The sun rose over a set of misty mountains, its rays gleamed off the outer wall and the two figures standing just outside. With a sharp crack breaking the silence Douglas MacKenzie of the Glasgow law firm Newt, McKenzie, and Diggory apparated to Hogwarts Main gates. Hermione noticed the man's appearance came precisely at 9:30, but it wasn't just this which had her back stiffening. Flitwick and herself were both dressed professionally. However, after seeing the formality of what Mr. MacKenzie wore she began to worry her few sets of still fitting nice clothes wouldn't be enough. Were they going to a bloody gala? Her lip caught between her teeth.
Rising to a worry about how she, or rather Hermione's down-classed clothes, might make or brake someone's decision on the case. Facts or no, people still had emotions and impressions which biased them and if she couldn't pull off the part it wasn't her head on the line, but Sirius'.
Her thoughts were abruptly verified as MacKenzie bowed. Flitwick bowed back. Hermione curtsied as she'd seen in that one book dated 1767, guide for young ladies at court, a self-updating addition. After all their style of bowing came from the same era. The following introductions were equally formal and tedious. A privacy ward established with some object the lawyer procured from a pocket much too small for the object's size. Upon seeing it Hermione's mind whirled with possibilities, the whole idea of what a purse or pocket could be shifted her world on its axis. The things she could do if given the proper time... A shop in Diagon Alley didn't even have to be a shop. It could be a cart with a doorway and expanded space inside while being able to be rolled away and locked up at night in a different, more secure location. Fred and George were going to have kittens. While she experienced this epiphany her guardian and lawyer finished their last introduction of titles, listing of accredited qualifications, and small chatter on shared social connections to establish their friendly meeting was indeed a friendly meeting and not a trap or 1700s style Scottish ambush.
She watched the lawyer carefully speak the transfiguration spell to erect a sturdy oaken table and cushy chairs, though they seemed to be there for show as neither man moved to sit. The table and chairs which had once been rocks soon had ink wells placed on it, along with embroidered blotting cloths for any stray spills. Mr. MacKenzie withdrew an elaborate feather Quill and papers full of hand written contractual statements.
Through which Hermione and Flitwick spent half an hour reading before the half Goblin murmured she could sign. Her signature and title Speaker of House black glowed as the ink dried. Officially agreeing for the entire living Black bloodline to contract with this one law firm. This would include one crazed Bellatrix Lestrange and two snooty blond haired Malfoy nee Blacks, not as if any of them knew yet. Once Hermione's name sealed their contract the tension dropped marginally.
However, MacKenzie still eyed the professor, assessing. When Flitwick looked up the two men locked eyes, but the lawyer's question aimed at her, "Now I am bound to silence, Speaker Black how much does your guardian know about what is going on?"
She glanced at Flitwick who seemed pleased as punch to be there despite knowing what was in the metal box by her feet. When Hermione first barged into his office after Dumbledore's legilimency attempt she'd straight out asked how much he'd like to know, warning it might get him in trouble and did he really want that? He'd very seriously stated if she left out any details he'd be less able to protect her. It was a logical argument. They'd gone through three tea pots, several side lectures, and multiple privacy spell castings before her tale finished. He looked rather thunderous when she was describing her abduction and hardly seemed mollified by the end. Hermione spent so much time with Flitwick she recognized when he'd begun to act less like a favored teacher and more like a vicious uncle ready to skewer people on her behalf. If anyone had asked her first year if the affable half Goblin was capable of such a thing she'd never believe it. Now she'd spent too many hours against his dueling skills to doubt him very capable of violence.
She looked back to MacKenzie, "He knows everything and is under magical vow not to willingly tell anyone without my permission."
Flitwick worded the vow himself. It was times like those, seeing the old professor twist long words till there were no loopholes, that Hermione still felt every bit the unpracticed teenager she was. Looking at MacKenzie, the lawyer was pleased. What a bother it must be for lawyers to try and protect people from themselves. How easily the case might have been lost if she'd gone to McGonagall and the woman refused a vow, told the Headmaster, and the rat got taken away only to escape. Yes, she was glad she'd chosen Flitwick. He'd proven himself capable, willing to listen, and unarguably protective of those he considered his. He'd said if he were to present her to the Goblin nation he'd have to decide to introduce her status with him as Apprentice or Doted on Nieceling, which translated into "favored female ward" in gobbledygook.
She also knew he'd gotten a kick from refusing to tell his boss anything of what was transpiring. A repeated occurrence over a series of meetings this past weekend and Monday. Wherein Flitwick, Hermione Granger's guardian, had been called to the Headmaster's office to discuss her ministry summons and any danger she might possibly pose to the school or classmates. Conversations turning around on themselves without much proof or direction. Regardless, during each summoning her guardian ordered her to stay locked in his office in Ravenclaw tower. He looked positively gleeful after returning from his boss' office. Hermione wondered if he trusted the Leader of the Light as much as her, which seemed to be dwindling with each deadly situation she found herself in under his watch. Yet despite all the trouble she caused him Flitwick didn't seem bothered in the slightest to be on his way to the British Ministry of Magic. If it was going to be another Goblin invasion the man looked rather certain of himself.
MacKenzie informed, "Right. We received the memories and confirmed they haven't been tampered with. Black's telling the truth. We believe we might be able to make a deal with Madam Bones," He waved at the metal box still sitting by her feet on the chill ground, "Pending the authentication of your friend's identity."
A weight lifted off Hermione's shoulders. Flitwick glanced her way and she gave a weary, relieved smile at his attention. Until this moment neither of them had been entirely confident the escaped convict hadn't found some way around his vow. Hermione's lack of experience with such things now woefully obvious. It'd caused three sleepless turning periods while she read every relevant vow book in the library and Flitwick's personal collection. She'd had the right idea from the start but only after seeing how many pitfalls she narrowly avoided did she see how precarious her situation had been. The lawyer had just saved a few metaphorical years of her life in worries.
"Do you have anything you'd like to ask before we go to the Ministry?"
Flitwick did have questions. Mainly how they should respond to Madam Bones' questions. What they should tell of how the rat was discovered and acquired. It went unsaid between them how her true story of "stealing" a pet from one of her former best friends might look quite poor on her. As well as being in league with a man who had a Kiss-on-Sight order. Yes... yes those details of kidnapping and acting as an accomplice to a wanted criminal could land her in Azkaban regardless of how Black's trial ended. It'd be a shame to save him only to implicate herself into a prison sentence. None of that needed to be said, everyone from the Lawyer to Hermione knew it. Flitwick did a wonderful job of asking without asking so plainly.
MacKenzie's gaze settled on her again, his tone firm, "Your involvement is not relevant and you are not at liberty to answer how our firm came to have the memories and the rat. You are simply there as the Black family spokesperson. You do not say how you acquired that magically binding title nor under what circumstances Sirius Black may have had the chance to bestow it upon you."
"Understood." Hermione found herself breathing easier, then nodded to herself. She could do this. She would do this. She glanced to her guardian, hoping for some more assurance, only to glance just as quickly away.
Flitwick looked unfairly amused next to her. Now she was no longer in immediate danger he clearly thought a student's foray into legal business way above their head was borderline hilarious. She determinedly didn't look at him. Her flushed face gave enough away as it was.
MacKenzie held out a legal binder. "I've arranged a portkey to drop us off directly in front of the interrogation and holding cells." He placed the legal binder turned portkey on top of Hermione's still silenced and locked metal box. With the three of them touching it they spun away. She discovered portkeys functioned by spinning, by grabbing the stomach of anyone touching it and using this as a point of rotation before dropping them out in a nauseated pile. Immediately Hermione knew this would be her least favorite form of transportation. She'd fly a broom all the way to London before doing this by choice again. Heck, with how sick she was feeling she'd consider the value of walking.
Hermione's tilting vision saw they had been spun and dumped into a thin hallway with thick grey walls. The glow of runes everywhere around them, up the walls, across the floors, on the robes of the group of aurors waiting for them. Hermione was so busy reading the runes next to her she didn't see the person walking towards them until their throat cleared. Still feeling dizzy she reeled unsteadily to find a tall woman with a monocle and stiff face observing them. A hoard of aurors behind her leant to the power of this woman.
"Madam Bones, thank you for meeting us may I introduce the Speaker for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and her guardian," MacKenzie went on with another long winded introduction. He explained in more detail what they had and fluidly moved to describe what they hoped to achieve today. Once again Hermione was glad she had a the law firm and Flitwick on their side. For that's what it'd become. She was on Sirius Black's side and now she'd made her move Hermione would need as many strong people with her as she could manage. Bones, while not intentionally towering over her, had a no nonsense expression which gave the feeling she'd trip you up if you even thought about breaking the laws upheld. Moreover the laws were so different here, than in the muggle world, it was blatantly unfair no one told the muggleborns about it upon their entrance to the magical world.
She now knew why Draco often stated he would tell his father, because a first verbal notice was required otherwise any complaints against the school could be ignored. Student safety be damned. Also, she'd recently learned Draco was a member of House Black so she now had to listen to his concerns. Likewise, he now had to listen to her as her standing in his own house was now higher than his. When she'd discovered this she laughed so loud and hard Madam Pince had thrown her out of the library.
Madam Bones had them fill out some forms to begin negotiations. Then Mr. Douglas MacKenzie was recorded for a memory to be played later in court, introducing the case and the firm's retrieval of a man thought dead. The nature of Pettigrew's supposed death was as infamous as Sirius Black himself, but as there'd never been an investigation or trial new evidence had only just come to light. The lawyer's introductory statement had all eyes in the room staring at the metal box with its little air holes.
Madam Bones raised a single skeptical eyebrow at this, but opened an interrogation room willingly enough.
When the lawyer levitated a hissing rat out of the cage and cast the anti-animagus jinx there were shouts from the junior aurors present. They scrambled to conduct several magical signature scans and blood tests. At the results showing the same thing no matter how many times the junior aurors ran them, one of the younger ones turned to report. He looked wet and limp as a freshly laundered sheet as he announced to his superiors.
"It matches the finger we have in storage. It's Peter Pettigrew."
Madam Bones gave orders like a thunderstorm booming underground. The facility halted to hear the orders then went busy in a flurry of underlings to follow them. Red robes were everywhere as those in uniforms moved about, grabbing veritaserum, running to get a memory analyst from the Department of Mysteries, enlisting a team of healers to assess such a longterm animagus transformation.
Bones then called up another team of aurors. When they arrived she muttered quick and low to them. Their faces growing severe at what they heard before they hustled toward the exit. As their shoes scuffed on the way out Bones' voice followed them with a snap of further directives, "Retrieve the Weasley patriarch from his office. Then escort him home. The whole house should be searched. Record anything relevant. Make it clear he's under investigation and if he tells anyone of what you discover he'll be held accountable for interference. Ministry employee or no."
After a good few minutes Madam Bones saw Hermione, Flitwick, and MacKenzie still standing there. As if she only just remembered she'd need someone attending to them as well. A secretary looked harried from whatever she'd been writing at her desk before her boss pulled her away and waved the poor young woman their way. With nothing more than a waving motion to state, "Deal with them."
Flitwick and her were shuffled aside, assisted by the harried secretary, to a utilitarian waiting area with hard seats and the designated public tea machine. MacKenzie went to a separate room, soon followed by a woman Flitwick stated was the government prosecutor. Raised voices could be heard exactly once as MacKenzie threatened to sue the Ministry for negligence and harmful intent against a Noble and Most Ancient House, Corruption of three generations of Ministers' Administrations, and withholding of voting rights of a Wizengamot member. Across the dingy table from her Flitwick chuckled. He'd transfigured his chair to a more appropriate height and he just then leant his elbows on the table as if this was the most fun he'd had in ages.
Hours later they were escorted out, a tired looking prosecutor's aide leading the way through the DMLE, up the golden elevators, and through the Ministry's topmost floor. Hermione's first impression was how gaudy the fountain looked, diminishing the quality of the otherwise impressive space. The DMLE Aide scurried away as soon as MacKenzie let him. The three of them watched him go. The lawyer had a satisfied smirk on his face when he turned toward her.
"We'll be in touch. Expect a letter about the trial date and any information House of Black will need to know." MacKenzie then lowered his voice, "Speaker Black you'll likely have to give an opening address in front of the full Wizengamot. We'll send you a preliminary script and you'd do well to memorize it before the end of the month. I don't believe the trial date will be rushed, but it's best to be prepared. That being said, you should probably order your dress robes as soon as possible."
Around them the last few of the Ministry's employees were locking department doors and hurrying through the large atrium. So many had just passed them and entered the floo network the atrium's air was heavy with lingering soot.
Flitwick offered, "We'll go now. Which clothing store do you prefer? Do you have money for such a thing?"
Hermione wasn't used to having a preferred store. Frankly, she'd only ever been to one which had the sort of things these people might be expecting. So with a bit of self-deprecating humor she stated, "Gladrags in Hogsmeade and yes."
She still had half the money left from her summer jobs. At the rate Hermione was spending she'd have to get another one immediately upon returning home. She'd be broke. This is why people shouldn't go shopping, they'll come out with all kinds of bad habits. Of all the stores to find and fall in love with why did it have to be something so extravagant? That gleam of amusement came back into Flitwick's expression. Oh yes, he knew exactly how much of a bookworm she was and that she'd only gone shopping once despite the year(s) she's lived since the summer of 1993.
Only belatedly she realized he was teasing her. Hermione huffed, squashing her face at how unfair he was being.
Flitwick chuckled before continuing his fun, "Have you ever taken the floo?"
By the time they got out all the Hogsmeade shops were closed, but a little sharp beaked bird sitting above the door eyed them before flying up to the home above the shop. Before Hermione could walk away Gladrag herself popped in the doorway, unlocking it for them and with a sweep of her hand lighting and heating the area.
"My Madam, your prowess is impressive," Flitwick bowed to the much taller woman, "Filius Flitwick, and it is a pleasure to meet you."
The woman honest to goodness flushed. Hermione looked back and forth between the two. Gladrag soon bustled them in and Hermione pulled out her purse the Gringotts Goblins claimed was spelled only to open for her and that it'd return to her if left somewhere for more than 24 hours.
It held all of her summer job wages which she'd converted at the beginning of term at her mother's insistence. Her mother's fretting over seeing the Daily Prophet declaring soul sucking monsters would be stationed around Hermione's school. Her mother had grabbed her up, "I want you to have enough in case of an emergency. We can't be there," At this her mother had cried on her for the first time in Hermione's life and the pain of their separation felt all the sharper. She didn't like seeing people hurting, and for those she loved it was gouging right out of her to see and not do something. She'd hugged her mother fiercely and promised she'd be careful. After the year she'd had Hermione wasn't at all sure she'd kept her promise.
She took a large breath and told Gladrag they'd be appearing in front of the Wizengamot, representing an old house and needed robes. Halfway through Flitwick's flirting he assured he had robes and then Hermione realized how poor it'd be to let Sirius arrive in his stolen garments.
She excused herself, promising Flitwick she'd be fine and back in an hour.
The trek to Sirius was becoming predictable, memorizing the turns and rocks which would trip her if she didn't pay attention. Seeing him, a solitary figure in a dank cave and low light made her sad. However, when he turned to see her his grim face transformed into something soft and an instant smile appeared.
"They have him. They have your memories submitted as evidence. The firm, they just raked them over the coals."
"They were told about the anti-animagus jinx?"
She nodded, then stepped closer. "I'll get you clothes. Do you know your measurements?"
His face turned down, returning to the fuzzy lost time where everything passed but him. Hermione waited, wishing he'd never been tortured, that he'd still be able to choose what to remember or not to remember. After a long time he shook his head.
"Tis' alright," She murmured stepping forwards. She'd borrowed a tape measure from Gladrag. The woman who seemed entirely unconcerned with the witch stealing her tape measure and much more enthralled speaking with Flitwick about a play they'd both seen in Versailles, their commentary running in fluid mid century French.
Hermione held it up and for a moment he didn't seem to register what it was or what she was asking.
She held it up between her hands. "May I?"
Just like her mother had done so many times to her father before a big business trip she stepped forwards. The comparison had Hermione's face heating. She would not think about how wide his shoulders were nor how nice his hips looked now she was discarding the outer robe and letting it fall on the transfigured camping futon. Sirius shifted, but then stopped himself. He watched her, his eyes dim and distant.
"Sirius?"
He nodded. He still wasn't moving and she wondered if the prison guards had done anything to him or if he'd simply been left to rot. She kept her touch light, barely there, not touching as much as possible. Width, height, circumference. Shoulders, waist, butt.
He watched her throughout and for the umpteenth time she wondered if it was inappropriate to get attached to him, to be attracted to him, to want to spend time with him. She'd always held herself to a high standard and she refused to take advantage of someone. No, she'd help him. She'd get him a trial. She'd get him eating well. Get him to all the doctors, er... healers, that he needed. Mentally, emotionally, physically he'd need them and until he was well she wouldn't let anyone take advantage of him. Once he was well enough he could make his decisions like any other fully functional adult.