Hermione knew something was off the moment she walked out of Grimmauld Place's fireplace. The kitchen was empty—a feat rarely accomplished when she lived with two young men with seemingly never-ending appetites. As Hermione stepped gingerly through the kitchen, she wondered if Harry and Ron had gone back to work. It didn't make much sense; she had seen Ron leave the Ministry, and she knew Harry was trying to spend as much time with Ginny as possible before she went back to school.

No, something was definitely, terribly, off.

Fighting the urge to scamper upstairs, or perhaps back to the manor for more research (and company…she had to admit that Lucius's company was rather pleasant tonight), Hermione moved forward into the hallway. She made it three steps when Harry stepped out of the sitting room, wearing an awkward grimace. She hated that look. She hated more that it was directed at her. "Hi, Harry," she said tentatively.

"Yeah, hey." He shifted his weight. Glanced back towards the sitting room. "Fancy a chat?"

She pressed her lips together. "I'm tired, I…I should probably just get to bed."

"I really think we should have one."

Hermione fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, now pleading and more awkward then ever. "What did Ron tell you?" she asked, dropping her voice.

Harry sighed. "Just that we have to have a house meeting, or whatever. Some trouble you're in." Harry stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. "If you're in trouble…"

"I'm not," she said sharply.

"I believe you, but Hermione—he's all worked up. Won't say a thing until you come tell us whatever it is."

Hermione ground her teeth. He's bloody infuriating, that's what, she seethed, Harry's hand growing heavy on her shoulder. Ron just had to throw a fit, didn't he? And while she knew that Harry and Ginny would be on her side, having this…this turmoil in the house was only going to fester the longer it dragged on. They will be on my side, won't they? a small voice asked inside her head.

"Fine," Hermione said stiffly. "We'll have a house meeting."

She followed Harry inside the sitting room, her eyes narrowing on Ron, standing by the fireplace, then on Ginny, lounging on the couch with a pillow on her lap. Harry quickly took the seat beside Ginny, leaving Hermione the loveseat across from them. She sank down in the middle, waiting. The silence stretched on. Ginny was looking at Ron. Harry was looking at Ginny. She didn't want to see who Ron was looking at. Hermione just stared into the low fire, watching the flames writhe behind the iron grate.

Ron cleared his throat. Three sets of eyes flickered to him. Hermione was caught in his hard stare. "Tell them," he said quietly.

"Tell them what exactly?" she retorted, crossing her legs and looking pointedly back.

"Let's start with where you just were, after leaving the Ministry."

Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth. Her legs itched to just stand up, to run upstairs, to burrow under Sirius's blankets and forget the whole day even happened. Well…most of it. She wanted to keep the memory of Lucius's hand on her cheek, guilty as it made her feel. Better to get it over and done with, she finally reasoned. "I was at the Malfoy Manor," Hermione said coolly, ignoring the way Harry stiffened. "Doing research for a personal project. Ginny is already aware of all this." She met the other girl's eyes, and Ginny gave her a small nod.

"You knew?" Ron snapped, turning to his sister.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Ronald. She doesn't need to tell you everything. Especially as you were away in France with Audette half the time. Hermione's personal life is none of your business anymore." She tossed aside the pillow, pushing her hands into the sofa to get up. "I don't see why any of this is—"

"She's not just researching," Ron fumed. "She's sleeping with him!"

Hermione shot to her feet. "I'm not sleeping with him!" she cried, before curling her fingers into her palms. Ginny was biting her lip. Harry just looked stunned. Hermione took a breath and said, more carefully, "Myself and Mr. Malfoy are…friendly acquaintances. Ron decided to assume more when he witnessed Mr. Malfoy returning me home on New Year's Eve."

"Why did he have to take you home?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed as he looked up at her. "Ginny said you were at the party that night."

"Yes, well, whilst everyone was busy snogging everyone else," she said, eyeing Ron, "I went to the manor to wish Mr. Malfoy a happy new year. He was kind enough to notice I was too drunk to get home safely and carried me upstairs. But that's all." She looked around at their faces—Ron, still bright red and scowling; Ginny, a slight frown on her face; Harry, paler than usual, fingers twitching for a cigarette. "Well?" she said coolly. "Is this accusation party over with?"

Ginny sucked in a breath, then said in a voice just above a whisper, "You're friends with him?" Her eyes were glistening.

"I—I wouldn't call it friends. We just…it's nothing."

"But you wanted to visit him during the party. When you were drunk, and you knew how hot you looked, and you were lonely." Ron squirmed at her words, but Ginny plowed on. "You let him carry you to bed, and then you kept going to the manor, right?"

"I…"

Ginny rose to her feet. Harry tried to take her hand, but she pulled out of reach. "That man—that Death Eater—tried to kill me, Hermione. When I was elven, he knowingly put a cursed diary in my cauldron, expecting me to die. He attacked us all at the Ministry, for Merlin's sake! He let that bitch carve a word into your arm!"

Hermione's brows knitted together, her fingers drifting absently to where the word had mostly faded. Where is this coming from? She knew it was true, but… "You knew I was researching at the manor," she said weakly.

Ginny set her jaw. "I knew you were researching, yes. I didn't know you were befriending the bastard too. Inviting him into this home—our home. Letting him touch you like that. Don't you see how that's wrong?"

Hermione nodded, blinking at the stinging in her eyes. "Yes, Gin, but—"

"Tell me you'll stop spending time with him."

Hermione's eyes widened, the tears sliding down her cheeks now. "What?" she breathed out.

"You heard me. Stop going to the manor."

"I—I can't."

"Why not? Is his friendly acquaintanceship really that special?"

"It's not that. I need his help."

"What could be so important!" Ginny snarled, tossing her hands.

Hermione backed away. Her legs hit the loveseat. "I can't tell you."

Ginny crossed her arms and looked away. But Hermione could still see the tears sliding down her freckled cheek. "What could be more important than your friends?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but the words didn't come out. Wouldn't come out. She just couldn't tell them yet, about Sirius. About why and how. It was too close to her heart. Too painful to be ripped out, if it all turned to ashes.

"Oh, Ronny!" a familiar, shrill voice called out. Hermione whipped around, her eyes widening as Lavender Brown flounced into the sitting room, a bottle of wine in one hand, a fluffy pink purse in the other. Neither seemed to go with her dark Ministry robes and conservative outfit underneath. Lavender's gaze swept the room, her bright expression quickly fading. "Oh," she said dejectedly, pouting. "Did someone die? I would have predicted it."

They all stared at her, until Ron finally rushed towards her. "Lav!" he said, running forward and planting a kiss on her cheek. "No, no one died...I didn't realize you were coming round."

Lavender giggled. "It's not every day your girlfriend gets to celebrate her first big girl job, now is it?"

Girlfriend? Her eyes flew to Lavender's attire. And she's working at the Ministry? Normally, Hermione would be gritting her teeth at the curly-haired girl's impromptu appearance. Today, Lavender was a delight.

"Congratulations, Lavender," Ginny said tightly. She turned back towards Hermione, gave her one last, hurt look, then stalked away. Harry followed her, mumbling an excuse as he passed Lavender in the doorway.

Ron glanced between Hermione and his supposed girlfriend. "Er, let me take that and fetch glasses," he muttered, before disappearing with the wine.

Left alone with Lavender, Hermione could smell the sweet perfume leching off her. Hermione stared at her shoes, watching the way the patent leather pressed into the faded rug. When she looked up, she found Lavender staring back. "You're working at the Ministry?" she said lamely, when Lavender didn't seem to want to follow Ron to the kitchen.

"First day," she said, giving a little twirl of her robes. "My apprenticeship at Hogwarts with Professor Trelawney finished up a few weeks ago, then I just got my placement. In your department," she said pointedly, striding across the room to inspect an oil painting on the wall.

"Mine?"

"Well, the Hall of Prophecy, actually. I'd be dreadful doing that tedious paperwork like you do."

Hermione stiffened, but she refused to let Lavender's success bother her. Lavender had always taken Divination so seriously—it was best that she ended up in a place that took her witlessness for talent. "Maybe we'll see each other around."

Lavender turned away from the painting and gave Hermione a wide, toothy smile. "I do hope so, Hermione. What could be better than true friendship between Ronny's ex and his one true love?"

Hermione painted on a smile. "What indeed," she responded, before turning and storming out.

"Anything the matter?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring Lucius's smirk. "Just because I came here all teary last time doesn't mean something's always going to be the matter."

"No, but you don't always neglect the coffee I make you, either."

Hermione glanced down. The teacup was filled to the brim. She huffed and pushed the saucer away. "Perhaps I prefer tea."

Lucius hummed noncommittally and took a sip of his own. "I'm sure the elves would be more than happy to accommodate."

Hermione glared at the carafe like it was causing all her problems, and not her three friends (well, one maybe ex-friend plus his very bothersome girlfriend). Tea, to her dismay, would do little to solve the rift between Grimmauld Place's residents. "My friends are beginning to question my time here," she said quietly.

"You mean me, or your research?"

Hermione glanced back to him. His expression was unreadable. If he cared, he didn't show it. "They don't know about the research. Not specifics, anyway. You were…seen, on New Year's Eve. Conclusions were jumped to."

"And you think if they knew of the research, they would understand?"

"Yes."

"I am surprised you hadn't already explained." He tilted his head, studying her. Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot under his piercing gaze. "Does Potter not want his dear godfather back?"

Hermione bit her lip. She had considered Harry's reaction, and she was sure he would be happy. At first, anyway. His joy would diminish quickly if he knew she'd used dark magic, or Lucius's friendship, to get Sirius back. "He wouldn't understand."

"But you believed I would." When her eyebrows shot up, he added calmly, "You didn't even explain yourself, when I concluded that you were bringing Black back to life."

"I…" she faltered, turning her gaze towards the bookshelves. "I'm not sure I know why I'm bringing him back," she whispered. Her hands wrung in her lap. "It's just this overwhelming need to…to have him."

"A man twice your age who you barely know?" He gave a low chuckle, drawing her eyes back to him. A smirk played on his lips. "Do not fret, my dear. I understand the fickleness of a bleeding heart better than most."

One of her brows rose up. "Lucius Malfoy has a heart?"

He raised a hand to his chest. "It only bleeds black, I assure you." Lucius took a sip of coffee, not breaking eye contact, then a waved a hand at her sprawl of books. "Any progress made today?"

Hermione nodded and toyed with the sheet of parchment sitting before her. She had moved onto step two of her process—How to safely pass to and from the Edge—and had spent her two hours before the coffee break diving into the new branch of research. To her surprise, she had found an interesting piece of information rather quickly. "Yes, actually. I came across some ancient method of keeping herd animals in contact with their shepherd, even through the vastest of distances. This ritual is supposed to bind the animal to the human with some kind of elastic, magic rope. The wizard called it Laqueus—that's Latin for tether, I think. Only I don't know the details of the ritual, or if it could even be applied between two humans. Or work through the Veil."

Lucius stroked his chin. "The name does seem familiar, though the magic is quite…" He trailed off as he abruptly stood and stalked off towards the shelves. Hermione watched him disappear, staring at the curtain of silver hair swaying down his back. When he turned a corner, Hermione let herself relax into her chair, smiling to herself.

Ten minutes passed before Lucius returned, a thin, leather-bound book in hand. "Apologies for the delay," he said tartly. "Searching for books without magic is quite the chore." He set it before her, one hand on the back of her chair as he brushed his fingertips over the gold-inked title.

Ritual of Retinacula

"Retinacula," Lucius said softly. His hair touched her shoulder, but to her surprise, he didn't move away. "Another Latin word for tether, though the definition is closer to what you're looking for than that herding ritual."

"Do you remember the location of every relevant book in here?" she asked, twisting to look at him. She blushed, realizing how close his face was, and turned back to the tome.

"Only the cursed ones." Hermione jumped, pulling her hand back, but Lucius only chuckled as he made his way to his seat.

"I had the curse breakers in here years ago," he said with an offhanded wave. "I remember that one being quite irksome to deal with."

"How so?" Hermione asked, frowning as she drew the book towards her. She held her breath as she touched the leather cover, then let out a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

"It leeched boils onto every hand that touched it which didn't belong to a wizard. Unfortunately, both curse breakers were witches that day."

Her frown deepened as she met his eyes. "What's the book have against women?"

"Surely you're not that unaware of the ancient pureblood customs?" When she didn't answer, he drawled on, "Marriage between purebloods is highly sanctioned between the families, especially so in earlier centuries. As such, many women were involved in arrangements they found highly…dissatisfying. While the marriage bond has its strengths, it cannot physically link a husband to his wife. Some decided to use Retinacula to keep their wives in check. I believe that, through the ritual, the wife can be magically tied to her husband's rope, so to speak. She could be dragged back, should she wander astray. No matter how far she ran, the wife could always be hauled back to her husband's side."

Fury rose in her, climbing into her throat like bile. "They marked their wives like cattle! And your book used a curse to keep women from researching the tether."

"Yes, like cattle. Would you still like to proceed, or do the ways of my ancestors disgust you so much as to stop here?"

Hermione wanted nothing more than to rip the pages from their binding and toss them in the nearest fire. Magic was so foul, sometimes. Used for the most despicable of reasons, used against people—women—in the very worst ways.

And yet she needed it. She needed whatever she could take.

Hermione swallowed down her disgust. "I'll start researching," she said quietly. She met his eyes. "Thank you, Lucius."

He smiled and stood up, stretching slightly before regaining his composure. "Care for a drink when the evening's finished?" he asked politely. "I'm sure you'll need one after reading that."

Part of her longed for that drink—he had offered it before. But still, she would decline. Drinking and Lucius Malfoy were more risks than she cared to partake in at once. "Another time." She smiled tightly, noting how his own faltered.

She flipped quickly through the book, surprised at how detailed it was. The ritual was actually quite simple—a carved rune on both the keeper of the tether and the bound, followed by a few lines of Latin. Then, theoretically, a chain would manifest on the physical plane, made invisible with another spell should the husband want to keep the tether undetectable. That part had her stewing all over again—a man could perform this ritual on his wife, carve a rune into her skin, and she would not even be aware of the tether unless he told her or hauled her back. The tether could only be removed by the keeper.

She was also surprised to learn of the emotional aspect of the tether. According to the anonymous author of Ritual of Retinacula, the tether's strength worked the same way as a chemistry mixture; it could be saturated fully by a high emotional bond, and therefore be at its strongest, or it could be some varying degree in between that and its weakest state. The greater the emotional bond, the less likely for the tether to fray and snap. Apparently even the ancient purebloods didn't want their wives to be too miserable. The book also documented a potion that could be brewed to test the strength of the bond before the tether was created. That way, one could ensure a strong tether before carving runes into the skin.

Hermione sat back in her chair, staring at the pages as her eyes glazed over. This could be it. It's mad, and perhaps even dangerous, and rooted in barbarism…but it really could be it. A plan quickly formed in her head, and she bent forward to scrawl it down.

Lucius performs the Retinacula ritual on me. He is my keeper. I am the bound.

With the tether in place, I walk through the Veil, mentally apparate to Sirius's Edge, and then perform the ritual on him.

Lucius pulls me back out of the Veil, in turn pulling Sirius out.

Two problems stuck out—

One, roping Lucius (literally) into her plan. She was loath to involve him any more than he already was, though she saw no other options. She would also have to test the strength of their emotional bond before the ritual; she didn't dare risk the tether fraying as she crossed through the Veil.

Two, if she would even be able to perform the ritual on Sirius from within the Edge. She knew that ritual magic was quite different from spells—while spells drew on the witch or wizard's internal magical well, rituals drew on the magic of the world—but it did not guarantee anything. She would have to see if she could bring a blade into the Edge, since she doubted she could carve the rune with a wand once inside. Sirius had died with his wand in hand, and surely that hadn't helped him escape. Lucius, too, would be a factor—could he partake in the ritual while he wore the magic-dampening cuff?

Hermione tapped her quill against the parchment until the ink bleed out around the tip. She watched the black spread, eating away the creamy white. Another issue glared back at her. Three: Can the tether be sustained across the realms of life and the Edge?

It was time to experiment.

After a weekend in an eerily quiet house (Harry, Ron, and Ginny had all gone to the Burrow after the 'house meeting', supposedly to spend time with Molly and Arthur before Ginny went back to school that Sunday, and the boys went back to France), Hermione went to the Ministry with a plan.

And a briefcase full of mice she'd enlisted Kreacher to catch.

Despite having put the little mice under a sleeping charm, Hermione fidgeted all through the first half of the day. When the lunch hour finally came, Hermione bid her coworkers stilted pleasantries, then fled to the Death Room as soon as their chatter faded around the corner.

The cold of the chamber washed over her as she entered. The archway remained untouched, taunting her, whispering for her to draw closer. Today, she actually did. Once Hermione was just at the base of the dais, she sank to her knees and set the briefcase down before her. Gently, she pulled out one of the mice. Its tail twitched in its sleep.

According to the book, the bond between animal and human was always at the strongest saturation. Because a wizard's soul was so powerful in comparison, it overwhelmed the animal's, leaving no room for fractures. When a wizard performed the ritual on his wife, however, her own soul would fight back, given a weak enough emotional bond.

Hermione prayed that her own bond with Lucius would be strong enough. Otherwise…well, what was she supposed to do? Force him to spend time with her and chat like old friends? A problem for another day…

For now, though, she had work to do. Hermione set the mouse on the stone floor, pulled out a copy of the book's page on the rune, then looked over herself. She hated the idea of carving herself up for just this experiment, but it had to be done. She had to test it, or it would all be for naught.

Hermione rolled down one of her stockings and shoved up the hem of her skirt. The rune only had to be tiny when the ritual was performed between wizard and animal. Still, she wanted to pick a spot few were sure to see. Pinching her wand between her fingers, Hermione gritted her teeth, checked the rune again, then used a modified Diffindo on her skin. Instantly, her flesh opened up, blood beginning to seep from the cut. She worked quickly, biting her lip to keep down the pain until the symbol was carved into her thigh. A single line, curved left on one end, and to the right on the other. As tears welled in her eyes, Hermione cast a Scourgify, followed by a healing stasis charm. The rune would remain open, though the blood would cease to flow from the wound. Best not to return to work with my stocking all bloody, she thought bitterly.

She turned to the mouse next, using her wand to put the same rune on the creature's flank. Then, with a trembling hand, she picked up her parchment and read the three lines of Latin. For a moment, she just knelt there, breathing through the pain.

Pain that was growing worse. Hermione gasped, glancing down at her thigh—the wound was bright white, the rune glowing from within and burning like fire. She reeled onto her feet just as something gold shimmered in the air. In a second, it manifested completely—a spindly chain of golden links, one end wrapped around her wrist, the other around the mouse's neck. As the pain in her leg ebbed, Hermione reached out, her fingers trailing over the chain. It was warm to the touch, though it had no hardness of metal. No—it was something else. Pure magic. She hiked up her skirt to find the rune back to its normal red.

"It actually worked," she breathed out, admiring how the chain coiled around her hand. It was nearly weightless, pulled down only by the mouse below her. Hermione crouched down, scooping up her wand in one hand, the mouse in the other. "Rennervate," she whispered, and the mouse began to stir. She carried it to the dais, heels echoing on the stone, then lowered it to the platform's edge. The whispers of the Veil beckoned her, but Hermione paid them no heed. She pointed her wand at the mouse again. "Locomotor!"

The mouse began to scurry, trying to veer left and right, but Hermione kept it straight towards the Veil. The chain pulled behind it, soundless as it slithered against the stone. She felt no tug—the mouse could wander as far as it liked away from her, while she remained planted firmly on the other side. With another flick of her hand, Hermione watched the mouse inch closer to the Veil. The tattered fabrics rustled, reaching out like fingers. The mouse tried again to flee, but Hermione set it straight with another, firmer spell. One, two, three more steps—

The mouse was gone. The chain remained, disappearing into the Veil's void.

Hermione stared at it, wide-eyed and frozen. The whispers grew louder, more furious, but she could make none out. Couldn't make him out. Not like in her dreams. She imagined Sirius standing just on the other side, smiling as a mouse scurried by his feet.

Maybe they would both laugh about the moment, when he was free.

Hermione let a full minute pass before she raised her bound wrist. With the other hand, she took hold of the chain and yanked. The tether snapped back instantly, the force sending her stumbling. Just as the backs of her knees hit a bench, the chain jerked free, the mouse writhing on the other end. Hermione tugged the creature towards her, reeling it into her palm. The little mouse danced between her fingers.

She gazed at the mouse in wonder and whispered, her eyes welling with tears, "You made it out alive."