What Lies Beneath Black Silk

Prior to her fourth year, Hermione Ara Black hardly saw Sirius. He spent the entire break with the Potters, and it seemed that the rift between him and Walburga had deepened. Regulus, the obedient, model son, continued to excel in everything, while Sirius remained the infamous prankster at Hogwarts, linked to the “mudblood” Evans girl and the “blood traitor” Potters. Orion let Sirius do as he wished but never stood up to Walburga's harshness.

Hermione, caught in the crosscurrents of this familial discord, found herself adrift. She spent the majority of her summer seeking solace in the loud, unassuming presence of Aimi. The quiet routine of Aimi’s company, the soft rustle of her movements as she cleaned or prepared tea, provided a much-needed respite from the echoing silences and unspoken tensions that permeated Shadowfell Hall.

The late afternoon sun cast long, dusty rays through the grimy windows of Hermione's room, illuminating motes of floating dust. Hermione sat curled in a worn armchair, a thick, leather-bound book resting open on her lap, though her gaze was unfocused. A shadow fell across the page, and she looked up to see Aimi, her large, expressive eyes filled with concern.

"Mistress Hermione is looking sad," Aimi said, her voice a soft, rustling whisper. "Is Aimi able to help?"

Hermione managed a small, tired smile. "Just thinking, Aimi. It's nothing."

Aimi's brow furrowed, her ears twitching slightly. She shuffled closer, her small hands wringing her apron. "Aimi knows Mistress Hermione. The house is… heavy. Like a dark blanket. And Master Sirius is gone. Master Regulus too."

Hermione nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. "And Narcissa. She's so busy now, with all her… social engagements. It's like everyone's drifting apart. We used to be so close, when we were younger. Now, it feels like we barely see each other." She wrapped her arms around herself, a chill settling over her despite the warmth of the room. "Even though we're cousins, it feels like we are living in separate worlds."

Aimi's brow furrowed in concern. She placed the dust cloth on the bookshelf and shuffled closer to Hermione. "Mistress Hermione should not be so sad," she said, her large eyes filled with sympathy. "Mistress Hermione will be seeing her dear friend Azza soon."

Hermione managed a weak smile. "Yes, Azza," she said, a flicker of warmth igniting in her chest. "And her brother, too. That's true."

"Mistress Hermione will be happy then," Aimi insisted, her voice firm but kind. "They are good friends. They will make Mistress Hermione smile."

"I know," Hermione said, her voice softer now. "It's just… I wish things were different with my cousins. I wish we could still be as close as we used to be."

Aimi reached out, her small hand gently patting Hermione's knee. "Sometimes, families are… complicated," she said, her voice wise beyond her years. "But good friends are always there. And Mistress Hermione has good friends."

Hermione looked at Aimi, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Yes, I do," she agreed, her voice filled with warmth. "And I have you, Aimi. You're always here for me."

Aimi beamed, her ears twitching with pleasure. "Aimi is always here for Mistress Hermione," she affirmed, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty. "Now, Mistress Hermione should smile. Think of Azza and her brother. Think of all the fun Mistress Hermione will have."

Hermione took a deep breath, the image of her friends' smiling faces filling her mind. "You're right, Aimi. I'm going to focus on that. I'm going to look forward to seeing them."

Aimi didn't seem convinced. She reached out, her small, wrinkled hand gently patting Hermione's arm. "Mistress Hermione should eat. Aimi made lemon cakes, Mistress Hermione's favourite."

A warmth spread through Hermione's chest, a feeling she often associated with Aimi's presence. "Thank you, Aimi," she said, her smile widening slightly. "That sounds wonderful."

Aimi beamed, her face crinkling with happiness. She scurried towards a small, battered tea trolley that sat in the corner, laden with a porcelain teapot and a plate of golden lemon cakes. As she poured a cup of tea, her movements were quick and efficient, yet filled with a gentle, almost maternal care.

She brought the tea and a cake to Hermione, placing them carefully on the small table beside her. "Eat, Mistress Hermione," she said, her voice soft. "Aimi will sit with you."

Hermione took a bite of the cake, the tangy sweetness melting on her tongue. "This is delicious, Aimi," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "You always make the best cakes."

Aimi blushed, her ears turning a faint pink. "Aimi is happy Mistress Hermione likes them." She settled onto a small stool beside the armchair, her gaze fixed on Hermione, a silent, watchful presence.

The aroma of lemon cake filled the small room, a comforting sweetness that momentarily chased away Hermione's lingering melancholy. She and Aimi sat in comfortable silence, the quiet punctuated by the gentle clinking of teacups. Just as Hermione was about to take another bite of cake, a sharp tap echoed against the windowpane. Aimi, ever alert, scurried over to the window and opened it. A snowy owl, its eyes bright and intelligent, perched on the sill, a letter tied to its leg. Aimi carefully untied the letter and presented it to Hermione with a small curtsy.

"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed, snatching the letter and rewarding the owl with a treat. "Thank you, little one."

She tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning the page.

"He writes every day," Aimi remarked, returning with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. "Mr. Lupin is very thoughtful."

Hermione blushed, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. "He is," she agreed, her voice soft as she began to read.

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across Hermione’s room as she hunched over her journal, meticulously recording her fragmented memories. She was attempting to piece together the elusive puzzle of her past, treating it like a complex, magical Sherlock Holmes case. The irony of her mental comparison to the fictional detective, a figure revered by Muggles, wasn't lost on her. She was, after all, a witch attempting to decipher a mystery rooted in magic.

A sudden, muffled commotion from the corridor shattered the silent concentration within Shadowfell Hall. Hermione's senses sharpened instantly. Years of living within a magical household had taught her to be wary of unexpected noises. With a swift, fluid motion, she snatched her wand from its resting place beside her journal. Her double doors swung open with a silent, magical push, revealing the dimly lit corridor.

In the inky darkness, Hermione moved with a predatory grace, her wand tip pressed firmly against the intruder's neck. The surprise was absolute, the power dynamic stark. For a tense, breathless moment, the two figures remained locked in a silent standoff. Then, a low, husky voice broke the tension.

"Boo," Azza Shafiq drawled, her voice laced with enjoyment. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, held an unnerving intensity as they gazed into Hermione’s. "Surprise."

Hermione’s breath hitched, a mix of adrenaline and exasperation flooding her senses. "Azza!" she hissed, lowering her wand but still keeping it pointed in the general direction of her friend. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" She cursed under her breath. "I'm supposed to come to your house tomorrow!"

Azza shrugged, the movement causing a ripple of shadows across her face. "Tomorrow is too far away," she said, her voice laced with a playful edge. "Besides," she added, her eyes gleaming in the dim light, "I wanted a sleepover. Just us. No Salim."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement and a strange, unfamiliar heat breaking through her annoyance. "You couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Nope," Azza replied, her voice unapologetic. "And besides, at my place we would have Salim. I wanted you all to myself." She grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. "Think of it as a… pre-emptive strike against boredom at Shadowfell Hall."

The atmosphere from their initial encounter slowly dissipated as they settled into the familiar comfort of each other's company. The hours melted away, punctuated by whispered confidences and shared laughter.

"Can you believe it?" Azza exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock horror. "Your cousin! With a child! Almost a year old, and no one knew?"

"It's just… it feels so sad," Hermione said, her voice soft, as she and Azza continued their late-night conversation about Andromeda Tonks. "To have to hide your own child. To feel like you can't share your joy with the world."

Azza nodded; her expression unusually serious. "I only know what you've told me," she said, "and what's been whispered in the corridors. Eloping with a Muggle-born, escaping a marriage contract… and then, poof, blasted off the Black family tapestry. It's quite the story."

"It's more than just a story," Hermione said, her voice laced with frustration. "It's someone's life. Someone's happiness. And they've taken it away from her."

"The pureblood obsession with blood purity," Azza said, echoing Hermione's earlier sentiment. "They've driven her to this. If she'd publicly acknowledged the child, she'd be ostracized, disowned… maybe even worse."

"And the child," Hermione added, her voice low. "Imagine growing up like that. Knowing your family ignores your existence and despise your father. Imagine what they will say about her. I hope she grows up not caring about that.”

Azza shivered slightly. "It's a strange world," she said. "I can't imagine living like that. Being so afraid of what others think."

"It's not fair," Hermione whispered. "Andromeda deserves happiness. She deserves to be proud of her family."

"I don't know her," Azza admitted, "but from what you've said, she sounds… brave. To defy her family like that."

"She is," Hermione said, her voice filled with admiration. "She always has been. She was willing to give up everything for love. “

"And now she's given up everything to protect her child," Azza said, her voice thoughtful. "That takes a different kind of bravery."

"I just wish there was something I could do," Hermione said, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. "Something to let her know she's not alone. When I learned she married Ted Tonks, I was disappointed that her actions had hurt our family. I was wrong; we hurt her."

They moved on to other news, the latest gossip swirling around the wizarding world. "And our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Gone again! To the Korean Ministry, of all places. He seemed quite happy with his new job."

"Another one gone," Azza said, shaking her head, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Honestly, it's starting to feel like a curse. Defense Against the Dark Arts. What is it, the fifth professor in as many years?"

"Sixth, actually," Hermione corrected, a sigh escaping her lips. "And to the Korean Ministry? That's quite a leap."

"Must be paying well," Azza mused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Or maybe he just really likes kimchi."

Hermione chuckled, a brief moment of levity amidst their late-night musings. "I suppose it could be either," she said. "But it's just so frustrating. We need stability, especially in that subject."

"Tell me about it," Azza groaned, rolling her eyes. "How are we supposed to learn anything when they keep changing teachers every year? It's like starting from scratch every time."

"And with everything that's happening in the wizarding world," Hermione added, her voice laced with concern. "We need to be prepared. We need a competent professor."

"Do you think they even bother to vet these people properly?" Azza asked, her brow furrowed. "It feels like they just pluck someone out of thin air."

"I've wondered that myself," Hermione admitted. "Especially after… well, after some of the professors we've had." She trailed off, a hint of unease in her voice, remembering the more questionable individuals who had occupied the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.

"Remember that one who was obsessed with werewolves?" Azza asked, a shudder running through her. "And the one who thought he was a vampire?"

"Don't remind me," Hermione said, a wry smile playing on her lips. "It's a wonder we learned anything at all."

"So, who do you think they'll get this time?" Azza asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Another eccentric? Another… disaster?"

"I honestly don't know," Hermione said, her voice filled with uncertainty. "But I hope, for all our sakes, that they find someone… qualified. Someone who can actually teach us something."

"Maybe they should just hire you," Azza suggested, a lively smile spreading across her face. "You'd be a much better professor than half the people they've had."

Hermione blushed slightly, a hint of pleasure in her eyes. "That's very kind of you, Azza," she said. "But I think I'll stick to being a student for now. Or maybe we could just learn on our own."

"Well, if they need a volunteer, you know where to find me," Azza said, her eyes beaming. "I'm always up for a challenge." She paused, then her gaze drifted to the stack of parchment on Hermione's nightstand. "Speaking of challenges," she added, a sparkling smirk spreading across her face, "what's all this correspondence with Remus about? Is he challenging you to a duel of wits, or something?"

Hermione blushed slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's nothing like that," she said, gathering the letters and placing them neatly on the nightstand. "We just… talk. A lot."

Azza asked, her eyes glistening with mischief, adding, "Or, you know, whatever it is he does when he's not writing to you. Is he a secret revolutionary? A rare potion collector? What is his deal?" She paused, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "Or are you just exchanging… feelings?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed crimson. "Azza!" she exclaimed, a mix of embarrassment and exasperation in her voice. "We're just friends."

"Oh, 'just friends'?" Azza repeated, drawing out the words with exaggerated skepticism. "Is that what you're calling it now? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks suspiciously like a very intense exchange of… affectionate owls."

Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her nightgown, avoiding Azza's knowing gaze. "He's just… supportive," she mumbled. "He understands me."

"Understands you so well he writes you every day?" Azza raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. "That's some serious understanding. And he is always giving you advice, and sharing his knowledge, like a proper suitor would."

"He's just a good friend," Hermione insisted, her voice slightly strained. "He knows I'm… isolated here. He's trying to help."

"By writing you love letters disguised as scholarly discourse?" Azza teased, her eyes bright. "Come on, Hermione. You can tell me. I won't tell anyone."

Hermione sighed, a hint of resignation in her voice. "He's… he's helping me feel less alone," she admitted, her gaze finally meeting Azza's. "He's someone I can talk to about anything. And yes, he does share his knowledge, and his thoughts, and that makes me happy."

"And you like him," Azza stated, her tone now soft, and understanding.

Hermione looked away, her cheeks still flushed. "He's a good person," she said quietly.

"And you like him," Azza repeated, a gentle smile playing on her lips, her gaze lingering on Hermione's face. "And he likes you." She leaned closer, her breath warm against Hermione's ear. "Though, if I were writing you letters like that," she murmured, a playful edge to her voice, "they wouldn't be disguised as scholarly discourse. I'd just write, 'Hermione, you're brilliant and I think you're pretty great,' over and over again." She let her hand drop to Hermione's shoulder, giving it a playful squeeze. "Much more efficient, don't you think?"

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Azza, you're ridiculous. He is nice.”

"Oh, it's nice?" Azza said, exaggerating the word. "Well, if you like nice, I can be nice. How about I write you a letter about the fascinating history of dust bunnies under your bed? Or maybe a detailed analysis of the structural integrity of your bookshelf?" She gave Hermione's shoulder another light squeeze, then leaned back, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Don't worry," she said, her voice laced with playful reassurance. "I'm not jealous. Just… admiring your dedication to… scholarly correspondence." She winked, and then grabbed a pillow, and pulled it against her. "Now, tell me more about those intellectual exchanges. What's Remus theorizing about this time? Ancient runes? Transfiguration theory? Or is he finally revealing his secret recipe for the perfect cup of tea?" Azza finished, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She paused, then her gaze shifted, a more serious expression settling on her face. "But seriously, Hermione," she said, her voice softening slightly, "what about you? Are you thinking about… you know… dating? Next year?"

Hermione blushed, her gaze drifting away. "I… I haven't really thought about it," she mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of her nightgown.

Azza raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Hermione. Everyone thinks about it. Especially as we get older. Are you telling me you haven't even considered the possibilities?"

Hermione hesitated, then said, "Well, I suppose… a little. But it's not exactly my priority."

"Priority?" Azza scoffed playfully. "It's supposed to be fun, Hermione. Not a chore. It's not about priorities, it's about enjoying yourself."

"I know," Hermione said, her voice slightly defensive. "It's just… I'm more focused on my studies. And everything else that's going on."

"Everything else?" Azza teased, her eyes sparkling. "Like your intense correspondence with a certain Mr. Lupin?"

Hermione blushed again, but this time, there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "That's different," she said. "Remus and I are just friends."

"Right," Azza said, drawing out the word. "Friends who write each other every day. Friends who share their deepest thoughts and feelings. Friends who…" she paused, then added with a wink, "well, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Azza, you're impossible," she said, but there was no real heat in her voice.

"But I'm right," Azza insisted, "And you know what my priority is next year? Snogging someone," Azza declared, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Azza!" she exclaimed, a hint of shock in her voice.

Azza laughed. "What? Don't look at me like that, Hermione. It's perfectly natural. I want a bit of fun, a bit of excitement. No strings attached. No serious commitments. Just a good snog."

Hermione looked scandalized. "I… I don't think I could," she said, her voice prim.

Azza grinned. "Oh, come on, Hermione. Loosen up a little. It's not the end of the world. It's just… kissing."

"I know what it is," Hermione said, her cheeks flushed. "It's just… I don't think I'm ready for that."

Azza leaned closer, a playful glint in her eyes. "Maybe you just haven't found the right person to snog," she murmured, her gaze lingering on Hermione's face. "Someone… unlike Mulciber."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "Mulciber?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Azza grimaced, a flicker of distaste crossing her features. "Ugh, don't even remind me," she muttered. "Last year… well, let's just say there was a brief… experiment. It was awful. Absolutely dreadful. I've never told anyone, it was so bad." She shuddered slightly. "It was like kissing a damp squid. And he had the audacity to try to show off! I realized that I just want a good snog, not a show."

"A… damp squid?" Hermione repeated, her eyebrows raised.

Azza nodded emphatically. "A damp, slimy, utterly repulsive squid. Which is why," she continued, her voice regaining its playful tone, "this year, I'm determined to find someone who can actually snog properly. Someone who won't make me want to scrub my mouth with sandpapery potion." She winked at Hermione.

Azza leaned closer, a humoured shine in her eyes. “And perhaps the person you should kiss is your gentlemanly correspondent," she murmured, her gaze lingering on Hermione's face. "Someone… like your Lupin knight."

Hermione's blush deepened. "Azza!" she said, but her voice lacked its usual reprimanding tone.

Azza laughed, then reached out and playfully bumped Hermione's shoulder. "Don't worry, Hermione," she said. "I'm just teasing. But seriously, give it some thought. You might surprise yourself. And who knows, maybe next year, you'll be the one telling me to loosen up." She paused, her eyes twinkling. "Though," she added, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "if you're still feeling too… reserved… for someone like Remus, I'm always available for a demonstration."

"An honour, I'm sure," Hermione said, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. "But I think I'll pass for now."

And so, the conversation flowed, weaving through a million different topics. They talked about their hopes for the upcoming school year, their favourite subjects, their shared memories, and their deepest fears. They gossiped about their classmates, debated the merits of different magical theories, and even dared to dream about the future.

As the first rays of dawn began to peek through the windows of Shadowfell Hall, their voices grew softer, their eyelids heavy. The weight of their shared laughter and whispered secrets settled around them like a comforting blanket. They drifted off to sleep, their breaths mingling in the quiet room, the lingering warmth of their friendship filling the space between them. The secrets shared and the easy laughter had created a bubble of warmth in the gothic hall.