A/N: Ah, we finally discover some of the back-story! This part may get a bit confusing, but if you read slow enough to catch all the details, you won't have a problem. J Also, I know very little about Auschwitz-Birkenau and other such Nazi camps from WWII, so I'll probably be taking a bit of time off to research those (I really do have a life. Honestly…). Flashback warning halfway through – it's marked by ***'s. The "coffee scene" as I've grown accustomed to referring it as, was a direct result of getting addicted to the daft stuff myself, and listening to Jars of Clay's "Good Coffee, Strong Coffee" song way too many times in one week. JKR owns all but Zeusia, WAR, Belligerents, and Karina. Sirius-humor (an oxymoron?) warning at the end.
And thank-you to my faithful beta reader, Padfoot – er…Puck/Sirius/Dimitri Freak. You still owe me illustrations for MH!
Belligerence
Chapter 03 – My World is a Flood
Harry chanced another glance at his watch once more, cringing as he saw the minute hand ticking past the twelve. The hour hand was pointing at the seven already. He was going to be late. Sighing, he cursed under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair, shoving his coffee mug to the side of the counter as he stood from the stool and drew his Invisibility cloak over his head. Hermione was fast asleep, so he needn't bother saying goodbye. Checking to make sure that his wand was safely in his back pocket, he Disapparated from Hermione's flat in London.
Less than a moment later, he was standing on a dim street corner in Liverpool, his Invisibility cloak still wrapped securely around his shoulders. It was an added security, and really not needed, but Zeusia had always insisted that he keep it on whenever he was outside of the Headquarters – an action explained by her "den mother" instinct, he had thought at first. But she had other reasons, he'd realized later on. Harry had been a Belligerent for less than five years. Most of the others were getting on in age – they'd been members for upwards of twenty years. He was still inexperienced. His defense resume amounted only to the battles that Voldemort had forced him into, while the other Belligerents were almost known to go looking for fights. There was one Belligerent, Shady Clemens, who had once tracked a Death Eater for four years, just for the opportunity to fight him. Unfortunately, the Death Eater had won.
But despite his inexperience, despite his novelty, Harry quickly found that he was one of the protected Belligerents. It was rather a degrading role – having bodyguards hired to watch your back, the heads thinking that you couldn't take care of yourself. But it was also a rank of recognition. It meant that he was valuable, that his "talents" couldn't be wasted. They gave him special privileges – like the ability to visit Hermione that day – and they forced him to take extra precautions.
The cloak was merely one of those precautions. Zeusia had made that quite obvious to him.
He'd never expected her to like him. He hadn't even thought that she might. But he had hoped, on a whim, that she might feel a bit more protective towards him…almost motherly. A mother never had to like her children. But she always felt the need to keep them safe, to give them better lives than hers. But after his first week of training, Zeusia had made it quite plain to him that all Belligerents were meant to die in their line of work – and being protective would only get more people killed than necessary.
But that never made him stop thinking of her as a mother figure.
Like now, for instance. She'd be furious at him for being late. She'd said 0700, precisely. If he were only seconds late, she'd already be pacing her office, her imagination running towards less favorable possibilities of his whereabouts. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he saw that the minute hand was almost to the one. Five minutes late. She'd be pulling out her hair by now.
Protection, indeed.
He snatched his wand out of his pocket, touched it to the lamppost, and the brick wall behind him morphed itself into the Belligerent main entrance. Sticking his wand back into his pocket, he whisked off the cloak as he strode through the door, clicking it shut behind him. The wall would once again appear as a brick wall to the outside world, but all he could see was a window that overlooked the street below. He rolled the cloak up in his arms, tucking the bundle against his chest.
The secretary was busy with a crossword. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as he saw the title. She was still working on the same one from last week.
"Madelyn? Is Zeusia in?"
Madelyn's head snapped up, her big eyes wide in wonder. "I don't know…she never leaves, does she? I haven't seen her come in, but the night girl didn't say anything about her leaving last night…"
Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When Zeusia didn't go home for the night, that was never a good sign. "All right. Thanks." He brushed past the desk, pushing his way through a door labeled "Authorized Wizard Personnel Only." Madelyn peaceably went back to her crossword.
It only took him another minute or two to reach Zeusia's top-level office, but that made him seven minutes late. Bet she's called code red by now, he mused to himself.
Sure enough, Zeusia was pacing in front of her window when he came in, hands folded behind her back. He cleared his throat as he lay the Invisibility cloak on a corner of her desk, and she spun around, an unreadable expression plastered on her face – as usual.
"Harry. Nice of you to finally join me."
He shrugged noncommittally, dropping into his usual chair. "You said to be here at 7. I was very precise, really. 7 hours and 7 minutes."
"None of your wisecracks," she snapped, but the accusing tone in her voice was quickly fading.
He smiled crookedly as she came back to her desk, settling down into her own chair. She pulled out yet another manila folder, opening it as she laid it out on her desk. "Well, now that you've accepted the WAR position, this should make things easier…we're moving you out of the dormitory complex."
He had to hold himself back from cheering. The dormitory complex was where the Belligerents were housed. Whether the heads didn't trust them to maintain a good standard of living on their own, or it was yet another protection method, he had yet to discover. But it was also where the trainees stayed before they were made into full-time Belligerents – and they had plenty of free time to wreak havoc in the area. Loud parties were the norm, and like a typical college campus, most of the senior officers and higher-ranking individuals wished to leave as quickly as possible. The rooms were rather old and cramped, anyway. There wasn't much need for a comfortable home though, as most Belligerents spent more time on a task than they did at home. He couldn't believe his good fortune. It usually took a talented Belligerent ten or more years before they earned the right to move into the housing complex.
But Zeusia didn't stop to think about what she had said. Instead, she was flipping through the contents of the manila folder, biting her lip in thought. He was curious now. Surely moving him into a better home was not part of her "Harry-protection"?
"Zeusia…you'll pardon me for asking, but why am I being moved out?"
She looked up then, blinking in disbelief. "Really, Harry. You're not that dense, are you?"
Whatever answer he had expected, this was not it. "Er…I like to hope not."
She sighed, closing the folder. "Harry, you're not a full-time Belligerent anymore. You're a member of WAR. Or you will be, once you get that friend of yours, Hermione, to get you in. Until then, though, you can't be associated with the Belligerents. You need an actual address, a life to account for. When you entered the Belligerents, you lost all of that. Most records of your existence were destroyed. People still know you, of course. But all personal files are carefully guarded now. The only people with access to them are you and I. WAR is not into classification, though. And they would never permit a Belligerent to join their ranks, so you're undercover. Did I forget to mention that?"
He nodded, eyes narrowed considerably.
She ignored his glower, opening another of her desk drawers and pulling out a green folder. "These are your personal files – copies of them, of course. They contain everything you'll need to prove your identity. Until then, you need an actual address. Floo Network #4519 doesn't exactly cut it. So we've rented you a flat in London. Didn't I already tell you that?"
He nodded slowly. He had forgotten that little detail – thoughts of Fred must have muddled his memory during that spiel, as well.
"At any rate, you're now Harry James Potter, aged 23 years and living at Apt. 2B, 23 Rodney St., Islington, London."
He raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure Floo Network #4519 won't cut it?"
She smirked vaguely. "Positive."
He sighed, taking the green folder from her as she offered it, and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, all right then."
But she did not wave him off, as normal. Instead, she leaned her elbows on her desk, steepling her fingers together in front of her face. "Now, Harold James Potter. There's the matter of where you were all night."
He looked up from the folder. "What about it? I'm allowed to go out, you've told me so."
"Yes, but you have a curfew. Midnight. Otherwise, we assume that you've been taken under the custody of unauthorized wizards, against your will. You never reported to your dormitory last night."
He shrugged, sticking the folder under his cloak. "I was visiting an old friend."
Her left eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Indeed."
"Yeah, and I was actually thinking of just staying with her. My godfather's coming in from New York today, you see, and he was going to stay with her – I hate to not be able to visit with him while he's here. I haven't seen him in five years."
Zeusia didn't look amused at his seeming sentiment. "I'm afraid that's not possible."
"Well, why not? It's Hermione, the one that already works for WAR. Wouldn't it only help, for me to stay with her while I'm trying to get into it as well? They'd know I was trusted, that way."
But Zeusia merely shook her head. "Not only would it appear inappropriate…" she started, but the look on his face made her back away from that tactic. "Well, you really must admit how it appears, Potter. But never mind that. The fact is that WAR already suspects us of keeping surveillance on Hermione, and if you were to be discovered at any time – having actually lived with her – it'd be their clincher. They'd have all the evidence they needed to nip us in the bud."
"What? Why do they think we're watching Hermione?"
"Because we are."
Harry groaned, rubbing at his eyes as his head fell back against the chair. "How many of my friends' lives are you going to disrupt? What'd she do to deserve your suspicion, Zeusia? What horribly drastic crime has she committed, to deserve this kind of treatment?" He stood up then, crossing to her desk, and leaning forwards against it. "If she dies like Fred, Zeusia, I swear I'll kill somebody. Or Ron! If you so much as touch Ron, I'll blow this place up in a second flat."
Zeusia remained impassive, staring right back at him as he quietly seethed. "Harry, sit down."
"Maybe I don't want to sit, Zeusia. Hermione and Ron are the only real friends I have. You've already managed to kill off everyone else I ever cared about. Why not give it a rest, huh?"
"Harry, you are a Belligerent. It comes with the territory. Now sit down, because I think you're going to feel rather stupid if you continue in this manner."
He rolled his eyes and turned away from her, plopping back down in his chair. His wand jabbed into his spine, but he didn't worry about it. It hadn't snapped in twelve years, and it wasn't about to. But his temper was now on the verge of breaking, and he feared that slightly more.
It was true, of course. Fred had been suspected of Dark activity. George, too, to some extent. He hadn't known that George had been attacked, but he had known about Fred – mainly because he had been put in charge of Fred's investigation. Despite his own biased opinion, Zeusia had thought Harry would be the perfect person to head the surveillance. If Fred ever spotted him, he wouldn't suspect a thing. Unfortunately, the constant spells that had to be placed on Fred to test his personality had taken the side effects to an extreme and resulted in his suicide. The side effects alone had apparently nearly killed George – and then there was the question of whether or not George would try to commit suicide as well.
And Cho.
He snapped his head to the side, biting his lip forcefully to keep from thinking about that. It wasn't any use to think about the past. That was one of the first things he'd had to learn as a Belligerent. But it was an old lesson, and he'd learned it rather quickly.
"Harry, we don't suspect Hermione of anything. We're trying to protect her. Ron, too."
Zeusia had his attention once more, and he blinked in confusion. "Protect her? Why? She's a Muggle-born…you usually just let them be herded into concentration camps. In fact, why isn't she in one now?"
Zeusia shrugged. "She's powerful enough to be needed by WAR. And she's useful – she can sneak food into the camps, disguised as just another refugee. Quite a strategy, I must admit. Most Ministry agents don't think that Muggle-borns or Squibs walk freely anymore. Not since the Slytherins took over the Ministry, anyway."
He remembered that day. Fudge had given up his position, Dumbledore had vanished into exile, and Hermione had come running to his flat, nearly banging down his door in her panic.
******
January 27, 1999
"HARRY!"
He grumbled, rolling out of bed and hitting the floor with a satisfactory thud. His hair was mussed considerably, and he tried in vain to swipe some of it out of his eyes, but it just stuck up in the back. Grabbing a t-shirt off of the back of a chair beside his bed, he yanked it over his head and bare chest and threw the sheets back onto his bed. Snatching his glasses from his nightstand, he jabbed them onto his face, not caring if they dangled crookedly off of his nose. He let out a mighty yawn, leaving his bedroom and crossing the living room to the front door, his mouth still half-open as he unlocked the door and swung it open.
Hermione stood there, her hair matted to her forehead with rainwater and her robes in utter disarray. She had bags growing under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in days. Even her wand looked desolate as it jutted out of her cloak pocket.
He was instantly jolted awake by the sight of her, and moved aside, waving her in. He closed the door as she came in, Hermione holding her head high in pride. She stopped as she reached the middle of the living room, and turned to face him. And then she broke down into tears.
He was at a loss. He had no idea what to do – much less what had happened. So he just shoved his hands into the pockets of his cut-offs and stared at the floor for a minute while her sniffling slowed. When it seemed that she had restored her natural calm, he lifted his eyes and cleared his throat uncertainly. "Wh-what happened, Herm?" he asked.
She sank onto his couch, wriggling out of her cloak and tossing it on the arm of the couch, beside her. She crossed her arms over her chest and drew in a deep breath, ending it by biting down hard on her lip. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it got caught in a tangle, and sat down beside her. Her head fell onto his shoulder as another round of tears came down.
"Hermione! For Merlin's sake, you never cry like this…what happened? Was it Dumbledore…?"
She shook her head.
He paused, hoping that the answer to the next question would be no, as well. "S-Sirius…?" Another shake. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Ron, then?" She just kept shaking her head, and he sighed deeply. "Well, it can't be that bad then, can it? Unless it's Lupin…"
"No, Harry," she whimpered, lifting her head and looking up at him. "It's not Lupin. It's me."
He blinked in astonishment. "What? But…What?!"
She sat up, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ears and sniffling back more tears. "Fudge gave up the Ministry. Malfoy's Minister now. He already ordered the removal of any Muggle-borns from the schools…and I heard through the grapevine that his next plan of action is to start shipping the Muggle-born Azkaban prisoners to the old concentration camps in Germany and Poland, left over from Grindelwald's days. He's slowly turning the Ministry into his own Nazi regiment, Harry."
He blinked again, this time unsure of his reaction. Should he be scared? Furious? Sad? He glanced down at Hermione as she lay her head on his shoulder again, her body convulsing as she shook with sobs, and he narrowed his eyes. He would never be sad about this…nor would he be scared. He wasn't scared when Voldemort tried to kill him – however many times that had been. But someone wanted his best friend dead, and he wasn't about to let that happen.
He was more than furious. He was downright vengeful.
He finally put his arms around her and hugged her tightly, trying to quiet her. "Listen, Hermione…they're not going to take you, I promise. Okay? You're a more powerful witch than any Malfoy…than most purebloods. The weaker ones might go without a fight, but I'm not about to let you do that. You're going to fight this, and you're going to win."
She looked up at him, face still wet from the rain and now from the onslaught of tears. "They want me dead, Harry. Dead. Not just isolated, taken away from the world, like everyone else. They're targeting me."
His eyes narrowed. "That just gives you all the more reason to fight them. You're valuable to our side, if they want you dead. You have to keep out of their reach, you have to help destroy them."
She sighed, pulling away from him. "I can't be of any help if I'm dead, Harry. Once Malfoy has your name on his execution list, you don't get taken off. I'm never going to be safe again, am I?"
"Not unless Malfoy dies first."
Hermione stood up then, crossing to his picture window with her arms folded limply against her chest, biting her lip once more. "I thought we killed this, Harry. We killed Voldemort."
Harry shrugged, staring at the wall in front of him. "Voldemort may be dead, but he was only one of many Dark wizards, throughout time. He had the power to kill and he took advantage of it. That's the difference between he and I. I have the power, too, but I don't use it. I'm good. He was evil. Evil will never die. There will always be someone with the power to kill that uses it. Hopefully, there will always be someone with the power to kill that doesn't use it, as well. It's my job to be that person, for now. I can't kill evil. But evil will kill me, one day, and I've accepted that. But I won't ever let it kill you or Ron first. Know that, Hermione. You hear me? Malfoy won't touch you, if I can help it."
Hermione drew in a long breath, her gaze focused on the street below Harry's flat. "That doesn't make this any easier, you know."
He gave her a watery smile, getting up as well. "Whoever said it would be easy?"
*****
"So Hermione makes our job easier without knowing it?" he asked Zeusia.
Zeusia shook her head impatiently, fingering a paperclip absentmindedly. "No. She's doing the job that WAR orders her to. Whether it aids us or not isn't any of their concern. They don't even know we exist – or aren't supposed to, anyhow. But we know little about them, and that's where you come in. We need you to find out who their Head is, Harry. He's still nameless. Sirius and Hermione are the only ones that we can trace to the organization. We're not even sure if there are more members. If not, why aren't they as easy to detect as your godfather and friend?"
Harry sighed forcibly, sinking lower in his chair. "So I am spying on them."
"Not necessarily. You're really doing this for your own good."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Zeusia shrugged innocently. "Well, let's just put it this way. The Slytherins have their own reasons for wanting your friends dead. Not exactly for your typical reasons, either. But that's a story for another time and day, and no, don't bother asking. I'm not going to answer. You need to get reacquainted with this Sirius person and move into your new flat."
He started to say something, but she cut him off, raising a hand into the air. "Yes, Harry. Your new flat. You are not to be staying with Hermione, and that's final. Nor are you to have friends stay with you at your flat. That includes the Weasley fellow."
Harry sighed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Whatever you say, Zeusia."
"Now get out of here before I have you deported from the country for insubordinance."
Hermione still hated the camps. They just got dirtier, uglier, and more crowded with every passing day. Either the refugees were multiplying like bunny rabbits, or the camps were shrinking. With a disgusted thought, she remembered that the camps had been enchanted after all, so maybe they really were shrinking – right into oblivion.
Auschwitz –Birkenau was her least favorite. A fifty-year-old stench of death still hung in the air, concealed only by the newer stench of the living refugees living within its walls. It was always her last stop, because it was the farthest to fly by broomstick. Deep within the borders of Poland, it was hardly a stone's throw from her comfortable flat in London, but it still made her uneasy to think that any such thing could exist anywhere in Europe, let alone the entire world.
But the thing she hated most about it was Karina Sineth.
Karina was ten. Just the coming-of-age for modern wizards, and yet she would never receive a Hogwarts owl. She had probably never even heard of Hogwarts. It was abandoned when she was only five, after all. And then the Ministry, under direction of Lucius Malfoy, had forced her family onto the deportation train, whisking them off as one of the first families to live in the camps. And even when Malfoy had died as a result of political assassination, they had remained, pinned in by their own fears and death threats. Malfoy's death had meant freedom for several people, including Hermione herself, but the Sineth's were not among them. Then, of course, the Slytherins had attacked the position of Minister, ousting the singular-person role and making it suitable for an oligarchy.
Karina could barely remember England, and she told Hermione so several times. Hermione had been sneaking into Auschwitz since the beginning of her WAR training, and had watched Karina grow into the girl she was now, with a certain mourning in her heart. But Karina had never noticed this subdued characteristic of Hermione's personality on any of Hermione's many visits. It was partly because Karina had blinded herself to such darkness.
And that was why Hermione hated Auschwitz, hated what it stood for, and hated its dark purpose.
But as Karina ran out of her family's bunk, thin cotton robes flying out behind her and dirty hair pulled back into two messy pigtails, Hermione's hate dissipated in an instant. She enfolded the girl in her arms, kissing her cheek as had become the Auschwitz welcome.
"Aunt Mia!" Karina called out, beckoning the other children forth and referring to Hermione by her codename. She had tried to be careful to avoid detection by the guards, but the children didn't seem to be aware of the danger that encircled Hermione whenever she flew over the Auschwitz gates.
At Karina's call, a swarm of children appeared from their bunkers, all clad in thin cotton robes that could not hope to keep them warm in the settling cold of the season. Hermione hugged them each in turn, whispering in each of their ears to retrieve their parents. They did so, leaving much more reluctantly than they had come.
But she was not fooled. These children were not drawn to her because of their lack of hope. Well, that might be part of it. But they loved her because she always had some treat or another for one of them. But this week was for Karina.
And so, as the parents began drifting towards the newcomer, pillowcases slung over their backs to store the food she had brought, Hermione dug about in her heavy cloak's pocket until she found the tiny brown package. She handed it discreetly to Karina as the first of the adults came to her, and then set about her business of unshrinking the food that was stored in her own bag, distributing it to everyone that offered open hands. Karina did not open her package, but remained beside Hermione, helping her to dig out the rations that were allowed to each family.
Once the food was gone and the families had returned to their bunkers, Hermione drew Karina under the shade of a shoddy building, one once used as an extermination chamber, grinning from ear to ear. "Well?" she said. "Open it, Karina!"
The girl returned Hermione's smile, and tore the paper wrapping from the package, finally pulling out a shiny, golden chain with a lion pendant dangling from it. It was a locket. Hermione took it from her, prying it open. "You see this picture, Karina? This is of me." She pointed to the left side of the locket and then to the right. "And these are my best friends. If you ever get out of here, you tell your Mum and Daddy to look for these people, all right? You can trust any one of us with your lives." She clicked it closed, and then looped the chain over Karina's head, settling it around the girl's neck.
Karina peered down at the pendant, her chestnut eyes sparkling at the gold. "Why is it a lion? I thought lockets were hearts."
Hermione smiled again, and shook her head. "No. This locket is a magical one, not like those cheap Muggle toys. You can talk to the people in this one. And it's a lion because it stands for Gryffindor."
"The victors," Karina immediately replied.
Hermione nodded. "The victors. Gryffindor will win, yes. But before the war began, Karina, Gryffindor was the house of bravery. Only courageous wizards could be Gryffindors. I was a Gryffindor, Karina, and I'm sure that you would be, too, had Hogwarts survived."
Karina beamed up at her, and threw her arms around her "aunt's" neck. Hermione smile, hugging the girl back. "Now go back to your parents, Karina. But don't tell them about the locket yet. You can tell them when you get back home, to England."
Karina nodded, and with one last forlorn glance at Hermione, she ran back to her family's bunk, her white robes flying out behind her once more.
Sighing, Hermione watched the girl leave, her shoulders drooping slightly. She's so much like me, when I was that age…she thought. But then, with slight amusement, What am I saying? I was much more annoying than that.
Whisking her broom out from behind the ancient building, she mounted it, steered it towards the sky, and took off, heading towards her next destination. But as she had always thought when entering or leaving a camp, it was still bothersome that none of the camps were guarded from invaders on broomsticks.
Harry was less than happy when he got home. He'd managed to convince Zeusia that he should be allowed to visit his friends whenever he wanted (seeing as how she had practically kidnapped him into the Belligerents' service for the five months that he had disappeared from the wizard world – not to mention the past five years of his life), but he still hadn't had any success on the matter of staying with Hermione and Sirius. But he thought, with a wry grin on his lips as he tapped his wand to Hermione's door and whispered, "Alohomora," She never did say that I couldn't live with Ron – just that Ron couldn't live with me. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…
But thoughts of living arrangements were pushed to the back of his mind as he opened the door to find Sirius sprawled out on Hermione's couch, his long legs protruding over the arm and one of his arms dangling over the side. His arms were long enough that his fingertips were brushing the carpet, and the blanket Hermione had given him was hardly large enough to suffice, but he seemed to sleeping soundly, as the sound of his snoring was loud enough to wake the dead. Harry snickered as he shuffled into the kitchen and busied himself with figuring out how to make coffee for himself.
After one busted mug and a small electrical shock that set his hair on its ends, he decided to give up the Muggle ways and conjured himself a cappuccino. He scowled at the electrical outlet as it gaped back at him with a mouth that resembled snake fangs.
Sirius walked in just as Harry was beginning to make faces at it. The elder raised an eyebrow as he scratched behind his ear. "Harry…the last time I checked, inanimate objects usually don't have the required attacking capabilities to harm someone. There's really no need to provoke them."
Harry froze, his cheeks reddening rapidly. He turned away from the kitchen's entrance, raising his mug to his mouth in an attempt to hide his chagrin. Sirius merely laughed, padded into the kitchen and whisked his wand at the counter. A cup identical to Harry's appeared on his side of the counter, and he took a seat on the stool that Hermione had occupied just the night before.
"So we've become beatniks, have we?" Sirius asked, raising a precocious eyebrow as he lifted the mug to his lips, sipping on it after blowing a stream of air over the hot liquid.
Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. "Beatniks?"
"Yeah. You know…Bongo drums, beat poetry. Chugging coffee like it's an endangered species and bouncing around like spastic puppets from the influential amount of caffeine?"
Harry only furrowed his brows more tightly together.
Sirius sighed. "Never mind. Must be an American thing."
Harry shrugged, tilting his mug and finishing off the last of his coffee. "I can't help it, at any rate. Hermione's got me addicted to the stuff."
"Aye. You should see the Americans."
Harry scoffed as he stood from his stool, carrying his mug to the sink, and leaving it there for Hermione to wash out. He imagined that he'd hear complaints about it later, but didn't particularly care. "So you were in America all this time?" he asked his godfather.
Sirius nodded, peering down at the countertop, as he suddenly became interested in the patterns of the dots covering it. "Yeah. Stationed there by WAR. We needed a Headquarters separated from England, to keep from getting our business interfered with. I'm not really Hermione's boss, as you thought last night, but I do have close ties with her boss and could probably influence him into promoting her, but I don't bother. She wouldn't want me to, anyway."
"Why not?"
"Oh, you know Hermione. Wants to earn everything herself. Can't blame her, really. She's got to make a name for herself, doesn't she?"
"Because she's a Muggle-born? Yeah."
"I mean, it's already rough for her. I'd like to make it easier, but she won't let me. Sometimes, I – "
But Harry did not hear what Sirius sometimes did, because the front door opened then, and Hermione strode inside, her hair windswept and an old broom in one hand. Her cloak was wet from rain again. "Why won't these rainstorms go away?" she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. "Daft things are gonna flood us all out into the ocean! Or worse yet – right into France!"
Harry grinned behind his hand as she shook her hair out, sending water droplets spraying everywhere. "Admit it, Hermione. You only hate France because that's where Fleur lived."
She froze, blinking as she looked up at him. She was about to start wringing her hair into the sink, her mass of thick hair pulled together in one fist. "Say that again, Harry Potter, and I swear I'll drench you."
Sirius smirked. He was just going to let this one play itself out…
Harry held his hands up defensively. "All I said was that you don't like France because of Fleur. I never said you were jealous or anything, because Ron liked her in fourth year…" He started backing away at the murderous look on her face.
Her eyes narrowed to mere slits, and she flung her hair back, sending water in Sirius' direction. He ducked under the counter, taking his coffee mug with him. Her hand found her wand, and she pulled it out swiftly, aiming it straight at Harry's face. "Aqua!" she exclaimed.
Harry gave her a gloomy look as a cloud appeared over his head, cracking a loud burst of thunder as a tiny downpour rained down on him. "Very funny, Hermy. Ha ha. The old cartoon joke was funny once. It's just plain annoying now."
Sirius' hand popped up over the edge of the counter. "I find it rather hilarious this time as well, you know. Please, Hermione, continue."
Harry looked like he could kill. "You're not helping, Snuffles!"
Sirius dropped his hand from out of their view. "Please, Harry. No name-calling. Or I might have to start calling you by your nickname."
"Which would be?"
"Bambi, of course. Poor old Prongs, getting killed by the mean, nasty hunters…I didn't notice a fire, though." He snapped his fingers. "I knew I forgot something that night!"
Harry threw Sirius the most malignant scowl that he could muster, while Hermione had an angelic smile on her face as she watched the rain pour on Harry, not caring that it was now flooding her linoleum floor. "Oh, this is just precious. You look like a stranded kitten, Harry."
He glared for a moment before he saw that familiar look in her eyes. "Oh, no you don't! Have you forgotten that my godfather is part-dog?!"
She merely smirked at him. "Yeah, you're right. That would be cruel. I'm tired, anyway." She waved her wand once more and ended the spell. Harry continued to glare at her for a moment before waving his own wand and drying off the floor.
A large black dog then peeked around the corner of the counter, staring pointedly at Harry and wagging its tail expectantly. Harry shifted his glare from Hermione to Padfoot, rolling his eyes to add to the effect. "She's not going to do it, Sirius. Down, boy."
They heard a "pop!" then, and Sirius returned to his human form, pouting. "Sorry," he said. "All I heard was 'kitten'…"