Chapter 163: The Bugs in the Bouquet

When Hermione was awoken, yet again, it was to the clanging of an alarm. And to an empty bed.

She shoved groggily up onto her elbows, a long, messy piece of hair, come loose from her plait, bowing down into her face. Hermione looked around. No Sirius. The covers had been neatly tucked up around her, but he'd left no note on the pillow still dented by his head. Hermione looked further afield. The lamps had been extinguished, the windows showing misty daylight in the street beyond; the bathroom empty, and Crookshanks was gone.

And the alarm's bell was still clanging incessantly.

Wobbling, Hermione pushed herself up onto her arms. The wonky bow it gave her back sent a loud and sharp pain through her spine. She dropped back down to the safe height of her elbows, and stayed there for a few seconds, gritting her teeth against worse pain than she'd felt even that night.

Worrying about whether she'd done more damage to her spine added to other worries about where Sirius had gone and how he was.

And, for all of the above, Hermione could do entirely nothing to go and check.

She turned irritated eyes on the clanging alarm clock. Her glare didn't shut it up. Rather than on her bedside table, Sirius had left it on the bed next to where he'd lain for the last of the night. Huffing, Hermione lowered herself to her side, caught behind one knee, and yanked it over across the bed. Squirming onto her belly, she got back onto her elbows and began the laborious process of using upper body strength she didn't have to haul her body towards the goddamn alarm clock, her legs dragging along behind her.

Stretching an arm out, Hermione managed to get her fingers on the old-fashioned pain-in-the-bum. With some fumbling, she grabbed it enough to pull it before her eyes. And glowered again.

Sirius knew how to shut it up. He'd done it three hours before. How he'd done it, however, Hermione had no idea.

It was a Wizarding alarm clock. Which meant there were no normal buttons or dials to the thing. A round clock face, topped by a single large bell, and three feet. That was it. Devoid of any other ideas for the moment, Hermione grabbed the bell. It muted the sound, a dulled "bok-bok-bok" sounding in place of the clanging.

The door opening behind Hermione had her twisting to see. She caught the sight of Sirius hurrying into the room, a breakfast tray Levitated before him. Hermione blinked, then squinted at the tray. There was a vase on it. And it held a large bouquet of flowers.

'Sorry,' Sirius said hastily, taking in the sight of Hermione sprawled gracelessly across the bed. He sent the tray to lay itself down on the bed, swinging the door shut. 'I meant to be back before it went off. Kreacher was berating me for still looking tired.'

'Sirius,' Hermione said, quite pleasantly, 'how do I make this thing shut up?'

'Oh – you pull one of the feet out. The back one.'

Hermione turned narrowed eyes back on the clock. Releasing the bell to clang loudly again, she grabbed its rear foot and pulled. The foot came straight out of the clock. It shut up. Hermione let go of the foot and it sailed back, fitting itself back into its lodging hole.

'I see,' she said, plopping the clock down on the bed. She twisted back around to see Sirius, then the tray. There definitely was a glittering vase, filled with flowers, on the breakfast tray. Five irises stood high, projecting over the lower flora, each unique and spectacular, from white with a deep edge of violet, to one that was a delicate lavender striped in brilliant bloom with golden yellow. Dotted around these were tulips – the ones that grew wild in spring, rather than the store-bought variety – and, filling around the taller flowers, a delicate effluence of tiny white blossoms. It wasn't quite the bouquet Hermione would have thought a florist would put together. There was just a bit too much happening in the vase. But it was beautiful for that.

'Who brought those?' Hermione asked.

Sirius followed her eyeline. He gave something of a sheepish smile.

'Er… I did.'

Hermione did her best to shuffle herself around to see him better.

'You did?' she said, surprised. 'Did you pick them?'

'No…' Sirius answered slowly. His hand jumped, going behind his head to scratch at it uncomfortably. 'I didn't go out. I'm not up to a run… just now.'

Now Hermione was more surprised. Not as much because of the flowers – she had known Sirius to do beautiful and romantic things for her before. But because of how uncertain he looked. Sirius was still in his black pyjama bottoms, but he'd pulled a t-shirt on. Awkwardly, he was standing not far from the door.

'You Conjured them?'

It was an impressive Conjuration, if so, Hermione thought, craning to see the flowers over her shoulder. It looked like Sirius had taken extra special care to make each one brilliant.

'… It's Valentine's Day,' Sirius said.

The smile that had been growing on Hermione's face fell from it.

'Ooh – no, Sirius,' she said. 'I'm sorry! I completely forgot!'

'So did I,' Sirius said. 'I only realised about half an hour ago.'

Hermione nodded absently.

'So… you got me flowers?' she said, her smile returning as she glanced from the bouquet back to Sirius.

'Yeah, well…' Sirius went to stick his hands in his pockets. His pyjama bottoms hadn't any, though, and he remembered that a moment too late. Sirius looked down, noticed the lack of a place to stick his hands, and just dropped them by his sides. '… Not like I can take you out to dinner. Didn't even make the breakfast, Kreacher did…'

Hermione started to giggle. She'd take an uncertain Sirius over a post-nightmare one. And he was looking very cute at the moment.

Sirius gave her a mock-glare.

'Mione,' he complained, 'don't laugh at me. I've never actually done Valentine's Day before.'

'You've never proposed to anyone before either,' Hermione pointed out, still snickering, 'and you weren't this unsure about that.'

'Yeah, but this is more conventional,' Sirius said, his face easing.

Hermione laughed harder, then, sniffing to get herself under control, said, 'Do you think you can give me a hand?'

'Oh, right.' The request unstuck Sirius's feet from the floor. He didn't need magic to ease her up to lean against the headboard. Hermione hooked an arm around his neck as he did it with strength returned enough to be gentle.

'They're beautiful, Sirius…' Hermione said earnestly once she'd had both her Neural Regeneration Potion and elixir and Sirius had passed the vase over. They really were. Were it not for their brilliant perfection, Hermione would think the flowers were real. 'I didn't know you knew how to Conjure flowers like this…'

'Found a book in the library,' Sirius said. 'Has all sorts of household-y charms in it.'

The iris Hermione was inspecting had a glorious fanning of yellow and indigo into a pure white petal. She looked up at Sirius. He'd sat on the bed beside her.

'Is that where you learned all those bubble bath charms?'

Smiling a little, Sirius nodded.

'Mmm… You even managed to get them to smell right,' Hermione murmured, her nose tipped into the bouquet. She took another deep whiff, enjoying the scent of spring, before setting the vase on the side table and looking back up at him. 'I love them Sirius, thank you! And they brighten up the room…'

Their own room being one they'd yet to redecorate, the vase sitting on the side table was the prettiest thing about it. Well, the vase and the crinkles around Sirius's eyes. Seeing that was like a gorgeous sign that the morning was to be one far better than Hermione had worried it would be.

He still looked tired. Still had that look about his eyes that said things weren't quite right. But his top was soft under Hermione's hand, his lips just as soft on hers; his hair silky and slipping through her fingers. His touch gentle on her side.

As though everything was new all over again, the butterflies unsettled in Hermione's chest, fluttering around. Her back arched, trying to feel his torso against hers, and Sirius's arm slipped around her to help – pulled her flush against him, setting the butterflies to twittering.

For a moment, Hermione drew back. Wanting to see his closed eyes, those high cheekbones, the stubbled cheek and those patches of firmer skin around the corners of his lips, slightly open as she'd left them. She didn't leave those lips for long, folding back into him, her insides bubbling with deep and exquisite feeling, her thumb slipping over Sirius's jawline, appreciating it as it moved with his mouth.

Hers. Melodramatic to think most other times, Hermione thought it then with great possessiveness: he was hers. And he was glad to be. This man who could be anything: he was happy to be hers. There was an intense sweetness in how he kissed her back so dedicatedly; held her so tenderly, his head tilting, focused on just kissing her. Didn't want to let her go, even as Hermione held the back of his head and kissed him harder, her fingers slipping under his top to feel those muscles in his side; his mouth hot, tongue slipping against hers – a heady insanity.

But as Hermione breathed more heavily, her hand splayed over his back, a finger feeling one of those dips just above his waistband, Sirius groaned and eased back.

'We can't have sex,' he whispered. 'Poppy said so – wrote it on the back of those instructions she left.'

Hermione's fingers felt over his cheek, jaw; down the side of his neck. She wished badly for him to be topless. She hummed quietly, thinking.

'She means I can't,' she said pointedly. 'Not you can't.'

Grey eyes considered her.

'I don't want anything one-sided, Mione.'

Hermione sighed. She really wouldn't mind right then. She'd love to trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest; grip him in her fist and make him groan.

'Well,' she said, plucking at his t-shit, 'you can still take this off.'

'Hermione…' Sirius's fingers slipped around her wrist. 'We've got Poppy coming to give you a check-up later, then Skeeter…'

'Do we have time?'

Sirius glanced at the clock.

'… Yes.'

'I like these pyjama bottoms,' Hermione told him, slipping a finger around the waistband to tug it a bit lower. 'You never wear them enough for me to get much of a chance to appreciate you topless in them.'

Starting to look amused, Sirius watched her. Deciding on it, he reached behind his head, caught his top, and shucked it off. He dropped it off the bed and turned back to face her. He had one knee up on the bed, the other foot on the floor, sitting sideways to face her.

Hermione fought a grin. The skin of his chest was very warm and beautifully smooth under her hand. Sirius was shoving his hair out of his face, the bicep of that arm looking delicious. It was the arm with the tattoo around the top of it… That hard, flat-rubber abdomen, down to the cute dip of his navel and the trail of hair below it…

'You checking me out?' Sirius teased, letting her touch him.

'… Remembering what a catch you are.'

'Owh,' Sirius complained, affecting affront. 'You forgot?'

Hermione snickered, letting the hairs in his happy trail tickle her thumb.

'Not in the slightest,' she said, her fingers finding where the hard head of his penis was pinned up against the front of his trunks. 'Just remembering it in a much more lecherous way. I'd like to see you in these bottoms,' she said musingly, 'without the trunks…'

'Hermione…'

'So I know there's just that little bit of soft cotton hiding you… Pull it down… Though, preferably,' Hermione added, 'when I'm able to kneel again.'

It was working. Hermione bit back a smile. Sirius was breathing more heavily, that hard head of his cock now veritably straining against his pants. She caught his hips and tugged.

'Come here,' she directed.

'Hermione…' Sirius tried again.

'I want to feel your happy trail with my lips.' Hermione tugged him again. 'My tongue…'

Sirius shifted a little, then did get onto his knees on the side of the bed. He didn't swing one leg over her lap the way she was indicating he should, though.

'I love blowjobs, Mione,' he said, taking hold of her arm, 'but I don't want just that.'

'Hmm…' His torso was close enough now, at least. Hermione caught a portion of his chest in an open-mouthed kiss, his skin hot and firm up against her lips. His reaction, moving a little nearer, had her able to catch his nipple between lip and tongue. 'Well then,' Hermione said, enjoying the look of tightly-restrained arousal on Sirius's face, 'I have to wonder what, exactly, is included in the word "sex", because I can think of a few non-risky things we can do.'

Sirius produced something between a grunt and a sigh. Then he was following her hands, swinging a knee over her lap like she was his motorbike, grabbing the headboard above Hermione: propped over and presented for her great need to taste and fondle. He still felt restrained, but that was just exciting as Hermione's mouth travelled past his navel and over that happy trail, every little hair tingling her lips. The pyjama bottoms did hang low on his hips – would hang lower if he wasn't wearing his trunks. But with just one finger curled around both waistbands, Hermione unhooked the head of his erection and caught it in her mouth.

Sirius groaned, staring down at her. He watched her for another second, then straightened up.

'Okay,' he acquiesced, but apparently not to a blowjob from someone who really wanted to give him one. He was getting off her, climbing off the bed, even as Hermione complained and tried to hang onto him.

'Oh, I will straddle your head for that,' he either promised or… something else that was no less reassuring. 'But…' He threw back the covers and then was getting between Hermione's legs.

The bed had seen Hermione be thrown, flipped, wrangled, tickled, and dumped flat on her back time and time again. It saw a far gentler version of that this time, but watching Sirius tug off her panties, drop himself flat to his belly on the bed, and hold both her legs up and out of the way as she giggled and crammed a pillow behind her head, was very normal.

'Ah…' Sirius looked up at Hermione from between her legs, reacting to her first happy coo. 'I removed the Silencing Charm from the room again.'

'Why'd you do that?'

'… So Remus could hear if you needed help while I was out of the room.'

Hermione had zero desire for Remus to hear this. She snatched up her wand and stabbed it toward the door. Sirius waited only long enough for her to finish the spell. With a moan no one else would hear, Hermione dumped her head back onto her pillow, curling her fingers into Sirius's hair.

'Ooh…' She uttered, picking her head up again to see her toes, where they dangled by Sirius's shoulder. 'I think I wiggled a toe!'

Sirius's head emerged to look.

'Well it's not going to do it again if you stop,' Hermione pointed out and, chuckling, Sirius went right back to it.

.

Sirius's mood was certainly better than Hermione could have expected it to be. But, as it had after that Ministry inquiry, the anger was back in him, buried as deep as he could get it. It came out, just a little, in the bath he helped her take.

'You do realise,' he snapped, 'that the things I tell you tend to be stuff I keep private.'

Hermione didn't flinch. She'd been expecting something like that. Particularly as she'd been trying to press him to agree to share their story with Skeeter.

'I know,' she said levelly. 'And I'll leave you to decide what you do tell her. You can reveal as much or as little as you like. I think there's a lot you shouldn't tell her, anyway.'

Sirius's slight outburst had prompted him to swallow his ire back down. He didn't respond, but that he didn't made Hermione think he'd talk to Skeeter. He'd argue it harder if his answer was "no". Hermione scraped her shampooed hair behind her head, ready to lie straight down under the water.

'I'd like to dunk my head,' she said. 'If I can't pull myself back up, can you give me a hand?'

Sirius nodded and got his hands ready behind her back. Though Hermione's big toes curled when she tried to shove herself back upright, her legs didn't help. The sudden jolt of fear that gave her, water over her face, was mitigated by being able to see those toes twiddle once she was sitting up again. It wouldn't be long.

They passed Kreacher on the way down to the sitting room. Harry had taken the owl alert off the window in the spare second floor bedroom, and Hermione could see why. Kreacher, who'd set himself up with his knitting and a warm couple towels over his shoulders to guard the open window, was surrounded by two owls, a pile of letters, and, cleverly, Harry's sneakoscope.

'They are responses to the Quibbler articles,' Kreacher informed Hermione. 'Kreacher hasn't opened them, but he put the ones the sneakoscope whirred at in there,' he pointed to a heavy steel box, its lid tightly closed, 'as you said, Master Sirius. There has been two Howlers,' Kreacher went on, reporting. 'One was from a witch who said she was in the Wizengamot and would agree to an anonymous interview – but Kreacher didn't hear her leave a return address, so Kreacher wonders how she thinks we can contact her. The other was a very grouchy wizard,' Kreacher said, looking affronted, 'who yelled that the world is never perfect and you should "stop ruddy complaining".'

The Howler from someone claiming to be in the Wizengamot was interesting, but Kreacher was right: with no way to identify or contact her, it was little more than a gesture. Perhaps, had it been Kingsley the Wizengamot member had sent the Howler to, he may be able to recognise her voice, but the Howler had already burned itself up and couldn't be passed on.

'What's that you're knitting there, Kreacher?' Hermione asked, trying to get a good look at the mess of aubergine over Kreacher's knees.

With a flourish, Kreacher held it up. Hermione's first guess was that Kreacher was providing Sturgis socks for his juvenile security trolls. Then she saw the arm holes.

'A tunic, Mistress.'

And as it was elf-sized…

'For you?' Hermione asked hopefully.

Kreacher flattened the knitted tunic back over his lap. He gave her a long look.

'House elves are supposed to make their own clothes,' he croaked, 'out of things their masters wouldn't miss.'

Which was precisely what Hermione had hoped Kreacher would do. With much more affection for Kreacher than the aubergine tunic, Hermione pronounced it marvellous and told him, sincerely, that she couldn't wait to see him in it. It made Kreacher smile, and get back to his knitting. With a last warning about boubotuber pus, they left Kreacher to it.

The elf, Hermione was informed, had also offered to go fetch Skeeter for them and bring the reporter to Number 12. Kreacher had been armed with a letter from Remus, giving Skeeter the secret for headquarters – something Hermione had to admit she wasn't any better pleased about than Sirius was. Hermione made a mental note to remove Skeeter from the allowed entrants on the Caterwauling Charm once the witch left.

A sort of snot green would never have been seen as a reassuring colour before, but both Hermione and Sirius, as well as Poppy, proclaimed it as such when it appeared as the Reveal detailing Monkey and his uterine home. Poppy gave it four days before Monkey was back to his original turquoise, and instructed them to check twice a day to ensure he remained on track.

'Your survival, Hermione,' she said baldly, 'is unprecedented. I am estimating based on dissimilar situations. Thus, I cannot say for certain all will progress as I believe it shall.'

Sure the matron felt she had to say it, Hermione just nodded. She didn't think, at all, that she was likely to decline again. Whatever Sirius had transferred to her, Hermione saw no chance that it would simply dissipate. If she was right in him having done it before, it certainly hadn't that time.

'And… the baby?' Hermione asked, more anxiously, needing to make sure. 'This won't have… harmed him permanently?'

'The outcome of temporary foetal hypoxia, treated promptly with Neural Regeneration Potions, is typically very good,' Poppy informed them. 'You will find Teddy a convenient example. An inadvisable fall and Apparition resulted in the partial Splinching of the placenta and umbilical vein. There was significant hypoxia before the Healers managed to make do with what was left. And Teddy,' Poppy added, with reassuring certainty, 'is a perfectly healthy baby.

'There is a risk of delayed development,' Poppy went on, more circumspectly, 'though it is typically minor unless much longer courses of Neural Regeneration Potion are needed. So long as you carry to term, and we keep an eye on him, your child should be born quite as he would have otherwise.'

Greatly relieved, Hermione let out a long breath. Neither Sirius nor Poppy had seemed concerned about any permanent damage before, but Hermione had needed to hear it. And, Hermione supposed, the fact that a simple Apparition could cause foetal hypoxia did make it more likely the Wizarding world would have established ways of treating it.

In response to Hermione's report of pain in her lower back, Poppy was less optimistic.

'Bones are easy to Heal with spells,' Poppy told her, smoothing Hermione's top back down once she'd had a look at the base of Hermione's spine. 'Intervertebral discs are not. You have damaged two. I've done what I can, but any further Healing of them will require potions.'

'So I can't fix it more until I give birth?' Hermione guessed.

'Indeed,' confirmed Poppy. 'Neural Regeneration is standard practise for the damage caused by foetal hypoxia. There is an established dose and risk profile. This is not the case for the vast majority of potions – most potions are either known to carry heavy risks to the baby, or are entirely untested.'

Sirius, watching on, had started looking worried at Poppy's words about not being able to adequately predict Hermione's progression, and now eyed Hermione with a very serious, almost sombre expression.

'Will she still be able to walk?' he asked Poppy.

'Oh yes,' Poppy said, packing her things away. 'But I expect you will have significant back pain as the pregnancy progresses.' She said to Hermione, snapping her bag shut. 'Not much to do for it, unfortunately. Keep trying those exercises I gave you, when you can again, Hermione. We shall have to keep an eye on the situation. It will likely be an ongoing attempt to handle those discs until your child is born.'

Hermione grimaced. Back pain seemed to be part of pregnancy anyway. The idea of this making it worse… was far from reassuring. But with Sirius having that look of watching worry, she shook it off and just nodded. Sitting comfortably, as she was right now, gave her no pain. So that was good, at least. For now.

'After your baby is born,' Poppy said smartly, standing up with her bag, 'we can do a great deal more. We will simply have to get you to that point with as little pain as possible.'

It was a mission statement Hermione could follow. She felt less alone having Poppy on board to help. Sirius, however, looked no less solemn, even as Hermione grabbed his hand once Poppy had left.

'It's only temporary,' she assured him. 'The back pain will be,' she clarified. 'Whatever you did, I'm certain, will be far from temporary.'

Sirius eyed her.

'You're pretending you're less upset by this than you are.'

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. Yes, she was. He was right. She shook his hand.

'I'm happier,' she said soundly, 'when you are. I don't want you worrying. And… You will be there. You'll make sure you are. So if it gets bad and I just need to lie down, you'll… bring me something to eat. You said you'd be there, for all of it, and I'll rely on that.'

Sirius gave a little nod, but he looked no less perturbed. Hermione frowned at him.

'What is it, Sirius?'

He sighed and looked around the room, as if for inspiration.

'Always on you,' he said quietly. 'All of it: examinations, pain, nausea, Tracking charms, not able to do this or that… It's always your body that cops it. And,' he added, more quietly and more bitterly, 'I can't do anything about it.'

Hermione hadn't thought of it that way. She'd seen Sirius take so much of a beating the idea seemed ridiculous. But she did get it – what he was thinking.

'What you can do,' she reassured him, 'is look after us. And you do that well.'

He squeezed her hand back, but didn't get a chance to process it any further. Kreacher's Apparition split the house with a resounding crack. It proceeded the Caterwauling Charm that announced Rita Skeeter was inside their home.

Hermione's face scrunched up, more against the prospect than the noise. Reluctantly, Sirius added Skeeter to the list of allowed entrants. They grew a little more guilty when, from upstairs, the sound of a baby bursting into loud tears filled the newfound silence.

'Is… everything all right?' Andromeda's voice, timid, called from the stairwell.

'She's here?' Hermione asked Sirius. She hadn't noticed Andromeda's arrival.

'Seems like it,' Sirius answered. Louder, he called, 'It's fine Andy! Just a vulture here to prey on us.'

The vulture herself was passing through the archway into the sitting room. Skeeter's focus appeared more on looking around than any digs at her Sirius was making.

'Oh this is nice,' Skeeter remarked, as, from the sounds of it, Andromeda took Teddy away from the stairs. 'Why couldn't I have stayed here?'

'There was an official reason,' Hermione said pleasantly. 'I've forgotten it in favour of a new one.'

Sirius didn't try to suppress his amusement.

Undaunted, and in track pants, Skeeter took a seat across the coffee table from them. Less impressed, she considered the scarred surface of the table.

'What happened here?' she asked, meaning the coffee table.

'Exploding galleons,' Sirius answered, quite truthfully. 'It's a pastime of mine.'

Hermione was caught between a laugh and a groan. Sirius, like Harry, really didn't do much to ensure the way he was depicted was anything less than utterly mad. Sirius looked wickedly interested in needling Skeeter, however, so Hermione did just a little to hide a snigger behind a scratch of her nose.

'I can honestly say,' she told Skeeter, 'that those exploding galleons saved my life.'

It was very true. Those emergency portkeys had been a lifesaver. Skeeter, however, knew none of the backstory. Hermione fought another snicker.

Skeeter fetched quill and notebook out of her handbag and propped them on a crossed leg. She eyed Hermione all the while.

'So you're alive, then?' the reporter said, not with pleasure. 'Not a mark on you.'

'Oh, well,' Hermione said airily, 'I wouldn't say that.' She had a blanket over her legs, and wasn't sure, just yet, whether she wanted Skeeter to know about her inability to move more than her big toes. 'But I suppose, this time, I did piss them off enough.'

Skeeter's unpencilled eyebrows hitched at that. She looked Hermione over, then said, instead, 'Did you read today's Prophet?'

There was a copy on Brian's magnificent dining room table. Hermione could see it from where she sat. She hadn't gotten around to reading it yet, however. Sirius responded with little more than slightly narrowed eyes.

'You made the front page,' Skeeter informed them. 'Dumbledore's army attacking Muggles in the street,' she relayed. 'There is no mention, in The Prophet, of any of the people you report being there. The paper merely refers to "representatives from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement" trying to bring you in after you caused a ruckus. There is a quote from the Minister: "Brave, daring, and conflict-loving. Albus Dumbledore would be rolling in his grave if he could see what his Army was up to now".'

'Oh, how clever,' Hermione said, irritated. 'Always pushing the parcel of blame.'

Skeeter scrutinised her. Without looking at her notebook, she scribbled down what Hermione was sure were her own words quoted. Hermione took a moment, then decided she didn't mind Skeeter using that, so long as it was in their best interests. For now, at least, she still got final say in what Skeeter wrote.

'You have all been accused of causing the deaths of Muggles,' Skeeter went on, ready with her quill. 'Do you think any of your spells went awry?'

Reminded Skeeter was a reporter, Hermione was more circumspect this time.

'Considering the large number of Unforgivable Curses Yaxley, Carrow, and their Ministry assistance used,' she said, 'we did our very best to ensure few to none of their curses hit Muggles. I deflected a Killing Curse, cast by a member of the Ministry, into the underside of a bus to avoid it hitting anyone else. A full inquiry, by the objective body the Ministry is supposed to be, would find where the true blame lies. The small number of Muggles who did die, yesterday, is testimony to our efforts. Most deaths were caused by a falling structure. It was our side that had to avoid being injured by that, as it was intended to hurt us.'

Skeeter wrote that down. Her eyes moved on to Sirius.

'To Pardon, or Not to Pardon,' Skeeter relayed. 'Subtitled: "Why the Ministry Thinks they Made a Grave Mistake Pardoning Black".' That was the extent of Skeeter's prompt.

'Yeah,' Sirius said, looking irritated. 'I read that.'

Hermione glanced at him. She hadn't. He met her gaze and pulled a quick, annoyed, grimace.

'What was it you said about media manipulation, Skeeter?' Hermione asked. '"If the Ministry says it's vampires, then it's vampires" – I believe that's how you mocked the readers of The Prophet. "The public have always been stupid little sheep" you said. "Why else do you think media is such big business? It is deliciously easy to manipulate people. They'll all want to read more news about it in an ongoing search to confirm their bias".'

Sirius looked amused. Skeeter glowered at Hermione. Hermione nodded to her notebook.

'You can quote yourself on that,' she offered. 'Regardless, the point is: the Ministry still hasn't proven Sirius guilty of anything at all. His pardon was a mere formality, seeing as they never proved he was guilty of what they locked him up for in the first place. They've got nothing to pin on him, and they know it. So they're relying on sensationalist tripe to sway people towards needless hatred. It's how, as they have done time and time again, they try to deflect focus: tell some lie so people pay attention to that, not the real news.'

Skeeter did write that part down. She turned her gaze back on Sirius.

'Have you any comments?' she asked him.

Sirius shrugged, thought about it, then shook his head. Skeeter straightened up. She surveyed him.

'I was told,' she said, 'you were to make good on your promise of an exclusive interview. You will recognise: speaking to me is the way an interview works.'

Sirius surveyed her right back, with raised eyebrows.

'My comment,' he said, 'is that I think Hermione said that well.'

Shrewd, her gaze irritated, Skeeter didn't bother to quote him.

'Born to a family of proud purebloods,' she said to Sirius, in a pretence of musing. 'It makes a person wonder how you became the man you are. Was it being sorted into Gryffindor house that shaped you, or something else?'

Sirius stared, stalwart, back at her.

'This article,' he said, 'is about the injustices perpetrated by the Ministry. Sorry if we didn't point that out before.'

'Yes yes.' Skeeter waved the sentiment away. She set her hand under her chin and gave Sirius a poor impression of a coquettish look. 'I am aware. I understand this is you trying to back out of our agreement: a full exclusive, Sirius. I am happy to compromise with an article about the both of you and Ministry injustices,' she mocked. 'But I still need colour. You do want people to read this?' she asked. 'Then give me something work with.'

Hermione watched Sirius warily. He had promised. It was probably part of why he looked so close to telling Skeeter, who had her quill between two fingers, to stuff that quill up her nose – or somewhere less pleasant.

'Oh come on, Sirius,' Skeeter wheedled sweetly. 'You and your darling wife have the power to censor this story. I am here at your beck and call. Exactly how you want the people to hear it is how I shall write it. With all the stories out there about you, I'd expect you'd find this a welcome opportunity.'

Hermione's thought that Skeeter mustn't believe Sirius a mad mass murderer at all, else his glare would have her running, gave way to different realisation. Watching Skeeter sitting across from them, Hermione was pretty sure she knew why the reporter was agreeing to this compromise. Skeeter was in their house, able to see any secrets it contained. Skeeter wasn't about to write the exploding galleons into this story, but Hermione would be very surprised if she didn't see it turn up in a later one, once Skeeter was no longer "at their beck and call".

Sirius's glare didn't soften, but he did respond.

'My parents' meaning of "family" was "pureblood pride". Nothing more. My brother and I were raised by our family house elf, and he has a far better understanding of "family".'

'House elf?' Skeeter said, surprised. She looked around, but Kreacher had already gone back up to guard the owl window.

'Kreacher,' Sirius confirmed.

'Rather insulting, that elf,' Skeeter remarked.

Sirius broke into a grin.

'What'd he say?' he asked. Skeeter didn't tell them, so, amused, Sirius just chuckled and said 'I'll ask him later, then.'

Skeeter questioned Sirius about his brother, his parents, then, moving on, to meeting James Potter at Hogwarts and what kind of relationship the two had had. Sirius gave cursory answers, but as Skeeter jotted them all down, Hermione assumed they were all useful.

'You were best man when James and Lily were married?' Skeeter checked. Sirius responded to that with merely a nod. 'And, of course, you were named godfather to their son. What sort of a role did you play in Harry Potter's life when he was an infant?'

Sirius frowned at her.

'I was his godfather,' he said flatly.

'Were you distant?' Skeeter clarified. 'Often around?'

'Around as often as I could be,' Sirius said. 'I was busy working with the Order.'

'Around enough that a baby would recognise you?'

'Sure,' said Sirius, frowning harder. 'Harry knew me.'

Skeeter was no longer scribbling. The end of her quill was almost between her lips. They even opened, ready to suck on it like it was her Quick Quotes Quill. Hermione waited for the witch to suck in a mouthful of brown ink, but Skeeter caught herself just in time. She snatched the quill away from her mouth and used it, instead, between two fingers to give a fluttering gesture, encouraging Sirius to say more.

'Knew you as a friendly face?' Skeeter pressed. 'Knew you by name?'

A little shudder went down Sirius's spine.

'Knew me as "Unca Iri",' he said, annoyed. 'He was a baby. My name's not that easy to say when you're one.'

'He called you that?'

'Yeah, he did.' Sirius's jaw clenched. He sighed though his nose. 'He liked my sunglasses,' he said, bowing, to Hermione's eyes, to Skeeter's desire for "colour". 'He'd steal them off me whenever I wore them. I'd have to distract him or wait until he fell asleep to get them back. Broke them a couple times,' Sirius added. 'And found it hilarious when I repaired them.

'He'd want me to pick him up, the moment one of his favourite songs was played,' Sirius went on, still looking annoyed, but his words resigned. 'He liked that I'd dangle him, swing him around, throw him in the air – playing a song he liked would make him come up and pull on my trouser leg. And he learned that, so he'd go over to James's records and try to reach for them. That's how he first stood up on his own.'

Skeeter was scribbling madly.

'And, as I heard,' she prompted, watching Sirius expectantly, 'there is a baby in his house currently.'

Sirius's look soured.

'He is neither mine,' he said, voice deep and warning, 'nor part of this story. He is an innocent child. Don't stoop that low, Skeeter.'

Skeeter barely blinked.

'Would you say your godson influenced your own decision to start a family?'

Sirius scowled, but he answered.

'The Potters were a fantastic example of a family,' he said. 'All of them: James's parents, him and Lily.'

Though Skeeter tried, she got nothing more than that out of Sirius.

'The night of the thirty first of October, 1981,' Skeeter began, and Sirius stiffened up. 'Tell me, how did Lily and James Potter die?'

Now Hermione was really watching Sirius warily. This was one of his worst memories. To have Skeeter dragging it up… Hermione turned her own furious glare on the reporter.

'You already know that,' Sirius ground out.

'The readers will want to hear your perspective,' Skeeter responded readily.

Stiffly, Sirius leant forwards, his elbows on his knees.

'Lily and James had two friends they thought to trust with their safety,' he said. 'One of us betrayed them. It wasn't me.'

Guided by Skeeter's needling questions, Sirius provided the rest of the story in frank bullet points.

'So you were first on scene in Godric's Hollow?' asked Skeeter.

'Yes.'

'And what did you do when you got there?'

Sirius's jaw clenched off centre. Skeeter was braver than Hermione gave the reporter credit for: the witch barely flinched.

'I stepped over two dead bodies,' Sirius said coldly, 'to go and get Harry out of his cot.'

'It's quite difficult for you to revisit that day, isn't it?' Skeeter just about cooed, wheedling.

'Of course it is!' Sirius shot back. 'How'd you like to experience that? Walking in on your two best friends dead on the floor, and their child screaming from upstairs?'

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. Skeeter was definitely getting her colour. The reporter didn't break eye contact with Sirius as she took notes, questioning him on. She was getting a pretty good story.

'We know you did not kill Peter Pettigrew,' Skeeter went on, 'because he died approximately a year ago. By his own hand.'

'After he tried to strangle Harry,' Sirius added.

Skeeter flipped to a new page, continuing her scribbling.

'And you did not kill any other person on that street?' she asked.

'No,' Sirius answered firmly. 'To this day, I have never murdered anyone.'

There was his response to that Prophet article about him. Skeeter was actually doing well.

'To anyone looking on,' Skeeter commented, 'you are far more guided by love than hatred.'

Sirius stared at her, frowning, then glanced to Hermione. Hermione gave him the lightest of shrugs and an encouraging nod. From what she was hearing, Skeeter was focusing on turning this into an article that would paint Sirius in a very good light.

'Every report from the time,' Skeeter went on, 'states you didn't fight the Aurors who arrested you.'

The answer Hermione had heard Sirius provide for that was "what was the point in fighting them?". She'd very much had the impression he'd given up by the time the Aurors appeared on the street, and had a bit of a mental breakdown. She didn't think she was wrong in that impression, but it wasn't what Sirius voiced in response.

'I knew I was innocent,' he said instead. 'I thought I wouldn't be found so if I resisted arrest. And if I was locked up, I wouldn't be able to look after Harry. My best chance was to go quietly. Funny,' he said bitterly, 'that, despite that, the Ministry decided my guilt. Without even a trial. With no proof, only suspicion. Almost as though finding a scapegoat and pretending everything is fixed is far easier than really looking at the problem.

'Had they given me a trial,' he went on pointedly, 'had they given me even a preliminary hearing, they'd have had to investigate what I told them: that Pettigrew was the one they were looking for. That he was an unregistered Animagus, and could turn into a rat. Instead, though I told them that, they didn't listen. They denied me a trial; denied me a hearing. And, because they didn't listen – didn't follow due process at all – fourteen years later Pettigrew went back to Voldemort and ensured Voldemort's return to power. Because the Ministry would rather just pretend I'm the problem, they let the real problem run unchecked. And people died. Loads of them.'

Impressed, but only mildly surprised, Hermione nodded a little. That was better than what she'd said in response to today's article about Sirius.

'There isn't a single word,' Hermione said, speaking to Skeeter as the reporter scribbled furiously, 'of Dementors in the papers. Yet people all over are seeing them in villages and outside their homes. People are locking themselves inside and hoping the Dementors don't get any closer. And, instead, The Prophet is reporting gossip about Sirius.'

Skeeter didn't acknowledge Hermione, but she did write that down. When she looked back up, it was Sirius she returned her focus to.

'What is Azkaban like?' she asked, very brazenly.

Sirius tightened up, but he provided the answer more swiftly than he ever had before.

'It's a deep, black pit,' he said, with feeling, 'that you drown in, every single day.'

It satisfied Skeeter.

'How'd you escape?' she shot at him.

Sirius had eased into the interview. Somewhat. He leant back on the sofa next to Hermione and hooked an ankle over his knee.

'You can leave that out of the article,' he told her. 'Unless you want the Ministry knowing I'm good enough to be trusted as your Secret Keeper.'

Skeeter's stare at him grew suddenly sharper; more focused. Sirius smiled amiably back at her.

'Did you use dark magic?' she pressed, still staring hard at him.

'Nope,' Sirius answered.

'The only person who has ever achieved it,' Skeeter went on, wheedling. 'The Escaped Prisoner of Azkaban – a legend. Only you have proved it possible without outside help.'

'Mm,' Sirius hummed noncommittally. 'And maybe I'll tell you some day. But right now, you're not going to get it out of me.'

Skeeter was trying Legilimancy on him. Hermione could see it, and she could see Skeeter wasn't very good at it. Definitely not good enough to match Sirius. Hermione smothered a smile, and then did laugh when whatever Skeeter was seeing in Sirius's head made her recoil slightly, her lip pulling in disgust.

Hermione looked up at Sirius. She questioned him with an eyebrow. Sirius looked amused.

'Paris,' he answered simply.

It took Hermione only a second to guess. Back when Sirius and James had travelled together, they'd both come down with a terrible bout of gastroenteritis only a day after they'd arrived in the city. It had gotten so bad, Sirius had told her, laughing, that they'd actually had a fight over whose turn it was to lie, slumped and groaning, on the floor of the shower. For two days, they were down to just about crawling from the shared bathroom they fought over back to their hotel beds. Hermione was sure Sirius had quite a few memories from then he could pull up to disgust Skeeter with. And Skeeter was lucky that was all Sirius had done. Skeeter had received neither a kick to her brain, nor an Imprint of that permanently deposited on her mind's eye.

'You can just gloss over that part of the Azkaban story,' Sirius told Skeeter as Hermione tried to smother her laughter. 'Tell the readers I had a very exhausting swim back to the mainland – that's certainly true. And freezing. Tell them I slept for a day after that, too tired to move.

'Tell them,' Sirius went on, getting an idea, 'that Fudge gave me his newspaper when he visited Azkaban, and I saw Pettigrew as a rat in a photo – the pet of a Hogwarts student. That I knew the Ministry wasn't going to do anything about it, so I had to try. That's also true – and no, I'm not giving you details. You can, though, throw in that I was pretty sure Harry would be in danger as a result.'

Skeeter looked to Hermione.

'I will have to reword that,' she advised.

'Don't make it too soppy,' Hermione said, by way of agreement.

What Skeeter wrote down this time was bullet points, rather than a quote. Bullet points, and, Hermione saw, the messily-scribbled line "Like one that has been together for decades, a couple capable of communicating entire thoughts in single words and shared glances". It was true enough. Oddly satisfied, Hermione sat comfortably back beside Sirius.

Skeeter pushed on, taking Sirius right up to that night in the Shrieking Shack.

'But you explained what really happened?' Skeeter said. 'Harry believed you? You revealed Pettigrew as a traitor in disguise?'

Sirius confirmed it.

'We all believed him,' Hermione said. 'We saw Pettigrew. And the Ministry wouldn't listen. We told them the truth – told them to go look for Pettigrew. And they didn't. Instead, once again without a trial, they sentenced Sirius to the Dementor's Kiss. And Pettigrew,' Hermione went on hotly, 'ran off, that day, to go back to Voldemort. So instead of the Ministry doing something about it that day, to stop it all, they signed an innocent man up to lose his soul, and left us to have to step up and do what the Ministry wouldn't.'

That would fit nicely into the post-battle interviews Hermione had given last year about the return of Voldemort and what they'd had to do to fix it. Skeeter didn't ask for more information about what they'd needed to step up and do. The reporter would likely know that well enough to be able to tie it into the story.

'And you escaped, yet again,' Skeeter prompted Sirius.

'Not under my own steam,' Sirius answered. He indicated Hermione with a finger. 'Hermione and Harry got me out.'

'If we couldn't convince the Ministry,' Hermione said smartly, angry, 'the best we could do was to stop them making a grave mistake.'

Skeeter did write that down, quickly. She'd spent the past several minutes focused on scribing everything they'd said. Now she looked up, that keen look back in her eyes.

'Was that when you began to have romantic feelings for Sirius?' Skeeter asked, eager, eyeing Hermione like a treat was on the horizon. 'A frantic dash to save an innocent man?'

'No,' Hermione answered, unimpressed. 'I was fourteen.'

'A schoolgirl crush?' Skeeter wheedled. 'For an older man? A tragic hero?'

Sirius snorted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'No,' she said, as Sirius laughed sourly.

'Viktor Krum?' Skeeter hissed at Hermione. 'Harry Potter? Sirius Black? You certainly seem to pick them, Miss Prissy.'

'I never dated Harry,' Hermione retorted. 'You made that up.'

'And you?' Skeeter shot at Sirius. 'A plucky girl ready to stand up to the Ministry to ensure you were safe?'

Sirius stared back at her.

'Not in the slightest,' he said flatly. 'The angle you're hoping for isn't going to work,' he went on, in a deadpan. 'You're romanticising a moment that was far from romantic. You're still in 1995. If you want romance, you're going to have to speed this up a bit.'

Skeeter did speed it up, and soon Sirius was Summoning (with use of his wand) the information booklet for the Muggle-born Integration Scheme, the "protection papers" he'd signed, and the pamphlet on ensuring a happy marriage that had come with them. Reading through every word of them, Skeeter went silent for a little while. Hermione's bladder giving an early complaint, she decided then, before it got any fuller, was as good a time as any to take a quick break.

Hermione may not have specifically decided she wanted to let Skeeter know her present weakness, but even absorbed by taking notes as she read, Skeeter wasn't about to miss it when Hermione hung on around Sirius's shoulders, him stooping to lift her up. Skeeter frowned up at them, watching Sirius shift Hermione more comfortably in his arms.

Skeeter's eyes swapped to Hermione.

'This is how you go to the bathroom?' she asked, incredulous.

'It is at the moment,' Hermione shot back. Sirius didn't stick around to let Skeeter respond, but Hermione couldn't avoid it when they returned.

'You can't walk,' Skeeter observed as Sirius gently lowered Hermione back down. He helped her squirm back into a more comfortable position on the sofa.

'Well spotted,' Hermione grumbled, pulling the blanket back over her lap to shield from view the uncontrolled drift one of her legs was making. Louder, she said, 'Not at the moment, no.'

When she looked back at Skeeter, Hermione blinked. It wasn't as though Skeeter was watching her with concern…. It was more just a very focused look.

'Did you lose the baby?'

It was a very frank question. One that got Hermione's back up a bit, and set Sirius's eyes to flashing. Hermione's ire dipped quickly, however. Again, Skeeter hadn't seemed concerned, but it did seem like she actually wanted to know.

'Mercifully,' Hermione answered, 'no. Just.'

Skeeter was still frowning at her.

'How badly were you injured?'

'You got it right in your last article,' Hermione said quickly, getting the question over with. 'Extensively. Your tone at the end of it was correct too: uncertain survival.'

Skeeter sat straighter and took down a couple notes. It gave Sirius a moment to calm down too. When Skeeter went back to the pamphlets and documents on the table, her odd moment of… almost humanity had passed.

'You are telling me there was no romance prior,' Skeeter pushed on. Disbelieving, she gestured to the papers on the table. 'Yet you both agreed to this.'

Hermione had already been sure to advise Skeeter their relationship had been in spite of, rather than because of the Marriage Act. She gave the reporter a serious look.

'I had no choice,' she said simply.

'You? No choice?' Skeeter mocked, as though she felt a need to recover her lack of humanity, and do so quickly. 'You always have another idea up your sleeve, Miss Pompous.'

It made no impact on Hermione. She just shook her head.

'Not this time,' she said.

Skeeter eyed her, then shifted her look to Sirius.

'And you?' she prompted.

Sirius gave a small shrug.

'Hermione had no choice,' he said.

'But you did.'

'Not really,' Sirius said honestly. He didn't dwell on being argued into it, though. 'Hermione saved my life,' he went on. 'It was an easy way to repay the favour. You wrote that article months ago: you know how things went for other Muggle-borns.'

'So you knew,' Skeeter pressed, 'before then, that that was a risk? That poor conditions would be a given?'

Sirius considered her.

'You ever read The Serpent's Egg?' he asked.

'No.'

'I'll lend you a copy to read later. It helped ensure quite a few dedicated little servants for Voldemort. You forget,' Sirius went on, 'a lot of my extended family were Death Eaters. That quite a few Death Eaters are still free – and in positions of power in the Ministry. So yes, I did believe that'd be a union the Ministry would think fruitful and fortuitous.' Sirius had tipped a curt nod to the Information Booklet on the table.

Skeeter asked a few more clarifying questions, then set the papers and pamphlets aside.

'You can make copies and publish them,' Hermione said. 'This story would benefit from a bit of proof.'

Skeeter took it with pleasure and an 'I'd love to.

'So,' she went on, looking eager again, eyes narrowing, 'a debt repaid – a life saved for a life protected: the makings of a deep, unbreakable bond.' Skeeter eyed them both, awaiting their responses. 'Anyone would think that'd be a strong start to a powerful romance.'

Rather than scowl, this time Sirius just shrugged.

'I suppose,' he said.

'And?' Skeeter prompted. 'How did it happen? Quiet glances shared? Long talks into the night? A walk on the beach?' she added, more ironically.

'Well…' Hermione said slowly. Skeeter didn't do much to encourage a comfortable environment for mushy talk. She glanced at Sirius. 'We… became friends.'

'How scintillating,' Skeeter deadpanned. She waited, but neither Hermione nor Sirius spoke up. Skeeter made an irritated noise. 'What will make this a good story,' she said, all pretence gone, 'is if the reader cares about your relationship and continued survival. All you have given me so far is that it was appropriately platonic while Hermione was underage,' Skeeter just about sneered, obviously not wanting to believe that, 'then you became friends, and now you're carrying her to the toilet, Sirius. Give me something to make people care.

'How about,' Skeeter pushed, 'the first time you both recognised you had feelings for each other?'

Hermione did think about it, finding and then excluding moments as ones she didn't want to tell Skeeter. They were still staying quiet about watches, so all of those moments wouldn't work. Then… Hermione was certainly not going to let a reporter know about her sex dream about Sirius… or that they'd gotten high together and she'd pondered how firm he'd feel if she lay on top of him.

Her mind landed on him sitting next to her over the house elf enslavement book. Or, perhaps, watching him play beater had actually been the earlier moment. Before she went to voice the thoughts, however, Sirius had spoken up.

'Reading,' he said, grudgingly. 'She was reading a book in ancient runes – translating it.'

Skeeter stared back at him with eyebrows hoiked.

'Sirius Black,' she said flatly, 'falls for a girl while she's reading runes?'

Unoffended, this time, Sirius quirked an eyebrow back at her.

'She gets very focused,' he said. 'Doesn't realise she's pulling her hair out of her plait, doesn't notice she's chewing her lip or flicking her quill around. The way Hermione does it, it's not a sedate-looking activity.'

Hermione, too, was looking at Sirius with surprise.

'You mean…' she said, 'right after you gave me that book?'

Sirius gave her a little nod.

'I didn't know you noticed that then,' Hermione said, touched. But she remembered it, a bit, now. When Sirius had come in to help her with that house elf book, she had thought, for a second, that he'd been in the room a moment longer than she'd been aware of him. 'That was going to be my answer,' she said, amused. 'You taking a look at that translation, to give me a hand. Or – the Quidditch game. With your hair all blown about, looking happy.'

Sirius's eyes had crinkled. He chuckled a little, wiggling his nose like it was itchy.

'I did notice that,' he said.

'Oh?'

'You stared a little too long,' he said, a teasing edge to his tone. 'Then, and after we had that race with the furniture…'

Once, Hermione might have blushed. Now she just snickered. So he'd noticed that too, even then. Her getting a good peek of his happy trail.

'Yes, well,' she said, affecting prim, 'you're very easy to be distracted by.'

It made Sirius chuckle. It was noticing that Skeeter's quill was scratching madly away that made Sirius stop. Awkward with the realisation they'd actually managed to slip into even just a moment of sweet banter right in front of Skeeter, Hermione sat straighter, wanting to look composed.

Finally, Skeeter stopped writing. She nodded a little.

'And then the pregnancy,' she said, as though looking to hurry up and finish, 'and yesterday – Umbridge's Ministry, attempting to destroy the relationship they mandated… Anything else?'

'Erm…' Yes, there was one thing. But even the idea of speaking about it had Hermione starting to feel jittery. 'Well,' Hermione went on, Sirius's gaze back on her, this time looking worried all over again, 'yes… The… pregnancy wasn't our choice either.'

Skeeter was far from a sympathetic presence, but Hermione recounted that inquiry in detail all the same, Sirius adding this or that. They made sure Skeeter wrote down that the Ministry had given them a full trial in a courtroom for what had been called an investigation into Hermione's wellbeing; that the Ministry had used Veritiserum and Legilimency, something that wasn't allowed in trials; that Dementors had been present; and all the faces of Death Eaters they'd recognised in the Wizengamot's ranks. And then, her rings being twisted round and round her finger by fidgeting hands, Hermione told the story about the needlessly horrific cell, her examination, what Rowle and Flint had said to her; how they'd touched her.

'Death Eaters,' Sirius said angrily, 'accompanying a woman to an invasive examination. That's what Umbridge thinks is an appropriate thing to do.'

He had an arm tight around Hermione's shoulders and a hand gripping her shaking ones in his. As much as she'd tried not to, Hermione had cried. She felt shaky – felt awful – all over again. The only consolation had been that Skeeter had barely looked at her as she'd noted everything down. Hermione shuddered and sniffled.

'I s-saw Umbridge in those courtrooms when she w-was Head of the Muggle-born R-Registration Commission.' Hermione sniffed again, swallowed, and tried to get her voice back under control. 'And I saw her during that inquiry. She says she was under the Imperious Curse, before, but there's no way. She's exactly the same person – she takes pleasure in humiliating people. In making them miserable. She did it at Hogwarts – enjoying watching Harry cut into his hand over and over again, and she's doing it again now.'

Skeeter, barely looking up, added the note. She asked for a photograph of the scar on the back of Harry's hand. Then, as though realising another good angle, Skeeter pressed Hermione for her experience being Muggle-born, looking for details and fodder, Hermione was sure, for sympathy. Hermione gave it. She also let Skeeter get a photo of her arm, the scar that called her a "Mudblood" turned to the light.