A/N: This story is becoming steadily more fun to write. I keep having odd flashes of inspiration while cycling home and have to grab a pen when I get home and immediately write down sentences - or sometimes whole conversations - that have randomly come into my head. I think it may be taking a dangerous hold over my life. But please review just so I know that I'm actually writing it for someone...otherwise it becomes quite disheartening, really!

Disclaimer: Sadly, all HP characters belong to JK Rowling. But any you don't recognize are mine.

"I wish I could do something worthwhile with my life," Ron said dejectedly, rolling his wand along the carpet and looking sullen. "Fred and George haven't even opened yet and already they've made hundreds of galleons just through mail order."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "There are far more worthwhile things for you to do with your life than running a joke shop."

"What, like a career in Muggle relations?" he sneered. "No thanks."

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror," Hermione said, ignoring his snide remark.

"If I get the grades," Ron mumbled gloomily.

"I don't see why you wouldn't," Harry said, clearly trying to inject a lighter note into the conversation. "At least you didn't pass out during your History of Magic exam."

"Wouldn't have made a difference if I had," Ron said. "I only wrote about three lines."

Hermione shook her head in disapproval.

"I lent you my notes!" she said, as if this automatically constituted exam success.

"Oh, stop bickering," Ginny said in a bored voice. "And Hermione, your notes were three and a half feet high, he probably didn't read all of them."

"Anyway, it's History of Magic," Jasmine pointed out. "It doesn't matter, especially if you want to be an Auror. The only scenario in which you'd need to be worried is if you were planning on applying for the History of Magic teaching post."

"No point," Harry said. "It'd never be vacant – Binns is a ghost, after all."

"Yes, but I've always kind of hoped that one day Dumbledore might realize that Binns's lessons are the aural equivalent of drinking a Draught of Living Death, and hire someone else," Jasmine replied wistfully.

"No chance," Ron said. "Binns must be dead cheap to have. I mean, what do ghosts need galleons for?"

"True."

They were sitting up in the attic of Grimmauld Place where Sirius kept Buckbeak. The Hippogriff was curled up in the corner, asleep, his vast wings spread across the floor. Every now and then he would stir and raise his magnificent head, and Harry would toss a dead mouse to him. It was evening, but the sun still lingered on in the pale blue sky, its light filtering through the dusty window into the room. Several armchairs had been conjured in the room, and Jasmine thought that they were probably part of Sirius' attempt to have others help out in feeding and cleaning Buckbeak.

She was sitting in the armchair nearest the window, gazing blankly out at the tall houses surrounding Grimmauld Place, their industrial mass interspersed sporadically with the green, feathery branches of trees. She always expected to see rolling hills and lush countryside when she looked out of that window, because it overlooked the magically enlarged garden which was surrounded on three sides by acres of woodland and grass. Unfortunately, the enchantment did not seem to permeate to the upper storey of the house, and so the view from here betrayed the ugly reality of their surroundings.

As Ron marvelled at his brothers' magical expertise, Jasmine's mind wandered and landed, as it so often did these days, on Sirius. There was a sort of bubbling excitement in the pit of her stomach at the thought that he was just downstairs, that she could easily just go down those two flights of stairs and see him. Yet, at the same time, she felt bitter, knowing that if she did see him, she would only end up betraying how strongly she felt for him. She wanted nothing more than to enter the kitchen downstairs, where she knew he would probably be, and let him surround her in his arms. Sighing, she turned back to the others.

"You don't reckon he's planning something, do you?" Ginny asked. Jasmine surmised that they were discussing Malfoy.

"I just don't know," Harry said. "I mean, we know Malfoy is no stranger to Borgin and Burkes, he probably goes in there a lot. Birthday presents for his family and stuff like that…"

"But the way he was talking," Ron said, looking darkly at Harry, "it was like he was really serious about something. He kept slamming his hand on the counter."

"As if we haven't got enough to worry about," Jasmine sighed. "Now Malfoy."

"At least his dad's locked up in Azkaban," Ginny said.

"Yeah, but for how long?" Harry said. "What with the Dementors gone, and everything."

"I wonder how they're guarding it now," Hermione mused. "I mean, I imagine they'll be using Anti-Disapparation Jinxes as a basic precaution, but on top of that – maybe a Captum Curse? But even those are breakable…I imagine some sort of Charm would be involved; jinxes are quite short-term and they often wear off after a - "

Ron yawned loudly. Hermione glared at him.

"What's a Captum Curse?" Jasmine asked.

"It's an immensely complicated spell," Hermione replied at once, in the voice she reserved for answering teachers' questions word-for-word, "that involves binding not only the body but also the mind of the person it is performed on, preventing escape by both physical and mental means. The Ministry were considering registering it as one of the Unforgivable Curses at one point. But it needs a tremendously skilled witch or wizard to perform it and I don't reckon many even know about it. I only know because I've been reading up on – "

" – something obscure that we will never need to know about," Ron finished for her.

"I don't reckon the Ministry would resort to a nearly-Unforgivable Curse, though," Ginny said quickly, before Hermione could utter an angry retort at Ron. "Otherwise they might as well just Avada Kedavra everyone instead of putting them in prison."

"I wish they would in Lucius Malfoy's case," Jasmine muttered. "Might bring him Malfoy down a bit and stop him making snide comments about that time he caught me and Seamus. Yes I know that was a mistake," she sighed, before Hermione and Ginny could laugh. "But we all know emotions run high at the Yule Ball…"

"Yes, but they don't seem to have done since," Ginny said. "There must be someone you like. At Hogwarts, I mean."

"Oh, please let's not start this again," Jasmine said, feeling herself blush slightly. "Just cause you're all paired off…"

"None of us are paired off," Hermione pointed out. "Well, except Ginny."

Jasmine smiled. In her mind, she considered Ron and Hermione a couple, and the same went for Ginny and Harry, despite Ginny's current attachment to Dean Thomas. She always forgot that they were all too timid to admit it.

"Yeah, well, that's what I meant," she said. "Anyway, back to Malfoy." She shot Ginny a warning glance that quite clearly forbade her to mention the subject of boys again.

"Yeah, no more of this girl talk," Ron said in disgust, glancing furtively at Harry.

"Personally, I'd feel a lot safer in my bed at night if the Order would just tell us what's going on," Ginny said. "After those Muggle killings, and Bellatrix, and now Malfoy. You-Know-Who must be planning something, I just wish we knew what. Sometimes I wonder if the Order even know."

"Sirius seems to think they know enough," Jasmine said, without really thinking.

"He does?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow raised. "When did he say that?"

"I can't remember," she said quickly. "But I'm sure he mentioned it once. And I reckon he's probably right. They did last time, didn't they? With the Prophecy and everything…"

"Yeah, but they didn't bother to tell me any of it," Harry said hotly. "And look what happened then."

Jasmine remembered all of it. She remembered Harry's screams as if it had been yesterday. Sometimes, occasionally, she would revisit the Department of Mysteries in her nightmares, but she would never admit it to anyone; she knew Harry had to bear dreams far worse than hers, and part of her didn't want to drag the subject back up again. It was an unwelcome memory, like an ugly childhood photograph or a photo of a dead relative who left things unreconciled. But the memory was still vivid, still raw. She had been lying at the foot of the stone steps before the dais, clutching an arm that felt limp and broken, the taste of blood in her mouth from a gash struck by a Death Eater's wand on her cheek. She had seen the arc of Sirius' back as he fell through the veil, and the room had seemed to stand still as everyone held their breath, waiting for him to return from the other side. A suspended, frozen tableau, like a sepia photograph or an ancient oil painting. Now that she considered it, she realized many would have known he would not, and found it strange that they should have stood so still and calm. Then again, she couldn't remember many of their faces. Her gaze had been directed at the veil. And Harry.

She remembered the pain that contorted Harry's features as he screamed, and had felt hot tears burn in her eyes as the realization hit her too. He had tried to wrench free from Lupin's grasp. He had fled after Bellatrix, and Jasmine had screamed for him not to go. Lupin had rushed over to her as the other Aurors helped those who were wounded. She had choked something incomprehensible through tears, clinging to Lupin's arm. Acute exhaustion, relief and pain had erupted like a volcano within her chest, and the tears that coursed down her cheeks were its lava. Now she thought about it, she compared herself to a child that finds itself in an unknown situation; a baby without its mother for the first time; she had not understood. The rest of a memory was a blur, until Dumbledore arrived in it. Until Sirius arrived in it.

But she would not romanticise. She had not wept for Sirius because she felt for him as she did now. She had wept for the unknown, the frustration, the fear, and perhaps Sirius' fall backwards through the ragged veil was the physical embodiment of that. Nonetheless, she remembered it well, and fully understood the anger that laced Harry's words like poison.

She wondered if Sirius dreamed about it. She could imagine him dreaming about it, tossing and turning, caught in a restless onslaught of harrowing memories from which he was unable to free himself. Again, she felt a pang of sympathy and a wish that she could understand him, or at least venture further into his heart and mind. Something drew her to him, and she couldn't quite place what, though she had tried her utmost at times like these. Once again she felt a desire to be in his presence, if even just to see him and make sure he was around.

"I'm just going to get a drink," she announced to the others. She wanted to think they had been talking about the Order, but the truth was, she had barely heard a word of their conversation. She had been lost in her thoughts. Jasmine had always thought of that as a dead metaphor; surely it wasn't possible to lose oneself among something so abstract and shapeless as thoughts. Now she began to see how such a thing could happen, especially when thoughts seemed to adopt the physical characteristics of a human, to become brown flesh and long, dark hair. She could see how she could become lost among them, just as she could become lost among him.

"Anyone want anything?"

"Bring some Butterbeer up," Ron said. "I think there's a new crate in the larder."

"But don't attempt a Chilling Charm," said Harry, grinning. "We don't want it to turn into sour milk again."

Jasmine gave a sarcastic smile. "Yes, yes, very funny," she said.

She left the room with a sigh and closed the door behind her. Paradoxically, she felt peaceful, but simultaneously restless. She knew she would, until she saw Sirius. With rather more haste than necessary, she hurried downstairs, passing Lupin who gave her a tired smile as he retreated up to his room. The sitting room door was open. Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting on the sofa with cups of tea; Mr Weasley was still wearing his travelling cloak and looked exhausted. Tonks was reading Witch Weekly in an armchair, her hair long and purple. No sign of Sirius.

Jasmine walked along the hallway and saw that the kitchen door was closed. Somewhat apprehensively, she opened it slowly.

Sirius and Hestia were sitting at the kitchen table. He was wearing a black silk shirt, and Jasmine felt a tinge of irritation at the thought that he had probably donned his best outfit for her arrival. She was clad in her usual bright pink robes, her hair tied up in a sleek black ponytail. They looked up as she entered; Hestia still had a silly smile on her face which had obviously been directed at Sirius a second previously, but it soon vanished as she observed Jasmine.

"Oh, hello Hestia," Jasmine said politely. "I didn't know you were visiting us tonight."

"Why would you know?" Hestia asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Sirius might have said," said Jasmine, shrugging. She opened the door to the cavernous larder behind Hestia and located the Butterbeer Ron had mentioned. "Would you like a drink?" she asked Hestia.

"No thank you," she replied stiffly, without turning to look at Jasmine.

"You alright, Sirius?" Jasmine said as she tried to haul the crate of Butterbeer off the shelf. Unfortunately, Mrs Weasley appeared to have bought a larger supply than usual, and it was difficult to manoeuvre. "Can you give me a hand?" she asked him, struggling to move the box of 30 Butterbeer bottles. Clearly Fred and George were drinking more than usual these days with the added pressure of retail.

Sirius rose from the table, but as he approached her, she unfortunately gave the crate too forceful a tug, and it fell onto the floor. There was the dreadful sound of shattering glass, and the corner of the crate smashed into her foot.

"Dammit!" she cursed. "Ow!"

"Oh, you ridiculous girl," Hestia snapped. "Reparo." The glass formed itself into bottles once more, intact. "Completo." The Butterbeer returned to the bottles.

"Sorry," Jasmine said meekly, looking up at Sirius, who was standing in front of her now. His eyes met hers, and she felt a jolt in her stomach. Thousands of unspoken words seemed to rush between them at that minute, and Jasmine felt a thrill as she realized that, had Hestia not been in the room, Sirius would have grabbed her and probably knocked her backwards into the larder with the fervour of his kisses. It took a great deal of force to wrench herself away from that moment and that knowledge.

"I'll just take a few bottles, then," she said, and did so, forcing herself not to look up at Sirius, for she feared that she wouldn't be able to look away again. She attempted to lift the box back up.

"I'll help you," he said. He seemed to take great care not to touch her as he did so.

"Thanks."

"Is your foot alright?" Sirius asked. It throbbed unpleasantly, but she ignored it.

"Yes," she said. Then, remembering her manners: "Thank you."

Without looking at him, she picked up five bottles and made for the door.

"You're a lucky girl, Hestia," Jasmine said cheerily, patting her on the shoulder as she left. "What a gentleman he is."

She shut the door behind her with a grin on her face, which only widened as she heard Hestia muttering suspiciously about her as it closed.

"I'm sure she's up to something. Why is she being so nice to me? I bet her and those Weasley twins are planning something."

"Oh, give it a rest, Hestia," Sirius said in a bored voice. "Not everyone is out to get you, you know."

Suddenly the world seemed a very happy place to Jasmine Reynolds.

Review please.