A/N: I'm not horribly proud of this chapter. I wanted something between when they returned to England and when Hermione goes back to Hogwarts. Meh. House quote in italics. I flirted with the 'Things You Can't Do In Hogwarts' challenge, but they are not in Hogwarts, I just like the quote.
I can smell the finish line of one of my other stories, For Their Greater Good, and I'm debating on whether to focus my efforts on that for a while to get it done. I'm not good at this three at a time thing. But if you want me to keep going and do the rotating thing, tell me and I'll do it.
Enjoy.
On Tuesday Hermione decided it was time to tackle her mail. She hauled the sack up the stairs of Number Twelve and emptied it all across the floor.
"Merlin, Hermione," Sirius whistled. "You want me to get Kreacher to answer that for you?"
"No," she answered angrily. "And you should let him free. No creature, unpleasant as they may be, should be subjected to that kind of enslavement."
"But I've been nice to him!" Sirius protested.
She rolled her eyes and plopped down next to the pile of mail. "Kreacher?" she called sweetly.
The old elf, who had been ordered by Sirius to listen to Hermione, appeared in the door.
"What can Kreacher get for Mistress?" Sirius looked at the elf as if readying himself to snap at him for calling her 'Mudblood' or something else foul.
"Could I get a butterbeer?" Hermione asked warmly.
"As you wish," the elf shuffled from the room, limping slightly.
"Kreacher?" she asked, causing the elf to turn. "Is something wrong with your foot?"
"It's nothing, Mistress," he tried to move the foot behind him and winced at the motion.
"Let me see," Hermione ordered gently, and the foot moved forward as if forced. She removed the sack wrapped around the foot and found a good sized cut, oozing what looked to be yellow pus.
"Oh, Kreacher," she murmured. She waved her wand to summon her bag, dug around, and pulled out a bottle of Essence of Dittany. She dabbed some on his foot, which stopped oozing and started to close.
"Feel better?" she asked, cleaning the sack and wrapping it back around Kreacher's foot.
"Yes, Mistress," the elf nodded, his scowl gone, but without a smile to replace it. He left to get Hermione's butterbeer, and returned moments later carrying a bottle. He handed it to her and bowed out of the room.
"He probably shook it up or spit in it or something," Sirius looked wearily at the bottle as Hermione took a long pull.
"Rosmerta couldn't have made it a more perfect temperature," Hermione smiled, holding the bottle to him as if to challenge him to contradict her.
Cautiously he took the bottle, and took a drink himself. He looked in amazement at the bottle as he handed it back to Hermione. "Wow. That is awesome. I gotta start pretending to care."
She snatched the bottle back with a roll of her eyes and unrolled the first scroll.
"Letter of complete adoration?" he chuckled as she looked shocked.
"Marriage proposal," she said, re-reading the letter.
"Who?" he sounded irritated.
"Not sure," she muttered. "But they're offering a herd of twenty prize winning hippogriffs if I accept."
"Really? Well, you might want to accept. Hippogriffs can win you loads of gold."
"I'm not going to marry someone for the gold."
"Damn."
She chuckled and kept reading. When she decided to take a break three hours later she had three pieces of hate mail, three hundred and twenty seven letters praising her, and fourteen marriage proposals, none of which were from anyone she knew, most were much older than Sirius, three were from parents trying to arrange her marriage to their children, two were from women.
"You can marry a woman," Sirius wrapped his arms around her from behind as she rubbed her temples. "If I can join in."
She shook her head. "Like I'm going to accept any of those proposals."
"Accept them all. You can have twenty hippogriffs, a very full Gringotts account, and enough elf-made wine to keep you drunk enough to forget that you're married to loads of desperate prats."
"Sounds like just how I want to be living," she rolled her eyes.
"If you do, I have some elf-made wine upstairs," he smiled.
"If I'm going to be some arranged trophy-wife, I could do much better than you, Mr. Black," she smiled sweetly at him.
"You're going to regret saying that," he pounced at her, lips pressing hers insistently, but they were broken up almost immediately by the sound of knocking at the front door.
"Damn, tell whoever it is to come back when I'm done getting lucky," he grumbled.
"A little over-confident, aren't we?" she shook her head while standing.
"You know you can't resist the Black charm," he smiled, sitting back as Hermione bounded downstairs to answer the door. She opened it wide and saw McGonagall, Harry, and Ron.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Granger," McGonagall smiled warmly at her.
"Good afternoon, Professor," she smiled, stepping back to allow the trio to enter. "How can I help you?"
"It's time for me to start making rolls for next year at Hogwarts, and I've come to talk to the three of you about your futures."
"Oh!" Hermione sounded excited. "Come in, let's go to the library. I'll have Kreacher make us some tea," she spotted the elf standing at the top of the stairs. "If you would, please, Kreacher."
"Yes, Mistress," he nodded and started hobbling down the stairs towards the kitchen. They made their way up to the library, where Sirius stood to greet them.
"What's new, pussycat?" he smiled widely at McGonagall, who did not look like she found it amusing.
"How are you, Mr. Black?" she replied tersely.
"Living life and loving it," he replied as she sat in an armchair. Harry and Ron took the couch, Sirius pulled Hermione onto the loveseat next to him, earning a raised eyebrow from McGonagall.
They sat in silence until Kreacher brought up the tea. Once everyone had a cup of tea McGonagall decided it was time to start.
"As you are all aware you have yet to take your NEWTs. Considering your recent activities, the Ministry is willing to forgive the fact you haven't taken any formal testing and count it as though you have. However, I know that you," she directed the comment mostly towards Hermione, "might feel a full education is of the utmost importance, and if you want to return to school to finish, I'd like to discuss accommodations the school is willing to make for you."
Harry was already shaking his head. "Kingsley has already arranged for me to start Auror training the moment I feel ready for it."
"And a fine Auror you'll make," she smiled. "I expected nothing less from you. And you, Mr. Weasley? Will you be joining Mr. Potter?"
"No. I told George I'd help him get the shop back up and running, and help him run it for a little while. It's not going to be easy for him, not having Fred."
She nodded knowingly. "Which brings us to you, Ms. Granger."
She shot a look at Sirius, then said firmly, "I want to go back to Hogwarts."
"I suspected you would. And as such, I thought it would be easiest for your transition if I awarded you this," she held out a small package.
Hermione took it and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a red and gold badge with HG written on it. "You're making me Head Girl?" she asked in disbelief.
"I couldn't think of anyone more deserving of the position."
"Thank you so much!" she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Congratulations, love," Sirius smiled and rubbed her back supportively. Not wanting his second chewing out in as many days he decided not to hug and kiss her, as he wanted to.
"Thank you, Sirius," she muttered, trying not to flush.
"With that, you get certain privileges, with a few bonus because of your age and status. You'll be free to visit Hogsmeade whenever you wish, just so long as you're back by the curfew for the Head Girl and Boy, which is midnight. You'll obviously have rounds to do, you'll be able to dock points and assign detentions. Free access to the Restricted Section in the library. You and the Head Boy have your own quarters and private baths, with a shared common room."
"Er, who is going to be Head Boy," she asked, worried that she might be trapped in her private quarters with someone she couldn't stand.
"Neville Longbottom," she smiled proudly.
"Neville?" she squealed excitedly. "But didn't he already do his seventh year?"
"He sent me an owl two weeks ago asking if he could repeat the year, as he didn't feel he did much in the way of advancing his education throughout last year. His Grandmother wants him to leave and get a job, which seems to have made him all the more determined to come back," she smiled fondly.
Hermione laughed. Neville was finally sticking up for himself. "I guess there could be worse people to be sharing a common room with," she smiled.
"I'm sure you'll both be able to help each other immensely."
Ron looked as if he wanted to make a snide comment, but a sharp, well-timed kick from Harry stopped him.
"Well, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said loudly, as if she knew what Ron was thinking, "I daresay you know the drill by now. September first, Platform Nine and Three Quarters." She held out the letter towards Hermione, who reached out and took it. "Now, if you would excuse me, I would like a quick word with Sirius."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione got up and left the room. They closed the door behind them and McGonagall waited until she heard their footsteps retreating downstairs before starting.
"How have you been feeling, Sirius?" she asked, looking him over.
"Fit as a fiddle. I honestly feel like I never died."
"Has Hermione figured out what happened to get you back yet?"
"Not a clue, doesn't mean she doesn't think about it whenever she gets a chance."
She looked at him sternly. "I heard you two went on a trip together."
"She wanted to go to Australia to get her parents, I always wanted to go, we went and split a suite," he replied nonchalantly.
She eyed him suspiciously. "Did you enjoy your time down there?"
"It was pleasant," he replied shortly.
She considered him for a moment. "The reason I wanted to talk to you is, yet again, Hogwarts finds itself short a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
He laughed loudly. "You must be pretty desperate if you're thinking of offering me the position."
"You do have more experience than most when it comes to defending yourself, and you have an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts."
"Because my family were prats."
"Be that as it may, I think you would make a decent fill for the position."
He thought quickly. If he accepted the teacher position he'd have to keep his hands off Hermione for ten months even though he'd get to see her everyday. Fun at first, but it'd become torture really quickly. "You remember that twenty inch essay on Conjuring Spells in my sixth year?"
"Vaguely."
"More specifically how long it took you to finally get me to turn it in?"
"If I remember, it was about four weeks, and only after I threatened to ban you from Quidditch."
"Yeah," he chuckled. "If it took me that long to get my own homework done, how long do you think it would take me to grade papers? Not to mention, do you really trust me with the future of the next generation of witches and wizards?"
She cracked a small smile. "I suppose Filch might have a heart attack with you prowling the hallways again."
"That old fossil is still around?" he asked in shock.
"I'm sure he'll outlive us all."
"Already outlived me."
"So I'm assuming you're turning down the offer?"
"I just don't think I'd be the right person for the job."
"This has nothing to do with Ms. Granger?" she raised an eyebrow.
He looked sheepish. "That obvious?"
"Not very. But there were a few subtle clues."
"I'm ready for the lecture," he groaned.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to disappoint you there. I'm not going to meddle in the affairs of two adults capable of making their own decisions."
"Really?" he looked surprised.
"Just be careful, Sirius. She's young, and a favorite of mine."
"I have no intentions of being reckless."
"Unfortunately, recklessness is usually not intended." She stood to leave.
"Check back with me about that position in a year," he winked as he shook her hand. She smiled warmly, then walked out.
He sat there thinking. There had to be a way to be near Hogwarts, and thus Hermione, and he would have to figure it out before September first.
