'To procure an immunity to Veritaserum,' recited Ron. 'the practise of Occlumency is desired...'

She should have known something would be up, when it was Ron dragging her to the library.

'For the thousandth time, Ron, I'm pretty sure Greengrass was drunk. And they're not gonna be wasting their precious stocks on me.'

'Oh Hermione,' said Ron patronizingly. 'Things have changed now, don't be so thick.'

'I am not being thick, Greengrass is not helping us, I know.'

Ron shrugged. 'Hermione this whole Sirius Black case is now hanging around your words. I don't know how to break this to you, but you're kinda famous at this point. The people who didn't help you then are throwing themselves a your feet now.'

'I'm barely a witness. None of us saw him murder Pettigrew. Besides, there's really nothing to try in this. The Dark Mark is clear on his arm. Yeah, he was wrongfully convicted for Pettigrew, but he's killed the guy now anyways, so that we won't know why the guy faked his own death. As good as destroyed the evidence. The Ministry just wants to make up, get some publicity.'

'The Ministry doesn't care much about justice, more its image. We all know that. But you're the Girl Who Lived. Yes, they've remembered you only now, but now that they have, you're literally everywhere. Every damn headline has your name. As soon as the trial ends, the reporters are gonna be hogging you for an interview.'

Hermione sighed, and sat down. 'I don't like it. I really wish you could testify with me. I mean, you were there as much as me,'

'Good to know fame didn't cure you of sentiment,'

She smacked the back of his head. He was asking for it, really.

She brushed her hair into a long plait, got out her best robes, and set forth repairing the frayed edges. Yusra had taken one look at this and offered her robes, but Hermione had declined. They needed to know what kind of a world their precious Girl Who Lived lived in.

Slytherin, had on an overall, a weird reaction to her testifying. The thing was, most of the Wizengamot was pureblood. And most of Slytherin was also pureblood. So while Slytherin did usually show a more or less united forefront, it was all jagged edges on the inside. More so now. Hermione thought she had a pretty good grasp on how her yearmates worked (thank god no one other than Malfoy bragged about family politics, because she really couldn't deal with the thought of eleven year old Nott and Greengrass arguing over how their great grand fathers had a duel, and who was the better house.), but quickly realised things were slowly shifting.

The thing was, everyone was now advising her.

It had started with a weirdly paranoid Ron, who firmly believed Greengrass's midnight talk was because she wanted to warn Hermione that they were gonna drug her and make her spit something according to their wishes. Out of the good of her heart, of course. Then Millicent had joined.

'Daphne's dad is on the Wizengamot. None of the others in our year are. There's Yusra Shafiq's distant relative, but most of the rest are high ranking Ministry officials. However,' she added emphatically. 'That does not mean they're not allied. Everyone knows the Black case is just a wormhole of Ministry incompetence. Why they're opening it now is because they don't want to seem like idiots who've done the same mistake twice. So for god's sake, please don't listen to whatever anyone says, because they'll be sure to shove something down your throat for you to vomit. Especially Dumbledore.'

(Hermione decided to take the last line with a pinch of salt. Slytherin house was openly prejudiced against Dumbledore. Being honest, so was she, but mostly in an apathetic way. She had acknowledged long ago that in no way did the man owe her anything.)

Problem? She really, really didn't understand why everyone was getting so paranoid except her.

Yusra had gone over stories of how many trials had been changed by bribes, Luna Lovegood had given her a list of Sirus Black's aliases and the name of his so called stolen Hippogriff. (Though she wasn't quite sure that the last point was completely a lie, a Hippogriff had been rumoured to be missing...) Padma Patil and Ginny worried looking 'good lucks'. Even Marcus Flint had let out a grudging, "Tell only what you know, girl,". She acted like it didn't freak her out why suddenly everyone seemed to care about her so much, and nodded.

The whole thing made Hermione wonder if she should really be more scared.

Her first thought on entering the Atrium and looking at the Fountain of Magical Brethren was to puke. The whole image of it, with the nauseating expression on the elf's face. She had instead, smiled, ignored the green quill scribbling away at a corner, discreetly flicked the beetle that had suddenly appeared in her hair into a nearby flowerpot (she made a mental note to check on it while returning) and followed Mr. Dubois down to the courtroom where the Trial would take place.

'This is,' the man started, in a thick Dutch accent, as he led her into a side room. Hermione sat down on a chair, waiting for the words.

'-quite a big case, much famous. You will be asked to describe both Black and that dog, exactly quote what he said and in general, answer all the questions. You will first be questioned by Madam Bones and Dolores Umbridge. If needed by Mr. Shacklebolt, the auror who is heading this the defence for Black will start, and you will mostly have no part in it, but if questioned, you will answer. That is it, Miss Granger. If you don't have any doubts, I shall proceed. '

She shook her head, and the man walked out, leaving her alone.

Hermione sighed. This was boring as hell. She really wished Ron had been here, he would have at least had something interesting to say about this place. It would have been some kind of company.

'Miss Granger?'

Hermione looked up sheepishly from where she'd been air playing on the table. The man didn't seem to have noticed this, and instead gestured for her to follow him. His clothes were plum in color, with a large W embroidered on them; member of the Wizengamot.

'I hope you have understood strongly, my girl, that Sirius Black, is indeed guilty of crimes. Not only has he threatened you, our Girl Who Lived, he has also hurt your friend, and attempted to murder you. This is quite the serious offence,'

Hermione gave a nod, her mind drifting. My girl, honestly? Maybe this was what Slytherin had feared; her being misled and either giving evidence that Black had been wrongly convicted or that Black was as terrible as his reputation. After all, the statistics pointed to the mass of Death Eaters in her house.

So far, these people just seemed to want to maintain that Black was guilty.

'And as I was saying-, Dumbledore?'

Albus Dumbledore was dressed in robes of turquoise, his half moon glasses perched on his crooked nose. She often wondered who'd broken it.

'Ah, Hermione, I would like a word,'

'Of course, sir,' she acquiesced, thrilled to finally leave the boring old man who was preaching on how efficient Amelia Bones was.

They entered into another abandoned room, as Dumbledore conjured a chair.

' We have discussed this already, Hermione. Tell only what you know. Only what you know is the truth. Believe me, we are well aware of how the Wizengamot works and you know not everyone has the same idea on Sirius.'

'Sir, I heard Black's pleading imperius, is that true?'

Dumbledore avoided the question.

' His lawyer is-'

'Didn't know you were here, Albus?' Came a loud voice, as the two of them turned to face a tall man with scraggly hair.

'Ah, Mcnair. As you probably know, I am here as much as Chief Warlock, as much as the Headmaster.'

'The welfare of our future first, of course. I'm here for her. The Wizengamot wishes to talk with Ms. Granger before she testifies,' He practically spat out her name, his lip curling in disgust.

It had been a while since anyone had looked at her like that. By now Malfoy's slurs had become nothing, a stab in an already numb place.

This man had no right to look at her like she was an insect he'd squashed under his shoe.

Well, she could act the part too. Hermione drew herself up to her full height and mirrored the curl of his lip, as though nothing could be more nauseating than his face. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

'I think I should leave, sir.' said Hermione.

'Of course.'

Hermione followed the man downstairs, passing a very harassed looking Mr. Dubois and two Aurors speaking in hushed tones.

'No magical lifts here?' asked Hermione, as they passes another flight of stairs. MacNair scoffed.

'Feeling tired?'

Hermione made a point of of jumping down the last four steps.

Another room, with a long table taking up most of the space. Hermione sat down across the four men, who were now whispering among themselves. She made sure her wand was at the ready in her hand, and smiled politely.

She noted their names; Avery, Jugson, Yaxley, and Mcnair. The simultaneous expressions of revulsion made her feel even more aware of herself and the tenous grip on her wand. This was the damn Ministry of Magic. Nothing could happen to her. She had been through far too much to lose to snooty racist aristocrats.

'Miss Granger, we have been reviewing the statements you had made at Hogwarts earlier. And I and my friend, Avery,' The man in question sneered, eyeing the fading green and silver of her robes.

Hermione looked straight back, wondering what this group wanted.

'Have wondered if your words are a little biased. I hope you would have understood by now that incompetence has been on both sides.'

'I don't get what you mean.'

Yaxley raised an eyebrow. She distinctly heard "stupid little mudblood" and coolly ignored it. Such people were beneath her importance or time.

'What we mean, Ms. Granger, is that all evidence has pointed to Sirius Black being under the imperius.'

' I don't see how his defence is relevant to my statement. Whatever the prosecutor believes, that's their business. I'm, after all, barely a witness. '

So this is what this group wanted- a free Sirius Black.

'Of course, it matters!' said the man called Jugson. 'You are the most important witness for the prosecution. The whole case hangs on your words.'

'Exactly,' said Hermione. 'My words and none of yours, Mr. Jugson.'

'Watch your mouth, you mud-'

'Yaxley!'

'Anything you want to say, Mr. Yaxley?' She asked sweetly. The man brushed his hair from his face, his fingers curling across his wand.

'You'll get what's coming to you, girl. You will. Meet the same cowardly, pathetic death of your parents-'

'I'd advice you to stay quiet.' she said, her calm voice a far cry from the rage burning inside.

'The nerve-' started Avery.

'Oh, Yaxley, I see you're here,' came the girlish voice of Dolores Umbridge. The five of them looked up; she was followed by rows of the Wizengamots members. Dubois arrived, a long trail of parchment trailing behind him. Several more Aurors huddled across the entrance, and as Hermione craned her head a bit, she saw the tell tale blonde of Lucius Malfoy speaking with Fudge. A swish of robes, a muttered charm and he was gone.

Hermione was led across the podium, to a small chair in a corner, where she had to wait till they finished their proceedings. Dumbledore made his grand entrance. Hermione ignored the click of the camera.

A tall woman with long, sleek hair began reading the details of the case, after the various members had settled.

'The accused, Sirius Orion Black.'

It was then that the cold started. Seeping slowly; this was an icy, unforgiving cold,the cold of tragedy, the cold of fear. She didn't need to look up to see the dementors; she felt them.

She clenched her fingers around her wand, trying to ignore the increasing sense of despair, the ominous rattle of chains. If she saw green light at the edge of her vision, she forced herself to keep her eyes open, forced herself to let the scream building up die in her throat.

Black's grey eyes landed on her, before taking his place in the chained chair as the tall woman started reading out a list of his accused crimes. There was a large screen behind Black's chair, where the picture of Pettigrew had been projected, one taken after his death and one of him during his youth. Dubois and the Wizengamot were posed with their quills. Bones adjusted her monocle.

None of them seemed even slightly disturbed to the soul sucking monsters floating beside Black.

Hermione's nails dug into her palm, hard enough to leave tiny crescent cuts to bleed. The sight of it made her feel more alive. She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Dumbledore's, who gave a reassuring smile.

It didn't help. It had never helped.

Presently she ignored the headache that was building up, and stood up on the dais, far away from Black and the dementors.

'A brief summary of the events following you when you and your friend reached the tunnel, please. We remind you that every word you speak shall be recorded.' Bones said.

'Tell the truth, Ms. Granger, and nothing else.' Said Dubois, before placing a silver instrument on the table, and a self writing Quill.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

'I'm ready.'

After two minutes of an explanation as to how they'd met Black, Amelia Bones asked her questions. She ignored the look of glee on Umbridge's face on hearing about how Hogwarts' safety measures had failed once again.

Hermione did not mention about the meeting between Potter and his godfather. She felt he owed that much.

'So Black threatened you, and harmed your friend?'

'His exact words were, "That face won't be looking too pretty now",' she quoted, trying to quell the urge to look at Black's face to this conclusion of Bones'. 'And he did something to Ron, but you didn't let him testify, so yeah.'

Bones ignored the spirit of the last statement, though most of the Wizengamot seemed to take this as a personal slight, and made a note of this point. So, she wanted Black to go rot back in Azkaban. Noted.

'And then you used a blasting curse, Confringo, to be exact. That's quite an advanced spell, where did you learn it?'

'Is this relevant?' That had quite the response among the jury.

'Yes.'

'The library.'

Bones seemed to realise that Hermione was not going to elaborate on this statement, and commenced her questions.

The defence for Black started. Lily and James Potter spoke first, followed by Lupin. Black was looking at all of them with disgust, as though he'd rather rot in Azkaban than stay free with their help. The prosecutor quickly implied that he had been under imperius, and was to be pardoned for the subsequent jailing.

'Black has threatened and hurt a student. This merits punishment,' said Bones. Oh, if such care had been there the first time her housemates had hexed her. But no, it was only blood trickling from her body when they wanted it.

'Black has also been sentenced unlawfully to Azkaban for twelve years, Madam Bones,' said the prosecutor, an auburn haired man with small, hazel eyes.

Chaos broke over this statement and she was cross examined again.

'Black is a damn Death Eater!' came a loud voice. Hermione found the man who had been speaking, a man with the same shade of hair as Daphne. Ah.

'He only told us to keep quiet,' she said. 'And apart from Ron, who you lot didn't let testify, he didn't hurt us either.'

'I say, Miss Granger, Confringo is not sanctioned for student use-'

'That is not the subject of this hearing!' came Mr. Greengrass's voice.

'Silence!'

'Your words, Black?' Bones asked, as the cross examination of evidence ended.

'I'm innocent.' He said hoarsely, and she saw despair in his eyes, the subtle bleakness of guilt. No one else seemed to notice this, but her. Lily Potter stood straighter, her red hair a Gryffindor banner, her hands clenched white as the verdict was announced.

Two hours, a thousand whispers, loud guilt and Sirius Black was free once more.

The mist of the dementors seeped in her bones, in her mind and the smell of fear stayed.

'Be grateful I haven't killed you, James.'

'We all make our mistakes.'

' Some of us learn from them. '

'Lost, mudblood?'

Hermione had just narrowly avoided another volley of reporters, as she met the cold eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

'No. Kindly move, you're blocking my way.'

His lip curled. 'This little golden time of yours isn't going to last long.'

'I don't know, the fact that it's you talking doesn't make that statement sound true. After all, I think every reporter now knows that Lucius Malfoy was trying to eavesdrop on the proceedings. Not allowed inside, are you?'

Malfoy flushed, his voice a cold whisper. 'You're treading on dangerous lines, mudblood.'

'So are you. Can you imagine? A nice bold headline- Lucius Malfoy seen threatening the Girl Who Lived! And maybe below that- insinuations that Mr. Malfoy was eavesdropping during Miss Granger's personal interview! And if anyone hears you calling me a mudblood! Quite the scandal, yeah?'

'Let's see how confident you are when you're under a Crucio,'

'Please, Mr. Malfoy. Those empty threats will only get you a cell in Azkaban.'

'Yes, Miss Granger, this is quite the scandal,' came a sultry voice, and the two of them turned to look at a woman with gleaming hair, jeweled spectacles and long painted nails, a green quill writing animatedly. For some reason, the beetle she'd found in her hair the morning popped in her mind. It was something about the markings on those studded glasses, a weird similarity.

'Hello, Rita,' said Malfoy coolly. The woman gave an elaborate hand flourish, her painted nails landing on Hermione's shoulder, in what was meant to be a comforting squeeze.

'Friends, are they, Mr. Malfoy? Your young son and our Girl Who Lived?'

In what seemed to be his limit, Malfoy's pale face flushed even more.

It was midnight when Hermione finally reached the familiar dark of the Slytherin Common Room, having spent more then nine hours in a place she never had the idea to return to. She had found Ron dozing on the common room sofa, and he had looked too peaceful that she didn't have the heart to disturb him. The fact that he had been waiting for her made her lips twitch upwards in an involuntary smile.

There was tomorrow to explain.

So she sat down near the fire, crosslegged in the cozy chair, for a while, looking at the carved snakes, and the few painted ones above it, studded with luminous emerald paint which glowed in the dark. They almost looked alive.

'Hello,' she hissed, for the first time in a year, and she could almost remember the jet black one she'd conjured, the time when she'd punched Zabini, trying to talk to them, to help.

They answered now.

'Ooh Granger, best pals with Malfoy, are you?' The mocking voice of Greengrass greeted her when she woke up. Her wand was still tightly held in her hand, and she got up quickly, stretching her legs. They were the only people in the dormitory right now, probably why Daphne was associating with the mudblood. Her eyes glanced at the clock: It was nine in the morning.

'Is that what your daddy sent the novel for yesterday?' she asked, remembering the white of her owl, the rustle of feathers and parchment amidst Parkinson's mumbling in her sleep. Daphne's blue eyes narrowed, a brow raised. 'How did you know?'

'I have eyes everywhere,' she said dramatically, getting up. Daphne eyed her fading muggle t shirt and pants with distaste, which if possible, had grown even more coarse and faded. She might really need some new clothes. Noticing that Hermione was already on her way to breakfast, Daphne cleared her throat.

'I'd advice you not to see the Prophet today. Or Malfoy.'

Hermione made a non committal noise in her throat. 'Your father seemed quite intent on keeping Black locked up,' she said. Daphne sighed, running a hand through her hair, before leaning against the headpost of her bed. She seemed, almost, for a second, worried.

Hermione walked down to breakfast, leaving the girl alone. It was only when she reached the blank wall that she heard the sobs.

She ignored it, like she had done once, eight years ago.

'You have some nerve, you filthy-'

Her wand was at his throat in the blink of an eye.

'Back. Off.' She ordered, the point of her wand digging. Malfoy's eyes widened slightly as her arm didn't sway. With her free hand, she brushed off the dust on her robes, from where she'd been savagely slammed into the wall.

She looked up at the dark sky, the abandoned corridor. She should have known something like this would happen, especially when Malfoy had barely a said a word in the morning. She should have expected this. With her free hand, she brushed her robes from where she'd been savagely slammed into the wall, listening to the reassuring calm of the night.

Hermione let her wand dig sharper, as she pinned Malfoy to the wall using her elbow. Her eyes raked over the wand clutched tight in his hand. He was taller than her, and even though she literally had a wand to his throat, he still managed to look down at her in disgust.

'Give me one reason,' she said coolly. 'and I'll let you skulk back to your mother.'

'Expelliarmus!' A casual Shield Charm deflected the scarlet light. Today this would end. She had been through enough of him and his slurs. If he so much as mouthed the word "mudblood" in her direction she'd curse him to choke on his saliva.

'I'll give you another chance,' she added, emphasising the pressure of her wand at his throat.

'You giving me a chance?' Malfoy smirked, ripping the cuff of her sleeve, displaying the ugly scar that bled across her forearm. 'You filthy mudblood, giving me a chance? I can give you a hundred more scars.'

'Try me,' she said, as a casual flick of her wand had turned his hand into a useless, floppy flesh coloured glove. She had removed his bones. His wand fell down, as the floppy hand waved uselessly.

'How dare you say that about my father? You think you're clever-' He was trying to cast left handed now. Come to think of it, this one might merit some left arm practise.

'Malfoy,' she said simply, and another wave had him floating in mid air. She looked on with slight amusement, thoughts swirling in her head. This was getting real fast.

Never slip. Slip once, one step and they'd shove you down to the bottom.

If she let this be, nothing would change. If she continued, and then forgot, everything would. Hermione thought of the way Yaxley looked at her, the way Lucius Malfoy's lip curled in disgust, the casual indifference so many of the upper years maintained, as though she was an abomination that was better forgotten. She remembered every hungry night spent in the orphanage, every cruel remark, every single time she saw someone getting adopted, those multiple systems of foster care, every damn time the rejection, the pit of dread, the depressed spell of bitter winters and harsh rains. The jealousy, the rage, the need.

She wanted to continue, to teach them the lesson they so deserved. She wanted more than the rage of her tongue or the work of her wand. She wanted.

She bit her tongue, and repeated, 'Give me one fucking reason, Malfoy. Just one.'

Fear was now clearly etched on his features, his pale face flushed. 'Quidditch champion, aren't you, my king? Like being airborne, yeah? Slytherin's little pureblood prince, aren't you? Shall I leave you like this, floating, helpless? As helpless as a muggle.'

What had she ever done to deserve such treatment from her housemates? Had they ever been kind, ever said a good word? How many times had they mocked her parents? How many times had they taken advantage of her, cursed her, treated her like she was filth? How many times would this go on?

It won't stop, said a voice in her head. It will never stop till you do something. Hermione didn't hide under violence, as so many of the kids in her orphanage did. Even little Shivani knew where it hurt the most when you kicked. But Hermione, for all the talking her fists had done, had found outsmarting them was way more easier than squaring your shoulders and being prepared to go your way.

It will never stop.

'Petreficus Totalus!'

She bent down, hands on knees. This would teach him. This would teach everyone not to mess with her. The sting of comparing the blood in her to mud may have faded, but she wasn't the only one in the world. She was more.

'I think I'll leave you here for your father to find. Oh sorry, isn't your father quite occupied with the press? Only Death Eaters know each other's secrets, hmm?'

(Her scar gave a burst of pain. She ignored it, something she seemed to be doing a lot nowadays.)

Malfoy's scared, bound face was something that would stay etched in her mind for a long time. And every single person who would walk past him in the morning. She had done what she had wanted to do.

The wind howled. Hermione smiled, and stitched back the torn cuff of her sleeve.

She didn't sleep well that night, her dreams distorted with the memories of green light and the burn of flames. She was running, she had lost her wand, and everything was going dark. All she could do was run, but the fire was faster. It had always been.

Hermione Granger,

I am immensely thankful for your help. Your ability to stay calm in the face of questioning and providing them with the rational events of what happened that day is what I owe my freedom today. I am also extremely sorry for hurting your friend, if I am not wrong, is he a Weasley?

It would be really great if you could come meet me once during the Christmas vacation. You have every right to decline.

(That was a good interview with Skeeter, though I despise the woman, I despise Lucius Malfoy even more)

Regards,

Sirius Black.