A/N: And we're back! Big thanks to happiness8000, who caught review #400. Thanks so much to everyone who is reading! Glad y'all liked Sirius. More of him here.

A note about the passage of time (since I had this problem in a book I wrote that was presented to a critique group over a period of months): Chapter Eight included the date of 27 July - the day that Hermione found about her apparent "death". This was posted (my time) on 15 June and it's now 5 July. So even though it seems like a LONG time, maybe, less that 48 hours have passed for our characters since the events of 27 & 28 July 2002.

Chapter Fourteen

29 July 2002, Farecliffe Hall

Hermione didn't open her eyes immediately upon waking up. She was on a carpet of some sort, it was much, much cooler than the desert, and she was appreciating the different sensations.

"Hermione."

Snapping her eyes open, she saw Harry's head, silhouetted due to light coming from the northern window. His hair fell forward, but it didn't hide his eyes. His gaze was alert but soft with wonder.

"Good morning," she whispered, covering her mouth and wishing for her bag with her potions and herbs.

"Good morning." Guilt flickered in his eyes. "I'm sorry I asked you to stay last night. This couldn't have been comfortable for you."

She shifted a bit, remembering how they had come to be where they were.

The conversation with Sirius—catching up on years of separation, fury at Dumbledore, and even minutiae such as the length of Harry's hair and why Hermione clutched at her throat so often—had moved to the study. Sirius went to bed after midnight but Harry and Hermione stayed, seated on the floor, not quite touching but wanting to be close enough to touch by mutual, silent agreement.

"So, who's Adam?" he ventured to say.

She reminded herself that she was an adult, an independent woman, and had done nothing wrong . . . even if she felt a bit off now that she understood that Harry had been lied to about her. What would have been different if he'd known she was alive? She didn't speculate; it would only cause more hurt feelings, she believed. "Adam Quanah. One of the teachers in the Montezuma Coven. He was my mentor and he's a dear friend of mine." All of which was true.

Harry had drawn his knees up to his chest, bare toes digging into the area rug upon which they sat. "A . . . close friend?" He hadn't been able to meet her gaze, but then she'd been focusing on his toes. "I mean, I get it, Hermione. I do. It's not as if—"

"Right." She sat cross-legged and rubbed her hands over her knees through the borrowed trousers. "You had company, too. Which is all right, Harry. I mean, I was dead. I'm going to hex Dumbledore into the next decade when I see him."

"Not alone," Harry had said on a growl. Then, he peered into her face. "Are you all right, though? We've talked about everything but today."

"Bloody awful day," she'd said, echoing the only descriptor they'd used.

"Yeah. Thank you for bringing Bill home."

Just hearing him say that, softly in the peace of a study with a cozy fire and all, made something crack in Hermione's chest. "Oh, Harry. He's dead!" Tears sprang up, her chest heaved, and all she could do was weep.

Harry scooted closer to her, their legs becoming entangled as they faced one another with arms around each other's shoulders. "So many, 'Mione."

They cried, harsh, ugly sounds. Harry's body had shaken. Her breath caught and choked. At length, the tears eased and he conjured handkerchiefs for them at the same moment that she conjured a wet flannel. They cleaned up and Harry collapsed to his back on the rug.

"I'm so tired," he'd said, his voice raspy.

"Your day's been longer than mine."

"Stay with me?"

"All right. For tonight."

He Summoned pillows and the two of them fell asleep to the comforting sounds of the fire. Hermione was reminded of times like this back in the Gryffindor common room, long ago, and she'd fallen asleep with a smile.

She shrugged a bit now, as Harry moved away, and pushed herself into a sitting position. "Not so bad," she allowed. "I would like to see the Weasleys before I go back, though."

"Back. Right. Damn. I wanted to ask you—" He broke off to push up and onto the balls of his feet before standing fully to tower over her. She rose as well, ignoring the hand he offered. "I wanted to ask if you'd come to the funerals with me."

"Funerals?" She frowned, rather put off by his request. "Isn't it a bit early?"

His face displayed shadows of past agonies. "Sorry. It's just, it's happened before, and—sick as it is—there's an order to things, you know? And I've been awake for a while."

Hermione tried to smooth her wild morning-hair as she thought. "Harry," she said after a minute, "I probably shouldn't. It's not that I don't care—I do." She closed her eyes, bringing to mind the names Harry had shared the night before. Opening them, she recited, "Terry, Michael, Alicia, Dean, and Luna." She watched him carefully and nodded when he shut his eyes at the final name in the dreadful list. "I want to pay my respects to Neville, as well. But, if I'm there, and everyone's thought I was dead, damn Dumbledore, then I might be a distraction and that's the very last thing in the world I'd want to do."

His brows—heavier now than they had been so many years go—furrowed as he pinched his nose. "Right. Of course not. But," he dropped his hand and met her gaze. "Hermione. I need you."

She felt that horrible feeling again, the Dark one. The one that seemed to come from him. Grimacing, she shook her head. "You don't, though. You've managed wonderfully for years. I'm so pleased that you've had Sirius." When he looked as if he'd argue, she held up a hand. "I need to check something. Remember how I asked about a dark artifact?"

He cocked his head but smiled a bit sarcastically. "I remember. There she is, the girl I thought dead, and she's asking me if I've got a Horcrux tucked in a pocket."

"May I check?" she inquired, wishing again for her crystal.

"Hermione!" He pulled his pockets inside out and pushed back his sleeves. "Look! I've got nothing. I'm wearing what I wore straight out of the shower last night," he added with a curl to his voice that made her blush as well as irritating her.

"Please?"

He sighed and ran his knuckles along his jaw. "Fine. How?"

At that, she smirked. "Hold still. Expecto Patronum!" Her bear emerged from the tip of her wand, coming to stand tall in the Farecliffe Hall study. "Now, I'm not sure she'll be able to do this, without my crystal," Hermione mused, pursing her lips.

"She's beautiful," Harry murmured, moving to stand behind Hermione. "What's her name?"

"I didn't name her. Now," she went on, directing her words to the silvery bear, "find the Dark Magic."

"What?" Harry shifted and she felt him stepping away from her.

She turned to track her bear. "Watch," she whispered as the Patronus nosed about the room, swinging her head toward Harry again and again before coming to stand next to him, pointing her snout at his head. Hermione was torn between pride in her bear and horror that Harry did indeed have Dark Magic confined in his head. "Oh, Harry."

Harry, though, seemed almost buoyant. "What is she doing? This is kind of amazing, 'Mione." Then, it seemed as if the bear nudged him, though Hermione knew he wouldn't feel it as such, before turning back and circling Hermione herself and returning to Harry. "What's she doing? Prongs has never made as if he were hunting a fox or anything." He laughed lightly, his focus staying on her Patronus. "She's so graceful, even when she's doing this." He darted a glance to Hermione. "That's it! You should call her Grace!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but knowing she was going to be imparting ugly news to him, nodded. "Fine. Grace. Grace? Thank you. Go on, now." Harry sighed as the Patronus leapt out the window and disappeared. Hermione watched and sighed before biting her lips for a moment. "She, Grace, was able to do that after a ritual. It was a ritual to strengthen my magical center, and when I'd done it, my Patronus was able to find and point me to dark artifacts. She's the one who found the snake in Arizona. She found another dark artifact, too, in Julia's house. And Harry, it looks like she found one within you."

He paled and immediately rubbed at his forehead. "My scar?"

"No, I don't think so. Your scar, I think that's a rune. You, you told me about . . . what happened," she said, trying to be delicate. He nodded, eyes narrowing as he stared at her face. "You said Voldemort touched your head. And then your mum did something that you couldn't really identify before, before she was . . ."

"Yeah. What are you saying? That she left something dark in me? No way. No bloody way, Hermione."

"No! Of course not! He did! But, but I think she placed a rune of protection on you. Sowlio. It's Light against the Dark. Protection from evil. Strength and honor." Harry's expression opened up in shock. "She was trying to protect you, right?" At his nod, she pressed her lips together before continuing. "They've always said you're the Boy Who Lived."

"I've hated that," he muttered.

She reached up and feathered her fingers through his hair. "I know. But no one aimed the Killing Curse at you, Harry. It must have been Dumbledore that spread that one." She hoped her eyes conveyed her anger and protectiveness. "That's another reason."

"I want to end him and revive him just to end him again," Harry admitted, shaking his head before pacing to the hearth and back. "But wait, if Mum did that, why is the Dark Magic still in my head?"

"The rune, Sowlio, acts as protection and containment. To protect others from the Dark Magic being released. You said she did what she did after Voldemort touched you. He was probably planning on doing something with you."

"Make me a Horcrux? Hermione?" Clearly stricken, Harry moved to collapse in one of the chairs. "Is that why I can sense other parts of him? My scar started bleeding when we found the Tiara."

She knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers until he met her gaze. "I think that was the rune in action. Keeping the darkness contained. I'm sure she never meant to do anything other than protect you. She just didn't know what he had done before she destroyed him."

His eyes burned as they stared into hers and she did her best to be steadfast and supportive. All she'd ever wanted was to help him. Keep him safe. Give him the best information she could so he could fight what he had to. But just then, she felt as if she'd wounded him and she didn't know what else to say.

He was so brave. After a minute or so, Harry squeezed her hands and nodded. "All right. So. You know about the Horcruxes."

"Right."

"I don't know how many there are. There was the one you and Bill found."

"Yes."

He nodded. "And Bill—" Shutting his eyes, he inhaled sharply through his nose but didn't release her hands. She was oddly content to stay right where she was. "Bill helped us with two more, as well. Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Tiara."

"Diadem. She was missing that," Hermione couldn't help but say.

His smile was crooked as he nodded. "Diadem. And the Diary, from second year."

"How many are there?"

"No idea. More than the four we've handled." When she darted a look at his forehead, he nodded. "Five, that. Yeah. Damn."

"I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward as she did and their foreheads met in a quiet space. Her heart pounded. His breath went all fast and shallow. "I've missed you so much," he whispered. "So much, Hermione."

"I've missed you as well. Even more, really, once I found out what happened with all the lies."

"Yeah." His sigh brushed her cheek and she brushed her nose against his. "If I could have anything I wanted . . ."

His voice was hesitant, quiet and his fingers trembled as they held hers. "What?" she prompted.

"I'd want at least a month. A month of peace and quiet, you know? Where you and I could just go and get sorted." She gasped and he moved his head back a bit to look her in the eye. "Hermione. Do you think we could? Get sorted?"

Her heart raced but it hurt, too. She hesitated to answer, for this seemed almost too good to be true. His expression crumpled in obvious distress at her silence so she moved in again, just to touch his cheek with her own. "I don't know, but I like the sound of it."

He relaxed physically, almost collapsing against her shoulder. "All right, then. That's something." His nod was felt instead of seen and she dropped her head to his shoulder as well, just taking a moment to breathe in the scent of him. Soap and magic and man. "Sure you won't come to Luna's funeral?"

She let go of one of his hands and moved so that she was sitting on the floor on her bum. "I'd be a distraction. I told you that. It wouldn't be fair."

"You could come glamoured," he suggested.

"And be another one of your women for the day?" she snapped, irritated. "Blond hair? Blue eyes?" The pain from the comparisons she'd made over the years flared and sliced. "I'm not going to do that, Harry."

"Do you know why they all looked like that?" He leaned back, letting go of her hand and rubbing his restlessly on his thighs. "I couldn't bear to be with anyone who looked like you, Hermione! Everywhere I went, for years, brown hair and brown eyes meant you." She could feel his gaze on her as he traced her body with a palpable focus. "I'd never ask you to do that, you know. Blond and blue isn't you."

"But you liked the look, you must have," she countered.

"They were pretty. They were distracting. They weren't you." She opened her mouth but he held up his hand to stop her. "Look. You can come with Sirius."

She snorted. "One of his girls? No thank you."

"What? I'm a great date!" Sirius sauntered into the study, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach the slate-gray eyes. "Ask anyone."

"Witch Weekly would concur," Hermione allowed, relaxing a bit. She tried to smile. "Good morning, Sirius."

"Morning." He angled a look at Harry. "Everything all right?" He glanced at Hermione then back to Harry again in what Hermione judged to be a questioning manner.

Harry's cheeks reddened a bit. "Well, we stayed in here, Dad, actually."

Hermione finally determined what the silent inquiry was about and she blushed as well. "It was like being in Gryffindor's common room," she inserted quickly, endeavoring to ease Sirius Black's concerns—if he had any. "Nothing more."

Harry nodded and met her eye with a soft smile that she returned. For a moment it was the two of them covering their tracks again, as they had long years ago, in the face of adult authority. But now, she reflected again with a quiet sigh, they were adults as well.

"I imagine we're trying to figure out what to do next," she said after a moment.

The older man rocked back on booted heels. He was attired all in black, unsurprisingly, save for a deep red waistcoat. His long hair was loose over his shoulders, and he tossed it dramatically as he asked, "And that includes Harry setting me up with you?"

"No!" Harry declared vehemently. "She's got to go back to the States, Dad. I was trying to persuade her to, to . . ." His voice fell and Sirius immediately crossed the room to wrap an arm around his shoulders. The show of support warmed Hermione's heart considerably. "To come with me to Luna's funeral," Harry murmured.

Hermione drew nearer to the men, but not so near that she intruded. Harry had a father again, it appeared, and she was glad for it. He didn't need her . . . as much as he had, before. She didn't begrudge him the family he'd wanted and needed forever. But she rather missed not being needed in that way.

Acknowledging that confused her so that she turned abruptly from the men and stared into the embers from last night's fire. She objected to being "needed", but wanted him to need her as that kind of huge part in his life? What kind of hypocrisy was she spouting in her own head? He wants to sort us out, she reminded herself. What will that mean?

"If you aren't wanting to be at the funeral," Sirius Black said, "we understand. Though I am a great date," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "You're welcome to wait here. I'm sure Harry would appreciate the support."

Harry nodded in a jerky manner, clapping one hand on Sirius's shoulder. "I would. And, and, well . . . " He seemed to twitch a little before stepping around Sirius to take her hand in one of his. "Don't get mad, but I could really use your help."

In the light of what she had just been thinking, Hermione smiled. He still needed her. She wasn't sure she liked that, entirely, but she hadn't failed him and it seemed obvious that it wasn't just her mind that he wanted. He kept seeking to be close to her. Touching her. Nothing overt, but proximity was important.

She wasn't ready for more. Neither, she thought, was he.

"What can I do? I've been studying Dark Magic for years to help you, you know."

"You can feel it?" Harry asked, brow furrowed. "Whatever it is in my head?"

"Wait. What the bloody fucking hell?" Sirius demanded, striding to come between them, pushing them apart with two hard hands.

He only had one glass of the Ogden's. Only one. Not the time to get pissed, Sirius knew. His eyes were hot with unshed tears, though, as he applied himself to a belated breakfast.

Bad enough that his son had been called the Boy Who Lived all his life erroneously. Bad enough that he'd lost his father to the dark bastard. Bad enough that he'd been persecuted at school and in the papers about everything from his nightmares to his love life. Bad enough that Albus Bleeding Dumbledore had killed his mum—Merlin, Lily—in front of him. Bad enough that he'd been fighting battles for years and giving his own blood to find the hidden pieces of the Dark Wanker.

To find out that Harry had a piece of him stuck in his head? And that it had been likely trying to get out but had been prevented by the rune? That that wasn't a scar like everyone thought? But a mislaid protection of some sort?

Sirius swore under his breath and wiped at his eye with the back of one hand before he lifted a forkful of beans to his mouth.

Hermione Granger—no, Dagworth, her name was now Dagworth, thanks to her bloody parents—seemed to be almost dispassionate as she'd asked Harry what other possible things a Horcrux might be secreted within. "There's been a live snake and, of course," she had said with a frown, "well, you. But do you think he made a habit of hiding bits of himself in living beings?" she'd asked earlier, staring hard at Harry's forehead.

Sirius coughed on his beans and reached for his tea. A good strong cup of his own blend.

Harry's voice carried to the breakfast table from the staircase. "So what we need to do is make a schedule, is what you're saying." His laugh was light, and Sirius was glad of it. "Good. I need that."

"I want to see the Weasleys today. And I'd like to call Arizona. And if I can help you with your other obligations in any way that won't be a distraction from the sacrifice they all made, I'm here for you, Harry."

"Thanks, 'Mione."

The pair reached the breakfast room and greeted Sirius, who nodded and wordlessly indicated the sideboard where the house-elves had laid out breakfast.

"I didn't bring my cell phone with me," Hermione said, dishing up eggs and tomatoes.

"I have my mobile," Sirius told her. "You can use that, if that'll work?"

"I'll pay you for the minutes, or what-have-you."

"And then what?" Sirius asked, brushing her offer off with a shake of his head. "Shall we get Dobby to set up your room for a longer stay? I'm sure you're welcome." He smiled and nodded, because he knew he'd probably come across like some mad psychopath not long ago in the study. "And have you discussed how to break the news?" he wondered. "The Daily Prophet should be told your way or they'll tell it theirs."

Hermione poured herself some coffee and brought it to the table. Harry held her chair out for her and Sirius smiled at him, grinning broadly when his son's cheeks went pink. Hermione stirred in milk and a spoonful of sugar while regarding Sirius thoughtfully. "I haven't had time to think about that much," she mused, "though Bill Weasley did mention something to that effect." She offered him an apologetic smile. "We should do an interview, then?"

"I think so," Sirius replied. "Give Skeeter—or someone—an exclusive as soon as possible and we can probably dictate the questions."

Harry sat at Hermione's right. "I like that idea. She'll be covering the . . . memorials . . . as she has in the past, so timing will be a thing." He caught Hermione's gaze. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Harry, honestly, if you and I apologize for everything, we'll be doing nothing but apologizing and I bet that's not what you were referring to about getting sorted."

Sirius coughed to remind the two that he was there and both the younger people blushed. If the circumstances hadn't been so dire, it might have been fun to continue to tease them. Instead, he decided to be kind. For him, anyway. "I'll get in touch with Skeeter at the Prophet, then. You mentioned wanting to see the Weasleys. I'd like to join you, as I—" He broke off with a sigh and pushed the remainder of his beans around on his plate. "I hired Bill to begin with. Also, we need to talk to Remus. He'll want to know." Hermione nodded. "That's enough to go on with, I think. Right? Eat, kids. I'll get you my mobile, Hermione, and if you get it out of the Hall, you can likely get it to work beyond the wards."

"Thank you, Sirius."

Hermione finished her breakfast quickly and excused herself to get ready for the day. "I'll need to do something about clothes," she'd muttered as Dobby appeared to take her plate.

Once she was gone, though, Sirius leaned back in his chair and stared at his son. "What did she mean by getting sorted?"

Harry fidgeted before pushing back from the table to rise and pace the length of the breakfast room. "Just something I said, Dad. There's so much there, you know?"

"She's right, though," Sirius advised. "I have no idea what she might feel the need to apologize for, but I have some idea about you. You need to try not to feel guilty, Prongslet." He crossed the room to his son and tugged affectionately at Harry's hair. "Give it time. The two of you were friends a long time, right?"

Harry snorted to hear his oldest nickname. "Yeah."

"Start from there."

"I'm trying, Dadfoot, I really am."

Sirius snorted in his turn. "Good."

A/N: Not sure where Prongslet first surfaced in the fandom, nor Dadfoot, but the latter was presented in a review from the inimitable ShayaLonnie and I had to use it *image of LJ scurrying through this chapter, looking for a good insertion point*. :) Posting on Friday - check the tumblr (summerisbittersweet dot tumblr dot com) for a sneak peek if you're into that sort of thing!

Naming the Patronus "Grace" is credited to Katmom, who has had the dubious privilege of reading this raw and reminding me about random uses of the letter "s". :)

P.S. In case you were wondering, no, Harry and Hermione didn't "do the deed". They slept on the floor in front of the fire, just utterly wiped out. Sirius might have been disappointed.