5th June

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I have failed to convince you and the other contact, but soon you'll have enough evidence to believe me. Please use the information I gave you to right the situation.

I'm going to be here for one more week and then I'll be gone. If you change your mind, the other contact knows where to find me.

With hope,

H.G.

Little Hangleton was strange village. Five or so shops lined each side of the short and narrow main street, the sort of businesses you'd expect in a small rural town - a Baker's, a Dressmaker's, what had probably once been a Blacksmith's that in more recent years moved on to selling hardware, a Butcher's, a Greengrocer's, of course the obligatory Inn, but also a small bookshop. At the end of the street stood the school house; a small church was perched halfway up the hillside behind the school, its graveyard just visible in the shadow of an old yew tree.

Hermione apparated with a pop at the opposite end of the high street; she was glad of the heavy spring rain which further hid the shimmer of her disillusioned form, as she hoped to keep her presence here a secret. As she looked around the main road, she thought the village had an unusual quality - at first she thought "timeless", but that implied quaintness… it was more like "forgotten", like the residents of the town had no interest in the new or different. If Hermione hadn't known the year she would have looked at the faded facades and outdated signage and guessed that she was somewhere in the early sixties.

Turning her back on the little street, Hermione proceeded away from the village up the gradually inclining road, between the tall thick hedgerows. According to her maps, this was the route to the Gaunt house and Marvolo Gaunt's ring, the ring that so long ago had belonged to Cadmus Peverell, the ring that she must keep hidden from Dumbledore at all costs.

Dumbledore was in possession of the Elder Wand, and at some point very soon James Potter would show him the invisibility cloak and he would ask to borrow it. If he found out that the Resurrection Stone was also within his grasp... well, Hermione didn't like to imagine the consequences. Dumbledore had said he was not worthy to unite the Hallows, so what would happen if they were thrust into his grasp before he had come to terms with the idea? Insanity, or only frightfully bad decisions? Neglect of his current responsibilities, or the desire to rule all? She shuddered. A corrupt Dumbledore was not something this world could handle.

Hermione turned off the main road after ten minutes onto a very steep goat track that lead down the side of an old river valley, winding through rocks and scrubby bushes toward a dense copse of trees at the bottom of the valley. She skirted around to the other side and entered the wooded area, approaching the Gaunt's old home at the rear.

There would be serious protective enchantments on the house, if not the surrounding area; squatting down amongst the undergrowth behind a fallen log she withdrew her wand from the inside pocket of her coat glanced around to make sure she was alone. She cast two spells in quick succession, the first homenum revelio, followed rapidly by a shield charm – she wasn't sure what the reaction would be to magic cast upon the collapsing dwelling and wanted to make sure she would be protected.

She needn't have worried. Nothing happened. Her charm had shown that the place was clear, so she crept closer and peered through the grimy window that faced the trees. It was a shambles inside, lit only by the dim grey daylight filtering through the gaps in the ceiling where the roof tiles had disintegrated over time. Deciding that this was enough reconnaissance for one afternoon, she moved back into the trees. She hadn't planned on removing the ring from its hiding place; it would be better to come back at night to avoid any muggle eyes.

Her original idea had involved bringing the other Horcruxes to the Gaunt shack and destroying them all at once, shack and all. Harry had not been able to tell her of any of the curses that protected the ring, only that Dumbledore hadn't been able to beat them. That was very worrying. If she was going to get the ring without drawing attention to its destruction – important now that she was headed back before Hallowe'en – she would have to find a way to remove it. She thought of Dumbledore's blackened hand... perhaps if she researched the injury she would be able to get an idea of what she would be facing. With this highly unappealing thought she turned on the spot and disapparated back to London.

Hermione appeared in the alley across the street from her hotel, and crossed the busy road to climb the steps that led to the gold-edged doors of the hotel entrance. As she made her way across the thickly carpeted entry towards the lifts, an urgent voice called to her, 'Excuse me, Miss Granger?'

It was the young man behind the reception desk; fear flooded her – the credit card! Had they discovered it wasn't real? She didn't see how. She had been very thorough in her banditry. Her guilty conscience must have showed on her face as she turned to look at him. The concierge looked alarmed.

'I didn't mean to startle you darling, it's just that I have a message here for you.'

Her fear turned suddenly to confusion - who would leave her a message at reception? Dumbledore would send an owl to her room, as would Sirius, and she hadn't even spoken to anyone else.

'A message?' she asked. 'From whom?' As she came to stand at the counter, she realised she hadn't met this hotel staffer yet. He was young, in his mid-twenties, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and a small silver sleeper in his ear.

He smiled and leaned toward her conspiratorially over the desk, 'Well to tell you the truth love, it's from a young fella.' He smiled even wider, straight white teeth showing, 'Devilish good-looking one, too. '

'Really?' Hermione replied, smiling a little.

'Yes, he didn't give me his name – but he left this.' He handed her a folded piece of parchment. 'He said it was for the gorgeous Miss Granger, and that you'd know who it was from.'

Hermione unfolded the small slip of parchment and read.

Dear Hermione,

I'm quite hurt you were not eagerly awaiting my owl - he's a stickler for punctual replies you know.

I would rather enjoy being further entertained by your insane plan.

Fancy a drink this evening? Meet me in the hotel reception at eight if you are willing.

Yours Truly,

Mr Ogden

Hermione chuckled nervously as she re-folded the note, muttering 'Cocky bastard!' under her breath.

The concierge laughed, 'Dearie, if you don't call him, I certainly will!'

Hermione giggled - why couldn't all the staff in this hotel be as friendly as this guy? 'I'll be sure to inform him of his options,' she said with a wink. Her heart lightened; she had obviously not botched her first attempt as badly as she thought.

This was it. A second chance.

Up in her room Hermione discovered the aforementioned owl - dark grey with mischievous eyes. It was perched on the back of the sofa looking bored out of its mind. Was it even possible for a bird to look bored?

She removed the scroll from its leg. Unfurling it she found a similar message to the one at reception – though without the admonitions about owl etiquette. She was genuinely surprised Sirius was going to such effort to get in contact with her. She really thought she'd made a terrible first impression.

She scrawled a reply on the back of the note, using the pen so thoughtfully provided by hotel housekeeping.

Mr Ogden,

I would love to entertain you with my insanity this evening. See you at eight.

P.S. You made quite the impression on the fellow at reception – he was quite disappointed I planned to accept your invitation.

Rolling up her reply and attaching it to the owl's leg she felt a pang of guilt. What was she doing flirting with Sirius? She was here on a mission, not to behave like a schoolgirl. It didn't really matter, she realized - once Sirius knew the real reason for her presence here, he would have far more important things on his mind than flirting. She carried the bird to the French doors and unlatched them; as the owl took off from her arm, she sighed. Wrong impression or not, the distraction was quite nice.

At eight that evening, Hermione stepped out of the lift at the ground floor and scanned the room; she saw Sirius reflected in the large mirror opposite her, leaning on the reception desk in close conversation with the man who had delivered his message earlier. Sirius looked over as the lift doors closed and caught Hermione's eye in the refection, a wide smile breaking across his face.

'Well Mark, it's been a pleasure,' he said to the concierge, reaching across the marble to clap him on the shoulder, 'but my date has arrived.'

'Lucky thing,' Hermione heard Mark mutter as she took her place at Sirius's side.

'Thanks for keeping him entertained,' she said. 'You know boys and their attention spans.'

Mark laughed. 'The pleasure was all mine,' he said, still chortling. 'Have a lovely evening.'

As she and Sirius turned to make their way through to the hotel bar, Sirius looked back over his shoulder and winked at the concierge; Mark, in turn, flipped his hand at them in a shooing gesture.

Sirius pushed open the wide glass door that separated the bar from the lobby held it for Hermione; as she passed she whispered, 'You are terrible!'

'Really?' he said, feigning a look of horror, 'I thought I was doing rather well.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. At least it wasn't just her; Sirius flirted with everyone.

'So, what are we having this evening?' Sirius asked her when they reached the bar. 'I'm not too flash on muggle alcohol,' he admitted with a small grimace.

Hermione was taken aback by his casual attitude. She really thought that he would be angry at her for the madness of her behaviour the other night, but he seemed to have forgotten all about it. Or was ignoring it.

'Oh, er ...' she said. 'They have normal whiskey, it's nothing as good as yours though, Mr Ogden. I prefer wine.'

Sirius nodded, 'When in Rome, right?'

Hermione smiled. 'Yes, when in Rome.'

'You'd better order it,' he said, pulling out his wallet. 'I always mess up the gold in muggle places.' He handed her a banknote, 'Will this cover it?'

Hermione spluttered, 'Um, yes, ... Sirius, this is a hundred pounds!' she said quietly, 'The wine is four pounds fifty a glass – or twenty for a bottle.'

'How am I to know?' he said, looking slightly put out. 'Told you I'd mess it up.' Rifling through the fat stack of notes in his wallet, he muttered, 'Bloody bits of paper - honestly, how do the muggles keep track of it?' He finally extracted a ten and handed it to Hermione. 'That better?'

'Yes,' she said, handing back the hundred.

'You know,' said Sirius thoughtfully, 'I've never met a bird who complained about me giving her too much gold'.

'You still haven't,' said Hermione. 'They're only bits of paper, remember?' He grinned, seeming happier at this thought.

Hermione ordered two glasses of house red and then opened her purse, rummaging to find two fifty pence pieces in the jumble at the bottom. When the barmaid gave her the change Hermione kept the pound note for herself and gave the coins to Sirius.

'Oh, these are much better!' he said, examining the odd shape of the coins' flattened edges.

'How come you've got so much muggle money anyway?' Hermione asked him, biting her lip at the somewhat rude question.

Sirius didn't seem fazed, 'Because a gentleman is always prepared,' he stated matter-of-factly in his best pureblood drawl.

Hermione had just taken a sip from her glass and coughed slightly, ignoring the reference to Sirius as a gentleman – dubious as it was – to ask, 'Prepared for what? Were you worried we might end up in a situation tonight where the only way out was for you to buy a house?'

He shrugged. 'I got some gold changed into muggle money about a year ago and I just keep it in this wallet, I don't normally take it with me unless I'm going somewhere I'll need it, and that's not very often.'

'Only on the occasions you take out unsuspecting muggle girls,' Hermione said disparagingly. 'I can only imagine how they succumb to your advances when they see you're carrying around an average man's annual income.' She rolled her eyes.

'Really? Bloody James.' shaking his head, Sirius went on, 'He's my best mate, we went to Gringotts together to change the gold. I bet he knew it was too much – probably still laughing about it. Git. I did wonder at the time how muggles could afford to live if that's how much gold they needed to survive.'

Hermione was laughing by this time, 'Purebloods,' she managed to get out, 'you're hopeless.'

'So, anyway Miss Hermione, you promised to entertain me with your insanity this evening – so far you've just laughed at me. I wish to return the favour.'

Hermione hesitated. She had forgotten for a moment the real reason she was sitting with this man, and let herself be caught up in the charade of getting him on her side, and enjoying his company. For her it was quite strange – Sirius had always been taciturn and unpredictable, but on his good days she had always found him quite easy to get along with; they had a decent amount in common and he'd always liked to hear her theories, and challenge her on them. She guessed that the Sirius before Azkaban was that same Sirius, the good day one. Well, she thought, it will make this whole mission easier if we can get along.

'Shall we get a table?' she asked him.

'Sure.' He took another sip of wine before turning to scan the bar for empty tables. 'This stuff is pretty good, not as good as elf-made, but it'll do.' he said, with a nod at his glass.

'That's why I like it,' Hermione replied, a bit nonsensically; she was starting to feel that overwhelming sense of panic again, the same one that had rendered her speechless on the bank of the Thames.

Sirius led her to a table away from the other customers, put down his glass and pulled out the chair for her, settling her before sitting down himself. She was slightly surprised by this, then realised she shouldn't be. The purebloods, especially one of the "Most Ancient and Noble House of Black", were all raised to understand proper behavior, and being disowned had nothing to do with public manners.

'I'm not sure where to start', she said, looking down into her glass and willing the words to leave her mouth. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. 'I need to make a confession.' Sirius just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. 'I haven't been entirely honest about my reason for finding you.'

'Hermione,' Sirius interrupted, 'You're not the only one that hasn't been honest.' He was suddenly quiet and serious as he leaned toward her. 'Dumbledore contacted me yesterday. His concern was a witch from the future called Hermione Granger that had met with him, and told him she had a plan to bring down Voldemort. And that she needed the assistance of one Sirius Black. Didn't you wonder how I knew your last name?'

'Er ...' her brain had jammed. Dumbledore told him ... then why was Sirius here? ... Hadn't Dumbledore been warning him to stay away? ... Did Dumbledore believe her then? ... What sort of game were they playing? ... Trying to catch her out? ... Then why would Sirius have told her he already knew? ... She couldn't understand ... unless Dumbledore did believe her ... or Sirius just told her something he shouldn't have ... Then why hadn't Dumbledore come to her? Why had he left her believing he thought she was lying?

'Umm, Hermione … is it true?' His voice was soft, almost pleading. 'Do you really have a way of stopping Voldemort?'

'Yes,' Hermione whispered.

'Yes?!' he exclaimed loudly, then lowered his voice, 'and ... you're from the future?'

'Yes,' she confirmed - she didn't seem to be able to say anything else. She was horrified at how happy he looked; she knew that as soon as she told him what they would have to do, and what was at stake if they failed, he would feel the same sense of panic and horror that she did.

'And here I was thinking Dumbledore had finally lost his marbles,' Sirius chuckled.

'Hang on,' said Hermione, 'if you thought Dumbledore was crazy, why did you want to see me?'

'I couldn't help hoping it was true, come on ... a plan to stop Voldemort? The Ministry have been working on that for the last ten years!'

'So Dumbledore believes me then?' Hermione asked.

'Well, he seemed pretty definite when he told me about you.' he said, then his face grew puzzled, 'How did you convince him of such an unlikely story anyway?'

'I wasn't aware that I had. I met with him three weeks ago. I told him who I was, and the basic frame of my plan, but he didn't seem convinced at all. I gave him some memories of my time at Hogwarts, but I really thought he was brushing me off as crazy. He hasn't contacted me at all, or asked to talk again – do you think he doesn't think I can do it? Does he just want to do it his way? Why is he always so confusing?!' she finished, frustrated.

Sirius looked taken aback at this little outburst, leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised. 'Um ... I dunno, do I? He's always been bloody cryptic as far as I can remember. As to the rest - no idea, sorry.' He leaned toward her again, 'So ... how did you get here?'

'I ... er ... modified a Timeturner.' Hermione said.

'What! On your own?' he exclaimed disbelievingly.

Hermione nodded. 'It took me three years to get it right.'

'But that's impossible! If you could do that, the world wouldn't have any problems.' He looked unconvinced.

'It was very difficult,' she snapped, 'but obviously not impossible, or I wouldn't be sitting here, would I?' She was slightly insulted at his insinuation that she could not achieve such a thing, or that if she could then everyone in the future must have one in their back pocket. Flamel could make a Philosopher's Stone, but that didn't mean you could buy one at the corner shop.

'Sorry,' he said, 'It's just a lot to swallow. So where did you come from? Do you know me in the future? Is that why you need me?' He paused, a worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. 'Oh Merlin ... I'm... I'm not your Dad or anything am I?'

Hermione giggled, surprising herself – he looked so horrified. 'No, but you are my best friend's godfather.' His eyebrows went up – she could see the light of realisation in his grey eyes.

'Your best friend is Harry? Harry Potter?

'Yes,' she nodded, 'We were in the same year at Hogwarts – we were in Gryffindor together.'

'Cool!' said Sirius grinning, 'So you must know James, Lily and me quite well then? Although,' he seemed to be counting in his head. 'Ew ... we'd be so old ... how old are you?'

'Twenty one,' she said quietly, 'I left from 2001.'

'Merlin!' he exclaimed, 'We'd be forty-one!'

'Um...' Hermione wanted to interrupt, to tell him that she'd never met Harry's parents that she'd only known Sirius for two years – that he only had another fifteen years to live, but he was still rambling on, 'What was Harry like?... Was Sirius still his favourite person in the world? ... Was Harry good at Quidditch?... Did he, Sirius, still have all his hair?

She just sat there, stunned, and terrified of what his reaction would be when she finally had the balls to tell him.

Suddenly the stream of questions came to a halt.

'Er ... Hermione?' His voice was soft again, 'There's something else, isn't there? Why are you here? Is Voldemort supreme ruler of the universe? Does something happen to Harry?'

'No', said Hermione 'It's just ...' she stopped; taking a deep breath, she willed herself to meet Sirius's gaze.

'What?' he said impatiently, 'What is it?'

She exhaled. 'Okay, I should start at the beginning.' Just do it her brain told her, just say it. 'The prophecy made by Trelawney –'

'About the boy born at the end of July?' Sirius interrupted.

'Yes,' Hermione confirmed with a quick nod, 'Riddle, for his own reasons that we shall probably never know, decided that it was Harry.'

'Riddle?' Sirius looked lost.

'Tom Riddle is Voldemort's true name. It's what we call him now – it takes away the fear, that was Harry's idea.'

'Brilliant, we should do that now,' Sirius said, 'stop all the You-Know-Who bollocks.'

'I've never really understood that,' Hermione said pensively, 'I mean, normal citizens, maybe - but the Ministry? I've always thought it bizarre that they would show that much fear.'

'I reckon,' he agreed. 'Like I said – bollocks.'

'So anyway,' she said, refocusing on the task at hand, 'the prophecy is correct, Harry was the one destined to finish Riddle forever. When he and I were seventeen, and our friend Ron, we went on a mission that was left to us by Dumbledore – he dies you see, but I'll come back to that - it was a mission to kill Riddle. To destroy him entirely. It took us a year to find what we needed, and Riddle and the Death Eaters were hunting us, but in the end we managed everything we needed to do. In the end Harry triumphs. He defeats Riddle in single combat, and Riddle is vanquished forever.'

'Harry kills him? Little Harry?' Sirius asked, his face was very pale.

'Well,' Hermione smiled slightly, 'he's not so little by then, but yes. He kills him in front of hundreds of people. He's quite the hero in my time – even has his own chocolate frog card,' she added, trying to take the horrified look from Sirius's face.

'Huh,' he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'Was I there?' he asked quietly, 'and James and Lily? Although ...' he said, a frown marring his shocked face, 'I can't imagine Lily standing by while her baby boy battled Voldemort – she would have kicked old Snakeface in the bollocks before she let Harry fight him.'

The feeling of panic began to rise inside Hermione again. Get on with it! The voice in her head told her. She looked around the room – how could she tell him in a room full of people? It wasn't fair ... he would be angry, very angry, when she told him about Pettigrew. She didn't want to cause a scene.

'Actually Sirius ... I think we'd be better to go up to my room – it's a long story, and to be honest, it's not very pleasant.'

'Fine, let's go then,' he said impatiently, 'I want to get this over with.' He picked up his almost full glass of wine and chugged it back. Hermione watched surprised - perhaps he was more nervous than he looked.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve and coughing slightly he said, 'Interesting ... It's not so good when you drink it all at once.'

Shaking her head Hermione stood, taking her glass with her, 'I'm just going to finish mine upstairs.'

He smiled ruefully, 'I didn't realise that was an option.'

When they reached the room, Sirius looked around, apparently impressed. 'Not bad up here is it?'

'No,' said Hermione, wondering why he was talking about decor when she was about to give him the worst news of his life.

He'd flopped down the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, his boots resting on the coffee table, fingers linked behind his head as he leaned back: the very picture of a man at ease. His eyes gave him away, however – he was following her every movement like a hawk. She tried to appear calm as she put her wine on the end table, and then sat in the armchair opposite.

'Sirius,' she said, 'I just want to warn you – some of what I tell you is going to be hard to hear. I want you to remember that none of it is going to happen. We are going to change it, well I am – and you, if you agree to help.'

An hour, and another bottle of wine later, Sirius stood on the little balcony of Hermione's hotel room, with a cigarette in one hand and a photograph in the other.

There was Hermione – looking very young, but there was no doubt it was her, you couldn't mistake that hair - standing between to two boys, one tall and freckly with fiery red hair, and the other... well, the other boy was basically James. He stood shorter than the red head but taller than Hermione, and looked so much like the James Sirius remembered from fifth year; His eyes were different of course and his glasses were the wrong shape but otherwise Harry was the spitting image of his father.

Though remarkable, this was not the thing that made Sirius's hand shake as he took a drag on his cigarette. It was him. Sirius was standing behind Harry in the picture, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. He, Sirius, was so haggard, so old... so sad… not to mention thin and weak looking. His eyes were haunted, looking up at him from the old photo. Next to him was Remus – also lined and certainly grey, his face furrowed in a familiar frown – worrying about something, Sirius could tell. At least Moony still looks fit he thought.

This insane picture was so unsettling – what had happened to make him look so... so dead?

Hermione had told him the story; Riddle killed Lily and James. Sirius had blanched at this –where had they gone wrong? Harry had been Riddle's downfall - but he wasn't really dead, the Horcruxes he had made before the attack on the Potters had kept him existing.

Harry had to be protected by Lily's blood, so he had been raised by her muggle sister. Hermione and the two boys had hunted down the Horcruxes and Harry had fought and defeated Voldemort. But so many had been lost along the way. Including himself apparently. Killed at the Ministry trying to save Harry only months after this picture had been taken.

Hermione had asked for his help - how on earth could he refuse? James and Lily's lives were in danger. He would do anything to protect them. He could handle most of it: that she had come from the future, no problem; saving his friends lives, that was a given; destroying Voldemort's soul, he would enjoy that; going on an adventure with an interesting woman, well that was icing on the cake.

No, it wasn't worry about any of these things that had him throwing back Firewhiskey like it was the last bottle on earth. There was something she wasn't telling him. Hermione said the picture was from 1995 – he was only thirty six. Yet he looked so hollow ... so sad ... defeated. Those eyes – they didn't look like his at all, almost blank. Closed. Hermione said it was taken the day they were going back to Hogwarts and he was sad to say good bye to Harry. He could understand that, but there was something else. He heard a movement behind him, and turned to see Hermione standing in the open doorway, holding a cup of tea and looking miserable.

'Just tell me,' he mumbled, staring out across the skyline in front of them. She didn't speak. He faced her and met her eyes. 'Please, just get it over with.'

'I don't want you to be afraid,' she said, voice barely more than a whisper.

'Hermione,' he said, 'I look like I've had my soul sucked out. It's not as bad as that is it?'

'No ... not quite,' she answered. 'Sirius,' she swallowed, 'Sirius, they think it's you. The charm ... the secret keeper ... everyone thinks it's you, you're James's best friend, but – but it wasn't. You get them to use Peter instead. The perfect bluff you call it. But he's a spy – he hands them over. You – you hunt Pettigrew down and ... and he yells for everyone to hear that you were the secret keeper. The Ministry... you were attacking him, they put you in Azkaban.'

Sirius blanched. 'How long?' he asked angrily. 'How long before Dumbledore tells them the truth? How long before they get Wormtail? The traitorous little arsehole!' His rage was filling him up, like boiling water in his belly, spreading through his limbs and scorching him from the inside - he had never felt like this, 'After everything James has done for him! Ten fucking years of friendship! That two-faced bastard, I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!' His hands were shaking as he drew in a breath. 'I can't fucking believe this! Hermione! How long am I in there? Please tell me I get him for this, or Moony does.'

'He dies, but Sirius – Dumbledore doesn't know – he thinks you're the secret keeper too. You don't get a trial. They just lock you up.'

'For how long?' he shouted at her, 'how long before I kill the rat faced bastard?' James, Sirius thought desperately, Peter you fucking coward.

'Twelve years.'

Hermione had said it so quietly he barely heard her over the traffic from the street below. Her face was pale, her eyes stretched wide; he was acting like a mad man and he knew it but something had snapped inside him... Wormtail, they had felt sorry for him, helped him... James had convinced Sirius to give him a chance and this is how Peter repays him? How could he?

'Sirius,' she said, 'James and Lily are safe. We're going to keep them safe.'

'It doesn't change what he did!' Sirius snarled at her.

'I know, Sirius, but this,' she pointed at him, 'this anger, it's why they think it's you. You go mad when you find out what he did and yes, you try very hard to kill him. You need to control yourself. You can't help James if you're blinded by rage.'

Sirius was breathing deeply, trying to still the bubbling, stabbing hate surging through him. Finally, with fists clenched so tight he thought his fingers would break he managed to ask in a voice of calm that surprised him, 'Am I insane though? From being in there?' He knew that could happen to people when exposed to dementors for long periods of time. 'Is that why I look so messed up?' He couldn't talk about Peter, or he would start yelling again.

'You escape, as a dog, that's how you survive, why you're not mad. You were in your animagus form a lot, from what you told us. The dementors didn't affect you as badly that way.'

Sirius stood there, frozen in horror at her words, rage simmering away under his carefully controlled façade. He noticed his cigarette had burnt out, crushed in his coiled fist, his arm and hand felt stiff as he moved to flick the butt off the edge of the balcony.

'Right,' he said in the same cool and calm tone. 'I'm off to deal with Peter. I'll be in touch to start organising this Horcrux thing.' He'd actually moved past her before Hermione reacted.

'No, Sirius!' she grabbed his arm. 'Give me ten more minutes. I promise, you can kill Pettigrew later. But for now we need him. Please! You need to understand my idea - the plan - it won't work without him. If you stop him now, Lily and James will be in even more danger. This way we know when the attack is coming.'

Fuck it ... she was right. He knew it. He still wanted to leave and curse Pettigrew to within an inch of life – but, as she said, that would make it more dangerous for Lily and James. And Harry. He flopped down on the sofa. His mind was still reeling ... Wormtail was a spy? He gets Lily and James killed? James, the guy that stood up for him his whole life? No wonder his inner animal was a rat. The betrayal hurt worse than the idea of James and Lily being murdered - that hadn't happened yet, and hardly seem real to him, but Wormtail was already spying, sneaking ...

'Fine. Go ahead, then,' he said angrily, crossing his arms and glaring up at her.

'I know Voldemort will be alone and walking up the Potters garden path on Hallowe'en night. I know where all the Horcruxes are. I know how to destroy them.'

Sirius nodded curtly. 'You said that already.'

'Hallowe'en is the only time I can be absolutely sure of Voldemort's whereabouts. That he will be alone. If Pettigrew doesn't betray the Potters I don't know where Riddle will be. Even though the Order has spies, we don't know if he'll ever be alone, not surrounded by Death Eaters. If Peter doesn't become secret keeper everything will change, and it could change for the worse.' She matched his glare with one of her own, and Sirius shrunk into the sofa cushions slightly. This woman was a little intimidating, hands on hips, brows contracted; there was something reminiscent of Professor McGonagall in the way her lips were pressed together.

'Don't you see?' she continued, 'I have five months to get the Horcruxes and finish them – if you want to help that would be very useful. And then I'm going to ambush Riddle at Godric's Hollow and kill him. Harry saw into his mind, he walks along the road that leads to the Potters' in the early evening. All I have to do is hide and aim well, and he'll be dead.' She paused as though waiting for it to sink in.

'But if you kill Peter tonight we won't know when Riddle will attack – or where he will be. Lily and James might survive but Voldemort's reign of terror will continue. Don't you understand?' she poked him hard in the chest, 'I've been working on this for three years, ever since Harry killed him. I spent my life watching my friends fall, being tortured, and going mad with fear. If we do this – if we follow the plan - it will all be over in five more months. No more fear. No more loss.'

Sirius was silent, frozen, the boiling anger slowly draining from him being replaced by something cold and hard - fear, he realised. Not only fear of taking on such a huge challenge and what would happen if he screwed it up, but also fear of this witch who stood before him; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a telling off like this, especially for something he hadn't even done yet.

It seemed like hours to Hermione as she stood there watching him think it over and waiting for him to make a decision. She couldn't blame him for wanting to kill Pettigrew - the rat deserved it after all. But she knew this was the only way they could be absolutely certain, their best chance to rid the world of the foul creature Tom Riddle had become.

Sirius moved; his hand flashed inside his jacket and removed his wand. Hermione withdrew her own; she would stun him if she had to. But he just pointed it at the nearly empty flask of Firewhiskey sitting on the table in front of him and muttered something under his breath; the flask began to refill itself. When it was full of amber coloured liquid once more, he picked it up and took a swig. He looked over and held the flask out to her, surprise on his face when he realised she had her wand on him.

'Really?' he asked, eyebrow quirked, a small smirk playing on his lips. 'I hate that the little traitor is running free, and I don't like how risky this is going to be – but I'm not a fool.'

She lowered her wand and took the bottle from him. She took a small sip and passed it back. He patted the sofa next to him as he gulped another healthy measure down. She sat and received the flask again.

They sat that way for a long time, passing the drink between them, Sirius chain smoking and using the empty wine bottle as an ashtray. Neither of them spoke; even if they had been capable of sentences, what would they say?