The first thing she noticed was the blood.

Black blood was pooling from the body, a long, scarily precise cut that spread across the man's torso. His face had been disfigured, his nose punched in. Another gash cut the side of his head, but it looked more like he'd hit it somewhere and not a blow. She suspected his leg might be broken because it was bent at an abnormal angle.

The second thing she noticed was that two of his fingers were missing.

Beside her, she felt Ron shake slightly. Hermione wasn't a stranger to death. The streets of London were harsh and brawls were common. Some people had spent their childhood in lavish courts and bright shops; learning music and science and tennis. She had spent them learning to live. Hermione had seen street fights every day of her life. She knew what it meant when they pulled those white sheets. She knew what the sight of blood on the pavement and the smoke of vehicles meant. She knew what it meant when the incessant coughing that had haunted them for months suddenly stopped. She knew what it meant when the wailing started before the siren.

Not every infant dropped on the orphanage's doorstep lived to see the rays of dawn.

She knew this. She knew.

Who was she, after all? The Girl Who Lived. Hermione Jean Granger had seen death at the age of one.

But while she had seen dead bodies before, it had never been this up close. Her neighborhood wasn't exactly the most friendly one out there and people who wanted violence always got them, one way or another.

When she'd been six or seven, the area parallel to the orphanage's had been rampant with gang wars. At that time, she and Luke had differentiated them as the "people with the knifes" and the people without them. Now Hermione knew though; everyone had their knifes. Only few of them saw the shiny glint of the blade. Only few of them felt the bony handle.

She got up slowly, ignoring Ron's voice and walked to where the man was lying. Bending, she took in the blood covered face, the stumps of fingers. He had died quite recently, she thought, most of the blood hadn't dried yet. But there were all those bloodstains around to consider. They looked years old, however this was a world of magic. Maybe there were charms for this sort of thing, and she had to admit this was a good enough hiding place. Again, the murderer could have transfigured the body into something else, but well. Not a kind death, thought Hermione.

But it was the face. She had seen it somewhere.

'Ron?' She called out, turning, only to find him staring at the ragged armchair in the corner. Perched on it like it was his throne, a silver blade between his teeth, was Voldemort's favoured lieutenant, mass murderer, Sirius Black.

The grey eyes landed on her, and Hermione froze silently, her wand pointed. It mostly hid that her other hand was trembling. Black raised his arms mockingly, as though he was surrendering.

'Stupefy!'

'Expelliarmus!' That was Ron. Black dodged, and out of nowhere, a wand flickered in his fingers. He looked positively mad, his gaunt face and hollow cheeks. He had cut his hair somehow; it was now a messy shoulder length tangle, and at places it was longer. The sleeves of his uniform were torn, and stained with blood.

'That face won't be looking too pretty now,' he rasped at Hermione, pointing to where Ron was huddled. 'So if I were you, I'd stay quiet.'

Hermione tried to think; because there was no way in hell she and Ron could overpower Black; for one, they were stuck in a tunnel with only one exit and entrance and two, the man was insane.

He had a knife.

So she sat down beside Ron, and he was concentrating on Black's wand arm, silently thinking something. Hermione knew the only way they could get out was a negotiation. She glared at Ron when he got her eye, why did he have to be so reckless?

Maybe something about Potter? Dumbledore thought he was out for his godson, but Snape also thought it was first supposed to be her. Besides, Potter and Black had already met; and she highly doubted he was out for killing his godson, especially considering the dead body across their feet.

She was suddenly aware of Black staring at her, and she turned to meet his eye. Black cocked his head to the side, looking at her like she was some mystery he once knew the answer to. The grey eyes were feverish, and he was idly twirling the silver knife, a habit that might as well be his biggest tell.

'You're Hermione Granger. The Girl Who Lived.' He then whispered something to himself; something she couldn't catch.

'And you're Sirius Black, traitor.' shot Ron. Black flicked his wand carelessly, and Ron suddenly keeled over, hand clutched to his stomach.

'I told you,' said Black, as Hermione rushed to his side in worry. 'You might as well stick a knife in yourself.'

'What are you doing?' screamed Hermione, her voice getting shrill. Ron gave an imitation of nonchalance, but she could see that it had hurt. The thought made Hermione seethe. Black shrugged.

'That was a taste. See that man there? He crossed me. I'd advice you not to do the same.'

Hermione exhaled heavily, before finally returning. He was still staring at her in the puzzling way. She didn't like it.

The silence dragged on and Black didn't seem to actually kill them (or maybe he wasn't in a hurry ), but she didn't know what to do. Hermione tried to review the spells she knew in her mind; there was the blasting curse- she did have a good grip on those. One confringo- and the room they were in would collapse.

A reckless, spiky monster of a plan; and a very messy one. And who knew what would happen in the end if she did cast it?

Black bit his lip.

'Hermione Granger.' He repeated. His voice dropped even lower.

'You've grown.'

He shook his head immediately, an almost hurt expression on his face.

That was the most illogical thing she had ever expected him to say. Obviously she'd grown. What was it supposed to mean? Had he known her as a child or something?

'What do you mean?' she asked. Black looked in that second, broken. She could see some lost past in his eyes, some haunting memory Azkaban had grown. It was the look of someone who had lost everything.

He shook his head.

'Nothing. Now, I think that's enough time for the two of you to formulate an escape plan, yeah?'

'What are you going to do to us?' asked Hermione, trying to stall for time. Black didn't answer, barely flipped the knife into a pocket. But he was still lost in some thought, maybe some old memory. Of friends. Summer days. A child's laughter. A last smile.

She blinked and instead decided that this would be the best time. Ron narrowed his eyes. He nudged her shoulder, and very quietly pointed to his wand.

She understood. Black was in a moment of emotional confusion, he was probably confusing her with some other child he'd known. A child he never had the chance to see grow up.

She squeezed Ron's arm tight, and said the word.

'Confringo!'

Even before the spell took effect, she was rolling herself into a protective ball, letting the shock of the blast fuel her momentum.

'Confringo!'

'Protego!'

'Molliare!'

'Nox-'

'Diffindo!' That was certainly Black.

Fuck. Hermione swore as she lost her balance, skidding towards the hollow entrance. She grabbed onto Ron's sleeve for support, before screaming another Blasting curse.

The smell of ash hit her nostrils. But she hadn't set anything on fire. A lucky coincidence?

She was sure the staff wouldn't share that view.

'Protego! ' she and Ron cast together, just as the loud sound of wood breaking reached their ears. A large beam pinned onto her shoulders, just as they were pushed to the rough edge of the stone passage. She staggered and stumbling, vaulted a knee over, a hand gripping the jutting stones. Hermione kicked blindly, as Ron cast a cushioning charm again. She fell back on a thankfully soft surface, put up a shield charm as the two of them glided out. They half crawled, and fell onto the roots of the Willow.

'We'll have to seal this,' said Ron and she noticed that his lip was bleeding. Hermione sighed.

'Collopartus! That will hold for a while. We have to get someone here.'

'I'll stay. You go up to school.'

'Ron-'

He shook his head.

'Black won't come out now,' he whispered. ' He knows we'll go get an adult. He'll probably clear that body and maybe find a way out through the window. So I'll stay here just in case while you go call someone. Quickly. Faster you get them the better. Or he'll escape.' He added.

'Ron you know what this means right?' she asked.

He gave a stiff nod. 'That was Peter Pettigrew. I know. But that doesn't excuse Black. Now, you'd better going.'

Hermione nodded and set off to Hogwarts. It was weird, she thought, actually finding an adult for help. Snape would be ideal, but Moody was fine as well.

When she entered the Great Hall, dinner had ended. She caught the sign of Adrian hauling some first years to the dungeons and there, the tell tale billow of Snape's robes.

She ran across the stone floor, her footsteps echoing.

'Professor! '

The explanation that followed might as well be the most awkward conversation she'd had.

'So, Ms. Granger, what you and Weasley have been doing all this time, is chatting with the Sirius Black the whole Ministry has been searching for.'

'I wouldn't call it chatting but essentially yeah. And besides we found the body of Peter Pettigrew so please Professor, for God's sake, hurry, Ron's still there.'

Snape barely raised his eyebrows.

'Professor! ' protested Hermione again. Her eyes darted across the abandoned corridor. Just her luck, there was no one there.

Snape sighed, and as though it was causing him physical pain, he pulled out his wand and fell into step. The two of them walked out to the grounds, and when Hermione caught sight of Ron standing there all safe, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

She realised she was feeling relieved.

'Ah, and this is the passage you so eloquently described?'

Hurry up, you git.

'I sealed it,' said Hermione, reversing the spell. Snape cast a Lumos, and slowly started to enter. Hermione and Ron followed. It was most likely that Black had already escaped, but it was the body that would be damning evidence. She didn't know what it meant to find a so called murder victim dead now, twelve years later.

Oh well. The Ministry had never been considered efficient.

Light illuminated the rubble and fallen walls. Hermione noted the destruction with satisfaction. That curse had worked damn well good.

Most of the furniture had been broken, with wood and torn pieces of cloth everywhere. Snape then levitated a fallen rod, to reveal the corpse of Peter Pettigrew with a small scrap of a note lying somewhere near his arm.

He muttered a spell before reaching to pick it up. At Hermione's questioning glance, he explained that it was to preserve fingerprints if needed, though of course while they might not be very reliable it was considered procedure.

Hermione and Ron leaned over to read the note. Apparently Black had a flair for the dramatic.

I have now committed the murder I was falsely imprisoned for. No regrets.

'Granger,' Moody started. 'You and Weasley must be prepared now. Especially you. The press won't be taking this easy.'

'Alastor,' said Dumbledore. 'There is no need to involve the press right now. The Aurors are searching the grounds as well as Hogsmeade as we speak.'

'You're one to talk, Albus. Your pet Gryffindors turned out to be the conniving snakes in the end.'

'Alastor,' repeated Dumbledore. 'I'd think the two of them have had enough misery in their lives. Everyone has the right to their secrets.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Who did he mean?

'You always had your favourites. They were good lads, for sure but no discipline. And for all their deeds, they've been let out with a bare slap to the wrist.'

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his brow. He looked at Hermione.

'Do take a seat, Hermione.'

Moody snorted loudly, shooting her a cautionary glance before exiting the room. That man was really paranoid.

'I am hardly the person to tell you about the situation.' Dumbledore started.

'I have the gist of it, sir.' she said.

'Sirius, if found, will be given a trial. He will not be freed, of course. As you are well aware, he is still a convicted Death Eater. Apart from that, Hermione we come to you.'

'Then this is for real? The Death Eaters are banding back? '

Dumbledore sighed, leaning forward.

' As much as I wish to shield you from this; I cannot. You deserve the truth. Hermione, you're young, far too young to be thinking and worrying about things like this. I despise having to do this. But I will not be the one to jeopardise you by lack of information, because you have a right to it. Young maybe, but you're not the ordinary fourteen year old. So yes. They are.'

'They are.'

Why did two words break her so much?

'Be careful. If even Dumbledore is informing you, it means something is on the rise. And I'm hardly the person to preach about the workings of Slytherin. You know how they work; you know where you stand. It's your year with four kids of Death Eaters.'

Hermione barely nodded, her head spinning with a thousand questions and ideas. She had prepared for this eventuality someday, she really shouldn't be this affected.

'You think Voldemort is back, Professor?'

Moody seemed to muse it over.

'Of course, we only thought he disappeared. And when it was nearly a decade, everyone thought he was gone for good.'

"But he wasn't." thought Hermione.

'And now? It's hard to tell; it might be that as the Death Eaters believe so; it's true. I personally don't think he's back yet though. All smoke and mirrors, no substance yet. If he really is back, there'd be more. I doubt he wants to be subtle because there's no reason he should be afraid of being in the open. He always had pride, a conviction that he is invincible. Though if he really is back, you wont need Dumbledore to tell you, a bloody first year will. An opinion, that's all.'

'You knew him personally, sir. I'd think your opinion is quite important.'

Moody snorted.

'Flattery will get you everywhere, girl.'

Body of so called victim Peter Pettigrew found at Hogwarts by the Girl Who Lived.

- Rita Skeeter.

Hermione ignored the questioning stares and gawking. She ignored the haunted look on Potter's face. When they asked her questions, she told them she had no idea about the whole thing. When they persisted she told them to fuck off. Loudly. If her wand spoke more; well that was unavoidable.

(She still preferred punching to cursing.)

Lily and James Potter went up to Dumbledore's office later that evening, and the whole school whispered. She ignored it. Slytherin was almost tip toeing around her. She gave straight, clear answers; she had no damn clue about the whole fiasco. Malfoy and Nott talked together all the time now and she ignored it all, kept her head high, and tried to get rid of the thoughts creeping into her head, the image of the muggle woman floating in mid air.

("So the Death Eaters are banding back?

They are.")

Even Ron couldn't handle her tension because he didn't fucking understand. He didn't know what it felt like to know that that old blemish on the horizon was growing into something enormous, a monster that would swallow her whole.

Potter cornered her in the library two days after the incident. Black was still on the run but Remus Lupin had come back for defence classes.

She knew why. The others guessed and shrugged it off but she didn't. She knew what having him here meant.

'Granger.'

Hermione did not bother to answer. It was so unfair; so many damn people had known about Black being an Animagus. And none of them had opened their mouths. A Death Eater was waltzing around and they didn't bloody care.

'You were there that day in Hogsmeade , weren't you? You eavesdropped.'

She looked into those stupid green eyes. Why did they have to be so hurt, so sad? What right did he have to look so disappointed? They weren't even friends.

'How does it matter?'

'That; that was private-' He hissed. Hermione shrugged.

'Heard of Silencing charms?'

'You know what I mean, Hermione. I know you do. That was something no one needed to know about-'

'When you're talking with an escaped mass murderer I think that's something everyone needs to know.' She said harshly.

It's not that, she wanted to say because for all of it, she knew how Potter felt. This was a man he had grown up hearing only tales and empty excuses about; of course he wanted to know about his godfather. It's because he's a Death Eater. It's because Voldemort is returning; his followers are coming back together.

I need to know. I have a right.

Potter sighed. 'You knew what this meant when you told Moody and Dumbledore. What it meant to me and my parents and Remus. And yet you did.'

'Why should I care?'

He didn't have an answer to that.

December arrived, bringing with it a layer of white, soft snow, silver snowflakes. The cold wasn't bitter, it was a cold that made the warmth of staying in bed all the more wonderful, a soft mess of comfortable sheets and hot desserts. Winter had started in all its glory, and every window painted a landscape.

Hermione liked it. She liked seeing her footprints in the snow, the way her breath fogged, drawing patterns on the glass windows, the feeling of a cozy bed, the scent of hot food. She tried very hard not to compare Hogwarts winters with the orphanage's but she did. Winter at the orphanage's was bitter cold. The kind of cold where you couldn't feel your fingertips, only felt the hole in your socks, the fraying threads of your sweater. It was jealousy, looking at all that warm chocolate and the scent of fresh bread and knowing that you could never have them; never feel the warmth of the chocolate, the comfort of a soft bed and a full stomach. It was the rage on the bloody unfairness of it all.

(She supposed she should count herself lucky for actually having a sweater.)

Winter at the orphanage was having snowball fights without gloves and not caring about the goosebumps, not caring about the freezing numbness in your fingers, only the euphoria of victory, the whooshing sound of the wind. It was the long wait for Christmas, the excitement of new clothes.

If they were very lucky, they sometimes even had presents.

They got loads of chocolate once. She and Luke had saved them for a whole month, eating only a tiny bite a day. And once they'd got a board game. That had been cool.

She could almost see this year's Christmas dinner in her mind. Even though wasn't a Christian, she made sure they celebrated it with new clothes and a grand dinner. She was great that way.

Christmas dinner meant you could have two helpings without worrying that the others didn't have enough.

(Grand for them anyway. Grand for the people who had survived years on stale bread and soup.)

For all she had hated the orphanage, she had loved it too.

'Stop doing that,' said Yusra. The two of them were in an empty classroom. On Hermione's request, the two of them were here to have a mock duel. She had been feeling extremely wrought up and too tense, so she supposed working on her reflexes would help.

'What?' Asked Hermione, reversing the charm the had made her left arm go numb. It sort of flopped uselessly now, as she reversed the spell. That was a cool one from the Shafiqs.

And she did need to get better at shield charms.

'Muggle reflexes. Whenever you panic, or don't anticipate something coming, you're always ready to punch the opponent rather than hexing them.'

'I highly doubt I can change that now; its an old reflex. Besides it might come in handy if I lose my wand or something.'

'Well, at least refrain from it when you have your wand. They're not exactly bad, Zabini's an example but just so you know, a simple Leg Locker will take you down. Oh, and it's high time you learn how to conjure things in a duel; at least help you stall for time...'

Sirius Black finally caught! James and Lily Potter refuse to be interviewed. What else are they hiding?

-Rita Skeeter.

'She's not a very good reporter, is she? She hasn't even mentioned about Black's aliases. The public should now about all his disguises.' Luna Lovegood said. She didn't seem to remember her comments the other day, and Hermione was grateful for it because she still had no idea what the girl meant.

'It's the Prophet,' said Ron. 'They also think Umbridge is some delightful little-'

'Two points for language, Weasley.' said Hermione, in a horrible imitation of Snape.

'Oh, our little Hermione is imitating teachers, George!'

'So damn proud,' said George, ruffling her already bushy hair. 'We've been such a good influence.'

'Why are you here?' she asked, turning to face the identical grins of Fred and George Weasley.

'See you, our Dark Lady Granger of course.'

'Is that the new issue?' asked Luna excitedly, pointing at the scrolled up magazine in George's hand.

'Yes. Who knew the Quibbler could be so interesting?'

'Daddy will be so happy,' said Luna.

'Well, Ron here, our dear brother introduced us to this invaluable new world of magic-'

'We had never even heard of Stubby Boardman being Sirius Black ever!'

'And the Wrackspurts!'

'All the hidden knowledge!'

Luna was blushing.

Lily and James Potter fined for withdrawing important information; reporter alleges that Lily Evans Potter, Muggleborn, order of Merlin, hexed him for asking an interview.

Remus Lupin, known war hero and close friend of the Potters, has been fined as well.

Potter was looking very angry in the hallways nowadays.

'Want to hear something interesting?'

'Oh, did this stepfather kick the bucket as well?'

Zabini scoffed.

'I'm doing you a favour.'

'Fine, go on. Help isn't something I can say I have in abundance at the moment, so do me the favour.'

'Umbridge is returning. With the head of Magical Law Enforcement.'

'What for?'

'Sirius Black's trial. And you.'

Sure enough, it was in the news the next day.

Girl Who Lived to be present at Black's trial as witness. For further details about Hermione Granger, check page 11.

Hermione supposed this was the fame she'd been so deprived of. They literally had her name in every headline related to the Sirius Black case.

She couldn't say she liked it much.

'The Hermione Granger,' she grumbled under her breath.

'Ah, Hermione you're so famous, apparently you breathed in a totally unique way yesterday, isn't that simply fascinating -'

'Shut up, Ron.'

'Granger.'

'What's it, Greengrass? It's one in the morning, why're you still up?'

'I could ask you the same question, but I already know the answer.'

The giris voice was slightly muffled. Hermione turned on her right, trying to drown out the slight snore of Millicent beside her. Daphne Greengrass had pretty much made everything clear in the first day. She didn't go around calling people mudbloods, but she didn't befriend the mudbloods either. She was rich enough to act the pureblood princess and smart enough to not mouth racial slurs. So far the only words they had exchanged was a brief question over homework. And passing the butter.

'Oh really? Well, do enlighten me.'

'It's the Trial day after tomorrow. And tomorrow Umbridge and her little crowd will come. Besides, you'll have to be in the presence of dementors all the time. Who knows, maybe they'll feed you some Veritaserum.'

'Someone's excited,'

Daphne scoffed. 'You know what this means, Granger. You know how much weight your words carry. They usually don't even let minors testify.'

'Honoured. Is your daddy on the Wizengamot, by the way?'

'How does that matter?'

Hermione snorted. Beside Millicent's bed, Parkinson shifted in her sleep.

'Don't play the fool, Greengrass. Why the sudden midnight interrogation?'

'Just a talk. Girl to girl.'

'Pureblood to mudblood.'

Daphne sighed. 'Not everything that happens to you is because you're a mudblood, Granger.'

'No, of course not,' agreed Hermione, her hand wrapping around the familiar holly of her wand. 'It happens because it's me.'

'You're too sure of yourself for your own good.'

'I know. It's how I've survived this long.'

The girl laughed. 'Like I said, you're too sure of yourself for your own good. Someday it's gonna be the death of you.'

'Oh, we'll see, Greengrass. We'll see.'

She pulled her covers around tighter and replied in a muffled voice.

'This is exactly what I meant.'

'Tell the truth, Ms. Granger, and nothing else.'

She took a deep breath and nodded. She didn't think about all the flashing cameras, the thousand whispers, the sudden chill. This was nothing.

'I'm ready.'