~One Week Later~
[HERMIONE GRANGER]
Hermione Granger rounds the tail end of the cab she has just exited, and pushes up the grimy blue boot in order to retrieve her bags, trunk, and Crookshanks in his carrier. The cabbie leans out his window and says to her in a rather affected accent, "Zis is where you want to go? You are sure? Zere is no-," he looks down at his notepad, "Numéro douze zat I can see-"
"Yes, I'm aware, I apologize. I misspoke," Hermione fumbles to secure her backpack on her shoulder while balancing everything else, "This is exactly the spot, thanks."
"You would like 'elp?" The man gestures to her hunch-backed form with an unlit cigarette. Hermione was beginning to regret taking the cab from her home, Professor McGonagall had certainly offered to ferry her after her task. But she had thought that having the ride alone would give her time-
Time to what? To grieve?
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she forces a smile and turns to look at the driver over her stooped shoulder, "Thanks very much for the offer, but I'm fine."
He shrugs as if to say, 'Well I tried,' and drives off almost immediately. The over-laden girl waits until she sees him turn the corner before she begins laboriously ascending the stone steps which lead to the address that he couldn't see. Her hands full, she kicks the elegant door at its base instead of properly knocking. As the seconds pass, she begins to feel extremely small with all of her things draped about her, looking properly alone in the world.
Suddenly the front door is opened, and Harry immediately relieves her of her trunk and Crookshanks' carrier. "Hullo, 'Mione," he grunts in greeting as he swivels the luggage into the entryway.
"Hullo, Harry," she gives him a small smile in thanks, and steps inside.
The house is quiet, and as they move their way slowly up the stairs in order to deposit her things in a bedroom, Hermione asks Harry, "Is anyone else home?"
Without warning, the curtains to Mrs. Black's portrait swing wide and her shrieking, horrible words begin to echo throughout the house.
"FILTH! SCUM! PLAUGING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS! WOE IS ME THE DAY THAT I OPEN MY EYES TO SEE MUDBLOODS AND MUGGLES WANDERING MY HALLOWED HALLS! BURN THE PLACE, I SAY! BURN IT TO THE GROUND AND CLEANSE-"
"Oi!" Harry scrambles down the steps, Hermione's trunk left perched upon the stair. He reaches the nasty woman's portrait in record time and begins fighting the curtains shut while mumbling, "Foul-mouthed cow…" Holding the ends together in one hand, he bends down to retrieve something that had flown off when the curtains separated as violently as they had. Rising, he pinches the ends together with what appears to be a crisp-clip.
The job done, he wipes his hands on his trousers as he turns back to face Hermione on the staircase. She raises an eyebrow and inclines her head inquiringly at the clip.
"Ah, yeah," Harry makes his way back up the staircase to resume their climb, "Finnie's idea, actually. I think she thought Mrs. Black was rather funny at first. Kept having shouting matches with her when she was bored, but…"
"Got sick of it?" Hermione grinning at the thought, stumps up to the landing and follows Harry down the second story hallway to her usual room.
Harry swings open the door to the bedroom and leads the way inside. "She got rather disappointed, I think," he responds, "Says that Mrs. Black's comebacks are downright uninspired and 'not worth the effort.'"
Hermione throws her backpack and duffel onto the coverlet of her four-poster bed. Her room at the Order of Phoenix headquarters is beautiful, with her own private bath. Ron or Harry must have shared with Sirius that her favorite color is purple, because sometime during their 5th year he had managed to charm most of the linens, comforters, and hangings into various designs and shades of purple.
Sirius has a soft spot for Crookshanks, as well. For in the room, beside a handsome armoire, he had placed a rather opulent cat-tree complete with toys and scratching posts. Crookshanks makes a beeline for this kitty-utopia immediately after Harry releases him from his carrier.
"But to answer your question," Harry strides over to the desk set across the room, and sits in the velvet-cushioned chair, "Finnie is in her room, I think, and Sirius is out for the moment."
Hermione kicks off her trainers before settling herself comfortably indian-style on the bed, facing him. "Professor McGonagall said Sirius has been kept busy, with the Ministry trying to make amends for his imprisonment," she acknowledges, softly.
"Yeah," Harry says ruefully, wincing, "They keep trying to crawl up his arse. Calling him in for meetings in order to get his perspective on Voldemort's movements, on how the dementors could be getting used against us, all sorts of stuff."
The young wizard begins picking at the roughened edge of his jeans' seam as he continues, "Dumbledore has been using him a lot too." He glances up and out the gauze-curtained window, "In animagus form, I mean. He's doing a lot of surveillance in the cities where he can go pretty much unnoticed."
Hermione nods, seeing that Harry has probably been missing his godfather, not having access to him as much as before. But, she also knows that Harry would be happy that Sirius is no longer forced to be in hiding.
Harry pushes his glasses up on his nose in that nervous habit of his, "Er- Hermione?" He clears his throat, and turns back to face her, "Are… are you alright?"
Hermione feels herself go stiff, unsure if she really wants to discuss the heartbreak which had comprised her morning. "Um," she looks down at her hands, and thinks about how to answer. "No," she decides, "No, I don't think that I am."
Harry rises from the desk chair and moves so that he's standing in front of her. "We don't have to talk about it yet," he says firmly, understanding. "But, I wanted you to know that if you need to, I'm here. We're all here. Ron really- "
"Oh!" Hermione's eyes snap up to his in surprise, and to her horror she can feel a slight blush at her cheeks, "Please tell him I'm not ready to discuss it just yet. I will, I promise, I just- "
Harry nods quickly before she can finish, "I understand, don't worry, I'll tell him."
He begins to make his way to the door, sensing that she would like to be alone. But at the doorway he pauses, and looks at her over his shoulder, his hand on the knob behind him. "For what it's worth, 'Mione, what you did today was really brave. We're all really proud of you, and-," he takes a deep breath, "As soon as we can, I promise you we'll do everything to find your parents and bring them back. I mean it. I promise." Without another pause, he shuts the door behind him and leaves her be.
Hermione feels thankful that he left her alone. Without the façade to keep up, she finally allows her face to crumple under the weight of the loneliness which obliviating her parents for their safety had caused.
A couple of tears squeeze their way out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She knows, of course, that what she did was the right thing to do, but it doesn't make her feel any less alone now. The Weasleys, Sirius, and Harry would never let her feel like less than family, but even so…they weren't hers. She had just abandoned hers.
A sudden thought snaps her out of her pity-party.
Finnie will understand.
Compelled by the pressure in her chest which she's suddenly sure only the muggle stranger can relieve, Hermione leaps to her feet and swiftly exits her bedroom. Careful to be silent, for she doesn't want to run into Harry or reawaken Mrs. Black, Hermione quickly descends the main staircase and pads on her stockinged feet around a couple of corners until she finds the entrance to the basement.
She pauses for only a moment, reflecting on the last time she saw the woman. Finnie had reemerged from Dumbledore's office almost comically at precisely the time they were about to sit for lunch. Hermione remembers how the woman had described to Sirius Kreacher's treachery, and how it had taken both herself and Finnie to subdue his anger and convince him not to kill the elf – Harry and most of the Weasleys had not at all been inclined to intervene. Ultimately, Sirius had forbidden Kreacher to have the ability to speak to anyone but Sirius or Harry, and to never again leave the confines of Number Twelve.
Hermione still feels a twinge of unease at this, but drastic measures need to occasionally be taken. This is war, after all.
Her heart sinks at the reminder of what troubles this war has wrought. And she decidedly descends the steps two at a time in order to reacquaint herself with the only other person who, in her opinion, might understand her loss.
Upon reaching the final few steps, Hermione can hear music resonating in the hallway. During their shopping trip a week ago, Finnie had splurged on some speakers, and it would appear she is making good use of them. The melody is oddly beautiful even though it's comprised of electric guitar and a pounding bass drum, and the voices singing the lyrics are both soft and compelling simultaneously.
Hermione slows her feet just a bit, feeling unsure again. She had had quite a lot of fun when they had taken their guest shopping with Mrs. Weasley, though to Finnie's chagrin they never did go to Diagon Alley. Finnie had forced Fred and George to model her potential undergarments over their clothes before she would commit to buying them. And, at one point, had hidden in a rack of coats in Harrods just so she could scare Tonks because she had bet Ron that Tonks' hair would turn white (she had been wrong – Tonks' hair just spikes out when she gets scared, apparently).
Everyone had become quite taken with her. By the end of the trip, Fred and George had begun to argue over who would get her hand in marriage, but she had interrupted them with a laugh and declared them both unsuitable partners as they are, in her words, "jailbait." A term which had reduced Tonks to a heap on the floor amid snorts of laughter.
Even Ron and Harry had argued about her once they had all returned to Grimmauld Place that evening.
"I donno, I just don't get how she's supposed to help us," Ron had pointed out grumpily. The three of them had been nursing butterbeers after dinner, and Finnie was across the room with Ginny, showing her how to fold a paper football.
But Harry was already defensive, "She's going to spy, that's what Dumbledore said." Dumbledore had met with the Trio as soon as they had returned from the shopping outing. He had explained a great deal to them about what he knew, especially about Voldemort's horcruxes. Hermione, at that moment, had open in front of her a book he had decided to give her of wizarding fairy-tales. She was working her way through it as they conferred.
"She's. A. Muggle." Ron hissed, lowering his voice to avoid attracting attention, "If anything she's in more danger than any of us. Not at all a suitable candidate for spying on Death Eaters in my bloody opinion."
Hermione had bitten her lip, for she didn't entirely disagree. She simply felt there was a piece of the puzzle regarding Finnie's involvement which they weren't given.
Harry had narrowed his eyes stubbornly at his friend, "If Dumbledore says she's got what it takes, I don't see how you think you know better than- "
"What if she gets killed?" Ron had bit out, harshly, "That's on us. We dragged her backwards, away from her friends and family, just so she can- "
"Her family?" Hermione had breathed, looking up at Ron. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of that. Trust Ron to be the perceptive one for once.
Ron looked uncomfortable, "Well, of course, 'Mione. What did you think?" Hermione just blinked at him, and Harry said nothing. Ron went on, "Mum said that she mentioned her mum last night. I'll be honest, I don't think she came here by choice."
Hermione had felt those words hit her in the pit of her stomach. She had looked back at the muggle woman, then, the firelight shining on her pale blonde hair which had been tamed into a plait. At that time, Hermione had already known what she was going to have to do, Dumbledore had said as much. But right then, seeing Finnie, understanding that she must have given up quite a lot in order to stay with them, it had given her strength.
"It doesn't matter," Harry had said stubbornly, "She's here now, and she's staying here, and I know she's going to do a good job."
Ron allowed a small smile as he gazed across the table at their friend, "I think you just like her because she makes Sirius act like-"
"Makes Sirius act like what?" Sirius had appeared at Ron's elbow, right at that moment.
A sudden bang behind the basement bedroom door breaks Hermione from her contemplative reverie. She hears Finnie mutter a string of curses, and suddenly there's an odd smell of burning plastic permeating the hallway. Deciding it's now or never, Hermione finally knocks on the door.
There's a scuffle. But within seconds, the door bursts open and Finnie is standing there. "Hello, darling!" the woman announces jovially, but then quickly adds, "Let me put on pants."
Sure enough, the muggle woman is wearing what appears to be pineapple-adorned knickers, paired only with the blue t-shirt which Hermione had originally given her. The t-shirt is incredibly snug, exposing Finnie's midriff but proudly exclaiming "J'adore Paris!" in white cursive across her chest. Her hair is messy, set in a sloppy bun on top of her head with wayward pale pieces poking in all directions. Also set high on her forehead, in her hair, is a pair of lab goggles.
"Sorry about the smell," Finnie calls from a standing wardrobe across the space, "I was soldering some pieces to some…things. I should probably find a way to do it outside. Or at the very least near a fucking window. Come in, come in!"
Perusing the room, Hermione notices a miniscule trail of smoke being emitted from a small, handheld tool resting upon what appears to be a workspace. Perpendicular to the work bench is a desk covered in notes and graphs, and even muggle mathematical tools like compasses and protractors of varying sizes. With a start Hermione realizes that she can't read any of the writing on the pages or completely discern any of the objects resting on the workbench.
Secrecy spells.
Hermione is intrigued, but forces herself to turn her back to the desks. The rest of Finnie's space has been completely transformed. A cherry wood four-poster bed now rests against a far wall, the coverlet and linens a mixture of night-sky navies, blues, and purples with constellations embroidered upon them. A set of red-and-white striped armchairs sit near the fire, a cherry table between them. Two more cushy red and navy chairs flank a zebra-print ottoman placed at the foot of the bed. But the most pronounced feature of Finnie's space has got to be the tapestries. At least two dozen, varying in size and design, line the ceilings and the walls. Everything from mandalas to tree-of-life depictions to tie-dyes to embroidered maps make the room extremely inviting and cozy.
Finnie chuckles from the wardrobe, and Hermione realizes her mouth may have fallen open as she took it all in. "Nice, right?" Finnie says as she tosses aside the goggles and hoists on a simple pair of slouchy, black sweatpants. "I was trying to give the impression of living inside of Steven Tyler's womb. I think I pulled it off."
Hermione smiles and gestures to the speakers still playing music atop the mantelpiece. "Is that who is playing?" she asks, timidly.
"Oh, no," Finnie responds, walking swiftly over to the speakers in order to lower the volume. "That band is called the Arctic Monkeys. You've still got a couple years 'til they're a thing, I'm afraid."
Hermione remembers Finnie showing everyone the device she had accidentally brought with her from the future, containing all of her music preferences in one little box. Hermione lifts her chin again at the speakers, "Does this mean you found a way to keep your device from dying?"
Finnie looks a little pleased with herself as she shows Hermione by lifting a thin cable connected to the speakers, and illustrating how it leads to her cell phone. The cell phone is on the floor, with what looks like a small circuit board connected to it via copper wires. The circuit board, in turn, is connected to another box containing four AA batteries, which is connected to the wall outlet. "Arthur just had all this crap in his shed, can you believe it?" Finnie says with a smugness which outlines her pride, "I had to get Sirius to magic some outlets into this room, but yeah. That's one hurdle dealt with."
Hermione smiles, but secretly wonders what it was that Finnie did for a living which harbored such ingenuity. She pads shyly over to the mantelpiece, and crouches on the floor next to the older woman. Finnie holds the device out to her, "You pick the next one."
Hermione uses the tip of her finger to scroll through the options, as she had seen Finnie do. Her finger pauses as she recognizes a title and clicks on it.
The soft tones of Ella Fitzgerald's "Dream A Little Dream of Me" begin wafting through the room, and Finnie looks up and grins at her. "I love this song," the woman says softly.
To her horror, Hermione feels her lower lip start to quiver. Finnie's face abruptly falls, and her eyes widen with sudden understanding. "Oh god. Oh no, sweetheart-," she lowers her voice to a hushed sort of whisper, "that wasn't today, was it?"
Hermione's face crumples and a silent sob tears through her small body. With no preamble, Finnie winds one of her arms under the girl's bent knees, and wraps the other around her back to support her. Before Hermione knows it, she's in the air, being held in the muggle woman's arms with what appears to be no effort. Finnie walks them both to the closest armchair and folds herself gently into it, the now-weeping girl settled comfortably in her lap, resting her head against Finnie's collarbone.
As they listen to the song together, the sting of empathetic tears reach Finnie's nose. But she powers through them and rubs Hermione's back in slow circles, murmuring any words of comfort she can think of. She tells her how brave she is, how pretty she is, how proud of her her parents would be if they knew the sacrifice she had made today. Ella Fitzgerald morphs into Pearl Jam's "Black," and, gradually, Hermione's breathing begins to slow. Finnie lifts a hand to pet the girl's hair soothingly, but begins humming along with the song to give her a little space to collect her thoughts.
[SIRIUS BLACK]
Sirius leaves Harry in the foyer of Number Twelve and makes for the basement stairs. The Weasleys will be arriving any minute in order to take the children to Diagon Alley for next year's schoolthings.
He springs down them two at a time, ruminating all the while on how he hasn't seen his sharp-tongued houseguest in nearly three days. They're in high demand, independently of one another. Ministry officials and strategists keep pulling him into consultations to "benefit from his expertise" regarding the dementors' abandonment of Azkaban, and the subsequent escape of its prisoners.
Meanwhile, the last time he saw Moody leading Finnie away by floo, he was pretty sure he had heard the cracked old man say, "Take a good grip on the handle, lass. Let me know how this one swings in yer tiny mitt-"
They really needed to catch up, he and Finnie.
Unbidden, Mooney's smirking face revolves to the forefront of his thoughts. The shabby bastard had been ribbing him endlessly about trying to accompany the muggle girl to Dumbledore's meeting a week ago.
"You didn't see the state of her, mate," Sirius had frowned, defending himself, "Her fucking wrist was broken."
"Yes," Mooney had grinned, "And I'm sure, to ease her ails, all she truly desired was to be curled up in bed with a great, shaggy dog-"
Sirius had cuffed him, then, nearly spilling his firewhiskey. He was one to talk Can't even look his bird in the eye.
Sirius pauses at the bottom of the circular stair; music is playing softly from Finnie's room, an almost melancholy tune. He raises one eyebrow in interest, but briefly considers returning upstairs and summoning her another way. An acrid smell lingers in the air as he contemplates his options.
But alas, his pull for her company was too strong – the vision of Mooney's head shakes sadly and says, 'You need to get out more, mate' – so he steps confidently to her door, knocks softly, and eases it open without a sound.
The vision which greets his eyes was not at all what he had expected. He had been expecting her to be at one of her work stations – "Two! I SAID I NEED TWO GODAMMIT," she had delicately requested – or even dozing in bed, catching up on a few hours' sleep.
Or, she might have been changing.
His subconscious grins, unabashed.
But no, what he sees instead is Finnie and Hermione sitting together in a single armchair, in front of the fire. Finnie's body curls around Hermione's petite form in a protective manner, their heads bent close together, whispering to one another quietly.
Sirius' heart squeezes at the sight. He remembers what Harry had detailed to him days ago, of Hermione's unfortunate task. She must have sought solace with the future-woman almost as soon as she had arrived here at Grimmauld Place. Sirius feels his insides grow heavy at the thought of that burden being effectively placed on the shoulders of a child, on Hermione.
Before he can grow too somber however, Finnie's sharp green eyes glance up from Hermione's warm brown ones and settle on him. Just as he is about to open his mouth and apologize for interrupting, her face breaks into a small smile, and she raises her hand from Hermione's shoulder blade to beckon him inside the room.
As he strides toward them, Hermione glances up at him as well. She visibly stiffens and blushes at his discovery of her incredibly vulnerable moment. Feeling the girl's discomfort, Finnie appears to give her a gentle squeeze in reassurance.
Once next to the armchair, Sirius drops to a crouch beside the tearstained face of his godson's best friend. "The Weasleys will be here soon, love," he murmurs to her, raising a hand to brush some of the frizzy locks which stuck to her cheek behind her ear. "Molly and Arthur are taking you kids to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies, and to see Fred and George's shop."
There is a great, sharp intake of air. Finnie's face has transformed from calm, matronly poise into pure unadulterated glee. Hermione looks up at the open-mouthed excitement hovering above her and gives a weak chuckle. "Would you like to come, Finnie?" the bushy-haired girl asks ironically. Hermione sits up in the chair, straightening her spine, but doesn't rise completely. Sirius registers mild surprise at her comfort of the closeness between herself and the other woman.
"I WOULD LOVE-"
"Actually," Sirius interrupts coolly, "Finnie and I will have to meet you there."
The woman actually pushes her lower lip out into a pout. Slowly, she constricts her arms until she's squeezing the girl in her lap like a python, "Hermione invited me, Sirius."
Hearing his name form on her lips prompts an almost visceral reaction within Sirius' body. With a burst of possessive lust, he feels a sudden animalistic impulse to wrench her from her seat and hold her tightly against him until she says it again. Forcibly, he squelches the urge and attempts to hide his reaction, though he's certain his eyes have dilated.
Down, boy.
He forces a wolfish smile up at the beautiful blonde now struggling with the witch in her lap – "Finnie I'm SURE he's just-," "NO-TELL HIM YOU INVITED ME" – and interrupts the flailing pair.
"You won't be able to enter the Leaky Cauldron via floo, my dear." Finnie stops wrestling Hermione and snaps her head back to Sirius and pays attention. "It's magicked against muggles, I'm afraid," he continues. "The only way to get you in is if you walk in the front door, with me guiding you through the confundus charms."
"Oh," Finnie huffs at a hank of pale blonde hair which had settled in the middle of her face, "Why didn't you just say that. Hermione- get off of so I can put some jeans on." The small witch complies, smiling in amusement. "I'm going go to freshen up," Hermione mutters, still grinning, as she makes her way across the room to the door.
Sirius watches Finnie as she pads over to her armoire, "You may want to wear something nice," he drawls at her, freely observing her exposed skin at the midriff, "We'll likely be taking the twins out to dinner to celebrate their first month in business."
"Psh. I always look nice," she scoffs, still not facing him. But then suddenly shouts, "HERMIONE! SIRIUS SAYS WE HAVE TO WEAR SOMETHING SEXY FOR DINNER. G-STRINGS, ONLY."
"Bloody hell, woman," Sirius hisses, turning quickly to make a beeline for the stairs. If he's lucky he'll be able to catch Hermione in time to explain. "NICE," he calls ahead of him, "I SAID WEAR SOMETHING NICE."