Collopartus.' whispered Hermione, taking care to put an Anti alohomora charm as well. A breath. The corridor was deserted, as expected. The only sounds she could hear was the far off wheeze of Filch cursing and Peeves' taunting. For once in her life, Hermione knew this wasn't something she could handle alone. The man inside wouldn't take long; she had to get someone quick. Her feet raced to Dumbledore's office, and she did not notice the blood dripping.

The blood that had been coated all over the room. The blood the Death Eater needed. The fireplace. None of this, however hit her mind at the moment, so when she explained the situation to Dumbledore in a breathless voice, she did not realise he was looking only at her bloody hands.

The door opened, and she did not know whether she had expected it to look different. It was still enveloped in the misty haze, but there was the smell of acid in the room, and just a little deeper, the smell of blood. Glittering green dust was sprinkled on her shoes.

'Fuck,' she swore out loud, cursing herself. She wasn't the only one.

'I should have known,' she muttered angrily, as Madam Pomfrey bandaged her palm, Dumbledore conversing with McGonagall in a corner. 'I should have damn well known.'

'Hermione,' said Dumbledore calmly, those blue eyes meeting hers. 'It was never your fault. That blame lies, I must confess, most upon me. I should have realised earlier. But it is done. Aside from your descriptions, I will need some more substance, before we analyse the situation. Have you heard of a Pensieve?'

'So that man was supposed to be dead?'

Dumbledore gave a grave nod. 'As we see, Bartemius Crouch Sr, had taken voluntary retirement months ago. How the story unfolds for his son to impersonate Alastor, we will need more. I am not sure of where he will be now. But I have an idea. And my ideas, you see, are usually quite correct. If you will excuse me for a while, I have a call to make. No.33, Sirius Black!'

'You want me to go back?' There was a bright spot of colour in those gaunt cheeks, red against the unnatural pale of his skin. 'You're absolutely mental, then Dumbledore!" shouted Sirius. Dumbledore's voice was calm, as Hermione stood in a corner, her mind still spinning in the events.

'I have had enough of this life, I told you then.'

'Sirius, you are the last hope for us, for Hermione. You have only been released, most possible that Lord Voldemort does not yet think of you being on our side. Barty Crouch is alive, he has with him the blood of the enemy, Miss Granger's. You are aware, I know of the situation we find ourselves in. If you do not go, then we will not know why. Would you have her fight blind, Sirius?'

'Bollocks. The girl's in her third year, barely what, fourteen. She is not going to fight.'

'Not now!' said Dumbledore, and there was heavily suppressed rage in his voice. 'Never will I let that happen on my conscience; we have had enough of these things already-'

'Then choose your teachers wisely, Albus. A werewolf, and an imposter isn't high qualification on my list. You are - I don't know- insufferable-'

'Sirius,' said Dumbledore softly. 'Not for me, not for you. For her. You know how it was the last time, you know who we lost, you know who could have been saved, in just a matter of seconds. If we do not know now, we will never be able to fight this with confidence. All our hopes, everything will depend on you. If not, it will be difficult. We will win, but it shall be difficult, it shall take the lives of those who could have been saved. But that is away, and not a talk for now, do this act for just a few hours, just a few hours. For her.'

His eyes glanced over hers. The grey was steel.

'He's back.'

Hermione's voice did not break. Beside her, there was the slightest hiss from the snakes. Illuminated in the roaring fire, Ron's face was pale.

'This is it then?' he asked hoarsely. 'This is it, with the sons of Death Eaters waltzing here?'

'They still have a choice,' she mocked.

'You cannot stay here, then. Surely you won't be going to that orphanage either.'

'Dumbledore's planning to lay the wards. Quite the concern he has over me.'

'Bollocks. You'll stay in the Burrow, he can place wards there, we can even practice magic and stuff-'

'I can't do that Ron. That's wrong-'

'Don't be dramatic. It's needed. Who can you trust in that orphanage? Let him lay wards there as well, if he wants to, but you're not gonna be staying there more than a week, for all...'

Hermione sighed. 'It's, this just feels so much worse, he's got my blood...'

'Nothing's going to happen to you, Hermione. We'll fight a way out, you know.' It certainly wasn't true, but that was what she needed to hear. That was Ron.

On Dumbledore's discretion, Hermione took her exams a week early, with the mention that she would be staying at the orphanage for a week, by when Sirius would have finished renovating his old house, where Dumbledore would soon be orchestrating his little games. Wards had been placed, he had said, but due to her blood now flowing in the veins of her enemy, they would not stand strong for long. The rest of Slytherin was impassive as ever; there was barely any reaction as to what was happening outside. Zabini did not interfere, Malfoy did not taunt, Parkinson was the only one being normal, but nowadays Hermione didn't find it necessary to keep restrain on her wand.

She supposed she liked it that way.

There was only one disturbance- the incessant ruffle of feathers and parchment from Daphne's side. The girl was more subdued now, and Hermione didn't know what to make of it. She supposed she didn't care, but it was just yet another mystery in this life of numerous ones.

Hermione lay in her bed, thin covers pulled tight as she stared up at the ceiling. She really didn't know if she was actually expecting Voldemort to jump out of Selene's bunk. There were so many things she needed answers to; so many things she was scared about asking. A soft voice interrupted her thoughts, making her breath catch, hand wounding itself tight around her wand. All this was for nothing however, as recognition hit.

'God, Luke, you nearly scared me.'

He chuckled, lending her a hand from where he had climbed up the post, toes delicately balanced on the end of Selene's bunk. She obliged, and now it was almost normal, this, sneaking about with him, in the reassuring darkness of the place of whose they knew every tile, every stone, every nook.

Toes barely making a noise; the two of them continued to the kitchens.

'What did we have for lunch?' She asked, peering into the near empty barrel of tomato soup.

'You could have mentioned you would he coming tonight,' he said. Hermione turned. Hers and Luke's friendship had just been strained ever since the letter. It was an awkward truce; but it was also a regain of normalcy. He had his friends now, and Hermione was just another childhood friend. Maybe she was special to him, because it was in her he had confessed so much, and maybe she had trusted him just as much, but that was when they'd been little kids of nine and ten. When they'd thought they could see nothing worse than the brawls at the pub every weekend, nothing harsher than London's streets.

Then why were they still friends?

It was an itching question but she was afraid of the answer.

'Why, you were going to arrange a party?'

'No, I just wanted to say a few things. I'm - er, leaving.'

'What?' She asked, baffled.

'Yeah, I am.'

'As in now? This summer?'

'You aren't here half the time Hermione. Al's been arrested, and so was Dev-'

'What? Why?'

'Crack and shoplifting, respectively. Ms. Rehana's been sort of, ya know, down. The thing is, this is all great and stuff; I mean we go to school, we get some allowances; the food's terrible, but yeah, it's not like we starve but, the place its- it isn't good, Hermione. It's not helping us.

Anyways, the thing is that I've got a scholarship. New school. A friend of mine has his things arranged over , I'll just be moving in.'

'Damn, Luke. This- well I didn't expect this so early-'

'I'm nearly sixteen, Hermione. None of us were going to stay here forever.'

'Yeah...'

Why did you come back early anyway?' He asked, now seated on the window sill of the long hall.

'It's complicated. I don't think you'd like to hear it.'

'Mmm, all that Dark Wizard stuff catching up?'

'Something like that.'

'You remember that one time when we planned to run away?' He asked, after a long silence. They had never come for food tonight. The darkness was suffocating; and she couldn't see his face clearly.

'We were what, ten- nine?'

He laughed. 'Oh, but we made our plans right-'

She didn't say anything, the silence turning awkward.

'Hermione?'

'Why, Luke? Why do you want to say goodbye like it's the end?'

They looked out of the grilled windows, dark night, pale moon.

'Yeah, because this is the end. Bye, Hermione. It's highly unlikely we're going to meet after this. You have your own world. And there's no place for me there. It's how it is, and I know. I understand. But I don't want to leave without at least a goodbye. It's why I've been waiting till you returned. So here; Goodbye Hermione.'

She froze, his hand twisted with hers, as she continued to just stare out. How was this different? The friendship that had been the centre of her world had been shut out in three years. And she didn't blame herself for it. A shoddy reconciliation.

She turned, and he kissed her hard on the lips. Bitter. Bitter end.

She tasted only a last, biting sense of regret and she didn't know which one of them was feeling. She supposed it didn't matter.

She kissed him back anyway.

She was saying her goodbyes.

Grimmauld Place was as grim and old as it's namesake. To sum it up in one word; it was depressing; she had no idea how a volatile man like Sirius could have grown up here. Climbing past the creepy elf heads, she reached the second landing where she was supposed to be staying, only to come face to face with a very shrivelled and old house elf that looked more like it belonged among the elf heads.

'Who is this, is this the guest Kreacher was supposed to be showing...'

'Hermione Granger.'

'The famous mudblood!' Breathed Kreacher excitedly. 'They say she made the Dark Lord vanish, oh how Kreacher wonders how she did it.'

The muttering suddenly stopped, and now his voice turned hoarse and louder.

'You are certain you is a mudblood, Miss Granger?'

She didn't know if she was supposed to find this funny.

'Yes, quite.'

The elf looked at her scrutinisingly. 'Kreacher don't think so, Miss. You is, Kreacher thinks, a pureblood. A very powerful one, of course, to defeat the Dark Lord-'

'Kreacher!' Came a loud voice from the top of the stairs, making her turn, to find Sirius standing there, looking very tired.

'Yes, Master. What is you wanting from Kreacher?'

'Show her her room quick, and get to work. The place is getting filthier everyday. Hermione, if you would meet me in the kitchen after a while, the elf will show you the way.'

Hermione nodded, now following Kreacher up the stairs, who was still blabbering.

'Master is being a good man now, Miss, but he is not understanding things. It is Azkaban, you know, Azkaban that has done all this. Used to trouble my poor mistress so bad in his youth, very very bad he was, chiming in with those blood traitors and werewolves. Now he is back and he is calling Kreacher the elf. Little respect for his history even now... Kreacher is not knowing, so many people talking, entering the house as they please; all blood traitors befouling the house of Black...'

The room was not as bad as she had expected, it was reasonably clean, a single bed and not much of accessories. Impersonal guest room.

When she finally reached downstairs to the kitchen, Sirius was sitting all alone at the table. The house was so empty, she thought all of a sudden. Empty memories of long lost legacies, that was all. She had never seen someone this miserable.

'Hello,' she said, taking a seat.

'Great, you're here. The house is unplottable, as I'm sure you know, with heavy, and strong, old wards covering it all. My parents put up neatly every sort of protection up here. Why you're here is half for that, and half because, you see, there's the minor disturbance of Voldemort being back.'

'Were you there, then? When he-'

He nodded. 'Yeah, more or less. I wasn't there for the ritual, Crouch was quick in that regard. He wasn't very thrilled on the strength of the others, you see. He did however, ask me how I managed to escape Azkaban; or rather more importantly, why I didn't bring darlin' Bella with me.'

'Did you tell him you're an Animagus?'

Sirius shrugged. 'He already knows anyway. But he wasn't pleased that it had not even crossed my mind to get my other friends with me. The lucky thing or me, of course, was that my so called crimes were quite tamer than the non believers, especially the cowards who had fled. And then, there's the Pettigrew issue. Not a good night, all around. His Crucios seemed to be rusty, he was intent on practicing those first.'

'Besides all those happy memories, I'll come to the matter of you. Voldemort was resurrected with an ancient ritual, one that uses the flesh of the servant, bone of the father, and blood of the enemy; that is yours. This might be important in the future, Dumbledore thinks. What he's planning now, is regaining all those who are on his side. You've been quite admired by the press for a while, so Dumbledore personally thinks it'd be preferable to let these facts reach the public. Now, secondly, we need more proof than your word. Barty Crouch is high on our list for now, the Aurors will soon be on his tail. And Mad eye Moody, the original, is recovering.'

'Do you really think the public will believe my word?'

'Hard to say. But once Crouch's chase is sanctioned officially to the Aurors, it will be a start. Here, have some toast. And for the love of Merlin, please don't go wandering around the house. Some of the things might make Kreacher look sane.'

Green light. Loud screams. But it wasn't her screaming, only the tight grip of her wand, pale, long fingers. She hissed, and there was only death.

'How did you grow up here?' asked Hermione, as the two of them continued sorting through the cabinet, as Kreacher tip toed on the threshold, ready to help.

Dumbledore had originally meant to get more people here, but for now, Sirius had declined, and once in two days, they were all huddled up in the large study, leaving Hermione in her room with a long stack of books- mainly to distract her, but even then they had taken and endless length of precautions, of which the lowest was the anti alohomora and silencing charms. She did not mind it much anyway, not because she trusted them, but because there was not much of interest happening anyway. Negotiations were going on with Fudge, this she knew.

The thing on staying alone with a half insane, very bitter, escaped murderer, was as Sirius simply did not like Dumbledore, unlike Hermione who was indifferent, Sirius seemed to not like Dumbledore with a deep grudge to keep feeding his pent up anger on. Therefore, he was very easy to persuade, and more or less, he gave these tidbits of what was going on in casual conversations.

For hours at times, he would disappear, all in dark robes, and returning with a face paler than before. This had become part of their routine, waking up, taking advantage of the lack of chaperoning to practice magic; Sirius had, more or less given her free reign on the library, saying that nothing was getting darker than living through the murder of her parents, (all when he was drunk, of course, or she didn't think he would have agreed so readily,), and then the near regular feeling of shutting herself up in her room while the so called adults went on their meetings, dinner and sleep. She had also, somehow, managed to continue contact, since all the adults thought she didn't know anything of much importance, and Hermione herself was not stupid to send such information through owls.

Of the few she trusted, there was only Ron to whom she had imparted this to before leaving Hogwarts. There was, obviously, nothing much to write, but Hermione felt she would go mad otherwise, in this house full of ghosts and lost dreams. It reeked of something bad, something toxic. How much ever she wanted to explore, some of the more gruesome books in the library had shown her how low these ancient rituals could stoop, and personal experience through a set of purple robes that had nearly strangled her had built the prohibition quite clear in her mind. So she wrote, though there was nothing much, it was at least an evidence of others; to Millicent, Ron, Padma, Yusra, even Terry Boot for a while, at Padma's recommendation. He was still as pessimistic as ever, but it always got a laugh. The whole thing was slowly becoming a routine, after nearly a week and a half.

Sirius chuckled, now looking intently at a picture of a man who was most likely his father. 'All in the name of adventure, of course. It was still gloomy as it is now, but you see, the house was full- I had my cousins who would visit, my brother, the numerous pureblood families we were supposed to associate with, stuffy old aunts, oh, we had enough company around half the year. That again, is of course, why I'm so good with handling Slytherin's, you see.

They werent there all the time, I mean, we were supposed to be all dignified and other rubbish- eh, we were all a bunch of rascals. I was the outspoken one, cruel bastards, the rest of them.'

'Probably why you got in Gryffindor,' she teased.

'All the chivalry, I suppose,' he said, and tossed the picture of his father into the old sack, making sure to keep it out of Kreacher's thieving hands.

'Hold that wand higher, Granger! Small jab only, none of those flamboyant arcs here. You're training for duels, not the ballet.'

The man was gone before she could turn. Her arcs had never been flamboyant, but it was through the description, more than the voice that she figured who he was.

An unlikely ally, really, especially considering the train wreck that were the Potters.

'Hello, I'm Lily Potter,'

Hermione shook the woman's offered hand, acting as though none of them could hear the increased sounds of shouting upstairs. James and Lupin, had both wanted to talk to Sirius first, and so Lily had offered to stay here. There was something that sounded suspiciously like glass breaking.

'Yes, my son, Harry, he's written quite a bit about you. Apparently, you have Arithmancy together?'

'Yeah,' said Hermione, as though she and Potter were best pals. 'Yeah, we do. But he's more of friends with my friend Ron Weasley; we haven't really...talked... much.'

'I'd say he's talkative at times. You don't seem that sort, really, hmm? '

'Don't be a hypocrite Sirius!' came the voice of Lupin, and Hermione had never heard the usually calm man this loud. 'You were the one who thought it was me, because I'm a-'

'Moony-'

'Shut the fuck up, James. Let him shout, let him get it all out of that fucking mask he wears, all calm and collected, spit it all out, Moony. Yeah, I'm a hypocrite. Bloody well, let me be one, as though you all weren't! Even now, you don't give a damn, do you?'

'I will! You're being immature-'

Lily Potter looked around the dark living room with undisguised distate, especially when her eyes landed on the large tapestry hanging, that Sirius had spent so many times trying to get off. In the end, a long screen had been drawn over it, and nothing had been entertained over the subject.

'They were such good friends,' she said softly, smiling sadly.

'Childhood friends don't usually last forever, Mrs. Potter.'

'Call me Lily. I'm still in touch with my childhood friend, and they've all known each other since the age of eleven. I think there're a little more complications here.'

She got up, a strained smile on her face. 'I'll go upstairs and check,' she said. Hermione didn't object, especially after another loud sound reached their ears, and thought it would be much better if she hurried.

'I loved them all to pieces, by God. And he- he has the gall to ask me-'

Hermione, for once in her life, refrained from eavesdropping on the rest. A drunk, heart broken man. She had her ethics.

'That's quite enough, Barty. Finish it off.'

Green light, the coppery scent of blood, as she looked upon her familiar wand of yew, voice cold, as the words hissed from her mouth.

'We must kill the girl before the public is alarmed.'

'Think higher, Barty. The girl is weak, that can wait till I hear what those words mean. We conquer the Ministry first...'

She woke up with the taste of blood on her lips, and she didn't know whether she was frightened or surprised that her wand was holly, not yew.

'If you don't mind, can I ask you something?' Hermione asked, as they continued their daily task of sorting through. Today were the guest room cabinets. Yesterday night, she hadn't been awake to see him come back, but from the loud crack of Kreacher apparating that had gotten her awake at two in the morning, she had as much as figured that yesterday had been particularly long.

Sirius looked miserable, all dark shadows, pale skin, and a new cut on his cheek, healed clumsily. Here, chucking another of the silver rimmed photos of an old aunt, he turned.

'You're gonna ask anyway, so go on.'

'I mean, I'm grateful and all, but why are you doing this? Even then, at Hogwarts, Dumbledore used my name to persuade you. There in the shack, you talked as though you knew me once. I'm not your goddaughter, or someone you owe anything to. I mean, I get that you have a grudge against Dumbledore for not testifying at once, and your, er, friends for not believing you at first, but why support me? It's pretty clear you never wanted to set foot in this house again, and yet you're as good as stuck here for the summer. It's clear, you never wanted to go back to being a Death Eater, but you do it anyway. I'm nothing to you, relation or worth. Then why?'

Sirius did not smile. 'It's my way of penance.'