Ever since Sirius was a child, he had struggled with his temper. Being raised by a household of pureblood supremacists who hated him for being a decent person tended to do that. School did little more than bring him a few friends who managed to help him forget about his shit life for short stints by helping him torment others more helpless than he was. Then, when he had been recruited into The Agency, his training had finally utilized it, honed it, taught him to regulate the ache to destroy, to store it away just below the surface, leaving it simmering, waiting for the pristine moment to explode.
And tonight, that rage had been unshackled, albeit foolishly.
The need to barrel back downstairs, rip Dolohov out of his cell, and finish what he'd started seared through his veins. It didn't matter to Sirius that what had happened to Harry was not Dolohov's fault. He'd been involved. He'd been there. He was, at least partly, to blame.
Luckily, one of the things Sirius' training had done was allow him to see through the trance of his rage. It allowed him to admit that Tonks' intervention, the Chief's appearance, as much as the Chief did appear, had been helpful.
No matter how much he trained, how many drills and hours of meditation he did, when Sirius got angry, he still made mistakes. Attacking Dolohov had been a mistake though not because it was unethical or would set the program back.
It was because there was an excellent reason why the boy was given twice the dose of magical dampeners than the other subjects. Even Lestrange, the only other success (though Sirius used that word loosely) of Project Phoenix, didn't need to be monitored around the clock to ensure he wasn't gaining too much access to the potent sorcery implanted within him.
Lestrange barely spoke anymore.
Dolohov, however, was plenty vibrant, unpredictable, and with the success of Project Phoenix, had been made into one of the most powerful wizards on earth.
Had Tonks not intervened, Dolohov would have set Sirius aflame from the inside out and torn him apart a single molecule at a time. If the boy ever gained access to the full wealth of powers that the project had granted him, with the snap of his finger, Dolohov could level the entire facility, incinerating every soul within kilometers.
Some would say that spawning such wondrous powers in a single individual was antithetical to the laws of nature. Some would say that The Agency was akin to Icarus, hovering entirely too close to the sun. Dolohov was certainly the sun, a smoldering red giant with the powers to end them all.
But Sirius was his handler and thus had tirelessly worked to be able to control him. He had instituted a procedure that, until tonight, had, for the most part (barring others mistakes) worked flawlessly.
Which brought Sirius back to his seething anger. Why had Dolohov been left to regain a far more than an appropriate amount of his powers? And more importantly, who the fuck had sanctioned not one, but two assets being taken out to terrorize his godson?
Sirius burst into the familiar office at the top of the stairs, dark towering bookcases lining every inch of the walls. It smelled like it always did, old parchment and fresh coffee. A cup steamed from a cork coaster in the middle of a cherry wood desk, surrounded by scrolls, tomes, and a copy of every official magical newspaper in print within four hundred square miles.
It was the middle of the night. The incident had just happened, yet most of the papers already showed photos of dementors hovering, their ghoulish bones reaching from within decaying robes. The machine worked quickly, never missing an opportunity to control the narrative.
"The physicality that just happened with 003 will not happen again, is that clear?"
Sirius' heart gave an extra hard lurch when the disembodied voice suddenly barked behind him. Even with his clearance, he didn't know exactly who his boss was. Many agents within the Agency were so deep undercover, that even the higher-ups didn't know their identity. It was an odd feeling, being reprimanded by someone he couldn't even see. It was even more awkward to argue with a seemingly empty room.
"Why were Dolohov and Crouch taken out?" Sirius yelled, slamming his fist against the spines of the books sandwiched into the bookcases. "Why were they used in an operation without my knowledge and my consent?!"
"Your consent?" The chair behind the vast desk swiveled and leaned back. Two thumps rang out, like the heels of boots plopping onto the wood.
"Yes, my consent! We had an agreement for this operation! It was said I would be one of the senior agents, privy to everything! That was the deal!"
Deep down Sirius knew that making any deal with the Agency was akin to making a deal with Hades himself. The institution was known for its secrecy, not its truthfulness. But the ends justified the means in this respect. The operation in the graveyard had needed to happen. It was time. Secrets had been buried long enough.
"Agent Black, you should know by now that no one, not even myself, is privy to everything," The Chief said in a stiff tone. "We agreed that your godson would befall no danger and, unless I have been wrongly briefed, he…is just fine." The chair popped up right and parchment began sorting around the desk.
Annoyance flared in Sirius. He hated when his concerns were pushed aside, especially when it came to this operation and Harry's safety.
"How can you be so sure! We know that the dementor potion has side effects that interfere with the assets' comprehension of directives, even while underneath the memento curse. Harry could have been killed!"
Movement on the desk ceased.
"The assets performed exactly as intended," the disillusioned Chief said with an air of insouciance. "You should be proud."
"Intended? Proud?!" Sirius slammed his palms on the desk with a loud crack! "Harry was forced to use magic in front of his Muggle cousin! From what I hear, the cousin was nearly catatonic!"
"You forget yourself, Agent Black!" The chair flew back, slamming into the wall and a stack of parchment scattered, a few pieces fluttering chaotically to the floor. "I will not explain myself or this agency's inner workings to you! Do not make me revoke your clearance and assign another agent to see this operation through!"
Sirius took a deep breath and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. The last thing he needed was to be completely cut off from this operation.
"Forgive me…" Sirius said through gritted teeth, bowing his head respectfully.
"This time I suppose…" The Chief hissed, pulling the chair back up to the desk. "And where are we with the girl? Is she aware of Agent Malfoy and your connection?"
"I'm still assessing," Sirius said evasively.
"Agent Black," A heavy nasal sigh pierced the air. "I will require an update on the situation no later than…"
A hollow knock cut the Chief off. Sirius and the chair rotated towards the doorway as Tonks stepped inside the office.
"Agent Tonks," came a perfunctory drawl.
"Chief. Antonin and Barty are back in their cells, their wounds dressed and fed." Tonks stood with her hands at her sides, staring staunchly at the empty-looking chair their boss sat in. Sirius would have laughed, but he was on thin ice as it were without yet again broadcasting his long-standing annoyance that his dear cousin had also managed to get gathered up by the Agency.
"Good, now go home."
"Sir, can I ask…" Tonks tentatively stepped forward.
"No, you may not." The Chief growled severely.
"But sir…"
"The answer is no Agent Tonks!" The Chief bellowed, followed by what sounded like fists banging on the desk. "You were given ample time to make progress with 003 and you failed. He is too powerful and crafty and thus has played you like a dragon's heartstring! Do you even realize the mess you have created that we now must clean up?"
"But sir! I was so close! We made it outside the door and I just know that if I could have a few more sessions…"
"It's as if you and Agent Black are fucking related! I've had enough of your insolence! We have no more time for you to play house with our assets! 003 has been reassigned to a more capable agent! Do not let me catch you near him again, am I making myself clear!"
"Yes sir," Tonks seethed, her normally bubble-gum pink hair flickering into crimson red.
"Good." The chair teetered-tottered. "Now get out of my office. The both of you."
Sirius didn't need to be told twice. He needed to check on Harry, and, his other brewing problem.
—
The past week had been, to say the least, stressful. The dementor attack on Harry had put everyone on edge and when he'd finally been brought to headquarters, he was understandably upset, most of all at Ron and Hermione for keeping things from him. It wasn't their fault, though. No one told them anything. Discussions fell into hushed whispers when Ron or she entered the room. It was as if they were spies.
Completely consumed with his anger at being left out, Harry never once stopped to ask how her summer had been, which irked Hermione, being as she desperately wanted to talk to her friends about what she'd seen in her garden and read in the old edition of the Prophet, but did not want to simply blurt it all out unsolicited.
On one hand, Hermione understood. She could empathize with her friend. He was nervous about the coming trial and his possible expulsion. But he wasn't being a very good friend. He insisted he didn't want anyone to worship him, but, he was being quite self-centered. Hermione swore to herself that just as soon as his trial was over, and that burden was lifted from their shoulders, she would tell Harry and Ron what was eating her alive, if for the simple reason that they would tell her what an absolute nutter she was being and all the lingering thoughts would finally be put to rest.
The day of the trial came and the jubilation at Harry's acquittal could barely be contained. Of course, Hermione had known they couldn't have convicted him, but, she had still been a tad bit nervous. What Antonin told her remained floating in the recesses of her mind. Even though she detested having such outlandish thoughts, if on the off chance Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were made up, then that meant the Ministry was far past corrupt and such a corrupt institution could not be trusted to follow the law.
The acquittal helped toss one more shovel full of dirt over the grave she was attempting to bury all the maddening thoughts of Antonin and his outlandish theories.
With the favorable news, Mrs Weasley prepared a feast, and members of the Order not otherwise engaged were invited to partake. Hermione barely had a moment to congratulate Harry on his win, let alone talk to him and Ron with all the guests ringing the bell, drawing screams of rage from Mrs Black, and exasperation from Mrs Weasley. Sirius was there, though he was always there, pretending to be busy. But Hermione could feel his eyes even when he wasn't in the room (though that could have been her paranoia). Mad-Eye arrived, followed by Tonks, Kingsley, and Professor Lupin. When Bill Weasley, who had come back from Egypt to help the order, rang the bell, causing Mrs Black to restart her purist tirade, Hermione pulled Harry and Ron aside under the guise of escaping the ear-ringing screeches.
"Blimey, can't anyone get that woman's portrait down?" Ron said, poking a finger into his ear and wiggling it.
Harry laughed, having regained a relaxed, aloof quality to his presence since he now knew he wasn't being expelled from his favorite educational institution.
"Even Mad-Eye's given it a try to no avail," Hermione said quickly, trying to hold steadfast to her conviction of telling the boys now before she put it off any longer. "Ehm, now that Harry's trial is over, there's something I need to tell you both."
Harry looked at her curiously.
"What is it "mione?" Ron asked.
"Well. I…" Hermione twisted her hands. The speech she'd been practicing for weeks lodged in her throat. "Something happened over the summer that I've been meaning…needing to discuss."
"Over the summer? When? What happened Hermione?" Harry asked.
Harry's question helped loosen her constricted vocal cords.
"It was about a week after I returned home. I was out in my garden when…"
The door to the parlor banged open and Mrs Weasley peeked in.
"Here we are! We've been looking for you three. Supers ready!"
Ron's stomach always outweighed his curiosity while Harry could never find it in him to disobey his surrogate mother. When the two of them turned and plodded willingly towards the boisterous kitchen, Hermione could not keep from rolling her eyes. Not just because her friends were so quick to dismiss her, but because Mrs Weasley was constantly hovering and interrupting. If Hermione didn't know better, she'd say that the Weasley matriarch was doing it on purpose.
But…well, she didn't know better, did she?
Now that Hermione thought about it, Mrs Weasley had gone from giving her a wide berth ever since the string of salacious stories Rita Skeeter had quilled the previous year, to hawking over her like she was one of her brood. Perhaps the newfound protectiveness had to do with Voldemort's (supposed) return. But…perhaps it didn't.
Hermione sat at the end of the table, having been directed to an empty seat between Tonks and Mad-Eye, on the opposite end of the table from Harry and Ron. Though the quality of the food was, as always, top-notch, the beef stew turned to ash in her mouth as her friends laughed and feasted while Hermione was stuck listening to Mad-Eye jaw on and on about the new security protocols he'd adopted ever since being hoodwinked by Barty Crouch Jr.
"I've got Foe-Glass set up round the house now and traps galore! No one's gonna take me by surprise again." Mad-Eye took a long pull from his flask. "My only regret is that a sniveling lunatic like Crouch Jr was the one to pull one over on me. Shame that dementor got to him before I could!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Tonks roll her eyes as Moody became distracted in a conversation with Kingsley.
"Why didn't they put Barty back in Azkaban? Or at least have a trial?" Hermione asked Tonks in a low voice as Mrs Weasley passed out dishes for dessert.
"Guess they figured his crimes were too great," Tonks replied, avoiding Hermione's gaze as she stabbed dourly at her crumble. "Azkaban isn't the great fortress the Ministry purports."
"Have you ever been there?" Hermione asked, scooping up a clump of crumble but letting it hover in midair. She was far more interested in the conversation than dessert.
"I'm an Auror," Tonks said slowly as if she were explaining something quite advanced to a small child. "Course I have."
"Have you ever seen Antonin Dolohov, the man they say killed Mrs Weasley's brothers?" Hermione wasn't sure why she'd asked, and very soon regretted it.
"Why are you asking about him?" Tonks hissed in an angry tone that took Hermione completely by surprise. Tonks had always been so light, happy, and easy to talk to. But now, she was closed off and angry.
"Well, it's just that…he was on the front cover of the old edition of The Prophet I found while decontaminating and I was wondering..."
"The Daily Prophet. Beacon of truth." Tonks scoffed, pushing herself away from the table. She physically shouldered past Sirius when he stood and tried to speak with her. Sirius watched Tonks, his face etched with confusion until she disappeared down the hall. Then, his eyes slowly roved over. When they landed on hers, Hermione quickly looked down at the table, pretending to be overtly engrossed in the intricate grain of the old oak. Eventually, she heard Sirius resume his low conversation with Harry, bits of what sounded like Voldemort and pieces of a secret weapon wafting
For the rest of the meal, Hermione sat by herself at the end of the table agonizing over what she could have done to offend Tonks but hard as she tried, she couldn't pinpoint a single thing. It was as if the woman had already been mad when she sat down to eat. As Hermione pondered, one by one the other members of The Order filtered out until the only ones left were the occupants of the house, which Mrs Weasley began shooing off to bed. Hermione shook away her distressing thoughts as she stood up and followed Ron towards the stairs.
"Sirius, I've completely forgotten," Harry said, tugging on Sirius' shirt sleeve. "When I came out of the hearing today, I saw Lucius Malfoy."
Hermione slowed her exit from the kitchen, attempting to obscure her eavesdropping by bending down to retie her trainers. It was the best excuse she had.
"Malfoy? At the Ministry?" Sirius said, with just a hint of exhibition. "You're sure it was him?"
"Yeah! Positive! Mr Weasley saw him too! He was talking to Fudge!"
"We've been trying to locate Malfoy all summer and he's been giving us the slip. This is very good intel Harry." Sirius patted a beaming Harry on the shoulder. "Thank you for telling me. You be sure to tell me any other interesting tidbits that you learn. No piece of information is too small."
Hermione had long finished tying her trainers. She slowly stood up as Harry bounded up the stairs. She moved to follow, but Sirius gripped the banister, blocking her way.
"It's very out of character for someone so bright to have such trouble with their laces.," he said cheekily.
Hermione wiped her sweaty palms down the legs of her Muggle jeans, forcing herself to keep a placid, loose face.
"Oh, I…well I just thought I might have seen…just there, underneath the shelving…a…a beast of some sort…"
Hermione pointed toward the old cabinet in the corner, but Sirius remained focused on her, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Wouldn't doubt it, love. Beasts have a way of lurking everywhere. Underneath shelves, inside drawing desks, bounding about gardens," Sirius said, curling his fingers about the side of his chin. "Best if you get up to the safety of your room."
Sirius stepped to the side with a sweep of his hand. It took longer than it should have for Hermione to get her feet to work and when they did, she couldn't help but bolt up the stairs.
It was obvious.
Sirius knew that she knew.