A/N: It might be said that it is better to be pissed on than face a pissed off basilisk.
Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01
Warning: Ronald Weasley is not a great fella in this, sorry.
Kiss of the Basilisk
Chapter 2
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
A friend loveth at all times,
And a brother is born for adversity.
-King Solomon
Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in her room, and she was drooling on Sithiss. The basilisk seemed amused, and Hermione flushed in embarrassment.
Sithiss extended her tongue to tickle her face, and Hermione giggled. The great serpent barely fit in her room. Part of her tail was trailing into the loo, and she almost didn't have enough room to swivel her head about. The room was very warm due to her unusual reptilian body heat, and Hermione enjoyed the scent of her. She smelled of earth and water. She could close her eyes and see the thrum of her energy all around her, the giant coils moving fluidly, almost like ripples across a lake.
Hermione yawned. Today was the day that everyone went back home for the summer hols, and thus they would all be crowded in Hogsmeade, waiting to take the Hogwarts Express back to London. Hermione, however, wouldn't be joining them, as her home was no longer in London. Strangely, the gaping wounds that came with remembering her parents' deaths didn't seem quite so raw and painful as before. While a part of her still deeply missed her parents, a part of her realised that had she been at school, attending normally, she would have been parted from them for the majority of the year anyway. The only difference now was— she wouldn't get to see them again. Yet, even as that thought settled in, she realised she had something that was slowly filling the gaping holes in her heart. Minerva cared for her deeply, and it seemed that most of the professors at Hogwarts had now become her family just as much as they were her teachers. Now that summer was here, many of them would be living away from Hogwarts, but the Deputy Headmistress had many things to take care of under the roof of Hogwarts, so that meant she remained in pretty much permanent residence.
Severus, too, had a great deal of potion brewing to do over the summer months, as he needed to replenish the stocks for Poppy and Pomona. Poppy needed a vast array of healing potions, and Pomona needed certain fertilizers and nutrient mixes for some of her more finicky plants. Hermione eagerly looked forward to being able to learn more about that, and Snape had promised her he would allow her help him brew, provided that she listened carefully and followed his instructions to the letter.
Hermione didn't mind that at all. She found that, underneath his demanding and exacting demeanour, there was a clear reason for that strictness. However, after the brewing had been completed for the day, he would allow her to ask questions, and then, and only then, he would explain how some things could have been tweaked. Her job, however, was to learn the proper way. Tweaking would be something she learned later when all the basics were drilled into her cranium on a molecular level. Oddly, this didn't bother Hermione. The one-on-one instruction made her feel safe, and her bond with the dour-seeming wizard was growing quickly by leaps and bounds.
Rolanda had offered to teach her flying while others were not there to stare at and mock her, and she double mounted with her to help her feel more secure. Hermione found that much more comforting, and she began to rather enjoy the feel of flying on a broom.
Minerva and Severus seemed to realise that Hermione was someone who thrived on one-on-one teaching, and now that she was permitted to be underfoot all the time, the professors seemed quite willing to accommodate her. All of it was a great relief to Hermione, who admitted that it was far less stressful to learn when people weren't staring at her and whispering about her behind her back— or right to her face even.
Bushy-haired little freak.
Blind bint.
It's more that she exists, you see.
Ironically, they didn't even know the real things that set her apart from the rest of them. Had they known what lay behind her magical contacts, she would be even more ostracised. Her blood, for instance, contained both phoenix tears and basilisk venom combined. As time passed, Sithiss was guiding her into the form she had taken only once— while wrapped in her Lord Father's embrace: the basilisk.
At first it was painful, so she only managed to do it a little at a time. Sometimes her fangs would erupt from her mouth first, and sometimes it would be the elongation of her spine and thinning of her bones. It hurt. A lot. Sithiss was with her the entire time, and Fawkes was nearby too. She panted, writhed, and tried to let the change take her over naturally, but the human part of Hermione was stubbornly clinging to the form she had been born into. The Animagus transformation was very different. It was painless and immediate, but the shift into the serpent was at a molecular level rather than entirely magical. Once she made the full shift, Sithiss said her body would start to remember the path, and then the change would be painful no longer. That was all fine and well, but it hurt like a bitch right here in this moment.
With a flurry of pops and cracks, stretching, and what could only be described as a sort of tearing, Hermione flopped on the floor of her room, draped over the massive coils of Sithiss. Her tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air as her vision tried to make sense of stronger heat and magic. The elongated slit down her nostrils, the pit that allowed her to sense thermal changes, sent a rush of detailed information to her brain. She struggled to make sense of it all— she had a version of it even as a human, thanks to her changes, but this serpentine intimacy was different. This was so much more.
Sithiss nuzzled her gently, rubbing her wedged head against Hermione, and she instinctively coiled herself around the larger basilisk's body, seeking her reassuring comfort and presence. Trying to move forward, however, that quickly proved to be something of a challenge.
Hermione tangled herself up in her desk and her four-poster bed, got tangled in the curtains, and ended up with a chair stuck over her body. Sithiss gently plucked the chair off her, hissing in amusement. Hermione slumped, feeling like a total idiot.
What she really wanted was to be able to let Severus in on this little secret of hers. It wasn't that she didn't want her mother to know, but Severus seemed to truly understand some of the things she was going through— the ridicule for one, and pain of being different even without the more otherworldly things about her. Such as who her Lord Father was.
She could always sense him, her Lord Father, whenever she stilled her mind. His presence was warm like the sun on her back on a cool day. If anyone knew what she was thinking, they'd probably ostracise her even more. One did not take comfort from Death. Well— she was becoming a bit of a rule-breaker in that area.
Hermione sighed, the sound coming out as a prolonged hiss. Now what was she going to do?
"Hermione, are you decent?" Severus' voice came from behind the door. "Your mother had to leave for an early meeting."
Hermione panicked, thrashing about. Her tail flung a chair over to fly out the open window with a loud crash.
She hissed a chain of cursing that was probably not polite in two thousand of the three thousand known snake species throughout the world.
"Hermione?!" Severus' voice now sounded distinctly panicked, he was clearly fearful something terrible was happening to her just beyond the door. "I'm coming in!"
The door burst open, and Hermione hissed a panicked, "Close your eyes!"
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that Sithiss didn't take offense at Severus invading her room.
The silence was deafening.
"Hermione?" Severus whispered, his voice trembling.
Hermione could see his heat imprint, and she slowly approached him. She lay her head against his lap as he suddenly crumpled to his knees before her. She imagined he had shut his eyes almost immediately.
Slowly, his hands drew across her scaled head. She flicked out her tongue, tickling his fingers.
Claim him as your ally, Sithiss directed. Change your venom to change him.
How? Hermione asked.
Think of how he makes you feel. The emotion will help you to change your venom for him.
Hermione hesitated. But, he needs to be able to choose.
Ask him, child. If the bond is true, he will hear you. Sithiss' voice was gentle. Dark she was, but she was neither pitiless nor unkind.
Hermione concentrated very hard. Severus?
Surprise registered in him via a clear change in his scent. "Hermione?"
Yes, she replied. I wish to give you a gift. Immunity to—protect you.
Severus was not a trusting sort. Hermione knew this. She was asking a lot in a very little amount of time to come to terms. But a part of her felt safe with Severus, and she never wanted him to be fearful of her. Not him. Not ever.
"How?" Severus whispered.
I— would bite you, Hermione said. The venom would not be the same. You would be changed— able to survive both gaze and venom.
Severus touched her body, running his hands across her smooth scales. He was silent, his mind working as his heart tried to make the decision for him, but Severus was hardly the person to let his heart override his mind. He had proven that by not killing Pettigrew when he had the chance.
They sat in silence, perhaps minutes or hours. His hands touched both Hermione and Sithiss, his fingers exploring the pits on Sithiss' giant head, the curve of her fangs, and ridges over her eyes.
"Do you trust me?" Severus whispered, his voice so very, very soft.
Yes, Hermione answered.
Severus's face twisted in some surging pain. "Then I will trust you, Hermione."
Think of your trust, Sithiss guided. Think of his protection and how it made you feel.
Hermione thought of the feel of his hand as she held it, the smell of his robes as she hid in them, and the sleepy warmth she had when he would pull her into his arms and take her back to Minerva's chambers. She thought of the curve of his lips into a small smile, the dark, fathomless depth of his black eyes— wells of past pain but also something more: compassion.
She felt the venom gathering in her glands as very special fangs extended, unfolding from the roof of her mouth. She struck, nailing his squarely on the neck.
Severus spasmed, giving a short cry of pain as her fangs buried into his flesh, pumping the elixir of venom into his bloodstream. His hands clutched her to him, his arms wrapping around her sinuous body. He gasped, panting, writhing, thrashing on the ground.
Sithiss curled around him, cushioning his body, and Hermione projected her comfort. I'm here. I'll always be here, as you are for me.
His body spasmed, bones cracking, shifting, lengthening, shortening and twisting. His eyes flew open, and orange and red were bleeding into the black fields of his eyes. "Haaaaaassssss!" he gasped. His head thrashed back and forth wildly, but then he froze, eyes locked on Hermione's sulfurous orbs.
His pupils narrowed into slits as orange and red swallowed them up. His face elongated as fangs emerged from his mouth. Scales sprouted all over his body as his body freed itself from his robes. His body elongated, grew, thrashed, and reformed.
"Hisssss!" he exclaimed, his tail thrashing as yet another of Hermione's abused chairs went flying out the window. Severus landed on the floor with a thump, his body draped across Sithiss as Hermione slithered up next to him and lovingly entwined herself around his body, radiating comfort.
Hermione's poor bedroom was getting awful crowded.
It took another few hours for Severus to figure out how to move without launching more furniture, and Hermione was, admittedly, learning how to navigate with her new body as well. It was really cramped in her poor bedroom, but Sithiss seemed quite amused and eager to teach them both.
Severus was startled by the basilisk matriarch now that his eyes could take her in. It was obvious the flood of new sensations was threatening to overload his brain, but the moment Hermione hissed slightly in concern and distress, he wrapped his coils around her protectively, and that seemed to calm him as well as her.
Sithiss seemed to approve of the bond between them, and when Fawkes arrived, he fluffed his feathers as he perched on Sithiss' head, bobbing his head in approval.
I am glad you found someone you truly trusted, Hermione, Fawkes said with approval. Sithiss and I were hoping it would be him.
Hermione, despite being reptilian, flushed in embarrassment, trying to bury her head in Severus' coils.
How is this possible? Severus hissed, still slightly discombobulated.
Ever wondered how Salazar Slytherin could understand snakes? How he supposedly survived being around basilisks? Sithiss chuckled. It is a gift we can bestow to those we have a true bond with, but it only works if there is a true emotional connection.
I am Sithiss, the basilisk introduced. You and the evolved dinosaur already know each other, I presume.
Fawkes nailed the basilisk between the eyes with his beak.
Sithiss hissed laughter. She cared for you very deeply. And somewhere inside, you felt the same, or it would not have worked. Our cherished ones should never fear us.
If I hadn't? Severus questioned.
Sithiss shook her head. Fawkes would have saved you, but we were not worried.
Severus seemed a little discomfited by the amount of faith coming his way when he himself didn't feel like he could believe in himself.
Hermione was rubbing up against his body, her tongue flicking to taste his new scent and energy. Severus found himself doing the same, getting to know Hermione on an entirely new level. He felt protective of her and more determined than ever to keep her safe from the mechanizations of the group cliques in Hogwarts.
The younger basilisk was wrapping her coils around Sithiss and Severus, seemingly overly happy to have company in which she could be herself and all that it entailed. Both Sithiss and Severus laid their heads over Hermione's, causing her to settle.
Hermione hissed happily, content. Life was good.
It took Severus another hour to relax himself enough to make the shift back, and then he dove into the loo to redress himself, Accioing the robes he had burst out of during his transformation.
Sithiss chuckled. With practice you can magic the clothes to remain through the change. It took Salazar a few months to get more than his locket to appear throughout the change.
Severus flushed a little, coming back fully dressed. Hermione was gazing out her window to the smashed furniture down below.
"Mum is going to murder me," Hermione moaned. "Those were two of her most favourite chairs."
"Levitate them up, and we can work on repairing them," Severus said, adjusting his collar. He hissed suddenly, grasping his arm.
"Severus, are you okay?" Hermione asked. She hurried over to touch his arm, pulling his sleeve up.
Severus jerked, instinctively trying to cover his arm, but Hermione didn't even seem to notice. She clasped it in her hands and crinkled her nose as a foul-smelling odour came from his arm. Black, nasty ooze was seeping out of his arm. Severus groaned as it dripped down his arm and onto the floor, turning in acrid black smoke as it bubbled and popped.
"Fawkes, help me," Hermione cried, distressed.
Let the blackness run out, my chick, Fawkes instructed her, perching on her shoulder to inspect Severus' arm. Once it is gone, I can set my tears upon his arm.
Hermione held his arm steady, clearly distressed, but did as she was told. Her trust in Fawkes was far greater than her emotional impulses. Tears were flowing down her cheeks.
Let them flow down upon the skin, my chick," Fawkes guided her.
The blackness seemed to be done seeping, but it was as foul as ever as it gathered on the top of his skin, making his skin red and angry-looking. She let her tears flow over his arm, and she had cried many. They splashed over the skin, and where it touched the blackness, it immediately withdrew, screaming.
Hermione jolted in surprise and fear, but she struggled to hold onto Severus' arm. She splashed her tears against his skin, and Fawkes added his own to the mix.
Vile curses and screams came from the black corruption, but then it puffed into a stream of oily black smoke and dissipated. Silvery strands of light now shimmered over his skin and seemed to sink in, creating a delicate pattern of shimmering feathers and scales on his arm. It faded, barely visible in the light.
Severus gave a soft cry of wonder and sheer disbelief, his shaking fingers tracing the almost invisible lines of feathers and scales. He looked at Hermione with every emotion naked and clearly visible in his eyes. With a movement every bit as swift as a basilisk's strike, he pulled her to him, letting out a sob of joy mixed with genuine relief. "It's gone. Finally, it's gone."
Hermione wrapped her tiny arms around his waist and lay her head on his chest. While she had no idea what she had just witnessed, she felt as though something highly significant and very right had happened. She decided that was good enough for her.
Severus was the first but not the only one converted into Hermione's closest and most cherished, trusted life-companions. Minerva embraced her daughter with open arms, somehow terribly relieved that Hermione was able to share such an intimate part of herself. She also seemed to grasp the sheer magnitude of the gift rather quickly.
Minerva persuaded the Board of Governors to allow her to expand her chambers, and it wasn't long before it was quite common to have a basilisk and phoenix pileup gathered in her chambers. Hermione seemed to enjoy being able to sleep nestled between her loved ones, and that made her far more willing to be outgoing outside of Minerva's zone of safety. Being a basilisk seemed to tear down the social barriers, and while Severus or even Minerva may have been somewhat less than cuddly in public, they seemed to take to looking after Hermione with great fervour and warmth.
When Minerva and Severus discovered that when their stronger emotions caused a bit of the basilisk to peak through, they both in turn laid down for Poppy to put the special lenses over their eyes as well.
Poppy, concerned that Hermione's condition might somehow be contagious, expressed her worries to them both.
Once their eyes had been shielded, Hermione had Poppy put on her shielded glasses, and led them all down into the Chamber of Secrets to tell her the whole story, accentuated by the "statue" of Tom Marvolo Riddle, his teenaged body, frozen with an expression of impotent rage on his young face, the drained diary which had fueled his rebirth, and the bloody dagger that had almost killed her. Telling, too, were the scorch marks upon the ground where Death himself had cradled her in her rebirth to His service.
Then, if such things were somehow not enough to persuade her, Sithis materialised before Poppy in all of her massive glory, lowering her enormous head to allow Severus, Hermione, and Minerva to stroke her shiny scaled head.
Much to her credit, Poppy only fainted once.
Poppy, after sitting down, babbling incoherently for a few minutes, and gulping down the glass of water that Severus had thoughtfully conjured for her, seemed to come to an understanding. Oddly, it was Hermione laying her serpentine head in her lap and allowing Poppy to stroke her head and body that seemed to cement the only truth that mattered to Poppy: basilisks were not mindless, bloodthirsty beasts after all, nor were they inherently evil. Dark, yes. Evil, no. And strangely, that had been a lesson that had eluded many such as her for a very long time.
It was Poppy who recommended that Riddle's petrified body be moved somewhere it was less likely to be found and unpetrified— even if the chances of that happening were exceedingly slim. Severus and Minerva agreed, and they pulled Lucius in to formulate a plan right out from the Headmaster's nose. They shrunk Riddle's statue-self down into pocket size and encased him entirely in amber. Lucius had it crafted into an endcap of a walking cane, enchanted it to be virtually indestructible, and then threw it the furthest reaches of his family vault, where he had a vat of continuously burbling lava that protected some of the more volatile artifacts left over from his father. The lava was "special" and could never solidify or cool, and every single one of his family members knew that if something was there, it was not to be touched.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as they left the Malfoy vault that day.
Poppy was sworn in as their Secret-Keeper, and vowed that she would always keep their secrets safe. It wasn't long after this that Lucius was laying on one of her beds having his own lenses affixed, and Poppy teased that perhaps she needed to start charging for that particular service.
It wasn't too long after Lucius embraced Hermione's gift that Draco Malfoy finally seemed to realised the full extent of what his supposed "worthless Mudblood" schoolmate had done for his family. The words had kept his behaviour in check, but not his heart. That had been turned by the sight of his father's pristine, newly unMarked arm and his mother's joyful tears as she wept in her Lucius' arms.
Draco Malfoy, bane of Muggle-borns everywhere, trapped a panicked Hermione in his arms as he, too, wept.
After expanding on her reptilian family, Draco and Hermione became closer. As the summer passed, his mother couldn't drag Hermione to enough places, his father drilled her on society and custom, and Draco reaped the rewards of hard work by joining them for ice-cream and refreshments after. The two slow became friends, with Hermione retreating to Lucius when things got to be "too much."
After a while, he began to realise when she was being overloaded or when her buttons were being pushed a little too much, and he adjusted accordingly. He seemed to realise that Hermione's past experience with trusting anyone of her "peer group" was very shabby. All he could do was work with her, and ever so slowly she was starting to open up, and he was doing the same.
Years of harbouring negative feelings towards Muggle-borns had not been entirely easy to shed, but with Hermione around, he was becoming a quick study. He owed that to her for saving his family, but as time went on he realised it wasn't about obligation anymore. He wanted to know her as she was, and he had come to appreciate her.
Lucius' discussions with both Narcissa and Draco finally came to a head when they accepted an offer to become godparents for Hermione in case something should ever happen to Minerva.
Draco pulled Hermione aside after the celebratory dinner party that Lucius had specifically set up to put Hermione on display to warn off any potential threats without actually threatening anyone who might think of harming her.
"You realise the Weasel is going to have a heart attack, right?"
"Hrm?" Hermione asked, frozen with a tiny forkful of cake suspended in mid-air.
"You're basically my sister now, yeah?" Draco said smugly. "That makes you a Malfoy too. There isn't one bone in his body that won't be offended."
Hermione nibbled on her cake thoughtfully. "He tends to get offended by a lot of things."
Draco shook his head. "Breathing offends him, Hermione. I'm just saying, if he gives you any grief— well, any more grief— over it, tell me, and I'll personally rearrange his face."
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "I could bite him on the nose."
"Bodies make trouble. Never leave bodies," Draco recommended.
"Words of wisdom to live by for sure," Hermione quipped.
Draco grinned. "Come on. Let's sneak out back and chase my father's peacocks."
Hermione's eyes lit up as she allowed a mischievous Draco to tug her out the garden door.
The reward money for capturing Peter Pettigrew finally made it to Gringott's just as the summer holidays hit full swing, and even split between them, Severus had upgraded his own potions equipment as well as a set his sights on tackling the weatherbeaten eyesore that was Spinner's End.
He converted some of his galleons into Muggle money and bought some "fill it up and we'll cart it away" rubbish bins as well as paying some of the neighborhood boys to haul it off for him. He also hired people to come rip off and retile the roof. He replaced the windows and shutters, siding, and much-abused floors, hiring all local talent to try and put some money back into the area.
He reconnected the floo to the network, renovated the fireplace so it was no longer a fire-hazard due to the buildup of countless years' worth of creosote, and changed the horrible rather funerary-looking curtains that had looked like someone stole them off a hearse back in the 50s. He gutted out the pipes. New copper fittings were put in to replace the ones that were probably a lead-filled ticking time-bomb, and blessed the house with a proper lavatory on each floor. Only after the electric wiring was replaced to meet current safety standards did he start moving his library back into the house. The rest of the furniture he donated to the neighborhood charity shops and bought all new locally-crafted furniture that his father had never seemed to believe worthwhile.
For the upper level, he commissioned a firm of daylighting specialists to re-do his windows and find other clever ways to pipe in sunlight to give it a very natural sort of feel. Then, after they left, he began to do some crafting of his own, turning the topmost floor into a very large pseudo-tropical environment complete with mossy rocks and smooth mangrove saplings. With a little help from magic, everything was running without the local authorities getting the idea that he was growing marijuana at all hours of the day, and the non-detectable expansion charms made the entire house far bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. It was the ideal environment for a basilisk, and Sithiss, Hermione, Minerva, Lucius, and Severus all managed to fit in to christen the place as being basilisk-approved.
Hermione jokingly pondered what would happen if some random burglar broke into the top floor and stumbled onto a nest of basilisks. Severus commented that if a random Muggle somehow managed to break through the impressive number and variety of wards he had on the place to find his way into the lair of five cranky basilisks, then they deserved exactly what they got.
"I could give them a little kiss," Hermione postulated.
"I wouldn't," Lucius commented. "You have no idea where they've been."
Hermione grinned and pounced Lucius, hanging onto his back like a young monkey. The normally stiff Malfoy patriarch tolerated it with an amused smile and carried her off down the stairs.
Adopted Orphaned Muggle-Born Witch Seduces Pure-blood Family
A Muggle-Born witch, formerly known as Hermione Jean Granger, was recently adopted by the stuffy old cat Animagus from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, providing further proof that that the manky old cat is getting far less choosy about whom she aligns herself with. Granger, whose birth parents were recently killed in a rather convenient Muggle car accident, was adopted not even a month after the incident, leading me to think, dear readers, that little Hermione has everything to hide.
To add even more consternation to her plight, somehow this charming little harlot has wiggled herself into the favour of the well-known and extremely wealthy Pureblood Malfoy family, who have agreed to serve as her godparents in the case the old cat kicks the bucket.
How is this possible?
Snape.
Professor Severus Snape has obviously been charmed by the horrible little orphan, and he is providing her with a Dark potion to turn the members of the Malfoy family into her willing slaves.
Don't believe me?
[Photograph of Hermione walking between McGonagall and Snape, hands linked]
[photograph of Malfoys and Hermione having ice cream together at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour]
Anyone who knows anything about the Malfoy family knows that they wouldn't be caught dead with a Muggleborn witch.
My multiple sources have told me that she stumbled around Hogwarts for a week pretending to be blind in a shameless attempt to garner her initial favour amongst the Hogwarts staff. Is this the kind of manipulative creature we want to have coexisting with our innocent children?
But, don't just take my word for it. Take the word of the children forced to cohabitate with this manipulative little chit.
"You should see her, hanging onto her professors, making it look like she's oh so sweet and innocent. All of the other students know just to get the top grades. Everyone knows she's a brown-noser," Gryffindor Seamus Finnegan told us.
"She's horrible. She sat around for a week, stumbling around with something covering up her eyes. Professors act like she's all that and then some, ya know? She's nothing special. And she's an ugly little freak to boot."
"She's afraid to fly, ya know?" Gryffindor Ronald Weasley commented. "What freak would be afraid to fly. She just stands there with her broom and looks all scared, so Madam Hooch tells her she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. What kind of favouritism is that? Psh."
And mind, dear readers, is that much of this is coming from little Hermione's fellow Gryffindor housemates. Gryffindors are well-known for always supporting and defending their own, yet members of Hermione own house clearly despise her. What might we make of this rather telling bit of information? Nothing good, that's for sure.
Miracles Just In Time For Hogwarts
I'm not sure how many of you have been keeping up with the Quibbler recently, but many of you do know that my daughter, Luna, bless her, has not spoken a single word ever since her mother's passing. She writes, she composes prose, she draws, and she chases fairies around the garden, but when it comes to speech, I hadn't heard her lovely voice in three long years.
Until now.
Her first word in three years was: friend.
And the words have just kept coming, my friends. Why? I don't know, but I will tell you this.
Lord Lucius Malfoy was visiting my office with an offer to purchase our fine paper with an eye towards expansion. Who happened to accompany Lord Malfoy on his unexpected visit? None other than his goddaughter, Hermione McGonagall.
Not even twenty minutes after sitting Hermione down with my Luna, Luna was talking happily with her new friend, just as if she had never stopped. It was such a wonderful miracle. It was absolutely glorious!
Luna will be attending Hogwarts next year, and I, my dear readers, have never been so excited. I know my Luna will be okay. With people like Hermione McGonagall there to be her friend, her long silence has finally been broken.
The Quibbler subscription rates, after a change in strategy following its recent purchase by Lord Lucius Malfoy, have skyrocketed to unprecedented levels. The Quibbler, which has always been about publishing the hidden truths out there, has found an improved niche in covering sadly-neglected local news, the kind of stories that people really want to read.
From the discovery of Feeton's Fantastic Fungi in the backyard of an elderly couple who just thought it was "pretty" to the honour roll at Hogwarts, the brand-new Quibbler is all about making the ordinary extraordinary. The Quibbler's Amazing Recipes by Gemma Bunworthy already has an avid following, and the Weekly Home Potioneer, with brewing tips written by Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape has been a hit worldwide.
The new column called "Growing-Up Witchy" has attracted young witches everywhere with everyday tips on hair-care to dealing with being understood. The column Green Grass and Greener Thumbs, written by Hogwarts Professor Pomona Sprout, has many gardeners lining up with questions about everything from how to keep that finicky houseplant alive to how to kill those pesky weeds that nobody wants. Hogwarts Professor Silvanus Kettleburn is writing a correspondence column for questions involving the care of magical creatures. Master Griphook from Gringott's is writing a weekly column on money-saving tips and how to make your savings grow instead of shrink.
All of this has boiled down to thousands of subscriptions and the need for an entire fleet of owls to deliver it. Xenophilius has built a massive new owlry to house his ever-expanding ranks of news-owls, and for the first time ever, the Quibbler has a real, regular, and paid writing staff.
What does this mean for you, avid news-seekers?
The news shall go on, but it seems like the Quibbler is rapidly becoming Wizarding Britain's most popular news publication, and not only that, but it is being requested regularly outside of Britain's borders as far away as the United States of America and Australia.
In other news, rumour has it that the Daily Prophet is in serious financial trouble, but so far, the Prophet leadership continues to vehemently deny this. An inside source has told us that in order to stay afloat they may have to let go the highest-paid reporters on staff, which would include notorious gossip columnist Rita Skeeter and Norman Askew, political analyst. All official interview requests have been denied.
"Surely there must be something we can do for my Ronald," Molly Weasley cried, wringing her hands as she sat in Dumbledore's office.
"Well, Molly, I fear young Ronald's final marks have proved to be quite trollish," Albus said, looking over the grades. "The only classes he is doing A-class work in is Care of Magical Creatures and Flying, and that is only acceptable. In everything else— Transfiguration rated him a Poor, Defence Against the Dark Arts he was marked Dreadful, and in Potions he was given Troll."
"Snape has always had it against my boy!" Molly insisted.
Dumbledore arched a brow. "While I am sure that his grades could have been better, he has a proven record of failing to turn in his homework assignments on time, if at all. And while you may believe you are justified in blaming Severus for Ronald's low score, I assure you that five exploding or melting cauldrons, two of which sent one or more fellow students to the infirmary and one that sent Miss Brown back in time for precisely three months was not a figment of anyone's imagination. I have copies of the Ministry's Department of Mysteries paperwork on what it took to restore her to the proper timeline as well as Poppy's records as to the specifics of the injuries resulting from Ronald's carelessness in Potions class. I should also inform you that multiple students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin have requested to not be assigned a seat anywhere near Ronald during next term."
"Arthur! Say something!" Molly screeched.
Arthur, who was looking very intently at his shoes, startled. "I'm sorry, Molly. I ended up having to pay for the numerous supplies needed to send Ms Brown back to her proper time. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get upset."
"WHAT?!" Molly screeched indignantly.
Dumbledore selected a lemon drop from his bowl and enthusiastically sucked on it, his eyes flicking back and forth between the highly-irate Molly Weasley and the wish-I-were-anywhere-but-here-Arthur Weasley. Fawkes warbled London Bridge is Falling Down as he swung back and forth on his perch swing.
"Ahem," Dumbledore attempted.
Molly continued to read Arthur the riot-act.
Dumbledore stroked his beard and pondered throwing himself out his office window and doing broom stunts just to see if anyone would notice. "Mrs Weasley!" he finally interjected. "I was in a conference with Ronald and your husband after the first few incidents occurred. I can tell you, for certain, that Arthur did his absolute best to keep your son on track, but I can also tell you that his behaviour and classroom performance were nowhere near as improved as I would have liked. I fear that, unless Ronald can pass an aptitude test showing a respectable competence at first year skills, that he will have to be held back and retake his first year. And believe me when I tell you that, after hearing reports of his responsibility in the torment and bullying of one of his fellow students—"
"That little Muggleborn harlot that the Prophet spoke about?" Molly screeched again.
Dumbledore's jaw tightened as he reined back his anger. "Mrs Weasley. "That 'harlot' you speak of is only twelve-years-old. She has most recently suffered the loss of both parents, gone through the stress of being adopted, and then recovering from a temporary bout of blindness due to an unfortunate incident that happened here at the school. I will assure you that this young witch is nothing like the ugly picture painted in Miss Skeeter's scandalous imaginings. While I cannot go into further detail beyond that which is already public knowledge, I can tell you about some of the incidents your son has been found guilty of. The offenses include repeatedly breaking Miss McGonagall's walking cane, which was given to her by Lord Lucius Malfoy, multiple tripping incidents, as well as a constant stream of verbal abuse. All of which have been confirmed by multiple portrait witnesses, professors, and fellow students."
"W— what?" Molly sat stiffly, wringing her hands in dismay.
"I could tell her, headmaster," one of the nearby portraits said venomously. An older man with a storm-grey beard, deep set eyes, and a rather large hat scowled down from a portrait. "I was there."
"I know well enough your bias against Muggle-borns, Phineas Nigellus Black!" Molly hissed.
"Well, then, seeing as your son is not Muggle-born, unless you wish to say otherwise, I don't see how it will matter," Phineas glowered.
"Go ahead, Phineas," Dumbledore said, gesturing for the portrait to continue. "But kindly get to the point."
"The girl— Hermione— she was walking down the hall in the west wing. She had Lord Malfoy's cane, transformed so that she could use it to find her way around the castle. That's when that little cur, Ronald Weasley, came up behind her with a pack of his fellow hellions. He snatched the cane right out of her hands, broke it into pieces, and left her crying in the hall, frantically trying to find the pieces to put them back together again. It was Snape who found her out there alone, crying in despair," Phineas reported, curling his lip in disgust at the memory of the incident in question. "That walking cane has been in the Malfoy family for hundreds of years, Weasley. He would not give to just anyone, even as a loan."
"My boy would never do such things," Molly insisted hotly. "We taught Ronald far better than that, so you must be lying!"
Phineas Nigellus snarled at her wordlessly and stormed back out of his portrait.
"Molly," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "No portrait in this office or anywhere else in the castle can lie to me. If Phineas claims the event is true, then he is being truthful."
"He knows better!" Molly pleaded.
"Perhaps he does," Albus conceded. "But for some reason, Ronald chose to not act in the way that you taught him. In another incident, he and Mr Potter were caught in the forbidden wing of Hogwarts just before the summer holidays. They were attacked by the guard dog stationed there. It was only because of Mr Filch's attentiveness that the boys were rescued in time to prevent further injury or worse."
"I think," Albus continued, "that perhaps this separation from his supposed peers will serve him well. Perhaps, he will do better when not surrounded by the influences that have seem to have lead him astray. If, as you say, it is somehow Miss McGonagall's fault, then he will not be in any further classes with her."
"We've never had one of our children held back!" Molly cried.
Dumbledore sighed, chewing on another lemon drop. "You are welcome to have Ronald tutored over the summer and then make arrangements for him to take the first year aptitude test. If he passes them all with an acceptable or better, then I will see to his being placed in second year classes. However, if he cannot, then Ronald must remain in first."
Molly wailed, placing her head in her hands.
Arthur put his arm around his distraught wife. "Thank you, Headmaster. I am glad you will be giving him another chance despite the tales of what has been going on here."
Albus narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Rest assured, Mr and Mrs Weasley, if Ronald is caught harming another student at Hogwarts or bullying anyone, my response will not be nearly as magnanimous."
Arthur nodded wearily. "Thank you, headmaster."
Sirius Black steepled his hands together and stared across the table. "I will agree to pay for you to be tutored so that you may pass your first year aptitude test, but on one condition."
Harry and Ron looked down at the highly-polished kitchen table in shame.
"Filth! Stain upon my family house! Get out!" Walburga's portrait screamed from the stairwell.
"We have company this evening, at my request. You will apologise to Hermione McGonagall for your despicable behaviour." Sirius glared across the table at both boys.
"Yes," Harry said, nodding vigorously.
Ron looked stubbornly away. Finally he muttered,"Fine."
"Is this really your family?" Hermione asked curiously, her small fingers tracing the frames of the various portraits.
"Since long before I remember, yes," Sirius admitted. "Some of them were noble people. Some of them only said they were noble people."
Sirius paused. "I heard about your parents, Hermione," Sirius said. "I am truly sorry for your loss."
Hermione shook her head. "Thank you. I'm finally starting to accept it."
Sirius looked up the stairs. "My feeling for my parents was never—"
"Filth! Scum of the Earth! Mudblood— GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" the portrait screamed.
Hermione took a step backward.
"That particular abomination is my mother," Sirius sighed. "She affixed her portrait to the wall with a permanent sticking charm, and her portrait is every bit as vile and heinous as her living self. Merlin, I wish I could just shut her the f— quiet her down. Permanently."
Hermione bit her lip. "Do you really mean that?"
"Hermione, if you found a way that I and my friends haven't tried in vain to do in the past, I will happily pay for your entire Hogwarts education, books and all until you graduate. I will even throw in a mastery apprenticeship as well." Sirius laughed dryly. "I am so not kidding. She keeps Harry awake half the night. Merlin, she even makes the other portraits flee for the painting of cows in the cellar."
Hermione seemed to ponder something very hard. "You are certain this is what you want?"
Sirius looked down at her with total sincerity in his grey eyes. "Hermione, I swear to you all that I said and more. If you have a way that can silence that foul-mouthed harridan from hell, I will give you all that I said, and I will get you the best house-elf on this side of the pond to serve your every desire until the end of your days."
Hermione tilted her head, unsure what the last part meant for her, as she didn't have a house of her own, but perhaps the house part was figurative? "I need you to close your eyes for a couple moments."
Sirius frowned. "That is a rather odd request."
Hermione tilted her head. "I am a rather odd person, Mr Black"
Sirius laughed. "As you wish, my Lady. I will stare at this cactus over here until you tell me it's okay to look back again."
"That is a rather sad-looking cactus, Mr Black."
Sirius snorted. "Yes, so don't take too long. I just might fall asleep."
Hermione smiled. Sirius stared at said cactus fixedly. She trekked up the stairs as Walburga Black spewed her vile hatred and venom. A house-elf stared at her as she came up the stairs, and he gave her a strange expression somewhere between hatred and disbelief. Hermione's eyes flicked over to him. She closed her eyes, looking at him with her magic. Her eyes opened as she met his gaze, and the house-elf averted his eyes, hastily stepping back into the darkness.
"Kreacher! You useless sod! Attack this filthy Mudblood pestilence before she contaminates the sanctity of my portrait!"
There was the sound of something hitting something else hard in the darkness. "Can't. Can't!"
"Filthy Mudblood! You will never silence me!"
"I must at least ask, to give you a chance. Silence your words of hatred. Still the hand of silent fate," Hermione said, her voice going sing-song.
"Foul stain upon my father's house! Freak! FREAK!"
Hermione winced and cricked her neck. She reached her fingers up to her eyes, pressing them to her lenses, pulling them to the side and removing them. She hissed lowly, "You have long been dead, Walburga Black. This is just a mere echo— a painted farce of life. I see nothing alive within this portrait. There is no magic that sings the song of life. Even your frame is barren, as though life itself denies you. My Lord Father sends his most genuine regards." Hermione's eyes opened, exposing her sulfurous orange-red orbs and slitted pupils.
"FREA—!" Walburga's scream was cut off in mid-utterance. Her portrait slowed as if cast into molasses. Finally, her image was completely still.
Hermione quickly slid her lenses back over her eyes blinking them back into place with furious repeated blinks.
There was a sharp crack, and Walburga's frozen portrait abruptly clattered to the floor.
Hermione stared at it as the sounds of Kreacher beating himself came to a halt, as if the second death of his mistress finally released him from the compulsion of failure.
"You can look now, Mr Black," Hermione said with a tired sigh.
Sirius rushed up the stairs and stared at the silent portrait of Walburga— frozen in mid-curse. He tilted his head back and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
"Hermione McGonagall," Sirius said, pulling out his wand. "I swear to you this day, I will pay for every bit of your education until you obtain your mastery, and I will get you the best house-elf on this side of the pond to serve you and yours. This I swear, on my name, Sirius Black, and my on my magic." His wand flashed a brilliant gold and then faded.
Hermione flushed. "A simple handshake would have done it."
Sirius barked laughter. "May I hug you, my Lady?"
Hermione looked a little unsure but nodded.
Sirius drew her to him and smiled, kicking the blissfully silent portrait of his mother down the stairs with one booted foot.
The back gardens of Grimmauld Place turned out to be much larger than Hermione had expected. The walls were overgrown with ivy and vines, but things were very much alive.
Sirius was grilling steaks on a stone and iron hearth, and the smell was absolutely heavenly. Molly and Arthur arrived with Fred and George, and all of them were carrying baskets of food.
"We gotcher fresh-baked bread right here," Fred said, plunking down a basket.
"And enough garden pea pasta salad and bacon and egg pie to feed a family of a hundred for an entire month," George snorted, setting down his basket.
Arthur shook his head. "I brought the blueberry and mint iced tea, the asparagus and prosciutto bundles, and some goat cheese, and one of my favourites: falafel scotch eggs."
Molly plunked down her own basket." And I have here plenty of fresh English strawberries, Victoria sponge cake, and double-chocolate scones."
What? Nothing raw? Psh, Sithiss complained. Figures the scruffy one over there is taking the few raw things and cooking them.
Hermione tried to keep a straight face. "That sounds wonderful."
Can I eat the redhead over there? Sithiss asked.
Hermione blinked. "They are all red-headed."
Sithiss hissed innocently.
"What did you say, Hermione?"
"Ah! I'm just saying I'm feeling like the only one with non-red hair," she lied.
Harry and Sirius scratched their respective heads of coal-black hair. "Hey!"
"Is this a Muggle grill, Sirius?" Arthur asked excitedly.
Sirius chuckled. "It's a stone grill. Muggles make them, but I added a few things. The fire never gets too hot or too cool, it always stays at the ideal cooking temperature."
Arthur looked all too interested. Molly just rolled her eyes.
"Hey, McGonagall," Fred and George called out, gesturing for her to join them.
Hermione frowned, unsure what to do.
"We have Cornish pasties!" Fred said, waving one enticingly. "One of the few things George can make without setting the oven on fire."
George nudged Fred with his elbow.
Hermione slowly came over and sat down, seeming as skittish as a feral kitten.
"Hey," George said, passing her a pasty. "We, uh, want to apologise for our royal git of a little brother."
Hermione took the pasty and sniffed it carefully.
"I swear it's not— " Fred sighed. "I know they say you can't trust anything we say, but I promise it's not a trick."
Hermione slowly nibbled on the pasty, her eyes lighting up as the taste appealed to her.
George smiled. "In fact, I think our little bro purposely timed every little event to happen when we weren't around because he knew what we'd do to him if we ever caught him at it."
Fred nodded grimly, chewing on his pasty. "We joke. We prank. I'll admit that, but we don't go tripping people down stairs and— you just don't do things like that."
"Next time, if he says something mean?" George recommended, "Just kick him right between the legs. Might be hard to hit because he doesn't have any real stones to speak of—"
Hermione snickered.
Fred and George beamed.
George grinned. "Git brother has always been trying to prove he's better than everyone. Mum coddles him like he's breakable. Then Ginny was born, and well, she coddled her instead. Thing is, Ginny is tough and doesn't let anyone get the one up on her, but she's not out to prove anything. Git bro? Not so much. Mum read him the riot act about his grades. If he can't test out, he's repeating a year. He'll be taking classes with Ginny."
Fred finished off his pasty and snorted. "Serves him right, really. He's lucky he wasn't expelled. Seems like Dumbledore was very close to showing him the door. He, Harry, and Seamus all have to take the aptitude test before going back."
"Yeah, and about our mum," George said. "She says she's sorry in food. She's really bad about it any other way. I'm not saying it isn't worth saying to your face, but, I think she's feeling really confused about what to think, ya know?"
Hermione nodded slowly.
"Not just to you, either," Fred told her. "She sent a crazy mad howler to Harry accusing him of being a bad influence on Ron and making it impossible for him to study.
Hermione stared at Fred, eyebrows arching much like a certain Potion's master's.
"Yeah, that's pretty much how we reacted to that too," George replied, waving his hand. "So yeah, mum was up until Merlin-o'clock in the morning baking and cooking all this food as a sort of sorry-for-being-a-shitty-parson kind of deal."
Fred shook his head. "It's like apology food. It's always better after a fight. Kind of like make-up sex."
George thwacked Fred soundly against the back of his head. "Shut up, arse-face. She's twelve, idiot."
Hermione just looked at them blankly.
Fred and George gave her an apologetic look. "We ok, Mini-gonagall?"
Hermione flushed and nodded.
Fred and George smiled at her. "Ok, time to go stick our noses in everyone's business." They shuffled off together.
Hermione looked around to see if anyone was watching and grabbed a few more pasties and found her way to the back of the garden where it was shaded and away from everyone else. She looked around more closely, but decided no one was nearby.
Sithiss materialised, curling her coils around her tenderly. Hermione leaned back against her and fed her pieces of the meat pasties she had just absconded with. By the time the pasties were gone, Hermione was dozing off, her eyes growing heavy as the warmth from Sithiss' coils lulled her into a safe doze.
Hermione wrapped her arms around Sithiss' body and closed her eyes
"Hey, Hermione."
Hermione suddenly jolted awake, her eyes widened quickly as she instinctively pressed her back to the garden wall. Sithiss vanished back into her skin, and Hermione saw Harry approaching.
She tried to tell herself that he was trying to be a better person and that everyone needed that chance, but he was not a safe place to be for her. Instead, she had to gather her the remnants of her courage and try not to make like a thunderbird and fly away or as a basilisk and escape over the garden wall and flee into the undergrowth.
Harry came around the thick shrubs and found her. "Hey. The twins suggested a scavenger hunt or hide and seek. Sirius thinks there could be dangerous stuff in the house he hasn't found yet, so he recommended the yard and garden. Want to join us?"
Hermione frowned slightly, but then squared her shoulders. "Okay."
Harry smiled at her.
As Harry and Hermione came back to the picnic area, Molly looked at the two children with a combination of evaluation and shame.
Hermione looked this way and that, looking as though she were going to bolt at any given moment. She was tense like a tightly coiled spring, and it was obvious that the girl felt like she was way out of her safety zone. According to Sirius, the only reason she was here without Minerva or Snape was an important staff meeting called by Dumbledore— a meeting that involved planning curriculum for a few students that were being held back for the next term. Both of them were to show up as soon as the meeting let out, and Molly could tell that none of the people around were offering any sort of comfort to the girl.
She was skittish as a young foal, and just as nervous without her dam. Molly recognised it from the horses her family had once raised and bred. She was not the picture of a seductress that Rita Skeeter had painted her as. Molly flinched. Arthur and his colleagues at the Ministry had often told her what they thought of Rita and her trend of gossip-mongering, but Molly had always thought she could make her own decisions whether to believe or not. Only it seemed that when she did, she could only fall in the trap and end up believing it.
There was no way her son would pick on such a fragile-looking and vulnerable girl. He had always taken such good care of Ginny. He would know better. He wouldn't hurt her, ever. They had taught him better.
She watched the children spread out as Harry was first to be the seeker. She boggled at how careful the boy was. When he thought he found the girl, he would announce he was there and where he thought she was instead of trying to pounce on her like a typical hide-and-seek player would. He found Hermione hiding in the overgrown hedges, and, sure enough, she walked out when he "found her" without having to touch her. She smiled hesitantly at him, perhaps appreciative of the boy's thoughtfulness on her behalf. The game reset, and Hermione stood counting as the boys scampered off hide.
Molly turned herself back to setting the table and keeping the ever-troublesome twins from spiking the food, but even as she did so, she noticed that there was one plate of food they were carefully avoiding, almost as if they were holding back their typical prankish ways for one particular person. Sighing, she went about pouring new drinks and putting a ward over them to keep the twins from adding anything to them.
Assuredly the twins were the hardest of her children to keep in line.
Hermione slowly made her way around the yard, trying not to use the senses that would give her an unfair advantage over the others. Even after what they had done to her, she still held on to a sense of fairplay. A part of her was excited. She had always enjoyed hide-and-seek with her neighbours growing up. She usually won the war of attrition, waiting for someone to make a sound and give up their location in some way.
Harry was somewhere in the other direction. She could smell his hair tonic. She wasn't sure if that was cheating, but it was really, really strong, so wouldn't that be obvious? So, instead of going after him, she went after the strange scent of chicken wings and something tangy that reminded her of barbeque sauce that seemed to hint at Ronald. If it took too long for her to find him, she'd go back to finding Harry and his hair tonic.
Sithiss seemed to think she was cheating herself by not using the senses Death Himself had given her, but Hermione adamantly believed that using her inner vision and ability to track heat and energy signatures was not in the rule book for hide-and-seek. Sithiss pouted, telling her that one should always use every skill and opportunity to outwit their prey.
They are not prey! Hermione protested.
You are hunting them, Sithiss replied. That makes them prey.
Hermione slumped. They're—
Not your friends, Sithiss pointed out.
Hermione sighed. I have to at least try and make friends. Harry at least seems like he's trying. Ronald is ignoring me, which is still better than before.
Groom the blond one into someone you can trust, Sithiss suggested. He is cunning and cares for your safety.
Draco isn't here right now, Hermione reasoned.
Maybe he should be, Sithiss reasoned.
He'd probably punch Ronald in the face and—
Yes?
Shove his wand straight up his arse, Hermione replied, wincing.
That would be an improvement, Sithiss chuckled in that hissing laugh of hers.
Hermione snorted, but she took comfort in the basilisk's warmth and amusement. She noted the slightly ajar cellar door and frowned. Would he be hiding in the cellar? They were supposed to stay in the garden, Harry had told her.
She cast her gaze around the area, but there were really no good places to hide unless you happened to be a chameleon—or a topiary giraffe. Was that a topiary bear?
She turned back to the cellar, unsure. She wasn't anywhere anyone could see her go down. She lifted the door up and let the sunlight cascade in. Hopefully the wide open door would clue anyone in if they were going to look. Somehow, she doubted that if she called out "Hey, anyone hiding down here?" that it would go over well.
A tingle in the back of her mind warned her to leave something up top in case someone was looking. She took a rock and scraped a tiny snake on the rock foundation.
"I'll turn her into a right Slytherin yet, Minerva," she heard Severus' voice in her head and smiled.
"Severus Snape, you will not turn my cub into a snake!" Minerva had yelled at him.
"Technically—"
"You stop right there, Severus!"
Severus had turned away, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Taking in a deep breath, she walked down the stairs.
Ron returned to the table as everyone was eating, a smug little smile on his face.
"Hey, little git brother," Fred greeted. "Where's Mini-gonagall?"
"How should I know?" Ron replied easily. "I got tired of waiting and smelled food."
George scoffed.
Harry climbed back down from a nearby tree. "Where's Hermione?"
"Probably still searching for us," Ron replied with a careless shrug. "If she keeps looking, she'll end up back here and find us."
Harry frowned. He walked over to the side garden and frowned. All doors were shut. No open windows either. Where was she? Would she have gone inside to use the loo? No, he would have seen her.
"Hermione! Let's get dinner, yeah?" he yelled.
Nothing.
Harry frowned and went inside. "Kreacher."
There was a soft pop. The sullen-looking house-elf glared at him. "Yes, Master?"
"Have you seen Hermione?"
"Haven't seen dirty Mudblood." Kreacher answered.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Can you take me to her?"
Kreacher clenched his teeth. "Cannot take you there."
"Can't or won't, Kreacher?"
"Cannot," Kreacher replied. "Kreacher cannot go to place."
Harry frowned and stormed back outside, barely remembering to say a "Thank you, Kreacher" as he left.
Kreacher twitched and disappeared with a pop.
"Sirius?" Harry came up to his godfather, who had a large plate of grilled sausages in his hand. He placed it down on the table.
"What is it, Harry?" Sirius asked.
"Kreacher said something really odd when I asked him where Hermione was," Harry said. "Is there anywhere on your property he can't go?"
Sirius frowned. "I don't understand. Tell me exactly what you asked him and his answer? House-elves are often cryptic on purpose just to annoy you."
Harry scratched his head. "I asked him 'Can you take me to her'?" Harry said. "Then he replied, 'Cannot. Kreacher cannot go to place'."
Sirius frowned, and then suddenly his face drained of all color, turning white as a sheet. "No, it couldn't—"
Suddenly, Sirius was Padfoot, and Padfoot tore off across the garden, making a bee-line to the side garden path.
Harry looked at the others eating at the table with a fearful expression on his face. He ran after the black dog, almost too scared to want to know why his godfather had left so panicked but even more scared not to know.
Crack.
Crack.
Professors McGonagall and Snape appeared right after each other in the middle of the lawn, their faces pale and— frightened.
"Hermione?" McGonagall called out to her daughter, worry clear in the older witch's voice.
Now the adults were swarming around like a hive of angry bees.
"This way!" Harry yelled. "Padfoot went this way!"
Both professors rushed in his direction as Harry ran to the area where he had last seen Padfoot. Sirius was touching something on the side of the wall, and he flung open the cellar door, casting a Lumos as he descended the cellar stairs in a mad rush.
McGonagall and Snape were hot on his heels.
"No, no, no, no!" Sirius cried as he saw the active glyphs moving against the door.
"What is this place, Sirius?" Minerva exclaimed, her voice trembling.
"My parents' dungeon—" Sirius said despairingly. "This is where they threw Regulus and I when we didn't behave exactly as they required of us."
"What?" Severus asked, disbelief written clearly on his face.
"It's a magic supression well," Sirius explained. "It makes it so no magic works within, but it also steals every single sense you have. You cannot tell if you are up or down. You cannot tell if you are in pain. There is only endless nothingness. You scream but no one can hear you. You can't even hear your own screams."
"Is she trapped in this thing?" Severus hissed.
"I don't know!" Sirius said, pulling his wand out. "There is only one way to open it once it has someone. At first, you have a few minutes, but then the spells kick in and steal everything away until you are left with nothing. It starts with your sight, and it moves on until every sense is gone."
Minerva and Severus exchanged horrified glances, knowing exactly what being trapped in sensory deprivation would do to an already fragile Hermione.
Sirius uttered a cutting spell, and a large slash formed on Sirius' hand.
"Black, what the hell are you doing?" Severus demanded.
"Opening the well," Sirius said, wincing as he let his blood run down over the wards. "Only Black blood will open it, and only from up here. Mother made sure that her children couldn't just bleed inside and escape."
Sirius fell to his knees, the blood loss affecting him, but as the rivulets of blood connected around the circle, a flash of magic blew outwards and the room was filled with radiant light.
Sirius looked over the edge of the revealed lip. "Hermione!"
Severus and Minerva looked in.
"Merlin," Minerva cried. "Get her out of there!"
Sirius was not answering. He had collapsed with exhaustion and blood loss on the edge of the well, his blood having powered the disarming of the well.
Severus cursed fluently. He pointed his wand at Hermione's crumpled body and levitated her up to them. The light exposed cruelly jagged sides, and fresh blood where she had been frantically trying to escape— only without senses, she had no idea that she was hurting herself even worse. Her ankles were purple and swollen badly, and her head was bleeding where it had hit something either on the way down or during her struggle to extricate herself from where she had been trapped.
The moment she was out of the well, Minerva and Severus lurched as their sense of Hermione came rushing back, and it was accompanied by a low, angry, murderous hiss.
Kill. KILL! KILLLLL!
Molten rage poured over them as the black form of Sithiss suddenly materialised.
I WILL TEAR HIM APART!
No! Minerva and Severus cried together, using every bit of energy they had to reason with the murderous basilisk
Sithiss turned back to them violently, her fangs bared, venom dripping from her many, many fangs.
Hermione needs you, Sithiss! They pleaded. She needs your strength now. Please. Help her. We need to get her moved so she can be healed.
The giant serpent's eyes glowed like suns. She looked out the door leading to the outside and then back to them. Then, she looked at Hermione and something seemed to click in her mind. The giant basilisk dematerialised, returning to Hermione's skin as she offered the injured girl her energy.
Severus cradled Hermione in his arms as he exchanged grim looks with Minerva, and she turned to put her hand on Sirius.
Crack.
Crack.
They Disapparated together, taking Hermione and the injured Sirius back to Poppy at the Hogwarts infirmary.
Minerva and Severus watched anxiously as Poppy and a healer friend she trusted implicitly worked on Hermione and Sirius. Sirius had been an easier fix— blood replenishing potions were putting him right again.
Hermione, however was a far more complex case.
Healer Cadmus Chadwick waved his wand over Hermione, incanting multiple spells in succession. As he worked to quickly to stabilize his young patient's flagging vitals, Poppy was working on her broken bones, obvious lacerations, and swelling, which was making it hard to diagnose everything else.
Cadmus was concentrating fully on Hermione's head, which he suspected had at the very least a nasty concussion and at the worst, brain swelling and bleeding. In the meantime, Poppy had moved on to work on Hermione's lungs, which had started to alarm her when Hermione's breathing was starting to become raspy and rapid.
They worked in tandem, seamlessly connecting their spells, and both healers had on the special protective goggles "just in case." Poppy hadn't said why, but Cadmus apparently trusted her completely. He simply put them on and continued with what he was doing, barely stopping in his work.
It was well over an hour later before Cadmus finally stopped his chanting. He wavered slightly, barely making it to the nearby chair, and Poppy, too, collapsed in the other chair near the infirmary bed where Hermione lay unconscious. Severus gave them both potions to restore their energy after the extensive work, and both healers nodded silently before quaffing it down.
"Physically, she is fine, now," Cadmus said wearily. "Psychologically, that will depend on what she remembers of the trauma that brought her here. That may require a great deal of patience and understanding."
Severus and Minerva looked to Hermione and then back to Cadmus. "What will she need?"
"Quiet and a place she feels safe, most likely," Cadmus said. "I scanned enough to know that this will be crucial for her recovery. She will no doubt need those she feels safe with around at all times for a time. How long I cannot say. If you have any idea what may have caused or triggered this, you need to keep her away from it until she is prepared to deal with it cognitively. I will return to check on her daily, but only when someone she knows is with her. She will not know me, and I do not wish to traumatise her further."
"Thank you Healer Chadwick," Minerva said with a nod, appreciative of the old healer's kind thoughtfulness.
"Be sure to move her to a familiar place before she wakes. It would not be good for her to do so in a strange place such as an infirmary," Cadmus instructed.
As Severus picked Hermione up, cradling her close to him, Cadmus placed a hand on his shoulder. "She is young and inexperienced. As your bond grows, so, too, will the latent power. It is a special thing you have. It will see you through this and into the future. Be open with her, and she will flourish. One day, she may be a healer the likes of which we have never seen. The spark is there within. When her blood catches up, none of this shall ever happen again."
Severus blinked back emotion and nodded curtly, unsure how to express himself.
Cadmus smiled. He drew his fingers over his eyes and pulled them across them. Golden eyes stared back with pupils narrowed into slits. "I am the quetzalcoatl as you are the basilisk. Our power only grows as we age. Whenever you are in need, I will come, for this is the covenant between the serpent and the gods. My people have been misunderstood for as long as yours. Many think we are bloodthirsty. They sacrifice people to us for gifts of fertility. We never asked for that. Basilisks never asked for their reputation, either." Cadmus looked up as Minerva approached. He let her see his eyes before he covered them once more. Her eyes grew wide, but her tension seemed to leak away, relief and understanding placating her heart.
"One day, this event will seem small and trivial," Cadmus said with a smile. "You will look on it and laugh because of how easily she was hurt when she will not remain so very vulnerable for long. For those of us who measure our lives in eternity and wear the mark of His devotion, our childhood seems but a wistful time. Innocent, sometimes naive, and fragile. That, in itself, is a gift, brother and sister of the scale and fang. One must remember what it is to be fragile and easily broken when lives hang in the balance of your fangs and gaze."
Cadmus looked over to Poppy wistfully. "You are lucky she found you so soon. Some of us are cowards, afraid of revealing our true self to those we cherish— afraid they will not accept what we truly are. The gift of childhood, is that Hermione did not have such baggage. She claimed what she loved, and that bond between you will help you all through difficult times as this."
Severus looked out the open window and then back. He nodded to Cadmus, bowing his head respectfully.
Cadmus sighed, the sound resembling a hiss. "When I was young, I was angry. I indulged in the things that gave my kind the bad name we had, not realising that I was so much more. She will be spared that."
Severus eyed Cadmus curiously. "And when— brother— were you ever young?"
Cadmus smiled slyly. "I saw the rise of El Castillo, brother, for my true name is Kukulcan."
Severus' eyes went very wide.
Sirius woke with Harry firmly attached to his torso. He slowly put his hand to Harry's mop-like hair and ruffled it. "Hey."
Harry startled and squeezed him harder.
"I'm not so easy to kill, Minibuck," Sirius grunted, "but you are cutting off my oxygen."
Harry let him go, but he looked unsure as to whether Sirius would vapourise.
"We were so worried. There was so much blood on the floor," Harry fretted.
"Tribute to the glorious legacy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Sirius sighed. "I have tried to destroy that evil place many, many times, but the spells that created it are a type of magic that is far beyond me. I doubt even my parents truly knew what they were dealing with."
"You're awake, Scruffy," a sour-faced Auror greeted. "Care to tell me what the hell happened down there?"
"Ugh, Alastor," Sirius groaned. "Tell me you brought coffee. Or whisky. Preferably both at the same time."
The scar-faced Auror plunked himself down by the bed, handing a grateful Sirius a very large mug of coffee.
"Never thought I'd be so happy to see you, boss," Sirius said after inhaling the mug of caffeinated ambrosia.
"Not even a few months out of Azkaban, and you're already trying to bleed out on some random floor," Moody scolded.
"To be fair, boss," Sirius groaned. "I did it for a good reason."
"Oh, I'm sure dying has a very good reason," Moody barked.
"Told 'em to go play hide-and-seek. Didn't want them in that house," Sirius said. He reached for his wand and jabbed it into his temple, pulling out the strand of memories. Alastor held out a vial, and Sirius guided the silver strands in. "Somehow that cellar was opened. I don't know how. Maybe it's always been open since mother died. Maybe— Regulus and I always believed that you had to think horrible, unspeakable things to get that door to unlock. We tried a few times to burn the door down and expose that evil place to the world, but we could never do it. Not when we were young, anyway. As we grew older, we learned to hate and the door would unlatch. It's almost a living thing, now, Alastor. I can't predict it. It seems to have its own mind."
Moody frowned. "How the hell did you get her out?"
"I didn't," Sirius confessed. "I passed out trying to feed the blood wards enough to make it shut down long enough— I presume McGonagall and Sni— Snape got her out."
"Aye, they did, lad," Moody said. "Got the story from them. The girl is going to be okay. I just needed your part. Why so much blood?"
Sirius shook his head. "Maybe because the place knows me. As I said, it's alive— and both I and Regulus spent many days in there to 'assist in adjusting our priorities'. For all I know, the place had a grudge."
"Well, I think we can safely request a curse-breaker team and some specialists to come dismantle that place for you. Can't say that I would know a thing about it. It stood my hair on end just walking into the place," Moody said. That the experienced old Auror shuddered at the mere memory of the place spoke volumes.
"That would— be a huge relief, boss," Sirius sighed. "It's the reason I and my brother— Regulus eventually turned himself into the perfect son just to avoid that place. Me— let's just say I know what the girl went through, and it horrifies me." Sirius shuddered.
"Still," Moody said. "How'd the girl end up down there? From what Minerva tells me, the girl is flighty and cautious to the extreme. What could possibly bring her there?"
Sirius shook his head. "I really don't know."
Harry squeezed Sirius' hand reflexively.
"What is it, Harry?" Sirius asked.
"When I was in the tree, hiding, I saw Hermione go off to that side of the garden, but before she did, Ron went first," Harry recalled. "And then Ron came back for supper. He told me he hadn't seen her. I thought that was odd, but I figured maybe she went to the loo, ya? I asked Kreacher if he'd seen her, and he said no, so I asked if he could take me to her, and he said he couldn't."
Sirius' eyes widened. "My mother changed the wards on the place so that Kreacher couldn't get down there. Kreacher had come to rescue Regulus a few times, until she found out about it."
Moody's eyes narrowed. "I'll have to question the boy with his parents. Somehow I don't think simply asking is going to get the answers I need."
"There is always Veritaserum, boss," Sirius grunted.
"That, Scruffy, will require parental consent," Moody replied.
Sirius winced as he sat up. "Somehow, I think Molly will agree. She genuinely thinks her son to be incapable of such things."
Moody's face darkened. "We are all capable of such things, given the right motivation. That is what most people prefer to forget. It's what we do with such impulses that defines us— and that can lead to freedom or Azkaban."
Hermione awoke cuddled up next to Severus' robes and laying in the giant coils of a very clingy and protective basilisk. Fawkes was curled up in her lap, and she realised that she had a bit of a death-grip on the poor bird. She released him, soothing his feathers with her hands.
"Sorry."
Severus stirred, his dark eyes scanning hers. Sithiss nudged her with her giant head, her tongue tenderly tickling her face.
"I'm okay," Hermione soothed. "Lord Father told me the story of the Three Brothers. He said it was better if I listened to the story than— suffer."
Sithiss hissed, nudging Hermione with her nose, plunking her against Severus.
"Your mother is in the next room, talking with Auror Moody," Severus told her soothingly, a slight trickle of worry in his voice. "Do you remember what happened?"
Hermione clutches his robes and snuggled into them, stroking the fabric of his doublet in a comforting motion. "He hurt his leg, I think. Ron. In the dark. He was calling for help, so I went. Then something clicked under me. The floor gave way, and I fell. I was hurt, and I was yelling for help. There was a small voice down there. It begged me to help him, so I started to dig with my hands, but the feeling was going away. I found—" Hermione blinked. "I think—"
Hermione felt her chest and put her hand down her shirt to fetch something she stashed there. She pulled out a dirt and gravel-covered metal locket, tarnished by age and filth. "Then it all went dark. I couldn't see. I couldn't feel. All my senses seemed to be fading away. I panicked. I—" She clung to Severus tightly.
Severus wrapped his arm around her, and Hermione clung to him, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I'm such a failure. I was so scared! I couldn't change. I couldn't—"
Severus grasped her hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "Hermione, it wasn't your fault. The place you were in dampens magic. It was specifically crafted to weaken you and steal your power away."
Hermione's eyes were wet with tears, and she stared up at him in disbelief. "I tried to call for you. It didn't work. It always worked before. Sithiss. I couldn't hear her."
Severus soothed her hair. "Hermione, that was a truly evil place. An abomination. It was made to— torture those that the Black family viewed as imperfect. It was not you. Your magic did not fail you."
Hermione clutched at the dirt-encrusted locket in her hand. Then she placed it into Severus' hands. "Can you help him?"
Severus frowned. "Him?"
He fingered the locket. He took his wand and scanned it for Dark Magic or some sort of trap. "Magical, but— no trapped. It was down in the well?"
Hermione nodded, pressing her face into his side for reassurance.
Severus narrowed his eyes and opened the locket.
A small figure of a young man peered out of the small portrait. "Severus? Is that you, brother? Help me!"
Severus' eyes widened with shock and he struggled to hold onto the locket. "Regulus?!"
As Severus stood side-by-side with Alastor as they both cast spells over the aged locket, Hermione affixed herself tightly to Minerva, who seemed equally happy to have Hermione clinging to her. Minerva held her daughter lovingly against herself, soothing her hair and her back, and Hermione seemed calm enough to deal with whatever came as long as Minerva and Severus were near her.
Sithiss hissed that she could be there too, if she really wanted, but both Minerva and Severus had convinced the giant basilisk that revealing herself to one Alastor Moody would not make a positive impression, even on a good day.
Alastor was having enough problems getting over Snape, who he was convinced was the devil himself.
"This one of your tricks, Snape?" Moody growled.
"No, Mr Moody," Severus said evenly. "It is not."
"Dumbledore may trust you, Snape," Moody groused, "but I don't. A leopard cannot change his spots. You're a Death Eater."
"Was a Death Eater," Severus corrected.
"Oh? Like that just stops when we haven't heard from your Dark Lord, eh?" Moody hissed. "The truth is here! Your badge of evil anchored to the Darkness of your core." Moody ripped up Snape's sleeve to expose his arm.
Pale but flawless skin revealed no Dark Mark.
Hermione clung to Minerva a little tighter, not liking the Auror's rough treatment of Severus in the slightest.
"Wha— how?" Moody stared at his arm and pointed his wand at it. "Revelio!"
Shimmering white and gold light radiated off of Snape's arm, forming into fine scales and phoenix feathers. The strands of light arched over to Moody and zapped him with their radiance, a golden warmth spreading up Moody's arm.
Moody dropped Snape's arm as if burned by it.
Severus looked him in the eye, his face as expressionless as stone. "As I said, Mr Moody. Ex-Death Eater."
"What are you?" Moody rasped.
Severus met his eyes levelly. "Forgiven."
If Moody didn't doubt his grudge before, he definitely did when Hermione jumped up to wrap her arms around the dour-faced potions master to hug him tightly in front of everyone. Equally shocking, he simply adjusted her so she didn't choke him to death, and let her play with his hair.
Moody was many things, but despite his bias against Snape, he wasn't wholly unobservant. The young girl was obviously extremely fragile and very much dependent on her mother and her professors to provide her a sense of protection and stability, and from what he had been told of her rather abusive history while at Hogwarts— the girl had an alarmingly long list of traumas.
Strangely, she treated Snape with the kind of trust he suspected no one else in the student body would ever feel inclined to give him. And the magic that had touched him from Snape's arm— that had been pure Light and warmth. It sang of— love. It had made him think of summer days and warm sun, perfect clouds, and his favourite drink. It was not Dark Magic— not in the slightest.
Somehow, the man whom Moody had been convinced was the devil himself, had shed the Dark Mark. If that were possible, couldn't other things be possible? Had Dumbledore perhaps been right all along? Was Snape actually— trustworthy?
He had to admit that had he not had so much previous baggage in the way, just seeing how the man was so patient and tolerant as he tended to the traumatised young witch would have won him over. But then there was also a current of genuine affection there that was quite obvious if he cared to admit it.
The girl had been trapped in a magical suppression well. It was a miracle she was able to reach out as it was after that particularly brutal kind of trauma. Perhaps, he should take a cue from the girl and weigh the man on the evidence of the present, not the past. Merlin knew he'd done his own fair share of stupid as a young pup. None of it he had been proud of either. The only difference was, he had never been branded in such a way when he ran with his gang of young Scottish hellions, and he'd wisened up in time to set himself straight and become an Auror. Seven wizards from his once-peers had not been so fortunate. Two of them had died in Auror fights. Five of them were in Azkaban for doing things that made Death Eaters look like foolish children.
No, Moody knew he had baggage, but it was only now, as he was forced to see a man's redemption despite all disbelief, that it was finally coming to light.
Hermione had slid down from Snape's side and clung to his robes for comfort, no longer needing the tight death-grip around the wizard's throat, but deciding it was "safe" enough to simply stand by him instead. She stared at him with a miniature Snape-like scowl.
Alastor knelt down and leveled his gaze to her. "Don't like me much, do ya, lass?"
"You're mean to Severus," Hermione said, gripping Severus' robes tightly. "It's not nice."
Alastor blinked. Nothing quite like a twelve-year-old telling you exactly what she saw. "I am an Auror. Sometimes we can't afford to be nice."
Hermione scowled. "Aurors are supposed to protect people. Why aren't you protecting him? He hasn't done anything to you."
Fair question, Moody. Going to let a twelve-year-old tell you your place?
Moody slumped. "I fear we got off on the wrong foot. I ask you forgiveness, young miss."
Hermione stared at him pointedly. "I'm not the one you should be asking." She pressed her nose into Severus' side.
Laid low by a young chit barely out of her first year. Good one, Moody. Are you going to suck it up and be a man about it, or try and blame him some more for your own sins, eh?
Moody stood up and leveled his eyes with Snape's. "I'm sorry, Snape. I fear— I have misjudged you. I will endeavour to be better about it in the future and judge you not from the perceived sins of the past— but the deeds of the present."
Snape narrowed his eyes at Moody, but Hermione nudged him, showing no more mercy to him then she had Moody mere minutes before.
"Apology accepted, Mr Moody," Severus said tightly, but he looked down at Hermione. She beamed back up at him.
"This is all fine and well, gentleman," Regulus yelled from his portrait in the locket, "but can you get me out of this bloody locket?"
It took a team of three curse-breakers and two witches known as "the Unravelers" to pull Regulus Black out of his portrait prison, and the moment they did so, Regulus fell straight to his knees and kissed the ground in pure praise.
"Thank Merlin, Hecate, and Morgan Le Fay," Regulus exclaimed, kissing the stone floor over and over again.
Minerva was starting to look as though she needed to expand her quarters— again.
"Mr— Lord Black," Moody stammered, unsure of what to call him. "How in Merlin's name did you end up trapped inside a locket?"
"Regulus, please," Regulus gasped, sitting on the floor like it was the best place ever. His hands touched the nearby rug in avid appreciation for its inherent rugginess. "I fear I disappointed my Lady mother very much, when I told her that the Dark Lord was but a sham— a half-blood liar. He was no champion of the Pure, and he far more things wrong with him than right. She beat me, chained me with one Cruciatus after another, and then she forced me into that portrait. She cast me into the well, and promptly pretended that I had died in service of the Dark Lord— something she ardently preferred to the truth."
Regulus flopped backwards on the rug. "But she never found this." He pulled a locket off his neck and threw it to the side. "The Dark Lord's Horcrux. One of five that I know of. I tried to get Kreacher to destroy it, but he couldn't. Fire, hammers, shattering charms— nothing worked. I can't even open it. Don't be fooled by its innocuous appearance. It's as evil as evil comes."
The gathered stared at the fallen locket, and the locket seemed to stare back.
"Creepy," Moody grunted. "You say there are five of these things?"
"That I know of," Regulus said as he stared up at the ceiling. "I am not foolish enough to think he would not create more after my disappearance. He believed that seven was the ultimate magical number. It would be logical to believe he would seek that end."
"Seven?" the witch from the Unraveler team whispered, aghast. "Seven murders?"
Regulus sighed. "He has done far more than that, ma'am. Do not think that this mark on my arm was taken gleefully. I was forced to watch him kill three people with the implication it would be my own brother next if I did not— bow to his wishes."
"I am not proud of what I witnessed and was forced to do," Regulus said with a heavy, weary sigh. "Take me to Azkaban for my sins, if you must, but please, I beg you, let me take a shower first and tell my brother the truth. I will go wherever you require after that, with no resistance."
Moody looked like he was going to say something, but Hermione broke free of Severus and promptly affixed herself to Regulus, her small hands touching his arm where the Dark Mark was beneath his skin. She glared up at Moody, silent and poignant.
Moody took a deep breath. "Take your shower, Regulus. Then you can give me your memories of what has to you happened until now. That should be enough to keep you out of Azkaban. If you agree, I will question you under Veritaserum and take your testimony to the Wizengamot myself."
Regulus let out a dry laugh that kept going until he was breathless and wheezing. He wrapped his fingers gently around Hermione's small hand. His eyes stared off into nothingness. "I am yours, my Lady. You have saved me. Command me, and I shall lay my very life down for you."
Hermione stared down at his face and caressed his eyebrows with her hands. "I'd rather have a hug, I think," she said, moving his hair away from his face.
Regulus let out a choking sob and drew the young witch against his chest and held her tight. "As my Lady commands."
Hermione snuffled into his chest. "You do need a bath, though. I agree."
Regulus hugged her tighter, tears of relief and joy falling from his eyes.
"Brother," Regulus said as he stared up at the empty wall above the stairs. "I really do like what you've done to the place."
"Master—" Kreacher appeared at the top of the stairs. He tugged on his ears and stared, mouth working silently. "Master Regulus is alive?"
"Kreacher," Regulus knelt down as the house-elf practically slammed into him, crying, pulling his ears, crushing himself to Regulus. "There, there, I'm here now. Mother just got carried away this last time."
"Couldn't go there! Couldn't go there!" Kreacher wailed. "Couldn't see. Couldn't check! Couldn't know."
Regulus hugged the house-elf. "Not your fault, Kreacher. Truly, it's not. You have always been so very loyal— a good friend. I hold you blameless in this. If you wish to show your gratitude, then show it to the one who saved me, hrm? Hermione."
Kreacher's eyes went wide.
"You don't have to pretend for my mother anymore," Regulus said. "Not anymore."
Kreacher nodded silently.
Sirius, who was staring at his little brother with a rather gobsmacked expression on his face, came up and wrapped Regulus in a bone-crushing hug. "Brother."
Regulus gasped. "Heard about my little fall out with mum, eh?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius blurted out, hurt.
"It would have only caused you harm, brother," Regulus said, rubbing his arm. "Then you and I both would have been down there, rotting eternally in sensory limbo."
Sirius shook Regulus by the shoulders. "Regulus, I—"
"Forgiven, brother," he said sadly. "If anything there is something far more deserving of that apology."
Sirius looked at him with incomprehension.
"Severus came to you that night with a message to move the Potters and save their lives. He knew that the moment they were safe, he would be be killed as the leak. He did it anyway," Regulus said, shaking his brother with his hands. "You never told them, did you?"
Sirius made a pained face. "He was the enemy, Reg—"
"He was my brother too!" Regulus hissed. "I could have delivered that message, but he chose to do it instead. He did it so that I could perform my task for the Dark Lord and remain pristine in his favour.
"He saved me, though mother saw to it that I never lived that down. And then what? You turned him away and you forced him to go to Albus Sodding Dumbledore and pledge himself to the old man's service to try and save them without your help. Only it was too late, wasn't it? You'd already made that sodding rat your Secret Keeper, and you know how well that ended." Regulus closed his eyes. "I'm not here to fight with you, brother. I'm here to tell you that this isn't back then. It isn't about being a Dark wizard or a Death Eater anymore, and, deep down, I think you know that. I think, you're coming around all on your own, but you just can't bring yourself to admit you were wrong."
"He's a Dark wizard!" Sirius protested weakly.
"I'm a Dark wizard!" Regulus hissed. "I was born into this family of Dark wizards. And. So. Were. You. You practiced those Dark curses by candlelight just as I did, until one day, you woke up. And then I woke up. And if you think it's possible for you to leave all that madness behind, then you must believe that Severus can too."
Suddenly Sirius crushed his brother to him and sobbed, pressing his face into his little brother's hair. "You're right, brother. It's time I grew up too."
"I just wanted to lock her down in the cellar, ya know?" Ron whined. " I figured I'd lure her in and then sneak out, shutting her in. She could just sit in the dark awhile, and I could go and eat my dinner in peace. She just fell in, and I thought, well, it served her right, aye? Getting me in trouble with everyone. It's her fault I'm having to take a test to see if I can even get into second year. Turned Harry against me. Making all the teachers so bloody happy. So I left her there. I figured, after we had our fun, I'd go let her out. It was just a prank, yeah? I didn't mean to hurt her."
Molly wrung her hands. "You see? He didn't mean to hurt her!"
"Mr and Mrs Weasley," Kingsley Shacklebolt said firmly. "We need your permission to administer the three drops of Veritaserum. We hope this will confirm for us exactly what happened, and then we can put this entire mess behind us."
Molly and Arthur quickly signed the parchment in front of them and nodded firmly.
Kingsley unlocked a wooden box that was sitting nearby and lifted out a small vial and dropper.
"One, two, three," Kingsley said dripping the clear fluid into Ron's mouth. "Now, Mr Weasley. Please detail everything that you thought, said, and did during the period of time from when you first went to hide from Miss McGonagall until the time you turned up for dinner."
Ron kicked a rock as he walked about the grounds, grinding his teeth in frustration and anger. Why couldn't he just play something with Harry like it was supposed to be? But nooooo, instead, Sirius had to suggest they all play nice— with HER.
Merlin, she made him so mad.
All that bushy hair and buck teeth. The Win-gard-ee -um Levy-OH-sa chit.
Then her stupid Muggle parents had go and die and all the teachers started to pity and protect her. Then she went and somehow got herself blinded, and they pitied and protected her even more. Somehow, she'd even gotten her hands on Lord Lucius Malfoy's walking cane. She stooped so low as to garner the favour of a bloody Malfoy. A MALFOY! Bloody evil snakes, the lot of them!
She looked a lot better falling down the stairs. That scared little face had really suited the frizzy little bint. He grinned to himself when he remembered the very first time he'd done it. That had been so great!
That look of pure panic when she couldn't find her wand, when he and his mates had embedded it into Sir Cadogan's portrait, almost touching the ceiling, now that had been priceless. The panic, the stupid look of desperation— not like she was going even to use a wand, anyway. She was bloody blind, for Merlin's sake!
He wished she'd stayed blind. That would've been so much better.
The feel of being in charge, being the leader for once. Now that was what it was all about. Finally, for once, he was in control, and if felt really good.
Because of her "disability", she was allowed to sit at an assigned seat near the teacher's desk. Every professor would hand her the assignments personally. They would all ask her if she had any questions. Worst of all, she got to leave class early to make her way to the next class. And she would wave that expensive snake-headed cane in everyone's face as if to say how special she was. To add insult to it all, she got to sit up at the Head Table so the professors could cut her food up for her and help her eat. There was nothing special about food. Just grab it and go to town just like everyone else. Why was she so bloody special?
Oh, and now? Now that she was McGonagall's little pet kitten and some confirmed victim of bullying? Justified punishment, more like. Now, the little chit hid behind the robes of all of their professors, following them around like a lost duckling. She always sat up front by the professor's desk, and they always seemed to talk to her. She would smile up at them with this sick look of appreciation before going back and scribbling whatever nonsense on her parchments. She was nothing but a little brown-noser and everyone knew it.
When he worked so hard to ostracise her from Gryffindor and the rest of the school, she would just go out and sit under a tree or in a window and study. Professors would stop and ask her how she was, point out something in her books, and then leave her to it. It was disgusting. Every kid out there knew you were never friends with adults, and any adult who was friends with someone their age had to be sick in the head. Everyone knew that.
He'd caught her feeding a giant red and orange bird a large bunch of grapes in the courtyard. A bunch of Hufflepuffs— psh, they were all such idiots— were gathered curiously around her. She distributed grapes to each one, allowing them to take turns feeding the creature. The phoenix was the headmaster's own familiar. It was on the back of his chocolate frog card. That was just further proof that she was getting more favouritism coming her way as the all-around teacher's pet. He could just scream! What he wouldn't do to have a phoenix to hang around with. Especially since his stupid old rat kept running away. Stupid rumours accused Scabbers of being the rat they caught as an illegal Animagus and the traitor responsible for the murder of Harry's parents. They were all bloody idiots. Scabbers was just a stupid old rat. He couldn't even find his way back out of a cereal box without help. There was no way he was a Death Eater! He probably wandered off and got eaten by an owl. Maybe he could get the headmaster to replace Scabbers with a new familiar like an owl. That would be pretty cool.
Ron kicked another stone. What he really wanted was Hermione Muggle-born Granger out of his life for good. Adoption or no adoption. That was what she was. A pain. An annoyance. A buck-toothed menace.
She'd always finish her her bloody potions first. Then, she would help out that annoying Neville to keep the squib's cauldron from exploding all over him. Neville was just way too soft-hearted to tell her she was a freak like everyone else. And that entire time when she was blind— oh it made him so mad— Snape taught her how to read the recipes from the board with her wand and then guide her hands to all the utensils and ingredients she needed, telling her which was which. Well, yeah, of course she was going to finish first after he practically told her everything! Even now, she often felt for her bottles instead of actually looking at them. She sniffed them as if it actually told her what was inside. What was even worse? Some of the Slytherin were gesturing her over to get help on their brewing.
Finally deciding that he could care less about playing hide and seek with the little freak, Ron plunked himself down in front of a wooden door. He idly mused that it must lead to the Black family root cellar. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried very hard to forget that Hermione Granger McGonagall whatever had ever even existed. Hrm? What was this? The cellar door felt oddly warm?
Standing back up, Ron reached out to touch the wooden door of the cellar with one hand. It thrummed with a kind of strangely enticing warmth. It felt— really good. Calming. Peaceful. The dark thoughts, the seething hatred he had been harbouring inside himself towards that bloody chit, the little freak girl who always seemed to bend the adult ears her way— all that seemed to be replaced by a feeling of welcome, of total acceptance. Yeah, those were the right things to feel. He knew it! He read the Prophet. He knew Skeeter had written the truth about the freak— every last bit of it.
He opened the door and a pleasing sort of warmth met him. Ah! This was what made Grimmauld Place so great. Why hadn't Sirius allowed them down here before? Maybe he was hiding it— keeping the very best stuff all to himself.
All you can dream
Begins with a thought
Feed me your blood
To get what you ought.
Give to me your hatred
And I shall give you bliss.
Throw yourself into my embrace
And your offering in my Abyss.
A dim light glowed in the room. There were several portraits on the walls. Most he didn't recognise. One was a sultry-eyed witch with wild black hair and a crooked wand. He felt sort of drawn to her like— like there was a fledgling connection of sorts between them.
There was a chair on the far wall, and he was drawn to it. The sides were like the twisted growth of roots. A solitary black velvet cushion lay on top. He had to sit on it. It felt so very right.
Sitting down, the strange vines encircled his ankles and his wrists, locking Ron into place on the chair. A vine burrowed into his wrist as though it were seeking his blood, but he didn't resist. As the room darkened, he could sense the little Mudblood just outside.
Yes. Come closer.
The door opened, but she hesitated, clearly apprehensive.
He hissed lowly as the root buried itself deeper into his arm.
"Help!" he moaned, smiling serenely. "I'm trapped in something!"
That was all it took. His ploy had worked like a charm. She was coming.
Come here, little Mudblood. Welcome to my parlour.
She walked forward— he could see the very blood coursing through her veins. Closer now— closer!
"I'm over here," he moaned piteously. "Please help me, I'm stuck."
She was approaching a little faster now. There! She was standing directly on the trapdoor. He could hardly wait!
The trapdoor sprang its trap and she fell in with a short scream.
Her panicked screams and cries, the sounds of scraping, crawling, and frantic, desperate clawing filled the cellar. It was like the sweetest of songs to his eager ears.
Ron's eyes fluttered happily as a flood of glorious, rushing warmth filled him from top to bottom.
"Mudblood filth," he whispered blissfully, rewarded instantly by a pleasurable flood of endorphins. "Freak."
The Mudblood's screams were slowly fading away, growing quieter, until silence filled the room once again. Meanwhile, the vines were slowly covering Ron's body, crawling over his flesh, sliding under his clothes. They pulsed rhythmically as they fed off of his anger, hatred and deep desire to hurt his chosen victim. Ronald's head lolled to the side, his eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy.
It was in that moment, Ron knew— he knew would be back again and again for this most glorious union.
Molly was weeping hysterically in Arthur's arms as he rubbed her back soothingly, trying to calm her, but his own face was pale as a vampire's, and perhaps it was just as bloodless. Kingsley stood with a look of absolute horror and disgust on his face. The three Ministry witnesses, the scribe, and the representative from the Underage Use of Magic Office all looked as though they were either going to pass out or hurl violently.
Kingsley recovered first, barking orders that every i was dotted and every last t was crossed. The scribe snapped out of it and was writing away furiously. Kingsley was drawing the pertinent memories out of his mind and placing them in carefully marked vials. Each of the witnesses did the same. Then each of them affixed their official seal upon the vials.
"That vile place needs to be destroyed!" Molly wailed, but even as she said the words, she looked down at Ron with a brand-new sense of horror and revulsion, something she never thought she would feel for one of her own children. Part of her knew, now, that the darkness had been festering inside of her youngest son, long before the evil chamber had seduced him. Sure, he had used it to lure in Hermione McGonagall under its influence, but it was obvious that had he not entertained the dark thoughts that he did, there would have been nothing the chamber could have done to attract him to itself in the first place, much less to give him such a terrible and grotesque high.
The harsh reality was driving her to tears, and she continued to wail inconsolably.
Ronald, on the other hand, deep in the memory of the pleasure, was gazing blissfully through everyone, ignoring them.
"Where did I go wrong?" Molly cried. "What did I do wrong with him?"
It was all Arthur could do to comfort his wife by holding her tight and staring blankly at the ecstatic face of his youngest son.
It took a month of very hard work to dismantle the Dark well under Grimmauld Place, and it took a very special kind of bait to get the cellar door to appear again.
Ronald Weasley, wrapped up tight and firmly restrained, was brought in on a stretcher just outside the the garden path. Many had tried to lure the door to appear, but it remained stubbornly out of sight until Ronald was brought in as a last resort.
In exchange for his, albeit non-compliant, cooperation, Ronald was allowed to be sent to St Mungo's, free of charge, for intensive treatment with top mind-healers as well as extensive long-term neural pathway training and regeneration to counter the insidious darkness he had invited willingly into his body and mind. Arthur and Molly, who knew they could never afford it otherwise, gratefully agreed.
Once the place had been thoroughly dismantled and purified, Sirius paid for a team of the finest Wizarding architects to design and build him the very opposite of what had been there before: a temple of tranquility. Marble and gilded pillars, a mirror pool, koi ponds, gilded fountains and multiple exquisite gardens later, the temple was looking as serene as anyone could ever wish to be. Regulus set a crystal gazing ball in the center of the mirror pool and in a spontaneous act of christening, smashed the locket that had been his prison for over a decade on the temple's pristine altar.
In perhaps a gesture of acceptance, the temple area began to glow with a lunar radiance, filling the chamber with sacred space. Above them they could see the sky— much like the ceiling in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Harry, who seemed greatly relieved by the goings-on, placed the picture of his parents at the foot of the altar, a look of peace finally finding a home on his face. Despite it all, he redoubled his studying efforts, determined to take his aptitude test and pass to make his parents proud of him. While the test was months away, Sirius already believed he would do well.
Severus transferred the young thunderbird to the large scrying crystal in the temple pool, frowning somewhat when she flapped her wings a few times and caused rippling waves to wet the tips of his dragonhide boots. She looked at him somewhat sheepishly, rubbing her head against his knuckles.
"Tch," he admonished. "I'll be outside talking with Black and Potter. Black seems to think a chat is in order. Minerva is right over there, chasing her own tail in the moonlight."
Minerva meowed loudly as if to complain about his description.
Hermione lay her head against Severus' hands and chirped.
He touched his forehead to hers, and she chirred softly.
"You're so high-maintenance," Severus teased.
Hermione hung her head, giving a sad chirp.
Severus lifted her head up with his fingers. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Hermione."
Hermione brightened and a few puffy white clouds with rainbows formed around them.
"That's my girl," he chuckled warmly. "Making moonbows and defying all natural weather patterns."
Hermione beamed at him, fluffing her feathers with pleasure.
Gently, Severus kissed the top of her beak and turned, gliding out of the temple grounds without a sound.
"I'm going to tell you story, Harry," Sirius said, rubbing his day stubble around his face. "It's a true story that I think you need to hear, and it's the reason why I was so upset to hear about your behaviour with Mini-gonagall."
Harry hung his head in shame, but nodded.
"When I was your age, I met your father on the train to Hogwarts," Sirius began. "It was like most instant friendships. You fall in with group of blokes who make you laugh and you feel like you'll be together for the rest of your life. It was there that I met your father, Remus, and Peter."
Sirius stared off into the garden. "Like most magical-born kids, we all had made our decisions on what we wanted to be at Hogwarts. Your father, Remus, Peter— they all wanted to be Gryffindor. Me— I was doomed to be Slytherin if I followed the way of my family, and after seeing what horrors my family was capable of, you might understand why I was so adamantly against it."
Sirius sighed and tapped his fingers against the glass of his tea. "As we all sat proclaiming our fervent hopes for Gryffindor, there was this one skinny boy sitting with a somewhat shy-looking red-headed witch. We, of course, just had to ask them what house they wanted to be. The boy said Slytherin, and it was like he was holding up a giant flag with my parent's faces emblazoned on it with the words 'Praise Be to the Power of the Pureblood Bigot'!"
Sirius pinched his nose and looked at Harry closely. "I made up my mind then and there that this boy was my enemy. This boy, regardless of who he was or where he came from, was no better than the rest of my bigoted Pureblood family. I forgot all my mutual fears with my brother. I forgot that as a child I had sat in the library of my mother's father and practiced Dark curses by moonlight. I forgot exactly what I came from— and did exactly what they did so well: I picked someone to blame and blame them until the day that I died."
Sirius took a gulp of his tea and collected his thoughts. "I tormented him endlessly. I provoked every single time I could. I set blame whenever I could. I set my mates on him whenever I could, and when I was in my sixth year, I led him to the Whomping Willow and almost got him killed. I called it a schoolboy prank. I said he deserved it for sticking his beak of a nose into my business. I made up every reason I could to justify my hatred and scorn. Then, when he fought back, well, that was still more reason for me to go after him. Your father, Harry, saved that boy that night. Of course, too much had gone on for forgiveness. And when we were brought in front of Dumbledore, he favoured his most favourite house and dismissed it as a prank gone wrong. We knew better. I knew better."
Harry looked somewhat horrified.
Sirius continued, "We were not kind people, Harry. We were bullies. And while your father did save that boy's life on that terrible night, it did not stop him from hanging that same boy up by his ankles in front of the whole yard, filling his mouth with soap bubbles, and pulling down his trousers for all to see."
Harry's eyes widened with shock.
"We were horrible people, Harry," Sirius said. "I was a horrible excuse for a human being. While we stuck up for each other, we terrorised the school as a team. No one was safe. Slytherin most of all. They didn't even have to do anything— we justified to ourselves, it saying they deserved it all because they merely dared to exist."
"Then, one day, with graduation far behind us, that boy became a man, and that man came to me with information to save your parents in exchange for forfeiting his own life to the Dark Lord when he inevitably found out. He begged me to move them. He pleaded with me to tell them they were in danger and not to trust anyone, but I didn't tell them. I didn't tell them because I believed that man was evil and dirty as the Dark Lord himself.
"In desperation, he want to Albus Dumbledore, swearing his life to his service if only— if only he would save your father and mother and you— anything to protect them, but the endgame was already in play. I had already convinced James and Lily to make Peter the Secret Keeper, and I had driven Remus away, telling him he was too untrustworthy to keep such secrets. When I came back to your parents and saw— I knew who had really betrayed us, and I blindly went after him."
"But Peter was ready," Sirius explained. "And he murdered twelve Muggles and left his own finger just as I arrived to be framed."
Sirius stared at Harry. "I am a fallible human being, Harry, and it took hearing about how you helped to torment a young, blinded orphan girl to realise you were on a treacherous path that was very familiar to me. I found I was watching myself and James all over again. I don't want this path for you, Harry. You are far better than that. You are better than me or James. I have no doubt in that whatsoever."
"That little blind witch helped to free me from Azkaban, Harry," Sirius said. "If it were not for her and for Severus, we would not be here. You would be back with the Dursleys— and I would still be branded a criminal."
Sirius stood, walking over to the tall Potions master as he stood watching the scene, as silent as a spectre.
Sirius pulled out his wand and held it high. "Severus. I have been a rampaging git, berk, and a complete arse to you since day one. I have instigated many terrible things. I have even set you up to be murdered. I was a jealous, angry boy who could only blame you for every bad thing in the world— and then I thought, Lily didn't deserve the likes of you as a friend. I poisoned her against you. I poisoned my friends against you. I blamed you and my baby brother for all the things I was guilty of myself. I am—" Sirius choked. "I am truly sorry, Severus. I know I can't take back those years, but I swear on my name, my life, and my magic that if you allow me, I will attempt to be the man I should have been—- the person I should have been instead of the one I was." Sirius' wand flashed with his magic. He dropped to his knees and hugged Snape's dragonhide boots. "Forgive me, Severus, and I will try to be the person Lily thought I was."
Severus stood stiffly, but his eyes flicked over to the temple where a young thunderbird was playfully splashing water on a silver tabby cat with her wings. "Do get up, Black," he said, his lip curling slightly. He looked Sirius straight in the eyes and leveled his gaze at the other man. "Be the person Harry needs you to be, Black. Be the person that Lily knew you could be— and I will attempt to let go my grudge against you and your long history of idiocy."
Sirius let out his breath slowly and then burst out laughing. "That, Severus, is as good as gold coming from you." He bowed his head with newfound respect.
Harry looked back and forth between the two men, suddenly realising there was so much he didn't know about either of them. Yet, even so, as he watched Sirius extend his hand, Severus' pale hand reached out in turn to meet it.
Suddenly, there was a loud splash and a sharp crack of thunder as one young thunderbird landed on their joined hands, her wings spread wide as if she were the top of a living totem pole. She let out a squawk that sounded like a thunderclap, and the rain came pouring down. Yet, even more strangely, all of the gathered were dry, as if protected by their own personal umbrella.
A silver tabby jumped up onto the table and stuck her head down into Harry's glass, lapping up the last of his iced tea.
Harry grinned.
Magic really was awesome.
A/N: I was going to end the chapter with "And everyone dies. The End" but Dragon told me that it probably wouldn't be the best idea. Praise her if you agree.
