Chapter 22: Friends and Unforgivables


"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?" said Harry sarcastically. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned.
—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling


"And a very happy birthday to you, Miss Granger!"

"Thanks, Sir Nicholas!" I called after the ghost. Nearly-Headless Nick waved cheerfully back over his shoulder, causing his head to wobble on his ruff, before drifting through the wall at the end of the corridor.

"Such a thoughtful man," the Fat Lady sighed wistfully, fanning her pink cheeks. "Devilishly handsome, as well. If only I'd been born a century later…"

"Are you really from the 1300s?" asked Sirius curiously. He was a step behind me, his hand light against the small of my back.

The Fat Lady frowned. "Don't you know how rude it is to ask a lady her age?"

I shot Sirius a reproachful side-eye and coughed awkwardly. "Er, sorry. Mulled mead."

The Fat Lady sniffed indignantly. "I certainly need a flagon now that you've reminded me—"

Her voice died away as her portrait swung open and granted us entrance into the common room.


Friends.

The word repeated inside my head as I climbed the spiral staircase half an hour later.

I actually appreciated the simplicity of it. I refused to revert to my normal response of obsessively overthinking every single move. I was actively choosing to go with the flow.

My life didn't need any more complications.

I pushed open the door to my dormitory, a smile on my slightly swollen lips, and made an immediate beeline for my trunk. I plucked my beaded bag from the very top, ignoring Mary's greeting from where she sat crossed-legged on her bed, braiding Alice's hair into a French plait. I pointed my wand into the bag's depths, performing a silent Summoning Charm in search of—

"Ah-ha!" I said triumphantly as the black leather photo album flew into my hands. I ran my fingertips over the gold embossed Hermione Jean Granger at the bottom corner of the front cover.

It had been a gift from my parents for Christmas of my fourth year. I'd sent their gifts by school owl that year, just as I had the previous two holidays, and for the first time, the same owl had returned bearing a brightly wrapped parcel containing the photo album. My dad had always been a bit wary of sending packages via owl ("Letters I can understand," by father had said stubbornly, "but a heavy parcel? The ruddy owl is going to lose it before it even gets to Glasgow!"). However, my mother had evidently won out, judging by her gushing letter reminding to me to take plenty of photos of the Yule Ball.

I sat cross-legged on my bed and rifled through the album hastily in search of one photo in particular.

"Everything okay, Hermione?" Alice asked curiously, then let out a small yelp as Mary pulled her hair tighter.

"Yeah, just looking for…" I bit my bottom lip as I flipped through a few more pages, passing over photos of Victor and I posed in front of the Durmstrang ship before the ball. The first shots could only be described as stiff, but a few whispered compliments from my date had me beaming brightly at the camera. His arm was draped around my waist, the corners of his mouth turned upward into the closest thing to a smile the broody Bulgarian could manage. I paused momentarily on a photo of Ginny and Harry laughing and swooping around on broomsticks in the Weasley's orchard. I let out a puff of laughter as I watched Ginny send Harry a rude hand gesture after he blocked her attempt on goal. I could practically hear Mrs. Weasley threatening to jinx her fingers together. I flipped backward a few pages, knowing I'd gone too far, and—

"A photo," I breathed when I finally found it.

It was a picture taken by Sirius himself on Christmas day at Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ron stood on either side of me in front of the fairy-lit Christmas tree, our arms thrown around one another, all three of us grinning broadly at the camera. I sat there for a moment, entranced by the memory. Every few seconds, Ron would send a furtive glance in my direction, his freckled cheeks ruddy from Fred's nicked Firewhiskey and blue eyes dancing with happiness. Harry was laughing at something in the distance, and I hazarded a guess at it being a joke from Sirius, because at the end of the approximately ten second loop, photo-Hermione also collapsed against Harry's side in a fit of giggles.

"Is that James?" asked Mary, suddenly very close to my right ear.

I had been so engrossed with the photo that I hadn't noticed Mary and Alice take a seat on either side of me, both peering over my shoulder. I jumped and made to slam the album shut, but Mary's manicured hand shot out and blocked the action.

"Of course not," I replied with a sniff. "It's a photo of my two best friends from Ilvermorny." I let out a thoughtful hum that I hoped was convincing. "He does look a bit like James though, doesn't he?"

"Dead ringer," snorted Alice. "They could be brothers."

"The ginger is rather cute, too," Mary giggled.

"Too right he is," I murmured.

Was.

When my two dormmates wandered back over to Mary's bed to finish Alice's hair, I unstuck the photo from the page, used Gemino to duplicate the image, then shrunk the copy to the right size. I slipped the locket from Aberforth out from beneath the collar of my shirt, smiling at the rose on the front as I unclasped the hinge. I wondered if roses held any sort of significance to the Dumbledore family. I muttered a Permanent Sticking Charm and watched as the edges of the photo rounded out to fit the window of the locket.

I gave my two favorite boys one last smile before closing the locket with a metallic click and tucking it away beneath my jumper.

"How's your day been?" I asked Mary and Alice as I walked over and plopped down onto the end of Alice's bed.


When I pulled back the blanket of my four-poster after my shower a little while later, I gasped aloud at the discovery of one last birthday treat lying on my pillow: a box of lemon Sugar Quills. I detached the card from the bright red ribbon tied around it.

Happy Birthday, friend.

Love, Lily

I grinned like a loon. Sugar Quills were my absolute favorite sweet. I glanced over at Lily's bed, hoping to thank her, but her bed was still pristinely made, her school bag also nowhere in sight. Prefect meetings were usually held on Monday nights.

It wasn't until I was tucked into bed not long after that I realized I hadn't ever shared that fact with Lily. Remus, however, had offered me one a few nights ago while we revised together in the Library.

"My pare–er, mum was a dentist, so I've never been a big fan of sweets," I'd told him as I accepted, "but there's just something addicting about Sugar Quills." After a quick suck at the delicate, sugar-spun end, I had amended my statement, "Especially the lemon-flavored."

I drifted off to sleep with a contented smile.


I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly as blinding lights overwhelmed my vision. For the fifth time that evening, I was flat on my back in the middle of the Room of Requirement, my entire body aching.

"Not again!" I groaned as I flexed my extremities. The person standing over me slowly came into focus as my vision acclimatized. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Better than last time," said Gideon as he held out his hand and pulled me to my feet, "but you've got to be faster. I'm going easy on you. Your spellwork is incredible, but you always let me get a full step ahead of you."

"I'm not exactly an athlete or anything," I grumbled as Gideon gave me back my wand. Sweat was pouring down my face, dripping into my eyes. I used the tail of my white oxford to mop my face clean, then cringed at the impropriety of the action.

"No one said you had to be," Gideon countered, not even bothering to hide the fact that his eyes had strayed to my briefly exposed stomach, "but you need to work on your agility. I can see your mind forming a plan, but your body just doesn't have the ability to put it into action."

"And what do you propose I do about that?" I asked crossly, folding my arms over my chest.

I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask him to train me.

"Well, first of all, you and I are going to start running together," he replied matter-of-factly.

I gaped at him.

"Did you just say running?"

Gideon nodded. "We'll take it slow at first, just Tuesday and Thursday mornings. We'll work our way up from there."

"Do I look like the sort of person that runs?" I asked, appalled, gesturing up and down my body.

Gideon narrowed his eyes sternly. "That brings me to my next point: you've got to start eating more." He reached out and wrapped his hand around my forearm. His fingers could have easily encircled it twice. "You can't build any muscle if there isn't enough fuel."

I scoffed as I shook him away.

"It's not my fault!" I retorted indignantly. "We were on the run! I lived in a bloody tent for more than half a year. Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell which mushrooms are edible and which will kill you?"

Gideon cocked an eyebrow. "Actually, I do. Survival training at the Academy. Six weeks alone in the Siberian wilderness with only your wand and the clothes on your back."

I sniffed, my nose in the air. I didn't know why his criticisms brought out such stubbornness in me.

"And you aren't on the run anymore, are you?" he pointed out. "You've got the Hogwarts house elves to take care of you now."

I laughed dryly.

Mentioning slave labor wasn't exactly the best way to advocate your point, Gid.

"Fine," I sighed. "Exercise and more hearty meals. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually, but it's on a different subject entirely," he said, his tone a bit uncertain as he waved me over to the back of the Room of Requirement. Where earlier there had been a stretch of blank stone wall, there was now a massive brick fireplace. Two squashy crimson armchairs faced a merrily blazing fire.

"Sit," he said as he sank into one of the chairs and ruffled his ginger hair. It was longer than it had been when I first met him, curling near his ears and at the nape of his neck. If he continued to let it grow, it would curl into adorable ringlets, just like Charlie's and Percy's hair had done.

"Well?" I asked as he examined me closely. He was making me nervous.

"Moody got you a book for your birthday," he said slowly after another moment of silence. "Have you read it yet?"

"My birthday was literally three days ago," I replied with a frown. "I haven't had a chance yet."

He hummed pensively, tapping his index fingers against the arms of the chair and staring into the crackling fire. I watched him apprehensively, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"Oh," he said, looking to me suddenly, "and happy birthday! Sorry, haven't had a chance to get you a gift."

I laughed. "Didn't expect one, honestly. We both know it isn't really my birthday anymore. Who told you?"

"Fabian," he answered simply, then chuckled at my bemused expression. "Who heard it from Moody, who was told by Dumbledore. Don't tell him I mentioned it, but I'm pretty sure Fabian is planning to bring you a tin of Molly's treacle fudge to the next meeting. Make sure to act surprised."

My mouth actually began to water at the thought. "Oh God, Molly's fudge is heavenly."

"Too right," Gideon agreed with a nod. "So, you haven't read Protection Charm Your Mind yet." I shook my head. "But you're a decent Occlumens, aren't you?"

"Er, I wouldn't go so far as decent," I replied with a grimace. "Merely… passable."

"Passable," he repeated under his breath as he scratched his cheek thoughtfully. It was clean shaven, which I knew meant he had visited the Auror Office that day.

"I've never had any proper training. All self-taught."

"Okay, then that's something else we need to practice."

"Hang on a moment," I said, sitting up straighter in my chair. "By practice, you mean, like, you performing Legilimency on me?"

"How else are you going to learn?" Gideon snorted. "I'm not a master Legilimens by any means, but we're taught the basics at the Academy."

My eyes widened in horror. "But then you'll see—" I faltered, searching for the right word. "Well, everything!"

"I'm not going to delve into your private thoughts, Hermione," he reassured. I was still unconvinced, and I knew he could tell by my expression. "Is there anything in particular you don't want me to see?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I, er, well, I guess not," I conceded. "But Gideon, what you may see—it's not pretty. Some of it is downright disturbing."

"I expected as much. But I'm an Auror, Hermione. We're trained for this sort of thing."

This reminded me of a question that had been plaguing me for the past few days.

"Wait, why did Moody get me that particular book in the first place?" I asked. "Does he know about me?"

The question seemed to catch Gideon off guard.

"'Course not," he answered. "But you can't hide much from Moody. He knows there's something fishy about you. You're damn lucky to have Dumbledore vouching for you, otherwise I'm sure Moody would've locked you in a cellar, tied to a chair until you spilled your entire life story."

"Small comfort," I muttered under my breath.

"He might've worked it out on his own, knowing Moody, but I can't be sure," said Gideon, a note of pride in his voice. He and Fabian thought very highly of their mentor, as did I. "You shared a little too much information at the last meeting. I think he's certain you aren't a Death Eater, but no one else in the Order knew that Rookwood had turned."

"Are you saying that I shouldn't have mentioned that?" I asked, frowning.

At the Order meeting on Saturday, Benjy's friend Pierce, who was apparently employed by Magical Maintenance, had brought up some suspicious happenings in the corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries. After hearing Rookwood's name, I thought I had done the right thing by speaking up and confirming the Unspeakable's counter-allegiance. On either side of me, Gideon and Fabian had sat up straighter in their chairs, and I'd watched Gideon's scowl deepen as Dumbledore reminded them of their lack of evidence. They had nothing substantial, meaning all they could do was keep a close eye on the Death Eater.

"S'not what I meant," said Gideon, shaking his head. "I'm not explaining this well. Moody gave you that book because he knows there's something important inside your head, something that needs protecting. And he's right on the money, isn't he? It's only logical that you and I should practice doing just that."

"Fine," I sighed. "Merlin, I hate it when you're right."

I caught myself, flinching at the realization that I was speaking to him the same way I would have done to Ron. I reminded myself not to confuse the two, regardless of their similarities.

"I often am," Gideon replied with a grin. I let out a small laugh before he added. "Next time we meet, though. You've taken enough of a beating tonight."

I nodded ruefully and rubbed the back of my head, which was still throbbing after multiple encounters with the ground.

Another thought hit me suddenly, something I'd read in Mastering Your Mind: A Handbook of Elementary Cerebral Magic. I'd purchased the book on a whim from Flourish and Blotts during the holiday after my fifth year, Harry's disturbing visions still horribly fresh in my mind. It's instruction had helped me develop the rudimentary Occlumency skills I now possessed, but it was also a prolific resource for much more than that.

"Oh!" I burst out. Gideon raised his eyebrows. "I have a question. Dumbledore asked that I provide him with memories—bits of my past life that he can examine in his Pensieve. If my Occlumency skills improve, won't that help in memory retrieval? Make my recollections more precise and organized?"

"Very much so, actually," said Gideon with a look of approval. "A successful Occlumens is not only able to seal their mind to magical intrusion, but they're also able to choose specific thoughts and memories to protect."

"Compartmentalization."

"Exactly, memory retrieval is all about focusing on detail," said Gideon with a nod. We were both near the edge of our seat, leaning toward one another, engrossed in the conversation. "But when it comes to Occlumency, the hardest part isn't establishing the walls nor isolating the memories. With a little practice, that can be relatively simple. The problem is maintaining your defenses. Fortifying them. Ensuring that they're impenetrable and able to withstand not only the most vicious of assaults, but also to the most subtle."

—the most vicious of assaults.

'You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth!'

I could still remember the sensation of her magic assaulting my mind as her wand tortured me—the same wand that was currently in my lap. I ran my thumb along the rune-carved handle, and my wand emitted a pulse of heat, reassuring me of its allegiance and regret. I honestly found it incredible how despite the agonizing pain of Bellatrix's curse, I had been able to recognize the distinct prod of rancidly sweet, yet somehow still dryly sleek magic, like a snake curling around my brain, constricting and probing, searching for an entrance, a point of weakness—

"I know vicious attacks," I murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

It had been so difficult to sustain my barricades and attempt to project a false truth while I was just absolutely positive that I was dying. Her serpentine coil of magic had seemed to flick out its tongue, tasting the memory I wanted her so desperately to believe. However, the snake had known that the flavor of the memory was… off.

Corrupt magic knows its own, after all. It can identify deceit.

After Griphook's lie, reassurance that she hadn't failed her Master, Bellatrix must have decided that whatever she sensed stemmed from my fear rather than dishonesty.

I was astonished that she'd bought it, but desperate times, desperate people—

I shuddered.

"You're more skilled than you're letting on," Gideon accused, not unkindly.

"No," I replied honestly. "Adrenaline is a powerful drug. In some ways, torture muddles your mind, but there are moments of, well, clarity. That's how I was able to lie. It wasn't the most convincing of lies, in hindsight, but she eventually bought it."

"Torture?" Gideon repeated sharply.

I winced. I'd forgotten that Gideon didn't know.

"The Cruciatus," I murmured, averting my eyes to my lap.

No, stop avoiding. Face the reality of your past head-on.

I lifted my gaze to look Gideon straight in the eyes, a look of what I hoped was indifference on my face. His lips were pressed together in a hard line as if restraining himself from investigating further.

"I told you," I said flatly. "Downright disturbing."

He then surprised me by placing a hand on top of my own, which was gripping the arm of my chair so tightly that my knuckles were white. Without giving myself a chance to second-guess, I turned my hand over and laced my fingers together with his. The palm of his hand was roughly calloused, but just like with Sirius, his warmth calmed me.

"You're going to have to relive it," Gideon said softly. "To procure the memory for Dumbledore, I mean. Though in reality the charm takes only seconds, you'll feel as if you've experienced it all over again."

"I know," I replied, and I was ashamed to find my voice quavering slightly.

Get a grip, Hermione. You're stronger than this.

But the idea of revisiting the drawing room of Malfoy Manor or the devastation of the final battle—not just in my dreams, but actually feeling like I was there…

Well, frankly, the concept nauseated me.

"I could do it with you."

"Er, what?" I asked, shocked by the offer. "Is that even possible?"

He nodded. "If we perform the charm simultaneously. I have a friend who works in the Department of Mysteries, on the team researching memory isolation and extraction, actually. It's typically used whenever two people are attempting to recall the same memory, but according to her 'dual casting has the potential to stimulate more neurons.' The more magic, the better I suppose."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't Unspeakables supposed to be a bit more secretive about their research?"

"She's a member of the Order, though a little more behind the scenes than most. She knows the right information to share for the greater good."

The Greater Good.

"Help might…" I broke off, chewing on my bottom lip. "I guess help would be easier than doing it alone."

Gideon squeezed my hand, which was still firmly clasped in his.

"But I don't think we should start with the worst of it," I added. "I don't think I can handle it yet."

"You have seven years worth of knowledge to share, Hermione. We can start wherever you'd like."


"Severus!"

"Granger."

"How many times must I tell you to call me Hermione?" I sighed as I carefully fetched our potion from the cupboard and slid it into a brown paper sack. I glanced around the shadowed, empty dungeon theatrically. "There's no Slytherins around tonight. You don't have to worry about being seen consorting with a Dumbledore."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I was worried you'd be late."

"Late?" I snorted. "It's not as if we'd arranged a time, remember? You raced out at the end of last class before I could even ask."

"There was no need. If you knew the potion well enough, you would be here before sunset."

I rolled my eyes. There was just something about Severus that instilled a surge of confidence in me. Maybe it was because he was a puzzle I was set on solving. I sighed dramatically as I thrust the sack into his hands. "I'm not going to lie, your persistent doubt in my abilities cuts deeply."

"Careful!" he exclaimed as he cradled the bag gently in his hands.

"Ever heard of a Cushioning Charm?" I asked with a smirk.

He raised his eyebrows before shrugging. "Trust no one."

"Merlin, Sev," I said, shaking my head, "that's a sad life to live."

He flinched at being addressed by the nickname Lily had given him. My goal had been to rattle him.

He began to open the bag to check on the condition of the potion, but I leapt forward just as his fingers slipped beneath the fold. "Don't!" I shouted, snatching it back from him. "The sack is charmed to repel all ultraviolet light. We mustn't open it until we're outdoors."

His jaw dropped in shock momentarily before he finally smiled in approval. "Very clever."

My cheeks colored at the compliment. "It just made sense. It took a bit of research to find it, but it was relatively simple to master."

I didn't mention that I'd found the charm in a very dusty book in the Restricted Section of the Library. Likely not how Uncle Albus expected me to use the pass he'd given me, but it was productive either way.

"I think it would be best for us to go up to the Astronomy Tower," I stated matter-of-factly. "It's the highest point of the castle, and recent research has shown more favorable outcomes in the second phase when the midpoint potion is left closer to the full moon. Though according to the Vogel study, the curve seems to level off at altitudes higher than—"

"Okay, okay!" Severus interjected. I frowned at the interruption, but he was shaking his head amusedly. "I get it, you've done your due diligence. My plan was the same. Let's go."

We were silent for most of the walk. I cast around for any topic of conversation, but the only thing we had in common was the potion.

Or, at least, as far as he knew.

"I've also been researching the best method to conceal it overnight," I said as we climbed the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower. "The simplest would be to cast a Repelling Charm, and maybe even a mild Compulsion Charm for good measure."

"You didn't think we were just going to leave it, did you?" Severus asked, sounding surprised. "A delicate potion like Veritaserum out in the open where anyone could tamper with it?"

"So, what? We're going to stay with it all night?"

He nodded.

"Outdoors. At the top of the Astronomy Tower. On a particularly chilly September night?"

"You've got a jumper," he shrugged.

I gaped at him as we topped the last stair and stepped out into the breezy evening. The sun was almost beneath the line of the crenulated ramparts, the sky a stunning array of blood red and shades of orange.

"You're more than welcome to leave."

"Fat chance."

He chuckled softly as he checked his watch. "Let's setup. We only have three minutes." He waved his wand in a complicated motion, conjuring a tall, four-legged wooden stool from thin air.

"We'll die of boredom before sunrise," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. I placed the bag carefully in the center and held my wand at the ready. "Keep an eye on the sun and tell me when. I'll handle the bag."

He grunted in what I assumed was concurrence. I pointed my wand at the brown paper sack, silent as the seconds trickled by, ready to vanish it away when the right moment came.

"Five seconds, I think."

I nodded even though he wasn't looking at me.

"And… now."


Severus and I sat leaning against the wall of the tower, a basin of bluebell flames between us to stave off the chill. I checked my watch with a sigh. Only four hours had passed. I'd already finished my Charms and Arithmancy essays (by squinting, headache-inducing wandlight), and since the moment we'd settled in for the night, Severus's nose had been buried in a book, his curtain of dark hair shielding his face from sight.

I had no idea how he could possibly read comfortably in such low lighting. Perhaps Ron had been onto something and the Slytherin was actually part-bat.

The quiet night was becoming overwhelming. It reminded me too much of nights in the tent with Harry in the weeks after Ron left.

"Whatcha reading?" I asked finally, voice a bit croaky after hours of forced silence.

He jerked his head up as if he'd forgotten I was even there.

Lovely company you make, Hermione.

He moved the spine of the book into the dim light cast by the my basin of fire. I ducked my head to read the title. "The Art of Potion Making." I raised my eyebrows. "Isn't that a bit, well, elementary for your skill level?"

He scowled at me. "You'd be surprised at how much you can learn from careful study of the fundamentals."

He wasn't wrong. Gideon emphasized this point often in Defense class, and even Harry had been insistent on the importance of spells like Expelliarmus in D.A. meetings.

Well, the charm had saved his life, but the point stands.

I shifted uncomfortably; the stone of the rampart had long since numbed my bottom. Severus pointed his wand in my direction, and I flinched instinctively, but a moment later, I felt as if I were sitting on the most luxurious feather mattress I could imagine.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Ever heard of a Cushioning Charm?" he asked sardonically.

I opened my mouth to respond with an equally witty quip, but I was struck dumb by the sound of a distant, eerily familiar howl.

Severus tensed immediately, leaning forward.

"Don't—" I began.

The words don't you fucking dare were on my lips, but I caught myself. Severus knew what was out there. There was no reason for him to know that I did as well.

"Don't you just love the sounds of the forest?" I finished mildly. "Uncle Albus said there might be a pack of very intelligent wolves out there. Fascinating, isn't it?"

The scowl on Severus's face made it clear that he wasn't fooled in the slightest.


"Why the fuck are you here?"

I awoke in a state of outright confusion. I opened my eyes blearily, squinting as I took in my surroundings. My head was resting on an unfamiliar shoulder, my neck stiff from sleeping at such an odd angle. I sat up slowly, wiping a fairly large amount of drool from the corner of my mouth with my sleeve.

"Jolly good morning to you too, Snivellus," a voice I would now recognize anywhere said above me.

I scrubbed my hand roughly across my face to clear my head.

Right.

Veritaserum. The full moon. The Astronomy Tower.

Severus Snape.

But then why in Merlin's name was Sirius here?

"I repeat," said Severus coolly. "Why the fuck are you here?"

The moment my head left his shoulder, Severus slid at least three feet away from me. He was now glaring at Sirius with a look of savage contempt.

"Thought Hermione might like a spot of breakfast," said Sirius cheerfully. "Good morning, love."

"Didn't I say not to call me that?" I said instinctively as I rubbed my eyes.

Sirius hummed thoughtfully, but the shit-eating grin on his face told me everything I needed to know. He seemed to be favoring his right leg and a dark purple bruise was blossoming on his temple from his wolfish adventures the night before.

"Fuck off, Black," Severus spat in annoyance.

"Gladly," said Sirius, eyeing Severus with disdain, "but not until Hermione takes her raspberry scone and coffee." He held out a large, steaming mug and a neatly wrapped scone.

How on earth did he know my favorite breakfast?

"Merlin, Sirius," I said, glancing at Severus apologetically. If there was a side, of course I would be on Sirius's, but it was unfair for Sirius to pop out of nowhere like this. "We're just up here for the Potions assignment. I'll be at breakfast in a bit."

"Breakfast is over in—" Sirius checked his watch. "Oh, huh, about ten minutes ago."

I bolted to my feet. "But today is Wednesday!" I squeaked frantically. "That means we have Charms in ten minutes!"

"Yep," said Sirius with a mild shrug.

"Oh, fuck me," I muttered as I ran my fingers through my hair and whipped around to face Severus again. "Can you—" I began, but then gasped loudly. "Merlin's beard! The sunlight! Severus, why didn't you wake me? Our potion—"

"Taken care of," said Severus in the flat, emotionless voice he'd perfected throughout the years. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and spun to look at the stool. Our potion was once again in a brown paper sack.

"But the Light-Repelling Charm—"

"Done," interjected Severus, staring down at his potions textbook.

"But… Oh." I narrowed my eyes as understanding dawned. "Don't ever humor me like that again," I said in a tone so icy, he was forced to look up. "I'm leaving. You will bring our potion back down to the dungeons."

It wasn't a question, and I didn't wait for a response. I hoisted my school bag onto my shoulder and snatched the mug of coffee from Sirius's hand. He followed with a smug grin as I strode across the rampart and down the spiral staircase. When we reached the bottom, I paused to take a long sip of my coffee. It was made exactly how I take it.

"Scone?" Sirius offered sheepishly, holding out the wrapped breakfast in his hand.

I glared at him half-heartedly as I accepted. "You git," I said through a mouthful of raspberry scone. "You did that on purpose."

Sirius smirked as he threw an arm around my shoulders and lead me down the corridor. "Just eat your breakfast, kitten. We're late for Charms."


I wiped my hands on my apron, knowing my whole body likely reeked of Firewhiskey by this point. The drunk buggers in this pub were none too careful with their beverages, and we'd been so busy that I hadn't even had a chance to pause and Scourgify my skirt. It was a little after midnight when the steady stream of customers finally relented.

As I made to slip behind the bar, a massive, hairy arm suddenly wrapped around my waist, pulling me to the side of a man who stank of stale tobacco and something stronger than Firewhiskey. "Come on, hen," he drawled loudly as he patted me firmly on the bottom. "Take off early and have a pint with me."

I recognized the voice from my last few shifts helping Aberforth out at the Hog's Head.

"Oh, Mr. Macnair, my father will have your hands for pumpkins if you keep this up," I said sweetly, slapping his wandering hands away.

"Aye, I'll wear ye down soon enough," he slurred, raising his glass to me.

I suppressed a shudder. Having to banter playfully with Buckbeak's would-be executioner was frankly disgusting.

"How about I get you one of my specials?" I asked, leaning over him and fetching his empty glass. His gaze roamed down my low-cut jumper hungrily, and I vowed to take a long, scalding hot shower as soon as I returned to my dormitory.

"Anything from you, mo ghràidh," he said, drunkenly slipping into Scottish Gaelic as he leered at me.

My special was nothing more than pumpkin juice and a splash of Goblin Gin with a charm (courtesy of Benjy) to bring out the juniper. It was my go-to whenever a sloshed patron was getting a bit too handsy. As I made my way behind the bar, a bell tinkled and I instinctively glanced up at the door of the pub. My breath caught in my throat and I missed the glass, pouring a hefty amount of gin onto the bar.

I would recognize that sleek blonde hair anywhere.

Keep it together this time, Hermione.

I breathed ragidly through my nose as I mopped the counter with the first rag I could find, ears pricked.

Lucius Malfoy slid atop the barstool beside Macnair, straight-backed and scowling. "Your wife wouldn't be too pleased to know where you are tonight, Walden," Malfoy murmured.

Macnair scoffed and snatched up a handful of nuts from the questionable dish in the middle of the counter. "Aye, but nae a body will be telling her, will they?"

"You'll have a lot worse problems than your nag of a wife if you don't get it together," Malfoy hissed. "This is serious, Walden. You can't keep getting pissed in every pub from here to London and expect Him not to notice."

"Fuck Him," Macnair muttered.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Malfoy sniffed. "Drink this. Then we can discuss matters properly." Malfoy set a vial of blood-red liquid onto the counter in front of his companion.

"Your drink, Mr. Macnair," I said, sliding his glass across the bar. The burly Death Eater caught it clumsily.

Malfoy reprimanded me with a sharp glare, so I winked and nodded to the glass. "Pumpkin juice," I mouthed at the blonde. His eyes remained narrowed, but he nodded at me approvingly. "And for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Firewhiskey neat, thank you," he replied stiffly.

"Right away, sir," I managed to bite out, swallowing the rising bile in my throat. I turned my back on the pair, reaching beneath the bar for a glass while simultaneously sliding my wand from the pocket of my apron and surreptitiously vanishing the remaining liquor in the bottle of Ogden's.

"Take the potion, you fool," Malfoy muttered impatiently. "I have news."

I heard a loud gulp behind me, and I took my time searching for a fresh bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Now that you're in your right mind again," Malfoy said disdainfully, "I have a warning from our informant." Malfoy was silent for a moment, and I slowly poured two ounces of Firewhiskey into a glass, straining to hear every word. "Minchum has given in to Scrimgeour's demands. The Aurors have been licensed to use Unforgivables."

Macnair swore colorfully.

"You must be more cautious," Malfoy whispered. "Your team is doing great work, but you've been careless. I believe the Aurors are onto you."

"Anything else, sir?" I asked, placing the glass of Firewhiskey in front of him and blinking innocently.

"No," Malfoy replied shortly, wrapping his left hand around the short glass. A large gold signet ring glinted on his middle finger. His right hand was hidden beneath the bar, and I was almost certain that his wand was pressing into Macnair's side.

I nodded and turned to finish cleaning the stack of glasses behind the bar.

"Our job is crucial, Walden," Malfoy hissed.

"Yes, sir," rasped Macnair. Now that he was a bit more sober, a note of fear was obvious in his voice, despite the fact that Malfoy must be at least a decade younger. "He has my full devotion."

Malfoy's glass of Firewhiskey was completely untouched when the pair departed the pub a few minutes later.


"Merlin fucking shit!" James exclaimed over breakfast the next morning. He'd started reading Lily's copy of the morning paper while she was still pouring herself a cup of tea, which she subsequently spilt across the white table cloth in her effort to throw a hand over James's mouth.

"Language!" Lily admonished in a hiss. "The Head Boy is meant to set an example!"

My Daily Prophet was still folded neatly beside my bowl of porridge. I knew what this morning's headline would read. I sipped my cup of tea silently, eyes moving from person to person as I watched the news unfold.

Marlene had been tossing grapes into the air for Sirius to catch in his mouth. Both had frozen, expressions wary as the last projectile flew over Sirius's shoulder and hit an unsuspecting Hufflepuff in the back of the head.

"What now?" asked Remus in a tired sort of voice between sips of tea.

Sirius snatched the paper from James's hands and read the headline aloud. I mouthed along with him, knowing the Daily Prophet all too well.

"Scrimgeour Victorious: Aurors Authorized to Use Unforgivables."

Sirius's voice carried throughout our corner of the Great Hall. A chorus of gasps preceded a shocked silence. Alice's eyes widened in fear, and I knew she was thinking of Frank. Having a boyfriend in the Auror Academy during wartime couldn't be easy.

"In a shocking move yesterday evening, the Ministry for Magic passed new legislation sanctioning the use of Unforgivable Curses by the British Auror Department," Sirius read, frowning down at the paper. "Previously blocked by the Minister for Magic Harold Minchum—wank, wank, political circle wank—passed by the Wizengamot with a three-quarter majority—"

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?" said Peter quietly once Sirius had finished his condensed version. "If the other side is using them, then why shouldn't we be able to?"

"Because we don't sink to their level," James spat at his friend. "They're called Unforgivables for a reason!"

I bristled at these words, vividly recalling the thrilling sensation of the Killing Curse traveling down my arm, the light leaving her eyes—

"It's not that simple!" I burst out, surprising even myself. Everyone at our end of the table rounded to stare at me. I lowered my voice to a more reasonable decibel, my cheeks burning scarlet. "The line between dark and light isn't as clear as you think. Sometimes you're left with no choice."

"Rubbish," James replied dismissively. "There's absolutely no reason—"

"You don't understand," I interrupted, eyes flashing dangerously. "If it was the choice between life and death, the choice between the life of your best friend and their murder—" I broke off, breathing unevenly through my nose. All eyes were on me as an uncomfortable silence fell.

"You have no idea. Any of you," I finished harshly as I sprang to my feet, glaring at the lot of them one last time before striding out of the Great Hall.

'I've never known you to be so dramatic,' tutted Tom Riddle.

'It's your fault,' I shot back.


I need to see the Room of Hidden Things…

Why had I let myself lose control again? So utterly embarrassingly? It seemed to be happening far too often. Maybe excessive subjection to the Cruciatus Curse had actually scrambled my brain beyond repair.

Please show me the room where everything is hidden…

That had a lot of merit, actually. Might this all just be a product of my depraved imagination? Who was to say that it wasn't still 1998? That I wasn't simply trapped in a coma at St. Mungo's? The idea of this being a horribly fucked dream was far more reasonable than my ludicrous perceived reality.

I need access to—

"Hermione!"

I stopped in my tracks, still breathing heavily as I jerked my head round to look over my shoulder. Sirius was at the end of the corridor, jogging toward me, his school bag bouncing against his side with every step.

Well, he looked pretty damn real to me.

I groaned loudly, throwing up my hands to cover my still-burning face. "Go away, Sirius!"

"Not bloody likely," he countered, panting slightly as he reached me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "Sod the fuck off."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, you think vulgar language is going to scare me off?" he snorted. "You've got a lot to learn, kitten."

"Damn it!" I ejaculated, stamping my foot furiously and turning to leave, but he caught me before I'd even made it forty-five degrees. His hands wrapped around my upper arms, holding me securely to face him.

And he felt real.

"Tell me who it was," he breathed into my hair as he pulled me to his chest.

"I have no idea what you mean," I said as I wiggled in a vain attempt to extricate myself from his grasp.

He scoffed in disbelief, but loosened his grip and bent his knees until we were at eye level. "You've used an Unforgivable."

It wasn't a question. My heart seemed to be thrumming in my ears.

"That's very personal," I replied, placing my hands on his chest and pushing him roughly away. As he stumbled backward, I realized how incriminating I sounded, so I narrowed my eyes and added, "And a horrid thing to accuse someone of."

"But you're not denying it." His voice was low and oddly gentle.

"Merlin help me, I am so not having this conversation."

Because I was tired of lying.

I turned my back on him and smoothed my robes before striding quickly down the corridor.

"Fuck, Hermione, I'm trying to help you!" he shouted at my retreating back.

Help.

I couldn't stop myself. I wheeled around to face him again. "Help me?" I fumed. "You have no idea—"

"Then tell me!" he interjected.

I shook my head back and forth vigorously, my hair flying. "Absolutely not. You aren't ready."

"Who says?" he inquired, taking a step toward me. His gaze was severe and breathtakingly blazing.

"Me!"

"Why?" Sirius asked indignantly. "Don't give me the same rubbish you spout at James. We may be young, but so are you." He pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. "And don't even mention my family." He spat the last word from his mouth as if it pained him.

"I would never," I whispered, stung that he would even consider it. "I know you're different than them."

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw as he inhaled slowly through his nose. "Then what is it?" he asked quietly. "Fucking hell, Hermione, you have to know that I'd help you in whatever shite you've gotten yourself into."

I gaped at him. "Gotten—" I spluttered, and all I saw was the precise shade of green of Tom Riddle's Killing Curse. "Gotten myself into? I didn't choose this! Any of this! God, if you only knew—"

"Then tell me!"

I locked eyes with him, grinding my teeth. The silver that met my gaze was pleading.

"No," I replied firmly, and when he opened his mouth to protest, I held up my hand, "but it's not because I don't want to. Merlin, I'd tell you in a heartbeat if I could. But I can't, Sirius. I just can't. This is far bigger than me, bigger than any of us. I can't let you take on that burden, too. I refuse."

He glared at me for a moment more, but his face slowly softened.

I felt horribly guilty, though I wasn't sure why. I was under no obligation to tell him anything at all.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, cheeks hot. "I really am."

"This is all kinds of fucked up."

I blinked away the tears in the corners of my eyes. "Trust me, I'm very aware."

He frowned, but nodded at me in a resigned sort of way.

"Er, if it will help any, can I show you something I've been working on?" I asked, taking a tentative step toward him.

One corner of his mouth quirked upward, but his eyes were cautious. "No promises."

I nodded and gave him a small, hopeful smile before turning and walking back and forth along the stretch of stone wall, repeating my request in my head. His eyes widened in shock and he stood stock-still, gawking at the polished wooden door that had just popped into existence. I slid my hand into his and pulled him toward it.

"Remember the experimental potion I told you about?" I whispered as I pushed open the door. "This is it."


(A/N): Thanks for sticking with me even though updates can be slow at times. Please take a moment to leave a review and let me know what you think!


says he made the big mistake of dancing in my storm
says it was poison
so I guess I'll go home
into the arms of the girl that I love,
the only love I haven't screwed up
she's so hard to please, but she's a forest fire

Liability — Lorde