Being a dog animagus was an interesting experience, to say the least.

To say the most, Sirius would have to explain it as being simultaneously much simpler and much more complex than being a human. It was simpler as his emotions stripped to their fundamentals. Anger was anger without the soil of contempt; fear was free of confusion or doubt; happiness was free of all the nuance of pride. He felt what he felt, yet he still felt all those other emotions. Like he was still a man outside his animal body. Like he was watching but tethered by a cord. It was a singular experience that could only be explained by experiencing it. He wondered if the simplified self was to make room for the way he could sense so much from others. He could smell when something was wrong or hear intent behind the tone of someone's words. He could parse out illness, aggression, lust, fear, skittishness, things that people want to hide or don't even know for themselves. His first impression of a new person, as a dog, was often determined by the way they smelled, and his nose had rarely led him astray.

So he could determine the anxious waves rolled off of Hermione as she walked them across the village square. Whatever appointment she had made with his godson was clearly important. The paved streets were filled up with a post lunch crowd of teenagers, and her grip on his leash progressively tightened the closer they got to the pub –though, the leash was unnecessary for anything but appearances. Padfoot was highly unlikely to run off from her side, he enjoyed leaning into her hip too much and how he was the right height for her to wrap her forearm around hisnhead and scratch his jaw as they walked.

He nosed her palm, giving her a few doggy kisses to try and break her from whatever was making her nervous. He succeeded in getting her to smile down at him and stroke her thumb in the small divot between his eyes and up over his forehead, but her jittery energy didn't subside.

He watched the street, assessing threats at the beckoning of some territorial, canine instinct he had learned not to question. He hadn't bothered to notice the faces of the escapees that plastered on the shop windows before. But now he noted the wanted signs added an eeriness to the chilled air around them despite the relatively cheerfulness of the students milling around. Though perhaps that had to do with his own familiarity to the faces. Particularly a loathsome cousin of his. Her laugh echoed in his head, giving a voice to the silent photo. He was distracted by an unpleasant, acrid scent of too expensive cologne mixing with adolescent male pheromones that suddenly wafted up wind, alerting Padfoot of a potentially unpleasant person before he even caught sight of him.

"Is that your Valentine's date, Granger?" A coldly amused voice jeered at her from the doorway of Madam Puddifoots. "Figures that only a dog would want your company. They quite like filthy things, don't they?"

Padfoot had enough of his human ego to detest the blond, ferret faced fop with both of his minds. The fur on his back rippled as his hackles rose, but he didn't move as he waited for Hermione to dole out some form or retribution. Yet, to his profound disbelief, displeasure and disdain, the weasel-faced child and his pug-faced date did not meet the business end of his favorite witch's wand. Instead she nearly froze with her muscles taut, only tilting her head up a bit in a show of resilient pride that appeased some part of his upset.

"At least I didn't resort to a kissing-cousin as my date, Malfoy," she snipped, her lip curling in a beautifully disgusted expression. "Is it your side of the family or his that you inherited that nose from, Pansy?"

A Malfoy, that explained a lot. He had the stink of one of the Sacred Twenty Eight. It had the repugnance of a jar of blood left open at room temperature to thicken and coagulate. Add to it the growing, furious, attraction he smelled on the whelp from seeing Hermione antagonized, Padfoot felt nearly vindicated in the rather graphic imaginings of ripping out the boy's esophagus with his teeth.

"Go roll around in the mug, you pig!" The half-starved looking girl, Pansy, clung to Malfoy's arm. Her smushed face looked at Hermione with a hatred that held the depth of all her adolescent jealousy. Padfoot recognized the name of the girl as well. She was the chit who jinxed Hermione with a tripping hex. As far as he was concerned she was just as responsible for the fading scars on the back of Hermione's hand as Umbridge was.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, for talking back to your betters, Granger," Malfoy said, a satisfied smile taking the place of his sneer.

"Whatever, Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes and moved to walk away. She didn't get two steps away before he called after her.

"Might want to lay off the pudding, unless you want to be the reason they have to extend the great tables."

The determination in her step faltered, but Padfoot hardly noticed. His patience snapped like a dry twig and he moved so fast that Hermione barely was able to hold on to the lead as the slack slipped from her grasp. He snarled and snapped a mere foot away from the now cowering couple and strained to close those bare few inches to make good on his primal desire to crew on their throats, not even heeding the bite of his collar as it pressed into his throat.

"No!" Hermione shouted in shock. She reeled herself in toward him, not being quite strong enough to pull him back towards her, until she was able to reach her fingers into the silky fur at the back of his neck. "Leave him!" She commanded even as she gently pressed the dainty pads soothingly into his collar.

Padfoot stopped straining and snapping, but his teeth were bared as he snarled menacingly at the rodent. He'd kill the boy. He would rather rend him here in this public space than let him humiliate and harm his sweet Hermione for his perverse arousal.

"That dog is mad!" Malfoy screeched, cursing and shouting at them from his shrinked form.

Hermione paid him no mind as she knelt by Padfoot, whispering soothingly into his ear. "He's not worth it, Padfoot. Come on, let's go find Harry." She pet him between his ears with one hand and stroked his bib with the knuckles of the hand still holding his leash.

He's not worth it, but you are, he thought to himself, whining and breaking his concentrated glare on the still cursing duo. He licked her cheeks and nuzzled his snout into the curls at her neck, taking a huff of her spice scented hair before she stood and started walking them away, paying no more heed to Malfoy and his date. Besides the fine trembling of her fingers in his fur, no one would know how much the encounter affected her.

Hermione didn't want to admit that the encounter with Malfoy had shaken her, but she'd be lying if she said it hadn't. Not only had she suffered through his malign and caustic words, but she also had to wrest Sirius from outright mauling her bully.

She couldn't decide what she felt at that moment. A part of her was upset that Sirius drew attention to himself – especially to Malfoy who was more than likely to go to his father about the event. Knowing that Peter Pettigrew had more than assuredly supplied a description of Sirius' animagus form to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Yet, the other part of her couldn't help but appreciate his swift response on her behalf towards the disparaging remarks.

Her hands had been tied. With Umbridge all but ruling the roost and her barbarous and decisive punishments that Hermione had already been subjected to once, she had been all but disarmed. All she could do was rebut the comments thrown at her. Even that came at a cost. Twenty house points were trickling away in the ruby hourglass in the Entrance Hall at that very moment solely because Malfoy had be given the power to do so.

He had always liked antagonizing her. As Harry's best friend and a muggleborn, she made an easy target. It was like a game to him – to what end, she didn't know.

It didn't take long for them to reach the Three Broomsticks, the pub still bustling even after the lunch hour had passed. Hermione paused for a moment outside the door and thought a moment before turning the Padfoot.

"Will we get kicked out for bringing a dog into the pub?" She asked him under her breath as a drunk witch and wizard toppled out of the open door, twisting her shoulders out of the way of being jostled.

Padfoot shook his head no, his tongue lolling out in a doggy grin.

Hermione wasn't sure if she could trust him at his word, given that he was well known for troublemaking. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, but couldn't seem to stay strong against his puppy eyes. She entered the pub. Looking around she soon spotted two blonds. Luna Lovegood and Rita Skeeter were already seated at a booth in a back corner of the pub. She strode toward them with belying confidence and slid into a seat next with them. Padfoot dutifully sat down on the floor next to her resting his chin on her thigh as he swiveled his gaze at Hermione's new company. She was pleased that in the dimness Padfoot's black fur would look only to be a particularly thick blanket of shadow that dropped around her if one didn't look too closely.

The heartless part of Hermione was cooly pleased to see Rita Skeeter looking quite rough. Her normally coiffed hair was undone and lank, talon like nails that hadn't been properly manicured in some time, and her signature glitzy specs had a few missing rhinestones. Yes, the reporter had certainly taken poorly to her unemployment.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna's pleasant, if floaty, voice greeted. Her dreamy, relaxed eyes concealed a singularly perceptive mind.

Over the course of the year Hermione had become acquainted with the younger girl, she had slowly grown to respect Luna's insights, hidden away as they often were in the fancy of her manners.

"Hi, Luna," she returned the greeting with a small smile. "Enjoying the weekend so far?"

"Oh yes, my shoes were on top of the bookshelf this morning instead of outside the window. It was a very nice start to the morning," she said, maintaining an easy smile; as though having your shoes stolen by your housemates wasn't a nasty thing. Luna turned to look down at Padfoot and held out a hand, as though she were expecting him to shake it. "Hello, I'm Luna Lovegood. Do you know you have wrackspurts floating around your head?" Padfoot lifted his head to sniff at her hand giving a tentative lick to the outstretched fingers and wagged his tail before returning to Hermione's lap. "It's alright, you just have to think happy thoughts and they'll go away in no time."

Rita Skeeter watched the exchange with a look of bemused disdain, her upper lip curled.

"You know, dear, that is a dog right?" condescension dripped from her tongue.

"Of course," Luna responded, quite blithely. If she understood that the hackette was patronizing her or not, Hermione couldn't tell. Luna never seemed to react towards the open bullying she faced. "Quite an intelligent dog too. I've never seen so many wrackspurts fluttering around the head of any ordinary beast. They like people who have a lot of thoughts to think."

Ignorant or not of the foibles and degeneracies of those around her, Luna's awareness coupled with her opan imagination made Hermione wonder if she had parsed Padfoot's true nature.

A very large man stomped out of the pub, distracting Hermione from their conversation. She looked up in time to see Hagrid exiting the establishment, his battered face was alarming and he looked like he had been crying. A pang of worry shot through her. She hadn't seen Hagrid in a while. Having dropped Care of Magical Creatures she didn't have an excuse to see him, and Umbridge's rules made visiting him risky – but given the state of the bruising on his face, she thought perhaps a covert visit was in order. Harry would be pleased that she was relenting, at least.

Hagrid was gone before she could call out to him, so she looked around to the other side of the room from where she assumed he had been sitting. Lo and behold she spotted a tuft of jet black, messy hair.

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

Having successfully caught her friends' attention she watched him weave his way over to them, surprise lifted his eyebrows as he noticed her company.

"I wasn't expecting you to already be here. I thought you'd still be with Cho," she said, feeling a little unsure. She was glad that he made it promptly, her desire not to linger near the wretched journo for too long had her nearly cry out in relief, but like she had told Sirius, she thought Harry would have been late given his dates. Did it not go well?

"Cho?" The nasty, nasally voice of Skeeter piped up as she twisted to look at Harry who took a seat next to Hermione. "A girl?" Her claw-like fingers were already attempting to rummage for her acid green, quick-quotes quill in her purse. A nasty bit of magic that had no qualms about libel.

"Put that away! It's none of your business if Harry has been with a hundred girls," she snapped at the foul woman. She watched as Skeeter snapped her back closed frustratedly.

Padfoot moved his snout to snuffle into Harry's elbow at his side, and Hermione felt the loss of his fortifying warmth on her thigh. She didn't dwell on it as a thrilled look in Harry's eyes sparked and cast away a troubled shadow she hadn't quite noticed until it had been chased away.

"What's going on, what are you up to?" Harry asked, looking around the table at them, petting Padfoot absently.

"I believe Little-Miss-Perfect was just about to tell us that." She took a haughty gulp of her drink before continuing. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?" She glared pointedly at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose you are," Hermione responded, coldly sarcastic. Her patience for the woman running thin already. Likely her encounter with Malfoy earlier was also throwing her off.

"Is she a pretty girl, Harry? I dare say she is," Skeeter probed despite Hermione's warning.

Hermione felt herself teetering on the edge of something uncouth and dangerous at the elder woman's audacity. Padfoot seemed to sense her darkening mood as he rose to his feet. He was tall enough on four paws to look over the table and fix his storm grey eyes on the woman. His lips pulled back showing glittering ivory teeth that contrasted menacingly against his shadowy figure. The threat was implicit and Rita's mouth clicked shut audibly.

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal is off," Hermione said coldly, adding clear terms to the threat that Padfoot had posed.

A sneer appeared on Skeeter's face. "What deal? You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss. Prissy. You just told me to show up," she hissed venomously, her eyes darting to Padfoot even as she tried to hold her glare on Hermione. "Oh, one of these days…" the beginning of her threat was interrupted by a low growl. She stopped abruptly and took a bracing breath, and reached for her drink, taking a large swallow.

Hermione placed a hand on Padfoot's back, both in gratitude and to calm her temper. "Yes, yes. One of these days you'll write more horrible things about Harry and me," she waved the woman off with a roll of her eyes. "Find someone who cares, why don't you."

"They've written plenty enough horrible stories about Harry this year without my help," she said with a sidelong glance at Harry. "How does that make you feel? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again at her fishing. "He feels angry, of course. Because he's told the Minister of Magic the truth, and the Minister is too much of an idiot to believe him." She could feel Sirius laughing at her in his mind, Padfoot even chuffed a bit.

"So, you actually stick to it, do you? That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" Rita said, addressing Harry now with a sharp gaze. Scorn slipped deeper into her tone. "You stand by all this garbage that Dumbledore has been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning? And you being the sole witness?"

"I wasn't the sole witness," said Harry, his voice taking on an edge. "There were a dozen odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

"I'd love them!" Rita said, her demeanor flipping. She looked at him like a variable cash cow. She was reaching for her quill again "A great bold headline 'Harry Potter Accuses;' a sub-heading, 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Sill Among Us' and then of course beneath nice big photograph of you: 'A disturbed survivor of You-Know-Who attack (Harry Potter, 15) outraged yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters.'" Her quick-quotes quill was almost to her lips when she paused, the excitement draining from her face. She started lowering the quill and returned her glare to Hermione "But of course, Little-Miss-Perfect wouldn't want that story, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," Hermione said, her tone sweetening as she felt some satisfaction curling into her words. "That's exactly what 'Little-Miss-Perfect' does want."

She could feel the incredulous stares of Harry and Padfoot, as she held eye contact with the flabbergasted expression of the debased journalist. She almost grinned as she heard Luna humming to herself as she stared off into the middle-distance, not at all concerned with the tension at their table.

"You want me to write about what he says about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Rita asked, her voice lowering into a hush.

"Yes, I do," Hermione. "The true story. All the facts, exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now–" Rita jumped, looking aghast at Hermione's use of the name and spilled her drink on herself "- Oh get a grip on yourself!" Hermione looked at the older woman with contempt. How dare they not believe Harry that Voldemort is back when they can't even hear his name without feeling terrified!

Rita wiped herself down with a cocktail napkin and looked at Hermione. "The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-balls story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, it you let me write the story from that angle–"

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles. We've had plenty of those, thank you," Hermione huffed, her voice regaining all of his ire and annoyance it had lost briefly. Her fingers twisted in Padfoot's fur. "I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth."

"There's no market for a story like that," said Rita coldly.

"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Hermione, irritatedly.

Rita looked at Hermione in consideration before leaning forward and swimming in a lowered, business-like tone: "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough, people just don't want to believe You-Know-Who is back."

"So, the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?" Hermione said icily, her words burned chillingly.

Skeeter straightened up and downed the rest of her drink. "The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl!

Padfoot's growl started low, rumbling under Hermione's fingers, and grew until it caught the attention of the nasty woman across from them. Rita Skeeter flinched back at the reminder of his presence. He hadn't moved from his spot, looking over the surface of the table as he watched the two women battle with each other verbally. His near silent support had been more than welcome for Hermione.

"My dad thinks it's an awful paper," Luna's buoyant voice chipped in. She gazed at Rita with her owlish and slightly unsettling eyes. Hermione had almost forgotten her in the midst of her verbal combat. "He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money."

"I'm guessing your father runs a stupid little village newsletter," Rita belittled. "'25 Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bringham Fly sale." She sniffed in disdain.

"No. He's the editor of the Quibbler," said Luna matter-of-factly, with a hint of pride.

Rita snorted loud enough to have heads turning their way in alarm. "Important stories he thinks the public needs to know? I could manure my garden with the contents of that rag," Rita tittered, derisively.

"Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?" Hermione felt her spirits lift a little bit as the woman inadvertently was backing into her plans. "Luna says her father is quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it." She was quite pleased with the way things were turning out.

Rita's stunned look batted between Hermione and Luna for a moment, before she burst into laughter. "The Quibbler?! You think people would take him seriously if he's published in the Quibbler?" She cackled at them like it was a great joke.

"Some people won't," Hermione leveled her voice. "But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering if there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there is an alternative story available, even if it is published in a…" she faltered, glancing at Luna. "In a…well, an unusual magazine. I think they would be rather keen to read it."

Rita didn't say anything for a while, but considered Hermione with narrowed eyes and a tilted head. "Alright, let's say for a moment I'll do it. What kind of fee am I going to get?" She said suddenly.

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna in her wispy, unconcerned voice. "They do it because it's an honor, and of course, to see their names in print."

The sourest look pulled on Rita's unglamorous features as she turned her scathing glare on Hermione again. "I'm supposed to do this for free?!"

"Well, yes," Hermione responded, calmly. She wouldn't deny the warm feeling of victory that was starting to appear in her belly. Let the old beetle sink a little lower. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered animagus. Although, the Prophet might give you a rather lot for an insiders account of life inside of Azkaban." She had to hold back a smile threatening to spill onto her mouth at the look on Rita's face.

"I don't suppose I have any choice, have I?" Rita said with a shaky voice and resigned herself. She pulled out parchment and her quill at long last and prepared to take notes.

"Daddy will be pleased!" Luna said, cheerfully.

Hermione watched Rita's jaw jump as she clenched her teeth and felt that kernel of victory expand into a full grin. Padfoot chuffed and leaned into her side, looking up at her clearly pleased with the conclusion of her deal.

After the interview and some last minute details being hashed out with Luna, Padfoot dragged Harry and Hermione to a secluded spot outside of the village proper. He led them to the cave he had once occupied the year before and transformed.

Sirius pulled them in after him and spelled a notice-me-not spell on the entrance. Once satisfied with the concealment he turned and gathered Harry into a hug. He wanted to be elated at their reunion, at Hermione's genius, but he couldn't help grieving the tale that he heard in full detail for the first time.

Harry. His boy. He had gone through so much – is going through so much. He clutched him tightly in the most fatherly hug he could manage, the kind he imagined James would have provided. When he pulled away he plastered a grin on his face to cover up the sorrow.

"Harry!"

"I didn't know you were coming, Sirius!" Exclaimed Harry. He looked excited, his cheeks pulled wide showing his teeth.

"It was meant to be a surprise," Sirius said, a laugh rumbling out of him. "I would have met up with you sooner if you hadn't been with a young lady." Sirius waggled his eyebrows at his godson. His false grin stretched into a genuine, if devious, one at Harry's suddenly red ears. "How did your date go?" He asked, glad there was an easy topic, to steer them away from past trauma.

"Turned out to be a complete fiasco, to be honest," Harry said, sheepishly.

"Uh oh, what happened?" Sirius asked. "Too eager?" Using his wand to transfigure some stones into comfortable chairs and ushered them to sit.

"Well…" Harry started and began telling them about his date.

Sirius rested his elbow on the arm rest of the chair and leaned forward enough to rub his short mustache in an attempt to hide his amusement at his godson's complete lack of subtlety towards women. A few short glances at Hermione told him she was fighting the impulse to put her head in her hands and shake her head, only made the impulse to laugh that much harder to.

"So, then she jumps up, right? and says 'I'll see you around, Harry,' and runs out of the place." He looked between the two of them looking for all the world at a complete loss. "I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?"

Hermione glanced at Sirius for a moment and then back at Harry and sighed. "Oh, Harry…well I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless," she said gently.

"Me?! Tactless?" Said Harry looking affronted. "One minute we were getting on fine, the next minute she's telling me Roger Davies asked her out, and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid tea shop. How was I supposed to feel about that?"

"Well, you see," she started slowly. "You shouldn't have told her you wanted to meet me halfway through your date."

Sirius had to bite his lip at the completely baffled and outraged expression that appeared on Harry's face. For once he was seeing Harry struggle with a normal problem and act his age and it was oddly endearing.

"But..but. But, you told me to meet you and that I should bring her along," he splattered indignantly. "How was I supposed to do that without telling her?"

"You should have told her differently," Hermione said, maintaining that patient tone that Sirius could see was beginning to frustrate the confused boy. "You should have said that it's really annoying but I made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go. You'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you really ought to meet me and would she please, please! come along with you and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly."

Harry just looked flabbergasted at his friend. Utterly confused, like he was listening to someone speak a different language. Sirius couldn't help the choked laugh that escaped his throat. He turned it into a cough, unconvincing but Harry was too preoccupied to notice. Hermione shot him something of a glare but the heat of it was lukewarm.

"And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too," she added.

Her attention turned back to Harry, so she missed the peeved look that crossed Sirius' face. He was noticing a pattern of offhand disparaging remarks she made about herself, and he rather found that he despised them. Even if in this case she was just trying to educate Harry on appeasing teenage girls. The rude words from Malfoy and his little chit had spat at Hermione weighed heavily on him. He didn't like that they probably had hurt her and affected how she looked at herself. Even though she was smart enough to recognize the attack for what it was, it didn't mean she was unscathed.

"But I don't think you're ugly," Harry said in bemusement, but much to the internal satisfaction and agreement of his godfather.

Hermione waved away his comment. "Harry, you're worse than Ron," she paused at the look of offense on Harry's face and seemed to think better of that statement. "Well, okay maybe you're not that bad." She laughed a little at Harry's snort of agreement. "Look, you upset Cho because you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her."

"Is that what she was doing?" He asked, dumbfounded. "Wouldn't it have been easier if she had just asked if I liked her better than you?"

"You have a lot to learn about the fairer sex, Pup, if you think they are always that straight forward," Sirius answered for Hermione. "Especially teenage girls."

Hermione nodded emphatically from her chair.

"They should be. If they were then she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up about Cedric dying again," Harry said, a tinge of annoyance breaking into his voice.

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible. I'm just trying to make you understand how she was feeling at the time," she said, sighing.

"You might also want to consider that it's been less than a year since her boyfriend was murdered," Sirius pointed out, a slight growl edging around his words even as he spoke kindly. "You weren't even romantically involved, but you still are working through what happened. I'd expect you'd understand better than others, that she's not all the way back to normal."

Harry blinked at him, before a look of chastisement crossed his face as he put a few last puzzle pieces together. "Yeah, I expect you're right about that," he mumbled, looking at the ground in thought

Sirius broke the boy out of his reverie with a barking laugh.

"You really are as tactless as James!"

Despite the slight insult, Harry grinned at the statement. Hermione looked over at him with her own smile.