An unexpected sanctuary
The remaining wizards apparated in pairs, Sirius deftly turning on his heal and doing so with Hermione still in his arms. They reappeared in an ally on a dark street, illuminated by a single streetlight. Rubbish lined the brick walls, illuminated by weak light from the lamps on the street beyond.
“Can you walk, Kitten?” He asked her softly. Hermione lifted her head from his chest and sighed. Standing meant taking her first steps into her new reality. Were you an orphan if you were cast out by your parents?
“Yes I think so.” She whispered. Sirius set on down gently and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Hermione sagged against him, blinking back tears of gratitude. Her body hurt, most of the pain in her abused scalp. There was a sharp pain in her ankle as she gingerly tested her weight on it.
“I can walk, I think, but my ankle hurts.”
“Come on then, let’s get you inside and fixed up. Lean on me.”
“Inside?” She cast her eyes around the dirty ally, not spotting a door.
“We will explain everything in a moment, as soon as it’s safe.” Remus said with a small smile.
“First things first.” Dumbledore said, leaning down. “Memorize this please, Miss Granger.” He whispered an address and a name in her ear, his voice barley audible. Hermione’s brows crinkled and before she could stop herself the question was forming on her lips.
“The or-”
“Not here!” Remus said urgently.
They left the ally in turns, keeping to the shadows until only Sirius and Hermione remained.
“Our turn!” He said brightly and led her out, stopping at a rusted iron gate boarding a yard of dead grass, dirt and rubbish. The strip of neglected property sat between two derelict homes, numbered 10 and 13. Just as she was about to ask what they were doing at an abandoned lot, a glint of silver sparked to life in the space. The glint morphed into a weathered black door, it’s paint scratched and peeling. A silver serpent coiled in the center, at the height of a door knocker.
Hermione was so focused on the door in midair she almost missed the emergence of the house around it, inflating like a balloon and pushing the two homes on either side out of the way. From the way nothing stirred on the street she knew the muggle occupants of those homes were oblivious to the phenomenon. The house loomed large before her, as dark and deserted looking as the rest on the street. The brick was blackened with age, the many windows facing the street dirty and a few cracked or broken.
Sirius led her past the iron gate, which now framed a cobblestone path leading to the black door.
“Quiet going in, we don’t want to wake anything up.” He whispered, opening the door and ushering her in.
“Any thing?” Hermione whispered back, suddenly unsure she wanted to know what was sleeping in this house.
“I’ll explain in a - oh bollocks.”
The pink haired witch from earlier was bounding down the stairs.
“Sirius! Everyone is waiting in the kitchen!” She called out, before disappearing through a door.
There was a rustling of fabric and a snapping sound behind Hermione.
“BLOOD TRAITORS, FILTH! DEMON SPAWN OF MY FLESH DEFILING THE HOUSE OF YOUR FATHERS!”
Hermione spun around at the vile scream, and found herself facing a life-size portrait of a woman. Her face was contorted with rage, as she clawed her hair and wailed.
“MUDBLOOD! IN MY HOME! BEGONE ABOMONATION!” The portrait’s eyes bulged and her black hair spilled around her red cheeks.
Hermione started to step back, but Sirius was faster, pulling her behind him and waving his wand at the offensive portrait.
“Shut UP, you old hag!” He snarled. The silenced woman clawed at her face and hair in rage, her silenced mouth working open and closed desperately trying to spew more hatred.
Sirius yanked the curtains closed and led Hermione to the staircase at the end of the hall. Old fashioned gas lamps cast pale yellow globes of light on the faded peeling wallpaper. Spindle leg tables were scattered along the hall, holding various trinkets and candelabras shaped like stretching silver serpents. Framed portraits lined the walls in a crooked haphazard way. The paintings were stained and dark with age, the occupants dozing fitfully.
As they ascended the stairs, Hermione noted with a growing horror plaques lined the staircase, each plaque holding the mounted head of a house elf. She gasped and pulled back.
“Sirius, where are we?” She whispered shakily.
“Home sweet home- this is where I grew up. The ancient and noble house of Black.” He said bitterly.
Hermione felt a wave of sadness for Sirius. She had known from his brief descriptions that his parents had been dark wizards, and had known at some point Harry’s grandparents had taken him in. Hermione pictured Sirius as a small boy, walking these green hallways past severed heads and screaming portraits in his red Gryffindor robes and her stomach cramped.
“The portrait in the front hall?” She asked softly as they continued to ascend the stairs.
“My dear mother.” Sirius said bitterly. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been able to get her off the wall. Seems she put a permanent sticking charm of some kind on the back of the damn thing.” He sighed.
They had arrived at the first landing. The landing was open and three times as wide as an average hallway, with a gas lamp near each of the five doors.
“This one should work for you.” He opened the door closest to the staircase. The paint of this door was a chipped, peeling green, the handle a hissing serpent’s head. A dusty silver plaque on the door read R.A.B. Hermione stepped in and looked around the room, feeling very much like she had stepped inside the Slytherin common room. Green velvet curtains, moth-eaten and faded hung limp around the stately four poster bed. Green and silver banners lined the walls, covering the striped green wallpaper. A desk sat in the corner, and a dresser with more snake-head knobs. There was a bookshelf filled with books and lined with snapshots and small items, and a bookbag sitting in the corner, the books and quills spilling out covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.
“Not very welcoming, I’m afraid. But this one is cleaner than most; it was my brother’s room and Kreacher always favored him. That door leads to a private washroom, and we’ll get it cleaned out properly for you tomorrow.”
“It’s fine, perfect. Um, who’s Kreacher?”
He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nasty little elf haunting this house. He’s been taking orders from my mother’s portrait and seems to have gone round the bend. Did you want to clean up before I take a look at that ankle?”
“Um, yes. Thank you.” Normally Hermione would have balked at the idea that Sirius owned a house-elf, perhaps lecturing him on the rights of magical creatures, but she was too tired to bother. She felt drained, a kind of bone deep exhaustion she knew came not just from the overuse of her magic, but the fear, pain and the…aftermath. The only thing keeping her on her feet was her own stubbornness. Just a little longer, She told herself resolutely. Then I can sleep. She had never wanted sleep more. The oblivion that came with it calling to her above any other desire.
She took care of her basic needs, then washed her face and hands quickly. Next came the true challenge; untangling her hair. Every tug of the comb felt like fire on her scalp so she finally gave up, casting a detangling charm and a full body scourify. The rest can wait for a proper bath, she thought as she eyed the large claw foot tub in the corner. After a thorough decontamination that would be a lovely spot to soak and maybe crack open a book. She heard the door to the room open, and heard Remus’s voice. She paused at the sink to listen.
“I brought her trunk.” There was a loud thump as something hit the floor. “Dumbledore is getting impatient, he says he wants to hear the details while they are fresh.”
“He can wait; she’s hurt.”
“I know Sirius, but…”
“Mooney, honestly I don’t give a fuck what Dumbledore wants. This girl has been through hell tonight. He can wait until she’s ready to talk about it, or he can leave. I won’t force the issue.”
Hermione opened the bathroom door. Waiting wouldn't make anything she had to tell easier. Perhaps they would have answers for her as well.
“I think it’s best to get it over with.” She said resolutely. “I know they want to know what happened…I..” She sighed. “Let’s just get it over with.” She said again, squaring her shoulders.
“Healing first.” Sirius handed her a small potion bottle and she swallowed the contents quickly. Almost immediately she felt the pain in her scalp, limbs and ankle disappearing.
“There, that’s better.” Lupin smiled. “Are you ready? Would you like to change first? Your trunk is right here.”
“No, thank you Professor.” She said politely.
“It’s just Remus, now.” He winked at her. She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Well,” he continued, clapping his hands together. “I guess we can’t keep them waiting any longer.”
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”