            But of course, her body betrayed her. Her gaze slid up, up to a stubbled jaw, up to those shining, dark grey eyes. "Sirius?" she croaked. Her ragged breathing filled the silence as she stepped back, assessing. Sirius, flat on his back. In his bed. Wearing that brown, pinstripe blazer she always thought was adorably ugly. Curls tousled like a piece of art. Crumpled stockings in one hand. The ones she had shoved beneath the bed, all those weeks ago after the Veil first called her name, and Ron almost caught her. Hermione brought her fingers to her neck. Still tender, where he’d tried to choke the life from her. "Sirius?" she said again, voice hoarse with pain and disbelief. Blood slid down her chin, catching on the caked bits.