Hermione ended up camping in Harry's room. When she first proposed sleeping bags Sirius had stared at her as if she were mad. So here she was on her fifth night there with a bed stolen from another room. It'd been shoved beneath one of Harry's grand windows and sat within jumping distance from his own humongous bed. The two beds had been shifted for their card game, their draperies tied up and flung aside, presenting a sore spot in the otherwise well designed room.

It was late and they had a forgotten game of exploding snap between them. On the small side table sat a bag of candy and two half finished butterbeers. Harry had just been staring above her head, thinking or reliving some trauma she wasn't sure. Hermione decided if she was going to broach the possibility of legal action, she should do it sooner than later. Harry hadn't mentioned the abuse and Sirius, she knew, was still largely a stranger even if he spent some time with them. Once the rituals had been completed and a diagnosis confirmed the man had spent most afternoons away looking for healers. One day Sirius had actually portkeyed to Egypt with the curse breaker for a consultation. No one had brought up the issue about the Dursleys and their treatment. This was the sort of thing Magical Child Services should do, but as far as she knew none of the magical adults formerly in Harry's life had reported it to them. Well Hermione was an adult now. She'd do it if he wanted her to.

"Do you want to press charges against Petunia and Vernon?"

Harry frowned. He looked down at the cards he'd yet to shuffle. These past few days she tried to give him his space or be there without hovering. The last thing he needed was coddling, but Hermione couldn't help worry. Usually he was so vocal when upset, sometimes explosively so. Yet he'd been quiet.

She'd find him mechanically eating with his head bowed away from conversation. Once she'd found him staring at a wall lost in thought. He went to bed early and got up at odd hours. He sat in the garden. In those moments his magic seemed still and contemplative she'd grab a book and sit next to him. When his magic was stir crazy or erratic she'd prod Sirius and the man would jump to invite them into flying or some variant of 2 vs 1 quidditch. Hermione would never be a professional, but being able to see the broom's magic and wandlessly catch herself greatly reduced her reservations. Harry had even taken to teasing her about her secret love of brooms, only to solidly and without remorse trounce her every time in their flying games. She retaliated by inviting him to play exploding snap, a blatantly unfair move on her part as she could see when they were about to explode.

During tonight's card game they'd finished five butterbeers each, the bottles lay discarded on the floor between them. Harry pushed one empty bottle back and forth with his sock covered foot as he contemplated. While waiting for her friend to think about the question Hermione busied herself with fixing the color splotches she'd recently gotten on her shirt. It looked as if she'd been speckled with large polka dots of neon color, hiding the fact that the shirt had this morning been Sirius Black's Gryffindor quidditch jersey. The faded letters "Black" stamped across the back could no longer be seen under the paint spells Harry had launched. His aim was good. And he was still, after all this exercise of hers, the quicker of the two. Hermione forlornly tried to clean the quidditch jersey, worried the old thing might never recover.

"It's authentic," Sirius had claimed when he presented it to her. This morning he'd been so excited when be found the jerseys and pulled them out of a dusty box just delivered from storage. He practically forced it into her hands, declaring she would wear it.

She raised a brow at the idea of wearing his jersey.

"It's ancient," She responded.

"Wear it."

For five days she'd been wearing transfigured clothes. It's possible she just wasn't that great at clothing design, but magically altered fabric always felt different and she'd worn more than enough transfigured clothing during the 3 years of her time turner use. The quidditch jersey was a much appreciated variation. It was big and ancient, but Hermione snatched it up anyways. Now she sat on her spare bed in Harry's room, picking paint flakes from Sirius' jersey.

Across from her Harry wore an equally ancient jersey with a faded "Potter" stamped on its back. His cheeks had gone slightly red when it'd been presented to him, but he'd taken it as quick as Hermione and with far stronger feelings about the garment. They'd spent the better part of the day running around the much too large manor in the jerseys, sliding along the polished floors in their socks, and playing a crack version of cricket and throwing color changing charms at each other. Harry's hair still stuck up, spotted blue, pink, and green as if he'd been hit with paintballs. It bled into his skin on the edges of his face. Her hair was even more of a disaster. Harry, athletic as always, had excellent reflexes and aim. He'd won their game.

He finally responded, "I know that's supposed to be a serious question, but I can't stop looking at your hair."

She smiled then tossed her cards at him. They fluttered around him, the impotent and useless projectiles that they were.

"It's not my fault I'm terrible at cricket. You're unnaturally good."

"Well you should get better. Sirius isn't going to date you if you keep walking around with a rainbow afro."

Her eyes went wide. She noticed Harry observing the interaction between Sirius and her, but she hadn't expected him to tease her about it. He was practically giving his blessing. Approval from her brother on her definitely-not-crush. The one she'd promised herself not to take advantage of. As much as Sirius held her hand, he remained skittish if she sat too close. He sometimes gave her this sad look as if she were going to up and leave him, or worse die, and the looks were mixed with such guilt she didn't know how to break down that wall or even if he was ready for it. So she waited and flirted and casually touched his arm or his hand. He'd taken one look at the beginning of her wild mane of color this afternoon, her in short shorts covered by his jersey, and the roguish grin he gave her before he ducked into the floo had her toes curling.

Her lips tilted up, "Says you. Maybe he's into that."

Harry sniggered, reached over to pull out a clump of curls frizzed and polka dotted with a variety of neon paints. He shook his head, "I really can't take you seriously. I'm sorry. It's so bad."

Harry wasn't ready to talk about it. She accepted the change in topic. She wasn't going to push him. It was his choice. No matter what she'd support him in it.

She smiled back, "Well let me know if you ever want to press charges. I'll be here, ya?"

His returning smile was small and soft, "Ya."

Sirius sat in his office, broken flower vases and a shattered glass book case behind him. Water from the flowers dripped from the wall to the floor. He stood, chest heaving. Sirius glowered at the letter. The Department of Education's official response to his inquiry held the embellished Ministry's seal and Madam Marchbanks' most sincere regrets. Apparently death threats weren't enough to get a teenager out of school. It confirmed he could indeed pull Harry out of Hogwarts if he either transferred to another accredited institution or took and passed his OWL examinations. However, failure to meet either of these options and failure to attend school would lead to an order to snap his wand.

He wanted to break another book case. Hermione sat on the other end of the desk as if he hadn't destroyed half the furniture. She snatched the letter from him before he could do anything with it and after glancing at the response, put it next to the parchment from which she'd been taking notes.

Hermione, dear sweet Hermione, she put aside her OWL study guide and staunchly informed, "If he's going back, I'm going back. I'm not sure if the other schools would be any safer regardless."

"I'll still write them. They have to have exceptions. Things like illness or injury will come in somewhere. Charlus and Dorea had been introduced to Dragon Pox at a Hogwarts quidditch game. Surely there's an exempt status for contagious diseases."

Hermione noted that down, "Give Harry Dragon Pox. Option 24."

Sirius threw his quill at her head. She dodged then straightened in her seat with a grin.

"You know what's worse?" Sirius posed. The woman before him cared more about social causes than most of the frumpy bints in the Wizengamot. The men and women who should be the wisest and most invested in the Ministry's laws sometimes seemed happy to sit their seats and be talking pieces without doing a damn thing to help their people, because very few of the decisions actually affect them. He couldn't help airing his frustration with them to her.

"In today's session Malfoy proposed an improvement to the muggleborn education and introduction to our world. Said without it we risked greater exposure. MacMillan argued against it, said even if we were exposed we could just obliviate them or overpower them. That the witch hunts were no longer a concern, because we'd win."

In front of him Hermione frowned.

"And I can't help but think that sounds way too much like a war-time deterrent. Like we'd just have to kill a bunch of people and everyone else would fall in line. That's what the heroes of the light are saying, and they're saying they have a better political system so it's all fine if the ends justify the means. But they didn't even treat me with common decency. How can I expect them to treat one, let alone thousands, of muggles with decency?"

"You know after the World Wars muggle nations had a convention to propose rules of conduct, so morally we wouldn't slip into the sort of practices that lead to unethical treatment or killing. It's that basis which they believe will keep us better, keep us improving. Because preventing genocide should always be the goal, and anyone saying it's ok to subjugate people lesser than themselves, well... They're dangerous aren't they? Even if they say they're doing it for a good reason."

Sirius tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He let it hang there. He could very much see a world where magicals slaughtered non-magicals, fighting their own battles across their suburbs and towns without considering the locals, and he wasn't sure how to move or where to move. Her words came to him, summarized and clear, but he still wasn't sure what to do. Yet he knew he whole heartily agreed.

She finished with a shrug, "We need to respect everyone. Even our enemies and prisoners. Decency keeps us from turning into monsters. Surely there's people on both sides of the isolation argument who would agree to that point. We could build something from that shared ideal."

The morning she planned to go see her parents she found Sirius in the kitchen sitting at the table he'd transfigured and enchanted to stay long lasting. It was small, cozy, and perfectly situated between the majority of the Elves. Who were ecstatic to have someone in the manor. Who were at turns confused and gleeful that Sirius wanted to spend time near them. Apparently the Blacks had a small army of Elves they had contracted in employment for maintaining their various properties. Sirius had asked Tillam to pass along the message they could all come live here if they wanted, but the decisions were still being made.

However, this morning his arms were on the tabletop and his head buried in them. A plate of eggs benedict sat half eaten in front of him. Still standing she stole a piece of his toast. He didn't notice. Hermione chewed, observing the man in front of her. The way he'd moved his head, then buried it back in his arms, he acknowledged she was there. When she finished his toast she then went for his yogurt. One of four assorted dishes he hadn't touched. One spoon full, then two. It was then he spoke.

"Harry asked to visit the Weasleys today. I had to tell him no. He's currently not speaking to me."

Hermione's chest constricted, both for Harry and how clearly affected the man in front of her was due to the adolescent reaction. Oh Harry. They'd probably be able to bring the Weasley kids here, but that would require the parents' permission. Hermione grimaced, imagining what Mrs. Weasley must be thinking after reading the last week's worth of Prophet articles. Public opinion and fear of infamous Lord Black wasn't easily swayed. Many people were all too willing to think he was indeed Voldemort's right hand man considering he'd just adopted the man's horcrux.

Harry and Hermione co-authored three letters to the Weasleys this week, but so far there'd been no response. She feared their friends hadn't been given a chance to read the letters let alone respond. The twins always said Molly ran the day to day activities of the Burrow like a warship. Little got past the woman, who'd even discovered Fred and George's secret stash of products earlier this summer and thrown them out along with the marketing flyers they'd worked so hard on. Harry, who'd had an open invitation to the Burrow the previous summer wanted to just floo over, had been stewing over the prospect for days. Being in a magical household with such easy access to his friends, to brooms, to Elves, it was all incredibly tempting to the kid who'd never enjoyed such opportunities. He just wanted to see his friends.

Sirius knew they'd written letters and gotten only silence in return. Of course he'd said no when Harry asked to drop by... Into a potentially hostile welcome. Looking at the man who'd never expected to be a parental figure, who still had almost no one in the world, Hermione felt for him.

"You did the right thing."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Molly and Arthur-"

He cut her off, "They were nice to him the last two summers. He thinks it'll be fine. He trusts them. He can't imagine they'd hurt him. I just... Hermione I can't take the chance."

She bit her lip. Molly and Arthur were kind but there was a history there. Hermione however realized he might not know. He still had his head buried in his arms as if everything about this situation was his fault. She reached across the table to touch his arm.

"Harry isn't used to kindness. He doesn't always realize something is wrong with the affection, or that it's not being given freely and wholly. He forgives his friends easily and overlooks their shortcomings." She paused to take a big breath.

Her memory of last summer in the Leaky Cauldron surfaced, of how Arthur knew of the escaped convict's personal connection to Harry and only gave him partial information. Her memory of the summer after first year, of how the boys rescued Harry from behind bars and locks and his clear malnutrition. How Molly noticed. The additional worrying details the twins had added about Molly and Arthur's response. Their lack of response.

"Sirius, once I started getting closer to the twins they told me they rescued Harry from his room with six locks on the door, a cat flap to be fed through, and bars on his window. Clearly the door had been replaced," She frowned, thinking of the regular door and window they'd seen as they grabbed Harry's clothes and every muggle thing from his room. The Dursleys hadn't taken such extreme measures when they replace the ruined ones.

She continued, "The twins were quite serious, told their parents and everything. They were upset when I wrote them earlier this month and mentioned Harry went back to Privet Drive."

That was before Sirius' trial, before the world discovered Harry was a horcrux. It felt like a different world from the one where Fred and George couldn't get her and Harry's letters. Molly and Arthur, whatever their feelings now, they'd let Harry walk back into unhealthy situations. She wasn't willing to let them near him. Sirius was right to be worried about their current frozen communications.

He lifted his head. His face could have been carved from stone. His attention sharp, the light in his eyes cold. His words equally slow and frigid, "Molly and Arthur knew?"

She nodded, wary and tired from not knowing who they could trust. It'd been a wonderful week, but a long week. In between hanging out with Harry she'd been meeting with Sirius and helping him tailor responses to the press, to political adversaries, to Goblin leaders regarding their policies on dark artifacts. A letter from Fred and George would have made all of this more bearable. Their jokes, pranks, and creative intellectualism brought a much needed levity to her life. She didn't appreciate her recent letters being blocked. The knowledge Molly and/or Arthur were doing this purposefully... It was heavy with implications and fit a bit too well with their history of actions.

"Fred and George shared their concerns. Arthur at the time was extremely busy with his new legislative bill." Hermione's shoulders had gone rigid. Her frustration with the situation showing through in her posture and words, "Arthur might have forgotten to report it. He does care for Harry, it's just..." She trailed off, troubled by the inconsistency in the otherwise good man's actions.

Sirius' quick mind offered, "Maybe he didn't report it because he was convinced not to. Arthur is loyal and trusting. The Prewetts always have been closely tied to the Dumbledore family."

His tone turn clinical, flipped from anger to dissecting the social and political connections. Despite how he clearly hated it Sirius had once said he'd always been good at getting what he wanted. Hermione suspected few things would motivate him as much as protecting the last remnant of his best friends, his family. Earlier this week his godson had been attacked and now he found out friends might not be friends anymore. He would slice them down to the bone and take them apart just to see how they worked if it kept them away from the kid staying in his house. His mind moved to the next logical connection between the Weasley parents and the horcrux kept locked away in a muggle neighborhood.

"Albus didn't kill Harry straight off. He wanted him alive and where he'd been placed."

Hermione frowned. Despite Albus having incentive to deal with the horcrux immediately he didn't. This hadn't sat well with Hermione. The old man hadn't attempted to heal Harry or kill him. He'd left a horcrux in a muggle neighborhood, its harmful soul shard in a toddler like a ticking bomb. The Goblin curse breaker had horror stories on what horcruxes made people do, let alone what might have happened if Voldemort's soul shard took over Harry's body and decided the muggle neighborhood should be cleansed.

Hermione mused, "He might have planned to use Voldemort's own horcrux against him, on the man's return. Albus left it in a muggle location where he himself couldn't be incriminated should something happen."

"That plan is ruined. It's public knowledge, any death eater who kills their Lord's horcrux will be snuffed. An open act of betrayal."

Hermione frowned, "Now it's the other side who wants him dead...or something."

"Or something," Sirius agreed. "People can be persuaded to do things they might not have otherwise if they are convinced it'll improve the world. My grandfather once said everyone thinks their agenda is improving something."

"Never the bad guys," Hermione murmured.

She grimaced. He returned her look, his face stony once again. It was an ugly thought. Hermione mulled over how many policies casually hurt people like those in the Privet Drive neighborhood. The mass compulsion charms, the mass memory modification, the placing of Voldemort's soul shard with a bunch of people who couldn't protect themselves against it. She wanted the magicals to stop treating "lesser people" like they were cattle, but she was too tired to be mad at everyone. Being angry at a chess master who played people like objects was easier. It was easy to feel vindictive.

Her voice came out low, "Albus needs to be held accountable. We have to hold people like that responsible. We have to make it so. We can't let this continue. Otherwise people like MacMillan are going to keep proposing those muggle control laws. You'd think they want a fight, the tossers."

Magic wafting from her burned so hot it snapped and crackled. Her curls had sprung loose of their confines and ran loose around her head and about her shoulders. Sirius' magic wafted around her, matching hers, both soothing and strengthening hers with its presence. It was laden with intent. Hermione knew she couldn't leave yet. She didn't want to scare her parents.

She eyed Sirius up and down, "Before I leave would you like to blow off some steam?"

He stood so quick, it's like he'd been waiting for an excuse to do something, to do anything. He grabbed her hand and with a sharp crack they were transported to a different part of the estate. Hermione raised a brow, her shock and glee heightening as she took in the space. It was a miniature colosseum made of the same black carved bedrock as the Ministry and the standing stones. Except this room had art made of bright yellow, gold, and white stone inlaid to form massive pictures. The styles reminiscent of the Roman vases Sirius had smashed and then repaired in his office. It was made for fighting and was absolutely gorgeous, hands down Hermione's favorite part of this manor. Perhaps it was the lack of stone gargoyles or garish embellishments. Hermione never thought she'd like a room more than a library, but this dueling chamber took the prize. It was perfect. He was perfect.

He steered her away from the shielded seats and up onto the raised platform. He shoved her playfully, and she went with a teasing smile to one end. Once there she raised a wand and a hand in the same style Flitwick used so effectively. Hermione bared her teeth in a smile. The responding chuckle from his throat made her blood rush. He stood there dark and surrounded by the art and she thought he'd have been able to convince her to live in a box in an alley as easily as he'd convinced her to stay in this lavish place. He would have made anywhere beautiful, but in this fighting space and on this platform with his magic writhing with energy... She thought he valued more than any of it. The presence and feel of him was intoxicating. He bowed, his stance and eyes never facing away from hers. She bowed in turn then raised her wand. They cast at the same time.

Her and Sirius dueled, the heat of it radiated off the platform and her skin. Hermione thought herself passably attracted to the man. She was wrong. His shoulders were wide, his neck thick, his forearms corded with muscle exposed from his pushed up sleeves, and when he moved it all moved. The casual way he assessed her, tested her, the way his jaw went to one side as he decided how he'd end it. His shirt clung to him and the way he did some things so effortlessly, graceful and powerful. Hermione, she was beginning to realize, had a thing for powerful men. With hungry eyes she assessed him back, thinking she should put off her parents and shove him against the wall. She probably shouldn't have let herself get distracted. Her shield failed just as he sent a combination of slicing and blasting spells.

Hermione felt her body flipped backwards, weight flung away and body blown off the platform. She had to arresto momentum herself before she hit a column. She landed mostly upright and through a curtain of hair saw the tall man jump off the platform and rush over. Sirius reached for her. She waved him off as she stood. His hair and the left side of his robes were singed. Her shirt and the hip of her jeans had been sliced. Her grin came a lot easier now. The cut didn't even feel painful, the rush of their fight still soaring through her. She grinned wider.

"That was good."

He shook his head and poked his wand forward at her seeping red side. Hermione yelped when a sharp sensation hit her and spread across her hip and stomach. Suddenly aware just how deep the sliced skin must be for it to hurt like this from some healing.

"Sorry," Sirius apologized. "It's an antiseptic spell. The auror field guide didn't take comfort into account."

"Thank you."

Sirius seemed bothered. His voice solemn and condemning, "I was the one who hurt you."

"Not on purpose."

He probably hadn't expected her shield to falter as it had. Flitwick's innate shield could only do so much under prolonged assault and when her own shield charm failed his slicing hex got through. It wasn't even that bad.

"Doesn't change the outcome."

Suddenly Hermione understood they weren't just talking about a dueling wound. He may have completed his healing spells, but Sirius was staring at the stitching skin so forlorn and as if he was without hope. It became clear he wasn't just guilty this. No, his troubles went much deeper. She gave him a sad smile, wishing she could make it go away and knew how impossible that was. It wasn't something which could be fixed.

"You can't blame yourself for everything Sirius. I don't blame you." She raised her shirt, showing the skin of her side already knitting back together from his latest spell, "I forgive you. I bet James and Lily do too."

The shattered look he wore broke through to his voice, "You can't know that."

"Didn't they care for you? Anyone half decent would and I'm guessing they were more than half decent."

For the second time Sirius grabbed her in a hug and buried his face in her hair. His breath came out ragged, it's warmth and moisture coming through her hair and brushing her neck. He was strong, unmovable, and clutching her as if she might fade away. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into it. She held onto Sirius just as tight.