Tom knew he probably shouldn't have relived the memory of Hermione returning for her 3rd year that morning. There was nothing but ire to be gained from watching his younger self struggle with her, from watching her suffer again and being almost as unable to help her this time around as he'd been back in the sixties.

Except he wasn't quite as helpless. The object of his ire was at Hogwarts, completely unbothered by the nearly catatonic third-year he'd watched shuffle out of the Great Hall the night before.

Tom knew that his younger self felt as if he'd never been angrier in his life than when Hermione had returned to him a shell of her former self, but there were days ahead that would change that stance. Tom had already been angrier in his life many times since that day. Even today, his simmering ire towards Dumbledore couldn't compare to days' past, nor to days he knew were coming. There were times ahead of him that would redefine the limits of his temper all over again, but reminding himself of that fact only made his current bout of fury harder to keep under control. Even his chosen entourage was wary of him when he stormed into his office at the Ministry that morning. It calmed him slightly to find them all patiently lounging in the antechamber to his main office with scones and tea, though. They were ready for the day ahead. Good.

Lucius was filling in for his father that morning at Tom's behest, namely so Abraxas and Flynn could work on another project while Tom was away handling business at Hogwarts. Theron Nott had seated himself amongst the Board of Governors decades before his first child was born, so having him present for their little misadventure went without question. The last member of that morning's quartet would likely come as somewhat of a shock to Albus, however.

Zelda Anastasia Davis — or Tasia to those whose lives she didn't plan on ruining that day — smiled as he passed her. "Good morning, Tom."

With a quick wave of his wand hand, the wards on his office doors came down and he left them open as he passed through. The others didn't hesitate to accept his unspoken invitation.

"Good morning, Tasia," he said once he was behind his desk. He eyed her with mild amusement as she flicked her long blonde locks over one shoulder and sat before him between Lucius and Theron. "Don't bore me with your flirting today, please. For one, you only engage in this fruitless effort when you're cross with your husband. Not to mention I've been spoken for since I was still considered a schoolboy."

Theron snorted and took a sip of tea as Tasia frowned. "I did try to warn you that he might be in a bit of a mood this morning," he said. "I would imagine he's been in his pensieve for at least a few hours."

Tom stared at Nott coolly from his desk. "Watch it, Nott."

"Today will be an…interesting day, I presume," Lucius drawled. "Father's been almost silent on the subject, which would make me nervous if Flynn weren't so smug every time I've mentioned it this summer."

Tom chose not to comment. Color him surprised that the boys managed to find humor in this day. "I just want this morning to end as soon as possible. Finish your breakfasts. We need to leave in twenty minutes."

The wards of Hogwarts recognized his magical signature as Tom led his retinue through the main gates and up the path that led to the entry hall. The castle was mostly quiet, with dawn's bright morning light occasionally peeking out from behind the overcast sky. Dew drops stuck to the grass, covering the grounds in a white haze of droplets. Thin tendrils of fog curled out from around the tree lines both on the main grounds and the dense woods framing the beaches of the Black Lake.

It was good to be back, good to feel the castle's semi-sentient presence as it recognized him for who he was — a former student, an heir of Slytherin, and the head of the Board of Governors.

Maybe he'd be able to visit Cherie while he was on campus. If not in the Chamber then perhaps he'd take a stroll through the Forbidden Forest and run into her. She was probably getting antsy knowing Hermione would meet her younger self soon and eager to reacquaint herself with the young witch.

Despite the coming confrontation and knowing the witch in question was still recovering from her Dementor run in, remembering Cherie's presence on campus helped calm him.

Crookshanks would have some help keeping their witch safe.

He was still fuming when the doors of the Great Hall opened at his silent command. His sharp gaze landed on Albus's twinkling agreeable one as he briskly walked up the aisle between the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

"Tom, what a pleasant surprise," Albus greeted cheerfully. He didn't so much as fidget in his seat at the staff table. "I'd offer the four of you breakfast, but we don't have enough room for everyone at the moment I'm afraid."

"We've eaten," Tom said shortly. Play nice all you want, you old fool, I'm not here for your games. "Unfortunately for you, Albus, this isn't a social call."

Albus's twinkling blue eyes lost a modicum of their shine as the headmaster tilted his head. His condescension washed over Tom like acid, causing fury to twist tighter in his stomach.

"Now, Tom," Albus said patiently, "let's not be rash. I'm sure this situation hits rather close to home, dear boy. I believe your protégée, Miss Granger, was one of those impacted by the mishap on the train earlier this week."

Tom leveled Dumbledore with a cold, vicious sort of smile. "Let's not beat around the bush, Headmaster. She was the only student seriously affected, though that makes the situation no less dire. But this isn't the place for such a discussion. Let the children eat in peace. They have classes. Is it a terrible inconvenience to move your breakfast to your office?"

There was the faintest flicker of annoyance under Albus's jovial exterior that sent a little thrill of victory through Tom.

If you wanted control of the situation, you should've tried harder to take it.

Albus made a polite show of quietly summoning a house elf to whisk his mostly eaten breakfast up to his office before he stood. Tom spared the faintest of glances over first the Slytherins, giving Draco a small nod he knew the boy would interpret correctly, then searched through the Gryffindors.

She was still weakened by the whole ordeal, but looked like she was in an acceptably stable state otherwise. Harry whispered something to her that brought an annoyed glint to her eyes as she responded. Had she been older, more knowledgeable, Tom would've offered her the barest of smiles or a slight nod and she would've understood his meaning clearly. But he had some years before she knew his mind well enough to read nearly that much off microexpressions and held gazes.

Albus passed by him to lead the board representatives out of the Great Hall with a whimsical aloofness clinging to his gaudy bright blue and purple robes. Something about the dark stare angled at the old wizards back from the young Gryffindor witch made a familiar pang of abstract hurt crackle through Tom's chest as if forks of lightning were cutting through his veins.

Reliving his memories that morning had been an uncharacteristically foolish decision, Tom decided. A decision he was sure to repeat later that day when he returned home.

Or maybe one of his knights would appear with wine and mysteriously conveyed orders delivered from either a past or future version of their lady through means Tom wasn't privy to. He wasn't sure which he'd prefer, but being left to his lonesome would probably make his brief succumbing to misery more effective for his psyche.

Hermione left Potions with Harry and walked slowly down the hall. When Draco and the others fell into step beside them, the group detoured down a corridor sparsely traveled so they could talk in peace.

"So, breakfast," Draco began casually. "That was something."

Theo snorted. "If by something you mean Dumbledore's pitiful attempt to discredit Lord Riddle, then yes, Draco, it was certainly something."

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek and glared at the floor as they walked. Her blood was boiling after witnessing the brief interaction between Tom and the headmaster. The tension between the two was clear as day, but the blatant condescension from Dumbledore had struck a chord.

"Wasn't Professor Dumbledore still a teacher when Lord Riddle and your father were in school, Theo?" asked Tracey.

Theo nodded. "Transfiguration, I think. Father's mentioned how meddlesome Dumbledore tended to be in the past. Always trying to be in Riddle's business."

Hermione made a soft, bitter sound in the back of her throat. "Our dear headmaster is a fool," she said. "Tom's head of the board. He takes that position far too seriously to be obviously blinded by his own personal stakes in the situation. He'd be raising hell even if I wasn't the one attacked." She shook her head, pushing some of her curls out of her face. "The entire student body was in needless danger and Tom isn't really the type to gamble with magical blood. He's protecting the next generation of great witches and wizards. That's his job. Of course he's cross."

"Perhaps we...do our part in this situation," Draco said quietly. "Lord Riddle could probably use a few sets of eyes and ears in Hogwarts.

Hermione turned to meet Draco's gaze, earning a pointedly-blank stare in return.

"It's just a thought," he said.

"No, you're…quite right," she said slowly. Abraxas, Lucius, and Draco. Theo and his father. He'd delivered her his next generation of soldiers, hadn't he? "I do wonder how the headmaster could possibly benefit from the entire student body being surrounded by soul-leaching…things all the time."

"I hope Mum rips into him," Tracey murmured. "She's rather vicious when it comes to work things."

Hermione remembered the perfectly made-up blonde, the sole female, in Tom's group that morning. "It would probably be much easier on Tom to present the board with enough information to get a new Headmaster appointed if he had several witnesses reporting Dumbledore's unsuitability."

"He has to be a bit more obvious about his shite first," Theo pointed out. "We won't just get him sacked because we don't like him."

"Then we'll be patient," chimed Harry. "Dumbledore let Sirius go to Azkaban without a trial and I don't believe for one second that he didn't know Sirius was innocent. He'll make a mistake at some point. Our eyes and ears should be open - I know mine are."

There were multiple murmurs of agreement, but whatever additional point Hermione had been about to express was interrupted when she caught sight of a familiar mass of orange fluff slinking his way down the hall.

"Crookshanks?" she called. "How'd he get out of the dorm…"

Crookshanks proudly trotted up to Hermione and leapt into her arms. He nuzzled under her chin as she took note of the piece of paper tied carefully around his body with string. She immediately recognized the handwriting her name was written in and raised a brow.

A summons from Tom, maybe?

"They must be done with Dumbledore already," she murmured. Once the string was untied, she shifted Crookshanks' weight to one arm and shook the paper so it unfolded.

Dove,

We're leaving soon and I promised your parents I'd check on you personally. Working on a way for them to verify your wellbeing with their own eyes. I might pull you out of classes one day before the month is out for that purpose, but board-to-headmaster politics is a bit strained at the moment. Bring the others if they're with you. Tasia and Theron are eager to meet you and Harry.

(I also promised Crooks you'd give him a treat for his services. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me a liar.)

-Tom

"They're waiting for us in the entry hall," she told the others. "Let's go."

"Oh, look at the lot of them," Tasia cooed, causing Tom to roll his eyes. "Mine and yours are bickering again, Theron."

"Ours are always bickering, witch," Theron muttered.

Tom snorted softly as they watched the third years come down the corridor. He held no parental sentiment towards the image of Hermione, flanked by Harry and Draco, with Tracey and Theodore a step or so behind them, moving as the unit they would grow into, but it was another of those familiar sights that both hurt and soothed him.

Naturally, Tasia stepped forward to meet the children as they neared, and made an absolute spectacle of introducing herself to Hermione. Tom turned his blank stare to Theron during the whole thing, satisfied when his knight smirked and offered him the slightest shrug. Tasia was on a lower tier in Tom's hierarchy than Theron and Lucius. She didn't know quite as much about the situation with Hermione as they did, but she knew enough to be ridiculously pleased to meet her.

It made him chuckle though. She never looked more like her near-doppleganger of a daughter than when she was excited about something.

Theron's introduction was starkly opposing to Tasia's. Quiet, simple, effective, to the point. Very Theron, indeed, which Hermione seemed to appreciate although Tracey's mother had amused her after the shock of her energy had worn off.

When her attention finally landed on him, Tom tried not to think too hard about how tired she still looked. He couldn't do anything more to help her. Not yet.

Well. He could do one thing.

He beckoned her a little ways away from the group, just far enough down the corridor to not be overheard, and cast Severus' clever little privacy spell non-verbally. Little Hermione stared up at him patiently awaiting whatever he had to say. Her surprise when he pulled a tear-stained envelope from his robe pocket was obvious.

"It's from your parents," he told her. "Believe me when I say that if I could've brought them with me today, they'd be here. One of the bones I had to pick with Albus was a new school policy I'm getting passed, one that applies to all students." He paused for a moment. "Well, I suppose the handful of orphans will get another short stick, but this gives them a chance to be, shall we say, informally adopted by wizarding families."

"Like you were," she said.

He offered her a small smile. "There was a lot of pomp and ceremony around my post-adulthood adoptions. Funny how, despite keeping my birth name, people are still so willing to forget that I'm not an Avery or a Malfoy."

Her expression pinched slightly, not in pity for him, but in a familiar sort of quiet anger. "You're Tom," she muttered. "Just Tom. Blood doesn't really influence the greatness of a witch or wizard, anyway."

Just Tom. Keeping his unaffected smile in place was painful. "Yes, Just Hermione, I suppose I am. But I've told you before that we're a pair of red herrings. But yes, it may make it so more orphans are better absorbed into wizarding society, or at least not so ostracized…" He took a deep breath. "Muggle schools give children an allocation of 'days off' outside of their yearly holidays. This policy will give each student a to-be-determined allotment of sick days and personal days, since there's currently no system for monitoring sick days outside of time spent in the hospital wing. Personal days can be used for mental health, to catch up on studying when needed, and for family visits."

She frowned at him. "But...muggles can't come to Hogwarts...or most parts of the Wizarding World."

"I'm fixing that too," he said gently. "I know you weren't planning on needing a bit of TLC at the start of term, and that you convinced everyone you'd be just fine if the conference ran long and impacted their travel time. None of us could have predicted you being down on the first, least of all you. Still, it happened. And I made a point to personally tell your parents about the train incident, rather than letting Albus send a bloody letter like the fool he is." He gave her a pointed look when her face fell.

"You couldn't interfere either," she mumbled.

"Which is why I came to see you off," he said. "They're distraught, by the way. You can be cross with me if you'd like, but I didn't sugar coat anything. They know how dangerous a dementor is. They know what would've happened if you hadn't managed to save yourself. It took every bit of diplomatic charm I possess to keep them from trying to convince me to 'homeschool' you instead."

Her cheeks pinkened with quickly building anger. Expectedly. "You- But- They- They didn't need to worry!" she shouted. "I'm fine! You know I'm fine! Just- Why?!"

Tom raised a patient brow. "Hermione. You're thirteen."

"Nearly fourteen!" she protested.

"Not for just under a fortnight," he said. "You may be wise beyond your years, far more capable and more adult than many seventh years, than many actual adults, but until you turn seventeen, you're a young woman under the watch and care of her parents. They have every right to know exactly how much danger you were in. They're your parents. I may be your stand-in-guardian in our world, but that doesn't mean I keep them out of the loop. If anything, you should be glad they trust me so thoroughly. I doubt they'd be cooperating and giving me time to come up with a way for them to see you with their own eyes if they didn't."

"They didn't need to know," she muttered as she looked away. "I'm not a baby."

Tom slowly exhaled through his nose, trying to keep his tone level. "We know that," he said. "But even adults need help taking care of themselves sometimes. Even when we don't want it."

Her eyes flicked back to his, narrowed into a half-hearted glare. "You don't. You don't need anybody."

He stared at her, brow raised instead of answering, until she sighed out the rest of her irritation. "I already know their preference, but they asked me to follow your lead since they know how much you dislike your academic schedule getting interrupted," he began. "But when would you like the day off to see them? Do not choose a Sunday. That's your only guaranteed full day off during the week."

She frowned at him again. "Either next Wednesday or Saturday after Ancient Runes."

He nodded. "Don't be surprised if I get you dismissed for both," he warned. "They're distraught."

"They didn't have to be," she muttered.

"I'd be concerned if they weren't," he said. "I can't remind them that my hands are tied because they don't know that I met you before your sponsorship. I can remind you. You know if I don't prevent something, it's because I can't. You should also know that if I can't prevent it, I'll handle matters in the aftermath."

Hermione nodded. "When you can, yeah. I mean, I suppose I forget sometimes, or don't always think about it, but...yeah. I know."

"Good." He offered her a small smile. "I'm sure they would appreciate a reply before they see you."

She looked at a letter in her hands again with some trepidation and sighed before tucking it away in her satchel. "Tell them I'm alright, would you?"

He snorted and cast a quick finite as they moved back towards the others. "Jean would have my head if I didn't."

Long after he left the school, after he'd left the ministry for the day, her words echoed around the hallways of Proserpine Park and rattled around his head.

You don't need anybody.

He went to the quasi-owlery next door to his study, his arm extended in preparation for Nyx, who began flying towards him the moment she'd heard the doorknob move, and sat on the floor with his newest owl.

"She has no idea," he said, unsure of whether he was speaking to himself or the owls. He eyed the small, cloth-covered wicker basket on the far side of the room and sighed. Crookshanks' toys. This room was where Crooks has spent his time when Tom had work to tend to. Crookshanks was with Hermione now, where he ought to be, but today, Tom wished the ginger beast were here instead. With him. Now that Crookshanks had actually met the witch Tom had told him about since before the half-kneazle could walk steadily, he wondered whether he'd get the worried concern Crooks had given him as a kitten or impatient disdain when he fell into these moods.

Nyx cooed quietly and nipped at his shoulder. Even Ares flew over and landed in front of him.

"I'm fine," he lied. "Or I will be, at any rate. I'm just maudlin today, I suppose."

Ares continued to stare at him, even as Nyx pressed her head against his chest and snuggled against him. Her feathers were soft beneath his fingers.

When Ares hooted and flew across the room, Tom glanced up. There was something glowing on a far shelf, something the owl snatched and brought to him.

He recognized the handwriting and squinted in disbelief.

He already didn't understand how she left the boys timed messages. He couldn't even begin to wonder how she knew he'd be in this room, throwing himself a half-arsed pity party with his pets, and supposedly be in need of a reminder.

When had she even put this all together? The last time he saw her, they were eighteen.

His hands shook as he took the letter from Ares and gently set Nyx on the floor. With patience and reverent care, Tom popped the seal. A stasis charm broke as he did so, and he could smell her perfume as if she'd sprayed the paper with it.

His eyes burned as waves of nostalgia washed over him. She probably had.

I may have been alive for fourteen years, but you haven't even been able to see me again until recently. And I'm not even me yet, am I? I've tried imagining it, you know. Tried imagining myself in your shoes and I wouldn't be this successful. I wouldn't be keeping it together as well as you have been. I'm so proud of you. But I'm also so, so, so terribly sorry that you've had to bear this alone.

As awful as it is, remember that you've just begun. You've hit the ground running but you've barely caught your balance. You're allowed to stumble, Tom. As long as you get back up, as long as you keep going, you can stumble when your legs get tired. It'll get easier.

We'll make it to the end. I couldn't have written this if we didn't.

And I know, by now, you're more than curious. This is my first note directly to you. I'd wager you were even jealous when I kept writing Brax and Flynn instead. I didn't do it to taunt you, I promise.

I did because I know you want to know how I've done this and I can't tell you. You can't know, because you know as well as I do that the temptation to make a connection with me would be too great. You'd want to know what happens after everything. You know I can't tell you that.

I don't even know, to be honest. I only know what I want. But I haven't seen you since the diary's connection broke.

Fitting, don't you think?

I suppose I can suffer with you in a way. For at least a little while, at least.

I miss you too. Don't give up. We've been through far worse than this, haven't we?

Yours Always,

Dove

"I need a drink," he whispered to himself. "A very strong drink."

"We know."

Tom blinked and turned towards the door. Abraxas and Flynn were solemn, almost as depressed as he felt.

Abraxas spoke up again. "Come on. She'll kill us if we don't drag you out of here."

Tom gave each owl an affectionate pet before he stood, tucking his letter away and wrapping it in another stasis charm. "Somehow hiding letters in the owls' room. Sending you two notes. When did she get a step ahead of me?"

Flynn and Abraxas shared a look.

"T'be honest, Tom, I think she always was in a way," said Flynn. "Even when she didn't know it."

Tom scowled and brushed past both of them. He didn't need drinking buddies, but if his Dove was going to force them upon him, at least this time he could pick somewhere more comfortable than his study to get sloshed.

He picked a drawing room.

He didn't hear Abraxas' spell until the liquor cabinet was already warded, and he didn't even catch what the prat had said.

"Birdie's orders," Abraxas said, his tone as apologetic as his face. "Believe me, I wouldn't dare otherwise. I'm quite enjoying being alive."

Tom was seething. "What. Were her. Exact. Words," he hissed.

"If he's an alcoholic when I graduate, it's on your heads, not his," they chorused.

He hissed a slew of English and Parseltongue expletives under his breath.

"Damn that witch," he said. "Why write me directly if I can't force my head to stop spinning after the fact?"

"He's stronger than he thinks, but not as strong as he looks," quoted Flynn. "There are worse days to come and better days too. No one can fault him for wallowing in the betters. He knows younger me isn't me."

Tom wanted to scream. And suddenly the temptation to do so was too strong to ignore. "I can wallow and bitch and whinge and obsess over a witch I haven't seen since I was eighteen and it's fine because I've got the mental elasticity not to confuse her with the thirteen-year-old-child she is right now?! How the bloody buggering fuck does that work, boys? Where's the line?! Of course the minor isn't the woman I saw last. Of course I know that! But that doesn't mean I can bounce between remembering someone she isn't yet and keeping an eye on who she is right now!"

"Tom," Abraxas said quietly. "You're exhausted. This year marks forty-seven years, right? That's a damn long time to be separated from your bonded. It'll get easier when the bonding happens again. Or at least she says it should. I know that feels like an eon away right now, but you can't just bury all that strain over and over again until time repeats itself."

"Hard to be a husband from the mental ward at Mungo's," Flynn chimed. "If coping means pretending it's not two-thousand-twelve, then you delude yourself for a few hours, hop in the pensieve, and escape until you've got your wits back. You've already made it this far, mate. You're in the final stretch. Don't break where she can't put you back together."

Tom could feel his hands shaking with fury. "I hate you both," he managed to say, proud that he had enough control left to keep the waver from his voice. "And I hate her."

"Wrong four-letter word," Flynn muttered, frowning at him.

"Love, miss, want, need," Abraxas said. Then sighed. "You know you don't kill us today, so spare us the death glares. I'm going to guess, based on something she wrote, that the liquor cabinet will not be so fortunate. Blow the damn thing up already and go get your pensieve. We'll even make a game out of it. You give us ten galleons for every moment you were a dense idiot about something related to her during her fifth year. We give you twenty every time she does something that makes younger you smile."

Tom continued to glare, but cast three silent shield charms, whipped out his wand, and sent a vicious blasting hex at the liquor cabinet he couldn't drown himself in. At the last second, Abraxas charmed the rest of the room so the various liquids wouldn't ruin anything else in it. Neither of them cast anything to keep shards of glass from embedding themselves into the walls, however.

Tom smirked at the minute, petulant bit of carnage he'd caused for a moment, deciding that he did feel a tad better, thank you very much, and vanished the mess aside from the sharp edges in the drywall.

"Fifth year, huh?" he said. "Fuck you, Brax. Twenty apiece? By that math alone, I'll drain you both dry."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Flynn, grinning. "We'll see, won't we?"

"I hate you both," Tom repeated blandly.

"Yeah," said Abraxas. "We know."

Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes before returning his glasses to their proper place on his nose.

"Pass the marmalade?" he asked Hermione quietly, thanking her when she slid the jar between them.

If he weren't so tired, Harry might have been engaging her in a discussion about their upcoming class with Professor Lupin. He was excited to have one of Sirius's best mates as his Defense professor, but that morning, both he and Hermione had woken up not-quite rested. He hoped they'd be in better spirits, or at least more awake, by the time breakfast ended.

If nothing else, he'd gotten his first letter back from Sirius, delivered by Hedwig, and it was burning a hole in the pocket of his robes. He decided to read it when there weren't crumbs on his fingers.

They were both drowning out the buzzing speculation and general hum of the Great Hall when Ron saw fit to interrupt their already rocky morning.

"You lot didn't wake me!" he shouted, causing both Harry and Hermione to wince at the sudden spike in noise. "I've barely any time to eat properly now, thanks to you!"

Harry turned to meet Hermione's gaze at the same time that she turned to meet his. He was certain their expressions were as mirrored as their actions.

Surely Ron couldn't be serious.

Not after last term.

Harry chose not to answer, trying to keep an argument from tarnishing his morning further. Hermione saw fit to follow suit.

Ron was too busy shoveling food onto his plate and into his face to notice their cold shoulders.

Harry thought their unwanted breakfast guest was going to remain almost silent —not counting his obnoxious eating— long enough for him to finish off the remainder of his toast and quietly ask Hermione if she was ready to leave. Unfortunately, Ron obliterated Harry's silent desires once again.

"I'as lookin' for 'ou, 'ermione," he snapped around a mouthful of sausage. "Tha' demon cat of yours wen' af'er S'abbe's las' nigh'!"

Harry noticed how Hermione took care setting down her cutlery even though the skin beside her eye twitched when Ron displayed his usual table manners.

"Perhaps you should keep better track of your pet, Ronald," she said darkly. "Crookshanks is hardly the only cat in the castle. You're lucky Mrs. Norris or Millicent Bulstrode's cat haven't gotten after him by now."

Ron continued to mumble his deflated opinions around his food, seemingly more concerned with eating as much as he possibly could before classes began. Harry and Hermione both decided they were finished at about the same time, stood, and began collecting their things.

"Oi!" Ron said indignantly. "Wait up, would you?"

Harry and Hermione stared at him until the tips of his ears turned red.

"Don't you think you ought to say something," Harry asked him. "Or have you completely forgotten the end of last term and our little run-in over the summer."

Ron flushed fully. "I don't see either of you apologizing to me," he said. "You weren't kind about it either."

"You started it," Harry snapped. "We shouldn't be apologizing first."

Ron chose to glare down at his plate and remain silent, causing Harry to scoff and turn away, taking Hermione by the wrist to gently pull her along.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

Hermione loosed an annoyed sigh and squared her shoulders, taking his hand properly as they walked towards the Defense classroom. "Just ignore him," she said quietly. "We've got the others now."

Harry took a calming breath and decided to distract himself by digging for Sirius's letter. The halls weren't very busy yet. He could read and walk with Hermione at the same time, he figured.

Dear Harry,

Tom and Remus told me about the train before the Prophet got ahold of the story. Bloody awful creatures, Dementors. I hope the effects haven't lingered any, but if you're still feeling down go to Madame Pomfrey or Remus, alright? Tom said you weren't reported to be affected even though you were in the vicinity of one, but I know you tend to keep a stiff upper lip. Don't try to tough it out with this one, it's not worth the risk.

I think Tom said Hermione got the worst of it. How is she? It's nothing short of amazing that she was able to cast a patronus under those conditions. That's no easy charm - fifth year magic if I'm remembering correctly. I think casting one successfully was extra credit on the DADA O.W.L. - that's how complex it is. Useful though. I wonder where she learned it.

Drama aside, how are you? The house is dreadfully quiet without you and Kreacher is beside himself with grief. He only quits blubbering when I let him bake things for you, so expect some packages soon. You'll find that they're full of treats for you and Hermione. I think he made her more chocolate-based pastries when he heard about the attack. Though to be fair he probably made you more biscuits too. Try not to make yourself sick.

How are classes so far? You'll have to let me know what Moony's like as a professor. And tell Hermione hello for me. I haven't finished her letter yet, but I'll send it along with your treats soon.

Love you, buddy.

~Sirius

P.S. Remember what I expect, Kiddo.

Harry smiled slightly at the postscript, his spirits lifted slightly. His best within reason. He could do that.

He dropped Hermione's hand just long enough to neatly fold the note and tuck it safely inside one of his textbooks.

"Sirius says hello," he told her.

Hermione smiled and leaned into his side a bit. "I'm so happy for you, Harry. That you have him, I mean."

Harry nodded, the barest of grins on his face. "Yeah…he's great…"

Perfect, really.

Alright, so it seems most of the issues with Hermione's parents are cultural, in that those who are upset (presumably) weren't raised with similar levels of leniency (or personally don't believe in it) after having proved your good sense time and time again during your early teens to your authority figures, thus granting more independent privileges. I had this whole breakdown typed up where I went through, copy/pasted ever pertinent section that mentioned or contained the Grangers, and then spelled it all out, but then I remembered that...this is supposed to be something I do for fun in my free time. And given how little of that I have lately, since my freelance work has picked up exponentially, I'm not going to spend it trying to explain why "not how you would do it in their shoes" doesn't mean "bad parents".

Especially when a big part of this whole thing was so Hermione getting attacked by the dementors would put the fear of god in her parents. It's almost like I have character and relationship arcs planned between a massive cast of characters, which is exactly as psychotic as it sounds considering I write this for fun.

I'd rather not go weeks where I consider writing Diary, or even posting a prewritten chapter, and thinking "Actually, fuck this." Or going to write that big explanation (which was nearing 2k words, mind) and telling my alphas/betas "I don't want to even do this." That's just not the kind of mood I want to be in when thinking of fanfiction.

Last night, I decided I wouldn't be in that mood anymore.

So, if you're still upset about Hermione's parents, that blows. I'm sorry you feel that way. Hopefully you'll go back to the chapters she was at home and realize that they just don't want to smother the brilliant young woman they're raising, especially when they don't even know where the boundaries for her should be set anymore (magical world and all).

To everyone who's not in that camp (especially those of you who took the time to tell me so/send words of reassurance/your two cents on the source of the confusion): I love you guys too, thank you for the good vibes, and yes I'm okay. I'm not dead (not literally anyway). I'm not in the hospital. I'm tired, working my ass off, and trying to juggle about a thousand other things, but I'm alive.

If you're ever truly worried that I've fallen off the face of the earth, my tumblr url/username is the same as my username here — littlemulattokitten. I'm also on twitter under MulattoKitten.

In other news, given my lack of free time, my quickly dwindling safety net/backlog of chapters, and how close we are to being caught up with where the old version of Diary left off, update frequency is going to drop down to once a week or so unless I get blessed by a muse or something.

Au revoir~