I'm back on schedule now, sorry about the late post last week. Although, it occurred to me that most people are going to read this ages after the whole thing us finished, so they aren't going to know what I'm apologising for. Anyone who is reading this every week, you are amazing and if I knew where you lived, I'd send you chocolate. It means so much to have even just a few people reading and enjoying my writing.

As per usual, time sped by after the first week. Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves rushed off their feet, what with lessons and homework. There was also the matter of having to deal with about twenty first and second years a day, all of them worried about Sirius Black. All of them needed reassurance that everything would be alright and convincing them took a surprising amount of work. The first years were extremely imaginative, and some of the scenarios they came up made it hard to console them. One Ravenclaw girl was convinced that Sirius Black was in cahoots with something called a Wrackspurt, which was addling everyone's brains. Telling her that Wrackspurts didn't exist did not help.

Crowley and Aziraphale were not, however, completely idle in their research on Sirius Black. Through a method which Aziraphale did not want to know about, Crowley managed to get some resources on Black's crime from the Ministry of Magic. A package containing various newspaper articles arrived about the third weekend of term, and they spent all their free time for the following week discussing the story.

"He certainly comes across as guilty here," Aziraphale said, shuddering at a picture of Black, laughing as he was led away from the crime scene.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, sighing. All accounts of Black's general behaviour suggested that he wouldn't get involved with the Dark Arts and was generally a good person. Yet he had killed twelve muggles and one of his closest friends, after betraying another.

"It really sounds like he meant to kill Pettigrew," Aziraphale went on, "as if he sought him out."

"But why?"

"Covering up his tracks?" Aziraphale suggested, "maybe he thought Pettigrew would tell everyone that he betrayed Lily and James."

Crowley shook his head, "So he decided to do away with someone secretly, in the middle of a crowded street? It doesn't make sense."

"None of this does," Aziraphale agreed, "maybe there are some notes from his trial which would suggest why he did it."

"He never got a trial."

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to sigh. Black's case was fishy, there was no motive, and it seemed pretty out of character, based on what they knew.

"What we need to do," he said, "is talk to Black. Only he could tell us his side of the story."

"We'd need to catch him first, and considering the dementors haven't had any luck yet, I don't fancy our chances," Crowley stood up, "come on angel. We'll talk to Hagrid this weekend, see what else we can find out. He might be able to give us an idea of how Black escaped Azkaban, and how he hasn't been caught yet."

…

Hagrid was in the garden, tending to the enormous Pumpkins he was growing for the Halloween feast. He grinned when he saw Aziraphale coming down to see him (Crowley was teaching an extra evening class to some very keen seventh years). He at once invited him inside and started making tea.

"What can I do for ye, Professor Fell," Hagrid said, sitting opposite Aziraphale at the scrubbed wooden table, "And I know yer don't just want a chat."

Aziraphale blushed. It was true that he and Crowley generally came to Hagrid when inquiring about various things.

"Well," Aziraphale stirred his tea nervously, "I'm investigating for Dumbledore. Trying to find out about Sirius Black. And I wondered," he went on quickly, as Hagrid looked like he was going to interrupt, "if you could tell me what he was like at school, and in the Order of the Phoenix."

Hagrid didn't look shocked that Aziraphale knew about the Order. In fact, he looked relieved.

"I thought yer were gonna ask me about Azkaban," he admitted.

"No. No, of course not."

"Good. Well, I knew young Sirius Black when he was at school. Good lad really, bit of a troublemaker though, if ye get my meanin'. He and James Potter used to drive their teachers up the wall," Hagrid sipped his tea, and Aziraphale nodded at him to go on, "but they weren't bad kids. They were good to Remus Lupin and that Peter Pettigrew. It was just Snape they had a bit of I grudge against, and that started afore they even got to Hogwarts. I suppose yer know all about him though. Anyway, they took him under their wing, the two of them. Made his time at Hogwarts a lot happier I reckon."

Aziraphale was about to ask exactly what he was supposed to know about Lupin but decided against it. he could sense Crowley telling him not to get involved.

"What about the Order?" he asked instead.

Hagrid considered.

"I didn't see him much, if I'm honest. We were all on different missions. I was mostly up in the North, spyin' on the giants," he gave a little shudder, then pressed on, "so I didn't know he was secret keeper, for James and Lily. And" he paused, "I met him. that night, when I went to their old place to get Harry."

His voice broke a little as he remembered that night. Aziraphale awkwardly patted his arm.

"What did he do?" he asked. He felt terrible for pushing Hagrid to tell him more, but he needed to know. Soon after seeing Hagrid, Sirius Black had killed Peter Pettigrew.

"He told me to give him Harry," Hagrid said, "'I'm his Godfather' he said, I'll look after him.' When I said no, he, he told me to take his motorbike. He had a flyin' motorbike yer see."

Aziraphale nodded, thinking that apart from being a murderer, Sirius Black had been seriously cool (pun very much intended) and Hagrid continued.

"He said he wouldn't need it anymore. And I should have known," Hagrid wiped tears off his beard with a spotted handkerchief, "I should have known when he gave me the bike, he was gonna do somethin' awful."

"You couldn't have known Hagrid," Aziraphale said kindly, "even Dumbledore didn't guess what he had done."

Hagrid nodded, the tears slowing. He muttered,

"Great man Dumbledore."

Aziraphale steeled himself. He wanted to ask one more question, though putting Hagrid through any more grief seemed painfully cruel.

"Thank you so much Hagrid. I know this must have been really hard for you. I just need to ask one more thing."

Hagrid nodded, blowing his nose.

"Did he seem upset about Lily and James? Did he seem surprised?"

"Well," Hagrid considered, "yeah. I suppose he did. White as anythin' he was. And I'd never suspect him of lyin', he wasn't a good liar, though you could generally trust him to keep a secret. He must have been lyin' for ages though. To all of us."

Aziraphale was about to thank Hagrid and leave, but the gameskeeper went on, half to himself.

"He left quickly though, afterward. Disapperated as soon as I was on the bike. Went straight to London, I reckon. If anythin', Professor Fell, I'd have said he was angry. White and shaken, but angry like."

…

Aziraphale had a lot to think about that weekend. His brain felt almost painful, even after he had offloaded the information to Crowley. There was the question of Black, and Lupin, though he tried not to think about that. He shouldn't be interfering. He decided a walk around the Hogwarts grounds would give him space to think. Crowley was marking in their apartments, and he kept shouting, which was very distracting. October had begun, and the trees on the eves of the Forbidden Forest were golden red in the watery sunlight. Aziraphale was stopped short however, when he saw a small black figure sitting by the lake, hunched over.

"Hello," he called, and the figure jumped, turning to face him. It was Hermione.

"Hello Professor," she said standing up politely as he walked over.

As Aziraphale came closer, he barely refrained from starting a little at the young witch's appearance. She had dark circles around her eyes, her face was pale, and her hair even more bushy than usual. Aziraphale knew the signs from years of hanging around various scholarly clubs. Hermione was exhausted. He noticed also that there was an enormous book sitting beneath the tree. Hermione, like him had also needed to some outside for some peace and quiet.

"Lots of homework?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione's voice was shrill, as if holding back emotion, "I have to read this by Monday."

"What subject?"

"Arithmancy," she replied, "it's one of my favourite subjects. But" her eyes welled up, and she scrubbed them furiously with the back of her hand, "I'm just really tired, and the common room is so noisy, I can't concentrate. Everyone else is enjoying the weekend, and I'm…I'm just really tired," she finished lamely, shifting uncomfortably as she became aware of her outburst.

Hermione wasn't normally one to spill all of her problems on an unprepared bystander, so it was tribute to her general overworked state that she was saying any of this.

"Have you considered dropping a few subjects?" Aziraphale suggested, sitting down beneath the tree, "I've heard about your special arrangements."

Hermione sat down next to him, fingering a thin gold chain at her neck nervously.

"I like all of my subjects," she said firmly.

Aziraphale managed to count to five before she went on.

"Besides, it would be giving up wouldn't it. I can't just give up, can I?"

She looked at him as though she thought he would understand. And he did. But he also knew that Hermione had a serious error in judgment. This was why she wasn't in Ravenclaw. Hermione might have been bright, but she was far from wise.

"I wouldn't call it giving up Miss Granger," Aziraphale said gently, "you'll do better in your other subjects, if you drop a few. Otherwise, you'll work yourself to death, and won't do as well because of it."

"You think so?"

"I've met a lot of people in the same predicament," Aziraphale told her, "and I can assure you, they felt a lot better when they lightened their load a little. It's not giving up, if you'll feel better because of it."

Hermione considered. She looked relieved. Aziraphale supposed that being muggle born, Hermione felt as though she had to prove herself. Like she wasn't good enough. He had struggled with that for years as an angel.

"I hadn't considered it like that," Hermione admitted after a minute of staring into the lake.

Aziraphale was surprised at that. Surely someone else had noticed how tired she looked and told her it would help to drop a few subjects. Hermione saw his face and read his expression well.

"Ron told me to drop some subjects. And Hagrid," she said, "but nobody…important."

Aziraphale understood what she meant. Nobody that Hermione could understand well, and relate too, and therefore trust to understand how she felt, had given her any advice. Aziraphale felt really rather sorry for her. This school needed better pastoral care. Or any pastoral care.

"You don't have to straight away," Aziraphale said, "just think about it. I'm sure there's a few that, deep down, you don't love as much as the others. Being clever doesn't mean you have to love everything."

"It's ridiculous really, feeling guilty for not liking something as much as I should do," Hermione mused, "or at least, I think I should do."

"You could probably get away with lowering your expectations."

Hermione smiled a bit at that, and Aziraphale felt suddenly very proud. This, he supposed, was why people became teachers. He stood up.

"Thank you," Hermione said, a little shyly.

"No problem," Aziraphale smiled, "it's what I'm here for. To help."

Random fun fact which has very little to do with the story: people instinctively touch their necks when they get nervous because there are nerve endings which, when rubbed, lower the heart rate and reduce stress. So, if you're nervous about something, wear a scarf.