Song Suggestion: Halsey– "Gasoline"

Thank you to MyPrivateInsanity for all her hard work. And thank you to my alpha team for catching multiple mistakes!

A Free Reeducation

Hermione stepped out of the floo into the Nottingham Council House with her wand at the ready, taking in the whole room with a quick sweep of her eyes.

Besides several broken chairs covered with a torn blue fabric, it was empty. It must have been a lovely room once upon a time, but the large windows had shattered, allowing nature to invade. Shards of glass decorated the room like confetti, as if a bomb had gone off. The wood panelling was stained and warped, and mould pockmarked the floorboards.

When Hermione tried to walk into the room, Julie floating behind her, she bounced back, encountering an invisible boundary.

She'd been too late.

The ministry had already set increased security around the fireplace. She doubted she could return, or go anywhere else, without the same thing happening. Possibly not even to the manor. During a lockdown, they had the ability to turn off private floo travel as a precaution.

Until someone arrived and let them out, they'd be trapped. Hermione touched the fabric of her trousers, knowing inside her invisible pouch she carried an emergency portkey to the master bedroom.

She could use it now.

But then where could they hide Julie without suspicion?

Her stomach twisted with worry. After a second of contemplation, she lifted her hand away, making her decision. The portkey would be the final option, only used if all else failed or if she ran out of potions. The potency of polyjuice depended on the strength of the brew. With Draco being a potion master, it would last longer than normal, but that offered no guarantees, and each batch resulted in different time frames.

Hermione attempted to break down the temporary floo hold, but the wards proved ironclad— no matter what spell she used— and she almost screamed in frustration. Like all magic, it must have a loophole, but she didn't have time to think through it.

Because a man stalked into the room. He reminded her of a burly woodsman with dark hair, streaked with grey. A thick beard lined his jaw, and he wore old-fashioned robes. When he saw her at the fireplace, he froze.

Hermione almost cursed and edged backward into the glowing cinders behind her, recognizing the man instantly.

Travers— a Death Eater. One of the originals. He'd been at the ritual, standing under the moonlight alongside Lucius, watching with apathy. Though his first name evaded her, she'd visited his cathedral, where she'd stuck Zabini against a wall, intent on murdering him.

Hermione reined in her trepidation and straightened, reminding herself that she still resided in Titus' skin, not a muggleborn. Any hesitancy would cause suspicion.

Travers cocked his head to the side.

"Nott?" he asked. "How are you stuck in a floo? Weren't you the one to turn them off?"

Hermione had to think fast. Travers worked in the financial department at the ministry. She'd be a fool to underestimate his intelligence. "I'm transporting a prisoner. Why isn't this floo being monitored?"

Travers' eyes narrowed.

Her response wasn't her best, but there really wasn't a good explanation for why Titus Nott would be stuck in a floo barrier when he had the authority to break them down.

"This attendant had recently been assassinated by the Order. Again, you were the one who ordered me to check the unmanned travel points, and I thought you were still at Azkaban with the breakout. Why are you here?"

As his eyes roved over her, Hermione almost saw the gears in his brain turning. The suspicion. The unanswered questions. Too many holes poked through the story. She sensed the moment he realised she might not be who she appeared to be.

But Hermione had prepared, knowing the ward didn't prevent spells passing the barrier. While they'd spoken, she'd gathered the magic in her body—the desperation, the fear, the rage. The emotions bloomed in her. She latched onto her pain to fuel it, remembering her most vulnerable moment under the stars.

A familiar rage awoke inside her, the same blinding anger she'd experienced with Blaise. She let the monster in, knowing once she acknowledged that gnarled part of her soul, it would latch on and not let go— lacerating the deepest parts of herself in the process.

By the time he pointed his wand, she meant the dark spell more than anything in the world.

"Imperio!" This time, the dark curse came out with frightening ease, focused with her wand. A horrid dark slime latched them together. It took great effort to keep her concentration steady as the man fought his mental imprisonment. Hermione grit her teeth, holding both the spell to levitate Julie and the unforgivable at the same time.

Casting a crucio had felt like a knife stabbing into her chest, but the imperio suffocated her, constricting her lungs, almost causing her to gasp. It took all of her internal strength not to lean over and retch.

Fractions of a second later, the fight left his body, and he transformed into her living puppet.

"Let me out of the floo," she demanded.

He obeyed, swishing his wand. The barrier dissolved, and she stepped past, the limp body of Julie following her. Travers lowered his wand again and stood off to the side, awaiting further orders.

Now free, Hermione paced the ground in front of him, prepared to face her second problem.

After the imperio faded, Travers would still remember the doppelgänger Titus. It not only would implicate her, and leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it would also focus Titus' attention on Nottingham.

Every successful plan consists of distraction and illusion. People believe the easiest answers first.

The easiest answer would be another Order attack, and she only had two options to create that impression:

Kill him.

Or obliviate him.

The first would cause a giant auror investigation, especially because of his importance in the hierarchy at the ministry. Hermione also wasn't sure if she could kill in cold blood. Even someone as wretched as Travers.

The elimination of the first option left her with only one path forward.

She placed her wand at his temple, intent on being gentle enough to only cause minor confusion. Despite magical advances, anything related to memory remained a specialised skill set for those with natural aptitude, needing extensive training, patience, and a delicate touch— and Hermione embodied none of those.

But she had little choice.

"Obliviate!" The spell managed to be simple at first. Finding his last memories proved easy enough, since they'd just occurred, and the imperio made him compliant. Like she'd studied, she imagined slicing through the thoughts.

But in practice it was much more difficult than in theory. As she attempted to excise the memory, she cut too deep and shredded more than she intended— much, much more. It lifted away with a violent rip that echoed through her own mind. His memories of this day, of yesterday, of last week, of the last month disappeared along with it. By the time Hermione managed to pull out of his mind, an entire year of his life had been erased, as if it had never happened.

Travers screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching at his head. He seized against the dirty carpet, arching into horrific contortions of pain.

"Silencio!"

The screams ended, but Travers' pain continued as Hermione watched on, cursing under her breath. In horror, she realised that could have been Julie's fate had she attempted the same spell on her.

Travers lay in a crumpled heap at her feet. He lifted his head, blinked up at her once, and then fell unconscious.

Knowing she'd just ruined his mind forever, she swallowed her unease and exited the building as fast as she could. The sensation of a cracked egg trickled down her skin as she placed a disillusionment charm on a still sleeping Julie and herself right before she stepped out into the nearly empty streets of Nottingham.

Hermione hurried out of the grand government building. A hazy grey sky hovered above her, which was a stroke of luck, because sunshine might give away the shimmer of the charm.

On the off chance she might need it, she'd studied Nottingham, tracing the short routes along the main sections of the city. So she knew exactly where to go when she stepped outside, heading across the Old Market Square.

As she walked, she spotted a few people milling around, mostly muggles. As they did in London, the people kept their heads down, not speaking and intent on reaching their destination without trouble, though they seemed less subdued overall. She assumed Nottingham had aurors monitoring the city, but not with the same level of scrutiny as in London.

No matter how quiet she attempted to be, her shoes clicked against the pavement. And when they neared their destination, Julie let out a low groan, the sound amplified by the quiet. Hermione double checked that no one saw them while passing by an abandoned green city bus, rusting on the side of the street.

Bromley House Library was nondescript, made of red brick. If Hermione hadn't known to look for the old townhouse, she might have passed it by. Two storefronts rested below, though the signs had disintegrated long ago, obscuring the names. The ornate concrete door frame enticed her to enter.

Hermione chewed the edge of her thumb. If she entered as she was, the Order might attack her, thinking she was Titus. Even with the danger of being outside, it remained safer to wait and let her disguise fade. If Draco were present, he'd recommend scoping out the area before jumping into the unknown.

So instead of entering the Bromley Library, she waited with Julie on the opposite side of the street, under an overgrown tree. Hermione spent her time watching for signs of life in the building, finding nothing to indicate the presence of either an auror, the Order, or even an ordinary person— not even a magical signature.

For all she could tell, it was a normal, muggle building, abandoned during the years of chaos and the subsequent purges. But that could be a ruse. There were many ways wizards could hide important places, from wards to fidelity charms.

Exhaustion frayed her conscious thoughts, her heavy use of magic making her want to take a nap, and her chest and head ached fiercely from using an unforgivable, but she needed to disregard her biological needs for now.

Hermione remained in place for over an hour until her polyjuice faded. The clothes engulfed her as she shrank down, and she cinched up the hems to fit, making sure her cloak remained secure, along with keeping Julie unconscious.

When she finally decided to walk to the building, she reviewed her memory of the attempted kidnapping in Knockturn alley— how sad Charlie Weasley seemed when she fought back. How condemningly Garner spoke of the system. How they promised to give her a wand and train her.

She now knew they'd been right.

But their concern didn't guarantee their benevolence. Zala carrying her bleeding child into St. Mungo's was proof of that.

The last time she'd faced off with the Order, she'd been a young teenager, scared and helpless.

But she was neither of those things now.

After renewing the spell to keep Julie unconscious, she took one last glance around, making sure no one followed her, and entered the library.

Despite the years of neglect, all of the windows remained intact, and it looked cleaner than many places in the muggle world, though dirt and leaves cluttered the floor. After walking inside, Hermione encountered a staircase twisting to the top. A flood of grey sunshine filtered through the skylight above, illuminating her way.

Hermione investigated the ground floor first, finding the back led out into a garden, so overgrown it reminded her of a jungle, too thick to wade through.

Wandering up the stairs, she found a treasure trove of books, smelling of dust and mildew. It had a loft and an interesting spiral staircase that would probably crack with a single step. Hermione touched the dusty spines, controlling an impulse to satisfy her curiosity, wondering at the knowledge within. The movies she'd watched only gave brief glimpses of muggle life, much of it confusing without context. There was so much more to learn, especially when it came to history. The battles of kings and queens of the past. The average day of a peasant. The books called to her, but she moved along, keeping an eye out for anything that could be connected to the Order.

During her exploration, she happened upon a room with a metal line on the floor gleaming in the sunshine, reaching from one side of the room to the other, but was otherwise ordinary. From what she had studied, Bromley House Library was known for this meridian line, more accurate than even a sundial, used before time was standardised to help set clocks to noon.

The metal stripe near her feet made her wary, reminding her of ley lines— magical conduits, bisecting important magical historical sites. Before the widespread use of wands, ancient wizards relied on them for power, for travel, and rituals. In modern times, the use of them had fallen out of favour, since wand cores proved more reliable.

She'd studied them in fascination many times, so she knew this wasn't a ley line and she shouldn't be concerned with it. But something felt wrong, regardless. Off.

Before the wariness solidified, her eyes widened with understanding.

It seemed like a—

The floor along the line opened with a creaking groan, growing wider and wider.

"Fuck!" Hermione rarely cursed, but this was certainly the appropriate time for it. She sprang to the doorway to escape, but just like the floo, a magical barrier repelled her.

The meridian was a venus flytrap, just waiting to open and devour unsuspecting visitors. There was no way out. "Double fuck!"

The line continued to open like a hungry mouth, a dark pit emerging. Hermione hovered by the doorframe, weighing her options. As it inched toward their toes, Hermione lifted her wand, seeing that the pit had a solid stone floor just below the ground level and wasn't an endless descent.

It occurred to her that this might be what she searched for— the path to the Order.

Assured that this was the only way— that the Order was the one that lured her here and sprang this trap— Hermione relied on her courage and jumped inside, Julie's floating body following behind her.

When her feet smacked against the dusty stone, made softer by cushioning charms, the meridian line above snapped closed again, leaving them in total darkness.

Hermione discovered that the walls were pure stone, free of obsidian, allowing her to conjure a floating orb of lumos. With the limited light, she realised she was in a cell. Iron bars separated her from a long, dark corridor she couldn't view. Her first instinct while being trapped was to find an escape, but she ignored it, betting on it being connected to the Order.

Tired from the day, Hermione allowed herself to rest, setting Julie's head in her lap.

It took several minutes for Julie to wake. She groaned, and Hermione smoothed down her hair with a comforting stroke.

"Master?" she asked in confusion.

Hermione withheld a shiver of disgust at the term.

"He's no longer your master."

Julie gasped, lurching upright and taking in her surroundings with wide eyes, and then looked at Hermione— as if just now realising who held her.

"Where did you— where am I?"

"You're safe," she explained.

Hermione recognized the irony of that statement while they rested in a dark cell. She understood why Julie might not believe her at first.

Julie looked in a trance. "I don't understand."

Hermione gently explained to her what had happened, where she was, and where she was going.

"The Order!" Julie cut her off. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe." She didn't feel too confident about the plan either, even though they had little choice. They lived in a fishbowl with monsters, caged in with death. Perhaps the Order were monsters too. She only had a few sentences to rely on, spoken to her by a doomed auror long ago.

Julie began to hyperventilate, placing a hand to her mouth. "I should go back before he—"

Hermione grabbed her hand, holding it tight. "You won't see him ever again."

She gave a hiccuped cry. "I don't like this—"

"Don't worry, I won't let the Order harm you. I brought failsafes, just in case."

She tapped her leg where she'd hidden the portkey and the communication parchment, along with the poison.

Not to mention she had her wand, and her wandless magic. Goblin-made obsidian was rare and expensive to obtain— possibly too expensive for the Order.

She wasn't without fangs to defend them if the need called for it. And if things did go sideways, she suspected Draco would come for her.

"I know that you'll try to protect me." Julie's eyes welled up with tears. "But I don't trust anyone besides my mum or the coven not to hurt me. Not anymore."

Hermione kissed her forehead and then gathered her in her arms. Julie was stiff at first and then melted into the touch before leaning her head down to cry in a mixture of apprehension and relief. "I wish I could take away your pain. I won't rest until I'm assured you're safe."

Julie shook her head. "I'll never be safe again."

Hermione didn't know how much time had passed, just that she was starting to get hungry and thirsty, stomach rumbling. So far, she didn't like the Order's methods.

It was hard to shake the thought that they might be villains. Years of treating them like the boogeyman out to steal her away from home couldn't unravel without proof.

But if her father worked for them, he must have seen some sort of purpose, even if it was also to protect her from the purebloods, correct?

She'd been fed so many stories about the Order. How they were terrorists, killing peaceful wizards and disrupting ordinary life. And in truth, she didn't know what to believe.

She used to trust Titus' judgement implicitly, and she didn't think he warned her about them with the intent to lie. She had no doubt that Titus truly believed the Order to be the enemy, just like Draco did. But since he'd betrayed her and she'd seen the disrepair of the muggle world, many of his lessons had unravelled. How many things had Titus omitted or altered to fit his world view?

While Hermione didn't trust the Order, she also didn't think they were a threat, finding her assumption rested somewhere in between malignant and benign.

So instead of panicking in their cell, she allowed herself to analyse their situation.

She'd heard of traps like this. They used to be in fashion a couple hundred years ago to catch thieves. Since then, complicated charms had replaced them, but in places that couldn't afford wards, they remained useful. She wondered how long the trap had been in existence. Probably since the inception of the building, which meant the property once belonged to a wizard.

It might have been an hour or an eternity between them falling into the trap and the first flicker of light down the dark corridor. She raised her wand, and shifted in front of Julie, intent on protecting them from the unknown person. Julie tensed and curled into a ball behind her.

As the bright dot of light floated toward them, red hair appeared first, blazing under the lit tip of a wand as a man walked into view.

A stark colour, recognizable even after several years.

After all, how could a girl forget a man who had almost kidnapped her?

"Charlie Weasley," she greeted.

He had his long hair tied up on top of his head. Colourful tattoos traced up his muscled arms— many of them showcasing dragons— only visible because he wore a top with no sleeves. Alongside the tattoos were scars and burns. Hundreds of them, crisscrossing the visible skin along his face. One cut through his eyebrow, which he raised upon hearing his name.

"No need for introductions, I see. I just knew we'd see each other again." He peered into her cell. "And you brought a friend! You'll need to move, so I can see them better."

"No. And if you scare her too much, I'll make you regret it."

"You still have as much of a bite as I remember. I'm glad they didn't stamp it out." Charlie laughed. It didn't sound antagonistic. Even though he'd almost kidnapped her as a young teenager, she didn't sense he had ill intentions. "Fine, if you don't wish to show me the person, then tell me about them."

"Her name is Julie. She's another muggleborn."

"The ward of Bellatrix?"

"Yes."

Charlie made a humming sound she found hard to interpret.

"And she was given to—"

"Blaise Zabini."

Charlie frowned ferociously. His eyes zeroed in on Hermione.

"And you were transferred from the Butcher to a Malfoy?"

"Yes."

Another hum of pity.

"Poor little doves."

Hermione didn't appreciate the implications. She wasn't a little dove, and Malfoy would never hurt her like Zabini did to Julie. But she didn't feel the need to explain her personal life to a stranger.

"So are you going to let us out?" she asked. "I thought the note was given for me to be welcomed, not treated like a criminal."

"You're rather demanding. I'll need your wand first, just in case."

Hermione wondered if he knew about her wandless magic. If not, she wasn't going to inform him. Just like with Karkaroff, it was a surprise advantage if something went wrong. They believed her to be a harmless little witch, only capable of simple spells. And she'd let them believe that until seconds before ripping out their throats.

"Very well." She outstretched her hand, offering it up, and he accioed it into his hand, studying it with interest.

"I'd heard Nott had given you this, but I almost didn't believe it. It's even more unbelievable you managed to get wands for your friends."

Heard about it? Her mind went to Ollivander— the only reliable source of that information. He must have been a part of the Order the whole time like she suspected.

Charlie opened the cell door with a tap against the bars. Hermione stood up and readied herself to attack, yet remained calm. The same couldn't be said for Julie, who whimpered behind her, clutching at her shirt like a life raft.

Charlie noticed and kept both his hands raised. "Please don't be frightened of me, love. I'm not going to hurt you. You've obviously been through some horrid shit, but you're safe with me."

It did nothing to calm Julie, and she continued to cry as he walked farther into the room.

Unable to bear the sound she made, Hermione twisted her head to soothe her friend.

But a blue spell slammed into her side, and her body froze with a petrificus totalus.

Hermione internally snarled, berating herself for letting her guard down. It was a rookie mistake on her part, but she'd been too drained from her magic use to have reacted faster. With the surprise attack, Julie gave a shout and huddled on the ground as Charlie stalked forward and snapped cold shackles around Hermione's wrists.

Obsidian. She knew it by the instant smothering feeling. Once fettered, he released the petrificus totalus, and she resisted the temptation to reach out and wallop him.

"You two-faced wanker!"

Charlie grinned and shook his head. "It's just a precaution."

He reached a hand down to help Julie stand, but her friend scrambled out of his reach, once again clinging to Hermione's back.

"She doesn't like being touched," Hermione seethed. "Especially by men."

"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming embarrassed. "That makes sense."

The mannerism reminded her of the one time she'd seen his brother— Ron. Something that reminded her of innocence. It calmed her a little.

"I thought you said we'd be safe with you?"

"You are," he shrugged his broad shoulders. "But I'm probably not safe with you. It seems you're forgetting, but last time I saw you, you attacked us, resulting in the death of Garner, and I've had to be on the run since."

"So is this your revenge, or what?"

"Of course not. You were just a scared kid." He glanced at her wrists. "We've known about your wandless magic for quite some time, and I managed to steal a set of Obsidian. A hard feat, I must say, since there aren't many in existence. Thought we'd have to bind you for your own good if we ever managed to rescue you. Imagine my surprise when the charm alerted me that Hermione Granger arrived at Bromley willingly."

He'd said her last name, as if that was a normal occurrence. It caused her heart to squeeze, always enjoying the sound of her full name said by another person.

Hermione didn't know why she felt betrayed by Charlie when she'd previously determined she didn't trust him. But she did. This was the organisation her father fought and died for, and the moment she'd reached out to them, they'd snapped shackles on her wrists. Perhaps they were no better than the purebloods they claimed to fight.

"I would only fight you in self-defence."

"Sorry dove, but I don't believe you. Once we get to the base, and you tell us your story, I'll release you." He glanced at Julie, who still hid her face. "Is she pregnant?"

"She is."

"It's a good thing you came to us before the birth."

She wasn't sure now if that was true or not.

Charlie forced Hermione in front of him and then guided her through the dark.

"Where are we?"

"Under Nottingham. There are old tunnels everywhere. All across England, in fact."

Based on the old magic humming from the walls, Hermione believed this to be hidden from muggle view. The dark corridor started out as any other, but soon the stone floors and walls transformed into packed earth. Water dripped in the distance, echoing around them. A chill zipped through the air, causing gooseflesh to erupt along her arms.

"Where are we going?"

"One of the bases. We'll decide if we need to obliviate you later."

Hermione tripped over her feet. "You'd wipe my memory?"

"Only if you see something incriminating. Last resort, I swear."

Memory alteration was one type of magic that scared her, thinking of Travers' botched obliviation. Just the thought was abhorrent. She'd rather suffer the loss of a finger than a piece of her mind. Hermione didn't wish to go with him anymore and glanced around for ideas to get away, but nothing presented itself, her mind too exhausted from the day to plan.

The walk turned gruelling. Every so often, a rat scurried across their path. The old and humid tunnels seemed to never end. She'd known they existed, of course, some dating back to the Roman occupation. The Britons had tunnelled under their enemies with magic, and over time networks spread out all over the islands, fortified against damage and flooding. Most of them now were owned by the old families, closed off to outsiders. The wards only let in heirs and guests. Anyone else risked evisceration.

And the last she'd heard, most of them were owned by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Even with the cloying air, a chill travelled along her arm. She didn't know much about the man besides the fact he destroyed the trace before turning traitor, though she'd assumed he'd died long ago.

During the middle of the trip, Charlie tapped her head and then Julie's. The limited light vanished, leaving her in pitch black.

"What did you do with my vision?"

"It's a blindfold charm. Mandatory for all… guests. Insurance in case of capture."

It made sense, but she didn't like it; it made her feel more vulnerable. Julie wasn't crying anymore, huddling to her side. She gave a reassuring pat to her arm, pretending to be at ease with the situation. When they started walking again, Charlie's heavy hand landed on Hermione's shoulder, shepherding her through the maze of tunnels, twisting and turning, until there was no way she could keep directions straight.

An hour into the walk, Charlie turned left and tapped her head again. Her vision returned to find him still holding his lit wand. A wooden door loomed to the side, and he gave a knock on all four corners, whispering a word low enough she couldn't hear, but she thought it might be Gaelic. After it popped open, he outstretched his hand, telling her to go inside.

"Watch your step."

Despite his warning, she almost lost her balance. The floor was much lower and uneven. Charlie snorted in amusement as she righted herself, before helping Julie make her way down with a gentle hold on her elbow, even as she tried to tug away.

Once Julie cleared the obstacle, Charlie pulled his hand back as if she burned.

"I forgot, love. It was just to help you. No one will touch you here without you wanting it. And if they do, I'll deal with them myself, okay?"

Julie ducked her head and gave a sharp nod, showing she heard him.

A bright light glowed in the distance; it grew as they neared, until it flooded the tunnel. She had to give herself a few moments to adjust to the dramatic change, blinking rapidly.

When she did, she realised they were at the entrance to an ordinary room that reminded her of a ministry office, with several strangers milling around.

When they walked inside, everyone stopped talking, staring with their mouths opened. A man held a cup of tea to his lips, another paused with a stack of parchment under his arm.

Hermione assumed retrieving muggleborns was a rare occurrence, based on their expressions.

Julie whimpered at the inspection, and Hermione tucked her securely into her side.

"Is she okay?" Charlie nodded toward her friend.

"She needs to be alone, I think. This is all— overwhelming to her after what her master put her through."

It would be hard to miscategorize the look of fury on his face.

"I refuse to call them masters."

"Then what do you call them?"

"Dragon food."

He probably considered Malfoy under that category.

Being in the middle of the Order made her uneasy, mostly because she didn't know if they were any better than the rest of the purebloods.

Both organisations sought muggleborns. Hermione was taking a chance by running to them, uncertain of the treatment they'd receive.

In all the time the Order existed, had it made any significant changes? Muggleborns were still with their masters. More were taken every day. And the mist still encroached.

Did they even know about the mist?

She assumed they did.

Both sides slaughtered innocents in their way. And for what?

The thoughts infected her as Charlie led her past the men and women staring at them as if they were fascinating bugs. It made her uncomfortable, and she tried not to glare back, hating the familiar inspection.

They ended their journey outside a thick metal door. Magic pulsed off it, thrumming in the air as Charlie placed his hand in the center. It took a little longer to open than the wooden one, but eventually it unlocked.

Inside, a handsome man lounged in a chair behind a table. His booted feet were propped on the table, laces untied. His shirt gaped open to reveal his chest covered with tattoos - a giant stag in the center with lilies tied to its antlers, a black dog beside it, a moon over his heart. A solid black box hinted at a prior tattoo blacked out. His shaggy hair puffed out around his head, emphasising his dark, haunted eyes, which looked her up and down through the smoke from the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Hermione Granger." Her name rolled off his lips as he took a drag of his cigarette. "You look like your father."

The sentence caught her off guard. She tried not to show how much the words affected her, but they carved through her.

Hermione connected the dots in her memory, finding he looked much the same. He'd sat at their kitchen table when she was a child, as her mother served him tea. Hermione had been too little to understand the conversation, but she remembered him wanting to take her away to a special place. Her father refused, and they'd argued.

Sirius Black. The man that Titus would give his left hand to capture, torture, and kill. A perpetual thorn in his side.

And here he was, casually sitting in front of her as if he wasn't one of the most wanted men in all of the United Kingdom. From what she knew, he hadn't been a part of the explosion that killed Draco's mum, but he'd taken over the organisation after, somehow lifting it from the ashes. Soldering together shattered pieces and rebuilding the Order into a viable threat.

Draco once told her that Sirius had been blasted off the Black family tree long before the curse. The picture he'd painted was of someone carefree and young.

Whatever softness he'd held in his youth had been brutally shaved away, leaving a man sharp as a razor, face like a hawk, ready to swoop down on his prey. The pattern of his wrinkles made her think of a laugh interrupted.

"You knew my father?" she asked after sputtering a bit.

"I knew you too, though you probably don't remember. You were a wee thing. Always had a question ready that I found difficult to answer. Smart for your age. Which didn't surprise me, given your father." The chair squeaked as the man shifted. "We'd created multiple plans to rescue you over the years, but it seems like, in the end, you rescued yourself."

She felt the need to explain.

"I'm only here to drop off—"

"Sit down." Both of his boots slid off the table to the floor. "And let's talk."

"What about Julie?"

"She can do what she wants."

Hermione looked at her friend and gave a wave of her hand to join her, but Julie shook her head, remaining near Charlie, who had just shut the heavy door behind him. She seemed to trust the dragon tamer more than the Order leader.

Hermione made her way over to the only available seat, facing him.

"Are you the only Order leader?" she asked, while sinking down.

"Still a wee thing with big questions, I see. But we need to stay on topic." His eyes flicked to Julie. "So… how did two muggleborns escape the clutches of their slavers? One of them pregnant. You would have had to get around floo barriers and checkpoints— among other things. Even armed with a wand, that would be a feat."

Hermione told her story, only including the most minimal of details. Sirius smoked while she talked, not looking away, even to stub out his cigarette on a nearby tray. She cringed at the smell, but kept going until she finished, while he stayed silent.

"That's an impressive story, but you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You want me to believe that Draco Malfoy helped you escape from Flint castle? Humor me with his motivation."

"Because I asked him to." When he gave a snort of disbelief, Hermione crossed her arms along her chest. "And I promised to return to him."

"Return?" She didn't think Sirius Black was often surprised, but she saw his mouth open in astonishment. He blinked a few times. "So the rumours are true."

"What rumours?"

"That you're still brainwashed."

"I'm not brainwashed. Draco cares for me."

Sirius' lips pulled back with an exaggerated frown, as if he smelled something rotten. "I was hoping you'd be as intelligent as your father, but I see you're just a little fool. He'd have been disappointed in you."

The insult stung despite her not believing it. "If that's all, I'd like to go. If I don't return like I promised Draco, he'll come for me."

Sirirus gave a mocking tut of his tongue. "You aren't going anywhere."

Hermione threw a severe glance at Charlie, who was looking at her with concern.

"I thought you said I wasn't your prisoner?"

"You're not," Sirius answered for him, drawing her attention to him again.

"You have a terrible way of making guests feel welcome."

"You can think of it as an extended welcome, and a free... reeducation."

"Unless you plan to keep these shackles on me, I'm not staying." She raised her wrists.

"Yes, you've made it clear that you're mentally unwell, thinking you love my young cousin— a man who ritually raped you."

She flinched, but she also picked up on the fact that Sirius knew about the ritual.

"Draco was forced to do that." By his expression, he probably thought her intelligence was on par with a baby mooncalf. "If you let me go back, I could convince Draco to join the Order."

If possible, Sirius looked even more disgusted.

"I'll never allow him to join the Order."

That surprised her.

"Why not?"

"A man who trusts a son of Lucius is a fool, and unlike you, that's something that I'm not. Not to mention, I've already been told stories about him, enough to know he's exactly like the rest of them."

This man was infuriating. A thorn in her side was an apt description. He leaned back again, as if trying to figure her out. He reached in his pocket, extracted a box of cigarettes and took one out, but didn't light it.

"I really thought a girl with incessant questions would ask about her father."

Her heart lurched, and she clenched her hands on her trousers. She'd met so few people in her life that had known her parents. She wished to lunge forward and shake out the memories for herself.

"I– I do want to know about him."

Sirius grinned then, still clutching his unlit cigarette. "Did you know that Lupin found you first? Had a heightened sense of smell and claimed to be able to tell which children were magical before they showed. I thought it was a load of bollocks, but he kept tabs on you. When you had your first bout of accidental magic, I lost quite a few galleons in a betting pool." He had a ghost of a smile with this memory. "We told your parents that we'd take care of you, but your father had other ideas. Before the collapse of the muggle government, he posed as a muggle teeth healer as a cover. But really, he'd been in a secret research department developing muggle weapons— important ones—and he promised to use his skillset to create something to pass the wards."

Hermione almost leaned forward, but stopped herself from appearing too eager, knowing this information came at a cost.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I think it's necessary for you to know your history, don't you agree?"

"I suppose." The room was starting to feel like a tomb. No windows. One door. Blank walls. It reminded her of the interrogation room that Titus used. "How did he do it?"

Her father had succeeded in his promise. To this day, the purebloods didn't know how the explosive device fell through the floo during the Beltane celebration, when it had already been spelled against muggle weapons.

"Robert insisted magic must obey the laws of physics too, even if it seemed to break them. And if he could only discover how, he'd eventually figure out how to manipulate magic— with another wizard's help, of course. Because there needed to be a natural conduit."

It seemed impossible. Wards were connected to families. They could only be cracked with significant help from the ministry, but even then it took great effort. And the older the magic, the more volatile the repercussions became.

Mathematics had always been important to spell casting, including Arithmancy and Divination. But after studying the basics of mathematics and science, she'd concluded wizards relied too much on the magical aspect. She'd always theorised that the addition of advanced mathematics and science to a curriculum could result in magical breakthroughs.

From what she'd deduced, her father had found the equation to create magical loopholes— how to make new ones. Strong enough to render wards useless.

At that moment, something occurred to her— something almost unbelievable.

"Are you saying that my father possibly figured out a theory to break the curse?" What was the mist but a giant, volatile ward, keeping anything from entering or exiting?

"Potentially." Sirius finally lit his second cigarette. "Everything was still theoretical. He believed a certain type of ritualistic magic would work better. But we'll never know for sure now."

"Why?"

He hesitated, and Hermione had a sense that what he would say next was his real reason for finding her important to rescue.

"Because all of his equations and manipulation of magic, getting past charms and wards, his research and discoveries— they all vanished with his death. Which brings us back to you."

He ran his left hand through his shaggy hair, while still holding the lit cigarette in his right, even though he hadn't taken a single drag.

The real reason the Order wanted her wasn't because she was a muggleborn, or even a powerful muggleborn. Or even a muggleborn that killed Fenrir. It was because she was Hermione Granger, the only daughter of Robert Granger.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at. My father was a great man, but I was seven when he died. I know very little about muggle science or maths."

Sirius grinned. "Thibodeaux told me you were a magnificent student, possibly the brightest he'd ever met, even given your restricted environment. He seemed assured that you could learn enough to help, though you might not need to. We think he hid the research somewhere inside his old desk. However, the blood wards he'd placed on his desk, made with manipulated magic, have been the strongest I've ever encountered. No one has succeeded in opening the contents."

"Which wizard helped him cast the wards?"

"Lupin. He was the only wizard alive that knew your father's equations and how to apply them to magic." Sirius flinched and took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. "But he's dead too."

For the second time that day she was speechless. First, for the mention of her godfather. Second, for the assumption that she could help.

A sudden laugh burst through her lips. It didn't look as if Sirius found much humour in her response.

"I think you might be overestimating my abilities. I'm just an ordinary muggleborn."

"You also might be our only hope. After his death, we searched for any clues about how to get past his wards— which should have faded with his death— and found nothing."

They wanted her to break her father's wards. Hermione's mind snagged on an important detail Sirius danced around, and it caused her mouth to tighten in discomfort.

"But why would he hide his research from you?" She narrowed her eyes.

"You still like impossible questions, I see." Sirius returned her glare with one of his own, and then he leaned back, shaking his head. "We thought he'd given the information to your godfather, but it turned out to be fake, much to everyone's surprise. No one knows why he hid it all."

"What about the Death Eaters? Surely, they knew of his importance. Why kill him?"

"And keep alive a muggle that can get past their wards? They'd rather eliminate the problem. I don't think they understood the implications of what he knew. How they could have manipulated him to solve everything with you in their clutches."

"And you think I can—"

"We think the wards might be tied to his blood— and possibly yours."

Why would her father hoard the knowledge… unless it was something he didn't want anyone to know? She trusted her father's actions.

"I'm not helping you."

"No?" Sirirus lost his grin.

"If my father didn't trust you, then I don't either."

"Pity. Because the only way I'll release you is ifwe trust each other."

Hermione let her shackles click against the table. "You're more like Titus Nott than you think."

A muscle in his jaw pulsed.

"I'm nothing like those monsters. I've never raised a child just to sell them into sexual slavery. Nor have I raped someone just to continue my family lineage. All I've done is help a foolish girl who seems to believe those actions are equivalent."

She saw the resemblance to the Blacks in his haughty stare.

"If that's your plan for me, then what will happen with Julie?"

Sirius blinked once at the change of subject.

"Everyone must work at the base, even the muggleborns. I've been told she's benefited from an education."

"Yes, but not an extensive magical one– though she does know some and has her own wand." Hermione had brought that too, tucked into her invisible pocket, and she planned to give it to Julie as soon as she was able.

"Then she can help with the little muggleborns in the primary school, teaching them to read and write. Do you think that would fit? We'll make accommodations for her when the baby arrives, and we'll frame her death as well."

Julie's patient, kind nature would be perfect for children. Hermione opened her mouth to speak.

"I'd like that, I think," Julie's soft voice spoke from the corner. "But I don't want my mum to think I've died."

"There's no choice, sweetheart." For once, Sirius looked at Julie— in a much softer way than he had with Hermione. "I know from experience my cousin can be relentless. If she thinks we have you, she'll come knocking on our door— no matter the cost to her or us."

Julie bit her lip and kept her head down.

"Can I think about it?"

"You can." His eyes snapped back to Hermione. "That leaves what I'll do with you."

"I've already told you—"

"We might need to frame your death too. Nott would be extra violent for a while, and so would the Malfoys, but it might be necessary—"

"I. Am. Not. Staying."

"Yes, I heard you. I do wish you would join us by choice. You'd be an asset to our organisation. But if not, we can't afford a traitor right now." He put out his second cigarette, even though he hadn't smoked all of it. "Now that you're here, you won't be allowed to leave our bases until you've pledged your loyalty to the cause and severed all of your previous ties, including to Draco. I'll provide a week of rest, so you can get to know other members, and see what we do. After that, I'll need you to tell me everything you know about Nott and Malfoy. Their manors, specifically. The weaknesses and fortitudes. Their elves. Every nook and cranny, including how to raid them. In return, I'll answer any other questions you want about your past and your family."

No fucking way would she do that. She kept her face like steel, glaring at him. She wasn't going to contribute to anything that would lead to Draco's capture or death.

And she wasn't staying.

As long as she had her portkey and communication parchment, she wasn't trapt. Once Hermione was assured of her friend's safety, she'd consider escape.

"Weasley, show our guests their accommodations. Perhaps bring them to the new base in Bristol, so they can be around members their own age. Maybe they can make a few friends."

"As my new master commands," Hermione bit out, standing up to follow Charlie.

"I'm glad you're finally here, Hermione. I've had many sleepless nights worrying about the wee girl with too many questions." Sirius rolled his eyes and once again placed his untied boots on the table. "But I can tell you're going to cause me trouble."

"If you don't release me, I promise I will."

Sirius gave Hermione a nod and a grin as she left the room, inviting the challenge.