He couldn't decide what to deal with first. The body on the floor or the staring, huddled mess of a Witch in the corner of the room.

Five years, it had been five long years since he'd seen the girl, loyalty to his best friend had dictated that. And now here they were. What a reunion.

"He's dead." Harry uttered the most obvious of all statements as he straightened up, tucking his wand back into its holster and running his hands through his hair with a deep sigh.

For a moment Sirius could do nothing but stare at his Godson, of course he was fucking dead. He'd felt it as soon as he crossed the threshold, something desperate had happened here, and that... girl was right in the middle of it.

"Who is he anyway?" He nodded briefly at the body on the floor; he'd seen enough bodies by now that they no longer conjured up anything more than a faint regret.

"Her husband."

"What?"

"Her husband, that's Bo, her husband..." he trailed off, perhaps noticing Sirius' confusion.

"They've been married three years, didn't I tell you?"

Sirius shook his head mutely. Married? She'd got married? After everything she'd said? Everything she'd done the silly little bitch had run off and gotten fucking married?

And now he was dead.

H hadn't known what to think when Harry had grabbed his arm and Apparated him without so much as a by your leave. He'd been even more confused to find himself in the kitchen of a smart London townhouse with a dead man on the floor and a woman huddled in the corner.

Now that he knew the woman was Hermione and the man on the floor was her husband he couldn't, for the life of him fathom what was going on.

"Harry?"

But there was one thing he did know, one thing years of life had taught him. He knew the sound of fear. Whatever she'd done to deserve his animosity he didn't like the tone of her voice.

She sounded terrified.

But she looked fierce.

She was all manner of different from the soft, gentle girl who had been so easy to love. Something in her eyes looked brittle now, but yet still determined. Her features seemed harsher somehow, the planes of her face almost eerie in the evening light. The sight of her chilled him and he felt a shiver of anticipation. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't going to end well.

Harry was the first to move.

"Hermione? Sweetheart, what happened?"

He stepped forward without hesitation and drew her into his arms, stroking her hair and placing a brief kiss on her forehead.

"I don't know. Harry, I don't know. I just woke up and he was like that. Merlin, Harry, I don't know."

But as her eyes met his over Harry's shoulder he knew what the shiver had been about, and as he bent down to run his wand over her husband's body he wondered why he bothered, he already knew the diagnosis.

But it was right that he should do it, that Harry must not be put in that position. He still had a duty to protect him, boy or man, and protect him he would.

"What's the verdict?" Harry was so trusting, he always had been, Sirius had never quite worked out if it was a fault or a virtue.

But one thing was for certain.

Hermione Granger was liar.

"Natural causes." He almost whispered as he swept away the thin trial of smoked formed letters...

...Avara Kedavra...

And now she had made one out of him too.

****************************************

Sirius had to stop himself flinching as his hand touched her arm. What he wouldn't give for a Muggle upbringing now, some way of knowing who to call, who would deal with a dead body. But for obvious reasons that was Harry's job. He dealt with the husband, lucky old Sirius got the wife.

There had been a brief, whispered argument between the two men, both trying to pack enough force into their words without alerting the Witch a few feet away from them that there was a problem.

Oh no, there was no problem at all. She had killed her husband. Merlin, she'd killed her husband and for some obscure reason he'd lied about it and now he wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible and leave her to her fate.

"You take her." He hissed at Harry. "I'll..."

"You'll do what? You're a liability in a supermarket, Sirius. What the fuck are you going to do with the Muggle authorities?"

"Why'd she marry a Muggle anyway?" He knew he was sounding like a child as he kicked his toe against the table leg in frustration, and Harry's raised eyebrows did nothing to ease his embarrassment.

"Oh I don't know, perhaps she felt her friends in the Magic world might judge her, hey?"

"Deserved it." He mumbled in return.

"For fucks sake, Sirius. Just get it together and take her back home."

"What? Where?"

"Home, Grimmauld Place."

"No, no way. Who knows who'll be there. Why can't she go to yours, if you're all so pally still. Kept that quiet didn't you?"

Harry, quite rightly, ignored his last muttered accusation and lowered his tone even more. Sirius felt his heart sink even more. This was Harry's 'don't mess with me' tone, this was a manifestation of the determination which had kept him alive all these years, and Sirius knew he'd lost.

"You listen to me. I'm not an idiot and I know full well that neither of you are being honest with me. Hermione is a friend of mine but that man did not just drop dead at the age of 28. Until I know what's going on she's stays somewhere safe, for her and for everyone else."

Right then, slightly less trusting then he'd thought.

He'd carefully fostered his dislike of her over the last five years. For a while it had, perhaps if he was honest with himself, bordered on obsession. But it had faded and now he'd been left with the bitter tang of resentment whenever she was accidently mentioned.

And it had always been an accident. No one in Grimmauld Place had uttered her name on purpose in almost five years. Ever since it had become crystal clear that she wasn't coming back. He realised now that he'd been a fool. Of course Harry and Ginny had kept in touch with her, Ron too if he thought about it. He wondered how many of the others had secretly kept Hermione Granger, or whatever her name was now, as part of their lives?

Well the carefully constructed bubble that he, Remus, Tonks and the others had nurtured over the years was about to burst with a bang wasn't it?

And it started now, with the burn of her skin under his hand and the slight twitch in her eye as she brought her hand up to grasp the crystal on the chain around her neck as her eyes met his again.

"Why?"

"Why what?" His tone wasn't gentle, but neither had hers been. This was Hermione as a woman, not a girl, and she was currently scaring the shit out of him. She hadn't so much as glanced at the man on the floor since they'd arrived. How the hell had Harry known something was going on anyway?

"You know what."

And he did, why had he lied? Why had he covered for her instead of marching her into the Ministry at the tip of his wand with the word 'Murderer' on his lips?

He could pretend, could claim he didn't know, or even better he could just ignore what he'd seen written in the air and pretend there was nothing wrong at all. But deep down he knew it wouldn't work, she'd never been stupid and he couldn't see how five years could change that. She knew he knew. And he knew why he'd done it, the word didn't fit, it would never sit well on his lips.

And while he pictured his front step in his mind and clasped her closer towards him he swallowed the small, sharp pang of nostalgia which sprang from deep inside him and told her the truth.

"Because while I may hate you, Granger. You're not a murderer."