This chapter is dedicated to our preciousss.
Lisa, we love you. Get better soon, damn it!
A/N: Ah the vagaries of the guest reviewer. :sigh: I can't reply privately if you don't sign in my little loves. This was a valid question so I'll answer it here in case others wondered the same thing, but were too shy/nervous to ask.
"Confused by Harry needing points when they don't get graded that way."
I apologize if that passage confused everyone. Harry was talking about NEWTs, but he was also referring to taking the Ministry of Magic's Entrance Exam so that he could apply to be an Auror. Many government positions all over the world require you to take a civil service entrance exam, and you must score at least a base number of points to be considered for that job within that government. (This would include the post office, the police, the army, etc. and I would consider the Auror Department to be a sort of wizarding police force.) In fact, to be promoted within those departments e.g. to become a Detective Inspector in the UK one must take even more exams and score at least a certain number of points.
Groveling: Erm… a distinct lack of sex in this chapter, too. Sorry about that, the character and relationship development got in the way.
Reminder: This story idea was Mistra Rose's. The concept of Keepers is hers.
/\/\/\/\
The Keeper is positioned to be the last line of defence, should the House fall. A Keeper is the fortified centre of a House; She is a smaller part of the House of which She is the defensive core. In a House, the Keeper is the strongest part of the family, sometimes well protected within the family estate leaving only rarely, but often the Keeper forms part of the public face of Her House for the sake of economy.
-Excerpted from Keepers, a history
With amazing regularity the Grove-Born Witch is a 'bana-churaidh', a champion and a heroine.
-Journal of Cliodna
"Orion has asked me to take you on," Augusta Longbottom announced grimly. "He wants me instruct you in the responsibilities of a Matriarch, and he has asked me to share with you what information House Longbottom has about Keepers and our Keeper in particular."
"Yes ma'am," Hermione agreed. She automatically sat up straighter and tried to appear worthy of Mrs. Longbottom's time. "Orion mentioned a sort of apprenticeship."
"Indeed. There isn't an actual apprenticeship for Matriarch because it isn't something that offers a Mastery. There are times that I wish it did," Augusta Longbottom added almost to herself. She frowned at Hermione. "Being a Matriarch is a grave responsibility. Your family will look to you for guidance and counsel. Other families, if they lack a Matriarch, may look to you as a model."
Hermione blanched. "But I haven't any clue as to what I ought to be doing," she protested. Her greatest fear, that of failure, loomed over for a moment and it was difficult for her to catch her breath. There was so much more at stake now, and the anxiety of failing as a Keeper rose in her chest.
"You don't yet," Mrs Longbottom corrected her. "When I am finished you will know exactly what to do in any given scenario."
"Yes ma'am," Hermione replied automatically, but still the worry gnawed at her.
Sweat broke out on Hermione's palms and she fought the urge to rub them on her Keeper's robes. Augusta Longbottom watched her for several long minutes with narrowed eyes. Finally, she made a clicking noise with her tongue and stood up.
"This is the office for House Longbottom," Mrs Longbottom began. "It has belonged to our House for as long as the Ministry has been standing. While I am its current occupant as the Matriarch for House Longbottom my place will go to Neville once he's reached his majority."
Hermione frowned. "I thought he already had, ma'am. Isn't it 17 in the wizarding world?"
"At 17 he's considered old enough to drink and to marry, but not old enough to vote or hold office," Mrs Longbottom explained. "For the Wizengamot, one must be 21 years old to hold a seat. If something were to happen to me then Neville could choose to let the seat remain vacant, or he could select a proxy."
"I see," Hermione murmured as she filed that information away. "What about me? Orion wants me to learn all of this in case of an emergency, but I'm not 21 yet."
Mrs Longbottom nodded. "Your Orion is thinking long-term toward the future of his House. Although… your position as Keeper would grant you voting rights in the Wizengamot regardless."
"It does?"
"In addition," Mrs Longbottom continued as though Hermione hadn't spoken, "the role of Keeper is imbued with honour and integrity. If your House has any questions or concerns about how to vote on important matters then Orion will ask your opinion. He wants you trained so that you understand how the Wizengamot works, and you'll be better prepared to give him wise counsel."
Hermione's forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. "But then… why doesn't he just do it himself?"
Mrs Longbottom gave her a withering look. "Orion Black has been dead since 1979. He isn't familiar with the current politics." She paused for a moment and then continued. "I can't say for certain, but I would hazard that your husband is… he is trying to be solicitous of you. He knows you're a Gryffindor, and that I was as well. He knows that you have spent your life fighting for the Light, and so have I. He most likely thinks that we have much in common."
Something pushed Hermione to blurt out, "You disagree?"
"Not disagree, exactly," Mrs Longbottom allowed. She shrugged. "We shall see."
/\/\/\/\
"Is it too late for me to go back to Hogwarts?" Hermione demanded with a scowl.
Sirius blinked at his Keeper. Her hair was a riotous mass of curls that seemed to be defying gravity by standing out from her head in every possible direction. There was a smudge of ink on her nose and a piece of parchment stuck to one cheek. She was glaring at him crossly from her place in the library surrounded by piles of books. He snorted in amusement at the endearing picture she made.
"What on earth are you doing poppet?" He asked curiously.
Hermione's gaze narrowed and her scowl deepened. "Revising for my NEWTs, and doing all the lessons that Madam Longbottom has assigned me."
"Lessons?" Sirius blinked at that. "What lessons?"
"As near as I can tell it's an amalgam of wizarding political science, Interspecies social studies, and a sort of Magical pre-law," Hermione retorted with a roll of her eyes. She paused and bit her lip. "Don't get me wrong—it's all completely fascinating—it's just…"
"You're feeling overwhelmed," Sirius observed.
Hermione sighed and then nodded. "Yes." She rubbed at her forehead and then looked up at him imploringly. "What if I fail?" She asked in a muted voice that he had to strain to hear.
Sirius smirked at her. "Then I suggest that you skive off for a bit." He leaned one hip against her table. "I happen to be the resident expert. I'd be happy to give you a few pointers."
The bright white of Sirius' teeth flashed against his swarthy skin and Hermione blinked at the blatant invitation in his eyes. At Hogwarts she would have turned her nose up at the idea of leaving her lessons or putting off her lessons, but the teasing promise in Sirius' eyes was tempting.
"Maybe for just a little while," Hermione murmured.
Sirius' smile grew wider and a little wicked. "That's more like it."
"What do you suggest?" Hermione asked cautiously.
"Trust me," he purred at her.
Trusting Sirius seemed foolhardy at best, but Hermione took his hand when he held it out to her.
"Where are we going?" She asked.
"Just wait and see. It will be better if it's a surprise," Sirius told her with a wicked grin that made her spine tingle.
/\/\/\/\
"No," Hermione protested, "I couldn't."
"Come on, Hermione," Sirius wheedled shamelessly. "I haven't been to one of these in forever."
"I've never been, actually," she confessed and looked around at all the mittened, earmuffed, happy children who danced around them in excitement. As a child she had always been quietly envious of the children whose parents had taken them to the Christmas Pantos.
"What do you mean, you've never been?" He asked quietly. Sirius frowned. "Lily said that going to the Pantos was a part of Muggle Christmas. She made all of us go with her Christmas break of Seventh Year, and we went every year after that."
Hermione shrugged. "Mum's and Dad's schedules were always so hectic. We usually took a family vacation around Christmas, and we usually went to France or Switzerland for the skiing."
Sirius' frown grew. "That doesn't sound like much fun for you," he observed softly.
"I like skiing." Hermione refused to look at him and fiddled with the edge of her jumper.
"Bollocks," Sirius muttered and took her hand in his. "You can't stand heights. Being on the top of a damn mountain isn't your idea of fun."
"Sirius," Hermione hissed. "Language!" She jerked her head at the nearby children who were chattering amongst themselves and thankfully hadn't heard him yet.
"It will be fun," Sirius promised her.
Hermione sighed and let him pull her into the theatre.
Sirius had been right—it had been fun. Hermione had found herself yelling and screaming along with the children and Sirius. Partway through he had turned to her, his stormy grey eyes bright with laughter, and a broad grin stretched across his face. She had grinned back at him and slipped her arm through his.
When the Panto was over they spilled out of the theatre surrounded by children, the both of them laughing so hard that they could barely catch their breath. Hermione gasped for air helplessly, and clutched at her aching stomach.
"Thank you," she said once she managed to calm down.
She stood on tip-toe so that she could kiss his cheek, but he slid an arm about her waist and turned his head so that he could brush his lips against hers. It was soft and gentle—not what she had expected from Sirius at all.
"Any time," he whispered solemnly.
/\/\/\/\
"I hated you."
Orion looked up from the paperwork he was reading and frowned at his cousin. "What?"
Cygnus moved into the room and sat in the chair across the desk. "I hated you," he repeated.
Orion put down the paperwork and sat up straight. "Why?"
"You escaped," Cygnus explained with a shrug. "You left me behind."
"Cygnus," Orion whispered. He shook his head. "I never meant to..."
"I know," Cygnus interrupted him. "I still hated you. I was even envious of Sirius in Azkaban. At least he was away from Arcturus' control."
"He won't talk about that with me," Orion confessed after several long moments of silence. "I've heard snippets from Hermione and Potter, but that's all. What happened?"
"As near as I can determine, the Potters were a target for Voldemort," Cygnus explained slowly as he tried to dredge up all the memories he had of that time. "They'd been in hiding for a while when all hell broke loose. The Daily Prophet was reporting that Sirius had been their secretkeeper, and had betrayed them to Voldemort."
"What utter rubbish," Orion growled and slammed his fist on his desk. "Sirius was never a Death Eater!"
"I know that, and you know that, but the public ate it up. Voldemort murdered the Potters and tried to kill the boy with the Killing Curse. I don't know what happened, but it failed, and they called him 'The Boy Who Lived'. That same night, Sirius had some kind of confrontation with Peter Pettigrew in front of Muggles. Sirius supposedly killed Pettigrew and 12 Muggles. It was all over the papers, and the public was screaming for his blood. Voldemort was dead, or at least gone. Pettigrew was dead. Sirius was the last wizard standing, and they blamed him for it all," Cygnus told his cousin.
Orion stared at him. "You're... you're joking," he protested. "What about the Patriarch? Surely he could see that Sirius was innocent? Couldn't they have hired a barrister for him at the very least?"
Cygnus shrugged. "I don't know. Father went to visit the Patriarch several times that autumn, but I'm not sure if they discussed it or not. Sirius was thrown into Azkaban without a trial."
"How long?" Orion asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Thirteen years," Cygnus replied.
The crystal decanter that had been on Orion's desk shattered against the wall.
"My son," Orion cried out in a strangled voice.
Cygnus watched Orion breathe heavily, trying to control his Black temper. After several minutes, Orion turned to stare at him.
"I'm sorry," Orion muttered. "You went through just as much, Cyg, I know you did. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right," Cygnus tried to brush off Orion's apology.
"No, it isn't," Orion countered. "You said that you hated me, and I can't really blame you. I knew that you and Sirius had been left behind, but I... I didn't think about what that might mean. I'm sorry for that."
"I stopped hating you, eventually," Cygnus admitted. "I was just so angry at you for leaving me."
"It wasn't on purpose," Orion swore. "I promise you that. I would never have left you alone deliberately."
"I know," Cygnus reassured him.
/\/\/\/\
Sleep was elusive, and a restless anxiety drove Cygnus down to the kitchens where he convinced the kobold to heat some milk and nutmeg for him. Then he paced anxiously through the silent house waiting for the milk to kick in. He sighed and slipped into the library hoping to find a volume to read if sleep refused to come.
Sprawled across one of the large tables was his Keeper. Her hair was spread all about her in a wild tangle of curls. The position was such an unnatural one that he wondered how it was possible for her to sleep. Worried, he moved closer and relaxed when he could hear her even breathing. Unfortunately, his movement woke her and she blinked up at him with confusion.
"Cygnus?" She mumbled in a sleep-thick voice.
"Hermione? What are you doing in here?" Cygnus asked gently.
"Studying." She stretched, arching her back and yawning. She peered up at him with a frown. "What time is it?"
"After midnight." Cygnus frowned at the books that were open on the table. "You're studying the Wizengamot?"
"Yes, it's part of Mrs. Longbottom's Matriarch training," Hermione explained.
"I could help," Cygnus offered. He paused and then shrugged. "If you would like."
Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip. She hadn't been able to spend time with Cygnus in several days. Orion met with her at least once a day to make sure that she was all right and whether or not she needed anything. Sirius thrust himself into her day and made sure that she took breaks every now and then. Even Regulus stopped to check on her every so often. Hermione was embarrassed to realize that she hadn't thought about Cygnus' absence until that moment.
"I would love some help," Hermione admitted. She looked down at the desk and frowned. "What can you tell me about the Department of Magical Education? How does that interact with Hogwarts' board of Governors?"
Cygnus shook his head. "It's late, Hermione. I swear to you that I will help you tomorrow, but now you need to sleep."
"Can I sleep with you?" Hermione blurted out.
Cygnus stared at her for a moment. He knew she didn't mean it the way it sounded. She couldn't. "I beg your pardon?"
"I couldn't sleep. That's why I was down here," she confessed and then bit her lip again. "Please?"
"I… if that's what you want," Cygnus managed to get out. He was willing to help his Keeper however he could — even if it killed him.
"It can't hurt," Hermione told him and then she gave him a shy smile. "I suppose I shall have to get used to it anyway."
"Get used to it?" Cygnus repeated faintly. A sudden vision of his Keeper in his bed filled his vision. Patience, Cygnus.He cleared his throat loudly. "Of course. Erm, shall we?" He held out his arm politely and waited until Hermione slipped her arm through his.
The walk back to his bedroom seemed interminably long, but eventually they were standing in front of his door. Cygnus held the door open and gestured for Hermione to enter. She wandered into his room and looked around curiously. Then she looked back at him over her shoulder.
"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" She asked.
"I… the right, I guess?" He honestly couldn't remember. He had a feeling that he moved around when he slept.
"Excellent, I usually sleep on the left," Hermione told him. She pulled off her jumper, folded it, and placed it on a chair next to his bed. She paused with her fingers on her buttons. "You don't have a spare set of pyjamas, do you?"
"I doubt they'd fit you," Cygnus replied. He dug through his drawers until he found a set of silk pyjamas. He handed her the top.
Hermione looked at the silk sleep top and then laughed. "Slytherin green. I should have known."
Cygnus snorted. "You are a part of the House of Black. I would get used to green and silver were I you."
In response, Hermione yawned again. "I'm so sorry," she apologized.
"No apology is necessary," Cygnus protested, "but if you will let us know that you can't sleep, and we will do all that we can to help you."
Hermione took the pyjama top and slipped into the bathroom to change. While she was gone, Cygnus disrobed and pulled on the bottom half of the pyjamas. He crawled into his bed and waited for his Keeper. After a few minutes, Hermione slipped out of the bathroom the hem of his pyjama shirt falling almost to her knees. She climbed into the bed next to Cygnus and pulled the blankets up to her chin.
"Thank you," she murmured softly.
"It is my pleasure to help you, Hermione," Cygnus told her.
The two of them settled into the bed. Just as Cygnus was drifting off to sleep, he felt the warm weight of Hermione snuggling up against his side. He shifted slightly and slid an arm about her waist, pulling her against his chest. He could definitely get used to sleeping with Hermione cuddled against him.
/\/\/\/\
"Black, it's a pleasure to see you walking these halls again," Phineas Parkinson said smoothly with a courteous bow of respect.
"All honour to my Keeper," Orion replied automatically.
Something dark flickered in his eyes, but then Phineas smiled tightly and nodded. "Just so," he murmured. "What are your thoughts about the current Auror budget? Doesn't it seem a bit padded to you?"
Orion did not allow any emotion to show on his face or in his eyes. He was as a calm, still pool. He allowed Parkinson to speak at length, and he listened to everything Parkinson said, and everything he carefully did not say. Was Parkinson working alone? Was he trying to suss out whether or not Orion might be an acceptable ally? Or was he working for a larger faction?
"Perhaps we could discuss this more in depth over lunch?" Parkinson suggested.
A small half-smile flitted over Orion's face. The trap has been baited and set. "I believe that I am free this afternoon," Orion offered.
Parkinson smirked at him. "Excellent. And your lovely Keeper? Will she be joining us?"
"No. My lady is attending to her duties, but I will pass along your compliments," Orion replied coolly.
"Please do," Parkinson murmured and made another polite bow.
Orion watched Parkinson walk down the hall with narrowed eyes.
"I would watch out for him. Parkinson can't be trusted to put his own robes on the right way. Someone else has to be pulling the strings."
"Perhaps you?" Orion turned to frown at his cousin's son-in-law.
"I have, upon occasion," Lucius Malfoy acknowledged with a nonchalant shrug.
"You'll forgive me if I find it difficult to take you at your word?" Orion tugged at his cuffs, and turned toward his office.
"I would expect nothing less," Malfoy drawled with a bored expression belied by the shrewd intelligence in his eyes.
"Excellent." Orion made a formal bow and then headed toward his office.
No one had been in the Black family's Wizengamot office since Arcturus' death, and it still bore the stamp of the former Patriarch. Orion hadn't changed much yet; he needed the reminder of his father as an example of what he must not do. He walked into his office and frowned. A heavily powdered and primped witch was sitting at his desk rifling through the papers and speaking aloud while a quill took notes.
"Who are you?" He demanded.
"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet," she purred. She stood and tottered over to him on ridiculously high heels. "Mr. Orion Black, I presume?"
Orion scowled at the reporter. "The door to my office was locked. How did you get in?"
Skeeter laughed airily and patted his arm. "Oh, Mr. Black, may I call you Orion? What's an unlocking charm between friends? I must say, you are even more handsome in person." Skeeter batted her lashes at him and smiled showing entirely too many teeth.
"No, you may not," Orion snapped. He didn't even know this woman, and she wanted to use his given name? The false familiarity made his skin crawl, and made him feel befouled.
"But my readers are dying to know all about you," Skeeter protested. "The Ancient and Noble House of Black brought back from extinction. How deliciously exciting! Is the devious Miss Granger really a Keeper, or did she try to bring back Sirius Black using the Dark Arts at the behest of an emotionally unstable Chosen One? You can tell me," Skeeter cooed up at him. "We're friends, aren't we?"
Orion drew himself up stiffly. "I think I must ask you to leave," he told her quietly.
Skeeter huffed and pouted at him. "You really don't want to do this," she warned him with vicious smile.
Orion smiled back, showing all of his teeth. "I think that I do, Miss Skeeter." He paused and frowned at her. "And it's Keeper Black."
"So you're maintaining the story that Miss Granger is your Keeper?" Skeeter asked with naked avidity in her eyes.
"Keeper Black stood on the Keeper's Stone in full view of the assembled Wizengamot," Orion drawled. "I would think that would speak for itself."
Skeeter smirked at him. "Not everyone was at that assembly, Orion, darling. Many say that they can't be certain since they didn't see it for themselves. The Daily Prophet is the champion of the people!"
"It's changed since I died then," Orion retorted.
Eventually, he ended up shoving Skeeter out his door and warding it against her. He leaned against the door panting for breath by the time he was done.
"Merlin's balls," he muttered. "It's not even lunch yet."
Quickly, with one eye on the time, Orion scanned his office for any devices, charms, or time-delayed spells that might have been placed to gather information. He knew that his paranoia had been a standing joke both in the family and without, but it had always had stood him in good stead. Sometimes, they were out to get you. He found ten different devices planted by at least five different people. He destroyed all of them and set several booby-traps to protect his office while he was at lunch with Parkinson. He glanced at the time again. He had just enough time to warn his Keeper, and he knew that she would pass his warning along to everyone else.
Trying to hurry without looking like he was hurrying, Orion moved through the twisting, turning hallways of the Wizengamot, and paused outside Longbottom offices; he rapped smartly on the outer door with his knuckles and waited patiently. His Keeper answered the door with a small frown that melted as soon as she saw him.
"Orion?" She moved back to allow him into the office, but she paused when he shook his head at her.
"I have an appointment. I just wanted to warn you not to go to the Black family offices. I've had to ward them against intruders, and I haven't had time to key the wards to you or the others," Orion explained.
"Intruders?" Her voice rose and worry shone in her cinnamon-brown eyes. "Are you all right?"
Orion could have cheerfully stood there all day letting his Keeper run her hands over him and murmuring under her breath, but this meeting with Parkinson could not be put off. With a sigh he caught up both of her hands in his, and pressed chaste kisses to her fingertips.
"I am fine, Hermione. Do not worry yourself," he assured her. "We'll discuss it at home."
Hermione nodded. "Of course." She bit her lip, and then she stood up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "Be careful," she murmured against his cheek.
"Always," he swore.
The feel of his Keeper's lips against his skin stayed with him, buoying him as he slipped out of the Ministry of Magic. Parkinson had not mentioned where they might meet for lunch, and Orion had not asked. It was not necessary to do so because there was only one place where Wizengamot members would think to have a business lunch.
Strunk's was in a non-descript building that had no outward sign designating it as a restaurant. Then again, Strunk's wasn't really a restaurant. It was more of a private gentleman's club that had been in Diagon Alley since 1689 when the Statute of Secrecy had been passed.
"Mr. Black, it is a pleasure to see you once again," the doorman said politely.
"Thank you, Milford."
"Your usual table, Mr. Black?" Quentin Pringle asked as though it hadn't been 20 years since he had last been to Strunk's.
"I'm meeting Phineas Parkinson. Has he arrived?" Orion asked.
"If sir will just follow me," Pringle murmured and led the way to the Parkinson table.
The table was in a secluded corner, and there were no other patrons seated near it. Orion wondered if this were due to design on Parkinson's part, or if he were a political and social pariah, and then filed it away to examine later. Parkinson stood when he approached and shook his hand.
"Mr. Black. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Parkinson said with a smile.
Orion smiled back. "I am always willing to make time for a fellow Wizengamot member," he replied smoothly.
"That's good to hear, Mr. Black." Parkinson tugged at his collar and then glanced about the room before leaning toward Orion. "There is some talk," he murmured.
Orion's eyebrows rose and he managed a meaningless social smile. "I would be more surprised to learn that there wasn't. It is the Wizengamot, after all. Talking is what it does best."
"Indeed. Still, there are some… curious… stories in circulation. Did you know that the Potter scion is applying to the Auror Department?" Parkinson managed to make that sound as though it was one step above mass-murderer.
"What do the Potter scion's actions have to do with my House?" Orion asked in genuine confusion.
"He's the last of his House. You would think that he'd be far more worried about getting a wife, or at least stabilizing his House's position here in the Wizengamot," Parkinson pointed out.
Orion shook his head. "If I remember correctly, the wizard in question is only 19, and too young to sit on the Wizengamot. Any marriage negotiations will take at least a year. He might as well find some way to occupy his time."
"I suppose," Parkinson murmured. He looked at his hands and then looked up at Orion. "He's particularly close with your… Keeper. Did you know that she spent a year living in a tent with him and one of the Weasley spawn?"
Orion clenched his hands into fists under the table and counted to ten in his head. Was Parkinson trying to get a rise out of him in public? No, they were too far away from the other tables. Unless… perhaps Parkinson didn't want people to know what they were actually talking about?
"What exactly are you trying to say, Parkinson?" Orion managed to bite out between clenched teeth.
"I'm just offering information," Parkinson replied calmly. He sniffed slightly. "Thought you might like to know what sort of witch your… Keeper is."
There it was again. That slight hesitation before the word Keeper. Orion ground his teeth together and tried to breathe in and out through his nose. He could not lose control in public.
"I think I'm aware," he drawled with feigned nonchalance.
Something flashed in Parkinson's eyes and the other wizard leaned forward. "Are you?" He asked quietly. "There are other families that would like to benefit the way that yours has. If you were amenable to helping them… well, money wouldn't be an obstacle."
It took Orion a moment to process what Parkinson was dancing around, and once Orion understood he was almost overcome with murderous rage. To insinuate that their Keeper was not a Keeper at all was an unconscionable insult to her honour, but to suggest that she was a Necromancer… they would pay for that. The assumptions about his House didn't bother him at all. The Blacks had always been a Dark family, and his father had taken that even further. The insult to his Keeper—to Hermione—he would not let slide. Parkinson, and anyone associated with him, would be seen to when he had time to plan properly. He channelled the rage away, for later. Now, in this moment, he needed to concentrate on Parkinson.
"I see," Orion drawled. He leaned back in his chair and raised his chin to an arrogant tilt. "Tell me more."
/\/\/\/\
"You look like the wrong end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Sirius observed with a smirk. "Drink a bit too much last night?"
Regulus glared at his brother across the breakfast table and took a small sip of his weak tea. "I didn't drink at all," Regulus retorted. "And what in the bloody hell is a Blast-Ended Skrewt?"
"You don't know how lucky you are that you don't know the answer to that question. They were a breeding project of Hagrid's—"
"The groundskeeper at Hogwarts?" Regulus interrupted him incredulously. "He was breeding dangerous animals?"
"That's his specialty," Sirius said drily. "Pass the marmalade, will you?" Sirius carefully spread marmalade in a thick layer across his toast. "Why do you look like death warmed over if you weren't drinking last night?"
"Researching," Regulus managed to get out around a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Researching what?" Sirius demanded.
"Grove-born witches, for our… for Hermione," Regulus muttered. He began shredding the toast on his plate into a small pile of crumbs.
"I think Hermione's got enough on her plate without dealing with all that at the moment," Sirius protested.
Regulus scowled across the table at him. "That's easy for you to say," he muttered sullenly.
"Reggie, what's this about?" Sirius asked with a frown.
"I want to help her," Regulus admitted. He shook his head. "No, I need to help her."
"Reggie," Sirius began, but Regulus interrupted him.
"No. Orion is having Mrs Longbottom train her to be a proper Matriarch, Cygnus helps her study. And you," Regulus scoffed. "You're always ready to whisk her off and do fun things with her so that she can relax. What's left, Sirius? How can I help her if not like this?"
"Hermione's not like that," Sirius countered in a quiet, firm voice. "She knows that everyone has a different talent, and that not every talent can be used in every situation. Just… spend time with her. Be yourself."
"That's what got me into this mess in the first place," he snapped.
Sirius glared at him. "Actually, it was you not acting at all like yourself that got you into this mess. Instead of listening to Father and your own heart you did what you thought Mother wanted. You tried to make Bella and the Patriarch happy."
With a heavy sigh, Regulus put his head in his hands. "I know," he muttered.
"Don't worry so much about what will or won't make our Keeper happy," Sirius urged. "Just make sure that you spend time with her. Take her out to lunch, or take her to one of the magical botanical gardens. I'll wager she's never seen one of those, and she'd be fascinated. Or drag her off to some wizarding historical landmark. She'd love that, and it would bore me to tears."
"Do you think she'd like that?" Regulus asked uncertainly.
"Wizarding ruins? Oh yeah, that's her idea of a swell time," Sirius told him. He leaned across the table and patted Regulus on the shoulder. "Trust me."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Famous last words," he muttered under his breath.
"I heard that," Sirius protested.
"I meant you to," Regulus retorted.
"Pain in the ass."
"Git."
