Sorry, life got in the way again. In any case, here's the seventh chapter. It's told in Rumer's limited-third person PoV.

"Looks like our plans have been postponed," she told him sweetly. Sirius frowned, "I was looking forward to them, such a shame." She grinned, "Oh, Sirius, it'll be all right." Then something amazing happened.

He leaned in and kissed her, his hand cupping her face. She had heard from the other girls, the ones who he had shagged, that he was a great snog. She didn't believe them, of course. Now, though, she found herself agreeing with them. His was soft and lingering; he snogged like he had found something new that he admired and wanted to shower you with kisses because he did. It was sad, but her left arm went slack, dropping the book she had previously been holding to the cold marble floor. Her right hand somehow found its way to his neck, and somehow her fingers threaded themselves in his hair. Oh Merlin, that is some bloody nice hair. Snogging Sirius was akin to having just a drop of a potion; good or not, you wanted to know what the rest tasted like. Well, in her case, anyway. She loved it, the sensation of him right there. She loved this new potion.

"Er, Sirius, do you think I could have Rumer now?" asked a familiar voice behind her. She didn't want to, but she slowed and broke away. It was Dakota. "Oh hi, `Kota," she said, regaining composure. "Hello," Dakota cast a wary look at Sirius. "Are you free tomorrow night?" she turned, but not as sharply as she would have liked. Sirius had asked her a question. "Sorry, Sirius, but Rumer promised to help me with History of Magic," her friend told him flatly, linking an arm through hers. "How about breakfast?" Sirius asked. "Sure," she responded before Dakota could cut in. "Meet you at the Great Hall tomorrow morning, then," smirked Sirius, "Nice seeing you, Dakota. Excuse me, ladies." With that, he went in the other direction. She turned to Dakota, with a smile spreading across her face like a slow warmth. Dakota's mouth was set in a harsh, disappointed line.

Her brow creased, but she knew it was half-hearted. Wordlessly, Dakota dragged her in the direction that ultimately led to the greenhouses. "Can you at least tell me what's going on?" she asked. "That's what I would have liked from you," Dakota responded darkly. "Look, `Kota, here's the thing," she leaned in to whisper the next part in her friend's ear, "Sirius and I aren't actually going out. We're just making it seem like we are so he can get some girls off his back." Her friend seemed unsatisfied by this response, because her expression hadn't changed. "That was a very real snog I witnessed, Rumer. You don't pretend to snog someone that way."

"Dakota, it's just business. A game, if you will. It's nothing," she shrugged. They entered the greenhouses, and Professor Sprout seemed to be too engrossed in her own lecture about a certain plant extract to notice that they were a good ten minutes late. "The leaves hold the most extract, but they're also the most fragile parts of the Araignée," said Professor Sprout, "Would anyone care to guess why the plant was called Araignée?" predictably Lily's hand was already in the air. "Miss Evans?" as she opened her Herbology text to the appropriate page, Lily began to read the proper passage from memory: "Araignée, or as it is more commonly known, the Spider Root, is called as such because of its spindly branches and cloth-like leaves, which reminded early botanists of the legs of a spider and the web it wove." Professor Sprout nodded, "That is correct; twenty points to Gryffindor. Now, when and where was Araignée first discovered?" Lily's hand was in the air again. The Hufflepuffs they were having class with were unperturbed; there was no use competing with Lily Evans.

Professor Sprout called upon one of her closest friends again. "Araignée was first discovered in A.D. 43 in south Gaul, now modern France, during the reign of the Muggle Roman emperor Claudius. A young wizard by the name of Maximus stumbled upon the bush as he was selecting wood for a new wand." Professor Sprout awarded their house another twenty points. Only a few people knew, but she rather liked History of Magic. Sure, the class was being taught by a ghost that hadn't realised he was dead, but she enjoyed the subject. Her favourite topic was the Charter on the Rights of Common Wizards that was signed in England in 1215, around the same time the Muggles had their Magna Charta approved. She loved the idea that the plebeian class could affect the nobles just by rising up—it was this idea that sent her deep into the books during the summer.

In truth, she hadn't spent all summer at Dakota's family's place in Brighton. Most of it she had spent at her own house, nose buried in her father's books. Her father taught Wizard law to aspiring members of the Wizengamot, the Ministry department to which he belonged. She had told him at six-years-old that she wanted to be just like him, and that changed a little considering the fact that she realised he was a vicious blood-purist. She wanted to be part of the Wizengamot. She wanted to cut through all the red tape that was keeping wizards from getting the justice and services they deserved, the red tape that her father helped set up. Her mother said it was an odd dream, considering that nowadays injustice was rampant. She stuck to it, though. Rampant injustice or not, she would change the Ministry from the inside out. She had to, if she wanted the next generation to enjoy anything. She didn't tell her father that she thought he was a narrow-minded twat that shouldn't have gotten on to the Wizengamot because of his narrow mind. She pretended to idolise him.

"Did you hear what happened to Mary MacDonald?" Marlene approached her after class as she made her way to Arithmancy, falling in step with her. "No, what happened?" she asked, genuinely curious. "She's in the Hospital Wing, waiting for the Healers to pick her up and take her to St. Mungo's," Marlene began in a low voice, "Someone hit her with the Cruciatus Curse." She blinked, unable to process fully what her roommate was saying. "She was just in Charms with the rest of us, wasn't she?" Marlene nodded, "She went to the loo on her way to the greenhouses, and whoever did it was waiting in the bathroom for her." She still couldn't comprehend fully, "Why would someone do that?" Marlene stopped in the middle of the hallway. "I thought you knew!" she shook her head, "What do you think I knew?" Marlene sighed, but whispered in her ear:

"Mary MacDonald is a Muggle-born, Rumer. Those Death Eaters don't like that at all."

She had gone to the library right after a quick dinner, finishing all the homework due the following day in less than ten minutes. Once she'd gotten those out of the way, she started reviewing for her licensure exam. Her father had explained to her in detail when she was twelve; before you could apply for even a clerical position for the Wizengamot, you had to take a licensure exam that mostly dealt in Wizarding law from the dawn of humanity to the present day. Technically, she had an advantage; seeing as her father was part of the Wizengamot, she had been told at least a smidgen of information about various matters covered by Wizarding law that transcended millennia throughout the years. She already had an idea on most of the topics the exam would cover. However, there were still some topics that she couldn't understand even if she truly tried.

"Miss Sable, the library is closing in fifteen minutes," said Madam Pince, strolling by and chancing upon the aisle where she had been reviewing the 1564 Appendix to the Charter on the Rights of Common Wizards. "Madam Pince, is it alright for me to borrow this?" she asked. "Certainly, dear, follow me," responded the bird-like librarian. Most of the students didn't like Madam Pince very much, but she was most comfortable when she was in the library, so Madam Pince had become rather comfortable with her presence, as well. She packed up her things and trailed after Madam Pince, the 1564 Appendix to the Charter on the Rights of Common Wizards open to the page she had stopped. She drifted by the aisles, not looking where she was going, preoccupied by Section X of the Appendix. She tread lightly, making sure her footfalls were practically soundless.

Her pace slowed when she arrived at Subsection J of Section X, where the revised list of offences against a common Wizard was listed. She bumped into someone, completely entranced by the lengthy list. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, picking the book up from the floor. "That's not the only thing you should apologise for, blood-traitor," spat whoever she had bumped into. She looked up, insulted. It was Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother. "What else should I apologise for?" she stood up again, slamming the Appendix shut. "For wasting the blood that runs through your veins on useless Muggles, for fighting for a cause that disrupts carefully laid-out plans, for tarnishing the integrity of your ancestor's name—oh, wait, your name isn't yours, is it?" smirked Regulus. "I haven't got time for this," she brushed past him, walking away from the narrow-minded blood-purist. That was until a few hard things hit the back of her head, starting a hollow ache back there. Galleons shone in the dim light. "What is your problem, Regulus?" she tried to keep her voice level, for the sake of Madam Pince. "Around the time my family was new, there was another family who had taken the name Black. My ancestor hated the association; the other Blacks were law-makers who promoted pure-bloods to marry Muggles or Muggle-borns. To make sure that my family wasn't confused with theirs my ancestor paid the head of the other Black family to change their name. They chose Sable—that's yours, isn't it?" Regulus sneered.

The Honoured and Pristine House of Sable;

Égalité pour tout.

"How much must I give you to stop embarrassing your family even more, Sable?" Regulus wasn't done. "You don't have to give me anything, Regulus," she said, holding her head high, "I would suggest picking up your money, though—you wouldn't want the ersatz to give it back to you, would you?" with that, she turned around, found Madam Pince at her desk, and borrowed the Appendix for further analysis. She would forget soon.

She woke up early the following day to send a letter to her elder sister. Belle was currently in Paris, attending a prestigious culinary school for witches. Her mother favoured Belle, she knew. Belle was kind and obedient, submissive to a fault. She imagined that if the Dark Lord himself came knocking on Belle's door, her sister would invite him in for tea, serve him a fine ten-course meal, and tell him over a plate of éclairs that she would be happy to serve him. It was ironic that her parents had named her elder sister for the Roman goddess of war, Bellona. Her mother was the one who started calling her sister Belle, the French word for a beautiful girl.

Dearest Belle,

How are you doing? I hope the food you're cooking is good. If you can, please send me some of your latest delicacy with your reply. My licensure exam is in November, and I hope I pass, so I can start working with Father as soon as I graduate. McGonagall says my scores from the N.E.W.T. level are really high. I really do hope I pass. Dakota says she'll be in Paris after she graduates—she wants to play the role of the struggling artist before she tries her hand at the 'boring corporate Wizarding world.' Lily is Head Girl, can you believe that? Of course you would, it's Lily we're talking about here. Marlene has been spreading gossip about me, so I don't talk to her about personal things as much as I did before because I think the next moment it'll end up becoming the latest 'news.' Alice is getting married to Frank in June, and apparently I'm going to be a bridesmaid. I don't want to, but Alice is such a wonderful girl that I couldn't say no. My new haircut is garnering far too much attention for my taste—I've enclosed a drawing that Dakota did of me so you can see why—and I've been much too reckless the past month—you don't want to know what I've done under the influence of some odd potions. I promise that as October rolls in, I won't drink a potion just because somebody is daring me to.

Love from the sister that misses you,
Rue

After Dakota's barn owl, Morley, had given her an affectionate nip and flown away, she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She still carried the Appendix, but she wasn't going to read and walk again, not after what happened the night before in the library. She knew that story, the one that Regulus had used against her. Belle had told her that story when she was younger. Their father despised the family motto and only used it if it was unavoidable. Égalité pour tout—equality for all. Her father didn't believe in the motto. He was just like Regulus; he thought Muggles were useless and Muggle-borns were scum. She hated him. She hated him with a passion. When she realised her hate she started to steal from him; at first she started with quills, parchment, and inkwells, but as she aged her tastes changed; just that summer she had stolen his all his priceless law books and an entire pouch full of Galleons. He didn't seem to care that she was stealing from him. He thought she still believed him, so he only replaced the things she took. She didn't care. She would play the loving daughter until she could leave him forever. She did love her mother, but there couldn't be anything done for the woman—her mother wouldn't leave her father even if the Dark Lord was going to kill her if she didn't.

"Good morning, did you sleep well?" Sirius said by greeting, looking well-rested and relaxed. "Your brother is mental," she told him, holding the Appendix close to her chest. "He's not my brother," Sirius' tone changed from cheerful to cold. "I don't blame you for thinking that of him," she sighed, "Is everyone a blood-traitor to him?" Sirius smirked, his initial mood returning. "Are you kidding? That's what he calls me, too," he feigned surprise. She laughed, "You're just as mental as he is." Sirius slung an arm over her shoulders, "Ah, but my brand of mental happens to be devastatingly attractive." She rolled her eyes, "You're a prig, d'you know that?"

Sirius smirked, "I had been aware but I'm still glad you told me." She took a seat at Gryffindor table and Sirius sat across her. A cup of tea popped up in front of her. "You've got Quidditch practise today," said a voice she knew belonged to James Potter, "Why Padfoot, why didn't you mention that we would be having guests at breakfast? I would have dressed up for the occasion. Now our guest has seen me at my absolute worst." James sat down next to Sirius, leaning on one of Sirius' shoulders. "Now, Rumer darling, would you like some tea?" she gestured to her teacup, "Thanks, Missus Black, but I'm set." The boys laughed, and Sirius brushed his best friend off his shoulder. "Hang on, why 'you've?' Aren't you included?" Sirius addressed James with this as she silently drank her tea. "Pomfrey says my hand is sore from too much use and not enough rest in between, so technically I'm indisposed until my hand is back to normal," responded James, "I'll have Moony supervise." Sirius was not fine with the circumstance, apparently. "What do you mean you're indisposed?"

"I mean my right hand is used too much and if I don't rest it enough it'll become useless," James said, "Rumer will handle seeking for me while I'm away—won't you, little miss I-have-a-Cleansweep?" she smirked, "Yes, I think I would manage." Sirius turned to his best friend, "Better rest that hand, then, or else you and Lily will remain childless." She noticed the innuendo and told Sirius flatly, "You're disgusting." Sirius only shrugged, "I'm lovable." James laughed, "Practise is at three. I'm going to find Lily now, excuse me." With that, the Head Boy left. "She likes him, right?" Sirius asked her. "Lily? I suppose she does," she ate a berry from the bowl of fruit that appeared in front of her. "What's that?" Sirius asked, gesturing to the Appendix, which she'd set down beside the bowl of fruit. "It's the 1564 Appendix to the Charter on the Rights of Common Wizards," she said.

Sirius picked it up and leafed through it, then returned it to where he'd gotten it. "Why are you reading that?" Sirius asked. "I need it to review," she responded. "What're you reviewing for?" Sirius drank from the goblet that popped up by his right hand. "It's a licensure exam so I can be eligible for a job with the Wizengamot," she finished the contents of the fruit bowl and watched the teacup refill with earl grey. "You want to be part of the Wizengamot?" her fake boyfriend sounded confused. "Yes, I do. Don't you think there should be a blood-traitor on call just in case? I think there should be," she attempted to make a joke of it. "No offence, but your father's part of the Wizengamot, and he's a twat," Sirius said. "None taken; and I know. I don't want that to be the thing that people think of when somebody says the Wizengamot. A law-making body should concern itself with the welfare of the entire populace, not just the people they choose—that's why I want to join the Wizengamot, that's why I'm reviewing for the exam, and that's why I'm reading that thing," she responded.

"You're going to pass that exam, I can feel it."

"Thanks."

—TBC—