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The headlines in the Daily Prophet that greeted Hermione the next day were not good.

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WEREWOLVES ATTACK ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!
Fenrir Greyback terrorizes the magical community once again!

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Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Hermione read on.

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WEREWOLVES ATTACK ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!
Fenrir Greyback terrorizes the magical community once again!

Fenrir Greyback and his pack of vicious werewolves have attacked the wizarding populace again – this time, not terrorizing the Ministry, but instead attacking St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"They were posing as visitors and patients needing triage when the moon rose," one mediwizard told our reporter, under conditions of anonymity. "We managed to lock down the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward and Creature-Induced Injuries ward fairly quickly, but we weren't as lucky with the other floors."

10 residents and 6 healers obtained injuries during the attack, but as of publication, none of the injuries seem to be werewolf bites, meaning none of the victims of this terrible attack will contract lycanthropy. In contrast, the hospital residents asserted that they had wounded at least 7 werewolves themselves, and maybe taken out 2 of them entirely.

"Fenrir Greyback severely underestimated what goes on in a hospital," said Hospital Director Emily Gawain. "They expected a bunch of sick people lying down weakly in beds. That is not what they got."

The Magical Bugs ward seemed to grasp what was happening immediately. Led by Gallant Arcano (currently suffering from Dragon Pox), the sick leapt onto the werewolves with aplomb, infecting them with their various contagious diseases.

"In the ward, we have strict containment wards and fields on each of the patients to make them not as contagious," Healer Augustus Pye told our reporter. "Everyone knows not to touch the contagious directly. And they all jumped onto the werewolves and tried to hug them."

Two werewolves were infected with Scrofungulus, a deadly fungus that causes tiny tentacles to erupt across the neck and face if not treated quickly, and one werewolf developed Vanishing Sickness, causing its foreleg and jaw to vanish into nothingness.

"It was incredibly stupid of the patients to do," said Gawain, shaking her head. "That being said, it was also incredibly effective at making the werewolves leave."

The Janus Thickley ward, for the treatment of spell damage and unliftable jinxes, hexes, curses, and charms, also had werewolves visit their floor. Here, the welcome they received was even more unexpected.

"I can't name names, of course," said our anonymous healer source, "but one of our residents whose head is covered in fur ran out to join them, barking. We think that threw them off enough for our residents to start fighting."

The Janus Thickley Ward is known for housing wizards with permanent spell damage and often those who have had their memories afflicted. Nevertheless, somehow several of these very damaged patients ended up cursing off the werewolves.

"The best theory I've got is that their fighting skills were so ingrained into their subconscious that when they felt 'fight or flight', they instinctively chose 'fight'," our source said. "I didn't even know they still had their wands. Some of them haven't done magic in over a decade, and then out of nowhere, they're hexing werewolves in the corridors."

The fight in the bottom floor Waiting Room was also intense, according to the Welcome Witch. A witch who had tried to transfigure herself into a centaur rode around trying to stomp them to death, while another wizard hung from the ceiling corner on a web, launching sticky webs from his wand to tangle and trap the werewolves.

"I was honestly expecting a lot worse by the time the Aurors responded to the call," said Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "But Greyback's forces were already in full retreat before we arrived. I don't envy the Obliviators, having to handle any muggles that saw wolves running out of an abandoned department store, but I'm glad that there was no loss of life tonight."

This attack marks the second month in a row Fenrir Greyback's werewolves have attacked the populace, presumably in response to the upcoming implementation of the Bill to Prevent the Transformation of Werewolves. The Bill is currently set to take effect September 1st, but many are pushing for raising that date to August 1st. The bill is noted for its hardline penalties – werewolves who bite and infect humans will be put to death, and their estates given to their victims.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will comply with all legislation issued by the Wizengamot," Bones stated. "If that at some point means the authorization of deadly force against werewolves deliberately trying to spread lycanthropy, so be it."

.

Hermione set the paper down, her eyes wide. She'd been thinking more formal hearings and executions for werewolves caught infecting people. It seemed naïve, though, in the face of Fenrir Greyback's terror attacks. How were the Hit Wizards supposed to take down werewolves without getting bitten in the process?

She wasn't sure what Amelia Bones would come up for this. She doubted she'd actually authorize the use of deadly force – there was no way that she'd want her department knowing magic as Dark as the Killing Curse. Maybe it was just a bold statement in the paper to scare Greyback off?

Maybe there were secret un-Dark ways to kill people?

At least no one this time was critically injured. It was a minor victory, but Hermione clung to it, hoping that once the law was enforced and people started seeing the benefits, such terror attacks would dwindle and become a thing of the past.

Still. She wondered – long time curse victims suddenly being able to cast magic to defend themselves was surprising. It vaguely made sense – maybe subconscious combat instincts were divided from the conscious mind in the brain – but it still seemed too incredible to be true. With this development, maybe there was a treatment plan to be found, though she wasn't sure how one would work without the need to constantly put the afflicted in serious danger…

Hermione made a mental note to visit St. Mungo's if she had time for it this summer. She was curious to see what she might find.


"Harry! And Hermione!" Sirius greeted them cheerfully. "Good to see you! Come on in!"

Harry led the way, while Hermione glanced around at the neighbors as they entered. Sirius' house, at number 12 Grimmauld Place, was an old townhouse from a not well-to-do looking suburb of London. The identical houses to either side and across the street were equally as grimy and unkempt, and Hermione bit her tongue, keeping her cutting remarks to herself.

Harry was greeting Sirius back while Hermione examined the house. There were old-fashioned gas lamps along the walls, along with peeling wallpaper and a threadbare carpet in a long, gloomy hallway.

"Redecorating?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Sirius. Sirius snorted.

"More like trying to make the damn place livable," he said. "No one's been here since my dear mother died. Except Kreacher, but he barely counts."

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"My mum's old house elf," Sirius said, dismissive. "He's ancient. Hangs around and does nothing but grumbles at me." He gestured to the side at a wall. "He's just waiting to die so he can get his head hung on the wall with all the others."

It was at this point Hermione noticed a line of House Elf heads mounted to the wall, like a hunter might mount the heads of wild animals killed on an African safari. They even had little brass plaques above their heads engraved with their names. Her eyes went wide, and from the look of it, Harry was shocked too, and maybe a little sickened.

"Is that… normal?" Harry ventured, and Sirius snorted.

"Nothing about my family was 'normal', Harry," he said. "Come on, Remus is waiting."

They followed Sirius into a formal sitting room that looked a little nicer than the entranceway. This room had obviously new furniture and curtains, though the carpets and wallpaper were still moldering. Lupin was sitting on a couch reading over the paper when they entered, and he raised his head.

"Harry. Hermione," he said, managing a strained smile. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, professor," Harry said, and Lupin shook his head.

"I'm not your professor anymore," he said. "You can call me Remus, now."

Harry paused, thrown. "Oh. Um. Okay."

"So! How's your summer?" Sirius asked, plopping down into an armchair. "Any exciting adventures abound?"

Hermione took a seat as Sirius talked. Once she was across from Lupin, she could see there was a prosthetic leg leaning up against the end of the couch. A blanket was draped over his lap.

"Hermione's been busy with the Wizengamot, I think," Harry said. "I've been visiting Luna and Susan a lot – they both don't have much going on either this summer."

"Visiting them?" Sirius asked, curious. "How?"

"The Knight Bus," Harry said quickly. "It's terrible, but once you get used to it, it's not so bad. I'd take a normal bus, but it'd take ages to get to Luna's house."

Sirius chatted with Harry a bit, asking about how his marks at the end of the year had been and the prospects for Quidditch the next year. Harry grew animated, explaining about the Weasley Twins being Beaters, and Hermione turned them out, looking around the room she was in. There was a suspicious-looking hole near the fireplace in the wall, and Hermione wondered if it'd recently been home to a doxxy infestation.

"And you, Hermione?" Lupin asked, politely drawing her into the conversation. "How's your summer going?"

"Not too busy so far," Hermione lied, thinking of how she still had to visit the goblins and Theo before the Gala Saturday night. "I checked in with Daphne Greengrass last week, and her preparations for the Gala are going well, so that's a relief."

"The Greengrasses are one of those borderline families. Never openly supported Voldemort, but never really condemned him either." Sirius scowled. "Surprised they're the ones giving a damn about werewolves now."

Hermione wasn't about to explain the finer elements of Slytherin politics to Sirius. He didn't need to know how desperate the Greengrasses were to gain her coven's favor and have another child.

"How are you doing, Remus?" Hermione asked gently. She turned to face him, taking in his wan face and the dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm hanging in there," Lupin said with a sigh. "Magical limb replacement has not advanced much in years – Healers are all trying to figure out how to regrow lost limbs instead of figuring out what people could use in the interim. I ended up going to a muggle clinic to get a proper prosthetic – St. Mungo's still gives people wooden peg legs."

"Wouldn't have needed a fake leg if Snivellus hadn't blown it off," Sirius said darkly.

"Professor Snape's other option was blowing his jaw off," Hermione commented lightly. "At least the leg is replaceable."

Lupin shuddered. "Thank Merlin."

"You look okay," Harry ventured. "Not… I dunno, all sick."

"I've had time to recover from the full moon," Lupin assured him. "It's mostly the lead up and transformation that's awful. It only takes a day or two to recover from that."

"No. I meant—" Harry broke off, frustrated. "Like. You—everyone back at school was saying—"

"I think Harry is inquiring after your mental health," Hermione said delicately. "We heard you were on suicide watch for the end of the term."

Lupin paused.

"I… I am doing better," he said, weighing his words. "I still feel consumed by guilt, even though it wasn't my fault the potion ended up faulty. Your bill is giving me a lot of hope, actually," he said, nodding to Hermione. "Because of your program, the poor boy might never have to actually experience the pain of transforming. That makes me feel a little better about the accident."

"Geoffrey's a hero," Harry said, grinning. "Sacrificed himself to save the school from the rabid werewolf. He'll be swimming in girls next year."

"Yes. Well." Lupin's smile seemed very strained. "I'm glad he's making the most of it."

"Did you know he's speaking at the gala on Saturday?" Hermione asked, conversational. "He's going to talk about his hope for the future."

"A kid's going to speak there?" Sirius asked. He scoffed. "This is going to be even worse than I thought."

"Worse than you thought?" Hermione said, indignant. "You sound like you're dreading it."

"Of course I'm dreading it," Sirius groaned. "It's a fancy to-do where everybody gets into their fanciest getup and tries to impress each other while acting like they don't care what anybody thinks. It's obnoxious."

"It's for a good cause," Harry objected.

"Doesn't mean it won't be stuffy and miserable," Sirius said flatly.

"Maybe your time would be improved with a friend there," Hermione said, glancing at Lupin.

"A friend?" Sirius scoffed. "How? I didn't get a 'plus one'."

Hermione turned to face Lupin.

"We'd be honored if you'd come and speak at the gala," she told him gently. "Before Geoffrey speaks."

Lupin's eyes grew wide. "Me?"

"You," Hermione confirmed.

"Hermione, I—I can't," Lupin said, anguish in his voice. "I just ruined the young man's life, though he hasn't realized it yet. I can't go up in public and just admit that—"

"Why not?" Hermione demanded to know.

"Why not?" Lupin goggled at her. "Hermione, there'll be calls for my head—"

"There are already calls for your head," Hermione dismissed. "The fact remains, you hurt Geoffrey Hooper. And if you speak at this gala, it will help atone for what you did."

"It wasn't his fault," Sirius argued. "He'd been taking his Wolfsbane all week—"

"You've experienced agonizing werewolf transformations all your life, as well as the struggle of trying to maintain a career and life with your ailment," Hermione went on, ignoring Sirius entirely. "You speaking on the struggle of werewolves and danger they present to themselves and others would help attendees realize the gravity of the situation. Then Geoffrey can present a message of hope after you."

Lupin looked like he was weighing her words.

"If I help people realize what being a werewolf is like, you think they'll be more likely to donate?" Lupin asked.

"Either scare them or hit them with a sob story," Hermione said. "Or both. People donate on emotions. You want to wrench their heart."

"Remus, are you actually considering this?" Sirius demanded. "Do you seriously want to talk in front of a bunch of snobby purebloods—"

"I want to help," Lupin said, cutting him off. "If me giving a small speech can help mean that poor boy never has to transform… I can do that. I want to do that. I want to help." He looked to Hermione. "It's just giving a speech on being a werewolf, right? The letter from your friend made it seem like I'd be the emcee for the evening."

"Just a speech," Hermione assured him. "I don't know who the emcee for the evening will be, but it won't be you."

Lupin sighed, then gave Hermione a wry grin.

"This is the reason you came over at all, isn't it?" he asked. "To get me to agree?"

"Well," Hermione said lightly, tilting her head. "I certainly didn't come over to praise Sirius' interior decorating."

"Hey!" Sirius objected. "We've been busy! We've been in and out of muggle clinics getting a leg fitted for Remus' stump, we've been hexing the doxxies out of this room so there was somewhere safe to rest—"

Harry laughed.

"Can we see the rest of the house?" he asked. "Maybe we can help somehow."

"I doubt it," Sirius said, heaving a weary sigh. "But sure. Come on."

He stood, and Hermione watched as Remus picked up his prosthetic leg. He seemed to have some sort of cloth liner on his residual limb. The prosthetic went over it, and Remus strapped it in, as well as strapped it around his thigh. Another strap connected to the part below the mechanical joint, and he finally stood, taking his time.

"This is going to take a lot of getting used to," Lupin said, catching Harry and Hermione's interest in his prosthetic. "Still. At least I'll be able to walk again."

"With your robes, you can hardly see it anyway," Harry assured him. "You'll get the hang of it soon."

"He better," Sirius said darkly. "If this doesn't work out for Remus, I'll hack off one of Snape's legs for him to use instead."

Lupin shot Sirius an exasperated look, and they all followed Sirius out of the room.

"Quiet in here," Sirius said, keeping his voice low. "The portraits will wake up, and we don't want that. Quiet, now, up the stairs…"

They all tiptoed up creaking stairs, Sirius and Lupin keeping an eye on the rows of sleeping portraits that lined the first-floor corridor. Once they reached the first landing, Sirius relaxed with a sigh.

"We should be safe up here," he said. "There seems to be sound barriers between floors." He paused, scowling. "Probably so guests couldn't hear if someone was beating the children. Anyway! We carry on."

He led them up the stairs to the next floor.

"The ground floor's got the kitchen and the little parlor, but not much else," Sirius told them. "First floor's the drawing room and my parents' old room, which I'm not going in—"

"You're the master of the house now, Sirius," Lupin reminded him, climbing up the stairs behind Hermione, taking his time. "You really should claim the Master Bedroom."

Sirius scowled. "Whatever."

At the next landing, there were a few doors, the stairs continuing up further.

"This floor has the least disgusting bedrooms," Sirius declared. He pushed open the door to one of the rooms. "We're sleeping in these some nights," he said a moment later, "though we've been crashing on couches in the drawing room more often, lately."

The room had two twin beds, a wardrobe, and a gloomy tone to it. Though there weren't any visible pests, there was an odd smell to the room that Hermione didn't like.

"Was this your room as a kid?" Harry asked, eyes bright.

"Hardly," Sirius snorted. "Me and Regulus were all the way up at the top – out of sight, out of mind-type deal, I imagine. I'll show you – come on."

They went up further. At the topmost landing, there were only two doors: one slightly ajar, and one that had a sign on the door – "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black". The door was closed.

"Ol' Reg got himself involved with the Death Eaters and killed," Sirius said lightly. "I don't know what kind of nasty curses he cast on his stuff, so we've been leaving that door closed until a cursebreaker can come and look. But this was my room when I was a kid."

He pushed open the door, and Harry gasped and grinned. His eyes flew to Sirius', and Sirius gave him a fond smile back, a roguish grin spreading across his face.

"I figured you'd like this room," he said. "Come on in."

As he led them in further, Hermione was able to see what Harry had reacted to: an explosion of burgundy and gold. Sirius' room could not have been more different from the rest of the house, decked out in bright Gryffindor colors with banners covering all the walls. He'd draped his bed with Gryffindor-themed linens, and it looked like he'd replaced whatever curtains had once hung over the windows with red sheets and red velvet robes. There were muggle posters of motorbikes and bikini-clad girls pasted all over the walls, which draw a snicker from Hermione.

"This is so cool," Harry said, looking around. "Did you do all the pennants because your parents wouldn't let you paint the walls?"

"They didn't even like the pennants." Sirius scowled. "Mum was not happy when I was sorted into Gryffindor, but Dad finally got her to lay off a while. So long as I kept the door locked and didn't let Kreacher inside, she mostly ignored it and pretended my room didn't exist."

Harry was nodding.

"The Dursleys liked to do that," he said, wandering over to the desk and looking at a dusty collection of chocolate frog cards. "They'd lock me in my cupboard and pretend I didn't exist for a while. Though it wasn't as nice as this – I had to be quiet, as I was right under the stairs. It'd have been nicer to be locked away from them in the attic, I think, and be able to make a little more noise."

Harry wasn't looking at them as he dropped this piece of history, but Hermione was. Sirius and Lupin's jaws both dropped, and they exchanged a horrified look.

"They—they keep you in a cupboard?" Lupin asked, struggling to keep emotion out of his voice.

"Oh, not anymore," Harry reassured them, flipping through the chocolate frog cards. His tone was blasé, as if discussing the weather or something equally inconsequential. "They put me in Dudley's second bedroom after the first Hogwarts letters came. They installed heavy locks on it and bars on the windows, but there's a little more room, there. And they usually remember to let me out a couple times a day to use the loo."

Sirius and Lupin looked sickened, and Hermione saw Harry's eyes flash.

"And… Dumbledore just keeps you there?" Sirius asked, his voice strangled. "Even though they lock you away?"

"Dumbledore thinks keeping me protected from Death Eaters is important," Harry said flatly. "He doesn't seem to think being locked up or not fed is as critical."

Harry turned around just in time to see both Sirius and Lupin cringe before hiding their horror behind neutral facades, and Hermione caught a look of dark satisfaction as it flitted across Harry's face. Sirius took a deep breath.

"Well," he said, offering Harry a tight grin. "Hopefully after we clear out most of the pests and Dark magic here, you'll be able to stay here with me over the summers."

"That would be nice," Harry said, leaving the bedroom ahead of Sirius. "It'd be nice to live with people who don't hate me."

Hermione had to stifle a snicker as Harry wandered past her, starting down the stairs. Sirius and Lupin were exchanging looks, silently having a conversation with their faces, but Hermione followed Harry down. With Sirius and Lupin coming down behind them, Hermione took the time to look at the floors they hadn't paused on before.

"Is this a library?" she asked, pausing on a landing. Harry was looking over the bannisters, able to just see the front entrance hall, but Hermione was much more interested in the big double-doors that faced her. "Please say it is."

"It is," Sirius said, scowling. "But we absolutely cannot go in it. There's so much Dark magic in it I can't even imagine. Not just traps, but on the books themselves. It's going to take an entire Ministry team to clear out that cesspool and get rid of the Dark grimoires."

"Those are probably worth some money," Hermione objected. "You could sell—"

"Don't need the money," Sirius dismissed. "I'd rather burn them. Then no one can read them and use the Dark magic inside."

Her guts roiled and her entire throat burned with protest, but Hermione swallowed tightly and swallowed it down. If she objected now to him burning his ancient books, he'd be more likely to suspect her of stealing them if they went missing later.

Which she was already formulating a plan to do.