AN: Updated 2/6/22

It feels like Hermione's barely laid her head down before her body is tugging itself awake again. She's trained it well, waking an hour before breakfast to secure her place in the melee for bathroom time normally. Final's week had thrown her anxiety into overdrive, so she's not even surprised to see the sun barely poking above the treetops of the forbidden forest. She grumbles to herself about it being way too early still, but is unwilling to actually to go back to bed.

Walking back from the loo, Hermione can't help but look over her boys. Hers, in the sense that they'd be lost without her. And after spending so much time and effort concerning their welfare, she felt entitled to a little possessiveness. Harry looks pale and tired still, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning about. No doubt battling whatever horrors the dementors kicked up, or the uncertainty of Sirius.

Sweet Merlin, Sirius. Saved from his execution, but killed all the same. And there won't be an investigation, nor will anyone claim credit. Sirius, for as tattered as his reputation was, was the Heir of House Black at the time of his death. Due to Hagrid's arrest, she'd done some digging into wizarding law, which was very detailed and tight about how a member of the Sacred 28, the founding families, could be handled. For all the gory details, Sirius was still an Heir to one of the Sacred 28, and murdered in cold blood. The ministry couldn't touch him for the precedent it would set. At least, that's the way it should work twisted as it is. Given they had been perfectly fine divesting him of his soul, which was not one of the allowed punishments to members of the Sacred 28, she couldn't really say.

Also absent from the list was what Hermione was fairly certain he had died to: the killing curse. Technically, she's not even supposed to know about the killing curse since it is on the banned list of spells, but with Harry Potter being her age, she had devoured everything before first year on him. She knew they were mostly rubbish now, but at the time…

In any case, the legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived wasn't complete without explaining why he was so special, which meant at least a mention of the spell in every book. Cleverly hidden, of course, by the authors. An emerald flash, that final breath, the soul cleaver; they had all used epithets, but she could piece them together. It was the banned spell known as the Killing Curse.

For Harry to have yet another tragedy involving the curse was truly horrid luck. Another tragedy involving parental figures, she amended in her head. It was such a mess: Harry barely knew Sirius, had talked with the man for maybe an hour at best. An hour armed with the knowledge that he was actually innocent and wanted Harry, only to have him yanked away. She couldn't even begin to guess how he'd take it. Would he mourn the lost potential or forget about it easily? Be sad he lost something, or had he not considered anything gained just yet? She couldn't know. All she could do was stroke his hair and watch him sleep, trying her darndest to help him be at peace.

She'd have to talk with her parents again about Harry. He wouldn't like it, but staying with those relatives of his was obviously not good for him. Too many signs had cropped up for her to ignore it anymore. She'd sacrifice their friendship for his health if she had to, not that she thinks he'll take it that far. They'll have a row about his privacy, he'll storm off and spend a few weeks with Ron before coming back. It would be lonely, but she could handle it. They were friends enough that she'd take it. Ron lets out a snort in his sleep and Hermione looks over.

Ron. The ginger was out to the world still, sleeping off the skelegrow Madame Pomphrey fed him. This past year had been hard for them both. Crooks and Scabbers had set them at odds, but the way they handled it, the way Ron handled it, set the terms for their friendship. She was a friend of convenience to him, nothing more. Without Harry to hold them together and sometimes apart, things would probably go right back to the way they were first year. Pigtail pulling her mom had called it, but Hermione didn't think so. Or even if it was, she wasn't sure she supported it or could forgive it. What kind of attitude would she be setting, rewarding behavior like that? Preposterous, and mean.

Caught in her musings, Hermione didn't notice Madame Pomphrey slip in and start organizing her desk.

"Oh, good morning Madame Pomphrey." Hermione says, noticing the woman at her desk.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger. Everything feel alright?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Right as summer rain. Harry though, he doesn't look that great." Hermione prods.

"Mr. Potter has been in here too many times for his own good, and never for something banal or inconveniencing. No, life threatening only. And those relatives of his! Every year he comes back worse than the one before. I wish I could do something, but my hands are tied. If only there were some other doctors that could see this, ones who aren't so limited in their focus." The woman says, giving Hermione a look. She can understand the not-so-subtle jab and request.

"If only." Hermione agrees, sending the woman a smile.

"Yes, well." Madame Pomphrey says, shuffling the papers on her desk. "I think Minerva is in her office if you wanted to deal with your study aid before these two hooligans awaken. Though, Dumbledore had a fire chat with Mr. Weasley's father; they'll be over to pick up him and his siblings shortly after lunch if you wish to say goodbye."

"Thank you," Hermione says, taking one last look at the sleeping Harry, "tell him when he wakes that- Oh, don't bother. He'll find me. He always does. Goodbye, Madame Pomphrey. May your summer be pleasant."

"Yours too, Ms. Granger."

Hermione knocks on the door to McGonagall's office and calls out, "Professor McGonagall?" The door swings open and Hermione steps through to see McGonagall putting her wand down.

"Ms. Granger." She greets, "This is early, even for you."

"Unfortunately, my body still believes we are in the midst of finals." Hermione says.

"I suppose you work that out every summer then? Just be warned, too much studying and not enough sleep will affect your magic. It would be best if you figured out a good balance before your OWL year."

"OWLs? But that's three- Oh Merlin, they're the year after next."

"You've got time, Ms. Granger. No need to panic about them until at least this time next year."

"I'll try Professor. Now, I believe it would be best for me to turn this in." She says, tugging a golden chain up from her shirt and pulling it over her hair to lay it down on the table between them.

McGonagall looks surprised, but tries to hide it behind her cuppa.

"I suppose it does seem strange, but I have thought this through. Someone found out, or rather guessed at how I was able to attend all of my classes. I may have accidentally confirmed it for them, and they met with me multiple times to check on me. They advised me of many potential issues, and further pushed me to face some things about myself that I would have rather left undiscovered." Hermione admits with no small amount of humility.

"Such as?" McGonagall prods.

"For one, I was being aged prematurely by the magics. My body was living hours over, day after day without the proper amount of added rest. My mind too was under increased strain not only from the larger number of studies, but simply keeping hold of the reality I was under. As I spent more and more time under the influence, I found that I grew shorter and less patient with people. If I can be frank, it is also too tempting. There were a few instances I nearly spun backward just to try at something again, to pass along information or change circumstances. Harry and I's activity last night only cemented the feeling I had been gaining; that if I continued to have the time turner in my possession I would sooner or later break the rules and end up a statistic." Hermione finishes.

"You bring up several valid points." McGonagall says with a firm smile, "Of course it is moot anyway, since the Ministry did not see fit to renew the permit for the time turner. I am glad you found some newfound maturity in any case. I see you are putting those extra three days of living to good use."

Hermione tries not to start at what she thinks was a joke from the stern witch.

"Now, that does bring us to our next point. What of your classes for next year? You cannot remain in all of them as you had been."

"I wish to drop Divination officially," and Hermione winces remembering the rather explosive way she had dropped the class mid-term. It had not been a good week for her, and honestly one of the driving examples of why the time turner was not a good idea for her to retain, "as well as Muggle Studies. Though, I have heard that you can apply to take the OWL even if you do not take the class?"

"That is an option, but outside of bragging rights I would not recommend it. Muggle Studies is an OWL that is not regarded highly internationally or domestically. To be honest, many places will ignore it on a transcript or instruct applicants to leave it off entirely. You have admitted to struggling with test anxiety and unhealthy mechanisms for managing stress. It would be remiss for me not to advise you to write it off." McGonagall explains.

"I would still like to drop the class but take the OWL." Hermione says firmly.

"Very well, but you will have to submit an application to do so the start of your fifth year. OWLs are not planned two years in advance. Anything else?"

"I believe I have to drop Magical theory as well, in order to fit all of my classes." She says.

"Not so. The classes work out after your fourth year." The Transfiguration Professor says.

"Brilliant." Hermione smiles, before the grin fades, "I do want to ask if you could intervene for Harry? Regarding Divination that is. From what I saw, every lesson Trelawney tells him he is going to die a horrible death. I've seen some of his and Ron's homework as well, and they only get full marks for grievous injury or death predictions as well. It cannot be healthy for him."

McGonagall holds up a hand, "Unfortunately for Mr. Potter, I cannot do anything without his request. Have him come and see me and we can get his schedule straightened out. Anything else, Miss Granger?"

"No, that is all. Thank you very much Professor." Hermione says, rising and walking to the door. She pauses in the doorway, looking back, "Have a wonderful summer, Professor."

McGonagall's face softens, "You as well child."

Hermione lets her feet carry her down the hall and crosses one thing off her list. Next up is returning her Library books, then packing her things away for the express day after tomorrow.

Harry wakes up to the smell of old socks, moldy cheese, and antiseptic. That combination only coincides at one place, the Hogwarts Hospital wing.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Madame Pomphrey says, rising from her desk and drawing her wand to start diagnostics. "What type of material would you like your plaque to be?"

"Um.." he stalls, thinking about her usual threat.

"I was leaning toward bronze, but that is traditionally Ravenclaw. Gold, which your own founder was partial to, is just too ostentatious. Plus, it might encourage you to keep come back!"

"There's only one surefire way to discourage a Gryffindor from something, so you'd better make it green and silver." Harry croaks, his throat dry.

"There you are Mr. Potter." She says, handing him a glass of water. "Now, everything is coming back fine to me, so as much as I'd like to keep you here, you're free to leave. And if end up back here before the express leaves I will make good on that plaque." She teases.

"What about next term?" Harry asks.

"I reserve the right to punish as I see fit for stupidity and recklessness." She declares imperiously, before cracking and waving him away. "Go enjoy your last few days. Mr. Weasley will be here to pick up his brood any moment now, so best say your goodbyes quick."

"Hey Ron." Harry says to his friend. Ron is propped up in the hospital bed, one leg outstretched still while the other hangs off the side emerging from the sheet to a foot covered by a holey sock.

"Harry." Ron says. "I'm going to owl you once I talk things over with my parents about you coming back to the Burrow. I reckon the less time you spend with your relatives the better your summer, eh? Plus, it looks like the quidditch world cup might be close by if Ireland can hold onto their spot."

"Are the Cannons going to finish last again?" harry asks.

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Ron says fiercely, flushing, "but I don't, so probably." He mumbles.

"There's always next season." Harry says kindly.

"Yeah." Ron nods. The doors to the infirmary bang open and Mrs. Weasley rushes in.

"Ronnie!" she shouts. Harry steps back to let her fuss over his friend and Mr. Weasley turns to him.

"Harry." He says with a smile.

"Mr. Weasley." Harry greets.

"I had a case yesterday; a woman found an electric kettle that produced nothing but maple syrup. Can you imagine? Morning tea and its just syrup. Afternoon tea: syrup. A cup before bed: syrup."

"That sounds…. Perplexing." Harry says.

"Right. Well, in any case good news for you, yeah? That murderer Black is dead. Your parents can rest easy now, knowing you're safe."

Harry freezes in place, a sharp pang of hurt lancing through his chest. Sirius is dead. He- he'd forgotten for a bit.

"Yeah, sure." Harry finally says, giving the Weasleys a weak and obviously faked smile, "I'll see you over the summer, maybe. But I've got packing to do now, so." He turns and walks away as fast as he can without running, without being obvious that he's fleeing.

Dead, dead, dead, Sirius is dead. Worm food, in the ground, six feet under, buried, dead. Gone. His Godfather is dead, and with him escape from the Dursleys.

"Potter!" a voice shouts from a nearby portrait. One familiar. "Potter!" he insists. Harry looks up to see Michael, a kind of friend he made over the course of the year. Michael was an apprentice so someone long ago, and painted to commemorate the program. The downside for him? Trapped eternally in the middle of his apprentice. His master had him run the castle every day as physical conditioning. Harry had done quite a bit of wandering over the past year and after enough meetings Michael started passing him tips.

As always, the boy was panting, hands on his knees. His sword hung from his belt, just edging out of the traveling cloak he was wearing.

"Michael. How are you?" Harry asks.

"Tired. No matter how much I run, I'm never going to get one bit more fit. But no matter how many times I tell the old man that he sends me out every day. It's exhausting never changing. But I heard bad news; they're moving our portrait."

"What?' Harry says.

"Some private sale, I don't know. But it means our remaining time is limited. I've taught you just about all I can about wand combat. But, Harry, I cannot impress this on you enough: you need to find something besides a wand to fight with. From what you've told me you're going to face more and more dangerous threats as you get older. This dark lord sounds nasty, and he has years of experience on you. You're strong, there's no doubt, but I'm not sure I would want to rely on brute power alone. Down near the hufflepuff dorms, I heard about a summer class in Diagon alley. Fencing class. Everybody's got a wand, but not everyone has a claymore in their britches."

"I-" Harry says, but Michael flickers.

"Time's up laddie. Think about what I said, and as my pap says, semper vigilo!" he shouts as he flickers again and fades out of the picture. Harry is left looking at an empty field, a breeze setting the tall grasses waving. Michael was young, but his advice had to be good. He was training under an actual master of combat. Advice on that level was invaluable. But as much as he wanted to pick up a weapon, Harry was tied down by the Dursleys.

He slowly continued down the hall, his mind catching on the last thing Michael said. The last thing he said every time they parted, in fact. Semper Vigilo- constant vigilance. It was probably a family motto or something, but it sounded exhausting. Harry wouldn't be surprised if they were all mattress makers by now.

Far away, in an undisclosed location, protected by wards and seals and locks and reinforced walls, a once legend sneezes, whirling around and raining spellfire, convinced someone was after him.

Harry walks into the Great Hall barely making it before breakfast ends, surprised to see his friend sitting at one of the benches.

"Neville!" Harry says happily, sliding in across from him and spooning himself some fruit.

"Morning Harry." The boy smiles, "Up early and just got back? I didn't see when I got up this morning."

"I spent the night in Pomphrey's care." Harry grimaces to Neville's chuckle.

"You just can't stay away, can you? I should have known when both you and Ron were gone." Neville says.

"What time were you up if you did a full headcount in the dorms?" Harry asks.

"Early." Neville says, continuing at Harry's look. "For the Full moon," Harry's pulse quickens, "there are a few plants that can only be harvested under night sky of a full moon. Last year, when I started, Professor Sprout and I went out after classes. But this year we had to wait until morning. We have to rush to get them all, and we still miss a lot. I wonder what changed?'

"Professor Lupin, I'd guess." Harry says as his body relaxes, forgetting for a moment that it's supposed to be a secret.

"What do you mean?" Neville asks.

"Nev, you can keep a secret, right?" harry asks.

"Of course."

"Professor Lupin's a werewolf."

"Blimey! That explains why we had to be so careful. How'd you find out?" he asks.

"It's a long story." Harry says.

"I don't have anything else to do." Neville says, motioning with his fork.

"Right, so last afternoon Ron was attacked and dragged off by a dog. We followed it through the Whomping willow-"

"Did you use the knot?" Neville asks.

"What knot?" Harry asks confusedly.

"Oh, there's just a knot near the bottom of the tree that causes it temporary paralysis. You didn't know? You actually fought through the Whomping Willow?"

"Yeah. Wish I had known about that knot."

Neville bursts out laughing. "I bet. Just proves nothing will stop Harry Potter from what he's seeking. So, what happened next?"

"Well, we chased the dog into the shack, where it confronted us as Sirius Black."

"No way." Neville says in disbelief.

"Yes way, so then Lupin shows up, and they talk for a bit. I guess they knew each other from before. Lupin turns and shoots a spell at Ron. I thought he missed, but it turns out he was aiming at Ron's rat Scabbers. Scabbers starts growing and ends up being Peter Pettigrew! Even counting for after 12 years aging, I recognized that face from the reports."

"That's a lot to take in, Harry." Neville says, pushing his plate away. "Pettigrew was alive? All this time?"

"Hiding as the Weasley's rat, as Scabbers."

"Ugh." Neville shudders, "I can't imagine. For anyone."

"I can't either. But, once they have Pettigrew pinned, Snape barges in. He starts going on about getting his revenge on Black, all the while ignoring Peter in the corner. Things fell apart into a scuffle and at the end Snape is on the floor and we have Pettigrew under wandpoint."

"So, what went wrong?" Neville asks. "And, " he leans in, "does this mean Sirius Black is innocent?"

"Yeah, he was." Harry says. Neville notes the past tense, but let's Harry continue.

"We're walking out of the tunnel when Lupin starts to turn, apparently he forgot what night it was. He turns full werewolf and Sirius transforms too- into a big black dog. Sirius drives the Professor back, but when we look over Pettigrew is gone. Snape is still out on the grass and I can see Sirius taking a beating from Lupin. I rush over to try and help,"

Neville gasps.

"Yeah. I'm staring down my premature death when something howls form the forbidden forest. Lupin turns and runs after it, leaving me alone. I chase after Sirius and we end up by a small pond. He transforms back and just when I think everything might be okay, the pond freezes and the world dims. The dementors found us."

"How'd you get away?" Neville asks.

"I'm not sure." Harry lies. "I saw someone cast a Patronus, but I have no idea who it could have been. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the infirmary."

"Wow, Harry. If this is the type of thing you get involved in, I'm glad Hermione stunned me first year.' Neville jokes.

"It is a lot." Harry says, playing with his bowl of fruit.

"Hey," Neville says, reaching across the table to clap Harry on the shoulder, "I was joking. If you need my help, just ask. I can't promise I won't need to change pants, but I've got your back."

"Thanks mate. That means a lot." Harry says.

"So, Pettigrew being alive." Neville says, "that changes things."

"It should, but I doubt anyone would believe me." Harry says darkly.

"So, you believe it all? That everything was a lie: the order of merlin, the whole explosion story, the betrayal of your parents, all of it?" Neville asks.

"It makes sense. If it wasn't that way, why would Pettigrew have done what he did? Hiding as a rat when he was a hero, and for 13 years? I could understand a few if he hadn't heard that Sirius was in Azkaban, but he had to find that out at some point, and then he just keeps hiding? If he was innocent, why did he run away? It all falls apart with him alive." Harry says.

"At least the dementors will be gone for next year." Neville says.

"That'll be such a relief. They're awful. I'd rather die than spend eternity with them. Death could be kinder. An end, or an eternity of your worst nightmares and regrets; which is worse?" Harry says.

"I never thought about it like that." Neville says softly, "I always wanted them dead, but eternal torment sounds nice."

"Nev, you okay?" Harry asks.

"Do you know what happened to my parents?" He asks quietly.

Harry shakes his head.

"Well, shortly after that night, " he quickly glances at the scar, "a few death eaters showed up at my family manor. They breached the wards and got me hostage. They tortured my parents, demanding to know what had happened to their master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"You mean Volde-"

"Don't say it!" Neville hisses. "There was a taboo before the war. They don't know if the death eaters are still hooked to it. They could track you by it."

"Oh. I didn't know. That's why people are so jumpy about it." Harry says, his face reflecting that he's just had a long-standing question answered.

"Yeah. So, they used the Cruciatus curse on them, demanding they talk. Neither of them broke under the pressure until it became too much. Gran woke up to me crying and both of them on the ground, minds broken. To this day they're in Saint Mungo's. Long term spell damage. The healers aren't very positive about them improving, but…"

"Is that why you devote so much to Herbology? So that you can figure out how to help them?"

"Yeah. But I'm pants at potions, and that's the real place where a cure could be found." He says with a sharp grin, the gleam of self-loathing in his eyes.

"Mate, it's not you. It's Snape. That git can't teach. There's more to it than just the directions. I looked at some of the older books used for it. Half of first year was supposed to be for learning reaction tables and proper setup. Instead, we spent half of first year on potions accidents and insulting Gryffindors."

"If you say so, Harry." Neville says with a wan smile.

"I know so. You're going to be one of the greatest portioners of our age, I'm calling it."

"Well in any case, I always wanted those responsible dead for what they did to my parents. An eternal torment sounds fitting too though."

One of the sixth years takes a seat nearby, and Harry sees the headline of the Prophet tucked under the girl's arm.

Traitor Werewolf Teaching at Hogwarts? Sirius Black found Dead, Nationwide Manhunt Called Off

Without another word, he bolts from the Great Hall.