Hermione read her book (Transfiguration Through the Ages) while Harry and Ron played exploding snap.
The train would arrive at the station in an hour or so, and she was surprisingly excited to be headed home for the summer.
She'd been a bit withdrawn the last few days, recovering from her petrification ordeal.
Mostly, she'd been entirely unaware of her state; it was almost as if she'd been in a very long sleep. Throughout that sleep however, there were moments of clarity that seemed almost like dreams. No less than half a dozen times, she'd heard Perseus' voice, talking to her, reading to her, he even sometimes held her hand.
There was no way she could verify it of course, other than asking him directly. While she wasn't afraid of doing so, she wasn't sure he would be truthful with her. He'd never lied to her before, as far as she knew. In fact, he tended to be quite frank, sometimes even telling harsh truths as simply one would tell the time or the weather. Still, something told her to leave it alone. Very rarely did she listen to the voice in the back of her head that tried to filter her, but this time she would.
"Oi, Hermione," Ron said.
She looked up from her book, wondering what he could possibly want.
"What are you doing this summer?"
Hermione blinked, surprised that Ron of all people was wondering how her summer would go. "My parents are taking me to France," she began excitedly, putting her book down. "I read they have a rich magical history, and I can't wait to explore the magical shopping district of Paris. Just think of all the new books I'll find!"
"What a joy," Ron muttered sarcastically.
She shot him a glare, but even his negativity couldn't ruin France for her. It would be her first trip since entering the Magical World, and she was giddy. What was their culture like? Did they dress the same? Did they learn the same spells? She couldn't wait to find out.
She packed her book into her trunk as a voice overhead announced they were pulling into King's Cross Station. She followed Harry and Ron down the train, sticking close to them in the horde of students.
"Ronald!"
"Mum!" Ron called back, rushing over to his mother, who was beaming as her children surrounded.
Harry approached them as well, and as she looked around for her own parents, it only served as a reminder that Harry had no parents of his own, and neither did Perseus. In fact, the both of them had something even worse than simply not having parents; abusive relatives. The more she thought about them, comparing their similarities, the more she realized just how similar they were, while being completely different.
Her two best friends, one an orphan and one as good as, stuck living with the abusive last member of their family. She suspected the similarities in their personalities—the distance and silence—was a result of this. The similarities ended there, however. While Harry was sometimes distant, as far as Hermione knew, Perseus was a practical recluse. He spent his time alone, studying magic or reading magic, or practicing magic. Magic was his closest companion, even before her.
While Hermione had no way of knowing just how bad Harry had it at home, she knew for certain Perseus' home life was despicable, and if it weren't for his uncharacteristic plea for her to stay out of it, she'd have written multiple letters to whoever she thought could help.
She made her way over to Harry, Ron and his family, frowning as the twins cracked jokes at Percy, calling him a bookend and pedant, all words she was sure could be used to describe herself.
"Hermione, dear!" Mrs. Weasley said before snatching her up in a hug.
Finally the woman released her, giving her a chance to gasp for air, feeling a bit flustered. Her parents were affectionate, but it was always gentle; a pat or a squeeze, very rarely did she feel as suffocated as she did then.
She was hit with a sense of longing; she hadn't seen her parents in nearly a year, and she was dying to see them now. To hear their voices, feel their touch, let their warmth spread through her.
She found herself saying her goodbyes and making her way to the entrance, moving almost desperately. The year had been long and stressful, and she wanted her Mom and Dad.
Perseus stepped out of the floo, taking care to curl his toes so he wasn't flung.
A pop signaled the entrance of his personal House Elf, Lanksy. Lanksy had also been his Great Grandfather's personal Elf before him. He served the Head of the House, and had done so admirably for many years.
He had wispy gray hair, a long thin nose and wide sunken eyes. He was dressed in a black robe that sported the Black Family Coat of Arms.
"Hello, Your Grace," Lanksy said, his deep, hoarse voice reminding Perseus much of his own.
"Hello, Lanksy," Perseus said, reaching out to touch pointer fingers with him, the way he'd been doing since he was a much smaller boy. His skin was gnarled and waxy with age, and filled Perseus with a sense of comfort. It was as it had always been.
"Are you hungry, Your Grace?"
"No, thank you though."
"Are you headed to the study, Your Grace?"
Perseus smiled. "Yes."
"Your usual coffee, cream and sugar, Your Grace?"
Perseus sighed. He'd given up on getting Lanksy to call him by his name a long time ago. It was an unwinnable battle.
"Yes, coffee would be lovely." Lanksy disappeared with a pop.
Perseus finally exited the foyer, entering into what was known as the Grand Stairway; it certainly lived up to its name. There was not a spot in the building that was not a display of the Black Family's incredible wealth. This was Palazzo Nero , and it certainly lived up to its name. It was a palace by every definition of the word.
The floors and walls were made of black and white marble and were decorated generously with expensive paintings and metals.
He stood in front of a massive staircase; it went straight, its rails running in elegant and smooth curves that led into two separate stairways, each headed to the wings of the palace.
Perseus climbed the stairs, wishing more than anything he was capable of apparition. Not even a staircase in Hogwarts was as large as this, and the burn in his legs—that he now knew from his studies to be caused by a fluid called lactic acid—was bothersome.
He chose the left staircase that led to the west wing of the Palace, also known as the Master's Wing. It was dedicated almost entirely to the Head of House and their heir. Perseus could bar others' access to the wing entirely, if he so chose, and had contemplated doing so to his aunt on multiple occasions.
The hallway to the Master's Study was long and dark, lit only by the occasional torch along the walls.
Portraits of many Blacks before him lined the walls, some greeting him, and some remaining silent. He'd spoken to them long and often when he was a child; listened to their stories, learned the small things they had to teach, each lending him their own personal experience as Head of the Family. In combination with the Personal Journals, it painted a vivid picture of the Black Family throughout the years.
He opened the door to the study, the large, dark door was made entirely of metal and was freezing cold to the touch. He felt a rush of magic up his arm as he touched the knob, identifying him as the Head of House Black. Any other Black seeking entrance would find themselves in immense pain; anyone not a Black—the consequences would be dire.
He stepped inside, the smell of parchment and coffee flooding his nose. The door closed solidly behind.
Perseus walked around the desk and sat down in the chair. He sat back, the chair dwarfing him still, much as it had when he'd first sat in it when he was young. He remembered those days vividly.
He'd come here as a retreat, to recover from his study sessions with his aunt. He'd sit in this chair, and stare at the desk, feeling impossibly small. Still, he couldn't reach all sides of the desk; as a child, he couldn't even see over the edge.
He picked up the thick book from the center of the desk, exactly where he had left it. It was the journal of the previous Duke—his Great-Grandfather Arcturus. He had led the family for nearly 90 years, and had documented much of it. Perseus had become obsessed with his narration of the later years of the family, watching their downfall.
His grandfather had disagreed with the family in many ways but ultimately, he had let them all do as they pleased. He was at his heart a family man, and wanted nothing more than for his family to be happy, even at the cost of their prestige and his own morals.
His Great Grandfather Arcturus spoke kindly of Lanksy in his journals, something those before him hardly did. They rarely mentioned him, if at all. He'd spoken well of house elves and other magical creatures as a whole. He'd even thought well of muggleborns, much to Perseus' surprise. He'd even spoken of how he courted one in secret before taking over as Head of the Family. He talked of meeting her family, of seeing the sights in the muggle world. It had given him a new found appreciation for muggles and muggleborns, and Perseus believed he came to care about the girl a great deal.
However, Arcturus' first and foremost care was for that of his family, so when his father declared that he would marry Melania MacMillan, he had cut all ties with his muggle girlfriend, and married her as any good heir would, according to him.
He'd watched his family turn into what he called a "group of rich, powerful delinquents." The very few who chose to do something else with their lives, or had the misfortune of being born a squib, were cast away. Officially, that is. Arcturus had still supported them in secret, helping them financially and ensuring they were well taken care of. He allowed the rest of the family to believe what they wished, even going as far as blasting their names off the tree; but he never removed them from the family, or wrote them out of his will. As far as Arcturus was concerned, at least privately, a Black was a Black, no matter what path they chose.
Perseus wished Arcturus had the courage to stand against his family for their own good. Instead, he was forced to watch as they were killed or became followers of an insane poser, spending the rest of their lives in a place that was not fit for rats, let alone a Black.
Perseus swore to himself he would not follow in his Grandfather's path, allowing the family to destroy its reputation, to run amuck as they pleased.
He sat the book down with a sigh, and summoned a self inking quill and some parchment. It was time he wrote to his father, the despicable man that he was. Perseus wrote to him once a year, and had been doing so since he was seven; he'd never gotten a response. At first, he'd been hopeful, asking his father questions about their family, about his childhood and his friends; anything to feel some sort of connection with the man. After years of silence however, his letters had become routine. He gave a summary of his school year and the things he had learned, and not much else. The only thing that remained consistent through every letter was the question: Why did you betray your friends? Why did you betray your family?
Perhaps that was the reason the man never responded; the question was too much for him to handle, or he simply didn't have an answer. Perseus didn't know.
With a shrug, he began his letter. He wrote briefly of what he learned, and in depth about his new aspirations to be a Healer.
Finishing up his letter, he called on Ares, the family owl, to deliver it for him. Hyperion was still many miles away, and Perseus was sure he wouldn't see his feathered friend for some time still.
Perseus arranged the desk, moving papers and books around to clear a new space. After he was finished, he headed to the library. It was time to scour for anything even relatively about healing. He was sure he'd been in for a long, hard search.
"Hermione dear!"
Hermione exited her room, entering the dining area of their hotel suite. The reason her mother called her presented itself in the form of an owl, one she had been long awaiting.
"It would appear your secret friend has written you another secret letter!"
Hermione rolled her eyes at her mother. Honestly, the woman was getting entirely too much amusement out of her friendship with Perseus.
She gave Hyperion a quick scratch on the head, smiling as he preened under the attention. Once she had stopped, he offered his leg to her. Thanking him, she took the roll of parchment and small square package he'd had attached to him.
Sitting the package aside, she broke the wax seal on the parchment and unrolled it.
My Dearest Hermione,
She blinked rapidly, her face heating up at the inordinately affectionate greeting.
I recall you informing me about your trip to Paris, and I hope this finds you there. It would certainly take some stress off Hyperion (don't tell him I said as such, he can be quite vain).
She glanced at him; he was preening once more, this time under the attention of her mother, who cooed at the owl as if he were an infant.
The magical shopping districts of Paris are far more vast than Diagon Alley, with many more offerings. I'm sure you'll appreciate the various bookstores you'll find there.
Hermione was already excited about her trip, now she was doubly so.
It would appear I will not see you this summer, so I look forward to hearing about your summer when I see you again.
Yours truly,
PSB.
P.S. I have come to find that I do not know your birth date, and I was hoping you'd do me the pleasure of telling me. Nevertheless, I find I have at least two birthdays to make up for. You will find the gifts in the attached package. Happy birthday, Hermione.
Hermione grinned happily to herself, glancing at the package. She'd have to find out Perseus' birthday and send him a gift as well.
"Well what's got you grinning like a Cheshire?"
"Perseus has sent me a birthday gift," she said, watching in amazement as the package began to grow as soon as she began opening it.
There was a small pouch and a large tome inside. Of course, she sat the pouch aside, immediately grabbing the book.
She picked up the book, wetting her lips. It was heavy, and smelled of old parchment. She read the title, carved delicately into a leather cover: An Advanced Treatise on Elementary Transfiguration by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore.
Hermione's hands shook as she stared at the book with reverence.
"Another book, hmm?" Her mother said. "It seems he knows you well."
"Another book?" Hermione said incredulously, turning on her mother. "This isn't just another book Mum! This was written by Professor Dumbledore himself!"
Her mother's eyes grew wide. "Your Headmaster? The one who defeated your magical Hitler?"
Hermione nodded her head, still staring at the book. "Yes," she said faintly, her fingers caressing the cover. "He's one of the smartest people in our world, and this is a book on what's supposed to be his best subject. It must be very rare."
Her mother shook her head. "Now how on Earth are we supposed to top a gift like this? And there's still another!"
Hermione had completely forgotten about the pouch that had been included with the book. Sitting the book down as gently as she could, she picked up the pouch.
She took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever was inside. It was becoming clear to her that Perseus did not know what a simple gift was. She wished he was there, right beside her.
Hermione's breath halted in her throat as she opened the pouch to see nothing but shiny gold galleons.
"What is it, dear?"
Hermione couldn't find the words, and dropped the bag onto the table, where it fell onto its side, spilling its contents.
"My god," her mother said, covering her mouth. The galleons shone like small stars under the light of the hotel suite, each golden coin casting a light of its own. "Is…is that all of them?"
Hermione shook her head, and watched as her mother upended the pouch. Hundreds of galleons flooded from the bag, the sound of the coins bouncing off each other echoing through her mind.
"There must be hundreds of them," her mother whispered. "Do you know how much a single galleon is worth in pounds, Queen?"
Hermione shook her head, surprised she didn't already know the information.
"55 pounds, Hermione," her mother said, sounding short of breath. Hermione found her breathing catching as well. "This secret friend of yours, has just gifted you what looks like at the very least 30 thousand pounds."
Her mother pulled out a chair and sat down, looking faint.
My god, Hermione thought, still staring at the coins. Just how much money does Perseus have? And why would he give it to me?
Hermione's mother and father were oral surgeons, they weren't exactly short on money, Hermione knew. But to have such a large sum of money so casually displayed in front of them, to be given away as if it was nothing, it spoke of a wealth that they'd likely never see in a lifetime.
Mother and daughter both looked up as the door to the suite opened, and Arthur Granger stepped inside.
"Are you ladies ready?" He said happily, adjusting his visor.
Neither Hermione nor her mother gave him any answer. His smile fell slowly, and he looked at them worriedly.
"Girls?" He said, coming closer. "What's the matter…" His voice trailed off as his eyes finally found the pile of gold sitting on the dining room table.
He finally tore his eyes away from the gold, glanced at Hyperion, and then looked at Hermione. "A gift from your friend, I take it?"
Hermione nodded.
"Was it Harry or—"
"Perseus," her mother cut him off. "It was Perseus, Arthur."
He looked down awkwardly, avoiding her mother's gaze. "Well, saves us a trip to the goblin bank."
Hermione shot her father a glare, before beginning to pick up the galleons and stuff them back in the bag.
"Absolutely not!" she said, furiously forcing the coins back into the bag. "I can't accept this kind of gift! 30 thousand pounds? It's too much!"
"Hermione," her mother said, though Hermione ignored her, trying her hardest to get all of the coins back into the bag. "Hermione, come on dear." She ignored her again. There was absolutely no way he could give her such a gift without warning—or with warning, for that matter. It was a quarter of her mother's yearly salary for Christ's sake.
She looked up as her father's large, firm hand rested upon hers. "You can't send it back, Hermione."
"And why ever not?"
"How do you think that would make Perseus feel?" her mother said, her hand rubbing small circles into her back. "You remember the books he gave us? Do you remember what they said?"
Hermione's frantic movements slowed as her mind finally caught up with her body. Her parents were right. It would be rude to decline Perseus' gift, no matter how ostentatious it might be. And knowing Perseus, she was sure he would take offense. As much as he hated his aunt, he'd taken to her teachings of tradition and decorum well. Not that he had much choice, she thought bitterly.
She huffed in frustration. Perseus knew very well she wouldn't accept such a gift, and he'd sent it anyway.
"Fine," she said, collecting the pouch. "I'll just use some of it to buy him a gift." She headed for the door. "Well? Are we going or not?"
Her parents glanced at each other, before shaking their heads and following her to the door.
Perseus stared at his aunt as she sat down at the dining room table. It was now August, and it was the first time he'd seen her. If it weren't for the wards notifying him another Black was in the building, he would've thought she simply wasn't there.
She looked… old. His aunt was somewhere in the range of Dumbledore, when it came to age, but his aunt had never looked a day over 50. Looking at her now, it was as if every year that had been missing had found its way back to her, plus a few more.
Her skin was waxy and now sagged, hair that was once a shiny black, much like his own, was now a limp gray. Even from where he sat he could hear her ragged breathing.
"Hello, Aunt Cassie." Perseus felt as though the walls of his throat were grinding against one another. His throat was feeling quite sore that day, for reasons that evaded him. Some days it simply hurt more than others.
She gave him a nod, brushing her silver hair out of her face. It looked like it took all of her energy to stop her from collapsing into her chair.
His aunt would never appear in front of him, or anyone else in such a state of disarray. At the very least she'd use a glamour. The fact that she hadn't told Perseus one thing: she couldn't. She was suffering from Age Induced Magic Atrophy.
"Hello, nephew," she said, picking up her newspaper off the table.
Perseus watched her between bites. It was a wonder she could read the paper at all with the way it was practically vibrating in her hands.
How has her strength deserted her so quickly?
"Your father has escaped from Azkaban."
Perseus' chewing slowed as what his aunt said registered with him. His father, Sirius Orion Black, had escaped from Azkaban. The first person ever.
"Does it say how?"
His aunt shot him a condescending look. "Of course not you fool," she said. "I doubt they know, and if they did, surely you don't think they'd print it in the paper?"
Perseus swallowed his food, thinking about the matter. Of course, his aunt was right. It had been a stupid question, and really it was one he knew the answer to before he'd even asked.
"Well, it's certainly taken him long enough," she muttered, nearly dropping the paper in her attempt to flip a page. "Perhaps now he'll fulfill his duties as a father." She looked at him over the paper, her gray eyes sharp as ever. "Too little, too late, I'd say. I've raised you up myself, it seems."
Perseus glared at her through her paper, wishing for nothing more than to curse the witch. He had raised himself, with the help of Lanksy. She had been nothing more than a teacher, and a cruel one at that.
"Well, if your father seeks refuge with the House of Black, it is our responsibility to take him in." She sat her paper down, now giving him her full attention. Her trembling hands and waxy skin gave her an unsettling appearance.
"You understand that nothing is more important than family?"
Perseus nodded. Of course he understood that—even if she was the only family he had remaining.
"It does not matter what crime they commit, what laws they break," she continued. "Your family is more important than any morals you think you have. Unless they betray this family, they will always have a place here. So if your father comes, he will be welcomed."
Perseus was struck by her rant—it reminded him of Arcturus. These were things that he'd said in his journals, things that the Heads before him had said, and were things his aunt said to him now.
It was something he knew, something he understood, and something he agreed with.
Still, he wasn't sure that if his father ever made his way back to him, that he'd be able to welcome a man who would betray his closest friends with open arms.
