"This feels wrong." Hermione looked over at Harry, his wet hair sticking to his forehead as he blindly searched through the large collection of books that Jocasta had led them to.

"It's likely the sheer amount of Dark magic we're reading through. I've never seen such sick practices," Neville said, flipping through the pages of the book in his hands. Even though they had been pre sorted by Hermione, it didn't take much to realized that the Dimitrious before her were a bunch of very…. ambitious people who were willing to do any and everything to make themselves more powerful than all others, whether it be through means of murder and sacrifice, or it was through means of enslavement, they had done it. He'd never been so relieved to see someone disgusted-no matter how minimally- by something he'd shown them as he was when he showed Hermione a ritual that had involved drinking blood from an infant's skull.

There's no such thing, by the way." They both looked up, seeing her flipping through her book in boredom. Feeling their eyes on her, she looked up, seeming to make eye contact with the both of them.

"Magic in and of itself can be neither dark nor light, that is just propaganda created by different governments to instill fear in magic users so that they won't do something stupid to get themselves and innocent people killed. Human beings have to be closely monitored when using magic because we are too irrational and curious for our own goods. The magic is never evil, it it those who choose to do evil with magic that are evil. If that were the case, the unforgivables could be used legally in the right situations. But they can't." They continued to watch her as she went back tp flipping through her book. That statement led to a long silence, both boys contemplating the words that she had spoken

"I'm not really finding anything helpful about this either, but that's not what I meant." Harry turned the pages of his book, his eyes drinking in the words spelled out there. Nothing seemed to be of any use and he was losing faith. What if Sirius never woke up? His books weren't so bad, but still bad. Hermione had been specific about what he was allowed to see, as the obvious connection he shared with the enemy was nothing to be taken lightly, especially when it involved the practices of a people that would definitely give Voldemort a run for his money.

"Well what did you mean?" Hermione didn't even look up from the tome she was reading, Harry taking the time to study her. Where she had once studied hunched over a desk, furiously scribbling away at notes she'd laid out on her desk, she was different. She truly looked as if she owned the place. Comfortably seated in the chair that occupied her grandmother's bedroom, she lazily skimmed through a book so filled with dark magic, that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The light filtering through the windows made her eyes seem almost golden, complimenting her pale skin very well. She was also beginning to develop freckles from sitting in her sunroom to watch the rise of the morning sun. It was where they had found her to inform her that her grandmother had gathered all of the books she'd requested.

"Your grandmother," he started, running his hands across the book in his lap. "She seemed very reluctant to give you these books, Hermione." He watched as she froze, her bottom lip disappearing into her mouth as she stared at her book, though it was clear that she was not reading it.

"What about this? It says we kill him first, then we sacrifice a dove and bring him back to life. It even says he'll come back with an added boost of power." Hermione frowned at the book Neville held in his hands. Her eyes scanned the page, widening as she watched the words begin to rearrange themselves. Grabbing it from him, she sighed, running a hand through her hair before doing the same to Harry's books, only to receive the same results.

"Damnit," she swore softly, flipping through the book. All of the words seemed to be having a party. "They've been enchanted. You can't actually read these, he placed a familial enchantment on them." Standing, she gathered every book she had issued, hoisting them into her arms and carrying them to the back of the study, where they had originally been. Leading them out of the room, she closed the door behind herself.

"She's afraid of what will happen if I read them." Harry jumped, waiting for her to continue. Neville had split from the group, Hermione having had watched him with a concerned look, but she continued on without a word until she had just spoken.

"Those books contain dark material, likely much darker than what you thought you'd seen. There's a certain pull to act on such dark urges, and not many people in my family have been willing to resist these urges. That's just how strongly they desire power, though they all have different reasons for doing such. I may seem sure of myself, harry, but even I have no earthly idea how prolonged exposure to these books will affect me." His eyes met hers and he could tell that there was something she wasn't saying, something she wasn't telling him about the books and their effects, but she didn't look as if she wanted to disclose that information.

Once the two of them had separated, Hermione made her way towards the front of the house, where the garden was. Similar to Neville, her grandmother had a penchant for plants, though she new that his gift stemmed from his familial magick, which was a oneness with the Earth. It was her mother's familial magick, mut she had developed her father's ability to toy with the mind. The memories Adad had of her great-grandfather were scarce and only from stories that her grandmother had told her as a child, and he was not a very nice man. He was the one that had introduced her to Sidero Dimitriou and decided that they were to be wed as soon as possible. Stavros' birth came shortly after and it was downhill from there.

"Hello, Adad." She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard her grandmother's voice, turning to the left to see the woman standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face as she watched her. Sighing, she shook her head, making her way over to the sitting area, her mind replaying all the times she had watched her grandmother and Augusta laugh and joke while her grandfather looked along in amusement. Sitting, she only spoke when Jocasta made herself comfortable in her own chair.

"I'm worried about Neville," she said, watching as the older woman nodded, pressing her fingers to her lips, a sign that she was concentrating. When she said nothing, Hermione spoke again.

"Did you do what I asked? Did you listen when you spoke to him?" It had been a desperate request that she'd sent by letter before they arrived to the train station, but she needed to know. A part of Jocasta's magick was that she had the ability to both see and hear the thoughts of others, even if the person whose thoughts she listened to didn't give her permission to do so, though she rarely took advantage of that gift. She said that it was a gross misuse of her abilities, but desperate times called for desperate measures and despite all that had happened, Hermione was concerned about her friend.

"He has very dark thoughts," the old woman started, seemingly picking her words carefully. "He wants revenge for the death of his grandmother and he wants it badly, but I don't think that he knows it yet. It goes far beyond simple grief and that is the reason that I did not want you reading those books, Adad." She sighed, knowing that Jocasta meant business. "To expose a mind so vulnerable to magic so powerful and oftentimes dark is not a good idea. I understand that you want to help your friend, but you need to help your friend. You and your brother. Neville needs not be involved with helping the likes of Sirius Black." She was confused by her grandmother's words. It was almost as if she was saying that Sirius of all people would be the one to lead Neville to darkness.

"You're absolutely right," she said as she looked up, opening her mouth to say something, eyes widening when she realized that not only had her grandmother up and left, but that Neville was standing in the doorway, a look of fury written across his face that told her that he had heard everything. "Neville! I can explain! We were just-" He held up a hand, which stopped her immediately.

"You're absolutely right?! What the FUCK, Hermione?! What, am I not smart enough to help you and Harry figure out what's wrong with Sirius? Not brave enough?! Where the bloody fuck do you get off making decisions for me?" She didn't know whether to be mortified or relieved in that moment. If what he said was true, then he hadn't heard that she'd asked her grandmother to root around in his mind for information. Clearing her throat, she rose to her feet.

"Neville, you're going through a lot and I didn't want to add any more on your plate. I understand that you can make your own decisions, but it seems like you're just trying to find something to take your mind off of the fact that you are hurting. I know how loss can be, it can eat you whole if you hold it in for too long, and when it comes out, it's almost never pretty. I didn't want that to happen to you, so I figured-"

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO MAKE DECISIONS FOR ME!" She jumped at the volume of his voice, resisting the strong urge to grab her wand. "I can make decisions on my own! I'm the head of my bloody house for Merlin's sake! I don't need you or Harry to hold my bloody hand, and if you actually took the time to ask me that instead of doing what you think is best for me, then maybe you would know that!" She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing seemed to come out.

"Save it," he said, turning on his heels and storming off, leaving her to stand there in silence, unaware of what to do about her current predicament. Letting her head fall back, she ran a hand through her hair, mentally counting the days that he parents would be back.

Harry

It was odd, seeing Hermione in such a melancholy mood. He'd been in his room when he heard muffled shouting and then the slamming of a door. Not even five seconds later, his ears were greeted with the most pathetic knock he had ever heard in his life. Opening the door, he came face to face with his sister and best friend, stepping to the side as she entered and draped herself across the sofa in his sitting room, which was where she remained nearly a half hour after arriving.

"Why do I have to fuck everything up, Harry? It's like I get presented with an opportunity to help someone, and instead of going with my brain's command that I mind my business, I just leap and 'help' people. Hermione Granger has a stronger hold on me than I thought." He chuckled as she lifted her head to allow him a seat before resting it in his lap.

"I take it you and Neville are having a hard time agreeing with one another." She nodded, running a tired hand across her face

"Neville heard me tell my grandmother that she was right when she suggested that Neville not help us while we try to do something about Sirius. Then, like an idiot, I told him that he was using it as an excuse not to mourn the loss of his grandmother properly." He raised an eyebrow as she sat up, turning to face him, her eyes watering, bottom lip trembling.

"Neville hates me!" Tears began to slide down her face, and in that moment, Harry saw his friend. Not Adad Dimitriou, but Hermione Granger, the girl so afraid of failure and rejection that it drove her to tears on multiple occasions, especially when she didn't know what to do to fix something that she had broken.

"While I don't agree with what you did, I kind of agree with what your grandmother was saying as well, though wouldn't go so far as to stop Neville from doing a good thing. Recently, Neville's been a bit temperamental, and while I understand that feeling, it makes me worry. You saw how much of a twat I was this year, I can't imagine how he's feeling. He's lost everyone that was important to him and his oldest friend just told him that he isn't good enough to help bring back someone who is important to her." He could see that his words weren't helping her mood, but it was something she needed to hear. She was very silent for a while, and he could tell she was trying to decide whether or not she should tell him something. After what seemed like much deliberation, she turned him and opened her mouth.

"Harry, I did something. Something that I shouldn't have done, that I had no right to do." He felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach as sh fiddled with her fingers, eyes lowered to the floor. Clearing her throat, she continued.

"Do you remember when we first arrived to Greece and you and Neville went to the sweets shop to get snacks for the train and I said that I had to go to the post office to get postcards?" He nodded, remembering how anxious she was to go for something so ridiculous and her insistence that she wanted to go alone. "Well, I didn't go for that." He waited for her to finish, remembering what was obviously faked enthusiasm, but when he asked why she seemed so bummed, she said that the post office had run out of the post cards that she had wanted and she was stuck with standard tourist ones. He'd bought it and so had Neville, both writing it off as simple disappointment.

"I went to send a letter to my grandmother. I asked her," she started, her words catching in her throat, though the tremor was telling. "I told her to root around in Neville's head when we arrived at the train station to see what he was really thinking. That's why I separated myself from the group when we got there. I knew she was just a few people behind us, but I didn't want to look guilty when she looked through his innermost and personal thoughts. I would have immediately given myself away. I know it was wrong, but I was desperate, you have to believe me!" She looked up at him and he could definitely tell that the guilt had been eating her up inside. Though he wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be alright, he couldn't.

"Hermione, you can't tell Neville this." After her confession, she went into detail about what Jocasta had told her about neville's thoughts, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline when she mentioned revenge for the murder of Augusta. While wanting revenge was a normal reaction, he never expected Neville to want it.

In that moment, it all made sense. Jocasta didn't want them to read the books because of Neville, not Hermione. Hermione said herself that many of her relatives, strong sorcerers with the ability to withstand handling dark magic as if it were nothing, as well as the magic of Death itself, were all tempted to partake in the magic in the books. Neville would stand no chance. He would have found a way to get revenge against whoever murdered the last of his family and Hermione would have given him everything she needed. They said once a wizard took a life, there was no going back to the Light. The guilt of that would have driven Hermione mad, and she would have constantly blamed herself for Neville going bad.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair, looking around his lavish bedroom with slight fondness as he pondered over his thoughts, He needed a drink.

"My grandfather's collection of old Muggle alcohol is in the cellars," Hermione offered. Groaning, he hadn't realized he said that aloud. Drinking was something he didn't want to become a habit, but it was a surprisingly calming activity. Back when he was in Surrey, about a week after he had come home,there was a night that the Dursleys had a house party and he wasn't allowed to come. Petunia had implemented a "no fighting" policy in the house after learning that Dudley had high blood pressure, which she attributed to be due to stress and not the colossal amount of food he consumed.

The summer before his fourth year, Vernon had allowed Dudley to try a glass of some expensive kentucky bourbon that he simply referred to as 'the good stuff'. After one sip, Dudley was crying, saying that it burned his throat. After almost dying and being possessed in the DoM, Harry really didn't care if Petunia didn't want them to fight or not, but it was an opportunity for him to experience one reckless thing. He offered Vernon a deal. One glass of "the good stuff" and he would go to his room with no fuss, and would stay there the entire night, as well as clean up after the party. It was too good of an opportunity for Vernon to pass up, and he took it, so that was how he spent the night of the party, tipsY in his room. Now, he had a taste for it.

It also helped him get closer to his uncle, if only to learn better ways to get what he wanted out of him. Throughout the week, Vernon would invite him to have a glass when Petunia went to bed, but would make him promise that not a soul was to know about it. He still despised him, but he didn't hate him as viciously, and that was something.

Motioning for Hermione to lead the way, he followed her to the end of the hall, watching as she waved her wand over a set of bricks in the end, revealing an archway almost like the entry to Diagon Alley. A quick journey down the hallway revealed a set of stairs and she began what was likely a long descent.

"Whoa." When they finally reached the bottom, he was met with a large area, similar to what he saw in most muggle movies set in medieval times. It was grander than the Great hall, and the walled were lined with barrels and barrels of what he believed to be ancient spirits, both Muggle and magical. There were grand tables as well, all decorated beautifully. A stone platform separated a part of the room from the rest and he could see that she gravitated towards it, climbing the six steps to reveal a grand sitting area, a large, circular table situated in the middle.

"Is that-"

"Yes."

He watched as her fingers trailed along the intricate designs carved into a dark stone, one which he doubted he had ever seen before. "I thought that the descendent of king Arthur would own the table. Wasn't it his? She nodded, a small smile on her face. "He has to earn it." His eyes bugged out of his head.

"You know the descendent of King Arthur?!" She scoffed, nodding. as she turned to leave the table.

"Yeah, he's a bit daft if I do say so myself. A complete dunce at times." She chuckled, almost as if it were some joke that he doubted he'd ever get.

"Do you think you could introduce me to him?" He felt his heart beating in anticipation of her answer, watching as her shoulders shook with mirk, her head shaking from side to side.

"Trust me, Harry. You will most definitely meet him when the time is right." He watched her smile falter slightly before she stepped off of the final step, leaving the conversation behind her.

"This is the muggle collection. Take what you want, I'll be over here." He watched as she made her way over to the closest table to them, stretching her arms over her head once she was seated. He winced at the sound of several of her bones popping, but it seemed to have her content. Their time in Greece was getting to both good and bad starts, and he had no other choice than to hope for the future.

Hello all! I've been away for a while, life has been really kicking my ass. To all of those who stuck around, I really appreciate. I have also reposted this story on ao3, so if anyone sees it out there, that is me, though it's probably obvious. My readers on ao3 are really helpful and I really appreciate them because their reviews and kudos inspire and motivate me to put out more content, as I was actually going to abandon this story before I put it on there because it didn't seem like anyone liked it. I know they say people should write for themselves, but honestly, that's a load of bullshit. I write for my readers, and if my readers don't enjoy my content I shouldn't waste my time on shitty content. They ask questions, tell me if they're lost or confused, and it's very refreshing.