Chapter 38: Snakes and Warm Suitcase Biscuits

Music suggestion: Old Man, Neil Young

The bedroom Sirius had moved into several months before was clean, the bed made. He didn't have much stuff. Even when it was disordered, there weren't enough things in the room to really make it a mess.

There was a broad wardrobe up against the wall near a door that was open onto a green marble bathroom. The large, heavy wood bed sat between two windows that looked out over the street. Other than that, there were bedtables, and that was it, the far side of the room looking rather bare, holding only a window that showed a view of Number 11 on the other side of the narrow alley between the houses.

Sirius didn't shut the curtains. He did shut the door, then tugged off his jeans. He sat on the bed in his stretchy shorts and looked at Hermione. It seemed that was what he slept in.

Hermione had left her pyjamas in her bedroom. Her hands hesitated on the button of her jeans.

Sirius's eyes had followed the action. He'd seen her naked, Hermione told herself. He'd seen her wild and cooing on a sofa under him.

Cheeks feeling hot, Hermione undid her jeans, slid them off, and rolled them up. There were bloody fingerprints on them. For want of anywhere else to put them, she laid them on the floor, her simple white bra on top, by the bottom of the bed.

Sirius shoved back the covers and maneuvered under them. He didn't lie down. Resting up on one hand, he pushed the covers down on the other side.

Hermione had shared a room with other people for years. A solitary bedroom was something she'd had to get used to again on a number of occasions. She'd never shared a bed with a man before.

The idea of resting her head on Sirius's shoulder again was very tempting. Hermione slipped into the bed beside him and watched Sirius lay down on his back. He'd taken a side, Hermione left the other one. She shifted closer, and Sirius made no effort to sway her.

His arm moved out of the way as Hermione's knee touched his leg. Her hair was a mess, but Sirius liked it that way. She curled in beside him, her head finding comfortable purchase on his chest. The only place she could put her arm was across him. Sirius pulled the covers up over her arm as Hermione felt his firm belly under it.

Hermione shut her eyes when Sirius's hand found her waist. He gave her top a little stroke. Just a hint of the past.

'Goodnight Sirius.'

Taking his wand from the bedside table, Sirius extinguished the lamps.

''Night Hermione.'

The darkness was there, filling Sirius's room. A man she'd just had sex with on a sitting room sofa was there. A man Hermione felt she was only just starting to get to know. A… sitting room sofa Remus had recuperated on – Harry had sat on.

Hermione didn't care to bother about it. She felt nowhere near bad. She felt blanketed against herself and the worry she could create. She didn't want to hide – didn't want to contemplate or evaluate any of it. It was all right. Hermione knew it wouldn't be were Sirius's arm not around her, Hermione holding him around the middle. Had he turned away from her, her mind wouldn't have been able to stop churning, churning, and churning again through thoughts. And that was as far as Hermione wanted to analyse it.

She fell asleep somewhere through thinking Sirius's body was probably too hard to serve as a pillow.

And woke, breathing deeply at the smell of warm skin and cuddly puppy, to a strangely comfortable sense of being out of place.

It was an awareness slow to reach Hermione. The side of her head, not on a pillow, but on something firmer and rounder. She was very warm, and opened her eyes to the sense of being shielded by something much heavier than she was.

The dim light of dawn through uncurtained windows made the room a steel grey comfort. Like the eyes that were shut before Hermione's face. Her mind's eye knew what they looked like open. It recognised the heavy body weighing the bed down beside her before Hermione came up with a name and provided the memory sluggishly. It was a startling memory, and sat oddly in Hermione's head, irreconcilable, for a few moments. Not a dream though. That was obvious.

They'd rearranged over the disappearing night. Turned towards each other. It was Sirius's bicep that was under Hermione's head, his arm bent under the pillow. Half of his face was hidden by the bunched pillow. The other half was relaxed in sleep, Sirius snuffling soft breaths mere inches from Hermione.

Hermione shifted just a little, finding the shallow curve of his side with her fingers and a leg with her shin, his hairier than hers. The hairs tickled Hermione's skin.

She shifted a little more, but rather than give her more of Sirius to focus on, it dawned a different awareness.

Hermione's body ached. In the base of her head and down her neck, all through her torso and, these a slighter, more satisfied tenderness, in her lips and between her legs. But it was the ache in her lower back and deep in her belly that kept her focus.

If it was, it'd be early – again. Hermione didn't want to acknowledge it, but the longer she was awake, watching Sirius sleep, the more the pain gnawed at her insides.

Her period had never been regular. Never followed a schedule Hermione could keep on top of and be prepared for. It would just spring up on her, sometimes with a painful warning, sometimes without. But since it had come back it had been even more impetuous.

She wouldn't have to go far. She didn't want to leave the room. There was a bathroom right behind Sirius. Resigned, Hermione slipped away from him as slowly and cautiously as she could, not wanting to wake him. Finding her wand in her jeans in the dim light, she hurried, soft-footed on the carpet, around the bed, and eased the bathroom door shut behind her. It was darker inside the bathroom. Hermione fumbled around on the walls until she found the little metal switch and flicked the gas lamps on.

The moment she pulled her panties down and sat on the toilet she knew she was too late. She'd barely looked twice at the bloody fingerprints on her jeans, and the couple she spotted on her top didn't hold her focus either. The patch on her knickers was a thousand times worse.

If it was there… Hermione shuddered at the atrocious thought – in Sirius's bed! The idea of him seeing it…

Hermione took deep breaths. She'd have a look herself, she thought determinedly. Clean any spot on the sheets before he saw it. How she'd do that without waking him she'd work out later.

Now she needed to do something about it.

Hermione stared around the bathroom. Old-fashioned shower enclosed by a folding glass screen, claw-foot bathtub in silver and marble, more dark marble in the elaborately designed vanity below a square mirror. There was a cabinet under the sink top, but Hermione was sure Sirius didn't keep sanitary towels in his bathroom.

There was toilet roll. Hermione had tried that one before, but bunching toilet paper in her panties actually made more of a mess and didn't stop… leaks. It made her far more self-conscious than a pad, too – feeling anyone and everyone could smell her. Her mother had suggested tampons once, but the idea of sticking something up herself had never appealed to Hermione. And she wasn't going to stuff toilet paper up there either. That sounded like recipe for a disaster.

So Hermione was left with her wand. She used a spell to clean her panties, and then tried to conjure a pad by modifying a towel-conjuring spell. Magical sanitary napkins were good – very good. Hermione couldn't hope to create one close to it, but so long as it was effective…

She Vanished the first five of her attempts. The sixth was better. It wasn't self-adhesive, so Hermione stuck it to her knickers with a charm. It was a bit folded – a bit bunched near the bottom and not quite as protective as an absorbent layer as Hermione would like, but it should work. Hermione hoped.

Having cleaned up and scrubbed her hands at the tap, Hermione went back to the door and switched off the lamps before opening it.

Hermione's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer twilight. She could see the shape of Sirius in the bed. He moved, rolling over.

'You don't have to stay for my benefit. If you want to go, go.'

Sirius's words were weird to hear in the dim, relaxed bedroom. His tone was callous. Hermione froze. She stood there for a moment, trying to rationalise the words, but she was at a loss.

'I… didn't mean to wake you,' Hermione said quietly. 'Sorry…'

The covers rustled as Sirius shoved them back. He sat up on the bed.

'You don't have to hide in the bathroom!' he said harshly. 'You're free to leave!'

'Wh-what?' Hermione uttered, taken aback.

'Go!' Sirius growled. 'Just go!'

Hermione's plans to crawl back in bed with him were crumbling around her.

'I don't… want to…'

'Don't you?' Sirius said, his voice so low it sounded dangerous. His eyes glinted in a shine of dawn light. 'You've been in there for ages – if you've changed your mind, be assured, I'm not holding you to anything.'

'I'm not – I wasn't…' Anger bubbled through Hermione's arteries. 'Is that what you think?' she demanded. 'How capricious do you think I am!'

Sirius didn't answer and Hermione could've stamped her foot, furious with him for ruining the morning – she'd been doing all she could to preserve it!

'I don't want to go!' Hermione shouted at the stupid man. 'I wanted to get back in there – with you – and wait for you to wake up!'

'With a dirty old man?' Sirius sneered.

Despite herself, Hermione felt tears prick her eyes.

'What's gotten into you?' she cried.

There was nothing. Just silence and Sirius's eyes reflecting growing twilight. Hermione sniffled and rubbed her face. But she did get it. Just a bit.

'I don't think you're old!' she whispered hotly. 'I see you as full of life – if you told people you were ten years younger they'd believe you! I d-didn't change my mind! I had to go to the bathroom, Sirius. That's all! I didn't want to – I wanted to stay there! With you – whatever y-you think! D-don't push me away! Not now!'

The silence persisted. Hermione dashed at her eyes, desperate for a happiness that lasted, her heart aching worse than the rest of her.

'Are you all right?'

The words came out of the dim light, Hermione barely able to see Sirius's lips speak them. She could almost believe he hadn't – because now, all of a sudden, he sounded concerned.

'Wh-what?'

'I woke up when you got up, Hermione. You were in there for a long time.'

'It's my period!' Hermione cried, glaring at him. 'I had to work out how to deal with it! I hate my period – and I'm so sick of this – you – changing on a dime! You h-held me all night – all night! And then – then this! And I didn't deserve it this time!'

'No,' Sirius agreed quietly, 'you don't deserve it.'

'So stop it!' Hermione railed at him. 'I'm here! Standing right h-here! I didn't leave – I could've gotten what I n-needed from the other b-bathroom – but I didn't! I don't change my mind like that! C-can't you just stay the same p-person you were l-last night? Y-you didn't d-doubt me th-then!'

'… Hermione…'

'And I'm so d-damn sick of c-crying!' Hermione railed on. 'So sick of this – it hurts! Every goddamn m-month! Who the hell thought it was a good idea for women to bleed for days every month? A-and h-here I am – f-freaking out about g-getting some on the b-bed and you s-seeing it – because you don't have to d-deal with it! – And – and you're l-lying there th-thinking t-terrible things a-about me – about yourself!'

There was a shuffle of bedclothes as Sirius got up. He caught Hermione's hand and towed her towards him, sitting back down.

'A-and it's all s-so stupid!' Hermione cried, in a frenzy. 'You're n-not a di-dirty old man! Wh-why would you think th-that? Wh-why can't w-we just h-have a n-nice morning?'

Fingers in Hermione's hair had her head tipping down beside Sirius's, pressing hers into the side of his. She was stood between his legs. He rubbed her back.

'Just… shhhh,' he uttered. 'It's okay. I'm sorry… I… shouldn't have… shouted.'

'Y-you didn't shout! You were just b-being st-stupid!'

Sirius didn't respond, but he didn't stop rubbing her back as Hermione sniffed and hiccoughed. Only slowly did she calm down.

'I don't regret i-it,' Hermione said quietly, breaking the lengthy silence. 'Last night…'

She heard Sirius swallow, then sigh and rest his head on her shoulder.

'I am stupid, Hermione,' he whispered. 'Don't ever think I know what I'm doing. I'm not reliable. I'm not dependable.'

'Well that's rubbish! Do you have any idea how often I've relied on you because I knew you d-did know what to do? Honestly! I don't care if you just make it up on the spot – I'd be dead if you couldn't! This is ridiculous, Sirius! No one knows what to do every time! But you come through more than most – just stop it!'

Hermione had slipped her fingers into his hair. She scratched lightly at his scalp, combing her fingers through it and disordering the black tresses.

'I don't care if you make the occasional mistake,' she went on, more softly. She sniffed, gave in, and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. 'I'm happy to tell you if you do – if you still w-want me to. But I think you work things out pretty well for yourself the vast majority of the time.'

The room was lightening with the sky outside. Sirius ran his hands down her sides and rested them on her hips.

'You knew what to do last night,' Hermione whispered.

Sirius's fingers felt around the waistband of her panties.

'That's easy,' he murmured. 'When you moan or yank on my hair, I'm doing something right.'

Hermione pressed her lips together. She looked down and saw the mark of teeth dug into Sirius's shoulder.

'Oh… my goodness!' she breathed, running her thumb over the bite mark. She hadn't broken his skin, but there were little red patches where he'd bled under it. 'I bit you!'

'Mm…' Sirius hummed shortly. 'You've scratched my back to shreds too.'

'I –' Hermione shot a look over his shoulder. There were a few pink lines on his back. Even this morning. She flushed terribly. 'Oooh… I'm sorry!'

Sirius's head came up. He looked at her, face without defences. He shook his head.

'I'm not buggered, Hermione,' he said. 'Again, I just assumed I was doing something right.'

'You,' Hermione was very warm around the collar, 'did many things… very right.'

'Really?'

Sirius's hands drifted a little lower on Hermione's hips. The soft trail of his touch disturbed something inside Hermione, like a colony of butterflies that swirled up into her chest. His face gave her no warning and Hermione wasn't expecting it when he suddenly hoisted her up. She gave a little shriek, grabbing around his neck, and came to rest, knees on the bed on either side of him, sat straddled over Sirius's lap.

'Just… ooh…' Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to feel where exactly her panties were. 'It… Sirius… Don't… upset anything.'

Fingers felt around the legs of her panties. Hermione squirmed.

'You're good,' Sirius whispered. He sighed and repositioned his arms around her. 'Yes, tell me. Or just cry. That makes me feel like shit.'

'…I didn't mean –'

'I know.'

Hermione rested her bottom lip on his shoulder. Her nose tipped towards his skin, smelling the comforting scent.

'Have you always smelled like a puppy?' she asked quietly. 'Or is it just since you learned how to become a dog?'

'… I…' Sirius paused. 'Wasn't aware I smelled… like a puppy,' he finished uncertainly.

'It's nice.'

'… Just not very manly.'

Hermione smiled against his skin. There had been amusement in Sirius's words.

'Man's best friend,' she pointed out.

'I… don't even know what a puppy smells like.'

'No,' Hermione agreed. 'It's not easy to describe. Know what Crookshanks smells like?'

'… A cat?'

Hermione snickered softly.

'Warm suitcase biscuits,' she provided.

'Warm… what?'

'It's the best description I have for it.'

'But that… what do warm suitcase biscuits smell like?'

Hermione giggled.

'Like Crookshanks.'

'That makes sense.'

Hermione giggled harder. Sirius stroked her back.

'Language isn't helpful with smells,' she said. 'We're great at describing sights, but terrible at describing smells – and smells hold longer and deeper memories.'

'Mm… Hermione?'

'Yes?'

'You have a nice giggle.'

Hermione buried her blushing face in the crook of his neck.

'How're your fingers?' he asked gently.

'The tingles? Erm…' Hermione tested her fingers on his back. All she felt was her wedding ring. 'They're not there right now.'

'That's good.'

'… I'm not scared of you,' Hermione whispered.

'Anymore,' Sirius added.

Hermione held him more tightly. It was true. She drew back, slipped the hair out of his face, and, with merely a quarter of the hesitation she'd had the previous night, kissed him. She needn't have had any hesitation at all. A larger and stronger hand took the back of her head and Sirius deepened the kiss. His finger found her nipple through her top, hard and poking out against it, and twiddled it.

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled back.

'We can't…' she breathed. 'Right now.'

'I don't really care about your period, Hermione.'

'I… do,' Hermione whispered. He was aroused, already somewhat hard against the front of his trunks. 'And you would too… if you… went there.'

'I've seen you bleeding.'

'It's… not the same.' Hermione swallowed, uncertain, watching eyes that could look warm even when they were the colour of an overcast day. 'Sorry…'

Sirius's hand came to rest on her hip.

'Merlin, Hermione,' he muttered. 'It's your choice.'

And he was leaving it to be, his hands unmoving against Hermione's body.

'I've always known that,' Hermione said. 'With you,' she added. 'But I am sorry. Because… I'd like to…'

Sirius hummed softly. He looked down. Hermione's nipples were still hard. She knew it when he gave one a little wiggle. He cleared his throat as he looked up at her.

'Very pointy,' he murmured.

Hermione gave a self-conscious snigger. She'd always thought her breasts too small, but Sirius didn't seem to have even noticed. Too distracted by the pointiness of her nipples, probably.

'And…' Hermione said, 'a bit sore – but I don't think it was you. The cane… I – erm – ache all over.'

Sirius dug fingers into her back, massaging it, following up her spine. Hermione's back arched under his touch. She returned her head to his shoulder when he reached her neck.

When she finally left him for a shower, it was done reluctantly and slowly. It wasn't just that Hermione could sit on Sirius's lap all day. There was also the lasting, but now, not unjustified sense that being apart from him would bring back a past Hermione didn't want to return to.

But he'd been smiling, the smile still in her head as she walked down the corridor, as he'd towed her to the door – away from the bed Hermione had wanted to search. Smiled… and told her he'd take care of it, and then, that he'd see her later.

Hermione's room looked a dreary place. Drearier and lonelier than she'd ever realised it to be before, and as she'd seen it as quite dreary and lonely in the past, she was very glad she hadn't had to sleep in it that night. She didn't want to sleep in it again.

Her clothes would need to have the little spots of blood scoured out of them. She left them in a heap on the floor of the bathroom she usually used and spotted herself in the mirror. Her hair… was a disaster. How in the world Sirius had found that appealing… she had no idea. It had tumbled and frizzed out of her plait, the short hairs along her hairline standing up in wispy curls.

Compared to Sirius's shaggy hair, which looked good even rumpled by sleep. Compared to him in general…

Hermione's eyes were on the puffy side, as were her lips. She tried not to feel plebeian in comparison to him, but it did little good. Were this some period romance novel, she'd be the farm girl who somehow ended up capturing the attentions of the man of the manor. Probably as a result of a plucky, brown-bread manner that appealed to him – because who didn't like seeing feminism shine through implausible historic romances?

And then he'd take care of her – feminism, apparently, be dammed, though she'd gripe and grumble about it. Raise her to his social standing despite the scorn of the peerage –

Hermione scowled at her reflection and got into the shower. She did take the time to put a bit more effort than usual into her appearance after.

Both Harry and Sirius were in the kitchen when she reached it for breakfast. Sirius had washed his hair too, but he hadn't bothered with a drying charm and it hung damply around his head.

Hermione had had the idea in the bathroom that Sirius's interest in her hinged mostly around the fact that she was the only available female he had regular contact with. The way he looked up at her when she entered, though…

It wasn't as though when he looked at her Hermione felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. She didn't. It was… a dear companionship she saw in his gaze. And if Hermione knew anything about the man, it was that he wouldn't use and dump a good friend.

A dear companion, though, that was looking, uncomfortably, to her for help with Harry. Hermione didn't find it easy to seem normal around the bespectacled wizard either. Hermione asked the question as casually as she could and received the answer that Harry had gotten home at about one in the morning, and there hadn't been any lights on in Blishwick's house. The second part was far less important to Hermione than the first. She couldn't give exact times, but by her estimation and Sirius's relieved look, they'd gone up to bed before one.

Bless him, Hermione's grandmother would have said, and she sympathised with it: Harry scarfed down toast and eggs, seemingly entirely oblivious to the stilted normalcy Hermione and Sirius were achieving.

Harry sat for a bit, blinking slowly at the table, then announced he was going to try to get a bit more sleep. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief after he left and met Sirius's eye. His gaze slid from hers to look towards the stairs. Hermione saw his throat bob as he swallowed his bite of toast.

They hadn't decided anything together on the matter, but they seemed unanimous in their desire for Harry to never find out.

Sirius didn't finish his toast. He sipped his coffee and lit a cigarette. Then a second. Hermione sat with him, not eager to sit alone in the library with her Arithmancy processes again. The waning interest she'd had in her studies had hit an all-time low.

'What are your plans for the day?' she asked Sirius, trying for offhand, as he lit his third cigarette on the dying embers of the second.

Turning his head, Sirius blew the smoke away from her. He lifted his wand and flicked it at the air, clearing most of the lingering smoke.

'I haven't any,' he answered.

Hermione stared toward the crackling fireplace. It looked different. More lively. She felt different. There was an ephemeral thought in her head… Tracks… maybe she'd found hers to follow. Where they led, she didn't know, but she stood up when Sirius stubbed out his cigarette and found her hand in his on the stairs up to the ground floor.

'Harry's cut his hair,' Sirius commented.

'… Molly would have done it for him.'

Sirius nodded at the ground floor corridor ahead of them. They were traversing it slowly. Hermione knew she had no idea where to go. She could believe Sirius didn't either.

The cornices here, like most of the house, held effigies of twirling snakes. Above the black front door was a half-circle window, and above that were two snakes facing each other, projecting from the mouldings for prime position. The lamps along the walls were standard Victorian Muggle fare, of coiled brass brackets and not unattractive, but a candelabra they never used that hung from the ceiling was gaudy and ornate to the point of jingling hanging crystals shaped like diamonds. The doorhandles were shaped like snakes too… Sirius's ancestors obviously having thought they hadn't enough in the house yet.

They'd made the house less Sirius's family's by chopping the portraits off the walls. But they hadn't made it any less serpentine – and Hermione didn't feel fondly towards snakes at all right now.

'Sirius…' Hermione said abstractedly. She pointed at the snake heads over the door. 'Can I destroy those?'

'Sure.'

Hermione already had her wand ready. Reducto! She thought and shot the spell straight at the two snake heads. They exploded, raining plaster down on the carpet before the door.

'I should get some lye,' Hermione said thoughtfully. 'I think that might destroy the troll's leg umbrella stand.'

Sirius was looking, eyebrows raised, at the plaster dust on the floor.

'You think?' he said, quite calmly. 'That'd be good. It doesn't fit in the Fiend-Fyre Kist in the cellar.'

Hermione was looking up at the candle-filled chandelier.

'What about this?' she asked him.

Sirius followed her eyeline.

'I always thought it hideous,' he said.

Hermione shielded her face and blew it up too. Sirius was chuckling when the shattered crystals had settled. He turned crinkled eyes on her, and quirked an eyebrow.

'What next?' he asked.

Hermione looked up at the cornices. They lined the tops of all the walls and decorated the cut out where the steps climbed to the first floor.

Sirius stepped up beside her.

'I suppose we'd have to sand those down,' Hermione said disappointedly.

Sirius lifted his wand.

'Cover your face,' he advised.

Hermione pulled her jumper up over her mouth and raised her hands to be ready by her eyes. She didn't need them to cover her eyes, but she did squint as bright cherry red flames shot from Sirius's wand, hit the cornice, and raced along it like a bounding rabbit, tearing a wide line of shattered plaster in its wake. It shot right the way around the corridor before it was sucked back into Sirius's wand, plaster dust filling the space in a white cloud.

Hermione let her top fall from her mouth. She appraised the corridor, then levelled her wand at a doorhandle. She couldn't destroy it. They needed to be able to open and close the doors. But she could transfigure it into a different shape. The sitting room doorhandle became a simple lever under Hermione's direction; the dining room one, under Sirius's, became a rising swan, intricately fashioned.

'That's not practical,' Hermione said, frowning at it.

Sirius gave her a beautiful grin, walked over, and opened the door without issue.

'It works,' he said.

Hermione thought he was showing off, and said so, leading the way into the sitting room.

'So you're impressed?' Sirius said amusedly.

Generally so, yes, Hermione was.

There was a carved buffet Sirius took out with gusto. He left the furniture they used for sitting on and the cabinet they kept Healing potions in, and approached where a pair of curtains were closed over a window.

Sirius whispered something and the curtains flew open. Hermione stopped, surprised, staring at what wasn't a window, as she'd long assumed, but instead a glass case recessed into the wall over the place the buffet had been.

Inside the case was a very large snake, twined languidly across the bottom of the case as though resting. Its diamond-patterned scales were jewel bright, glinting orange, green, and black; its eyes a startling crimson. Hermione had never seen a snake like it.

She approached slowly.

'Is it… alive?'

'No,' Sirius answered. He was peering around the edges of the glass case. 'Died a very long time ago. Magically preserved Diamond Meretri.'

'Diamond what?'

'Ancient extinct species,' Sirius muttered. 'A particularly deadly snake that lived only in Malta. Hunted to prove bravery and skill – to extinction. Existing specimens in pristine condition are exceedingly rare – ergo, exceedingly priceless. I never managed to get this open before… but, admittedly I didn't try that hard…'

Sirius cast a spell that sent sparks shooting around the edge of the case. He tried to open it, didn't succeed, and, looking thoughtful, tried something else.

Hermione neared the case but stopped abruptly as Sirius threw an arm out in front of her.

'It's dangerous?' Hermione guessed.

'To any non-family member who wants to open it,' Sirius said. 'That may or may not include you.'

Hermione stayed where she was. Sirius was running through a Ward-Detecting Spell. He scratched the back of his head, then jabbed his wand at the edge of the case and Hermione heard a splitting sound.

'Aha…' Sirius uttered. He shoved the thick glass door up and looked over his shoulder at Hermione. 'Should be safe now.'

Apprehensive but interested, Hermione took a closer look. The snake was stunning in the way colourful venomous frogs were. Hermione had never seen the curtains open, and she had to assume Mundungus Fletcher hadn't either, else he'd have done all he could to steal it. As far as Hermione knew, though she hadn't seen him since he'd defected from the Order and left Mad-Eye Moody to die, Mundungus wasn't dead or cursed by any spell Sirius's family had put on the case.

'You can't destroy it, Sirius,' Hermione said. 'It… has historic value.'

Sirius didn't disagree, so Hermione Conjured a protective bubble around the snake and Banished it to the cellar for storage. The case it had been stored in was now an empty glass box that looked to be sitting inside the wall. Taking a closer look, Hermione didn't believe it was. It was much deeper than the wall, but she saw wall at the far side of it, not the alley outside.

'Undetectable Extension Charm,' Hermione suggested.

'Mm…' Sirius did something with his wand that sent glowing embers of a spell dancing across the wall. 'Yeah,' he said. 'It's inside the house's wards.'

Then it was an Undetectable Extension Charm inside the Undetectable Extension Charm on the house. Hermione aimed carefully at the door of the case, not wanting to risk puncturing the house's enchantments. They only got a split second to see the hole she blew through the glass door before there was a loud whistle – Sirius and Hermione hopping back as a sudden gust of wind tugged them toward the case – and, with the enormous crash of glass shattering all at once, the entire case imploded into a cascading shower of shards.

Hermione waited, frozen to the spot, but the house didn't follow suit and Sirius was moving on, ridding the room of what was left of its onerous ornamentation. The wall ahead of her looked undamaged in the case's wake. Just another wall covered in tasteless wallpaper.

'How easy,' Hermione asked Sirius, shaking herself, 'is it to damage the wards on this house?'

Sirius's black overrobes were dusted white with plaster, his hair looking like it was trying to catch up with Remus's. He wiped plaster dust off his face with his sleeve, to poor effect.

'Don't blow a hole through an exterior wall,' he answered simply. 'Though,' he added, appraising the room, 'not all the wards use the walls as a Placeholder. Some are outside the walls in an erected Placeholder Case. Concealment, in some cases, is more effective if projected beyond the thing it's concealing. Especially when there are windows you can lean out of. Think Diagon Alley. No Muggle is going to see it from above because they can't get anywhere near it.'

Sirius's face scrunched up as though he was about to sneeze. The impulse passed, and he headed for the door.

'The common wall with the house next door is most vulnerable,' he went on. 'All the enchantments on the house go through that. You link wards when they share a common placeholder for better effect. That's their downfall though. Try to remove one ward, break the links in a way that causes warping, and you can crack more than you want to – especially when the wards are old and have been put up in a haphazard way over time, rather than with a cohesive plan to start with.'

Back in the corridor, Hermione cast the common wall a wary look. Sirius gave a short bark of a laugh, spotting her, and shook his head.

'It's not going to spontaneously combust, Hermione,' he said, going into the dining room. 'It'll be stable for decades to come.'

Hermione knew about Diagon Alley and the magical concealment used to hide it. She hadn't the breadth of knowledge Sirius did, though. She entered the dining room behind him thinking this was exactly why she did trust him to know what to do – in some circumstances.

Sirius was appraising the dining table, casting the manticores decorating it a disdainful look.

'We don't need it,' Hermione said.

It seemed that was what Sirius wanted to hear. They backed up and took aim together.

'On three,' Sirius said, casting her a sideways look. 'One, two, three!'

The table exploded, Hermione and Sirius ducking away and shielding their faces against wood chip shrapnel.

'Arrgh!'

Hermione whipped around and saw Harry, pyjamas coated in sawdust, pick a wood chip out of his hair. Another had left a little nick in his cheek, the thin scrape welling up beads of blood.

'Ooh, sorry Harry!' Hermione cried. 'I didn't know you were there!'

'Good thing you wear glasses,' said Sirius, as Harry cast them a confounded look. He rubbed at the cut on his cheek, drew his fingers away, and spotted blood on them.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

'De-snaking,' Sirius answered. He considered the blasted bits of table, then added, 'and… de-other things –ing. What about the chairs?' he asked Hermione. 'Do we need them?'

'We have chairs in the kitchen,' Hermione said. 'If we need ones that aren't Conjured for anything.'

Harry had healed his own cheek with a whispered 'Episkey.' Sirius caught his eye and indicated a chair.

'Want to have a go?'

'Blow it up?' Harry asked, dubious.

'It's the more cathartic option,' Sirius confirmed. 'Though you could get creative. Transfigure it into a chicken?'

'We don't need chickens,' Hermione disagreed. 'Not ones Transfigured from wood, anyway. They wouldn't taste very good.'

Harry stared from her to Sirius and back. He looked so taken aback by them Hermione snickered.

'Go on,' she encouraged. 'Just make sure you shield your face.'

'Er… okay,' Harry said, raising his wand. He took out a chair. Sirius blew up another, and then the room was a medley of exploding chairs, the walls showered in bits of wood, Hermione giggling and hiding behind a fold of her jumper.

As the dust settled Hermione heard Harry ask whether Sirius had gotten her high again. Hermione picked wood chips out of her plait, suppressing silly giggles, thinking Harry wasn't too far off the mark.

'Nah,' Sirius answered casually. 'She just giggles sometimes. Haven't you noticed?'

Dusting off her shoulders Hermione added airily, 'I am allowed to have fun.'

Harry said nothing more about it. He stood beside Sirius, both wizards contemplating the elaborate ceiling moulding. It came to a point in the centre of the room, just above where the table had been, and from it hung a chandelier decorated in swirls and loops.

'Wait!' Hermione said hastily. 'There might be pressed metal under there!'

Her words were too late, Harry had already hit the ceiling with a strong 'Relashio!' and whatever Sirius had cast wasn't likely to be much better. Hermione shouted a second before the ceiling gave way and all three launched out of the way.

Hermione tumbled to the ground against the wall, a shield spell held over her head, as large copper panels fell around her. There was a huge crash as the centre of the ceiling fell, hitting the floor in a dust cloud of plaster and rubble around the chandelier.

'Painted copper tiles!' Hermione moaned. 'Is everyone all right?'

Sirius was laughing, unfolding from a corner of the room. Harry's head poked out of the fireplace.

Hermione shook the debris that had fallen on her shield off before ending the charm and getting up.

Groaning a little, Harry extracted himself from the fireplace. He rubbed at his lower back, then bent to dust soot off his pyjama bottoms. Sirius was stepping up onto the debris around the corner he'd sheltered in.

'I warned you!' Hermione grumbled, but her annoyance died at the sound of Harry chuckling.

'Looks better,' Sirius remarked. 'Don't you reckon?'

'Oh yeah,' Harry said dryly. 'You've gone for the…' he appraised the mess, 'rustic look.'

That was appropriate. The ceiling the ornamental panels had been attached to was, thankfully, still there, but the laths had been exposed in patches. It was going to need replastering. Then again, so did a lot of the walls in the house.

Shoving the worst of the mess into a pile in the centre of the room, they moved on. They bothered only to change the doorhandle of the bathroom between the sitting and dining rooms, none of them wanting to deal with marble shards and non-functioning loos. The first floor landing lost its chandelier as well, its cornice mouldings coming down in a deluge of plaster.

'Remodelling?' Remus asked from the doorway, finding them in the drawing room.

'De-snaking, apparently,' Harry answered. He coughed as the plaster on the cornice crumbled above him, the cherry red flames racing on, and cast a look at the empty space over the mantle where a mirror had been before he'd Vanished it. It hadn't had snakes on it.

'Stripping bare!' Sirius shouted from the other end of the room before concentrating hard and sucking the flames back into his wand.

'Except for the useful stuff!' Hermione said. 'Leave the clock, Harry!'

Sirius's ball of flames appeared again and did a double loop, removing the extra mouldings the room had above and below the cornices.

'Ah,' Remus said, watching the ball of flames. He nodded to them, 'a specialty of yours, Sirius. I think you burnt my dormitory bed to cinders with that spell once.'

'I've gotten better!' Sirius called back.

'He did?' Hermione said, casting the flames a new look of concern.

Remus smiled and stood beside her.

They watched Sirius swoop his wand at the flames, recapturing them.

'Any news?' he asked Remus, walking over.

'Nothing significant,' Remus answered. 'We have two empty houses in the watch rotation, and Cordelia Bulstrode hasn't been seen to return home either. The Wizengamot appears to have yet to appoint a fiftieth member. And your house looks like a herd of Graphorns ran through it.'

'So you're just here looking for a bit of peace and quiet?' Sirius said.

'And it appears,' said Remus, 'I have not found it.'

'How do you know the Wizengamot hasn't filled Smith's seat?' Hermione asked interestedly.

'They haven't reported anything about it in the paper,' said Harry.

'That doesn't mean anything,' Hermione said, frowning at him. 'They didn't report there was an opening either – said nothing about Margot Smith's death. And they haven't reported any of the new members at all – Reina Pratt – Butler – we never heard about either of them in the papers.'

'Percy overheard Blishwick having rather a rant about it,' Remus answered. 'The Head of International Relations is unhappy his brother isn't being nominated into a seat. It appears it's a common theme. There are quite a few avenues of nepotism that are not being followed, if Blishwick is to be believed. It has become an argument about whose brother, sister, friend, mother, or child will have the honour of sitting in the high court.'

'Convenient for us,' Sirius commented. He'd been considering the ceiling, but, though he'd removed the two chandeliers in this room, left whatever metal ceiling panels may be making up the mouldings above their heads. 'Umbridge will be having a good time,' he added, 'sitting on the decision for who she'd most like to honour by heeding their requests.'

'I doubt it,' said Remus. 'Discord among her supporters is not beneficial for her.'

But how, exactly, Umbridge was running her Ministry was not something they had answers for. Remus followed them as they looked into the spare room next to the drawing room. It had a bed pushed in among a round table, armchairs, and a couple buffets and bookshelves – neither of which held more than a couple books. It was more ornamented than most of the bedrooms, and had obviously been intended for something else.

'What was this room?' Hermione asked Sirius after he'd gotten rid of the uglier of the two buffet tables.

'Day room,' Sirius answered shortly.

It seemed a ridiculous addition to a sitting room and a drawing room. Harry seemed to agree.

'What would you do with a day room?' he asked confusedly.

'Spend boring days in it,' Sirius said.

They tackled the spare bedroom next door quickly, removing no more than an offensive chest of drawers. Harry pushed open the door to the room Sirius kept his records in. He met the sight with surprise.

'Are these yours?' he asked Sirius.

Sirius gave the affirmative and slipped into the room past Harry. He crouched by his records and fingered through them.

'I haven't seen these in years…' Remus said, passing the player and stooping over the albums. He slipped out a record and looked the cover over.

Momentarily distracted by Remus looking fondly at a KISS album, Hermione didn't catch on to what Sirius was looking for until he stood up and held an album out to Harry. On the front was the image of four people in a helicopter.

'It was your mother's,' Sirius said. 'She had terrible taste in music, but you should have it.'

Harry looked up from the record.

'My mum liked ABBA?'

'Loved ABBA,' Sirius corrected. 'Mind you, so did you, when you were little. Your favourite was Knowing Me, Knowing You.'

'Really?' Harry said, surprised.

'Yeah,' said Sirius. 'Though, don't worry, you also liked David Bowie – his early stuff – and The Who. The Bewlay Brothers could always stop you in your tracks – donno why, I think it's about a man in psychiatric care – and you had a strong love of Won't Get Fooled Again. You particularly enjoyed watching James bang his head to it.'

Remus chuckled and shook his head over another record he was looking at. Harry's face held a small smile. He kept the record and put it away in his room when they reached the second floor. He shut the door behind him and stood in front of it.

'Leave my room,' he said.

Sirius finished with an end table and looked over.

'How much of a mess is it now?' he asked.

Harry pulled a grimace.

'I haven't had a lot of time to clean it…'

Sirius peeked into the room later when Harry was on the other side of the stairs. His eyebrows shot up, but he just shut the door and left it. Hermione downright forbade the destruction of anything in the library unless they were planning on moving all the books to safety first. Sirius obviously hadn't been planning on doing that, so he left the library entirely. The room wasn't so bad anyway, Hermione thought, looking into it. Some of the books weren't on particularly delightful subjects, but the walls were panelled wood and the ceiling wasn't that ornate.

Sirius's potion room was skipped as well, and so were his bedroom, Hermione's, and the rooms that had belonged to the teenage version of Sirius and his brother. The third floor had little more to it, then, than the stairwell and corridor. Sirius looked into Hermione's bedroom as he passed it, though.

'You know you have a wardrobe in here?' he said, glancing at her.

'Yes…' Hermione said slowly, knowing what he was getting at.

'It's empty.'

It was, except for Crookshanks, who had clawed one of the doors open and was hiding inside it. Sheltering himself from their destruction, probably.

'It's… all in my trunk,' Hermione said.

'Packing up, or never unpacked?'

'Never unpacked.'

That seemed the answer Sirius expected. He nodded, and re-joined Harry and Remus in the corridor.

'That's it, then?' Remus asked him.

Sirius didn't answer. He scooped his hair out of his face, then turned and headed for the stairs – going up, not down; taking the steps three at a time, his unclasped overrobes billowing out behind him.