Author's note: Thank you EVERYONE who commented and kudos'd and bookmarked this fic. I am in awe at the response this received already, and am stunned at the same time. Thank you; you have no idea what it means to me. *heart*

Hermione spent the next few days in and out of potions-induced sleeps and fugues, but her clarity of mind was coming back quicker than Mrs. Tonks or her husband, Ted, had expected. Hermione's parents just shot them an amused look, and carried on with (so far gently) berating their daughter for taking unnecessary risks.

After her second year, she and her parents had a frank discussion about the safety of Hogwarts, and while there had been a lot of yelling, foot-stomping and vast amounts of passive aggressive notes left around the house, they had finally come to an accord. As long as Hermione was open with them about the school she was living in without them, she could continue to attend the school, and continue to participate in the events therein.

This, however, had not occurred at school. In fact, breaking into the Ministry of Magic was definitely outside of the scope of their agreement—even if her parents thought she'd been there on a school-sanctioned trip… which Harry had baldly told them, not her, even if her parents had eyed him dubiously. But Hermione was nearly seventeen; practically an adult in both magical and non-magical worlds. Her parents had always firmly believed in Hermione's independence, and a 'school trip' was within her purview, in their minds. Even if Hermione had gotten severely injured in a 'duel'. The only thing that had saved Hermione from further doubt on her parents' part was that she had stood up for what was right, proven a brave and loyal friend, and every single adult in the household had somehow managed to settle her parents' fears by telling them of even worse things which had happened to them or someone else they knew. (It also probably helped that her parents were led to believe that the school was fully aware of what had happened… which they sort of were. Technically). How that had worked, Hermione wasn't even sure, but she knew she couldn't tell them about the looming war. They wouldn't understand. Plus, as long as she kept to telling them about events occurring just at school, it wouldn't be like she was lying to them, right?

Well.

It did tug at Hermione's sense of right and wrong, but there was no way in any form of heaven or hell or Merlin-knew-what that she'd leave Harry high and dry against a sociopathic mass murderer out for personal vengeance.

Some things were just best left unsaid.

She was expecting more visitors next week after school was officially let out, and thank goodness for that, because no one was letting her see the Daily Prophet. She could only guess, but her guesses were probably pretty accurate, knowing the Prophet, but she had to keep it mostly to herself lest her parents overhear anything she and Harry might speak about. She still didn't know what had happened after she'd been cursed and knocked unconscious, but she did know that Voldemort had made an appearance. That, coupled with the whole Death Eater thing… well, she didn't want her parents to know.

As it was, her parents thought she'd had a 'dueling accident', which… was not a lie, per se. But she couldn't risk them withdrawing her from school, not least because that would subsequently lead to the Ministry obliviating her and her family, and snapping her wand.

No thank you.

It was as much to protect them as to protect her, or so she told herself.

The lies ate at her heart, but Hermione's strong sense of right and wrong saw it as a lesser, palatable grey area, rather than an evil. Even if it was a little evil, she'd force herself to lie to them if it meant she could be at Harry's side to bring down the great evil that Voldemort had proven to be.

She couldn't help but wonder how far she'd have to go to protect her parents—from herself and the war, as well—before the dark wizard was defeated.

Staying at Grimmauld for her convalescence was explained away as having access to better healers without subjecting her to a public bed at the magical hospital, offered to her by Sirius and Harry due to their friendship.

She still felt guilty about it, but couldn't deny the relief she felt when they finally left on her third morning in the dingy house.

Finally, she could get some actual answers, and scare up a paper. Surely at least Remus wouldn't deny her knowledge.

After Mrs. Tonks—Sirius' cousin, sister to Bellatrix and Narcissa, she'd learned, but blasted off the family tree for marrying a muggleborn—and her husband had left for the evening, Hermione levered herself up into a sitting position on her bed and slowly slid around to put her feet on the hardwood floor. It was the first time she had done it without anyone assisting her, but she'd be damned if she was going to stay in this room for another night without venturing out at least once . With both healers and her parents gone, she only had to deal with three men of varying degrees of maturity. And she definitely needed to move before they came and cornered her and kept her in here 'for her own good'. She wasn't going to put up with any of that shite, so she may as well knock the option out of their brains before they even thought about it.

Slowly, keeping her breaths as deep and even as she could to control the pain and keeping her torso as straight as possible, she got somewhat unsteadily to her feet. Gripping her wand with one hand, she used her off hand to shrug on a plush housecoat her parents had brought for her and left when they'd headed back home and to work once more.

Although the first steps were hard, unsupported, each one after came easier and easier to her as her latest dose of pain potion settled in. The stairs were a bit of a hassle, but at least there were banisters on both sides that she could grip easily enough if she started to fall. Determination, however, was proving to be her middle name today, and she made her way down to the main floor with minimal pain.

But within moments of reaching the floor, Hermione found herself frozen in place. Not because of pain, not because of a spell or anything nefarious. No, what had caught her attention was her name being said rather heatedly by her best friend, in a tone she recognized easily as his tone of righteous fury.

Why would he be furious at either Sirius or Remus?

She needed to know, and just had this feeling she wouldn't get a straight answer if she waltzed into the room right then and there.

Instead, she propped herself up against the wall down the corridor from the home's office, and listened while she idly twisted her wand in her hands. She could technically use it, being inside a known wizarding residence—even if it 'officially' belonged to Harry—and protected by the wards around the property and the general aura of magic surrounding it all, but she found it more to be a comfort thing than any fear of needing to use it.

Even Harry's fury was a sort of comfort.

"You have to tell her, Sirius!" he exclaimed again. "She has a right to know!"

Sirius' voice was more staid than she'd ever heard it from him before, and she nearly had to strain to hear what he said. "I no longer have the right to upset her entire world, Harry. Plus, she'll be of age in a few months—"

A third voice interrupted a little more heatedly than expected, but still calmer than both other men. "Legally you still have a right to her, you know, Padfoot. She's your daughter, and magic recognised you still have parental rights the night of the battle." He mumbled something that Hermione didn't quite catch, but she knew both he and Sirius regularly spoke quietly to each other with their heightened hearing.

"The whole magical world knows you were there, anyway, Pads," Harry said. "You've already said you're going to fight for your freedom in the coming weeks, which we'll all back you on, and then what? You take your seat? Marry some pureblood? Have a new heir? While your rightful heir is left knowledgeless ?" Harry practically growled. "She's my best friend , Sirius Black, and I won't let you do that to her. I doubt she cares one whit about being your heir, but if she ever found any of this out and knew you kept it from her, she'd have your skin tanned and made into a rug for this very fireplace and you know it ."

"She's also standing right outside the door," Remus said idly, a hint of humour colouring the severity of his meaning.

Hermione, who was a good ten feet away from the door, coloured slightly at forgetting that Remus was a werewolf who would be able to smell her likely overripe scent (curse the bedrest) even over the soot of the fireplace.

Remus stepped out of the office, his scarred face as gentle as she'd ever seen it, and offered her his arm. An aid and an invitation both.

She wasn't stupid. She could feel her legs shaking.

She took his arm, and he led her gently inside, helping her settle into the corner of the long couch beneath the window, furthest from the heat of the flames.

Whether it was intentional or not, she appreciated his thoughtfulness at giving her darkness as a slight cover. She knew what they'd said. She just didn't fully comprehend it.

Remus settled himself back into the armchair by the fire as an awkward silence fell over them all. Sirius was avoiding looking at her—or, at least, avoiding letting her see him outright staring at her—from the other armchair, but Harry quickly made his way over to her from where he'd been standing between the chairs. He looked as if he were about to pounce on her, only remembering at the last second that she was still injured, and then settled a few bare inches away from her and drawing her head down against his shoulder in their own version of a sideways hug.

The silence was redolent with words unsaid, so Hermione took the opportunity to think on what exactly had been said.

Sirius had been seen at the battle at the Ministry. Well, that wasn't really surprising, despite her lack of full knowledge around the entirety of the battle.

Sirius was re-entering society as a result. Okay. The Wizengamot could certainly use some people with morals and integrity in their ranks.

To do so, Sirius had to prove his innocence. Fine. Hard, but not impossible. She'd already discussed some tentative plans to help with that with Harry and Ron. Fine.

But then. Then her brain stuttered.

Sirius had a daughter.

Sirius Black had a daughter whom Remus and Harry seemed adamant was Hermione herself.

But… Hermione wasn't adopted. Hermione had been born to Helen and Richard Granger on September 19th, 1979.

Hadn't she?

But… but there were inconsistencies with her own life she'd not really given much thought to before beyond anything cursory.

"My parents," she began softly, cheek still resting comfortably on Harry's shoulder as much for physical comfort as emotional. "They said they'd lost a lot of the stuff from my early years in a fire. Our house was gone, they had to reapply for almost all of their identity cards, and all of mine as well. We lost our pictures, most of the house… pretty much everything except for the money in the bank and their dentistry practice."

Further silence met her words. She continued to muse, though now she blinked hard to keep tears from falling. "Did something happen to my parents that was worse than that fire? Did…" She blinked again, and lifted her hand, wand included, to dash the tear off her cheek. A choked sound came from the direction of the fireplace, which she ignored, but Harry gripped her other hand in his, which she returned with equal strength.

"What happened to them that night? What happened to me ?" she whispered.

Gathering her courage, she lifted her head from off of Harry's shoulder and caught Sirius' gaze. She held it firm, refusing to look away and willing him not to look away either.

After a long moment, his features softened and opened, and she nearly started crying again as he responded to her. "I don't know what happened that night because I wasn't there . You… My daughter was with my wife when the Potters were attacked. I acted rashly and followed Pettigrew, as you've learned since, and you know what happened to me after that. You also know that the Longbottoms were attacked in order to find out what happened to Voldemort, a few days later. Around the same time, in the chaos of my mind, I felt your mo— I felt my wife's bond to me snap. She was dead. But I couldn't feel my bond with you. I didn't know if our plan to hide you had worked, and the bond severance was just a byproduct of that, or even of Azkaban's effect, or if you had died. I assumed you died. But it's entirely possible that my Marie gave you to a family who had suffered a recent loss, whether by accident or at Voldemort's followers' hands, and altered their memories—and our bond—to make sure you were safe. It was our primary plan, after all."

His voice was hoarse with choked back tears, she could tell, and Remus reached his hand out to grip one of Sirius' own. They clutched at each other just the same as Harry and she were clutching each other, taking comfort from their closest friend.

"How can you be sure it was me?" she finally asked. "How can you be sure I'm your daughter and not just someone in a similar circumstance?"

This time it was Remus who answered. "I know we could explain it all away, but I know you well enough that you would much rather trust the magic and irrefutable proof, would you not?"

Hermione hesitated, wondering where he was going with that line of questioning, but nodded anyway.

Sirius reluctantly let go of Remus' hand as the werewolf stood, reaching for a box on the mantel and then gathering a piece of parchment from the desk.

"I'm sure you've read of these before, though they are not as commonly practiced anymore. It's a magical lineage test and requires simply a drop of your blood, and preferably a drop from one or both of the father and mother's."

Hermione ignored Remus for a moment—her inner third year screeched in her ear—and caught Sirius' intense grey eyes. "Why now? Why do you think it's me? Why not in third year? Why did you not know then? What about the tapestry; why didn't it show me on it, or my…" She choked a little on the word, but managed, instead, "or the woman you believe is my mother? Why didn't it show your wife? Why was…"

She trailed off as she realised the men around her were shivering with barely suppressed laughs. Hermione shoved Harry off of her with a half-snort, half-groan of amusement and frustration. "Really, boys! I'm just asking the important questions here that no one seems willing to address!" she huffed, attempting to cross her arms over her chest but only managing a halfway-convincing go at it before her muscles started protesting sharply. She settled for rolling her eyes and giving a rare pout at the men and her best friend in the room with her.

"Yes, yes," she muttered waspishly. "I'm a swot, yes, I know it, we all know it, now can we get it over with?"

But as the men glanced at each other—even shooting amused and happy glances in her direction despite the half-meant ire on her features—and continued to chuckle, Hermione found herself relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. It felt… normal, in a way. Hermione Granger, swot. Resident princess of Gryffindor if the school and papers were to be believed, and here she was putting tell to it by being a petulant bit of a brat simply because things in her life hadn't been lining up quite to her liking, confusing her safe and secure and relatively normal history and throwing it all up in the air.

She glanced at Harry, and deflated a little. She really did not have grounds for being as huffy as she was, though Harry had experienced some massive sulks and shown some particular inability to cope with the changes in his life at times. In others, though, he'd been the epitome of cool under pressure, and Hermione had never once left his side.

He squeezed her hand and whispered, "No matter what, I stand by you, Hermione," as if the dratted boy could read her mind.

She slowly released the rest of her tension with a long, controlled breath, then breathed in deeply once again in even counts.

Luckily Sirius had taken the reins and decided to lead the conversation, it seemed, as he stood up and twisted his armchair around so that he was closer to and facing her and Harry on the couch. His face was much more relaxed, and Hermione was torn between perusing his features for any hint of herself in them, and vehemently denying any of this was even happening in the first place.

Remus' gaze, full of understanding, settled both desires into a low simmer as he turned his own chair around and caught her eyes. She resisted the urge to huff again and instead gripped Harry's hand in her wand hand, tucking the wand, instead, into her braid. Finally, she didn't feel quite on such heightened alert.

"The easiest question to answer, first," Sirius began—thankfully skipping over all awkward platitudes and the encompassing embarrassment to both of them trying to push this too far, too fast, as far as father-daughter bonds learned late in life could go. "...is the one about the tapestry. I know way back when we were first here in Grimmauld, you saw the tapestry as I was speaking to Harry. Andromeda and I were both burned off the tapestry before our marriages; in my case, long before. Ironically, they would have approved of my choice of wife more than Andy's, but that's a conversation for another time, when you feel more… secure in what all this means." He paused for a moment, and Hermione caught the grief that held onto his entire body for a good few seconds before it let its grip on him go.

"Another time," Remus said softly, and Sirius blinked, physically pulling himself back into the moment—emotions had always ruled Sirius Black, though she hadn't known him as well as Harry ever had. It was something readily apparent to anyone who cared to look.

And she found she… she did care.

"Another time," Sirius agreed. "The tapestry will no longer track the life events of a member burned off the tapestry. Thus no magical family tree places for Ted, Tonks, my wife, and my daughter. Uncle Alphard, too, as it so happens, though the crime that led to his banishment is… well. I wonder if we can fix the tree, sometime, however," he mused softly, mostly to himself—but Hermione found her intellectual curiosity piqued.

She shoved it down as the man— gods , the man who could be her biological father; Hermione's head was still reeling with all the info, but she'd always been good at compartmentalizing—continued on. "As for how I knew it was you , specifically, and why now, why all of a sudden and not in your third year? Well… it, uh…" He trailed off, looking to Remus for help explaining.

The rugged, though much more healthy looking of late, man rolled his eyes slightly and picked up where Sirius seemingly couldn't. "Sirius trusted very few, in those last two years of the war. He didn't particularly trust me, either, at the end, as we all know now—" He shot a raised eyebrow at a downcast Sirius, but continued ruefully, "—well, not like I trust him much either, but at the time of his marriage, only myself and the other Marauders knew. Which, of course, with the rat, meant that who knew how many knew. And… your godmother, who was best friends with your- with Sirius' wife."

Hermione could tell at glance she wouldn't be getting any info about her—about the possible godmother anytime soon, either, so she bit her tongue and nodded at him to continue.

"As mentioned, there was a plan," Sirius cut in. "We knew there was every risk and chance of danger. One way Marie… my wife… knew was a drastic measure, but it was war, and it seemed our best shot. We made all possible efforts to mitigate what we could and plan for all eventualities, but Marie's magic, passed through the women of her family, gave her and… my daughter the best possible chance of surviving if something were to go drastically, horrifically wrong. It was blood magic, and blood magic is tied intricately into bond magic. Bonds can be naturally formed, as you know, between parent and child, sibling and sibling, or deliberately formed such as in a marriage ceremony. The plan, if everything went to all levels of hell, was to have her sever the bond links between herself and I, and myself, herself, and our daughter, and to get our daughter as far away from the war as possible."

"Thus what we think happened to your parents," Remus said gently.

Hermione gave a terse nod, the cogs in her head spinning rapidly as she tried to keep her brain from haring off in all directions at once. Again, she focused on Sirius. "And… the bond was reactivated somehow during the battle at the Department of Mysteries?" she guessed confidently.

"Somehow," Sirius said softly. "I'm not sure if it was the strength of the curse you endured at Dolohov's wand, or our proximity, or…" He ran both hands through his long mess of wavy hair and groaned. "This was Marie's specialty. But I… I felt something. Here." He gestured from hip to breastbone. "It was agonizing, but I hadn't been hit, and I felt myself suddenly drawn away from where I could hear the active fighting. And I found… you. You, who was bleeding out, hip to collarbone, from what I could tell. I knew the curse, knew enough to get you stable and sent off to Hogwarts for protection, and joined the rest of the battle."

Which they'd won—Harry had filled her in at the first opportunity she was out of sight of both her parents and her caregivers.

"My parents," she whispered, eyes widening. Lying to them about the war was one thing, but this… oh Merlin, this would break them. She was sure of it.

She barely noticed her breaths taking a wild detour into panicking territory until Sirius was kneeling in front of her. She saw the agonizing conflict of whether or not he could—or should —touch her hands, her shoulder, her cheek; his hands flitted about nervously until she, nervous herself, grabbed one with her free hand and held it tightly between them. He caught her eyes; this part, at least, he was much steadier about.

"I will follow your lead as far as they are concerned, whatever that may be, whether this proves true or not. But… you have always been like a goddaughter of sorts to me, anyway, ever since your third year and you proved your bravery and loyalty to my Prongslet. You have been a friend. You have been an ally. Whatever you need, whatever you want me, want you, to be, whatever pace you want to set, or boundaries… we will do so."

He blinked back tears and swallowed thickly, though he never released her hand or her gaze. "If you are indeed my daughter, it is more than I ever expected to have. It is more than I deserve, for abandoning Marie and… for abandoning them to seek vengeance upon the rat and thus losing any chance I could have had to protect them when they came for them."

This was the most intense and, well, serious, she had ever seen Sirius Black be, and the intensity was nearly overwhelming. Harry, even, was casting wide-eyed glances between his godfather and best friend, as if he couldn't believe a lick of this was happening. Hermione could practically feel him vibrating, and even Remus' stillness was unnatural in its completeness.

"I…" she cleared her throat, then sat up a little straighter, despite the grimace of pain that brought to her features as it flared across her torso and the rest of her body. She dropped Sirius and Harry's hands and held them up in a form of supplication, asking without words that they give her a little space. Both settled back, knowing her well enough by now to know what she meant. "What do we need to do to prove this?" she asked finally, deciding to dive headfirst into the newest insanity into her life. Really, though, why not? Everything else was changing—what was one more thing?

"There are different options," Remus smoothly took up the reins of the conversation once more, beckoning Sirius with him as he walked back to the large wooden antique desk before the far wall and the shelves filled with a multitude of books.

It said something of her state of mind that she wasn't continuing her regular plotting at how to gain access to some of the more protected tomes on those bookshelves, instead devoting her energy to what the two men were up to.

Remus held up a box, and passed another to Sirius. He opened the one he held out, revealing a small knife made out of what looked like sharpened bone. "One is the one I earlier described. A simple bloodline test. Not enough proof for courts, but something quick and easy." He gestured at the parchment he'd earlier laid out. "The spell is cast on the parchment, and then an incantation over the drops of blood reveal any magical or blood similarities."

"And what else?" she asked, curious despite the feeling of the ground falling out from beneath her that had been plaguing her this entire conversation.

Sirius held up his right hand ring finger, where his signet ring gleamed silver and black in the flickering light of the fireplace. "There is an heir's ring that can only be placed upon the hand of the heir, whether or not the tapestry acknowledges them or not. Obscure magical laws and such, but I'd be happy to loan you books on them later." He held up a second ring, and then placed it on the edge of the desk closest to Hermione. She stared at it, and wondered if she was brave enough to try.

She knew women could be heirs, contrary to her earlier assumptions in her first few years in the magical world. But putting on that ring would mean more than a simple paternity test. It was… responsibility, and a lot of it.

Harry shifted, and she caught his glance. "It wouldn't accept my finger," he murmured to her. "I'm starting to realise now why that was, because otherwise I would be Sirius' heir, according to his living will, he said."

Hermione blinked, processing that information. So much information. Almost too much, to tell the truth, which she'd only felt a few frustrating times in her life.

"There's also a test that can be performed at St. Mungo's, much like muggle DNA tests," Harry added. He gave her a lopsided smile. "I asked about that, actually, knowing you probably would. But I think they'd even be up for a regular muggle DNA test if you wanted to throw the galleons at it; I know they're pretty expensive right now. I think so, at least." He scrunched his face up in the adorable way she had missed so much from him all year, and found herself relaxing again even as her mind swam with the possibilities.

"Gringotts also has a test, especially since the vaults are sealed with blood. But they also handle wills and betrothals and dowries and all sorts of other contracts, whether they require blood or not, and they often find themselves needing to verify people's identities in these cases, so that's not out of the realm of possibility." This last was added by Sirius, his face pinched a little at the prospect of having to deal with either the goblins or the infamous Black vaults, she wasn't sure which.

Hermione made up her mind, standing up and reaching for her wand. She transfigured her heavy navy housecoat into a dress coat, her pajamas into what would at least pass for trousers and a tank top, and buttoned the coat up as she approached the desk.

She may as well look confident if she was going to pretend at more confidence than she felt. And, possibly, it would be of great benefit to be dressed, because she had a feeling she would need space—a lot of space —in a few short minutes. May as well be dressed to go out if she planned to flee.

"For now—" and she shot a stern look at Sirius "—you cannot go to St. Mungo's, Gringotts, or even the Ministry. You're a wanted fugitive. But Harry and Ron and I have a plan for that," she announced with great conviction—even if it was almost an aside to everything else going on—though some of the details were still a little unclear. She could wing it… in this case quite possibly literally, she thought with a smug internal smile. And she had favours to cash in, and cages to rattle that Harry nor Ron were really in a place to rattle—no matter how much they might wish to, she at least had built up some friendships with the older generations the other two had not. She knew she'd need the connections eventually, even if at the time it had been purely out of planning for her future career prospects.

"Please hand me that knife, Remus." She plowed ahead, talking right over Sirius and Remus and Harry, holding out her hand for the small bone knife. Remus passed it over cautiously, though he cast the spell on the parchment without waiting to be prompted. Hermione pricked her finger with the knife, and held it over the parchment, rubbing a drop of blood into the spot below the word 'supplicant,' which had just formed. Sirius took the knife gingerly from Hermione after she scourgified it, and almost reverently touched his blood-tipped finger to the spot beneath the word 'father,' (the place beneath 'mother' left empty) his breaths almost rattling right out of his body.

Then, while he wasn't looking, and while Harry and Remus' gazes were also firmly fixed on the parchment as Remus murmured the incantation to begin the analysis, Hermione lifted the Heir's ring from off of the desk and fiddled with it, wondering if she could even possibly consider backing out, even though she had already put blood to parchment.

Before she could stop herself, she dropped the over-large ring onto her right ring finger.

Nothing happened for a moment; not on the parchment, nor with the ring.

Then, within the same breathless moment, feeling as if it lasted an age and a day, the ring tightened to a comfortable circle around her finger, and words appeared along the bottom of the piece of enchanted parchment.

Heir Aquila Hermione Black,
daughter of Lord Sirius Orion Black,
of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black of the British Isles.

Whatever breath Hermione had left in her tumbled out from between her lips in a gasp, casting alternating stares at the parchment and the ring both. All three men turned to look at her, noticing first the somewhat distressed look on her face as her world contracted and expanded in turns around her, and then their gazes were drawn to the ring upon her finger.

It fit. It was hers. She could feel it. Could feel the wards of the house—of all the Black Houses, somehow—and all the weight of their not inconsiderable magic bearing down upon her, opening up to her to peruse and understand . It was information overload on top of a steady stream of emotional ups and downs, and Hermione gave them all one panicked look before she did something completely uncharacteristic:

Hermione, knowing she physically could not make it to the door to do so, and the wards opening around her to allow for just this, used every ounce of the new apparition lessons she could recall, and disapparated on the spot. As she turned on her heel, the panicked looks of the two men and Harry— godfather , her magic whispered; father , her blood sang; and brother in all but blood , her heart thumped—were the last thing she noticed.

Author's note: Hmmmm where could she be off to? Poor dear. Poor everyone! But also, yay? I think yay. :P

If there are any inconsistencies within the fic itself, I apologize! Inconsistencies between this and canon I am not so worried about, though I do try to ground it in as much canon as I can. ;)

Comments and kudos are amazing for so many reasons! Not just because it helps me write faster! HAH.