Sirius pulled her clues apart and connected them to everything he'd observed of her this past year. Her maturity. Her multitude of side projects and extra training. How fast she'd managed to get the Rat. The way she still had time for her friends. Now it all slotted nicely together. That gold chain around her neck. Then she'd thrown it over his shoulders, taken him to the past, and confirmed what his grim form had first seen but not understood. In her hand she clasped a little gold set of dials and a half hidden time piece full of sand straight from the department of mysteries. After this, only seeing a second version of himself gave him pause. The implications and power of such a device given to a random magical citizen temporarily side tracking him before his thoughts snapped back on course. Back to the one he'd pulled close so she could get that chain all the way around his shoulders.
The woman had been traveling through time the entire length he'd known her. Probably the only time she hadn't had it was last summer in the Leaky Cauldron. It was only after he'd seen an extreme change after only a month apart. A month for him anyways. It'd been possibly three months for her.
He stared down at the woman, she was so bloody short despite how much chaos she caused as she barreled through his life. Neither his brain nor his hands seemed to know what to do so he kept his assessment, and his hands, to himself. She was so close to him. He'd half a mind to make her use that time turner again and again just so he could keep her for a few days.
When she pulled him from the cave he let her. The entire way she fidgeted. Now the excitement done and her turn back in time successful without being seen by the previous self, she performed and now she had the space to be nervous. He watched it happen as she walked, trekking up and up the mountain, going all the way to the summit where he rarely ventured due to its exposure, he let her lead.
The wind grew in strength as they climbed. The rocks up here bare and jagged and the soles of her shoes clung to them. However there wasn't anything else to distract her and her wand stuck tight in one hand, the turner in another, and she reassured herself she hadn't broken the contract. This had been necessary. However, she wished he'd stop dissecting her like that.
When they fought he'd been half out of it and he'd beaten her. Most of the times she'd spoken to him he'd seemed to come in and out of the present moment and only seeing him now she realized she'd never really had his full attention before. It was heavy and sharp and entirely on her. Hermione swallowed.
Not for the first time she wondered how outclassed her, Harry, and Ron would have been if an actual Auror had been present during their first and second year. Even a half decent charms mistress, as she now was, would have done better. Let alone someone trained to hunt and not just kill, but to subdue and take alive the most dangerous individuals, tout them back for questioning. Oh yes, they'd have been outclassed. Outclassed by leagues she'd guess. Hermione dreaded knowing she'd soon have to tell this man what they'd done first and second year. Hermione knew how impulsive and brash it'd been throwing themselves into danger without skills and without a long term plan on how to deal with the consequences. She'd condoned and helped his godson into those situations. Sure, she'd helped get them out, but it was embarrassing, especially when he was like this. Before she might have forgotten how good he was. Now it was stark and too obvious.
With a lazy flick of his wand a patronus flicked past. So silent and quick she only saw the large silvery wisp of the grim for a moment before it was gone, chasing away the dementors coming up the mountain.
Knowing they'd have to be there for at least four hours she cast privacy wards, the same ones Flitwick taught her to hide a living man under her bed. The wards flitted out of her hands. She saw it charging from the latent magic wafting from her. Her arms and fingers careful to direct it. For weeks Hermione no longer had to worry about expulsing too much too quickly, Flitwick informed her strength and control sufficient, but this was possibly the most complex wandless defense she'd ever learned. This Goblin based ward being only the most basic of what was possible, but it was the only one she knew.
Once done she added her patronus, letting it swim around them in case any dementors got up this high. There were hordes of them around the school so two patronuses really couldn't hurt.
She saw Sirius watching her otter's silvery body as it twisted and weaved in the air, its huge paws swimming as if it were in a river. Once an indistinct mist, upon her second patronus lesson it had taken shape. A huge shape and when she hesitantly asked Flitwick, "Is that an otter?" Flitwick was kind while informing his muggleborn ward how the magical variants in southern Asia are often quite a bit larger, especially those found in the Ganges and other massive waterways. Her "Otter" was taller than her and just then wrapped it's huge body around her before languidly floating through the wisps of moving air. Sirius watched it circle them, he pulled apart this newest bit of information in patronus form. The manifestation of what made Hermione her deepest felt self. The purest form of her hopes. Flitwick once commented its playfulness showed a lot about her own desires for a carefree life. Hermione waited.
He finally spoke, "You're Asian?"
"Half."
Sirius watched the huge magical otter float and swim around them.
"That fits."
"It's on my mom's side. My grandparents still live on the Pakistani Indian border. Dad's family is French though and we've lived here my whole life. Sometimes my parents take dental trips over there through an outreach clinical program working with the smaller towns. That's how they met."
"That's maybe where you get your magic from. If you're ever interested you should see if there's a magical community near where your grandparents live."
Hermione blinked. Confusion laced her tone, "I never realized I might have magical family."
"Most do. Even if there's a couple generations of squibs between. The trait doesn't spontaneously pop up, it evolved a long time ago but can go dormant for a few cycles of kids."
"The genes have to come from somewhere." She trailed off when he didn't stop looking at her. On his good days he was so alive, so present, she could feel him like an almost too hot flame. Her fixation on flames and charms, Hermione wondered if he wasn't right about the family magic. The Blacks were well known for transfiguration and if Sirius could be believed he hardly had to try before succeeding in an animagus transformation when he was 14. His friends, one also quite brilliant in transfiguration, had struggled for two years longer.
"Your time turner. I'm guessing it's ministry approved. Did they even set bounds on how much you use it?"
Her lips tilted up, feeling rather mischievous at finally being able to tell someone who hadn't just seen it with their eyes. Winno, Flitwick, and Gladrag almost took the fun out of hoodwinking her Head of House, her Headmaster, and the Ministry officials who claimed to keep such a tight ship with such things.
"No, they didn't."
"But you signed a contract to use one of the DOM's items."
"I did. Vague thing that. Now I know a bit more about contracts, thanks to Flitwick, I wonder if the person writing it wasn't intending to do the same thing I did. It was full of room for saving someone if they were in danger of life or limb, but the way the officials explained their rules it was strictly for studying."
He waited. She pressed her lips tight, not allowing herself to ramble without considering the repercussions. Hadn't she been wanting to tell someone? Now he knew, she'd saved his life or limb from discovery. Surely this qualified the contracts' requirements. Her mouth twitched, enthused at the idea. Maybe she'd have a chance to save Harry's life or limb before the end of exams, then he'd be exempt as well. Too bad Hagrid had already finished their flesh eating creature series, that one had loads of potential. But for now she'd eagerly take Sirius as an audience. The man was as brilliant as the twins and had 15 years of experience on them.
"Honestly, how McGonagall described it I think they were expecting me to study myself into exhaustion and beg them to take it back at the end of the year. Which I did, followed their instructions till I was ragged by Christmas, till I met Winno. She set me straight pretty quick."
Hermione's mind wandered at the mention of her friend and again nervously tugged on her robes. It shouldn't matter her clothes were dirty or her hair wild and coming out of her braids. That she had a gorgeous man staring intently down at her shouldn't matter in the slightest. Each time her patronus went near him it brushed against his shoulder as if it knew Hermione herself would do it if she weren't recently out of a lake and a bush. He hadn't interrupted her. He actually seemed to be keen and working through what she said.
Hermione caught herself from babbling, taking a breath to explain as succinctly as possible, "Apparently stretching yourself so thin can damage your core."
"Hm," It was his first response and he seemed to agree.
"Winno... If it weren't for her...I'm eternally thankful she explained it to me. Otherwise I never would have thought to take extra turns for Flitwick's sessions, for sleep, for relax days. I know Hogwarts doesn't have health classes, but I wish they did, for all of our sakes. My mental health has been so much better. I'm calmer."
She grabbed one of the many braids sticking out of her wild curls. Examining it to see even after a slime bath it was smoother in texture than it would have been the past summer. Lamenting to the man who for some reason was still listening to her, as if health classes might indeed be the answer to the worldwide hair crisis.
"Even my hair is calmer. And it's given me extra time with Neville and for my deal with the Weasley twins. They take up most of my normal time now and without the extra turns I would have been bone weary and harming myself. The ministry, maybe they just expected a magical person to know, but how could a muggleborn of all people have known?" And the damned tea. She was not going to mention her personal reaction to the damned tea which had him showing up in her dreams. Hermione clamped her mouth shut. She'd die before admitting it to him. Luckily, her long silence seemed to prompt him.
He nodded, "Fucking flat assed desk workers." Agreeing if not sounding surly as he downright glowered at the air over her shoulder, "I'm not surprised the DOM officials didn't tell you more. I really shouldn't be anyways."
"McGonagall, somehow, still hasn't noticed."
Sirius shrugged, "You're short."
"It's hardly nice to be name calling." She put on as much exaggeration as she could.
The man's glower lessened. His eyes turning infinitesimally softer as they sometimes did.
She continued, "McGonagall and Dumbledore may be dinosaurs, but they shouldn't be blind and a charm cast once my direction would have told them."
"You're one student of the entire school. You're a century younger than McGonagall. You could be 50 and still seem spry and unaged. The old goat is past his 160th if I recall. I imagine at that age the difference between 15 and whatever you are now isn't at all noticeable. And you're short. It's not like you've grown even 10 centimeters since they gave that thing to you."
Feeling giddy that he'd felt so free to talk so much and about something so inconsequential, Hermione tried to keep from beaming up at him. It was hard. She just felt so proud of him. Since classes had been winding down in with June passing, and with her abundance of free time, she'd visited as often as possible. She reasoned having books to preoccupy himself probably had been the healthiest addition to his time, second perhaps to practice conversations with herself. He'd made a lot of progress since April.
She wanted to beam at him so bad. Instead, Hermione continued their fun and nodded as sagely as she could manage. It probably looked like a zealot speaking about their neighborhood's god at the local shrine. Much too eager for the random visitors. Oh well.
"Do you even know how old you are?"
Hermione flushed. If he'd asked yesterday she wouldn't have. Not as if she'd admit this. "I actually do."
"You don't seem happy about it."
The joking she'd been pushing so hard cracked. She felt her face fall and under the scrutiny it didn't pick itself back together quick enough. His wand poked to the space between them and numbers glowed.
"16.912 and counting up." He looked from the numbers to her and murmured, "Now why wouldn't you be happy about that? Your birthday's soon, what two days after you get off the express?"
When she didn't answer immediately he prodded, "Your family doesn't know. But of course they couldn't. Not with the regulations. Does anyone know besides Flitwick and Winno?"
"One of the shop owners in the village. The others will be busy and I'm not going to bother the old Veela just for a cup of tea on my... My new birthday."
"If I put a tracker on you would you leave it there?"
She frowned, the happiness from earlier stripped so easily away she wondered if she hadn't been pretending this whole time. Tricking even herself when she knew she didn't want to face it. The frown came so easy. Her question simple and without judgement at the rather questionable request, "Why?"
"So I can find you. If you get the morning off from whatever your parents are doing, I can take you somewhere for your birthday. I've spent so little time celebrating anything it might be nice to have a reason."
Hermione was grateful she wasn't crying. She'd gotten all of that out this morning before dragging herself from her dorm. No crying now, just harried, swampy, leaf laden, and a little sad. Then this offer, dear Teresa of Calcutta, it was like showing her the flowers all over again. He looked so much like the dark stone of the mountain around him and after he made his offer he went so still, watching, waiting. His true turmoil slipped through the mask of his face. It's expression worn, pained, and long ago ruined.
She spoke quiet and not quite sure of herself, "Sure. I can do that."
Flitwick might have a thing or two to say about the tracking charm, but what was she going to do? Tell Sirius Black she didn't trust him when the rest of the world wouldn't either? She couldn't do it. The man just offered to take her out for her birthday.
He still looked wary, ready for her to turn it down.
"That'd be nice," and when she smiled the weight of his gaze lifted. No longer as hooded, long, or full of shadows. Just then her otter floated back, swimming next to them as if it couldn't imagine why they weren't swimming too, because wasn't it fun? Hermione smiled.
Avoiding those eyes of stone Hermione nodded at the silvery form. He knew enough of her secrets. What was one more? She told him, "Seeing it always makes me want to go to the beach. To stop at the lake, to even linger in the bath. I think I might love the water."
The wind around them shifted. The sun had dipped below the western horizon and Hogsmeade lit itself below. The magical otter swam around them, it's sheer proximity a great uplifting presence. Staring at it happy and playful, moving about and dipping as if it imagined itself chased by invisible otter playmates.
He watched her patronus circling and couldn't help but be incredibly thankful to whoever Winno was, because Winno had probably saved the woman's magical core from fracturing. It'd have been a shame if this potential hadn't been fostered and allowed to grow. He understood why Flitwick had taken the trouble of finding a loophole to legally teach her.
At one point she sheepishly apologized for vanishing his books. He shrugged. Lazy. Happy. Content. He'd give up a thousand books for some more of whatever this was. She huffed at his apparent nonchalance. The woman could get extremely riled about her books.
"Will my trial be before or after your birthday?"
"After. It's scheduled tentatively for July 19th."
He placed the tracker curse on her, a variant from his family library. The fact she was Speaker of House Black gave her some connection to its members already, but this charm was darker, wrapped around her and settled in the skin of her exposed shoulders. Then it glimmered and went out. He felt a slight jostling from a Goblin's shield, but he wasn't harming her so the thing shuffled aside and let her be. It likely wouldn't have if she hadn't just invited it.
Tonight's earlier hassle came back to mind. There was the matter of hormonal 7th years. He frowned. Maybe he could convince that magical guardian of hers to teach her some nastier curses. No one should be talking about getting their little peters wet unless she's fully aware and enthusiastically consenting.
Just as the sky had darkened and she was turning to leave for the night she picked up the parcel which had been placed on the stones by their feet and nearly left there as they went to leave.
Hermione exclaimed, "I almost forgot!"
She handed it over like a proud kitten and watched closely as his fingers fumbled over the ornate lid and lock. It was ostentatious, like something straight off of a Paris balcony railing. All wrought sheet metal painted and filigree curves. Furthermore, it had been stepped on. The shoe scuff and foot sized dent destroyed the picture of perfection. If it weren't for this it could have come straight from his mother's parlor after a shopping trip. He was actually surprised Hermione knew of where to find such a place. Or that she'd found him something in one. His fingers shook. No one had bought him something since... Since Charlus and Dorea Potter had been murdered. Then that prophecy came out about their grandson. The war kicked up and his best friends spent a year in hiding... She'd bought him something. Damn his hands.
Once he figured out how to twist the filigree rose design the lid rose up and presented a set of deep crimson and black robes.
He touched the collar and instantly knew it was an acromantula silk weave. Protective runes stitched heavy and dense around the collar's hem. They charged with the wearers magic. The stronger the wizard, the worse the backlash for whoever tried to curse them. Arcturus Black had inadvertently killed a man or two who tried. Looking at the runes, those familiar runes, it was the sort of thing his grandfather once wore when leading meetings in public. The sort of thing that made people want to get close, but fear to step too far. His hand shook harder at the realization.
He was not a fugitive. He was Lord Black. Arcturus had wanted him. He'd approved of him, even if Orion and Walburga the Banshee hadn't. Somehow he'd not remembered that all these years.
Hermione's voice was soft besides him, "I will have to introduce your case."
He looked at her. She took a breath. Whatever nerves she had were well contained. She looked strong. Fierce. He had half a mind to set her loose on the pureblood circle. A little voice inside of his head whispered, "Arcturus would have approved of her."
Hermione lifted her chin, "Because of my background and because of what's happened to you I thought we should make a statement. You might be on trial but every person there should remember you hold more Wizengamot seats than any of them. Your house has more vassal houses than any of them."
"Did you look that up?" Sirius asked, incredulous, but somehow not surprised. Something unfurled inside him, something happy. He wanted to have opportunities to tease her about this. She was such a swot, the old him wouldn't have been able to handle it. Now he was so extremely glad he had found her before he'd done something stupid.
"Yes!" She snapped.
Fierce indeed. He waited, ready to listen. He'd be a fool not to. He was pretty sure by the time she was his age she'd be walking circles around everyone he knew. He'd make sure none of them touch her.
She was spitting mad, not at him but at the lazy arses who'd be residing over his trial. "It might do them well to remember you're the most powerful person in that room. That they locked you away for so long blatantly shows the sort of conversations they want kept away from the Wizengamot. A Slytherin friendly enough and brazen enough for Gryffindor. The lighter houses will love you. The neutral houses will respect you. The darker houses are your vassals or outright fear the debts you hold over them."
Oh yes, she'd done her reading. His mother would be ecstatic those details were still bandied as public knowledge. She'd be distinctly less enthused a possible muggleborn was the Speaker for their house. Arcturus would have loved this. House of Black was one of the main deterrents which kept Grindelwald from taking over the British Isles. The things they'd made, just sitting and waiting to be used in their various properties, they made many Dark Lords fall. Not that Hogwarts under Dippet or Dumbledore would allow that sort of reading material in the library. Regardless, Hermione seems to have pieced some of it together by how she was going on.
"You could pose laws for Werewolf equality and access to education and medicine, the bogey-est of bogey-you subjects and they'd pass. You were dangerous to them as a boy and they locked you up. That stops now."
He swooped her into his arms, burying his face in hair which spoke of cold mountains and the legends of Awantipora. He'd seen those legends painted in Arcturus' world history trove. It was probably a complete coincidence she happened to have the same hair as Baba Nasir-ud-Din Gazi, the late King of magical Oudh. No doubt millions of people had similar hair.
Curls big and soft, they'd worked their way free in the past few hours and made an untamed riot down her back. They smelled like lake water. She let him hide there, gripping him tightly in turn, grounding him. When Sirius straightened and raised hands to her face his fingers were as gentle as possible. His hands soft as he cupped her face, staring into her eyes, the glow of the village below reflecting off them. He pressed his lips to her forehead, because a hug didn't seem enough. The innocent kiss held all his feelings and he wanted to give them to her. It was so much more than thank you.