CW for child abuse and thoroughly made-up pureblood stuff.


July 1994

Hermione opened her eyes just in time to see Ron's tiny owl speeding towards the house. Thankfully, she just about managed to get the window open before he could collide with it and grabbed him out of the air with a kind of disregard that her first-year self would have been horrified by.

By now, however, she had figured out that post owls - possible all owls - were a lot hardier than people gave them credit for.

In any case, it was far safer for her and Pig to grab him - Merlin only knew where Sirius got him from, but he seemed to be completely untrained for a post owl.

Successful delivery of a letter resulted in several laps around the room which - more often than not - resulted in a collision with something.

So once Hermione had relieved him of the letter, she set it to one side in favour of cooing over the owl for a few minutes.

She and Ginny had figured out that giving Pig immediate praise for a good job meant that he didn't feel the need for the aerobatics and - sure enough - he was happy to flutter over to her headboard, tucking his head under his wing.

Only then did Hermione open the letter, unable to keep from smiling at Ron's messy handwriting:

Hermione,

DAD GOT THE TICKETS! I know Quidditch isn't really your thing but this is the World Cup - you're coming, right? Ginny might have already written, I don't know, but if she hasn't, Dad's going to come and pick you up next Wednesday morning at ten; owl back if that's okay.

Charlie and Bill are arriving in a few days, but Beth's not coming until the day before the match - Dumbledore says she has to stay with her aunt and uncle until then.

We were going to wait until then to invite you over too - Mum didn't think we should deprive your parents of time with you - but Bill and Charlie have heard so much about you from me and Ginny - and the twins, if you can believe that - and they want to meet their other new little sister.

Owl back about next Wednesday, okay?

Ron

Hermione sighed, glancing at the owl apparently napping in the corner of her bedroom. Her parents should have been at work until later that evening, so he would have to wait, but it had been hard enough convincing her father to let her go to Diagon Alley last summer.

She was so often a sympathetic ear for her two best friends, but neither of them knew how awful her father was.

Until she started school, the idea of other children was a foreign concept; she had practically grown up in the library, pushed to achieve better and better grades, leaving her with an almost unhealthy love of books and a lack of social skills.

If it weren't for the troll incident, she doubted she would have any friends at all.

Even now, her father needed to control her life, from where she went, to when she got her school supplies, to how she got to the station each year.

Oh, he couldn't get to her during the school year, outside of sharply worded letters reminding her to excel in everything she did and reminding her of the consequences if she didn't, but that just made the summers twice as bad.

Sometimes her mother would come into her bedroom late at night when she thought her daughter was asleep and apologise, although Hermione didn't know why - it wasn't like her mother had the resources to get them away from Steven safely.

Other times, lying awake at night, if she thought very very hard, Hermione could remember warm arms and a friendly laugh that seemed to be more in tine with 'Dad' in her mind than her own father, and she would dream that maybe there was another 'father' in her life, who would come and take her away.

But then logic would kick in, and she would tell herself that there was no evidence of this man anywhere.

And, anyway, memories didn't stretch back that far.

She read through the letter again, scowling at the news that Beth would have to stay longer with her aunt and uncle.

She really didn't understand that part.

Bethany had said that Dumbledore had implied that Lily Potter's sacrifice had left her with a kind of blood magic protection, and that living with his aunt therefore gave him some protection.

Hermione didn't understand that at all. She was no expert in warding - not even close - but surely such a protection powered by love would require love to sustain it.

Bethany's 'family' certainly did not love her.

On saying that, the house was semi-detached, and his next door neighbour completely doted on her.

Jessica Brown was the only reason Beth ever mentioned Privet Drive, and often sent her letters at Hogwarts.

Bethany had told Hermione in first year about how much she hated lying to Jessica about her new school - unfortunately, it was against wizarding law to tell Muggles about magic unless they were immediate relatives.

As it turned out, however, Bethany didn't need to tell Jessica. She wasn't a witch, but throughout Bethany's childhood, she had been plagued with amazing dreams, which she turned into stories, about magic and love and friendship, all set in a huge castle with a lake and a forest.

Following her first year, she had told Bethany of a new dream she'd had, involving her this time, and how she'd gone to that castle to learn magic.

When she had finished telling her about her dream - which had basically been a condensed version of her first year - Bethany had confided in her. Jess still gave her refuge over the summer, support over the school-years, and having ever-intriguing dreams, which seemed to be becoming less literal, and more prophetic.

So maybe Jessica's presence was enough to power the wards, even if she wasn't a blood relative.

Another scan of the letter, and her gaze landed on a phrase she had somehow missed the first two times.

… they want to meet their other new little sister.

That made her throat close up a little.

Certainly Ron was her best friend, and she had come to see Ginny as a younger sister over the last year, but the idea of their older brothers practically adopting her without even meeting her was a little overwhelming.

Maybe it was the twins' influence.

They had certainly been about as protective over her as Ginny towards the end of her second year, after the incident with the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets.

Maybe they already saw her as a sister, and their stories had influenced their older brothers. She tried to ignore the small voice in her head that told her she hoped that wasn't the case.

Whatever the case, the chances of Hermione being allowed to go to the Weasleys for the summer were slim, and she folded the letter up and rested her head against the window again, her gaze travelling over the back garden.

It was a fairly bright summer's day, but the gardens along this street backed on to quite thick woodland, so most of the ground was cast into shade.

Crookshanks was sunning himself in one of the only patches of sun, and she smiled sadly. She would never regret buying her cat, but her father had not been happy about that either.

The cat was more than intelligent enough to stay out of his way though, only leaving Hermione's bedroom when her father was out of the house, and returning to her side just before he returned.

As she watched, the cat's ears flicked, and he raised his head.

For a second, Hermione froze, scared that her father had come home early, had left his lunch behind or had just come to check up that she was doing her summer work, whether it needed doing or not.

But Crookshanks did not make a sudden bolt for the house and the stairs, and instead rose to his paws as though about to start a stalk.

Hermione's eyes darted across the grass to see if she could spot whatever little creature had caught his attention.

It was not, however, a little creature that she saw.

Instead, out of the shadows, a large black dog came trotting towards the cat, and Hermione was on her feet before she could think about it, dashing down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door.

Crookshanks abandoned his stalk when she stepped outside, trotting over to wind his way around her ankles with a purr.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed at the dog. "Are you mad?"

He sat down and cocked his head at her, looking like all the world for a very confused dog, but she knew better.

With a sigh, Hermione returned to the house, holding the door open. "Come on then."

Both cat and dog followed her, Crookshanks leaping up on to the kitchen table so he was at the right height for Hermione to scratch his ears.

"You can go ahead," Hermione said. "I'm the only one home."

There was a soft 'pop' from behind her, and when she turned around the dog had been replaced by Sirius Black - looking better than he had in the Shrieking Shack, but still far too thin and gaunt.

"How did you know where I was?" Hermione asked.

"I was heading out of the country," Sirius answered, "but Buckbeak can only fly so far in one go, so we landed in the woodland. Then I saw Crookshanks."

That made far more sense, but Hermione was a more than a little concerned. "What if a Muggle sees him?"

"We won't stay long, Hermione," Sirius said softly. "Just long enough for him to regain his energy."Hermione nodded. "I suppose he's pretty good at staying away from people."

Sirius gave her a smile. "All Hippogriffs are. They can be highly affectionate and very friendly, but only with people they already know. They don't really do well with a lot of new people."

Hermione winced. "So Hagrid covering it third year COMC was …"

"… not the best idea," Sirius finished, sounding regretful. "They can get a little rambunctious. I think sometimes Hagrid forgets that he's a little more immune to things like that than the rest of us."

Hermione loved Hagrid, but she had to agree with that assessment. She was about to offer Sirius something to eat - she could tell he wasn't going to say anything, but she could hear his stomach from across the kitchen - when Crookshanks suddenly let out a hiss and bolted for the stairs.

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. "Dad's home early. You'd better hide."

Sirius transformed again, darting under the sideboard. If he lay flat and stayed quiet, he could only just blend in with the shadows, but then Hermione knew he was there and was looking.

Her father - thankfully - didn't, and wouldn't be.

Steven Granger appeared in the kitchen doorway seconds later. "Why aren't you doing your homework?"

"I've finished it," Hermione said truthfully. "Dad, the Weasleys have invited me to stay for the rest of the summer. May I go please?"

"No."

"You wouldn't have to take me anywhere," Hermione said tentatively. "Mr Weasley would come and pick me up."

"And where would you be sleeping?" Steven asked bluntly.

"In Ginny's room, probably," Hermione answered, "with Bethany, so …"

"Oh, she'll be there too, will she?" Steven interrupted. "Why would they even want you there?"

"Because they're my friends," Hermione said quietly.

Steven gave a derisive snort, fetching his lunch from the refrigerator. "Who'd want to be friends with an insufferable little know-it-all like you?"

Hermione flinched, wanting to argue that he couldn't expect her to get top marks in everything she did academically and not be a know-it-all, but she knew better than that.

She was pushing her luck as it was.

A low growl sounded from beneath the sideboard and she moved in front of it, hoping to stop Padfoot from moving.

The last thing she needed was for her father to know he was there.

"Ron and Bethany."

Her father lifted his hand and she flinched, but he only lifted a glass out of the cupboard. "You're not going. End of story."

"But …" Hermione instinctively ducked, knowing as soon as the word left her lips that she had pushed it too far, and was proved right when the glass hit the wall behind her head.

"You ungrateful little brat! Your mother and I work hard to put food in your mouth and a roof over your head, and you repay us by running off to that place every year and disappearing off as soon as you get the chance. Well, I've had it with you - the moment you walk out of that door again, you are no longer our daughter. Do you understand."

"Yes." Hermione whispered, focusing on her feet. A sharp blow to the side of her face made her stagger backwards, clutching the sideboard for support, and amend her answer. "Yes, sir."

"Good. And for God's sake, clean that mess up."

Hermione kept her gaze on the floor, knowing better than to look up before he had left the house. She didn't move a muscle until the front door had slammed shut.

Only then did she fetch a broom from the hallway cupboard and begin to sweep up the shards of glass, hearing the tell-tale 'pop' of an Animagus transformation behind her. She didn't turn, focusing instead on keeping the tears from spilling from her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

Hurried footsteps made her flinch a little; they faltered and then continued slower, and more quietly.

"Does that happen a lot?"

"First time he's disowned me," Hermione said with a shaky laugh.

Sirius turned her to face him, tilting her face up so he could take a closer look at the bruise on her face. "Are you in pain?"

"No more than usual," Hermione muttered.

Sirius's eyes darkened. It wasn't hard to see how someone could have thought him a mass-murderer. He took the broom from her hand and finished sweeping the glass out of the back door. "Well, if I were him, I'd be pretty glad I'm still a wanted man."

"Why's that?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes.

"Because I don't need a wand to kick his arse," Sirius said bluntly.

Hermione giggled, a little reluctantly. "It's fine, Sirius."

"It's really not," he said, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "It's not fine at all. Nothing gives him the right to treat you like that. If you saw Bethany or Ron being treated like that, would you say it was fine?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. "No."

Sirius chuckled a little at the clearly mulish expression on her face. "The Marauders started using that on me after first year."

Hermione looked up. "Really?" She had read about the Black family, of course - she liked to do her research, and everyone was convinced that Sirius was after Bethany, but it really hadn't been easy.

There wasn't much in the Hogwarts library about wizarding genealogy, which seemed strange, given how obsessed purebloods appeared to be with it, and the only mention of the Blacks had been in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, about how the whole family had very publicly supported the Dark Side.

Sirius nodded, puling one of the other chairs around to sit beside her. "My parents - my whole family, for that matter, were really big on blood purity, and they'd all been in Slytherin. Now, between you and me, there's nothing wrong with that, as much as I insisted there was back then, but they took it to extremes. When w-I was sorted into Gryffindor, they weren't happy, but there wasn't much they could do. W-I told them I was never going to join Voldemort after first year, and got … Well, I thought I'd been disowned. At the time, however, my grandfather was head of the family, and he was a stickler for family. Don't get me wrong, he disowned people for some pretty awful things. One of my cousins was disowned for marrying a Muggle-born. Another one married a blood-traitor. But I was a direct heir, so he never actually disowned me, unbeknownst to my mother. I don't think she knew until my father died, and my brother became head of the family, and presumably got a letter telling him that I was his heir. For some reason, he never disowned me either."

He sighed. "The point is, Hermione, is people who treat you like that aren't your family. Your family are the people who love you. All of you, no matter what mistakes you make."

"The Marauders," Hermione concluded softly, feeling grief rise within her and wind its way around her heart in a constricting embrace. She examined the feeling for a few minutes, before coming to the conclusion that it was far too strong to be hers.

"Sirius, is it particularly common for witches and wizards to be able to sense emotions?"

If Sirius was surprised by the change of subject, he didn't show it. "Well, there are many gifts that a witch or wizard can be born with. Some of them are inherited, some of them skip some generations, some of them come out of nowhere. Anything associated with emotions is considered Dark Magic by the Ministry."

Hermione frowned. "But it's not your fault if you're born with it, is it?"

"No," Sirius agreed. "It's also not Remus's fault that he was bitten by a werewolf at five years old. Do you think that stops them?"

"Why is it considered Dark?" Hermione asked.

Sirius sighed, shifting in his seat. "Here's the thing, Hermione, and what you probably won't be taught at Hogwarts. Light and Dark magic does not mean good and evil. There are plenty of Light spells that are evil, and there are plenty of Dark spells that are good. The only difference is emotion. A Light spell, anyone can cast and your magical core decides how powerful the spell will be. Once that's stabilised, a Levitation Charm will work exactly the same way, whether you shout it or whisper it, and however desperate you are for it to work. A Dark spell is powered by emotion, so how effective the spell is depends entirely on how you feel."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Like a Patronus?"

Sirius smiled. "Exactly. That, according to Ministry guidelines, is a Dark spell. Not that they'll admit that. Meanwhile, a Cutting Curse, which was a favourite of Voldemort's followers in the last war, is a Light spell."

"So when did Dark start meaning evil then?" Hermione asked.

Sirius sighed. "That, I couldn't tell you. Before I was born, certainly. Various pureblood families are more likely to connect with one type of magic than the other, hence why the Wizengamot has Light factions and Dark factions. That wouldn't be the case if Dark had always been considered evil. It's probably something to do with the Dark Arts."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Aren't the Dark Arts and Dark Magic the same thing?"

Sirius chuckled. "No. Dark Arts are a branch of Dark magic, which are evil. They mess with your head … mess with your soul … really nasty stuff. Most Dark families won't go near that branch of magic." He cleared his throat. "Back to your original question, though, Empathy would be the gift you're looking for. Empathy with a capital 'E', that is. I believe that particular ability got a bit of a harsher treatment from the Ministry because - of course - if you can feel other people's emotions, you can also figure out if they're lying. Politicians don't like that, so some rather … dubious claims about Empathy were publicised."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Are you hungry? You must be hungry." She jumped to her feet and began to rummage around in the refrigerator.

"Why did you ask?" Sirius asked.

"You've been on the run for almost a year," Hermione answered.

"No, I meant about the Empathy," Sirius said, the smile evident in his voice.

Hermione didn't answer for a moment, pulling out a Tupperware of cold stew to pour it into a saucepan.

"I … I think I might be one," she said softly, lighting the hob. "Lately I've just been … my emotions are all over the place, and I swear half of them don't even belong to me. Like just now - I never knew James and Lily Potter, which limits my sense of grief - I mean, it's awful what happened to them, obviously, but …"

"You can't truly mourn someone you don't know," Sirius finished quietly.

"Exactly." Hermione set the saucepan on the hob and sank back into her chair. Another emotion rose in her chest, but now she recognised that it was disjointed, that it was coming from the man beside her - not exactly grief, but something close to it. She decided not to mention it. "And earlier, with Dad, I …" she trailed off, finally putting a name to the feeling emanating from her father whenever he looked at her.

"What?" Sirius asked urgently. "What is it?"

"He hates me," Hermione whispered. "My own father hates me." A tear slipped down her cheek, quickly followed by another, and another.

As her body shook with the first heaving sob, she heard the other chair scrape across the kitchen tiles and she was drawn into a hug. "That's because he's crazy, Hermione. There's nothing to hate."

"You've only met me once," Hermione sniffled.

His hold tightened momentarily, before relaxing. "Well, you did break an awful lot of Wizarding laws the other week to save my life."

Hermione managed a weak smile. It did not escape her notice that she was picking up more affection from Sirius than she ever had from her father, and she couldn't remember the last time her father had hugged her - or shown her any affection at all, for that matter.

"Thanks, Padfoot." Hermione pulled away to wipe her eyes. "Bethany and Ron panicked when I break down on them."

Sirius shrugged. "I'm used to it. James never did too well with people crying either."

"Must be where Beth gets it from then," Hermione quipped, before being distracted by a low hiss from the hob. She grabbed a tea-towel and removed the pan from the heat, before pouring the contents on to a plate and placing it in front of her guest with a fork. "Eat. You look half-starved."

"I am half-starved," Sirius said. "You didn't have to …"

Hermione gave him a look eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall and he dropped his protest.

Crookshanks reappeared at that moment, jumping up on to Hermione's lap as she sat down again, rearing up to sniff her face where her father had struck her.

"Good boy," Hermione murmured.

Apparently satisfied, the cat settled down on her lap, his tail curling around him.

At first, Sirius had been eating like he hadn't seen a proper meal in months (which he hadn't), but his pace gradually began to slow, and Hermione wasn't surprised

She had seen enough with Bethany to know that he probably wouldn't be able to clear the plate, not without getting sick, so she waited until it looked like he couldn't eat anymore, before speaking.

"Now, what can we do about getting you a wand? Yours would have been snapped when you were arrested, I assume."

"Actually, no," Sirius answered cautiously. "The Blacks are an Ancient and Noble pureblood family - they can't snap my wand without the permission of my Head of House."

"So we need to contact your brother?" Hermione asked.

Sirius winced. "My brother was killed a few months before the war ended. As he never disowned me, or named another Heir, I am the Head of House. They can't snap my wand without my permission. It's in my vault."

Hermione shook her head. "Okay, fine. Any way I can get into it?"

"No," Sirius answered flatly. "Well, technically, yes, but you're not going to. You've done enough, Hermione. I'm still not sure how you and Beth managed to get me out of there."

"I'd been using a time-turner to get to all my classes last year," Hermione answered. "We went back three hours, saved Buckbeak from execution, hid in the Forest, outran a werewolf, Beth cast a Patronus that drove of a few hundred Dementors, and then we flew Buckbeak up to you, before getting back to the infirmary a minute after we'd left. As far as anyone's aware, Madam Pomfrey was with us the whole time."

Sirius gaped at her. "I take that back," he said faintly. "You've done more than enough. Why on earth did McGonagall agree to the time-turner?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think she figured I'd give up a few weeks in. I'm too stubborn for that though."

"You've stopped now, though," Sirius said, sounding oddly concerned.

"Yeah, I dropped Muggle Studies and Divination," Hermione answered.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You took Muggle Studies?"

"I thought it would be interesting to study them from a magical point of view," Hermione said with a shrug. "That and my father made me take everything I possibly could. It was pointless anyway; if Professor Burbage has ever set foot in the Muggle world, I'd be very surprised. The whole syllabus was about a century out of date." She shook her head. "That's not the point, anyway. I know how dangerous and illegal what we did was, but what Fudge was going to do was even worse. We wouldn't have had to do it if the Minister actually abided by his own laws. Besides, what the Ministry doesn't know can't hurt them. Or me."

Sirius observed her for a few seconds. "That's true." He pulled a small golden key out of his pocket. "What do you know about Gringotts vaults?"

Hermione hesitated. "Only what Bethany's told me. I don't have one. I know quite a bit about goblins."

"If you're talking about History of Magic and you still have Professor Binns," Sirius said, "you know quite a bit about goblin rebellions and a very biased view of them at that. That class does absolutely nothing for goblin-human relations, believe me. Neither does the fact that the Goblin Liaison Office comes under the remit of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but that's beside the point. What do you know about pureblood families?"

"Not much," Hermione admitted. "I know that generally speaking, they're split into Ancient, Noble, and Ancient and Noble. That's about it."

Sirius nodded. "You can be considered pureblood without being in one of those families, but generally, they fit into one of them."

"But surely a pureblood is anything with magical parents," Hermione said with a frown. "If Muggle-borns are people like me with two Muggle parents, and half-bloods are people like Seamus with one magical parent and one Muggle parent …"

"I would agree with you," Sirius said, "but then I've never liked the phrase 'pureblood'. To be considered pureblood, you have to have at least three generations of magic on both sides. So Bethany is considered a half-blood, even though Lily was a witch, you see?"

Hermione grimaced. "Sounds confusing to me."

"It is," Sirius agreed. "You should be taught all this before you enter Hogwarts, but I know Lily didn't get taught either. There were so many things she was so mad no one told her."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, distracted.

"Like … Well, a lot of it's a bit too complicated to explain briefly, but … I noticed you and Beth always wear your hair down."

Hermione frowned. "Well, yeah. You can't do much with this. Or Beth's."

Sirius chuckled. "Well, she got her father's hair, poor girl. In the wizarding world, once you turn eleven, it's kind of the done thing for witches to wear their hair up. Not so long ago, if you were in Diagon Alley and you saw a witch with her hair loose, she was … Well, she was advertising something inappropriate for public consumption put it that way. Not anymore," he added hastily. "And Merlin knows if you want to wear it loose, that's your choice. But Lily always said that if people were going to judge her, she wanted to know why they were doing it."

"I can understand that," Hermione said, frowning. It seemed a bit archaic, but that did explain why so Lavender and Parvati spent a good part of every morning putting their hair up in elaborate braids.

Ginny's hair was always braided as well - but she had never told Hermione that there was an actual reason for it.

"Anyway, pureblood families," Sirius said. "Let me start from the beginning. Ancient Families are families that have been around for hundreds of years. Ancient and Noble Families are Ancient Families who also have a title. Now this title was recognised within the Muggle world as well. Once the Statute of Secrecy came in, things changed. Our dealings with the Muggle world grew smaller and smaller, until it was virtually non-existent. At the same time, the Ancient and Noble Families were dying off, probably in part due to the inbreeding, but no one listens about that kind of thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Typical."

Sirius grinned. "The Wizengamot is our seat of parliament, I think Lily compared it to a cross between the House of Commons and the House of Lords? Anyway, with numbers dwindling, they had to start awarding peerages. These are the Noble families and, contrary to popular belief, they are not all fully pureblood families. At least, they weren't at the time. Over the last couple of hundred years, blood purity really became a thing, far more than it was before, or so I'm told. Don't get me wrong, there were bigots before, but it was … sort of something you didn't really talk about."

Hermione took a moment to absorb all of that. "But … if an Ancient Family was given a title, wouldn't they become an Ancient and Noble Family?"

"No, because they can't actually be given a title," Sirius answered. "Take the Weasleys, for example; they're an Ancient Family. If Arthur was to be given a title, he would become Lord Weasley, but that title would count for nothing in the Muggle world. They'd remain an Ancient Family. The Malfoys came over from France; they were given a title some time ago. Lucius Malfoy is Lord Malfoy, unfortunately, but, again, he doesn't have an actual title. They're a Noble family. Now the Blacks are an Ancient and Noble Family. I am Lord Black, but I am also Baron Blackmoor, and if you look that title up in the Muggle world, you'll see it exists. Some texts might consider it an extinct line, but Her Majesty is aware of the magical world." He barked out a laugh. "I'm still not sure if my parents knew that; they'd have hated it, knowing the title came from the Muggles."

"So the Wizengamot can appoint someone to a seat and say, you're now a Lord, but it can't make them a peer?" Hermione asked.

"Exactly," Sirius said, giving her a smile. "The Ministry of Magic is still a branch of government under Her Majesty's government, however much people like to pretend otherwise. And the monarch is the only one able to grant those kinds of titles."

"Okay," Hermione said, "I think I understand, but … what does this have to do with Gringotts?"

"Well, I'm sure that it won't come as a surprise if I tell you that the more long-standing and wealthier the client, the more important they are the bank," Sirius said.

"Obviously," Hermione said slowly.

"Well, my family have been clients of Gringotts for over a thousand years," Sirius told her. "When you consider the amount of gold that's changed hands, not to mention the heirlooms … the Black vaults are Top Security."

"Okay, but from what I've heard, the goblins will let you in anywhere as long as you have the right key," Hermione said.

"That's the problem," Sirius said grimly. "Gringotts keys cannot taken from a person without their consent; that's why the Ministry couldn't take mine. It's different if you're a child and your parent or guardian takes it, but the only way for you to get this key is for me to physically hand it over to you. If the Ministry were to find out …"

"If," Hermione repeated. "From what I've heard, the goblins hate the Ministry. Or is that another misconception?"

"No, that one's true," Sirius said with a sigh. "Okay, fine. But you must be careful, and I want you to let me teach you as much as I can about goblin customs first."


July 1994

Gringotts Bank was very easily the most impressive building in Diagon Alley, a tower of white marble that utterly dwarfed the shops surrounding it.

Hermione had been dropped off at the Leaky Cauldron that morning by her mother, under the impression that Hermione was just looking to get Bethany a birthday present - and, to be fair, that was on her to-do list.

But upon entering the bank and changing her Muggle allowance into sickles and galleons, Hermione had requested a private meeting with a teller, upon their earliest convenience, remembering the respectful greeting Sirius had taught her.

The only sign of surprise was a slightly raised eyebrow, but the goblin had escorted her to a small office just off the lobby and left her there to wait.

Her heart was beating so loudly she was surprised that the goblins couldn't hear it.

For the last two days, she had been meeting Sirius in the woods behind her garden, and he had been teaching her about goblins and their customs, and a few things about pureblood culture as well.

Some of it made her pull a face - most of it seemed similar to Muggle traditions that had died out centuries ago - but Sirius had reminded her gently that it was just a different culture.

That had made her feel a bit guilty.

Whenever she visited her father's family in France (thankfully much nicer than her father himself), she had been so careful not to insult the differences between French and British lifestyles.

The fact that she had not extended the same courtesy to her classmates made her feel rather uncomfortable.

It also made her rethink what he had said about her hair - she still wasn't thrilled at the idea of some people making decisions about her moral fibre based on how she wore her hair, but it probably wouldn't hurt to try and assimilate into the culture.

It meant pulling her hair into a very bushy ponytail (because she couldn't do anything else with it), but it did keep it out of her eyes, so there were some benefits.

Sirius hadn't even taught her that much - just enough to let her move through Gringotts without attracting attention from the other customers - the rest of it had just come up in conversation.

She had certainly learned more than Professor Binns had ever taught her.

After what seemed like an age, a goblin entered the room, and Hermione rose to her feet to curtsey.

That had been a bit of a surprise as well, to learn that it was considered a polite greeting in the wizarding world, and not just something one did in the presence of royalty.

It was surprisingly difficult to do as well, and Sirius had made her practice it over and over, until she could manage it without wobbling.

"Greetings, sir. May your mines be forever full, and your sword forever sharp."

The goblin looked surprised, but bowed in acknowledgement, before taking the other seat and gesturing for her to sit. "Greetings, Miss Granger. My name is Sharpaxe. What can the Bank of Gringotts assist you with today that warrants a private meeting?"

Thankfully, Sirius had coached her in the best way to answer that query. "It is a matter of some discretion, Sharpaxe."

Apparently goblins considered it rude to continue using honourifics once they had provided you with their name - it suggested one couldn't be bothered to remember it.

"Whilst I trust you and your fellow goblins completely, I'm afraid I cannot necessarily extend that same courtesy to my fellow humans. I wish to visit Vault 711."

Sharpaxe observed her in silent for a few seconds, and she fought not to squirm under his gaze.

"Just keep calm, maintain eye contact, and don't fidget. Goblins pick up on subtle body language far more than humans do. You have every right to be there; don't let him think any differently."

After a few moments, Sharpaxe spoke again. "You have the key, I presume?"

Hermione nodded, handing it over.

Silently, Sharpaxe held it up to the light, turning it over in his long fingers. "Not a forgery. You realise that by doing this, you are admitting to contact with a convicted criminal."

Hermione took a shaky breath. "Yes, sir, I do."

"And yet you are still willing to aid him in this way?"

Hermione nodded firmly. "I am."

Sharpaxe gave her a fierce look that, thanks to Sirius, she recognised as a smile. "If there is one thing goblins value more than honesty, Miss Granger, it is bravery. And if there is one thing we value more than bravery, it is loyalty. The Bank of Gringotts and the Goblin Nation have no link to the Ministry of Magic, and we hold all transactions in the upmost confidentiality. Follow me."

Trying not to breathe a sigh of relief, Hermione followed the goblins through a set of double-doors into a dark stone passageway, lit by flaming torches. A small cart came rattling along a set of railway tracks and stopped beside them.

Hermione shuddered inwardly, having heard about these cart-rides from Bethany - she'd never liked rollercoasters.

Nevertheless, she steeled herself, climbed into the card, and took a deep breath as it took off, but, to her surprise, she actually enjoyed the ride.

Sharpaxe must have read her expression, because he said, "These carts have a goblin anti-nausea charm on them."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione muttered, as the cart came to a halt outside one of the vaults, which she had always assumed to be like Muggle safes. Instead, this looked like a door to a small room.

A loud clacking sound was coming from around the corner, but she didn't ask - Sirius had mentioned that a dragon guarded the Black vaults and that the goblins used 'clackers' to keep it under control, but she hadn't completely believed him until this moment.

She certainly wasn't going to go and have a look.

Sharpaxe unlocked the vault door and turned to her, gesturing her forwards. It turned out that it was a small room, and she stepped over the threshold tentatively, feeling magic travel over her skin. She froze, letting the wards travel over her.

"711 is my personal vault. I'm fairly sure all the nasty Black wards have been taken off of it, but I can't be certain because they won't affect me. Let the magic confirm you're allowed to be there; if anything starts to hurt, get the hell out immediately, alright?"

But nothing happened, so she allowed herself to relax, looking around the vault, being careful not to touch anything - apparently Sirius hadn't been in there since he became Head of the Family, so he couldn't be sure no heirlooms had been moved from other vaults when that happened.

"If that's happened, they might be cursed, and I don't want you to get hurt."

There didn't seem to be many heirlooms. Most of it was filled almost to the ceiling with mounds of gold and silver, but in one of the corners, she found a large trunk.

Lying on top were two wands.

For a moment, Hermione faltered, having not expecting two. One looked like willow, the other mahogany, so if Sirius had mentioned what kind of wand he had, she should have been able to guess, but she hadn't bothered to ask.

Then again, he hadn't bothered to tell her, so she picked up both and slipped them into her bag.

Next to the wands was a photograph, and Hermione picked that up too. A much younger Sirius laughed up at her, baby Bethany held firmly in his arms. Lily Potter smiled from beside them, every now and then trying to take Beth back, but the child just clung to her godfather all the more.

Hermione smiled fondly and put the picture in her bag as well, before leaving the vault to travel to back to the surface.

That evening, Hermione slipped out of the house to hurry down to the woods, relieved that her father was working late at the surgery.

Buckbeak gave a little chirrup when he saw her, and she bowed, waiting for him to bow back before stroking his neck. It was so strange to see a hippogriff rooting for worms in the same place she used to sit and read Muggle fantasy novels.

Only once she was sure that Buckbeak had accepted her presence did she turn to Sirius. Dusk was falling, and they were counting on the cover of darkness to mask their departure.

"We should get going," Sirius said. "It'll be dark soon."

"Hang on." Hermione handed him the satchel that was over her shoulder. "I got this today in Diagon Alley; it's got an undetectable Extension Charm on it. I filled it with enough food to last a while, mostly Muggle tins that won't go off, but there's some soup and stew in thermos flasks; I added runes to them at the beginning of the summer, so they should stay warm if I've done them right. Don't do anything stupid please, and stay in touch, I've put some parchment, ink and a quill in there as well."

"Hermione, you're a live-saver," Sirius told her sincerely, shouldering the bag with a grateful smile.

"And of course …" Hermione pulled the two wands out of her pocket. "I wasn't sure which one of these was yours."

"I forgot …" Sirius muttered, but what he'd forgotten, he didn't say. Instead, he took the darker wand and tapped it against her face with a murmured incantation, healing the bruise there. "I feel a lot better with a wand in my hand."

"What should I do with this one?" Hermione asked.

Sirius's eyes took on that haunted expression again. "Keep it. You never know when you might need a second wand."

Hermione wanted to ask who it had belonged to, but the sudden surge of grief as he looked at the wand made her think twice. "Alright. I found this photo as well; thought you might like it."

"You thought right." Sirius smiled reminiscently at the picture for a few seconds, before duplicating it and handing her back the copy. "Make sure Bethany gets that?"

"Of course." Hermione was certain it hadn't been included in her photo album, and she was just as certain that she would want to include it.

Putting the wand and the photograph back in her pocket, she patted Buckbeak's neck again. "Be good, Beaky. Make sure Padfoot doesn't do anything stupid, alright?"

Buckbeak tossed his head with a squawk, and she took that as reassurance. When she turned back to Sirius, he placed his hands on her shoulders with a very sombre expression.

"Hermione, I can't thank you enough for everything you've done this summer. Just promise me one more thing."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Forget everything your father ever told you," Sirius said, an unidentifiable glint in his eye. "You are an amazing young woman with a heart of gold, and a mind that could give Lily Potter a run for her money. And I can give you no higher praise than that."

Hermione felt her face heat up. She knew enough about Bethany's mother to take it as a compliment of the highest order as well. "Thank you."

"No, thank you." Sirius pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I can never repay you for what you've done, but …" he released her and waved his wand in the direction of her house. "That should make the rest of your summer a little more bearable."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What did you just do?"

Sirius winked at her. "Never mess with a Marauder, my dear. Enjoy the World Cup, and give Beth my love when you see her." He jumped on Buckbeak's back and urged him forwards towards the field behind the woods.

The hippogriff unfurled his impressive wings and broke into a gallop, taking off into the air. Hermione watched them fly into the distance, until they were nothing more than a tiny speck silhouetted against the moon.