Disclaimer: I don't believe in repeating this for every chapter, so I'll say it once here- anything that you recognise, I don't own.

Prologue: I'm Listening

June 15th, 1998

Number 12, Grimmauld Place

The door slammed behind her, cutting out the bitterness of the wind. The house loomed silent and oppressive around her, subduing her with its dusty darkness. The all encompassing gloom chilled her more than the cold outside. One can't help but be reminded of a mausoleum.

Moving stealthily, her heart ached to think of Sirius, of the Order, of Harry and Ron when this place was like a home to them. Her hand brushed moth-eaten velvet, which she knew to be red, and she did something that she could never have imagined herself doing- smooth, golden tasselled rope clutched in her fingers, she pulled.

For once, it was silent.

"Hello?" an arrogant voice asked, with round, cultured vowels that spoke of aristocracy. "I don't know who you are, or what you want, and I don't care. Go away."

Wand aloft, Hermione flicked it and it lit. "Are you so sure of that, Walburga?" Her voice remained steady, portraying a confidence that she could not admit to feeling.

"Filthy Mudblood," the woman snarled, revealing that she was, indeed, Walburga. "Defiling my home, disgraci-"

"Oh, come off it, Black," the girl cut in, sharply. "Your son is dead, you know that?"

At this, the woman in the portrait paused. Her eyes seemed to reflect something- regret, perhaps. Perhaps not. Hermione couldn't help but hope that it was truly regret. Her visit to this dusty crypt depended on it.

"My only son died long ago," she responded after a moment, her voice filled with venom.

"You know that is not who I mean."

"You say this as though I cared about that rotten blood traitor," she immediately hissed in retort.

"Bellatrix did it," came the simple and very soft reply.

The older woman's face became a battlefield of warring emotions- confusion, hurt, anger, regret- pride? All the while, Hermione waited in silence, letting her wand fall to her side. The light didn't diminish, it merely came from a lower angle.

"So what is it that you want?" she finally asked, features schooled back into a blankly arrogant mask. "Why are you here?"

"Well, Mrs. Black, ma'am," she said, nervous now that the moment had arrived. "I have a- a bit of a proposition for you." She stood up from the deep curtsey she had dropped into, minding the Pureblood traditions. Walburga Black just stared imperiously back, regarding her with cold black eyes. "Sirius was the last of your line. Regulus has been… Gone, for many years now. Bellatrix, well, she was not fit to carry the Black line anyway." Hermione refrained from mentioning that Bellatrix was also dead now. "Narcissa's son is the heir apparent of the Malfoys, and she is no longer able to have children. And… Well, that's it," she said, hesitantly. She found herself unable to mention Andromeda, due to her disownment for marrying the 'Mudblood,' Ted Tonks. In Walburga's eyes, at least as far as the position of Black Matriarch required of her, Nymphadora was not a fitting heir, least of all because she was exactly that- a she.

Her eyes widened just a bit, then she pressed her lips into a thin line. Even in her nervous state, Hermione couldn't help but to notice the similarity to one of Minerva's severest expressions, and nearly giggled. "I know all of this, girl. So I ask one more time, and let it be the last- what do you want?"

Hermione bit her lip in a way that showed truly how unsure she was. "What if I could save your bloodline?" At this, Walburga Black's look of boredom (albeit feigned) evaporated, and her eyes locked onto the younger girl's, calculating her.

"And why would you do that?"

"I want to change all of it, including Sirius and Regulus' fates. And much more, if I'm able."

The room was silent for a while as the immaculately painted woman's eyes glazed over while she stared at Hermione, looking through her to another time, another place. After several moments, she said what Hermione needed to hear most desperately.

"I'm listening."