Author's Note

I don't have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 8: Black

Aside from the rather unwelcoming booby trap that Mad-Eye had left for them in the form of a dusty spectre of Dumbledore, it was fairly easy to settle in at Grimmauld Place. The ancient Black house would never be what Hermione considered a home, but at least it was a roof. And it contained an impressive library with a vast collection of Dark Arts books. Some of which might come in handy as they hunted down the remaining Horcruxes, which, of course, was the whole point in coming here.

She barely spared a moment to drop her bags off in the room she used to share with Ginny before she sought out the shelves on genealogy. There were a number of books on the subject, and she could hardly contain her relief at locating them so easily.

"Want some help?" Harry offered, taking a few of the heavier books she'd already pulled from her arms.

"Mark any wizarding family that has a surname beginning with a B. It's likely to be an old family if they have ties to the Death Eaters."

"What makes you so sure the person does?"

"Well, he or she knew about the Horcruxes, didn't they? Who else would have access to that information except someone in his inner circle?"

"Fair point."

"We can start cross checking the initials R.A.B. against those of the witches and wizards living at the correct time once we have a list," she concluded, outlining her plan as she scanned more of the titles on a lower shelf.

There was a calmness that came with researching. A sense of order and control that she desperately needed, especially when everything else was so beyond her. At least with this, she was in charge. She was confident and knew what steps to take for the desired outcome.

"You were successful then? I'd wondered," a rather snide, disembodied voice said coolly. Hermione froze, recognizing the speaker and dreading what else he might see fit to reveal.

Harry looked at the portrait, then Hermione, frowning when he realised Professor Black was speaking to her, not him.

"I told you I stole Professor Dumbledore's books," she said uneasily, saying the only excuse she could think of for why the former headmaster might be wondering about her at all. "He must have seen me." A ridge formed on Harry's brow, and she cursed herself for not being a better liar. Harry always saw right through her. Eager to change the subject, Hermione shot the painting a warning glare before she asked, "Is Ron going to help look too?"

She knew he had no intention of holding up in the library with them. He positively loathed reading and researching any topic, let alone one as boring as history. There was a reason he constantly tried to get Hermione's help to finish his homework in school. Besides, he'd already said he planned to pen a note to his mum apologising for leaving since they'd gone without saying goodbye to anybody beyond Ginny. Harry's goodbye had been particularly enthusiastic, and involved far too much tongue for Hermione to have been comfortable witnessing the encounter. Ron was still a bit disgruntled by the sight as well and had needed the distance so he didn't hit his best mate.

It'd only taken a day of Harry staying at the Burrow before he'd asked Hermione to give him and Ginny a bit of privacy in the girls' shared room. She had no clue what all had been said, but it was clear afterwards that the two were back together again, and neither had any intention of that changing ever again. They'd been nearly inseparable in the days leading up to the trio's departure.

"Probably not. I can check the kitchen though if you want me to get him to help. I think he mentioned checking out our food situation," Harry replied apologetically, though Hermione wasn't the least bit surprised. Merlin knew Ron thought more with his stomach than anything else.

He'd certainly taken to trying to ply her with food the last few weeks for some reason or another. Hermione couldn't figure it out, but Ron kept showing up with some sweet or another when she'd been staying at the Burrow. At least twice a day he'd offered her one.

Ginny had suggested he was trying to make her curvier so she looked more like Lavender since that's what he was into. Needless to say, Hermione hadn't appreciated it, and the result was they'd been snippier and bickering even more than usual, much to the whole house's annoyance.

"There it is!" she exclaimed, spotting the book she'd hoped would be there. The Sacred Twenty-eight. A volume dedicated entirely to the pureblood wizarding families of Great Britain. Who better to support the bigoted monster than the most elite and renowned families capable of tracing their lineage back far enough to boast of no Muggle blood ever "polluting" their family trees?

"I thought you were supposed to be bright, girl. Perhaps he was right about you after all," Black taunted, clicking his tongue obnoxiously.

"Professor Black –"

Her hand was still on the spine, in the process of pulling the book – the book she'd anticipated because the Blacks were one of the families described in it.

Black.

Hermione turned sharply to stare open-mouthed at the portrait.

"The answer was staring you in the face all along," he mocked, one side of his lips curving smugly.

"What's he talking about?" Harry asked.

"Black. It was a Black," she clarified, too stunned by the revelation to say more.

"Regulus, to be precise," Black announced, inclining his head in a nod of respect for his descendant.

"Then the locket could still be here!" Harry gasped, racing out of the room, presumably to begin a search. One day she was going to help him break his habit of running off before collecting all of the available, and essential, information. Though apparently that day wasn't today.

"How did you know it was Regulus?"

"You mentioned R.A.B. Not many of those around, and given my occupation and current location, I'm familiar with every pupil that has attended Hogwarts since my tenure as Transfiguration Professor over a century ago…more than enough time to know the wizard of interest you are investigating."

Of course.

She'd never have thought to ask the portraits. Though she should have. It was how she'd come up with the answer on how to destroy the Horcruxes, wasn't it? And hadn't Harry often mentioned Dumbledore conversing with them? Only an arrogant fool didn't make use of all of the resources at their disposal.

"Was Regulus capable of destroying it himself?"

"Considering what you had to do to create the necessary potion, what do you think?" Black sneered, looking down on her once more.

Hermione ignored the implicit insult to inquire further, asking, "Do you have any idea where he might have hidden it? We'll have to find it."

"If I did, girl, don't you think I would have informed the pertinent individual?"

"Dumbledore didn't know the locket in the cave was a fake until after his death," Hermione pointed out sharply, temper only barely in check. She hated when people assumed she was too young or inexperienced to know the best course of action.

"I was referring to you when you visited the head office, or Severus. I know you saw him again to collect the poison," he said, sighing grandly and rolling his eyes. Her? Oh. Well that actually made sense, especially if he knew she'd been at the school.

To see Snape. Who was also at the school….

"How is he?"

"Why are you asking?" he returned, a knowing smirk flirting across his face in the most annoying way possible.

"Never mind," Hermione huffed, turning to look for books on the Hogwarts founders. Mostly just to stay busy and avoid Black's probing stare.

"Made quite an impression, did he?"

"That is none of your business," she answered primly, bristling at the insinuation dripping from his words. It left her feeling flushed and jittery like she'd been just before the Yule ball.

"It's always the proper ones that can't resist a bit of darkness, and he has it in spades," Black stated, laughing outright.

"Don't say that," she snapped, glaring at him. Snape wasn't dark…apart from literally. Circumstances had forced him into a difficult position, and he was doing everything he could to aid them from the inside.

"Well, well," he murmured, smile growing. It held an ominous edge to it – one that didn't bode well for her.

"If you've nothing more productive to contribute," she said, attempting to dismiss him.

"He's going to be named Headmaster for next year. The announcement should come any day now," he informed her.

After her last conversation with Snape, the news was almost expected. She idly wondered how he'd cope with it.

Frowning, because he clearly thought she'd react in some way, though she wasn't sure how, she simply said, "All right…."

"Hmph," the professor grunted, scowling at her openly. "Hmph," he grunted again, then stalked from the frame.

Hermione wasn't sure why he'd deigned to update her on Snape when he'd initially avoided her question, but she had a feeling he'd only gone far enough into the canvas to remain out of sight, but had every intention of eavesdropping on her and her friends while they remained at Grimmauld Place.

For the next few days, the boys occupied themselves with tearing the place apart while she read. Initially, she'd tried to help out, but Harry going on about Regulus for the upteenth time was more than she could handle.

Initially, Ron had tried to crack a joke each time Harry did, probably in an effort to make Hermione laugh, but she just couldn't find much funny when it was quickly becoming clear that the locket wasn't in the house. After the fourth day, he gave up altogether, and began brooding instead. Though that could have been because he'd realised Bill's wedding had just started and he wasn't there for it. She'd heard him mutter something about Percy under his breath.

Part of her wanted to return the favour and try to cheer him up, but she knew it would be pointless. Years of experience had taught her that when he was in this sort of mood, it was better to just leave him, lest he lash out at her. Somehow she always ended up being the target for his anger.

"Why don't you just order Kreacher to tell us what Regulus did with the blasted thing? It's not like he's doing anything else around here," Ron grumbled when they took a break for lunch.

They'd been living off sandwiches since none of them trusted the gruel Kreacher had prepared for them the first day. There'd been maggots wiggling through the pasta. Not the best or most appetising meal of her life. Since then, they'd stuck to untampered, prepacked food that Kreacher somehow supplied the icebox with. A much safer and edible option.

"Ron!" Hermione chided, frustrated with his lack of respect for the aged house-elf who'd been shut up alone for over a decade. The neglect and suffering he'd endured was horrible to think about. And now that she'd recovered from the initial food debacle, she was back to pitying the elf.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. He's bloody useless. At least this would force him to be helpful," Ron argued, letting his frustration over missing the wedding influence his temper. Reason and experience explained his foul mood, but she didn't care. She was sick of him pulling this whenever his pants were in a twist over something or another.

"Don't talk about him like that," she snapped, frustrated that he even needed to be reminded to treat anyone humanely.

"Why not? You can't like the way he talks about you," Ron countered, crossing his arms and facing off with her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry inching towards the door, trying to escape before one of them pulled him into their fight and he was forced to pick sides.

Hermione already knew whose side he'd pick. It was always Ron's. Though that could have simply been because Ron would turn his temper on Harry if he didn't.

"Well, no, of course I don't. But that doesn't make it all right for you to do the same. Besides, it's not his fault," Hermione said stiffly, focusing on taking steady breaths so she didn't start shouting.

"Here we go," Ron yelled, throwing his arms up and rolling his eyes.

Proper infuriated by him, Hermione hissed, "Yes, 'Here we go.' The way you treat others matters, Ronald. I –"

"Don't you think I know that! What do you think I've been trying to do all summer, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked, feeling like she'd just been knocked abruptly on the head. The statement caught her completely off guard.

"I've been trying to look after you and show you how much I've changed for weeks now," Ron declared, looking wounded that she'd even needed to ask.

"Er, I'm just going to…," Harry said awkwardly, darting around the corner and out of sight with the speed of a Seeker spotting the Snitch.

"That's what all the food was about?" Hermione asked quietly, putting the clues together.

He'd always offer it to her then pat her roughly on the back. A few times he'd even hemmed and hawed as though trying to bring up an uncomfortable topic, but in the end he'd always chickened out. It had annoyed her and made her feel like a prickly leper. Though that could have just been her projecting her own guilt onto him and trying to assign him a share of the blame for her recent actions. Unfair, certainly…but when have emotions ever helped a person behave rationally?

"Yes! I was trying to be there for you after you lost your parents," Ron cried impatiently, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Not everyone copes with food," Hermione said, forcing a touch of gentleness to her voice as she imparted some much needed wisdom.

"I didn't know what else to try," he admitted frankly.

And that was part of the problem. A factor in their missing their chance, though only one aspect of a much larger problem. Ron didn't know her better, even after seven years of friendship. He never really saw her properly. The truth saddened her, but this conversation also made it clear that they needed to get everything out into the open if they were going to be able to work together to hunt down the Horcruxes. The current tension couldn't continue or they'd end up tearing each other apart.

Well, not everything.

"Look, Ron, I think –"

A bright light interrupted her, and a weasel Patronus scampered into the room, turning in a circle twice before stretching out its neck to face them.

"Harry! Get in here, mate!" Ron cried before the luminous creature could begin speaking.

She could hear him running down the hall as Mr. Weasley's voice flowed from the silvery animal, saying, "Wedding attacked, Mad-Eye dead, do not come, we're being watched."

No one spoke as the wisps of light dissipated. Hermione didn't watch it happen, she was too caught up in staring at Ron. This was the very thing they'd dreaded happening, the reason they'd left early.

But of course no one knew they'd gone. They'd kept it all hush, hush. A mistake, clearly. And now Mad-Eye was dead, and who knew what condition the others were in.

"My family," Ron moaned, paling noticeably. A shudder went down his frame, then he was moving, heading towards the open archway leading to the front hall.

"Ron? Where are you going?" Hermione asked, struggling to grasp onto reality.

"I have to check on them," he muttered.

"You can't!" Harry yelled, blocking the doorway and holding up his hands to halt Ron, except he didn't stop. Harry was forcefully pushing Ron back as he insisted, "You heard what your dad said – don't come."

"I have to help them!"

"Showing up will just put you in danger too!"

"Just because neither of you have got any family –"

Harry stumbled back, reeling from the words as though they'd dealt him a physical blow.

"How dare you throw that in our faces!" Hermione gasped, feeling each word like a stab to the gut. The acid of her stomach spilled, singing her insides until she was forced to curl arm arm about her waist and hold them all in, lest the blistered, putrid mess tumbled onto the floor.

"If you don't know that I view them as my family too…Ginny," Harry whispered, pain etched across his face.

"I know. I'm sorry," Ron sighed, though he was still eyeing the door with longing, willing them to relent so he could go. At least he'd stopped trying to force his way out, seeming to realise he needed to fix what he'd said first…at the very least.

It didn't matter that she could also see the regret on Ron's face, or that Harry was already prepared to forgive Ron for his thoughtless words. Hermione wasn't. He'd cut too deeply this time. Reopened fresh wounds that'd barely had time to scab over, let alone fade to manageable scars.

"You set up the ghoul to cover for your absence. If you go back, they'll think your family was trying to trick the Ministry. They'll be in worse trouble," Harry tried, willing Ron to be rational, though Harry rarely was in these cases himself.

"Mad-Eye is dead. If he…the others…I don't…." They all understood, despite Ron's inability to properly articulate his fears. Mad-Eye had been doing this longest. He was the most trained. If he could be killed, how could the others have stood a chance.

"Your dad –"

"It was not I who killed you," came a raspy recitation on the other side of the wall. Somehow, despite their arguing, Mrs. Black's portrait hadn't woken. This was a different voice, however, but one they all knew well.

"Remus?" Harry called, probably wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. Except they'd all heard it.

"Hello," he said, following Harry's call to locate the trio. He quickly took in the tension permeating the room. "I take it someone has already sent word then?"

"Yes. Just," Hermione answered succinctly.

"Ginny?" Harry asked at once, unable to bear waiting a second longer for news of her.

Remus clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Mad-Eye fought them when they arrived, and we lost him, but he was the only casualty," Remus said mournfully, pausing briefly to let the significance of the loss sink in. "They've since finished the interrogations. Dora's parents were tortured, but everyone else is relatively unharmed," the older man promised. He looked exhausted. No, that wasn't quite right. Haunted. That was a better way to describe him.

"Why were they tortured?" Harry demanded.

"Ostensibly, for information on your whereabouts, but truly it was to punish them for allowing a werewolf to become their son-in-law," Remus said, explaining some of the demons screaming and raging behind his pale eyes. "And because they couldn't get their hands directly on Dora. She's already gone into hiding."

"They didn't do the same to mine?" Ron asked fearfully before Hermione could ask what Remus meant about Tonks.

"Your father works at the Ministry and has for a long time. That still carries some meaning, but…I think they believe he'll eventually lead them to you. The Ministry fell today. Scrimgeour is dead. Death Eaters officially have control of the Ministry and Hogwarts," Remus relayed bleakly.

Ron collapsed onto the sofa, relief palpable despite the grim news.

Harry was about to ask for all the details, but seemed to sense that Hermione was still tense as ever as she watched Ron. So instead, he suggested, "Let's grab a cup of tea, Remus. You can fill me in."

Harry gave her a pointed look that clearly said she needed to finish hashing things out.

It was several minutes after the other two left before she could bring herself to speak, then she ventured, "I'm glad everyone is all right."

"I'm sorry," Ron said, standing slowly to face her. The relief he'd felt about his family dimmed as he took in her stoic expression.

"I know you are," Hermione acknowledged, searching for the right words to say what needed to be said.

She'd had weeks now to think about it. Ever since she brewed the necessary potion. But the extent of her reasons not to be with Ron hadn't become clear to her until after she'd spent some time with him again at the Burrow. The deck was stacked against them, always had been, and this was one huddle she didn't want to tackle.

"I've made a mess of things again, haven't I?"

"There was nothing to make a mess of," Hermione tried, knowing it was the truth. They weren't together. What he'd said had been in the heat of the moment. And he'd apologised.

"Hermione, you must know that I…I mean, it's obvious that I…you know?"

Even now he couldn't actually say the words. He wouldn't take the risk. Not unless the outcome was certain. She didn't mean enough to him to put his heart on the line.

It made this easier, in a way.

"No, Ron," Hermione denied softly. He looked panicked at first, as though terrified he'd have to explain, but then he seemed to understand that she was refusing them, not an awareness of his feelings. Quickly, he flushed and began to look angry. Hoping to head him off, she asked, "Can you name one interest that we share – apart from Harry?"

"Quidditch. You had fun at the World Cup and the school matches," Ron answered immediately, naming his primary passion – not hers.

"Because I was with my friends – not because I enjoy the sport. Nor do I particularly enjoy hearing it discussed constantly as though it was the only thing of significance in our lives," Hermione corrected, deliberately being brutally honest so he didn't get the wrong idea.

"Chess?" he tried, though much less certain this time. Again, his interest, not hers.

"I've never liked it. I know it's absurd, and probably not all right to admit aloud, but I despise playing any game that I stand no chance of winning. I can lose gracefully, but only if I at least had the ability to be competitive. I don't with chess, especially when I play with you. Besides, you gloat," she said frankly, wincing at the devastation that flashed through his ocean blue eyes.

"So that's it? You've decided I'm not good enough for you because I'm not a bookworm?"

"Of course not! It has nothing to do with that, and you are intelligent, Ron. But there's a reason we always fight about everything. Do you honestly think it'd be any easier if we were dating and trying not to do anything we knew would upset the other person? Have you any idea how much work that would be – the constant pretending to be someone else?"

Hermione had already figured out she'd have to bite her tongue off to keep from saying even half the things on her mind that would set Ron off. And if he tried to stretch his emotional range any further to try and be what she wanted, he'd grow resentful and more frustrated than he already was.

"But I've fancied you for years," he stated, sounding slightly lost as the words were torn from him. A tiny piece of her heart shredded along a cheese grater at the sound, forever lost and destroyed by the boy she'd loved first.

He'd finally admitted his feelings, however unconsciously. But there was no joy for either in hearing them aloud.

"I asked you out. Last year. Your answer was to kiss Lavender," she said, finally letting him see just how much that act had hurt her. It was the reason she'd honestly started to doubt his feelings. It was a huge factor in why she'd turned to Snape when the time came. She simply couldn't rely on Ron to be emotionally mature.

Nor could she forget the taste of Snape's lips or the delicious way he'd filled her and taken care to make her come entirely undone. The sound of his laugh, real and unrestrained, haunted her dreams. That day and when she thought of him was the only time she stopped dwelling on her parents and all the other negative feelings this war was igniting within her.

"I only did that to prove a point! You went to the Yule Ball with Krum," he shouted, anger turning his face a molten red that clashed with his hair.

So Lavender had been about revenge? Simply to hurt her? The thought had never even occurred to her. And honestly, it made it worse. What would he do if ever learned of her afternoon with Snape?

Not that it mattered. He'd never find out. This was about making it clear they were only friends and would never be anything more. That was what she needed to concentrate on.

"Ron," she said quietly, willing him to understand. This conversation was just too painful for her to continue.

His eyes went wide, then he looked about the room, searching for a new approach. All too soon he looked at her again, having come up with nothing. Resignation hunched his shoulders.

The smallest fraction of her heart, the fanciful girlish portion that still lingered, willed Ron to try one more time. To fight for her. To put himself out there and take a real risk. To insist things would be different if they were truly a couple. To declare he loved her, not just fancied her. To beg her to at least give them a chance to try and know for certain.

He didn't.

Because they both knew they would have eventually ended up having this same conversation? Possibly. Probably. Was it easier now than it would have been after getting their feelings more involved and tangled up? That she couldn't say, but it was potentially safer. When she and Ron fought, it was usually volatile, and Harry was often burned in the crossfire. That was a casualty they couldn't afford. Too many were relying on them.

"What now?" he finally asked.

"We focus on Harry. We won't be able to help him if we're constantly fighting or trying to make something work that was never meant to be more than friendship," Hermione said, struggling to remain composed and not let him see the true extent of her sadness. It'd only confuse him.

Ron slumped back to the couch, burying his face in his hands. She could see the rough, harsh breaths he was taking as his shoulders shook. But after a minute, he looked up at her, giving a single, sharp nod.

"All right. No fighting. Helping Harry comes first," he agreed.

"Good, because I took Ron's advice and asked Kreacher just before Remus arrived," Harry said sheepishly, cautiously poking his head around the doorway into the room to peek at them.

"Harry!" she gasped, unsure if she was chastising him for clearly eavesdropping or for mistreating the house-elf by giving orders he couldn't disobey.

"Not now, Hermione. Listen, we were right – it was here," Harry revealed, grinning feverishly.

"I knew it!" Ron called, jumping up enthusiastically, all previous hurt forgotten in the face of this latest news.

"Was?" Hermione asked, more conscious of Harry's particular word choice.

"Dung stole it. Remember when he was nicking all of Sirius's things? Well, that was one of them," Harry relayed.

"So we find Mundungus and see who he sold it to," Ron said, already gearing up for a confrontation.

"No need."

"Harry, just spit it out already," Hermione ordered, annoyed by his growing smile and deliberate parcelling out pieces of information.

"I asked Remus about it, and –"

"You didn't! Harry, no one else is supposed to know what –"

"I didn't tell him why I needed it. Give me some credit," he countered quickly, stung she'd believe him so reckless – even if he generally was.

"Well, what'd he tell you?" Ron asked eagerly, not as concerned about leaks as she was.

"He saw it two days ago at the Ministry when he was registering Tonks's pregnancy,"

"Tonks is pregnant?" Ron repeated, uncomprehending.

That was fast. It certainly explained their shotgun wedding. Not to mention the motivation for Tonks going into hiding while the Ministry was torturing people for information. She could lose the baby if they questioned her using those means.

Hermione's thoughts screeched to a grinding stop as a final realisation occurred to her. "Why would he have to register the pregnancy?"

"Well, he's a werewolf, isn't he? The Ministry keeps track of that sort of thing since the baby has a chance of being one too," Ron stated matter-of-factly, not the least bit bothered or fired up over the injustice.

"That's barbaric!" she cried, and Harry, at least, nodded a swift agreement.

"I know, it's awful, but we can't do anything about that right now, Hermione. That's a fight for after we win. The bigger deal is – we know who has the locket," he said quickly, willing her to get on board. She had to stifle the indignation simmering deep in her belly. He was correct, after all. That was a fight she'd have a better chance of winning when the likes of Voldemort and his minions weren't running the government. They all waited for Harry to make his big revelation. He seemed to be savouring the moment as he waited to be sure she was finally paying attention. "Umbridge."

"Of course," Hermione breathed, positive that woman would be the first Hermione took down for her prejudiced opinions and policies when all was said and done.

"We have to steal it from her," Ron announced flatly.

"How exactly do you plan on us accomplishing that?" Hermione inquired, wishing the boys would show the least bit of restraint and proper forethought for once. Just once. That's all she was asking.

"I've a few ideas," Harry said immediately.

Hermione shared a mutual look of dread with Ron. When did Harry's ideas ever go according to plan?