you back what it stole."

His grin unfolded slowly — roguish, warm, devastating.
"Well," he drawled, tilting his head just enough to catch her hand between his and press a light kiss to her knuckles, "I can't help it if I finally look as good as I feel."

Kagome let out a breath that was half a laugh. "Honestly," she said, trying — and failing — to sound stern, "you're going to be trouble like this. I'll have to fight off admirers left and right."

Sirius' eyebrows rose playfully. "Oh? Worried already?"

She nudged him lightly in the chest, cheeks warming. "I'm serious. You were already charming when you looked like a half-starved stray. Now you're—" Her voice caught, and she looked away. "Now you're dangerously charming."

He laughed — a soft, rich sound — then cupped her chin gently so she'd meet his eyes.

"Kagome," he said, voice lowering into something warm and certain, "I told you once I didn't want to go anywhere without you." His thumb brushed her jaw, tender and reverent. "So what makes you think I'd look at anyone else?"

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in just slightly, his forehead brushing hers as the Veil hummed behind them, history reshaping itself at their backs.

"I have eyes for one woman," he murmured. "And she's the only reason I came back at all."

Kagome felt her knees weaken — not from the magic in the air, but from the man in front of her, choosing her with every breath he took.

Before she could speak, he dipped his head and kissed her — slow, certain, and lingering, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to her. The magic around them pulsed softly, curling like warm wind around their feet.

When they parted, Kagome's forehead rested against his, her heartbeat steadying in sync with his. If she had any remaining doubts, they just dissolved.

When she finally found her voice, it was little more than a whisper. "This magic… it's welcoming us."

He looked at her then, and for a second, the ghosts of all his years — the pain, the isolation — melted into quiet wonder. "Maybe it knows we're meant to fix something."

Kagome turned toward the archway again, her reiki responding faintly to the swirl of energy still pulsing through it. "So where — or when — exactly are we?"

Sirius guided them to a nearby door, pausing to crack it open just an inch. The moment he peered out, a dark, humorless scoff slipped from him.

"Oh, I know this place," he said, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. "Hard to forget the building that decided I was supposed to die in it."

Kagome blinked. "The Ministry?"

"Department of Mysteries," he muttered. "Lovely décor, murderous architecture. Really leaves an impression."

He slipped into the corridor, and Kagome followed close behind, fingers brushing his sleeve. The halls were eerily quiet — no footsteps, no voices, only the faint hum of spells lingering in the walls.

"Sirius…" she whispered, "is it always this quiet?"

"No," he said, already striding forward with a tension sharp enough to cut. "Not unless it's the middle of the night — or everyone's avoiding this floor for a reason."

They moved quickly through twisting corridors until a glint of ink caught Kagome's eye. A wall calendar hung slightly crooked above a stack of parchment files, the pages rustling in a faint draft.

She froze.

"October thirty-first…" Her voice trembled. "Kami-sama. Sirius — you were right. This is 1981."

Sirius stopped dead.

His eyes followed the date, then the year. Color surged out of him as though someone had punched the breath from his lungs.

"James and Lily," he whispered.

His voice cracked around the names.

"It's tonight."

Kagome's mind raced, threads of story and memory snapping into place. The night he'd told her about, the night she read about — the night everything broke. James and Lily's final hours. The end of the First Wizarding War. The moment that forged Harry's entire life.

"How much time do we have?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Sirius tore his gaze from the calendar, scanning the hall until his eyes caught a clock mounted above a filing cabinet. His jaw tightened.

"A couple hours," he said. "Maybe less."

The words fell between them like a stone, heavy enough to steal the air from her lungs.

For a heartbeat, they stood suspended in the gravity of it — the weight of history bending around them, of destiny rewritten and handed back like an unforgiving test.

Then Sirius exhaled a breathless, ragged laugh — the kind born from terror and disbelief colliding.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, dragging a trembling hand through his hair. "When I asked for a chance to stop it, I didn't think the tree would take me this literally."

Kagome blinked — and despite the fear curling tight in her chest, a small, incredulous laugh slipped out. "You did wish to prevent their deaths," she reminded softly, wonder threading her voice.

"Yeah, well," Sirius huffed, gesturing helplessly at the calendar, "next time I'll be more specific and ask for a bit more than two bloody hours to fix the timeline." He shook his head, half–dazed, half–annoyed. "Honestly. You give a magical tree one open-ended wish—"

Kagome snorted, the sound breaking the awful tension.

"Remind me," he added, eyes still locked on the date as if it might rearrange itself, "never to underestimate ancient sacred trees again."

She gave him a look — part amusement, part sympathy. "So… what do we do now?"

"Now," he said quietly, "we don't waste the chance we were given."

Kagome nodded once, her reiki rising in her palms in a soft glow, like a promise igniting.

"Then," she said, voice firm, "it's time to change the future."

Chapter Text

The Ministry of Magic was a fortress of fear.

Even before they reached the atrium, Sirius could feel it — the heaviness in the air, the way people moved in tight, guarded clusters, voices clipped and cautious. Posters were plastered along every wall, scarlet letters screaming warnings about Death Eaters and disappearances. The scent of ink, damp parchment, and unspoken dread clung to everything like fog.

“This place…” Kagome whispered, staying close to him. “It feels heavy.”

He nodded grimly. “The war’s near its end. Everyone knows Voldemort’s making his last moves — they just don’t know where.”

They slipped deeper into the Ministry’s bowels, shadows swallowing their footsteps. Sirius had walked these halls countless times — sharp, cocky, alive — but now it all felt sharper, almost too familiar, memories resurfacing from twenty years that technically no longer existed. He led Kagome with an ease born of instinct and fear.

They skirted around patrolling wizards, ducking behind marble pillars whenever boots clicked too close. Each time Kagome’s fingers brushed his sleeve, her reiki flared softly — a shimmering, quiet pressure that muffled their presence like a charm. Sirius felt the hum of her power against his skin, unlike any magic he had ever known and yet perfectly attuned to him.

He’d felt her magic before. But never like this — woven into his world, mingling with the ambient wards, responding to the Ministry’s enchantments as if it belonged here.

It sent shivers down his spine, the good kind, the kind that made the corners of his mouth want to curl upward even now.

So that’s why people were always drawn to her at the shrine.
Her power wasn’t just spiritual — it was luminous. Irresistible.
And now she stood beside him, in his world, her hand holding his as if claiming her place.

He almost smirked at the thought.
Mine.
At last, unmistakably, undeniably — his.

Even with danger thickening around them, with war closing in and the clock mercilessly ticking down, something inside him thrilled at having her here. His world. His time. His fight. Together.

He could almost hear Prongs’ voice — bright, teasing, all mischief and warmth - saying he had to look out of his own reality to find his perfect match. 

The sting of longing hit him hard and fast.

But the hope — the wild, dizzying hope that James might actually live to say those words to his face — only sharpened Sirius’s urgency.

He tightened his grip on Kagome’s hand.

There was no room for error now.

When they reached the main hall, they paused beneath the towering fountain of magical creatures. Its golden figures glimmered under the flickering lamplight, but the inscription carved into the base — We’re Stronger Together — felt painfully ironic in a world staggering under fear.

Sirius’s jaw tightened. “Time to go.”

Kagome nodded once, her voice steady. “Lead the way.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her scent — soft tea, fresh rain, and something warm he had no name for — cut through the cold bite of parchment, ink, and tension that saturated the air.

Her hair brushed his cheek when she stepped nearer. It was wilder now, freed from the careful buns or braids she used when working at the shrine. He’d always loved seeing her like this — unbound, soft waves falling down her back. One of his favorite moments of the day had been watching her walk through the door at home, pulling loose the tie in her hair and sighing in relief as it spilled around her shoulders.

A future version of her, now impossibly interwoven with this younger one, flashed through his mind — the quiet evenings, the lazy mornings, the weight of her leaning into him.

He inwardly swore at himself.

Not now. Later — after they lived long enough for later to exist.

He forced his thoughts to sharpen. He focused on one place, one memory so scorched into his bones it felt like molten metal: a small cottage, a hidden village, laughter that had once filled the air.

He tightened his hold on Kagome, breath steadying.

Then he twisted on his heel — and Apparated.

The world imploded.

Pressure crushed inward from all directions — a suffocating vacuum that squeezed lungs, bones, and thought. Kagome gasped, a sharp sound swallowed by the distortion, but she didn’t pull away from him. Her fingers clutched his coat, anchoring them both as the world twisted—

—and then the air snapped open.

They hit the ground hard, tumbling onto cool, damp grass.

Sirius pushed himself upright, breath ragged. Kagome steadied herself beside him, knees brushing his. The moment he lifted his head, his heart lurched.

Godric’s Hollow.

The village lay quiet beneath a clear autumn sky. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered on porches, their carved faces glowing warmly. Children in mismatched costumes darted between cottages, laughing and dragging bulging bags of sweets. Parents lingered nearby, chatting under lamplight.

It was peaceful.
Normal.
Oblivious to the storm about to break over its rooftops.

Sirius’s chest tightened until it hurt. The narrow lanes, the crooked roofs, the old church spire in the distance — it was all exactly as he remembered. A perfect, fragile memory made real again.

His heart slammed against his ribs as a sudden terror struck him.

Merlin… please tell me we’re not too late.

He forced himself to look toward the east, where the church loomed in the night. Its clock face glowed faintly, hands inching toward the hour.

Almost eight.

A shuddering breath escaped him. “They’re still alive.”

Beside him, Kagome followed his gaze, her expression tightening, her reiki flickering at her fingertips like restrained lightning.

“Then we still have time,” she said softly — but the resolve in her voice was iron.

Sirius swallowed, staring down the lane that would lead to the house he loved almost as much as the people inside it.

“Not much,” he murmured. “But enough to change everything.”

Sirius’s relief shattered as a new realization struck him like a curse.

His breath hitched. His face drained of color.

“Wait.” His voice was barely a whisper. “The Fidelius Charm.”

He turned sharply toward Kagome, panic tightening every muscle in his body.

“We shouldn’t even see the house,” he said, disbelief cracking through each word. “James and Lily used the Fidelius. The only person who could reveal their location was Peter Pettigrew.” His hand trembled despite his effort to steady it. “No one else should be able to find it. Not even me.”

Kagome scanned the quiet street, her reiki brushing lightly against the edges of something unseen — something that rippled when she noticed it, like it was trying to slip out of her gaze.

“There,” she murmured, pointing to what looked like nothing at all, until an image started to flicker.

Sirius swallowed hard.

Kagome’s voice softened, almost apologetic. “There’s something you should know about me… I’m immune to magical barriers.” She hesitated, then added, “They just don’t stop me.”

He blinked. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I don’t know why or how,” she admitted, rubbing her arm in a gesture that was almost shy. “It’s just always been that way. I don’t break them — they let me in. I must have walked into Kikyou’s wards a hundred times by accident. Naraku hated it.” She gave a small laugh. “I’ve passed through demon barriers, holy seals… even the gates between life and death.”

Sirius stared at her, struggling to wrap his mind around it.

Then he let out a quiet, incredulous breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “You’ll have to tell me about that last one once we save James and Lily.”

Kagome’s lips curved into a faint, steady smile. “Gladly.”

She glanced toward the hidden space again. “But it also makes sense, doesn’t it? We already knew where to look. With your memories… and with what my world’s books say… it’s not a secret to us.”

Sirius exhaled slowly, some of the fear easing from his shoulders. “Right,” he murmured. “We aren’t bound by the same rules.”

Kagome’s expression softened as she met his gaze. Her reiki warmed the air around them like a quiet promise.

“Exactly,” she said gently. “And maybe… that’s exactly why we’re here.”

Sirius glanced once more toward the cottage as its shape solidified — the Fidelius flickering like a candle before finally surrendering to Kagome’s presence. Warm light glowed through the windows. Shadows moved inside. Alive. Safe. For now.

His pulse thundered.

“Once we’re inside,” he said, voice low but steady, “don’t leave my side. Voldemort’s coming tonight — soon. The tree took my wish far too literally… but maybe that’s the only reason we have this chance.”

Kagome’s lips twitched into a small, breathless smile. “So now you’re blaming your wording?”

He let out a shaky huff — half-laugh, half-desperate. “I’m absolutely blaming my wording. Never trust ancient magical trees. Every one of them has a twisted sense of humor.”

Her soft laugh eased some of the tightness in his chest, but only for a heartbeat.

Then his expression sharpened — fear folding into fierce determination, into purpose, into the man he once was and the man he had become.

“Come on, Kagome.” His hand found hers, gripping tight. “Let’s change the story.”

Together, they sprinted toward the cottage.

Chapter Text

The moment Sirius saw the lights in the windows, his heart twisted. They were still alive but there wasn't much time left. 

He could almost hear the echo of laughter, smell the faint trace of Lily’s tea, feel the familiar warmth of people who had once anchored him. James, his brother in anything but blood, hid inside with his small family, thinking to be protected by a friend. The same friend who would send Sirius to Azkaban for twelve years. He dismissed the thought for now - Wormtail was a problem for another time.  

 He pounded on the door before he could stop himself, glad it was obscured from anyone else's view under the Fidelius Charm. By his side, Kagome had her hands emitting a light and looking around. Even not fighting for such a long time, her instinct was still sharp. 

“James! Lily! It’s me, Sirius!”

For a terrifying second, nothing answered him — and dread almost took over his rational mind. Then footsteps thundered toward the door. It cracked open just enough for the tip of a wand to jam hard into his chest.

Sirius had never been more grateful to nearly get hexed in his life.

“Merlin’s sake, Sirius,” James Potter hissed as he yanked him inside, slamming the door behind them. “Are you insane showing up here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Not just myself,” Sirius shot back, pulse hammering. “That’s why I’m here.”

Kagome slipped in after him, quiet but alert, her hand clutched to his arm, her reiki humming faintly, drawing a barely perceptible light, just enough to stay alert. Lily stood at the foot of the stairs with Harry clutched tight to her chest, eyes bright with fear. The baby let out a soft, confused whimper.

Lily’s gaze darted from Sirius to Kagome. “Sirius… what is this? Who is she? How did you even—?”

“There’s no time,” Sirius cut in, sharper than he meant to, but terror was strangling his throat. “You have to listen to me — he’s coming. Voldemort. Tonight.”

Lily’s breath hitched, her knuckles whitening around Harry. James froze — irritation draining from his face, replaced with cold dread. He looked from Sirius, to Kagome, then to Lily, as if trying to solve the puzzle placed in his home.

“How do you know that?” James demanded, voice tight, wand still half-raised. “Sirius… what aren’t you telling us?”

The room felt too small, too loud with Harry’s tiny breaths, too fragile under the weight of the truth Sirius had come to shatter.

“Because I’ve seen it,” Sirius said — the words ripped from him, raw and trembling. “I’ve lived it.”

James blinked, thrown off balance. “What are you—”

“I don’t have time to explain everything,” Sirius cut in, the edge of panic threading through his voice. “I swear to you, James — it happens tonight. You can’t stay here.”

Lily’s breath hitched. “But the Fidelius—”

“Won’t protect you.” His voice broke. “Because Peter betrayed you.”

The silence that fell was thick, choking, destroying.

James stared at him as if the world had tilted sideways. “That’s not funny, Sirius. Peter would never-”

“I wish it were,” Sirius whispered, his voice barely holding together. “But it’s the truth. He sells you out. Voldemort comes here. You die. Lily dies. Harry lives — and the world turns him into some bloody legend for surviving a deadly curse. The Boy Who Lived, that’s what he will be called if you don’t listen to me right now!”

Lily looked between them, her face pale, confusion and horror twisting together. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could you possibly—?”

“Please.” Sirius swallowed hard, fighting the burn behind his eyes. “You don’t have to understand or believe me. Just—take Harry and go. Hide somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

But James shook his head, and this time the fear was overtaken by grim reality. “Sirius… if what you’re saying is true, then Peter’s already told him. There’s nowhere to run.”

Sirius opened his mouth — he didn’t know to argue or scream or beg — but the words never made it out.

Because the lights in the cottage flickered.

Sirius felt the temperature of the room plummet — the unmistakable shift in the air of fate running its course. 

Kagome stiffened beside him before anyone else reacted — just a slight intake of breath, but Sirius felt it like a tremor running straight through him.

Her reiki flared, brushing against his magic in a sudden, instinctive warning. It wasn’t visible, but he felt it — a ripple of icy dread sliding across his skin.

She didn’t need to speak.

He met her eyes for a fraction of a second, and the message passed between them without a single word.

Her fear wasn’t for herself — he could see that — it was for him, for James, for the family that history had already stolen from him once. And in that moment, the old, familiar grief threatened to choke him all over again.

But her steadiness anchored him.

They came to change this precise moment. 

Kagome finally whispered aloud, voice barely more than a breath. “Sirius… he’s here.”

And then the air split.

A soft, sickening crack echoed through the house — the kind that didn’t belong to this world, the kind Sirius had heard only once before and had never forgotten. Magic recoiled violently, snapping like overstretched cords.

Lily clutched Harry, her knuckles bone-white. James raised his wand, jaw clenched, trying to be brave for his family,
And Sirius—
Sirius felt his stomach drop into ice.

That stillness.
That unnatural quiet.
That finality in the air.

“No…” he breathed, horror curling tight in his chest. “Not yet—”

Chapter Text

The air didn’t just crackle.

A pressure rolled through the cottage like a shockwave, thick and cold enough to squeeze the breath from her lungs. Kagome staggered, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs as an unnatural stillness smothered the room. Then a flicker of sickly green light flashed across the window.

She knew that light.

She had read about this night in books, heard about it from Sirius, but nothing — nothing — prepared her for the suffocating horror settling over the house like a shroud.

Lily and James’ fear, Harry’s whimper.

Kagome swallowed hard, forcing her palms open even as her fingers shook. Heat rushed through her veins, sharp and bright, her reiki flaring to life with a ferocity she hadn’t felt since the Sengoku Jidai. It coiled around her fingers in a shimmering haze, instinctively responding to the darkness pressing in from all sides.

It had been years since she’d needed to fight like this — since she’d used her power for more than harmless charms, quiet blessings and eventual exorcisms. But her body remembered.  It always remembered.

Her breath came quick and thin. This is the night. The night everything breaks.

But this time, she thought fiercely, letting her aura blaze hotter—

This time we’re here.

“Kagome, move!” Sirius shouted.

The warning ripped her back to the present just as the front door exploded inward — not broken, but obliterated. The wards shuddered, screamed, and collapsed in a shower of invisible sparks.

And then he stepped through.

Voldemort’s presence hit like a physical blow. A suffocating void. A blade of malice. The temperature dropped, her breath frosting at the edges. Kagome’s knees buckled — her reiki recoiled, then surged, instinctively bracing against the monstrous pressure pouring off him.

He wasn’t like the stories. He was worse. Too wrong. Too empty. Too hollow. Too real.

His crimson eyes flicked to her — a brief, dismissive glance that said she was beneath his notice — then snapped toward Lily and the baby.

“Stand aside,” he hissed, voice slithering like poison. “The boy is mine.”

James stepped in front of his family, wand raised, shoulders shaking but steady.

“Over my dead body,” he spat back.

Voldemort tilted his head, lips curling.

“That,” he whispered, lifting his wand with chilling calm, “can be arranged.”

Kagome didn’t think — her body moved before her mind could catch up.

A flash of green split the air. The killing curse. The one she had read about, the one no magic was supposed to block. Her instincts screamed, her reiki surged, and everything inside her snapped into action.

Her hands ignited.

A sphere of bright blue light burst from her palms with a roar, slamming into the Avada Kedavra mid-air. The collision rang like metal tearing, a violent screech of pure versus corrupted. Darkness writhed against her power — and then the impossible happened.

The curse rebounded, exploding sideways into the window and showering the room with shards of glass.

Voldemort actually stumbled, red eyes widening in shock. For the first time, he wasn’t the unstoppable force she’d imagined in every retelling of this night. He was caught off-guard. Disbelieving.

“Kagome, stay behind me!” Sirius shouted, fear cracking through his voice.

She snapped back without hesitation. “No, you stay behind me!”

Before he could argue, her reiki surged again, hotter and brighter than she had felt in years. It swept outward in a protective wave, enveloping Sirius, James, Lily, and little Harry in a shimmering barrier. The magic pulsed like a heartbeat — hers — and the darkness recoiled from it as if unsure what she was.

Because she wasn’t a witch of this world.

She was something their magic didn’t have a name for.

“This isn’t in the book,” she whispered, her voice trembling even as she steadied her stance. “Then maybe… maybe I’ll write a different story.”

When she met Sirius’s eyes, she saw it there — the same desperate, fragile hope she felt roaring in her chest. They could change this. They weren’t too late.

Voldemort’s voice cracked like ice. “You meddle in what you cannot comprehend.”

Kagome lifted her chin, reiki flaring like a blue flame around her fingers. “Try me.”

The world answered.

Magic exploded — green, blue, and a streak of pink she recognized instantly as the remnants of the power Magatsuhi had once tried to seal inside her body. The forces collided in the center of the room with earth-shaking violence. The floor trembled, the walls groaned, and the air turned electric, ripping itself apart under the clash of light and shadow.
Glass rained. Wood splintered. The house screamed beneath the force of their powers.

Curse after curse slammed into her barrier, each impact ringing through her bones. Voldemort didn’t care about her — she could feel it in the way his magic struck, cold and single-minded. He wanted them.

But through the blinding storm of light, Kagome held her ground. Because this time, she wasn’t the one being protected. This time, she would be the shield. She had crossed worlds for Sirius — left behind everything she knew, everything she had built — to stand at his side in a future neither of them had been meant to reach. 

And that future began now.

Chapter Text

Sirius had seen battles before — but nothing compared to this.

Kagome stood in the center of the chaos like a force of nature.

Her barrier didn’t flicker. Didn’t waver. Didn’t so much as ripple under the assault. A Protego Totalus cast by a master duelist might hold for a heartbeat — two, at most — and even then, nothing in the wizarding world could block an Avada Kedavra.

But Kagome had batted it away with her bare hands.

For a full, breathless second, Sirius forgot the danger. He just stared.

Her hair whipped around her like black fire, eyes glowing relentlessly. Every curse Voldemort hurled — bone-shattering hexes, slicing charms, more Killing Curses than he had ever heard cast in one place — slammed into her barrier and either dissolved or rebounded as though they were nothing more than sparks striking water.

Even Voldemort hesitated, disbelief twisting his serpent-like features.

But Sirius saw what Voldemort didn’t.

Sweat beading at her temples. Her breath tightening. The faint tremor in her arms as she held the shield steady. Reiki pulsed through her in waves of light, beautifully controlled — terrifyingly controlled — but draining her with every curse she absorbed.

He felt the weight of each spell hitting her as if it struck his own ribs.

“Damn it, Kagome…” he breathed, heart hammering. How is she still standing?

They couldn’t get a single spell through Voldemort’s counterspells — he deflected everything effortlessly — but Kagome kept that barrier up, kept it alive, kept it sheltering all five of them while the Darkest Wizard alive poured enough power at her to kill an army.

And still she didn’t break.

“Get out with Harry!” she shouted.

Sirius snapped back to action, helping James herd Lily and the baby toward the stairs. But before they could move far, the next curse came.

They were out of Kagome’s protection.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The green light tore through the air faster than thought — a streak of death ripping straight toward the crib.

James turned — too late. Sirius’s heart lurched—And the curse arced, unerring, straight for Harry.

A scream strangled in Lily’s throat. The world flashed white.

The world went still.

No sound. No breath. No time. And then— Kagome was there.

He hadn’t seen her move — none of them had — but somehow she had torn Harry from Lily’s arms in that single impossible instant.

When the blinding light faded, all Sirius could see was Kagome shielding the child with her entire body.

Her arms were burned — raw, blistered, angry red streaks climbing up to her shoulders. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air. She trembled, barely staying upright.

But Harry—Harry wasn’t even crying.

Where Voldemort had stood, only shredded robes and a smoldering wand remained.

Sirius, James, and Lily rushed toward them at the same time.

The house shuddered violently, beams groaning overhead. Sirius grabbed Kagome, pulling her down and covering both her and Harry as glass shattered and dust rained from the ceiling. Lily cast a shield charm just in time to deflect falling debris.

The entire cottage was coming apart.

“Sirius, we have to move!” James shouted, but Sirius barely heard him.

His heart hammered painfully as he pulled Kagome against him, his hands hovering uselessly over her burns, terrified to hurt her more.

“You— I— I don’t know what happened,” he stammered, voice shaking with panic and awe. He had never felt so close to breaking.

Kagome’s breathing was ragged. She hissed when her fingers twitched, but her eyes stayed focused as she gently handed Harry back to Lily.

“The Killing Curse…” Kagome whispered, her voice strained and trembling. “It hit us. Both of us.”

Lily’s breath stopped. James went still as stone.

Kagome swallowed, her burned arms shaking as she tried to steady herself. “Voldemort fired it at Harry. I jumped in, but I wasn’t fast enough to shield him completely.” Her voice wavered. “The curse split when I reached for him.”

Sirius felt his stomach twist violently. “Split—?”

She nodded weakly. “Part of it struck me. That’s why—” Her eyes flicked to her blistered, burned skin. “That’s why I look like this.”

She drew a shallow breath, fighting through the pain, and Sirius leaned in instinctively, terrified he’d lose even a single syllable.

“And the other part hit Harry,” she whispered. Her hand lifted shakily toward the infant, fingers trembling as she motioned to the small, lightning-shaped wound forming on his forehead. “Right here.”

Sirius felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“But before it could spread… before it could kill him…” Her voice thinned to a whisper. “I stopped it.”

Her fingers curled, as though the memory of wrenching the curse out of Harry’s tiny body still burned through her bones.

“I exorcised it,” she breathed. “Forced it out of him while it was still trying to take hold.”

A cold shock ran through Sirius’s spine — awe, terror, disbelief, and a kind of love so sharp it almost hurt. She spoke of it so softly, so simply, as if she hadn’t just fought death hand-to-hand and won.

“And once it was out,” Kagome continued, her eyes glassy with exhaustion, “my reiki pushed it back. The curse wasn’t whole anymore — it was weakened, broken — but it still rebounded.”

Her gaze drifted toward the scorch mark where Voldemort had stood moments before, the ripped remains of his robes still fluttering in the heat.

“That’s what hit him,” she murmured. “His own magic… reflected.”

Harry whimpered softly — frightened, but alive, warm, breathing.

Kagome offered him a trembling smile and lifted a singed hand to the crown of his head. Sirius watched the gesture with something like reverence and horror.

“You are very brave, little buddy,” she whispered, her voice wobbling. “Only half the curse hit him, but it would have been enough to cause severe damage to such a young body. Harry let me in without fear, and I… I wouldn’t have done it without his help.”

Only then did she fully look at her arms — blistered, blackened, shaking — and the realization seemed to hit her like its own blow.

“I may have shaved off some good years of my life.”

Sirius’s breath fractured.

“No,” he choked, the word sharp and useless. His hand hovered over hers, afraid to touch burnt skin, afraid not to. “Kagome, don’t— don’t say things like that.”

But she only blinked up at him, tired and serene in that infuriating way she had — as if saving lives, losing pieces of herself, and defying magic’s oldest laws were nothing more than the cost of doing what was right.

Sirius stared at her, chest aching so hard he wondered if a curse had hit him too.

She had stepped into a story that wasn’t hers.

And she had rewritten it with her life on the line.

“You saved him,” he whispered, unable to stop the tremor in his voice. “Kagome… you saved all of them. Don’t you dare leave me after this.”

James descended to his knees, white-faced and shaking - a firm hold on Lily’s shoulders keeping him grounded

“Is it over?” Lily whispered, voice splintering.

Kagome shook her head — slow, weighted, as though even gravity had teeth. “No,” she murmured. “I… only drove him out.”

Sirius felt his heartbeat stutter. Not from fear of Voldemort — but from the way Kagome’s voice sounded like it might collapse in her throat.

She raised her head, and her sapphire eyes — usually so bright — were dark with a knowing that chilled him.

“His soul…” she breathed. “It didn’t leave this world.”

Cold slid down Sirius’s spine.

He tightened his hold on her shoulders. “You’re sure?”

Kagome swallowed, wincing as pain rippled through her burned arms. “Yes.” Her fingers curled weakly into his coat. “You remember what he has done — Voldemort split his soul. More than once.” Her breath shook. “Even broken, even scattered… he’s still here.”

Sirius exhaled shakily — a sound closer to a sob than he wanted to admit. They had changed the story. Saved James. Saved Lily. Saved Harry. But destiny hadn’t yielded. It had only shifted.

A deep groan tore through the house — the sound of collapsing beams. The floor buckled. Plaster rained from the ceiling.

“We have to go!” James yelled, grabbing Lily’s hand.

Sirius swept Kagome into his arms before she could take a step. She gasped, clutching at his robes, her weight frighteningly light.

“Sirius—I can—”

“You can’t,” he snapped, harsher than intended, clutching her tighter as the wall cracked open beside them. “You’re burned, you’re shaking, you’re barely upright. So no — you’re not walking.”

She pressed her forehead weakly to his collarbone. “Remember… he will come back” she whispered. “Voldemort—”

“I know,” Sirius said fiercely. “And we can deal with him only if you’re alive.”

The staircase collapsed behind James. Lily shielded Harry with her body as glass blew inward. The house groaned — dying around them.

Sirius dipped his head to Kagome’s temple for just a second — a single grounding heartbeat — before bolting for the door.

She saved them. She saved Harry. She saved all of them. And she had nearly died in the process.

Her burned fingers tightened weakly at the back of his robes. “Sirius…”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice raw. “I’m not losing you too.”

Chapter Text

The night felt too quiet after the storm.

They barely had time to grab Harry’s travel bag before wizards and even a few muggles started gathering near the ruins. The Fidelius had shattered along with the house, and once the wards fell, curiosity and fear did the rest. James held Lily’s hand so tightly his knuckles whitened as Sirius pulled them into the shadows and Apparated them out one by one.

The countryside pressed in around them — cold, damp, far too peaceful for what had just happened.

James wasn’t sure he’d processed any of it.

Sirius appearing in a house that should’ve been impossible to find. The truth about Peter — bloody Peter — being a traitor. Voldemort breaking in. Harry almost dying.  And Kagome — this stranger who wasn’t really a stranger — burning her own life away to protect his son.

They reached a small, abandoned cottage in the hills — one James recognized as an old Order safehouse. The wards creaked in protest when Sirius passed through, but they let him in. Sirius didn’t say a word. Didn’t explain. He just carried Kagome inside like she was made of glass.

James, Lily, and Harry followed. When James sealed the door, his hands were still shaking.

He turned — and saw Sirius through the cracked doorway of the back room. Sirius was bent over Kagome, placing her gently on the bed as if she might break. She had fallen asleep — or passed out — during their walk. Her scorched arms were trembling even in unconsciousness. Sirius tucked the blanket around her with painstaking care, brushed a strand of hair from her face, then stood there for a long moment, his shoulders shaking.

James looked away, giving him the dignity of privacy he wasn’t sure Sirius even realized he needed.

A moment later, Sirius emerged and closed the door behind him — softly, as if afraid the latch itself might hurt her.

James handed Harry to Lily, who clutched their son as though he were something holy. James sank into a chair with all the grace of a man who’d aged ten years in one night.

Sirius didn't sit so much as collapse into the seat opposite him. He dragged both hands through his hair — the same gesture James remembered from their school years whenever Padfoot was biting back panic.

James blinked at him — at the exhaustion stamped into his face, the raw fear still clinging to him.

“It’s been — what?” James said faintly. “A fortnight since we last saw you?”

“Feels like bloody decades,” Sirius muttered.

Silence fell — thick and heavy — until Sirius suddenly tipped his head back and groaned.

“Kag would kill me for it,” he said, voice hoarse, “but I’m dying for a fag.”

Sirius huffed a laugh — a tired, shaky thing — and scrubbed his face with both hands.

And for a moment, James just watched him.

Sirius Black — reckless, brilliant, impossible Sirius — sitting there looking like he’d held the world together with his bare hands and had no idea if it would crumble the moment he let go.

Something was definitely wrong.

“And since when,” James said slowly, “have you let anyone tell you that you can’t smoke?”

Sirius didn’t blink. “Since she made me hand-pick every stub from the shrine’s patio after the summer festival.”

James stared at him.

“Padfoot,” he said flatly, “nothing you just said makes any sense. You spent the entire summer with us. There was no shrine. No festival. And certainly no Kagome.”

He leaned forward, eyes sharp even through the exhaustion.

“Who is she? What’s going on?”

Sirius sighed — long, shaky — and slouched back in the chair. For the first time that night, James saw it: the years carved into his face. The weight of something too big for him, even him, to carry alone.

“You’re going to think I’ve gone completely spare,” Sirius muttered, scraping a hand over his face. “But I swear on Prongslet’s tiny, adorable toes that everything I’m about to say is true.”

James blinked. “Merlin, that serious?”

“Prongs,” Sirius warned, finger raised, “don’t… don’t laugh.”

James didn’t.

He couldn’t. Not with the way Sirius looked — like a man about to confess to murder or madness.

Sirius hesitated a long moment, then began to speak.

He told James about the future — the future he came from. About falling through the Veil. About waking in another world entirely. About meeting Kagome. About learning magic that wasn’t magic, surviving demons, time-travel, the Feudal Era — things so insane that James Potter, seasoned prankster and veteran of a war, could only sit there slack-jawed.

Then Sirius told them about the books — the books that chronicled their lives - Harry’s life. All the horrors Sirius had to read knowing he couldn’t change anything.

Every word Sirius spoke felt heavier than the last, sinking hard and cold into the room.

By the time he finished, the Potters looked both horrified and speechless.

“So you’re saying,” James said, voice strangely quiet, “we were supposed to die tonight.”

Sirius nodded once. “Yes.”

A silence spread — thick, suffocating, unreal.

“But we—” Sirius cleared his throat, his voice cracking. “Kagome… she changed that.”

James turned his gaze toward the closed door — toward the woman who had saved his son’s life, his wife’s life, his own. The woman who had burned her arms to protect a child who wasn’t hers. The woman Sirius looked at like she hung the bloody moon.

“When we finished the last book,” Sirius murmured, “Kagome asked me if I’d change anything, if I had the chance.” He swallowed. “All I could think about was this night.”

James felt sick.

“I didn’t know when Peter switched sides,” Sirius continued softly. “Didn’t know when he told Voldemort your location. But I knew October thirty-first, 1981… was the night everything shattered.”

Lily rose silently, Harry fussing against her shoulder.

“I’m going to get him settled,” she whispered, brushing a trembling kiss on James’s cheek.

She didn’t need to say it. She knew when the men needed space. Sometimes James suspected — with both awe and mild terror — that she was secretly a Legilimens.

They stood in a pregnant silence.

For the first time James could remember, he had absolutely no idea what to say to Sirius. They’d been joined at the hip since they were eleven — pranks, detentions, battles, weddings, fatherhood. But this Sirius…

This Sirius was still Padfoot. Still his brother. But there was a whole extra life behind his eyes now — one James hadn’t lived beside him.

“How was this… other world?” James finally asked, choosing the safest path he could find.

“Not much different from now, I suppose.” Sirius leaned back, staring at a spot somewhere past James’s shoulder. “Just about thirty years in the future. Kagome lived in an ancient shrine, so other than a super slim and colourful telly, a portable telephone, and an incredible rice cooker… it was similar to any Muggle home I’ve seen here.”

He flicked his hand, wandlessly summoning a bottle of water and a cup from the counter. James’s eyebrows shot up.

“I should go get my wand,” Sirius muttered automatically.

“Padfoot.”

James stepped forward, lowering to Sirius’s level. He rested a hand on his friend’s knee — an anchor more than a gesture. Sirius startled slightly, then met his eyes.

“What really happened?” James asked gently.

Sirius swallowed. Hard.

“Twelve years in Azkaban.”

James’s breath caught.

“…What?”

“For selling you out,” Sirius said bitterly. “And killing Peter.”

James went cold.

“Everyone thought I was your Secret Keeper,” Sirius continued, voice low and rough. “So when Voldemort found you, I was the only one who knew Peter was the real one. Tonight, I was meant to hunt him down. Kill him. He’d blow a hole in the street, leave only a finger, make it look like I murdered a dozen Muggles.”

His voice cracked. “If my face isn’t on the front page of the Prophet in the morning, then… I suppose I don’t have to worry about two versions of me bumping into each other in Knockturn Alley.”

James stared at him — horrified, furious, heartsick.

“But Moony — Dumbledore — anyone who knows you would know you’d never do it.”

“I can’t blame them,” Sirius said hollowly. “The evidence was clear. And the Ministry wasn’t exactly dying to give me a fair trial. They locked me up faster than you could say ‘veritaserum.’”

A shaky breath. “It wasn’t until I saw a rat — a very familiar rat — in the Prophet twelve years later that I… got the wit to escape. To find him. To finish it.”

“And meet Harry,” James said softly.

Sirius nodded, a haunted smile flickering. “Despite everything… he was a brilliant boy.”

“Despite everything?” James echoed, dread seeping into his bones. “Padfoot… what happened to Harry?”

Sirius hesitated.

Then he told him.

He told him about the Dursleys — and James felt his stomach turn so violently he nearly retched. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to hate someone.

He told him about Dumbledore’s plan. About the horcruxes. About Hogwarts and Voldemort’s return. And Harry.

Merlin, Harry.

Alone. Unloved. Raised like a burden, a weapon, a sacrificial lamb for the “greater good.”

By the end, James had sunk into the nearest chair, his hands buried in his hair, shaking.

Sirius slumped beside him, silent.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

When James finally lifted his head, his eyes were red — with unshed tears, with fury, with something bone-deep and ancient.

“That was my son,” he whispered. “My boy. And they… they would have let him grow up like that.”

Sirius didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

James looked at him — really looked — and all his doubt evaporated.

Sirius Black had risked the entire continuity of time and space — had thrown himself headfirst into unknown worlds, unknown magic, unknown consequences — for one reason.

For Harry.

For them.

James drew a trembling breath and reached out, gripping Sirius’s shoulder with fierce, brotherly strength.

“Thank you,” he said, voice cracking, “for breaking the future.”

Sirius huffed a wet laugh. “Well,” he murmured, “someone had to make sure your lad got the childhood he deserved.”

James nodded slowly, trying to process everything Sirius had laid bare. Harry was safe. Lily was whispering quiet comforts. And Sirius—his Sirius—looked older and younger and utterly changed all at once.

A silence settled between them, thick and fragile.

Then Sirius spoke again, voice low, frayed around the edges. “James… there’s something else I need you to understand.”

James straightened but didn’t interrupt.

Sirius stared at his hands for a moment — still faintly trembling — before lifting his gaze.

“When the Veil spat me out into Kagome’s world… I didn’t think I’d ever survive, let alone come back.” He let out a humorless huff. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d want to.”

James blinked. “Padfoot—what are you saying?”

Sirius exhaled shakily, as if deciding whether he had the right to speak the truth.

“If Kagome hadn’t chosen to come with me… I wouldn’t have come back at all.”

James stared at him, completely thrown. “You mean—you would’ve stayed? In another world?”

“If it meant losing her?" Sirius answered, voice nearly breaking. “Yes.”

The words hung in the air like a confession more dangerous than any magic they’d faced tonight.

James let out a low whistle, leaning back as though he’d been physically hit.

“Well, bloody hell,” he murmured. “That’s not exactly a casual thing to say, Padfoot. Are you two—?” His eyebrows rose, somewhere between disbelief and a grin. “Since when do you fall head over tail for someone?”

Sirius scrubbed a hand through his hair, cheeks reddening just slightly despite the chaos of the night.

“It’s not— we’re not—” He paused, swallowed, then admitted in a rough whisper: “I don’t know what we are. But I know she’s… mine. And I’m hers. And I’d have given up every scrap of magic in this world before I left her behind.”

James stared at him for a long moment — then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“Merlin’s saggy pants… you really are in deep.”

Sirius’s answering smile was small, exhausted, honest.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”

James sobered, leaning forward. “So when you say you wouldn't have come back without her… you’re not just saying you’d have accepted the future the books told you?”

Sirius’s eyes softened, full of pain and conviction. “Harry survives, James. He grows up brave, and brilliant, and loved — even though it hurts to hear how he got there. So if Kagome had said no… if she’d chosen her world, her life… I’d have respected that. And I’d have stayed with her.”

James swallowed, throat tight. “And you’d have left the rest to fate.”

Sirius nodded once. “Because at least your son would’ve lived. And I couldn’t force Kagome to give up her world for my ghosts.”

James breathed out slowly — admiration and grief folding together.

“Blimey,” he whispered. “You weren’t just trying to fix the future. You were willing to walk away from us entirely.”

Sirius looked at the closed door where Kagome slept, expression softening.

“I’d have walked anywhere,” he said quietly. “If it meant staying with her.”

For a moment, James could only stare — then he gave a smile that was painfully fond, tinged with awe.

“Well then,” he said, clapping a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, “I suppose I better meet the woman who managed to do what no one else’s ever done.”

Sirius snorted. “What’s that?”

James smirked. “Make Padfoot consider settling down.”

Sirius choked. “Settle— absolutely not— I— James, for Merlin’s sake—”

But the way his ears went pink said everything James needed to know.

Chapter Text

Kagome woke slowly, her body sore and heavy. It’s been a long time, probably since before she was sucked into Shikon no Tama’s void, that she had used this much reiki at once.

The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old stone, and warmth pressed against her cheek — a soft pillow, worn but clean. Her limbs pulsed with a dull ache, the kind that belonged to burns half-healed and magic overused.

For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was. Her last memory was being in Sirius’ arms, hearing his heartbeat. Then the night came back in a rush — green light, screaming wards, the cold caress of death. 

She jolted upright, breath catching.

A soft rustle stopped her panic.

Just a few feet away, on a narrow second bed, Lily slept curled around Harry like a shield. The baby’s tiny fist clung to her shirt. Both were breathing softly, peacefully. Safe.

A trembling breath escaped Kagome. They were alive. They were alive. Shit, they were alive. They did change the future.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the movement tugged at her blistered hands. There was a lingering trace of healing magic on her limbs, probably why her pain was soothed enough to allow her to sleep.

The cottage was quiet when she slipped into the hallway, padding toward the light spilling from the main room. Voices weren’t necessary; at this point, she could feel him long before she saw him. His aura felt younger, though, just like her own, but still her Sirius.

Her Sirius. She blushed at the thought. 

They haven’t discussed where they stood yet. She knew of his feelings, though. He didn’t need to say the words. Although it would be nice to hear.

Sirius was sitting at the table, hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees. His hair fell into his face in dark waves, and the moment he sensed her presence, he shot to his feet.

“Kagome.”

The way he said her name — raw, relieved, almost broken — made her chest tighten.

He crossed the room in two long strides, hands hovering as if afraid to touch her and desperate to at the same time.

“You shouldn’t be walking.” His voice cracked, just barely. “You should be resting — Merlin, you were nearly— you were—”

“Sirius.” She gently took his hand before he unraveled completely. His fingers were cold, trembling. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He brushed a thumb on her palm, jaw tight. “You burned yourself half to death fighting a Killing Curse. Two, actually. And then you—you exorcised death out of a baby.” His eyes met hers, storm-grey and frantic. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She smiled softly. “I scare the hell out of myself sometimes.”

He huffed a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The worry carved into his face was deeper than she’d ever seen.

“Kagome…” His hand rose slowly, tentatively, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “Why didn’t you stay back? Why would you take a curse like that? You could have been killed.”

She placed her palm over his, keeping it against her cheek. “Sirius,” she whispered, “I did it for Harry. And for James and Lily. But… mostly…” Her voice faltered, not from fear, but from truth pressing too close. “Mostly for you.”

She felt his breath catch — a sharp, shattered inhale. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, reverent and disbelieving.

“For me,” he echoed, voice rough.

Kagome nodded, eyes warm. “You told me once that all you wanted was to save them. That this night haunted everything that came after. I wouldn't let you live it twice. Not when I had a chance to change it.” Her throat tightened. “I couldn’t watch you break again.”

She lifted his hand and rested it on his face, brushing the soft skin. It still amazed her to see him so young, without the worry lines she grew to love. Knowing at least part of them wouldn't be marking his face gave her a sense of satisfaction - he won’t be grieving the loss of his friends.

Sirius closed his eyes, leaning against her palm, jaw working as if the weight of those words was too much to hold. When he opened them again, they were shining.

He cupped her face fully this time, bending forward until their foreheads touched.

“You didn’t just change the night,” he murmured. “You changed my entire bloody world.”

Kagome’s breath hitched.

His closeness, the tremble in his hands, the way his voice dropped to something softer than she thought Sirius Black was capable of — it warmed her all the way through.

“I should be the one looking after you,” she whispered.

“You’re allowed to let someone look after you too.” His voice was so gentle she nearly melted. “Just this once. Just let me.”

Her heart fluttered.

“Sirius—”

“Please.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Let me be worried. Let me care. You nearly died for my family. For me. I… I need to know you’re still here.”

Kagome swallowed hard, then stepped into his arms without hesitation.

His embrace broke something open inside her — warm, desperate, protective. His chin rested briefly against her hair as he let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it since the moment the curse hit her.

“James went to get food and clothes,” Sirius murmured, still holding her. “But I didn’t want to leave you. I couldn’t.”

Kagome closed her eyes, sinking into the steady beat of his heart.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sirius held her tighter.

Neither spoke after that. They didn’t need to.

The war might not be over. Voldemort’s soul still lurked in shadow.

But for this moment— in this quiet cottage, in Sirius’s arms— they had won. That’s what they came for. James and Lily were safe. Harry would have his parents. Sirius and Kagome had each other.

And that was enough.

Sirius stayed impossibly close as he worked, his fingers brushing her skin with reverence that made her chest tighten. The salve he applied glowed faintly, sinking into her burns with a soft, cooling warmth.

“Kagome…” he murmured, voice thick, “these are worse than you’re letting on.”

She let out a small breath, trying for nonchalance. “I’ve had worse. They’ll be gone soon. My reiki will take care of it.”

“Kagome.”
The way he said her name—low, sharp with worry—made her stop pretending.

“I mean it,” she insisted gently. “This isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ll heal.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of a bandaged burn. “You shouldn’t ever have to do something like that. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

Her heart squeezed. “But I did. And I would again.”

Sirius froze mid-motion.

“That’s exactly what terrifies me,” he said quietly. “You jump into danger without thinking. You’d throw yourself in front of spells—curses—without a second thought. And I…” He swallowed, the emotion in his throat visible. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Kagome’s breath hitched. She reached up, brushing his cheek with her uninjured hand. “You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Then let me promise this,” she whispered. “I chose to be here. With you. Every risk, every bruise, every scar… I knew what I was doing.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like her hand was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Kagome, you nearly died tonight.”

“And so did you,” she countered softly. “But we saved them. Together.” She hesitated, then added, “I did it for them. Because they are important to you.”

His eyes snapped open—stormy, tender, unmistakably full of something she was certain but scared to name aloud.

“Kagome,” he whispered, “if anything had happened to you—”

Her cheeks warmed, heartbeat stuttering. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“For how long?” His voice cracked, the vulnerability slicing through her.

She smiled faintly. “For as long as you want me to be.”

He stared at her like she had just rewritten the stars.

“For longer than that,” he breathed.

A moment of silence stretched between them, fragile and golden, charged with something deeper than either dared name outright.

“So…” Kagome ventured, shy for the first time, “what exactly are we?”

Sirius blinked—caught, flustered, a shade pink. “Well, I—er—I suppose we’re… something.”

“Something,” she repeated, biting back a smile. “Very descriptive.”

“I’m trying to be romantic, give me a second.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

He huffed. “I’m brilliant! I just—this is—different.”

She laughed softly. “Different is good.”

His shoulders eased. “Then… we’re… maybe more than something?”

“More than something,” she echoed, her voice soft with affection. “I think I can agree to that.”

He leaned closer, breath brushing her cheek—just about to kiss her—

The door slammed open.

Sirius jolted. Kagome nearly fell off the table. A jar rolled dramatically to the floor and cracked.

James Potter burst inside, bags of groceries in each arm, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Well, well, well,” he announced loudly, “looks like I’ve walked in on an Exclusive Club Meeting.”

Sirius groaned. “James—”

“Don’t mind me,” James continued cheerfully. “Just popping in with breakfast while you two define the nature of your deeply romantic ‘something more than something.’”

Kagome’s face went scarlet. Sirius sputtered.

“We weren’t—! It’s not—!” Sirius choked.

James raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, Padfoot, you look about two seconds away from proposing.”

Kagome buried her face in her hands. Sirius buried his face in the table.

“James,” Sirius muttered into the wood, “I swear on Merlin’s left sock—”

“Oh, don’t threaten me,” James said smugly, unloading groceries. “You’re the one flirting with a woman who literally yeeted herself into a Killing Curse for your scraggly hide.”

Kagome squeaked. Sirius whirled. “JAMES.”

James winked at her. “Good choice, by the way. He’s annoying, but he scrubs up alright.”

“Oh my god,” Kagome whispered.

Sirius grabbed her hand under the table—warm, grounding, his thumb tracing her skin in silent apology and affection.

James saw.

James grinned.

“Oh yes,” he declared triumphantly, “you two are going to be absolutely insufferable. I can’t wait to pay back all the teasing I had to endure.”

Kagome wished the floorboards would open and swallow her whole. James was much too delighted. Sirius was mortified. And she was—glowing. Literally.

Sirius noticed first.

“Hey—Kagome?” His voice dropped, soft and worried. “You look like a firefly.”

She blinked, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine. Just… healing.”

“Healing? You look like someone’s wand after they used Lumos.’”

James stopped unloading groceries. His face sobered. “Is she alright?”

Kagome opened her mouth to insist she was perfectly capable of standing—only for her legs to wobble traitorously. Sirius caught her instantly, hands steady and warm around her waist.

“Kagome,” he murmured, “please sit before you fall.”

She did — mostly because she didn’t want him to panic again.

Lily appeared at the doorway, bleary-eyed but alert, Harry dozing in her arms. “Is everything okay?”

Kagome nodded quickly. “Yes—yes, I promise. My energy is just low. Seems healing magic wounds take a bit more of my reiki than normal wounds.”

James frowned. “Can we… help? Do you need a potion? A healer?”

“No,” Kagome reassured with a small smile. “All I need is time. Reiki grows back on its own.”

Sirius looked unconvinced — that familiar crease forming between his brows.

“Kagome,” he said softly, “the burns on your arms—”

As he reached for her wrist, soft, pink-blue luminescence spread under her skin like dawn blooming. The burns were shrinking, knitting closed, healed tissue replacing charred flesh in real time.

James swore under his breath.  Lily gasped. Harry blinked sleepily and reached a tiny hand toward the glow. Sirius simply stared.

Kagome flexed her fingers slowly. “See? It’s already coming back.”

“That—” James pointed uselessly. “That’s not normal.”

“For me, it is.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I’ve been healing myself since I was fifteen. It’s how reiki works — it repairs what’s damaged as long as I have enough energy left.”

Sirius knelt in front of her, the fading light reflecting in his storm-grey eyes.

“Kagome…” He lifted her hand gently, almost reverently, watching the glow travel along her arm like a pulsing heartbeat.

Kagome felt her throat tighten. She squeezed his fingers. “You won’t lose me,” she said softly. “Not if I can help it. Not ever.”

He exhaled shakily — relief and fear dissolving at once. “I didn’t understand how your magic works. I thought… I thought the burns were permanent. Or that you’d—”

“I’m not nearly that fragile,” Kagome murmured, smiling faintly. “I just needed to sit down.” She tugged the rim of her top until it showed a wide scar, almost the size of her palm, on her ribs. “This was the last scar I’ve got. From the time Mistress Centipede tried to kill me.”

“Bloody hell,” cursed James. 

Sirius just stared, horrified, as his fingers ghosted the marred skin. It was the first time he saw this mark.

“What about tea?” Lily interjected, sweeping past them with surprising authority. “A lot of tea.”

“And food,” James added. “Preferably something that doesn’t glow or explode.”

Sirius didn’t laugh. He held Kagome’s hand, thumb brushing the newly healed skin. His voice dropped to something meant only for her:

“Don’t scare me like this again.”

Her heart fluttered, warm and full.

“I’ll try,” she whispered.

Another pulse of pink light shimmered under her skin — smaller now, softer — before receding completely.

The burns were gone.

James blinked. “Blimey. You healed faster than my Quidditch bruises.”

Kagome blushed.

Sirius pressed her hand to his heart, as if feeling her warmth beneath his ribs made something settle inside him.

She leaned forward just slightly. “You scare me too.”

“How?”

“Because I’d do it again,” she whispered. “For you.”

Sirius swallowed hard. James made a dramatic gagging noise.

“Right, that’s it,” James declared. “I’m helping Lily before you two start snogging and traumatize my son.”

“JAMES.” Sirius groaned. 

Chapter Text

Morning slipped by far too quickly for Sirius's liking.

The cottage was cold, damp with autumn, and far too quiet for a man whose heart hadn't stopped pounding since last night. He hadn't slept—wouldn't have managed even if he tried. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw green light, heard shattering wood, felt Kagome's body go limp in his arms.

So instead he'd kept himself busy: tightening wards on the windows, making tea he never drank, checking the perimeter, and—every few minutes—glancing back at the sofa where Kagome slept curled beneath an old tartan blanket.

Her breathing was steady. That alone kept him sane.

Harry was babbling at Lily on the hearthrug, clutching a wooden spoon like it was the height of entertainment. Lily looked pale but determined, her wand close to hand; she hadn't let Harry out of her sight once. James had gone to brave the nearest village for supplies and news.

Sirius hated that he wasn't the one doing it. Leaving Kagome felt… impossible. Even now, his eyes drifted to her again. A faint glow still clung to the skin of her arms—her magic finishing what healing salves could not. She'd insisted she'd be fine.

He'd pretended to believe her.

The door burst open around noon.

James stumbled in with the wind—scarf crooked, glasses fogged, hair an absolute catastrophe—and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet as if it had personally offended him.

"Padfoot," he said, voice tight. "You'll want to see this."

No.
No, he bloody wouldn't.

But Sirius took the paper anyway, because the alternative was sticking his head in the sand. He braced himself, jaw tight, and looked.

The headline was a punch to the ribs.

VOLDEMORT DEFEATED —
WAND FOUND IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW RUINS
SURVIVORS UNKNOWN

A moving photograph dominated the page: smoke rising from the rubble of what should have been James and Lily's tomb. Aurors prowled the wreckage, wands drawn, searching for remains that—thanks to Kagome—would never be found.

His stomach twisted. So this was it—the world as it would have gone on without them. A history they'd smashed to pieces.

"They think we're dead," James said quietly, pulling off his gloves with shaking fingers. "All three of us."

Across the room, Lily clutched Harry tighter. Her eyes were red but steady as she met Sirius's gaze.

"Good," she said, and there was steel in her voice.

Sirius glanced at Lily, surprised by the steel in her voice.

"If they think we survived," she said, stroking Harry's hair in slow, steady passes, "Voldemort's followers will panic. They'll want us gone properly this time."

Sirius nodded stiffly. "Quite right. And they won't mind finishing me off in the process."

Before he could think too long about what that meant, James cleared his throat and tapped the bottom column.

"There's more."

Sirius leaned in—and everything inside him went cold.

INTERVIEW WITH PETER PETTIGREW — 'Sirius Black betrayed them. I saw it happen.'

A sour, metallic taste filled Sirius's mouth. James muttered something foul under his breath, but Sirius barely heard him.

He forced himself to read the moving photograph.

Peter—insipid little Peter—sat on the steps of St. Mungo's wrapped in blankets like some poor, trembling casualty of war. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, carefully rehearsed.

"I tried to warn them," he sobbed. "I told them Sirius's loyalty was slipping. He and You-Know-Who were meeting. But James trusted him too much. And now they're gone because of him."

Sirius's grip tightened on the paper until the edges curled. Bloody little coward. Bloody traitor.

"The rat didn't waste time, did he?" he said, his voice brittle as cracked glass.

"Padfoot—" James began cautiously.

But Sirius could barely hear him. Because he knew this part. Knew it too well. The headlines. The fury. The way the wizarding world loved a simple villain. His face plastered everywhere. Ministry dogs hunting him like a fox. And then—

Azkaban.

His jaw locked hard enough to ache.

James folded the paper down. "Sirius… they think you sided with Voldemort."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter—sharp, humourless, hollow. "Oh, brilliant. Really consistent work, this timeline. Top marks."

Lily stepped closer, her voice quiet but steady. "We know the truth."

"It doesn't matter," Sirius muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "The Ministry needs someone to blame. Voldemort's 'dead,' the Potters are 'dead,' and I'm… well. I'm a Black. They'll write the rest themselves. Already have."

A soft rustle made him turn.

Kagome sat up, drowning in a jumper James had bought that was nearly the size of a tent. Her hair was rumpled, cheeks still pale from exhaustion, but her eyes—those sharp, uncanny eyes—were alert and already piecing things together.

"What happened?" she asked, voice soft but serious.

Sirius held up the Prophet. He didn't trust his voice.

Her gaze lifted to his, steady and knowing. And Sirius felt it again—his chest tightening with gratitude, fear, the strange sense that out of everyone in the world, she understood the stakes best.

She read it once. Then twice. Her expression didn't change, but her reiki shimmered faintly in agitation.

"I see," Kagome murmured, eyes flicking over the page. "That's it then."

Sirius straightened. "What do you mean—?"

But she was already turning away, padding back toward the bedroom with quiet purpose. A moment later she returned with her travel bag slung over one shoulder and a worn, leather-bound notebook pressed to her chest.

"I started this the day Sirius asked me to come with him," she said, placing it on the table. "Notes. Possibilities. Consequences."

Sirius felt something warm unfurl in his chest. Of course she had. Trust Kagome to prepare for the end of the world with colour-coded diagrams.

James blinked. "You wrote a book?"

"A notebook," she corrected gently. "With references."

She opened it, and the three of them leaned in—Sirius more than the other two, drawn to her handwriting magically shifting from Japanese to English.

The pages were lined with neat script and tight diagrams. Arrows. Margins crammed with theories. Flow charts looping into little spirals. Titles like:

Temporal Points of Retention
Causality Collapse Scenarios
Fixed Canon Events & Elastic Continuity

And then—of course—references he recognised.

Back to the Future. Doctor Who. A Brief History of Time. And—Merlin help him—quotes from Prisoner of Azkaban.

Sirius blinked. "…You've done homework."

"It's more complicated than homework," Kagome murmured, flipping to the chart titled Fixed Canon Events & Elastic Continuity. "I made this because I needed to understand what we were stepping into."

She tapped the Prophet headline.

"Sirius, this proves it. Time isn't freely changeable. Some events will always try to reassert themselves, even if the details shift."

James frowned, rubbing his jaw. "So what—you're saying fate's bloody stubborn?"

"Persistent," Kagome corrected. "Like a river rerouting around stones—but always flowing toward the same sea."

She turned more pages, revealing annotations Sirius recognised from the books—scribbles about 1993, Azkaban, Wormtail, Buckbeak.

"In the original timeline," Kagome explained, tracing a line with her finger, "time travel rules are tied to the Time-Turner paradox. Time-Turners force you into stable loops—closed circles. Whatever happened was always meant to happen. But that system only works because Time-Turners break natural flow. They're artificial, unstable. That's why they were all supposedly destroyed."

Lily hugged Harry closer, brow furrowing. "So by saving us… we didn't break time?"

Kagome shook her head. "No. Not fully. You changed the path—but the major beats still echo. Voldemort's fall still happened. Harry was still struck by the curse. Godric's Hollow is still in ruins. The world still thinks the Potters died."

Sirius swallowed. "And I'm still the Ministry's favourite scapegoat."

Kagome's hand drifted to his, warm and steady. "Because some events—some narrative or magical anchors—are fixed. They'll bend, but not break. The timeline will fight to keep its shape."

Sirius looked down at her notebook—the diagrams looping like fate trying to choke itself back into place—and felt a low, frustrated fury simmering.

"So what you're saying," he muttered, "is that even when we win, time still tries to stick us in the same blasted cages?"

Kagome squeezed his fingers gently. "Not cages. Patterns. But patterns can be broken… if we know where to cut them."

James straightened. "Meaning?"

Kagome sighed softly, closing the notebook. "Meaning we need a plan—for Harry's safety. For Voldemort's proper end. For staying ahead of whatever time is trying to push back into place."

James, Lily, and Sirius exchanged a look—silent, tense, and heavy enough to bend the air—but none of them spoke.

Kagome, however, already had her sleeves rolled up metaphorically.

"Do you have a pen? Or a quill—thank you, Lily."

She opened the notebook to a blank page. "Right. As I said—though the chain of events changed, the results align suspiciously close to the original: the Potters are presumed dead, Sirius takes the blame. The only major deviation is that Harry isn't being hailed as The Boy Who Lived."

She tapped the newspaper, eyes sharp.

"Therefore, we must assume Voldemort's return is still inevitable. It may happen differently… but it will happen. And Harry will still be a target."

James swore quietly under his breath. "He's a baby."

Lily swallowed, blinking rapidly. "He hasn't even had his second birthday."

Sirius felt something ugly tighten in his chest. Anger. Fear. A reckless urge to destroy anything that threatened the little boy gurgling innocently in his mother's arms.

"We changed the biggest tragedy of your timeline," she said. "But some events will still try to unfold, no matter what we do. The difference now…" She reached out, brushing her fingers across his knuckles. "…is that we can control how we get there. And what those events lead to."

The knot in his chest loosened. Only slightly—but enough.

"So," she said, soft but resolute, "we plan."

Lily angled Harry on her hip, brushing his hair back. "Plan what, exactly?"

James answered before Sirius could. "Harry's safety, for one. We can't go back to Godric's Hollow. Not for months. Maybe never."

"And Pettigrew?" Lily asked, voice going cold in that frighteningly quiet way only mothers seemed to manage.

Sirius's hands curled into fists. His voice was low. "I'll kill him."

"Sirius." Kagome's tone made him pause—not admonishing, not disappointed. Understanding. And somehow, that cut deeper.

"We'll deal with Peter," she said, meeting his eyes. "But not like this. Not while everything is still too unstable. We need the Ministry off your backs and a solid plan in place first."

James dragged a hand through his hair. "Alright then… priorities?"

Kagome looked at Harry again, her expression softening just enough to remind Sirius that she had held that child while death itself tried to take him.

"We need to identify which parts of the original timeline are fixed canon events," she said. "And," she added, reaching into her bag with alarming seriousness, "I have the perfect tools."

She pulled out the pocket editions of all seven Harry Potter books.

Sirius watched James take Philosopher's Stone like it might bite him.

James flicked through a few pages—just enough to reach Privet Drive. His expression shifted—soured—darkened. When he snapped it shut, his jaw was clenched.

Lily tried to peek. James blocked her gently but firmly. "Trust me, Lils. You don't want to read this part."

Sirius's stomach twisted. He knew every word on those pages by heart. He wished he didn't.

James set the book down slowly. "I think," he said, voice tight, "we'll need Moony for this."

Sirius nodded grimly. "Yeah. We're going to need Remus."

He didn't say the rest out loud—that Remus, loyal and brilliant and painfully reasonable, was the missing piece. That Remus deserved to know they were alive. That Remus deserved to know Sirius hadn't betrayed them.

But mostly—

That Remus Lupin was the one man Sirius trusted to help rebuild a future already trying its best to collapse.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin had known, in some quiet, rotten place in his chest, that something was wrong the moment the owl began hammering at his window before dawn.

He just hadn't known it would be this.

The Daily Prophet slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floorboards like a dead bird.

He didn't pick it up. He couldn't bear to. The headline still blazed across his mind:

VOLDEMORT DEFEATED —

POTTERS PRESUMED DEAD

Sirius Black, traitor?

Remus sat heavily on the edge of his narrow bed, hands shaking hard enough to make his scars twitch. His throat felt tight. Too tight.

James. Lily. Harry — barely a year old. Gone.

And Sirius—

He closed his eyes, pressing his nails hard into his palms, as if the pain could block out the words printed in black ink.

Sirius Black betrayed them.

It was a lie. It had to be a lie.

Except… except the Prophet said there were no bodies. No survivors found. Their cottage burned, destroyed by an explosion of dark magic. Aurors found Voldemort's wand. A great victory, they called it. A great sacrifice.

And then there was Peter's statement.

Remus leaned forward, elbows on knees, head bowed. He had read it once. He couldn't bring himself to read it again.

"I tried to warn them," he sobbed. "I told them Sirius's loyalty was slipping. He and You-Know-Who were meeting. But James trusted him too much. And now they're gone because of him."

Peter had cried through the entire interview.

"So you're the hero now, Peter," Remus muttered bitterly, staring at the crumpled Prophet on the floor. "And Sirius is the villain."

His voice cracked.

Sirius. Betraying James. It was unthinkable.

But what was he supposed to do? What proof did he have? The evidence — or what passed for evidence — was piling up. Sirius was their Secret Keeper. Sirius alone knew the location. And now the Potters' house was nothing but debris.

Remus pressed a fist to his mouth as a sound escaped him — half sob, half snarl.

Had he missed something? Signs? Whispers? Moments when Sirius's laughter had been too sharp, too forced? Times he'd disappeared for hours without explanation?

He wanted to believe none of it mattered. But grief made doubt a cruel companion.

He stood abruptly. He needed answers. Something real. Something he could look in the eye.

He needed Peter.

St. Mungo's was louder than it should have been for a healing facility.

Reporters swarmed outside the ward where Peter was recovering - as if he was Voldermort's victim himself. Flashing cameras. Quills scratching. Healers shouting for order. Remus walked past them all, silent and hollow, until he reached the door.

Peter Pettigrew lay propped up against pillows, swaddled in blankets despite the overheated room. He looked even smaller than usual. Tear-streaked. Pitiful. He jumped when Remus entered.

"R-Remus," Peter stammered, eyes wide. "Merlin, I thought I'd never see you—James—Lily—oh god—"

His voice broke, and he dissolved into shaking sobs.

Remus swallowed hard. He sat on the edge of the bed, his own voice quiet, careful — as if reality would break.

"Peter," he said, "tell me what happened."

Peter's lip trembled. He clutched the blanket like it was a lifeline.

"It was Sirius," he whispered. "He was… different, Remus. Dark. I tried to warn James—he wouldn't believe me."

Remus stiffened.

"Warn him when?"

"I—I can't remember exactly," Peter said, voice airy, uncertain. "Everything happened so fast—"

Remus exhaled slowly. Peter wasn't lying, he wouldn't lie about this — he believed what he said, although his heart shattered at every word. And Peter, in all the years Remus had known him, had always been terrified. A coward. A coward he trusted.

"Why didn't Voldemort kill you too?" Remus asked softly.

Peter went still.

Then he began to sob again, shaking violently. "I d-don't know! Maybe he thought I wasn't worth the trouble—maybe I hid—maybe—"

Maybe. Too many maybes.

Remus's skin prickled uneasily.

Peter wasn't lying. But he wasn't answering either. And Sirius—

Sirius wasn't here to defend himself. Wasn't explaining. Wasn't ranting or denying or shouting. He was simply… absent. Like the traitor Peter said he was.

Remus swallowed back bile.

"I need to go," he murmured, standing abruptly.

"Remus!" Peter reached out with shaking fingers. "Please—don't go after him. If he's—if he's joined You-Know-Who—he'll kill you too."

The words hurt more than any of his scars.

Remus didn't reply. He walked out without a backward glance.

Outside… he broke. Just long enough to lean against the cold stone wall and let the grief wash up to his throat.

James, laughing. Lily rolling her eyes fondly. Harry's future. Sirius's bark-like laugh. Peter's shy smile. All shattered in a single night.

He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth. He needed the truth. Not the Prophet. Not the Ministry. Not Peter.

He needed Sirius. Even if the truth ruined him. Even if everything he believed all those years were false.

Remus wandered London for hours after leaving St. Mungo's. Not because he didn't know where to go, but because he couldn't bear to go anywhere.

His cloak hung heavy on his shoulders, soaked with fog. His breath ghosted in the cold November air. He walked past crowds that didn't spare him a glance, past streetlamps flickering as the city woke, past pubs full of Muggles who didn't know the world had nearly ended overnight.

Occasionally, he caught sight of an owl carrying a new edition of the Prophet.

THE DARK LORD IS GONE!
PETER PETTIGREW — UNSUNG HERO!
WHERE IS SIRIUS BLACK?

Remus kept walking. Before he realised it, he was standing outside Sirius’ flat—the one so carefully hidden that hardly anyone knew its location. Between the Potters’ home and Godric’s Hollow, Sirius had guarded this place fiercely. Peter had known it existed, vaguely, but never where it was. And the Black family… well, Sirius had made certain they would never find it.

The windows were dark.

Remus had half-hoped to find… he didn't know. An explanation. A trace of Sirius. Even a black dog lingering in the stairwell. But the whole building felt empty, cold, abandoned.

"Sirius…" he whispered to the empty street. "What did you do?"

His voice cracked.

Because the alternative — the unthinkable truth — gnawed at him like a wound.

Had Sirius truly betrayed them? Had he handed James and Lily over to Voldemort? Had he betrayed them, as Peter claimed? Was he hiding now, planning Merlin knows what?

The Sirius he knew couldn't have done those things. Not to them. Not to James. But the Sirius he knew wasn't here to defend himself.

Remus pressed his hand to the brick wall, the cold seeping into his bones.

The pub where Sirius hid after they graduated and none of his family attended - empty. The abandoned holiday home they'd found during a particularly chaotic summer - dusty, undisturbed.

"It's like he vanished," Remus murmured, throat raw.

Or he's hiding - from him.

He forced the thought away. He could barely breathe under its weight.

His new flat was a miserable little place — peeling wallpaper, patchy heating, the faint scent of damp that never quite left. He had chosen it because it was cheap, and because moving often was easier than unpacking.

He dropped into an armchair, bones aching. The Prophet from that morning lay on the table. He stared at it for a long time before picking it up again.

Peter's claims stared back at him.

"Sirius Black betrayed them."

Remus's jaw clenched.

He read it again. And again. Until the words blurred and his vision stung. Until he gave up on the words that made no sense.

He shouldn't have doubted Sirius. He shouldn't have doubted any of them. They were the Marauders. Brothers. Family.

But now… James dead. Lily dead. Harry dead. And Sirius—A snitch. A murderer.

Remus curled forward, hands tangled in his hair, breath shuddering. A low, wounded sound escaped him before he could swallow it down.

"How could you do this?" he whispered into the dark. "How could you?"

He didn't sleep that night. Or the next. When he finally dozed off, after unhealthy amounts of firewhiskey, it was in his armchair, fully dressed, with the Prophet lying open beside him.

He woke to an ache in his back, a hangover, and the sharp, piercing need to act.

To know. To find him. Even if the truth shattered what remained of Remus Lupin's heart.

The night air bit through Remus's coat as he approached the Shrieking Shack.

Full moon. Eleven days since Halloween. Eleven days since the Prophet declared James and Lily dead. Eleven days since Peter's trembling little performance painted Sirius Black a traitor.

Remus had barely eaten since.

His body already ached — the moon tugging at his bones, his blood, his breath — but the Shack had always been where he went. The only place he trusted himself to crack and only hurt himself.

He pushed the door open, expecting dust and silence.

Instead, he froze.

A stag stood in the dimness — tall, proud, antlers like pale branches catching the moonlight through the broken window.

Impossible.

Remus's breath hitched painfully. "James?"

Before he could move, a massive black dog barreled into his legs, nearly knocking him over with familiar enthusiasm. Padfoot - Sirius.

"Sirius?" Remus whispered, voice cracking. "No—no, you can't—this isn't—"

The dog barked once — sharp, urgent. Prongs stepped closer, antlers lowering slightly in something like apology or greeting. The world tilted beneath Remus's feet.

Alive.

James was alive. With Sirius. Together.

His voice broke. "I—I saw the ruins. The Prophet said—Peter said—James, you were dead. Lily—Harry—everyone—"

Prongs nudged his shoulder with surprising gentleness. Padfoot pressed his head under Remus's trembling hand, whining.

Footsteps thudded on the old staircase.

Remus jerked around—

James Potter —breathing, warm, alive — still mid transformation, hair sticking up worse than ever.

"Moony!" he gasped. "Thank Merlin — we were starting to think you'd bloody moved to Poland."

Remus stared, utterly unable to breathe.

Sirius shifted seamlessly beside him — fur rippling, bones reforming — until the man he loved like a brother stood at his side, alive and solid and heartbreakingly real.

He looked younger than Remus remembered. Tired, but younger.

"Sirius?" Remus whispered. "James? How—how are you—?"

Sirius opened his mouth. "There's a long story, mate, and you're allowed to punch me after—"

But the words died on his tongue.

The moon rose.

A silver beam spilled across the Shack's floorboards, and agony struck Remus like lightning through his veins.

His knees buckled. A strangled cry tore from his throat. Prongs stamped the floor, frantic. Sirius grabbed Remus's shoulders.

"Moony, look at me—listen—James and I are here—we've got you—"

Remus's vision blurred, fangs forcing themselves from his gums as his skeleton convulsed.

He heard James transform beside him, hooves scraping desperately. Padfoot's growl vibrated through the floor — not at him, but for him.

"Easy, Moony," Sirius choked, already shifting, fur bursting from his skin. "We're right here. Just like before. You're not alone."

The wolf broke through him in a white-hot wave of pain.

The last thing Remus saw before the world dissolved into fur and moonlight was—

James's antlers lowering protectively. Padfoot circling him in tight, anchoring loops.

His family. Alive.

Pain tore the man away. The wolf burst forth.

His paws hit the rotted floorboards of the Shack and he growled, low and murderous and angry. Prongs and Padfoot circled him carefully, giving low warning signals.

But the wolf's hackles were already raised.

He was angry.

Angry at the moon. Angry at something he didn't understand. Angry at the foreign scents he could smell on them—fear, grief, confusion.

And underneath it all—

Something else. Down the tunnel. Close. Too close.

A scent he did not know. Bright. Sharp. Powerful. Dangerous.

The wolf snarled, teeth bared, snapping toward the passage leading out of the Shack. Padfoot jumped in front of him, barking frantically.

The wolf knocked him aside.

Prongs tried next, antlers lowered. The wolf shouldered past him, claws scraping on wood as he bolted for the familiar corridor.

The intruder scent was growing stronger.

His territory. Now tainted by strangers.

The wolf roared and surged forward with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling.

"MOONY!" Sirius's barked behind him, half-human this time, breathless and terrified. "STOP—PLEASE—!"

But the wolf did not know "STOP." The wolf knew kill.

He thundered into the tunnel—

And the scent sharped all at once.

A threat.

Lily gasped, clutching Harry tightly and stumbling backward.

James skidded into view behind him, still half-transformed, shouting, "KAGOME, LILY, MOVE!"

Kagome did not move.

The wolf snarled, lips peeling back, jaws open wide—

She stepped forward - right into the wolf's path.

The wolf roared at her, enraged by her audacity. How dare this small, glowing thing stand against him?

Padfoot and Prongs tried to grab him from behind—useless. Puny humans.

He threw them off with a violent jerk of his body and sprang toward her—

The woman's hand dipped into her pocket. A beaded necklace flashed. Her voice cut through the tunnel with a chant he didn't recognize.

The beads shot into the air. The wolf felt something seize around his throat. Then the magic settled around him with brutal force.

"OSUWARI!"

He hit the ground so hard the stone cracked beneath him.

He snarled, thrashed, claws gouging the earth, eyes wild with fury—

"OSUWARI!"

The necklace glowed like chained lightning around his neck. He hit the ground again.

Growling deep and savage, he tried again to rise—Kagome stepped closer, unfazed. Surrounded in a pink-blue light that prickled his skin.

"That's enough," she whispered.

The wolf snarled, jaws inches from her hand—he would have ripped her apart, torn bone from flesh—But the spell held him immobile.

Kagome knelt, unshaken, and placed a hand on the side of his face.

Warmth pulsed softly between her fingers—gentle, warm, utterly foreign.

The wolf froze. Not in submission—In confusion.

The growl rumbled out of him like a deflating storm.

He lowered his head, trembling, panting.

Sirius was suddenly there, hands on Kagome's shoulders, voice shaking. "Kagome—bloody hell—he could've killed you—!"

She shook her head. "He wouldn't."

James collapsed against the tunnel wall, sweating. "He was about to tear your limbs off!"

Lily backed away, clutching Harry, her breathing sharp and fast. "Thank Merlin for those beads…."

Kagome gently stroked the wolf's neck as the anger bled out of him, leaving only exhaustion.

"He's scared," she murmured. "He just… didn't know I didn't want to hurt him."

The wolf's eyes finally slipped shut.

And he calmed down.

Chapter Text

Kagome yawned as she spoke the incantation again, voice steady: "Osuwari."

The Kotodama glowed faintly and Moony — Remus — thudded onto the floorboards once more with a disgruntled growl.

She winced in sympathy. "That one wasn't as hard as the last," she murmured, half-apologetic, half-resigned.

It had been ages since she'd last used that word. A lifetime ago, really. She had expected sadness. A sting. Maybe even a sense of betrayal toward old memories, old promises, old pains. But all she felt was a soft, warm thread of nostalgia. Like leafing through a chapter you've already finished.

She'd brought the Kotodama necklace as a keepsake, nothing more — a reminder of who she had been, of the boy who had been so important to her. A trinket of a closed story.

She hadn't imagined she would ever use it again.

But looking at the sleeping wolf now — contained, safe, no longer a danger to himself or the people waiting anxiously in the cottage — Kagome felt quietly grateful. At least Remus wasn't hurt. Well… aside from the floor-kissing. That was unavoidable.

She sighed softly and leaned her head against Sirius's shoulder again.

He immediately shifted, making room for her, his hand brushing lightly down her arm in a silent check — Are you alright?

She answered by curling closer. His breath eased.

James and Lily had already gone back to the cabin, Harry fussing and rubbing his tired little eyes. They'd done what they came for: shown Remus they were alive, that the world hadn't ended, that his pack—his family—hadn't been stolen from him after all.

Now all that was left was waiting.

Waiting for the moon to sink. Waiting for Remus to wake human again. Waiting to explain everything that had happened — and everything that would still come.

Kagome exhaled slowly, letting her eyes drift shut as the cold November air crept around them. Sirius's warmth beside her was steady, grounding, the only thing keeping the chill from settling into her bones.

"He'll be alright," she murmured, more to reassure Sirius than herself.

Sirius wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in.

"I know," he said quietly. "But I hate seeing him like this."

She smiled faintly.

The Shack creaked around them, old and familiar to the Marauders, eerily new to her. Moony snored under the Kotodama's hold. Sirius kept watching both of them like he could protect them from the moon itself.

Kagome rested her cheek against his coat, eyes fluttering shut.

Sirius spent a good long while talking—really talking—in that rambling, nostalgic way he only ever slipped into when the moon hung heavy and old memories pressed close. He told Kagome about Hogwarts, about the infectious thrill of mischief, about the endless nights spent plotting with James, and the even longer nights spent bent over books, parchment, and half-burned candles as the two of them taught themselves how to become Animagi.

He avoided Peter's name entirely. Kagome noticed, but didn't press.

She liked listening to him like this. Not the Sirius from the books, haunted and hardened. Not Kuro, scarred but healing. But the boy he once was, the teenager she was getting to know—wild, brilliant, reckless, kind. The pieces that made the man she had grown to love.

They watched as Remus's body shifted back, fur receding, bones cracking and reforming, the wolf shrinking until only Remus remained—limp on the floor, breathing shallowly under her spell.

Sirius exhaled, shoulders loosening. "I should've asked to go back further—back to Hogwarts," he muttered while they waited for Remus to stir. "Would've been a bloody sight easier with you around."

Kagome blinked at him. "And how would I even get into Hogwarts? I'm not a witch."

"We'd have kicked Peter out and hidden you in our dorm." He paused. "Or just in my bed."

Kagome went scarlet. Sirius tried not to look too smug, but at this point, Kagome knew him too well not to notice..

They hadn't had the chance to go further than kisses—not with Voldemort, time travel, and near-death experiences crawling in their pockets. And Sirius knew Kagome wasn't exactly worldly in that area. But the way he looked at her…

It made her want.

She nudged his arm lightly, recovering enough to tease: "As if you weren't swarmed by girls back then. Just my luck to fall for someone too dashingly charming."

"I'll have you know," he said, feigning indignation, "none of them were you."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to something wicked and fond. "I'd have walked you straight into the Great Hall and announced my bachelor days were officially over."

Her breath caught. She knew he meant it.

Before either of them could say more, Remus stirred.

Sirius straightened. "Looks like Moony's waking up."

Kagome released a slow breath, fingers brushing Sirius's hand for courage.

Remus was still unsteady on his feet, swaying like he'd been spun around too fast. Sirius stood on one side of him, rubbing his back gently. The morning after were always the hardest.

"Alright, Moony," Sirius said, tone far too chipper for someone with dirt in his hair and a bite mark on his boot, "let's get you out of this delightful shack before you pass out again. I'd rather not have to drag your scrawny arse all the way to the cabin."

Remus blinked at him blearily. "…Padfoot?"

"Yes, that's my name," Sirius muttered theatrically. "Your memory hasn't been entirely scrambled, marvellous."

"I thought…" Remus rubbed his eyes again, his fingers brushing the subduing beads with faint horror. "I thought I saw James last night."

Sirius grinned. "You did."

"And Lily."

"She was here too," Kagome added gently.

Remus stared at her—pale, exhausted, incredulous. "Who are you?"

"Your newest mistress, my beautiful Kagome" Sirius teased. "Honestly, Moony, you should be nicer to someone who spent the entire night keeping you dog training so that you won't hurt yourself."

Kagome elbowed him. "Sirius."

"What?" he replied, feigning innocence. "You know, Moony, for someone with enhanced senses, you really ought to be better at distinguishing 'friend' from 'snack.' Nearly took my hand off."

Remus glared weakly. "I—I didn't—did I?"

"Like an overgrown angry hamster," Sirius said brightly. "A hamster with fangs and a personal vendetta."

Kagome elbowed him again. "Be nice."

"I am nice," Sirius muttered. "I didn't call him a wolverine."

Remus stared between the two of them, brow furrowed. He was clearly trying to assemble the 'mysterious woman' in the equation but didn't have the strength for interrogation yet. His gaze drifted back to the beads around his neck.

"Those are…" He swallowed. "They forced me down—every time I tried to get up."

Kagome offered a small, apologetic smile. "It was the safest option. You were… determined."

Sirius snorted. "That's one word for it."

The walk back toward the cabin was steady but slow, Remus moving like each step needed to be negotiated with his bones first. Kagome walked close behind Sirius, letting him play the part of a human guardrail as he guided Remus through the tunnel.

Sirius kept talking—light, teasing nonsense—because silence would've been unbearable.

"Mind the dip there, Moony. Would hate for you to trip and make me look like I've manhandled you."

Remus gave him a look that could have curdled tea. "I'm not invalid."

"No, but you are extraordinarily floppy after a full moon."

"That's hardly—"

"Floppy," Sirius repeated solemnly. "Positively boneless."

Kagome bit her lip to hide a smile. Sirius threw her a wink, pleased at her reaction—and Remus noticed.

The wolfish green eyes flicked between them, lingering a beat too long on their joined hands. Kagome felt a warm prickle at the back of her neck. She was still getting used to Sirius' openness about their relationship.

Sirius felt the stare and, of course, took the opportunity to cause trouble.

"Oh, right," he said breezily, "I suppose you're wondering about us."

Kagome raised an eyebrow. Us? Here we go.

Remus cleared his throat, awkwardly polite. "It had crossed my mind."

Sirius puffed up like a proud kneazle. "Well, Kagome and I— we're, ah—quite serious."

Kagome tried not to laugh. Quite serious. He knew exactly what he'd done.

Remus blinked. "Right. Serious."

"No, no—Sirius," Kagome corrected sweetly, deadpan. "There's a difference."

Sirius shot her a scandalised look. She simply smiled at him innocently.

"Well, yes, that too," Sirius floundered. "But also—serious. As in… proper. Established. Solid as— er—solid as anything."

Kagome tilted her head. "Go on."

"Oh Merlin," Remus muttered under his breath.

Sirius, however, was fully committed.

"We're—attached," he continued, flustered but determined. "Firmly. Entirely. Quite unwaveringly. There are… understandings. Plans. Not plans plans, mind you—unless, well, I mean, one day perhaps—"

Kagome's eyes sparkled. She decided to indulge him a little further. "You should clarify, just so Remus isn't confused."

Remus looked anything but confused. He looked like a man witnessing a train derailment in slow motion.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, tripping over his own tongue. "Right—yes—well, we aren't yet— that is, we haven't— but we could— theoretically— if she wanted— which, frankly, she very well might—"

Kagome stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Sirius pointed at her. "You're enjoying this."

"A little," she admitted.

He glared half-heartedly, colour high on his cheeks. "What I meant, Moony, before I was so cruelly mocked, is that Kagome and I are… committed."

There. He'd finally found the right word.

Remus's expression softened—genuine, warm, and still faintly bewildered. "I'm glad," he said quietly. "Truly."

Sirius straightened as if Remus had knighted him.

Kagome squeezed Sirius's hand. He looked at her like she'd handed him the moon.

They continued through the tunnel, but Remus glanced at her again—longer this time, gentler.

Sirius nudged him lightly. "Alright then, Moony. Spit it out."

"I wasn't—"

"You were staring."

Kagome snorted under her breath.

Remus sighed. "You startled me, that's all. I… thought I'd lost everyone. And now you turn up with someone who—"

He hesitated.

Kagome finished softly, "—wasn't part of your world before."

Remus nodded.

Sirius squeezed her hand again, thumb brushing her knuckles. "She is now."

There was no dramatic declaration in his tone this time. No stumbling, no over-explanation. Just certainty. And Remus accepted it without question.

They reached the ladder then, moonlight spilling faintly through the trapdoor above.

"Come on," Sirius said, voice gentler now. "James and Lily are waiting."

"And Harry," Kagome added.

Remus's expression flickered—something like fear, something like longing.

Chapter Text

Lily hadn't had a moment to breathe. Not properly. Not since the world ended, twice, in one night.

She sat at the tiny kitchen table of the safehouse, Harry asleep in her arms, his breath warm against her collarbone. The lamp in the cottage cast a soft golden circle around them, but the light felt foreign — like a borrowed calm pressed over a storm that hadn't finished raging.

Her hands were steady only because she forced them to be. Because Harry needed her to be.

Less than a fortnight ago her life changed in a way that had nothing and everything to do with Voldemort. In the early evening, she watched, longing, the children going out for trick-or-treat, dressed in their little costumes, carrying smiles and dreams. For a moment, she let herself forget about the War, about the chaos, about the Order. She was just a woman, a wife, a mother, enjoying Halloween with her little family.

She could already picture James and Harry in matching costumes, going from door to door, asking for treats. Sirius would probably be there too - she doubted he would miss these special occasions with his godson. Then came the desperate slams on the door.

Sirius stood there - a place he wasn't supposed to find - with a woman she never met before.

In the middle of a War, Sirius was bringing a stranger to her home.

The woman, Kagome, who looked so young at first glance, did what many seasoned Wizards avoided. She stood up to Voldemort. Quiet, frightened, determined Kagome, stepping into the Killing Curse as if she'd done it a thousand times. For a family who wasn't hers, for a world she didn't belong to.

That day, she was meant to die. Today… she was alive. Harry was alive. James was alive.

Somehow, Sirius — her dear, reckless Sirius — had returned from a future that should never have existed, carrying with him a woman who defied magic itself.

Lily closed her eyes, trying to gather the shambles of her thoughts into something coherent.

She looked down at her son, his little fingers curled around her blouse. There was a small cut on his forehead — almost shaped like a lightning bolt — still red, still angry-looking… but harmless. Because Kagome had pulled the curse out of him with nothing but her bare hands and whatever strange, blessed magic ran through her blood.

Lily brushed a thumb over Harry's hair.

"Safe," she whispered to him. "You're safe."

Her voice trembled.

The truth was, Lily didn't know what they were anymore. Alive, yes — but according to the entire wizarding world, they were dead. Their home was gone.

And Sirius…

Lily had always known he'd die for James, but she had never imagined him stepping through time — literally — just for a chance to save them.

And Kagome… Lily didn't know how to make sense of her. Nothing she ever learned mentioned the existence of someone like her. Her magic felt nothing like wandcasting — it almost resonated with her soul. The moment she raised her barrier, strong enough to block a curse no one ever survived before, she felt her determination - a warmth that didn't belong to their world.

Lily opened her eyes again, gazing at the bedroom door where Sirius had taken Kagome when they arrived. He hovered like a worried shadow for hours, checking her temperature, her breathing, her burns. Every five minutes. As if he'd blink and lose her.

She'd never seen Sirius look at anyone like that — soft, terrified, utterly undone.

And James… Her sweet, idiotic husband was pretending to be cheerful for her sake, but Lily could see the fracture lines behind his smile. Losing Pettigrew in his mind was one thing. Having Peter alive, lying on the front page of the Prophet, was another wound entirely.

Lily held Harry tighter.

They had survived the impossible, but the future Sirius described still lurked in the shadows.

Lily breathed in through her nose, slow and steady, trying to calm her nerves. Time had bent. Magic had reshaped itself. The world believed them dead.

But they were here. Together. Alive.

A creak outside drew her attention — footsteps approaching the front door, the soft murmur of Sirius's laugh and James's familiar groan.

The door creaked softly, followed by the thump of boots and low voices. Lily lifted her head as James stepped into the kitchen, scarf half-off, cheeks pink from the cold. He set a basket of food on the table, then leaned over Lily to kiss her temple. "How's Harry?"

"Sleeping," she whispered.

His smile was soft — weary, but genuine — and his hand drifted instinctively to their son's back.

Sirius came in behind him, tired but alert, holding hands with an equally exhausted Kagome, and Remus trailed after — still wrapped in a blanket, still dazed, looking as though reality kept shifting every time he blinked.

Lily gave Remus a small, warm smile. He managed a groggy nod and sank into the sofa.

Kagome drifted toward them with that gentle, almost hesitant grace she carried everywhere. She greeted Lily with a soft smile before her attention melted toward Harry—her expression warming instantly. She brushed the baby's tiny hand with a feather-light touch, careful not to disturb him.

Lily watched her.

Really watched her.

There was something about Kagome—something she still couldn't quite name. It wasn't the magic, though that alone defied logic. It wasn't even the courage, though Kagome had thrown herself between her child and death itself.

It was the way she looked at them.

Not as legends. Not as symbols in some grand story. Not as burdens or obligations.

But as people she was quietly, fiercely glad were alive.

Lily had seen gratitude before—felt it herself countless times. But this was different. This was someone who had crossed worlds, futures and impossibilities, and yet seemed profoundly relieved simply to see Harry sleep peacefully in his mother's arms.

Lily's gaze flicked between Sirius and Kagome.

She had never known Sirius Black to revolve around anyone but James. Maybe Remus and Peter, but not like this. Yet here he stood—hovering near Kagome without seeming to realise it, watching her with a mixture of awe and tenderness. A man who had once been all swagger and bravado now seemed anchored, steadied, softened around her.

It wasn't merely affection.

It was devotion.

And Kagome—though quiet about it—leaned into that devotion with the familiarity of someone who had already chosen him long before the rest of them understood what that meant.

Lily lowered her eyes to Harry, stroking his hair as he slept.

Kagome nearly died that night, for him, for them, for a timeline she wasn't even born into.

Lily felt a tightness swell in her chest—a knot of gratitude so deep she wasn't sure she'd ever fully voice it. And perhaps she didn't need to. Kagome didn't seem like the type who acted for thanks.

However, Kagome had given up an entire world to stand with them in theirs. Wasn't forced to be there - it had been her choice; then Lily would make sure she never felt like an outsider in it. Never felt alone. Never felt like a stranger passing through.

Lily watched as Kagome moved toward Sirius - exhaling the same devotion towards him, soft steps and tired eyes, but somehow still managing to smile at him. Sirius reached for her immediately — not quite touching at first, just hovering, as if afraid she might fall apart if he breathed wrong.

"Come on," he murmured, guiding her lightly toward the bed. "You need proper rest before you collapse again."

Kagome huffed, poking his chest. "You're older than me, you know. You should be the one sleeping."

Sirius blinked at her, affronted. "By two years!"

"Exactly," Kagome said, already lowering herself onto the pillows. "Elderly people need more rest."

James choked on a laugh. Sirius spluttered.

"Elderly?! I'm twenty-one!"

"Very elderly," Kagome said solemnly, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Remus stared at the exchange, then slowly turned to James with the expression of a man trying to determine whether he'd hit his head harder than he thought.

James just shrugged, grinning. "Don't look at me. I'm trying to figure out if this is the same Padfoot we grew up with."

Remus blinked again. "He's… letting her call him elderly."

"Without hexing her," Lily added.

"Or trying to hex me for laughing," James said.

They all paused, collectively staring at Sirius, who was tucking the blanket around Kagome like she was something fragile and precious.

Then he brushed a kiss against her temple and murmured something Lily couldn't quite catch. Kagome's cheeks warmed with a faint blush, the kind that appeared before she even realized it was there, and she shifted, lifting the blanket just enough to make space at her side.

Sirius hesitated for all of a heartbeat — long enough to confirm she truly meant it — then slipped onto the narrow bed beside her. Kagome nestled in without thinking, her head finding his shoulder as though it was something she'd done a thousand times.

Within minutes, their breathing synced into the slow, even rhythm of sleep — Kagome curled gently toward him, Sirius slumped protectively toward her.

Two soft snores rose in tandem.

James stared. Remus blinked. Lily pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. It was almost ridiculous how natural it looked — as if they'd been falling asleep like that for years.

James blew out a breath. "He's utterly besotted, isn't he?"

"Completely," Lily murmured, warmth blooming quietly behind her ribs.

Silence settled between them, warm and domestic — or as close to domestic as one could get hiding in an abandoned cottage after surviving a war.

Remus had taken the couch, in a dire need of rest himself.

Her eyes drifted to the bag near the fireplace — where Sirius had tucked away the books Kagome brought. He hadn't even tried to hide the fact he didn't want her touching them.

"James," she said quietly, "why won't you let me read the books?"

His reaction was immediate — shoulders tensing, breath catching.

"Lily…" he began, already sounding defeated.

"No," she said gently, but firmly. "If they contain what's meant to happen — what did happen — then I need to know. We need every bit of information we can gather if we're going to keep Harry safe. Kagome took the risk of bringing them here, we can't ignore them."

He dragged a hand through his already unruly hair, eyes tight with something she rarely saw in him: dread.

"It's not the magic, Lils," he muttered. "Not the war. Not even the prophecy."

"Then what is it?"

James swallowed. Avoided her gaze for a while until he realized she wasn't dropping the matter.

"It's your sister."

Lily stilled.

"What?" Her voice cracked sharper than she intended. "Petunia?"

He nodded, jaw clenched. "Sirius told me. And Kagome confirmed it. Then I read the book. Couldn't go past the first few pages. They…" he stalled, "left Harry with her. After we died — well, after we were supposed to die."

Lily felt something hollow open up inside her chest — an old wound she thought to be healed even when Petunia refused to attend her wedding..

"What did she do to him?" she whispered, barely audible.

James shut his eyes — once, twice — as if visualising it physically hurt him.

"They didn't treat him like family, Lily." His voice was soft. Apologetic. As if saying it made it more real. "They didn't treat him like anything at all. He was… unwanted. Unloved. Forced to sleep in a cupboard. Fed scraps. Ignored. Compared to that blasted cousin of his at every turn."

Lily pressed Harry closer, tears burning hotly at the corners of her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "No, she wouldn't…" But she knew. She knew James wouldn't lie to her about this. She knew Petunia's bitterness.

"She did," James said quietly. "And I don't want you reading that. I don't want you seeing your sister doing that to our son."

A tear slipped down Lily's cheek before she could stop it.

James reached out immediately, cupping her face with gentle fingers. "Lils, it's not that I think you can't handle it. You're braver than any of us. It's just…" His voice broke. "You shouldn't have to. Not when we can still change it. We are still here, Harry won't be alone this time."

Lily lowered her forehead to his, breathing through the ache in her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For trying to shield me."

"I'd shield you from the whole bloody world if I could," he murmured.

She kissed his knuckles, grounding them both. "We'll make a new future for him. For all of us."

James nodded, eyes bright with determination.

Just then, the door creaked open. She didn't realize how much time had passed.

Sirius stood there, breathless and damp-haired - and maybe a bit flushed. "Kagome's awake and wants to talk. Something about time-flow consistency and 'fixed canon events.' I didn't understand half of it."

James groaned. "Brilliant. More lectures from the time-traveling priestess."

Sirius glared half-heartedly. "She makes more sense than half the Hogwarts staff, mate."

Lily rose, gently handing Harry to James. "Let's hear her out."

Because if they were going to survive this rewritten timeline — without prophecies, without scripts, without destiny dictating their every move — they would need every scrap of Kagome's knowledge. And every ounce of courage left in them.

Lily stepped into the small sitting room. Kagome was already up, still tired but awake enough to sit at the table with a steaming cup of tea Sirius must have conjured. Remus sat across from her, blanket draped over his shoulders, hair still damp from the makeshift wash James had bullied him into.

He looked shaken. Haunted. Almost not believing his own eyes.

Kagome offered him a polite, warm smile. "Good morning, Remus."

Remus blinked, trying to gather himself. "I… good morning." His eyes flicked around the room, taking in Lily, James, and Harry, and Sirius hovering like a shadow at Kagome's back. "I'm assuming last night wasn't a dream."

"No, mate," Sirius drawled, dropping into a seat with a thump. "You really did try to maul us. And she"—he nodded toward Kagome—"really did sit you flat on your arse with a single word."

Kagome flushed slightly. "It was necessary."

Remus gave her a bewildered look. "I beg your pardon, but… what exactly are you?"

Lily winced at the bluntness, but Kagome didn't seem offended. If anything, she looked understanding.

"I'm a miko," she explained calmly. "A priestess, I suppose. You can say magic comes from the holy energy existing within my soul - reiki. It isn't the same as your magic, but it interacts with it." She paused, choosing her words with care. "That's why I could stop Voldemort's curse. And why your… condition reacted to me the way it did."

Remus tensed, shoulders curling slightly inward.

Kagome shook her head, firm but kind. "You didn't attack because you're dangerous. You attacked because you felt threatened."

Remus's voice cracked. "I would never—never—hurt them."

"You didn't," Kagome said quickly. "And you won't - not while I'm here. The beads were just to keep you still until you could think again."

James tried not to smirk. "Brilliant view from my angle, by the way. Never seen Moony faceplant that hard."

Remus groaned. "Perfect. Humiliation to start the day."

Sirius snorted. "Could've been worse. She could've said it twice."

"I did," Kagome mumbled, cheeks pinking. "He kept getting up."

Lily bit back a laugh. Remus looked like he wasn't sure whether to thank Kagome or crawl under the table and stay there forever.

Kagome reached for her notebook on the table, flipping it open. She turned to Sirius and let him speak. "Moony… you deserve to know everything. You're part of this." They met his gaze. "And we need your help."

His eyes softened at that—at being needed rather than feared.

"You must have read about the attack," Kagome continued softly. "Voldemort came to kill them. He cast the curse. And I… changed the outcome."

Remus frowned. "Changed?"

"I shared it," she said simply. "The idea came from a myth I've heard about back home, The Forlorn Hope, but it's not important right now. I took half the curse directed to Harry and reflected the rest. It was enough to destroy his body for now." She showed him the healed skin on her arms. "But not his soul."

The colour drained from his face. "But how?"

The word hung heavy in the air.

James stiffened beside Lily. "Seems he split his soul in several parts. As long as at least one of them remains intact, he can come back."

Remus nodded once. Slowly. "I think I've read something about it."

"Then you understand," Kagome said, tapping a page with tidy notes and diagrams. "Voldemort isn't truly gone. And… there's something else. I'm not from this world."

Then Sirius proceeded to give Remus the same explanation he gave James and Lily, about the veil, the books, Kagome's world and their time hop. Lily noticed, however, he didn't mention the future that waited for Remus had they not changed everything.

Kagome turned the notebook so he could see. "When Sirius asked me to come with him, I decided to map the possible consequences of messing with time continuity." Her finger traced a line of dates and events. "There are dozens of theories regarding time-travel, but the one closest to what's happening is the fixed canon events."

Lily felt James go still beside her. Kagome continued.

"Destiny has some events that will happen no matter what we do. It's even possible that something we do actually triggers them. For example," she pointed at a square with the words 'Sirius takes the blame', "somehow, Sirius will always be accused of consorting with Voldemort. Originally, he goes to Azkaban for having killed Peter Pettigrew and a dozen Muggles. Now, it's Peter who's accusing Sirius of selling James and Lily out to Voldemort."

"So," Kagome continued, meeting Remus's wide, tired eyes, "we've changed the tragedy, changed how we got there, but not the event itself. We can divert it—but we can't ignore it."

The room fell silent.

Remus exhaled shakily. "And what does time expect of us now?"

Kagome closed the notebook gently.

"To watch what comes next," she said quietly. "And make sure it goes the way we intend."

Chapter Text

Researching time-travel has proven to be harder than actually living it.

During her shard-hunting days, Kagome never once paused to consider the possible consequences of being a girl from modern Tokyo wandering about the Sengoku Jidai. She had been too busy surviving demons, protecting the jewel, and keeping Inuyasha from doing anything catastrophically stupid. Changing the course of history had seemed almost… irrelevant. Everything had been life-or-death now, not centuries later.

But this was different. She wasn't just minding her own fate anymore. She was minding theirs.

Now, facing the reality that she stood in an entirely different dimension — decades before the point she'd left, assuming these two worlds even followed the same rules of time continuity — Kagome realised she had to consider every step. Here, they couldn't know how much had shifted until years passed… and if they wanted even a shred of control over the future, they needed to be prepared. Every decision they made now might echo for who knew how long.

Remus's quiet voice cut through her thoughts.

"Do I die?" he asked, hands clasped too tightly over the table. "In the books, I mean. Do I… do I make it?" His eyes searched hers with a terrible mixture of hope and dread. "Do I survive the war?"

Kagome's chest tightened. She looked at Sirius, who also avoided Remus' gaze. It felt cruel, having this knowledge. This burden. And she knew she couldn't lie. Not to Remus. Not when the truth mattered so much.

Kagome inhaled slowly.

"No," she finally said. "None of the Marauders survived."

Remus's breath hitched, his expression flickering — grief, shock, denial, then something hollow settling behind his eyes. He had spent a lifetime despising the thing that made him different… but no one ever truly prepared themselves for the idea of their own end.

"You were brave," she said softly, her voice careful, steady. "You fought until the end. Against Voldemort, against the Death Eaters…" Her fingers curled over his hand. "Even against yourself."

Remus blinked rapidly, throat working as though the words physically caught there.

"But Lily and James weren't supposed to be alive now," Kagome continued, gentle but firm. "And Sirius…" she glanced at him, "was meant to lose everything. But that didn't happen. Because we changed fate once."

Her eyes lifted, bright with quiet resolve.

"And we'll change it again."

Lily stepped forward first, laying her hand gently over Kagome's. James followed, jaw tight with that familiar brand of Potter stubbornness that had landed him in more detentions than she could count. Sirius's hand came last — warm, steady, sealing the circle with a quiet breath that sounded perilously close to hope.

Four hands rested over Remus's, a silent pact made without a single spell.

Kagome hadn't crossed worlds just to watch another future fall apart. And Sirius hadn't given up his one chance at peace simply to stand by and let history repeat itself.

Kagome flipped through her notebook, searching for the section on immutable events — the ones time might stubbornly preserve no matter how hard they pushed against it. She had spent weeks drafting theories before following Sirius here, trying to prepare for consequences nobody could truly predict.

Something slid loose between the pages. A small photograph fluttered out and landed on the table.

James caught it before it hit the floor, brow furrowing the moment he saw the image.
"Hold on," he said slowly, suspicion tightening his voice. "Are these people wearing… Hogwarts robes? You said there wasn't any magic in your world."

Kagome didn't fault him for the edge in his tone. Distrust was simply prudence, after everything they'd lived through.

"It's the Harry Potter book club from my library," she explained, brushing a thumb over the picture. "The library I used to work at. Every Halloween we held a 'sorting ceremony' for new members. People answered a quiz and got placed into Houses. My brother — here on the left — was sorted into Slytherin."

Before James could respond, Sirius leaned in with theatrical indignation.

"Can you believe he called me ugly?" he said, scandalised. "I still haven't recovered."

Kagome snorted. "To be fair, he said your Animagus form looked like the ugliest dog breed he'd ever seen. He wouldn't say that if he saw the real you."

"I'm just as dashing in both forms, thank you very much," Sirius declared, flicking his hair back.

Kagome couldn't help laughing. She squeezed his hand under the table — a small gesture, gratitude for cutting the tension before it soured.

"I was sorted into Gryffindor," she added casually.

"You never told me that," Sirius said, eyes lighting with mischief.

"And inflate your ego even further?" she teased back. "The world would implode."

James swallowed, eyes fixed on the photograph as if it were something alien — something impossible. He finally tore his gaze from it and looked at Kagome, suspicion softened into sober curiosity.

"What else," he asked quietly, "did those books say about us?"

Kagome hesitated before she spoke — not because she wished to keep anything hidden, but because so much of what she knew was never meant for their ears.

"The books… they're all from Harry's perspective," she began slowly. "He learns about all of you as he grows up, mostly from people who knew you. Your reputations — how you're portrayed — depend entirely on whose memories he sees."

James raised a brow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Kagome said carefully, "some people remembered you as heroes… and others didn't."

She drew a steadying breath. "Severus Snape, for example—"

Lily stiffened instantly.

James caught it at once. "Lils?"

She shook her head, but her jaw tightened.

Kagome continued, voice gentle, "Snape remembered James, Sirius, and the Marauders as bullies. Mischief-makers who targeted him. His memories become one of the major sources Harry sees later on. And because of that… Harry eventually names one of his children after him."

James stared at her. Then blinked. Then frowned hard.

"What? Snivellus? You're telling me he did something that actually warranted that?"

Kagome froze. "Well… that's debatable."

James leaned forward, suspicion sharpening. "Let's debate then."

Kagome swallowed. "I didn't mean—"

Sirius stepped in smoothly, his tone more deliberate than usual.

"What she means is that Snivellus always fancied himself the victim in every story involving us. Because that's how he chose to see things. And the books tend to take his memories… rather literally."

James's eyes narrowed. "And why would he remember us so badly?"

Sirius exhaled through his nose. "Because he had a… fixation. On Lily."

Lily's head snapped up. "Fixation?"

Sirius winced. "Obsessive might be the more accurate word."

James went utterly still. A dangerous sort of still.

Kagome realised delicacy was urgently required.

"From Snape's point of view," she began carefully, "it was James who 'took' Lily from him. He… loved her. Deeply. Unhealthily. His Patronus is the same as hers. And later, when Harry arrives at Hogwarts, Snape protects him, in a very disturbing and confusing way — but only because of Lily. Not because he cared for Harry himself."

Sirius scoffed. "He protected him out of guilt."

James's voice dropped low, barely controlled. "And what exactly did he do to feel guilty for?"

Kagome exchanged a glance with Sirius — a silent should I? He gave a tense nod.

She crossed the room and retrieved a copy of Deathly Hallows from her bag. Remus visibly braced himself,

Kagome sat back down and spoke quietly, opening the chapter to show them how the memories were described.

"Snape overheard Trelawney's prophecy. The prophecy about Voldemort and Harry. He passed what he heard to Voldemort."

James swore under his breath. Lily's fingers tightened around Harry.

"But," Kagome continued, "when he realised the prophecy put Lily in danger too, he panicked. He begged Voldemort to spare her. Only her. Voldemort didn't care. He then went to Dumbledore, but…"

Lily's voice cut in. "He would let my son die if Voldemort kept me alive."

Kagome looked at Lily, steady but soft, acknowledging the quiet devastation of learning the truth about someone she once considered her friend.

"He regretted it for the rest of his life," Kagome said softly. "But that doesn't erase what he chose. Dumbledore never let him forget either."

Lily's green eyes burned — fury, heartbreak, and something coldly resolute all tangled together.

James looked between his wife and Kagome, brow furrowed. "And the books… sided with Snape's memories?"

"Not sided," Kagome corrected quickly, shaking her head. "But his memories ended up shaping a lot of the narrative. Readers saw what Harry saw. And some—especially people who admired Snape—saw you the way he did."

Sirius scoffed. "Merlin help us."

Kagome continued gently, "Others found his feelings… romantic. Loving someone for so long, protecting Harry because of you."

Lily's lips pressed into a hard line. "So strangers in another world debate my marriage like it's a classroom exercise?"

Kagome winced. "You aren't seen as real people there. You're characters. People created thousands of interpretations—some good, some awful. They… argued about all of you. Constantly."

Sirius huffed a laugh. "Of course we were controversial. Just what my ego needed — fans and haters."

Kagome nudged him with her elbow, but a quiet smile tugged at her lips. His humour broke the tension, exactly when it needed breaking.

Then she lifted the photo again, letting it settle in her hands.

"But now," she said softly, "none of that matters anymore. Because this is real. This is your life. And it isn't being filtered through someone else's memories or opinions or regrets." She looked between the four Marauders and Lily. "You're alive. You get to choose who you are."

Silence fell — but a gentler one this time.

Lily exhaled slowly, the rigid line of her shoulders easing, curiosity and gratitude softening her expression.

James slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. Kagome felt sorry for them - especially Lily. Losing the memory of a friend sometimes hurts more than death itself.

At some point, the men — the remaining Marauders — lingered in the kitchen, voices low and a kettle clinking as someone put water on for tea. Lily asked Kagome to join her in the small bedroom to help tend to Harry.

"You know so much about us," Lily said as she changed Harry's nappy, her voice soft and steady, "but we know so little about you."

Kagome shifted, hands folded in front of her. "There isn't much to say, really. I grew up at the shrine I lived in before coming here — my mum and brother moved out years ago, so it was only me. I went to university, graduated, and worked in a library for the past ten years." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "My life… it was quiet."

Kagome wasn't ready to talk about the other part of her life yet.

Lily glanced up, reading more than Kagome said. "A quiet life doesn't make you ordinary. And it certainly didn't stop you from doing the impossible."

Kagome blinked. "Changing the future?"

Lily huffed a soft laugh. "Making Sirius behave. I've never seen him so settled. So… sure of himself."

Kagome's cheeks warmed. She watched Lily tuck Harry into the transfigured crib, casting a gentle Warming Charm that glowed faintly around the blankets. The simplicity of that spell amazed her more than any dramatic duel — the idea that magic could care for someone so quietly.

"I'm happy to be here," Kagome murmured. "With him."

Lily's hands stilled for a moment. "Won't you miss your old life?"

Kagome considered the question. "I'll miss the people," she admitted softly. "But life… life is something you build wherever you choose. It's the people you can't replace. But we can make new connections." Her eyes softened. "New homes."

Lily turned fully then, standing before her. She reached out and took Kagome's hands on her own, warm and gentle. Her green eyes were bright — not with fear, but with something earnest and unexpectedly tender.

"I can't give you the family you left behind," Lily said, voice thick with sincerity. "But I hope… I hope you'll see me as your friend."

Kagome's throat tightened. She hadn't expected the invitation — not now, not when Lily's world had just crumbled and reformed in a single night.

"Thank you, Lily," she whispered. "I'd like that very much."

Chapter Text

With Lily and Kagome out of the room, the atmosphere shifted immediately — like someone had opened all the windows and let in pure, unfiltered idiocy. As much as he loved Kagome, Sirius knew the Marauders would always have a special bond.

James dropped into a chair, tossed the book onto the table, pushed his glasses up his nose and declared:

“It’s bloody insane that my son names a child after Snivellus — Snivellus — because the git fancied his mother - MY WIFE.”

Sirius almost choked on his tea. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Your boy grows up, becomes a father, and what does he do? Honors the man who wanted to steal his mum and couldn't care less about him getting killed before his second birthday. Touching, really.”

Remus looked up from Philosopher’s Stone, eyebrows raised in a quiet ‘I told you so’ and added dryly, “And Snape bullied these children. First-years. For Merlin’s sake. Look what he did to the Longbottom boy.”

James blinked. “What Longbottom boy?”

Remus flipped the book around and stabbed a finger at a paragraph. “Neville Longbottom. Sweet lad. Snape spent half the year terrorising him for breathing incorrectly.”

Sirius snorted. “And that was BEFORE he outed Remus as a werewolf to the entire school."

James nearly fell off the chair. “HE DID WHAT?”

“Oh yes,” Sirius said, leaning back with the satisfaction of someone dropping gossip he’d been sitting on for too long. “Third book. Snivellus decided to spill Remus’ condition after I got away from the Dementors. Forced him out of Hogwarts. Everyone knew his secret.”

James turned an alarming shade of red. “BLOODY HELL! AND MY SON STILL NAMED A CHILD AFTER HIM?”

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “To be fair, Snape died protecting him—well, protecting the memory of Lily,” he said cautiously.

“That’s not better!” James threw his hands up. “That’s WORSE! How is this man a hero? What’s wrong with the future?”

“Honestly? Everything.” Sirius deepened his frown. “Harry needs us far more than we thought.”

James nodded grimly. “We’d better start now before he grows up thinking Snivellus is some misunderstood knight in shining robes.”

Sirius grinned. “Don’t worry, Prongs. We’ll raise the boy right.”

Remus added, deadpan, “Step one: absolutely no naming children after emotionally stunted, greasy-haired double agents.”

James pointed at him. “Agreed. A hundred bloody percent.”

Sirius smirked. “Frankly, anyone naming their child after Snivellus needs a medical evaluation.”

Remus didn’t miss a beat. “And James Sirius Potter isn’t much better.”

James sputtered. “Oi! What’s wrong with James Sirius Potter?”

Remus lifted an eyebrow. “Bit self-absorbed, don’t you think? Naming your child after your father and his best mate? In that order?”

Sirius clapped James on the shoulder. “He’s got a point, Prongs. Your ego’s large enough without passing it down for two generations."

James threw his hands up. “Right, that’s it. Harry can name his kids after whoever he wants — as long as it’s not Snivellus.”

Sirius raised his cup in a solemn toast. “To fixing the future one Snivellus-discrediting conversation at a time.”

They clinked their cups like true idiots. Sirius grinned like he hadn't done since before the war - in his original timeline.

James stretched, cracked his neck, and snatched the Prophet off the counter again. “Right. Snape nonsense aside—what do we actually know happens next?”

Remus flipped open Order of the Phoenix, scanning pages with a frown. “Very little in the books between now and Harry’s Hogwarts letter. Voldemort disappears. The Death Eaters scatter. The Ministry postures.” His fingers paused. His brow furrowed. “Walburga Black dies in ’85.”

“Good riddance,” Sirius said cheerfully. “Small mercies. Might even celebrate early.”

James clapped him on the back. “I’ll bring the drinks.”

Ramus skimmed over more pages. “And Alice and Frank Longbottom…” He trailed off, face twisting. “It says Bellatrix tortures them into madness. Somewhere between now and 1991.”

James exhaled quietly. “Not much information there.”

A heavy silence fell.

Remus set the book down with a determined thud. “They were our friends. Members of the order. Neville deserves what Harry’s getting — parents. A childhood without an abusive grandmother.”

Lily re-entered the room at just the right moment, pale but steady, Harry now fussing on her hip. She caught the tail end of the conversation. “Alice was kind to me,” she murmured. “And Frank… he saved Marlene once. They are brave and don’t deserve this. We can’t let them suffer that fate.”

Sirius nodded firmly. “Agreed. If we’re rewriting the future, they don’t get left behind.”

Remus gave a slow nod. “We just need to keep Bellatrix from reaching them. She’s unhinged, but predictable. The Death Eaters must be trying to find anything on Voldemort right now.”

James wiped a hand down his face. “She thinks Harry and Neville both fit the prophecy… She will think Frank and Alice know something.”

Lily looked at Kagome — who stood just a little off to the side, eyes sharp, notebook in hand. She wasn’t intruding, but she caught every detail.

“Kagome,” Lily asked softly, “were the Longbottoms meant to die?”

Kagome shook her head. “No. They live. But their minds don’t. Neville grows up with his gran.” She hesitated, voice gentler. “He becomes a powerful wizard — truly. But he deserved a childhood with parents who loved him. I think-” she looked from James to Lily then settled on Harry, “he got it worse than Harry. Having his parents so close, yet so far.”

James rested his hands on the table, leaning forward. “Then it’s settled. We save them. Same as we saved us.”

Remus lifted a brow. “You realise that intervening again risks changing even more of the timeline.”

Sirius answered before anyone else could. “Good. Let it change. We’re not here to watch the tragedy in slow motion.”

Kagome’s fingers tightened around her notebook. “There will be consequences,” she warned quietly. “But so long as we prepare… we can handle them.”

James grinned crookedly. “We’re Marauders. Preparation is optional.”

Sirius snorted. “Preparation is mandatory when you’re responsible for an infant, James.”

Remus pointed at him. “He’s growing. Character development. Slowly.”

Lily smirked over Harry’s fluffy head. “Shockingly slowly.”

Sirius felt his shoulders loosen, a rare pocket of warmth in the middle of disaster. His friends were alive. Kagome was here. Harry was babbling in Lily’s arms.

And they had a plan.

Not a perfect one. Not a safe one. But one that meant no more families would be destroyed if they could help it.

“We save the Longbottoms,” Sirius said. “We gather allies quietly. We work out how Voldemort might return—and we stay one step ahead.”

James lifted his cup again. “To rewriting history.”

Remus clinked his against it. “To giving the next generation a fighting chance.”

Sirius tapped his cup too. “To kicking destiny in the teeth.”

Harry squealed.

Sirius grinned. “See? He approves.”

The planning finally tapered off, Lily humming softly as she rocked Harry, Kagome scribbling notes from the books like she was preparing for NEWTs instead of destiny meddling. Lily sat by her side, sharing her own insights. They seemed to be getting along - and Sirius couldn’t feel better about it. He wanted Kagome to feel like she belonged - there was no one better than Lily to ensure that.

But Sirius could feel the question hanging in the air like a badly hidden stink pellet.

James felt it too.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and said, “Right. We’ve covered Voldemort, the Ministry, Bellatrix, the Longbottoms… now we’ve got to talk about the rat.”

Remus sighed the sigh of a man who would very much prefer another werewolf transformation to this conversation. “Peter.”

Sirius’s jaw flexed. “Yes. Tragically.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t kill him.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered. “I’m still not against committing the crime I went to Azkaban for. Twelve years, Prongs. Twelve bloody years.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “We can’t kill him yet.”

James nodded. “Better phrasing.”

Sirius blinked. “Wh—Moony?!”

Remus shrugged. “What? I’m still angry. He lied to my face.”

James leaned against the table. “Look, Wormtail doesn’t know we know. He thinks he’s pulled it off. And until the Ministry gets bored of chasing nonexistent corpses—” He gestured at himself and Lily. “—he’ll be watching for signs.”

Sirius folded his arms. “So what do you propose? We invite him to brunch?”

Remus looked thoughtful. Never a good sign.

“Well… Peter thinks James is dead and is terrified of Sirius paying a visit. Maybe we can use it in our favour;”

James stared. “Remus, no. We’re trying to save the future, not get you stabbed with a butter knife.”

Sirius snorted. “Please. Knowing Peter, he’d trip, fall, and stab himself before he got to you.”

Remus cleared his throat. “I’m not saying it’s pleasant. But if anyone can get close without raising suspicion, it’s me. I could… ask questions. Casually.”

Sirius blinked at him. “Casually. You want to casually interrogate the man who sold us out to Voldemort.”

“As opposed to your plan?” Remus countered. “Which I assume involves hexing him in the face?”

“It’s called strategy,” Sirius said with dignity. “And thank you.”

James choked on a laugh. “Padfoot, your only strategy is ‘wing it and hope for the best.’”

“It works!”

“Sometimes,” Remus corrected. “Most of the time it ended with McGonagall shouting.”

“She shouted out of affection.”

“She shouted,” Remus repeated. “And we got detention for not stopping you.”

Sirius waved a hand. “The point is—Peter is a coward. If you so much as look at him wrong, he’ll squeak.”

Remus nodded. “Which is exactly why he’ll talk to me. He’ll think I’m grieving. Confused. He won’t see me coming.”

James tapped the table thoughtfully. “We don’t know when Bellatrix will strike. Peter might. He’s still tied to her lot.”

Sirius rubbed his chin. “Remus Lupin: undercover agent. I’m shocked it’s come to this.”

Remus gave him a dry look. “You’ve been undercover your entire life.”

Sirius grinned. “Yes, but I’m handsome about it.”

Remus sighed. “Merlin help us.”

James cracked a smile. “Right, then. We gather information. Protect the Longbottoms. Strengthen the wards. And Moony here will be our spy.”

Remus lifted his cup. “May I live long enough to regret this plan.”

Sirius clinked his cup against his. “If Peter kills you, I’ll resurrect you just so I can throttle you myself.”

Despite the war, despite the uncertainty, despite the fragile future they were trying so desperately to rewrite—they felt like the Marauders again.

Chapter Text

The world was still dark when Kagome woke, the kind of quiet darkness that settles over the forest before dawn. She hadn’t meant to rise so early, but her body had always followed the rhythm of the shrine—morning rituals, meditation, blessing the grounds before the sun broke over the horizon.

Even after everything—time travel, magic she still didn’t fully understand, the frantic sprint to change lives—this was one habit she clung to after her body recovered. A thread of normalcy in a world that had shifted under her feet.

Sirius’s arm was draped over her waist, heavy and warm. For a moment she allowed herself to simply lie there, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing and beating of his heart. They had been sharing makeshift sleeping spaces for days now, all of them crammed into the small living room of the cabin. James, Lily, and baby Harry needed the privacy of the only bedroom, and none of them had questioned it. Sirius had only shrugged—“We’ve slept in far worse places, love. Trust me.” And her back still remembered sleeping on much more irregular ground. 

With slow, practiced care, Kagome eased out from under his arm. He grumbled something unintelligible, but didn’t stir.

The boards beneath her feet creaked softly as she tiptoed to the window. The air inside the cabin was warm from last night's dying fire and heating spells, but the cold seeped in through the wooden seams, carrying the crisp smell of frost and moss.

They were deep in the woods—far from prying eyes and familiar landmarks. Before turning to Peter, they had agreed to reach out to other Order members. Dumbledore was the obvious choice, but also the most dangerous. They all knew now  how tangled his plans for Harry were, how many half-truths he’d woven through the years. And explaining the time travel—explaining her—was something none of them wanted to do until absolutely necessary.

Kagome exhaled, letting her breath fog against the glass as she looked outside.

The forest showed the signs of the upcoming winter—dry leaves scattered across the ground, tall trees stripped to their spines. Somewhere far off, a lone bird made a sleepy trill, hesitant to greet the morning.

Instinctively, Kagome let her aura expand—a gentle pulse of spiritual energy reaching the spirits of the forest and asking for their blessing. It spread through the space beyond the cabin, brushing against the latent magic of the woods. This land wasn’t hers, but nature recognized the intent behind her touch.

She introduced herself as she had been taught: a friend, not a threat. The woods responded, a faint whisper she felt rather than heard—acceptance, curiosity, welcome.

It grounded her in a way that reminded her that even across worlds and decades, some things remained constant: nature listened, and nature answered.

She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone anymore until warm arms slid around her waist.

A startled gasp slipped from her lips, but she relaxed instantly as Sirius pulled her against him. His chest was solid against her back, radiating a sleepy warmth. His hair brushed her cheek when he lowered his head, resting his chin lightly atop hers.

“You’re up too early,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Kagome smiled faintly, letting her hands rest over his. “Old habits.”

Sirius hummed—a soft, content sound that eased something tight in her chest. His embrace tightened just slightly, as though reminding her he was there, that she wasn’t facing this strange new world alone.

Kagome let herself lean back into him, savoring the quiet sooth of his embrace. Outside, the light strengthened—thin ribbons of sunlight weaving through the bare branches, catching on the frost like tiny stars. 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” he murmured.

She snorted. “That’s not a real thing.”

“With you? Absolutely is.” His fingers traced lazy circles against her hip—absentminded, affectionate. “I can practically hear your brain going worry, worry, responsibility, apology, self-sacrifice, and whatever else you torture yourself with before sunrise.”

Kagome rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

She tried to twist out of his hold in mock offense, but Sirius only tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

His voice dropped, humor giving way to something softer. “Tell me how you’re doing. Really.”

Kagome blinked, caught off-guard. “I… I’m fine.”

Sirius leaned back enough to give her a pointed look. “Kagome. You time-traveled. Twice. You fought a dark wizard from another realm. You saved a family you’d never met. And you’re stuck in the woods with three grown men who are, objectively speaking, menaces.”

Despite herself, she laughed—quiet and breathy.

“There it is,” he said, kissing the top of her head triumphantly. “Proof of life.”

“You are exaggerating,” she muttered.

“Only because I care.” His tone softened again, the flirtation sinking into genuine concern. “You’ve barely taken a breath since we arrived. And I…” His voice dipped. “I don’t want you burning yourself out trying to fix everything at once. That’s my job.”

She shifted so she could see his face better. Sirius had that look again—his protective one, the one that made her heart stumble, the one he tried to mask behind jokes and smirks. It never quite worked.

“I promise, I’m okay,” she said. “It’s just… a lot. For everyone.”

Sirius brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I worry about you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you don’t have to.”

“Oh, I absolutely do,” he said, leaning forward until his nose brushed her cheek. “You think I’m letting the woman who dragged me through time and get back fifteen years of my life just wander around being overwhelmed?” His tone turned teasing, warm as a hearth. “No, no. I’m afraid you’re stuck with my constant interference.”

Kagome’s cheeks warmed. “Interference, huh?”

“Mhm.” He drew slow, deliberate patterns on her waist. “Very heroic. Very handsome. Extremely clingy interference.”

She laughed again, this time unable to stop herself. “Sirius!”

“There we go,” he murmured, sounding pleased with himself. “If I don’t hear you laugh at least twice every morning, how will I know you’re not secretly plotting to run off alone and do something reckless?”

“I don’t do reckless things alone anymore.”

He turned her gently in his arms until she was facing him, their noses almost touching.

“Good,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Because you don’t have to face anything alone anymore. I'm never letting you live isolated in a shrine again.”

The flirtation faded into something deeper. His hand slid up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking her skin with surprising tenderness.

“How are you really, Kagome?” he asked again, quieter this time. “Tell me. I can handle whatever it is.”

There it was—that mix of softness and fierce dedication that made her chest ache.

Kagome exhaled slowly. His warmth, the early morning stillness, the gentleness in his eyes… it felt safe enough to be honest.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “But I’m okay. Because you’re here. We are here.”

Sirius let out a breath that sounded like relief and something more.

“Then,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers, “I’ll just have to keep being here.” His lips brushed hers in a teasing, maddening almost-kiss. “Purely to maintain your emotional stability, of course.”

“Sirius—”

“And for the cuddling.”

“Sirius.”

“And because you smell nice.”

“SIRIUS!”

He finally laughed—low and bright—and kissed her properly.

Sirius kissed her once more—quick, warm, fond—before pulling back with a crooked grin that made her stomach flip.

“Come on,” he murmured. “If we stay in here any longer, Remus is going to wake up and pretend he didn’t hear anything.”

Kagome snorted. “He’s very good at pretending.”

“It’s his greatest talent.” Sirius pressed a finger to his lips in an exaggerated shush and nodded toward the door. “Let’s escape.”

She slipped her hand into his—she didn’t even think about it, it just happened—and he squeezed her fingers like it was ingrained in his muscle memory. 

They stepped outside into the crisp morning air. Frost clung to the edges of fallen leaves. The woods were quiet, peaceful, holding the hush of early winter. Kagome breathed in, letting the cold nip at her nose and lungs.

Sirius watched her with open affection. It was different than any of her previous relationships - and she rather enjoyed it. 

“You always look like you belong out here,” he said softly. “Wrapped in dawn. Like nature’s applauding you.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m just… breathing.”

“Exactly.” He brushed her cheek with warm fingers. “And I like watching you breathe.”

Kagome’s heart skipped, then raced. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he corrected—lightly, teasingly, but his eyes shone with truth.

Before she could respond, he tugged her gently closer, one hand sliding to the small of her back. She gasped as he tilted her chin up with the other, his touch impossibly soft.

“May I?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded.

The kiss he gave her this time was nothing like the playful one inside the cabin. It was deeper, slower—like he was savoring her, memorizing the taste of the moment. Kagome melted into him, hands sliding up his chest, curling into the fabric near his collar. Sirius made a low sound against her lips, something grateful and wanting and tender all at once.

He kissed her again, firmer, and she gasped against his mouth.

His smile curved against her lips. “Careful,” he murmured, “I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman.”

Kagome laughed softly, breathless. “Sirius Black, since when are you a gentleman?”

“Since I met you.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Since I realized I want… everything. With you.”

Her breath caught.

The intensity in his eyes softened, warmed, drew her in like gravity. He leaned his forehead to hers.

“Kagome,” he whispered, “if we keep kissing like that, I’m going to forget every good intention I’ve ever had.”

She hesitated—not out of doubt, but anticipation. “And… is that bad?”

He groaned, half torn, half delighted. His hands slid to her waist, drawing her flush against him, but he didn’t push further. His restraint was its own kind of arousing.

“It wouldn’t be bad,” he said, voice low with honesty. “But I want our first time to be…” He searched for the right word.  “Ours. A mark on the life we’re building—not something rushed on a cold morning because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Kagome’s heart swelled until it hurt.

“Sirius,” she whispered, fingers brushing his jaw, “you’re allowed to want me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with a breathless laugh. “Merlin, I do. I want you in ways that terrify me. But you deserve more than want.”

He kissed her again—soft, reverent, lingering.

“You deserve forever,” he murmured against her lips. “And I’m going to give you that.”

Her knees nearly gave out.

She clung to him, letting her forehead rest against his chest as he held her close, rubbing circles along her spine. The woods around them shimmered with early light, frost glinting like scattered stars.

“Then let’s take our time,” Kagome whispered.

Sirius kissed the top of her head, arms tightening protectively around her.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, voice soft and low, “I intend to take you for a long time.”

The woods felt sacred in the early morning light. Sirius’s hands were warm on her, assuring again and again she made the right choice.

He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, soft as morning light.

 “Kagome,” he said, voice warm and steady, “I want that. Everything. With you.”

A tremor rippled through her—joy, disbelief, and hope tangled until she couldn’t tell them apart. She rested her hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the strength under her palms.

“But… I’m no one in this world,” she whispered. “I don’t belong here. I don’t have an identity, I don’t even have papers—if someone asks who I am, what am I supposed to say?”

Sirius blinked, then his mouth curved into a slow, wickedly charming grin.

“Well, I suppose,” he said lightly, brushing her hair back with theatrical care, “you could say you’re about to become the first Mrs. Black in history who isn’t raised to hate Muggle-borns.”

Kagome choked on a laugh. “Sirius!”

He shrugged innocently. “Fresh start for the whole legacy. New traditions. Less murder, fewer curses, significantly better hair.”

She laughed harder, doubling over slightly as she leaned into him. “Better hair?”

He ran a hand through hers, letting the strands spill between his fingers like silk. “Darling, look at you. When I marry you, the entire family tapestry will brighten out of jealousy.”

“When?” she echoed. 

Sirius stilled for exactly one millisecond—but he didn’t look away, didn’t stumble, didn’t retract the word. Instead, he smiled—slow, certain, warm enough to melt frost and weaken her knees.

“Yes,” he murmured. “When. I don’t plan on letting the woman who gave me a reason to live slip away."

Her breath caught. “So… you have plans for us?”

“Oh, I have entire futures plotted,” he said, not even pretending otherwise. He took both her hands, threading his fingers through hers. “One where we survive the mess we’re in; where we find a home bigger than my tiny flat; where I make you your favorite tea - and I know you're missing it. And one where we—” He paused, voice dipping. “—build something lasting, together. Something ours.”

The playful banter softened, melted into something full and tender. He cupped her cheek again, thumb tracing the line of her jaw, his forehead lowering until their breath mingled.

“I’m serious, Kagome. You don’t have to be no one. If you want a place, a home, a name…” His eyes warmed—soft, determined. “…I want to give you mine.”

Her entire chest tightened, too full, too warm.

“Why are you like this?” she whispered. “So romantic all of a sudden?”

Sirius smirked, brushing her nose with his. “Because I’m in love.”

Kagome’s throat went tight.

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a soft growl. “And because the moment you dragged me through time, I knew you were going to ruin me.”

She laughed—but it came out breathless, unsteady.

“Sirius,” she said softly, “I love you.”

Sirius froze.

Completely.

His eyes widened a fraction, breath catching like her words hit him straight through the chest.

“That’s the first time you’ve said it out loud,” he whispered, voice suddenly rough with emotion.

“I know,” she murmured. “And I mean it.”

A slow, radiant smile spread across his face—the kind that could melt winter, the kind she’d never seen on anyone else - not for her. 

He cupped her face with both hands, reverent and steady. “Kagome… I love you too. More than all the time we reclaimed, more than the future we’re building. More than I ever thought I’d be allowed to love anything.”

Her heart trembled.

His lips brushed hers—slow, tender, deepening just enough to make her knees weaken. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her close but never rushing, never pushing.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“So yes,” he whispered. “When I marry you, love. Not if. When.”

Kagome smiled, breathless and warm. “Then tell me your plans.”

Sirius’s grin turned slow, wicked, and impossibly soft.

“All of them,” he promised. “Every last one.”

Sirius didn’t pull away after that promise. If anything, he drew her closer—one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other threading gently through her hair, holding her as if she were something precious and irreplaceable.

The world felt muted around them. Just the hush of trees, the faint crunch of frost, and the steady warmth of his breathing against her cheek.

Kagome felt herself melt into him, her forehead resting against his collarbone as he wrapped his coat around the both of them, cocooning her in his warmth.

“You’re cold,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Not really,” she whispered. “Not with you.”

He hummed—a soft, content sound that purred through his chest. His fingers traced a line up her spine, slow and warm, sending little sparks through her nerves. Not sexual, but intimate in the kind of way that made her entire body soften.

They stood like that for a long moment. Breathing each other in. Holding each other close. Letting the weight of their confessions settle between them like falling snow.

When Kagome finally tilted her head up, Sirius was already watching her. His expression… shifted.

Still tender. Still full of that quiet devotion, but now there was a new depth—something low and warm, something that made her breath catch.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then one on her wrist. Then one a little further up her arm.

“Sirius…” she murmured, her pulse stuttering under his lips.

“That’s it,” he whispered against her skin. “Say my name like that.”

Her cheeks burned. Half embarrassment, full delight. His kisses moved slowly, as if savoring the reaction they coaxed out of her. When he reached her shoulder, he paused just long enough to meet her eyes.

“Still warm enough?” he teased.

“You’re too much sometimes,” she whispered.

“And you love me,” he replied, his smile wicked-soft and devastating.

He leaned forward again, brushing his nose along her jaw, his breath warm against her ear. “I want to touch you,” he murmured. “Everywhere.”

Her breath hitched so sharply she swayed into him.

But then Sirius’s hands slid down her sides, slowly, gently, resting at her waist with deliberate restraint.

“I’m not going to rush you,” he said softly, almost as if reminding himself. “But I want you to know exactly what I want.”

Kagome swallowed hard. “And… what do you want?”

He exhaled a soft, shaky laugh—one that sounded far too undone to be teasing. “You. Every version of you. Every quiet morning like this. Every soft sound you make when I touch you.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “And someday,” he added, voice dropping, “I want the whole of you in my arms. Warm. Safe. Loved. Mine.”

Her heart hammered so hard her knees nearly gave way.

She steadied herself by gripping the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. “Sirius… I’m already yours.”

His breath faltered at the way she said his name. 

He leaned down until their lips were a whisper apart.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “If you say things like that, I won’t be able to stop wanting more.”

Kagome rose on her toes.

She kissed him.

Soft at first—just a brush of lips against lips. Then deeper. Hungrier.

Sirius made a sound that vibrated through her chest—a low, reverent groan as he pulled her flush against him, one hand splayed over her back, the other cradling her jaw as if she might vanish if he wasn’t gentle.

The kiss grew slow and sensual, building heat steadily until Kagome felt her entire body hum with it.

His lips trailed to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, then down toward her throat—each kiss slower, more deliberate, more devastating.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered against her pulse.

“It’s not,” she breathed. “It’s perfect.”

He shivered. Actually shivered.

“Gods, Kagome…” He kissed her again, savoring each second. “You undo me.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer—not demanding, just meeting him halfway.

Sirius groaned softly, the sound raw against her mouth. “If you keep doing that,” he murmured, “I’m going to carry you back inside and forget all my noble intentions.”

Kagome smiled against his lips. “Maybe I like testing your noble intentions.”

“Oh, I know you do,” he said, laughter low and sensual, “but I want our first time to be soft and warm and private and long—so long that you forget we ever lived any other life.”

She flushed scarlet.

He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips once more—gentle this time, anchoring them both.

“And I want you to want that as much as I do,” he whispered.

“I do,” Kagome murmured. “I really do.”

Sirius’s eyes softened with something fierce and devoted.

“Then we’ll take our time,” he said. “But this?” His thumb traced her cheek. “This is only the beginning.”

And as the frost melted under the first full rays of dawn, Kagome knew he meant every word.

Sirius didn’t move far after that last kiss. If anything, he stayed close—too close—his breath brushing her lips in uneven, shallow waves that betrayed exactly how hard he was fighting his own restraint. His hands remained at her waist, fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of her shirt, as if grounding himself in her shape.

Kagome rested her palms on his chest again, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under her fingers. He was warm. And trembling—barely, but enough for her to feel it.

“Sirius…” she whispered.

He shut his eyes briefly, like hearing his name from her lips was both pain and pleasure.

When he opened them again, they were darker.

“Kagome,” he breathed, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

He dipped his head—not quite kissing her, but letting his lips graze the edge of her jaw, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Each almost-touch made shivers trail down her spine.

She leaned into him instinctively.

His breath hitched.

“That,” he whispered, voice low and reverent, “is exactly the kind of thing that will undo every single good intention I’ve ever had.”

She smiled—soft, emboldened. “You mean… this?” She brushed her lips along the line of his throat.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping her waist as though he needed something to hold onto.

“Love,” he rasped, “that is exactly what I meant.”

Kagome melted at the rawness in his voice. With slow, cautious movements, she slid her hands up—from his chest to his shoulders, then along the back of his neck until her fingers threaded gently into his hair.

Sirius stilled completely. She felt him shiver again.

Then—very slowly—his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her impossibly close. Her body aligned with his, heat pressed to heat. Kagome’s breath stopped in her chest.

“Sirius…” she whispered again.

He growled. “Don’t,” he said, breathing unevenly. “Don’t say my name like that when we’re alone in the woods and I’m trying very, very hard to be decent.”

Kagome’s cheeks warmed. “But I like—”

He captured her mouth in a sudden, fervent kiss—still gentle, still careful, but undeniably hungry. His hands slid up her back, guiding her closer, deepening the kiss in a slow, sensual sweep that made her knees wobble.

Without breaking the kiss, he stepped backward until his back met the trunk of a tall pine. His arms tightened around her, settling her against him, bodies aligned perfectly. The cold bark pressed into his shoulders; the heat of him pressed into her everywhere else.

Kagome felt the world sway.

Sirius lifted his head just enough to rest his forehead against hers. His breath was uneven, warm, shaking.

“I’m right on the edge,” he confessed, voice hoarse. “Right here—right now—with you pressed against me like this… I’m on a very dangerous edge.”

Kagome swallowed. “So am I.”

His grip tightened—in surprise, in desire, in something fiercely protective all at once.

“Kagome…” His thumb brushed her lower lip, lingering. “Tell me to stop. Tell me we should cool down. Tell me anything, because every second you don’t say it, I slip further.”

She didn’t say anything.

She simply leaned forward and kissed him again—slow, deliberate, warm enough to melt the frost at their feet.

Sirius made a broken sound into her mouth and kissed her back, deepening it until heat licked through her veins and her fingers tangled harder in his hair.

He pulled away—but just barely.

“Love,” he whispered, panting softly, “please… please don’t tempt me past my limits.”

Kagome smiled, breathless. “I trust you.”

Sirius shut his eyes tightly. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, breathing her in, steadying himself. A long moment passed. Then he lifted his head, brushing a final soft kiss to her temple.

“We’re going to get there,” he whispered, promise woven through every syllable. “And when we do… it’s going to be everything you deserve.”

Kagome nodded against him, heart racing. “I want that.”

His arms tightened around her again, holding her close, grounding them both.

“And I want you,” he murmured. “Gods, I want you.”

The admission warmed her all the way through.

He kissed her once more. 

Sirius still had her pressed against him, his breath warm against her cheek, his heartbeat racing under her palms. Kagome felt every tremor of his restraint—how close he was to losing it, how much he wanted her, and how fiercely he held himself back for her sake.

He brushed his lips along the line of her jaw, pausing just below her ear.

“Kagome,” he whispered, voice low and unsteady, “if I start telling you everything I want to do with you… we’re never making it back inside.”

She shivered. “Tell me anyway.”

His breath caught.

He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes. 

“All right,” he murmured, fingers drifting along her hips. “I want to lie with you in a real bed—the kind that doesn’t creak, the kind where we can stretch out and take our time.”

Heat unfurled low in her belly.

“I want to feel your hands on me and kiss every inch of skin you let me.” His thumb traced slow circles at her waist. “I want to hear every little sound you make when you’re happy… when you’re overwhelmed… when you’re mine.”

Kagome’s breath faltered, her fingers tightening in his shirt.

Sirius swallowed hard, leaning in so close his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

“And gods, love… I want you warm under me. Around me. Holding me like I’m the only thing you need.”

She almost melted.

“But,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “I also want you to have a room, and a door, and a soft bed, and a night with no fear of interruptions, and a sense of safety so solid you don’t have to think twice about letting go with me.”

Kagome’s chest ached with how tender his voice became.

“I want our first time to be a beginning,” he murmured, “not an escape.”

He kissed her—slow, deep, lingering—like sealing a promise.

When they finally eased apart, the cold morning air flooded between them, but neither reached for distance. They stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing each other in until Sirius cleared his throat, voice lower than usual.

“We should… probably head back before I disgrace my family name entirely.”

Kagome laughed softly. “Too late for that.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he grinned. “But we should try to be somewhat dignified in front of the others. For Harry’s sake. Not James’—he lost the right to judge years ago.”

Still intertwined, still flushed, they began the slow walk back toward the cabin. Kagome felt warm all over—like the light had settled in her bones. Sirius held her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, thumb brushing her knuckles in a steady, comforting rhythm.

By the time they reached the porch, their cheeks were pink, breaths uneven, clothes slightly disheveled from the kisses and the cold.

James looked up from where he was bouncing Harry on his knee as soon as they crossed the door. Remus was leaning against the wall with a mug of tea, eyebrows raised.

Both stared at them.

James’ grin spread slowly across his face.

“Well, well, well…” he drawled. “Pads, you want to explain the lovebites on her collar, or should we assume you’ve finally achieved over-achiever status?”

Kagome almost died on the spot. Lovebites. Plural.

She slapped a hand to her collar, mortified. She hadn’t sensed them—oh gods, had they been that obvious?

Sirius didn’t even pretend innocence.

He smirked. “Not my fault she tastes good.”

“PADFOOT!” Remus sputtered, nearly dropping his mug. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—Sirius! There is a child here.”

Kagome made a strangled sound and buried her face in Sirius’s arm.

James laughed so hard he had to hand Harry to Lily through the door. “Mate, we asked for subtlety. Not a bloody mating display!”

Sirius shrugged breezily. “She liked it.”

“SIRIUS!” Kagome hissed, voice muffled by his sleeve.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize she’s new to all of us, right? Maybe don’t terrify her with how… enthusiastic you are?”

Sirius wrapped his arm around her waist possessively. “She’s not terrified.”

Kagome let out a helpless noise that was half mortification, half soft happiness.

“Oh, she’s glowing,” James said, eyes softening at the edges. “But you, my friend—” he pointed an accusing finger at Sirius “—you look like you nearly died of bliss.”

Kagome made an inhuman squeak.

Remus sighed, though his eyes twinkled. “Next time, play a Silencing Charm on the forest, would you?”

Kagome froze. They had… been heard?

“Oh no,” she whispered.

“Oh yes,” James confirmed.

Sirius smirked, absolutely unrepentant. “Worth it.”

Remus groaned. “Prat.”

Kagome hid behind her hands—but despite the mortification burning her cheeks, warmth bloomed in her chest.

Happiness. Fulfillment. And love—real and free.

Sirius leaned down, whispering just for her.

“Let them tease,” he murmured. “You’re mine and I’m yours. They’ll get used to it.”

She peeked up at him, still glowing. And Sirius smiled like she was the best decision he had ever made.

James was still grinning like Christmas had come early and delivered him front-row seats to Sirius’ humiliation.

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the table with the air of a man about to commit emotional arson.

“So,” James said brightly, “when’s the wedding?”

Kagome choked. Sirius didn’t.

He actually preened.

“Soon as she wants,” Sirius said with an obnoxious amount of confidence, as if it was a certain thing.

Kagome’s face exploded with heat. “Sirius!”

Remus let out a quiet whimper. “Oh no. Oh no. He’s decided he’s romantic now. We’re never surviving this.”

Sirius ignored him entirely, tilting his head with a smug little smirk. “What? Can’t a man plan a future with his fiancée?”

“FIANCÉE?!” Kagome squeaked, turning a brilliant shade of mortified red.

James nearly fell over laughing. “Padfoot, you can’t just announce someone’s engagement. There are steps. Rings. Proposals. Mild panic attacks. Family meddling.”

Sirius shrugged casually. “I’m skipping to the part where she marries me.”

Kagome looked at him, utterly undone. “You can’t just—just—say that!”

“Can and will,” Sirius said, kissing her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kagome nearly melted through the floorboards.

“Unbelievable,” Remus muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

James wasn’t done.

He wiggled his eyebrows at Kagome. “Well, if you do get married… you’ll be the one renewing the Black family line. Poor thing.”

Remus winced theatrically. “Heavy burden, that. Generations of madness. Murder. Narcissistic portraits.”

Kagome made a strangled noise. “I—I—Sirius—”

Sirius puffed up like a peacock. “She’ll do beautifully. The legacy needs a fresh start.”

“Oh, it needs more than that,” James said. “It needs therapy. An exorcism. Maybe a pressure wash.”

“James,” Sirius said solemnly, “Kagome is exactly the holy being this family needs.”

Kagome blinked. “Excuse me?”

James dissolved into hysterics. “Padfoot is right! Imagine the tapestry—‘KAGOME BLACK: The Saint Who Saved This Dumpster Fire of a Line.’”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, it’s not the worst idea. The family could use someone sane. And kind. And… not Sirius.”

Sirius gasped. “Moony!”

“You know it’s true,” Remus replied calmly.

Kagome was caught between mortification and laughter—her whole face hot, her chest warm, her heart fluttering like it didn’t know how to beat properly anymore.

Sirius slipped an arm around her waist—not possessive, but protective.

 “Laugh all you want,” Sirius said, chin lifting in proud defiance. “But I mean every word. I’m building a new Black legacy. And she’s the only person I trust to build it with.”

Kagome felt her breath stop.

Then James groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us. Padfoot’s in love.”

Remus raised his mug. “To the future Mrs. Black. May she save us all.”

Kagome didn’t know whether to hide, faint, or burst into laughter. But Sirius leaned down, brushing her cheek with his thumb, whispering just for her:

“You’re my future. Let them tease.”

And she glowed. She absolutely glowed. She was sure her reiki was pouring right now and forming a halo around her. 

James nodded enthusiastically. “And if you do exorcise Grimmauld Place, can I take down some of the walls myself? Purely for therapeutic purposes.”

Sirius perked up like a wolf scenting prey. “Only if I get the pleasure of burning the family tapestry. I’ve dreamed of that moment for my whole life."

Remus sighed. “We’re not supposed to celebrate arson.”

“We’re celebrating emancipation,” Sirius corrected.

Kagome bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Honestly… it might be easier if we just tore the whole house down and built a new one on top of it.”

The room went still for half a second.

Then—

James’s eyes went wide with unholy delight. “You hear that, Pads? She wants to nuke the place from orbit. She’s perfect for you.”

Sirius looked positively radiant. “A woman after my own heart.”

Lily walked closer, her face alight with playful mischief. “Well,” Lily said, “if we’re planning home renovations and weddings, Kagome dear…” Her smile sharpened sweetly. “…does this mean you’ve accepted Sirius’s proposal?”

Kagome’s entire soul left her body. “L-Lily—! There was—no proposal—!”

“Oh, but you didn’t deny the wedding,” Lily teased, eyes sparkling. “Good. Because I was going to ask if Harry could be the flower boy.”

Kagome made a strangled noise. “Harry—flower—Sirius, HELP.”

Sirius looked offended. “Help? Why would I help? This is the best moment of my life.”

James slapped his knee. “Pads is over the moon! Look at him!”

He really was. Sirius wasn’t even pretending to hide it—his grin was triumphant, delighted, soft around the edges when he looked at her.

Kagome felt heat crawl up her neck—paired with a glow so warm she didn’t recognize herself.

She laughed—embarrassed, overwhelmed, but shining.

Loved.

And Sirius, still holding her close, dipped his head to murmur into her hair:

“They’re teasing me, not you. Because they can already tell you’re far too good for me.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “And because they know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Her heart turned molten, soft and full and weightless all at once.

The chaos in the living room eventually shifted—James wrangling Harry into giggles, Remus shaking his head at Sirius’s pride, Sirius basking in it like a cat in sunlight.

Lily nudged Kagome with a knowing smile. “Come on,” she murmured. “Before the men burn the cabin down with testosterone.”

Kagome followed her to the small kitchen nook—just far enough to have privacy, just close enough to still hear the faint sounds of laughter behind them.

Lily set Harry in his little makeshift playpen, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes bright.

“So,” she said in a deceptively casual tone, “how long has this been a… thing?”

Kagome nearly tripped over her own feet. “A—thing?! It’s not—well—I don’t know—maybe?”

Lily raised a single eyebrow. “Kagome. He came in here looking like a man who just saw the divine. And you look like a woman who’s been kissed properly for the first time in far too long.”

Kagome covered her burning face with both hands. “Lily!”

“Oh hush, I’m happy for you.” Lily’s smile softened. “Really happy.”

Kagome peeked at her between her fingers. “I… didn’t think anyone would approve so quickly.”

Lily let out a soft laugh. “Approve? Kagome, every person in that room has known Sirius since childhood. We’ve wanted him to find someone who looks at him the way you just did.”

Kagome blinked. “I—looked at him?”

“Like the sun rises from his arse,” Lily said teasingly.

Kagome felt her heart twist warmly. “And you’re okay with… all this?”

Lily stepped closer, voice softening. “Kagome, he adores you. And you… you glow when he says your name. That’s rare. Beautiful.” She nudged her shoulder lightly. “And if you can purify Grimmauld Place, that’s a bonus.”

Kagome laughed helplessly. “I have no idea if I can actually do that.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Lily’s eyes sparkled. “And when you do, I’ll bring the champagne.”

Kagome smiled, feeling warmth spread through her chest. Lily was gentle, warm, witty—nothing like the distant legends Kagome read about.

“Thank you,” Kagome whispered. “For being so… kind. I know you don’t really know me.”

Lily shrugged with playful grace. “Well, you’re sweet, capable, and clearly crazy about Sirius. That’s all I need.” Her smile softened into sincerity. “And any friend of mine deserves happiness. Sirius does too.”

Kagome swallowed, feeling a knot of emotion form in her throat. “He’s… he’s been so good to me.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Lily said with a teasing smirk. “And heard.”

Kagome turned ruby-red. “LILY!”

Lily laughed, waving her hands. “I’m joking! …Mostly. The silence echoes, love.”

Kagome covered her burning face—but giggled through her fingers.

Lily stepped closer, taking her hands gently. “Listen—Sirius falls hard. When he loves, he loves with everything he is. And you…” She glanced at Sirius in the next room—loudly defenseless against James’s teasing. “You’re good for him.”

Kagome’s heart fluttered. “I… love him. I do.”

Lily squeezed her hands. “Then everything’s exactly as it should be.”

They shared a small, warm smile.

Then Lily’s eyes gleamed wickedly again.

“Now,” she said brightly, “about that wedding—can Harry please be the flower boy? He’d look adorable in little robes.”

Kagome let out the most undignified squeak yet. Lily’s laughter rang like bells.

“Oh, you’re absolutely joining this family. I can feel it.”

And Kagome—flustered, glowing, heart full—felt like she might truly belong.

Kagome and Lily were still laughing softly—her cheeks warm, her heart fluttering in that new, unfamiliar way—when Kagome felt a shift in the air.

She didn’t have to turn to know Sirius was watching her. She felt it.

When she finally glanced toward the doorway, Sirius was leaning against the frame, arms loosely crossed, eyes fixed on her with unmistakable intensity.

The moment their eyes met, something in him melted completely.

“Kagome,” he murmured, barely loud enough to carry.

Her breath caught.

Lily shot her a knowing little smile and nudged her forward. “Go on. He looks like he’ll die if he waits ten more seconds.”

Kagome elbowed her lightly. 

“It’s true,” Lily whispered. “And also a tiny bit romantic.”

Kagome’s heart fluttered again—much too fast, much too warm.

She stepped out of the kitchen nook, and Sirius immediately straightened, pushing off the doorway as he closed the distance between them.

His hand came up to brush a thumb along her cheekbone.

“You’re blushing,” he said softly.

Kagome flushed even harder. “Lily was just—James said something—everyone keeps—”

“Hey.” His voice dropped, impossibly gentle. “Look at me.”

She did. And the room, the teasing, the embarrassment—everything fell away under the heat in his eyes.

“You look beautiful.” His thumb traced the line of her jaw. “And happy. And so damn radiant I think they can see it from space.”

Kagome shook her head, flustered. “I’m glowing because they teased us.”

“No,” he murmured, stepping closer until their bodies almost brushed. “You’re glowing because you’re loved.”

Her heart nearly doubled in size.

He leaned in, lips brushing her temple, lingering in a soft kiss. She melted.

Then he whispered against her skin, warm and low, “And because you love me too.”

She shivered.

Sirius’s hands slid gently down her arms, guiding her into the quiet corner of the porch—away from the noise, away from prying eyes, but still close enough to feel safe.

“Kagome,” he said, voice raspy with emotion he didn’t bother hiding, “I’ve never wanted to drag someone out of a room so badly in my life.”

She blinked. “W-why?”

He smirked—a slow, devastating curve of lips. “Because you blush exactly the way I imagined you would when we were alone.”

Kagome’s breath hitched. “Sirius…”

He cupped her cheek again, stepping fully into her space.

“Every time you look at me like that—soft, shy, happy—I swear I forget how to breathe.”

Her pulse fluttered wildly.

“And every time they tease me about you,” he whispered, brushing his lips along her jawline in a feather-light kiss, “I want to pull you into a corner just like this and remind you exactly why they’re teasing me.”

Heat rippled through her.

She leaned into him unintentionally—her body answering him before her mind caught up.

Sirius exhaled a shaky breath.

“That’s it,” he murmured, sliding a hand to the small of her back. “Come here.”

Kagome didn’t hesitate.

He kissed her. Like he was claiming the moment— the promise between them.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His hand slid up her spine. Her knees went weak.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered softly, “and I’m yours. That’s why they tease me.” A soft smile tugged at his lips. “And why I can’t stop kissing you.”

Kagome swallowed. “I… I like when you kiss me.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing her lips again. “Because I’m nowhere near done.”

Another kiss—longer, slower, warm enough to set her heart on fire.

Then he sighed against her mouth, as if surrendering to a truth he couldn’t hide.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how hard it is not to take you back to the woods and keep kissing you until the sun goes down.”

Kagome’s voice trembled. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening with restraint.

“You deserve better,” he murmured. “A real room. A bed. A night that’s ours. Not stolen corners and half-hidden kisses.”

Kagome softened. “But this is good too.”

“It’s perfect,” he admitted, kissing her cheek. “And gods help me… I want more.”

Her breath stuttered.

He smirked gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“But for now,” he murmured, “let me just hold you.”

And he did—pulling her against his chest, warm and safe, his heart steadying hers.

For the first time, Kagome felt what it meant to be wanted gently. Sirius held her like he wanted to keep her tucked against his heart forever—warm, steady, safe. Kagome breathed him in, the scent of forest and smoke and something uniquely Sirius grounding her.

They stayed like that for a long moment—long enough for her pulse to settle, long enough for the embarrassment to fade into something softer: a quiet joy that warmed her from the inside out.

Eventually, Sirius sighed into her hair.

“We should… probably rejoin the others before James builds a conspiracy theory about where we vanished to.”

Kagome laughed softly. “He’s already building it.”

“True,” Sirius agreed, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her mouth. “But if I stay alone with you on this porch any longer, I’m going to forget we have responsibilities.”

Kagome tilted her head. “Responsibilities like…?”

He huffed a breath against her cheek, half amused, half resigned. “Like figuring out how the hell we’re going to protect our family for the next decade.”

That brought them both back to the reality waiting just outside the bubble of their quiet moment.

Kagome nodded slowly, stepping back—but only far enough to meet his eyes. “Alice and Frank.”

Sirius’s expression sobered. “We need them. And they’ll want to know what happened. They deserve to let Neville grow up with his parents.”

Kagome felt a quiet swell of hope at that—another family they could save, another wound they could heal.

“And we need more than just the five of us,” she said softly. “If we’re going to change the future… if we’re going to stay hidden long enough to give Harry a childhood, and prepare him for Hogwarts ten years from now…” She swallowed. “We need allies.”

Sirius brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, thoughtful. “Alice and Frank are the first ones I trust with this. They won’t betray us. And they’re strong. Brilliant. Loyal.”

Kagome squeezed his hand. “Then they’re perfect.”

He lifted their joined hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “Once we find them, once we explain everything… we can start planning properly.”

“The next ten years,” Kagome murmured.

“Exactly.” Sirius’s eyes softened with something fierce and bright. “Ten years to build a life. Ten years to prepare for Hogwarts. Ten years to protect Harry… and each other.”

“And to us,” Kagome whispered before she realized she’d said it aloud.

Sirius froze—then smiled, slow and warm and devastating. “Yes. Us, especially.”

Kagome’s cheeks heated, but she didn’t look away this time.

Sirius leaned in, touching his forehead to hers again. “We find Alice and Frank. We gather the people we trust. And then…” His thumb stroked her cheek, reverent. “…we build the future we want.”

Kagome nodded, feeling something settle inside her.

“Together,” she murmured.

 “Together.”

Chapter Text

Sirius had never much cared for afternoons, but this one felt oddly homely. The light that crept through the cracks in the shutters was pale and thin, barely warming the cramped little cabin, but Kagome’s presence beside him still lingered like soft heat along his skin. It steadied him in a way nothing else did.

He was still half lost in the memory of her blush when James cleared his throat rather dramatically.

“Pads,” he said, dropping a folded Muggle newspaper onto the table, “have a look at this.”

Sirius blinked, pushing away the remnants of warmth in his chest. “What is it now? Have they printed your Quidditch scores incorrectly again?”

“Just read it,” James said.

Sirius leaned over—and saw himself staring back from the front page in grainy black-and-white. Hair wild. Jaw clenched.

The headline beneath read:

DANGEROUS ESCAPED CONVICT — PUBLIC WARNED TO KEEP CLEAR

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Well,” he said with a crooked grin, “they’ve chosen a rather flattering photograph. I look quite dashing under the circumstances.”

James groaned. Remus rubbed at his temples. Kagome bit back a laugh.

“Be serious,” Remus muttered.

“I’m Sirius,” Sirius replied lightly, “And photogenic.”

Lily shook her head fondly. “Sirius, this means you cannot go anywhere near a village for quite some time. Muggle or otherwise.”

James nodded gravely. “The shopkeeper had this on display beside the magazines. If the Ministry’s desperate enough to publish warnings for Muggles, then they’re casting their net far wider than before.”

“And they’ll be watching wizarding settlements as well,” Remus added. “I’d wager half the Auror Office is itching for a chance to bring you in.”

Sirius shifted back in his chair, jaw tightening. He hated the idea of being a danger to anyone near him—especially Kagome. Especially now.

Remus continued, “If we’re to find Alice and Frank, it must be someone who can pass unnoticed. Someone who doesn't have a wanted poster in circulation.”

James lifted a finger. “Not me.”

“Certainly not,” Remus said dryly. “You’re meant to be dead.”

James grimaced. “Fair enough.”

Lily’s gaze settled on Remus. “You could manage it. You’re quiet enough to slip through without drawing suspicion.”

“And I can pass through wizarding shops without anyone blinking twice,” Remus agreed. “But I’ll need someone with me.” His eyes drifted to Kagome. “Preferably someone entirely unknown.”

Sirius felt his stomach drop.

“Kagome stays here,” he said at once. The words left him before he even realised he’d spoken.

Kagome blinked at him. “Sirius—”

“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You’ve no idea how dangerous it will be out there. If anyone asks questions—if anyone wonders who you are—if they think you’re connected to me—”

“I didn’t even exist in this world until last month. No one would think we are connected.”

Sirius had never considered himself a nervous man. Reckless, yes. Impulsive, certainly. But nervous? Hardly. Yet when Remus suggested Kagome accompany him, Sirius felt something cold and sharp coil beneath his ribs.

“No,” he said at once. “Absolutely not.”

Kagome stepped closer with that calm composure of hers—steady as moonlight, unflustered by his temper, but the hands on her waist betrayed her real emotions.

“I can take care of myself.”

He let out a disbelieving huff. “Not against wizards. Not against the sort of danger out there. You don’t know the Ministry. You don’t know their traps or their spells or—”

She touched his sleeve—gentle, grounding, utterly certain.

“Sirius,” she said quietly, “I’ve faced demons far more dangerous than any wizard.”

The room stilled. Kagome continued, her voice calm, almost matter-of-fact, as if reminding him to check the oven.

“And I’ve had my soul stolen once. There are few things worse than that;”

Sirius felt his blood run cold. Her soul. Stolen.

He heard James whisper, “Merlin’s beard…”

Remus' eyes widened in horror. “Your—your soul?”

James dragged a hand through his hair, looking faintly ill. “You say it as though you misplaced a quill.”

Kagome gave him a faint, apologetic smile. “Well… it was a long time ago.”

Sirius could only stare at her. “That,” he said slowly, voice thin and strained, “is one more utterly terrifying thing you’ve never mentioned.”

Kagome looked genuinely thoughtful. “I suppose I forgot? It’s been years, and so much else has happened since.”

Lily pressed a hand to her mouth. “How in the world did something like that happen?”

Kagome offered a small, almost embarrassed shrug—like she was talking about a mild injury she’d forgotten to mention.

“There was a witch, Urasue,” Kagome explained as if retelling. “She used some forbidden magic to drag the soul of a priestess back from the dead. She needed mine to complete the spell.”

Remus' breath caught. “And your soul was removed?”

Kagome nodded, as if confirming some minor detail. “Only briefly. Urasue hadn’t realised that Kikyō's soul had already been placed into someone else. I am her reincarnation, so it was the same soul she was meddling with.” She paused thoughtfully. “In fact, I allowed Kikyō to keep a portion of my soul — technically her soul too — afterwards. She had… unresolved matters. I hardly missed it.”

There was a collective gasp.

James looked as though he might be sick. “You—you loaned someone your soul?”

“Well,” Kagome said gently, as if this were perfectly sensible, “it seemed like a decent thing to do. She hadn’t asked to be revived, and she was very determined about dealing with her issues.”

Lily stared at her, eyes wide. “And you simply lived without part of yourself?”

“It wasn’t terribly inconvenient,” Kagome replied with a small shrug. “After a while I barely noticed. Apparently, I have a massive soul or something like that.”

Sirius felt the ground tilt under him. “Kagome, that’s not the sort of thing one forgets to mention.”

She winced slightly, sheepish. “I suppose not. It all happened so long ago, I didn’t think to bring it up. I got it back eventually—it was only a temporary nuisance."

James muttered, “What else has she been through that she can forget misplacing her soul?”

Kagome blinked, considering. “Quite a lot, actually.”

Sirius was fairly certain his heart stopped.

Remus found his voice first—thin, trembling. “A lot like what exactly?”

“Oh,” Kagome said, brightening as though relieved to be on a less alarming topic. “Oh, like when someone tried to melt me with poison. It was rather frightening at the time.”

“Frightening?” Sirius repeated weakly.

“Well,” she continued patiently, “I really thought I would die, but I was saved by an ancient protection spell placed upon a sword. The man who attempted it lost an arm right after… it all worked out in the end.”

Dead silence.

James made a strangled noise. “Lost—lost an arm?”

“He wasn’t using it for anything good,” Kagome said, perfectly mild. “And he was skilled enough to live only with his other arm until it grew back.”

Lily pressed her hand to her chest. “Good heavens…”

Sirius had to sit down. She had lived through horrors none of them could name—spoken aloud with all the calm of someone recalling a forgotten chore. And she stood before them now, steady and warm and entirely unafraid.

“Kagome,” he whispered, voice breaking despite himself, “you’ve endured far more than anyone should.”

She looked at him, eyes soft. “That doesn’t mean I can’t endure more, Sirius.”

He shook his head, unable to help himself. “I don’t want you to.”

Her smile was soft and oddly comforting. “I know. But it’s my decision, not yours.”

Remus cleared his throat, voice still a shade too tight. “Well… if Kagome survived that… the wizarding high street may be less daunting than I thought.”

James nodded weakly. “Yes, terrifying ancient demons versus nosy shopkeepers… I suppose Remus wins the easier job.”

Lily exhaled, composing herself. “Still, the world outside is dangerous. You must both take care.”

Kagome nodded. “We will.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You come back the moment anything feels wrong. Anything at all.”

“I will.”

“And you keep your barrier up, at all times.”

“Over me and Remus, all the time.”

“And you don’t—you don’t go wandering off on your own, you don’t poke any cursed objects—”

“Sirius,” she said gently, “I’ll be fine.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. It was barely a sound.

“You won’t,” she replied, just as softly.

“We… ought to return to the matter at hand,” Remus interjected, trying not to break the moment.

James nodded, though he kept sending Kagome concerned glances. “Right. Alice and Frank.”

Lily adjusted Harry in her arms. “If Voldemort’s fallen, the Ministry will want their best Aurors tracking down his followers.”

Remus folded his arms thoughtfully. “They’ll be needed to capture whatever Death Eaters are still at large.”

Sirius grimaced. “That won’t be easy. The Ministry’s probably in more chaos than we are.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed quietly. “Which is exactly why Alice and Frank won’t have returned to their home yet. The Ministry will know where they’ve been assigned.”

“Then we’ll need that information,” James said reluctantly.

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Which means going through the Ministry.”

Remus nodded. “We don’t have many choices. If we want to find them quickly—and we must—then we need to know where they’ve been posted since the Dark Lord fell.”

Sirius felt his jaw tighten. “I’m not looking forward stepping foot in that building again.”

“Nor should you,” James said sharply. “They’ll have Aurors on every floor ready to hex first and question later.”

Sirius exhaled through his teeth. “Yes, well, I’m not terribly eager to be Kissed in the atrium.”

Kagome cast him a concerned look. “Kissed?”

Sirius winced. “By Dementors.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

Remus nodded gravely. “James can’t go either. Too many eyes will recognise him.”

“And someone needs to stay with Harry,” James said softly, touching his son’s cheek.

Remus spread a map across the table. “If Kagome and I approach the Ministry cautiously, we may find someone in Records. Or an Auror administrator.”

James scowled. “And what do you plan to say? ‘Good morning, we’re here to ask about two Aurors who faced Voldemort three times and survived’? They’ll never give you that information without asking who sent you.”

Remus' jaw tightened. “We’ll manage.”

“You sound confident,” Sirius said grimly. “I’m not.”

Kagome stepped forward, voice soft but steady. “It’s still our best chance. We can’t protect them if they stay in the dark.”

She looked at Sirius meaningfully—only him, as though the rest of the room had faded.

“And Alice and Frank are worth the risk. Neville deserves it too.”

Sirius swallowed. He knew she was right. Knew Remus wasn’t suggesting this lightly. But every instinct screamed at him not to let her walk through those doors.

James put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. “I don’t like it either, Pads. But we’re working with what we’ve got.”

“Doesn’t mean it sits right,” Sirius muttered.

“It isn’t meant to,” Remus replied quietly.

Lily spoke up, calm but firm. “The Ministry will be frantic, but that may work in your favour. Everyone’s scrambling after Voldemort’s fall. People talk in chaos. Files get left out. Information is easier to pick up.”

Kagome nodded. “Then that’s where we start.”

Sirius watched her—this woman who had lost parts of her soul and nearly drowned in poison and somehow thought none of it worth mentioning—and felt the fear rise again.

Not the blind panic of Azkaban, but the deeper, quieter fear of loving someone strong enough that the world itself could hurt them.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“I don’t like this plan,” he admitted. “Not even a little.”

Kagome’s eyes softened. “I know.”

“But it seems,” Sirius sighed, “that logic is not on my side today.”

Kagome reached up and touched his cheek, speaking so gently it nearly undid him.

Sirius was still quietly glaring at the floor—as though sheer force of will might produce a safer plan—when Lily spoke up.

“We can’t stay hidden in the woods forever, though,” she said thoughtfully. “There is one way we could go back to London without raising suspicion.”

She tapped a finger against her lips, as though pulling the idea from thin air.  “Polyjuice.”

James lit up instantly, beaming as though she’d personally reinvented magic. “Brilliant! That’s my girl!”

Lily smacked his arm lightly. “You married me for my brains.”

“And your legs,” James added proudly.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, those too.”

Sirius managed a faint smirk despite the dread sitting like a stone in his stomach. “Trust Prongs to make romance sound like a shopping list.”

Remus leaned over the map. “Polyjuice could work. If you appear as ordinary Londoners, no one would look at you twice.”

James nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. No fear of being recognised. No risk of Aurors. No need to hear Sirius’ snoring every night.”

“I don’t snore,” Sirius said defensively.

“He doesn’t,” Kagome added quietly.

Sirius absolutely preened.

James groaned. “Oh brilliant, now his ego’s twice the size.”

Lily pressed on. “All we’d need are hairs from random Muggles.”

Remus looked cautiously optimistic. “We’d better collect them quietly. No fuss. No wandwork. No drawing attention.”

“Leave that to me,” James said confidently. “I’ve nicked things under far worse circumstances.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “James, we’re collecting hair, not robbing Gringotts.”

James shrugged. “Same skill set, really.”

Lily sighed. “Merlin help us.”

By mid-morning, the nearby Muggle village was bustling. The sky had brightened enough to chase away the early fog. Kagome walked beside Remus, moving easily through the stream of pedestrians carrying shopping bags, pushing prams, or rushing toward late buses.

Behind them, perfectly unseen, Sirius and James slid along under the Invisibility Cloak—one of the few sensible items James had had the presence of mind to grab along with Harry’s travel bag. Sirius walked beside James with the expertise of years of partnership.

They stopped near a small, busy hair salon wedged between a bakery and a dry cleaner. Warm air spilled out each time the door opened, carrying the scent of shampoos and hairsprays.

James whispered, excitement vibrating beneath the cloak, “There. Absolutely perfect.”

Remus gave Kagome a small encouraging nod. “Off you go. Ask something ordinary.”

Kagome inhaled once, then stepped inside with an easy, polite smile. She greeted the receptionist pleasantly, leaning in to ask about scheduling an appointment. The woman brightened, fully engaged.

The moment her back turned, James nudged Sirius sharply. “Now.”

Under the cloak’s cover, the two Marauders slipped inside. They crouched near the corner where a small pile of freshly swept hair rested—dark curls, bottle-blonde strands, silver wisps—exactly what they needed.

“Take a mix,” Sirius murmured. “Different people, different disguises.”

James was already grabbing small portions of each, quick and nimble as if he’d done this sort of petty theft professionally.

Outside, Kagome kept the conversation flowing effortlessly, asking about prices and hours of operation. Remus hovered near the window, pretending to be interested in the posters for winter sales.

Once they’d gathered enough, Sirius and James slipped back out with the next customer exiting. Kagome thanked the hairdresser warmly, waved, and walked down the pavement without so much as a second glance from anyone.

They regrouped at the mouth of a narrow alley between a bakery and a charity shop. The sun was higher now, warming the bricks enough to melt the last traces of frost.

Sirius slipped off the cloak, letting the cool mid-morning air hit his face. “Well done,” he murmured to Kagome.

Kagome gave a modest smile. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” Sirius said warmly. “Distraction without suspicion is a gift.”

James shook the small pouch of hairs with a victorious grin. “And that, lady and gentlemen, concludes step one.” Remus tucked the pouch safely into his coat.

Sirius nudged James. “Still easier than stealing firewhisky from Filch’s office.”

James scoffed. “Speak for yourself. You didn’t have the cat on your heels.”

Remus held up the bag carefully. “This should provide a supply until we can figure out the next steps. And now… the difficult part.”

Sirius almost groaned. “What’s wrong?”

Remus let out a long breath. “Brewing Polyjuice takes almost a month. And most of the ingredients aren’t exactly lying about in a pantry.”

James’ shoulders sagged. “Blast. I’d forgotten how slow it is.”

Lily rubbed her temple with a sigh. “That’s the price of staying alive.”

Kagome looked between them, calm as ever. “Then we gather the ingredients.”

Sirius stared at her. “You’re remarkably steady about all this.”

She tilted her head slightly. “We don’t have many options here.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. We’ll compile a list. Some ingredients I can gather safely… others we’ll have to acquire through less obvious channels.”

“Black market?” James said with too much interest.

“Preferably not,” Lily replied.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair. “So. A month.”

“A month,” Remus confirmed. “Plenty of time to prepare for whatever comes next.”

Sirius let his gaze drift to Kagome—who met it fearlessly. If this was the path forward… he would walk it. But he would not leave her unprotected for a second of it.

James tapped the parchment with his quill. “Right. Once the Polyjuice is ready, Lily, Sirius, and I can take it and head back to London.”

Sirius shook his head immediately. “Hold on. I want to go with Remus and Kagome first.”

All three heads snapped toward him.

Sirius folded his arms. “Under the Invisibility Cloak. You two will be walking into Diagon Alley—and the Ministry—with only each other. Absolutely not. I’m coming.”

Remus went still. “Sirius, if you step one foot into wizarding London and someone senses—”

“They won’t,” Sirius cut in. “Not under the Cloak. You forget who you’re talking to.”

“We’re talking,” Lily said firmly, “to a man with his face on Muggle newspapers.”

“That’s exactly why I’ll be hiding under the Cloak,” Sirius insisted. “And don’t look at me like that—James and I spent half our school years sneaking about Hogwarts. Cloak, map, mischief—we made it an art.”

James puffed up proudly. “We did.”

Lily sighed. “That’s not a point in your favour.”

“It is,” Sirius countered. “We slipped past teachers, prefects, patrols, Filch, and the Bloody Baron. We can certainly manage a simple walk through Diagon Alley.”

“That was when you were sixteen,” Remus said.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “And I’ve only improved with age.”

James snorted. “Debatable.”

Kagome glanced between them, torn between concern and something softer—something that warmed Sirius’s chest. “If the Cloak really hides him, then… perhaps it’s best he’s nearby.”

Lily stared. “Kagome, you cannot encourage him.”

Kagome shrugged gently. “Do you really think he will drop the matter? Better he does it where we can keep track of him.”

James pointed a finger. “She has a point.”

Remus groaned. “This plan is becoming more Marauder-esque by the minute.”

Sirius beamed. “Precisely why it will work.”

Lily rubbed her forehead. “Oh, Merlin, save us.”

Sirius stepped beside Kagome, lowering his voice—not quiet, but meant for her first. “If you’re going into Diagon Alley, I’m not letting you go unguarded.”

Kagome’s eyes softened. “Then stay close under the Cloak.”

Remus exhaled, defeated. “Fine. The Cloak it is. But you do not emerge from under it. Not once.”

“No trouble whatsoever,” Sirius said cheerfully.

James muttered to Lily, “That means he absolutely will.”

“I heard that,” Sirius called back, smirking.

Chapter Text

It had taken hours of convincing and an alarming amount of Sirius Black’s persuasive charm for everyone to agree to move to an Order safehouse closer to London. This one was somehow even smaller than the cabin, but it sat only a short train ride from King’s Cross in a rural muggle village, and that alone made it a victory.

Thanks to the goblins, who cared about Ministry politics about as much as they cared about Muggle celebrity gossip, Remus had been able to withdraw gold from Sirius’ vault without anyone asking uncomfortable questions. Enough gold for supplies, food, and, to Kagome’s mounting horror… Witch-adequate clothing. Pure-blood fashionable clothes.

And that was how Kagome ended up staring at herself in a transfigured mirror, swallowed by a deep emerald dress far too dramatic for someone who was used to jeans, sweaters, and the occasional priestess’ robes.

“That’s quite… dramatic,” Kagome whispered, twirling stiffly. The skirt went down to her feet, showing only the tip of her new boots.

Lily, sitting cross-legged on the bed and pinning up her own hair, snorted. “It’s odd at first, but you get used to it. And for the record,” she stood to adjust the collar on Kagome’s dress and puff the sleeves,“you look wonderful. Sirius’ mother would have absolutely nothing bad to say about you.”

Kagome blinked at her through the mirror. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

Lily tugged the extravagant hat onto Kagome’s head—an ornate thing with far too many feathers—and stepped back. “Partially.”

Kagome eyed herself, horrified. “There’s an entire peacock on my head. Possibly two.”

Lily burst into warm, unrestrained laughter, which, despite Kagome’s growing panic, made her own nerves loosen a little.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lily said cheerfully. “You won’t stand out at all among old pure-blood families. Half of them dress like they’ve been hexed by their own wardrobes.”

Kagome groaned. “Wonderful. I’m going to blend in with the fashion victims.”

“Exactly.” Lily grinned, pleased. “Now raise your chin a bit, look down at everyone like they’re less worthy than the dirt on your shoes—”

“Hard to look down at anyone when I’m this short,” Kagome muttered under her breath.

Lily snorted so hard she nearly dropped her hairpins. “Kagome! You can’t make me laugh while I’m trying to be your stylist.”

“My suffering is clearly very funny,” Kagome said dryly, but her lips were curling.

“Of course it is. That’s friendship.” Lily winked and circled her. “All right—straighten your back. Yes, like that. Chin up—good. Pretend you’re a Victorian lady at a ball, judging absolutely everyone.”

Kagome narrowed her eyes at her reflection. “I look like I’m about to sue someone.”

“Perfect!” Lily clapped. “Exactly the attitude we want. No one will question you being from some obscure, deeply traditional foreign family.”

Kagome sighed. “Traditional is one word for it.”

Lily grinned. “Trust me, you look brilliant.”

Lily circled Kagome like a tailor preparing her for a parade, one hand on her hip, the other full of hairpins she wielded like weapons.

“All right,” Lily declared, “lesson one in Pure-Blood Etiquette: they always know their family trees. It’s very easy, really—most of them marry their cousins, so there aren’t many branches to memorize.”

Kagome blinked. “They marry their cousins?”

“Oh, frequently, sometimes uncles and aunts too,” Lily said breezily, adjusting the absurd feathered hat. “Makes birthdays very simple. You only need to buy presents for three people.”

Kagome snorted.

Lily’s eyes lit up. “Good, good—laughter means your soul hasn’t been crushed by the outfit yet.”

Kagome turned toward the cracked mirror, tugging the stiff green dress that felt more like armor than clothing. “I still think it’s dramatic.”

“It is,” Lily admitted cheerfully. “But so are most pure-blood families. They wear things like this to breakfast.” She leaned in and whispered, “One can’t be outdone by one’s own cousins. Especially if they’re also one’s in-laws.”

Kagome clapped a hand over her mouth, half horrified, half amused. “That’s… that’s awful.”

“It is,” Lily agreed, laughing, “but it’s also accurate. I’m glad James’ parents weren’t like this.”

She stepped behind Kagome, deft fingers lifting her chin. “Now, since your family tree is delightfully cousin-free, just pretend you’re the heiress from some hyper-traditional foreign clan no one knows anything about here in the West.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“Exactly,” Lily said. “Suspicion reads as prestige in pure-blood circles.”

Kagome groaned, and Lily laughed harder, her warmth filling the cramped safehouse room.

Kagome looked at herself again—green silk, impossible feathers, posture stiff enough to pass as nobility.

“Do I really look like I belong in this world?” she asked quietly.

Lily stepped behind her, straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

“You look like yourself,” Lily said. “And that’s more magical than any pure-blood pretender alive.”

Kagome swallowed—touched, shy, warmed.

Then Lily added brightly, “Although—you should still practice the disdainful eyebrow. Pure-blood society thrives on judgment.”

Kagome lifted one eyebrow experimentally.

Lily clapped. “Yes! That’s excellent. Use that look whenever someone mentions the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Or… well, anything Walburga Black ever said.”

Kagome lifted her chin the way Lily had shown her—back straight, shoulders set, eyebrows raised in aristocratic disdain. She didn’t feel like a Victorian witch… but at least she looked like one who might hex someone for breathing too loudly.

Lily clapped once. “Perfect! Honestly, you could pass for a Black cousin from the Japanese side.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s horrifying,” Lily admitted. Kagome tried not to laugh.

And that was when the door to the tiny bedroom creaked open.

“S’pose Remus needs the shopping list—” Sirius said as he stepped inside, not looking up immediately. “Do either of you know where he put the—”

He looked up. And froze. His entire face went through a sequence of expressions—none of them positive.

Kagome blinked. “…Sirius?”

He stared at her like she’d transformed into a boggart wearing his mother’s wedding robes.

“Kagome—what—why—what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

Lily snorted so hard she had to turn away.

Kagome held out her arms helplessly, the enormous skirts swishing like angry seaweed. “It’s pure-blood clothes. For the plan.”

Sirius recoiled slightly. “No. Absolutely not. Take it off.”

“Sirius!”

“It looks like something from my mother’s closet,” he said, horrified. “Or worse—like something she’d approve of.”

Kagome raised an eyebrow. “And that’s… bad?”

“That’s a catastrophe,” Sirius said earnestly, hand pressed to his heart as though physically wounded. “You look like one of them. Like every aunt whose name I refuse to say aloud.”

Lily cackled. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

“Lily, don’t encourage this,” Sirius snapped, then pointed accusingly at Kagome’s head. “And what’s that abomination on your hair?”

Kagome touched the feathered hat. “This is tradition.”

“No,” Sirius said firmly. “That is a crime.”

Kagome tried not to laugh. “You really don’t like it?”

“Like it?” Sirius sputtered. “You’ve triggered my generational trauma.”

Lily wheezed. “He’s actually serious—”

“No,” Sirius groaned, “I’m Sirius. Unfortunately. And that—” he gestured wildly at Kagome’s dress “—is the opposite of everything I like about her.”

Kagome softened. “Sirius…”

He stepped forward, expression cracking open into something soft and honest. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said quickly. “It’s the clothes. The whole… cursed aesthetic. That’s not you.”

He reached out, carefully lifting a corner of the skirt between two fingers as though it might hex him.

“I don’t want you pretending to be something you’re not.”

Kagome smiled faintly. “It’s only for the plan.”

Sirius swallowed, avoiding the mirror entirely.

“Well,” he muttered, “at least you still sound like yourself. Even if you look like you’re about to judge my life choices.”

Kagome stepped closer, skirts rustling. “Does it bother you that much?”

“Yes,” he admitted, voice low. “Because I like you. Not whatever that hat is.” He paused, grimacing at the feathers. “It might be sentient.”

Kagome laughed—and Sirius finally relaxed a fraction.

Lily folded her arms, utterly smug. “See? This is why we fit in. Drama.”

Sirius shot her a look. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Kagome touched Sirius’ hand gently. “I can change if it helps.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. Keep it for the plan. Just… don’t expect me to look at you without heart palpitations.”

“Negative ones?” Kagome teased.

“Very negative,” Sirius confirmed. “The exact opposite of the usual ones you give me.”

Kagome’s cheeks warmed.

Sirius departed down the corridor muttering about “ancient curses disguised as clothing,” leaving Kagome staring at the mirror with a mix of amusement and… relief, if she was honest. The dress was heavy. The feathers were aggressive. And she definitely felt like she was committing an environmental crime by wearing it.

Lily sighed dramatically, hands on her hips.

“Well,” she said, “that went about as well as trying to fix James’ hair.”

Kagome snorted. “Does this mean I can get out of this?”

Lily hesitated. Then:

“…Yes,” she conceded, deflating slightly. “Fine. I’ll admit it. Perhaps the peacock couture was… ambitious.”

“There were three birds living on my head,” Kagome reminded gently.

“Two at most,” Lily argued. Then, under Kagome’s look, “…All right. Three.”

Kagome grinned.

Lily clapped her hands. “Right, off with the aristocratic nightmare. We’ll find something pure-blood enough to pass, but not… terrifying.”

Within minutes, the monstrous green gown was half-disassembled, the hat safely tossed onto the bed with a sound suspiciously like a dying squawk.

Lily rummaged through the small pile of secondhand wizarding clothes Remus purchased with Sirius’ gold—robes, cloaks, dresses in deep jewel tones and elegant cuts. Finally, she pulled out a sleek navy-blue dress with clean lines, soft sleeves, and a subtle silver thread embroidered at the hem.

“Here,” Lily declared, holding it up victoriously. “Traditional, chic, tasteful… and unlikely to activate Sirius’ PTSD.”

Kagome’s eyes lit. “This one is beautiful.”

“Yes,” Lily said smugly, “because I picked it. Try it on.”

Kagome slipped into it, the fabric cool and light against her skin. No steel corset ribs, no layers of feathers plotting rebellion—just soft, flowing wizard-wear that made her feel like someone real, not a caricature.

Lily stepped back, hands pressed together in satisfaction.

“Oh, that’s much better. You look elegant. Mysterious. Slightly intimidating.” She tilted her head. “Sirius-proof.”

Kagome looked at herself in the mirror—a witch from a distant lineage, yes, but not buried under it.

“I feel like I can breathe,” she admitted.

“You look like you own a manor,” Lily said, “but one with good lighting and boundaries.”

Kagome laughed. “That sounds about right.”

“And for the hair,” Lily said, gathering her wand, “no bun. He’ll think you’re possessed.”
She lifted Kagome’s hair into a soft half-up twist, letting the rest fall freely down her back. “There. Enchanted, not cursed.”

Kagome touched the ends of her hair. “…I like this.”

Lily smiled—warm, sisterly. “You should. This looks like you. The version of you who can walk into Diagon Alley and make everyone wonder which elegant foreign witch just arrived.”

Kagome felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Do you really think so?”

Lily leaned in, teasing but sincere. “I know so. And Sirius will be far less dramatic about it too.”

From the corridor came Sirius’ distant voice: “I make no promises!”

Kagome stifled a laugh. Lily grinned.

“See?” Lily said. “Already improved.”

Kagome still didn’t like Apparition. Her stomach always lurched, and her balance never quite cooperated—but at least Sirius kept an arm around her, steady and warm, the moment they landed.

Before heading toward Westminster, they made a quick detour to Sirius’ flat. He flat-out refused to keep wearing the clothes James and Remus had picked out, insisting they ‘lacked all traces of his charisma.’ Luckily, at that time of the day, no one gave them a second look. 

The flat looked as though someone had simply vanished mid-step.

A broken mug lay on the floor beside a fallen fork. A half-eaten meal sat on the table, mould creeping along the edges. His wand rested carelessly on the counter, as if he’d dropped it for a moment and never returned. A thin coat of dust dulled the surfaces.

Kagome took it all in slowly.

Originally, Sirius had been here when he received the news of Voldemort’s attack. And when she and Sirius stepped out of the Veil decades later, the universe had tidied away the “other” Sirius—sending that body straight to the Department of Mysteries to avoid paradox. It left behind a wandless Sirius… and a rotting plate of food in the kitchen.

They couldn’t stay long. With a flick of his reclaimed wand, Sirius vanished the spoiled food, set the dishes to rights, and renewed the wards. Just for safety, Kagome added some of her own protection. Then he slipped down the hall to fetch his motorbike from where he’d stored it.

Kagome wandered a little, taking in the pieces of his life scattered around the room.

Vinyl records leaned against a shelf in messy rows—British rock stacked on British rock. Bowie. The Beatles. The Rolling Stones. Music that spoke of a rebellious teenager with too much fire, too much freedom, too much heart to ever fit into the perfect Black heir role.

A version of him who’d barely had the chance to grow up. To live.

And now… he did.

Here. In this timeline. In this small, dusty flat that held all the echoes of who he had been and all the space for who he could still become.

Kagome touched the edge of a vinyl sleeve, her fingers tracing the faint ring of dust. It struck her quietly with a soft, settling warmth that he wasn’t the only one beginning again.

This wasn’t just Sirius’s second chance. It was hers too.

A chance to leave behind shadows of dreams that no longer haunted her. To imagine a future not dictated by loss, but by possibility.

If she was no one here… she could choose who to become. Anyone. Even—her cheeks heated at the thought— even a Black. Mrs. Black.

Before she could drift too far into it, Sirius returned—boots tapping lightly across the floor, hair wind-tousled, grin far too pleased with himself.

“Found my baby,” he announced as he strode back into the room, swagger in every step. “Exactly where I left her. Which clearly means she’s been pining for me.”

Kagome raised an eyebrow. “Your bike?”

“And maybe you too,” he added, tapping the pocket where he’d tucked the shrunken motorbike with a look far too pleased with himself.

Before she could retort, Sirius reached for the leather jacket hanging over the back of a chair. He shrugged into it with the kind of effortless grace no one had any right to possess.

Kagome’s breath caught. He looked like a walking sin in those clothes. Black leather and a tangle of neck gear that made her go weak—dangerous, rebellious, and hers. All hers.

Sirius glanced around his flat, then back at her, expression shifting—still playful, but softer underneath. “So,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, “think we could live here at first?”

She blinked. “Live here?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl. “Temporarily. Until we find our forever home.” A pause—then a smirk. “Unless you were serious about Grimmauld Place. In that case, we simply wait a few years for dear Mother to go to her great reward.”

Kagome snorted. “That is not what I meant.”

“Oh, I know.” He leaned against the counter, eyeing her with an almost dangerous warmth. “But the idea of you as Lady of Grimmauld Place is… entertaining.”

“Sirius.”

“What? You’d brighten the place up. Scare off a few portraits. Possibly redecorate with actual colour. Purify the whole pure-blood hatred from the ground.” His grin softened. “And I wouldn’t mind coming home to you there.”

She looked around again—the cluttered table, the uneven stacks of vinyls, the coat of dust that couldn’t quite hide the spark of who he was underneath it all. And he wanted to share it with her.

Kagome stepped close, rose onto her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’d love to live here with you,” she whispered.

Sirius inhaled sharply, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her gently but unmistakably closer.

“Well,” he murmured against her mouth, voice low and wickedly pleased, “you keep saying things like that, and I’m going to start planning where to put your toothbrush.”

Kagome laughed, flustered and glowing. “Then you’d better pick a colour that matches yours,” she teased.

Remus was already waiting outside The Leaky Cauldron when they arrived, hands tucked into his coat pockets, looking every bit the grieving friend he was pretending to be. He straightened when he saw Kagome emerge—knowing Sirius would be right by her side.

Remus gave them both a curt nod. “The ingredients have been sent ahead. James and Lily will collect them from the drop point later.”

Kagome dipped her head in acknowledgment, smoothing a stray curl behind her ear. The winter wind nipped at her cheeks, but Sirius was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him even now.

“The plan is still the same,” Remus reminded, lowering his voice. “If anyone asks, you’re a distant relative of the Potters looking for information about James.”

Kagome touched her hair self-consciously. “You’re sure this works?”

Remus nodded. “Absolutely. Same dark hair. Same curls. That alone will carry you through half the wizarding world.”

Sirius added, “And the other half will be too busy minding their own business.”

He nudged her shoulder, a small, secret encouragement.

Remus gave Sirius a pointed look. “And you stay under the Cloak at all times.”

Sirius lifted the edge of the Cloak between two fingers. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

“We will,” Remus said dryly. “You bark too loudly.”

Remus steered them toward the back of the pub. The brick wall rippled open, revealing Diagon Alley bustling under the pale midday sun. People hurried past them without taking a second look. A busker played something jaunty on an enchanted harmonica. A pair of witches argued loudly over cauldrons in a shop window.

It all felt familiar and foreign at once. Kagome hoped to come back there under better circumstances to take it everything properly.

They kept their heads down as they slipped through the crowd, past Flourish and Blotts and the ornate marble pillars of Gringotts, heading toward the far end of the Alley where few lingered.

Remus motioned them toward an empty side street, and with a subtle movement of his wand, a metal grate shifted, revealing a narrow service corridor that led to an underground passage.

They stepped inside, Sirius brushing close under the Cloak, and followed the dim, echoing tunnel until the stone opened into a cramped lift. Remus pressed the button. The moment the doors shut, Kagome smoothed her dress and inhaled once, recalling Lily’s voice in her head:

Chin up. Glide. You’re ancient, important, and mildly bored by everyone else’s existence.

The lift lurched upward.

A moment later, the lift jolted and shot upward. No voice, no announcements. Just a sharp ding and then the doors opened straight into the Ministry Atrium.

Bright blue fireplaces roared along the walls, memos fluttered overhead like restless paper birds, and a crowd of witches and wizards crossed the polished floor in a steady current.

Kagome had barely taken two steps when a low, gravel-like voice cut through the noise:

“Lupin.”

Alastor Moody was standing near the central fountain, one good eye squinting and the electric-blue eye spinning in wild circles. His scarred mouth twisted as he looked Remus over. And then his gaze snapped to Kagome.

Actually—his normal eye studied her. The magical one whirled, scanning her from head to toe in a way that made Kagome’s skin prick.

“Who,” Moody growled, “is this?”

Remus stepped smoothly forward. “A relative of James. She’s looking for information on his whereabouts.”

Moody didn’t answer right away.

His magical eye flicked sideways—straight through the Cloak—and Sirius swore under his breath so quietly only Kagome caught it.

The whirling blue eye froze on that spot for a fraction of a second, then it snapped back to her.

“Hmph.” Moody leaned in, giving Kagome a closer look than anyone had a right to. “You look young for a Potter.”

Kagome kept her posture calm, chin lifted just enough to seem confident. “We don’t involve ourselves much in British affairs.”

Moody grunted. Not convinced. Not dismissing her either.

“Never heard of you,” he said gruffly.

“My branch of the family lives abroad,” Kagome replied evenly. “But we’ve heard about the recent events.”

For a long moment, Moody held her gaze.

She sounded like a pure-blood. And pure-bloods rarely explained themselves.

Then he straightened with a grunt.

“Hmph. Lupin—keep an eye on this one.”

Kagome let a slow, aristocratic nod answer him.

Moody stomped off toward the lifts, shouting at two junior Aurors to stop loitering. 

Only then did Remus exhale under his breath. “Very well done,” he murmured.

A whisper brushed Kagome’s ear—Sirius’ voice, low and tense beside her.

“Bloody hell, Kagome,” he whispered. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were born into the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Moody had just begun to enter the lift  when Remus called. “Moody,” he said in a low voice, “before you go—have you heard anything about Alice and Frank? I’m meant to check in on them after this.”

Moody paused mid-stride.

The magical eye rotated once before his normal eye fixed on Remus with a hard stare.

“Hmph. The Longbottoms.” His voice dropped into something close to a growl. “They’re being briefed right now. Auror Office is sending them out this afternoon.”

Kagome’s heart tightened.

Remus kept his voice neutral. “Field assignment?”

Moody nodded once. “Tracking Bellatrix and her lot. We’ve got intel that she was sighted near Birmingham—her fanatics are clinging on the idea of You-Know-Who’s return.”

Sirius swore so softly only Kagome felt the vibration of the sound under the Cloak.

Kagome herself forced her breath steady, lifting her chin just slightly.

“Dangerous assignment,” Remus said carefully.

“Everything’s dangerous right now,” Moody snapped. “But they’re two of the best Aurors we’ve got. If anyone can bring her in, it’s them.”

Moody’s gaze flicked back to her for a second.

Remus inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, Alastor.”

Moody grunted, already stalking away. “Keep your eyes open. And keep her in check.”

Kagome responded with the perfectly-measured pure-blood raise of eyebrow.

Moody disappeared into the lift, between Ministry workers, barking at someone for carrying their wand incorrectly.

Remus leaned slightly toward Kagome, whispering, “That’s our window. We find where they’re being briefed.”

Sirius whispered from under the Cloak, voice tight, “We stop them before they follow her trail.”

She nodded once. “Then let’s move.”

Chapter Text

As they made their way through the twisting corridors of the Ministry, Remus found himself wishing James were with them. For all his recklessness, James had completed Auror training—properly—and would’ve known these halls like the back of his hand. Sirius… well, the older Sirius had certainly been here, but Remus doubted he’d been in any state to remember the layout. Not when he was dragged in as a suspect, wandless and half feral.

Remus stole another glance at Kagome. She kept her chin high, steps measured, posture impeccable—even when there wasn’t a soul in sight. Gone was the warm, easygoing young woman he’d come to know in the safehouse; in her place walked a distant, aristocratic figure dripping with pure-blood disdain. It was… impressive, honestly. She slipped into the role effortlessly.

Every few minutes, the beads under his shirt warmed against his skin. Kagome’s magic—her reiki, as she called it—brushed the air like invisible fingertips, sensing and cataloguing everything around them. The stray wisps of power made the wolf inside him stir uneasily.

He tried not to think about it too much.

Just as he tried not to think too hard about everything they had learned from Kagome and Sirius’ tale. The future they were now desperately trying to prevent.

Twelve years of silence—nothing of him, nothing of Sirius, Peter cowardly hiding as a rat—a proper disguise to his rotten loyalty. Just the grim outline of Harry’s terrible childhood and a few scattered mentions of Death Eaters who slipped through the cracks. They knew Sirius’ mother would die naturally—good riddance—but that hardly helped when they needed concrete data.

And then there were Alice and Frank. Two of the best Aurors alive, two of the bravest Order members, walking straight toward a destiny they hadn’t yet escaped.

They hadn’t even had time to sit and comb through Kagome’s notebook properly—no charts, no timelines, no organised notes—but she had done what she could. She’d marked important events, flagged dangerous dates, added notes of observations—at this point, the books looked less like ordinary fiction and more like his old History of Magic textbooks.

Remus exhaled quietly, keeping his pace steady. Whatever happened next, they had very little time left.

The closer they came to the Auror Department, the thicker the air felt—buzzing with clipped conversations, clacking typewriters, and the sharp scent of ink and burnt parchment. Kagome’s steps remained perfectly measured, head held just high enough to suggest confidence without arrogance. Lily would’ve been proud.

Remus had just spotted the brass placard for the Auror Office when a tall wizard stepped directly into their path.

“Excuse me,” the man said sharply, eyes sweeping over Remus before lingering on Kagome with obvious suspicion. “This area is restricted. State your business.”

Remus stopped, careful to keep his expression neutral.

“Our business,” she said coolly, “is with the Head Auror Office.”

The wizard narrowed his eyes. “Name?”

“Kagome Potter,” she replied, crisp as any old-family matron. “And my escort, Remus Lupin.”

“Potter?” The Auror frowned deeper. “Never heard of you.”

Kagome inhaled delicately through her nose—slow, measured, the picture of someone gravely insulted.

“My family resides abroad,” she said, tone clipped with aristocratic frost. “We do not involve ourselves in local matters unless absolutely necessary.”

The Auror’s jaw tightened. “Even so—outsiders aren’t permitted access without clearance. And you haven’t given me a reason to let you through.”

Kagome tilted her chin a fraction higher—the kind of small, lethal gesture Lily had encouraged.

“Mr. Lupin and I will speak to the appropriate officials,” she said, voice soft but cold. “I do not expect to handle sensitive family business with…” she paused just long enough for the insult to settle, “…minor administrative personnel.”

Remus nearly choked. The Auror stiffened. Kagome tilted her chin a fraction higher—pure-blood disdain radiating like cold perfume.

“If the Head Auror Office wishes to speak with me,” Kagome continued smoothly, “I will do so with someone authorised to handle matters concerning the Potter family. Preferably someone who can read beyond their own assignment sheet.”

Sirius, invisible beside her, made a strangled sound that might have been laughter or admiration—or both.

The Auror sputtered. “You—why—you can’t talk to—”

Kagome sighed. Sighed. A perfect imitation of a bored heiress who’d endured too much incompetence in one morning.

“Mr. Lupin,” she said politely but loudly enough to cut through the man’s flustered stammering, “shall we wait for someone with actual authority? I would hate to waste more time.”

Remus swallowed. Hard. “Er—yes. Certainly.”

The Auror opened his mouth to argue—but before he could, a firm voice cut in sharp as a spell.

“Lupin?”

They all turned.

Alice Longbottom stood a few paces away, sharp-eyed and brisk in her Auror robes, a stack of case files tucked under one arm. Her expression softened only slightly when she saw Remus—but her gaze slid immediately to Kagome with clear, trained suspicion.

“Who’s this?” she asked, polite but guarded.

Kagome dipped her head in the precise pure-blood motion Lily had drilled into her. Almost a perfect act if Remus didn’t know better.

Remus stepped forward quickly. “Alice, this is Kagome Potter. James’ distant cousin.”

Alice’s brows rose. “Potter? I wasn’t aware James had any relatives abroad.”

Kagome answered in a cool, distant tone, “Our branch of the family keeps to itself. We do not typically care about minor British affairs.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed—not hostile, but evaluating. She didn’t know Kagome. She didn’t know her story. She didn’t trust easily, especially not here, not now. But Remus was there—it meant something.

The Auror who had questioned them earlier stepped in, voice stiff. “She said she needed access to the Auror Department. No clearance. No identification. Claims she’s a Potter—”

Alice held up a hand, silencing him instantly.

She kept her gaze on Remus. “What exactly do you need, Remus?”

Remus understood the question beneath the words. Is this trouble? Do I need to raise the alarm?

He lowered his voice, keeping it calm and even. “We need to speak with someone in the Auror High Office. Privately.”

Alice’s eyes flicked between him and Kagome again—measuring, deciding.

Then something clicked. A subtle shift in her posture. A faint spark of recognition of what Remus was saying without speaking.

She turned to the other Auror. “Thank you, Dawlish. I’ll take it from here.”

Dawlish blinked. “But I—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

He snapped his mouth shut, stepped aside, and vanished down the corridor in a huff.

Alice waited until he was out of earshot before facing them again.

“High Office?” she murmured under her breath. “All right. Follow me. Keep close.”

She glanced at Kagome—still poised, chin slightly raised, every inch the foreign pure-blood she was pretending to be.

“Let’s get you out of the corridor,” she said. “Before someone else decides to play gatekeeper.”

Remus exhaled in relief and fell into step behind her, Kagome gliding beside him, Sirius’ invisible presence brushing his elbow like a shadow.

Alice moved quickly through the corridor, leading them deeper into the Auror Department. The further they walked, the louder the atmosphere grew—briefing room doors slamming, parchment flying, boots pacing on tile. Tension hung in the air like static; everyone could feel the weight of post-Voldemort chaos.

Alice pushed open a door marked Frank Longbottom and gestured them inside.

Frank looked up from a stack of reports. His eyes sharpened immediately. “Remus. Didn’t expect to see you, after… everything.”

His gaze slid to Kagome. Steady. Professional. Curious. Not hostile, but not dismissive either.

“And you must be…?”

“Kagome Potter,” she said in that aristocratic tone she had perfected, chin slightly raised. 

Frank nodded politely, though Remus could tell he didn’t entirely buy it. But unlike the Auror outside, Frank didn’t challenge her. He simply watched.

Alice closed the door behind them, then turned to her husband.

“Frank, do you mind keeping an eye on our guest for a moment?” Her voice was perfectly pleasant — but Remus had known her too long not to hear the steel underneath.

Frank caught it too. He rose smoothly from his chair. “Of course.”

He crossed the room and stood at Kagome’s side — not looming, but close enough to intervene if necessary. He offered her a polite nod.

“Don’t mind Alice,” he said mildly. “She’s cautious with strangers. Comes with the job.”

Kagome returned the nod in a cool, composed way that could have been read as noble restraint or pure-blood arrogance. Hard to tell which.

Alice’s eyes flicked once more to Kagome, then to Remus. “Remus,” she said quietly, “come with me.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply opened the door again and gestured him out.

Remus shot Kagome a reassuring glance—she held her pure-blood posture like a shield, chin high, gaze cool—then followed Alice down the corridor. Sirius would take care of her if needed—he was more than sure of it.

She led him into a smaller office two doors down. Alice Longbottom’s office.

The moment the door shut behind them, the calm she’d worn evaporated.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “And don’t give me a polite answer. I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s off.”

Remus swallowed. The urgency he’d kept pinned under his ribs all morning surged like a cold pulse.

“Alice,” he said, “this isn’t a social visit. And we didn’t come here because of James.”

Alice’s brow creased. “Then why did you come?”

Remus forced the words out carefully, but with enough force to show he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Because  we needed to speak to you and Frank,” he said. “Now. Before you’re sent out.”

Alice stiffened.

“Sent out?” she echoed. “Remus, what do you—”

“You and Frank,” Remus interrupted—more sharply than he intended. “You’re being assigned to track Bellatrix. Today. You know how dangerous she is.”

Alice’s jaw tightened—but she didn’t deny it. Of course she didn’t. She was already briefed.

Remus leaned forward, urgency sharpening his tone. “I’m telling you this because you need to hear me clearly. Kagome isn’t a risk. She’s here because we’re trying to stop something from happening to you, something terrible.”

Alice stared at him, weighing the truth in his eyes.

“How terrible?” she asked quietly.

Remus exhaled—controlled only because panic would make everything worse.

“Bad enough,” he said, “bad enough that we have to stop you from suffering a fate worse than death.”

Alice’s expression shifted—fear flickering, then settling into steel. Her Auror instincts were screaming. Her logic was racing. But she wasn’t dismissing him.

“And Kagome?” Alice pressed. “Who is she really?”

Remus shook his head. “A friend. An ally. Someone risked everything to help us.”

Alice stared for a long moment. “Let’s hear it out then.”

Alice marched back toward Frank’s office, Remus at her side, urgency pulsing through his veins. They needed to speak with both Longbottoms immediately—there was no more time to waste.

When Alice pushed open the door, Remus expected stiff formality, Kagome’s flawless pure-blood posture, and Sirius whispering invisibly from the corner.

Instead—

He found Kagome sitting casually on the edge of Frank’s desk, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping on tea.

Frank was leaning back against a filing cabinet, arms folded, watching her with mild amusement.

And Sirius— was absolutely visible, standing beside Kagome with his arms crossed, leather jacket gleaming, looking like he was ready to hex the first person who breathed too loudly.

Alice stopped dead.

“Sirius.”

“Hello, Alice,” he said, utterly unrepentant.

Remus blinked. “…You took the Cloak off?”

Sirius scoffed. “He was giving Kagome looks.”

Frank raised both hands. “Not suspicious looks—evaluation looks. I’m an Auror, Sirius. It’s my job.”

“You were assessing too hard,” Sirius shot back, one step closer to Kagome as if shielding her from long-distance criticism.

Kagome sighed. “He wasn’t assessing too hard.”

Frank chuckled. “He lifted the Cloak right after you two left,” he told Alice and Remus. “I didn’t even say anything threatening. Just asked who she was.”

“She’s with me,” Sirius said immediately.

“Kagome introduced herself,” Frank replied dryly. “You didn’t need to growl.”

“I did not growl,” Sirius snapped.

“You did,” Kagome said softly.

“You absolutely did,” Frank added helpfully.

Sirius threw his hands up. “For Merlin’s sake, I was being vigilant.”

Frank arched a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Remus felt a headache beginning to form. Alice pressed her fingers to her temple.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “We leave you alone for three minutes, and you decide the best course of action is to reveal yourself to an Auror? As if we weren’t authorized to immediately use Avada Kedavra upon seeing you?”

Sirius shrugged, completely unbothered. “He was staring at Kagome.”

Frank laughed—open, delighted. “I wasn’t staring. I was trying to figure out why a young witch was pretending to be a pure-blood matron one minute and looking like a perfectly normal person the next.”

“I never said I was normal,” Kagome muttered.

Sirius pointed at her. “Exactly.”

Alice inhaled slowly, patience thinning. “Sirius. I think the entire point of the Cloak was to keep you hidden.”

“And I would have stayed hidden,” Sirius insisted, “if Frank hadn’t looked at her funny.”

Frank smirked. “I wasn’t looking at her funny. I only asked a question. You jumped out of the cloak as if I was trying to give her a Dementor’s kiss.”

“I was not—!”

Kagome touched Sirius’ sleeve gently, and he stopped mid-protest—then pretended he hadn’t.

Alice shot Remus a look that said This is your circus. These are your monkeys.

Remus cleared his throat. “We don’t have time for this.”

Instant silence. Even Sirius straightened.

Alice folded her arms. “Then tell us why you’re here.”

Frank sobered as well, stepping fully into the room, wand tucked away, eyes attentive.

Kagome shifted closer to Sirius, who put an arm around her shoulders. 

Remus took a breath.

“It’s about you,” he said. “and the future that awaits for you.”

Frank’s  posture straightened with the instinctive alertness of an Auror hearing a threat too close for comfort. Alice’s expression tightened—disbelief flickering first, then something colder and more focused.

“Privacy charm,” he said. “Now no one hears a word.”

Alice moved beside him. “Good. Start talking.”

Kagome stepped forward, her voice quiet but unwavering.

“We come from many years in the future,” she said, pointing to Sirius, “after Voldemort rises for the second time.”

Remus held back a frown. This wasn’t a version they’ve discussed before, but he understood her. In their world, time travel was much more acceptable than dimension hopping. 

Alice frowned. “The future?”

Sirius nodded. “About sixteen years from now.”

“I’ve seen your son, Neville," Kagome continued, “he grows up to be very brave, but cries every time he goes to St Mungo’s to visit his parents… You were tortured by Bartemius Crouch Jr, Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange until your minds…” She swallowed, voice tightening. “…until you can’t come back.”

Alice’s breath hitched. Frank didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Kagome looked down briefly, gathering her composure, then met their eyes again with quiet sorrow. “Neville—he loves you so much, but you don’t recognise him. You’re alive… but he lost you anyway.”

Remus looked down, ashamed for saying nothing earlier. Ashamed for needing Kagome to speak it.

Alice’s hand rose instinctively to her mouth.

Frank’s voice, when it finally came, was hoarse. “Neville…”

“If we didn’t come back and change everything,” Sirius said, voice rough, “James and Lily would be dead right now—and yes, they’re alive and safe—and Harry would be growing up with horrible people who hated him.” He shook his head sharply. “We couldn’t give only Harry the chance to have his parents. ”His jaw tightened. “We can’t save one child and let another suffer if we can stop it.”

Kagome’s expression softened, the warmth in her eyes blooming through the ache of what she knew. “He grows up to be one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” she said quietly. “A lion-hearted boy. Loyal. Kind. He loves Herbology. I can only imagine how amazing he’ll become if—” her voice gentled, “—if, instead of a grandmother who criticises his every single mistake, he has loving parents beside him for every step.”A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “He’s scared of a lot, but he still does the right thing every single time.”

Frank closed his eyes, shoulders trembling once—barely, but enough. Alice reached for his hand and gripped it tightly, as if anchoring both of them.

“And he tries his hardest,” Kagome whispered. “Especially because he knows he’ll never get you back.”

The room went still.

Sirius stepped forward, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, eyes blazing with something fierce and ugly.

“That psycho—” he snarled. “She never stopped. Not in the future I remember. Her blind devotion to You-Know-Who kept her going long after he was gone. And she thought you two knew something she wanted. ”His voice cracked with fury. “She can’t be allowed to destroy more futures. More families.” He shook his head, breath trembling. “Not again.”

Remus had seen Sirius angry before.  He’d seen him reckless, furious, unhinged, even vengeful.

But this—This was different. Personal. The kind of fury born from a man who had already lived the consequences and refused to watch them unfold again.

Alice lifted her head, something fiery and sharp sparking behind her eyes. Her jaw tightened, but it wasn’t fear. It was resolve.

“You came here,” she said softly, “to stop that from happening.”

Remus nodded. “Yes. We want you both safe. At any cost.”

Frank drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. When he looked up, the fear was gone. What remained was the iron-spined determination of a seasoned Auror and a father who had just learned how much his son would lose.

“If what you’re saying is true,” he said quietly, “then we’re not going anywhere near Bellatrix today.” A beat. “Or anytime soon.”

Alice tightened her grip on his hand, her expression fierce and unshaken. “We’ll find another way. We’ll prepare properly. And she won’t get anywhere near us again—ever.”

Sirius exhaled, some of the tension leaving him—though the storm in his eyes refused to fade entirely. He would never forgive Bellatrix for what she’d done. Not in one timeline, and certainly not in this one.

Chapter Text

Alice and Frank needed time to process everything. No one could blame them for that — not when they’d just been told their lives could end in a hospital facility, minds shattered beyond repair. They asked to meet James and Lily. A proper conversation. A chance to see with their own eyes that things were changing.

They settled the meeting for a few days ahead.

Back at the safehouse — a cramped little box of a place — Sirius lingered by the doorway, watching Kagome and Lily bent over the cauldron. The scent of stewing lacewing flies filled the room as Kagome measured, Lily instructed, and Remus muttered potion guidelines under his breath like he was revising for O.W.L.s.

They needed enough Polyjuice to last months. They were brewing as much as possible.

And Sirius… Sirius was losing his mind.

He loved his friends — Merlin, he adored them — but weeks trapped in one small house with the same four people, the same narrow walls, the same stale air?

Every nerve in his body screamed for motion. He wanted distance. Wind. Sky. He wanted to take Polyjuice, mount his bike, grab Kagome, and disappear for hours. Drive with no destination and no one watching him. Just freedom. Pure, simple freedom.

Even though he wouldn’t be a prisoner this time, the memories weren’t erased. The cold stone. The Dementors. The nights where he thought he’d go mad listening to other inmates scream. The days where he wondered if anyone would ever know the truth.

Losing his family twice — once to Voldemort, once to mistrust.

Maybe that’s why he hovered so close to Kagome. Maybe that’s why he bristled at every perceived threat, every sideways look, every stray breath anyone took near her.

Because he had lost everything once. He wasn’t going to lose her too.

His gaze softened as he watched her now — sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, brow furrowed adorably as she crushed bicorn horn with all the focus of a student preparing for finals.

Kagome.

The woman who had saved his life in ways she didn’t even understand. Who had given up her world just to give him a chance. Who had walked through time and space for his sake — and then turned around and risked everything for James, Lily, Harry, and even Remus.

The one person he couldn’t imagine living without anymore.

Sirius exhaled slowly.

Kagome made him want everything. A home. A future. A life not built on running or fighting or burning bridges. Kagome made him want to stay, to settle down.

As the cauldron simmered and the scent of potion ingredients filled the cramped safehouse, Sirius leaned against the wall, letting himself watch the scene unfold.

Kagome and Lily had been awkward with each other at first. Lily had started out as the girl James fancied — the one he wouldn’t stop talking about, the one Sirius teased him ruthlessly about. Then she’d become part of their group, woven so deeply into their lives that Sirius couldn’t imagine the Marauders without her wit, her warmth, her fierce loyalty.

Seeing her now, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kagome…

Laughing with her. Guiding her. Teaching her how to chop fluxweed without turning it into green dust.

It hit him harder than he expected.

Lily was warming to Kagome. Really warming. Letting her in without hesitation, the way she only did with people she wanted to protect.

And Kagome… she needed that. She had lost everything — twice.

Sirius knew he couldn’t be her whole life. He didn’t want to be the only thread she had left to cling to. She deserved a family here — people who would care for her because of who she was, not just because she was with him.

Watching Lily loop an arm around Kagome’s shoulder, pulling her into a fit of giggles over Remus’ muttering… Sirius felt something settle deep inside him. Kagome wasn’t alone. She wasn’t drifting in a strange world with only him to hold her tether. She was building something here — connections, friendships, roots.

Lily flicked a bit of potion foam at Kagome, who yelped and retaliated by smearing fluxweed on Lily’s sleeve. Lily gasped, scandalised, then grabbed a ladle to chase her around the table.

Their laughter filled the kitchen, bright and easy.

Sirius felt his grin forming.

Beside him, Remus watched with a small, quiet smile — subtle, but real. “Looks like they’re getting on,” he murmured, tone mild but pleased.

Sirius glanced at him and caught the softening in Remus’ eyes. It wasn’t loud approval, but it was unmistakably there.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, warmth creeping into his voice. “They are.”

Before he could say more, James wandered in with Harry on his hip, taking one look at Lily and Kagome circling the table like children and snorting into his tea.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” he said casually. “Lily’s already treating her like a long-lost sister.”

Sirius arched a brow. “Jealous, are you?”

“Not at all,” James said, smirking. “Quite chuffed, actually. Means when these two eventually start behaving like proper sisters-in-law, the transition will be smooth.”

Kagome stumbled in her escape path. Lily nearly dropped the ladle. Remus choked on air.

Sirius groaned. “James…”

James shrugged, all innocent charm. “What? I’m saying it now so no one acts surprised later.”

Kagome, cheeks pink and breathless, tried to protest. “We’re not— I mean, we haven’t—”

“Oh, don’t panic, Kags,” James said lightly, adjusting Harry on his hip. “I’m just saying you and Lily getting on like that saves us a lot of trouble down the road.”

Kagome blinked, halfway between flustered and confused.

James added with a cheeky grin, “You know… when you two end up sisters-in-law.”

Lily shot him a look — the kind that should have scolded him — but she couldn’t quite hide her smile. “James, honestly…”

“What?” he said, shrugging as if this was the most reasonable statement he’d ever made. “I like it when my favourite person and my best mate’s favourite person get on. Makes family gatherings less of a circus.”

Sirius groaned under his breath, but he didn’t miss the way Kagome’s lips twitched, flustered but secretly pleased.

James winked. “See? Practically halfway there already.”

Kagome buried her face in her hands.

Sirius muttered, “Prongs, I swear—”

James just winked. “What can I say? I like happy endings.”

And Sirius, despite himself, felt something warm twist under his ribs.

Sirius let the warmth linger for just a moment before the reality of their situation inevitably crept back in. The Polyjuice cauldron burbled behind them — a reminder that time was ticking, the world outside still dangerous, and that hiding indefinitely was not an option.

Lily wiped potion foam from her sleeve, her smile lingering but thoughtful. “We’ll need a plan,” she said, the lightness fading. “We can’t stay tucked away here forever.”

That drew everyone in. The laughter ebbed. Even Harry, perched on James’s hip, blinked up at the sudden seriousness.

Kagome hesitated, chewing her lip — a habit Sirius recognized by now. It meant she had something important to say but wasn’t sure how it would land.

“Well,” she started softly, “I only read about Harry’s future… and Sirius lived part of it. So… maybe between us we can spot patterns.”

Sirius’s stomach knotted. He knew where this was going even before she said it.

“Dumbledore.” Kagome exhaled. “He took Harry to live with Petunia.”

The room instantly stiffened.

A slow, horrified groan rose out of James. Lily went rigid — not angry, but wounded. And Sirius — Sirius felt his teeth grind.

They had all read it. Every page. Every line about the Dursleys’ coldness, cruelty, neglect.

“No,” James said fiercely, shaking his head hard enough that his glasses slipped. “Absolutely not. We are not letting Harry live that again.”

“Not even for a day,” Sirius added, the words gravelly. “I’ve been to that place before — Privet Drive. Visited once or twice to check on Harry.” The memories were foggy, distorted by years of rage and grief. “It felt… wrong. Empty. Almost like magic itself avoided the place.”

Lily’s breath hitched, and Remus moved closer to her in silent support.

Sirius swallowed hard. “Harry cannot go back to that.”

“Then we don’t allow it,” James said. “End of story.”

Kagome nodded, though her brow furrowed. “The problem is… we’re trying to map out what matters. If Dumbledore left him there originally — then maybe we can work around the threads of fate by being there, just not at the Dursleys’ house.”

Remus, ever the quiet voice of reason, hummed thoughtfully. “That’s possible. Maybe Privet Drive itself was tied into the future. The house. The street. The boundary lines. Not the family.” He paused. “In that case… What if you lived close by? Not in the house, Merlin forbid. But in the area. Close enough to preserve whatever events were supposed to happen while keeping Harry safe.”

It was a logical suggestion.

It was also flawed.

James ran a hand through his hair. “But we’d be recognized instantly. Both Petunia and Vernon know our faces.”

Kagome shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable as she spoke. “There… is another option. But I don’t know how I feel about it.” Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt. “Hermione, one of Harry’s best friends, changed her parents’ memories using Obliviate. Made them forget they had a daughter and sent them to Australia so they wouldn’t be a target for Voldemort.”

Lily’s face drained. James’s jaw tightened. Remus looked like someone had placed a lead weight on his chest.

Sirius shook his head immediately. “That’s not a solution,” he said, gentler than he expected. “We’re not rewriting lives just to make room for ourselves.”

Kagome nodded quickly, relief flooding her expression. “I know. I don’t like it either. But… I wanted to mention it because, well… it is possible.”

Lily crossed her arms, not aggressively — protectively. “Harry will grow up loved. Not with altered strangers, not with abusers, and not hidden alone in a cupboard.”

James leaned his forehead against hers. “We’ll find another way.”

Sirius exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if trying to ease a tension that lived deeper than bone. “Look… whatever we decide, Obliviating the Dursleys is off the table. We’re not stealing anyone’s lives just to squeeze ourselves into the gaps.”

Kagome’s relief was immediate — visible in the way her posture softened. “Good. I wasn’t comfortable with it either. I just… needed to say it out loud.”

Lily glanced toward Harry, sleeping in his cot in the corner, her expression growing determined. “Harry will grow up loved. And safe. And free. Not hidden away in a cupboard.”

James’s hand brushed her arm, steadying. “We’ll find a way that doesn’t involve trauma, theft of identity, or crimes against memory. Sound good?”

“Very Marauder of us,” Sirius said dryly.

But Remus, quietly thinking it through as always, shifted his gaze to James and Lily. “There is one advantage we keep forgetting.” He paused, letting the weight of it settle. “The wizarding world thinks you’re dead.”

Silence — quick, sharp.

James blinked, then let out a breath that was half-disbelief. “Bloody hell. Right.”

Lily went still, processing. “So… we wouldn’t need to hide from wizards, they aren’t looking for us. We’d only need to hide from Muggles in that neighborhood.”

Sirius’s brows climbed. “Which means — new names. New papers. New everything.”

“And changed appearances,” Remus added. “At least altered enough that no neighbor takes one look and goes, ‘Oh look, it’s Petunia’s sister who’s supposed to be dead.’”

James snorted. “Honestly, mate, that would be quite the conversation starter.”

“Bit of a mood-killer,” Sirius agreed.

Kagome, cautious but hopeful, lifted her hand slightly. “There is one thing I can do. A charm. Not like a Muggle-Repelling one — this is different. I can layer the house so that anyone passing by won’t feel the magic inside. It won’t hide you, it won’t change who you are, but it’ll make the place feel… ordinary. Mundane. Safe.”

Lily’s eyes widened with real interest. “You can do that?”

Kagome nodded. “I didn’t know it worked with your magic until… Sirius, but it’s a ward meant to keep energy inside. It doesn’t stop people from entering — it just keeps magical energy from spilling out. Your neighbors won’t suspect anything. While inside, any magic will be undetectable.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

Remus tapped a finger against his chin, then looked at James with a very familiar expression — one that always preceded trouble.

“But the real question,” he said solemnly, “is whether James can pretend to be a Muggle for more than five minutes without causing an international incident.”

James spluttered. “Oi! I can blend in!”

Sirius snorted so hard he nearly choked. “Prongs, you set a toaster on fire once.”

“It was haunted,” James insisted.

“It was plugged in,” Lily corrected, deadpan.

Remus added mildly, “You greeted the mailman with a bow the last time we stayed with your parents.”

“That was being polite!”

“You said, ‘Good sir, do you bring news from the Ministry?’” Sirius reminded him.

Kagome clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh.

James waved them off with grand dismissiveness. “Minor cultural misunderstandings. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of going full Muggle.”

Lily patted his cheek fondly. “Sweetheart, I love you, but you thought a washing machine was a Dark artifact.”

Sirius leaned in with a grin. “We’ll start slow, Prongs. Took me three months as a dog to not jump at a phone ringing.”

Kagome snorted. “Please. Sirius nearly ended six electronics while living at the shrine. I had to put warning notes on everything. ‘Do not poke.’ ‘Do not sniff.’ ‘Do not bite.’ He even fried my alarm clock by glaring at it too hard.”

Sirius crossed his arms, offended on principle. “Everything was far more advanced than anything I was used to! And for the record, I was almost learning how to use the cellphone.”

“Until you dropped it down the well,” Kagome added sweetly.

“That was ONE TIME!”

Chapter Text

That afternoon was interrupted by pounding on the door.

James’ wand was in his hand instantly. Sirius’ too. Remus moved to stand between Kagome and Harry with that smooth, practiced protectiveness that came from years of paranoia.

Lily felt her pulse quicken. She lifted her wand and edged toward the door.

“Who is it?” she called sharply.

A muffled voice answered — familiar, strained, and exhausted.

“It’s us! Alice and Frank!”

Lily exhaled, relief and dread tangled together. James unlatched the door and opened it carefully, wand still trained upward.

Alice Longbottom practically stumbled inside with Frank right behind her. Both were pale, winded, and dusted with grime. Alice’s usually neat hair was loose, her eyes wide in a way Lily had only seen after battle. Frank looked like a man being held upright entirely by sheer will. 

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Alice said, breathless. “Every safehouse. Every fallback point.”

Lily stepped forward immediately. “What happened?”

Frank exchanged a look with Alice. “The aurors who took our place… the ones assigned to track the Lestranges…” He swallowed, voice tightening. “They’re dead.”

A hush fell over the room.

Lily’s stomach dropped. James swore under his breath. Remus’s jaw clenched.

Frank continued, voice hardening with every word. “Apparently Bellatrix killed them out of frustration—because they weren’t us. The lead wasn’t real — it was a trap.” His hand curled into a fist. “We weren’t meant to be tracking her. We were meant to walk straight into an ambush.”

Alice swallowed, her knuckles white. “Just like you said… We were about to… Merlin, we were about to be tortured to insanity.”

Kagome’s breath stuttered. “Who leaked it?”

Frank’s answer came like a blow. “Barty Crouch Jr. Law Enforcement discovered he’d been feeding information to Bellatrix and the Lestranges from his father. He set the ambush. Fleetwater and Rookwell replaced us for the assignment and Bellatrix—” His voice broke, just slightly. “Bellatrix made sure they didn’t walk away.”

Lily pressed a hand over her mouth.

James stepped forward, voice low. “What happens now?”

Frank exhaled sharply, like it physically hurt to speak. “Barty Jr., Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan—they’ve all been taken into custody. They’ll be going on trial soon.”

The words settled heavy, but with a strange, undeniable shift in the air. They’ve challenged fate once again.

Lily felt it first, a ripple down her spine. “Sirius,” she whispered. “In the original timeline… they are sent to Azkabhan, right?”

“Yes,” Sirius said quietly, watching Alice and Frank with something like stunned relief. “They attacked the Longbottoms after Voldemort fell. Tortured them into madness. They were sent to Azkaban for  that.”

James let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “So this time… they go to Azkaban without ever touching Alice and Frank.”

Kagome nodded slowly. “Another thread changed. Another future rewritten.”

Alice sagged into Frank’s side. “They—those aurors—they died because someone wanted us. If you hadn’t warned us—”

“No.” Kagome stepped forward, her voice firm, but gentle. “This is not your fault. The only people responsible are the Death Eaters and their insanity.”

“But they died in our place,” Frank protested, guilt cracking through every word.

Kagome shook her head, stepping closer, her voice soft but unwavering. “Frank… Alice… you didn’t choose this. They walked into a trap none of you knew existed. If it weren’t them, it would have been you, or someone else. You didn’t cause this. Blame the ones who set it — never yourselves.”

Alice’s breath hitched, shoulders curling inward, but Kagome reached out gently, grounding her. “I know what survivor’s guilt feels like,” she added quietly. “But you can’t save everyone. None of us can. What matters is that you’re here. Alive. That Neville still has his parents.”

Sirius crossed his arms, voice rough but certain. “She’s right. And you being alive means the future already looks nothing like the last one. Harry and Neville will both grow up with their parents. The world is already better for it.”

Frank swallowed hard. “It still feels—”

“Unfair,” Kagome finished softly. “I know.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But unfair doesn’t mean you’re at fault.”

Alice nodded helplessly.

James stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You being alive is not a crime. And it sure as hell isn’t something to feel guilty about.”

Remus added, gentle but unflinching, “Those aurors were doing their job. They weren’t sacrificed for you—they were murdered by people who wanted to hurt you. That distinction matters.”

Kagome offered a small, steady smile. “And we’ll make sure their deaths weren’t for nothing.”

Frank let out a breath, weary but clearer. “They’ll be sentenced soon. The Ministry is rushing all trials, trying to force things back into a sense of normalcy.”

Lily nodded, heart pounding. They were stopped. Before they could hurt Alice. Before they could hurt Neville. Before the horrors of the future had a chance to take root.

Alice swallowed, her hands twisting together as she steadied herself. “What about you two?” she asked, looking between Lily and James. “We’ve been so focused on our own mess that we haven’t even asked. How are you holding up? What happens next for you?”

Lily exchanged a glance with James — that familiar, wordless conversation they’d perfected over years. His small shrug said We’ll manage. Her answering nod said Together.

“We’re… figuring it out,” Lily replied honestly. “The world still thinks we’re dead. And we’re trying to decide how to keep Harry safe while not hiding forever.”

Frank huffed a soft, exhausted laugh. “That sounds like you,” he said. “Both of you. Planning three steps ahead even while your lives are upside down.”

Alice’s gaze slid toward Kagome and Sirius — standing close, steady, a strange-but-perfect duo who looked like they’d weathered storms far older and stranger than any war Britain had seen.

“We owe you,” Alice said, her voice trembling but earnest. “Kagome… Sirius… if you hadn’t interfered with— with whatever was supposed to happen, Frank and I…” She swallowed hard. “We wouldn’t be standing here.”

Frank nodded. “You challenged fate for us. I don’t know how we’re supposed to ever repay something like that.”

Kagome flinched like thankfulness stung.

Frank stepped toward her, sincerity softening every line of his face. “We owe you more than we can ever repay. You’ve changed everything for us. For Neville.”

Kagome’s smile was small, almost apologetic. “I didn’t do it alone.”

But her voice stayed quiet. Too quiet. As if she wanted the floor to swallow her before anyone said her name again.

Lily’s heart pinched.

Because this girl — this girl who had thrown herself between them and certain death — still couldn’t see herself as anything but lucky to be standing beside them.

Kagome, who could never quite handle direct gratitude, shook her head with a small, almost shy smile. “You don’t have to repay anything. You’re alive. That’s enough.” Her voice softened. “And it wasn’t challenging fate. It was choosing the right thing.”

Frank’s sincerity softened Kagome’s resolve. “Truly. We wouldn’t be standing here if not for you.”

Lily felt her chest tighten—not with fear, but with something warm and aching.

Because Kagome didn’t just save Sirius. Didn't just save Harry. She saved all of us. She’d stepped into a world not her own—lost her family, her era, her future—just to keep strangers alive because it felt right. Lily had always admired bravery, but this… this was sacrifice of a different caliber.

She glanced at Kagome, watching her blush under the Longbottoms’ praise, and wondered again how someone could lose everything twice and still meet the world with kindness.

Lily noticed it — the way Kagome stepped back as soon as Frank and Alice began thanking them. As though she didn’t quite know what to do with gratitude. As though it wasn’t meant for her.

Frank cleared his throat, the hesitation in his voice unusual for him. “Well… look. You lot clearly have a plan forming. Or at least the beginnings of one.” His eyes flicked between Lily and James, lingering just a bit longer on Harry asleep in the bassinet. “What happens next for you three?”

Lily exchanged a glance with James — a whole conversation compressed into a heartbeat — then exhaled. “We’re considering relocating. Near Privet Drive, among the muggles.” She kept her voice steady. “New identities. Disguises. Living under the radar until Voldemort is dealt with.”

Alice nodded slowly. “That… actually makes sense. And if you need it, Auror teams have access to advanced disguise charms. Nothing permanent — just enough to alter bone structure, shift features, recolor hair. Subtle, safe, and Ministry-approved.” She looked almost relieved to be offering something tangible. “I could get you a set of them.”

“That would help,” James admitted. “A lot.”

Frank folded his arms, jaw tight. “You should also know something else. Peter’s testimony… well, without any real evidence against Sirius — no bodies, no wand traces, no witnesses — the case is getting weaker by the day.” He frowned. “But Peter himself went missing. Disappeared right after the ministry pulled the files.”

Sirius stiffened beside Lily. She felt the tension radiate through him like static.

“Of course he did,” Sirius muttered darkly. “Rat.”

Frank didn’t deny it.

“And,” Alice added, hesitating, “as much as this sounds like a good plan… you shouldn’t be doing it entirely alone. I think…” she glanced at Frank, “…we think you should bring in Moody. And Dumbledore. Just enough to keep things stable.”

There was a beat of heavy silence.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath that was half–humorless laugh. “We’ve been talking about that. Believe me.” He shook his head. “We’re just… wary. Of how Dumbledore will react. What he’ll do. What he won’t tell us. So we’ve been trying to get everything in order before we go knocking on his door.”

Lily nodded, grateful Sirius had voiced the worry weighing on all of them. “We don’t want to walk in blind.”

“That’s fair,” Alice said softly. “Dumbledore’s brilliant, but… unpredictable.”

Frank exchanged a glance with her, then straightened. “Well… if you’re not ready for the big guns yet, we can still help.”

Alice smiled — tired, but determined. “I know people. Good people. Retired Aurors, old contacts, Ministry clerks who owe more favors than they can repay. The kind of folk who know how to make new identities that stick.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Alice… really?”

“Really,” Alice said with a firm nod. “If you’re going to build a life hiding in plain sight, you’re going to need more than magic. You’ll need paperwork. Records. History.”

Frank grinned faintly. “Lucky for you, my wife is terrifyingly well-connected.”

“Frank,” Alice muttered, nudging him, though she didn’t correct him.

Lily felt something warm unfurl in her chest — relief, gratitude, and the quiet realisation that the world truly was reshaping around them. For Harry. For Neville. For all of them.

Remus exhaled, rubbing at the bridge of his nose like the thought pained him. “There’s… something else,” he said quietly. “About Neville’s future. We understand he grew up with his grandmother instead of you.”

Alice sucked in a sharp breath. Frank’s jaw clenched.

Remus lifted both hands in a calming gesture. “I’m not saying it should happen again. I’m not. But if we’re talking about fate — threads, anchors, whatever you want to call it — then maybe the place Neville grows up is something that matters. Something we could… work with.”

Lily watched Alice’s face crumble at the idea. “You’re suggesting we give up our son?” she whispered, one hand instinctively pressing over her abdomen though Neville was safe somewhere else.

“No,” Remus said immediately. “Never that. Just—” he struggled for the word, “—a temporary arrangement. Living with Augusta. Maybe even in the same home. It doesn’t have to mirror the original timeline; it just needs to rhyme with it.”

Frank looked torn clean in half. “My mother would take us in,” he admitted reluctantly. “She’d complain the entire time, judge every choice we make, and probably critique how I stir tea, but she’d protect Neville with everything she has.”

Alice let out a shaky breath. “I hate it,” she whispered.

“So do I,” Frank said. “But after today… after those aurors died in our place… maybe we can’t take chances. If the safest place for our son is with Mum — then we don’t ignore it.”

Lily felt her own chest tighten. So much sacrifice, constantly. So much fear. But she understood the instinct. She would burn the world to cinders before letting anything touch Harry again.

Lily stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Alice’s arm. “It doesn’t have to be permanent,” she said softly. “It could just be until things settle — until we reshape enough of the future that neither of our children are carrying prophecies or fates on their backs.”

Alice swallowed, eyes wet but resolute. “If it keeps him safe,” she whispered, “I’ll do anything.”

Frank nodded beside her, setting his hand over hers. “We’ll make it work.”

And as the conversation moved on — as plans formed, as details sharpened — Lily watched Kagome.

She stood on the edge of the group, offering suggestions, solutions, warnings… but every time someone praised her or credited her, she stepped back. As though she were a footnote in her own story. As though she were merely a bystander instead of the catalyst who had rewritten their lives.

How many lives had she held together with her bare hands? And yet she still avoided the spotlight like it burned.

When Alice and Frank finally left — shaken, but alive — Harry began fussing, and James went to rock him gently. Remus retreated to the corner to scribble notes. Kagome started quietly cleaning potion tools without being asked.

Lily walked to Sirius, tugged him aside.

“She doesn’t see it,” Lily murmured.

Sirius blinked. “See what?”

“Everything she’s done. Everything she’s changed. She keeps shifting to the background like she doesn’t deserve to stand in the center of her own impact.” Lily’s throat tightened. “She’s changing lives, Sirius. All of ours. And she behaves like she should be the one grateful for it.”

Sirius’s gaze drifted toward Kagome — soft, aching, tender — before he spoke again.

“She’s used to that,” he murmured. “She learned that things — people — would come and go. That she should be grateful for however long they stayed and never expect more. Like wanting something for herself was… selfish.”

Lily’s breath caught. Sirius had never spoken like this before — not even when he’d told them about Azkaban.

He swallowed hard. “When we figured out how to get me back here—when she figured out… I saw it. The way she stayed at arm’s length. The way she kept insisting I should come back. Kept telling me I deserved the chance, that I couldn’t ignore it. That I shouldn’t have doubts.” His jaw tightened, grief flickering across his face. “She never asked to come with me—or for me to stay.”

Lily followed his gaze — Kagome quietly washing cauldron ladles, humming under her breath as if the world around her wasn’t held together by her hands.

Sirius continued, voice low and raw. “I want her to know that I would have stayed with her. In this world. In hers. I would have followed her anywhere.” His hands flexed uselessly at his sides.

Lily’s heart twisted painfully. “So why didn’t you tell her?”

“Because,” Sirius whispered, “she would’ve felt guilty. She would’ve thought I was giving up my life. That she’d taken something from me.” His throat bobbed. “I don’t know how to make her see the weight of what she’s sacrificed. Or accept gratitude instead of… brushing it off like she doesn’t deserve any of it.”

Lily exhaled shakily. Kagome’s kindness had always seemed boundless — but it had shadows now, sharp edges she hadn’t seen before.

“She’s been through so much,” Lily murmured. “And we’ve only seen what she allows us to.”

Sirius laughed — soft, bitter. “You don’t know half of it.”

Lily felt something in her crack.

She had seen Kagome’s kindness, her warmth, her unwavering willingness to help — but she had not seen the hurt underneath, at least not like this.

“How much did she go through… before us?” Lily asked, voice trembling.

Sirius swallowed hard. “More than she ever says out loud.” He paused, then added, “For a long time, the man she loved… he looked at her and didn’t see her. He saw the woman she was in her previous incarnation.”

Lily’s breath hitched. “Is this the same story she mentioned? About lending part of her soul to someone else?”

Sirius nodded, jaw tight. “Kikyo. Kagome gave up part of her soul so the man she loved could see the woman he loved.”

Lily closed her eyes, heart aching. “That’s… Sirius, that’s heartbreaking. To give away a piece of yourself just to make someone else happy — knowing they’re not choosing you, but the memory of someone you once were—”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “She let a shell of her previous incarnation wander with a piece of her soul because in her mind it was the right thing to do—sacrifice yourself for someone else.”

Lily’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Merlin, Sirius,” she breathed. “That’s… that’s heartbreaking.”

Sirius looked away, jaw tight. “She was fifteen.”

Lily closed her eyes. Fifteen. Making choices no one should have to make. Carrying heartbreak like it was her birthright, and still smiling, still helping, still choosing kindness.

“And what happened after?” Lily asked softly. “After Kikyo was gone?”

Sirius’s expression crumpled — not with anger or jealousy, but with sorrow.

“When Kikyo finally passed on for good… he got closure.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And just when it looked like Kagome might finally be free from all of that… they were separated.” His throat bobbed. “She was never able to go back. Never saw him again.”

Lily’s heart shattered.

“Oh, Kagome…” she whispered, looking at the girl who hummed softly as she rinsed potion tools, as if she weren’t giving them a future in exchange for hers.

“No one should go through that,” Lily said fiercely. “Not alone, not so young.”

Sirius nodded, grief softening into something determined. “I want…” He swallowed. “A life where she doesn’t have to blur into the background. A life where she knows she is chosen—that she is my first choice. Every single day.”

Lily rested a hand over his, firm and warm.

“Then we’ll make sure she gets it,” she said quietly. “All of us.”

Chapter Text

Kagome sat on the edge of the narrow safehouse sofa, hands wrapped around a cooling cup of tea she’d forgotten to drink. The room was quieter now — far quieter than her thoughts.

Fleetwater and Rookwell.

She didn’t know their faces. She had never spoken to them, never seen them fight… and yet their names sat in her chest like stones. They had died because someone wanted Alice and Frank, because the timeline she’d stepped into was still thrashing, still trying to correct itself by any means.

She wondered if that grief was strange, if it was wrong to feel a hollow ache for people she’d never spoken to. But that was the tragedy of war, wasn’t it? Every loss was a reminder that someone somewhere was waiting for someone who would never return home.

Kagome bowed her head.

She was grateful she could help. Truly. The moment Frank’s voice broke, the moment Alice’s knees buckled in relief — she would carry that with her for the rest of her life. She tried to be strong for them — to release them of the guilt. But gratitude didn’t erase the grief.

Nor the weight of knowing how many people she could not save. The fact that a life was taken so that others could be saved.

She inhaled slowly, letting the breath steady her. Her heartbeat eased. The safehouse walls no longer felt suffocating. Not the way they had when she first arrived in this world — determined to change the fates of people she only knew as characters of a story.

Now she wasn’t alone at all.

Her eyes drifted to the far corner of the room, where Sirius was leaning over Harry’s cot, murmuring something ridiculous and soft, the kind of nonsense voice only he and James seemed to master. His hair fell into his eyes; he blew it away with a familiar huff. Harry cooed. Sirius grinned. Kagome felt her chest warm.

Soon, James and Lily would settle near Privet Drive — new identities, hidden lives, but alive. Safe. Together.

And after that…?

Kagome bit her lip.

She didn’t know. She had no era to return to. No shrine to upkeep. No family waiting. No Inuyasha. No feudal Japan. No modern Tokyo. No space in time that belonged to her.

Except—her cheeks warmed—except Sirius.

The thought rose unbidden, embarrassing, terrifying, and sweet all at once. Living with him. Waking up near him. Building something that wasn’t a battlefield — something ordinary, gentle, shared.

She pressed a hand over her cheeks, mortified by how warm they felt.

Sirius had told her — more than once — that he wanted her with him. That he wasn’t leaving. That she was part of his future now, whether the world understood that or not.

She wanted that too.

Almost too much.

The wanting scared her. After everything she had lost — after sacrificing her youth protecting a memory— wanting something for herself still felt… selfish.

But when Sirius looked at her as if she were the one solid thing in a collapsing world… wanting didn’t feel so wrong.

She allowed herself a small smile, faint but real.

She looked forward to it. To him. To whatever came next. 

Absorbed in thoughts, she didn’t notice when someone got close, but she felt the presence before she heard the voice.

“Mind if I join you?” Remus asked gently.

Kagome looked up, startled, then offered him a small, faint smile. “Of course.”

He sat beside her, folding his long legs carefully. For a moment, they simply watched the wind stir through the neglected garden.

“You’re worrying about something,” Remus said softly.

Kagome blinked. “How do you know?”

“You’re quiet,” he replied, lips lifting in a small smile. “Quieter than usual.”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh — caught between amusement and resignation. She was never one who could hide her feelings well.

“I’m fine,” she tried.

“Kagome,” he said gently, “what are you thinking about?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Remus gave her a look — the quiet, unwavering kind only he could manage, patient and steady as stone. “You’ve been carrying the weight of other people’s pain since the moment Sirius brought you into our world. You don’t have to add your own to the pile in silence.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered again.

“Kagome,” he repeated softly, “I haven’t known you for long… but I’ve seen you face down fear without flinching. Seen you stand your ground against fate itself. Brave people don’t get points deducted for admitting they’re hurting.”

Her breath wavered.

She hesitated, fingers curling in the fabric of her sleeve. “It’s just… everything feels heavy today. Those aurors… the choices we keep making… and now James and Lily will have a place to be, and Sirius—” Her voice caught. She shook her head, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t be thinking about myself right now.”

Remus gave a small, pained smile. “Sometimes thinking about yourself is exactly what you need to do.”

Kagome looked down. “I don’t know what comes next for me,” she murmured. “After they settle near Privet Drive. After everything. I’ve been so focused on helping… I never thought about where I’d fit.” She swallowed. “And the idea of… living with Sirius…” Her cheeks warmed. “It scares me how much I want it.”

There it was — small, fragile, achingly honest.

Remus’s expression softened. “Wanting something good isn’t a flaw.”

“It feels like one,” she admitted quietly. “I learned a long time ago that wishing for things makes you vulnerable. It gives the universe something to twist. And I’ve had… too many wishes turned into nightmares.” Her hand drifted unconsciously toward her heart. “So I stopped wishing. Stopped hoping for anything for myself.”

Remus’s chest tightened. “You’ve carried so much alone.”

Kagome exhaled shakily. “Wanting a future with Sirius feels selfish. Like I’m asking for too much.”

Remus shook his head immediately. “Kagome. Sirius would give you the moon if you asked for it.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “He’d give it to you even if you didn’t ask. He’d throw the stars in with it just to make you smile. And not out of obligation — because you’re the choice he keeps making.”

Her breath trembled, and she let a tear slip down her cheek.

Remus reached out, squeezing her hand. “You deserve good things. You deserve to want them.”

Kagome let out a shuddering breath, tears gathering despite her best effort to hold them back.

Remus squeezed her hand gently. “Wanting him — wanting a life — isn’t selfish. It’s not dangerous. And it’s not going to break the world.” He leaned in just a little closer, warm and earnest. “You’ve spent so long carrying everyone else’s battles. Let someone carry yours for once.”

Kagome opened her mouth to respond — but footsteps approached, quick and worried.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, hair tousled, eyes sharp with sudden alarm.

“Kagome?” he blurted, crossing the room in long strides. “Love—why are you crying?”

Her breath caught. Remus stepped aside quietly, giving them space but not leaving the room — a silent guardian.

Kagome scrubbed at her eyes, flustered. “It’s nothing— I’m fine— really—” She blinked hard, willing the tears to stop. The last thing she wanted was Sirius walking in and seeing her like this — blotchy-faced, trembling, unraveling over thoughts she should have been able to control.

Sirius stepped closer, gaze soft but impossibly intent. “No. Don’t do that.” His hand hovered, unsure whether he had permission to cup her cheek. “Don’t shut me out. Not you, Kags… not like this.”

She swallowed, her throat tight.  “It’s really nothing,” she tried again, forcing a tiny smile. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“What kind of future husband would I be if I didn’t worry about my future wife crying?” 

That earned a snort from Kagome.

She looked at Remus, who remained close, as if knowing she needed this additional support. He nodded, gently pushing her to open up.

Kagome’s throat tightened as Sirius looked at her—really looked, concern etched into every line of his face. Remus silently stepped back just enough to show she wasn’t alone, but the truth needed to come from her.

Kagome swallowed. Her hands trembled, so she curled them into her sleeves.

“Sirius… it’s not you,” she whispered. “It’s not anything you did.”

He moved closer, slow and careful, like she might bolt. “Then what is it, love?”

Kagome inhaled shakily. The familiar fear pressed against her ribs, the instinct to hide it—bury it—laugh it off. But Remus’s steady presence at her back told her she didn’t have to pretend here.

“I’ve learned not to want things,” she said, voice barely above breath. “Not to wish for anything…  Now, I’m scared. Scared of wanting a future—of planting the seeds of hope just to lose everything again.”

The confession cracked in her throat, raw and trembling, but once it began to spill out, it wouldn’t stop — it couldn’t stop. Kagome felt the words shaking loose from places she’d buried them so deeply she’d forgotten they were still bleeding.

“I’m terrified,” she whispered, and her voice broke open on the word. “Terrified that the moment I let myself want something… it’ll be taken away.”

Her breath stuttered. Emotion pressed up into her chest, sharp enough to hurt.

“The Jewel…” Her fingers clutched at Sirius’s shirt as though anchoring herself. “It taught me to fear wanting anything. Every wish, twisted. Every hope, corrupted. Every dream turned into something dangerous. I spent so long being punished for others’ wishes that eventually I stopped wishing at all.”

The memories surged — the days inside the Jewel that felt like centuries, the battles that tore her apart, Naraku’s laughter, sacrifices she never meant to make, the countless times she jumped down the well hoping it would let her pass one last time.

“I learned not to mind standing at the edge,” she murmured, voice thickening. “I learned to smile and not expect anything to stay. People… futures… even myself. Everything came and went, and I told myself I should be grateful for whatever time I got before it disappeared.”

Her throat locked for a moment.

“But then you—” Her voice cracked again, a soft, pained sound. “Sirius… then you happened.”

Sirius’s breath hitched, just once, quiet but shaking.

Kagome pressed her forehead to his chest, the warmth of him grounding her even as fear trembled through her bones.

“I never realized how much that fear shaped me,” she whispered into him. “How much it carved into every choice I made. How much it told me I shouldn’t want more, shouldn’t reach for more, shouldn’t ask for more.”

Her arms slid around him, curling tight, desperate, like she could hold together the pieces of herself long enough to speak the truth.

“Not until you,” she breathed. “Not until I had something — someone — who I wanted more than fear could cloud. I want you. I want a future with you. And that scares me more than anything the Jewel ever did.”

Her next words came out in soft, broken pieces.

“Because wanting you means I have something to lose,” Kagome whispered. “And… this time…” She drew in a shaking breath, the truth trembling through her like a plea. “I want to be greedy.”

She lifted her head, eyes shimmering, meeting his with a boldness born of desperation and hope entwined.

“I don’t want you — us — to be a fond memory. A fleeting moment of the past. I want this to last. I want you to last.”

Her voice wavered, but the emotion behind it was unshakably clear — a girl who had spent her whole life giving, finally admitting she wanted to keep something for herself.

Someone for herself.

Sirius breath hitched against her hair, and when he pulled back just enough to see her face, his eyes were shining in a way Kagome had never seen directed at her before.

“Kagome…” he whispered, as if her name alone carried a thousand unsaid things.

His hands came up to cradle her cheeks, warm and a little shaky, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized were still falling. 

“You think you’re the only one who’s scared?” he murmured, voice thick but threaded with that familiar Sirius softness — the kind he hid under swagger and jokes. “I’m terrified, too. Terrified that you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve someone who isn’t… broken in twenty different ways, who didn’t survive twelve years in prison because they didn’t have any happy thoughts to be taken away, who didn’t grow up in a family full of hate and prejudice.”

Kagome’s heart clenched, the ache and tenderness mingling painfully.

“But wanting you?” Sirius continued, leaning his forehead against hers. “That’s not a risk. That’s—” he let out a helpless laugh, breath warm against her lips, “—the first time wanting something hasn’t felt like a trap.”

He stroked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering like he couldn’t quite let go.

His hand slid to cradle the back of her head. “You’re allowed to be greedy,” he murmured. “Merlin knows I am. I want years with you. Decades. I want mornings and arguments and stupid little domestic things I used to mock James for wanting.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering. “I don’t want memories. I want a life with you.”

Her breath trembled, the confession settling deeper than anything had in years.

Sirius cupped her face and kissed her forehead — soft, reverent, almost awed. “Love… you’re not a wish that gets twisted. You’re not a moment that disappears. You’re real. You’re here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Kagome felt her chest crack open, a warmth unfurling in her ribs like something long frozen finally thawing.

Sirius’s voice dropped, gentle but steady. “If wanting me scares you, then we’ll want things together. Slowly. Safely. At your pace. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’ll take every tiny piece of hope you give me and hold it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.”

His thumb brushed her cheek again, softer this time.

“And for the record,” he added, a spark of playful Sirius glimmering through the emotion, “you could never be greedy. Not with me. If anything, I’m the one desperately hoping you don’t change your mind and decide I’m too much trouble.”

Kagome huffed a laugh that broke on a sob, burying herself in his chest again. His arms wrapped around her instantly, fiercely, as if he could shield her from every twisted wish, every fear, every shadow she’d ever carried.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, voice fierce and tender all at once. “Not unless you send me away. And even then,” he gave a crooked smile she felt against her skin, “I’ll probably come back and annoy you until you forgive me.”

Kagome closed her eyes, letting his warmth fold around her, letting herself believe—just a little.

Inside her chest, something old and bruised shifted. For the first time since she was a teen, she allowed herself to feel the scars she’d been ignoring. The places where hope had once lived and been torn away. The empty spaces left behind when she’d given pieces of herself—her soul, her future, her heart—because she thought that was the right thing to do.

Some wounds had closed over with time, but what remained was the memory of pain, the instinct to flinch from hope, the shadows of fears she’d never named.

Remus hovered nearby, not intruding, not pitying—just offering that quiet, grounding presence she’d already learned to trust. He gave her the softest, most encouraging nod.

It made something small and grateful warm inside her.

“Thank you,” Kagome murmured to him, her voice still thick but steadier now. “For… not letting me run. And for helping me get the words out.”

Remus smiled—gentle, brotherly, with that almost invisible tilt of warmth he rarely let show.
“You don’t have to carry the world alone,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

Before Kagome could respond, Sirius made a thoughtful humming sound as he brushed a thumb over her cheek.

“Well,” he said, straightening with exaggerated dignity, “clearly Moony has decided to become the group’s official emotional support wolf.”

Remus blinked. “I—what?”

Kagome let out a watery laugh, and Sirius immediately brightened at the sound like a plant given sunlight.

“Yes, yes,” Sirius continued solemnly, gesturing vaguely at Remus, “look at him. Reliable. Steady. Surprisingly fluffy in colder months. An excellent emotional support wolf indeed.”

Remus groaned. “Sirius—”

“Oh, don’t be modest,” Sirius cut in, tightening his arm around Kagome in a warm half-hug. “Kags clearly approves. And frankly, we could always use more emotional support. Dark lords, time travel, complicated feelings—it's a demanding job.”

Kagome giggled, the sound small but genuine. “I really do appreciate it,” she said to Remus, her chest lighter than it had been in… years, maybe. “Both of you.”

Remus shook his head, affection softening his features. “Always.”

Sirius gave an exaggerated huff, sliding an arm more firmly around her waist as if afraid Remus might steal her entirely. “Careful, Moony. If you keep being this supportive, you’re never getting rid of us.”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Sirius grinned, wickedly fond. “Good, because I’m thinking you’re stuck with us anyway. I mean, come on—emotionally stable, responsible, cooks edible food, stops me from doing stupid things… At this point, you might as well move in.”

Kagome let out a startled, watery laugh. “I… actually wouldn’t mind that.” She squeezed Remus’s hand before he could pretend he hadn’t heard. “You’ve been… a really good friend.”

Remus made a soft sound—something between embarrassment and affection—but Sirius barreled right past the heartfelt moment with a dramatic flourish of his free hand.

“And there it is! Moony officially adopted into the household. Congratulations, mate. Paperwork will arrive in the morning. Benefits include front-row seats to my poor choices, unlimited tea brewed by Kagome, and free emotional breakdowns from yours truly.”

Remus threw his hands up weakly. “I didn’t agree, you absolute menaces.”

“You didn’t disagree,” Sirius shot back, waggling his eyebrows with triumph.

Kagome giggled. “He’s got a point.”

Remus sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate long ago. “Merlin preserve me.”

Sirius brightened. Glowed, almost.

“Well, if we’re adopting Moony,” he said with a dramatic toss of his hair, “we’ll need to find a bigger place. Wouldn’t want to traumatize him with any—” He paused, wiggled his eyebrows outrageously. “—bedroom noise.”

Kagome nearly choked on air. “Sirius!”

Remus made a strangled sound. “Oh, absolutely not. I will be living in a separate wing. A separate continent, if possible.”

Sirius looked far too pleased. “See? Already planning ahead. Very responsible of us.”

Despite her mortification, Kagome found herself laughing — a real laugh, bright and bubbling, pushing away the heaviness in her chest little by little.

Chapter Text

A month.

A month of cramped walls, too many people in too little space, being two weeks of potion fumes clinging to everyone’s clothes—James swore he was dreaming of that rotten smell already, and Sirius insisting that Harry’s first word would be Padfoot.

James stretched his shoulders until something in his spine made a sound that definitely meant he was aging prematurely. Behind him, the Polyjuice cauldron burbled like it was judging everyone for letting it take weeks to brew. It was finally, mercifully almost done. Only a few days left. A few days until they could stop hiding like fugitives in a shoebox and start hiding like muggles — which wasn’t much better, but at least was something.

He glanced around the room..

Remus was reading quietly, scribbling notes with that professorly air he had even when he absolutely wasn’t trying — he had been complementing Kagome’s notes on the books as if they would give him an additional NEWT for the effort. Sirius was upside-down in an armchair — somehow — making Harry giggle by pretending his hair was alive.

And Kagome… well, Kagome was kneeling by the cauldron with the expression of someone witnessing a magical chemical weapon. She poked the bubbling brew like she expected it to retaliate. Honestly, fair.

This was his life now. This whole circus.

Yes. A month. And somehow, they hadn’t blown up the safehouse—or murdered each other.

Yet.

Lily was leaning on the counter, arms crossed, expression half focused, half exhausted, but beautiful in the way only Lily Evans Potter could manage while running on three hours of sleep and sheer maternal fury.

“Okay,” Kagome said suddenly, turning to them with her brow scrunched. “I still don’t understand something.”

James shared a look with Sirius. He knew that tone. That was the prepared student about to dismantle a flawed plan tone.

Kagome continued, “Why can’t you just go into London with the Auror disguise charms Alice talked about? Change your features, blend in, get your paperwork sorted, and be done? They sound easier than drinking a potion that smells like ogre fart.”

Lily, who had become far too accustomed to these conversations, sat cross-legged on the floor sorting through potion vials. “Auror glamours work beautifully against Muggles,” she explained. “But experienced witches and wizards can sense magically altered appearances. Especially in magical environments. It’s like… wearing a wig at a hairdresser’s convention.”

James snapped his fingers. “Actually—that’s a perfect comparison.”

Kagome blinked slowly. “So Polyjuice is safer because it’s… more real?”

“And,” Lily continued, stirring with precise, practiced motions, “Polyjuice disguises aren’t magical alterations. They’re… physical replacements. Anyone magical can sense charms layered on a person. But no one can sense a potion working inside your body. So until we get out of magical environments and into normal Muggle life, Polyjuice is safer.”

Kagome blinked. “So wizards can basically sniff out shapeshifting charms?”

Remus, passing through with a stack of books and notebooks, replied dryly, “Some can. Moody, for example, can probably detect your childhood dreams if he tries hard enough.”

James shuddered theatrically. “Please don’t speak such curses into existence.”

Lily smacked his arm, smiling, and the tension eased as it usually did around them.

Yes, James thought, watching Harry babble on the floor, they were starting to feel like a family again. A very paranoid, magically disguised, illegal-potion-brewing family, but still.

A couple days later,  Alice arrived at the safehouse with Frank .She strode in carrying a Ministry-issue briefcase full of disguise charms and a plastic bag filled with treasures from the Muggle world: a disposable camera, film, and even a booklet titled “How to Take Passport Photos at Home.”

She waved it triumphantly over her head.

“All right! We’re doing this properly. If you three are going into hiding with new identities, you need Muggle passports, Muggle paperwork, Muggle photos, and a believable backstory. So—” she clapped her hands, “—what are your new names?”

James blinked. “We… haven’t thought about that.”

Lily frowned. “We should have thought about that.”

Sirius grinned wickedly. “I vote we name James something extremely unfortunate. Like Barnaby.”

“Absolutely not,” James said.

Kagome tilted her head innocently. “What about Nigel?”

“Kagome!” James gasped. “I thought we were friends.”

Remus crossed his arms, entirely unhelpful. “Nigel suits you.”

“It does not—”

“Quiet, Nigel,” Sirius said.

James glared.

“Nigel’s a perfectly respectable name!”

“I’m James Potter, not someone’s middle-aged manager.”

Alice sighed dramatically. “Children, please. You need names that sound normal, forgettable, and extremely British. You want people’s eyes to slide right off you.”

“Like Peter?” Sirius muttered.

“Too soon,” Remus said.

“Not soon enough,” Sirius countered.

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we just pick something simple?”

“Michael?”

James made a face.

“Gareth?”

Remus snorted. “James is not a Gareth.”

“No,” Lily agreed instantly.

“How about… Rory?” Alice offered.

Everyone paused.

James repeated it under his breath. “…Rory.”

It didn’t sound too flashy. Not too stiff. Not too posh. Not too obvious.

Lily smiled a little. “I like it.”

James felt himself warming. “Yeah. Rory Evans. That’s believable.”

“Evans?” Sirius asked, arching a brow.

Lily lifted her chin. “It’s a common name and I want to keep at least a bit of me in the middle of all this.”

James grinned. “Rory Evans. Has a nice ring.”

Alice wrote down James’ name and turned to Lily. “And you… perhaps Amy? It fits the era. Common enough. Friendly. Completely forgettable.”

“Amy Evans,” Lily murmured. “Yes. That works.”

James glanced at Kagome, who had gone oddly quiet — smiling behind her hand.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“Oh— nothing,” she said quickly. “Just… nothing.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Kags.”

She shook her head wildly. “Nothing!”

Remus watched her suspiciously. “That’s the face she makes when she knows something.”

“It is,” Sirius said.

Kagome waved her hands frantically. “No, no, it’s just— they sound like names from— never mind! Never mind.”

James shrugged. “If it’s not going to cause trouble, I’ll take it.”

“Oh no, it won’t,” Kagome said, visibly restraining laughter. “Not for a few decades,” she murmured.

James squinted. He would interrogate her later.

Alice clapped her hands again. “Brilliant! Rory and Amy Evans. Now sit down, all of you — we’re taking passport photos before anyone spills potion on themselves or transfigures a limb.”

Frank tapped the camera. “Ready for your glamorous Muggle debut?”

James grinned, slinging an arm around Lily’s shoulders as Harry shrieked happily in Sirius’s arms.

“Ready,” James declared. “Let the great identity makeover of 1981 begin.”

They gathered in front of the bathroom mirror, wand-tips glowing as Alice walked them through the glamour charms.

“Ready?” Alice asked Lily.

Lily nodded, bracing.

With a shimmer of magic, her bright hair darkened, settling into a sleek black. Her green eyes shifted, cooling into a vivid blue. Her face became a bit more rounded and her nose smaller. The difference was subtle — just enough to that anyone who knew you before would look twice before realizing you're someone else. 

Sirius gasped dramatically. “Kags! Look! You two are related now. British cousins!”

Kagome elbowed him. “Don’t be rude. She’s way prettier than me.”

“Impossible,” Sirius muttered, kissing her cheek.

Lily studied herself in the mirror, startled. “I look—so different.”

“You look a bit like Kagome’s older sister,” Remus agreed.

Kagome tilted her head. “If you want… I could cut your hair shorter. Make it look even more different.”

James nearly choked. “NO. No cutting. No one is cutting anything. We’ve done enough damage to hair this year.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “James, it’s my hair.”

“Yes,” he said gravely, “but I have to look at it.”

Sirius snorted. “Terrifying logic.”

Then it was James’s turn.

Alice flicked her wand, and James’s messy black hair faded into an ashy blond. His hazel eyes warmed into a completely ordinary brown. His skin color turned a couple shades lighter. 

James stared at his reflection with horror. “I look disgusting.”

“You look normal,” Remus corrected.

“That’s what I just said,” James repeated, horrified.

Sirius leaned in. “Want me to cut it a little? We can give you a nice Muggle fringe.”

James recoiled like he’d been hexed. “Absolutely NOT. No one is TOUCHING my hair. I’ll die before I let any of you savages near it with scissors.”

Kagome laughed, bright and warm. “I think you look nice.”

James pointed at her dramatically. “THANK YOU. The only correct opinion in this house.”

Sirius muttered to Remus, “He’s fragile today.”

“They made him blond, what did you expect?” Remus murmured back.

If someone had told James Potter two months ago that he’d be standing in the middle of a very Muggle high street, disguised as Rory Evans, married to Amy Evans, pushing a pram with Harry Evans that absolutely wasn’t the Boy-Who-Was-Supposed-To-Be-Dead-But-Lived-And-No-One-Knows-About-It-Yet, he would’ve laughed them straight into St Mungo’s.

But here he was.

And honestly? He was starting to suspect the universe was doing all this just to see how many ways it could confuse him before he snapped.

“Alright,” Lily said, hands on her hips, looking determined and only a little haunted by the lack of magic humming in the air. “Blend in.”

“Blend?” Sirius repeated, squinting like the word itself offended him. “Into what, exactly?”

“The crowd,” Lily hissed. “The very normal, very non-magical crowd.”

Sirius blinked at a passing group of teenagers in denim jackets. “…What do they even do? At the shrine there was always something to fix, secrets to unravel.”

“Exist,” Kagome supplied gently. “They exist without magic.”

Sirius made a face like this was the most tragic thing he had ever heard. “Modern Japan had a better flair than—...this.”

They managed five whole steps before the chaos began.

Five.

Kagome stopped dead in front of a shop window, blinking in offense. “Everything is so… vintage.”

Sirius followed her gaze.

“Oh! That’s a radio.”

Kagome stared. “That is a radio?”

“It’s a classic!” Sirius said, puffing up like he was defending family honour.

“It’s enormous,” Kagome whispered, scandalized. “Does it even connect to anything?”

Lily, meanwhile, was staring at a bus timetable as if it were written in Parseltongue.

“It’s been years since I used one of these,” she muttered. “I forgot how… inconvenient this all feels without magic.”

Then a bus rumbled by and she jumped.

“Bit loud, isn’t it?” Sirius noted.

“Bit alive, isn’t it?” Lily snapped back, hand on her heart.

James beamed at her. “Proud of you, Ames.”

“Don’t ‘Ames’ me,” she muttered, cheeks pink. “I’m the muggle-born here.”

Remus, to no one’s surprise, blended the best.

Quiet. Polite. Not drawing attention.

Well — mostly.

He did spend a full two minutes trying to open a café door before Kagome pointed at a sign.

“Pull,” she said.

Remus cleared his throat. “I was testing you.”

Remus ordered tea correctly.

Lily managed a sandwich with quiet dignity.

Kagome tried her best, but currency was apparently a universal enemy.

“Why are there so many sizes?” she groaned as she counted the money. .

“Because Muggles like suffering,” James said, helping her sort the coins.

Then it was Sirius’s turn.

The cashier looked at him patiently. “And for you?”

Sirius straightened. “One… large… mug of coffee. Black. Like my soul.”

James kicked his ankle.

The cashier blinked. “Right. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Sirius said solemnly. “Could you explain how the… toaster works?”

The entire table groaned.

The cashier looked alarmed.

Kagome sank into her hands.

Lily muttered, “I swear we are going to be arrested.”

James grinned.

Now this — this felt like old times.

When they finally left the café — after Sirius had asked four more questions and nearly touched an electrical socket, comparing it with the ones at the Shrine — Lily sighed and shook her head.

“We need practice.”

James threw an arm around her. “We’ll get there, Ames.”

She elbowed him. “Call me Amy in public.”

“Right, right. And I’m Rory. Remus is…?”

“Remus,” Remus said immediately. “I am not trusting you lot with naming me.”

Kagome giggled.

Sirius slapped Remus’s back. “Good choice, Moony Evans.”

“That’s not—” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Fine. What about Sirius? HE needs a name.”

“Already worked that out with Frank,” he grinned. “I'm Leo Brown, at my lady's disposal.” He finished kissing the back of Kagome’s hand with a flair. 

James grinned at their mismatched, ridiculous group. They were a mess. But they were alive. And they were doing it. Together.

Life was almost perfect.

Lily, still frowning at her sleek black hair, nudged him with her elbow. “Stop staring at everything like it’s about to curse you. That’s the opposite of blending in.”

“I am blending,” James whispered urgently. “I am the definition of blending. I’m practically invisible.”

“You’re wearing a jumper that says ‘Radical!’ in neon letters,” Remus pointed out.

James glared down at the offending garment. “The shop assistant said it was fashionable!”

“She also said it unironically,” Sirius snorted. “Which means it isn’t.”

Kagome laughed — the kind of innocent, delighted laugh that made James suspect she was enjoying this far too much. She stood between them in her pale coat, head swiveling every few seconds.

“This is so strange,” she murmured. “It’s all familiar, but… not? I remember things from when I was tiny, but I can’t tell if it's a memory or something I saw in a movie.”

Remus nodded, hands in pockets, eyes scanning everything with his usual quiet alertness. “At least you remember something. These two”—he gestured at James and Sirius—“walk like they are expecting a stray Hippogriff to appear.”

“Anything’s possible,” Sirius muttered as he eyed a parked car. “That thing over there is making noise even when no one is touching it.”

“That’s the engine cooling,” Lily said.

“Engines,” Sirius repeated like she had spoken Parseltongue. “Right.”

“And what,” Remus added dryly, “do you suppose that ‘ice cream van’ is for?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the pastel-coloured vehicle. “Well, obviously it’s a lure. Makes noise. Rolls toward children. Suspicious. I’ve never seen something like this in Japan.”

“It sells ice cream, Sirius.”

He paused. “…Are you certain?”

“Very,” Lily sighed.

James clapped Remus on the back, earnest. “Moony, mate, you’ve got to stop saying things like that with a straight face. He’ll believe anything you say.”

“I know,” Remus murmured. “It’s my one joy in life.”

Kagome giggled again. “You’re all so… incredibly bad at this. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Oh really?” James said with theatrical indignation. “And what about you, Miss Shrine Girl From The Future? I saw you poking that payphone with a stick.”

“I WAS TRYING TO REMEMBER HOW THEY WORKED!” Kagome spluttered. “I was only two when I last used one!”

Sirius brightened. “See? You were ahead of us by at least two years.”

“That is not the comfort you think it is,” she told him.

They continued down the street, attempting (and failing) to act like the most inconspicuous group of humans in Britain.

A group of teenagers roller-skated past them, neon bracelets flashing.

James yelped, stumbling into Sirius. “Wicked Merlin, they’re flying—!”

“They’re wearing skates, James,” Lily said patiently.

“They’re moving like they have charms on their shoes! HOW is that normal?!”

Sirius watched them with narrowed suspicion. “Those wheels should not be that efficient. Something unnatural is at work here.”

James had never felt more out of place in his life.

This was the five—six—of them — freshly glamoured, painfully obvious, deeply confused — trying to navigate a normal 1980s high street without accidentally committing a Muggle felony.

Kagome, ironically, had been the least chaotic at first.

Until they passed an electronics shop.

She stopped dead. Her eyes went round.

“Oh,” she breathed. “I forgot televisions used to be this big.”

Sirius pressed his face to the glass beside her. “That is a telly? Why is it so… square? Aren’t they supposed to be flat, slim?”

Inside the shop, a dozen televisions all showed the same news broadcast, and Kagome flinched when the sound boomed unexpectedly.

“I forgot about volume knobs,” she muttered.

“What does that button do?” Sirius asked, already reaching for the display.

James yanked him back by the hood of his borrowed Muggle jacket. “No touching. We promised Lily we wouldn’t break anything.”

Sirius scowled like a scolded puppy. “I wasn’t going to break it. I was going to… examine it.”

“Which,” Remus added politely, “is Marauder for cause a small disaster in public.”

As they passed a row of radios, all blaring a synth-pop song, Kagome tilted her head.

“I think I remember this,” she murmured. “My mother had a radio like that. With the little orange dial.”

James felt oddly touched. Kagome looked so quietly… young. Like the world was unfolding familiar corners she had forgotten existed.

Sirius casually knocked over an entire display of Walkmans minutes later. Remus apologized so profusely that the clerk gave him a coupon.

In the end, James thought everything went better than expected.

They stumbled back into the safehouse near dusk, carrying shopping bags filled with snacks Lily insisted would be culturally important, new clothes, and a Rubik’s Cube none of them could solve.

James plopped down on the sofa and declared with heroic flair:

“Operation Muggle Integration was a complete success!”

Sirius dropped into the armchair with a sigh, pulling Kagome to his side and resting his head on her stomach. “I miss your shrine. The quiet. The trees. The complete lack of electronics designed to attack me.”

“They weren’t attacking you,” Remus said.

“The toaster hissed.”

“It turned on.”

“Same thing.”

James leaned back, exhausted but satisfied.

At least once they were settled near Privet Drive, they could still use magic in their own home.

Being a Muggle for 24 hours had been enlightening. Being a Muggle forever? James would have set something on fire just to feel normal again.

And Merlin’s pants, they had work to do — new identities, relocated lives, and a future they were rebuilding piece by fragile piece.

But for today? Today has been wonderfully, beautifully chaotic.

Exactly what a Marauder needed.

Chapter Text

Polyjuice always tasted like someone had wrung out a boot into his mouth.

Sirius grimaced as the transformation settled in—bones tightening, hair shrinking, shoulders narrowing until he barely recognised the weight of himself. Beside him, James muttered something absolutely unprintable as his face reshaped into that of a balding man they'd seen walking around in another village. Lily adjusted her transfigured glasses and fought the unruly wavy hair.

Remus waited beside them without a disguise, shoulders relaxed but eyes sharp. And Kagome… well, she looked exactly like a visiting witch of considerable breeding. Silk, polish, poise, hair pinned just so. Every inch the elegant overseas Potter cousin she was pretending to be.

Harry stayed Harry, hidden under a ton of winter clothes and tucked in a pram charmed to appear utterly unremarkable.

"Right," James said, voice now squeaky and middle-aged. "Let's get on with it."

Sirius had forgotten how loud trains were.

Not in the familiar shake of the Hogwarts Express, but in that particular, vibrating-through-your-bones rattle that came with Muggle engines. The sort of noise that made Harry's hair tuft even further skyward and had James muttering something about his teeth humming with the tremors.

But mostly, it was loud compared to the silence.

The carriage was nearly empty, save for a trio of old ladies with shopping bags full of knitting and gossip and a few scattered passengers. Yet the whole place felt tight, pressed, too aware. Because outside the window—half hidden behind a row of painted advertisements—an Auror strolled past the platform like he'd just happened to fancy a walk.

Sirius didn't buy it.

Neither did Remus; he'd stiffened the moment the man's silhouette came into view, eyes narrowing the way they did right before he said something terribly sensible. James's hand twitched toward his wand. Kagome's fingers ghosted toward Harry's pram, as if ready to lift him and bolt. She probably was.

"Don't stare," Sirius muttered. "They love that. Makes 'em feel important."

James shot him a look. "You're not helping my nerves, Padfoot."

"Not my job to help your nerves."

"It is absolutely your job," Lily said under her breath as she wrestled the pram wheels into the aisle.

They piled into the seats—Sirius closest to the window, Remus across from him, the others filling in. Harry cooed at one of the knitting grannies, blissfully unaware that the world outside was knotted tight around them.

Sirius glanced sideways.

Kagome sat primly beside him, back straight, chin high, as if she'd practised the posture in a mirror. Heiress mode. Cool, composed, all silk and softness and the faint scent of some Japanese flower he didn't know the name of. Perfectly normal to wizarding eyes.

To Muggles, though? She looked wildly out of place. Like she was on her way to a goth palace garden party and had mistakenly boarded a commuter line at half past eight.

A man across the aisle blinked at her twice before pretending very hard to read his newspaper. He almost hexed a young man who dared to ogle for too long.

"Bit overdressed, love," Sirius murmured, leaning close so only she could hear. "Going for 'mysterious aristocrat on holiday,' are we?"

Her lips twitched—a tiny smile, but tight at the edges. "We need to blend on both sides. Better overdressed than recognised."

He couldn't argue that. Not today.

Because today—bloody brilliant timing—they were slipping back into London on the day Bellatrix Lestrange stood trial. Half the Ministry too busy twisting itself into knots to notice five adults and a baby ducking in under the noise. The other half… well, they might be looking exactly for that.

The train lurched forward.

Another Auror passed by the far end of the platform, wand holstered but visible to anyone who knew where to look—like a reminder rather than a threat. Or maybe like a threat trying very hard to pretend it was a reminder.

"Reckon they're searching for anyone who looks like they might try something," Remus murmured, voice low enough not to travel.

"Or anyone Bella might've had dealings with," James added.

"Or anyone who ever breathed near a Black," Sirius said with a grimace.

Kagome's hand brushed his knee. "We only have to get to the bank," she whispered. "After that, we disappear again."

He nodded, though the back of his neck prickled.

London blurred past outside—grey, rain-polished, familiar in all the wrong ways. He'd loved this city once. Now it watched him like a restless animal, hackles raised.

Trouble was coming. He felt it in the rails, in the way Remus couldn't stop glancing at the doors, in how James's leg bounced, in the mere fact that Lily Evans Potter—the most rational person Sirius had ever met—kept her wand hand unconsciously shielded by her coat.

And in Kagome, sitting too still, too perfect, as if holding her disguise together took more effort than she wanted to admit.

Sirius exhaled, long and slow.

"Brilliant day to come home," he muttered.

"Right," James said, voice squeaky and middle-aged. "Let's get on with it."

The alley entrance behind the Leaky Cauldron —which was unusually empty— shimmered open, bricks sliding aside like they were tired of doing their job. Sirius stepped through first.

And stopped.

Diagon Alley had never been silent in his life—not even during the war at its worst. Shops usually fought for attention, owls swooped overhead, kids darted between window displays looking for early Christmas gifts.

But today?

Shutters down. Signs flipped to Closed. War had drained this place before. But now it looked like the life had been squeezed out of it.

"They're all watching the trial," Remus whispered through someone else's jaw. "Or too afraid to be out."

"Understandable," Lily said. "She was… the worst of them."

Sirius felt Kagome glance at him. He didn't meet her eyes—didn't trust what might spill out.

They moved quickly, sticking close to shopfront shadows. The echo of their footsteps felt far too loud.

Gringotts loomed ahead, the marble steps stark against the grey day. A few goblins lingered at the doors, grim-faced, assessing every passerby as though suspecting them of treason or theft.

"Keep your heads down," Sirius murmured.

That was when Kagome's breath caught. Sirius followed her gaze.

Coming down the far side of the street, cloak flapping like a storm flag, was him—the same Auror who'd questioned Remus and Kagome days earlier in the Ministry corridors. The same one Kagome beautifully diminished.

And he paused.

Right there. Mid-step. Head tilting the faintest bit, like a hound catching a scent.

"Bugger," James whispered.

The Auror's eyes narrowed. He began walking toward them—slow, deliberate, as though testing his instincts.

Sirius felt the group tighten, all of them trying very hard not to look like a cluster of criminals.

"Keep moving," Lily murmured. "Natural pace."

They did. Down the cobblestones. Closer to the Gringotts steps.

But the Auror picked up speed. He was only ten yards away now.

Kagome adjusted the pram and nearly tripped on the uneven stone—her disguise faltering for just a heartbeat. Sirius steadied her elbow instinctively.

The Auror's eyes widened.

That was all he needed: a scrap of familiarity.

Kagome kept her poise — Merlin bless her — chin high, expression serene, exactly as an aristocratic foreign witch should look when some nosy British Auror tried to make sense of her existence.

But Sirius could see the tension coiling beneath the surface of her disguise. He stepped slightly closer, as if escorting her. Anyone watching would assume he was her guard, or at least her hired magical escort.

It bought them three seconds.

Not enough.

The Auror's eyes narrowed. His hand hovered near his wand.

"Excuse me!" he called, voice ringing far too loudly in the deserted alley. "You two — I'd like a word!"

Sirius didn't need to turn around to know exactly which two he meant.

Kagome and Remus.

Lily muttered, "Keep walking. If we turn, he'll know."

But the Auror was already lengthening his stride, weaving through abandoned market stalls, closing the distance with the confidence of someone who believed he'd finally found the niggling worry that had been chewing at his instincts.

"He recognized you," Sirius whispered.

"No," Remus said softly. "He recognized her. I was just standing there."

Well, that was comforting.

Three more steps and they'd be inside Gringotts territory — where Aurors were tolerated about as much as dragon dung.

But three steps was still three too many.

The Auror reached the base of the marble stairs.

"STOP!"

His wand was out now — not raised, not threatening. but ready.

And Sirius felt every muscle in his borrowed body coil tight.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Absolutely brilliant. Nothing says 'low profile' like an Auror yelling at us on Gringotts' doorstep."

Kagome's hand tightened around the pram handle.

Harry chose that moment to squeal.

Harry's squeal bounced off the marble, and the Auror froze—eyes narrowing, posture shifting into that alert stance Sirius despised.

He started up the steps.

"You two!" he called again. "I'd like a word!"

Remus tensed. Kagome did not.

She turned with slow, regal disdain, the sort that would've made even Narcissa look like she needed remedial lessons in snobbery. Her chin lifted, her gaze cool as winter glass.

"You," she said, voice silken and frostbitten, "are addressing me?"

The Auror blinked. "Yes, madam. We crossed paths at the Ministry and—"