"So, why do you and Sirius need to mirror each other three nights a week, again?" Harry asked as he handed over the mirror to Hermione.

They were in the common room, sitting in the comfortable arm chairs by the fire. As usual, they were isolated from the rest of the student body as very few believed- or were too scared to believe- that Voldemort was back to power.

"We like to read together," Hermione said, taking the mirror with a shrug. She was curled up on her chair with Crookshanks purring in her lap.

Harry and Ron both gave her an odd look, then glanced sideways at each other before returning their eyes back to her. She had gone back to calmly reading the assigned chapter of their defence textbook with a look of distaste. Her legs curled to the side of the couch cushion with the book propped up on the arm of the chair.

"You like to read together…" said Harry, a tone of confusion coloring his voice.

"Yep," she confirmed flatly, still reading her textbook.

"When did you two become so chummy?" asked Ron. He was oddly accusatory, like she had been hiding a great secret from them. His arms were crossed as he leaned into the side of his wingback chair.

Hermione finally looked up, obviously not appreciating the tone. Her eyes were flinty, a look that Ron and Harry knew well enough to temper their current interrogative postures. Nothing good resulted from being on the other end of Hermione's ire.

"Over the summer," she said sniffing. "He took an interest in muggle literature. Especially fantasy and science fiction."

Ron's face twisted into one of mild disgust. "Why would he want to read that? Aren't witches and wizards usually considered evil in those books?" He said this as he side eyed her, trying to gauge how she was going to take his question.

"In some books, yes," she said, relaxing into the conversation a bit at the opportunity to educate Ron on muggle literature. "But that's a narrow view on the subject. For instance, Merlin plays a role in many muggle books and legends and he's considered a benevolent character. Most fantasy books make up their own magic for the story."

"But isn't that weird to read as a witch? To read about magic that doesn't work in real life?" asked Ron, obviously more comfortable now that he wasn't about to get his head chewed off.

"Not really," cut in Harry. "Muggles use science and technology instead of magic right?" Ron looked confused, but nodded anyway. "Well, science fiction is a really popular genre for muggles. And it's all about technology that hasn't been invented or even proven possible to muggles yet." Hermione was surprised. She had never heard Harry sound so keen talking about books before, except when it was about quidditch.

"Are you a big fan of sci-fi, Harry?" asked Hermione excitedly. She never knew her friend had any outstanding interest in books and was eager to be able to share in this new commonality with him.

"Yeah! The Dursley's tried to get Dudley into reading and bought him a whole bunch of sci-fi books the last few Christmases, but obviously he prefers to shoot aliens than read about them," they both laughed at this, ignoring Ron's increasingly confused look. "They got him Dune over the summer and I really liked it."

"Oh! That's wonderful Harry!" She clapped her hands together and grinned at him. "I just sent my copy of Dune to Sirius the other day. He'll love to have someone to talk about it with besides me." She couldn't wait to tell Sirius tonight. Maybe it would help both of them have something nice to talk about that wasn't about Umbridge or Voldemort. She was already tired of seeing the hurt and exhaustion in her friend's face, and knew that Sirius was probably feeling more isolated by the day stuck in Grimmauld Place.

"I still don't understand the appeal," Ron said grumpily, looking like he was feeling left out.

Harry and Hermione were the ones to look sideways at each other this time, amused smiles trying to pull onto their cheeks. They both offered to lend him some of their favorite books to try out but he obstinately refused stating that he wouldn't get it anyway since he knew almost nothing about how muggles did things. This made them shake their heads fondly at their ginger friend.

Noting the lateness of the hour, they gathered up their stuff and headed up to their respective dorms.

"Say, hi to Sirius for me," whispered Harry before they went separate ways. Hermione nodded and wished them good night.

Up in her dorm room she got into her usual baggy nightclothes and brushed her teeth. Crawling into her bed accompanied by Crookshanks she drew her curtains closed and placed a strong silencing spell around her confinements. She pulled a capped jar of bluebell flames and a small selection of books to choose from. Once she got herself comfey she got out the mirror and softly called for Sirius. A moment later his face appeared in the mirror already sporting a charming grin.

"Hello, Kitten," he said with great affection, a fond look gracing his face as his smile fell into something softer than a grin. The look warmed her and she smiled at the endearment.

"How are you, Sirius?" she asked in response to his greeting. Placing a pillow in her lap so she could prop her arms up more comfortably.

He just hummed a non-answer and she could swear a shadow fell across his eyes for a moment before it vanished. Worry pricked at her, and not for the first time she wished it was still the summer holidays so he wasn't so alone in that house. Or better yet, that he was a free man to go where he wanted.

"I started Dune, it's taking me a bit to adjust to reading it after Narnia," he said conversationally. Hermione wanted to make him answer her honestly, but thought better of it. Perhaps he just needs to not think about it for a while.

"It is an entirely different experience," she agreed, watching the topic take hold of their conversation. "It's much more complex, in some ways. More political and less whimsical, than Narnia."

"It reminds me of pureblood politics," he remarked, twisting his mouth in thought.

"How far have you gotten?" she asked, interested in how much she could discuss with him.

"Not far, Paul just had his assessment with the gom jabbar."

"Hmm...Oh! I almost forgot. Harry read Dune over the summer," she smiled, watching his eyes light up at the news. "Yeah, he never told me before now, but apparently he really enjoys sci-fi novels. He was very excited that you are reading it. He's probably going to talk your ear off about it later. "

Sirius just gave her that same oddly fond look as before. "You're incredible, Love."

She blushed, confused at the sudden compliment, and hoping that the blue cast of the bluebell flames would hide the color. "It's not like I made him read it." Sirius just shook his head and grinned at her.

She cleared her throat. "So what do you want to get started on?" she reached over to grab her stack of books and read out the titles to him. She had picked Peter Pan, the Hobbit, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and Foundation.

He had her read the backs to him. "I think we should read either Peter Pan, or the Hobbit. Dune has me covered in science fiction for a while," he said looking contemplative. "Which one is your favorite?" he asked her.

"The Hobbit. J.R.R Tolkien is my favorite author. His trilogy is amazing, it has almost single handedly defined the high fantasy genre," she said enthusiastically, her eyes shining. She watched Sirius tuck his lips in to keep from barking out a laugh at her eagerness.

"Why not read his trilogy then?"

"Well, the Hobbit is the prequel to The Lord of the Rings. We could read them on their own, but I like to read them together. They work together creating a broader story. Theres also the Silmarillion which is kind of like the Old Testament of Middle Earth. Tolkien was a professor of linguistics and studied a lot of middle English literature, history, and how etymology changed and adapted in history. He created entire languages that people can actually study to write and speak for his books! But he wasn't just satisfied with making languages for his books; he had to create an entire world with complex mythologies and histories. Sometimes when I read his books I feel like his world is more real than this one," she gushed at him, missing the increasingly mirthful expression on Sirius's face as he continued to try and not laugh.

"Alright, Sweetling, let's start reading it so I can understand first hand how wonderful these books are," he was outright grinning again, and she noticed a dimple on his left cheek that she had never realized was there.

She just beamed at him and pushed aside the other books, settling further into her pillows and propped the well worn book in her lap with one hand and held the mirror in her other and began reading.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."

The comfort of sharing a book eased Hermione. Coming back to Hogwarts didn't have the same sense of excitement or safety that it had before. Not that school had ever really been safe for them, something had happened every year to put them in danger, but the safety to freely learn about her still new community was gone. With the Ministry presence policing what they were learning, the budding war encroaching on them, and her best friend at the center of it all, it frightened her. It weighed her down and left her feeling helpless.

But by the time she was yawning, her bleary eyes struggling to focus on the words in front of her, Sirius's warm rasp of a voice telling her goodnight, she felt at ease. All her worries were temporarily forgotten and she slept soundly.

Over the next few weeks Hermione enjoyed the reprieve of her and Sirius's regular meetings. Good company and a favorite book ending up being a safe harbor away from her worries. She could tell Sirius knew that things at Hogwarts weren't going well. Harry probably had told him about what was going on at school, there was a look of concern that was increasingly flashing over his face when their mirrors connected. More than once she thought he was going to ask her something about it, but he never did. Perhaps like her, he decided that the best thing they could do for each other was to allow their time together to be unsullied by the acknowledgement of the greater issues that they were facing in the world.

Still, the thought of talking to Sirius about what was going on at school was tempting. Tomorrow her, Harry, and Ron were going to be at the Hogshead along with other students that had not been completely blinded by the Ministry's versions of events. Tomorrow might be the start of them taking things into their own hands and Hermione longed to have the input of someone on the outside looking in.

She kept her head down on her way to Ancient Runes, one of the few classes she took without Harry and Ron. Without them she felt oddly naked. She knew she was a powerful witch but she was more vulnerable without her boys flanking her. The increase of the Ministry presence, her known outspoken friendship and support of Harry painted a target on her back. Add in her status as a muggleborn witch she may have well been signed up as the Slytherin's personal quarry.

She felt herself get hit by a tripping hex, her ankle turning painfully as she got dragged down heavily along with her overstuffed book bag. The crowd of students just walked around her as she winced at the pain. She could hear the high pitched cackling of Pansy Parkinson along with other not as familiar voices sending jeering comments.

"Filthy mudblood."

"She'll be the first to go."

"I hope I can watch."

"Bitch is going to squeal in her own muddy blood like the pig she is."

Gritting her teeth, Hermione got up and gathered her books. She didn't even look in the direction of the voices, she ignored the pain in her ankle and kept her face impassive. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her in pain or even acknowledge their presence. The route to class was agonizing, her ankle had started throbbing, and she felt clammy all over. The immediate relief of sitting down and taking her weight off the injury was offset by the knowledge that the swelling was only going to get worse unless she got treatment.

Throughout class it was all she could do not to react and keep taking notes as she felt the skin of her ankle getting hotter and tighter the longer she sat there. She really wished she knew a cooling spell, as she felt herself sweating from the pain, but unfortunately the only spell she knew even close to one was a freezing spell she had learned to deal with the blast ended skrewts from third year. She didn't think completely freezing her ankle was an approved treatment for sprains.

By the end of class her ankle looked twice its usual size and she wished that it was the end of the day, that she could hobble to the hospital wing. But no, she had one more class for the day. Defense Against the Dark Arts of all things. The thought contributed to her nausea as she slowly made her way to class.

She sighed as she entered the class from the emptied corridor. Late. She was very late. For a moment she debated on just skiving off entirely, but decided that she would get into less trouble if she just went in and faced the music. So, pushing open the door as quietly as possible she entered the room.

Wishful thinking didn't work, because of course she didn't go unnoticed.

"Well. If it isn't Miss. Granger. Finally decided to grace us with your presence, have you?" said the sickly sweet voice of Umbridge. Her bright pink robes made Hermione think of a bottle of pepto bismol, which she could use right now with how her stomach was rolling.

"I apologize, Professor," she said, just loudly enough to carry to the hateful woman at the front of the classroom. She could see Harry and Ron watching her, concern pinching their faces as they took in her pallid, sweaty face. As much as she wanted to let her face crumble and let her friends help her she could feel the smug stare of Pansy and the cruel whisperings from Malfoy and his compatriots who were obviously finding the state of her quite amusing.

"You have no excuse for your tardiness?" a peculiar gleam lit her eyes despite her disapproving voice. Something like triumph. And Hermione knew that she had been waiting for this chance to discipline her.

Despite the completely valid excuse she had, the giggling from the Slytherins made her obstinate despite the roiling dread she felt in her stomach.

"No, Professor," she said as evenly as she could manage.

"Detention, then. Directly after class, Miss. Granger. You may take your seat now, dear," she said with a pursed and prim smile.

Hermione slid into her seat by Harry and Ron and they sent her covert, worried glances; Harry's fist was clenching and unclenching under his desk. His white knuckles making red letters that she had never noticed etched on to his skin stand out starkly. She stifled a gasp, holding her breath in shock at the words.

I will not tell lies

She would recognize his handwriting anywhere. A spike of fear suddenly hit her, making her wish the class would take much longer. But of course it went by all too fast and the next thing she knew she was the last one sitting in class as Harry and Ron shuffled out, Harry squeezing her shoulder in silent support as he passed by her. Then it was just her and Umbridge.

She clasped her hands in her lap to stop the fine trembling and kept her face impassive.

"Come up here, my dear," said Umbridge, ushering her with a wave of her hand. Hermione rose, the swelling and throbbing of her ankle even worse than before, and tried to walk forward evenly. She managed fairly well, staggering slightly when she fell into the chair that was spelled in front of the desk.

"Now then, we're going to write some lines, you'll be using one of my quills. You won't need any ink," she said, leaning over to reach into a drawer. As she did so, her short legs swung out and knocked into Hermione's bad ankle.

Hermione yelped before she could bite her tongue. Suddenly she felt dizzy, spots of color appeared in her vision, and a cold sweat broke out on her face as she fought to regain her composure.

Umbridge popped up from under her drawer with a long skinny quill in her hand. "Oh I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to kick you." She said with a honeyed smile.

As Hermione gathered herself, she took the quill hesitantly. It didn't take much to put two and two together. It was a blood quill. It carves the words you write into the writer as and uses the blood from the cuts to load the nib. It was barbaric.

"What am I to write?" Hermione asked as flatly as she could.

"Hmm…" hummed Umbridge in thought. "How about, 'I will not waste people's time.'"

Hermione just nodded, and put pen to paper. She didn't know if the pressure applied to the quill affected the depth of the cuts about to be put into her skin, but she wrote with the lightest hand she could. The slight sting of the words carving themselves into her hand grew denser, and deeper, and more painful with every repetition of the sentence.

By the time she was released from detention, she felt woozy and nauseated. She limped out of the classroom, no longer able to care if Umbridge could see, and was surprised to see Harry sitting by outside the door. He looked up at her from the ground, his eyes widening as he took her in.

"Hermione!" He sprang up and reached for her hand. Pulling it up to his face, he looked at the angry etching that was beginning to fill with blood now that the quill wasn't magically siphoning it away. His face turned livid. "That bitch," he growled, taking a step towards the door.

Hermione stopped him, gripping his wrist as firmly as she could. It surprised her how hot his skin felt. Or was she just cold?

"No, leave it," she whispered. Her voice was not coming out nearly as strong as she would have liked.

Harry hesitated, looking at the door and then back at her. She watched the rage shutter behind concern in his eyes, and he nodded, reaching over and slinging her arm over his shoulder and helped her to the hospital wing.

The journey was excruciating. Since the defense classroom was on the third floor and the hospital wing was on the fourth, they had to climb a staircase. Even with Harry as a crutch she had to use her injured leg to stabilize herself so she didn't send both of them crashing down.

By the time they made it, the bright colored spots swam in the shadow encroaching vision again, and she could feel herself shaking all over. Madame Pomfrey scurried over, a grim look on her face as she ushered Harry to help Hermione onto a bed. She didn't say anything as she took Hermione's hand and looked at it. She appeard unsurprised.

Hermione, however, was surprised when she looked at her hand. She hadn't noticed blood dripping down her fingers. When she had left Umbridge's classroom it hadn't been really bleeding much. She watched as Madame Pomfrey cleaned the wound and applied a healing balm to it.

"I'm sorry, dear. It was inflicted with a cursed tool so I can't heal it with magic," she said kindly, but her eyebrows were furrowed in an angry v. "It shouldn't scar as long as you come in the morning and evening for me to redress it." She sniffed, clearly holding back a few derisive comments before moving on to Hermione's ankle. The cooling spell was bliss. Both Harry and Hermione watched as Madame Pomfrey reduced the swelling and wrapped her foot and ankle in bandages.

Once the matron was done she tried to get Hermione to stay the night. Hermione fought to assure her that she would be much more comfortable back in Gryffindor tower and that with Harry's help she could get there with putting minimal weight on her leg, and they were reluctantly let go.

"Come on. Ron swiped you some dinner," said Harry, supporting her weight once again. She just nodded.

When they reached the tower, Harry deposited her on her favorite armchair. Ron had set up a few loaded plates of food on the coffee table in front of the fire, and she felt her lips tick upward when she saw he had grabbed her two slices of her favorite chocolate cake. She gathered a plate of food and began eating. Suddenly ravenous and remembered that she hadn't eaten since lunch.

"Hermione. What happened?" asked Ron, taking in her bandaged hand and ankle.

"Pansy hit me with a tripping hex. And I refused to acknowledge it," she shrugged, spooning mashed potato into her mouth. She was still reeling at how her day ended up, and simultaneously wanted to cry about it but also didn't want to worry her two friends even more than they already were. Especially Harry who would let the guilt eat him alive.

"Why didn't you say anything!?" exclaimed Ron, aghast. His blue eyes wide.

"Umbridge would have punished her regardless," said Harry, darkly. His eyes on the ground and his shoulders slumped.

Hermione looked up at him from her chicken. She cleared her throat to get his attention. "Harry, why didn't you tell us?" She asked, reaching for his hand. She took it and flipped it so the words were visible.

Ron looked at Harry confused and slightly hurt. "Mate, she did that to you? And it took it happening to Hermione for us to find out?" He sank back in this chair and crossed his arms, staring at his friend.

"I didn't want to worry you."

Hermione couldn't help the snort at how asinine that was. All they had been able to do was worry about Harry. Now they had to worry about him hiding things from them.

"We need this defense group to work out tomorrow," reminded Hermione, also for a change in subject before this one caused a larger spectacle between them. They had a few rifts formed between the three of them over the years, but now was not the time to be divided. "Umbridge is clearly not interested in teaching us how to defend ourselves. More likely she wants to keep us disarmed and more reliant on the Ministry." She set down her empty plates and took a final sip of her lukewarm tea.

Both boys nodded. Harry leaned back in his chair and put both hands over his eyes and groaned.

That night, Hermione held the mirror in the safe enclosure of her four-poster bed, not really sure if she wanted to call Sirius. Once she had spelled her curtains to silence she had let herself cry over her miserable day. He'd notice immediately that her eyes were red rimmed and puffy; she wasn't sure she wanted to show that to him when he was so powerless to do anything about it. She knew that would hurt him to see them struggling with no way to help. It would tear at him. But, a part of her wanted to see her friend and draw comfort from their usual routine. Sirius was warm and safe, and she was seeing precious little of that sort of security as of late. She knew he would want to see her, and knew he wanted to be privy to everything happening to them.

The decision was made for her, however, when Sirius's voice came through the mirror. She looked down at it and could see his face peering through the glass. With a sigh she raised the mirror to eye level. It was dim, as she hadn't brought in her jars of blue fire, she just had her wand lit minimally. Sirius was obviously in the warmly lit library as usual given the bright cast of the hearthfire on his face.

"Hermione?" he asked tentatively. His face was growing concerned. "I can barely see you. Is everything ok? Can you put some lights on?" His deep rasping voice was worried and she suddenly felt horrible. Of course she needs to tell Sirius what's wrong. Wasn't she just complaining to herself how she constantly was worried about Harry. His hiding things from her didn't help in the slightest, so how would hiding things from Sirius help?

She reached into her side table and gathered a couple of jars and lit and capped them, setting them up around her. When she was done and she returned to the mirror, she watched Sirisu study her face, his expression growing stonier. There was an enraged light in his eye that she hadn't seen since the night they met in the shrieking shack.

"Kitten, what happened?" his voice brokered no tolerance for lies or minimizing the truth to be more palatable.

Hermione looked down and swallowed the lump in her throat, fresh tears gathering in her eyes as she prepared to tell him. When she started speaking it was with a thick voice, and she had to keep clearing her throat to get the words out. But she told him about the isolation, the vulnerability she felt when she had to walk on her own and how that feeling was vindicated when Pansy hurt her on the way to Ancient Runes. She told him about the pain she was in, the utter refusal to react and give the bullies what they wanted from her, and when she got to her tardiness to Umbridge's class she had to stop for a moment and take a few deep breaths before explaining further.

"She kicked me, right in the ankle and made it look like an accident. It wasn't hidden, my ankle was twice the size of the other, even if I said nothing she knew, and she kicked me anyway," she didn't look up at Sirius, worried that his face would make her breakdown even more. The offer to take some of the emotional load would let her mind relax too much and she wouldn't be able to finish her woeful tale of the day, and she had to let him know that Harry was suffering too. But the next words to come out of her mouth produced a guttural, feral sound from Sirius that had her eyes popping up to meet his. "She had me do lines with a blood quill. Harry too."

"What?" His eyes were like silver flames or spilled unicorn blood, and the ire behind them felt like he could boil someone's flesh off their bones. his voice though was a deadly calm that chilled her skin. It felt like the cooling spell had been cast over her whole body. "She did what to you?"

"She…" her voice was too thin to answer him. Then she broke. Despite the tears earlier, she hadn't allowed herself to release the deep sobs that had been growing in her the whole day. It took a while before she started to calm enough to hear the soft murmuring from the mirror. The reassurances and hummed nonsense that helped guide her to a more settled state of mind. "I don't know how to get through this, Sirius. It feels like the whole world is standing opposite to us."

"You're not alone, Hermione. You have allies, they are just hidden in the woodwork," he spoke with a soft confidence that lifted her spirits. It reminded her of the pending meeting at the Hogshead the next day. Her, Harry, and Ron had approached as many people as they could that they thought wouldn't be blinded by the charade that the Ministry had put up. A few she knew for certain would always be their allies. Neville had never once doubted Harry. Neither had Luna, even when they had just become acquainted; she had already declared her support.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes, looking gratefully at the handsome, scruffy face of Sirius Black. She scooted down into her bed covers and held the mirror out. "Thanks," she whispered to him.

"I wish I could be there, Kitten," he said gently with a note of frustration in his voice. His eyes were still backlit with rage, but now it was encased like her bluebell flames. And even though she wished him nothing but happy moments, she guiltily felt warmed to know that rage was because he cared for her.

"I know. I wish you could be here too," she admitted sleepily. The day had exhausted her and even though she wanted to spend a few more hours in his presence she could feel herself slipping off to sleep

Before she fully submerged into sleep she heard him say in a low rumbling voice;

"Courage, dear heart."

She smiled at the quote, his voice reminding her of The Great Lion.