(Authors Note: Thank you so much for the lovely and helpful comments throughout my time posting this story. After the suggestion of getting a beta, something I'd been toying with for a while now, I'm putting it out there that I NEED a beta reader, someone to tell me what they think, what they like and dislike before I post. If you're interested in being my beta for this story, and for my other ones that are sure to follow please email the following information to me at: caindiemusicjunkie gmail dot com

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And what type of flower do you believe Snape would be if he were in fact a flower?

Now…onto our tale!)

Chapter Seven: A Day For Thoughts & Window Views

Hermione stood alone in the main hallway on the first floor of her new home. Looking out over the land through the large picture window that ran the length of the wall, from top to bottom, it was as if she was outside. A person peeking into the cottage might have mistaken the look on her face for that of someone who'd just lost the love of their life, but in fact it as quite the opposite. Hermione had simply drifted of into the place that rests inside all our minds, were emotion and imagination meet, creating a world completely our own.

Reaching out she pressed a slim hand lightly to the cold glass, watching the world beyond her place in front of the window. Her world had changed. For so many years she'd been fighting for her life, grasping at anything and everything trying to simply make it to the point were no longer would she have to fight, and here she was, finally. Soldiers returning from war are never the same; they were a testament to that. Their world, their people, were not the same. After the final battle they had gathered the ashes of what had been and tossed them away. You can't build a house on sand, and they couldn't build their new world on what used to have been.

What would happen to the generations who made it through? Hermione mused. Will we make it? Will we be able to piece back together our lives? Would they? Do they pick up were they left off or simply forget it and start everything anew?

It was during the war that she thought like that, everyone thought like that. And now here she stood, in her own cottage, with a handful of good friends, a tasty recipe for raspberry tarts from one Mrs. Molly Weasley, and a beau.

Hermione let a small chuckle escape and with a rueful shake of her head turned and began to slowly walk towards the front door that sat behind her.

Pulling off her gloves, finger by finger and gently biting her lower lip, something she always did when she was focusing on something, she began to walk down the main hall and study her new home.

It was not a large cottage by any means, but most certainly a beautifully built one, from the intricate carvings in the wood work that ran throughout the house, from the baseboards, to the banister, the fireplaces, and the crown moldings, to the large windows that made you feel as if you were outside. It was open and airy and held a pleasing charm to it.

Hermione ran her hand across the railing of the stairs as she walked. Before her stood the glossy deep berry colored front door, behind her sat the picture window that looked out onto her back garden. It was a new thing for Hermione, having a back garden. And what a back garden it was, in fact it had been the coin that tipped the scale when she was looking for a cottage. Though the cottage itself was modest in size, it sat on an acre lot surrounded by a dark red-brick fence that hugged the sandy beach that sat just on the other side of the fence. With its tall willowy trees dotting the backyard, flowerbeds and grass burred under many inches of snow, sand and the large waves of the rough ocean just feet beyond her gates, crashing onto the sandy beach and pulling chunks of snow out to sea, it was very much a site.

Dropping her gloves and cloke into a pile at the base of the stairs that hugged the wall that lined the main hallway, Hermione removed her wet boots that were dripping with snow and began to climb the stairs. The wood beneath her feet felt slightly cold, the pale honey colored banister that ran under her hand felt like worn silk. The steps were old and creaky, but she rather enjoyed their off-key melody, but it was their color that captured her. A mix of pale gold and dark berry swirled together; she'd never seen wood of such a color. Sometimes the most interesting things were hidden in the oddest of places.

She could see them here, Remus and her, their future, children racing up and down the stairs, clothes wet from playing in the snow tossed into a great messy pile at the base of the stairs, framed photos of them laughing hanging upon the wall…Hermione! Honestly! Slow down. Breathe. You have time. Hermione shook her head as if trying to nock out the thoughts that roamed about. The images though stuck, and she couldn't help it, they were like a photo album of what could be, and so pleasant were they that she couldn't help but dwell upon them. Though she had time, something she once feared she'd never have, and now she could have as much of it as she wanted.

The lean man stood before the large stone fireplace, the light from the fire casting his shadow upon the wall before him. A glass of amber liquid in one hand; the other hand draped dramatically over half his face the man looked about the room as if he expected someone to sneak upon him at any moment and he was trying to catch them first. The man turned about to face the empty portrait the hung over the great fireplace, he took a deep swig from the glass in his large hand, and removed the one that covered his face. Oh my head. The man thought to himself.

" Davenport…Davenport I know you're in there. I know you can hear me." The man said in an aggravated voice as he walked across the room and dropped his lean frame into the plush dark chair that sat in the corner of the room facing the fireplace.

Suddenly a knight in shinning armor ridding upon the back of a magnificent white horse charged into the painting. "Never fear! Sir Davenport is here!" The enthusiastic knight shouted in his deep baritone has he lifted his lance towards the painted heavens.

The man in the chair lifted a dark brow. "Davenport my good fellow, I'm afraid I'm not up for games today so I'll get to the point. I need you to watch over Hermione just as you did when you were here. And now that I think about it Harry and Ron as well…though they may be a bit harder to find." The man took another long swig from his crystal glass.

"And not from a portrait this time." Sirius Black added as an after thought.

"My Liege I am yours to command. Lay my path and it I will follow true and straight! Never to wonder, nor break, nor bend, for I am Sir Davenport! Yours to command!" The Knight said hopping down from his horse and making a great bow on bended knee, the portrait wind blowing his flowing blond locks.

"Good! That's what I'm counting on." Sirius said as he raised his glass in salute to the knight.

Sirius finished off his drink with a deep gulp of the amber liquid and set it down with a loud thud against the dark wooden dresser that sat beside his chair and got up and slightly stumbling his way along to the a large writing desk that sat before a tall window framed in folds of dark red velvet.

Sirius began to rummage through the desk's many small drawers that held a rather large assortment of odd and what looked to be useless artifacts. With a small ah-ha! Of triumph Sirius pulled a piece of thick creamy parchment from the top draw and shut it with a gentle push. Holding the parchment in one hand he used his other to swipe away the scattered mess of papers that had previously rested on the top of the desk.

Sirius sat the blank parchment before him and stared at it, his brows nit. With a snap of his fingers a fine eagle feathered quill appeared between the long tapered fingers of his left hand. Sirius quickly dipped the quill into the small inkwell that sat next to several framed photographs and a stack of books, held it above the parchment for but a moment, and began to swiftly write a response to an owl he had received some months ago.

Remus peeked through his study window that faced out towards Allister Hill. The sky was a lumpy and bumpy gray today, the wind from the Atlantic blowing across the land and moving the bare limbs of the naked trees. A small smile played across his face as he thought of the day's happenings. This love, no…no not love, not yet, this lust, yes lust was the proper word for it, had not changed him significantly. He was still as sensible as he was before, now though he could easily be persuaded to give Hermione the moon if she asked for it, all she had to do to was but ask and it was hers. If he had to read every book and search the world over to find a spell to bring it to her he would.

Remus turned away from the window with a contented sigh and began to ruffle through the disorderly bookshelf closest to him in search of something to read. Books of every color and size lay upon the dark shelves; some upside down, some sideways, stacked one upon another. It was chaotic at its best and there was something wonderfully delicious about it. Remus stared thoughtfully at the books for a moment, his hand lightly grazing the covers of the book till finally landing upon a book covered in pale blue silk words scrawled across its cover in gold. Pulling the book from the shelve Remus walked over the couch that sat up pushed under a window and laid out up the couch, a pillow of deep orange resting under his tawny head and a fire blazing merrily in the large fireplace, warming the room. And with that Remus settled in for the night and began to read a book he'd not read since his school days…12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches.

It was going to be a long night.

Miranda McGinnis stared at the letter that lay unopened before her, the name upon it causing her to arch her thin dark brows suspiciously. Sirius Black. Miranda circled the dark oak table that the letter sat upon in her small kitchen. Propped up against a tall vase of a deep purple with white hydrangeas spilling over the edges, it was almost as if the letter was daring her to open it. Miranda snapped her arm out and grabbed the letter. What could that rascal possibly want this time? Miranda's mind was ill at ease. Sirius very rarely wrote to her, and the last time he had it had very nearly gotten her fired from her post as editor-in-chief at the Daily Prophet.

Miranda tapped the letter against her painted red lips. Years of smoking had given her tiny wrinkles that puckered about her lips. She was not an unattractive woman by any shot, no indeed in her day she'd be quite the beauty, but time, and worry, had graced her delicate heart-shaped face with wrinkles about her lips, the skin of her neck were strings of beads hung from, began to slightly crinkle like tissue paper, and the sharp blue eyes that sat behind a pair of sleek black glasses had developed small wrinkles at the corners. Slim and willowy Miranda Black-McGinnis (she'd married years earlier and taken her husband's name) was still just as lovely as she once was, but it was a different type of loveliness that graced her; it was one of grace, pose, and refinement.

She was a resourceful woman of great influence and power that lay at her slim ruby painted figure tips. And if ever you needed something, she was the woman to go to. And Sirius Black must have wanted this desperately. With a final glance at the letter in her hands Miranda ripped the letter open and read the few simple lines that graced the parchments creamy surface.

Miranda,

A dear friend of mine has just moved into town. You probably know of her. Be a dear and don't cause trouble for her would you?

-Oh and keep her out of the papers. If I see anything about her in there, you'll have me to answer to.

-Your cousin,

Sirius Black.

P.s. I heard you were married…what ten years ago? Congratulations. I apologize for not writing to you sooner on the matter, I was a little tied up at the time.

Miranda rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Now he remembers to ask. Lout. Charming, caring, lout was her cousin. Write him in May and expect a letter almost nine months later. With a shake of her head Miranda tossed the letter towards the table and watched as it floated gently to the tables smooth surface as the curiosity of who this mysterious new resident could be.