Author's Note: Just another Pureblood Hermione, Sirius Black Lives fic. But hey, two cakes!
This fic will likely borrow a lot from fanon of various sources. I've read so much that I have very little clue where things come from in my brain anymore. Been reading HP fic for 20+ years and this is my first long fic foray into it.
For anyone concerned about the unfinished states of my other two long fics in other fandoms, there is a lot of history with them that, let's just say, involves abuse and a horrible ex-husband. I keep them for posterity and the potential to finish them in the future. I cannot promise regular posting but I'm extremely excited about writing something of this type, and of writing for the first time in quite some time, and have already gotten further than the first chapter, so that at least is a plus. This is my "write what you want to read" story, my "make me feel like a princess" story, and in a lot of ways is also therapy. I hope that you know I will give this fic my love. :)
My Potterhead beta of 7+ years, Annaelle, is steadfastly by my side and will knock any foolishness out of my head, but that being said: I will play fast and loose with canon in some places. This is a wonderful sandbox, and there are so many ways to interpret things, especially with the whole Pureblood culture thing that I'm excited to play with. Sometimes I'll get canon things wrong, but please feel free to gently inform me of it if it's, like, a hugely impactful mistake. Otherwise... magic!
There will be romance, there will be a Final Battle, there will be twists and turns, but this fic is also about family and love and acceptance and friendship and the boring activity of taking over the Wizengamot. I do so hope you enjoy!
Reviews and favourites always mean love. ^_^
"Sirius, they're going to be coming here at any time. You need to leave, or else what good will you be to her if you're arrested and sent back to Azkaban?" Remus pleaded with his best friend—even if they hadn't been very good friends for most of the last twelve years.
Some bonds transcended time itself.
Or, at least, that was vaguely what Sirius was musing as he stared at the form of the girl in the bed in front of him in the Hogwarts Infirmary, his godson's hand wrapped warmly, safely, securely , in one of Sirius' own large hands, coming from the bundle of blankets on the other bed.
"Sirius, they need you to remain free if you're to be of any use to them," Remus tried again.
"Dumbledore said I'd have at least two hours," he finally grumbled, and leaned forward, reaching with his free hand towards the girl he'd thought dead, though not quite daring to touch. As if he wasn't allowed to.
He'd feared so much that she'd been dead, lying there in the Department of Mysteries in the midst of the battle, Dolohov's signature curse gleaming and gaping across her broken body. That fear was a much more recent and vicious permutation, but likely not more profound, than the fear he'd held when he'd thought her lost to him for good in 1980. The day she'd disappeared, secluded and occluded from even the magic at the deepest part of his magical core which had tied them together.
It had been as if she had died, but without the vicious backlash that usually accompanied such a bond.
"Are you sure it's her?" Remus asked softly, finally taking the seat beside Sirius', crammed between Harry and Hermione Granger's bed.
Sirius blinked tears from his eyes, letting his mind carry him right back into the events of the night.
He'd been moping around Grimmauld as had been his wont of late, when he'd received a Patronus from Snape telling him to expect a sudden influx of Order members. There had been very little time to think as Sirius had been swept up in the tide. His pup was in danger. Harry. His godson; the last little bit of light in his godforsaken life. There was no way he was staying behind like he'd been told. Harry had somehow gotten it into his stupid head that Sirius had been taken captive at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries, and instead of going to an adult like any sane child would, he'd gathered a group of underage friends, half-trained witches and wizards, and went off on a harebrained rescue.
Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, and others had made their way as quickly—and likely as illegally—as possible to the Department of Mysteries, where they'd pretty quickly gathered where and what the children had been up to.
Sirius had been running full tilt towards a large open doorway to what looked like a large, circular room, faint whispers calling his name to come closer, Sirius, come join us… when he'd stumbled to his knees, hands clasped against his chest and upper abdomen, barely keeping a hold of his borrowed wand with the training of ages past in his Auror years.
Even through the pain, his eyes zeroed right in on a smaller door at the edge of the atrium, feeling as if his entire soul was being set on fire in that room. Yelling hoarsely at Remus and the others to go ahead without him, he stumbled his way towards the door and then nearly tripped right over the prone body of Hermione Granger.
He'd only seen her in person a couple of times, always in the company of Harry and Ron, but they hadn't spoken much person to person, despite the questions he could see building up behind her hazel eyes that she was obviously dying to ask him. But out of some form of respect for Harry, she'd let her best friend have as much of Sirius' attention as possible, and Sirius knew that Harry had been grateful for his friend's discretion.
Why had he been pulled towards her? Hermione was lying in a pool of blood, still spreading slowly away from her, though some of it had congealed already. A giant gash crossed her torso, shoulder to hip, exactly where he'd felt that initial rush of pain—though it was gone now.
He never thought he'd feel that in his life ever again.
When he'd been younger, there had been little pains—stubbed toes, scraped knees, a stick in the eye on one memorable occasion, but after Azkaban, after the dementors, after the horror of James and Lily's death, Alice and Frank's torture, the bond had suddenly… not been there anymore.
He'd thought it could only mean one thing: that his daughter had either been killed (it was entirely possible that in the roaring agony of the days after the end of the war he had missed the pain of a bond death) or that her mother had hidden her away—even from him.
Looking at the girl before him, he was caught between two emotions: utter glee with an urge to laugh with joy that his daughter, his princess , was alive… and the absolute horror that she was bleeding out in front of him and he very well might lose her before he'd even had a chance to regain her.
Acting fast, relying on decades' old training, he started to murmur medical and stasis charms; enough to get her to survive to see a healer, at the very least. Enough to stop the flow of blood from going any further. He was soaked in it, but that mattered little in the grand scheme of things.
His godson. His daughter. The battle. They were all in danger.
Slamming through a spell onto a discarded button on the floor to make a highly illegal portkey, he sent his daughter off to the Hogwarts main gates, and sent a Patronus message to both McGonagall—he'd heard Dumbledore had been away from the castle that evening—and Pomfrey as to what exactly he thought was wrong. After all, he was highly familiar with Dolohov's work. Unfortunately.
It would be a long recovery. But he would be removing her from that blasted school as soon as she was stable, he knew; her and his godson both. He needed them close, now more than ever.
His face set with rage, every ounce of his body emanating danger and anger, clothes and skin covered in the blood of his only daughter, his only child, he entered that half stage of apparition, half flying, and pounced upon the first Death Eater he could see. Macnair. Perfect. Incarcerous was just the thing, though he felt quite a bit more murderous than that, and he flowed seamlessly into battle with his next opponent, feeling better and better with each Death Eater he sidelined or even briefly stopped.
Finding Remus guarding Harry, Sirius backed into a three-faced defensive stance with the both of them, and just in time too: Bellatrix Lestrange formed out of a sea of black smoke just above them on the dais, the mad grin of his batshit crazy cousin sending both chills and revulsion down Sirius' spine. But he had his priorities straight—Harry and his safety, and the survival of their people—so he stomped down on the urge to focus a pinpoint anger on his cousin and go after her with everything he had.
She tried to taunt him, tried to get him to break formation, tried to team up with her husband and her brother-in-law, but what made Remus and Harry grab him to hold him back was when she laughingly taunted him about his dead wife.
The one no one was supposed to have known about.
"She broke so easily, just like you would, you stain on the family name," she called to him in a sing-song voice. "You thought she would be protected behind Black wards? You thought she would fight back?" She cackled, and the Lestrange brothers joined in. "She broke so easily, as if she wanted to be found. As if she wanted to die."
Sirius had known she was dead, had felt her die, but he'd had no idea who or how . He'd had no idea if she'd had time to save their daughter, or if she had perished alongside her mother, who was stronger than Bellatrix could ever dream.
Even if Bellatrix' magic had very few limits due to her insanity.
Marie's magic had been naturally powerful, beautiful to witness, and supplemented by her Ravenclaw need and desire to know more, more, more.
She wasn't stupid—far from it. They'd had a plan in place in case the Black and St Claire wards had been broken, in case the Dark Lord had wanted to get his hands on his Marie's research into what they'd been sure was the reason for his near-immortality.
Horcruxes. Fucking horcruxes . As in more than one. To split the soul so many times, so many ways… Dumbledore was now aware of them, this time, but they had no idea where to start. But he refused to let Marie's research go to waste.
Their daughter had been a surprise. A delightful one, but one that worried them during the time of war. Few knew of her, and both he and Marie had placed whatever protections they could on her to keep her safe. Had set up plan after plan after backup plan to make sure things would be safe in the event they were compromised. Their daughter first. The research. Marie. Sirius. The house could burn for all they cared.
Pure white, icy rage swept through Sirius. Bellatrix had been responsible; he should have known. Only she had cared enough to keep tabs on him, everyone else thinking that he'd been in Romania the entire war, recruiting for either side, depending on who you asked.
The battle was winding down, even as Sirius was winding up. He shucked Harry and Remus' hands from off of his shoulders and stalked towards Bellatrix and the brothers with murder in his heart. He didn't notice the whispers in the room becoming louder, more pervasive, more seductive as he approached the top of the dais in the middle of the room. All he could see was the murderer of his wife, with a bare amount of attention paid to the battle settling down around him.
"Oh, did I hit a sore spot, dog ?" she said gleefully. "Yes, c'était moi, I killed her, her last words were… well, I'll just leave that up to your imagination. Until next time, blood traitor ," she sneered. And with that, the black smoke of her apparition enveloped her and she shot out of the room. The Lestrange brothers were less lucky, hit with stunners and binding spells moments after Bellatrix had escaped, and Sirius collapsed.
He felt completely drained. Empty.
Empty but for the smallest bit of hope. Hope that his daughter was still fighting for her life just as he was sure her mother had done, no matter Bellatrix' taunts.
Arms suddenly wrapped around him, and it was only the sight of green eyes and messy black hair that stayed his wand from something he would have immediately regretted. "Sirius?" Harry whispered, as if afraid either of them would break. Another hand landed firmly on Sirius' shoulder. Remus, his nose told him.
"I'm okay, pup," he croaked, sheathing his wand in its wrist holster before wrapping both arms around his godson and squeezing as much as he felt he could get away with without breaking anything fragile in the young man.
"I was so worried. I thought Voldemort had you; I thought you were there, being tortured, maybe even dead already," Harry explained, his words nearly tripping over themselves with speed and exhaustion both.
And that was definitely something he and Harry would be having a stern conversation about, later.
They were cutting it close timewise, but Sirius was waiting for the last possible moment before he'd steal Hermione and Harry out from under Pomfrey and Minerva's protective eyes.
Staring at the hand clasped in his hand in the Infirmary, blinking himself back to a state of awareness, he frowned only long enough for the thought of Harry being so irresponsible to cross his mind before his brain argued he was simply glad his definitely-Marauder-like godson was still alive to be lectured at.
The young man was once again out like a light—Dreamless Sleep would do that to you—so he stroked Harry's fingers once, firmly, before looking back at the bed that held his daughter.
His daughter , apparently, was Hermione Granger, Muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter, one third of the Golden Trio.
Of course she was. Of course .
His little Aquila Hermione Black had been a surprise in the first place; it didn't surprise him at all that she was continuing to surprise him.
He only wished he'd known she was his , long after he'd given up hope that she was alive, long before finding out tonight in the last possible way he'd expected that she was alive. He could have had more time with her. Not that he begrudged his godson, gods no, but he could have had them both wrapped in his arms, scent filling his nose, and Remus tying them all together as pack, pack, pack.
But now there were further questions that required his attention. For one, he was still a fugitive despite Voldemort very clearly being seen battling Dumbledore in the Ministry, and Pettigrew being nowhere to be seen to even further prove his innocence. For another, his daughter, his Aqui—his Hermione—was still touch and go as far as the curse scarring her torso went. He'd refused St. Mungo's for her treatment however, instead calling in Andromeda and her co-healer husband Ted Tonks immediately upon his arrival rather than detaching himself for one moment from Hermione's side.
Of course, the first thing Andromeda had done was slap him. Then Ted shook his hand and got to work.
A few hours later, and she was stable enough to be moved in a few more, just in time for Sirius to escape the school with his daughter, godson, and best friend.
Grimmauld Place was the only place they could think of where they'd all be safe to come and go, with precautions—but also, it was the only place of safety where Hermione's… parents… could visit her, seeing as they couldn't even set foot on even the tiniest bit of land Hogwarts resided on.
His daughter had been raised by Muggles, and he was entirely too curious as to how that had happened.
He was a lot of things. Curious, angry, sad, tired, exhausted , really… so many emotions pulling at him every which way.
But he had what mattered to him most, no one had died, the idiotic teenagers had all survived relatively unharmed, and now he had a future that looked bright for once.
But first: Grimmauld.
And braving the lioness he knew his daughter was, as her entire world started to shift beneath her feet.
Hermione awoke with a gasp, one hand reaching out for her wand and the other clutching at her chest where it felt like her skin was sliced clean open with a scalpel, burning and making her whole body shake with her attempt to keep her whimper as quiet as possible. She knew she had to be quiet; the Death Eaters were loose in the Department of Mysteries, and teenagers like them had a decided disadvantage.
"Breathe, Hermione," came a voice to her left that instantly relaxed her body, even if the pain was still surging through her.
"Harry." Her voice came out extremely hoarse and she clenched her eyes shut in pain as a dry cough made its way out of her throat.
"Here. Water," Harry explained, and she felt a straw touch her lips. She parted them and sucked in a refreshing mouthful of water, just cool enough to feel amazing but not enough to burn.
After she released the straw, she opened her gunky eyes and finally tilted her head just enough to get a glimpse of her best friend.
"You look like shit, Harry," she rasped.
"You look even worse," he replied with a raised eyebrow. The bruising was mellowing around his eyes and his scar looked much less puffy than she'd remembered, but he had bandages wrapped around his shoulder that were peeking out from beneath his t-shirt and his left wrist looked braced.
"What happened? How long have I been out?" she asked, not even trying to stem the tide of questions that were welling up from deep within her. "What happened to my…" She looked down as best she was able, and saw that her entire torso was covered in a poultice with the thinnest of camisoles covering it up. Honestly, the bandages were much more cover than the camisole, but it wasn't like she had any reason to be shy in front of her best friend. They'd learned easily enough they were more siblings than anything with a romantic aspect.
Harry's eyes darted towards the door of the room, and only then did she realise she recognised where they were—Grimmauld Place. She was in the room she'd shared with Ginny for a few short weeks last summer, but there was a distinct lack of a redhead this time.
"What?" she asked sharply, then winced as she coughed at the pain speaking had caused in her throat.
"It's probably time for your potions again, and I promised Andromeda I'd come get you when you woke…"
Hermione could tell that he was hedging, hoping to put off telling her whatever it was that he knew. Just what that was, Hermione had not a clue.
She waved him off, hoping this Andromeda—a healer, in all likelihood, though the name sounded familiar—would have more answers for her than her surprisingly reticent best friend.
He nodded and stood, making his way to the door to call for Andromeda, and within seconds Hermione heard a lot more than one set of feet clamoring up the staircases of the dilapidated house.
Voices accompanied the footsteps, and Hermione was desperately relieved—and confused—to hear the sound of both of her parents' voices. She didn't even realise until right then exactly how much she missed them, and tears started to pool in the corner of her eyes at the thought of getting hugs from them—no matter how much it might hurt her right now.
"No, absolutely not," a woman with a strong and authoritative voice spoke over everyone else. "She is still my patient and I will not have you setting her healing back by swarming her all at once. I will go in, you all will wait—yes, you too Harry—and then we will see where we're at. That is not up for negotiation, Sirius Black. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I appreciate your willingness to listen to a stranger, and your respect for my knowledge. Thank you. I will be out shortly, and then we can discuss things like adults ."
Hermione was pretty sure that last one was directed at Sirius Black specifically, though his godson had perfected a rather effective sullen pout this last year.
Her door opened and closed quickly, and a tall witch with riotous black curls pulled back rather tidily walked briskly to her bedside. She had a moment of brief panic, seeing how closely the woman resembled Bellatrix Lestrange, but breathed a little more carefully as she recognized the differences with careful analysis. Waking up in a location she had not expected to, and injured at that, was making her adrenaline flare. "Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" she asked, voice regal and refined, as she began diagnostics with her wand. The last of Hermione's tension bled away—and somewhat unfortunately, the adrenaline keeping her alert—at the distinct lack of complete crazy in the older woman's voice.
"How are my friends?" Hermione rebutted, though she carefully did not cross her arms across her chest like she truly felt like doing.
The woman—Andromeda, obviously—managed to side-eye her even as she was evaluating the diagnostics her wand was showing her. "A fair first question, and one I should not be surprised to hear coming from a Gryffindor," she said, slightly ruefully, though her overall mien was that of aristocracy.
"Your friends are fine, besides some minor jinxes, curses, etcetera. Mr. Potter suffered the worst of it aside from you, and not all healing can occur overnight," she admitted. "You took the worst of the damage, but I fear you would not have… no, I know you would not have survived if the adults had not arrived when they did."
Hermione's gaze sharpened, despite the relief filling her heart and mind at the knowledge her friends were safe from the utter disaster that could have happened. Should have happened, apparently. "Adults, Healer…?"
"You may call me Mrs. Tonks," the black-haired beauty offered as she began to pull the poultices from off of Hermione's chest with clinical efficiency. "I was born a Black, however, and it seems that Sirius thought the situation warranted breaking his run from the law to save you. A high honour I will leave to him to explain."
Hermione was sure it had more to do with Harry, his godson, getting into trouble again than it did with her, but she let it lie for now.
"So Sirius is alright?" she demanded. That had been the entire raison d'être for going to the Ministry in the first place; to rescue a seemingly captured Sirius Black.
"Likely suffering from an aneurysm or some sort of heart arrhythmia at this moment, but no, he was never in trouble the way your Mr. Potter explained to us. And before you ask, I never believed him guilty of what he was sent to Azkaban for. He felt I was a safe option to help while still keeping it in the family, but I don't think he'll be lying low for much longer, as it stands, in all honesty. He's got that mulish look to him when he's not wringing his hands like a… a…" She sighed, a look of irritation crossing her features that was regularly associated with Sirius Black, Hermione found.
Hermione opened her mouth to ask another question, trying to distract herself from the pain of her bandage being reapplied—she's been too distracted to even catch a glimpse of the wound—but Mrs. Tonks beat her to it with a huff.
"Since I see I won't get a moment's rest with you currently, I may as well give you the short version. Your friends are fine and finishing their last days at school. There are only a few more to go, but thankfully all of you finished your exams—or near enough—before you went off on your harebrained scheme. Dolores Umbridge is still unaccounted for, Dumbledore is back in his position as Headmaster, the adults got your rather unique message for help and rescued you from the Department of Mysteries, no one died, no one was seriously injured besides yourself, and all except for Bellatrix and You-Know-Who have been captured and were transferred immediately to Azkaban." She arched an imperious brow. "Does that answer all of your questions?"
Hermione would have flushed if she felt she could spare the blood, and nodded to Mrs. Tonks. "Yes, thank you. Though…" she paused, "what exactly happened to me?"
Mrs. Tonks' eyes flashed with anger. "A rather nasty specialty of Antonin Dolohov, one of the Death Eaters you faced. It seems you didn't catch the full brunt of it or you would no longer be here, and likely not even in one piece at that. Sirius did most of the initial healing, but he needed to call in someone further qualified to finish the job. I am afraid to say there will be scarring—and psychological scarring for all of you, at that—but it can be managed."
Hermione's brain latched onto one more thing, even though she could feel her strength waning. She wanted her parents, she wanted a lot of things, but her brain was still stuck on what had happened to them all. She could read between the lines even in her sleep. And though the woman had somewhat answered her earlier, she was still worried, even if mostly for Harry's sake. "Sirius is supposed to be hiding, but I can't imagine his presence in Britain will be kept secret for long now, not after the Ministry, not after calling you in, and not after, I presume, keeping both Harry and myself here at Grimmauld against the school's wishes. He's exposed now, right? He's in even more danger now."
The witch quirked her lips as she unstopped two vials—pain and sleep, they smelled like—and gave them to Hermione. As she felt herself falling into the void that Dreamless Sleep gave, she heard a rather warm, "To him, all of that, all of this, is worth everything. He would do anything for you."