Chapter 33
Fred
Fred woke to something tickling his nose. He scrunched and yawn, batting the annoyance away.
“Get off George, I’m tired.” He mumbled.
“Not George.” Hermione whispered in his ear. Fred snapped fully awake, opening his eyes to see the dim outline of Hermione in the dark.
“What’re you doing love? Is it night still?”
“It’s night. Or morning, depending on your definition. I couldn’t sleep. Do you mind?” She bit her bottom lip nervously.
“No! Never!” He cried, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down. She giggled and tucked herself under his covers, nuzzling close to his chest. “How’d it go.” He whispered into her hair.
“Amazing. Terrifying. Painful but…exhilarating? I can still feel the magic buzzing in me, like tingles all over.” She explained the process, showing him the healed white line on her palm. “It leaves a scar- it’s connected to the bond.” She explained as Fred traced the line with a fingertip. Slowly he raised her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. She shivered, watching him intently. Fred locked eyes with her, and in the dim candlelight he saw her pupils dilate, her lips part slightly. Slowly he tranced the line with his tongue, and was rewarded by another shiver, as she sucked in a sharp breath. He trailed kisses up her arm, up to the strap of the tank she wore and past, until he claimed her lips. He meant to kiss her sweetly, but she pushed in fiercely, slanting her lips over his. Her hand snaked around him, one in his hair the other stroking his bare chest. He dimly realized he was clad only in shorts and she wore…his hand stroked her back down to her bum, squeezing it as she moaned into his mouth… a tank and tiny little shorts.
“Wait…” Fred pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “You’re all keyed up on magic, love. It’s as good as being drunk.”
Hermione scowled and nipped his chin. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve wanted more for ages.” She said softly, throwing her leg on his and pushing her hips into him. Fred fought off his baser self and held firm, even in the dim light he could see the flush in her cheeks, the faint glow of her skin, and by her own admission, she was feeling the effects of whatever the spell and potion was involved in the ceremony. He could smell the lingering smoke and sulfur in her hair, mingling with her normal lavender and rosemary as he dropped a kiss into her hair.
“Still, let’s wait until the buzz wears off.” He said in a measured tone. He pulled her tighter against him; he didn’t want to let go, or for her to feel rejected. If this was as far as they went tonight at least he got to hold her, feel her body against his. She sighed deeply and nuzzled his chest with her nose.
“You’re right. Sorry I…but…can we stay like this awhile? Hold me?” She asked in a whisper, looking up into his eyes.
“Good luck getting me to let go.” Fred whispered back, kissing her forehead. "No reason to be sorry."
“Oh, are we hugging?” George called softly from the bed opposite.
“Don’t steal my lines.” Fred mumbled, as Hermione chuckled softly.
George didn’t wait for an invitation and, taking a page from his brother’s playbook, jumped ungracefully into the bed and slid deftly under the sheets behind Hermione, snuggling close to her back.
“Don’t recall inviting you.” Fred grumbled lightly. George chuckled and sank deeper into the mattress.
“Is your hair darker?” George asked, twisting a curl around his finger.
“Yeah. I think a few other things changed too.” She said, her words coming out slow and sleepy.
“We better not fall asleep, not after last time.” Fred said sadly.
Hermione yawned. “I warded my door and put your decoy in your potions room and locked that door and this one.” She said sleepily.
“Hermione, that is Weasley- level plotting.” George whispered into her hair.
“Black level.” She whispered smugly.
“Pretty diabolical for a Gryffindor, Princess.” Fred said softly, kissing her softly.
He tried to slow his racing heart, tamp down the frantic energy he felt at the thrill of holding her like this, in his bed. This is how it’s meant to be, he thought. He folded one arm under his pillow and kept the other hand on her hip. He watched her as her eyes drifted shut, as her breathing became deep and regular. George laced his own fingers through Fred’s on Hermione’s hip, meeting his eye above her head.
"Look at her, she's practically glowing, isn't she?" George murmured, his eyes wide with amusement. Fred peered down at Hermione, noticing the faint shimmer around her, a subtle magical residue from the adoption ritual, invisible to most but undeniably present.
"Think it's permanent?" Fred asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Naw it’s fading now.”
“Hard to say in the dark but… I think her freckles are gone.”
“Huh. Well she did say there could be physical changes.”
“Hardly matters.” Fred grunted in agreement.
“It’s going to be hard at school, finding time like this.” George whispered.
“We’ll make it work.” Fred answered in the same low tone.
"She's Sirius Black's daughter now, George. Hogwarts is gonna be… interesting this year.” He chuckled softly.
“Imagine that ferret’s face when he finds out.” George grinned at the thought.
“The snake’ll be so pissed!”
“But next year…”
“Don’t worry about it now.” Fred advised, closing his eyes, ending their conversation. He was too warm, too comfortable and too happy to dwell on future worries. Questions about the future and the fallout of the ceremony could wait for the morning.
Hermione
Hermione stood before her mirror, studying the minute changes to her face. It was disconcerting, a bit like when she was made up for the Yule ball and felt unfamiliar with her reflection. Her curls were darker, almost black with a chestnut sheen. The freckles on her nose were gone, and her lips were slightly plumper. The biggest change on her face was her eyes, her former brown replaced with a steel gray that matched Sirius, framed with thick black lashes. She quite liked it, even if it still felt a bit as though she was staring at someone else’s face. Harry, on the other hand, had kept his mother’s green eyes. As subtle as her own changes were, his were less, the change in his height being the most notable difference. Then again, she reasoned, Harry’s father and Sirius were cousins, so it would make sense that he already had family traits.
She inspected the rest of herself, seeking the changes she knew must be there. Maybe her hips were a bit wider, her hands more delicate?
She smirked, running her fingers over the green pleated pinafore dress she wore over a black silk blouse with cap sleeves. Kreature seemed to take her acquiescing to being dressed for court as consent to be dressed daily, and for some reason was working his way through the decades. Today she felt very sixties, and thought it was quite cute. She accepted whatever was offered both because she didn’t want to hurt Kreature’s feelings, and the fact that her own wardrobe consisted of the few things she had grabbed leaving her house. She had never considered herself a fasonista by any means, but her rotation of two tops, and three pairs of pants was rather boring.
Sirius rapped her doorframe and sauntered in. He took in her outfit and smirked.
“Kreature still playing dress up with you?” He joked.
“I quite like this one. Where is he finding all these clothes?”
Sirius shrugged. “Who knows? The attic, wardrobes, wherever really. I’m not sure anything has ever been thrown out of this house until we moved in.” He sat on the edge of her bed and laced his fingers together.
“I want to apologize.” He said seriously.
“For what?” Hermione’s brow creased as she tried to think of something Sirius had done.
“I’ve neglected you. All these clothes and things for Harry, and I didn’t even think you need everything too. It’s inexcusable, I didn’t mean to…” Sirius shifted uncomfortably.
Hermione crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed.
“I don’t need anything Sirius, and Harry did! He’s never had anything that fit him properly, or anything new. It’s not like that with me. Plus, apparently, I have a whole vintage wardrobe.” She joked to ease his tension.
“No, Hermione. His need was greater at first but that’s no reason to push you off to the side. Besides, my daughter is not going back to school in ratty jeans and Victorian gowns. I didn’t know what to get you, there’s so many choices for girls….”
Hermione felt an odd combination of dread and amusement, picturing Sirius lost in the girl’s section of a department store. He must have been so lost. She thought with amusement. But he did that for me. Suddenly her eyes felt hot, and she realized she was a moment away from crying. He’d done this for her. Thought of her and what she would not only need but what she would like… So, this is what it’s like to have a parent.
“So, I bought one of everything.” He finished. Hermione gaped at him.
“What do you mean, one of everything?” She asked slowly, morbid curiosity taking over her emotional storm for a moment. She had seen the mass amount of things he had purchased for Harry (and by default, Ron and even the twins) Surely, he hadn’t gone to that type of scale for her…
“Well…” Sirius hedged. “Kreature!” He called out.
Kreature appeared, or at least, Hermione assumed Kreature was somewhere under the mountain of boxes and bags that popped into the center of her room.
“Master bought clothes for Mistress!” His small voice croaked from the pile. “Kreature get the rest.”
“The rest!” She gasped, and a moment later a similar mountain appeared next to the first.
“Well.” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a lot harder, shopping for girls. Boy styles haven’t changed so much. Not to mention shoes, underthings…”
“Did you buy a department store?”
“No, but I told the clerks to outfit me with anything a fashionable teen girl would need. I know it seems like a lot, but I don’t have time to ease you in, school starts in a few days. Anything you don’t want; you can pass on to Ginny or your other friends.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
Hermione was not about to tell him she didn’t have other friends. Instead, she hugged him, burrowing her nose into his shoulder as she fought back the tears again. Sirius held her gently, rubbing her back as she lost the fight against her emotions and began to cry. She sobbed into his chest, finding herself in a rare moment where she had no words to articulate how she felt or what she thought.
“Thank you…this is amazing.” She finally choked out, sniffling and sitting up to rub her eyes.
“Well, it’s a start.” He said thoughtfully. “You’ll have to let me know what your favorites are.” He didn’t mention the tears, understanding she wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Sirius sat back on her bed and encouraged her to start opening bags. Hermione did, hesitantly at first. As she unpacked and sorted, she marveled that Sirius really did think of everything. Blouses, t-shirts, jumpers, cardigans, tanks, swimsuits, leggings, jeans, shorts, slacks, skirts- more clothes than she had ever seen. She stacked everything neatly by type, feeling overwhelmed before she even got to the shoes and accessories.
“Try something on.” Sirius suggested. “It’s the only way to know what you’ll like.”
She bashfully scooped up a few things she especially liked and ducked into the bathroom to change. Hermione was surprised she was having fun, and found herself getting excited to wear her new clothes; a very unfamiliar feeling for her. Clothes were functional, occasionally cute, mostly practical. Perhaps, she reasoned, I’ve never cared because I’ve never been given a choice, or asked for my opinion. She simply wore what her mother purchased for her, or her school uniform. She’d never, like Harry, been given a chance to “cultivate a style”, as Sirius said.
She spent the next half hour trying different outfits as Sirius gave her surprisingly good fashion advice, tossing her belts or suggesting shoes to pair with skirts.
When she had separated the clothes into keep, maybe, and defiantly not, she called in Ginny, who traded places with Sirius. Ginny, unlike herself, lived for fashion and was thrilled to have so many things to look at. It suited them both well, as Hermione had no interest in some of the “popular” styles Sirius had brought her, choosing more muted colors over rainbow and neon, and skipping over crop tops entirely.
Ginny pulled on a pair of jeans that had thick leather laces holding the front of the legs together in a crisscross that left a lot of thigh exposed, with a daisy-patterned crop tank.
“Think Harry will like this?” She asked, running a hand over her stomach.
“He’s a boy, so yes. Don’t let your mum catch you in it.” Hermione deadpanned, holding a black sundress with large sunflowers up to herself.
Ginny snorted, picking up a slinky pink slip dress and holding it up to herself. “Like I care. She can wander around in twenty pounds of knitted jumpers but I’ll wear what I like.” She rolled her eyes and continued digging. “These shoes would look great with that.” She said casually, holding up black platform wedges for Hermione to inspect.
“Awfully high…” Hermione said skeptically.
“Yes, but the twins are tall. This brings you up closer to their level.” Ginny grinned and pushed the shoes at Hermione. “Try it. I know a great cushioning charm; makes it feel like you’re wearing trainers no matter how high the heel is.”
Hermione held up the wedges doubtfully.
“Maybe…” She said thoughtfully. It would be nice to be closer to eye level with the twins for a change. She tried on the combination and had to admit; it did work. Her legs looked long, and she enjoyed seeing the world six inches higher than usual. True to her word, Ginny taught her the charm and the shoes were as comfortable as trainers- now all she had to worry about was breaking her neck.
“Wear it to dinner.” Ginny said with a sly grin.
“Why?” Hermione asked, fastening a gold chain to her wrist to compliment her bear necklace.
“Because, Fred and George will swallow their tongues, that’s why.” Ginny grinned. “I’m wearing this. Mum’ll have a bird and you won’t have to worry about her.” She added a pair of chunky leather clogs to her outfit. Checking herself in the mirror, she waved her wand to add a few braids to her hair. “There. Gives it that “hippie vibe”.” She said with satisfaction. Hermione felt a warmth in her chest. She realized she had missed something quintessential in her youth; she had never connected with girls. Rather, after being bullied too many times had judged them harshly, deciding girls were too silly, too judgmental. Not that boys were better; she’d found cruelty came from kids her age regardless of sex; but Harry and Ron had been the first to welcome her. There was no reason to seek out other friendship, she finally had friends and that was enough. But perhaps I was too afraid they’d reject me, and I could have had more all along.
“Could you teach me that braiding spell?” Hermione asked.
“Sure thing!” Ginny beamed.
***********************
The air in the Grimmauld Place dining room crackled with tension, thick as the dust motes dancing in the weak lamplight. Ginny Weasley, all gangly limbs and defiant eyes, sat rigidly at the table, her halter top and lacey jeans having clearly violated Molly Weasley's stringent standards of propriety. Molly, her face a mask of simmering fury, let out a shriek that could shatter glass.
"Ginny Weasley! What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?" Molly’s shrill voice sliced through the room, her eyes zeroing in on her daughter.
"That…that… *thing*! It's utterly inappropriate! And I know exactly where it came from!" Her gaze landed on Sirius, who sat relaxed back in his chair, utterly unaffected by her anger.
"Sirius, you bought this…this… *garment* for Hermione? Honestly, some things never change, do they? What in Merlin’s name are you thinking?"
Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances, while Hermione, subtly tugged at the hem of her own less than modest dress. She knew Ginny had planned this as deliberate provocation to her mother, but Hermione still felt bad the girl was being targeted. The outfit wasn't even *that* bad, in her opinion.
"Perhaps we could focus on the delicious chicken, Molly?" Remus, ever the peacemaker, attempted weakly.
Ginny’s cheeks flushed, but she remained stubbornly silent, her gaze fixed on her untouched plate.
Sirius Black, lounging carelessly in his chair, chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.
"Molly, don’t get so worked up. It’s just clothes, hardly a crime. I seem to recall you wearing something similar to Hogsmead with Arthur at her age." He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye, completely unfazed by Molly's growing hostility
"This is what all the teens are wearing these days." The words hung in the air, a calculated provocation. Molly’s shriek this time was punctuated by a slammed fist on the table, shaking the silverware.
"You really think you can be a father? Have you no sense of propriety?!” She hissed.
“Come now, dear, it’s no worse than what girls wore in the 70’s…” Arthur said soothingly.
“Are you agreeing with him? Mrs. Weasley said in a low growl to her husband. Rounding back on her daughter, she jabbed her finger in Ginny’s direction.
“You! You get yourself upstairs and change THIS INSTANT!”
Ginny slammed away from the table, stomping the entire way to her room. Sirius and Remus exchanged a heavy look. Remus shook his head, discouraging him from taking the argument further. Hermione fought the urge herself, knowing that instigating Mrs. Weasley was fruitless but desperately wanting to defend her own family. She pushed her food around on her plate as she willed herself to calm down. Feeling a hand brush her thigh, she looked down to find Fred playing with the hem of her dress.
“And just what are you wearing, young lady.” He whispered in her ear.
Hermione flushed and bit her lip to catch her smile.
“Stop it. We’re at dinner.” She muttered, taking a performative bite of chicken.
“How are we supposed to focus on dinner when you are looking like such a dish?” George whispered from her other side, pulling a curl gently and watching it spring back.
“Your mother will notice.” She said through her teeth.
They took no notice of her warning, or perhaps had decided they simply no longer cared what their parents thought as they continued to casually brush up against her throughout the meal.
The roar of the floo interrupted the stilted and awkward conversation that had carried on since Ginny’s departure. The air fairly crackled around Albus Dumbledore as he strode into the room, a whirlwind of purple and silver. Sirius glanced his way, looking utterly nonplussed, and barely paused from his conversation with Lupin. The air crackled with the unspoken defiance. Dumbledore, never one for subtlety, grabbed Sirius's arm, yanking him unceremoniously away from the table.
"Black!" Dumbledore's voice boomed, silencing the room instantly. "Explain yourself! Have you utterly lost your mind?" Sirius jerked his arm from Dumbledore’s grip and straightened his coat. "Now Albus," he began, his voice a low purr that contrasted starkly with Dumbledore's outrage, "Calm yourself. I merely asserted my rights." He paused, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“We need to speak. Privately.” Dumbledore hissed, striding from the room and expecting Sirius to follow. Hermione caught Sirius’s eye and he winked at her, before kissing Remus on the cheek and following in Dumbledore’s wake. It didn’t take long for the echo of their continued fight to reach the kitchen.
“How could you?! Lily and James died to protect him and you just steal their final gift?!”
George leaned over and whispered to Hermione.
“I take it he knows?”
“What do you think.” Hermione whispered back, straining to listen.
She could hear the inflection of Sirius’s voice as he shouted back, but not the words.
“You selfish waste of a man!” Dumbledore’s voice echoed up the hall.
“I’m going.” Hermione said furiously, pushing her chair away from the table. Fred caught her arm, shaking his head. He flicked his eyes up to his parents, whispering furiously to each other as his mother openly glared at Hermione.
She looked over at Harry, who was uncomfortably pushing food around his plate. She gave him a light kick under the table and he snapped his head up.
“It’ll be OK, Harry.” She said in a low voice. He gave her a half-hearted smiled and went back to playing with his food.
“Not yet, let us cause a distraction.” George whispered.
“It’s alright. She’s always mad at me anyway.” Hermione whispered back, standing. Louder she said, “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Weasley,” and turned to leave.
“You leave them be, Hermione.” Mrs. Weasley said sharply. “This isn’t your affair to meddle in.”
She gave Mrs. Weasley a small smile and said sweetly, “I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Weasley. I’m simply going to bed.” With that, she exited the kitchen. She had every intention of leaving them alone…unless Sirius needed her.
She crept silently down the hall, keeping to the shadows as the sound of the men’s voices got louder. As she’d expected, they were in the newly cleaned study. The door was ajar, as if they had been in too much of a rush to fully close it before fighting. Hermione cast a disillusionment charm on herself and crouched near the gap, listening closely.
“He’s, my Godson! He should have been with me from the beginning!” Sirius roared.
“From prison? You were too rash and reckless, and you still are!” Dumbledore threw back. “Renounce the adoption. Harry needs the protection of his mother’s blood-”
“No.” Sirius snarled. “You have no say in this. It’s done. Harry is my Godson by right and my son by choice and blood.”
“By-what have you done?” Dumbledore whispered harshly.
“Adopted my children.” Sirius said smugly.
“You- you…”
“Harry and Hermione are Blacks now. Don’t play dumb, there is only one type of adoption with purebloods, it’s a ritual as old as magic. And I will keep them safe, Dumbledore. Unlike some, who would leave a child of eighteen months on a muggle doorstep, and abandon him to be abused for the next fourteen years!”
Hermione silently cheered for Sirius.
“You don’t understand.” Dumbledore’s tone changed, too smoothly to be an actual shift in attitude. “There are things about Harry you don’t know, and this puts him and the rest of us in grave danger.”
“So, tell me then.” Sirius challenged.
“It’s not that simple. Voldemort’s interest in him grows each year, and his own connection to him is more complex than you could understand.” Dumbledore hedged.
“Either tell me what you think I should know about my son, or get the hell out of my house.”
“Don’t you speak to me that way, Black. I am-”
“In no place to speak on my private family affairs.” Sirius said haughtily.
“You would put James’s son in danger for your own hubris?” Dumbledore said sadly.
“Get. Out.” Sirius snarled, a low growl punctuating his words.
"Sirius," he began, his voice softer, yet more menacing, "I've known you since you were a young boy. I understand your loyalty, your… devotion to Harry. But Harry's destiny is not a matter of sentiment, but of intricate, strategic necessity." He paused, refusing to elaborate.
"Necessity? What necessity? You hide behind vague pronouncements while the boy is abused," Sirius shot back, his voice ringing with fury. "Lily and James wanted Harry with me if something happened to them, Lily would never have chosen her hag of a sister! You are the one who dishonored their memory and their wishes! I’ll not stand by and watch you manipulate Harry's life, using cryptic threats to justify your control!"
Dumbledore sighed, a theatrical gesture that did little to alleviate the tension. "There are things, Sirius, far beyond your understanding," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "things that require… sacrifice. For now, the Dursleys remain the only safe, albeit unsatisfactory, option."
“It’s too late Dumbledore. Accept it.” Sirius said wearily.
“Let us hope you don’t regret it then.” He sneered, turning abruptly and stormed dramatically from the room. He paused at the doorway, looking at the spot Hermione was still crouched.
“Eavesdropping again, Miss Granger?” He said blandly.
She dropped the charm and stood, brushing the dust off her skirt calmly.
“It’s Black. Miss Black, if you please, Professor.” She said calmly. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at her, and continued down the hall without another word. As his robes swept out of sight, she saw the briefest flash of copper glint off the candlelight.
“Perfect time for a test run, don’t you think?” George whispered in her ear. She startled and nearly shrieked, catching her scream with her palm just in time. She swung around and slapped him lightly in the chest. “Don’t do that!” She hissed.
“Ow, how else could I get your attention?” He whispered, rubbing his chest for dramatic effect.
“Sorry, you scared me.” She whispered, her stomach twisting.
“Don’t listen to him, I felt it and it didn’t hurt.” Fred said conspiratorially from behind her.
“Merlin’s beard you two are sneaky!” She whispered furiously. Fred beamed.
“Thanks for the compliment, love. Bug’s planted. Now we wait.” He winked at her.
Well, that’s one way to test his new invention. She thought. They turned to go upstairs, grabbing her hands to pull her along. Hermione paused, looking back to the study.
“I’m going to check on him.” She whispered. “I’ll come find you after.” They nodded once and disappeared up the stairs without argument. It bemused her that people never saw the serious side of the twins. So many people wrote them off for being loud and silly and unserious, completely missing how loyal and brilliant they were.
“Sirius?” She called softly, rapping the doorframe as she entered without waiting for a reply. Sirius was in a chair by the fire. His shoulders slumped as he braced himself forward on his knees. A crystal glass full of whiskey in his clenched fist. He didn’t look up at her quiet approach, his earlier bravado gone and replaced with a sadness that seemed to hang in the air around him.
“Cat’s out of the bag.” He deadpanned.
“We knew he’d be angry.” Hermione said soothingly. “Are you…OK?”
“OK? The Great Albus Dumbledore. Singlehandedly defeated Grindelwald. Fought tirelessly against the Death Eaters. Stood for everything good, everything we fought for, what Lily, James, Fabian, Giddian, Mary, Marlene, what they died for? Who is he? Who is he really?” Sirius huffed and raised his glass, angrily downing half the contents. He looked down at it, then up at Hermione, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I don’t understand his game, his motives. Not for you and not for Harry. He says he has reasons but explains nothing. How can we trust him?” He blew out an exasperated breath and took another sip of his drink.
“Sirius…I don’t think we can trust him. Not fully. Especially…especially you.” She twisted her hands, feeling horribly guilty for even saying it, but unable to stop. She could see the connection, if not the reason.
“What do you mean, Hermione?” He looked at her with a frown over the rim of his glass.
“I mean…hold on.” She hurried over to the door, shutting it firmly and casting a silencing charm. “Just in case.” She explained. “That night, the night Harry’s parents died…Hagrid was already on his way to the Dursley’s with Harry? When you came to collect him?” She asked hesitantly.
Sirius’s brows creased. “Yes…”
“So, Dumbledore, at that point, already planning to take Harry from you. He inserted himself into the situation of Harry’s custody and decided where he would go…but Sirius, he had to know you’d fight him on it….do you understand?”
“Hermione, are you saying he had a hand in my imprisonment?” Sirius asked incredulously. “That’s…that’s impossible. How could he know I would go after Peter, that I would…” He frowned and studied his drink.
“Well, he certainly did nothing to stop it or speak to your defense. All your friends, everyone in the order…no one spoke for you. Why?” She replied fiercely. “All those years on the Wizengamont. Every chance and opportunity to do what I did, and seek a trial. Or any number of options to make Fudge listen that night at Hogwarts. I think…it suited his purpose to have you locked away. Better than killing you outright, because he could keep you in a box in case he needed you one day. Like say if Voldemort returned and he needed someone who would be devoted to Harry to return and protect him. The challenge with the return would be keeping you from obtaining guardianship of Harry, as you have the legal right. So, if you remain a fugitive, he could so the same thing…only keeping you here.” Her voice was very small when she finished, unsure not of her theory, but of Sirius’s reaction to it. He had been doing so much better. Smiling more, drinking less. Doing projects on the house and shopping, not to mention whatever he did for the Order day and night. Hermione hoped this wasn’t enough to send him spiraling, especially so close to their return to school.
Sirius sat back in his chair, shaking his head slightly as horror dawned over his face. He raised his glass and drained it. Hermione would have given anything to take that look off his face, and she felt horrible that she had put it there. The alternative was just as horrible, living in denial and being manipulated. As she had listened to the fight, she had realized just how easy it would be for Dumbledore to send Sirius into dangerous situations in the guise of Order business…and just how much danger her new father would be in if Dumbledore truly wanted him gone.
One thing she was absolutely sure of was that Dumbledore's cryptic words held a deeper, more sinister secret; and she was going to find out what it was.
“I think you’re right, Hermione. In fact, I think there are probably few things you’ve ever been wrong about.” He gave her a half-hearted smirk.
“I wish I were wrong. What do we do?”
“Well, I suppose for now we wait. See what he does next, what he tries to lead the Order into. He’s got some agenda but- Hermione, when you do back to school, stay out of his way. Don’t…go off and try to solve the mystery yourselves? Maybe have one year without mortal peril?” He looked at her imploringly, with a halfhearted smirk.
“It’s not me who starts these things!” She said indignantly, but with a smile of her own. “But Sirius, please, don’t- don’t risk yourself with the Order…if he…” She paused furiously, unable to voice the terrible thought that her headmaster would plot something so nefarious. She wanted so desperately to be wrong about it. Sirius gave her a sad smile, sighed deeply and lit a cigarette before answering.
“Don’t worry about me kitten. I’ll be fine. It’s late. You should probably get to bed.”
Hermione paused. As much as she wanted to stay and comfort him, she knew too well that sometimes what a person needed was space and silence.
“OK. Um, Goodnight, Sirius.”
“Goodnight Kitten.”