Hermione slipped one of her many scattered ties around her neck and began threading the red and gold fabric through the loop she made; her outward actions were regular, docile, and routine, while inside she was reeling. She had woken up despairing over her hairs uncontrollable volume, the dull shade of her pupils, and her unevenly full lips. Her traitorous eyes fell to the Daily Prophet that remained on her bedside table, and she was glad she had thought to close the paper before she went to bed. Not that she needed to see it, Hermione knew full well what was there.

In her mind's eye, Hermione could picture Daphne Greengrass' long blonde waves falling like water over her perfectly sculpted shoulders. As Hermione's fingers involuntarily tightened she pulled the knot in her tie too tight and released a low groan; she needed to pull herself together; she had more important things to think about, at least that was the theory.

Hermione had a meeting with the headmistress scheduled for later in the day, and this time, thankfully, it was all part of the general curriculum. Soon it would the end of the second term, and careers meetings had been arranged for all of the departing students. Ginny had already had hers, the visit being understandably brief as her friend had signed a contract to play Quidditch full time. Luna's had been equally speedy, with her plans to follow Rolf taking more shape she had gathered together various maps and charts to show their professor what the duo - and support team - were planning before she laid out her end goal of taking up a position at the Quibbler with her father. Pansy had remained curiously tight-lipped about her one on one, and Hermione had done her the courtesy of not pushing her nose into it.

Hermione pulled on the jacket of her robes and cast a quick eye around the dorm to make sure she was truly on her own before she seized up the paper and tucked it under her pillows. She wasn't likely to make it back that evening before the others, and she knew if she left it in the open one of them would take the chance to throw it away. Hermione couldn't blame them for the impulse; it was precisely what she would have done if the situation was reversed. Hermione knew she should get rid of the folded parchment, continually looking at what passed for an article was at best, unhelpful, and at worst… at worst it was a lot more painful than she could ever have anticipated.

Luna had come back to their shared dorm the previous evening as Hermione had been getting ready for bed, and Ginny and Pansy were exchanging barbed comments about some dress Ginny had said she liked, or some other such nonsense. In all of the familiar commotion, Hermione hadn't noticed her friend's unusually grave appearance until Luna had glided to her side, chewing on the ends of her long blonde hair. Luna's almost unnatural stillness immediately put Hermione on edge, so much so that when she handed her that day's edition of the Daily Prophet Hermione had prepared herself for the worst, speculating that it would possibly contain another scathing article about one of her friends, or an infringement on creature rights.

But it was neither.

There, in black and white - as her mother used to say - was a picture of Regulus and Daphne Greengrass having dinner together. Up until that singular moment, Hermione had always considered wizarding photography to be far superior to it's Muggle counterpart. Muggle photos were a snapshot in time, a captured and condensed still life from which all kinds of strange assumptions and misconceptions could be born. Wizarding images were different, not only did they record a longer fragment of time, they took something of the moment along with them, securing a mood along with an image. So when the picture in front of her rotated and Regulus Black gave Daphne Greengrass a half smile she had never seen as the radiant blonde batted her eyelashes, Hermione felt her throat close.

It took Hermione a while to process that there were words around the scene she was fast committing to memory; they were forgotten much like the friends that were currently standing around her. When she became aware of both again, despite no effort from the first, and every effort from the last, neither was of any use.

It was clear to Hermione that the reporter had no idea who Regulus was, and so the rest of what they had padded out the copy with was mere speculation, loaded, hurtful, crass speculation. Hermione knew enough from her own experience that such articles could be total nonsense, but the picture though, that was… unexpected.

Hermione put her pillows back into the usual places and stepped away from her bed, reasonably confident that the girls would not pry further if the paper was not left out in the open. She hoped her 'display' from the evening before would be forgotten quickly, and they could go back to the much less helpless state of only mentioning Regulus every few weeks.

-/-/-/-

Hermione shook her head as Daphne's monochrome wine glass filled for the hundredth time. Without giving any outward reaction, she allowed the paper to be pulled out of her cold fingers by Pansy, who then clutched it between her hands, her eyebrows raising every few lines before she thrust it into Ginny's direction.

So began a good half an hour of both girls raging about everything Regulus Black had ever said or done, in their time and his own. Hermione appreciated the effort, she really did, but she couldn't focus on anything they said in any detail, certainly not enough to reply.

Now free from the unwilling, unbroken gaze she'd had with the image, Hermione realised - with some disappointment - that she couldn't be angry with him; they weren't a couple, in any sense. Regulus had made her no promises, and she had hardly made any overtures of affection herself. Yet, as a voice in her mind couldn't help screaming, she had brought him forward in time, snatched him away from a sure and violent death; shouldn't that count for something?

In her blankness she remembered a definition of soulmates that she had read long ago, there was nothing that decreed that the relationship between two joined souls had to be romantic. Hermione could have laughed; what a ridiculous irony that for most of her adolescence she couldn't have wished for a more perfect gift than that of a friend who would be so well suited to her that their souls were fated and yet he appeared now. Hermione regarded Pansy's sharp eyes and Ginny's red cheeks, and she realised she had plenty of friends, more than enough for a girl like her. Now she wanted more, even if it sounded like a childish demand even to her own ears.

As she sat on the edge of her bed and pressed her toes into the thick carpet, Hermione became panicked when she felt water begin to coat her lashes. It wouldn't do to get upset, she didn't know Regulus, and even with what she had learned there were traits she didn't much like. To her growing irritation, she couldn't sort out and rationalise her feelings; she had lost nothing, and in the same instance, she felt as if everything had been taken away.

As Pansy's impassioned rant moved on to criticising Regulus' hair, of all things, Luna slid onto the bed next to Hermione and grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Hermione nodded, though the single word that came out of her mouth was, "No."

Luna looked at her appraisingly before she laid her head against Hermione's shoulder. "Sometimes, with soulmates, it can take a while for the magic to settle, my mother once told me that true soulmates could never really hurt each other, at least, not without hurting themselves."

Hermione allowed her head to fall on top of Luna's and tried to feel comforted by her words, though it was a struggle. Despite having owned up to Regulus about the spell that had brought him forward in time, they had never discussed the ramifications of what that meant, for either of them. For all she knew, Regulus intended to actively ignore that connection, and now that he had everything he needed from her, she would never see him again. Apart from articles in the paper, her mind unhelpfully taunted.

-/-/-/-

As Hermione picked up her school satchel and changed her books she pulled all of her letters out of the front pocket she still needed to sort through. Her mouth curved into a smile as she recognised the messy lettering on the top of the stack. Her last letter from Ron had been different from his usual missives. It appeared Harry had tried to right an unintentional wrong and introduce her friend to Regulus - the only one of their little circle who had not made his acquaintance - Hermione appreciated the intention though she could have foreseen the result.

She picked up the letter and reopened it, skimming over the familiar talk of training exhaustion mixed in with his anticipation of future adventure, until she reached the part about the ill-fated lunch. Hermione had felt pure comfort from the tone of her friend's letter, making her appreciate just how much she valued their friendship. Her relationship with Ron wasn't always peaceful, they very often brought out the worst in each other, though Hermione appreciated having someone exactly like her friend in her life, and her corner.

The note showed off how much he had matured, especially over the last couple of years. Although Regulus had antagonised Ron - in almost the same way Malfoy would have when they were all at school together - he seemed most concerned with her safety, and in his own awkward way, he explained that he didn't want her to get hurt.

Hermione's fingers trailed down the parchment until she came to her favourite line.

You would have been so proud of me 'Mione, Regulus was a total dick - put me right off my food - and I could have reacted badly, I really could of, but I didn't. I got up from my chair and left; I didn't even try to hit him. Not once. Though I have thought about doing it a lot since I left the canteen, maybe you could let me know what it felt like to hit Malfoy, again?

Hermione was all for personal growth, especially when it came to Ron, though she couldn't entirely silence the tiny, not very nice part of her, that wished Ron had lost control of his famous temper, just this once. She consoled herself that it was possible he was still destined to do so, and the universe - realising it owed her one - was waiting until she was there to witness it. Or, Hermione reasoned as she tucked the letter away, maybe she would have to do it herself.

Hermione sucked in a breath and tried to expel all of the negative thoughts that were circling her like vultures; she didn't know how typical teens coped with this kind of stuff, her past crushes had been fleeting and mostly harmless. The rational part of her mind, the bit right at the core of who she was - that spoke in a voice very much like how she had sounded in the first year, when she had barged into a train carriage and demanded that Ron show her magic - it told her to forget about him. Feeling a strange affinity for Ron and Harry, Hermione felt her conclusion was probably right, but it didn't necessarily mean that she needed to follow her own advice.

The atmosphere inside the headmistresses office was a good deal less tense than it had been since Regulus had 'dropped in' on them, and Hermione felt her spine relax as her favourite professor offered her a small smile and waved her into the room. Professor McGonagall looked weary, which was to be expected; Hermione's appointment coincided with the beginning of final lessons, and the headmistress would have been seeing students all day.

After a few open enquiries about her studies, their light conversation turned to the future, and Hermione admitted - a little bashfully - that she wasn't entirely sure about her destiny. She had wanted to provide a more concrete answer, especially as her teacher had taken the time earlier in the year to discuss the very same with her. To Hermione, it felt as if she had been given a special assignment and had come back months later with nothing to show for it. Cringing, and expecting admonishment, Hermione was taken aback by the headmistresses regarding her with some amusement.

"It may surprise you to learn, Miss Granger that when I finally skipped out of Hogwarts grand doors, I had no more idea than you do now as to where my life would lead," she began.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked eagerly, having never heard anything of Minerva's life before she became a teacher.

"Travelled, worked here and there, eventually did a mastery, several in fact, before Albus Dumbledore was given the headmaster role, and invited me back."

The headmistress smiled at some long forgotten memory, and Hermione tried to imagine her being as carefree as she described, some of her scepticism must have shown as Professor McGonagall laughed. "It was a different time, Hermione, and despite our shared love for academics we are different people."

Hermione nodded and reached for her teacup to allow herself a second or two to think. She was sure that the kind of adventure the professor had alluded to would be inviting for many, her friends included, and Hermione could admit the inherent romance of such an idea was compelling, in theory, but for her? She knew it wouldn't do; she wanted stability, rules, challenge, measured progression…. Hermione was halfway through her list before she realised that she had something, for the first time in months she had managed to think about her future path without drawing a blank. It wasn't much, but it was a frame, a skeleton that she could use and build on. The ever-present knot in her chest that had lived within her for most of the last year loosened a fraction.

"In any case," Professor McGonagall continued, totally unaware of the epiphany her student had just had, "you are far from without options. I do not doubt that many organisations and employers will try to attract you to join them, which is one of the things I have to speak to you about today."

"Oh?" Hermione replied sitting forward.

"Yes, following our last meeting with you, Minister Shacklebolt would like to offer you an internship at the ministry." Hermione paused in her action of reaching for a biscuit before her head snapped up in surprise. "In the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, she had been expecting Kingsley to push the ministry as a future employer but offering an internship undoubtedly exceeded her expectations. Not only was the opportunity prestigious it also played right into her ideals; in that department, even if she was only a lowly intern, she could still feel like she was doing some good in the world. Her mind began to race, and she wished she had a piece of parchment with her until her reaction was noted by the headmistress who sighed.

"I must say I was rather impressed with his cunning," she said with reluctant approval. "He knows you better than I thought, in trying to secure your interest he is attempting an appeal to your soft heart."

Hermione giggled at the implication that the Minister of Magic was being somewhat manipulative in his offer, but then again, this was politics.

"I would love to hear more," she said eventually and was surprised to find that she meant it. No doubt it would be hard work, and she would probably have to weather constant campaigning for her to take a full-time job, but it would give her something to think about. Not to mention she would once again be located in the same place as the boys day in day out, which was no small draw.

"I thought you might say that," the headmistress replied, "we have set up for you to have tea with Kingsley at the end of the week, he will tell you more about it then."

"Thank you for your time professor," Hermione said gratefully, but the headmistress wove her off.

"Think nothing of it, Hermione, but before you go, I have something else to put before you," she said as she stepped away from the table, "and I must admit from the outset that in spite of warning you about the machinations of others, I present the next topic with a great amount of self-interest."

Hermione looked up at her professor as they walked across the office towards the door, her curiosity peaked.

"I would like you to consider a training post here, at Hogwarts, when the final term ends. There are several areas of study you would be suitable for, and you could prep over the summer with a timetable that would suit you, before becoming full time when the new intake of students arrive in September."

"Aren't I a bit young to be a teacher," Hermione blurted instantly before the idea - or how flattered she was - could truly register in her mind. She was well aware that she was bossy, and had no real problem chastising her friends into studying or setting them additional reading, but to stand in front of a room of new faces and make them both respect and want to learn from her, could she do that?

"I'm not sure I have the temperament," Hermione shrewdly observed and in spite of her initial focus on the obstacles Professor McGonagall seemed pleased.

"Another young person, who had the same reservations you have mentioned became one of this castles longest standing professors if not one of it's most popular."

Hermione's eyes instantly slid to Professor Snape's picture behind the Headmistress desk, but instead of feigning sleep like the rest of the portraits seemed to he had one eyebrow ever so slightly raised, Hermione took it to be something of a silent challenge.

Later that week, Hermione found herself enclosed within another office of power, though despite the loftier authority figure, having tea opposite the Minister for Magic turned out to be decidedly less formal than a careers chat with her former head of house. Kingsley had given Hermione a broad smile as she poked her head around the door at the allotted time before throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm so glad to see you, Hermione, I'm not sure I had another budget plan conversation in me this afternoon."

Hermione grinned back. "I'm always pleased to be favourably compared to fiscal responsibility, Minister."

Kingsley's laugh boomed in its usual way, releasing a sound of unbridled mirth that made Hermione feel warm and immediately at ease as he stepped out from behind his grand desk and shrugged off his heavily embroidered jacket.

"Please," he said amiably, and gestured towards a small table with a tea service already set out, "take a seat."

Hermione had expected him to get right to it, he was a busy man after all, and if his harassed looking assistant was anything to go by, this was far from the end of his day. Though as he took his seat, she quickly released that despite Kingsley's earlier larks he was definitely in need of a bit of a break.

While he poured the tea, they discussed their mutual acquaintances, laughed over silly stories and he moaned about how tired he was, though Hermione saw through his thin mask, tired he may have been, but far, far from unhappy. Kingsley seemed to buck the trend of leaders of the free world everywhere by actually looking younger now he was in office. She supposed few men and women who'd had to face what Minister Shacklebolt had to get to where he was, and from that perspective, it was no wonder he looked revitalised despite the crinkles around his eyes.

After several refreshed cups and an animated and rather a silly fight over the last biscuit, Kingsley pulled out a file that had been resting on one of the empty chairs between them and handed it to Hermione.

"I understand Minerva…"

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected instantaneously before a deep flush overcame her cheeks. "I am so sorry," she apologised, "force of habit."

Kingsley smiled though he seemed to be fighting against laughter in light of her embarrassment. "I understand Headmistress McGonagall," he continued with a smirk, "has already given you the broad strokes of what this will be."

Hermione nodded. "An internship of sorts."

"Exactly that," he replied slapping his thigh as he regarded her intently, "it is nearly the end of your second term and I thought that a week or two here, during the break, would do you good, give you an idea of what it would be like to work within the ministry."

"It's a very generous offer."

Kingsley snorted. "Nothing generous about it, I think we could use your help."

"Really, Minister? Hermione challenged with a raised eyebrow. "You need me?"

"Don't underestimate yourself," he chastised lightly, "and yes, I do, there is still much to do. The obvious threat of Voldemort has been eradicated, but before his demise, he had burrowed himself deep within this organisation, and all of the roots need to be removed to ensure the movement that he headed up doesn't grow back. I need people I can trust in the 'halls of power', people that are here for the right reasons."

Hermione fell silent as the Minister's face took on a darker edge, she admired Kingsley's ability to shift from affable wizard to avenging revolutionary in a mere moment, it was how he had got the position after all. Kingsley was likeable, credible, and willing to upset the applecart to do what he needed to ensure that what they lived through never happened again.

"Also," he said, his voice quieter now, more unsure, "I owe you this."

One of his large hands gestured towards the file Hermione was still clutching, and she eyed it blankly. "Owe me? Whatever for?"

"I want to see you make the best of your life, Hermione, and I will do whatever I can to help. Though everything I have told you about your intelligence and innate sense of justice is true, I have to admit to a selfish desire for some absolution, for my part in allowing you to become involved in a war you were far too young to be fighting, let alone so close to the front."

Hermione was shocked that he was carrying such an invented burden, from her foggy memories of Order meetings she could only recall Mrs Weasley being reticent to send them into battle, she had imagined all this time that the others merely went along with Dumbledore's scriptures on the greater good. In any case, Kingsley wasn't responsible for her.

"It was hardly your decision," she countered, "I threw myself into it because it was the right thing to do."

Kingsley sat back in his chair not entirely hiding his discomfort. "I fully understand that Hermione, and I commend you for both your morals and your bravery. While from your perspective I can see why you would think that, from mine, where I sit now, it was not the right thing for me to allow it."

"I do not think we will agree on this point, Minister," Hermione said with a tilt of her head and seemingly almost against his wishes Kingsley's mouth pulled up into a smile.

"See, Hermione, you've been here mere hours, and you are already arguing with the Minister for Magic himself to carry your point, this is the right environment for you."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she glanced up at the clock. "If you say so. I better be going. I'm sure you must have more important things to be getting on with."

Kingsley followed her gaze before looking back over his shoulder at the door. "Stay for a bit longer, will you? I can take you through my proposal and see if we can't work our way through another pack of those custard creams."

When Kingsley's assistant finally risked entering the office to tell the Minister he was running incredibly far behind, Hermione tucked the file he had given her into her bag and left him to his fate with a cheerful wave. She opted to exit the ministry using the Muggle street entrance, popping up in the telephone box and laughing to herself as no one that was rushing around seemed to find it odd that twenty or so people exited the tiny space one after the other.

A few minutes later she jumped onto the next bus heading in the general direction of Grimmauld Place. Wizarding transportation was excellent, but it did mean that you lost pockets of what had previously been ample thinking time. Holding onto the railing for dear life, Hermione quickly climbed up the stairs to sit at the front of the top deck. It was quiet, being the middle of the day, though the traffic milling about was still substantial. Ideally, she could have done with a book, but she hadn't thought to bring anything, instead she stared out of the window trying to order her steadily spiralling thoughts.

It was difficult to face the reality that on that very afternoon she had agreed to an internship at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures no less. A few short years before such a privilege would have had her punching the air in sheer joy, she was still pleased, vastly so, but the achievement didn't feel as crowning as it once would have. The halls of power, as Kingsley had called them, had lost a bit of their long imagined shine. Not only had Hermione endured some nasty experiences in the building itself, but her view of the organisation as a whole was also forever tainted by how quickly the government had slid into Voldemort's waiting palm.

At the end of the war, Hermione had collected what she could of the paraphernalia that had been peddled to ordinary folk during their time on the run; sensationalised bios on the Order of the Phoenix and Undesirable posters that listed their supposed crimes. She had shared it all with Harry and Ron, and somehow they found a way to laugh at it all, but there was a rawness there they didn't discuss, and when Ginny had come home to find them surrounded by it she had suggested they burn it, and they had readily agreed. But, unbeknownst to her friends, Hermione had kept a copy of the lurid pink pamphlet 'Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society' as a reminder of what many people were happy to believe she was if it kept them and their families safe.

The bus lurched around a tight bend and Hermione was unhappily reminded of the Knight Bus as she contemplated the documents tucked away in her bag. Whatever her reservations, she was still Hermione Granger, and there was no way she would have turned down the opportunity the Minister had designed for her, especially with a cause so close to her heart. The headmistress had been right, Kingsley was applying to her more revolutionary sensibilities to win her favour. After the week she'd had, being actively courted, even if it was just for a job, was somewhat gratifying.

Once Hermione had got her bearings and hopped off the bus she managed to find her way to the magically emerging house and knocked on the door.

"Come through," Harry called brightly from the kitchen as the door popped open allowing her entrance. After the headmistress had set up her meeting, Hermione had asked if she could come back to the castle via Grimmauld so she could catch up with Harry. One of the many downsides of still being at school rather than out in the world of work was the restrictions on her movement, and she had not been able to see her friends anywhere near as much as she might have liked in recent months.

As Hermione stepped over the threshold of the kitchen, Harry span around holding up two large Tupperware containers, both full to the brim.

"What can I whip you up?" he said with a grin and Hermione returned his expression happily.

"Mrs Weasley still sending her care packages I see."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "I imagine they will continue until the end of time, or at least I hope."

Once Hermione had made her selection they set to work, moving seamlessly around each other in the kitchen, heating the pre-made meal and setting the table. They had got used to it in less pleasant conditions, while they had worked side by side in the tent.

Hermione updated Harry with all she now knew about the internship as he, in turn, filled her in on the progression of his accelerated training, which led to Hermione admonishing him over a new scar on his arm, inflicted when he wasn't paying attention.

"So," he began warily after topping off their pumpkin juice. "I saw Regulus the other day."

"So I gather," Hermione replied blandly, and at Harry's inquiring look she clarified, "Ron sent a letter."

"He threatened he might, I wasn't sure if he would go through with it," Harry said before looking at her with the kind of grimace that gave away how concerned he was over the possible contents.

Hermione shrugged. "It wasn't bad, for Ron the letter was pretty measured. I've replied, and we have spoken since, he is not angry, not with me in any case," she amended quickly. "How did you run into him anyway? Regulus I mean."

"We didn't," Harry explained as he pushed his empty plate away, "meeting up was pre-planned, he owled ahead saying he was going to be in the ministry and asked if I wanted to have lunch."

Hermione felt a stab of jealousy at Harry's admission which was followed by a much more substantial feeling of self-reproach. That Regulus Black hadn't seen fit to contact her - in the mode that any reasonable person would - in all his time in their lives was not something she should care about. The bastard.

"What did he want to speak to you about?" she asked as neutrally as she could and forgot her internal wranglings when she was faced with Harry's obvious discomfort.

"Harry," she prodded.

He groaned, getting up from his place on the opposite bench to fetch a Butterbeer. "He wants to create a resting place for Sirius, a memorial of sorts, some plaque or something, somewhere for people to go to remember him."

"And you are… unhappy about that?" she tried, unsure as to what was agitating her friend.

"Not exactly," Harry replied, ruffling his hair, "not the idea itself in any case. Though I'm annoyed at myself that I didn't think of it before now, it was more the way Regulus talked about it. He kept repeating how it needed to be a fitting gesture, something that reflected where Sirius came from and his status."

Hermione was sympathetic to Harry's distress, Sirius had been the closest thing to family he had ever known, and though their time together had been short, they had shared a bond, as real and as vital as he'd had with anyone else in his life. Harry knew Sirius, as he was at the end, but Regulus, he knew another bit of him too, and Hermione felt that by rights they both should have some say in deciding what was best, though whether either of them would compromise would remain to be seen.

She finished her dinner as Harry recounted some of his favourite Sirius stories, all of them ones Hermione had heard countless times, though she never complained. Inside though she couldn't help but remember the other tales she had heard lately when Regulus had come to her flat, those were ones she had never heard before, and judging by Regulus' demeanour, might never again.

-/-/-/-

"He always seemed so protective," Hermione said, anxious for something to say to fill the silence, she had told Regulus everything she remembered about the Department of Mysteries, and though she knew he must have already heard it from many different sources, it seemed to strike him.

"The Sirius I knew would throw himself in front of any foe to protect those he cared about, whether or not they asked for it."

Regulus reached for the whisky and poured himself another measure, Hermione felt the need to tell him to slow down rise in her throat, but she dismissed it, he wasn't her concern.

"When I was around six I had a bout of accidental magic," Regulus said eventually after a stretch of uncomfortable silence, his eyes hadn't left his glass for more than half an hour and Hermione fought to keep herself still in case she interrupted him.

"I'd had them before, but never anything quite as strong as that. Sirius and I were playing hide and seek, and I had been crouched behind a sofa for what felt like ages, when Sirius eventually found me, he snuck up so successfully that I panicked and… well, I'm still not sure what happened, but a lampshade made of black oily looking feathers got incinerated. When my mother walked into the room with a fire in her eyes, Sirius stepped forward at the same time as I shrank, he didn't even need to lie and say he had done it, he just stepped right up to take the inevitable punishment. He had welt marks on the back of his legs for weeks after that, and he never complained, he said girls would like him more if he had scars when he was older."

Regulus looked up with a bitter half-smile that made Hermione's eyes prickle.

"He must have changed his tune as he got older," he continued, "as far as I know he kept all of those sorts of scars very much to himself."

-/-/-/-

"Whatever their history," Hermione said once Harry had finished reminiscing, "Regulus is Sirius' brother, he needs to be allowed to grieve in his own way."

"Maybe," Harry conceded, "I just wish he hadn't assumed leadership of it all."

"Why, because that's your job?" Hermione asked cheekily, and Harry scooped up a large bit of mashed potato onto his spoon.

"I'm not afraid to use this," he warned, and Hermione shrieked in protest, knowing just how real that threat was.

Once Harry allowed his attacking pose to lapse, Hermione risked getting out of her seat and collected up the crockery to set it to rinse. "Maybe you and Regulus should pause on the topic of Sirius for a while; it might be best to avoid an argument if you are determined to be his friend."

"I am not determined to be his friend, Hermione," Harry chastised, "It was one lunch; I just thought it would be nice, you know?"

"I know," Hermione agreed before turning off the water and heading back to the table.

"In any case, if we can't talk about Sirius that doesn't leave us much common ground, seeing as talking about you is completely off the table."

"Why can't you speak about me?" Hermione asked, and Harry slumped back into his seat.

"We tried that remember? I got pissed off, and Ron had to leave the room so he didn't assault him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Regulus was only mean to Ron to make himself look superior that's what all these boys are like, remember Malfoy and Zabini? It's all the same thing."

"I get what you're saying, and you know I would normally bow to your superior understanding of the human mind," he said with a mock bow that made Hermione stick her tongue out, "but I don't think that was what it was."

"No?"

Harry shook his head. "Ron went for him pretty hard at the start, mouthing off in his usual way, and Regulus barely blinked, the only thing that seemed to bother him was when I said that you hadn't seen him. By the way, I take it that slipped your mind?" Harry said archly, and Hermione winced.

"Sorry," she replied meaningfully, "honestly, it was the weirdest thing, him showing up like that and then he disappeared again seemingly never to return so by the time I wrote to you it didn't seem worth mentioning."

It wasn't a total lie, though it wasn't far off. Hermione had thought about telling Harry everything as she would typically have done, but what Regulus had asked her to do, to help him do, was intensely private and not just for him. Harry might have seen professor Snape's memories, but that had been at the man's request when he had been left with little choice.

Harry's hardened expression relaxed though he didn't look like he completely believed her, Hermione tried to take his suspicion as an encouraging sign, she might be able to get less past him, but at least she would sleep better at night knowing he was going to be a good Auror. Though, a good future law enforcer or not, he certainly didn't seem ready to drop the subject.

"I get that part of the confrontation was the... what does Ginny call it? Dick measuring?"

"Lovely image Harry, thank you."

"But it was more than that," Harry continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Regulus could have just corrected us, said you had seen each other or ignored it completely if it was such a big secret, but he did neither, and he made a much bigger deal of it than you are making now."

"What's your point, Harry?" Hermione pressed exasperated, and Harry shrugged.

As Harry concluded his thoughts the memory of Regulus looming over her at the edge of Hogsmeade forced its way to the front of Hermione's mind. I apply to you. She tried to pass off the shudder that moved through her as a sudden chill, but given the raging fire in the hearth, it was hardly convincing.

"Pudding?" Harry asked eventually, and Hermione relaxed.

"Mrs Weasley?"

"Of course."

"Then yes."

Hermione was able to conceded by her third spoonful of bread and butter pudding that she was beginning to understand Pansy's unrelenting complaints about the catering at Hogwarts until her appetite failed her entirely when Harry falteringly brought up the society article in the Prophet.

"How did you even see that?" Hermione demanded. "You never read the paper, not from the front anyway; Quidditch scores and for some reason, Horoscopes are the only things you bother with."

"Ginny sent a note," he admitted with reluctance, and Hermione felt a wave of searing anger for a moment before she pushed it down.

"Of course she did," she replied quietly. She should have known better than to think that Ginny and the others would leave it alone after her repeated assurances that she did not want to discuss it further. Telling Harry had been a master move, though it made them both incredibly awkward; Hermione could discuss things with Harry that she couldn't with anyone else, he had seen her at beyond her worst and had never looked at her any differently. Though willingness could only go so far, Harry knew as much about relationships as she knew about the male mind, the pair of them were up the proverbial creek very much without paddles.

"So, what now?" he asked when Hermione couldn't find a way to start, and she stared at her lap.

"I don't know, he runs off with perfect Daphne Greengrass and they have a million pure, flawlessly proportioned babies, with excellent hair and each one gets its own front page spread in the profit…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted.

"I know, I know, I'm being insane, I'm letting an article in a paper - that I have never trusted - bother me but... urgh," she groaned in frustration. "I don't even like him most of the time."

Harry smiled at her, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What?" she demanded.

"Just thinking back to something Ron said," he offered casually. "He was winding up Regulus about the type of girl the Black's would have wanted for him, and he described this imaginary woman as 'pretty scary' and… now, don't get angry," he warned, raising his hands in front of himself for good measure, "but I thought, well, that's like you isn't it?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione bit out coldly, and Harry scrambled.

"Look, you're no Narcissa Malfoy..."

"By all means keep digging."

"You know what I mean, but you're completely terrifying when you want to be, and you know, pretty, I guess."

"Please stop, Harry."

"Gladly."

By the time Hermione got back to her dorm, it was late, and she was utterly spent. People thought that spending time around Slytherins could be draining, with all of their concealed agendas and well-timed barbs, but she could tell those people a thing or two about spending the day conversing with Gryffindor men with the bit between their teeth.

Illuminating the end of her wand she quickly got changed and jumped into bed, securing the curtains around her before she felt for the rustle of parchment. All week she had kept the paper hidden away, though she had managed to limit herself to only looking once before she went to sleep, any more than that and she really would have a problem. She had come to admit a few nights before that not all of her repeated glances were to punish herself by trying to work out what the feeling was between the couple in the photo. Another part of her simply wanted to look because it proved Regulus was real; with all of the circumstances surrounding his sudden arrival and his continued sporadic contact it sometimes felt like she had dreamt him up.

Hermione pulled the braid out of her hair and settled the parchment on the top of her covers but before she could open it her curtains were wrenched open, and Pansy threw herself on top of it, crunching the parchment beneath her sock-clad feet.

"Don't you dare," she warned, and Hermione shrugged.

"What?" she asked with an utterly ridiculous attempt at innocence given how red her hands were.

"You know what," Pansy admonished. "Stop tearing yourself to shreds comparing yourself."

Hermione made to argue, but Pansy's firm glance stopped the words in her throat and instead she pushed her teeth into her lip as Pansy pulled out her wand and with a quick flash reduced the paper to ribbons.

Hermione knew they would have noticed, she hadn't said anything, but it had taken her longer to get ready than ever over the last few days, for the first time in her life she felt she could spend hours in front of the mirror, not that it would have helped. She was a lost cause.

She wasn't angry at Daphne; it would have been even more ridiculous if she had been, she couldn't help envying her though. For her straight blonde hair and her perfect lips and her bright blue eyes. But mainly for the way she made Regulus smile at her like that.

"It was for your own good," Pansy said harshly, though she reached across the small mound of rubbish to place her hand over Hermione's.

"Pansy?" Hermione asked a few moments later, once the shock had worn off.

"Yes," she replied quickly, shuffling forward so they could hear each other better without speaking loud enough to wake the others.

"Are men always this difficult?"

In the low lighting, it was hard to make out Pansy's exact expression though Hermione had the horrible feeling she was regarding her with something that looked a lot like pity.

"I don't think men are all that hard to work out, usually, though anyone's actions can appear strange if we don't have all of the context, the harder thing is… is working out how you feel about them, and harder still, is acting on it once you know."

Hermione sighed. "Sometimes I think I'd rather go back to when I was more oblivious and feel nothing more than mild curiosity."

"Join the club Granger," Pansy said dryly, "standing room only I'm afraid."