Chapter 52: Making Headway

When Hermione woke the next morning it was to the unsettling knowledge she was alone. She sat up in bed and looked toward the bathroom. The door was open, that room, like the bedroom, empty.

For all sharing a bed was an experience barely a month old, waking up alone seemed something a previous incarnation of herself had done – someone Hermione didn't know how to be any longer. She felt very strange, sitting there, without even Crookshanks for company, as though thrown into a different universe.

It was only upon shoving the covers back to get up that Hermione noticed it: a note on Sirius's pillow, written in Sirius's wide, rounded hand.

Mione,

At the time you are reading this, Sirius Black is likely upstairs fixing his bike. Unless, of course, you sleep in uncarecte (can't spell that) very late. Then I'll probably come looking to figure out why you are demenstrating such un-Hermione-esque behaviour.

Didn't want to wake you. I let Crookshanks out. He seems fine this morning.

Sirius

Hermione smiled. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one who didn't like the idea of leaving without a word. There was also something inexplicably heart-warming about seeing her name written as "Mione" in Sirius's handwriting.

She took the note with her into her nominal bedroom and dug down into her trunk until she found her box of memories and tucked the note away into it.

Having had breakfast and found and checked Crookshanks over for any signs of ill health, Hermione retrieved the silk-upholstered armchair she preferred from the library and Levitated it upstairs with her. It wasn't hard to find where Sirius was on the fourth floor. She heard the music from the landing and followed it into his mother's old bedroom.

The door was open. Scratched to shreds by a cooped-up Hippogriff, Sirius's mother's huge room was empty but for Sirius's bike, the parts strewn about it, a couple booklets that looked like manuals, and his record player and its associated collection. Sirius was down beside the bike, facing away from Hermione, sat on one knee on the torn carpet, his elbow resting on the other as he fiddled with something down by one of the exhaust pipes.

Hermione entered on tiptoes, trying to set the chair and her books down just as quietly. She didn't want to disturb him. She wanted to watch the reborn mechanic absorbed in his vocation. She'd never cared much for vehicles of any sort, but she could understand the attraction when it was Sirius, hair swept impatiently out of his face, barefoot in t-shirt and jeans, who was fiddling in a labour of love on probably the most rock and roll of machines; listening to what Hermione assumed was Led Zeppelin. Men with motorbikes, she could agree now, were sexy. Especially when it was an astonishingly intelligent man, seemingly capable of anything he wanted to put his mind to, fixing said motorbike.

But, as Sirius had said the day before, Hermione wasn't very sneaky. He finished whatever he was fiddling with and pointed his wand at the record player. It quieted and Sirius looked at her.

'So,' he said, 'how many words did I spell wrong?'

Hermione smiled and put her last book down beside the chair.

'Only one,' she said, walking over to him. 'Not including "uncharacteristically".'

'How do you spell that?'

'With a "ch" and only one "e". And "demonstrating" starts with "demon".'

Sirius scrunched his face up in a grimace that made Hermione snicker.

'I'm never,' Sirius warned, 'leaving you a letter again.'

'You asked,' Hermione pointed out, crouching down beside him and taking note of the engine grease decorating Sirius's hands and the sides of his clothes. There was some in his hair already. 'And I very much appreciated the note.'

Sirius wiped a few strands of hair off his forehead with his somewhat less greasy forearm.

'I considered adding a post script,' he told her, 'that stated I was too old for a spelling lesson. Figured it wouldn't make much of a difference though.'

Hermione smiled. She nodded to the bike.

'How's it coming?'

Sirius raised an eyebrow, eyeing her.

'How much do you know about motorbikes?'

'Marginally more than nothing at all,' Hermione answered frankly. 'But I will nod and smile if you wish to explain it to me and pretend I know what conarberforators and engine-wiggers are.'

Sirius laughed.

'The engine-wigger is fine,' he told her. 'It's the engine itself that needs work, and the crankshaft is in two pieces. Most cylinders and the valves and seals need replacing – not just from being crashed. I donno how Hagrid rode her, but he shot the transmission and the chain's a mess…' He trailed off, looking amused, as Hermione treated him to a deliberately blank stare. 'I am confident,' he said instead, 'she shall make a full recovery.'

'Why a motorcycle, Sirius?' Hermione asked curiously, as she walked over to turn the music back up for him. 'You love your broom.'

'On land,' Sirius answered, 'Laverda's faster than my broom.'

'How… much faster?'

Sirius grinned at her over the top of the bike.

'Before,' he asked, 'or after I modified her?'

'Oh dear…' Hermione sighed.

Sirius laughed.

'I'll give you a ride when I'm done fixing her,' he offered. 'Then you'll understand why. You can feel the momentum on the back of a bike in the way you can't on a broom.'

That didn't sound any less likely to produce a panic response in Hermione. She eyed the bike warily, not in the least eager to get on it when it was cranked over and ready to go.

Sirius had obviously listened to his newest record enough that morning to identify his favourite songs on it. Hermione looked up from her notes when Stairway to Heaven began – the first time she'd heard it in years – to see Sirius's head bouncing absentmindedly to it as he continued his jiggling, fitting, wand-tapping, and general fiddling with the steel contraption he had deconstructed on the floor before him. Here and there, she noticed, he knew the words well enough already to sing along in his rich baritone.

With the might of several fires burning away on the floors below, the house was warmer the higher up you went in it. Hermione was comfortable on the fourth floor, but Sirius's t-shirt was sticking to the base of his back again. Sirius's heel bounced with the livening beat, tugging his jeans rhythmically over his firm backside and playing his top over his back. Hermione rather hoped he'd take it off.

She got her wish. The song ended and Sirius directed his wand at the player to flip the record. As side two started, he rubbed the motor grease off his wand with the fabric of his t-shirt, then tried to get the excess off his hands. Adorably irritated with the whole thing, he hauled the top off and gave his hands a good wipe on it. Hermione smiled to herself, watching his back and arms flex as he wrangled the bits of the steel thingy to do what he wanted them to. She – as far as she knew – alone was allowed to stare.

Hermione managed to return her focus to her notes for a short while, and when she looked up again Sirius was holding the steel thing in place inside the bike, fitting it where it should go with his wand in his left hand. His belt was doing a tough job, seemingly just managing to keep his jeans up in the awkward position Sirius was frozen in, one bare foot planted hard on the floor, using, to Hermione's eyes, every muscle he had to stay still in place until the part was screwed, bolted – or whatever else his wand was doing – in. It was as though he repaired a motorbike in a way quite similar to how he sparred, just, thankfully, much more slowly. After what seemed to Hermione a long moment of slow motion, Sirius stood up, trod over to the other side of the bike, and squatted down to fix the part in place there as well.

He spotted Hermione's stare only when he stood up again, and she only realised she had her head tipped to the side and what expression was on her face when amusement filled Sirius's gaze. It really didn't matter how many times Hermione's mother had scoffed at motorcycle enthusiasts. If Sirius swung a leg over the thing now and took off she'd probably orgasm without any physical stimulation at all.

'How're the notes going?' Sirius asked pointedly.

'Slowly,' Hermione responded, not in the least upset about it.

'You're going to start resenting me, Mione,' Sirius said, going back to his scattered parts, 'if you never get any study done.'

Hermione hummed an uncertain agreement.

'I won't,' she told him, 'if you drop your trousers as well.'

Sirius laughed – quite heartily, glancing over his shoulder at her.

'I'm covered in grease,' he pointed out. 'And I really don't want it on my cock, much as it might add extra lubrication.'

That was true. Hermione didn't want engine grease on her anywhere, and some places especially. He'd have to be cleaned off first…

Hermione let him go back to his work, but had a harder time returning to hers. Sirius's toes were tapping away to a different song when Hermione looked up again. He seemed to like this one a lot. Rather mesmerised, Hermione watched the muscles in Sirius's back move, as far as she could tell, in beat with the song. It was a long song, and Hermione's head tipped the other way as, halfway through it, Sirius leant in under the bike, looking up, his abdomen taught and the line of hair on its lower extremity just visible. A bicep flexed up to attention as he pulled at something above his head.

Waiting for the song to end, Hermione snapped her book shut over her notes and undid her bra, removing it through her top. Sirius sat up as she was dumping it aside. A section of his hair, stuck together with grease, fell over his face and he caught it up, holding it out and trying to see it as he scoured it clean with a spell from his wand.

Hermione got up and switched the player off as the record began to skip. Sirius looked up at her as she batted his hand away, taking over cleaning his hair.

'I'm starting to think it needs a cut,' Sirius said, staying still as Hermione flipped through the tresses, directing her wand at them. 'Getting bloody annoying at times.'

'Trim it,' Hermione said. 'But don't cut it short. You look good with long hair.'

'I don't want it short,' Sirius agreed. 'Though, at some point, I probably will have to. When it starts going grey…'

Hermione fingered through his hair, peering more closely at it. He had a very think head of hair. She didn't think he was losing any at all.

'You can leave it long,' she said. 'It'll take a long time for anyone to notice increasing greyness.'

Sirius's head jerked away from her fingers. He stared up at her, horrified.

'Increasing greyness?' he uttered, grabbing for his hair and trying to see it. 'Do I have grey hairs?' he demanded.

'Not a single one,' Hermione assured him. She smacked his greasy hands away again and restarted her cleaning. 'I meant when you do start going grey.'

'You have to promise me,' Sirius grumbled somewhere around Hermione's midriff, 'to tell me the moment you spot a grey hair on me anywhere.'

Hermione sniggered.

'I promise,' she said lightly.

'I'll yank any one I see out,' Sirius vowed. 'Develop an eccentric hat fixation…'

'Cowboy hat,' Hermione suggested, 'or fedora?'

'Tam-o-shanter,' Sirius decided. 'No,' he said a second later, 'tricorn!'

Sirius looked up at her as Hermione giggled, imagining it. His eyes dropped and he noticed a part of her that was probably jiggling more than they usually did when she giggled.

'Oh…' he said, interested. 'Hang on…'

Sirius scrubbed his hands on his jeans before pulling out the hem of Hermione's top and peering under it. He let the top fall over his head.

'Where'd your bra go?' he asked her bare middle.

'By the chair somewhere.'

Sirius pulled his head out.

'Full of surprises, you are,' he said. 'Feeling frisky?'

Hermione dropped her wand smartly on the floor beside his, tugged her top off, and knelt down, sliding through Sirius's hands as she came face-to-face with him.

'Of course I am,' she said. 'You know that. And I think I'll be able to focus if you take care of it.'

Her hands slipped down the front of his torso and into his front pockets. She found what she was looking for there and teased it, aiming to stir him into a mindless ravaging. It seemed to be working. Sirius caught her to him and kissed her hard.

'Mmf…' Sirius pulled away and looked past her head. 'Door's open, Mione.' He bent, ferreting around for a wand, and came up with Hermione's. He frowned at it for a second, then swung it at the door, closing it. 'Colloportus,' he whispered, locking it, before rolling her wand away from them on the floor.

'Your wand likes me,' he said, then tugged Hermione back into a passionate kiss.

Her breasts pressed tantalisingly to his chest, Hermione kept her hips back, playing as best she could with the stiffening member inside his jeans through the lining of his pocket. Sirius groaned and ran his hands down her back, pushing past the waistband of her trousers, into her knickers, where he grasped her backside. Hermione's bum was ticklish, but that wasn't what she felt this time. Sirius's grip shot fire straight between her legs.

Yanking her hands out of his pockets, Hermione went for the impediments to getting Sirius's jeans off. Sirius shifted, getting a foot under him, and stood, pulling her up with him by her behind. He let go, slipping his hands free, and undid the button of her jeans before unfastening his own.

Their trousers were left in heaps on the floor. Held in a tight embrace, Sirius's mouth hot and wanting on hers, head bent down to her, they stepped further away from their clothes and the bike. Fingers reached between Hermione's legs from behind, teasing, Hermione rising on tip-toes for him to do more – nowhere near as satisfying as the heated erection pressed hard against her belly would be. She pushed away.

'I want it rough, Sirius.'

He caught the side of her head and reclaimed her lips, tongue swirling.

'Rough?' he asked, voice deliciously rumbly.

'Yes!'

A strong arm gripped Hermione tightly and Sirius fell forwards, Hermione shrieking as she went down with him – gasping when he caught them both on one arm, Hermione's back inches from the floor. Sirius's knees found the floor and he flipped her, pulling her hips up, Hermione scrabbling onto all fours.

He was close behind her. Hermione could feel it, his warm skin brushing against the back of her thighs. Sirius had a hand on her backside, but it didn't stay there long. He pushed a finger into her and leant over her back, reaching to massage a breast as his mouth found Hermione's spine.

'How rough?' he asked huskily.

Hermione sucked in a breath.

'Rougher than you're being.'

Sirius shoved her knees apart with his. His finger was removed only for something larger to replace it. He gripped her waist and thrust into her. Hard.

Hermione cried out, hands sliding along the floor until she was on her elbows. She pushed her mouth into one forearm. He was being rough. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to be doing something pleasantly forceful to her breast as he slammed into her, Hermione just managing to keep herself on her elbows.

'This rough?'

'Yes!'

Sirius stopped suddenly, pulling partway out. Hermione whined, pushing backwards, but Sirius leant over her, holding her still. He reached around her, his fingers finding her clitoris, circling it firmly.

'Sweet little pussy,' he rumbled, and nipped Hermione's back, starting to thrust a little as his fingers swirled. 'But can fit me balls deep,' he finished, then pulled out completely and Hermione felt his mouth replace his penis.

'Oh god…'

Her fingers dug into the carpet. She had only a few moments to be played with, fingers working inside her, a mouth sucking her clitoris, before Sirius was back. He gripped her backside tightly as he repositioned himself, and the re-entry was glorious. Again and again he pulled almost all the way out before shoving hard back in, the alternation of emptiness and then tight fullness driving Hermione wild; then he went faster, and faster – harder and harder – and that was it.

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut, clinging to the floor as she cried out, Sirius yanking her hips back into him again and again, grip demanding on her skin.

When he let her go Hermione slumped onto the floor, breathing heavily into crossed arms. Sirius lay down next to her on his back.

'That,' Hermione said once she'd gotten her breath back, 'was exactly what I wanted.'

Sirius didn't respond. Hermione lifted her head and looked over at him.

He met her eyes.

'Was it?' he asked quietly.

'Definitely,' Hermione confirmed. Her insides were smiling brilliantly. But Sirius didn't look convinced. Usually, after sex, he smiled easily and cuddled her close. He wasn't doing that this time. 'What?' she asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows again. 'What is it?'

Sirius drew and released a slow breath.

'Did I hurt you?' he asked seriously.

'No,' Hermione answered. 'I don't think so. Why?'

Sirius looked up toward the ceiling. He rubbed his forehead, the hand going higher to slide fingers into his hair.

Hermione frowned at him.

'You wouldn't hurt me,' she tried, uncertain. 'I didn't think for a moment you would.'

'I wouldn't trust me that much, Hermione,' he muttered.

'What?' Hermione said again, surprised. 'Sirius… don't be silly. I… well, I recall saying "yes" quite a bit. I wouldn't have done that if you were going too far… Anyway, if you do, accidentally, you could just Heal anything after.'

It was the wrong thing to say. Sirius's eyes shut.

'I really,' he said, voice very deep, 'didn't need that image, Hermione.'

Hermione sat up and surveyed him. There was a slight tenderness around her hips and backside. She'd make sure to check it later and Heal any bruises herself before Sirius saw them. For now, she took his hand, moving it away from his head and positioning his arm on the floor where she could lie down and use it as a pillow.

'Whatever you think you did,' she said gently, curling her arm around him, 'I promise you, you didn't. You were nowhere near too rough.'

Sirius stroked her arm, but didn't respond.

'If I said no,' Hermione whispered, 'you would listen.'

That was undeniably true. Even Sirius, seeing whatever inner demon it was he was struggling with, couldn't deny that.

'Have… you ever hurt anyone before?' Hermione asked cautiously.

Sirius's head turned, glancing at her.

'Not during sex,' he answered flatly.

'Then why do you worry about it?'

Sirius just shook his head. Hermione couldn't think of another reassurance, so she cuddled in closer, bringing a knee to rest over Sirius's legs. The tension in his body released slowly and Sirius pressed her to him, kissing the top of her head. His hand trailed down and the tips of his fingers ran lightly over the breast he'd gripped rather tightly.

'How's your boob?' he asked.

Tender.

'How's your knee?' Hermione countered.

Sirius frowned at her for a moment before remembering and testing his left knee.

'All right,' he said. 'Bit stiff.'

'Couldn't you Heal it?'

Sirius hummed quietly.

'It's not responding to any spell I know,' he said.

Hermione pushed herself up and looked down at his knee.

'So you're just ignoring it?'

'What do you expect me to do with it?' Sirius responded. 'It's just an ache. It'll go away.'

Now it was an "ache". Hermione had a strong suspicion it was worse than Sirius made it out to be.

'I thought you said it was only stiff,' she said slowly.

A brief look of irritation flitted across Sirius's face.

'It's a stiff ache,' he said. 'It's fine, Mione. It'll get better. It always does.'

There was something in that that made Hermione sad. He was getting older, and it was aches and pains, as much as Sirius denied it. But having sore knees that he couldn't Heal often enough to know they always got better didn't sound good for thirty seven. "Hard living", Sirius had said. Hermione let it go, but she didn't like it. For all she'd been made very aware of Sirius's mortality before, this seemed a worse reminder of it. And Sirius, Hermione strongly suspected, would go downhill fast if his body ached too much for him to do what he wanted in it. Grey hairs were far from what Hermione worried about.

Citing a need for the loo, she left him, in a reasonable mood, with his cigarettes. Sirius could grip Hermione a lot harder than she could herself. Twisted around with her trousers down in the bathroom, perched on the toilet to see her rear end in the mirror over the sink, she spotted areas of pink skin, some of which may well bruise.

More than once, Hermione had had the idea Sirius moderated himself with her, particularly during sex. Physically and, she realised now, likely verbally as well. He'd never referred to what was between her legs with the words "sweet little pussy" before. It had been "lady parts" once, and "fanny" on another occasion. As he'd been restraining himself less and less, Hermione had assumed the moderation had been for her benefit, but now she wasn't so sure.

And she needed to work out something to call it herself she didn't shy away from.

Being thorough, Hermione Healed every potential bruise before heading back up to a room filled with the sounds of an album called Tanx. Remus was right. Sirius did do a good Marc Bolan. His voice was notably deeper, but he could match Bolan's timbre and hit the higher notes surprisingly well. And, Hermione looking up later from the notes she was thankfully much more able to focus on, he did a remarkable rendition of the yowling scream on Immigrant Song.

'James and I must have practised it a thousand times,' Sirius told her. 'The entrance hall was great for it. Marvellous acoustics. We'd hide under the invisibility cloak and do it as loud as we could. Led quite a few of the younger kids to think Hogwarts had some kind of mad warrior ghost no one had ever seen.'

Kreacher was fiddling around in the drawer they kept Order notes in when Hermione and Sirius reached the kitchen for lunch. He pulled out the new copy of leaders' notes Kingsley had left at headquarters and peered curiously at them.

'Kreacher heard them buzz,' he told them, confused. He passed the notes to Hermione when she held a hand out for them.

'What's new?' Sirius asked as Hermione set them on the table and opened up to the last page of writing.

'Two Muggle-borns brought in,' she relayed, reading the newest message. The writing was neither Kingsley's nor Remus's. 'Brian wrote that, I think. But it doesn't say anything more about it…'

Hermione's eyes travelled up the page and over the previous notes. The first message Brian had written in his copy of the Reciprocal Protean Charmed notes was a list of Wizengamot members that sided with Umbridge. Sirius looking over her shoulder, Hermione scanned them. Umbridge, as Chief Warlock, was followed by a number of other names they weren't surprised by: Albert Runcorn, Umbridge's Senior Undersecretary; Thorfinn Rowle, the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement; Bertrum Blishwick, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation; Victor Flint, Head of the Office for Muggle-born Protection; Pittgott Tripe, the ambitious and unscrupulous man they'd seen outside Margot Smith's house; Tirabelle Lowe and Cordoth Parkinson, the two Brian had made acquaintances of; Frederick Nott, the wizard who had pushed for Sirius to be sent to Azkaban without trial; Edith McDougal, a woman of great pureblood esteem; Pendragon Toldercot, the nominee Umbridge and Fudge had supported a few years before; and the seniors Lestrange, Goyle, Mulciber, Selwyn, and Rosier, each one sat on their Wizengamot seats as a direct action of Voldemort's.

Lowe, Nott, McDougal, and Tripe the Order knew to have been nominated into the Wizengamot before the Second War, as were three other names on the list that the Order had known, just previously not for certain as Wizengamot members that would side with Umbridge: Frank Smythe, Tilpin Fielding, and Turgid Kemp. Brendon Cornfoot was there too, and, providing confirmation for the Order's suspicions, so was Cordelia Bulstrode, who must be the youngest member of the high court the Wizengamot had ever seen. Nepitian Butler and Reina Pratt, the two names they'd learned at the Carrow Estate, were on the list as well.

That was twenty four people, the last two that would make up a majority in a house of fifty were identified there as well in Brian's script. Fernella Orpington and Drusilla Greengrass must be two of the members who had found seats, unannounced, under Umbridge. They were noted by Brian to be friends of Lowe's, all three ladies well-spoken and dignified. Greengrass's name rang a bell in Hermione's head. She pointed the name out.

'Your mother knew her,' she told Sirius. 'Her name is written in Walburga's Diaries. If we need to find her, her address is probably written in there as well.'

Sirius nodded, cutting himself a slice of the chicken pie Kreacher had placed on the table. He sat down with it next to Hermione.

The next point was in Remus's writing, noting that Blishwick's and Runcorn's homes were still deserted, and only Cordelia Bulstrode's sister had been seen at the home location they had for Cordelia for weeks now. That was three of the people suspected to be harbouring Muggle-borns that they were unable now to locate. Hermione read it out to Sirius, and moved on.

'Cornfoot doesn't want to be in Umbridge's majority,' Hermione summarised from Brian's next note. 'And nor did Smith.' She read further. 'Ooh dear…' Hermione uttered, sitting down distractedly as Sirius handed her a slice of pie. 'Brian thinks you're right, Sirius. Parkinson talked to him about needing to keep the two in line, make an example of them – that Cornfoot wouldn't want to do anything Umbridge wouldn't like unless he wants something to happen to his family, and he's been compliant since. And no one's seen them when they've checked Cornfoot's house – and you did think that candle was lonely, Sirius!'

'What else?' Sirius asked.

Hermione looked through the rest of the notes to the present and shook her head. There were just the little sightings from watches after that. She picked up her fork and held it for a moment, her stare at the notes turning into a glare, and put her fork down. Tears pricking her eyes, she slammed a hand on the table.

'What have we done?' She demanded loudly. 'Why are we so hated? Why are people so horrible?' She sniffed, irritated with a runny nose. 'We didn't ask for magic!' she cried. 'H-how is it that people can be so bigoted – so stupid! Like bitchy sheep – why?'

Sirius shook his head.

'Why does anyone need to feel better than another?' he returned. 'I don't know, Hermione. It just is. People develop their own narrative of themselves – want to see themselves and the world they live in a certain way. And they have their own motivations for it.'

Hermione stared at him. She swiped at a wet eye.

'You hate it just as much as I do!'

'Yeah, I do,' Sirius agreed calmly. 'But I haven't any answers for you, other than the fact that people tend to feel righteous in their own realities. All people can enjoy seeing another in pain. What differs is what it takes to get them to that point.'

Hermione nodded emphatically.

'I want to see them in Azkaban!' she declared. 'They deserve it!'

'Do they?' Sirius asked quietly.

That stalled Hermione. She swallowed, blinking back the last tears to see him.

'I would have thought,' she said, more softly, 'you would think so.'

Sirius gave her a slight, sad smile.

'I don't know,' he said. 'Yes, probably, and no. I could say no one deserves it, and, in the same moment, think of many I'd like to see there. The first is the answer I want to give… It's the one I'd want you to give me.'

Hermione's mind started on that, but didn't get a chance to consider it. The notes in front of her had buzzed again. She looked down at them to see words writing themselves after the last sentence on the page: Brian was continuing his update.

'Christopher Mitchell,' she read aloud, 'white hair, stooped, and Wayne Onslow, mid-forties, brown hair and about six foot. Found hiding out together and brought in this morning by Muggle-born Protection Officers –'

'Wayne Onslow?' Sirius asked, rising to see for himself. Hermione indicated the name with a finger.

'Do you know him?'

'He's not mid forties,' Sirius answered. 'He was a year above me. In Gryffindor. Good chap.'

'Married this morning,' Hermione finished, 'under the Act, Onlsow to Pratt, and Mitchell to Orpington…'

Sirius had seen that. He was frowning.

'That says a lot,' Hermione said, thinking. 'Why didn't they imprison them? If Umbridge is that interested in making sure the Dementors have enough people to feed off of… And, well, then the Act does apply, going forward – the cut-off wasn't the 14th of August. Which means Neville's right. The Act would apply the moment any Muggle-born witch or wizard turns seventeen – or, I suppose, whenever they're found…'

'Wayne,' Sirius said, 'married Gillian only a year or so out of school. They were the sweetheart couple of their year – dated for years in school.'

'Do you think they'd have divorced?' Hermione asked him.

'I doubt it,' Sirius said sitting back down. 'But then, I really have no idea. That was decades ago.'

'The Act wouldn't apply if they were still married,' Hermione said. 'Unless… do you think they're ignoring that part?' she asked worriedly.

Sirius scratched his cheek. He hadn't shaved this morning and Hermione could hear the short bristles under his fingers.

'The Marriage Act was pretty specific about pairing up purebloods and Muggle-borns,' he said gravely. He nodded to the notes. 'Orpington is a pureblood name. How they'd manage to pass Pratt off as one too, I have no idea. So if they're ignoring that part of the law…'

Hermione's eyes grew wide, staring back at him.

'Then again,' Sirius went on, 'claiming blood status you don't have is old hat. That's not blatantly disregarding the stipulations of a law.' He shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'chances are greater Wayne wouldn't be hiding out if he knew the Act didn't apply to him.'

'So, Gillian…' Hermione began.

'Is either dead,' Sirius finished, 'or not his wife any longer. And it's possible that second one was an attempt to distance himself from her before the Registration Commission.'

'Was she Muggle-born?'

Sirius's eyes squinched thoughtfully.

'Half-blood,' he answered. 'I think. Don't quote me on it. It interests me,' he went on, 'that it's this Pratt, not Alecto Carrow, that Umbridge went with this time.'

Umbridge being vindictive, displeased by the Carrows, was Hermione's thought on it. Not to mention Carrow hadn't managed to stop Phillip Coles escaping and they'd had it confirmed for them that the Carrow Estate had been under surveillance. She said so as Remus's writing started scrawling itself below Brian's last note. On his side, Remus charmed the notes to give the same buzz Brain had.

Orpington is an unknown quantity. Pratt has been identified and located.

Hermione waited for something more, but it didn't appear. She flipped back through the notes, looking for one on Pratt. They'd first heard the name a while ago. The leaders' notes only went back a few days. It was one of the security measures they'd charmed on the notes that existed outside headquarters. If anyone but Remus, Kingsley, or, now, Brian tried to read them they'd see only doodles on the pieces of parchment – a trick Remus and Sirius had used several times before. But if an outsider managed to get past that charm, they'd only find a few days' worth of information.

Sirius had gotten up from the table. He retrieved the Order's more complete records of notes. The word "Minutes" was scrawled over the front of the folder in Tonks's hand, titled back before they'd given up taking complete minutes of meetings.

'Pratt…' Sirius muttered, flipping through the notes to find a section on the witch. He stopped on a different page and slipped out headquarters' copy of the watch schedules. 'Remus is switching watches,' he said, flipping on.

Harry and Leonora, Hermione saw, were being pulled off of Nott's house and moved over to Pratt's.

'Here,' Sirius said, stopping on the right page. Hermione looked. It was in Kingsley's writing, and seemed to have been scribbled quickly. What Kingsley knew about Pratt herself was sparse. "Fifties, dark hair, very fair skin, features too close together" was how he described her appearance. "Potentially volatile" was all that was added to that description. Apparently, Kingsley had met her five years before when him and a couple other Aurors had apprehended her late husband Redwin at their home. Reina Pratt had not been charged.

Below those notes Kingsley had added something else seemingly as an afterthought. He'd scrawled it even less legibly than usual. Hermione squinted at it, making out the words "water", "down" and what she thought was "stone".

'Can you read that?' she asked Sirius.

'Sort of,' he answered. 'I'll read, you get the map.'

Kingsley's scribble turned out not to be an address, but the location of an Apparition point, a series of rather unclear directions from there, and a description of Pratt's house. Chances were he'd figured he'd clarify it later if needed. Holed up in Auror headquarters, he wasn't around to provide that clarification.

A scribbled memory of something that had occurred five years before wasn't a very clear guide to finding Pratt's house. Sirius making out the words "near Penrith" was a decent start. They scratched their heads over the map for a while after that, trying to identify which rather generic landmarks Kingsley mentioned were where. There were a lot of little rivers in the Lakes District, but, thankfully, not many stone circles near a water.

They were double-checking Kingsley's description to the location they'd narrowed down when hurried footsteps sounded above. Remus's arrival was announced from the stairs by the sounds of a disgruntled baby.

Leant over the map, both hands braced on the table, Sirius glanced up at him.

'Already done,' he told Remus. 'But someone really needs to have a chat with Kings about his writing.'

'It can be appalling,' Remus agreed succinctly, patting Teddy's back as he took a look at the location they indicated on the map. Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Remus nodded before she began. 'All right,' he said. 'If you can take Teddy, Sirius, I'd like to fetch Harry and Leonora from Nott's. We have learned next to nothing there. Their time may be better spent at Pratt's – particularly if Wayne is there – and I don't wish to send a Patronus where it may be seen. And if I can get that done before Teddy's due for a nap…'

Sirius had barely taken the baby before Remus, the frown lines on his face more visible than usual, was returning to the door.

'He's teething again,' Remus called before hurrying back up the stairs.

'Not again,' Sirius said to Teddy, less complaining and more commiserating with the baby. Despite the warning, Teddy seemed in fine spirits, latching on automatically to Sirius's hair and peering past him to where Kreacher waved from the sink. Sirius's eye scrunched up as Teddy gave his hair a hard tug.

They were left with Teddy only long enough for Sirius to feed the curious boy a few small pieces of pie before Remus was back, Harry and Leonora behind him.

'They're going to need someone to canvass the area for defensive enchantments,' Sirius said to Remus as Hermione turned the map around to show Leonora and Harry where they were going.

Remus sighed and nodded.

'I'll go,' Sirius told him. 'Then you can put Teddy to bed and sort out the watch schedules. Anyone else you assign to Pratt's will need to know the schedule has changed.'

Hermione looked to Remus too. She'd like to go as well, for no real reason other than a desire to get out of the house for a bit. What she told Remus, though, was that she knew what Kingsley had written by heart by now so if their interpretation proved incorrect she would be useful in the reinterpretation.

'You never put us on a watch this week, Remus,' Sirius said flatly. 'I'm going stir crazy.'

And, frankly, Sirius was the one most adept at searching out magical wards. Remus knew that.

'There has been no indication,' Sirius went on, bouncing Teddy on his knee, 'that Hermione and I have become any greater targets recently.'

'My concern,' Remus responded finally, 'has been with our members inside the Ministry, not for you and Hermione. There is increasing hostility towards Percy and Arthur. The Hitters took it upon themselves earlier today to search Arthur's office. The Aurors, particularly Kingsley, are being monitored closely from the moment they walk into the Ministry to the time they leave. Having a spy in the melting pot makes me warier.

'I said before, Sirius, that it is to our benefit to have two skilled members as ready aides in headquarters, whether to follow tip-offs or to respond to anything that may go wrong. I believe that to be truer now.'

'Then,' Sirius said, standing up, 'you can provide that for a bit.' He handed Teddy to Remus. 'We'll be back soon.'

Remus relented. Hermione and Sirius Summoned shoes, or, in Sirius's case, socks in addition to his scuffed black boots.

'They do realise the Aurors could be doing whatever they want outside of work hours, right?' Harry said wryly.

Remus was feeding Teddy a small piece of carrot retrieved from the leftovers of Sirius's pie. He caught it as Teddy spat it back out again.

'Kingsley is of the impression it is intended as intimidation,' he said, poking the bit back into Teddy's mouth. 'Rowle wants them feeling like they're under constant surveillance with him in charge.'

'And that's working?' Sirius asked, incredulous.

Remus made a noncommittal noise. He frowned at Teddy.

'On the regular Constabulary wizards, it might,' Sirius went on. 'But trying it with the Aurors like walking into a wild pack of highly skilled wolves and saying "I'm top dog now".' He paused, following Remus's eyeline. 'I don't think he swallowed it,' Sirius provided.

'He stores larger pieces of food he doesn't like on his palette,' Remus said, picking up a pea to try that. 'I find it later squished into my robes. It does seem to be working, for the most part,' he answered Sirius. He glanced up. 'Perhaps once what you say was true, but it has not been so for a few years. Fudge began treating the Aurors as his own personal security, and that was only the beginning.'

Sirius scowled and bent to tie up his laces. He muttered something along the lines of 'Pathetic Aurors.'

'Ees Tonks steell theenking of going back to zem after her break?' Leonora asked.

'It is undecided,' Remus said, very mildly, trying to work out whether the pea had gone down Teddy's throat or not.

They were probably living on Tonks's savings, Hermione thought, fetching her and Sirius mission kits. Tonks's maternity leave had passed the point where she'd still be receiving a salary. Auror work was not something a witch could do pregnant, the risks were too great. It meant Aurors received six months maternity leave after their child was born, and every month they knew they were pregnant before that. That was, Hermione realised, if Tonks did get paid her leave at all, something she may not have seeing as how she had not returned to work. The question of Tonks doing so was one Hermione was sure was more nuanced than just money, but she thought, for Remus at least, that was a sore spot.

She pulled on a jacket and they donned flight goggles before they Disillusioned themselves. Calling goodbye to Remus, they headed out, Hermione Apparating Leonora as Sirius took Harry along.

Responding to reviews

Dear Dissyblack,

No birthday smut as yet (though if I do get an idea for how it'd go, I may well write it!) but... I can offer you motorbike smut? Haha - I couldn't think of an interesting sex scene for the previous chapter, but I could on this one. And there will be, honestly, so damn much smut coming up. Not too soon, but it gets heavy enough at one point that at least every few chapters, there it is.

Always so fascinating to me which chapters people particularly like! I found Sirius's birthday one a struggle that bugged me a little right the way through, so hearing it was you favourite chapter is awesome! (I absolutely had repeated childish chuckles with the Sit on My Face song, however).

Lol - 3 month potion, and not sayin nofin more! Love you picking out "his child" versus "their child"! Definitely not yet a secure relationship...

I go back and forth on how deliberate the attraction to Veelas is. There was one point in the 4th book where it was described as Fleur "turning on the charm" (or something like that - when she's seeking a date to the Yule Ball). Could be merely flippant, but I did wonder whether that attraction could be dialled up, as it was a moment where Ron was particularly affected in a way he wasn't always around Fleur. I do reckon there's a base level of that attraction power, though, that isn't in their control.

The way I saw it was rather like with werewolves. You've got Remus, who makes sure to hide himself away somewhere remote (when not protected by the potion or Sirius) in order to avoid hurting anyone when he transforms. Then you've got Greyback, who can't control being a werewolf, but does control the fact that he positions himself near people - particularly kids - before he transforms. It's the actions around what you can't control that say more. So I was thinking Veela, while they may not be able to control their "charm", they can control whether or not they do anything with it. What I had them do to Remus is downright cruel. If they can't control it at all, though, there's a greater conundrum with having sex. How would they ever know if it is consensual, or if it's just like being with someone who was unintentionally dosed up with love potion? Abstinence isn't really the answer, so it likely makes it morally really hard for Veela.

And that makes me wonder why they aren't depicted as more marginalised or stigmatised in the books. You suggest because they're better looking, and that may well be it. It is strange, considering how detested the other part-humans are, and here are Veela, who, unlike centaurs (who are shown to be discriminated against) do actually impact humans in an obvious way.

When it comes to Sirius, he generalised Veela after that experience. I don't see him as someone immune to being hypocritical at times, so judging all Veela harshly after that one experience while being loud about not all werewolves being the same wasn't something I thought beyond him. Personally, I don't think it's as simple a matter as all Veela being evil. Really, I think the question of consent for a species that exerts a love potion-type effect on all attracted around them... is a morally tough one.

Thought provoking as always, your responses! I'll have an idea about the world of this story stuck in my head - a way things are or work - and not really think about why I think that, or other views of how it could work, until it's brought up and/or challenged. I'm wondering now how, in countries with more Veela, that morality may be approached, and if Veela are marginalised. Bulgaria seemed to celebrate them, considering they brought them along as their mascots to the World Cup... But that could be a sign of them being dehumanised too.