Scotland was, as per usual, raining cats and dogs the morning Hermione Granger rolled out of bed and cursed the parents of Sirius Black for conceiving him nine months prior to February 18th. In the interest of fairness (her being a Gryffindor and all) she also cursed her own infernal curiosity, which had led her to the genealogies of Pureblood families located in the Hogwarts library and subsequently her discovery of the birthday of Harry's godfather. Since she was, well, her, she had been taken with the unshakable notion that the poor man shouldn't have his birthday go unnoticed (and curse her mother's unfailing compassion that she just had to pass along to her daughter). All of which had led up to her current predicament; trudging down the rather alarmingly flooded road to Hogsmeade with a picnic basket on her left arm and a much put-upon expression on her face.
Hermione Granger chewed her lip thoughtfully, staring down at the dusty book on her lap, which would insist on proclaiming that Sirius Black's birthday was tomorrow, despite the fact that February is a dreadful month for birthday activities and Hermione had no idea how she would sneak out of Hogwarts on such short notice. The girl sighed gustily as she stood to return the book of genealogies to its rightful place. Really, it was her own fault for wanting to find out more about the man, and her mother's fault for her never-ending delight in celebrating such occasions. Hermione knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her mother would someone find out if she simply ignored this newfound tidbit of information and never forgive her for it. She still remembered the time she had proclaimed she didn't want a fuss for her birthday; her perpetually calm mother had nearly had a coronary.
She hummed absentmindedly to herself as she pondered what she could do (because she clearly had to do something, her conscious was nagging at her now). It wasn't like she knew the man all that well. And simply sending a letter would be almost as bad as ignoring the day entirely, not to mention the dangerous possibility of someone tracing it. As she wound her way out of the labyrinthine aisles that made up the Hogwarts library she suddenly remembered Professor Lupin's love of chocolate.
'They were friends in school,' she mused to herself, 'Perhaps a chocolate cake?' Besides, that was the only birthday type food she had any idea of how to bake.
House elves, Hermione decided, were decidedly odd creatures. When she had expressed her desire to bake a cake to them they had all looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. Even the ever excitable Dobby had looked at her rather askance, though he had procured the necessary ingredients for her when she finally managed to assure him she really would rather do it herself.
Several hours and three botched attempts later (the kitchen did not seem to possess a single cookbook and her formidable memory did not extend to baking recipes) she had a relatively serviceable chocolate cake on her hands, but no idea how she was actually going to get it to its intended recipient.
"Dobby," she called hesitantly, the beginnings of a plot stirring in her mind. The elf in question promptly popped up beside her. "How can Dobby be helping Harry Potter's friend?" he inquired eagerly. "I was wondering…" she began, biting her lip and trying to call up a blush, "You see, the cake is for Viktor, a belated Valentine's celebration you know. He's been ever so kind to me, and I just…" she trailed off, glancing away as if shy to continue, "Well, I wanted to do something nice for him in return. That's why I wanted to bake the cake myself, you know. Do you think you could pack it up, maybe with some other food too, and I could come get it tomorrow? I thought a picnic might be nice," she bit her lip again, hoping she looked sufficiently smitten, and tried to repress a twinge of guilt. After all, Viktor had been kind to her, and she hadn't done much of anything for him. Apparently her acting skills were up to snuff because Dobby's ears were flapping as he eagerly agreed, "Oh yes, Harry Potter's friend, Dobby would be most pleased to help." The other house elves also seemed rather relieved at her explanation, though still a bit bemused about the cooking herself bit.
She smiled gratefully, thankful for once of her father's insistence on father-daughter acting lessons during his Shakespeare phase. "Thank you, Dobby. I'll just pop down tomorrow around noon then?" she asked, mentally calculating the likelihood of her being caught sneaking out at noon on a Saturday. Dobby nodded again as he ushered her out and she practically ran back to Gryffindor tower when she realized how close to curfew it was. She fell asleep praying that the weather wouldn't be too dreadful tomorrow, and that the teachers would be preoccupied with all the pranks involved in the Harry vs. Cedric war.
The Gods had, of course, not headed her prayer; at least not the one about the weather. She had actually been rather taken aback at the ease with which she had snuck down to the kitchens and then out of the castle grounds.
'Perhaps Dumbledore in his incomprehensible wisdom knows what I'm up to and approves,' she thought, pushing her sopping hair away from her face as she eyed the steep incline up to the cave Sirius was currently living in.
She heaved a sigh and started up the steep, winding path, muttering to herself about inconsiderate Purebloods, barmy Headmasters, and her mother.
Upon nearing the mouth of the cave she hesitated. She honestly hadn't expected to make it off the grounds, and so had not thought much about what she was actually going to say to the man. It wasn't as if she could just proclaim "Happy Birthday!" and expect him to take it in stride. After all, she barely knew the man, and if anyone was going to trudge through this infernal weather to wish him happy birthday it should surely be Harry or Professor Lupin. In fact, Professor Lupin might very well be there, and wouldn't that be embarrassing? But she hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, despite the hat's misgivings.
"Snuffles?" she called out, drawing her wand in case someone less than friendly had discovered his hiding place. She couldn't hear much of anything over the pounding of rain, but a moment later a huge black dog slunk out of the mouth of the cave, then stopped short upon seeing her. The dog elongated into the shape of a man wearing a rather gob smacked expression. "Hermione?" he asked incredulously, his voice hoarse from disuse.
"Er, yes," she mumbled, a blush that she had most decidedly not called up heating her cheeks. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked anxiously, glancing up at him, "Only I'm absolutely drenched and I don't know how waterproof this basket is." She gestured at the basket dangling from her left arm.
He looked chagrined and stepped aside, waving her in. "Of course, come in, I should know better than to keep a lady waiting, especially in this weather." He smiled at her, a ghost of his aristocratic good looks briefly gracing his face.
"So what brings you here, and in a downpour like this?" he queried as she followed him into the back of the cave where he and Buckbeak resided. She bowed to the hippogriff, and then turned to face him, trying not to fidget.
"Well, I confess I was a bit curious about you," she began, the blush renewing with abandon, "so I looked up the Black family genealogy in the library, and I saw that it was your birthday. My mum's a bit of a birthday fanatic, and I didn't think you ought to be all alone, so I thought I'd bring you something," she looked up at him shyly, offering the basket for his inspection. He took it, grey eyes startled, and peaked in the lid. Looking back at her, he asked "You brought me a birthday cake?" in a weak voice tinged with disbelief. She lost the battle against fidgeting and started twisting her hands.
"Made you a birthday cake, actually, the house elves thought I was touched in the head. I know it's daft, and you'd rather have Harry or Professor Lupin or someone here, but like I said my mum's crazy about birthdays and everyone should have a cake and I couldn't get it out of my head and I didn't want to send an owl in case someone tracked it so I apologize for the lack of warning…" she stopped speaking abruptly, realizing her mouth had run away with her, as it was wont to do when she was nervous. "And I'm babbling, so I'll just shut up now."
Sirius laughed, "I don't mind, I don't exactly get much company up here. And no worries for the lack of warning, there's not exactly much you could interrupt." He came closer and tilted her chin up when she continued staring at the ground. His grey eyes were warm, if a little wary, as he assured her, "Hermione, you don't have to apologize for anything, this is the nicest thing anyone's done for me since before Azkaban." He hesitated, then continued, "And yes, I would love to see Harry, but don't think you're not welcome just because you're not him." He smiled again, and she wondered to herself about how handsome he must have been before war and Azkaban had stripped him of his youth.
"Now," he said briskly, when he seemed satisfied by whatever he had been searching for in her face, "let's eat the cake and you can tell me all about Hogwarts." She smiled softly as she plopped herself on the ground next to him, pleased at his sudden animation.
"Well, Harry's busy preparing for the second task, and you should have seen what Fred and George got up to the other day…" she started, content to fill the silence as Sirius dug into his cake with heartbreaking enthusiasm.
Perhaps she wasn't his first choice of companion, and he certainly wouldn't be hers, but the two found themselves surprisingly at ease with each other as the day wore on and they swapped tales of the fluffier memories they possessed. And it really was an excellent cake.