Always Pure

By: Romantically Distant

Fandom: harry potter

Summary: She loves them, but sometimes distance made is too much to tread. But when powerful entity threatens to take over what she loves, the young witch realizes blood must spill. The question is: Whose? AU

Additional infos: Drama - Hermione G., Sirius B., James P., Regulus B.

Published: 2013-06-05

Last updated: 2022-09-10

Words count: 171,158

Chapters count: 29

Converted using www.FF2EBOOK.com
Date: 2022-09-10

1. The Beginning of the End

Hello! This idea has been toying with my thoughts for quite a while now and I guess I just figured I would give it a shot. Worst case is that it gets out of my head. There are a few warnings in this case that I will point out: This is an AU fic. It is in no way a Time-Turner/Time-Travel Fic. Hermione never knew Harry Potter, she was not born in 1979. The story will be rated T for now; unless I feel the swearing or violence gets to out of hand (Stories tend to work themselves) I might up it to an M-Rating but ONLY for those reasons. And I cannot give out anymore hints without revealing the path this story might take. I will give my usual disclaims that all rights go to the rightful owner. In this case the fabulous JK Rowling; and possibly other people down the road. This plot however is mine, that I will take credit for.

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

"Will you stop it, James?" the eleven year old sighed. He had been talking about Hogwarts nonstop since he arrived back for the summer. Frankly he keeps sparking her ire every time he talks about that blasted school and his stupid friends. She would never admit this out loud, but she might be experiencing jealousy; just because her birthday happened to be after the first of September did not mean that James could rub it in her face.

"Oh don't worry, 'Mione. You will get to go next year…as a first year!" The girl glared at her brother, before storming away. The young girl knew all about Hogwarts, of course she did. She had read her father's Hogwarts: A History a million times. However she did not want textbook knowledge, she wanted actually experience! As always James got it first, all because he was the first born and male! Life sucked being the daughter in a Pureblood family, Hermione thought. If you weren't male you were nothing. Only males were heirs, only males could carry on the name. Girls just need to look properly prim before being wedded off.

The eleven year old let out a drawn out sigh. Maybe she had been a little too hard on James. After all, Hogwarts did sound like an exhilarating place. But still, her family infuriated her. She felt guilty with that admission. Why should they infuriate her? They were doting parents who practically tended to their every need. Sure James acted like a prat, but all brothers did. Maybe her ire came from the fact she lived in a pureblood society where it sucked to be a girl. Not that she hated her gender, but it would have been easier if her parents were not of the Noble House of Potter. She never brought this up with the Potter's, but she knew Charlus and Dorea Potter could not be her biological parents. She had spotted too many discrepancies between them and her. She felt conflicted; the Potters had raised her from infancy.

"Hermione, dear, are you alright?" Dorea called from behind her. The young girl turned, smiling towards her mother.

"James told me that you just stormed off. Are you sure you are alright?"

Young, chocolate orbs noticed her mother's worry reflected in the wise, molten amber eyes. The young girl always felt bad when she caused the woman in front of her to worry; James already did plenty to cause enough worry to last a lifetime. "Yes, Mum; I am fine," she reassured.

"Then what is bothering you?" Dorea's calculating gaze bore into her daughter's coffee colored gem, carefully studying the young girl.

"I am just tired of James talking about Hogwarts is all," the ten year old said. She noticed the raised eyebrow of Dorea. "Honest that is all, mum!" The brunette pouted when she heard the hearty laughter of her mother. She would never tell the people who took her in two things: One that she knew she is not theirs; two that she hated her standing in the family. The auburn haired preteen felt lonelier in this family as a girl than she would have as a stranger. The eleven year old knew that if she told Dorea this, it would break the woman's heart.

"You get to go come this September, dear." The elder woman smoothed her daughter's wild, brown locks in a loving caress. Dorea placed a tender kiss on her daughter's temple. The girl's protests about waiting for September being too long caused yet another round of chuckles to escape her mother's lips; this only upset the child more.

"Just so we are clear; you are not upset of James's friend coming to stay for a few weeks, right?" Dorea asked.

"No mum, I am—wait, what?" Hermione screeched. "When is his friend coming?"

"Today, honey," Dorea replied; she smiled her usual grin. This sent Hthe young girl's thoughts reeling. Today? No one decided to tell her any of this? Yes, James is a part of the family as well, but so is she! Is it so bad of her to ask of a little heads up before hand? Apparently so.

Hermione noted that her mother seemed to take in her shocked expression. Maybe she would understand that she would like a forewarning the next time James decided he wants a friend to come? "Oh how cute, dear!" The preteen shot her mom a confused look. What could be cute about this? "Don't worry if you fall for the kid, my sweet. You'll get to see him again come this September!" The young girl gaped at her mother. How dense could this woman—whom she loved very much—possibly be? Crushing on her brother's friend never occurred to the brunette. In fact she could care less about the boy. No she felt saddened that her family did not even feel the need to inform her of his coming to stay at their house! She did live there too; wouldn't it be a small courtesy to know of a guest beforehand? The young girl let out a sigh, deciding not to correct her mother. The preteen could do to assuage her mother of the notion. She had a feeling that Lady Potter would not believe her even if she spent hours trying to convince her. The chestnut haired girl had a feeling that these next few weeks would be very tedious.

The kid had not even been at their house a full hour yet he already began grating on the young girl's nerves.'Oi! She's your sis? She doesn't look a thing like you!' The young girl imitated silently. 'Sirius Black's the name.' Only her brother would befriend the most arrogant person in his house—Gryffindor, the family's traditional house. So what if Sirius Black happened to be the first of his family to be in Gryffindor or that he clearly despised his family? None of that should be reason for him to be so cocky. He is still a child after all.

But despite her frank dislike of him, her family seemed to hardly notice. They all loved him to bits thinking him to be a complete doll. She had even seen her mother shooting her sly smiles, waiting for her daughter to start swooning. The chestnut haired preteen had to resist the urge to snort at the idea. Hades would receive ice water before that ever happened.

"So, how did your family take to you being a Gryffindor?" Hermione heard her father, Charlus, ask. She understood that her father attempted to enter into a polite conversation with his son's new friend, but it irked her that his topic happened to be one Sirius seemed very boisterous about.

"Oh, they hated it, Mr. Potter." Sirius replied, shoving a spoon full of food into his mouth. The young girl grimaced; if she hadn't known his last name she would assume he him to be a muggleborn by the lack of table manners. Granted she knew that not all muggleborns had disgusting eating habits, but rarely did a pureblood show such blatant disregard for etiquette. The whole thing was made worse when her brother even took part in shoveling down his food. The boys were eating as if they hadn't eaten a day in their life!

"Mum, they sent him a bloody howler for making it into Gryffindor!" James exclaimed. He got scolded by Dorea, 'Language! And you should never speak with your mouth full, James!' Hermione had to hide her grin; since a tender age, the brunette had always enjoyed watching James be scolded. He returned the sentiment fully. In fact, most of their childhood they spent trying to get each other scolded.

"Sirius," Brown eyes looked at the boy curiously before the owner asked, "How exactly did you befriend Jamey?" Their guest laughed at James's nickname, causing James to glare at him before haughtily reply that only his sister called him that. "Will I receive an answer?" She asked, pulling the two boys out of their silent argument.

"He ate my pumpkin pastry, so I hit him." Sirius replied with a grin. Dorea and Charlus looked surprised while James shot his friend a warning look.

"You hit my brother for a pastry?" Hermione echoed. She stared at Sirius with something akin to surprise before speaking, "Well then, I guess you two will have a strange friendship." She returned her attention to her meal. Faintly she heard her parents sigh a breath of relief. Although James was older, the young girl had always been fairly protective of him; she even threw a vase at her grandparents for 'trying to steal him away from her' at the tender age of six. Her family members knew this, James more than anyone.

"Mate, you better watch your back now," he muttered to his friend. "'Mione can be brutal." This received a round of laughter from his new friend.

"Nah, I think I will be fine, mate. She looks harmless as a kitten." The young Black said with a grin. This caused to shoot him an inquisitive look.

"I'd bite my tongue before I say something else to make another think you share the same ideals as the family you claim to share nothing but blood with, Black. It might just send the wrong message," The preteen sipped her tea with the composure only someone beyond her years could. She wanted to laugh at his slack-jawed expression. "Oh but don't worry, Jamey will protect you if you need it." She flashed him a grin before turning her attention to her parents. "May I be excused? I would like to read a little before I go to bed." When she got her silent confirmation, Hermione left the table. While retreating up the stairs, she heard her brother's friend say, "Blimey." Well at least the brunette would acquire some fore of amusement during the next few weeks.

Instead of making her way towards her room, she headed towards the library. She felt the need for a change in reading material. So instead of getting another Transfiguration book, she headed towards the Magical Creatures section of the library. What would tickle her fancy? The cute, harmless pygmy puffs and puffskeins or perhaps the pranking doxies and sprites? Neither of those really sparked a desire out of her, so the brunette went further down the aisle. She stopped in front of the more protected species: the dragons, the sphinx, the Veela and the nymphs. The creatures that are dangerous, the ones that fight, the ones kill to protect what they claim their own. Those brought out her curiosity. Which to read first?

She decided to go about this logically. She would read about each of the creatures alphabetically. Yet before she even pulled a book on dragons from the shelf, she heard a crashing noise coming from the other side of the library. Who would disrupt the peacefulness of a library? A boy cursing seemed to be her answer.

With a sigh, she walked towards the disturbance. "Honestly, James out of all the places you decide to wreak havoc in the library?" The girl asked.

"Thought you gone to bed," Sirius said with a grin.

Her nose scrunched slightly. "I am pretty certain I said I that I would read first," she pointed out. She turned her attention towards her brother. "Can I talk to you away from him for a moment?" When she noticed how the boys began to exchange hesitant glances she added, "Please?"

James agreed after that. Hermione had rarely said please; more often than not she would just politely hint at whatever she wanted before his dear sister would get it. For her to say please meant she thought whatever the topic to be important. He turned his attention to his friend, "Mate, I'll meet you in my room. You can find it right?" He received a nod from his friend before the two siblings were left alone.

"What is it you want to talk about, 'Mione?" James asked. He looked at his sister with worry. He did not know what could be so important to her that she had to use the word 'please'. But whatever it tormented her thoughts, he felt it was his duty as her brother to at least attempt to help her in any way possible.

"When we get to Hogwarts," The brunette started before James's laughter interrupted.

"Of course you would bring up school during the summer, 'Mione!" He said, chuckling. It assuaged his fear to hear he only worrying about school.

"James! I am serious about this. When we get to school, what if I am not in the same house as you?" she questioned, frantic. Worry had been consuming the brunette since James went off to Hogwarts. Seeing Sirius be so close to her brother this summer just increased her fears. She took a deep breath before shakily whispering, "I don't want you to hate me."

James sighed. He knew his sister had always been one to overanalyze things. "Hermione, I won't hate you if you don't end up in Gryffindor. You are my sister! I will always love you. Now what brought this on?"

She couldn't find the words to tell him that she had always thought it would happen. It happened to be one of her worst fears: ending up in another house, permanently separated from him until the holidays. It hurt to watch him go to Hogwarts without her last year. Her parents did not understand her like James did. They never could understand either. The preteen learned early on: Parents will protect you, but siblings will go beyond the grave to help you. The almond eyed adolescent just did not want to lose him to something as petty a being sorted into a wrong house.

"Promise me you will not?" Her voice broke with the question.

"Promise me," The young Potter said again when she noticed her brother open his mouth. This time her voice sounded a little firmer. But James, knowing her so well, knew her fear still consumed any rational thought. So he did the only thing he could think of; he pulled her into a hug.

"I promise, Hermione. I promise I would never, could never, hate you." He whispered in her ear. "No matter who my friends are, or who your friends are. You will always be my little sister. I won't hate you." He heard the russet eyed female breathe out a sigh of relieve as she pulled away from him.

"Thank you Jamey," she said smiling at him. "You can go back to your friend now." James kissed her on the cheek before he darted off towards his room. A grateful smile touched the young brunette's lips; James always knew just the right things to say. She needed to hear those words.

The dark haired girl turned her attention back to the bookshelf, grabbing the first dragon book she saw. However as she sat down on the couch to read it, the preteen realized her desire for reading vanished. The young female felt exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed for the rest of the week. The idea did not sound unpleasant. In fact it sounded amazing to her. The brown haired female made her way up into her room with that idea in mind; crawling under her covers she drifted off into a light slumber.

She already felt abandoned by her brother. The train hadn't even left the station but she already lost her brother. The brunette knew that James more than likely met up with his friends, probably planning something fun for them to do. The knowledge did not appease her though. The girl knew she should not be too upset about this, he had his friends—he was entitled to hang out with them. But the preteen's fear still haunted her thoughts; a plausible one in four chance that she would actually be sorted into her brother's house terrified her. The odds were practically against her. It does not matter if all of her family had previously been sorted into Gryffindor. She could be the exception; Sirius Black had been the exemption in his family. The fledging Potter female knew there were quite a bit of factors that could place her in a different house: her blood, her adoption, her personality and beliefs were just the tip of the iceberg. This made her upset. Despite her brother's promise, the girl still felt that, if with the wrong house, he would break it instantly.

"Who are you?" A voice drew her out of her thoughts. Hermione looked at the compartment entrance. There stood a boy no older than her; his dark, curly hair contrasting drastically with his alabaster skin. His scrawny appearance lessened his intimidating presence. She shot him a raised eyebrow before replying, "It is not nice to demand an introduction from someone before announcing yourself." The brunette did not even bother with his glare.

"Well get out, I want this compartment."

"Too bad, I am already in here." The eleven year old shot back. He had to be a pureblood; he acted too cocky arrogant not to be. The way he carried himself seemed to enforce her assumption. "Now if you introduce yourself, I might be open to the idea to share the compartment." Hermione said after a few minutes of silence. She looked at him, to see if he happened to be at least thinking of the idea.

"Regulus Black," he said after a moment of silence; he then took a seat opposite to her. Regulus looked at her, waiting for her to introduce herself. She did no such thing; instead she asked him, "Black as in you are related to Sirius Black?" Her voice sounded a lot colder than she intended. In fact she had no clue where that animosity came from. But her tone did earn her a glare from her compartment companion.

"What do you have against my brother?" He said still glaring at her.

"I have nothing against him," the girl said. At least she did not think she did. Sirius seemed to act fairly nice to her when he stayed at her house, although she wished her brother did not brush her off nearly as much while Sirius stayed at their Manor. When Sirius stayed at her house, even for that short amount of time, it felt like her brother became distant. She hardly ever saw him; the few times she did neither he nor James acknowledged her anyway.

"Fine," he grumbled out. "Who are you?"

"I'm Hermione," the brunette said. She pulled her knees up to her chest before turning her gaze outside. She really did not feel like talking to anyone right now, even though logic advised that it would be a wise choice. Friends met prior to sorting tended to make stronger bonds; something about preconceived notions between the houses not being in affect yet or whatever her mother told her.

Her companion seemed to have other ideas, however. "What house do you think you will be sorted in?" The young boy noticed how her body tensed before dropping into an almost defeated looking slump. However, before he could retract his question, she responded.

"I honestly cannot give you a response."

"And why is that?" Regulus questioned. Everyone knew what house they wanted to be in. Every family had a preference: his with Slytherin, Lovegoods in Ravenclaw, the Bones in Hufflepuff, and the Potters preferring Gryffindor. "Not so courageous?" Regulus shot her a grin; the girl seemed like a wallflower: shy, reserved, possibly intelligent, and if she had a manipulative bone, she hid it well. "That's okay; if you are not smart or ambitious there is always Hufflepuff for you."

"Courage is not a trait someone is born with," the fledgling female snapped. This received a questioning glance from the cocky pureblood now sitting in front of her. "Courage is different for everyone; it is facing your fears, caring for others, and learning from experience. Courage is knowing that you're scared to death, but risking your life for another's anyway. Secondly, I bet I am a lot smarter than you. Also, ambitious is just a synonym for determined; everyone knows every Gryffindor is determined."

"So, Gryffindor; you seem far too adamant about that house, giving it chivalry speeches towards innocent bystanders. You must be a mudblood, too." Regulus gave her a wave of his hand to signal he was done with the topic. She, however, decided the opposite, especially after that derogatory name shot in her direction. Aside from Slytherin the muggleborn to half-blood to pureblood ratio appeared pretty even. So, naturally, the young girl saw no need for the childish name calling.

"It does not matter the house I am placed; but I would prefer Gryffindor. Not because it houses the brave or the noble," 'noble' received a snort from the dark haired boy, "but for the sole reason that my brother resides in that house. I would rather be with one family member than a hundred strangers." Brown eyes glanced slyly in Regulus's direction; deciding to tease him just a little. "After all, Family is important to us purebloods." She watched the kid's eyes go wide with shock, before they returned to normal.

"You're lying," he whispered. She could not help the grin that etched onto her face. Bringing down someone's ego a few notches had always been a fun pastime of the brunette's.

"No, I am not. My full name is Hermione Potter. But regardless of my last name, there is still a 3-to-4 chance that I will be sorted away from my brother." This caused the teasing light in her eyes to dim. Being in the wrong house could changes her whole relationship with James. The preteen could only imagine how badly her life would spiral out of control without James being a constant factor in it.

"Then he's pathetic."

This received a startled reaction out of the girl. Her brown orbs blinked rapidly as she tried to process what Regulus had just said. Did he just insult Jamey? The idea had Hermione narrowing her almond colored eyes at the raven haired boy while reaching for her wand subconsciously. "I'd watch what you—"

"You're afraid of being sorted in a different house are you not?" Regulus asked when he noticed her reaction to his previous statement. He did not mean to make her mad; honestly girls were so hard to figure out. What is meant to be a condolence, to them appears as an insult. 'I'll never get a girlfriend if this is what I have to deal with,' Regulus mused silently.

When he received a nod from her, Regulus continued. "As you previously stated there is a 3-to-4 chance that you might end up in a different house, in fact depending on your personality it is more than likely to be the case." Regulus paused, taking the time to notice how the brunette's coffee orbs widened in fear. Proving to him that she was the eleven year old she looked to be, instead of the old woman she acted like since he met her. "If your relationship does change because of the house you are placed in: your brother is pathetic. Family comes first; before prejudice, rivalry, childish fantasies, or friendship. If he cannot understand that, then he is pitiful."

"And you are a jerk," Hermione stated. Regulus looked baffled before he noticed a smile on the girl's lips. The girl apparently did not mean her insult, but it still confused him as to why she would say that. He tried to be a gentleman. 'Girls,' He mentally groaned.

Brown orbs gazed out the window, before standing up. "Well, we are officially at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The female child strolled out the compartment door. She slid it open before turning to Regulus, "Thanks for the chat; I really needed it," before walking out to find her brother.

It took the eleven year old a few minutes to find James. Luckily, Hermione just had to follow the laughter she heard all ringing through her home all summer. The young Potter knocked once on the compartment door. Once she heard a round of 'Come-ins!' she opened it.

"We're almost at school James," She said, leaning against the door fame.

"That much is obvious," a squeaky voice replied. Brown, almond orbs narrowed in the direction of a plump boy with wavy blonde hair with beady, watery eyes.

"Unless your name also happens to be James, do not respond to something clearly not directed at you." Her chilling, pureblood voice snapped a reply; she unconsciously pursed her lips, matching her facial expression with her tone. The boy seemed taken aback by this; girls were never mean to him in front of Remus, James, or Sirius.

"You do not have to be rude to Peter," the sandy blonde haired boy told her. He glanced at his two other friends, only to notice them grinning goofily at the girl. Did they know her?

James caught his friend's inquisitive look, "Oh don't worry 'bout it Remus! 'Mione is just nervous. It's her first year," James response seemed to get a round of laughter from his friends, apparently at her expense.

"You were a first year too; last year might I add Jamey." Hermione said. Her voice in the icy tone all pureblood females perfected.

"Eh, I'm older now, hence the 'Second year' standing, 'Mione." James responded with a grin. He loved teasing his sister.

"I did not come here to chat, James." She stated, officially ending James entertainment. James looked surprised; his sister normally let him tease her a bit longer before she went off on him.

"Oh then what did you come to talk about, oh dear sister of mine?"

"I wanted to remind you of your promise you made to me." Unlike the first time, the young girl's body did not quiver nor did her gaze lower to the floor; her brown, almond shaped eyes just stared into James's own. Had James not known his sister, odd habits included, he would assume her to be confident in what fate had in store. But her eyes always gave her away, at least to him.

"You already know—"

"I mean it, James."

"I know, 'Mione. I know," James sighed. This seemed like enough for his sister because she turned away; closing the compartment door.

The young brunette had always been a little distant from their parents; sometimes, even he would get to experience her unintentional cold shoulder. He never knew what went on in her mind for she would never divulge such a topic. But James knows her well enough. There are just times where she will get lost in her thoughts and shy away from the world. It would take anywhere from days to months to get her to be social once more. Yet he always got her out of that place in her mind. Hermione always returned for him.

James decided long ago that he would be His sister's protector. When she could not fight the battles within herself, he would. She needed someone to rely on; James saw it fit that her own brother be the one she could count on. So he never understood why she would make him promise such a thing. Did she doubt his loyalty to her? Did his baby sister honestly think that he would ever truly hate her?

"Come on mate," Sirius pulled James from his own thoughts. "We need to catch the carriages."

"Alright Mate!" James grinned. The twelve year old stretched before strolling out to the carriages with his friends. There were rumors about the carriages from the older students, and he was curious to see if they were true.

The brunette waited in line of first years. Did this really need to be broadcasted in front of the whole school? She had always been a private person, never one for having her inner thoughts revealed. Let alone her deepest fears come to fruition in front of hundreds of strangers. Yet it appeared that only Hermione shared such sentiments. Everyone else remaining in line eagerly discussed which house they might be placed in.

Regulus, the only first year the Potter female knew the name of, had already been sorted into Slytherin. Not shocking as his surname is a Black after all. She felt a pang of envy at the dark haired boy. If her last name had started with anything before 'G' the eleven year old would have been done already; hopefully sitting at the Gryffindor table with her brother. Of course that is not the case as there were another eight letters before her surname would even be called.

Twenty-five minutes later, Hermione's name had finally been called. Even with knowing that it would be coming up, the female still felt as if she like she wandered into a wolves den. Each table staring at her, trying to guess which house she would be placed. 'Lamb to the Slaughter,' the brown haired girl mused to herself thoughtfully.

The brunette took a seat; within moments the dusty old hat had been placed on her head. Memories flashed to the forefront of her mind. They appeared so blurry in rapid bursts that the eleven year old could not really make sense of which memories they actually were. Then everything went blank, the haze clouding her mind cleared, and a shrieking voice pulled her away from the world of thoughts.

"SLYTHERIN!" The child felt her heart sink. In a daze she walked over to the Slytherin table, heading in the direction of the only familiar face. She headed that towards her new table, glancing briefly at her brother's back before heading to her new table. On the way, her ears picked up a familiar, high-pitched voice.

"Not surprised, the bint was mean." The kid with watery eyes, Hermione noted. James, although not noticed by the young Potter, glared at Peter's remark.

"Well everyone sorted into Slytherin is evil, James." The frail, sandy blonde kid spoke this time, the brunette observed. Part of her waited for James to defend her, tell them that his sister would be the exception. The eleven year old silently hoped her brother would at least defend her from a kid he barely knew.

But James did no such thing. Her brother just gave a long, drawn out sigh before muttering "Yeah. I know," Hermione's heart broke. The eleven year old quickened her pace to the Slytherin table, willing back the tears. As she took a seat next to Regulus, the young girl strayed into her thoughts once more; 'Looks like James won't keep his promise after all.'

So there is the first story. Feel free to give opinions; this is really a touch and go right now; granted I have a lot in my head for this story-I swear it is holding the rest of my brain captive. And, well like I said, the worst case scenerio is that this idea gets out of my head and I can actually focus on other tasks. Um, seeing as how I have a lot of ideas this story is not written down entirely and can be subjected to change; so just bare with me please?

I would love to hear some opinions,

Kori.

2. New Friendships and a Broken Relation

Thank you for all of those who reviewed! I PMed most of you, but for those that were Guests: Thank you Rawan, Marauder21, Time Lady Reborn, Lyra Black13, sayurihitome and Angel. I am glad that people like the story so far. Also thank you for those that are now following the story too. I really appreciate it—to be honest I expected maybe a review or two. So yeah, thanks! As a usual disclaimer—all rights go to the holder; JKR for Characters.

Chapter 2: New Friendships and a Broken Relation

Hermione felt isolated in the depths of Hogwarts. The Slytherins would not talk to her because her surname happened to be Potter—renowned blood traitors. The other houses would not talk to her because she had been sorted into Slytherin; therefore she must be evil. But no one even bothered to find out whether or not that little rumor had any truth behind it. The young Slytherin found all the events occurring incredibly unfair.

"Ms. Potter, I would appreciate it if you paid attention in my classroom. Potions are incredibly fickle and if you make just one tiny error because you were not paying attention, you could blow the whole castle up!" Professor Slughorn chastised. The plump man gave the first year a stern glare; chocolate orbs lowered to stare at the table, to at least appear somewhat ashamed of her behavior in the classroom, even if she really felt no remorse.

The young Potter had quickly become a favorite of Slughorn's despite this being the first time she was actually in his class. Her Head of House seemed keen to pick out those worthy of his secret club within hours after the sorting feast ended. Much like her the redhead in her brother's year the young Miss Potter, along with Regulus, seemed to spark his attention. Yet neither of the two first years truly seemed pleased with that fact.

The young Potter firmly believed that becoming a teacher's favorite had not helped her case; in fact it probably isolated her even further away from her peers. It seemed they had no qualms with a person being smart, but if one were a brown-nosing, know-it-all they'd apparently never let them live it down. Heck, even the freaking Ravenclaws would shoot her a glare during Arithmacy when all she did asked a few reasonable, albeit maybe complex, questions.

"Now who could tell me about the Draught of Peace?" Slughorn looked around the room. Seeing how they mostly discussed ingredients and equipment earlier, this would be the first potion Slughorn actually mentioned in class. The stout old man noticed immediately that several hands were raised, but all of those had already been called on.

"Ms. Potter, I have not seen your hand raised. Please explain to me what the Draught of Peace does," Beady eyes stared at the young, promising girl. Slughorn curiously watched her, wondering if she would be a good addition into his little Club. First impressions were always helpful, but some could be misleading. Practical knowledge being tested always showed those who rose above the average wizards.

The young Miss Potter resisted her scowl, sending a glare in the snickering Regulus's direction. The young Black found her sudden spot-light highly amusing, if his laughter was anything to go by. The brunette, on the other hand, did not. Yet, the professor did call on her; so the brunette needed to respond. "The Draught of Peace was created by Morgana Le Fey for her friend Guinevere. The Draught of Peace is an OWL level potion usually taught in a student's fifth year. It is used to help calm anxiety and sooth a person's agitation." Slughorn looked at the young Potter female, clearly expecting her to be more forthcoming with the information. The professor recognized that glint of knowledge sparkling in her brown eyes and as such refused to allow her to skip out meekly on something apparently so easy for her.

"What else do you know about the Draught of Peace, Ms. Potter?" Slughorn asked. Regulus sniggered, clearly amused with their Head of House putting the preteen on the spot. Brown eyes could only glare at the tittering boy's back before begrudgingly responding to Slughorn's question once more.

"The ingredients that induce the potions peaceful properties are moonstone, Valerian, and Hellebore. Adding too much of these ingredients can put the drinker of the potion into a deep, possibly irreversible, sleep which is why the brewer must follow the directions perfectly." The girl said. When Slughorn focused his gaze on her again, the elven year old had to refrain from groaning. This old man surely had it in for her. Yet the girl had to be careful. She could not anger him. So long as the brunette stayed on Slughorn's good side, he would protect her from her house mates.

"The potion must be stirred seven times clockwise and the syrup of hellebore must be placed in last otherwise the potion can mimic its sister potion: Draught of Living Death. The potion will emit a silvery vapor if brewed correctly." The brunette felt relieved when her potions professor did not force her to add on anything else. She might have sparked his ire then because the preteen could not remember anything else.

"Excellent, Ms. Potter! Fifteen points to Slytherin for such in depth knowledge!" Slughorn praised. "Now you all must be asking why did I mention such a potion if you would be learning it in your fifth year? Well the answer is simple! To test you off course! Rarely would young ones like you lot know about such a complex potion. Those that do are certain to become Potion Masters."

"Or they just had the advantage of magical parents," fawn eyes narrowed at the insinuation. Some students, especially Slytherins, took full advantage of their magical families; the girl knew that. Yet she could not help the offense taken from the snide remark. Clearly this person did not have magical parents, otherwise they would understand girls had a much harder time getting their parents to allow them to do anything considered dangerous—making or learning about potions like the Draught of Peace included. After all, if a child knew such a complex potion thoroughly they would assume they could make it. The assumption could be wrong and then cause some disastrous effects. So no sane magical parent would ever allow such a thing. Especially not hers when she has a brother like James.

Girls were dainty, pure, pretty. Why ruin a good thing by giving them a lot of hands on magical experience? Most of what she knew about potions stemmed from sneaking into the restricted section of her family library. Of course that section has only ever been off limits to her. So sure the preteen knew some magical concepts, but aside from the few allowed readings in her family library, the girl had no other magical knowledge until her arrival to Hogwarts, which even then could be considered a little restricted.

"Or maybe some actually read." Hermione shot back. "It is no one's fault but their own if a person never has the motivation to learn." This received a round of laughter from her peers, startling the brunette. The Slytherins have never acknowledge her before; most of the first years taking the lead of the older students. So to hear them laughing at another student because of her, well it caused her to feel strange. The young Potter had not meant it to be a cruel remark; she merely made her opinion known to the haughty Hufflepuff.

Slughorn cleared his throat to get the students attention once more. "Alright students, settle down. Before I dismiss you, I need to tell you your homework assignment." This received a round of groans, even from the Slytherin students.

It had been a week now at Hogwarts, yet the girl still felt uncomfortable in her own dorm. So, she had developed a preference to sit out in their open common room rather than the stuffy dorm room. Currently the brunette sat, cross-legged, in front of the couch. Only a few students were still up either doing homework or playing Exploding Snaps. Had the young Potter girl not been absorbed in her two-parchment long essay for Slughorn she would have heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming her way.

"Well Potter, how does it feel to be—quite literally—thrown to the snakes?"

Molten chocolate eyes looked up, only to meet the face of one Regulus Black. Ever since they had first talked on the train, the eleven year old boy seemed keen on pestering her. Originally, the eleven year old liked the prospect of talking to the people she met on her train ride to Hogwarts. But after her sorting, that thought disappeared. However, the only person the young witch met on the Hogwarts express had been a Slytherin enthusiast, the likes of which would not understand her current predicament.

"What does it feel like to be a snake idolizing a cat?" The young Potter shot back. When grey eyes flashed steel, the brunette realized it might not have been the wisest idea to take a shot at Regulus's relationship with his brother Sirius; especially when she really has no idea of what the dynamics their relationship actually were.

"At least I didn't abandon my family." He snorted. This caused the girl to bristle. The most disgraceful thing a pureblood could do would be to abandon their family; any decent pureblood took such insinuation as a direct offence. "Never trust Blood-traitors to teach etiquette to their children."

"Then what are you? Salazar freaking Slytherin?" The girl snarled up at the dark haired boy. "I do not see either you or your family making nice with your Gryffindor of a brother!" In the midst of her anger, the young female did not realize that her words had acquired the attention of every student still awake in their common room. "In fact in the few days we have been here, you Blacks avoid your Gryffindor family member like the plague. I am not doing that. If anything James is avoiding me. So unless you can look at your own reflection and call yourself a blood-traitor, do not ever call me that." The brunette took a deep breath once she finished her rant. What happened to the nice boy who assuaged her fears on the train? 'Shedding his skin and showing his true colors perhaps?' The young Potter silently mused.

Instead of the hexes or curses Hermione expected from Regulus, the young Black plopped down next to the brunette, glared at everyone and told them to mind their own business. Then he then laid his head on her lap. The female Potter could only gape at this minor action. Sure James had done it to her a million times before. However, instead of the dark chocolate brown orbs she usually seen, these were the silver eyes of a stranger.

The brunette stared incredulously at the boy. What happened to the personal boundaries, "blood-traitor" prejudices, everything Regulus spouted just moments before? What in the world did the boy think he would accomplish by doing this? The young Potter could think of nothing, aside from making himself into an open target to his fellow house mates.

"Trying to catch a doxy?" Brilliant silver eyes twinkled in amusement and the girl could not help but compare these eyes to those she had saw this summer. They were really pretty, yet his brother held a distinct shimmer that Regulus did not.

The newly sorted slytherin snapped herself out of her own dallying. "What do you think you're doing?" The brunette hissed; shock evident on her face, clearly ignoring the wise idea of keeping her face a blank canvas.

"Helping a fellow cat worshipper?" Regulus gave a low chuckle at his own joke; however he quickly stopped when he noticed brown orbs glaring at him. Obviously the brunette did not find his witticism funny.

"A Slytherin should not care about another; worshipping would signal that I care about what Jamey does." She stated, shoulders slumped and head bowed dejectedly. The young Potter obviously did not agree with her own words.

"Slytherins are just good actors. It is impossible to never really care about others when we are still human and when we value family as highly as we do." Regulus pointed out, languidly stretching his body. "By the way, lying to yourself never fixes anything."

"I think I liked you better when you were a jerk," The Potter female muttered, absentmindedly running small fingers through the thick mane of curly, raven locks. Silver eyes sparkled with a knowing glint as the young boy flashed the eleven year old girl a grin.

"What happened to the Potter Morals? I thought lying was wrong to you folk?" Carmel eyes glared at the boy.

"Well I am in Slytherin," she replied, teasing. Sure her mother had also been a Slytherin during her Hogwarts years. However her mother's maiden name was Black, not Potter. Every Potter had been in Gryffindor, well everyone except her. What made her so different from her family? Aside from the obvious fact she shared no blood relation with them…maybe that played a role?

Regulus grinned. "That cannot be your defense for everything. People might just think you like being a snake," Hermione scowled at his insinuation. She still did not trust this boy. Yes he talked to her on the Hogwarts Express and they did seem to have a decent conversation, one that helped sooth her fear momentarily. Yet the chestnut haired girl knew the reason why most were sorted into Slytherin: their sly, cunning, and manipulative nature. These people would spin their words, make one believe, before destroying the now pawn in a hideous plot. How did she know Regulus did not already plan out some insidious plot to get rid of her, humiliate her, or worse: get her expelled?

"Will you calm down? I can practically hear the clogs whirring in your head. I think you should have been put in Ravenclaw with how much you think." Regulus murmured. "What would I have to gain by doing something to you?"

"Earning the satisfaction and praise of your fellow housemates?" Miss Potter answered instantly. The young Black glared at her, evidently not thrilled about her response. Well too bad, the little lady thought. She did not trust him and she could at least make that known to him now.

"Not everyone in this house is evil," Regulus sighed. Brown eyes looked at the young black in disbelief. Every evil person came from Slytherin. "Just because Slytherin prefers self-preservation through cunning manipulation, does not mean we are all evil. We protect what we claim our own."

"You lot have a funny way of showing it; you all seem full of hate to me." Hermione grumbled. Aside from Regulus, not one Slytherin had yet to treat her like a human being, even with her affiliation to the pureblooded Potter family.

Regulus shrugged. "So we hate strangers, blood-traitors" Regulus earned a glare from the girl at this, "and basically anything else we deem strange. We are purebloods perfect in every way except our dislike of the inferior, potential rivals, or anomalies. Cut us some slack, will you?" The young Black grinned when he finally made her laugh.

"You are not so bad, Black." The younger Potter finally managed to stifle her laughter enough to speak. She could no longer force herself to be wary of this boy who reminded her so much of Jamey. Sure the wariness would not go away anytime soon, but maybe it really would not be such a bad idea to not assume him to be up to something.

"Now she sees reason! So what changed your mind, Potter?" Regulus asked, glancing up at the Gryffindor-loving girl with a goofy grin on his face.

"Well the way I look at it, we are in the same boat." The brunette shrugged. However her response only earned her a more inquisitive look from the young boy in her lap. So Hermione decided to elaborate. "We are the young siblings of our family's heir. Expected to be proper, follow family traditions, etcetera. Yet your family avoids your Gryffindor brother and my brother is obviously avoiding me. By all pureblood notions we have essentially either given up ties to our family or they severed their ties with us." The brunette paused only to give Regulus a sly look before her next statement. "Which as you stated earlier makes us Blood traitors, giving up on the belief we were raised on. So, we must stick together; no one else will understand or admit to understanding what we are going through."

"And what exactly are we going through?" Regulus arched an elegant eyebrow at the brunette.

"We are forced to publicly shun our brothers who forsaken us simply because of the notion that since we were sorted into Slytherin we must be evil. We were abandoned by the people that should have stuck with us." Regulus snorted at that, clearly objecting the notion Sirius shunned him.

"Apparently, lying to yourself is not a good thing," the young girl teased. This earned her a swat from Regulus before he switched the topic. And then the two spent the next thirty minutes conversing, learning about each other's faults and developing their new, awkward friendship. After all, a common problem always helped solidify a bond.

Regulus and Hermione's friendship shocked the castle, which the two considered odd since a Potter-Black relationship already existed within the walls of Hogwarts.

"Why in the world would we take defense lessons from someone with the last name Tremble?" Regulus sneered to his new friend as they walked out of the DADA class together. Luckily it happened to be the last class of the day for the two and they leisurely made their way to the Slytherin chambers. The eleven year old boy continued his tirade on their DADA professor causing the girl to shoot him a chastising look. She chose to say nothing further on the subject of Professor Tremble. Regulus however seemed very keen on pressing the subject further with his complaining.

"Cousin," A cold acknowledgement put a stop to Regulus's rant. The two first years seemed to immediately freeze in place. Regulus had been cautious with his friendship with Hermione, not because he regretted it; merely because he did not trust his own family. Yet right before them stood his favorite cousin Narcissa. "Hanging out with the lesser of society?"

Regulus could feel his friend bristle at his cousin's acquisition. "Upset to realize your life is over after graduation, Black? I would hate to know that I was woman enough to be married off but not witch enough to be recognized as magical," The young girl clucked her tongue in false sympathy, "must be positively dreadful for you."

Hermione could not help but feel that swelling of pride when she saw Narcissa's nostrils flare. Being in Slytherin had changed her, for the better according to the eleven year old witch. When with the snakes one must develop a gland filled to the brink of poisonous words; ready to use at any time, even if it goes against every fiber of their being. Witty, snarling comebacks have been the girl's saving grace in the snake den. Sure no one, aside from Regulus, liked her in the house, but they would no longer insult her directly in fear of getting some nasty hexes sent their way.

"At least I am a true witch. You were just adopted into that blood-traitor of a family! For all we know you are a filthy mudblood" Narcissa growled, taking a menacing step forward. Regulus, like always, took a step back. Narcissa did not share the same spark of insanity that normally plagued the Black Family. No, his cousin had perfect clarity on the world, making her all the more petrifying when she truly decides to decimate a person, reputation and all.

The young witch met the older witch with a shocking stride. "Make no mistake Black; I am as much of a true witch as you. My adoption just allows me to refuse what you cannot. Just because my surname is Potter does not mean it will always be. There are a lot of things that can change the dynamics of a family; the Potters might not always claim me. That gives me more freedom than you can ever have." Brown eyes met Narcissa's blue in a clear shows of defiance.

"You little—" Narcissa growled, raising her wand.

"Watch it, Black." Hermione warned, grabbing the older girl's wrist. "It is wise to not judge a book by its cover. If that were acceptable I would peg you to be a vain girl, enraptured by her own beauty; one fated to die alone by her own actions, much like your namesake. But I do not peg you to be a single thing for the sheer reason that I do not know you. So grant me the same courtesy and do not assume that I am a mere slip of a girl who you can walk over. Because I can assure you that I will seek retribution if you dare do so and you might not like what happens."

Regulus watched in awe as his friend—verbally—took on his cousin. Where was the shy girl that he met on the train? The girl who cowered away in the corner of the dungeon, away from prying eyes? The girl who appeared so lost lying with the snakes? But more importantly, what made this slip of a girl to think she could take on an older, more experienced witch? The young Black knew that if his cousin truly wished to fight, Hermione would not stand a chance. After all, what spells could a first year know that a sixth year did not?

Regulus did not miss the glint in his cousin's eye as she strolled away from them. However, the glint surprised the boy. A glint of respect shone in his cousin's gaze, something that never occurred for anyone but family before. His new friend might never realize it, but by standing up to Narcissa she had gained a formidable ally.

"Mind telling me what just happened, Regulus?" Hermione asked, starring at the spot Narcissa stood just second ago. The young Black looked at his friend before bursting into laughter. He tried not to, honestly, but he could not help it with the look on the young girl's face.

"Well Bambi," brown eyes shot Regulus a curious glower. "Even if a snake is not poisonous, it should pretend to be." When the curious look did not go away the dark haired boy elaborated. "Let's just say, Cissa will pose no real threat to you."

"Alright so what's with this Bambi nonsense?" The young Potter asked, once again starting to walk to the dungeons.

The young Black quickened his steps to catch up to his brunette friend. "It's short for Bambina." Regulus replied. He had to elaborate once again due to curious brown eyes staring at him. "Did your parents teach you anything?" He asked in a mock exasperated voice. He saw the curious look turn scathing in his friends russet eyes and decided to amend his snide joke, "Bambina is Italian for 'young girl' and let's face it. You look like a Bambi."

Hermione stopped in her tracks. "You are the same age as me," the witch growled.

"True, but like I said: You look like a Bambi." The first year glowered at crony for a moment. Then a sly smile crept onto her lips.

"Alright, you can call me Bambi since you have your logic." Regulus looked at the witch in shock. He expected more of a fight from Hermione. "However, in return I will call you Leo."

Regulus spluttered, tripping on his own two feet. "Of all the things, why—"

Her explanation immediately cut him off. "Oh honestly, Leo," the brunette shot him a teasing grin before clucking her tongue once. Did your parents not teach you to pay attention in class? I know Professor Sinistra gave a brief over constellations. You of all people should be well versed in it, what with your family's naming tradition. You know Regulus is the brightest star in the constellation Leo the Lion. Also called Cor Leonis, AKA Heart of the Lion. Plus you are a secret cat worshiper; so I say it is a suitable nickname. You will now forever be known to me as my Lucero Leo."

Regulus scowled at the witch who started laughing as she walked away. Nicknames went both ways, he knew that. But the young wizard could not help to think that Fate was an extremely cruel witch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" James seethed, forcefully grabbing his sister's arm and pulling her into an empty classroom. Shock registered with the small witch momentarily before a surge of anger replaced it.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, body stiff. 'What right does Jamey have to question my action, when he has neglected me throughout my time at Hogwarts? He has none!' The brunette silently roared. The witch could not gather a hint of what suddenly washed over her brother, but she decided whatever it is, he can shove it.

"You know exactly what I mean!" James yelled, glaring daggers at the first yea. Hermione reciprocated with a glare of her own. James danced on a thin line right now with his little sister. The witch pursed her lips into a firm line, attempting to calm the anger surging through her. She would rather not let her emotions rule the words that spilt out of her mouth. This would be the first conversation she had with her brother since the Hogwarts express.

"Maybe you should explain because it is obvious that I have no clue what you are talking about," Her dry response seemed to only incur James wrath even more.

"Well, kitten, James is not too happy with your…relationship with the Slytherins, particularly my family." A debonair drawl drew Hermione out of her silent rant and into the mischievous grey eyes of one Sirius Black.

A grimace formed on the Potter female's face. 'Of-freaking-course,' the young slytherin thought. Her brown eyes narrowed into slits at the two boys. How ironic that James and Sirius can have a friendship but she is not allowed one with Regulus. The young brunette did not even want to consider Narcissa a friend, although the older witch had seemed to warm up to her considerably. The preteen would rather not tempt such a good thing to go sour. Narcissa's acquaintance offered the first year a sanctuary she had longed for since her sorting, something the girl always assumed Jamey would provide.

"That is rich," Her sneering voice seemed to bring the two second years chills. They looked at Hermione in surprise, but she continued to have her say before James went off once again. "Especially since you both are friends. What is so surprising about my friendship with Regulus?"

"He's my brother," Sirius replied. "He does not care about anything our mother does not directly approve. He's a snake."

"I hardly see how that has any effect," Her voice remarked in a sarcastic drawl. Miss Potter frowned as she recalled how James never defended her when his friend insulted her at the sorting. "I'm a snake too in your book."

"Kitten," Sirius took a step towards her, resulting in the snarling girl taking a set away from him. 'A game of Cat and Mouse; I wonder who really ends the prey and who's the predator at the end?' The young girl mused. Yet Sirius regal voice pulled her away from her thoughts once more. "My brother hardly keeps good company; James just does not want you to end up like him."

"Well too freaking bad. I am friends with him and guess what? Narcissa is not that bad either!" Hermione snarled at the two older boys. Her last statement seemed to finally push James too far.

"Like hell you will ever hang out with that crazy bint or her friends! I will not let you associate with them under any condition. You are eleven and easily influenced! They will corrupt you. Those Slytherin are evil, lying, manipulative serpents! You'll just—" The first year could no longer listen to any of their words; something in her seemed to snap.

"I'll just what, James? End up like them? Well I was sorted into Slytherin and like your friend said: 'Everyone sorted into Slytherin is evil.' Maybe I already am like them," Hermione growled, defiantly staring into her brother's angry brown eyes. Yet her anger seemed to dissipate almost instantly and her shoulders slumped.

"Why do you even care who I hang out with? You just agree with your friend, James. I'm Slytherin, therefore I am evil. Well news flash, you're a Gryffindor and therefore an insufferable jerk. Stereotypes work both ways," The witch snarled, balling her hands into fists at her side.

"You are not to be friends with them, Hermione Jean Potter!"

"At least they talk to me, James! At least they do not think of me as a lowly serpent like you so clearly do!" The young girl cried out, tears pricking at her eyes. "Inside these castle walls I do not even exist to you. I, and apparently my happiness, mean nothing to you. You are the biggest hypocrite I have ever seen! I cannot befriend a Black because they are evil, yet you did the same exact thing!" The first year sniffed, but refused to allow her tears to fall.

The young girl was not done speaking though. And the moment she saw the boys open their mouth, the first year slytherin immediately forced the whispered words out of her lips. "Before this, I thought family was supposed to be with you through thick and thin. I assumed you would be there to help me through this experience. After all, I'm your sister."

"You're his adopted sister," Sirius pointed out. Hermione's eyes snapped shut, in attempts to fight off the tears. The young witch did not know if Sirius meant the words to come out as harsh as they sounded, but despite whatever his intention had been, she took that sneering remark to heart.

"That is true." A whimper escaped her lips. "But those stupid muggleborns always keep family should come first, how the familial instinct could override even the cruelest of natures, I had hoped they might be right. Guess I can tell them they are wrong, at least when it pertains to you lot." Hermione's eyes were still tightly shut; the petite brunette did not know if she could fight back the tears much longer.

"You two keep telling me how evil Slytherin are, yet you two have not even bothered to recognize your own reflection staring back at you. Regulus and Narcissa might be Slytherins, but at least they never purposefully set out to make a girl cry. If anyone is malicious, it's you two."

With that said the young slytherin stormed her way back the dungeons, not bothering to be kind to strangers she happened to stumble across. The crying girl made it to the common room and had the simple intention of making it up to her dorm room before bawling her eyes. But her knees gave out and the only thing the witch could do was pull them up against her body, ignore the warmth of the fireplace's flames licking at her skin, and sob. She paid no mind to the only other occupant in the room.

Regulus could only stare, wide-eyed, at the small witch crying against her knees next to the fire. He did not know what happened, but knew it had to have involved the older Potter. The young wizard had conflicted feelings. On one side, Regulus hated crying girls and normally avoided the sniveling messes at all cost. Yet another, more dominant, part won out. He did not see a blubbering girl, desperate for attention. He saw Hermione, a friend who needed a shoulder to cry on. Regulus sauntered toward the weeping girl, his mind made up.

"Crying makes you uglier," he said as he plopped down next to her. Instead of getting angry, like she usually did, the mere slip of a girl just continued to bawl. The crying girl normally reacted instantly to his cruel remarks; typically resulting in a fun banter between the two. Yet this time the witch had no reaction, no twitch of the finger, no stiffening of the shoulders, nothing. So the young Black did the first thing that came to mind; he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to him. Regulus began to rock slightly, mimicking Andromeda's soothing motion he had seen her do with Cissa a thousand times.

"Don't cry, Bambi; birthday girls aren't supposed to cry." He whispered into her ear, hoping that it would do something to calm the girl down. But it seemed his plead fell upon deaf ears. "Please don't cry, Bambi."

Thank you for reading. Tell me once again what you think I hope you enjoy it. Lucero means 'little bright star' and I assume everyone knows the meaning of Leo.

Now the next chapter is most likely going to be some snapshots of Hermione's first few years at Hogwarts.

Love to hear from you,

Kori

3. Just Harmless Fun

Alright here is the third chapter! Once again, thank you for all that reviewed; I really did not expect such for this story, it makes me happy. If you used an account, I replied to your reviews. For the anonymous: Thank you to the four Guests and Mylla-chan.

Just want to open the idea: I would love a Beta.

Chapter 3: Just Harmless Fun

"What's your problem?" Hermione screeched, finally agitated with her brother's constant pestering of her. Had he not been a complete prat at the moment, the coffee eyed female might have found his presence comforting. However, the current situation did not present itself like that. Instead the twelve year old had to endure her brother's harsh words towards her fellow slytherins.

"You!" James hollered back. The older Potter's ire stemmed with not only his sister's behavior but her choice of friends as well. They were corrupting her, twisting her views of the world, turning her into a mean little swot. And the foolish girl refused to see it, to see how they were turning her into a snake just like them! Instead the preteen allowed them to blindside her with their false placid actions and a few kind words they casted her way.

The twelve year old looked shocked for a moment. Her brother had a problem with her? She has barely done anything near her family since her arrival home! Hermione had chosen to spend most of her time alone in either the library or her room, hoping to avoid a fight with her brother along with the benefit of not burdening their parents. With all the questions whirring in her mind, the young witch could barely whisper out, "Why, Jamey?"

"You've turned into a snake!" James snarled. "You're now this stupid, swotty bird who has become annoying and vile!"

The young Potter could not really understand where all of James's pent up anger was coming from. She had barely said a word to her brother, either at school or at their home. Therefore the brunette saw no reason for his anger towards her. The young witch looked at him, before mumbling "Stupid and swotty are antonyms."

"See that is exactly what I mean!" James argued. "Ever since you became a slytherin you turned into a cocky, know-it-all brat!" The thirteen year old boy hissed. "If you had just been like every other Potter this would not have happened! You should have stuck with Gryffindor!"

"So your problem is not that I have done something, but because I am in Slytherin?" Hermione asked. At this knowledge, the young girl could not help but feel a sordid of emotions, but the most prominent emotion felt by the young Potter happened to be betrayal. Betrayal from the person she expected to be there, to love her.

"Yes!" The older boy exclaimed. "Now you see reason!"

"So by that response I guess I should assume that you agree with your lot of friends? How all of my housemates are evil vermin?" Hermione asked, her voice inching up an octave, "That just because we are not brash or wearing red and gold that we are destined to bathe in the dark arts? Or that we are heartless people only set out on destroying those we deem lesser?"

"Yes! Not one good person has ever been in Slytherin!" James hollered.

"Not even mum? After all, your mate Black is the first one in his family to be sorted into Gryffindor." James casted his sister a curious look, so Hermione elaborated. "Mum's maiden name happened to be Black, Jamey. The good, kind woman you worshipped for your whole life was in fact a snake!"

"Still mum had not been a Potter when she attended Hogwarts!" James argued. Though he knew his little sister had a point. His mother practically hung the moon! No way could his sweet, loving mother ever be evil, even if she had been a slytherin. Yet he could not deny that being sorted into that awful house had changed his once sweet sister. "Every Potter had always been sorted into Gryffindor." This time, a sneer formed on her brother's lips, "Well, except you anyway!"

"Last time I checked I am not a Potter either, not according to your precious mate anyway!" The chestnut eyed girl snarled. Ever since James and Sirius had cornered her on her birthday, Hermione had started to see lines being redrawn; redrawn to exclude her.

Auburn eyes stared angrily at the twofaced Potter heir. Every Slytherin exudes immoral intent, except for their mother. The preteen could not be friends with Regulus because of his family, but her brother can associate with the Black heir with no repercussions. When the young witch tries to talk to James, he completely ignores her. But Jamey…he can corner her in the corridors of Hogwarts with the absolute intent to make her feel hated, worthless, and his favorite: make her brown orbs brim with tears she refuses to ever shed. With how her brother acted, Hermione would swear he basked in her misery.

The brunette felt isolated and tormented from someone she once idolized, someone who promised that no matter what happened during her first year of Hogwarts, nothing would change. But it did, everything changed. Not for the better, at least not through her eyes. Yet despite her feelings on the subject, their parents saw anything their heir did as a harmless prank; sometimes even giving him advice for it. No matter how upset the prank made her, they brushed it off. After all, what harm could some innocent fun do?

"It could do a lot," Hermione whispered; her eyes now blinded by tears. Coffee colored eyes noticed James staring at her oddly, but felt no desire to hear his voice any longer. The twelve year old did the only thing that came to mind: run. So, the young witch ran through her home, searching for a safe spot to shed her tears. Ignoring the worried calls of her parents as she passed them, ignoring the house elves eager to cheer up their 'Little Miss' as they always called her.

It felt like hours later that her mother had found her, curled up in a corner of the vacant East wing. The twelve-year-old's throat ached from her sobbing, her eyes puffy and red from all the tears. The sight of her daughter had upset the Potter Matriarch more than words could ever express.

"Dear, what is wrong?" Dorea asked, moving to sit next to her daughter. When her youngest did not answer, the older witch sighed. "Honey, I cannot help you if I do not know the problem." Silence met with the older woman once more. So the mother tried again, "You know James does not mean what he says, sweetie. He just has a bad temper…"

"No!" the young witch snarled, startling her mother. The sweet, adoring child they had cared for never raised her voice. Never had foul words escaped from her daughter's lips, let alone towards a member of the family. Yet right before Dorea, her chocolate eyed baby girl did exactly that. "James means everything he says. James having an awful temper does not excuse the fact that you raised a complete arse!"

"Hermione, I will not tolerate that language!" Dorea chastised. Instead of the usual abashed expression that her daughter normally wore when reprimanded, the mother was met with a stony expression.

"I'm leaving," the young Potter stated, standing up. When her mother asked where she would go, the preteen simply replied, "to a friend's for a week or two." When the brunette saw her mother's mouth open, presumably to object, Hermione further clarified. "If you do not want that language in your house, or for a dead child, you will let me leave. I cannot be around him right now. I…I just can't."

The tearful admission broke the Lady Potter's heart. Her daughter had never been so distraught; so Dorea did the only right thing to do at the present moment: the mother agreed to her daughter's demand; but one clear thought rang in her mind. Which child would be the dead one had she forced her daughter to stay?

"Kitten?" Sirius, shocked to see his mate's sister coming out of his floo, called out. There were many questions he wanted to ask her, but the minute he noticed her puffy, red eyes, he could only manage to say, "Are you okay?"

Instead of responding, the young girl sent a scathing glare towards the Gryffindor before storming out of the room. Briefly, Sirius wondered if Hermione went to Regulus's room, and if so: how did she know the location of it?

But his curiosity soon got the better of him causing the young boy to follow her. Sirius wanted to know what happened to her, what would send a crying girl to Grimmauld Place of all things? No comfort resided in this house, no sympathy, certainly no room for tears or strangers. If little Potter wanted comfort why did she not just stay at her family's manor?

"Who are you?" The shriek of his mother's voice pulled Sirius from his musings. Nothing good could come from a distraught young girl running into his horrid mother; the fiendish creature had never been one for sympathy, let alone tears. But despite all the worry building up inside him, Sirius decided to watch the scene from behind the corner. Maybe his wretched mother would have Hermione reveal her reasons for being here.

"A friend of Regulus," the young girl's desolate voice responded. The brunette seemed to appear reserved, calm even as she stood before his mother. However, Sirius could barely spot the tired, worn down look in her eyes. Not even a trace of the vibrant, wild personality the young Potter normally held could be identified; the only emotion evident happened to be the cold exterior the twelve year old now donned.

"He has not mentioned any friends coming," Sirius heard his mother's regal drawl. Sirius had to give Hermione credit, most people would have coward under the icy stare his mother currently focused on the girl. Yet the younger witch stood still, staring straight back into the frightful gaze, like a stony statue.

"The visit happened to be an impulsive one, Ma'am." Hermione replied evenly. "I know it must be a burden for my unprompted visit, but alas I needed to see him. Forgive my intrusion, Lady Black."

"Regulus has noble blood running through his veins, I doubt he would be friends with someone of such a low-class as you," The Black heir heard his mother sneer, undoubtedly make a snide remark at the worn out clothing the young girl currently wore. The young Potter seemed to make the rags look decent on her slime frame, but Sirius knew the tattered garment to be a far cry from what usually donned the petite girl's physique.

"And I am sure he has learned not to listen to a harpy screech, after all living with you has surely given him plenty of practice." The boy nearly choked on his spit, hearing Hermione insult his mother. "But if you would prefer to see for yourself, call Regulus." The girl's voice sounded so sure like she knew Regulus would pick her over his mother. Sirius scoffed at the foolish thought, his mother had Regulus wrapped around her bony, unpolished finger. Regardless of whatever relationship they might have, Regulus would never choose James's little sister over their mother; never.

"Bambi!" The voice of his brother drew Sirius's attention. The elation in his little brother's voice was obvious, even though their mother obviously did not share the same sentiment. "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to come see you," the young witch replied.

"Dressed like that?" Sirius snorted; Regulus's reaction did not surprise him in the least. After all, his little brother really did take after their vile mother. Therefore any snide remark, even towards someone Regulus has been unusually friendly with, would never surprise Sirius.

"A long story, one I would rather not discuss at the precise moment," Sirius saw Hermione's shoulders fall marginally. What ever happened at the Potter Manor had evidently struck a chord with her. However, Sirius could not help but think that maybe the little witch might be blowing the event out of proportion. After all, James loved his sister; anything that happened would be in the name of harmless fun. So surely the twelve year old just over reacted to the situation.

"Ah, well I guess we shall reconvene in my room then?" Sirius heard his younger brother ask. The Black heir watched in fascination as his younger brother grabbed the brown, doe-eyed girl and proceeded to drag her towards the direction he initially came from. However the screech from his Harpy—His kitten did a knack for nicknames—of a mother seemed to stop them momentarily.

"You will not go anywhere with that filth! Look at her current attire, how she treats your dearest mother! I forbid you to associate with the likes of her!"

What happened next came as a far cry from the expected turn of events. Instead of the polite nod and dissociation from his new acquaintance that Sirius thought would occur, their dragon of a mother met with a seething remark from her youngest son.

"Bambi is not filth. Cousin Bella would never approve of me associating with the lowest society has to offer."

At that point, Sirius decided to leave. Therefore he did not hear how the young witch had met Bellatrix shortly after school let out in Diagon Alley or even how the two witches had a pretty vindictive diatribe outside of Florean Fortescue; namely about the young witch's family. No, he only heard the little voice in his head agreeing with Peter, Hermione turned into a snake. If Bellatrix approved of her, then she was irredeemable.

"Explain," Regulus demanded from his friend the moment his bedroom door locked.

"Explain what, Leo? Can a friend not drop by for a visit?" Her brown eyes barely twinkled mischievously, causing Regulus to frown. Usually, around him, the witch wore her emotions on her sleeve. So for her to be closed off from him, well Regulus saw it as cause for concern.

"Not dressed like a peasant," Regulus teased, "and you know exactly what, Hermione." At the use of her real name, the twelve year old knew the answer to her friend's question could not be prolonged any further. So with a weary sigh, her frame slumped onto his bed as the fawn haired girl began her tale. There were a few instances that tears would appear in her eyes, but none ever managed to fall.

"Hermione—"

"I know I probably blew this whole thing out of the water and—" The brunette seemed to be torn between her emotions, making Regulus temper boil all the more. What reason did she have to question her actions? Her actions were justifiable, unlike her brother's.

"Hermione—"

"Maybe I should go back and apologize? After all it—"

"BAMBI!" Regulus hollered, finally drawing the girl's attention. "I told you once. But I guess I need to tell you again; your brother is pathetic. He promised you nothing would change. Has he kept that promise? Has he been the doting brother you told me that he had been prior to your entrance into Hogwarts? …And if he has, when? I certainly have not seen it. I doubt he actually was the person you saw him to be before. Because no good brother would ever claim you were a problem, especially for not some silly reason as being sorted in a different house!"

"What changed your mind?" Her normally silky voice came out raspy when the question pasted her lips. Regulus appeared confused, so Hermione expanded. "You said being sorted into a different house is a silly reason for how he treats me; but your family does the same to your brother."

Regulus's eyes steeled for a moment. "Our situation varies greatly, Bambi. Sirius would hate me for being in Slytherin even if I did not hate him for being sorted into Gryffindor. You however do not hate Potter, despite how many times he has bullied you—"

"Jamey has not bully me; they were just harmless pranks…" The auburn eyed Potter murmured, glancing down at the floor.

"You can lie to whoever you like, Hermione. But do not lie to yourself. Potter bullies you. No matter what anyone else claims, those are not pranks. The bullying prat pranks a number of people behind the castle walls, but he torments you." At her friend's words, the young girl's heart broke. Had those not been her thoughts prior to her arrival to Grimmauld Place? Had she not told herself all of the harm a little fun could really do? Had Regulus not just voiced her own thoughts, how Jamey's harmless fun had no inkling appearance of being innocuous at all?

With that realization, the girl allowed the tears swimming in her brown orbs to fall. Like Regulus said, she should not lie to herself and saw no point in trying to believe things would go back to how they were prior to her entrance into Hogwarts. Jamey broke his promise; the twelve year old knew she had to live with that fact.

"What did I do wrong?" Her sobs racked her physique, as the distraught preteen attempted to curl into herself. "Whatever I did, why can I not fix it? Surely I can right, Regulus? I just want everything to go back to how it had been. But it won't, will it Regulus? Nothing will go back to normal." Her lithe frame turned into Regulus's arms as tears continued to spill from her eyes. The young wizard sighed, enveloping the brunette into a warm embrace.

"Shh, Bambi, pretty girls do not cry," Regulus whispered, rocking the distraught preteen. He hated seeing Hermione cry, even if he had only witnessed such an incident twice. The young Black still hated the fact she cried, hated the fact that there were people willing to make her cry to begin with. "Please don't cry, pretty girl, please."

"I HATE YOU JAMES POTTER!" The second year's screech sounded throughout the court yard, turning every possible head. The group with James Potter and Sirius Black had become a rather notorious group among the school; their pranks were starting to become expected by everyone, even the teachers. However, Hermione Potter seemed to be the one who received the brunt of all their pranks; from awkward, badly done hair dyes, food blowing up in her face, or even being thrown into the Great Lake. So naturally to the student body, her shriek frequented after every prank. Yet no matter how often students heard the shout, they always turned to see the latest prank. This time all the people in the court yard saw a drenched, canary-yellow haired second year.

For a response the group of friends just laughed; laughed at her, at all of her petty shrieks. The natural brunette might holler at them, spewing her abhorrence, after ever prank but none of that mattered. They were pranking slytherins, pranks were harmless anyway. And the girl had always forgiven them.

Her brown eyes narrowed at the laughing group. "Oh yes, laugh. After all, you're only joking. No harm, right?" The silky voice that came from her lips practically dripped acid. She turned her cold gaze on to each boy, her lips pursing slightly. "Wrong. You lot are bullies. But despite all of the times I have stupidly forgiven you, I want you to know one thing." The brown doe-eyed girl turned away from the group, taking a few steps towards the castle. When they took a step to follow her, her voice froze them in place. Hermione's tone unnerved James especially, chilling him to his bones. "Every word of revulsion I screamed at you, I meant."

With her final words ringing in the boys' ears, the teen walked to the Slytherin common room. Though the tears pricked her eyes, she refused to let them fall. Once the teary brown eyed girl reached the common room, the thirteen year old girl threw herself at the seventh year, Narcissa. Naturally the older witch was shocked by the teenager's display, but one quick glance at the second year explained everything.

"Another prank?" Narcissa adjusted the younger teen's body into a more comfortable position on her lap, allowing her a better look at the Merlin awful dye job. The younger witch gave a small nod before asking for her help.

"Honestly I do not see why you refuse to allow me to hex them. Bambi love, one flick of my wand and they will never even glance at you rudely again." Yet Narcissa knew the usual response, the same one that happened every time. So the older witch simply ran her hands through the once pretty brown locks, channeling some magic to her fingers.

"You can tell the job was done by third years...such a horrid transfiguration. Their head of house should be ashamed of the work." Narcissa spoke, slowly returning Hermione's hair into the gorgeous coffee color it had been.

"I can never understand how cozy the common room is. The fireplace especially, it just seems so out of place down here." The second year's hoarse voice murmured, trying to take her mind off the events of the day. She felt herself leaning into Narcissa's caress; despite how frightening Regulus's cousin had been in the beginning, the older woman had been a rather helpful part of her life in the Slytherin house. In fact, Narcissa acted more like the older sibling James should have been.

"What did you expect? Chilled air, rotting corpses, perhaps a few whips and chains along with all the kinky side shows other houses claimed we'd partake in?" Narcissa questioned, her mocking words bring forth a giggle from the upset child. "Please that is just a lion's theory. Just because it lies in the dungeon does not mean our hearts do too; every snake needs a bit of warmth, a bit of comfort. Now go sit in a chair like a proper young lady before our other housemates join us."

Although the cold façade resumed his usual spot in Narcissa's overall appearance, Hermione could not help but smile. The teenager now understood what Regulus had told her in first year, although the snake might not be venomous, it will always act so as feigning toxic happened to be the only defense that truly protects the otherwise unoffending snake.

"Thank you, Cissa."

"Well look at this, trash apparently can walk." The sneer drew the attention of the group of third year boys. When they saw exactly who insulted them, a frown adorned all their lips.

"What do you want Black," the chubby one sneered.

"Do you really hang out with such lowly people, Cousin? I thought you might at least like them for their wit, obviously I had been wrong." The woman turned her attention the plump third year. "Come up with a better nickname if you are ever in the presence of more than one Black again."

"What do you want, Narcissa." Sirius growled out.

"Ah-ah, I would not be reaching for your wand, Sirius; it would be a shame for it to snap." Narcissa jeered when she saw her cousin reach for his wand; she raised her wand for an added effect.

"You would get expelled for breaking his wand," The tall, sandy blonde fellow spoke. Yet another inconsequential friend of her cousin's that Narcissa never bothered to remember the name of. Her blue eyes shot the boy a glare, daring him to speak to her again.

"Accidents could happen; the fates are not always kind mistresses, though I admit they are much kinder than their acquaintance, Nemesis." Her vindictive grin sent the two unnamed boys back.

"Why are you here?" A voice drew Narcissa's attention away from the scared boys. "Well if it is not the person hoped to run into." The Cheshire-like grin now wiped clean from her face, utter contempt replaced it; her lips curling into a hateful scowl.

"What are you here for?" James repeated the question again, cautious of the older witch. He knew from first hand that slytherins played dirty.

"I do not think that what I came for really concerns you all that much, Potter." Her lips curled into an unladylike sneer. To Narcissa, Potter had no concerns for their little Bambi; so she would not be the one to intervene with the desire for the Potters to reconcile. No she would only be the one to instigate some form of revenge for the poor second year; Merlin knows she needs someone to do it. "Though I do have one question for you, how are your parents not ashamed? I would have disowned you had you been my child,"

"Thank Merlin, I'm not then! I feel sorry for the poor bastard who has to call you mum!" James snarled.

"At least my son would be a better man than you. I would actually be able to say I raised my son right, unlike your mother." Narcissa's taunts seemed to just infuriate the brunette further. He could not believe that anyone would insult his mother, the woman who has done everything right and never did anything wrong.

"Take that back you bloody bint!" James snarled, grasping his wand out of his pocket. Sirius however grabbed his shoulder, halting him. The Black heir knew not to piss of his youngest cousin; she did not share with same family insanity. If James chose to duel her, he would lose. Narcissa learned how to duel as a Black, so not only would his cousin use any means necessary to win, Narcissa will also duel to the death.

"Get to the point, Narcissa." He told his cousin, eyeing her carefully.

"I could cease with the small talk and get straight to my point, but I feel like you need a lesson instead of an explanation. Everyone knows male Gryffindor are ignorant anyway." So, with a flick of her wand, the boys were all sent back against the wall, coiled up in chains, unable to move. They all looked shocked, clearly not expecting her—even though they knew her to be a snake—to hex them. With them bound to the wall, the boys assumed the seventh year would consider her work finished. But by the look in her blue eyes, the blonde did not seem happy enough with her work. So she gave a few more flicks of her wand, casting conjunctivitis, langlock, plus a quick obliviate on her prey. With that done, the seventh year turned on her heel.

With them chained to the wall, unable to see due to the puss seeping out of their eyes or talk due to their tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth, no one would hear those pesky boys for a while; more for her own protection than in spite she obliviated the third years. The group would not be able to identify her as the perpetrator. Potter, her cousin, and those two nameless dolts would only assume that a female member of her house "pranked" them.

She did not turn to look at them, instead choosing to merely pause in her steps. "Remember boys, everything divided by Nyx is negative; so be careful next time you try to distress an innocent child. Otherwise your run in with Nyx might occur quicker than you think, and unlike the others I hear Nyx has an unforgiving streak within her; not a mistress many really want to piss off." With all of that said, the blonde seventh year strolled down the corridor, back to her dorm room.

"Hex them, hex all the bloody gits!" Hermione snarled as silent as she possibly could while the brunette ambled her way into the library, taking her usual seat across from Regulus. Her friend merely gave her an exasperated sigh.

Regulus knew whatever caused her knickers to get twisted had to deal with her brother and his unruly group; his friend never let anything else get under her skin, at least not nearly as easily as Potter did. And it just aggravated the young Black all the more. Had his little Bambi just allowed the Slytherin house to get even with the stupid Gryffindor group, none of this would have happened. His cousin had given their housemates direct order to watch over Hermione before she graduated, warning severe punishment if she heard otherwise. This pesky little dilemma could have ended long ago had the foolish third year just given one measly word. Though Regulus knew that some of the older students, Narcissa included, decided to take the matter into their own hands a number of times; feeling their Bambi need to be revenged in some manner.

"Can we actually hex them?" Regulus asked, scowling when his friend shook her head. "Merlin woman, I thought you wanted them hexed? Make up your mind!" His comment earned him a slap on his arm, and not a playful one either.

"Watch it Black, I am in no mood to deal with your bloody sarcastic mouth!" Hermione grumbled.

"What happened this time?" Regulus asked when his friend made no attempt to just tell him like usual. When her voice did not answer back right away, he became a little worried. Did something serious happen? Yet before he could repeat his question, she spoke; taking the edge off his worry.

"Oh just the prats playing that stupid muggle game of 'Keep Away'—as they call it—with my text books in the corridor," The brunette growled. "Really with them being fourth years you would expect a little more class would you not?"

Regulus shot his fellow third year a dubious look. "I doubt anyone expects the Marauders—Merlin, what an awful name to call a group—to have more class. Now what is 'Keep Away'?"

"That stupid muggle game where they toss around your stuff so a person cannot get it," Hermione explained, at least when her brother and his gang played it against her it that seemed to be the objective. "One of their favorite games as of late." The brown eyed girl opened her Transfiguration book and stared at it for a few moments, before throwing her hands up and grabbing her head. "Merlin I do not think I can handle much more before I go completely mental, Leo."

"You should have gone barmy a long time ago, Bambi. 'Cor no one would blame you; Merlin knows people probably have a bet on for when you finally do go off your rocks from all of the frustration they put you through. Hell they make you spare constantly, how you have managed so far amazes anyone…maybe you are already mental."

Brown eyes glared icily at the boy sitting in the chair across the table, "Very funny, Leo. Hilarious really," the fourteen year old growled. Though she knew Regulus had been trying his best to cheer her up.

"Well I am being serious—"

"I thought that was your brother," The third year's snide remark brought about a glare from the young Black.

"Har-har," Regulus scoffed. "I thought my brother only found that joke hilarious? Please do not tell me you are being over powered by the inner cat lover," Regulus's eyes twinkled with a teasing enjoyment. He could handle a snarky Hermione, much more easily than he could handle the tides of depression to hit the fourteen year old whenever her brother lashes out. His question received a shrug from the fawn eyed girl, but nothing more.

Yet as the teen turned her gaze towards her battered textbooks, the young witch's thoughts continued down another path. What if she did allow Regulus to hex them? Or just allow her housemates to? What made her prevent the retaliation before? James had no regard for her, making her into his group's personal pranking target. If he cared then he would not be doing all the harmful things. Yet he does do them, therefore James has no regard to her feelings. So why in Merlin's name should she care for his?

What made her desire to protect him from her housemates? What reason would she have for protecting her bully? There were no logical explanations, nothing for her to gain from it. Allowing her brother to pick on her had not made him resume his once kindred nature. Instead he became a bigger prat, coming up with more awful pranks. With all of that acknowledged, Hermione realized something: James does not love her and he hadn't for a long while.

"So why protect him?" Hermione whispered, a few tears spilling onto her open book.

So there are the snap shots! For an elaboration of the time frame: the first two relate to each other—falling during the summer before Hermione's second year; the third and the fourth also pair up, but in Hermione's second year. The fifth snapshot is in Hermione's third.

Nemesis—Greek Goddess of Retribution, associated with Moirai of the Fates.

Nyx—The Goddess of the night; she is the cause of darkness, distress and other negative things in Greek mythology./ Narcissa, in this chapter, implied that for Hermione, she would become a version of Nyx. Basically she would make anyone's life pure hell if they upset her 'bambi love'.

Last but not least: I put this at the bottom so as not to reveal anything of the present chapter. The fourth Guest asked if I could explain why James brought Sirius along when he confronted Hermione. I had many reasons, but none I can really say without giving away future events. So for this question I will simply say, the two siblings being to part ways and Sirius being brought in on a family confrontation shows that.

Love to hear from you,

Kori

4. In the Name of Getting Even

-Authors note: -Thanks for all those who reviewed. If you had accounts, then I PMed you! If you're a guest, Thanks: Lucy, Elizabeth for her very verbose reviews, Angel, Rosier, and Guest.' I am thrilled with the reaction to the story.

Also thank you for the kind Betas: Angstar54 and firefly81! Without them this chapter would have taken far longer to do. I normally have to edit it on my own and it could have taken weeks for an update without them! And as per the usual, Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter.

At the end of this chapter there is a little game. Guess the singer of some lyrics correctly and I will answer 2 questions you might have. (Whether it is via PM or in the next chapter A/N)

Chapter 4: In the Name of Getting Even

"So you are the little lady who has enraptured my youngest?" Hermione stared in surprise at the tall figure glaring down at her. The man in front of her heavily resembled his eldest son, albeit a lot older looking. One thing Hermione noticed more than anything else was how tired the man appeared, like he has been working constantly for the last ten years. She found that strange, most purebloods who decided to take on the title of 'Lord' are usually well equipped to handle any matter. So what could cause this man to look so tired? What battle could he be fighting?

"I would hardly say enraptured," Hermione grumbled trying to hide her embarrassment, "Leo is just my best friend." The brunette stated, her humble brown eyes staring into the darker grey of the Lord Black's. She had heard many stories of this man from Narcissa; He appeared cold and hateful, but just like Narcissa herself it is merely a ploy to test those worthy of praise. However, once someone receives that commendation, they forever gained the protection of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

"Leo?" Hermione gave a pointed stare at the evident sneer of her friend's nickname. When he tried to dissuade her choice, she gave him an exasperated look before elaborating.

"Are friends not supposed to give each other nicknames?" It seemed like a common display of affection between friends at school, at least from what she witnessed. When she saw him open his mouth to speak, no doubt to say something crass, Hermione intervened; this time being a little more direct. "You did allow him to be named Regulus," she pointed out.

"My son's name had been in our family for generations," Orion's gruff voice growled. Brown orbs rolled as the fourteen year old witch resisted the urge to scoff. The young Potter could not help but wonder what caused the men of this family to be so stubborn and dense.

"For a family so set on a naming tradition, you obviously know nothing about said names. Regulus is the brightest star in the constellation Leo the Lion. Therefore the nickname makes perfect sense and it even adds to your family's naming tradition." Her clipped voice brooked no room for a counter argument. The young with knew she had logical reasoning for Regulus' nickname. Although there was of course an ulterior motive to it too, one she would not reveal to the Lord Black. After all, how could one explain an inside joke like theirs, especially when she doubted the Slytherin Alumni would really approve of his son being called a cat worshipper.

"Are you insinuating you know more about my family than I?" Orion growled, withdrawing his wand from the holster on his thigh and aiming at the fourteen year old. He could not believe the insufferable witch dare mock him. However the older man could now see why Narcissa had spoken so kindly of the young girl; she had mettle and obviously felt secure in her standings to instigate any challenge necessary.

"Well if the robes fit, who am I to deny the accusation?" Hermione replied with a seemingly indifferent shrug. In truth fright shook her very core; having a wand pointed at her person from a member of a known dark family can do that after all. If Orion really wanted to kill her, she could not stop him and the brunette doubted the he would hold back a few Unforgivibles simply because of her age.

Hermione watched as the Lord Black's eyes blazed with a flicker of anger and the grip on his wand tightened. It took all of her willpower not to flinch in fright. Yet by squaring her shoulders and standing tall, she seemed to hold off her body's longing to flinch. She stood still for a few minutes, awaiting the hexes she expected to be sent her way. But before her eyes, the man's grip on his wand loosened and he instead let out a booming laugh.

"You're alright, girl. I approve of your friendship with my youngest son. Now how about we go to the study and play a game of chess?"

"Someone really should put those annoying Gryffindors in their rightful place," Regulus grumbled, sitting across the table from his best friend.

"Oh and where is that place?" Hermione asked, feigning curiosity. "Wait; let me guess, below us? Really Leo, I would expect better insults from you." The brunette chastised. Their house-mates focused on the food in front of them, paying no mind to their repetitive banter. The two fourth years often complained about the Marauders, who started in on the topic just depended on the day.

"Actually they should be below any being with at least some basic thoughts," Regulus remarked as he began filling his plate.

"Lupin is not that bad, he can hold a decent conversation quite nicely even." Hermione defended, "And regardless of what you think about Sirius, he has been nothing but kind to me."

"Except when they all bully you," Regulus argued, looking up from his plate and towards Hermione for a brief moment. He still could not fathom why his friend would ever defend those wretches. They never return the favor! "Really, Bambi, why on Morgana's ti—"

"Hey! Watch the profanity!" Hermione berated. "Sheesh what is with you boys and body parts? Between Merlin's male parts and Morgana's bosom I cannot tell which side you lot bat for!" Regulus just gave his friend a knowing look, unnerving the brunette in the process. With Regulus' piercing silver eyes, Hermione felt as if he could see into the depths of her soul; like he knew all her secrets, wants and fears with one measly glance. "Quit looking at me like that, Leo!"

"Then quit being a prude, Bambi." He replied, taking a bite of his Yorkshire pudding. Hermione just gave an indignant response of, "We're at the dinner table!" Brown eyes glowered at the young Black who just seemed to ignore her comment. She had discovered early on in her friendship with Regulus he loved to make a normal conversation incredibly awkward. Sure, he was a loyal friend, always there for her when she really needed him to be, and he understood her better than anyone. But he loved to embarrass her.

"So back to what I was saying before some chit rudely interrupted me," Regulus cast Hermione a warning glance, "They all prank you, not just Potter. All of them take part in bullying you. And yet for some damn reason you still try and defend them. I thought some sense would have come to you last year," the fourteen year old boy grumbled. He really could not understand girls; even his Bambi morphed into a foreign species at times. Hermione would seem to get zapped by a spark of clarity, realizing the Gryffindors she defended did not deserve such; but then as if obliviated, she would go right back to defending them!

"I am just saying that not all of them are bad," Hermione told Regulus. The fourteen year old noticed his friend appearing slightly flustered. His argent eyes focused on her for a few minutes, trying to see if perhaps she might have been hexed into believing those people were actually kind. Though he knew Bambi had a good wand arm, innocence still seemed to incase her and he knew her defenses hit the ground when anyone she cares for comes into play. Potter could get away with killing her all because she would be too devoted to him to notice any nasty intention.

"You do not seem to be hexed," He murmured, frowning. He cocked his head to the right, gazing at her curiously. The young Black tried to think of what could possibly have his friend in a tizzy; she must be barmy if she would defend those prats. However, Regulus had to, although begrudgingly, admit that Lupin had a higher level of maturity than the lot he associated with. And for all the interactions he witness with Bambi and Lupin in the library, the lion had not treated her with anything but respect. Of course, Regulus only chalked that up to with the fact his cousin Narcissa gave a clear warning to his brother in the summer. Apparently, Narcissa had grown tired of the pranks continuing on their precious Bambina.

Her brown eyes were widened, surprise coursing through her veins. "Of course I am not hexed, Regulus! Merlin, why would you think I had been?" Hermione exclaimed. The brunette began to think she would never understand her friend's logic for anything.

"Bambi, you said my brother was not all that bad." Regulus pointed out. The way he said the statement so absolutely, even Hermione almost thought it seemed to explain why she might have been hexed. "Honestly even the bints that like him know he has a very vindictive side!" The moment those words came out of his mouth, Regulus' eyes grew wide in realization.

"Oh Merlin, please tell me you do not like my brother!" Regulus whispered harshly. But when his friend's face paled he knew the answer, even when she shook her head in fervent denial.

Hermione could not believe the accusation Regulus had made. She did not like Sirius Black! How could she possibly like someone who had more skirt then he had common sense? But Hermione could not deny that something seemed to cause her to gravitate towards Sirius; how her eyes instantly land on him when they are in the same room, she always felt keenly aware of his presence. However, that did not mean that she liked him!

"Merlin, Bambi you have awful taste in men." Regulus said, shaking his head before continuing to eat his Yorkshire pudding.

Hermione's piercing stare seemed to freeze the older boy, shocking him. Snape could not figure out why he seemed so stilled by her angry gaze. He just knew that something compelled him to listen to the girl, a kind of submissive intuition. Though he could not fathom why this slip of a girl would corner him by the Black Lake.

"What is it, Potter?" He asked, trying to withhold the sneer itching to escape his lips. For whatever reason, this girl had the heavily fortified protection of the Black familyand the Lestrange family; it would be foolish of him to cross her. But Snape knew that was to be expected, purebloods always stuck together—even for blood traitors apparently.

"Do you regret it?" The question took Severus by surprise. What would he regret? Besides calling his best friend that dreadful word…but the young Potter would not know that. With her friends, there is no doubt that she also believes that any Muggle-born is a wretched animal.

"Regret what?" Snape found himself asking.

"Calling Evans a Mudblood," Hermione elaborated. She had rarely spoken to the girl, only seeing her in the library. But the brunette had heard many things about the Gryffindor Golden Girl. How kind and supportive of house unity or how Evans has captured the heart of the Marauding Potter. And the young witch had to admit that she held some respect for the girl if only because she had spurned her brother's advances. It was true that Hermione did not know the girl very well, but the brunette did not think the redhead deserved to be called such a name by a close friend. Friendships were hard to come by in Slytherin; she had gotten lucky with Regulus. Snape should not have risked his bond with Evans for the sake of saving face in front of their housemates.

"Why would you ask such? Of course I don't regret it. She's a filthy Mudblood," Snape growled. But with one glance of her brown eyes, Severus knew she did not believe him. The fourth year seemed to have this innate intuition when it came to people; he swore Miss Potter just knew things.

"Okay," Hermione said. Severus thought he won the argument far too easily, and his theory was proven correct when the fifteen year old started in on him, raging at full force. "Evans is a filthy little Mudblood, not even worthy of the attention of the pathetic half-blood she had come to consider her best friend since her first year. That is understandable. After all, she has dirty blood and a barbaric attention span common for her lineage." At her harsh words, Snape almost recoiled from shock. He had never heard this girl speak so vilely of a person. He never really knew where her beliefs lied, but he always assumed her to share the sentiments Lucius did. And her alliance to his wife seemed to have always supported that notion.

Anger washed over Severus when her words fully sunk in. How dare this fourth year insinuate anything bad about Lily? Lily was a Goddess compared to this vile, serpent she-devil.

"But remember this: she cared for you. Not because you had Prince family blood or because you are rather gifted in potions; she only cared for you. Even if it risked her Gryffindor Golden Girl title, or any friends she might have in her house; because to her your friendship meant more than any insensitive prat. How many of your friends in Slytherin do you believe share that same loyalty?" Hermione drove her point home with her last sentence, "Especially to some lowly little half-blood?"

"You do not know what you are talking about," Snape said, shaking his head. How could a pureblood with pureblood friends understand what he is experiencing? She had a perfect life with a rich and loving family, powerful friends, and the whole wizarding world practically under her feet. The right every pureblood gets to experience.

"I know more than you think." Hermione replied. "I know what complete betrayal feels like, especially over seemingly harmless words, false promises and pathetic friends."

"She's just a lowly Mudblood," Snape mumbled trying his best to keep up the noble Slytherin façade. "Why do you care where I see her place?"

"That Mudblood is beating every pureblood in your year when it comes to academics. If she can be beating all the purebloods and she is the lowly one…then tell me Severus, how low on the food chain are you?" Hermione sneered. She stared into Snape's cold eyes. The flicker of emotion that seemed to appear briefly in the older boy's eyes caused Hermione to soften. "Look, I am where you put Evans." The brunette's remark seemed to surprise Severus, and he tried to think of who has caused her that problem. It could not be Regulus, the two were seen with each other far too often for them to be fighting and have no one know about it. "Prove you're a better man than she thinks you are right now."

"Tell me why you even care?" Severus questioned.

The fifth year could tell the girl was pondering on whether or not she should answer his question; eventually she did. "I am just saying I would think a friend who has stuck by me through everything that has transpired is more valuable than a group of people who will stab me in the back just to climb the latter for power." With her thoughts revealed, the brunette walked towards the castle and to the safety of her best friend's presence.

"JAMES POTTER HOW DARE YOU DO SUCH A THING!" The screech from the common room drew the attention of the Marauders. Peter, Remus, and Sirius rolled their eyes at the screaming redhead, while their mate James just stared adoringly at his love.

"What did he do that pissed you off this time, Evans?" Sirius questioned, not bothering to look up from the edition of 'The Daily Prophet' he currently held.

"How could you do such a thing to your own sister, Potter?" Lily growled. Pure disgust seemed to be the only answer to her question. Did James not even care that his sister was in the infirmary because of his actions? "What is wrong with you," she whispered, shocked to not receive even a sheepish apology from the normally affectionate James Potter. Where was the boy who raved about his sister during his first year? How could that sweet boy be such an apathetic prat towards the very same sister he once praised?

"Prongs did not do anything," Sirius said, lazily flipping to the next page of the Prophet, "Not his fault the girl is such a klutz." Admittedly, Sirius felt bad that the girl would be spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing, but he had to protect his best mate.

"That is his sister!" Lily exclaimed.

"His adopted sister," Peter replied. "They don't even share the same blood. What's it matter anyway? She's a snake." The chubby little boy returned to eating some of his Bertie Bott's Ever Flavored Beans.

"You used a tripping jinx on her and she fell down two flights of stairs!" Lily responded aghast. The boys are lucky the fourth year had Regulus with her at the time; otherwise she could have been dead! "How can you be so heartless? She has done nothing to you or anyone else!" The redhead seethed, her fist clenched by her side. What happened to the kind guy trying to woo her heart? The sweet person who would give her chocolates on every holiday and declare his undying affection for her? What kind of man could do such loving things to a girl but be spiteful towards his own sister? "You're all monsters," she whispered angrily.

"Lay off, Evans." Sirius said shrugging. No one knew what really happened. But the Black Heir did know that the group would protect each other; even if James did not cast the jinx, he would admit to being the castor for either Remus or Peter. After all it had to be either those two or one of the other few students in the corridor. He and James were too wrapped up in talking about the Gryffindor Quidditch plays.

Though the younger witch had long ago caught his attention, his loyalty lies with his mates. Not some good looking bird, especially one who lives in a snake pit. So even if the event caused his stomach to knot and he actually felt panicked when he saw her fall; Sirius would also protect his group of friends. "She sides with the blood purists, perhaps the castor decided to defend your honor?"

"Hermione has done NOTHING to me! What could Potter possibly defending me against?" Lily growled. Sure, she had not said much to the younger Potter, being in different houses kind of limited too much interaction. That coupled with the fact she was a year below them tightened the reins concerning when they two girls could actually talk. But she had seen her around a few times, and the fourth year looked harmless.

"Why are you so sure Prongs did it?" Sirius shot back.

"He is the only one who is a complete arse to her!" Lily's green eyes narrowed on the boys, her left hand resting on her hip. "You lot might side with Potter on pranks, never defending the innocent girl—"

"Hermione is not innocent! She associates with Snivellus. She agrees with those she hangs out with. Hermione is a snake who does not even care about some Muggle-born chit." The Potter heir growled, interrupting the female prefect. Sure, at one point, Hermione was innocent. His sister had a kind, friendly soul. But not now, the snakes corrupted her; they deviled her once kindred spirit. No matter what anyone said, that girl could not be his Hermione. His Hermione would have never said such vile words he heard that slag tell Severus.

"Her loyalty is to blood purity and her housemates." James growled, "In fact she probably congratulated him for finally ditching the filth he associated with." The Potter heir noticed the redhead's shock at his harsh words. He had never called Lily such fowl things, not behind her back and especially not to her face. "I don't see you that way, but Hermione…she does and so do her housemates, Evans."

"Oh really?" Lily scoffed, not believing what he said. "You really believe that the kind girl who helps first years find classes and tutors kids in the library is some pureblood fanatic?" The fifth year did not believe it. Sure Hermione has mostly pureblood friends, but she has never denied helping a Muggle-born finding their way around the castle or in need of a good tutoring session.

"She's a fuckin' Slytherin! 'Course I believe she is evil!" The Potter heir screamed. So maybe Hermione conned Lily, the professors, and a few other students into believing she is a kind and well-rounded girl. She did not fool him. He knows her true nature; the vile, supremacist nature that every Slytherin had. When James saw the obvious doubt in Lily's eyes, he continued.

"Evans she called you a pathetic—that word!—not even worthy of a half-blood's attention; practically sneering that you have dirty blood and a barbaric attention span 'common for your lineage'! I heard her tell Snivellus that that!" James yelled, shooting off the sofa and on to his feet. "How is any of that a 'kind' girl like you believe that snake to be? Face it Evans, I know for a fact that she is evil."

"You do not know that!" Lily growled, clenching her fist. James might have heard Hermione say those awful things, but in what context? How does he know that the fifteen year old was not just driving home a point to someone who needed it? But what kind of point would cause her to say such hurtful things? …Perhaps something to do with Severus? Everyone in the castle knows their friendship was over; Hermione likes to fix things, maybe she wanted to fix their friendship?

That thought seemed to banish away any of the doubts she had about Hermione. The younger girl had a kind heart, even kinder than most of the Gryffindor occupants. Hermione probably just decided to convince Severus to apologize to her; in a typical Slytherin fashion.

"I'm her brother! Of course I know her! I know all about her!" James argued back. Why would Lily be arguing with him about this, can she not see that he just wanted to protect her from the vile snakes? Like he tried to protect Hermione?

"Then you're a shite brother," Lily said shaking her head. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Remus gaping at her—the redhead had never cursed, at least not in front of them. But, the redhead pitied the fourth year for having James as a brother. Even Petunia would be a step up from James, Lily thought. And the Gryffindor witch had thought that virtually impossible before. But with this discovery; this indifferent, uncaring brother who put his sister in the hospital wing…Lily felt grateful for Petunia. "25 points—each—for being prejudice bastards to the younger years," the redhead stated, then focused her attention on James. "I hope one day you grow up to see the damages you caused." The look Lily gave James held only contempt as she walked put the stairs to her dorm.

The Killing Curse has been feared since its creation. But what does the deadly incantation truly mean? To find the answer we must dig into the Muggle archives. Muggles seem to have taken on the Killing Curses' sister, Abracadabra, as some sort of magic trick slogan. These sister spells are two sides of the same coin. One reflects the good—Abracadabra—and the other reflecting the bad—Avada Kedavra.

Abracadabra is in every sense how the Muggles crack it up to be. Get a cheap top hat, a fake, plastic wand and use the incantation. Bam! Out pops a bunny or something. How have the Muggles discovered this using some simple parlor trick our wizarding children could do easily? It all has to do with the incantation; Abracadabra means 'I will create as I speak.' So by saying 'Abracadabra' one is essentially creating something.

Whereas, the Killing Curse possesses the opposite effect; instead of creating, it rescinds. Avada Kedavra essentially means 'I will destroy as I speak'. But what does the Killing Curse really destroy? Could it destroy the soul or the magic?

Once again we must look elsewhere for the answer; this time in our own history. Why do wizards live so long? …Because we have a good soul? Or is the answer much simpler? Perhaps it is our magic that sustains our long life span? Magic would seem a more logical route, as—let's face it—not every wizard has a decent soul. So the answer must be magic.

Well if our magic can hold off death for at least an extra hundred years or so, then how could it be defeated by a measly spell? As the potions saying goes, 'Like dissolves like,' therefore one spell's magic could easily dissolve another form. The spell reacts as a more potent form of magic that will override the magical core. So basically any core magic will be extinguish shortly after coming in contact with the Killing Curse. But how strong is Avada Kedavra? Could it be stopped?

It is plausible that something might be able to counteract the deadly spell. Every form of magic has another stronger version; now what that counter might be is unknown. I speculate an ancient form of magic might play some role as a neutralizer for the Killing Curse. As to how, I am not quite sure.

Under no circumstance though can the effects of the spell be reversed. Nothing can bring back the dead. However, because of the meaning of the incantation, Avada Kedavra must be verbalized to reach its full potential. Otherwise the 'Destroy as I speak' becomes severely diluted and the spell might not actually rescind the person's magic, merely prolong the death in a very painful matter.

"Bambi quit writing your magical theory blurbs; you promised to help me with Ancient Runes." Regulus' voice drew Hermione's attention away from her little essay. She had been writing under a pseudonym for a little over a month now, trying to earn a little extra, not inheritance cash. Only Regulus knew of her side project. At first he disagreed with it, Regulus held the firm belief that pureblood witches should remain in the home. But even he relented when she explained what the money would be used for.

"Alright, Regulus, I am coming," Hermione said. She rolled up her parchment and glanced up at Regulus. "You do know I will drag you to the Owlery before we begin your essay, right?" Regulus merely groaned in response.

"Confringo!" Hermione said, sending the blasting curse towards the laughing Marauders. She sent a number of other hexes their way, but none she could clearly remember. She could only see rage; pure, fiery rage. All her other senses dulled as revenge obliterated what was left of her common sense.

They gaped at her, shocked the witch dared to curse them. Simultaneously all their wands were raised, ready to return fire; however before they could actually throw out a curse, the Gryffindor Head of House appeared.

"Wands pointed at other students?" McGonagall questioned. "Who instigated this?" Immediately fingers were pointed; most were at Hermione, but a few (namely Slytherins) pointed the fault towards the Marauders.

"Boys?" McGonagall asked, keeping a steady gaze on her house's misfits.

Immediately they shook their head. Sirius and James exclaimed in unison, "She just sent a blasting curse our way!" But the devious grins from the two purebloods, the drop of shoulders from Remus, and the shifty glances from Peter seemed to counter their argument. So, McGonagall turned her focus to the younger student.

"Miss Potter, do you have anything to say? Any justification for what you have done?"

The brunette scoffed before glaring daggers at the Head of Gryffindor. "I have plenty but none that you had not heard about before and did anything about. And to be quite honest, I do not think you even care about my justification. You are simply going to give them a slap on the wrists before awarding them another set of outrageous points next time."

The Transfiguration professor looked aghast. For any student to think so lowly of a teacher was one thing, but to have said student so openly disrespect the adult…well that is another matter entirely. "Miss Potter!" the professor screeched.

"What? You do not like hearing the truth? Too bad! Merlin knows someone needed to tell you!" the fifteen year old snarled, tears brimming in her eyes. "It is people like you who just sit and watch as others are bullied that creates dark lords and their followers. So the next time one rises, count the number of students you put on his side; I am positive there will be plenty."

A pin could drop after the young witch's brutal remark. Not one student could believe that this slip of a girl would have the audacity to take on one of the most respected teachers the school had. Even more so, the fourth year had straight up told the Transfiguration professor that the woman played favorites.

"50 points from Slytherin!" McGonagall screeched. "And two weeks of detention for you Miss Potter. I expect you to report to Hagrid, starting tonight. Now make your way to the Head Master's office."

The grumbling fourth year made her way deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Hermione knew fully well she deserved detention, what she said to McGonagall had been inexcusable…no matter how true the young with believed it to be. The Gryffindor Head of House and the Headmaster had played favorites with the Marauders for far too long.

The Forest gave Hermione chills; she could definitely see why it would be deemed forbidden. The brunette knew she needed to distract herself; it would not be wise to dwell on the dangerous residents of this forest.

It took a few minutes, but Hermione finally managed to distract herself, thanks to the help of Muggle music she heard with Regulus and Cissa and busying herself with the assigned task. Hermione could not figure out why the Game Keeper would need wild flowers, but she figured she could have been doing worse out here.

"Got to be a joker, he just do what he please," Hermione softly sang. She had to admit Muggles had rather catchy music, much more so than the wizarding music she grew up with. The lyrics seemed to just flow out of her mouth with ease. "One thing I can tell you is you got to be free,"

Brown eyes narrowed when a rustling noise came from her left. What could possibly be going on? Surely, no one else wandered the forest this late at night?

"Glad I'm a snake," Hermione mumbled as she placed the basket on the ground. The fifteen year old slowly made her way deeper into the woods, heading in the direction she heard the noise. "If I had been a lion, curiosity would kill me."

That thought died with the sound of a scream and Hermione sprinted in its direction. Apparently she had not been the only one to occupy the forest after all; whoever foolishly entered into the forest depths were obviously ignorant. But the fool needed her help and the young witch would not deny them something she could so easily give.

However what she saw shook her to her very core. Laying on his back, staring up at snarling fangs in fear was Severus Snape. His skin seemed even paler than usual, his body shaking, and eyes widened in fear. But her fellow house-mate did not have her frozen in fear—no what was just half a meter away from him, bearing its fangs and growling…that frightened her.

"SEVERUS!" Her voice screamed out, on its own accord. The brunette began taking steps forward, entirely unaware of the action. But a fierce snarl and gleaming yellow eyes seemed to freeze her once more. She barely registered what happened next: the creature lunging at her and a horrified scream.

"POTTER!"

GAME: "Got to be a joker he just do what he please"…" One thing I can tell you is you got to be free" ©Singer who I will accredit in the next chapter. Why? Because I decided I want to play a little game. Anyone who can tell me what the name of the song is and who sings it will get to ask me 2 questions that I will answer in the following Chapter (With limitations because honestly what author would spoil a plot of a story?)

Lucy reviewed about Sirius's behavior and about "how is it a 'Sirius B and Hermione G' fic?" A lot of you asked this and well I did not want to leave a question hanging and since most were guests, and I cannot really answer via PM. So here is my response. (Sorry it is rather long)

A) Wait for the rest of the story, there is a reason it's in progress. Not a lot of things will be clear at the beginning. B) And this is CRUCIAL; everyone needs to understand the real perpetrator to Hermione is in fact James, not Sirius, Remus, or Peter. None of them ever actually instigated anything pertaining to Hermione, only joined in on the pranks with James. James is the one that broke his promise to Hermione, which is why she is mad at James, the pranks just fall under his broken promise. The others just share guilt by association in their actions.

I always saw the Marauders as kind of cruel with their pranks and most of their animosity stemmed towards Slytherins. In this fic the Marauder's judgment on the matter of pranks might be wrong but the Marauders in general for JKR were not very well versed in right and wrong; otherwise Snape would have never discovered Remus was in fact a werewolf while they were in school ( I cannot remember what year he discovered it, I placed in 5th year because it seemed to help the story flow)—I do think that is some canon evidence that the Marauders do not necessarily separate 'right and wrong' especially when it comes to Slytherins; they only sided with each other. Hermione just happened to appear under the 'Slytherin' category to them. However Hermione can forgive them! It will not make her weak and it damn sure will NEVER further victimize anyone who was bullied. And I can say that from experience.

Forgiveness has never been about right and wrong. It is something one must do to feel better about themself; not because the perpetrator apologized or because the character is not a strong, capable character. I believe forgiveness is better than a grudge. And I do not think being a forgiving a person makes the character or person weak. It shows how strong they are, how despite pain, they can move on—they can continue to grow and better themselves. Those that cannot forgive are the weak ones; "…Forgiveness remains the attribute of the strong" (Gandhi).

Again, I am sorry for the long Author note at the end. I just felt I need to get those points across; I know in the beginning stages a story can be a little confusing; I'm a simple author, attempting to work out a plot ravaging my head. I might not always be clear on some subjects—so I really am grateful for all those who reviewed.

Like always, I would love to hear from you.

Kori.

5. Domestic Dispute

- Thank you for all of those who reviewed! I PM-ed those that I could and to the guests: Thank you, Angel, the 3 Guests, Julia, Breizh, Rosier and MidnightShadow. Also thank you for the kind Betas: Angstar54 and firefly81! Without them this chapter would have taken far longer to do. I normally have to edit it on my own and it could have taken weeks for an update without them! And as per the usual, Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter.

Honestly I am very happy with this story, I never thought a simple Idea in my head would get such raving reviews. Really 68 for only 4 chapters? Not to mention all of those who Favorited/Follwed this story. You guys rock!

Chapter 5: Domestic Disputes

Some unknown feeling formed within Hermione as she watched the werewolf leap towards her, only to be thrown to the side by a large black dog. Maybe her reaction could be blamed on fear, or perhaps it was the whole situation that caused the swell of emotions. Or maybe the reason happened to be on a more primal level, could she know these creatures? On some level could her magic be entwined somehow with these beings? If so, then how?

As far as Hermione knew, she only knew Regulus' magical signature. The two fourth years shared so many similarities both in their habits and their magic, it was impossible to not know each other's signature so intimately. But if the hypothesis of her last essay had been correct, it took years of knowing a person for a wizard's magic to unwittingly identify a friend. So who could these creatures be? More importantly why were they out here, terrorizing a student?

"Potter!" A voice pulled her out of her daze.

"Severus what are you doing out here?!" Hermione questioned, glancing at the older boy who finally managed to regain her attention.

"What am I doing here, what about you?!" Severus snarled. This girl had to be one of the daftest he knew! First openly confronting him about his skirmish with Lily, and now wandering the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night?

"I have a school approved reason!" Hermione growled, thinking of the punishment she received. She still did not think the punishment had been fairly given, even though she knew she deserved some form of one. But surely her brother and his group deserved one as well? Brown eyes refocused on to the older boy next to her. "Can you say that you are too?" When Snape's eyes flickered to the floor, the young witch knew the answer. Severus Snape did not have a reason for being in the Forbidden Forest.

A yelp snapped the two out of their bickering. Two sets of eyes were focused on the stag and dog fighting off the werewolf. How could two animals possibly fight off the werewolf? Brown eyes turned to look at the fellow Slytherin next to her. "Severus?"

"It's Potter and his group," Severus bit out, understanding her silent question. He barely registered the wide, brown eyes and faint gasp when he felt a soft, feminine body collide into his. "Potter what in Merlin's—" Snape paused, registering the tears in the fourth year's eyes. Did she feel remorseful for her brother's actions? Did she actually care that he could have gotten hurt?

"I am sorry," he heard her whisper. "I am so sorry; I know it does not mean much, but I am very sorry that they would do this to you. It's not right, it's not right." He could feel the tears leaking through his robes. This witch, one who barely knew him, cried for him. Crying because some prat related to her and his friends were risking his life.

The two humans, so absorbed in their whispered conversation, did not register the gleaming eyes of the dog protecting them. The dog growled before even registering the reaction. That growl got him pinned to the floor by the snarling werewolf. The dog whined, trying to show the werewolf he did not mean to challenge the bigger canine. When claws embedded into his left side, the dog let out a keen whine.

But suddenly the weight was off him, and another whine sounded a meter away. Snarls and yelps sounded, but the dog could not force himself up to help. He could barely even pin point the tell-tale signs of a clash for dominance occurring somewhere on his left side, how could he help when he did not know what was happening? Consciousness began to fade from the dog's mind, but he knew before he could let that happen, he had to do something . . . something to stop the bleeding.

Then the idea formed. The dog knew what needed to be done. He needed to change back, he needed to return to his original form and use his wand. It took a few minutes, but the dog finally morphed into a human; however the human could barely stay awake. The gash on his side continued to spill blood, and darkness over took his vision.

The stag watched the dog in shock; his friend lied unconscious on the floor, bleeding. The regal animal turned toward the other human, occupying the forest clearing and began to walk towards him. When the stag was close enough, he began to nudge the boy until the Slytherin snapped, "What?!"

Snape knew the silent suggestion when the stag looked towards Sirius. The Slytherin wanted to deny helping the Gryffindor, preferring to have him bleed out and die on the cold forest floor. But Severus could not allow that to happen, despite how much he hated Black and his group of friends, no one deserved a death like that. "Fine," Snape muttered, "But consider this my life debt paid." The Slytherin knew that on some level, he owed Potter a life debt. Had the stag not been there, the werewolf would have killed him.

When Snape had yet to move, the stag nudged him again; this time more forceful. "I want something in return," Snape watched as the stag seemed to roll his eyes, or do a variant thereof. It contradicted the life debt he owed to the elder Potter, but Severus felt the request should be asked. "Protect her," The fifth year Slytherin pointed to the snarling female pinning down the werewolf.

When the stag nodded, Severus picked up the Black Heir and headed out the forest. But not before glancing back to the mysterious witch. 'I will get answers from her later,' Snape mused silently as he continued his trek towards the hospital wing.

Everything came as a blur. 'What is happening? Why is my body moving? Stop! This is not me, I am not doing this!' But she was. Even if the actions were on an unconscious level, they were hers. It felt weird watching her actions from lidded eyes, knowing she had no control of her movements; yet eagerly partaking in them.

Suddenly something clicked, like another being within her decided to reveal a hidden portion of knowledge. She had a right to be angry; she had a right to attack the creature. Animosity engulfed her. Rage at the werewolf coursed through her veins, rage for attacking something that belonged to her. She pinned the creature to the floor, by his throat none-the-less, because he attacked something of hers. But what did he attack?

Sirius.

He attacked Sirius, and for that I had to kill him.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open and she gasped loudly. The last thought had not been hers. Fright swelled within her. What was happening to her? Why would she feel so protective of Sirius? Although he had yet to show any signs of hatred towards her, he certainly did not care for her either . . . right?

Another, unknown, emotion expanded within her, dulling the fright. It did not matter if he cared for her or not. He belonged to her; therefore, she would protect him. Hermione did not know why, but for some reason she had to protect him.

"Bambi, what happened?" Regulus asked as he burst through the doors, receiving a scowl from Madam Pomfrey. Brown eyes looked up, startled by her friend's entrance.

"Nothing, Leo. I just served my detention," the brunette muttered.

"You do not faint by 'just serving detention' and you know that, Hermione!" Regulus growled, his silver eyes glaring down at her. He watched as the brunette just shook her head before giving a long, drawn out sigh.

"I just do not remember it," she lied. "Once I entered the forest and found Severus there, everything just went blank. I mean, I know I felt scared and then furious . . . but other than that . . . I hit a wall, Leo. I just cannot remember." The brunette hated lying, especially to Regulus.

"That is a lie, Bambi." Regulus growled. Anger surged through him. How dare this witch lie to him?! He who supported her when no one else did! Regulus' shoulders slumped when he realized what he thought. Bambi would never lie to him without good reason. But what reason could she have?

"Tell me the truth," Regulus demanded, in a much gentler tone. When he saw her brown eyes flicker in the direction of the closed curtains a few beds down, Regulus understood. She would not reveal anything with other occupants in the room. "Alright, you can tell me when you are in a better condition, Bambi. Get some rest," He murmured, softly patting her head before he left the Hospital Wing.

Brown eyes flickered to the closed curtains once more, only this time she met a familiar pair of brown eyes. She would need to know more about what happened last night and the only one who knew those answers happened to be the man who saved her.

'But why did you save me, Jamey?'

"Now what would it be under?" Hermione mused aloud. Getting into the Restricted Section had not been an issue and Hermione had never been more grateful for Slughorn's favoritism. Thanks to said partiality, the fourth-year witch had been granted access into the Restricted Section to begin her search. The brunette may have had to lie about the reason, but Slughorn seemed more than happy to grant her access regardless of her lack of true intention.

But for the past three weeks she met with a standstill at what she needed to look for in this section of the library. Although it would be helpful, Hermione doubted there was a book titled: What is wrong with Hermione Potter. Running a hand through her mane of brown locks, the fifteen year old sighed. 'Just what could be happening to me?' the girl questioned.

"I guess it would not hurt to just take a break," The brunette thought before she began to browse the Restricted Section, avoiding the particular shelves about Wizarding Ailments which seemed to give her trouble.

The brunette seemed to wander her way into the Magical Creatures section, picking out a few books which seemed to capture her attention. She had always found Magical Creatures to be interesting, especially the humanoids ones. Something about their nature just seemed fascinating to the girl. So for an hour or so, Hermione allowed herself to get lost in the novel about Veela culture.

Eventually Hermione found herself back in the Wizarding World section of the carefully guarded books. Hermione had decided to ignore the ailments of her society, and instead focused on genealogy. Perhaps it had to do with her birth? The Potters did adopt her, so it would make sense that whatever happened to her could. The chestnut haired witch could not imagine anything like her symptoms to be a disease passed down from her biological parents. 'Though there are stranger things in the magical world,' Hermione mused.

Thirty minutes into her search, a strange book caught her eye. "The Extinct Eastern European Genealogy of Sirin?" Hermione read aloud, curious. What would a book on Eastern Europe be doing here in Scotland? The book seemed littered with dust, so Hermione gently blew on it. She managed to get the book dust free, but not without a few sneezes. "Now let's see what you contain," the brunette murmured.

Yet when she tried to open the book, it refused to budge; the front cover just would not separate from the pages. The strange tome seemed to have a mind of its own, somehow guarding itself from unwanted readers. "Open you blasted book!" Hermione growled, attempting to pry the book open.

"Ouch!" The fifteen year old witch stared down at her, now, bleeding finger and grimaced. "So you won't open, but you will cut me? Such a wonderful book," she growled. Hermione grumbled, tried to pry the book open once more; not bothering to wipe the blood off her finger.

Expecting to be met with resistance, Hermione was surprised that the book opened up—albeit to an empty page. She could not understand why the blasted book opened this time but not any of the previous times. She thought for a few moments on what could have possibly changed. The only thing different had been her bloody finger…oh. Oh. Hermione's wide eyes blinked thrice. The book needed to be opened with blood—no wonder it had been placed in the Restricted Section! The book was demented!

If you are not going to read me, then would you please close the cover?

Hermione's brown eyes stared at the page in shock. Where did those words come from; she could have sworn the page had been blank when she opened it! "Why are there words on this page?"

I am a book.

"No need to be sarcastic about it," Hermione grumbled. The witch realized that even in wizarding culture it was deemed unhealthy to talk to inanimate objects, especially books; they were not supposed to write back responses. "What can you tell me about my genealogy?" Hermione asked, deciding any speculation on her sanity could burn. She wanted answers, she could not be blamed that the book seemed to be the only one capable of giving the answer...even if it happened to be in a strange manner.

My pages can reveal all about your genealogy. You did open me.

Hope swelled in her chest as she glanced at the cursive words. Maybe this would answer all of her questions: what happened recently, where her parents are, who they are, and possibly even why they abandoned her. "Tell me . . . please." Her whisper seemed loud in her ears. The elegant script just gave her a page number: 394. The brunette eagerly turned to the page, hoping for some information to help her.

The Familiam Sirin, a once powerful line of witches, is more commonly known as Bulgarian Alphas for their origin even though Alphas have dotted Europe for over nine centuries. Named for the presumed blood coursing through their veins, the Familiam Sirin was once a fearsome family. They are now considered an extinct line of Purebloods.

Notorious for their soft, curly, brown locks, creamy complexion and vibrant blue eyes, the Alphas were once fairly easy to spot. Though now, their line is practically nonexistent due to the number of females who never managed to find their Bonded; and thus unable to continue the true Alpha line. However, some experts venture an interesting hypothesis: the Familiam Sirin line is merely dormant—latent in unsuspecting witches, who resemble the ancestral traits in all but one or two aspects.

Magically, the Alphas are similar to Veela, despite the Alpha lineage being considered fully human. Some Creature Specialists speculates that Veela are a subspecies to the, now considered, extinct Familiam Sirin line. It would make sense, seeing as how both creatures only have female descendants. While the allures of Veela stick to a physical level, Alphas' allures go straight to the magical core, creating a rare hold over a magnitude of magical beings; this makes them rather highly sought after brides. Experts theorize that the Alpha's allures arise from the Sirin blood coursing through the family's veins.

Although Alphas tend to have multiple suitors, starting at the age of fifteen they will begin to prefer one partner in particular. They usually take multiple mates or suitors for temporary physical satisfactions while searching for the one distinct partner who exceeds all of the others. This partner is a "mate" so perfect for them magically, physically, and soulfully that an Alpha will search their whole life for said being. This partner is referred to as the Alpha's Bonded. Alphas will do anything to protect their Bonded, even instigating wars.

The Muggle Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, resulted when the Tsar would not let his daughter Anastasia—an Alpha—be with her Bonded. Angered by her father's decision, Anastasia secretly waged war; influencing the Muggles to attack her father and his male supporters while she snuck out to live with her Bonded. Although Anastasia detested killing her Mother's Bonded, the woman would do anything to be with her own...even if it did a disservice her mother's dead soul.

An Alpha has no control over their actions when it comes to their Bonded. They will do anything to save them, make them happy, or even be near them. Neither Time nor Death could prevent an Alpha from being near her soul-mate. Although not frequent, there had been a few cases were a woman claimed to have come back in time—one claiming a hundred years—to be with her Bonded. Naturally the wizard community frowned at the idea of time travel, but because of the Alpha Line's powerful Ancient Rites, the Wizarding Community of that time had little say.

The witch decided to not read anymore for the night and closed the book. "Is this suggesting that I am of Alpha descent?" Hermione murmured, confused. She did not have blue eyes, and she certainly had no control over any magical beings—wizard or otherwise. But her eye color seemed to be the only trait she did not have . . . that and the fact she had no inclination towards any 'suitors', let alone a particular male.

Sirius.

The name flinted briefly across her mind, and she remembered her conversation with Regulus about how she had 'awful taste in men'. But she did not like Sirius. Yet her mind went blank and her body took over when she saw him get hurt. 'It could have been Jamey,' Hermione thought. There was no way she knew the dog had been Sirius at the time; no way could she have known.

Sirius. She felt hatred for the creature that attacked something that belonged to her; animosity towards the werewolf because he attacked Sirius.

"Oh shite," Hermione groaned.

Hermione had made sure she avoided the Marauders; she arrived to class earlier and hid in the throngs of students while walking down the corridors. But apparently that did not even help her, because Hermione found herself being pulled into an empty classroom by two sets of hands.

Turning to see who her kidnappers were, the witch groaned when she came face to face with none other than Sirius Black and her brother. "What cruel thing do you want to do to me now?" She questioned.

For the past weeks she had been on edge, always expecting the cruel words and harsh pranks they would usually cast her way. So despite their sheepish grins and apologetic stares, which seemed foreign to their features, Hermione was hesitant to be alone with these two young men.

"We wanted to apologize to you," James murmured.

"You should be apologizing to Severus," Hermione replied. In response, she received a set of scowls, a rather venomous one from Sirius. Something in Hermione stirred when she saw Sirius' face scrunched slightly, and seemingly upset. So to take her mind off it, the brunette spoke again. "You should apologize to Severus. But you will not because neither of you are sorry and both of you know it."

"We are too!" Hermione sneers at their spluttered reply. She could feel her brown eyes flicker into the weird arctic blue Regulus pointed out to her one day at lunch; one where Sirius happened to be snogging outside the Great Hall. 'Calm yourself, he is not your Bonded. He is not.' she muttered her new mantra to herself.

"No you are not! You are not sorry that you almost got me and another student killed. Nor are you even slightly apologetic for the fact it is most likely your entire fault for both of us being in the Forest during the full moon! So do not lie to my face and claim you are sorry." You are not sorry…not even for breaking your promise, Hermione left that thought unspoken. "If you were really sorry, you would be begging for forgiveness from both of us. So at least man up and admit you do not care for anyone but yourselves." Hermione snapped, clenching her fist. The witch could not tell if the anger in her voice stemmed from actual righteous fury or if she was just still upset about Sirius snogging paramours. If her eyes were blue, neither boy commented.

"Do not tell me 'sorry' when I know you are not," Hermione growled, turning to walk out the door when a hand gently grabbed her. Shocked Hermione turned to look back, only to be engulfed in a hug from Sirius.

"I really am sorry, Kitten," he murmured against her hair. "I admit what happened did not go as planned, but I never meant for you to be involved in it." Hermione wanted to melt in his embrace. Sirius just held that warmth, the warmth she had been searching for to keep her from freezing in the cold reality she grew to know. 'NO!' Hermione thought, pushing away from Sirius.

James coughed and gave Sirius a knowing look. "'Mione, we are sorry. I know we may not act like it . . . but we are. We never had any intention on hurting people with our pranks. Forgive us?"

'No intention of hurting people? Jamey you must be blind! You have been hurting people for years now.' Hermione thought. But she decided for a different approach. "We will see Jamey, Sirius. Something like this takes a lot more than a meager apology."

"I still cannot believe you are this excited about doing rounds," Regulus grumbled at the sixteen year old witch. They had been prefects for nearly nine months now, yet his Bambi still looked eager as ever to do them. "I swear there must be something wrong with you. Not even that Evans Prefect is this happy about rounds."

"Do not insult Evans!" Another voice sounded down a ways from the corridor. Although he could not see his friend's body, Regulus knew Bambi stiffened. The Slytherins have been on edge ever since the end of his and Hermione's Fourth year where the Marauders ceased all pranks on the girl. He had to pester Hermione, but he finally got an answer as to why . . . and then some. He had learned about her . . . special condition—lineage?—and could understand her hesitance to so easily accept that her magic wanted his brother. His Bambi might have forgiven the fools for a number of things, but she would never so easily give her heart to a man she knew would love to break it. But both the fifth year prefects found the Marauders lack of pranks odd. And he just knew Bambi continued to expect the worst from them; knew she just waited for a prank to head her way once more.

"He did not insult Evans," Hermione defended Regulus. "He merely pointed out that even the Gryffindor Golden Girl did not share my passion for patrol."

"And she follows every bloody rule," Regulus gruffed.

Brown eyes turned to the young Black, "Leave."

"Jamey!"

"This is a family matter, Hermione. He needs to leave," James replied, his voice holding a warmer tone than it did with Regulus. Although grateful for his attempt at kindness towards her for over a year, Hermione did not appreciate James treating Regulus like the dirt beneath his feet.

The sixteen year old witch glowered at her brother. "You did not seem to mind when it was Sirius who you brought in on family matters during my first year. I think it only fair that Regulus can listen to this one; especially since we are on patrol and you are not." Hermione replied.

James casted Hermione a silent demand, but when she refused to budge he relented. Sighing, James consented into revealing what he had to say. "Hermione, I wanted to ask if you would return home for the whole summer Holiday . . . instead of going to his," James casted an angry glance towards Regulus who merely shrugged, "home. Mum and Dad would really like to spend some time with you, and I would too."

"Alright Jamey," Hermione replied, shocking both of the boys. The sixteen year old had not even bothered to contemplate the idea. Regulus scowled, but gripped his friend's hand in silent support. James, elated, pulled his sister in for a hug before running off to some other location.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Bambi." Regulus muttered.

"Perhaps leading myself to the slaughter, Leo," The witch sighed. "Now how about we continue with our patrol?" She said, casting her friend a sly grin. She only received a groan from her best mate.

Hermione stared at her brother in shock. His friend was lying on their parlor floor bleeding and James felt enraged because she had been writing a letter, a letter to the one person who could actually shed light on what happened to him?

"You are fucking slag!" Brown eyes began to water at her brother's harsh words. The hurtful phrase still ringing in her ears seemed by far the nicest he had thrown at her yet. But despite the sea of emotions welding inside of her, Hermione could not help where her thoughts began to go.

So what if she had been placed in Slytherin, or in the Evil House in this boy's eyes? He knew nothing of her, and he obviously had no intention to since her Sorting. Did his thoughts of her really matter? What she attempted to put into their relationship, what she tried to rebuild had yet to be even marginally reciprocated. So she asked herself why. Why put up with his abuse? Why allow him and his friends to walk all over her, to treat her like rubbish? Why care about him? Although the brunette wanted to deny it, she knew exactly why she allowed it. He is still my brother, Hermione thought. And still remained a member of her what Familiam Sirin called a 'Pride'; although, at the moment, the fifteen year old wish she could deny that.

"You know what they call lions who like to prey on people?" Hermione sneered at her brother, finally having enough of all his cruel words. "Man-eaters; and you, James, are a bloody man-eater."

She heard James scoff, obviously not believing a word she said. The Potter Heir knew Hermione exaggerated her comparison of him and a savage, starved animal; James held a sane mind and he certainly did not eat human flesh. "You're a delusional bint," he snarled out.

Hermione raised an elegant eyebrow, casting a cynical look at her adopted brother. "You don't believe me? Well here, let me explain." Hermione snarled back, her voice dripping snake-like venom. "So you might not peel the flesh off people like those lions do, but there is really not much difference between you Gryffindors and them. You both kill people, even if your methods are different."

Brown eyes narrowed on the older boy, the boy she once thought loved her; thought that despite her adoption, he really considered her his sister. Obviously she was wrong. "The reason I compare you two is because man-eaters are the most dangerous when hungry. They will kill, whether it is to eat, in spite, or to simply shed blood. So tell me, what is your prides excuse for murder?"

James did not respond to the witch's accusation. He knew the brunette standing in front of him wanted to manipulate him, like the snake his friend knew she would turn out to be. He had tried to correct her behavior, evidently that had not worked; otherwise she would not be acting in her current manner. "Quit trying to guilt your way out of this, you filthy fucking viper! If you were anything like a real human being you would have been helping Sirius, especially when he is lying on our floor bleeding to death!" James snarled.

"I would have killed him!" Hermione screeched. The phrase sounded horrid in her ears, but the fact remained true. What help would a fifteen year old girl be to a person in critical condition compared to an adult witch with years of practice? Their mother had already been doing all she could to stabilize Sirius, while their father seemed to be busy with the floo. Though Hermione was not sure the exact actions her father currently took as he busied himself with their floo connection, she figured he might be calling St. Mungos. Had she tried to help, Hermione knew she would be a liability; she would not have Sirius' blood on her hands. Hermione would not be the one to kill Sirius Black.

"You could have tried to do something!" James spat. "Instead of writing your snake friend; laughing about how critical Padfoot's condition is! Quit being a fucking bint and get out of our fucking Manor. I'd rather have Padfoot as a sibling than you any day!"

"Then I guess it's a bloody good thing we are not related! You're an arse," Hermione whispered, turning away from the cruel person. How could she have ever considered this boy to be benevolent? Closing her eyes, trying to prevent the tears from falling, Hermione added, "I want you to know one thing James: for all that it is worth, I hope you can find a shred of peace when the people you kill haunt you to the very depths of Hell. Merlin only knows not everyone forgives so easily as I," And with that said, Hermione walked away, leaving the house in all of its chaos.

Hermione found herself flooing Regulus once she entered her room at the Leaky Cauldron. Her best mate seemed surprised to find her flooing, but more than happy to come over and see her.

"Hey Bam—what's wrong?" Regulus stopped mid-greeting once he met tear-stricken cheeks and watery brown orbs. His Bambi had cried once again. And his question only seemed to bring forth the waterworks even more. Sighing, the male pulled his friend into a hug; trying his best to comfort her as she cried into his chest. "Bambi, love, what happened?" He asked once her sobs quieted.

"I will tell you, when you tell me what happened to Sirius." Hermione bargained. She still wanted answers to what happened to him, especially since she felt so useless when she could not help Sirius. What happened to all that crap about Alphas wanting to do anything to help their Bonded and the ancient rites shite? Had she been a descendent of the Familiam Sirin line and Sirius really was her Bonded, why could she not have saved him? But she only stood there, watching as her mother expertly treated the wounded boy. Hermione wanted to growl out and hit something for her uselessness.

Regulus seemed to only hesitant for a second before he explained how Sirius refused to accept the Dark Mark that so many Purebloods had taken gladly; how because of his defiance their mother grew angry and decided to punish him; how she even enlisted the help of a few followers. The young Black also explained of Sirius' disownment from their mother and how because Sirius refused, he now had to take it.

At his last statement Hermione growled a loud, "NO! You cannot!" She could not allow this to happen; she would not, especially not to someone like Regulus. "I will find a way to fix this; you will not take that mark." Hermione fervently whispered.

"He is the Heir of Bloody Slytherin! The Dark Lord is powerful and will kill myself and my family if I do not take the mark!" Regulus growled out. He loved Hermione, trusted her like no other; but he would not risk his family on such a matter.

"Do you not see that he will kill you regardless, Leo? He is a sadist," Hermione's eyes flashed blue, as she regarded her friend's frightened stance. What happened to his brother shook him far deeper than anyone would ever expect. The chestnut haired witch made an oath then and there that she would never let Regulus go through that pain again. "But more importantly, he is not worth following. A Pureblood bows to no one, especially not to one who needs to be so ardently followed. We pave the way through our own path, forge our own destiny. Never has a Pureblood needed to rely on another." Hermione growled out, her unnaturally blue eyes searing with determination. "So I do not care who he is, we bow to no one. Not even Bloody Salazar Slytherin's heir!"

The soft sound of Regulus' laughter sounded in her ears, calming her slightly. The chocolate orbed witch felt content; she could protect Regulus, somehow, some way she could. Hermione would do anything to ensure her friend continues to laugh.

"So now it is your turn to tell me why you were crying, Bambi." Regulus' voice jolted the sixteen year old out of her train of thoughts.

"What else? James bloody Potter," Hermione replied. The brown eyed teen gave a brief overview of what happened at the Potter Manor to her friend. Once the tale ended, Hermione looked to Regulus for his reaction, dreading the few moments it took him to speak. Her friend had a very volatile temperament which, at the present moment, the sixteen year old witch did not think she could handle.

"Well, you've just been hit, Bambi. And it has probably been the hardest one you will receive." Regulus told the girl, gently wrapping his arms around her lithe frame. "The getting up is up to you; after all they're only lions,"

"And we are just lion worshippers," Hermione murmured, adjusting herself in Regulus' comforting embrace. The two remained silent for the rest of their time together; though both thinking the same thing: Despite all of the problems they might face in the future, they can at least find comfort with each other.

"NO!" The screech echoed down the halls of a practically empty manor. The shriek came as a surprise for the man, standing before his witch. His witch, who never denied him anything, let alone a key solution to help their Lord, stood glaringly before him in a clear defiance.

"And pray tell why not, Bellatrix?" He sneered down at his wife. Frankly, he never liked the young Potter; she seemed to acquire far too many supporters. The fact that a mere fifteen year old wench could rally such loyalty was unsettling. How could such a young creature as her gather the loyalty of people like his wife? How would the Dark Lord feel about such knowledge? Perhaps, Rodolphus should bring this young girl to his attention, without his wife's knowledge of course.

"She is a young girl! Merely sixteen years old!" The powerful witch argued. Besides I know her intentions well enough," Bellatrix stiffly replied. Admittedly, the woman disliked the girl her favorite cousin so happily introduced to her a few years back. She could just not see how such a bland girl, especially a blood traitor, bewitched her adorable Regulus. However, when the brunette stood fearlessly before her, Bellatrix found respect for the younger female. If she valued Regulus enough to stand before a witch's wand, knowing she could very well die, then Bellatrix could not find an issue with her.

After all, was that not what she did daily? Does she not risk her life day after day serving the Dark Lord? Bellatrix knew she did it gladly, and she would always do so if it meant to aid her Lord in anyway. For that very reason, Bellatrix grew to respect the girl. Although Regulus would never be a Dark Lord, he had found someone as loyal as herself to follow and aid him in any quest.

"And what intentions are those, Bellatrix?" Rodolphus questioned. If this girl had any harmful intentions towards their Master and Bellatrix refused to report it, their family would be dishonored. He would not allow that to happen! And especially not allow such to occur for the sake of a blood traitor's daughter! "As a loyal follower of the Dark Lord you are supposed to inform him of any ill-will directed towards him!"

"I would never harm my Lord!" Bellatrix hissed, enraged at the accusation. How dare this filthy man accuse her of such? He may be considered a Pureblood, but Bellatrix knew better. She knew the Lestrange Family had a muddier line than the Blacks. "And I would never allow someone to harm him or his noble intentions!"

"Then tell me what her intentions are," Rodolphus calmly replied. He could handle this version of his wife, the loyal follower of their Lord. This version of Bellatrix could be persuaded far more easily than the unusually protective side he had seen her display when Hermione Potter happened to be mentioned. "Would it not be better to have two people who can vouch for her intentions?"

"She has none that concerns you," Bellatrix snarled. "And that is all you will hear from me." Hermione wanted what any pureblood female wanted, a chance: a chance to live life as her own, to marry who she wished, to actually be considered a magical being instead of an item to be traded off. The only difference between Hermione and the other witches was Hermione had a chance to make it happen. Bellatrix knew she could, and hoped for the young witch to be successful. Hoped that Hermione would not end up in a loveless marriage like her; Hermione could do it, she had enough ambition to make it happen, Bellatrix knew she did.

The raven-haired witch knew Hermione to be a determined girl, but Lady Lestrange also knew that the girl's loyalty far exceeded even her own. Hermione could easily become a powerful, fearsome witch; one that could rival the Dark Lord. But her power happened to be a hidden type, one easily ignored and hard to trace. One very much like Bellatrix's magic. Despite all her family, and fellow Death Eaters say, Bellatrix knew her magic held as much strength as any other Pureblood witch. Though she would never admit it to anyone, Bellatrix knew her strength stemmed from the deep seated loyalty she held towards her beliefs, and as such, towards her Lord; it did not originate from her magical core.

When her husband attempted to speak once more, Bellatrix had enough. "Crucio!" The witch snarled, forcing all of her anger out into that powerful curse. She had promised her sister to protect the young girl, and she would do exactly that. She had already killed people, what was adding her husband to that list? "Remember who really controls the happenings of this marriage, Lestrange." The raven-haired witch growled, pointing her wand at the man's chest. "You know better than to question my decisions; especially since I have no quarrels about killing you."

Bellatrix relented in her continual casting of the Cruciatus Curse once she received a string of painful cries and a promise to end the discussion. "Good," the witch murmured. "Hermione shall not be entered into our ranks, nor will she be mentioned as a possible subject again."

Hermione found herself once again roaming Diagon Alley. The young witch did not have much to do, having completed all the summer homework and she refused to really allow anyone but Regulus to know of her exact location. So the sixteen year old seemed to be at a standstill. Running a hand through her brown locks, Hermione sighed. A part of her seemed vacant; the sixteen year old witch could not help but feel her leaving had a sense of permanence to it.

Tears pricked at her eyes when she realized what she just left behind. When she walked out the Manor doors, she literally left behind everything she held dear: every memory of her happy family, her home, her sense of belonging. The young witch left it all behind. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to fight off the tears and the emotions raging within her.

"Don't cry miss," she heard a child's voice say. The brunette found it ironic the child telling her not to cry had obviously been crying himself, if the sniffling was anything to go by.

Hermione opened her eyes and found a small, redheaded child in front of her. Like she thought, the boy had been crying. His puffy, red eyes and tear stricken cheeks were proof.

"Why were you crying then?" She asked softly, getting down on her knees to be at eye level. The boy gave an indignant cry, claiming he had not been crying. But when brown eyes clashed with his blue ones, the boy knew the pretty woman in front of him did not believe him.

"These older kids were being mean to me," He said, sniffling. "They called me names and pushed me to the ground."

"It sounds like you have some bullies, dear." Hermione said, patting the boy softly, on the head. Her heart broke when the boy suddenly enveloped her in a hug. Who would ever try and harm this sweet boy? What darkness began to infect the children to breed them into such monsters who prey on the weak?

"I understand what you are going through," she whispered in his ear, soothingly rubbing his back. But the boy pulled away from her, glaring.

"You know nothing!" He yelled.

Hermione's brown orbs looked at the young boy. "And why do you say that?" Her soft tone seemed to calm the boy a little. He sniffed a few times before he responded. "You're too pretty. Pretty people don't get picked on."

It took a moment for Hermione to gather her train of thought. Regulus called her pretty often enough, but to hear it from someone no more than the age of seven, someone who knew no reasons to lie, well it made Hermione tingle with a warmth she had been missing. She would protect this childlike innocence, somehow some way, she would. "I was bullied," Hermione's voice barely made a whisper at her declaration. "And it hurts . . . it hurts so much," Hermione felt small arms wrap around her, in an attempt to comfort the upset witch. "But you need to face them; otherwise they will continue to be mean."

"Won't that be hard?" He asked, rubbing his nose.

"Anything right is always hard, sweetie," Hermione told him kindly.

"How'd you do it?" The sniffling boy asked. Hermione contemplated not telling him the details—the incident of her fourth year happened to be one she preferred to ignore. But the wide, curious blue eyes staring back at the brunette as the boy awaited the answer caused Hermione to answer, despite how much she wanted to change the topic. The witch took a deep breath before responding.

"I did not handle my bullying very well. Sometimes anger gets the better of you, sweetie. My bullies were menaces. Alone they were just bullies, but when they all got together, well those prats were lethal."

"Well what happened?"

"I got bigger," the fifteen year old witch murmured.

"And you beat them up?" the young boy asked, no longer sniffling.

Hermione seemed to hesitate before speaking once more. "No, I simply grew into the bigger person. I realized there are more important battles to fight, weaker people who needed help."

Blue eyes narrowed at the kind girl. "Did that really work? Did they really quit being meanies to you?"

A smile touched her lips, "I wish they did, but one day they will come around."

"How are you so sure?" the young boy tilted his head to the right; such an innocent act to the witch, one that warmed her heart

"Because eventually people grow out of seeing everything in black and white, and when the world of colors hits them some things just fall into place—like being nice," the brunette explained.

The boy seemed to think over her words. After a minute he gave her a firm nod. "That makes sense, Miss."

"I am glad you think so. Now, what is your name?" Hermione questioned. She realized she had yet to ask his name, or even if he had been lost. Surely his mother would be worried that her son was missing?

"William . . . but I like the name Bill better,"

"Alright Bill, I am Hermione. How about we get some ice cream? We could even look for your mum on the way, okay?" Hermione asked, smiling. A happy cheer greeted her question. The young witch pondered what happened in the past few weeks as she and Bill made their way to the ice cream parlor. Her life might be in shambles, but at least she managed to make someone's day better.

Hope you all liked the extra 2k words to this chapter? So does anyone else love Regulus in this Chapter? I also liked writing why Bellatrix took so well to Hermione in this story when she clearly did not in the Canon...but it does help that she is still seen as a Pureblood, or at least under the protection of a Pureblood Family. Did anyone else like the slightly human Sirius in this chapter? I did, he deserves some love too! Once again ya'll thanks for the fabulous reviews!

And I would LOVE to hear from you all :)

GAME: MidnightShadow got the name of the song correct first, however they did not say who the singer was. So, I will answer one of her questions. First Guest answered the name of the song and the singer—The Beatles—correctly first.

Question from MidnightShadow: Will Hermione get together will Regulus or Sirius?

You know a lot of people are routing for Regulus and I cannot blame them because I think Leo is adorable in this story. However I have it planned for Sirius and Hermione to get together. Will that be the case? Maybe or maybe not…It kind of just depends, I have at least to chapter 8 of this story planned out—but in little bullet points and quite frankly 3 and 4 went in a completely different direction than I had planned and so did this chapter.

Guest Question 1: Will Lily and Hermione become friends?

Not likely.

Guest Question 2: Will James' treatment of Hermione negatively affect his relationship with Lily?

As Lily and Hermione most likely will not be "friends" I do not see it very much negatively affecting the relationship any more than his harshness to Severus did. They will most likely end up together sooner or later….Maybe.

Copy rights for this chapter:

"Man eaters are the most dangerous when hungry…They will kill, whether it is to eat, in spite, or to simply shed blood." ©The Ghost and the Darkness

"You've just been hit, the getting up is up to you; after all they're only lions." ©The Ghost and the Darkness

"Alone they are just bullies, together they are lethal…-Well What happened?...-I got bigger." ©The Ghost and the Darkness

Sirin—©Mythical Creature in Eastern Europe

'Come Together' © The Beatles. [Song from the Last Chapter]

6. Renouncements and Discovery

So I am sure some of you noticed that this chapter is uploaded a lot sooner than the others had been. This is because I actually had this chapter was done at the same time as Chapter 1, and yes Chapter 2. Originally I was attempting to write two chapters at a time...it did not work as well since I am an antsy writer who likes to post things once they are done. But that is neither here nor there. Now that it is offically beta-ed I can upload it.

Thank you for all of you who reviewed! I cannot respond to anonymous reviewers but I do read all reviews I receive. If you reviewed through an account I did respond to you to the best of my abilities. For all of those anonymous: Thank you to the Guests, Rosier, breizh, Angel and Black Mirror.

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54 and firefly81! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

****IMPORTANT****: Also I really ask none of you skip the A/N that will be at the end of the chapter. I in fact implore you to read it, because I think it will answer A LOT of questions you all have.

Chapter 6: Renouncements and Discovery

The Potters were worried sick. Dorea and Charlus were at a complete loss on what to do between Sirius coming to their home passed out, covered in blood and their children's argument. They noticed how upset their daughter was at James words; however they felt as if they were frozen in place. Both were unable to do anything other than stare. Surely their daughter would come home later on; then this could be worked out? Yes, she would come home. Hermione never could stay mad at James for long.

James however felt no worry for his missing sister; instead his worry stemmed for his friend. An unconscious Sirius had been lying on their parlor floor bleeding to death while Hermione acted like a little swot. Yet despite how he currently felt, James still knew what he said had been harsh. He could not fathom how Hermione could write to the very people who did this to Sirius. Then again a snake will always lie with another snake, so maybe she would side with a fellow Slytherin over her family. "You never can trust a bloody snake," James seethed.

His brown eyes rested on his best friend as he tried to calm his thoughts. His mum said that Sirius would be okay, at least physically. James had yet to hear what exactly happened as his parents refused to divulge the little information Sirius gave them. James should not be worried, he knew his friend would pull through this, Sirius was stubborn.

"Knut for your thought, mate?" Grey eyes looked at his unusually pensive friend. Sirius had heard his friend talk quietly to himself for some time now, but only passing phrases. Sirius had a hard time staying awake with the pain radiating throughout his body.

"Padfoot!" James hollered, relieved when he saw his friend conscious again. "How are you feeling? What happened to you?"

"I feel like I just got mauled by a bludger. Other than that I'm fine, Prongs. As to what happened," Sirius seemed to pause at this.

James sighed. "You know you can tell me anything, Padfoot." Sirius's home life had always been a touchy subject. Despite being Sirius's best friend, James knew very little about what really went on in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Normally James did not pry too much; Sirius would tell him when he felt ready. Only this time it almost cost him his life. James did not like that thought, a life without his best mate? He could not imagine such an idea.

"Long story short, I refused to do something my family wanted me to. I ran away." Sirius replied with a shrug, turning his gaze away from James. James did not press on the matter. At times like this, Sirius would not discuss the matter any further.

"So did you patch up with 'Mione?" Sirius asked. After the whole thing in the Forbidden Forest happened, they had been trying to get Hermione's forgiveness. Remus came up with the idea of actually getting her to come home for the holiday; after all, she couldn't avoid them at Potter Manor.

However, Sirius did not get the happy response he expected. Instead Sirius watched as his friend's eyes glaze over, jaw clench, and hands ball into a fist. What happened that he missed? "Prongs?" The evident question rang in Sirius's voice, yet James did not seem too keen on responding.

"She wrote your family," James bit out after a minute of silence. "She didn't even care that you were lying on our parlor floor bleeding, Padfoot. I snapped at her. I admit I said some things I regret, but the way she responded was so infuriating. She didn't care at all!"

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. Hermione came off as cold. She preferred to keep to herself, especially around them; yet, Sirius knew her to be a very compassionate person. What James just described did not sound anything like the Hermione he knew. Sure, it appeared that they were never on the best of terms, plus the fact she had been sorted into Slytherin while they were in Gryffindor added fuel to the fire between them. Nonetheless, Sirius knew that the only reason half of their pranks did not receive retribution happened to be because of how protective Hermione had been towards James, and by extension the rest of them. His cousin Narcissa made that very clear at the end of his fifth year during her stay at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"I saw the letter myself, addressed to one Regulus Black." James growled out.

"Did you actually read the whole letter, or did you just see that she addressed to my brother, Prongs?" Sirius asked feeling out of sorts. Normally Sirius ended up on the receiving side of questioning due to his impulsive nature—not Moony, Wormtail, or Prongs.

At this, James froze. By his reaction, Sirius knew that James did not read the whole letter. The oldest Potter sibling let out a groan and brought his hands up to his face. "Merlin I messed up big time, didn't I?"

"Well that depends on what you said to her." Sirius replied, though the sixteen year old honestly could not see Hermione staying mad at James too long. The brunette would scream, rant, and throw a few hexes to release her frustration with the two Marauders. Then, like the calm after a storm, all would be good. She had done that since he first met her, surely whatever James said to her would be blown over soon?

James let out a long sigh before he began explaining how he passed by the living room when he heard his mother shriek in horror, causing him to rush into the parlor only to see Sirius lying on the floor. When he glanced at Hermione, she was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. After that, everything else became a blur up until he told her to leave, though he did remember a few choice words. James looked remorseful when he told Sirius the same words he spoke to Hermione.

After hearing the story, shock seemed to be the only emotion Sirius could experience. He knew the Potter siblings got into famous spats; when one happened, most tended to steer clear of the two until they cooled off. Yet despite how tough James acted, Sirius knew how saddened his best mate felt. "Well mate, this time you might be fucked."

This just elicited another groan out of James.

"When she comes home maybe you two can work this out?" Sirius suggested. Yet both boys had a feeling that would not be the case.

The tension at the Potter Manor seemed to drastically escalate when Hermione had not come home; even when the days had faded into nights, and the nights turned to weeks. Lord and Lady Potter had looked everywhere, even going so far as to ask Orion Black if he had seen her. Even James's worry began to be noticeable. Hermione had not returned home. They received no word from her to even suggest she was okay. For all he or his parents knew she could be dead.

"Hey mate, relax. She's probably fine," Sirius said, giving his friend a light pat on the back. Yet even Sirius could not completely hide his worry. They were already on the train back to Hogwarts yet not a single trace of the brunette Slytherin existed. "I bet you she's probably with her group of friends right now."

"Who's probably fine?" Remus questioned. The werewolf watched as two of his close friends shared a glance. Surprise evident on Remus's face; rarely did one of them keep a secret from a fellow Marauder.

"Witchling and Prongs got into a fight over break. She hasn't returned home," Sirius replied after apparently getting the okay from James.

". . . Witchling?" Remus asked. Sirius gave a lot of pet names, but the werewolf never heard that one. "Whose—Oh," Realization dawned on Remus once he saw James glaring in their raven-haired friend's direction.

"Since when did you give little Potter a nickname?" Remus questioned. He only received a shrug from Sirius in response. Truthfully Sirius had always had some sort of pet name for Hermione Potter; just not all of them were verbalized to his mates.

"Why be upset 'bout that?" Peter squeaked, stuffing a chocolate frog in his mouth. "She's a Slytherin," The plump blonde boy seemed shocked when two of his friends glared at him.

"She's my sister, Peter! Why the bloody hell would I not?" James growled out, his brown eyes glaring at Peter with something akin to anger. Remus, not wanting to deal with a Potter's infamous temper, stepped in.

"Prongs, you two haven't exactly been on the best terms; you can't blame Pete just pointing that out." Brown eyes turned to glare at Remus. "Just telling you the truth, mate."

After a moment, James slumped deeper into his chair before let out a groan. "I fucked up big time." Potter's hands went up to cover his face as another groan fell from his lips.

"Careful with the sounds you make Potter," a voice sneered from the doorway. "Don't want to make people guess what you four are doing." The insinuation did not grab their attention nearly as much as who implied it.

"Regulus!" Sirius hollered, jumping out of his seat to glare at his brother. "What are you doing here?" Instead of the normal jeering tone, Sirius sounded relieved. The older Black would never ask his brother for information, but maybe the sly snake would drop a hint about Hermione's whereabouts? After all, Regulus happened to be the closest thing she had to a friend in that snake pit.

Regulus dropped his pureblood façade momentarily before quickly recomposing himself. His older brother had not been one to greet him since the young Black started Hogwarts. It was one of the reasons Regulus had gotten along so well with Hermione. "Oh just decided I need to remind you that even though Bella and Cissy have not attended Hogwarts for quite a while now, the threat still stands. Your gang obviously needs a reminder,"

James eyes narrowed at the young Black. "Why you little—" The Potter heir's eyes were blazed with anger. Who did this pompous pureblood think he was? First James had to deal with his missing sister; now he had to deal with a little Slytherin prat?

"Now what threat is that?" Remus questioned. "I don't think any of us have heard it before . . ." The werewolf watched as Sirius began to fidget. Golden brown eyes met silver.

"Oh did my dear brother not relay it?" A grimace formed on Regulus's mouth. His hardened steel eyes zeroed in on the older Potter. "Well then I guess I should to repeat it." The young Black took on a purposeful gait as he stalked towards Potter.

"If you make Bambi cry again," Regulus growled in the older boy's face, "let's just say you will regret it. Why she protects you I have not the faintest idea. I told her you were pathetic to begin with. However she holds family dear, even if her family happens to be scum like you—"

"Expelli—" Before the fat blonde could even finish the spell, Regulus hit him with a Petrificus Totalus. "I'd watch who you hex, Pettigrew. You know how Blacks are when angry," With a sneer in the blonde's direction, Regulus focused his attention back on the Potter heir.

"Now as I was saying, Bambi shouldn't protect you. There are people far worthier of her loyalty than the likes of you or your gang. I hate to repeat myself, nevertheless I will say this again," Regulus's voice dropped an octave as he leaned in closer to Potter. "Make Bambi cry and you will wish for an eternity in Azkaban." With that said Regulus stood up straight before heading for the door.

"Now get ready, we will be at Hogwarts momentarily." Half way out the door, Regulus paused, before he turned back around. He glanced at each of the boys, silently evaluating them. To the Marauders it appeared as if he wanted to say more.

"What is it, Regulus?" Sirius questioned, his tone once again carrying that evident dislike. Although his dislike did not stem from Sirius's normal hatred for his family; instead it came from his dear brother's relationship with Hermione Potter. Blacks were known to be incredibly possessive of what they deemed theirs. Sirius Black had a claim to her since she first captured his interest.

"Don't make her into an enemy," Regulus finally said. "It will do far more damage than you will ever know . . ." Then the Slytherin boy sauntered away. The Marauders stared at the open compartment door, unsure of what to make by Regulus's last remark.

"Bambi!" The greeting had been heard throughout the Great Hall in the early morning of September 2nd. Instead of the usual melodious laugh that came after the welcome, it met with silence—a very odd occurrence. Even though the relationship in itself came off as odd, the scene occurred almost ritually every day; with the young Potter-Black friendship seeming to rival even that of their siblings'.

So it came off as strange for one of them to ignore the other. That very silence got the attention of every occupant in the Great Hall, even the professors. The Slytherins were staring at the scene with calculating eyes. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs watched on in amusement. The chortling Gryffindors made their thoughts apparent; all except two seventh males who seemed shocked, yet relieved, by the sight. The girl who appeared heartbroken stunned the two more than the open friendliness most Slytherins scoffed at. At least Hermione was safe behind the walls of Hogwarts.

A low hum of hisses sounded from the Slytherin table. Initially the Slytherins disliked the Potter girl; they found the Potter-Black friendship strange. But when Narcissa hexed her own housemates to defend the young girl, Hermione gained the snake den's protection. The witch even recruited her sister Bellatrix into the girl's protection. Bellatrix was a fearsome witch, one who commanded obedience. To attack one she considers under her protection would be a painful death sentence, no matter how long it took for the vindictive witch to discover it.

"Must you call me that, Lucero Leo?" Hermione asked. The brunette used his full nickname only when upset. Regardless of the poised façade, the young Potter's voice sounded weary, as if she had been crying. The older Slytherins could not contain the wave of anger that flashed through them as they turned their glare onto the Gryffindor table. Surely they were behind it. "And take a seat, you're causing a scene." Hermione grumbled, looking up at him from her usual seat at the end of the table.

Regulus scowled at the familiar nickname, but sat down across from his friend none-the-less. Despite Hermione's logical reasoning for it, he still hated it. The nickname made him sound like a bloody lion lover. "As long as you call me Leo, I'll call you Bambi." He said with a grin only to receive a half-hearted scowl from his best friend.

"Watch the tone, Black. Lions are known to die from stupidity," Hermione teased. This seemed to ease the older Slytherin students, if only slightly. A teasing Hermione meant a composed Hermione. They could handle a collected Potter.

"And more than one Bambi met death for being too trusting," Regulus shot back. This received a glare from the brown eyed girl. Regulus had to contain his surprise at her reaction; normally she never had a problem with the nickname.

"I'm not a sodding child!" Hermione seethed in a hushed voice. Regulus had given her the nickname of Bambi since the end of their first year, something about her appearance and childlike naivety she always exuded. And yet, ever since her awakening, as she dubbed it, Hermione found it distasteful. She was not a child! Children were defenseless, always needing to be protected.

"Alright, alright," Regulus lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. "So how did you get to Hogwarts? You were not on the train," Silver eyes peered into brown as he awaited a response.

"I asked Slughorn to use his floo," Hermione replied, not saying a word more. Regulus let out a sigh. The young Black knew well what kind of moods Hermione could have. Lately she seemed to be continuously lost in her thoughts, always pondering something apparently beyond her grasp. As the days dragged on, hauling her out of her dazes seemed even harder. The sixth year scowled as he watched his best friend, her eyes already starting to glaze over; a clear sign she would be lost in thought soon.

"Are you okay?" Regulus whispered gently. He had not talked to her since the night Sirius ran away. The young Black would not lie that he had been worried about his chestnut haired friend. When he had flooed into her room at the Leaky Cauldron, Regulus' shock turned to simmering anger as he took notice of her puffy eyes. Hermione rarely broke her serene façade, let alone allowed a person to know she cried. He hated when the bright, smiley girl broken down into nothing more than an empty shell. She had been on his mind since he returned to the Black Manor.

"I'm fine," her response came out harsher than she intended. Her dear friend seemed to get the message. They sat in silence until the owls began their deliveries. Regulus glanced at Hermione, only to see her picking at her food. Before he could comment, questions began to sound throughout the Great Hall. A Howler had been spotted. Who would be receiving a Howler? When the letter finally dropped, gasps rang in the air. Of all people, they never would have suspected Hermione Potter to be on the receiving end.

"Hermione Jean Potter! Where have you been? We were worried sick about you! Why did you not return home? That was extremely foolish of you! We raised you far better than this! Did you even think how you were making us feel throughout this whole ordeal?! No of course not, otherwise you would have returned home! How could you do something like that to us? After all we have done for you, this is how you repay us? Well you are grounded young lady!"

The Marauders were the first to have a reaction, a loud round of laughter. James, despite the content feeling brought on by seeing his sister safe in Hogwarts, could not quell the laughter that spilled from his lips. It had always been a favorite pastime of his to see Hermione get scolded, a reciprocated hobby for his sister as well. Yet when he looked for the young Potter's reaction, his laughter ended abruptly.

Hermione seemed unfazed by the shrill voices of the Potters. Sure their Dad was not yelling, neither parent had ever yelled at either Hermione or James before; instead choosing to use a reprimanding tone for a more effective tactic. However, James saw that ire had sparked in the young brunette's molten brown eyes. Their words seem to prick at her pride.

Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin line. Who did they think they are? She glanced at her best friend, to see him open his mouth to speak an unwelcomed attempt at condolence.

Hermione quickly turned her gaze back to the Howler for a few moments, tuning out the remainder of her adopted father's rant and any possible sympathy she might receive from Regulus. The fifteen year old had a theory about Howlers that she has been itching to test out. Should she try? Within seconds she came up with her answer. "Howler: response message." Then to everyone's surprise, instead of shredding up like normal, the Howler became blank—muting the still ranting Lord Potter. With a sneer, Hermione began to speak.

"Pardon me? Would you mind explaining what you are talking about? All you have done for me? I am positive that any kind thing you ever did has been cancelled out when you did nothing every time your son set out to hurt me. Furthermore, why in the deepest level of Hades should I repay you?" Hermione's voice turned chilling. Regulus glanced as Hermione, ready to jump across the table to shield her from the peering eyes of their fellow students. He noted that her eyes were narrowed, as if she was willing the parchment to burst into flames. The young Black could have sworn he saw her eyes flash an arctic blue as her voice got an octave higher.

"I owe you nothing! You did what you're supposed to do because you voluntarily took me in! And from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me. But you have no right to be mad at me when you helped cause this! You cannot tell me where or when I am out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules when you unfairly enforce them. You can holler at me until you are blue in the face but because you do not even know who I am, how I feel, or what I think you have no say! Even if I tried to explain it for the rest of your life, you will never see past your prejudices to understand."

The whole Great Hall seemed frozen in place, staring at the girl hissing at the parchment. The brunette's lips twisted in to a grimace as she glared momentarily at the parchment. She had never been one to make her family quarrels public, however sometimes the fact that everyone knows helps convey the severity of a situation. The Slytherin female felt her ire crash against her very core, like the ocean waves on the shore. The brunette pursed her lips, trying to reign in her emotions.

Hermione took a deep breath before taking a moment to think on what she would say next. She did not like the idea of sounding harsh with the Potters. They did raise her, treat her as their own for eleven years. Surely they deserved some of her respect? Yet her pride would not allow her to show them any. They had all but legally abandoned her once she entered the snake den, taking James' side as the entire truth. Her Alpha side craved retribution, wanted to take a stab at the Potters and show them how they made her feel throughout the last five years. Despite how Hermione still saw them. With a slow, royal drawl Hermione spoke once more.

"Now as to my supposed 'irresponsibility', I did what you all wanted. Potter made it clear he did not see me as anything more than a snake he would rather disembowel than feign even an acquaintanceship with. I merely granted both his, and apparently your, wish. You both are angry enough to send me a Howler, screaming your supposed concern. Yet neither of you were parent enough to defend me from every cruel thing your son did. You have no right to be asking me questions then insinuate my reason why. Furthermore, you have no right to be mad at me because I finally fixed the blasted problem you all allowed!

"Unless you feel the need to make this private matter even more public, send me an owl the next time you want to discuss this. Or better yet, floo Slughorn." Hermione stood up, muttering the word 'send' before she strolled out of the Great Hall, leaving everyone staring after her.

James waited patiently for his sister outside the Slytherin chambers. Hermione's words kept ringing in his ears. What cruel things did he do to her? Sure there were a few harmless pranks played on her . . . along with the incident in the forbidden forest—but they had apologized for that!—and what he said when Sirius came over injured. Still, what she said to their parents had been out of line.

However, Hermione must have thought her words to be true. Hermione did not lie; the brunette might be the only snake without a lying, forked tongue. So what demented thoughts were tearing at his sister's mind? What suddenly changed how she saw their family? Sure James pulled more than a few harmless pranks on her and their parents never really punished him for it; but that did not mean the Potters cared for her any less! That should have been obvious when they begged her to come home for the Summer Holiday.

"Potter," Hermione's voice dragged James out of his musing. The frown appeared almost instantly. She had called him Potter—not Jamey, Potter—twice today. Since when did that start? Hermione did not really take what he said to heart did she? "Never thought I would see you willingly waiting outside the snake pit," Okay apparently she did. James opened his mouth to correct her on the notion instantly. "'Mione—"

"Hermione—last time I checked nicknames were for those you liked." Hermione responded in a clipped tone. This earned a shocked expression from James. His sister had never acted like this before. Furthermore, who said he did not like his little sister? James adored her.

"You cannot honestly mean what you said in the Great Hall," James said, deciding to ignore Hermione's correction. "You know our family cares for you!"

James did not expect Hermione's eyes to momentarily flash a brilliant blue. Nor did he expect the menacing pace she took towards him. A sneer-like grimace tugged at her lips before she spoke to him.

"Listen here, Potter, because I will not repeat myself. They choose to ignore your actions; I have had enough. Think of their position as guilty by association and abetting brutality. Whereas you, you made your own grave by hatefully, harassing me!" Hermione's voice held a chilling tint. Her brown, sporadically flashing arctic blue, eyes zeroed in on him.

"Our parents as you put it might be able to make amends; I am willing enough to work with them. But unless you walk to the ninth level of Hell and bring me back fucking ice water you most likely will never be able to make amends with a simple apology." Hermione snarled. Part of her could not believe the words coming out of her mouth. James, regardless of all the bullying and cruel words, still deserved some sympathy. He used to act like his world revolved around her; acted like no matter what happened, he would always be there to help her pick up the pieces.

Yet that more primal, dominant nature sneered at the compassion. The Alpha inside her wanted retaliation. James should learn his place, regardless if he happened to be under her protection—unknowingly of course. The older Potter needed to learn how severe 'just having fun' could truly be; how many lives it could actually destroy. If he did not learn this lesson now, then in the real world, it could cost James his life. After all, no matter how angry Hermione is at the Potters or Marauders, they were still the closet thing she had to a Pride; every Alpha needed a Pride.

"You should at least live with your mistakes, Potter. You will not be in Hogwarts forever; Dumbledore's favoritism will not protect you in the real world. But most of all, once life happens, you will learn that people are not as terribly forgiving like they appear to be in school."

"Is that what this is all about? You're jealous of me?" James asked incredulously. The older Potter knew that he really should not be so surprised, quiet ones were generally quite envious. Before he knew it, James was pinned against the wall by a snarling sixteen year old girl.

"This is not about you, Potter!" Hermione seethed. Yet the brunette could not comprehend where he got 'I'm jealous' at in her little speech. "Not everything is about you. Not everyone will stop what they are doing to drop at your feet so you have someone to wait on you. Quit thinking you are a god." Hermione pushed James further into the stone, cold wall. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to not slap the older boy across the face. "You are merely a sheltered little boy who likes to act macho; but we both know how scared you really are." Hermione stepped back, releasing her hold on James. "I am not jealous of you or anyone else."

"Then why act like this, 'Mione? Have the snakes really gotten to you?" James could not help but sneer out the last insult. She had really pressed a few sore spots for James. How dare his own sister use his insecurities against him?

"Watch your tone boy," Hermione growled. Brown eyes widened in shock at the girl. Since when did Hermione command anyone? The brunette would manipulate, tease, or even put on a show to get what she wanted; however Hermione never commanded. Just how different has being a Slytherin made her?

James took a moment to survey the young girl. Her skin had been grown paler since the last time they had actually seen each other. She had also acquired a weird freaky eye thing where auburn would flash into a shade of electric blue. But perhaps the most noticeable thing: she had lost a lot of weight.

"Hermione," James whispered. "What's going on with you? Tell me, please. I promise I will help you." James did not expect the cold, heartless laughter to sound from his sister's throat or her brown eyes losing any shine of emotion. No, he expected for Hermione to wrap her arms around his neck, crying, pleading for his help. Telling him how much she missed being on good terms with her protective, older brother.

Hermione gave him a small glare. This one did not hold nearly as much animosity like the ones before it. "Nothing," James could not contain his surprise at her forced tone. "Even if I did have a problem it would not concern you. Furthermore, I would never trust another promise from your lips; after all, you couldn't even keep the first one." The brunette said no more. Her brown eyes looked at her brother before she walked away for what could only be assumed as her Prefect duties.

Her words caused James eyes to widen before he fell to his knees. The young Potter's anger didn't happen because Hermione was jealous or upset. Hermione had enough of being betrayed by the one person she thought she could count on; the one person who promised her that he would never hate her. Hermione grew tired of trying to determine what should be deemed harmless or attempted out of hate. But most of all, Hermione had finally grew tired of being lied to; lied to by their parents, strangers, and apparently him.

But James never lied to her. Sure he never really showed her how much he cared; but did he really need to? Hermione should have just known that he still loved her regardless of the House she resided in or the friends she associated with. Maybe Hermione needed to see or hear proof that he really did care about her, that he would not let prejudices get in the way of their relationship.

But James realized he already did and apparently it would take a lot more than just a half-hearted apology to fix what he broke. "Godric, I really did fuck up."

"Evans?" James whisper seemed to echo loudly throughout the empty common room.

"What do you want Potter?" Lily spat. But one look into his brown eyes had her stop still. Standing before her was not James Potter, the vicious bullying prat she had grown up knowing since second year. No instead, the eleven-year-old who praised his sister, the little boy she saw act tough in class but cry late at night in the common room because he missed his sister stood before her. This was the version of James Potter that Lily Evans liked.

"What's wrong, James?" Her soft voice cooed. The redhead patted the open seat next to her and waited for James to take a seat. Instead of sitting down, James seemed to fling his body at Lily; clinging to her and just sobbing. Shocked by the reaction, it took every ounce of thought for Lily readjust her position so she could wrap her arms around James and craddle him.

"I am a fucking prat," James murmured against her shoulder. "That is the bloody problem." Lily snorted, despite her best intentions not to. James needed comfort not someone to reinforce that his statement had been true. When watery, brown eyes glanced up at her, Lily's heart broke. Right now, an arrogant toe-rag did not sit next to her. No, a frightened boy did; the shy and fragile boy Lily believed James had kept hidden for years had finally broke through the Potter Heir's tough façade.

"You were not the kindest person," Lily admitted. "To be honest, your behavior resulted in my dislike of you—it was the reason I never accepted your Hogsmeade invitations, why I never bothered to hang out with you or even give you a chance. I could never like that version of James Potter . . . but this? This person sitting next to me, not afraid to cry and actually admitting he has been a complete arse . . . James I finally think you are growing up. You're finally maturing," Lily whispered, holding his face to ensure he looked at her. Her thumbs gently wiped away the tears that seemed to cascade down his cheeks. "You're finally a man who can make his sister proud."

The scowl that formed on his lips at her words was not something Lily expected to happen. Should he not be relieved? The broken bridge between the two Potter siblings could finally be fixed; they could finally have a normal relationship! "'Mione will never be proud of me now. I hurt her too much," James bitterly murmured.

"James, if Petunia made even a small attempt at trying to right her actions towards me, I would be proud of her. I might be skeptical, and I might doubt her intentions—but at least I can see she tried. And for that very reason, I would most likely meet her part of the way. Your sister might be a Slytherin, but she has a very compassionate nature. Give her time, and be this James. Be this man, not that mean boy." Lily exclaimed. She wanted James to see that in time, it could be possible for the Slytherin to forgive him. She had for everything else so far. Whatever spat they were currently going through, the Potter siblings could get through. Lily knew they could, it would just take time. But more importantly, it would take James to be a man.

"But I—" Lily cut James off. She would not have him doubting himself now. Not when someone finally broke through that arrogant wall and allowed him to see reason.

"Yes you hurt her. You hurt your sister badly and you have for years, James. Whatever happened this time . . . well I am not going to lie to you. You fucked up badly with whatever you did to her. But at least you are starting to realize that now. James you know everything you did to her was wrong . . . right?" Green eyes stared fervently into James' brown. She watched as the puffy-eyed male nodded his head.

"I know. I'm a fucking prat for it," He replied hoarsely.

"A fucking prat who can learn from his mistakes; a prat who can start to make amends," Lily replied.

"How am I going to make amends? She hates me now! Godric, my sister hates me." James brought his hands up to hide his face. James knew Hermione had every reason to hate him . . . and Merlin knew he deserved it long before now. But it still tore away at him, knowing that she did.

Lily gently pried his hands away from his face, getting a good look into James' brown eyes. "Your sister is strong. There once was a muggle man—Gandhi, a brilliant fellow, really—who said that the weak can never forgive because forgiveness has always been an attribute of the strong. Hermione will forgive you . . ." Lily told him fiercely, her green eyes a blazed with an emotion James never seen in the redhead.

"But—"

"No James! Listen to me. Hermione will forgive you. Will it be tomorrow or even a year from now . . . I quite honestly doubt it. From the look in her eyes in the Great Hall, well, you really did a number on her James. But do not give up hope that you lost your sister forever. Be a man, be this man that I am talking to right now. This man will earn Hermione's forgiveness." Lily told her fellow Gryffindor Head. Her thumb gently brushed his cheek once more.

Her green eyes stared deeply into the molten brown. She could get use to this side of James. She could relate to this man sitting before her. This man was human. This man could be one she really loved.

"Don't become that mean little boy again, James." The seventh year female whispered, gently pressing her lips to James'.

- First and foremost, I am going to be blunt. Yes this is as a result of a review from someone who did not even bother to give a name to their anonymous review. But I am not going to rave about them; I do not feel the rest of the readers deserve it. But it made me want to address a few things about my story to you all, even though I hate any kind of spoilers—even the minor ones. So here it goes.

Why is James being such a big bullying prat? Because between my own experiences with bullies and of the only Slytherin perspective we received Canon-wise (Snape's) is what I am using it to portray the 'Marauders': James and Sirius who always acted out against the slytherins (Snape for Sirius and Mione for James), Pettigrew hero worshipping the two but showing inklings to his true nature, and Remus who sits on the side lines never really doing anything to stop them, despite knowing how wrong their behavior is. Right now they are just boys; boys who made stupid mistakes that had dangerous consequences none of them EVER imagined would happen. Will James change, yes he will. And the changes will start most likely in seventh year as that was when he began to change Canon-wise, like you all can see above. I am not trying to bash James, but aside from the bullying prat we saw through Snape's eyes, there is really not much to go on especially since you cannot take in the accounts of the Marauders who were his friends and took part in said bullying. Naturally they would be biased.

Why does Hermione like Sirius when he helped James bully her?Sirius never set out to harm Hermione. Yes he took part in the pranks, but I never said they were his ideas; let alone claim he started to prank her because he hated her. No, Sirius realizes he feels something for Hermione, not sure what that something is however does he feels it—but she is a slytherin who happens to be his best mate's sister. He feels conflicted about it, but he will not side with a Slytherin over his best friend. Sirius is a loyal person, and his loyalty was clearly shown towards James and the rest of his friends. He is still a boy, a boy who is conflicted about his feelings. So he is going to side with his friend, the friend he knew longer than he liked the girl. However I think you should understand that their relationship will not happen overnight now that she suspects something about her heritage. Hermione will fight it, like she had in chapter 5. She does not like Sirius yet, but her magic is drawn to him and therefore in some way she is as well.

Why is Hermione forgiving them? Canon-wise Purebloods value family above almost all else —of course there are some exceptions to the rule, but for the most part that remains true. Hermione was raised in a Pureblood household; so, even if James did treat her like crap, Hermione would feel conflicted about wanting to hate him. He is her brother, he is family and she loves him. But there is another concept that should be taken in consideration. When you grow up listening to those harsh words and actions direct towards you, how are you going to be angry? How are you going shun the bullies you grew up cherishing, loving, and believing in wholeheartedly? You don't. Because at the tender age you believe that if you take that abuse, take it without complaint, they will like you. They will love you still.

No one really knows themselves at that age; you are just starting on the road of self-discovery, just learning how to feel comfortable in your own skin. None know the consequences of accepting the abuse; all that's known is the possibility they might love you back for doing this. So Hermione grew up believing that if she had forgiven James for his pranks and cruel words, maybe he would stop. Maybe he would go back to being the loving brother she grew up with.

But most importantly, Hermione will forgive James because it is possible, no matter the deed. But what I need to get across is that after the Sirius Dying Incident, Hermione never said she forgave him. All Hermione said was that when James has to deal with the consequences of his accidents that not everyone would be as forgiving as she had been in the past. She never said 'I forgive you James' because that is not how it always happens. Especially when James hurt her like he did in the previous chapter.

But she will forgive James. It will not be instantly like I am thinking some of you believe she did in the last chapter. James hurt her, and it will take a long time for him to prove that he really is sorry—that he really loves his sister. But it will happen. James is not the prat I am making him out to be, not forever anyway. When he leaves the safety of the castle walls, he will realize not everything is black and white. Not everyone is separated from 'Good guys and Death Eaters'. But James is safe behind the walls of Hogwarts, and while there he was a cocky, bullying prat. He never started to grow up until 7th year. So give it time for James to reveal his true colors, he is still a kid who made a lot of wrong decisions. Can any of you say that you never did anything wrong as a child? Did any of you really believe your actions never had any consequence that might backlash on you later on? I have, I admit it. But I learned from those mistakes, so let James do the same…yeah?

General Question Answers I received from lovely reviewers: No Regulus is not pinning after Hermione. And no the fact her eyes flickered blue around him does not mean he too is wanted by her Magic. Will he get a girl…maybe I am not so sure. Hermione was not punished for hexing the Marauders in the last chapter; she was punished because of her blatant disrespect towards McGonagall. Yes the mudblood incident has happened…I just did not write it. In the 4th chapter she asked Snape if he felt guilty for calling Evans a Mudblood—she said rather harsh things to get her point across to him. James happened to only overhear that part, which was why he fought with Lily about Hermione. James finds it hard to understand that he is the one in the wrong because he is a boy…a mere child who has yet to really experience and serious repercussions for his actions; Dumbledore never punished him, how would he know he did anything wrong? No, Hermione is not an unwilling Animagus; she just might have discovered some facts about her biological family that seemed to play a role in her magic's draw to Sirius. Dorea and Charlus DO care for Hermione; I just haven't written them in much up until the next chapter where they play a decent portion of it (How do I know this? That particular section is written out). But at the same time you all must remember that they just received Sirius—who they perceive as a son and he was practically dying on their floor. While treating Sirius, who was in critical condition, their two children had a massive fight causing one of them to leave and not return before the start of term. So their actions in this chapter, I see them as reasonable. I would be furious if my child let without even a word to know they were okay. They had not always been the best of parents, but originally as the only child James was pretty spoiled. They do care for Hermione, it's not just shown much in my story because they do not have too much written interaction.

"You did what you're supposed to do! Because you voluntarily took me in and from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me like I will if I ever have a child. But you don't own me! You can't tell me when or where I'm out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules. You don't even know what or who I am. You don't know how I feel, what I think. And if I tried to explain it the rest of your life you will never understand." ©Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, (albeit this is a variation of mine for it)

Anyway I hope that cleared up all the questions. And I would really love to hear from you all,

Kori

7. Just Throw a Rock

Thank you for all of those who reviewed. Like Always if you reviewed with an account, I PM-ed you back. If not, thank you to: Guests, Beth, Angel, Wiebe, Elizabeth. Lee, Padfoot's Shadow, and Rosier.

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54 and firefly81! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

I am unable to update as often has I had during the summer. As you can guess, school has started back up and a new town and University is rather taxing. So I now have a Twitter page for this account if you want to follow up on its updates. (This is so people do not assume that the story is abandoned) The account is Aven_Love why? Because Romantically_Distant was too long. I can try to upload at least once a month but that does depend on my work load. So I just ask that you be patience, and feel free to shoot me a Tweet or PM.

Chapter 7: Just Throw a Rock

"I hear you're dating Potter now. Congratulations Evans." Green eyes cautiously watched the younger witch. The brunette seemed polite enough in her salutation, but lately there had been a slight commanding air permeating the sixth year's person; the vibe felt rather frightening and it seemed to encourage the seventh year Slytherins to be more vindictive the past week. With such palpable tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Lily could not help but wonder if the Potter sibling fallout seemed to be the cause of the Slytherin's splurge in recent retaliations.

"James changed." The redhead admitted, "He's sweeter, more mature." Green eyes narrowed angrily when the young witched snorted. "It's true!"

"Evans, I truly doubt that. What made him change? After six years, what reason did he have to change?" Hermione replied. Sure, part of the seventeen year old wanted to believe that the Head boy had changed, but logically there was no reason for that to happen. James Potter had no reason to change, so why would he?

"I do not know the exact reasons, Jamey refuses—" Lily gasped in pure shock when the younger witch pinned her against the wall. The normally brown eyes of the Slytherin were replaced with a vibrant, angry blue.

"I will say this only once, Evans. Do not call him that. He might have not been my Jamey for a long time, but that is still my name for him. Not yours." The grip on Lily's shoulders released, and the brunette began to walk away.

"Why do you care what I call him?" Lily called out.

The brunette's shoulders stiffened as she paused in her step. Silence encased the two girls for the few moments it took Hermione to speak. "I care because the arse is still my brother. I may not control whether or not he acts as such, but that does not mean I stopped caring. So do not call him that ever again." The sixth year's ire rocketed to an all-time high when she heard Evans use her nickname for Potter. Regardless of what the older witch thought, James' nickname belonged to Hermione and if the Slytherin had any say to it, it would remain that way.

"But you don't care! Otherwise you would have seen that he changed for you. And instead of acting like a spoiled brat, you would have met James half way! But you are too blinded by hatred to see that he is changing for you because he loves you!" Lily growled out, clenching her fist. "All of it is for you. But you act like it means nothing and you dare tell me that you care?"

"By that logic, then you must have never cared for Severus." Lily spluttered an incoherent reply. The Head Girl did not see how her feelings towards her ex-best friend correlated with James' situation.

"Severus has been trying since your fifth year to regain your forgiveness. He has worked constantly for two years in hopes of being your friend again. Yet you ignore him, shun him, and love his abuser instead?" Hermione sneered; her warm, regal voice seeming cold and distant. When the Slytherin turned around, Lily noticed how her eyes remained that violent, icy blue.

"You seem to forget that James has a lot of things to make up for to a lot of people. As you Muggle-borns put it, I am simply the tip of the iceberg. Severus only needs to make it right with you." The blue eyes seemed to momentarily soften; the reaction faded so quickly, Lily assumed she imagined it.

"But James regrets his actions! He is trying to make amends. Severus did not!" Lily argued.

"Are you fucking daft woman? I just told you Severus has been working his arse off for two years to repent whereas your boyfriend has only spent two measly months! Quit letting your emotions blind you, Evans! It is unbecoming and pathetic. Severus regretted ever saying that word. It is not his fault you refused to acknowledge it, let alone see it." Hermione snarled. Dealing with the redheaded witch seemed far more complicated than the brunette remembered. Was this really what love did? Did it make once reasonable people blind to reality? Hermione frowned; if that was the case, then the seventeen year old witch never wanted to be in love.

"But—"

"No, Evans. I refuse to listen to any of your reasons. I rarely take advice from those who do not know the full situation. But I damn sure do not take advice from some silly chit who tells me to forgive someone when they cannot forgive themselves." Hermione's voice dipped an octave lower as she hissed out her last insult. "Now I have rounds to complete. I suggest you do the same."

Lily stared, dumbstruck at the figure walking away from her. Just how bad had her boyfriend screwed up?

"Quit being as cold as a witch's tit," Regulus grumbled, sprawled out on his back across his Bambi's bed.

"Quit…quit being…By Gods Regulus! How can you be so profoundly perverse at times like this? Surely you know what that harpy is requesting of you!" Hermione seethed. Her magic crackled angrily around her. "If your father hadn't of died right after Christmas; you wouldn't be in this position!" The seventeen year old female growled. The witch's ire had sparked beyond recognition when her friend told her the news. How could a mother expect that of a child? But Hermione knew that answer; she knew it well from her fifth year.

"Yeah, well I am, Bambi. There is—"

"I bet you the sodding bint killed him. That harpy always did have a thing for power." Hermione grumbled. Regulus could not become a Death Eater; he was far too young to be one! They were just about to start Hogwarts in not even a week and his mother was already making plans to recruit him by Christmas? What a bitch.

"Now Bambi, she is my mother. And my father was an avid supporter of the Dark Arts; how can you be sure he would not support my mother in this decision…it would bring honor to the Black name what with working for a Dark—"

"HE IS NO LORD," the seventeen year old witch growled.

"Regardless, how would you know my father would not support my mother's decision?"

"It is rather convenient that your father died shortly after the incident with Sirius, no?" Hermione remarked, the regal drawl she learned from Narcissa currently echoed in the silence.

Regulus' silver eyes held the witch's brown orbs in a steady struggle of power. The young Black did not like slights on his family, not even from his best friend. Neither seemed to waiver, but the wizard could see the stare-down caused his Bambi's ire to grow. Moments later, Regulus found himself dazedly gazing up at a blue-eyed, growling female.

"Calm down, Bambi. I meant no disrespect…" His friend snorted at his response but she unpinned him all the same. When a few minutes had passed and Hermione seemed calmer, Regulus opened his mouth to speak once more. He still wanted an answer to his question.

"Orion never disowned Sirius and only allowed that harpy to blast him off the tapestry for a reason, Regulus. That reason happened to be something he tried to instill into you a number of times as well: Purebloods bow to no one!" Hermione stated, airily. "Which is why I know your father would have never allowed you to take that…that savage's mark!"

"How is your bad taste in men going by the way?" Hermione glared at her friend. She knew Regulus just attempted to change the subject to a somewhat lighter, albeit rather taboo, subject.

"I will work something out, Regulus. Somehow, some way, I will find a solution to your pesky problem." Hermione promised. Her Leo answered with a grim smile, knowing that not even his Bambi could fix this situation. Silence hung around the pair for a few minutes. The silence felt suffocating to the young witch, so she attempted to lighten the atmosphere.

"Since you so desperately wanted to change the topic, let's go back to the witch's tit, shall we?" Regulus quirked an elegant eyebrow at his friend's remark; curious to know where the young woman would take the conversation. "Why would anyone use that expression?"

"Probably to warn a wizard to never trust a witch; you she-devil's ensnare poor bastards with your icy hearts and lead us to our deaths."

"Hell doth have no fury like that of a woman scorned. And from what I hear, the ninth level of hell is pretty icy." The brunette sent a playful wink in Regulus' direction.

As she watched her friend laugh, she knew she had to do something to help him. She knew what needed to be done, but the task would not be simple.

She needed to find Sirius. Hermione needed Sirius to help Regulus before it was too late. She needed to find Sirius. Hermione needed Sirius to help Regulus before it was too late.

School had begun three months ago and the Head girl found it difficult to focus on all of her tasks. Between her school load, Head Duties and trying to find the older Black, Hermione got virtually no sleep. But hopefully, after tonight all of it would be worth it; because tonight she should be meeting Sirius…if the gossip in the school corridors were anything to go by. Apparently the Black heir would be at the Three Broomsticks—the seventh year just hoped he would not have his best mates for company.

Lady luck happened to be on her side; he was alone…minus the harlot he currently snogged and the number of floozies that currently surrounded his table. Without even registering it, a snarl escaped her lips; drawing the attention of a few inquisitive stares.

"How could that be my bonded?" The seventeen year old did not care what the books about her supposed heritage said. She would not fall in love, especially not now and not with him. People their age still needed to mature more before jumping into any form of commitment. And she would never date some slag. Regardless of what she read, Hermione could never be with someone like him. How could a person who would shag a warm body be a good match for her? Sirius Black would sleep with anyone! The brunette did not want that; she wanted a man who would only want her. A man she could trust unconditionally. Sirius never would.

Sirius loved the idea of shagging. Sirius loved copulating with a meager warm body. He could never give Hermione what she wanted. And because of that, the seventeen year old witch knew she could never love him.

"Sorry to interrupt Black, but I need to talk to you." She really did not intend for her snappy tone, it just sort of happened to come out that way. The brunette liked to think seeing her gender degrade themselves in such a way sparked her fury but she knew very well another factor might play a role in her irritable tone. But Hermione chose to deny that.

Sirius stilled momentarily, before pulling away from the blonde witch who he planned to bed tonight. The nineteen year old knew that voice, he grew up hearing it. But no way could it possibly her speaking… Hogwarts has not had a Hogsmeade weekend this month…and the fact it happened to be a Wednesday. But as he turned his head and focused his silver eyes on the figure standing a meter away from him, Sirius realized it was Hermione standing before him. And the witch seemed rather amused by his reaction, if the twinkle in her eye was anything to go by.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned.

"We need to talk," Hermione stated "Ditch the floozy and meet me out outside." The command caused Sirius to quirk an eye brow, he had never seen her demand anyone. He had to admit it was kind of a turn on. The nineteen year old watch as the seventh year walked outside.

A high-pitched voice drew Sirius out of his revere; the blonde appeared to want his attention, but the male did not like how the woman seemed to be bashing Hermione. "She's a friend of mine," he replied, removing the woman's arms from his person before standing up.

"You cannot possibly serious about ditching me!" The blonde asked in shock, a man had never pulled away from her before and especially not for some school girl. Besides, there was no way those two were simply friends; the bar heartthrob seemed to melt under that little girl's gaze, a new site for many of the local bar customers.

"Well I am Sirius," He replied with a shrug, "and I am going to see what she wants to talk about." With that said, Sirius went out the door and looked around. He found the brunette a few meters down the street, sitting on a bench.

He walked towards her, eyeing the young woman. He could not deny she had become even prettier since the last time he saw her. But there was something rather haunting in her eyes, an emotion Sirius realized he did not want to see in the young witch.

"What do you want to discuss?"

"I need a favor… I need you to help Regulus," The whispered request stunned Sirius more than the words. He had never heard this young woman sound so defeated…so broken before.

"No," Sirius replied after a minute of silence.

The brunette stood up, and for a moment her brown eyes sparkled with anger. "Why not?"

"Because he is a Snake, Hermione; He is not worth saving." Sirius responded. He realized how wrong his words sounded after he saw the pale flesh of her throat appear to swallow a lump. Wasn't this beautiful girl before him also a snake?

"Then you are just as bad of a brother as your best mate," The brunette seethed before apparating away.

Branded. Those arses fucking branded her best friend. The witch only saw red. How could a mother allow her son to be branded? How could people be sick enough to think recruiting school children was acceptable? How pathetic was their world becoming?

"Hermione, I know you are upset but it is official now. You cannot stop it."

"Like hell I cannot stop it, Narcissa!" The brunette yelled. How could she of all people be so calm about it? Her youngest cousin, her favorite cousin, was a Death Eater now. "I will do whatever it takes to save my best friend! Purebloods bow to no one! You know that!"

"I do, and I agree with it Hermione." Narcissa did, to some level, understand Hermione's perspective. But as a woman in the Wizarding World, they did have to bow; they had to submit to the Head of the Family or their husband. But what Hermione wanted to do…Narcissa did not think it would even be plausible. "Do you honestly think you can take them all on? Hermione there are more supporters than you can even imagine; those that support Dumbledore pale in comparison. You cannot possibly think you would stand a chance against them alone!"

"You have a mean wand arm; Voldemort himself would not confront you in one of your ill temperaments, Cissa." Mrs. Malfoy cast the younger woman an amused stare, but said nothing further.

"But Bella would. You know her loyalty to the Dark Lord; she would not allow rebellion, not even from you." The pregnant woman replied, her hand gently resting on her abdomen.

"And she knows my loyalty to Regulus. I will gladly die for him just as she would die for her pathetic Master." Narcissa's eyes softened at the other witch's declaration. True loyalty was a rare trait in their world, especially amongst her husband's associates. So many times people only followed another to save themselves, so many would just as easily turn their back on 'the cause'—as Voldemort had called it—because it would save their skin. But that was a true Slytherin. It was the Lion's trait to be righteous and a Badger's to be loyal.

Nonetheless, Narcissa could not deny that the young woman before her had a good balance of the Hogwarts Houses. Her loyalty rivaled that of any Badger, her bravery and sacrifices could shame any Gryffindor and her intelligence sparked the ire of every Ravenclaw. But the Malfoy bride knew the reason Hermione ended up in Slytherin. Only a Slytherin could combine all of those traits into a deadly, winning combination when crossed.

There were just so few Slytherins like Hermione left. The last one had been her older sister Bellatrix.

"What would you expect me to do, Hermione?" Narcissa questioned. Unlike Hermione, she was a wallflower. The Malfoy Bride would never be one to directly enter the fray. She preferred the background, so unlike the fiery witch standing before her.

"Protect, Regulus. Purebloods care about family, if you must… tell your husband to watch over him to make sure his loyalties are where he claims them. And if the time comes send Regulus away…I know you have a few dowries you could hide him in temporarily at least."

"And what would you do?" Narcissa couldn't help but ask.

"I am still working on that…"

"Fix it. Fix it now!" Hermione snarled as she stormed into the Potter Manor, surprising both Dorea and Charlus. Their daughter had not been home since her sixth year when she had agreed to hear them out during a brief visit. Although it did not fix the barrier she had erected, things had begun to work out. She would at least owl them on occasion, and, if James was not in attendance, permit a few infrequent visits.

But it had been a long time since they had last laid eyes on her and Charlus and Dorea were relieved to see their little girl home. That relief, however, turned into apprehension when they noticed the visible sparks of magic crackling around her. Fury incased their daughter, so much so that her magic radiated off her in powerful waves.

"Fix what, Hermione?" Charlus asked, apprehensively.

"Call all of the big figures of your bloody Order of the Phoenix and fix it!" At this, both Dorea and Charlus paled. Their eighteen-year-old daughter should not have known about the Order. Charlus decided the best solution would be to play dumb. If they feigned a lack of knowledge, she might calm down and they could talk about this reasonably. Yet, Dorea seemed to disagree. When her husband started to spout words of ignorance, she watched her daughter. Hermione's eyes narrowed, her body tensed, a growl like noise sounding within her throat. Lying would not be the best course of action towards their little witch.

With eyes a brilliant blue, the brunette took a step forward. "I am not James. Just because the words spill out of your mouth does not mean I take them to be fact. So do not lie to me. Now call your Order and repair what your blasted group broke!" Years of being housed in Slytherin had the fawn haired girl subconsciously twirling her wand, displaying it in front of her parents. Now eighteen, Hermione would not be in trouble for casting a few hexes, well at least not with Ministry.

"Call them now." Her icy voice ordered. When Charlus opened his mouth, she aimed her wand. "I am not your precious son; if you do not do as I say, I will show you exactly why I am a Slytherin." With her threat hanging in the air, Charlus nodded before turning to floo the members. Dorea just stared at her once kind-hearted daughter, wondering what happened. What had changed the sweet, doe eyed girl they raised? The one who trailed after her older brother, idolizing him? Where did the girl they loved so deeply currently hide?

Hermione, analyzing the Lady Potter, had a different direction of thoughts than her adoptive mother. The brunette felt antsy, her desire to be close to Regulus in his time of need kept surfacing. The eighteen-year-old had to force herself to remember she came to them for Regulus. Not to fight them, or beg them, but to make them see reason; make the people she once thought of as family, see that they had damned a young boy.

They might feel nothing but Hermione knew she had to find a solution. How could she live with herself knowing she let those once vibrant silver eyes dim into lifelessness? How could she live knowing she had done nothing in the months after Regulus became a Death Eater? Her best mate was suffering, how much longer would it take for him to crack?

How much longer would it take for him to become like her? No. Hermione would not let that happen. She would find a solution for Regulus. The brunette had to save her best friend.

Loud, rowdy voices dragged Hermione out of her thoughts. She recognized all of the faces standing before her now and not one surprised her: Dumbledore, Alastor Moody and one of his aurors Marlene McKinnon, James and his lot. All seemed to still when they saw her, magic crackling off in waves.

Hermione thought of saying something civil; maybe appeal to their kinder side. But anger overruled the logical aspect of her brain and the Alpha felt the need to assert her authority over all those weaker. "Fix it." She heard herself snarl.

"Fix what?" The melodious voice of Lily—James's fiancée—questioned, serving to make Hermione's anger heighten. The brunette had never hated the older female, yet the more primal side of her held some contempt.

The Alpha just could not understand the complete lack of loyalty the girl held for a supposed best friend. Sure, Snape called her a Mudblood; but he did not attempt to kill her first born, endanger anyone she loved or repeatedly abuse her love and trust. Name calling seemed like such a minor reason for completely dissolving a friendship of years.

For the Alpha, it showed how flakey the girl really was; although Hermione understood the complete loss of trust Lily gained for Snape and why the falling out occurred, her Alpha heritage proved stronger than the human half and Hermione could not help the welling of anger as it boiled over her. If Lily could do something like that to Snape, what would stop the rest of them from something similar? They had already condemned Regulus, what would be next? Murdering an innocent in the name of 'The Greater Good'?

"You bastards are going to fix what you refused to take responsibility for!" The eighteen-year-old seethed.

"What exactly do we need to take responsibility for?" This time, Remus asked the question. Two pairs of blue eyes clashed.

"Help Regulus," Hermione's voice seemed softer this time, less volatile. "Get him out of the situation you all put him in." The seventh year had fists clenched by her side, trying to lessen her wrath. Yet she felt all of the stares on her body, wary. Of course they never trusted a Snake.

"And may I ask what situation we put him under?" Always the voice of reason, Albus Dumbledore questioned; blue eyes twinkling. Like a dam breaking, Hermione's anger returned. How dare this man? He knew exactly what she meant, yet he was trying to manipulate her into revealing it?

"I knew you were a Gryffindor, Albus, but I never pegged you as an idiot." Hermione sneered, receiving snarls from the other occupants of the room. Choosing to ignore them, Hermione continued, "I am not one of your order members. You cannot manipulate me. Attempt to do so," Her brilliant blue glowered at him, "And you will lose. Now I will make myself clear; fix it!"

"Why should we help a bloody Death Eater?" Howled the voice of Moody; causing Hermione to turn on him in an instant with her wand raised. With her wand raised, others followed; all trained on her.

"Watch what you say about something you know nothing about!" She snarled. "He is a Death Eater because of you! Because of all of you fucking people who think you are so righteous and that he is beneath your feet. So fix it!"

"And how did he become a Death Eater because of us?" A gruff voice, Hermione recognized to be Moody's, asked. Instead of the simple explanation they expected, the girl laughed coldly.

"You lot stick together, side with each other. A noble trait if one does a noble deed." She responded after a few moments of silence. "Yet what any of you ever did, especially in school, has never been noble. Potter and Black tortured students with supposedly harmless pranks. You all just sat back, some occasionally joining in. None of you stood up for those being teased, none of you noticed those that suddenly became withdrawn or behaved differently.

No, you all just pretended everything in your little world was perfect. That everything would fall into place. But you are wrong, so wrong. What you all considered harmless fun, put lives on the line; all those people you call horrible, despicable Death Eaters were pushed into that by you. Sure some of them had always been crazy, rash, and pure evil. But for most, that has not been the case.

Those Death Eaters you hunt were once human beings. Those people you see only as monsters, simply value their lives. Those Death Eaters were innocent people you sacrificed. People you taught to hate because all of you were a part of their harassment. People you pushed aside that turned to the Dark because they thought they would accept them because none of you ever did!" Hermione ended with an angry snarl. Somewhere during her mini tirade, all wands lowered; all minds focused on her emotional speech.

After a few moments of silence, a snort from the crowd drew Hermione's attention. "As if a Slytherin knows anything about harassment," Pursed lips curled into a sickly smile. "In fact you are probably only protecting your fuck buddies."

Hermione did not know what angered her more, the mendacious words spilling out of Marlene McKinnon's mouth or the fact that she happened to be Sirius's hussy of the week. "Seeing as you spread your legs more than Black enters broom closets, I think you would be the one protecting paramours McKinnon." Hermione responded, tilting her head and sending the blonde hussy a vicious grin. "But it might be safer for you to shut your mouth; I'm a Snake remember? Then again, I do not mind if you want to pick your poison…unlike my housemates, mine is very real and very deadly."

"Is that a threat Potter?" McKinnon growled, training her wand onto Hermione's frame once more. The tension in the room became palpable. The other occupants felt suffocated by the extreme anger radiating off the two witches.

"If you keep it up no; it will be a not so pleasant promise!" Hermione snarled at the older witch. The brunette's lips curled, baring her teeth, as she took a menacing step forward.

"Witchling, calm down," Sirius voice seemed to draw the angry witches' attention towards him; both with an entirely different reaction. Marlene gave Sirius a goofy grin, lowered her wand, and strolled next to him. Hermione had the opposite reaction; her blue orbs returned to their molten brown, her body tensed up, and a small frown marred her lips. His voice did a funny thing to her insides; he made her weak kneed and all nervous in her stomach. The eighteen-year-old knew that the Alpha blood in her caused the reactions to Sirius. The Slytherin clenched her fists, attempting to recollect her thoughts. Hermione came here for Regulus, came to help him. Not to appease her Alpha instinct and desire for her supposed bonded.

"Aw Sirius you've never called me that nickname before!" Marlene cooed as she wrapped her arms around Sirius's neck, causing Hermione's jaw to clench. Their affectionate display made her sick. Yet a whispered phrase from Lupin seemed to quell her disdain, if only slightly: "…because the nickname wasn't directed towards you."

"Yeah… er…"Mischievous gray eyes glanced to Hermione's chocolate brown orbs.

"Hermione dear, we have not had contact with your friend. How could we be at fault?" Dorea questioned, her motherly tone seeming to reinstall a somewhat calmer atmosphere.

"You need to realize that regardless of how brave or smart you are, you are still bullies. Bullies who push people to what you deem the wrong side. And then you get all of these misconstrued notions about how they must be evil, vile creatures not even worthy of your time." Hermione stated. The brunette realized her speech seemed calmer, as if she rehearsed this a thousand times before. And on some level she had. How many times had she thought this when she looked at James or her parents and even Dumbledore?

"They are not worth our time!" McKinnon growled, clenching her fist.

"Straighten up, McKinnon. Become the adult you should have a long time ago!" Hermione snarled back. "We cannot change the path they choose, Hermione." Charlus spoke up. He could not understand why Hermione seemed to push the blame on them. It was not their fault Sirius' young brother decided to turn to Voldemort's side.

"Had I been a lesser person, I would strike you." The clarity with which she said the statement shocked everyone in the room. The brunette seemed so sure of it, as if the statement was merely a fact.

"Hermione, wh—" Charlus spluttered out. How could the little girl he raised say such a thing to him?

"I am a not a fool, do not take me to be one." Hermione stated. "One little act could change how everything is played out. Had Evans forgiven Snape, who is to say she would now be dating Potter? Had Sirius actually been there, Regulus would not have had to be branded! Just because none of you refuse to look at your own reflection and realize you are just as guilty does not make you a god! You cannot decide who is worthy or not. So grow up or quit being surprised when people you push around gain two new idols."

"And what idols are those girly?" The gruff voice of Alastor Moody sounded once again. Hermione realized the man had been silent, much like Dumbledore. The eighteen year old witch knew better than to provoke the two experienced wizards—they were well known for a reason. And Alastor especially would not hold back if he thought it would help their cause.

"Simple: Voldemort and the Dark Arts. The reason for his gaining support is not because he is powerful. It is because of fear and all of you. All of you bullies, all of you bystanders who did nothing, all of you who felt righteous enough to condemn others."

Her words echoed in the air. For Dorea and Charlus, it felt as if she had slapped them. Their daughter's words spoke volumes to them, like she finally told them a secret she withheld. With a glance at her husband, Dorea knew the thought the same thing: were they the bystanders who never helped Hermione?

"I will let you in on one secret. When it comes down to who is to blame—really to blame—just throw a rock. I guarantee you'll hit someone who is guilty: you who bullied, who stood and did nothing, and who condemned."

"What if the rock hit you?" Remus questioned. All eyes froze on the brunette, expecting her to deny participation; to shed the blame off her like a snake would its skin. A Slytherin would never take the blame. So they waited for her denial, waited for her to show her true colors, be the snake they always pictured the Slytherin house to be.

"I failed to prevent it," Hermione's whispered reply echoed loudly in the silence.

Alright here is Chapter 7. Some Author notes:

Do not compare the 'Bonded' idea to Twilight Imprinting. For reasons I will not rant about, I dislike Twilight immensely. The bonded Idea is based on the fact that Canon Veelas have mates, mates they do not pick. Because I made Veelas virtually a descendent of Buglarian Alphas, I had to have something that could tie them together. The only difference between the Bonded and the mates is that a Bonded would essentially be the Alpha male out of the Alpha's Harem; he would be the strongest suited for the Alpha female. It is NOT imprinting because imprinting has no fight—none of them ever even tried to resist the feelings. Hermione is trying and so far succeeding, aside from the occasional jealousy.

"Don't be surprised if every kid who gets pushed around has two new idols," ©Marilyn Manson

"When it comes down to who is to blame—really to blame—just throw a rock. I guarantee you'll hit someone who is guilty" ©Marilyn Manson

So tell me what you guys think?

-Kori

8. Nameless Flies

Thank you for all of those who reviewed. Like Always if you reviewed with an account, I PM-ed you back. If not, thank you to: Guests, Rosier, Elizabeth, Granate, Padfoot's Shadow, and Beth

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54 and firefly81! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

I am sorry for how late the update is; but with a job, University and then finals towards the beginning of this month it was really hard to update, let alone write. Most of my free time was spent sleeping or studying. I'm not really sure how I'll fix this problem, I'll probably just start making the chapters slightly longer—maybe a few more thousand more than the normal 5k.

Chapter 8: Nameless Flies

"What would you like for us to do?" Albus Dumbledore questioned, his blue eyes twinkling with a burning curiosity. What did this witch expect from them? What did she hope to gain by threatening them? What could possibly be of such importance for her to even attempt this charade of confidence? Albus Dumbledore did not know, but he wanted to. The twinkling curiosity burned brighter as the Head Girl noticed his stare—she knew he wanted answers. But would she give them?

"Why should we do anything for her?" Marlene growled out. Hermione quirked an elegant, eyebrow at the older witch; she might have a good wand arm and be Auror Moody's favorite, but in the brunette's eyes Marlene had no value. What use was there in an Auror who refused to protect the innocent?

"Because I am right," Hermione responded her tone dripping venom. Her voice exuded animosity—the witch disliked the Auror, and she made it clear to all. Although her noxious tone seemed to be coated in arrogance, a mother knows her child best. Hermione was right.

Dorea's shoulders slumped forward in conflicted recognition at her daughter's words. Her family teased her for falling in love, and when they exiled her because they classified her lover as a "blood-traitor", part of her hated them. But another part did not care because at least she would die in a loving relationship, unlike most of them. Despite her overall happiness, Dorea still wished her family ill for all of the pain they made her go through. How many times had she vowed to never be like them? Yet as she stood in her parlor, she saw the resemblance.

The Lady Potter had allowed herself to be blinded towards her daughter's misfortune, however slight it might have been. She could no longer claim to be better than her family. How many times growing up did she wish for just one family member to stand by her side, to defend her actions, to guide her? And yet here she stood before her daughter denying Hermione that same chance, for a reason the Potter Matriarch could not immediately name.

Perhaps Dorea simply did not want to believe her son could be so cruel to his own sister. She had taught him right and wrong, and the mother believed she had instilled the concepts well. But the elderly woman would not lie, especially not to herself: if the reason she neglected her daughter's voice happened to be envy, she would not be surprised. Dorea had been sorted into Slytherin while attending Hogwarts; she had been like every other member of her family. And hearing how well her daughter blended into the lives of the younger generation of Blacks, whereas she had been all but magically repudiated for falling in love struck some deep chord within her. The Matriarch did not share a similarity with her husband or son; she was not a Gryffindor by nature or virtue. Dorea might have escaped the Snake Pit, but she could never escape the Snake. And like every Snake, Dorea grew jealous of things she did not have.

But regardless of what reason, the Lady Potter decided to put her foot down. All of the petty excuses, the ignorance, and the sheer apathy for everything ended now. Hermione needed her mother to step up. Hermione needed an extra wand in her corner. Hermione needed a better mother.

"Marlene, silence yourself," Shocked eyes stared at the Lady Potter. Some held more surprise than others; but the pair that seemed shocked the most had been Hermione's molten brown orbs. Growing up in the Black family, Dorea had come to expect nothing from her family because she knew at the end of the day so little of them really cared about one another. But Dorea could not shake the guilt that latched onto her at her daughter's surprise. No child, especially her child, should be surprised to find their mother defending them.

"But Lady Potter…" Marlene trailed off. The Gryffindor Alumna could not find the words to properly express what she wished to say. But surely the elder witch did not side with the brunette threatening them. Regardless of Dorea Potter's relationship to the assailant, the woman could surely tell what the lass spoke has been complete nonsense. Slytherins cared not a lick for one another; all they focused on was getting stronger, richer, and most importantly meaner than the next.

"You are forgetting your place Marlene. My maiden name was Black before I married Charlus; I too had been a Snake, as you so vehemently put it, just like all the others in my family prior to Sirius," Dorea chastised. Her voice held a soft, motherly undertone that seemed to make her words all the more real. A useful tactic Dorea had learned growing up. Using words instead of wands always produced a more effective, willing result in her experiences. The tone held a hint of lethality in it, one almost dismissible to someone without Auror training. The Lady Potter rarely found the need to use this trait she had acquired from her mother, especially not directed towards any member of the younger generation. But if it helped out her daughter, Dorea would do it all again.

"Right now, out of all of us here, Hermione is the only one who is expressing the true traits of Gryffindor. She admits her faults to us, has lain out her weaknesses and is still trying to help her friend." Dorea seemed to capture the attention of all in the room. A mother must do what is right for her child and so Dorea would even if it made her all the more uncomfortable. The Lady Potter never felt the desire to speak much to the Order members, rather the older woman felt content to let her husband do the talking, the negotiating. However she had always been the more perceptive of the two, and Dorea knew what reactions could break through, which ones could have potential collateral.

And at this very moment, if Dorea had continued to remain silent, to ignore her daughter's clear distress signals…they would lose her. Losing Hermione might not equate much with Albus Dumbledore or anyone else within the Order. But for her and Charlus…for James even? Could they raise their wand against Hermione? Would they fight against her with such vehement rage as they did all the others? Could they truly kill her if the need arose? Dorea knew the answer was no. And the matriarch refused to lose her little girl.

"No Snake would do that to something insignificant. Why bare our throats for the sake of a measly pawn?" Dorea replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "She cares for this individual, enough to risk her very being. And for a Slytherin to do that means the person is important. So much more than picking a side and betting who will come out the victor. Had any of those traits been shown in another person, another House, you would all praise them. Yet because she is in Slytherin, you younglings just continue to argue with her, belittle her cause, and still claim to be the better person."

The guilt that flashed in her son's eye seemed to reinforce what Dorea had just said. Yet the Lady Potter knew the younger witches and wizards were not entirely to blame for what happened. After all, Hermione made it clear: those who abused, who condemned, who remained a bystander were all just another type of bully in the end. And the cold fact of the matter remained that regardless of what type of bully a person had been, it did not matter. Hermione's assumption seemed to have some validation, just one person—a bystander, a guilty conscience, something, could have drastically changed the fate of another person. How many lives were lost because of a passerby's neglect, a condemner's view of right or wrong? How much blood coated all of their hands?

"We are all…we…" Dorea could not find the words to relay her thoughts. She did not need to, however, because Hermione took the words away, though Dorea wished her daughter could have been less blunt about the word choice.

"You're worse than Voldemort." Hermione finished. Surprise coursed through the Head Girl at her mother's sudden defense. The brunette would not lie: it felt good having someone to help you, even though Hermione knew Dorea could have helped her at any given chance and there were a lot of words left unspoken far to long. But the Brown eyed teenager felt oddly at peace; having her mother side with her at a time it truly counted meant more to her than any guilt-induced apology. Not that Hermione would tell that to anyone.

"We are not!" Lily hollered. The redhead would not allow this girl to accuse them of being so heinous, especially not akin to someone as evil as Voldemort. Lily did not care who this girl had familial ties with; she had no quarrels with instigating a fight to protect her loved ones against one chit's harsh criticisms of innocent mistakes. "Just because you blame us for the actions of Sirius' brother does not make your accusations true!"

"Just because some haughty Muggle-born, who thinks she's Merlin's sodding grace to the entire world, claims my accusations are lies does not mean they are false. But between my word and yours, I damn sure would choose mine. Because there is nothing worse in the world than some silly chit trying to play defender; especially when that girl is even worse than the one she is accusing. I could kill you now and it would not make a difference; after all who cares for just another casualty?" Hermione snarled. Lily Evans had never been on Hermione's radar while the older witch attended Hogwarts. In fact, the brunette found striking similarities between herself and the Muggleborn. At least until the moment it counted the most. Lily Evans liked to defend the weak; she liked to convince people harmless mistakes were something that should always be forgiven. Except for Severus, for a person who loved her; one harmless—name calling—mistake from him and he is shunned, ignored, and demoralized by the redhead.

At that point in time, Hermione realized where they differed; it was a shame that difference had been too great a distance to try and overcome. Hermione might hold some grudges now, but at least hers were not so petty. She could forgive the slights towards her person and had done so plenty in the past. She had learned to forgive, but she would not become a fool for the same people again. Her grudges did not stem from her afflictions—they stemmed from Regulus, Snape, Cissa, Orion, and even Bellatrix. Because after years of trial and error, Hermione had realized she had no problem with loving her murderer, but she could never love theirs. How could she?

"Regulus is evil!" James shot back, his body curling defensively in front of his girlfriend. Part of the Potter Heir doubted his sister would truly attempt to kill Lily. Nevertheless, he felt a precautionary measure would not hurt.

"Regulus is noble, far nobler than any of you. He embodies the house you all are so fond of." The Head Girl sneered, her eyes flickering between the brilliant blue and the usual coffee brown. "He has the real heart of a lion, the true courage depicted of your house. If anyone could ever live up to a name of greatness, it would be him. After all he is the Cor Leonis; the man I know to be self-sacrificing. Whereas you all are merely assholes trying to play Gods," Hermione hissed. The air crackled around the furious witch. When James opened his mouth once more, Hermione intervened—speaking once more.

"You know nothing! All you know is what Sirius tells you of his family! You only hear his hatred towards them—what he assumes! I know them personally, each and every one of them. Who they truly are, what they really feel, their goals and aspirations; so do not dare to tell me their true character because all of your allegations are wrong!" Hermione snarled out in response. She did not expect for them to really grasp what she meant, the impact of even a simple action. In truth Hermione did not come to her childhood home to fight. Yes, she came to reason with them to try and get them to some sort of understanding, but to fight? No, the brunette did not have that in mind. It was these people who just continued to draw out her worst moods.

"But you would not know that. None of you would." Hermione's voice dipped off into a whisper. The Head Girl knew far better than most to what lengths people would go; after all, if one is not in over their head then how do they know how tall they are? How would they really know where they stood within the world, within the lives of others? "I never expected any of you to understand why you all are worse than Voldemort…"

"Explain it to us then," Moody's gruff voice sounded. He was beginning to grow tired of this mindless arguing. Whatever problems the Potters were experiencing should be dealt with in their own time—it should not involve the Order. Albus knew this, so why did his friend allow his Head Girl to continue for this long? Did his old friend know something? Judging from the look in his eye, Moody would figure the Headmaster had a reason for allowing this charade to continue; despite the Auror knowing full well his old friend could punish the seventh year, expelling her from Hogwarts or revoking her Head Girl title.

"I've lost interest in the cracks, chips, holes, and broken places in the lives of men. All the pain, grievances, and self-pity merely hide the fact they are just raging narcissists. The grandiosity, numbness to the needs and pain of others, emotional isolation, resentment and envy…Voldemort exhibits those very same traits. He probably did as a child, right Dumbledore?" The sly smile that ghosted over the eighteen year old witch's lip hit the Senior Auror like a stunner, bringing with it that realization they did not know all the details. This mere slip of a girl, with just a small quirk of her lip, managed to reveal she knew more than she planned to divulge. The Potter's daughter had an ace up her sleeve, one she would not part so easily with.

"Unlike you lot, Voldemort had a simple goal throughout his life: control and mastery. He took what he wanted; nothing mattered beyond his petty desires. His followers know this, hell they thrive off of it because at least by serving under him, they know exactly what they are up against," Hermione replied. For a moment, the brunette's thoughts drifted off to Severus Snape; the one she begged to help Regulus. The older boy had never been a close friend of hers, but he had been seen with Regulus a few times before he graduated. But that had not been why she had gone to Severus, Hermione knew that Severus did not belong on that side.

The Head Girl saw what others refused to see in him; the Potter female saw a human being. Not a minion who would make an excellent servant, not some greasy haired guy who called his ex-best friend a Mudblood, not just another wizard. She went to ask for Severus Snape's help because she saw a person, one who resembled Regulus. Hermione saw in the older boy a person who cared about others.

"How does any of that make us worse than Voldemort?" Marlene growled. The young witch standing before them, so cocky, was starting to get on the young Auror's last nerves. The brunette seemed to not be making any true point.

"Yea, 'Mione—" James blinked at the sudden wand pointed in his direction. He could not recall when his sister had ever directed her wand towards him. The Potter Heir raised his hand in a form of surrender, unsure of how to proceed. Part of him knew Hermione would never really harm him, if she wanted to then his sister would have done so long ago—when he deserved it. But another part, the Auror in training, told him to be cautious. Nothing could be more dangerous than a witch protecting something dear.

"Do not call me that; nicknames imply closeness. You lost that right after you damned my best friend," Hermione replied, the calmness in her voice seemed to add even more weight to her words. This statement did not come from anger; it had been cemented long ago. She took a deep breath, lowering her wand before speaking again.

"You all pretend to care," her voice came out as a husky whisper. Hermione's grip on her wand tightened. She took another deep breath, trying to gather the words that needed to be said. "Voldemort does not feign compassion. He will twist words and try to beguile people into his web. But they know he does not care. But you all do; you claim to care about the innocent, yet when it comes time to prove it, you turn your back and prey on a new victim."

Charlus felt his wife clutch his hand tight; he knew Dorea must be upset, their daughter distrusted them and probably with a good reason too. But that did not make it hurt any less. It tore at the father's heart to know his baby girl would no longer seek his guidance, would no longer take his words of advice. Their daughter only saw them as savages, no matter how small their offense might have been.

Her eyes flickered to Dumbledore's, "You try to ensnare people into your web, making them think that you really care. But there is always that one fly that refuses to enter your parlor." The brunette's eyes gazed down at the floor, fingers digging into her palms. Hermione really did not know what she wanted to say to them: who played the role of the fly this time? She knew that there were many who could count as the fly, but which one did she know? None of them, because at the end of the day—to her—they were just another face she could not help. Those faces were just more flies.

"O no, no… to ask me is in vain, for whom goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." Lily had been the one who gasped at the whispered phrase. The Muggle-born did not know which surprised her more, the fact that James' sister knew the muggle phrase, or that she had just insinuated they were murders.

"We are not murders!" Lily exclaimed, her voice firm; but the slight shake of her shoulders told all in the room how she really felt. The redheaded witch was outraged.

"At the end of the day we all are," Hermione replied shrugging.

The weight of her silence echoed in the Potter Parlor. It struck the older wizards far more than it did the younger generation, who seemed so hell-bent on seeing the world in only black and white. The elders in the room could not find it in themselves to argue; after all they too have killed. But the question was: who had Hermione killed?

Dorea's worried eyes sparked the answer. "My victims have not been made; but recognize this: I will have no quarrels turning my wand towards you if I deem your manipulation has gone too far. I am not an enemy whose flames you wish to test," Hermione replied. She knew not all of them had murdered yet, but they would; the common lifestyle in a times of war.

Dumbledore noticed how stern brown eyes gave way to a weary expression; the Headmaster found pride in knowing he had picked a strong Head Girl. And although he did not appreciate being called a manipulator or a murder; he respected the courage it took for her to admit what she saw them as. It is often easier to remain silent in times of hardship. But this young witch here did not take that route; she did not try to profit off of hanging on another's coattail. Miss Potter forged her own path, even at the risk of making dangerous enemies. Yes this witch, but a child in the world's eye, would become a fearsome witch—given a few years—she would either turn into a great ally or a dangerous opponent.

"What would you like for us to do?" he repeated his earlier question once more.

"Get some courage; grow up." Hermione replied. "You cannot do anything of value if you do not succeed in that first." Hermione glanced at the clock donning the wall; it was late—far too late even for a Saturday night. The rest of this could wait for a later date. Regulus had Narcissa and Severus to protect him where she refused to tread. Running a hand through her hair, the eighteen year old sighed.

"Get some rest dear girl. I do believe we can continue this discussion tomorrow," Dumbledore said, a smile adorning his lips. Yes, this conversation could be handled tomorrow in the privacy of his office. Brown eyes looked at twinkling blue, Hermione did not trust this old man. Yet the temptation of her dorm, or even her best friend's arms, seemed too great an opportunity to pass up.

"Alright," she replied. The man had given her a way to end the discussion at least for the night; the Head Girl then disapparated to Hogsmeade.

"Well I do believe we can call this a night," Dumbledore's clear dismissal seemed to spark Marlene's ire all the more.

"You are not going to give in to her petulant behavior, right?!" she questioned the Order of the Phoenix leader. First Mrs. Potter defends the girl and now Albus Dumbledore?! The chit had no clear basis for any of her assumptions on their character, and yet two prominent members of their group were defending her?

"She just blamed us for people siding with Voldemort. She called us bullies when I know for a fact until tonight I had never spoken to the girl in my life or her friend. How are we bullies? How could we even be responsible for people being evil?" Marlene snarled. The Scottish blonde did not understand why everyone seemed to be blowing this whole thing up—just tell Little Miss Potter no. It was a simple thing, really: don't agree with her when she blows a few harmless pranks completely out of proportion. Just because she cries wolf does not make them murderers.

"It takes courage to become who you really are, Miss McKinnon. Which path we take, also determines it." Dumbledore's raspy voice had Marlene glaring at the floor. The Scottish woman disliked being reprimanded, but it felt worse knowing someone you held the utmost respect towards castigated you.

"Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right. Miss Potter just seems to be a step ahead of us."

"You are a peculiar witch, Bambi," Bellatrix stated, staring down at the younger girl. The married woman remembered a time when the child would tremble in her presence; it had always brought Bellatrix a thrill to know someone feared her. It proved someone acknowledged her, that people admitted she was stronger, better, worthier. Lady Lestrange understood some would classify her as a sociopath and perhaps they were right to do so. But with the Black blood coursing through her veins…well she saw no reason to deny it—Blacks were notorious for their insanity, after all.

"And you are just as sadistic, Bella," Hermione replied, her arms loosely wrapped around her middle. The Head Girl had missed the older witch and found herself grateful that the woman had come to Hogsmeade for her. Even though she did not feel the same, Hermione understood why a lot of people despised the eldest Black daughter—Bella had power and she did not care who she used it on. If using that strength meant ensuring the survival of something dear, Bellatrix would act without a second thought; much like Hermione.

"Sadistic is such a harsh term, my dear. A battle of the wills has a much nicer ring to it, I think." The slight curve to Bellatrix's lips had Hermione's doing the same. This Bellatrix, the one she knew, was vastly different from the one the Wizarding World perceived.

"Between our wills, who do you think would win?" Hermione asked, her fingers brushing against the wand hidden within her robes. The eighteen year old doubted that Bellatrix would hex her for the question, but a little caution never harmed the girl yet. Brown orbs watched in silent fascination as Bellatrix's molten silver seemed to harden marginally. The question would be hard to answer; the Lady Lestrange had told Hermione copious times how similar they both were. If they were to ever duel each other, it could very well turn out anyone's game. Regardless of their friendship, of their loyalty to one another, of anything that would be cause for second guessing . . . in the end, none of it would matter. Neither Hermione nor Bellatrix would care because what they fought for meant more . . . more than their friendship, more than their history, more than anything.

"What would be your motivation?" Bellatrix asked. Lady Lestrange knew that would be the crux of the battle—the determining factor of who would win. Despite what people believe of her, Bellatrix has never entered a true battle she did not feel had worth. Mudbloods or not, if the fight had no purpose then Bella refused to partake. Lestrange would not deny she disliked the idea of fighting Hermione, the girl she watched blossom before her eyes, the girl she protected for years, the girl who became their innocent, little Bambina. It would be hard to fight the child she had seen become a woman, very hard. But she could feel a storm brewing, deep down in her very bones; the possibility they might have to fight was beginning to feel very real.

"You know the answer," Hermione replied. The brunette pushed a lock of hair away from her face. She still appeared calm, as though their conversation would never lead to a fray. But it was that look in those coffee colored eyes that would never cease to amaze and confuse Bellatrix. Even after nearly seven years of knowing the young woman before her, the complete trust Hermione held in those rich dark eyes for Narcissa, Regulus, and herself befuddled the Lady Lestrange.

Bellatrix simply shrugged in response. Lady Lestrange really could not tell who would be the winner of the fight; had it been anyone else, she would have easily won. There would be no doubt in her mind. But as she had told her husband, Bellatrix could see numerous similarities between Hermione and herself. Either could turn out the victor—it just depended on who fought harder.

"Blood will rain if I see fit, I care not whose." The chill Hermione's voice adopted towards the end of her statement had Bellatrix grimace. It still felt foreign to have this girl use a tone so similar to hers.

'Similar indeed,' Bellatrix thought. She knew that the eighteen year old never revealed her hand; instead choosing to speak in some form of code. A smart quality to learn in life, but one with a risk; those capable of deciphering the messages might not bend so well. In this case, Bellatrix herself; the older witch respected her friend well enough, but if threatened Lady Lestrange would strike back, even against Hermione.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me, Bambi? Or is there more?" Bellatrix questioned. A small smile curled at the brunette's lips, her body weight shifting slightly to the left.

"Stay safe Bellatrix. You are smart; I know you can feel a storm brewing." Her brown locks were ruffled slightly by the older woman's hand. Bellatrix gave a soft smile to the young woman before shaking her head, gently sliding Bellatrix's hand off her. The Death Eater found it odd that someone cared for her safety . . . even her Lord did not care too much about it. At the end of the day, if her life ended it would have merely been a helpful sacrifice to his grand scheme. But this slip of a girl, who had made obvious her dislike of the Dark Lord—if the tightening of her eyes were anything to go by—cared. Whatever the reason for Hermione's affection, Bellatrix felt thankful for it.

The woman had seen the way Hermione's brown eyes would shift to a stormy blue, hardening at the even the vaguest of mentions pertaining to the Dark Lord. Hermione disliked her Lord, but Bellatrix did not know why. Perhaps it pertained to her dear cousin. Regulus would never become a Dark Lord, he had none of the makings for it—but he had a witch, a strong witch to follow him. And Hermione would never give her loyalty to another . . . but neither would Regulus. Oh, Bellatrix knew that Walburga had been behind his initiation into the Death Eater ranks. She understood her aunt, where she came from—blood purity is important, they needed to rid their world of the filthy little Mudbloods. But her aunt did not account for their Bambi, their sweet little Bambi who somehow acquired a backbone growing up. Bambi had too much of a strong-will; she would not cower down, not like the Dark Lord would wish.

'Neither do I though and he approves of me,' Bellatrix thought. Her Lord loved her drive, her devotion to the cause. It made her a strong witch, a strong ally to have on the Death Eater's side. And her Lord had kept her happy; knowing full well her loyalty never resided with him…but with her firm beliefs. So long as she remained happy, he would too. The relationship worked out well that way for both of them. In exchange he got a loyal, hardworking worshiper and her world would be purged of the filth starting to layer it.

But Hermione and Regulus never had that type of relationship. No, those two truly cared for each other—hurt one and you faced the other's wrath. And perhaps that worked for them. But those bonds would not be so easily severed. Hermione would not give up on Regulus, would never leave her dear cousin to fend for himself in a hostile environment. Bellatrix could easily establish that, no matter their circumstance, neither would leave the other. Hell, she and Cissa had a wager on how long it would take Death to balk at the icy glare their dear Bambi would likely unleash when the Grim attempted to separate the two friends.

"Follow your own advice, Bambi," Bellatrix said, turning on her heel to leave. The older witch hoped the day would not come; it would be painful for both of them. The idea of killing someone dear had never been appealing to Bellatrix, but she would gladly duel anyone to the death, even Hermione, should the day come when she had to defend her cause.. The Lady Lestrange could only hope that Bambi's motivation proved strong enough to last; because Hermione had been right.

A big storm was brewing.

"I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?' © Emily Brontë; Wuthering Heights

"If one is not in over their head then how do they know how tall they are?" (Variation) ©TS Elliot

"I've lost interest in the cracks, chips, holes, and broken places in the lives of men. All the pain, grievances, and self-pity merely hides the fact they are just raging Narcissist. The grandiosity, numbness to the needs and pain of others, emotional isolation, resentment and envy…. Voldemort had a simple goal throughout his life: control and mastery. He took what he wanted; nothing mattered beyond his petty desires." (Variation) ©David Von Drehle, It's All About Him.

"O no, no…to ask me is in vain for who goes up your winding stairs can ne'er come down again," © Mary Howitt, The Spider and the Fly

And there is Chapter 8! Tell me what you think of it!

-Kori

9. Of Rats and Strangers

Thank you for all of those who reviewed. Like Always if you reviewed with an account, I PM-ed you back. If not, thank you to: Guests, Rosier, Elizabeth, Ollietrombone, Sasha404, Dee

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Chapter Nine: Of Rats and Strangers

"Why did you call me here Lucius?" Hermione questioned. The brunette did not know how to handle the unusual occurrence. The Lord Malfoy preferred to ignore her presence. In fact, Hermione believed he only tolerated her friendship with his wife because it made Narcissa happy.

And Hermione had no problem with that; so few purebloods really cared about their spouse's feelings. The mere fact Lucius even tolerated her presence for his wife spoke volumes; he actually cared about the woman he wedded. And for that reason, Hermione felt no disdain at his so easy dismissal of her on most days.

But he had flooed her. The mere idea that Lucius actually wanted to talk with her, startled Hermione. She had never been close to the older man. In fact, the only upper year the auburn witch ever really felt close to had been Cissa, but that only lasted her first two years as the blonde graduated afterwards. This prompted Hermione to wonder what exactly he wanted to discuss with her.

Brown orbs stared into silver ones, waiting for the answer to be revealed. She had opened her mouth to demand an answer but before even a word had been uttered, a sob drew her attention away. Hermione's eyes widened, upset with the fact that she had not realized her distressed friend only a few meters behind the stony man.

"Oh Cissa," Hermione ran forward and wrapped her arm around the sobbing woman. The eighteen year old could tell that the elder witch's tears were not a recent occurrence. Layers upon layers of dried tear stains coated the alabaster checks. It only took a moment for Hermione to realize what went so terribly wrong for the Malfoy family: a miscarriage.

Her heart wrenched at this strong woman breaking—to lose a child is hard for any mother, but especially for a Pureblood. Children were precious to their community because couples had such a hard time conceiving.

"Cissa, honey, everything will be okay. I promise…I promise you," the brunette whispered into the older witch's hair, trying her best to comfort her. But Hermione knew it would be a difficult task, particularly because she had never been with child, nor had she prepared her life to revolve around a baby. How could she ever truly know what her dear friend felt throughout this whole mess?

"What happened? Did the healers tell you anything?" Hermione asked. It was such an odd occurrence for Cissa to lose her child—most women carrying a six month old child were safe, the child would be delivered healthy. So what happened? Why did Mrs. Malfoy have a miscarriage so late into her pregnancy?

The brunette looked to Lucius, who merely shook his head. Neither he nor his wife knew why she had lost the child. But Lucius did know that Narcissa needed comfort, she needed a friend to help her get through this whole ordeal. Yet the only one that even crossed his mind had been the young witch his wife's cousin always spoke about. If anyone could calm his wife, it would be the young Miss Potter.

Hermione vaguely noted Lucius turning to vacate the parlor, to where she did not know. And she did not care either; right now her friend needed her. So, Hermione focused on the crying witch. It broke her heart to see such a strong woman in this situation.

It did not help the matters any that she had lost the child during the Yuletide Holidays; that thought just made Hermione all the more upset. Losing a child hurt enough, but losing said child during a time of celebration… how was that even fair?

"How are you right now, Narcissa?" Hermione questioned. She knew it sounded horrid. Obviously the woman felt devastated. But the brunette knew that if the Lady Malfoy at least talked through the pain, she would begin healing. If only a little bit.

Narcissa continued to sob, shaking her head into Hermione's shoulder repeatedly. The older female could barely form words—how would she be able to even arrange a sentence? The blonde's heart ached, and all she wanted to do was cry in her bed. Yet the brunette in front of her would not allow her that small peace, not any time soon.

Vaguely, the older witch knew that had the roles been reversed that she would be the one refusing to allow Hermione to wallow away in misery. The blonde witch would never demand for the girl to straighten up, but she would not leave her alone either. However, none of that mattered right now. No, right now Narcissa wanted to be alone to mourn for the child she could never hold.

After several minutes of silence, Narcissa finally managed to choke out a few words. "It hurts." Her voice sounded so ghastly to her own ears. How could Bambi want to listen to her wretched sobs? How could anyone want to hear the wailings of an upset witch?

"I bet it does. But you are not alone Narcissa," Hermione whispered softly, caressing the disarrayed blonde locks. The brunette knew that what she had left unsaid spoke louder than anything else she could have possibly attempted to convey.

Narcissa would never be alone, not completely.

"Bambi always said you were a rat," a regal drawl proclaimed from the left side of the room, scaring the rat turned human, "I did not think she meant it literally, however." The tone held amusement, and the laughter that followed served to only anger Peter further; he hated when people laughed at him. But the familiar name 'Bambi' seemed grabbed his attention more. This person would have had to know him personally to know his animagus form—but how? Only the Marauders knew. Perhaps he heard it from his time in Hogwarts and the 'Bambi' person had merely called him a rat on coincidence?

"W-who g-goes t-there?" Peter questioned. He tried to remain calm, to appear strong; but Pettigrew knew he should have expected something akin to an ambush. Entering a snake pit alone never turned out easy. Yet he chose to do so—he wanted to do it—so perhaps they would accept him, allow him to enter their ranks…to finally be a part of the winning team.

"I should be asking you the very same," the voice replied. Yet he stepped out of the shadows nonetheless, revealing himself to the scared Gryffindor Alumnus. The dark haired male found it rather amusing to know he terrified the older boy. A moment of pause entered his thoughts, before deciding that Pettigrew was indeed a boy; no man would shake so profoundly.

"R-Regulus Black!" The less than manly shriek following that statement made the younger Black quirk an eyebrow. Regulus did not understand why his brother's friend seemed surprised at his Death Eater status. But the seventeen year old did wonder how Pettigrew discovered one of the Death Eater's hideouts. Moreover, the perplexed Hogwarts student could not even manage to think of a reason as to why the swine came in the first place.

"What are you doing here, Pettigrew?" Grey eyes narrowed, his left hand twirling his wand. As a Death Eater he had to guard their lair by any means necessary, but as a friend—he should just kill the bastard. Regulus did not ignore the nasty glares Peter had often shot at Hermione. Though the witch refused to acknowledge the inexcusable animosity directed towards her, Regulus did not agree with that concept. Anyone who harmed his Bambi would suffer.

"I came to speak with the Dark Lord about joining his effort." Peter smiled smugly at the shocked expression Sirius' brother could not conceal. It made him feel worthy, to be able to shock the normally stoic individual. The Gryffindor Alumnus frowned when Regulus did not reply to his remark, instead merely turning around after giving him a swift hand motion to follow. Peter, had his animagus form not been a rat, would have had a hard time following the younger male through the winding passages.

But when a light appeared at the end of their tunnel and chuckling could be heard, it finally hit Pettigrew—he would be meeting with Voldemort in only moments. He began to have doubts. Did he make the right choice? Would he actually live past tonight? Did living past this war really mean more to him then the people who called him a friend? With that last thought his eyes darkened marginally, already knowing the answer to be yes. Had it been one of their lives on the line, he knew they would have easily sacrificed him.

"My Lord, we have a… prospective." Curious whispers sounded throughout the room, causing the Dark Lord took a moment to quell echoing undertones.

"Ah, a wizard…Mr. Pettigrew, I do believe… how may I be of help to you today?" Voldemort's question sounded more like a statement to the pudgy male. And the way the wizard stared at him made Peter all the more nervous. It felt like Voldemort could see straight through his soul.

"I would like to join your cause, sir." Pettigrew felt proud of himself for how strong his voice seemed to appear: it was firm and definitely did not quake like it had earlier that evening with Regulus.

"What worth would you bring to me?" the Slytherin Alumnus demanded to know. He would not allow insubordination into his ranks. Unlike Dumbledore, Voldemort would never allow someone so heavily tied to the other side entrance into his rank—without reason any way.

"I am a member of the Order of Phoenix, and a trusted friend of the Marauders; I can give you detailed information on any of their plans of action. All I ask for in return is your protection. I am not a fool. I can clearly see you coming out the victor in this war and I value my life far too much to sacrifice it for those bumbling fools." Peter replied. The Dark Lord saw merit in the man coming to him; it would do well to have a spy within Dumbledore's ranks. And perhaps he could use the portly man to convince the Potter Heir to join him on this quest. The Potters were wealthy, and should the Heir submit to his rule, he would forgive them for all their past wrong-doings.

Regulus on the other hand wanted to protest. He saw the way the Voldemort pondered the boy's reason; and even though Regulus never wanted to become a Death Eater, his pride would not allow a traitor into his ranks. But his honor as a friend wished the turncoat killed, because if he could sell out his friends of eight years, there was no telling of what he would do to strangers with which he wished to be allied.

Pettigrew, feeling comfortable with the fact that the Dark Lord did not immediately kill him, continued on hoping to entice the evil wizard into accepting him as a Death Eater. "In fact, I know exactly how you can lure James into joining your side—his sister, Hermione…"

An inhuman snarl came out of Regulus' throat, startling the portly boy. "The fact you even think of her as one of Potter's weaknesses shows how blind you really are. After all, you did point out their kinship held no relevance as she did not truly hold Potter blood," The seventeen year old finally understood what Bambi had meant when she said 'If looks could kill'; because if he could, his silver eyes would destroy the traitorous bastard. His Bambi would never be used as bait. Though Regulus had to admit to being rather proud of the fact his ire did not reflect too much upon his words.

"Surely she would like to see him hurt?" Peter questioned. He had not missed how even the dangerous witch Bellatrix took a menacing step towards him. It seemed that Hermione had not only captured Sirius' brother's protection, but also that of his deranged cousin. With a gulp, Peter added, "You Slytherins did always like revenge, right?" The icy laugh that ripped out of Regulus' throat seemed to squash the idea that even the notion of revenge would appeal to the Slytherins.

"She is a Slytherin, she can easily acquire her own revenge should she ever seek it; so do not doubt for a moment that she cannot, Pettigrew." Silver eyes stared at the corpulent fellow. There were a lot of things Regulus had wished to tell the rodent, nothing which would be wise to disclose here. So far, Hermione had eluded Voldemort's attention—he did not care for her so long as she refused to meddle into his affairs.

And so Regulus allowed himself a moment to ponder how exactly he should word his next phrase. He could not allow Hermione to seem so soft hearted that other Death Eaters would seek to harm her, but he could not allow her to appear threatening either. If the Dark Lord saw her as a threat, not much would stand in his way of annihilating her. "The only reason your unruly gang saw no retribution, Pettigrew, happened to be because Hermione held honor. She respected her family, like every Pureblood should, and therefore refused to harm her family heir at the time. But make no mistake; just because she loosened her ties to them, does not mean she would ever help you."

Beady eyes glowered at the statement. "She has never liked me, but I am sure she would accept my help in harming her brother!" Peter believed his statement—Bellatrix and Regulus could see it—but he did not know Hermione nearly as well as they did.

"Hermione has no use for turncoats," Bellatrix sneered. The raven haired woman understood why the mere presence of this Gryffindor made her cousin ill. Filth bred filth, and it came off in waves from this ugly male. Admittedly, Bellatrix thought that the Gryffindor Alumnus would be useful to their cause. After all, knowing what the enemy planned would always ensure their victory. But the complete disregard of loyalty he gave toward supposed friends, made her instincts on red-alert. And Bellatrix had always trusted her instincts, as they had never failed her before. No one ever valued a traitor, no matter the side. If her instincts were warning her away from this male, she would steer clear. Pettigrew wished to turn on his friends so easily and without prompting—what made him turning on them any different?

"'Tis not seasonable to call a man traitor that has an army at his heels, Bella. Besides, even a turncoat holds value." The sickly, sweet voice of Voldemort refocused all of the occupants on the makeshift throne. Looking at the rather extravagant seat, Regulus realized what his Bambi meant when she claimed Voldemort thought himself a god. How he so easily captured the attention of people, making them cower in fright, and even how he placed himself—chair against the far wall, exactly in the middle—seemed to reinforce his inflated ego. All eyes watched him, all his followers obeyed his rulings, he could kill them anytime he so chose. This sick monster truly thought himself as a god.

"I do not see why you would even think of trusting someone with the animagus form of a rat," Regulus stated, blandly. His statement seemed to shock the crowd once more; most of the murmurs relating to how that would benefit their cause. No one really paid much attention to rats, preferring to ignore the vermin.

"She would help—I know she would," Pettigrew stated firmly, diverting the subject away from that of his allegiance. The female would seek revenge, she had too. That was the very nature of her being female. To hear that she would not seek retribution made him irate; he did not spend six years in Hogwarts ruining the bond between the two siblings for her to not seek retribution.

"Hermione will not take sides in this war unless provoked; but she will never help you, not after everything you and your friends have done. Cease with the notion that she would because unlike Dumbledore, Hermione would kill any traitor."

"Then why does she not kill you?" Peter questioned. He received a shrug from Regulus in response; the seventh year would not divulge any facts about his relationship with Hermione. His Bambi had known from the beginning where his allegiance and that of his cousins lay. Although they sided with the Dark Lord—Regulus by force and Bellatrix by choice—they were still loyal to her, and for that Hermione eagerly returned the devotion in spades.

"Why does she not side with us?" Rodolphus questioned.

"So long as our intent does not impede her…goals…then she will not stand in our way. Hermione prefers to stay neutral—she has far better taste then her family does." Bellatrix responded, glaring at her husband. Though her voice held the regal sneer it normally did, the Lady Lestrange knew her family understood just how scared she truly felt. She could see it in her cousin and sister's gaze; they too felt that same, knowing churn in their stomach.

"What did she say exactly?" Voldemort's tenor voice questioned, his fingers idly twisting his wand.

Bellatrix resisted the desire to flinch; her Lord had a sadistic side and made sure to let all of his followers know it. It would not be the first time that she had told the Dark Lord something that sparked his ire which instigated a few rounds of torture. And that simple twisting of his wand, made it hard for Bellatrix to truly form her words. She was not the infallible witch so many perceived her to be; she feared pain just like the rest of them. And no one, not even she, could withstand the Cruciatus Curse for too long a time period.

"She told me that blood will rain and she cares not whose," Bellatrix mellow reply seemed to draw out angry gasps from her fellow Death Eaters. The fact that a mere student would dare threaten them, even indirectly, had the majority of them fuming. But it only took Bellatrix icy glares to quite the irate reaction so she could speak once more. "But Ms. Potter is not like the rest of her family. She has shown allegiance to my cousin Regulus and by extension to my sister and me. So I plead you to take heed milord when I say this: to harm any of us will ensure her wrath."

Pettigrew let out a loud snort, clearly showing his disagreement with the deadly witch's statement. "You obviously do not have enough trust in your Lord's power if you think that chit could scare him."

Bellatrix's cold eyes zeroed in, and with a flick of her wand coward began screaming. "Listen here and listen well you whelp. You are not worthy to question my words—especially not with the cowardice you show." Another round of screams tore from the blonde's lips. Vaguely he found himself surprised to even be able to remain on his knees. Was this what his mother meant by you had to mean for the Cruciatus Curse…to really wish this pain upon someone?

"Ms. Potter can be a dangerous opponent should her wrath be instigated. For now she remains complacent, much to our benefit. But I assure you, should she become irate because something happened to us, Hermione will strike and she will decimate any who oppose her." Bellatrix responded, allowing her warning to ring not only to the now gasping man on the floor, but to her fellow Death Eaters as well. Her eyes met those of her sister's, and she briefly saw the amusement that laced her sister's lips.

Yes, Bellatrix too found it ironic that their innocent Bambi had a rather nasty set of claws.

"You should not be here," Regulus stated, his expression appearing unnerved. His mask of indifference concealed the seventeen-year-old's shock. Sure, Sirius would often come to Hogsmeade and Regulus knew that, but the fact his brother had come to the Hog's Head surprised Regulus.

"Nor should you, the Christmas Holidays are almost over, should you not be home?" The older Black responded, bringing a shot glass to his lips. Firewhiskey always did help ease his nerves, and this unexpected meeting with Regulus would definitely be nerve wracking. He planned to confront his younger brother, just not at the present moment, not when everything that happened was still so fresh in his mind.

"According to Bambi, home is where you are most content," Regulus replied. He signaled the barman to get him a glass and a bottle. Hermione, he knew, would probably need one as well. Although he did not know all the details, Hermione did tell him that she had met with her family, which that in itself spelled out catastrophe. Some Firewhiskey would do them both good, and Aberforth eagerly supplied them with it.

At first, Regulus questioned why the barman would so willingly give him and his friend alcohol, when he knew from past experience that the establishment owner never sold to Hogwarts students. But with Bambi, the elderly man seemed eager to give her the burning liquor. Perhaps his best friend just held that charm, or perhaps Aberforth could see something that he and the young witch shared. Probably something to do with the Arianna the two often whispered about.

The barman set down two bottles of Firewhiskey, just seeming to know that Regulus would bring one to the kind, young witch who reminded him so much of his dear, deceased sister. Opening one bottle, he poured the lad a shot before heading into his back room for a little time of solace.

"How is she?" Sirius found himself asking. The raven haired male had not even meant to ask that question to begin with. But the words just tumbled out of his lips before he could even stop them. The Gryffindor Alumnus noticed how his brother's shoulders stiffened, clearly not wanting to answer the question. And faintly in the back of his mind, Sirius found it uncomfortable to see his brother so close yet so distant from him. But at the same time, he felt content to know that at least someone had been there for his brother when he had stopped.

"She is getting by, but right now it is hard for her…" The guilty look at his arm that Sirius caught from Regulus supplied the rest of the sentence. His Death Eater status seemed to be taking a toll on his and Hermione's friendship. But Sirius never doubted for a moment that all the pressure the two felt merely came from their attempts to circumvent the mark so Regulus could escape the confinement he placed himself into.

"Then you should not have joined," Sirius muttered angrily. He did not know why he felt so angry about it—the nineteen year old just knew he did. Perhaps the enmity he felt came from the fact that his little brother would so willingly put the friend that stood by him in harm's way. After all, nothing good could come from being a Death eater, nor would any good come from knowing one. They were bad luck to begin with.

"And you should have kept your mouth shut," Regulus growled, returning his brother's ire in spades. The younger of the two knew Sirius did not understand his predicament. He did not know what it felt like to be ignored by the one you respected most, and then forced to take their place in a world you did not care to be a part of from the start. "You know nothing of my situation, Sirius, and because of your pompousness you never will. Do not prove yourself even more a fool.

"I know that—" The glass in Regulus' hand smashing on the counter shocked Sirius enough that he paused in his statement. Regulus had never been violent, not as a child nor as a Hogwarts student. The closest Sirius had ever seen his young brother turn violent, prior to this moment, had been right after he first ran away from him in his sixth year when Regulus threatened him on the train. But even that was only for his best friend.

"This is exactly why Hermione and I became friends in the first place. You and that prat best mate of yours seem to think you know everything about us, but you don't know a damn thing!" Regulus growled out. His brother had no right to insinuate he knew anything. Hermione, although not a Death Eater, was the only one who knew the full situation. She made sure he spared her no details, made sure to be the shoulder he cried on when he had to kill an innocent child, made sure his heart remained intact at each cruel thing that monster made him do. Hermione knew him: the good, the bad, the scared, the betrayed, the strong, and the brave. If anyone could judge his actions, his character, it would be his best mate. No one else.

Hermione was the sister of his heart, the one who truly knew him and yet refused to judge. She filled the void that Sirius' betrayal had caused. And he did the same. But according to her, Regulus did more. His Bambi had always been close to James—unlike Regulus' relationship with his brother—and it truly devastated her when the Potter Heir severed their bond. According to Hermione, Regulus glued her back together; he made her realize how a real sibling acted. He kept her sane, although Regulus would say she did just as much as he. If not more so, with how ardently she was attempting to save him from the condemnation his mother had subjected him to.

"Look, I do not care if you are a Death Eater, Regulus." Sirius replied after a few moments of silence. He did not know how to approach the topic of how he even knew his younger brother's status. Or the fact that Regulus' best mate even brought the knowledge to his attention, let alone the fact that if he had actually accepted the girl's favor, Regulus might not even bare that mark on his arm. "But I do care that my best mate is hurting because his sister no longer cares," Sirius stated. "So if you help me get her to talk to him, perhaps I can help you out?"

Regulus did not react how Sirius thought he would. Normally a Slytherin would take any offer into consideration, at least to see whether or not they could truly benefit from it. But his brother instantly denied the offer. "That witch is truly magnificent: she has a heart of gold. But even she has her breaking point, Sirius. And that bridge has long since passed for her and Potter. She trusted him, Sirius, yet he never cared enough to return the favor—especially when she needed it most." Silver eyes were solemn, clearly knowing just how much that incident in their fifth year had shaken the once unwavering faith Hermione had towards her family. However, Regulus also knew that Hermione had already forgiven James for his crass words, most likely knowing that they were said in anger and not so much in a way that the Potter heir believed them to be true. That being said, Regulus also knew that words said in anger where harder to erase.

"So listen carefully when I say this, because I will not do so again. I will not help you—I see no reason to. Had it not been for either mine or our cousins' friendship, Bambi would not have blossomed. She would have been a reclusive bookworm who always questioned her own sense of worth. Always wondering what she did wrong to cause her brother's hatred—"

Sirius interrupted his younger brother. "James has never hated Hermione!" Sirius could not help but question if their two younger siblings really saw them that way. Did Regulus and Hermione really seem to think that James and he hated them? How could they think that? Sure, he'll admit that both he and James had let their temper get the best of them at times in the past and probably worded things badly, but neither James nor he hated their younger siblings. How could they hate the ones they adored the most?

"Then he has a damn funny way of showing it," Regulus scoffed. Lions were truly stupid creatures, but lion worshippers are not much better. After all, look where it got Bambi and himself?

"Just what are you trying to say, Regulus?" Sirius snarled. The older brother could hear the insinuation underneath the words, and the nineteen year old male did not like it one bit.

"I am saying Hermione is better off without any interaction from your best mate or his cronies!" the seventeen year old replied, pouring himself another shot of Firewhiskey. The glass did not even hit the counter before he quenched it down. He now understood why Lucius and Severus always drank. The problems might not go away, but at least it made the attempt at handling them appear easier.

When Regulus saw Sirius open his mouth to undoubtedly say something tactless, the seventh year spoke once more. "What you all perceived as harmless pranks towards her, she saw as cruel. I had to spend countless nights comforting her because Hermione did not understand why you all were being malicious." The thought crossed his mind briefly that perhaps if the two sets of siblings had actually tried to talk all of these problems out in the beginning, they might have been in a different position at the present moment.

"They were just pranks! Those shouldn't have made the girl cry!" Sirius exclaimed, though he did feel troubled that their jokes made her upset enough to cry. No one ever wanted to be the cause of someone's tears—especially not a best mate's younger sister.

"To you all they were harmless shenanigans. But to Hermione they were not. Instead of being the brother she grew up with, Potter teased her; Bambi had to deal with not only a House full of people who already decided to hate her because of the familial name Potter, but all of his idiocies as well." Regulus stated, and although his voice sounded calm and collected, his silver eyes gave way to his true emotions. The seventh year wizard disliked revealing his best mate's secrets, ones she had relayed in confidence. But his brother needed to hear this, needed to understand that Hermione had to deal with a mean House as well as James and his lot. A sheltered eleven year old could only take so much before they broke or changed. Hermione, Regulus knew, decided to take the risk of changing over breaking.

With that said, Regulus took the remainder of his bottle and the unopened one, and stood up to leave. "None of you know her, Sirius. If Potter wants a shot, quit believing her to be what you expect and look at her for what she is. Hermione is a lot more than just his little sister."

The young man stood there for a moment; in his somewhat intoxicated stupor he did not really know how to convey his last few thoughts. How would his Bambi phrase what he wished to? It took him a minute, but the words finally came. "Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're strangers."

Sirius mulled over what his brother just revealed to him. Regulus and Hermione thought he and James hated them; Hermione had a hard time dealing with their harmless pranks which did not really seem all that harmless to her. Granted, dealing with a pit of snakes and pranks did sound like a lot of work. Had that been the case for Sirius, he would have gone spare a long time ago. But one thing did ring in his head more than anything: Regulus had been right. Despite everything James could spout of about his adored little sister during their first year, it did not mean much of anything.

Because in the end, they truly were just a bunch of strangers.

Personally I love the whole scene with Regulus and Sirius; some things finally came out into the open in this chapter and I thought it was fun to write.

But you are my readers and it is your thoughts on the story that make it interesting. So tell me what you think?

-Kori

"Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're strangers," ©Mary Tyler Moore

"Tis not seasonable to call a man traitor that has an army at his heels," © John Seldan

10. Trouble within the Mist

Thank you guys for all the amazing reviews and the patience for my posting schedule; life has been very hectic for me, my mother is not in the best condition and then with school and working, I really do not have a lot of time. But I finally got chapter 10 done and hopefully everything else settles down so I can work on chapter 11. There were really too many guests to list them all, but thank you for all just the same—I read them all, but I did not have the time to respond and for that I am sorry.

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Chapter 10: Trouble within the Mist

Hermione frowned at the entrance leading up to the Headmaster's office. She did not like the fact that she had been called up to see Dumbledore immediately after the Welcome back feast. The brunette did not understand what he wanted to talk to her about—but she had a feeling it pertained to her rather uncouth encounter with the Order of the Phoenix at Potter Manor. Yet she could never have prepared herself for exactly who greeted her in Dumbledore's office—her parents.

"What are you all doing here?" She questioned, hesitant. The brunette found her left hand gently grasping her wand instinctively. That action brought a sad realization to the forefront of her mind: she no longer trusted these people. The ones that only years ago she trusted her whole life with, were now people she dealt with the utmost caution.

"We wished to reconcile with you, Hermione." Dorea stated, her voice gentle and soothing. The distinguished woman took a step forward before stopping in confusion when the teen shook her head.

Brown eyes narrowed, not really believing in what they were trying to tell her. Why would they come to her now? Why would they want to make amends now of all times? With her curiosity gaining the best of her, Hermione questioned them. "Why? What would you gain from seeking restitution?"

It broke Charlus' heart to hear his daughter question them. The Lord Potter understood that as a woman, his daughter would no longer believe everything he said; but should a father not at least guide his daughter until the very end? So why did he allow the relationship with his sweet, little girl to become so strained? "We love you Hermione; we may not have showed it well, and your mother and I regret it terribly . . . but we do love you." Charlus replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. It hurt him to have to tell his daughter of his affection—should he not have proved it earlier? Should he not have continuously showered her with love? "I know I cannot ask for your forgiveness; frankly I do not feel worthy of it just yet, but I am asking for a chance to earn it once more. Will you give us that chance?"

"There is nothing to reconcile between us," Hermione replied softly. When her statement brought tears to her mother's eyes, the brunette tried to elaborate further, not wanting to cause another fight. "You encouraged James' behavior, but he dug his own grave in the end."

How could she explain that although she felt slightly angry at them, she did not fault them? Not when they were finally giving her something she always wanted—to finally be able to talk something out. Her parents wanted to make amends; they were willing to try to work things out. Now, she was not the only one trying to mend the bridge. Yes, she had long ago come to terms with the events in her life; she needed to in order to continue living a relatively happy life. Therefore, she did not fault them for the events she experienced; however, she did fault them for Regulus, at least on some level.

As a whole, Hermione blamed the Order and all of its members for classifying those worthy and those who were not—angry that they condemned Regulus. How could she not be incensed at people who pretended to be gods just to toy with the lives of others? Hermione did not condone hypocrites, even if they were her own parents.

"You still deserve an apology Hermione," Charlus replied. On some level he felt relieved that his daughter did not begrudge their past actions. But another part wondered why she did not. Did she feel they were too far beneath her to be of importance? Or did she simply wish to let bygones be bygones?

At the shake of her head, The Lord Potter questioned, "Why?"

"I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me." Hermione replied with a shrug. She long ago stopped questioning why she would let some things go and then hold on to others. Part of her wondered if it had to do with her true lineage. Could her blood be leading her to what her instincts felt more important? In all honest she could not really answer her father's question. But Hermione knew one thing: fighting one battle after another grew tiring.

"I just want to ask one thing, Hermione." Dorea began, hesitantly. The old woman did not know how to present her question—on some level, the Lady Potter worried what this question might bring to the conversation. "Why did you act out?"

It seemed her intuition was right. Hermione stiffened and her amber orbs narrowed in accusation. Their daughter obviously did not like the question.

"I did not act out as you so put it, Mother." The icy tone brought a frown to the parents' lips. No child should ever speak to their parents that way, especially not a child the Potters raised. Had they not raised their children better than that? Before they could chastise the young witch, Hermione spoke once more.

"I merely found myself—every action I ever took led me to where I am today. I will not lie, nor sugar coat it. There were times where I wanted to curl up in bed and never wake, where I only wanted to cry, where I hated you all. And had it not been for Narcissa and Regulus, I still might be in that position today. But they taught me that sometimes you have to kind of die inside in order to rise from your own ashes and believe in yourself and love yourself to become a new person. And guess what? I love who I am, I am happy being what I am." Hermione replied, knowing it to be the honest truth.

The brunette enjoyed being real, not pretending to be something she had never been in the first place. She enjoyed having people stick by her because of her personality—the real her—and not because she came from an Ancient and Noble House. Granted, the number of real friends she possessed paled in comparison to others; but the two real friends in Slytherin she did have had been considered impossible from the start.

But the biggest thing that made Hermione happy of the all obstacles she had to cross, was the simple fact she did not wake up dreading each new day. She did not wake up hating herself. The brunette had seen so many people who put on a façade, acting all chipper yet underneath continuing to drown in self-loathing. Most of them were her own dorm mates, the girls raised from birth to be what society wanted.

"You were happy before!" Dorea cried out, unsure why her daughter claimed to be unhappy. Their family had been happy prior to their daughter's sorting. Sure, Dorea and Charlus would have liked for their daughter to be sorted into Gryffindor, but they loved her none-the-less. Her new behavior had strained the relationship, it had caused the problems.

"You never behaved like you did this break, Hermione." Charlus chastised. His daughter acted in the most uncouth manner during her unexpected visit to their Manor this Yuletide holiday. "The way you conducted yourself could have chastened our family!"

At this statement Hermione's eyes narrowed. It took the entirety of her willpower to keep the snarl within her throat. Growling like an animal would simply prove her father's point. So she decided to quote a phrase she read for an assignment in Muggle Studies sometime during her fifth year.

"Weary of myself and sick of asking what I am and what I ought to be," Neither of her parents apparently enjoyed her gauche behavior during the winter break. If the Lord Potter wanted to bring up actions and behaviors then she would do so as well. Hermione had no quarrels with making her adoptive parents upset at the present moment, as sometimes the truth just hurt; but it still had to be said.

"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he who finds himself, loses his misery." Hermione quoted. The brunette felt that the phrase fit her current predicament quite accurately. Then again with how her parents were currently looking at her, they did not agree. Or perhaps the Lord and Lady Potter did not agree with the context in which she used the sentence.

"Dear—" Dorea spoke up this time. Hermione had to resist grimacing. Hermione hated being called that by her—it implied a closeness the two no longer had. Sure earlier, Hermione thought they could re-enter that close relationship, but now . . . Hermione did not know if that could really be done. Overall, it just felt extremely awkward for Hermione to be called that, so she decided to focus on the present topic.

"I am sick of questioning how I should act, speak, or even breathe because for as long as I could remember I had to live my life in accordance to others. Either follow your rules and be a 'Proper Lady' or conform to the beliefs of my housemates just to make their idiocy tolerable. I have been tired of the charade for far too long: I would rather behave how I want, speak what I think, and to live how I choose. At least then any mistakes made would be my own. And at the very least, I might be able to find a bloody ounce of content!" By the end of her tirade, Hermione's face was flushed red, her hand clenched at her side. But she did not look to be angered, not like how she came across during her visit to Potter Manor.

"We only became stricter because you became more wild, Hermione." Charlus reprimanded gently. He would admit that they had been a little rough on their daughter as she matured. But they had to—Hermione took far too many liberties after her sorting. And perhaps they were to blame for that; after all as a small child Hermione had been given a huge leeway in what they allowed her to do.

Most Pureblood girls were taught strict etiquette lessons on how to be a proper female; and although Dorea gave their daughter those same lessons, Hermione had also been allowed to partake in other extracurricular activities that were not quite so Lady-like.

"Wild according to whom? James?" Hermione sneered, her small hands clenching into fists at her side. For this very same reason Hermione rarely visited her parents, even though they had somewhat reconciled after her fifth year. "If I am wild then he is bloody barbaric."

"Hermione! Do not just say such defamations! Just because he disapproves of your . . . coarse choice in friends does not mean he is—" Dorea found herself unable to speak. It only took her a second to realize her daughter had hexed her. Brown eyes stared in shock, unable to fully recognize the girl in front of her. This student could not be her daughter—her Hermione would never hex her. Glancing at her husband, Dorea noted that Charlus too seemed surprised.

"I do not care for your petty jealousies woman; let it go. Your family associates with me for none other reason than they like me. Regulus is not like your siblings." Hermione snarled, her eyes blazing the familiar vibrant blue. The brunette knew exactly what Dorea had meant by her 'choice in friends' and it had nothing to do with her sorting into Slytherin. But this did clear up why her adopted mother had turned a blind eye towards her as the years progressed. Her mother sided with James not because she had been sorted into Slytherin, but because Hermione was friends with the kinsmen who exiled the older witch. And apparently that bitterness had yet to really fade.

"Hermione you will undo whatever you did to your mother right now!" Charlus bellowed. It only took him a few minutes to shake the shock that came with his daughter's action; however once the surprise faded, anger replaced it. The Lord Potter knew his wife and daughter shared different views on the topic, but he thought they would at least be mature enough to handle it without magic or crass words. Obviously his wife still disliked the family who disowned her. But Charlus also knew the loyalty Hermione displayed to those very same people.

Had he not intervened, Dorea would have ended the friendship with the Black children and her own children early on. But thanks to his intercession, his wife grew to adore Sirius. It did help that the young Black Heir proved right off the bat he shared nothing but physical traits with his and Dorea's kinsmen. With Hermione's friend, it had been another matter entirely. Dorea had to watch her daughter withdraw from them, and Charlus knew his Lady blamed their youngest child's separation on the Black family and their youngest member.

"Why? You shall as always call me a liar and take James' side in the end. For Merlin's sake you all just assumed everything bad that happened to me in James' presence had been because I deserved it or that I must be some horrid klutz!" Hermione cried exasperatedly. Why did they always get angry when she finally defended herself? Why did they always assume she instigated my with James? Why did they try to make her out to be the one not wanting to fix this? Did they not see how it killed her to fight with those she loved? Did they not understand she hurt just as much as they did?

"James is not the one acting like a petulant child right now!" Charlus grew uneasy; he had a very good idea where Hermione wanted to head with this topic. But something told him that they needed to listen to this—Hermione needed to get this off her chest.

"Either I am clumsy for being hexed down the stairs, I am sulky for refusing to acknowledge the man who tried to feed me and my housemate to a werewolf, I am a bloody psychotic bint for being unable to help someone—when I was only fifteen!—and I am rebellious for doing what your precious son asked of me." Hermione finished, slightly out of breath from her rant. After all of these years, the Slytherin finally got to tell the people who raised her exactly what she thought about the events in her life. Yes she got over them, as it does not do well to dwell on the past and forget to live, but it did not mean that the pain really disappeared either.

On some level, she might be blowing it out of proportion, the events did not happen back to back and aside from the 'being a bint and not wishing they were siblings' Hermione did not really know if James indeed hexed her when she fell down the stairs and Hermione definitely did not know who led Severus to the Forbidden forest. But did her brother and his friends not say they stuck together? So why would the actions of one not involve the actions of the other?

"Yes, Charlus, I am all of those; and you all are just the victims of a recalcitrant teen." By this point the teenager's eyes were once again brown, but they were clouded with unshed tears. She did not expect the supposed talk of reconciliation to go down like this.

With her thoughts unleashed, Hermione waved her wand towards the woman who cared for her as a child, undoing the silencing spell she had casted. Her brown eyes dulled with a weary flicker.

Charlus tried to speak, but did not really know what to say. He never thought of his daughter in that light. Yes, he felt sometimes she behaved uncouthly, but did not all teens do that? He just tried to straighten her out, but instead he ended up distancing her.

"At first I hated this distance you all seemed to embrace, but now I think it is perhaps for the best. This family has drifted apart. We have made our choices." It hurt Hermione to say this, it really did. The brunette wanted nothing more than to curl up into her father's arms and simply cry like she had done many times as a young girl. She wanted to be able to seek comfort from those who raised her once more, but the brunette did not know if that could be managed. Hermione had grown up, she had seen the world through different, duller eyes.

"Perhaps one day this could be settled . . . when everything thing else is finally laid to rest. But, when I have to choose, it will be him." Hermione replied, her voice a soft whisper, before she exited the Headmaster's office. It took all the strength she possessed not to burst into tears right there. The eighteen year old felt she had finally lost the piece of the past she hung so dearly to.

She would not look back. She would not let this upset her any further than it already had. She would not break down. She would not leave Regulus to fend for himself just because she had her first, real heart-to-heart with her family.

With her exit, Hermione did not notice the guilty expression Dorea gave to the door way. The mother did not mean for the encounter to end this way. She did not mean to let her jealousy get the best of her. Did she not vow to be a better parent to her daughter, to be there when the young witch needed her? Yet when the time came to prove it, to reconcile, that green beast got the best of Dorea once more. And Charlus did not seem much better off, if his stiff shoulders were any indication.

The husband and wife seemed lost in their own silent conversation and Dumbledore wondered if they even realized they were in his office and that he had witnessed the whole affair. Dumbledore had remained quiet during the family's quarrel. It reminded him too much of his own family life, with Arianna, and he did not want to intrude on the subject. Yet, Dumbledore felt the need to at least try and fix the Potter relationship . . . if not with the siblings then at least with the parents. Because he did not wish that strained relationship on anyone. It caused the Headmaster heartache to see another fall victim to the relationship he and Aberforth shared.

Vaguely Albus realized the young witch held knowledge beyond her years. She had taught him many things in her years at Hogwarts. In the beginning, he had been so bent on expelling those boys for the pranks they continuously pulled, yet she had shown forgiveness—mercy. Her mercy resulted in him doing the same, and eventually he found amusement in those pranks, often looking forward to them. Yet, as those pranks progressed into something even more wicked, Dumbledore could not find it in himself to punish them too harshly. Yet it appeared that the young Miss Potter found she could no longer find it in herself to forgive them either. Thus, as he grew softer, the teen grew colder.

Hermione also taught him not to underestimate those who are not participating in the war. For the Headmaster there were only two sides to the war, black and white. Good and bad. Yet the young Miss Potter had displayed another color, another side. Obviously the young Potter did not side with Voldemort, if her vehement reaction at Potter Manor would yield any explanation to what Hermione said as she exited his office.

But that could change—circumstances always changed things. "I wonder who exactly she meant." Dumbledore questioned aloud, receiving two curious looks from the Lord and Lady Potter.

"They think we hate them." Sirius said, after he sat on the couch in James new home. Grey eyes glancing around, Sirius could tell that James and his fiancée, Lily, were still moving in, which by the sound of boxes shuffling, Lily was working on right at that moment.

It took James a moment to process what his best mate just said. It took another moment for the Potter Heir to realize who Sirius Black meant. Brown eyes blinked at his friend as the words processed in his brain.

"Why in the bloody hell would they think that?" James questioned, shock still marring his face. Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form. The nineteen year old could not get over what his brother had told him, but what really sent his mind reeling was the fact that Sirius actually agreed with Regulus; they had not agreed on something since they were mere children.

"Hermione grew up rather sheltered right?" Sirius asked. James shot his friend a confused look, but nodded his head anyway. The Potter heir did not see where his best mate wanted to take this conversation to, but knowing Sirius as well as he did, James knew that his friend would not ask the question if it had not been important.

"Did we ever think how she felt living in Slytherin?" Sirius himself knew the answer: neither of them ever really bothered to see how she felt. When they were in school her sorting into Slytherin had been the only factor that mattered. But now looking back, Sirius realized perhaps that had been their first mistake.

"No, but Sirius we were boys—we never thought past getting into girls' knickers and our next prank. No one ever expected us to be deep, soul-searching lads." James replied, trying to brush off the serious tone with a lighter response. However, judging by Sirius' eyes, James' attempt did not work. With that noted, James sighed. The Potter Heir knew that there were many ways he could have handled his relationship with his sister, and a lot of ways would not have led them to a broken bridge with no possible way to repair in sight.

"Regulus told me how she felt—"

James stared at Sirius in shock. His best mate actually spoke to his estranged, younger brother? When did that happen? How long did they talk? Did they hex each other? Somehow James could not possibly fathom a friendly conversation between the two Black brothers. It would never happen, could never possibly have ended friendly unless one or both of them were pissed on Ogden's finest Firewhiskey. "You actually spoke to him?"

Sirius nodded, but did not respond right away. How would he word this? How could he explain what Regulus had told him to James? The nineteen year old knew that his best mate had to hear this—they both needed to have heard this topic a long time ago . . . perhaps then everything could have been avoided. Yet the more he thought about it, the less the words formed. So Sirius decided to just relay the facts and tell James exactly what happened.

"I had tried to make a deal with him, to get him to help you out with Hermione. He refused, and proceeded to tell me about Hermione," Sirius said. The Black decided not to tell James that Regulus had only told him that information most likely because he was drunk on Firewhiskey. This next part, the one that James needed to hear, took Sirius a while to put into words. After all, he could not just say it—it would upset James and most likely end in a fight.

"He then told me something neither of us bothered to do; what he said . . . if we had just done it earlier . . . if you had just done it earlier, perhaps your relationship with your sister might not be so bad now," Sirius stated; his grey eyes staring at his friend, awaiting James' reaction. The tightening in James' brown eyes gave way to his anger. The nineteen year old brunette never did like being told his actions were wrong, that he could have done something different. But at the same time, Sirius also knew that James would listen to what Sirius' brother said; because out of everyone they knew…only Regulus knew Hermione's heart.

"Regulus said that none of us knew her—we all expected her to be something she had never been and that we were blinded by those expectations. He said Hermione had more to her than just what we wanted to perceive . . . that despite sharing your last name and knowing us for years, we were merely strangers to the girl." Sirius said.

At his best mate's last remark James blew up. How dare that pompous Slytherin claim him to be a stranger to his sister! James knew his sister, damn it! The Potter heir's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to reel in his anger—but nothing he did seemed to work. His mind would not release the ire he felt; how dare that Black insinuate such a detail, despite whatever argument they were having, the Potters were family and they stuck together!

"I know my sister, Sirius." James all but screamed out at Siruis.

"Do you? Do you really, James?" The question did not come from Sirius, but from Lily who apparently heard their arguing and came down from unpacking. James' brown eyes stared at his fiancée in shock; how could she ask him that? Of course he did and she knew it too . . . right? At his hesitation, the redhead persisted with her inquiry, but not before shooting Sirius a look to stay quiet.

"Hermione and I might have gotten off on a wrong foot at your parents' Manor, but that does not mean that I will allow you to sit there and lie to yourself about her, James. So I will ask you again, do you really know her?" Lily asked. She needed to get this point across to her fiancé. The redhead knew that James and Sirius felt at least some remorse for their actions towards Hermione, but she also knew that not even Hellfire and Brimstone would get them to apologize on their own. When James opened his mouth to speak, and his head began to nod in the affirmative, Lily sighed before speaking once more—silencing any chance of James to prove himself foolish.

"I used to get the feeling, and sometimes I still get it, that sometimes I was fooling somebody; I don't know who or what, maybe myself." Lily replied, using a quote from one of her favorite role models, most people would never believe that the quiet, studious Lily Evans had an iconic sex symbol as a role model. But despite that, Marilyn Monroe was someone to look up to and Lily knew that. The woman had flaws, but she never tried to hide them. Ms. Monroe did not make girls feel bad about their own bodies, and that curves were definitely okay to have. But more than anything, what really got Lily Evans to adore the deceased actress, had been the very words that came from the woman. Such like this quote she had told her fiancé.

"James you are fooling yourself," Lily whispered to him.

"No I am not!" James replied, exasperated. Why did his closest people think he was fooling himself? He knew his sister! Nothing would change that, no matter how many years went by or people they came in contact with or distance apart! James knew Hermione, he had to. What kind of brother would not know his own sister?

"Then tell me about her: her hopes, her goals, her favorite books, colors, music. Who does she turn to when she needs help? Who does she pray for at night? Who would she give her life to protect? Who makes her smile? What makes her happy? How many kids does she want to have? Is she in love? If you can answer any of those questions, than maybe, maybe you might know your sister." Lily replied. But judging from the look on her lover's face, James could not answer any of those questions. The redhead sighed once she realized she had been right. James might know the general facts about Hermione—her birthday, age, when she will graduate from Hogwarts—but nothing that would define her as a person. With a shake of her head and a sad smile, Lily spoke to her fiancé once again, this time in a softer tone.

"Regulus knows her best, James; face it, you are just a stranger to her. But I would not feel too bad about that, I doubt anyone—aside from Regulus . . . and maybe Narcissa—knows all of those about her. But a friend or at least an acquaintance would know some of it. But I will tell you this, you have your whole life to get to know Hermione . . . the real Hermione," Lily stated, her hand laying comfortingly on her lover's shoulder. Lily knew that James needed to hear what had been said; and for the first time ever, Lily thanked Regulus for being man enough to talk to his brother, despite all the issues the two had with each other.

Hermione might not be the little girl Lily would defend anymore, but the Muggleborn knew that the girl still had good intentions. After their last meeting, Lily had honestly thought that maybe James had been right about his sister all along; she had to be evil just like the rest of her house. But the more Lily thought about it, the more that idea ceased to make sense. After all, if Hermione wanted to be evil, she would have sided with Voldemort to eradicate Muggle-borns and any opposition. Yet she came to them, rather furiously, to ask for some kind of help for her friend. Would she not do the same in Hermione's case? Lily knew she would, just without the temper and probably with many more tears. Granted, Lily assumed that Hermione's anger had been directed more or less at the fact Regulus had been forced to be a Death Eater as that was the only reason Lily could think of for the brunette girl to seek their aid . . . even if in a rude way. For that very reason, Lily could not fault the younger witch for any angry words said.

"I'll let you two get pissed on some Firewhiskey now; it's under the Kitchen sink, go have at it boys." Lily replied softly before leaving the room. Her boys needed time to think—James just heard something he needed to and Sirius and he both needed to finally accept it.

"'Mione!" An exuberant voice called out from the hallway. The brunette blinked, before turning in the direction she heard the voice come from. A mop of red hair came zooming up to her, causing a small smile to grace her lips.

"Well hello, Bill. How is your second year of school going?" The Head Girl asked. A few of her housemates shot her a dirty look—one she returned—for speaking to a Weasley. Most thought it to be blasphemous what with her connections to the Black Family. But Hermione thought all of that to be nonsense. You cannot blame the younger generation for the pasts' mistakes. So Flavius ran away, frightened, leaving Sirius alone to die by the hands of Muggles. Yes the incident was a tragedy, but would any other pureblood child not have done the same? And furthermore, the fact that anyone would hold a past event against a child just irritated the eighteen year old witch.

"It's okay, there are still a lot of mean kids—but mentioning you helps a lot!" Hermione smiled at Bill's enthusiastic response. She bet her name did help stop people from bullying him at least for a while—no one ever wanted to get on the Head Girl's bad side, detention and losing points would be the least of their concern otherwise. Hermione had a no tolerance policy when it came to the younger years—any upper year who bullied them usually got punished, granted it helped that Slughorn adored her.

However before she could add another topic to their conversation, Hermione saw Regulus. His pale face stricken with fear had Hermione internally shiver. Something had happened, something that terrified Regulus . . . and Hermione never thought that possible. "I bet. I am glad I saw you today," Hermione told Bill with a polite smile, "However, I have some Head Girl duties that I need to see to, okay? I will talk to you later, Bill."

The second year nodded his head in understanding, this had not been the first time Hermione had to leave while he talked to her—but Bill never held it against her, Hermione tended to be a very busy witch. Yet, whenever he really needed to talk to her, it felt like she had all the time in the world for him. She would support him in tough decisions, let him cry on her shoulder when the days turned miserable, and even help him with school work. So Bill felt that the least he could do was let her leave when she needed to. After all, she would not leave him in the middle of a conversation otherwise. With his conversation over, the second year left the older witch with her own devices.

Hermione slipped through the crowed, following Regulus. She did not know where her best friend intended to go, but judging by the methodical way he moved within the crowd, Regulus knew that she trailed just a few meters behind him.

As the crowded seemed to thicken in the tiny corridor, Hermione lost sight of Regulus. She could not find the lanky teen anywhere. Her eyes scanned the corridor as it slowly began to empty; it had been over five minutes and she could not find Regulus anywhere—did he continue down the corridor that led up to the Ravenclaw tower? If so, why? Hermione never could continue her questions, because a hand draped over her mouth and pulled her into one of the empty classrooms. The hand dropped from her face and Hermione opened her mouth to scream, but a shaky, familiar voice stopped her.

"Bambi, it's just me."

Brown eyes widened and she quickly turned around only to meet terrified grey eyes. She had not seen this version of Regulus since his father's untimely murder—she refused to call it death, because damn it Walburga Black killed her husband and Hermione knew it!—and that alone scared Hermione. Regulus always seemed so impervious, like nothing could ever hurt him. He had always been so brave in the face of the unknown, so cunning in a difficult situation, so gentle and always one to offer her an affection hand. He seemed infallible—but seeing her brave friend like this, it made her beyond worried.

"Leo, what is going on? Tell me why you are acting like this, please!" Hermione found herself begging, words just spilling out of her mouth without any form of filter. This version of Regulus unnerved her, to see him so alarmed meant that disaster would strike, and it would strike soon. But that led Hermione to question what catastrophe, what event could possibly shake her Leo this much?

Regulus refused to look her in the eyes, which only upset the witch even more. What had Regulus so frightened that he refused to tell even her? They had told each other everything, and that should not change now. Even with her best mate's fear.

"Leo, you can tell me anything; whatever it is we can fix together." Hermione whispered softly. She tried her best, hoping that what she said might help break Regulus out of that fear that seemed to tear at him. But when he shook his head, Hermione's worry shot to an astronomical height. Her Leo had never denied her help. But at his next words, everything seemed to still.

"What do you know about Horocruxes, Bambi?"

There is Chapter 10! Things are coming to light and the young wizards realize not everything is so simple.

So tell me what you think about it? I did not really feel good about the first seen but no matter how many times I worked it the scene still remained fairly the same. So I decided to leave it, and Angstar54 also made a valid point about it. Personally I love the last scene the most, but that is just me.

I would love to hear from you!

-Kori

Here are the copyrights:

"Weary of myself and sick of asking what I am and what I ought to be…Resolve to be thyself; and know that he who finds himself, loses his misery," © Matthew Arnold

"I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me." © Hermann Hesse

"Sometimes you have to kind of die inside in order to rise from your own ashes and believe in yourself and love yourself to become a new person" © Gerard Way

"I used to get the feeling, and sometimes I still get it, that sometimes I was fooling somebody; I don't know who or what, maybe myself." © Marilyn Monroe

"It does not do well to dwell on…and forget to live," © JK Rowling, "Albus Dumbledore".

My Experience with Bullying:

One of my guests asked me how I responded to my experience with bullying. I will tell you how I reacted, but not the details of what was said—because despite me forgiving the girl, and ultimately moving on, those words still affected me and impacted my life…but they are definitely not happy memories.

I responded three ways: first I ignored it, that seemed to only make it worse and the words suck deeper and deeper into my head until I honestly believed them, which led to my experience with anorexia and depression, things I am still working on. My second reaction was one of violence, I actually punched the person—although it made me feel good at first, I felt guilty later and not to mention all the trouble that followed it after. But during both of those times, I begrudged the person for doing it to me, resenting them and myself for not fixing the problem.

But my third reaction, I just accepted the person was a bitch, that we might never see eye-to-eye anytime soon. But that I will forgive her because all the hate I held inside of myself, my hatred towards her and my own weakness, hurt me way more than it hurt her. She could move on with her life, forgetting me entirely while I would be forever hung up on what she did to me. So for that reason, I forgave her, after I did tell a teacher about the verbal abuse she put me through and how I felt towards it (I told him this to separate us from any future class projects, not to get her in trouble). Because even though I forgave her, I refused to put up with the abuse for any longer. This is the main reason I had Hermione see forgiveness as an important trait.

This is a rant; you can ignore it if you really want to.

Another reviewer (This one pissed me off a little) claimed she refused to read my story any further because of the "bond" and how I forced Hermione into a relationship with Sirius. Honey does she look like she wants Sirius at this point? Furthermore unless you are me, do not assume how my characters or my story will progress because I damn sure bet you'll be wrong.Hermione is a strong female character, I have made that abundantly clear…at least to myself…and I do not see her just "accepting her role" because something tells her to. She will fight it like she has been since chapter 5. But I will tell you this—I do not care if you read my story. I write this because I wanted to, I am not writing for you. If people like my story then great, I am happy that I have entertained at least some people with it. If you hate it, then don't read it—click the x and close the screen. It is as simple as that.

11. Can You Hear the Bell's Ring

Thank you guys for all the amazing reviews and the patience for my posting schedule; life has been very hectic for me. My mother is not in good health and I'm struggling to handle that in addition to a Chemistry Degree and working. So, I really do not have a lot of time, any of my free time either goes into working on this story or more often than not, catching up on sleep.

There were really too many guests to list them all, but thank you for all just the same—I read them all, but I did not have the time to respond and for that I am sorry. I appreciate all of you who reviewed, your reviews made me smile!

Also as far as updates go for this story—follow me on Twitter ( Aven_Love) to get updates about this story. In fact if you have a question and a twitter, shoot me a tweet to ask! I'll probably respond quicker than to a review (sorry about that! But I usually disconnect my net to study/ do homework).

A BIG thanks to the beta Angstar54! Really do not know what I would do without her, so I think I'm going to dedicate this chapter to her. And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Chapter 11: Can You Hear the Bell's Ring?

Hermione's body tensed. It took her a minute, but she finally managed a motion—a shake of her ahead, a refusal. "No," she whispered in complete disbelief. The brunette did not know much about Horcruxes, but from being in the Common Room so often, she had heard talks about such dark magic—the dangers it possessed and a bit of what it took to make such a thing.

And she did not want to believe this to be possible. But, looking at Regulus—his eyes mixed with shock and horror—she knew this to be real . . . and she knew that this bit of information changed everything. Whatever the Order had been expecting, hell, whatever she had been expecting to happen… this never even came to mind. "Oh, Leo," she whispered reaching out for him.

He let her engulf him in her warm embrace before completely breaking down into tears. Hermione knew Regulus had been taught that men should not cry, for it is a sign of weakness; and yet the tears refused to stop. But she thought even Orion would cry at this discovery because the addition of Horcruxes upped this war to an entirely new level…an extremely dangerous one at that.

The tears in her brown eyes began to fall as she comforted Regulus; she could not hold back these tears, not knowing the sheer act of vileness it took to make a Horcrux, not knowing whether or not her Leo had to witness this atrocity. Ire raged against the sadness within her; she felt torn. On the one hand, Regulus suffered severe emotional trauma—he would not act this way otherwise; he always did want to look strong—and that angered her. She wanted the person who caused her Leo to feel this way dead. But on the other hand, seeing her friend cry like this broke some of her own resolve.

If Regulus—always strong, brave, courageous, and good within the face of adversity—could be this broken…then what does that mean for her? For anyone? Despite the strong front she had put up, her false façade of bravado when Voldemort was ever mentioned, Hermione had always felt terrified. She tried to be strong, to be everything she knew her friends would need. But she was still so young, so inexperienced at life and all that it could offer her. How could she stop a madman and live?

Perhaps the real crux of the problem . . . her real fear… is of death itself. Sure she would give her life, without even a moment of hesitation, if it meant Regulus or Narcissa would live. Hermione supposed that would include Bellatrix too, that was to say if the older witch did not end up her opponent in the end. But would she really be able to give up her life, even if it would save the masses, if none of her friends were in danger? Would she really be able to walk into a war knowing she would forfeit her life, but keep her head held high anyway? She had one life to live, while Voldemort had multiple. Despite Regulus only ever mentioning one, Hermione could not help but think he had more. To make a Horcrux meant to be afraid. A man afraid of dying, so truly afraid that the result was him making such a monstrosity, would have made more than one. And that thought truly scared her. Would she be willing to risk her one life against a man that was practically immortal for strangers?

"We will stop this," She whispered to Regulus, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Hermione tried to keep a firm resolve in her words, despite how little she believed in them; but she would find a way to make them real. The brunette would find a way to keep her friend safe, even if it meant her death. She did not believe in many things. This approaching storm had shown her false gods, demigods, could be gods that would always appear in the eyes of men—but she never believed in a single one of them. She never believed in much of anything, but she believed in him. Her faith in Regulus would always outweigh any of her insecurities or fears. Her faith in Regulus would keep her going.

"I want you safe, my Leo." She whispered to him. "I will keep you safe." The last part, whispered aloud, had been more of a reassurance for herself than to Regulus. They would die for each other and they both knew it. Some people thought their relationship as something strange. They were far to affection to "just be friends", yet neither of them saw it that way. They loved each other, and that love was deep and fierce and all consuming.

Perhaps, at one point both of them figured they would end up together, but as the years progressed the idea of dating someone who knew you so completely just seemed unnerving to the both of them. How could you shag someone who is essentially your sibling? They kissed a few times, when they were younger and thought things could turn into a romantic relationship. None of those kisses had ever produced sparks; they never made their knees weak or their heads fuzzy. So Hermione and Regulus decided to keep their relationship a fiery, all consuming storm of platonic love.

'And it will be that platonic love that will cause such devastating destruction,' Hermione thought. It might sound silly, or even childish, but if Regulus ever died then nothing would ever stop her. Hermione would see to it that the world burned for such a crime. It would be a sin to kill such a bright star, and if anyone ever succeeded in such a feat, they should very well be prepared to face her fury, because nothing short of a Dementor's Kiss would stop her.

"What are you thinking about, Bambi?" Regulus' coarse voice broke Hermione away from her train of thought. When he pulled away she noticed his eyes were puffy and red from the crying; but she could see he felt better, if only slightly.

"That I would kill for you," Hermione answered honestly. She knew Regulus would know if she lied, he always did. Regulus seemed surprised by her statement, and she had to wonder why. Surely it did not surprise him that she would want him safe? That she would take the risk of fracturing her soul if it meant he lived another day? They were family.

"You cannot be surprised by that fact, Leo. This war just advanced to a whole new level of horror—and your risk of dying just blasted through the ceiling and I quite frankly do not like those odds, not at all." Hermione explained. She knew Regulus would probably disagree with her reasoning; out of the two of them, he would forever be the lover. His compassion would always win out. Sure, he would threaten and coerce someone, but he would never willingly take a life—at least not without feeling guilty about it. Hermione on the other hand, she would feel guilt at the death of someone, but she had long ago steeled her heart. She might not be able to die for strangers, but she would always risk dying for Regulus.

"No." Regulus eyes narrowed at her statement, like Hermione knew they would. Had the topic not been so serious, Hermione might have laughed at the finality of such a statement. He felt so sure that such a simple word would change her mind.

"There is no discussing this, Regulus. I know you. You are reckless if you think it will help, if you think something is right you will do everything within your power to fix it…even at the risk of your life!" Hermione said. At first her voice started off soft, but as the words progressed, so did her volume. The brunette tried to be reasonable—she tried to keep her voice level. But with such a severe topic, she could not help but raise her voice. Did Regulus not realize how important he was to her? If he died she had no one.

"And you would not do the same? Really, Hermione," Regulus sneered her name, and it took all of her strength to keep herself from flinching. He had only used that tone a handful of times, but each time it felt like pins and needles. "How much longer do I have to hear you call the cauldron black? How much longer do I have to listen to you whine and try to be a martyr? The world does not need just you saving it!"

His words stung, even more so because she knew they were not out of just anger. For Regulus to be telling her this now, he must have thought this at some point. And although it hurt, Hermione understood his pent up frustration. She and Regulus were similar in many ways, especially when it came to doing the right thing. But unlike Regulus, she had nothing to lose.

"I am not, and never will be a martyr," she stated softly.

Regulus glared at her, his cold steel eyes so piercing that Hermione had to turn away just to keep from flinching. She hated to see him like this, and it broke her heart that such an icy stare was directed at her. "Do not bother lying to me," He stated coldly.

Suddenly something in Hermione snapped. She could take his jeers and rude remarks, but she could not take such blatant distrust directed at her. Not when she trusted him with so much of herself. "I am not lying! Just because you do not care about your life does not mean that I share the sentiment! You matter! Despite the demented family you come from, despite all the bad people you sometimes associate with—you are important. You can change things!"

Unaware of her rising tone, Hermione continued on in her rant. She wanted Regulus to understand why she would risk her life for him, why she cared so much that he lived. It infuriated her that he thought so lowly of her, that he really believed she would want the fame of a martyr—that she would risk her life for such a foolish notion.

"My life—an adopted girl who is not even important by the standards of the 'Blood-Traitor' Potters—cannot fix anything. I cannot make people see reason, to see the right thing to do. I am nobody special. Had it not been for you, I wouldn't have ever been someone to anyone. You made me better, still make me want to be better. And even if you could never make those changes you could still make so many people better. So yes, I will risk my life to keep you safe and there is not a damn thing you can do about it!" Hermione's throat became hoarse by the end of her rant.

She had not even realized she had been screaming until the echoes of her voice sounded in the silent room. She trusted Regulus with everything in her, but even she never revealed such thoughts to him. How could she have ever revealed such deep seated insecurities to him when she refused to face them?

Regulus did not know what to say to his friend's diatribe, so he just wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her close, and remained silent. He wondered how she could she think so lowly of herself. When he and so many others thought the world of her? He saw how that Weasley kid adoringly praised her, how the younger Slytherins eagerly tried to gain a spot in her good graces, how so many people would do anything she asked simply because it was her asking it. She made changes, small things here and there that did so much for so many people. Yet she appeared to be blinded by her own insecurities.

For the first time in a long while, Bambi actually appeared human—broken resolve, insecurities, and all. It felt nice to see her not hiding behind a façade of stony expressions. In fact, a small part of him felt privileged that she would trust him with such an intimate part of herself, but the larger part of him ached at how low she thought of herself.

He did not know where exactly such a low opinion came from, but Regulus bet it started with the Potters. And even if it was unintentional, they would be forced deal with it—because such a fantastic person should never feel like they were unimportant. Even though Regulus would love to be the one to fix it, he knew such a thing could never happen. Even with his intelligence, there was no way he could mend years of damage done by loved ones. Only the Potters could fix this mess. But that would not stop Regulus from seeing it done and giving them hell for it along the way.

His Bambi deserved more, so much more.

He would prove it. No matter how long it took.

Because she was worth it.

"Lady Malfoy, what brings you to our humble home?" Dorea Potter asked as she entered her parlor, surprise clearly visible on her face. It had been a long time since the Lady Potter had interacted with anyone in her biological family, excluding Sirius. So to say she had been surprised when a house elf told her that the Lady Malfoy currently waited for in the parlor was a dreadful understatement.

"I know your opinion of our family," Narcissa responded with narrowed eyes. She paused, carefully calculating the right words to say next. The older witch standing regally before the blonde grew up as a Black, so intimidation tactics would prove useless. "It would be wise of you to silence such opinions," Narcissa stated, conviction laced every bit of her tone.

The gentle tone of Narcissa's voice did nothing to alleviate the anger that swelled within Dorea. "How dare you come into my home and demand me to change my beliefs!" If the Lady Potter's icy tone and narrow eyes made Narcissa discomforted in anyway, she did not let it show. In fact the blonde knew better than to interrupt the diatribe that her cousin intended to perform. So she listened; listened to the ranting about pureblooded bigotry, the corruption of their beautiful society, the madmen and the deranged Black Family. Narcissa had certainly wanted to hex her cousin at some points during the tangent, but managed to keep herself relatively collected. Finally, when it seemed like all the screaming would finally end, Narcissa spoke.

"How are you any different than the people you claim to despise so much?" The genuine curiosity of Narcissa's seemed to startle Dorea. The older witch had no idea where this woman intended for her question to go. Yet Narcissa obviously did not plan on elaborating her question any further, despite the Lady Potter's confused expression.

"I am fighting for the right side; the one saving lives instead of destroying them." The Lady of Potter Manor responded, her voice firm and conviction lacing her tone. Narcissa knew that her cousin believed what she said and that caused her to shake her head.

"At one point I would have agreed with your assumption; for I would also have sided with my husband, who I know would always try to do right by our family." Narcissa admitted honestly, startling the older witch all the more. Dorea felt uncomfortable in her own home, unsure of exactly why Narcissa would be here in her parlor if not to intimidate her family into backing out of the war. She had expected scare tactics and jeers as it was a common policy used within the female social circles—men play soldiers while the women wage a silent war. Therefore, the Potter Matriarch had not expected a truthful admission, and could not help but feel smug at the younger witch's statement.

"Granted I would not assume your side would be right, as you so bluntly put it." Narcissa replied in her usual haughty tone. Despite willingly laying a small part of herself bare before someone she disliked, Narcissa did not come to make the older witch feel better about her pathetic existence. A snake never showed weakness unless it benefited them in some way, and the Lady Potter should never have forgotten that small fact. "Especially since your notion of right is misconstrued from the very beginning."

Narcissa could not help the smirk that graced her lips when Dorea's smug expression dimmed into one of mutinous discontent. A snake can shed its skin—removing a layer of itself—but that does not keep it from being a snake.

Dorea's eyes turned calculating as she thought of a response. Women in Pureblood society often waged a war of words; always playing a defensive game, while still aiming for the killing blow. Yet the Matriarch found herself in a bind, since she could not form the words to properly defend herself against Narcissa. And how could she when she had no idea the reason behind the battle? "And why is my notion so misconstrued?"

"You are strange in your beliefs, cousin." She finally said, shocking Dorea at the familial name. "You speak of freedom and doing what is right, but do you really know what those phrases mean?" Narcissa allowed a sly smile to grace her lips, allowing herself a few minutes of absolute silence. The Malfoy bride refused to further elaborate, instead preferring to make her cousin uncomfortable. Within their society what one say's is extremely important, but sometimes the silence proved invaluable as well. It often emphasized the main point, check mating the entire game.

Dorea spluttered completely unladylike at the young witch's words. How dare this silly little girl claim she knows nothing of what she is trying to defend! Why would she bother in defending them had she not known? So, she made her vehement disagreement known to the blonde witch.

"Do you know how Bambi refers to your family?" Narcissa asked, her eyes narrowing and her voice chillier. "She said you all are like men in a mist, seeking freedom and not knowing what it really is." The Lady Malfoy watched as her cousin's eyes widened and her mouth hung agape. It was then that the blonde witch finally decided she had enough of playing with her food: she wanted to go in for the kill. The Malfoy bride wanted this matter to either be resolved or ended entirely. One way or another it would be—either by her cousin's hand or her own.

"Yet it sickened my sister and I, knowing she knew how wrong you lot were, but she still spoke of you so adoringly. That she still loved you, irrevocably and unconditionally. You lot who did nothing to earn her devotion or love, while my sister and I had to fight tooth and nail for those very same emotions." Narcissa's ire had spiked as she continued to speak. She had longed to say this for so many years and now that she finally had the chance she would not pass it up. She wanted to make her cousin break down in tears, begging for her daughter's forgiveness. But even if she could never manage that, she would be more than content to see the guilty look in the Lady Potter's expression. "We hate you for it."

"She is my daughter, her loyalty will always be to us." Dorea said firmly. Though Narcissa knew by the worry in her eyes that not even her cousin really believed what she just said. "Plus, you've hated me before you even met my daughter."

"We both know that is not true." Narcissa stated coldly, her eyes blazing. She knew her dear Bambi has always been an extremely loyal person, but as far as her loyalty goes, only Regulus received it so completely. Yes, Bambi would remain loyal to those who raised her, but that loyalty only extended as far as any other pureblood's would. Unlike them, Regulus received it completely, in all of its entirety—should she choose between her cousin and the Potters, Narcissa had no doubt in her mind that that Regulus would be the one Bambi chose. "We hate you because of her, because despite what you claim of right and wrong—you know nothing; not when you cannot even extend those phrases to her."

Those words finally struck their mark, and Narcissa got what she came here to see. The guilt that marred the Lady Potter's face had been well worth listening to the older witch's tirade. But despite how pleased the remorseful expressed made Narcissa, she wanted more.

"We cared nothing for you when you were a simple blood-traitor. No hatred, no love, nothing. But for Hermione, for your daughter, we would wage war. Regulus, I, and Bellatrix have done everything in our power to keep her from harm—we love her, flaws and all because she has accepted us without judgment and with arms wide open." Narcissa would not tell the Lady Potter of the trouble it took for them to get Bambi to feel such a way towards them; Narcissa knew that she and her sister were just more than happy that the sweet young witch did care for them; even if they did not deserve her affection.

"So I will tell you now, it would be wise to silence your beliefs of the Blacks. The older Blacks might be bloody sods, but the younger generation is risking our very lives to keep your daughter safe." Narcissa stated. The simplicity of her tone made what she said all the more upsetting to Dorea. Clearly, the Malfoy bride felt conviction for what she said. And perhaps that belief is well deserved. Dorea knew nothing of what her daughter did outside of school. Nor did she know anything about the trials her daughter might be going through—but Narcissa most likely did. A pang of jealous hit Dorea as she wondered how many times her daughter went crying to the younger witch.

The Lady Malfoy's voice drug the older witch out of her thoughts. "You might be willing to let her die on the front lines, but we are not." With that said, Narcissa stood and flooed home. She said nothing more to the Potter Matriarch: no snide comment, no farewell, nothing.

The silence deafened the Parlor as Dorea sat there stunned. They had a war and Narcissa clearly came out the victor. The blonde witch's words seemed to have etched their way into her heart. She had known that her daughter stood brave and defiant in all that she had done—from being sorted in Slytherin, from being isolated by her brother, to apparently even waging her own war against injustice. Her daughter had wanted them to grow up, to see the world for what it really was—lonely, chaotic, messy, and yet so wonderfully beautiful with someone there.

Her daughter had flourished into a wonderful woman, and Dorea had missed it because she let petty jealousies get in the way. She had been so blinded by her dislike of the Ancient and Noble house of Black, firm in her belief that they were rotten people and corrupting her daughter. She had never even thought that maybe Hermione really did know how to handle herself and who to consider worthy of her friendship and trust.

The Potter Matriarch needed to believe more in her daughter. Hermione had long ago proven herself capable of handling herself. Yet despite that, her daughter still felt alone and terrified. Dorea now knew that Narcissa had come here to tell her that—that despite all that bravado, her little girl was still frightened and needing support. Support that a family she hated had been giving Hermione.

"I'm so sorry, baby girl." She choked out, as her sobs became uncontrollable. This would change, Dorea vowed. She would make sure that her daughter never felt that way again—at least not alone. The Potter Matriarch had allowed herself several minutes to sob, before she collected herself.

It was time her family had a discussion.

"They call her Bambi, I'm not really sure why—but she is really pretty and very nice." The affection in the child's voice rang out, surprising the adults. The Weasleys had always known that Bill adored an upper year student; but up until now, they never really had a name to call her.

"Bambi?" Molly asked questioningly. The red-haired witch had wondered if her oldest boy's imagination had just got the best of him, as he tried to show off to his younger brothers. Even in the Wizarding world, Bambi seemed a strange name. To her surprise, Bill just nodded and took a bite of his food. "What is her real name?" Molly questioned, shushing her son youngest son Percy has he tried to get her attention.

"Hermione," Bill answered simply. This name seemed to have frozen his parents, especially his mother who looked to his dad in sheer surprise. The only Hermione they knew was the Potter's daughter, and from what they heard from other Order members—their son Percy had been sick and they could not attend the meeting—she had gone mental during the Yuletide holiday. Arthur shook his head at his wife, before turning his attention to his son.

"Has she ever hurt you?" He asked gently. With the way his eldest so ardently spoke about the young woman, Arthur doubted that the girl ever hurt him. But he felt the need to ask the question nonetheless. If it really was the Potter girl, she hung around with a bad crowd—one that hated the Weasley family with a burning passion.

"NEVER!" Their eldest son yelled, passionately. If the mutinous expression their eldest gave them was anything to go by, the Weasleys could clearly tell that their Bill hated someone even thinking Hermione would harm him. Somehow that knowledge made them more relaxed. Arthur and Molly had raised their boys well, and if their sons ever felt uncomfortable around someone then they usually told their parents. If Bill trusted Hermione, then they could not see the harm in keeping her around him. After all, if it was the Potter Girl Bill talked about then she would be gone within the year anyway—she should be graduating Hogwarts.

"So how did you meet her?" Arthur asked.

"Ice cream!" Percy answered instead. Molly looked at her son, a frown adorning her face. "Sweetheart, you need to eat dinner before you have dessert." She chastised softly. Molly then turned her attention back to Bill as she waited for him to answer her question. Yet her eldest seemed to have remained quiet, a grin on his lips. He looked like the cat that ate the cream, and for some reason that aggravated Molly. So she repeated her question.

"Ice Cream." Percy repeated once more, his tone firmer in imitation of his older brothers when they wanted a toy he played with. Molly shook her head at Percy, denying him his treat. He could have the blasted ice cream after he ate a proper dinner.

An exasperated sigh came from her middle child, causing Molly to look at Charlie with a curious expression. "Mum, that's how Bill met Hermione—she got him some ice cream in Diagon Alley a few years back." Molly turned to Bill, silently asking him if that story was indeed true, and received a nod.

She remembered that day clearly. The red-haired witch had been so frantic with worry when her son ran off alone in Diagon alley. Bill had always been a sensitive kid, and instead of ignoring the teasing words of the other children like she had asked, Bill got upset and ran off.

Molly had spent hours searching Diagon alley for her son, even calling in some of her friends in the Magical Law Enforcement for help. When they finally managed to find Bill, Molly was stunned to see her child smiling and happy. Of course she wanted her child to be happy, but to see him so happy after running off in bloody Diagon Alley made the mother rather confused. She had been expecting to console her son, convince him to ignore the words of the mean children. Instead it seemed like he just brushed it off.

Molly had not asked him about his strange reaction until they got home and Arthur saw his eldest son safe. When questioned about his strange behavior, her child just told her, "I'm waiting for the world of colors to hit." That statement had shocked her, but when she tried to pry further she received no response. It seemed her son did not want to divulge any more information than he already needed to.

Yet, despite how closed lipped Bill had remained about his explanation, he seemed completely okay with talking about the woman herself. Though never before today, did she know that mysterious woman who helped her son had been Hermione Potter.

With all that she had heard about the Potter female, she never would have expected the young witch to go out of her way to help comfort a distraught child. Yet, when she looked at Arthur, she noticed her husband did not seem nearly as surprised.

"Well, I think that is wonderful to hear, son!" The Head of the Weasley family replied with a smile. Molly could see that her husband meant every word. Arthur genuinely felt pleased with this news, and Molly could see why. After all the war was brewing, bells were ringing. Death would be upon them all, and no one and nothing would be spared from its wrath—not even the loss of a child's innocence.

So it felt nice to hear that someone, a Slytherin no less, took the time to help a child. It felt nice, to know that good people still existed in this dark times. It felt nice, knowing that someone cared for strangers.

The bells could keep getting louder, because she no longer feared that they would toll for her son's innocence.

Alright so we finally get to see some of Hermione's really feelings and her insecurities. Personally my favorite part was Narcissa digging into Dorea—I think that finally hit some things home to the mother and perhaps we can see some changes now. I was not really enthusiastic about the third scene, but I did feel that we should get another opinion on Hermione; plus I love writing young Bill.

Tell me your views of this chapter. Also, if you have a twitter, shoot me a tweet with some of your questions I would love to hear them.

-Kori

As usual the copyrights are shown below.

"…false gods…I believe in…." ©Doctor Who, Satan's Pit

"…I want you safe, my…" ©Doctor Who, Parting of the Ways

"You are like men in a mist, seeking freedom and not knowing what it really is," © Gerrard Winstanley

12. Sly Scheduling and Devious Devices

Thank you for all of those who reviewed. Like Always (or at least like I always try) if you reviewed with an account, I PM-ed you back. If not, thank you to: Guests, please, fiendflower, A team, and Robyn.

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Update Schedule: Updates will be slow; with personal problems,work, and university I cannot guarantee a frequent update; for updates on this story follow me on twitter: Aven_Love.

Chapter 12: Sly Scheduling and Devious Devices

Hermione had grown used to Bill coming to her, seeking a friend to talk to, comfort, or even on a rare occasion, a shoulder to cry on. And as the months dragged on, the Head Girl watched the boy's confidence grow and shape itself into something wonderful. She felt thrilled to see this fantastic little boy grow up with eyes full of wonder and curiosity. So when he came to her with tears in his eyes once more, Hermione felt her heart break just a little. On instinct she opened her arms and watched as he ran towards her, gripping her waist like she would disappear if he ever let go. "Sweetie, what is wrong?" she asked, running a hand through his hair in attempt to sooth him.

"I'm scared, 'Mione," he mumbled into her abdomen. Hermione had never heard Bill say such a thing before. Bill had learned to trust in himself, he knew he could handle any problems thrown at him; however, should he ever feel he needed help, he also knew Hermione would be there every step of the way to help him as well. So to hear the second year say such a thing . . . well it made her concerned.

"Why are you scared, Bill?" she asked, pulling away from him and bending down so she could be at eye-level with the young boy.

Bill sniffed, trying to remain calm like he often saw the witch before him do. Hermione had courage and strength and kindness. He wanted to be like that too. "I heard some of the older kids talking and I got nervous. I mean my parents always talk about how dangerous it's gettin' out there. I dunno why I am so scared but there is just so much going on and I just . . . I just . . ." Bill trailed off unable to figure out how to word his statement any better. When he heard Hermione laugh, he frowned. Why did she find this funny . . . surely she is not laughing at him, right?

"Bill, honey," she told said, pulling him into a hug. "That is completely normal. It's all a part of growing up." Hermione felt relieved that Bill only felt overwhelmed. The brunette could handle an astounded child far better than she could handle a frightened one—feelings of anxiety and confusion were a lot easier to banish than fear after all. She looked at the blue eyes, finally dried of tears, gazing at her suspiciously. When Hermione noticed how her darling second year did not believe her, she decided to explain it just a bit further.

"You see, when you're a kid, they tell you it's all grow up, get a job, get married, get a house, have a kid, and that's it," Hermione told him, standing up from her crouched position. The Head Girl watched as Bill nodded his head as if he heard the statement before . . . and knowing which family he belonged to, he probably did.

"But the truth is the world is so much stranger than that. It's so much darker. And so much madder that sometimes all you can do is just try and stand on your own two feet despite all the odds. Sometimes you manage that, but other times you very well might just fall down and cry and scream and rage at everything. But that is a part of life," she told Bill softly. As she continued to speak she watched blue eyes widen and seem to fill with dread. Her words did nothing to comfort him, despite Bill knowing that to be her intention. He loved Hermione, but sometimes she had very odd ways of trying to help people out. He frowned at her, trying to let her know he disapproved of how she went about this cheering up thing of hers.

"But you know what else life is?" she asked him, a cheeky grin on her lips; Hermione just could not help the grin on her face as she looked at Bill trying to silently chastise her. "It is so much better than what the grownups lead you to believe. You just have to let the colors hit and sink in first. Because life is scary and upsetting, but it is also so wonderfully fantastic as well!"

Bill smiled at this: he liked this pep talk a lot more than he did when it first started. But it made the second year wonder when this world of colors would really hit. Hermione always talked about it, but he has yet to experience it.

"Can we go get some ice cream down in the kitchens?" he asked, deciding to change the topic. He trusted Hermione, if she said the world of colors would hit then it would. Perhaps he just needed to be a bit more patient?

"James!" a pudgy man said in a jovial tone. The blond man watched the scene with disgust on his face. How could anyone act as if they were not doing anything wrong? Lucius had committed atrocious crimes, but at least—if to no one else but himself and family—he admitted to them. And Lucius certainly would never act friendly to a person whom he wished to see dead. Bellatrix had been right; their cause had no need for turncoats.

He had his doubts about Bellatrix, especially after her defiance in front of their Lord. In fact, he felt thrilled knowing dissenters would get punished, even ones who seemed so loyal to the cause. So when Bellatrix had been Crucio-ed for her open defiance, Lucius felt pleased. His Lord would not suffer fools gladly.

Narcissa of course did not and had gone off on her own tangent before disappearing. But before doing so, Narcissa made it very apparent to him why Bellatrix had reacted so vehemently against Pettigrew and his idea of using Hermione Potter. The two sisters grew up as Blacks, and despite marrying into other prominent families, they were still Blacks. The Blacks had always prided themselves on defending what they saw as theirs. And Hermione was theirs. But they were hers just as much. As a Pureblood, Lucius Malfoy understood such concepts; the need to protect your own, no matter the cost. Yes he had hated that young blood-traitor in the past; after all, to him she represented everything wrong with their society. But she helped his wife at a time Narcissa truly needed it. Hermione Potter gave his darling witch love and support that he could not give. It enraged him that a daughter of blood-traitors could offer his wife something he never could. But Hermione did it so wonderfully that he could not hold that ire long; the young witch gave that passion and devotion so freely, never asking for anything in return other than for his wife to remain strong and to have faith. After that, how could Lucius really hate her?

But at least Hermione Potter always knew where she stood with him—he had always made his disdain of her known. He never hid it under genial greetings and phony pleasantries. The young girl always knew he despised her, in fact part of him still disliked the chit, but at least now he respected her as well. Hermione Potter earned his respect with her loyalty towards her friends, her determination to see them safe, and her willingness to die for them. His wife thought he did not know how dangerous that young brunette could be—but he did. The moment she wrapped her small arms around his wife, offering her comfort so freely, he saw it. Lucius saw a willingness to do anything to keep the woman alive and happy. Bellatrix had said it the best: should any harm come to her precious people, this small witch would see blood fall and it did not matter whose. Hermione would tear the universe asunder if it meant her loved ones' safety; and that level of devotion engendered danger.

So to see Peter Pettigrew greeting the group so happily made Lucius sick. He had heard Regulus on numerous occasions refer to the chubby man as a rat, insisting that the Potter girl had Pettigrew pegged. But he did not see this man as a rat. The creatures were vile and disgusting, but they were cunning and clever enough to avoid messing with creatures more dangerous than themselves. Pettigrew had none of those characteristics. If he did, he would have known sparking the ire of Hermione Potter and the Blacks would reign down a hell so fierce that Lucius would bet even Dementors would balk. Hermione Potter alone could engender danger, but pair her with a furious Black Heir and his cousins . . . Pettigrew might as well have signed his own death warrant because Lucius Malfoy was sure Death would be his only chance of safety.

The Lord Malfoy listened to them laugh, unable to hide the scowl marring his face. How could one Potter child be so brilliant and the other so ignorant? How could a young girl recognize the vileness in this portly man, but his friend could not? The daughter seemed far more intelligent than the son, but who could judge character the best? To Lucius, Hermione would obviously be the victor; after all she chose to associate with Regulus and by extension Narcissa and Bellatrix. Whereas Potter, he chose to befriend Pettigrew. And as he watched the group talk adamantly, the Malfoy Patriarch saw a vast difference in the two siblings' choices. Hermione's friends were loyal to her, willing to suffer the Dark Lord's wrath for her. The Lord Malfoy doubted Pettigrew ever shared such devotions.

One question came to the forefront of his mind as he watched the "friends" speak amicably with one another. They seemed so happy, as if their world would not be turned upside down in only a matter of months—as if one of their own would not be the cause of such events. The Lord Malfoy walked towards them, his gait purposeful and elegant. "Speaking with the lesser in society, how common of a blood-traitor." He sneered to the Potter Heir; the venom in his voice more potent than ever before. He hated the man who represented all that could ever be wrong with the Wizarding world, just like he had hated said man's sister. But unlike Hermione, Lucius doubted James Potter would ever find any form of redemption.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter snarled, rising to the bait. The blond noticed how Sirius and the other male also seemed to have bristled at his arrival, but neither said a word to him. Pettigrew on the other hand seemed to have paled, causing Lucius to preen ever so slightly. It felt good knowing he could spark fear into someone, regardless of how lowly they were.

"I just wanted to see which of you I would be rid of first." Lucius sneered. The three wizards whipped out their wands and aimed at him, causing the blond to raise his eyebrow. "You automatically assume I will have something to do with your demise? How rude," the Lord Malfoy chastised. He could see why his wife loved to play with her prey so much, he felt a thrill of enjoyment course through him. Part of him wondered why he felt willing to give these men a warning. The other, more dominant part, knew he only did so to protect what he claimed as his. Narcissa and her family were entwined so deeply with the Potters, that any death of the Potter line might as well be an attack on his own. Narcissa gave her loyalty to Hermione, but as any pureblood, Hermione still remained (somewhat) loyal to her family. The brunette would seek retribution for a crime against one of her own, and like the wonderful woman his wife was, Narcissa would follow Hermione—just as Hermione would do the same for his darling wife.

"You have dived too deep into the ocean. It might appear playful in the summer, but it gets furious come the harsh winter. It will only be a matter of time until you incur the wrath of a storm, I just wonder which one," Lucius said cryptically. The Potter heir had aggravated the Dark Lord for the last time; his Lord was no longer going to be pleasant. But with all of his machinations, Lucius wondered who would truly be the death of the Potter Heir. Would it be the Dark Lord, his cowardly friend, or perhaps even the young Hermione? Lucius spoke truthfully about an oncoming storm, one that would shake the whole Wizarding World. This storm would bring the dawn of a new era. The Malfoy Patriarch just hoped it would not also be the end of everything they knew as well. Lucius glanced at the men, noticing their spluttering, confused expressions at his enigmatic message: all but Pettigrew, whose face grew pale and his eyes wide.

A trill of pleasure shot through Lucius as he reveled in the hefty man's terrified expression. Pettigrew realized what consequences his actions could bring about—he finally realized just how big and dangerous a game he had got himself into. Pettigrew had jumped into the wrong ocean, because this one would drag him to its very depths just to see him extinguished. None of the pieces on the game board were something to laugh at; all the players were deadly, but some were a bit more frightening than others. The Dark Lord had terrified many and surely came across as the largest threat. But just one thing, one small event could easily turn the tide and unleash a fury so strong that the world itself would drown in repentance. Lucius Malfoy just prayed to any and all gods that he did not live to see it come to pass; for if either Regulus or Narcissa died, he might as well join the young witch on her warpath.

"I would not grow accustomed to your comfort, for it will not last." Lucius sneered at the overweight fellow. The statement seemed to have confused the group if their curious looks to Peter were any confirmation. Somewhere between the cryptic message and their friend's reaction, the wands aimed at him lowered. Peter Pettigrew had thought he would play it safe on the Dark Lord's side, but he very well may have damned them all. Peter Pettigrew jumped out of the cauldron and straight into the fire with his folly.

Lucius turned away from the group of men. The blond had not initially planned on talking to Potter and his cronies, even for the short time that he did. However the Lord Malfoy could feel it in his very magical core, a storm had begun to brew—and it grew more powerful as the days dragged on. He wanted to ensure his side won, but to do so meant he had to have a hand in many cauldrons. As he made his way home, Lucius really did have to wonder: If Hermione indeed was the better judge of character, who then were the real monsters?

Somehow it did not settle well with him to be considered one of the monstrosities. Perhaps he should start lining up his contingencies and surrounding himself with true allies.

The storm had begun to brew, and Lucius did not want to be stuck in the rain.

Lily Potter was thrilled. Nothing in the world could bring down her good mood. She finally married the love of her life a few months back and things were starting to look up! James' mother had called them over to the Manor, wanting to discuss something important. The redhead knew this night would be full of yelling and anger, yet she could not help but feel giddy.

"You seem in a fantastic mood, my dear." Charlus greeted happily. The Potter Patriarch adored the young witch who captured his son's affection. Most Ancient Houses would feel disgraced at their son marrying a Muggle-born, but not Charlus. He just wanted to see his son happy, to see his children happy. Besides marrying a Muggle-born helped revitalized the stock, keep the family magic strong.

"Oh I am, and James and I have such wonderful news to tell you both!" Lily told them excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She could not wait to share the news with James' family.

"Oh and what is that news?" Dorea asked, walking into the cozy parlor room. It felt nice to have the cheerful aura of her family echoing around her home. The Potter Matriarch still felt a little disconcerted over the conversation she had with Narcissa Malfoy. Never in her life would Dorea ever have thought she would say a Malfoy had been right, let alone a Malfoy neé Black. But Narcissa had been right; it would be foolish to hold onto hatred for the family that repudiated her, especially when they were the ones working so hard to ensure her daughter's safety.

"We're pregnant!" Lily told her, squealing slightly. But her squeals ended abruptly as she noticed the ashen faces of the Potters. Lily's good mood turn sour, something she did not think possible today of all days, as she looked at her husband's parents. Why did they appear upset by this news? Lily had thought they were happy she had become a part of their family. But now that she and James were starting their own . . . it just did not make sense why they would not be happy.

"How did this happen?" Charlus asked. This made Lily confused. They had two kids, how would they not know how children were produced? However, Lily Potter had not been known as an intelligent witch for nothing, so she quickly deduced that the Potter Patriarch's question stemmed out of shock more than anything else.

"The condom broke. I know how stupid that sounds. It's the reproductive version of the dog ate my homework." The redhead replied somewhat bitterly. It still upset her to know that two people she considered family did not share her joy at the unexpected pregnancy. Sure she and James did not plan on having kids right away, but still—they created a child: a wonderful child who would be a composite of them. How could that not be a joyous occasion? She took a quick glance at her husband and noticed he seemed a little disgruntled as well, which made Lily feel a bit better; after all, at least James shared her upset. "Why are you two so displeased with this? James and I thought you would be happy," Lily asked them, her voice quivering slightly.

"You two live a dangerous lifestyle; you have already caught Voldemort's enmity." Charlus explained gently. He saw how crestfallen Lily had looked when they did not react as she probably expected them too. He tried to figure out how to explain it best to the young witch, but seemed to fall short. So he turned to his wife, hoping she could explain their fears just a bit more than he could.

"We just want you safe, dear. Charlus here has heard rumors in the Auror Department about a hit on you two and the Longbottom couple." At those words, Lily's face drained of color and James' fists clenched. Her happiness at her pregnancy had made Lily forget that they were still in the midst of war. They had fought, openly, against that vile man. Lily would never regret doing so, but she had forgotten how much danger that would put her child in as well.

"What will we do about this?" Lily's voice could barely go above a whisper. The expecting mother just wanted her family safe. But how could they hide from this deranged man so intent on killing them? Nothing about this war ever seemed fair to Lily—she had to fight for the right to use her magic just because of her Muggle-born status. Her husband had to fight just to protect his wife and child from a society full of prejudice. Her child had a target on their back when they were not even born yet, merely because of who the baby's parents were.

"We need to speak to Dumbledore," Charlus said firmly. The Potter Patriarch wanted to protect his family members at all cost, but even he did not have the magic or knowledge to guarantee his children and grandchild's safety. But Dumbledore might; if anyone could help them it would be Dumbledore.

"Perhaps we should floo him now, the other conversation can wait another day," Dorea said gently. This time the mother would not be side tracked by petty jealousy or other events. Although she agreed with her husband's assessment and the urgency behind it, they would have the talk she gathered them for. She would not allow herself to disappoint her daughter yet again. "Alright, let's get to it!" She told her family, ushering them over to the floo.

"Cissa, don't side with him!" Hermione pleaded. She had come to Narcissa, finally unable to just sit by and ignore the news Regulus had given her. Horocruxes were dangerous magic, this put more than her and Regulus' lives at risk: it put Narcissa and the child she carried in danger as well. Hermione did not want to see her friend suffer such a tragedy once more; in fact she doubted the blonde witch could handle another miscarriage. For this very reason, Hermione did not tell Narcissa about the vile magic now a part of the war. The brunette just hoped she could sway her friend to at least be a bit more cautious without bringing up the reason why. "I know he is your husband and the father of your child; I know you love him, but I beg you to not side with his view!"

The brunette's voice sounded horrid to the older witch's ears. How could someone like Bambi ever be willing to resort to begging? It upset Narcissa, yet at the same time it brought her comfort. Hermione Potter resorted to pleading for her sake. This young witch, who always seemed to carry the burden of others, cared about her. That knowledge brought a warm feeling to Narcissa; it felt good knowing that someone outside of her family truly cared for her.

"Bambi, love, I—" The Lady Malfoy tried to speak, but no words really seemed to suffice. How did she comfort this young woman? How did she convince such a brilliant witch that she would be safe? How could she ever even think about lying to this wonderful witch? Narcissa knew the dangers that came with her husband's decision, knew the possible consequences just like everyone else did.

"Cissa please, understand the future that bastard wants . . . that future ruins any possible happiness your little boy could ever receive. Your boy could have the world at his feet, you know he can, he's your son! You would raise him with everything he would need to accomplish it, but he can't if you continue to follow Lucius so blindly." The blonde witch blinked with shock at the passion in Bambi's voice. Her arms unconsciously wrap around her midsection, as if cradling her unborn son. The older witch knew that for some unfathomable reason Hermione loved her. But to know that those zealous feelings extended towards her unborn son as well brought tears to Narcissa's eyes. What could she have possibly done right that allowed her to earn such delightful devotion? The Lady Malfoy could not fathom any reason, but whatever brought Bambi into her life, she thanked all the gods she knew the name of, whether she believed in them or not.

"You do not understand, Hermione," the woman told the brunette softly. Narcissa understood Bambi's fear, but the young girl had never been married. She never had to learn to put her trust in a man and then keep faith that he would be more than capable to come out successful. Hermione loved and trusted her dear cousin, but she still relied so heavily on her own proficiencies that Narcissa just knew the eighteen year old would never really understand why she put her faith in her husband. "Lucius would never betray us; he would never hurt me." She felt Hermione gently clasped her shoulder and give her a soft smile. It seemed like the eighteen year old wanted to speak, yet seemed at loss for words. So Narcissa reached out for the young woman and pulled her in for a hug, trying her hardest to provide comfort to the witch who already did so much for her.

Hermione finally found her words after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "With the way he looks at you, I know he would never do so intentionally. But Narcissa you must understand that there is nothing good a homicidal psychopath can do for your son's future. All my godson would be is a doormat. So please, I implore you to help me. Help save your son's future. Give him a chance to make the world fall to his feet." The passion with which she spoke brought a flurry of feelings from the elder witch. If she ever ended up unable to care for her son, Narcissa could at least find solace in knowing that his godmother loved him and would do her best to see him safe and successful. That this wonderful witch would put her own life on the line just to save his . . . the blonde could ask for nothing more, especially not from a Slytherin. Yet even Narcissa knew that with all the potential Bambi possessed, she would never be infallible, never be invincible, never be inexorable. Despite all her feats and passion, Hermione Potter was still just a scared girl who felt like she had a lot to make up for but nowhere to start.

"Have you ever failed at something, Hermione?" The older witch asked, a mix of vulnerability and concern etching into her voice as she pulled away from the young girl. Rarely did Narcissa ever feel the need to unveil her insecurities. But with Hermione, the elder witch felt secure enough to show such weaknesses, to let her walls crumble. After all, how many times had this young girl come crying to her, seeking her comfort, revealing all of her fears and dreams? Narcissa knew so much of the girl who blossomed into a woman that it only felt right to show the brunette a part of herself; to show the girl that sometimes it is okay to be frightened, so long as the fear does not overwhelm everything else.

Hermione did not know where the woman was going with her question, but she felt an obligation to answer. Narcissa had been there for the eighteen year old; when all else seemed to crumble to dust or turn away, the witch before her stayed. Narcissa never asked for anything Hermione could not freely give, so the brunette felt it only right to answer, "Only at life, Cissa."

Her statement seemed to have opened up the floodgates as tears gathered in her eyes. It felt nice to be able to admit to a weakness, to not wear a mask and have everyone judge you for all the little things you do or say. However, it also unleashed a long line of deep-seated insecurities that Hermione never wanted opened. How could she look at this regal, gorgeous witch who always seemed so calm and in control when Hermione felt like she could barely breathe as her world fell apart around her?

The older witch gently wiped the tears of the eighteen year-old's cheeks, before her regal voice echoed in the air. "Then you know what it feels like to want to be cautious, to want to protect your family." The Lady Malfoy saw Hermione's head nod in agreement, as the brunette struggled to collect herself once more. Of course Hermione understand the desire to protect her loved ones; Narcissa knew that protecting those she cared for was all the young witch had ever known. So the Malfoy Matriarch continued speaking, "Because you know that you do not ever want to be the cause of pain for any of them. I feel the same; for my husband and child, my sister, for you and Regulus as well."

Hermione felt touched that Narcissa considered her family, but it did not change Bambi's decision. She just wanted to protect the older witch all the more. Narcissa knew her very well; she knew Hermione knew that feeling, all too well even. Yet like she admitted to her friend, she had failed at even that. Regulus was a Death Eater, tangled in a dangerous web, and she might not be able to save him. No matter how much she wanted too.

"Please Cissa, please just think about it. Use that wonderful brain of yours and plan contingencies." Hermione's whispered plea seemed to have echoed in the Lady Malfoy's ears. Narcissa did not understand what caused Bambi to seek her out, the blonde never did. But for their young witch to be this distraught meant the tides had changed. She had felt it for a long time, that approaching storm.

It festered and grew, but Narcissa never really paid it any mind. After all, a little rain always did the world some good. But for Hermione to be so uneasy about the oncoming tempest, perhaps some caution would be wise. Their Bambi had good instincts—Narcissa couldn't help but preen at knowing she taught Hermione to listen to her gut, trust her magic, and when to notice signs of danger—so it would be wise to at least have a few safety measures in place as a precaution. "How would you want me to help you?" Narcissa questioned.

"You have some unused homes from your dowry right?" Hermione sighed in relief as she watched Narcissa nod. Every pureblood witch brought a few properties into the marriage as part of her dowry, so Narcissa did not understand Hermione's relief at the information.

"Prepare them by whatever means necessary," Hermione told Narcissa. The brunette continued to go into an elaborate detail explaining exactly what the blonde could do, who to tailor the wards to, and anything else the eighteen year old could possibly think of. The teenager vaguely recalled Regulus telling her that the magical theory blurbs she wrote were nothing more than that—blurbs—and nothing would ever really make them useful. Yet they were proving quite useful as she and the older witch discussed wards, protective charms, and any other form of magic that they could think of.

This would just be the start of the plan, but it would also be the most critical. Voldemort might be powerful and he might have an army at his feet. But at the end of the day, it would only be a boy playing soldier.

The men could play soldier all they liked—now the women were waging war.

And there is Chapter 12 :D Tell me what you think about it? How did you feel about the Characters and the developing events?

As always, I would love to hear from you all! Also Copy rights are seen below.

-Kori

"I think there are two different oceans - the one that plays with you in the summer, and the one that gets so mad in the winter." © Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care. Granted mine was a variation; still I am giving credit where it is due.

"Have you ever failed at something? ...Only at Life" © Ghost in the Darkness

"The condom broke. I know how stupid that sounds. It's the reproductive version of the dog ate my homework." © Jennifer Weiner, Little Earthquakes

"When you're a kid, they tell you it's all… Grow up, get a job, get married, get a house, have a kid, and that's it. But the truth is, the world is so much stranger than that. It's so much darker. And so much madder. And so much better." ©Doctor Who, Elton Pope, Love and Monsters

13. Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

An Update! Yay! I even made this chapter extra-long as an apology…and I felt like it needed some fluff too it. This chapter is actually pretty dramatic—all I ask is that you don't hate me for it.

Thank you all for the amazing reviews and the patient understandings for why the updates took so long. I am going to try and get more chapters out this summer, keeping your fingers crossed! For those of you with FF accounts, I responded to your reviews. Thanks to all the guests who also reviewed: Guests, Elizabeth, Jazzy, lxnicelle, Truth Teller, and Sarah. I really appreciate all the reviews!

A BIG thanks to beta Angstar-54. She has been a huge help throughout this whole process, especially this chapter! I grew incredibly frustrated with it after losing half of the first version, so although I got this version to be longer I did not reread it like I should have. Angstar managed to catch the many mistakes I've made and it would not have been nearly as good (I enjoyed this chapter anyway) without her help!

And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations that you recognize belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other items belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot is solely mine.

Chapter 13: Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

"Why am I here professor?" Hermione questioned, curious as to why the headmaster wished to speak to her. So far the old man had done nothing to stall her attempts at retribution; he even let her scream at his organization's members. Although she did not trust him, Hermione found herself respecting this man—he tried to repair a damaged family, and though it might have failed at least he tried—and Hermione found that to be deserving of her respect.

"I believe it is time for us to have a chat, my dear." His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and Hermione felt her guard rise even more. She knew better than trust that look; but she also knew that if careful enough the situation may be manipulated to work in her favor as well. Dumbledore, however well-intentioned he may be, had always been a first rate manipulator. He had never been one to be easily fooled after all.

"May I inquire as to the reason for this discussion?" Hermione kept her voice neutral. It would be so easy to get riled up and the young witch did not want a repeat of the yuletides. Anger, if cultivated correctly, had always been a very useful emotion: a powerful but damning emotion that tended to leave havoc in its wake. Hermione Potter had long since decided to never let her emotions rule her, especially not when they posed the risk of ruining a potentially life altering discussion. The brunette may be young, but she knew very well that Dumbledore could be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy. Voldemort thought himself capable of overcoming Dumbledore with pathetic power plays, something that would cost him in the future. That is if she did not kill him first.

"You have shown . . . distressing tendencies as of late, and they lead an old man to be concerned," He clasped his hands together, feigning the harmless totter appearance he normally portrayed. Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering at what the headmaster might be trying to do; surely he did not think himself harmless? "Lemon drop?" He questioned, tilting his head to the jar slightly to the left of him. The Head Girl shook her head, trying not to frown. The brunette knew the Headmaster had an obsession with candy, but she figured the sweet had been laced with something innocuous. 'How very Slytherin of the man', she mused.

"As much as I appreciate the concern, Headmaster I am in no mood for your word games. Let's just cut to the point, shall we?" Hermione responded, her eyes narrowed. She did not want to get stuck in word games and manipulation—if the man called her into his office then he should come out and say what he wanted to impart.

"You are young, but your eyes hold such wisdom that it is startling to see—it saddens me to see it." Dumbledore's voice held so much sincerity in it that it honestly startled Hermione. She opened her mouth, but closed it abruptly, unable to find words. "However, I have to wonder about your choice of friends—now before you become upset with me, I only ask for your safety. I must wonder if they show you the same devotion as you show them. It is dark times we are heading into, and I fear more than one good witch and wizard will be lost to us. If they protect you with the same ferocity you have shown me, I believe you to be safe." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with warmth. He wished to guide her in the proper direction; Hermione knew he only tried to do so with good intentions. But was that not the quickest path to Hell? She had heard stories of Dumbledore growing up as a child—the hero, the victor, the man of the Greater Good. But as she spent years under his guidance, she began to see the man as well: flawed, biased, unorganized, and human.

"I believe that at your heart, you are a good man, misguided but kind. However, from what I've always seen, you set your ideals before reality and that has blinded your perception," she admitted. Hermione tried her best to articulate her opinion, gathering her thoughts so that he might understand her view. So many people saw her as a frustrated child, tired of being teased. But Hermione had long since moved past her schoolyard problems. In the real world, it did not matter if you were a pureblood, half-blood, creature, or even a muggle—everyone stumbled and fell whilst trying to run, they all bled red as war ravaged their worlds, and Death would rip away their loved ones. It's beautiful as it is tragic, the only real constant in the world.

"You once searched for power, following a friend head first into what very easily might have led to the bloodiest war in Wizarding history," Hermione told him, her voice barely above a whisper. She considered her next words carefully. The brunette did not want to offend the Headmaster, merely wanting to get her point across. "Would your views have changed had Arianna not passed?"

Blue eyes widened, clearly surprised at the question. Dumbledore had often thought about that very same question in the privacy of his mind, never giving voice to the hypotheticals that resided there. The old man liked to believe that if nothing else, he and Grindelwald might have managed to control the temptations known as the Deathly Hallows. That they could have sparked a revolution and embarked on a journey to change the Wizarding World for the Greater Good. "How do you know about that?" The query came out raspy, like he struggled to articulate the words.

"Friendships forged from similar circumstances prove to be some of the strongest," The Head Girl replied, a small smile adorning her lips. The brunette saw the wheels turning behind those blue eyes. Hermione knew his next question and part of her felt hesitant to share it; knowing her little safe haven would be revealed to the Potters; yet, she also knew how much admiration she had for the little pub and not even her legal guardians could really tear her away from it. That place had become her home.

"Is that where you stay when school is over, Miss. Potter?" Dumbledore questioned, understanding twinkling in those blue eyes. Her statement certainly explained her whereabouts to the old man and even how she came across such information. Most people that confronted him about Grindelwald had been reporters for the Wizarding papers, and their sources less than credible.

Hermione knew that answering that question could be problematic. The man before her might be kind, but he had a devious side to him that most people brushed off as senility. "Aberforth has been very generous to allow me room and board," Hermione replied with a shrug. The brunette did not feel the need to elaborate more on her relationship to the older man, at least not to this stranger. Aberforth had comforted Hermione in some of her more problematic times. He understood feeling isolated and even emotionally distant from family members. The old pub owner even taught her how to compartmentalize her emotions so that she did not feel overwhelmed.

"You have yet to answer my question, Headmaster." Hermione looked at the old man sitting across from her. Dumbledore seemed to be mulling over his thoughts and the brunette vaguely wondered if he might be debating whether or not to answer her loaded question. The old man certainly knew that her answer depended on how he responded to her question. Yet, minutes ticked by and it seemed like the Headmaster would not be answering her question anytime soon.

"Then do not question my motives when you cannot even answer to your own. I might be young but I do know my mind, I will protect my friends or I will watch the world burn trying." Hermione replied, her voice colder than the frostiest of glacial waters. The Head Girl knew of course that Dumbledore only had the best intentions for her; but she had grown so tired of people trying to steer her into a path they saw fit. The brunette did not want to walk the well-travelled and beaten path that so many had already conquered. She wanted to forge her own, get cuts and bruises as trees and other shrubbery scraped against her, fall on her knees as she travelled uncharted territory. Hermione Potter had wanted to make her own path, especially since the rest of the world kept trying to steer her in the opposite direction.

The brunette stood up, deciding to end the conversation now before things became heated. Hermione did not want a repeat of the meeting with her parents, especially not when Dumbledore had been so polite about the whole thing. As she reached the door, Hermione decided to say just one more thing. "You are a good man, one that I know believes he means well. But please do not damn me or anyone else simply because you believe your intentions are wiser than our own choices. We may make mistakes, but they are ours to make."

The door shut behind her and Dumbledore found himself blinking slowly as he digested her words. No one had ever chastised him, even as politely as she had, since his mother had passed away. Hermione Potter certainly held wisdom beyond her years, though he had yet to figure out how she truly obtained such astuteness. Perhaps she just had an old soul, one wrecked with the travesties of a war-torn world.

"I wish you all the best, Miss Potter." Dumbledore had a feeling the young woman would need it, fore even a woman forged from the fires might be burned under the heat of war. He had never been one to pray to higher deities, but he found himself making a silent plea.

A plea for repentance from those he might have wrongly misjudged.

For peace for those whose lives he might have ruined.

For this whole war to just end.

"Hermione!" Hagrid greeted, a grin stretching across his mouth. The half-giant blinked in surprise as he found the young witch walking towards his house. The young witch had always been rather friendly to him, something the half-giant appreciated. He also enjoyed her frequent visits to ask about magical creatures; Hagrid always felt touched that she went to him instead of the Care of Magical Creatures professor.

"Hello Hagrid, I just stopped by for a quick question." Hermione said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The brunette knew her housemates thought it strange of her to go see the Grounds Keeper, but after years of it they just started to ignore it. She never responded to their inquiries anyway. Besides, Hagrid had always been kind—offering aid to frightened first years, lost on the ground or scared creatures in need of aid. The half-giant had never discriminated against people like so many others that the brunette knew. It had been one of the reasons that Hermione decided to befriend him. Hermione also recognized the loneliness that man seemed to broadcast and she felt he, of all people, deserved a friend to talk to.

"Oh? What question 'at be?" He asked, curiosity piquing. The young girl had always asked good questions, something he enjoyed since most of the students at Hogwarts did not care really to learn about magical creatures.

"What do you know about the ancestry of Veelas?" Hermione asked. She had scavenged the library, even went so far as getting access to the Restricted Section to read all the books she managed to find. But aside from that one blasted book back in her fourth year, Hermione did not find anything more about that Familiam Sirin and it infuriated her to no end.

"Na' much, 'm 'fraid." Hagrid told her. The half-giant felt bad that did not have the answers to whatever questions she had conjured in her head. "'oweva I do know a man I could write ta 'at might be able to 'elp!" He told her, nodding his head. Hagrid wanted to try and help out the only person aside from Dumbledore that had ever really been kind to him; most people just seemed to ignore his existence.

"That would be brilliant, Hagrid!" Hermione replied, grinning happily. She knew Hagrid could help her! She had scoured the Hogwarts library, and even tried a few books she had found in the Black and Malfoy library. Of course the private libraries were far too vast so she never really managed to finish looking through all the books.

A young voice called out Hermione's name, drawing her attention towards a small redhead that Hagrid assumed to be a Weasley. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but it seems I'm needed elsewhere." The brunette apologized. Hagrid just waved the apology off; he knew that as Head Girl Hermione led a busy life. He just appreciated that she managed to find time to visit a lonely half-giant.

"Na' to worry. I'll owl ya' when I get one 'ack, 'Mione." Hagrid told the young witch, grinning. She returned the smile before darting off in the direction of the young boy.

Hagrid would miss Hermione once she left Hogwarts; but at least he knew she would write him the occasional letter. The brunette had a kind heart, one that always helped someone in need. Hagrid appreciated the girl's friendship far more than words could do justice. Since his first year at Hogwarts people had always just assumed him to be an unintelligent half-breed, one that they should not even deign speaking too. Yet this young pureblooded witch, in Slytheirn no less, seemed unconcerned for what her peers might think about her talking to him. Nope, Hermione Potter only cared about the person—for the most part anyway. The half-giant knew she had a nasty temper and did not really get along with James Potter. But he also knew that the brunette valued a person's actions over words spoken.

And for whatever reason she deemed him worthy of her friendship. So yeah, he would miss her when she graduated Hogwarts, but he knew she would write to him.

Because a witch like that never forgot a friend.

Regulus stood there before the group of people still surprised he even went through with this outrageous plan. He had told himself he wanted to make the Potters go through hell as they groveled on their knees for his precious girl's forgiveness. It had taken months of planning to finally get the chance, to at least confront one Potter family member; but he found the wait worth it now that he could release the pent up rage that had been slowly accumulating within him. He just graduated Hogwarts two weeks ago, and the timing for this chat had been absolutely perfect.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked surprised more than anything else. James, Lily and he had decided to go on a picnic to ease up the atmosphere. Things had been getting tense lately and they all felt that a little reprieve might be a good thing. But with his little brother's appearance, Sirius began to think their nice get together might be more of a hassle than they thought.

"Probably come to threaten us and gloat about all the people he killed." The statement came from Evans, which surprised Regulus more than it really should have. He had grown accustomed to her being a crusader of equality, of second chances. But the redhead had proved that esteemed opinion wrong when she ended her friendship with Severus. That statement washed any doubt about her away from his mind, of course the chit only saw him as a bad guy. Very rarely did anyone ever see him as a person now, let alone the child soldier he was forced to become.

Oh, he knew that Evans did not mean for him to hear the statement with how softly she grumbled it. But hear it he did, and Regulus' eyes narrowed at the accusation. He tolerated a lot of bullshit, but he refused to tolerate being accused of something he had no control over, of something that haunted him every time he closed his eyes. And nothing on the bloody planet sparked his anger more than such wrongful insinuations about his character, especially by someone how knew literally nothing of the situation. "You do not have a clue what you are talking about! You're just an ignorant—"

"What? I'm just an ignorant Mudblood?" Lily sneered. Her emerald eyes blazing with a fury that easily rivaled his cousin Bellatrix's. The young Black could also see the fury in his brother and Potter's gaze, and he just rolled his eyes at the sheer stupidity. Did they not realize how much their actions speak? No wonder Bambi stopped trying to communicate with them, their actions were ruled solely by their emotions—they never bothered to try and see underneath the words, the actions, the lies being told. These wizards just assumed the worst of everyone. Not very surprising, everyone did. It had always been easier to doubt people, to accuse others of being the cause of all the world's problems, especially in times of war.

Bambi always spoke about a world of colors hitting, but the seventeen year old never really understood why she continued to say that. He saw color; granted the color made him sick every time he saw it, but he still saw the world in color. His best mate always believed the world of colors would make things better, that things would fall into place and people would become friendlier to those they once wronged.

Regulus did not share her optimistic, naïve view. He saw the earth drenched in red, his hands soaked in that very same crimson as children cried and the bodies he had been forced to kill litered the earth, haunting his dreams. He saw Death in vibrant shades of red everywhere and on everyone. It seemed like no matter where he turned, that wrathful color was always present—inescapable. He did not want to live in a world with that awful color at the forefront of everyday life.

"You're an ignorant, bratty witch. You are no more special than anyone else and I am bloody tired of you thinking so," he corrected with a tired voice. To his own ears it sounded as if he corrected a child instead of a witch older than himself. The witch standing before him seemed like the type to take offense to his tone, but Regulus no longer cared about sparing feelings. If they were going to treat him like a criminal, then he would damn well forgo any politeness and tell them exactly what he thought. So he continued on his rant, refusing to allow any of them a chance to speak before he got his say in.

"What makes you any different?" Regulus snarled. He had grown tired of the little witch before him complaining about how unfair the World had been to her kind. She knew nothing of their society nor did she ever really try to learn about it. Their culture dealt with far more than just magic; it had intricate social hierarchies and political agendas, something she and her ilk never really bothered to understand. "What makes you any more special than those who died? Who were tortured? Are being tortured as we speak? Or those who've had family stripped away from them? Face it, you are nothing special Evans and nothing in the world will change that. People will die and the world will never bend to anyone's feet—it is a simple matter of life. Quit trying to make yourself more important than you actually are," Regulus spat. He had enough of that self-righteous condemnation she seemed to emit.

Evans would never amount to anything more than an average witch—she did not strike fear into the heart of the population like his cousin Bella, nor did she have the cunning mind of his darling cousin Cissa, and she certainly did not possess the fierce loyalty that Bambi always showed. The witches he knew were better than the Muggleborn, not because of their superior blood status, but because they had something they were willing to die for. Fear mixed with determination made a dangerous combination—dangerous but beautiful. And the witches he knew were all willing to make sacrifices, not for the respect of bigoted people, or to win the adoration of strangers, or even for what they viewed as wrongful injustices cast upon them, but for those who were in too deep with no way out.

Hermione and Narcissa willingly entered a war they desired no part of because they were family and family protects each other—they did not care for the fame or glory that came with stopping a madman. These brave witches only cared for him and the other child soldiers that got a life marred in red thrust upon them. Of course, Regulus also knew that his eldest cousin did not share the other two's desire to protect.

Dear Bella happily entered the war because for some mad reason his cousin adored the lunatic. Hermione liked to compare Bella and the Dark Lord to a muggle book villain—the name Joker and Harley . . . something sounded familiar to Regulus but he usually tuned Hermione's explanation out, preferring to stay clueless to any of Bella's reasoning. Yet he knew that even his psychotic cousin preferred killing the pest than see him harmed. When they were younger, Bella had often been the protector—always sweet, comforting, nurturing, but always ready to battle out other people's wars. Regulus knew those traits were still inside her somewhere, probably buried deep down. The young Black had always wondered what turned Bella into the witch the world saw. Bambi said it probably had to do with her always playing protector: putting on a brave face only helped so much before the cracks and flaws manifested in other ways.

Regulus understood that Evans only wanted to do what she thought was best for a world she saw as unjust, but her views were biased and colored by other opinions. The witches he grew up with did not share that liability; instead they jumped to their own conclusions and they decided that they've had enough: enough manipulations, enough fighting, enough bloodshed.

The young Black had felt touched that people cared enough about him to partake in such a dangerous war. But it did not bring him any comfort, knowing that his loved ones were willing—and just might—die for him. In fact knowing it broke his heart because he knew that sacrifices had to be made for this war to be over. His Bambi, sweet and caring Bambi, must harden her heart and deal death with a false cheer if she was to keep her loved ones safe. He knew that in the comfort of the night when she thought herself alone, Bambi would remember the damages she caused, the families she tore apart. Potter and his friends believed that all Slytherins were heartless people; they never realized just how much it might break them each time they were forced to fight, to kill.

"I see people fighting for the lives of their loved ones, out on the battle field or behind closed doors. I see people risking everything and never asking anyone for help. I see people dying and all you care about is that the rest of the world sees you as a petulant Mudblood. So tell me how that makes you more important than them?!" Regulus snarled at the redhead, his voice echoing in the silence around them. Hermione always spoke about people getting caught up in their own insecurities, and how sometimes it blinds them. For the rest of her life, Mudblood would be her label—she could never change that. There would always be some pureblood that saw her as just another Mudblood. But she could change how she saw it; the redheaded spitfire might lose the battle, but she'd win the war if she just understood that the word was just that, a word. Words were harmful, acidic even. Sometimes they even cut deeper than the sharpest knife, Regulus knew that from experience; however, he also learned that words only have as much power as one allows them to have. "Not everyone cares about the status of your blood, your behavior is what's so aggravating."

"So you're saying you don't hate me because I'm a Muggleborn?" Lily asked, her green eyes blinking in surprise. Regulus had always been one of those she just assumed hated her for her blood; he hung out with Severus after all, everyone knew what kind of people he associated with. But then again, he also thought the world of Hermione Potter, who although hot-tempered and rather rude, seemed distraught at the news of Regulus becoming a Death Eater. A light blush graced her cheeks as she realized she might have rushed to conclusions just a bit too soon. Before she found the words to apologize or even blame her out of control hormones, the young man replied to her question.

"It is not your blood I care for but your actions. I hate you because you're loyalty is flimsy and you put too much emphasis on words. I hate you because you changed and no longer resemble the woman Hermione used to respect," Regulus responded, shaking his head. He did hate the woman, but it never boiled down to the reason she thought. How could he not dislike her on some level? She threw away years of friendship because of one measly word. Regulus had expected more of the Muggleborn; he thought better of her, but her actions only served to prove that she did not deserve it.

His statement clearly surprised the three. Once again Regulus felt insulted. So first he's a criminal and then he is not capable of deep thoughts? Why did everyone seem to see him for something other than himself? He had reasons for the things he did, for the people he disliked. Regulus never simply regurgitated the words and beliefs his parents and their cronies normally spouted. Thanks to Bambi, Cissa and Severus, he learned to think for himself.

Or perhaps they were just startled at the fact that Hermione had once admired a Mudblood. The notion certainly seemed to throw a kink into the image they built up of her: the cold-hearted, vindictive pureblood advocate. Regulus looked Evans directly in the eyes, trying to see what she found so surprising. From what he remembered of the Gryffindor in school, Evans seemed rather fond of Hermione, at least until Red's seventh year. With that noted, Regulus figured that what shocked her most had been the fact that he hated her for a reason other than her Mudblood status. Now his brother and Potter on the other hand, probably were surprised by the whole admission. Two Slytherins admitting they had no problem with a non-pureblood did seem a bit farfetched, even to Regulus. However, as Bambi often joked, they were also lion-lovers; admittedly this probably explained a lot about their unusual Slytherin behaviors. At least they kept it a well-guarded secret.

"Why did you come here, Regulus, if not to insult my wife?" The voice that spoke surprised Regulus. He never expected James Potter to be the voice of reason out of the group; in fact when he first came here, he expected it to be Evans—though technically it would be Potter now, not that he cared to pay attention to any of the technicalities. Vaguely he wondered if Hermione ever got a wedding invitation. Though even if she did, she probably burned the blasted solicitation; he needed to ask her about that later.

"Hermione came to me a few months back and during a fight she revealed some things to me," Regulus admitted, his voice dropping down an octave. The teen hated revealing anything Bambi told him in confidence, but if he did not tell Potter about this, his best mate might always be on the opposing end of the family she loved so much. He told his brother once before that the Potter siblings were just strangers, and he meant it. But instead of telling his brother, Regulus should have told the Potter heir. "I think that you should really start fixing all the things you broke."

James bristled at the insult, but did not speak. He wanted to hear what his the young Black had to say to him. Clearly, Regulus had not interrupted their picnic with the intention to pick a fight so James did not see any harm in letting him speak. The man before him had always been a brat, but he never did anything without reason.

"Your sister has always been someone burdened with insecurities; but until that fight, I never realized how deep those insecurities actually went. She's willing to die for me because she does not see that her life is just as important." Regulus choked out the last words, his fists clenched tightly at his side. It still upset him to remember the words Hermione said, how she sounded so sure of it. He shook his head, trying to get the echo of those words out of his head. Seeing his Bambi like that had been one of his worst nightmares brought to life.

"How does that—?" Sirus' voice broke Regulus out of his thoughts. The teen glared at his older brother, abruptly silencing him. One of Bambi's biggest pet peeves, one Regulus happened to share with her, was people barging into private family business like they actually had a right. Sirius might have been brought in on one too many family meetings, but Regulus absolutely refused to let his brother in on this one. Hermione deserved at least one family encounter that did not have Sirius playing an active role.

"Stay out of this, Sirius. I am talking to Potter. The only reason I am even doing this in front of you and Evans is because I cannot get Potter alone." Regulus replied, his voice firm. Regulus preferred to have this conversation behind closed doors and with only the Potter Heir (and perhaps the Patriarch and Matriarch) present, but due to circumstance, the young Black had to make do with what he could. So Regulus redirected his attention to James Potter once more.

"You were supposed to be her protector in school, but instead you did the opposite. I know she forgave you because at the end of the day, they were just childish pranks. But those pranks shook every bit of trust she had in you, the one person she should never have feared. Hermione always acts far too mature for her age so most people keep forgetting that she's just a kid herself." Regulus' soft voice seemed to have captured the attention of all three people. He smirked, glad to know that his years of manipulation seemed to have paid off. Growing up he learned many ways to manipulate people. His mother screamed to get her way, the Dark Lord and his followers used force, but Cissa taught him that soft whispers and carefully crafted words were always the most effective.

"You are brash and always rush into things; it is why your relationship with Hermione is so strained today," Regulus replied, his tone still soft but now carrying an edge of firmness. If anything came out of this conversation today, then he hoped that James Potter actually listened to his words. These words needed to be said, and if he really thought about it, Regulus knew that this conversation had been long overdue.

"Bambi still loves you, none of your actions changed that Potter. But Hermione also learned that you couldn't be forced to learn from your mistakes either." The teen tried his best to think of a suitable way to phrase his next statement. If he worded it wrong, the whole purpose of the meeting would have been for nothing. He'd rather not leave Bambi with a bigger mess than she originally started with. So he took a few minutes to really think about his next words, leaving the three Gryffindor alumni to look at each other, obviously sharing their own silent conversation.

"She put up a fence and I know you've tried for years to take it down, Potter. But a little word of advice: you're never supposed to take a fence down until you know why it was put up," Regulus finally said. A muggle poet had once said that good fences make good neighbors, and the young Black believed that statement to be true. But he also knew some people did not, and that others—like Bambi—took the phrase far too literally, erecting a wall to keep the world at bay.

"So why did she put one up?" James questioned. The seventeen year old saw the wheels inside Potter's head turning, which made Regulus smirk. The young Black felt pleased that at least he finally got the Potter Heir to start thinking a little more Grey. The teen might not agree with a multitude of things Bambi says, but he did agree that the world dealt in shades of grey—never solely black and white. If nothing else in his life ever did any good, then at least he could be happy with the knowledge that he got Potter to start thinking on a deeper level.

"When you figure that out, go talk to her," Regulus responded, turning his back on the group of people. He did not have to know that the three were looking at him confused; they were lions and never thought to look underneath the actions and words of others. But by Potter's actions today, perhaps there might just be some hope for the prats yet.

Merlin knew Bambi would need all the hope in the world if he fails his next task.

Andromeda dropped the teacup she held as her youngest sister walked into the parlor. She had never expected to see another Black, let alone have one walk into her home. "C-Cissa, what a-are you doing h-here?" Andromeda found herself choking on the question, still in shock from the surprise visit.

"I know it is horribly impolite to intrude, especially unannounced," Narcissa responded, her hands firmly grasping at the silk sleeves of her robe. The blonde did not really know what compelled her to knock on her elder sister's door. The Lady Malfoy looked at her sister, noticing all the faint lines that now graced the familiar face. She had missed her sister, she really did. Bellatrix and their father might denounce Andy as a blood-traitor, but that did not change the love Narcissa harbored towards her sister. Andy shared her blood, which meant the dark haired witch mattered, along with any of her kin. "I wanted to offer protection for your daughter."

Andromeda Tonks had a multitude of scenarios running through her head, a number of plausible explanations to clarify her younger sister's impromptu visit. Yet not a single one of those scenarios came ever close to the actual reason. Blinking slowly, Andromeda tried to find the words to speak. "I am sorry, what did you say?"

"I know I may not have always been the nicest to you after you left, Andy. You owe me no kindness, especially not with how I treated you." The elder sister certainly agreed with her younger sister. She did not owe Cissa any kindness, especially not with how the blonde had ignored her once their father disowned her. But Andy always had a soft spot for her younger sister, and so she could not find it in herself to unleash all the pent up anger she had on Cissa. "You must understand I did all those things out of anger. You left us and I back then, I never understood why." The blonde spoke softly, her voice just barely audible, yet Andromeda heard it. It broke her heart to know that her sister felt abandoned by her, but it also made her feel better as well. At least all of Cissa's hatred stemmed from a misconstrued notion of abandonment instead of bigotry.

"Back then?" The dark haired woman tried to keep the curiosity out of her tone, she truly did try, but the statement just made her too interested. Narcissa had always been bullheaded, firm in her views of the world. Andromeda knew that not much convinced her younger sister change her mind. But apparently something had.

"I know a young woman ready to die for our cousin Regulus. I know that she'd even be willing to die for names and faces she has yet to meet. It's as beautiful as it is tragic." A sorrowful chuckle escaped the blonde's lips. Hermione had always viewed the world differently, always measured it by an uncharted degree of impartiality and damnation. Narcissa still did not know exactly how Bambi's way of things tended to work, but the blonde admired its fairness nonetheless. "And the only reason she has for it is love."

Understanding lit Andromeda's eyes. It seemed her younger sister finally realized that she meant no ill will when she left the family to be with Ted. "The same reason you realized that I left for," Mrs. Tonks spoke, her voice soft. The blonde just nodded, not bothering to say anymore. The Lady Malfoy took a few deep breaths through her nose as she tried to calm herself down. She did not mean for this to be an emotional visit, she merely wished to ask the other witch if she might be willing to accept her offer of protection. Silver eyes looked at the older woman questioningly, willing her to answer the question. Narcissa did not think she could find her voice quick enough to repeat the question.

"I thought your husband sided with Voldemort?" Andromeda questioned, her own silver eyes narrowing. The dark haired witch doubted her sister had any intention of harming her kin, let alone a child, but Mrs. Tonks also knew that Voldemort did not care for propriety so long as he obtained an advantage—a metamorphagus under his control seemed like an advantage worthy of risk. She watched as her younger sister's nostril's flared and her eyes alighted with outrage.

"My husband is not barbaric enough to ever harm a child! And the only reason we are not neutral is because his bloody father forced him into those ranks!" Narcissa fumed. Part of her knew that if she had been in Andromeda's position, she would have inquired for the same information. Yet her respect for her husband did not allow her to sit idle while his honor was impugned. Narcissa took another deep breath before speaking once more, this time in a much softer tone, "But if you must know, he does not know about this."

Andromeda looked at her sister in surprise, clearly not expecting that last bit of information. Narcissa had always been a proper witch, following the rules to a T. The young blonde guarded what she deemed hers fiercely and efficiently, but for the most part she left the protection and other non-house related duties up to the men. "Then why are you willing to take my daughter into your protection? Furthermore, where would that protection be if not Malfoy Manor?"

Narcissa looked at her elder sister, trying to determine whether or not Andy asked her questions out of curiosity or general consideration. They were certainly valid questions. Until today, Andromeda had most likely always assumed that she sided with the rest of the family and labeled Andy as a Blood-traitor. "Bambi—the woman I spoke of early—and I grew tired of seeing children being turned into soldiers. We are tired of seeing our world ravaged by war. We want to do something, to be out there fighting; however, we know that there are enough people fighting this war and far too few who are protecting those that need it. You are family, Andy, and that means your daughter will get every protection I can afford to give her." Narcissa decided to answer the question as honestly as possible, without having to elaborate too much of the plan. The blonde knew that their plans had been carefully crafted, but secrecy had been paramount: one wrong word and the plans would completely fall apart. The Lady Malfoy and Hermione Potter wanted the war to end, they were tired of wondering who would be the next dead familiar face. Narcissa had grown weary of seeing the list of the dead grow longer, but she also knew that before anything can really begin to stop, they needed to get their plans set and their traps laid, with as few causalities as possible.

"You never told me where, Cissa," Andromeda replied. Part of her fears melted away at her sister's admission. Narcissa just wanted to see her family safe, something the dark-haired witch fully understood. At the same time, Mrs. Tonks also felt fear crawling up her spine at the small piece of information she knew her sister withheld. The blonde grew up a Black and she cultivated the skills her family taught during her years in Slytherin; so Andromeda knew fully well that whatever game Narcissa had set into play had dangerous risks. The dark haired witch just did not know if she felt brave enough to risk her daughter in it.

"I have a dowry in France," Narcissa replied. The blonde took another deep breath, steeling her nerves. She had to hold back a smile as she thought of her next words, because she saw the scenario so clearly in her head. "Bambi has decided to talk to Lucius about sending me to France, away from the war, so that I may carry out my pregnancy in peace. Her goal is to prevent yet another miscarriage," the blonde told her sister, the last word barely a whisper. Narcissa still dreaded the thought of a miscarriage, so far she had gone a few months with no problems. The Lady Malfoy still kept bated breath though, knowing that her healer said due to inbreeding in the Wizarding World a miscarriage could occur up to six months into the pregnancy.

"And why should I trust this Bambi person when I do not know them?" Andromeda asked. Already the dark haired witch could feel respect for this young, nameless witch. If she had gotten Narcissa to re-evaluate her relationships and the pureblood beliefs she had grown up with, then surely the young woman had proven herself trustworthy.

"My apologies, I have grown so accustom to using her nickname that I forget not everyone knows her by it. Her name is Hermione Potter, she recently graduated from Hogwarts with Regulus." At that name, Andromeda's eyes widened. She knew the name, from the Order meetings and from the mountain of praise that young Bill Weasley always spouted off. In fact, little Bill's admiration even rubbed off on Charlie, who often played with her daughter Nymphadora.

"Well then, I believe I am open to setting up an agreement—I want in on whatever scheme your planning though, little sister." Andromeda replied, a smirk adorning her lips. She watched as her sister's eyes lit up in relief.

Andromeda did not know Hermione Potter personally, but there seemed to be many children that adored her, which for the dark haired witch was good enough reason to trust her. Children were blunt, they did not know how to be sneaky—they said what they felt and they trusted their instincts. They were naïve and sometimes careless, but they never extend undue praise.

The dark haired witch considering sending the young woman flowers: even if Narcissa really did feel remorseful for her past actions, Andromeda knew her sister never had enough courage to show up at her home unannounced without being pushed, and she had a feeling Hermione had been that push. A smile graced Andromeda's lips; apparently Hermione Potter wanted to fix more than just the war. Andromeda had never been more grateful to a stranger in her life.

At that moment, Andy decided that 'Bambi' would no longer be a stranger.

Not if she had her way.

"Regulus?" Hermione walked in to her friend's room, only to find it empty which struck her as odd. Regulus rarely left his home except when ordered. Since her friend had not discussed any new 'missions' with her, she doubted his absence had been a result of whatever harebrained plot the bastard Voldemort had planned. So where could her friend be?

The brunette knew that Regulus did not care for going outside all that often. Leo disliked being reminded of all the wrongs in the world, and seeing people stare at you, frightened, in the street always brought up the worst memories for her friend. No one accused him of being a Death Eater, but no one withheld the veiled accusations either.

Brown eyes scanned the room, looking for any signs of what might have happened. The room did not look messy, which meant that Regulus had been the only one in it prior to her arrival. Since she found the room in its usual pristine condition, Hermione ruled out that there might have been a struggle between her friend and other Death Eaters. That eased her distress slightly; at least she did not have to worry about Leo bleeding out somewhere. Yet his absence still left her curious since he normally told her where she might be able to find him—just in case she ever needed to contact him. The brunette had looked around Grimmauld Place already, but she also knew that it was plausible for him to be in another room of the house, one she had never been in before. Hermione had already checked his usual dwellings—and none of the house elves had seen him in the kitchen or the Library. So that begged the question of where her dear friend was?

Cinnamon colored eyes scanned the room once more. This time a small, neatly folded piece of parchment caught her attention. Regulus had always been a very organized person, so for parchment to be on his pillow instead of on the desk made her curious. Did Regulus perhaps have a secret admirer he went out to meet? The brunette would not be surprised if that ended up being the case; her best mate had always been incredibly fit. Before Hermione knew it, she found herself sitting on the bed and opening up the letter. Regulus might be upset that she invaded his privacy, in fact he might yell at her and throw a few hexes first, but he would always forgive her in the end for little indiscretions like this.

B.,

I know you told me not to do so—but I cannot stand by and do nothing while that madman has created monstrosities. To sit back and do nothing only stains my own and my family's honor further. I cannot allow that to happen.

I am sorry for having you find out this way. But as much as I needed to do this, I needed to keep you safe as well. You are foolish enough to insist on joining me, and I cannot put you in harm's way—no matter how much it might have helped. I prefer to die trying to correct the wrongs of a mad man than be the reason for you to endure any pain.

With all my love,

L.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed out, shock washing over her. She felt tears sliding down her cheeks, unable to do anything but clutch the letter. This is not be happening. It just could not be happening. Surely not? No, it must be a dream, a horrid, God-awful dream that she needed to wake up from. So why wasn't she waking up if that were true? Did one not usually wake up the moment they realized the situation to be a mere dream? Everything felt so real to her, the crinkling of the parchment in her hand, the thrumming of her heart in her chest, everything. Everything pointed to the fact that this horrid nightmare was, in fact, reality. Hermione shook her head, wanting it to be nothing more than an awful dream.

It just had to be a dream because she could not stand the other alternative.

"KREACHER!"

And there it is! Please don't be mad at me? I would love to hear what you guys think of this chapter! All copyrights that do not belong to JKR are below.

"…take a fence down until you knew why it was put up." ©Robert Frost

"Good fences make good neighbors," ©Robert Frost

14. Persephone, the Queen

Thanks for all of those who reviewed. You guys are just simply amazing! This chapter had actually been really hard for me to write which was in part why it took so long for the update. I'm trying to post a least two more chapters before the end of August. Cross your Fingers!

A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Chapter 14: Persephone, The Queen.

"Miss Bambi called?" The house elf asked, hesitant. The witch had always been kind to him, unlike that blood traitor that once lived in the house of his Mistress, never raising her voice when he did something she disliked—a rather frequent occurrence, though why Kreacher did not know. So to hear her scream his name meant that he would be punished. He should be punished, especially if the Miss' anger had to do with what the house elf thought it did. He would gladly take any punishment the Miss would give him.

"Where is he?" Her voice felt like mini glaciers pricking across his skin. The girl who never hesitated to offer him a kind word and a friendly order; it felt odd to experience this side of her, the side that radiated power—the very reason he knew it would be foolish to follow his Mistress' dislike of the young witch. Oh, Kreacher would admit that he disliked the woman at first, writing her off as a rude Blood-traitor who insulted his lovely Mistress. But Master adored the woman, even a lowly house elf could see that, so he begrudgingly accepted the girl—he was a good house elf and trusted his Master's decisions implicitly.

"Master Regulus had a mission . . ." he found himself unable to finish speaking as magic pinned him against the wall. The house elf's eyes widened as he realized the magic holding him licked across his skin, volatile and fluctuating—clearly a sign of accidental magic. Kreacher knew better than to mess with this kind of unstable magic, a good house elf like himself always did. This magic vacillated and caressed the skin; it promised dangerous delights, fiery fury, and tantalizing temptations. But the magic felt wicked as well—any sudden movement would surely be his last.

"Tell me where he is, Kreacher. I will not repeat myself again." The color brown faded from the young witch's eyes, an icy blue replacing the usually warm color. The house elf couldn't help but gulp at the level of peril held within her tone. He frowned, struggling—he wanted to save Master Regulus, he did. But to do so would violate direct orders from the young Master himself. Only bad House Elves violated orders of their Masters and he had never been a bad elf!

As if sensing his dilemma, the eighteen-year -old witch spoke once more. Hermione tried to keep her voice soft, reassuring even, though her eyes still held that frightening icy blue shade. "He will die, Kreacher. You don't want Master Regulus dead do you?" At the question the house elf's eyes widened astronomically and he shook his head frantically before he began to hit his head. The mere thought repulsed him. Why would he ever want the young Master dead? The master who treated him so kindly, who he watched grow up and flourish. To disobey or to kill? Which sin would be the least dreadful to live with?

The house elf took a deep, shaky breath. No matter what, Kreacher would gladly take any punishment given for breaking this order; he would rather face a thousand angry Masters and Mistresses than have to face the brunt of this young witch's wrath. She felt like fire and ice, sinful promises and hopeful tomorrows. The Miss still pinning him to the wall with her magic was giving him a choice—disobey orders, but save his Master's life or forever suffer with the knowledge that he killed Master Regulus. The decision required no thought at all, especially when he would only be helping her. The witch would do all of the work; the Miss would protect him as well, he knew the brunette would.

"Kreacher will take Miss to where Master Regulus is," He croaked out. The magic pressing against him had slowly begun to add more pressure and he found it harder to breath as the seconds ticked by. He knew that under normal circumstances, Miss Bambi would never hurt someone; however, nothing about this situation could ever be deemed normal either. His Master could very well be dead by now, and all because some filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods decided to claim his Mistress's society.

With his statement the magic pulled back, no longer touching him. However, he knew better than to relax; the magic might no longer be pinning him, but that did not mean it would not strike once more. The witch had long ago lost her tight control, Kreacher knew by the artic shade of blue that the young Miss' magic ruled her at the present. The dark ethereal shade of blue promising harsh retribution should he give her magic any reason to lash out once more. The House Elf frowned, rubbing his neck once, before reaching out a hand to the brunette. Once he felt her hand in his, he apparated to the location.

"REGULUS!" Hermione screamed, tears running down her face. Kreacher had apparated them just in time to see an Inferi grab Regulus. Without even thinking, the eighteen-year-old flicked her wand, casting an Incendio at the body attempting to drag her friend down into the water. The creature let go of Regulus and turned its attention onto the young witch, making her gulp as it headed towards her. Ire still burned in her very veins, but witnessing her best friend's near death had shaken her enough to light a spark of fear in her.

"Kreacher, apparate over to Regulus and bring him to me. I'll keep the Inferi away as best I can." Her voice held that fire in it once more—that aberrant promise of reprisal and ferocity—but Kreacher noticed how the fear seemed to be rolling off of her as well. Miss had given him orders, and even though he did not belong to her, they were for the good of his Master and therefore he would do his best to complete them as quickly as possible.

The witch proved herself to be capable, but he doubted she would be able to hold off a hoard of inferni. In fact, the house elf had no idea how she would keep those dangerous creatures away, but he decided to trust the witch for the few minutes it would take for him to apparate to his Master's side. He felt her magic, the frenzied power it contained. The fact she willingly would unleash this type of destruction, so untrained even, upon a population spoke volumes to her loyalty—to her willingness to help those in need. The power itself felt like ice, fire, and rage. Like night and the storm in the heart of the sun. It was ancient and forever, reaching out from the very depths of time. It was a magic long forgotten by Wizards and lost to the past.

Kreacher wondered how this would change the new climate of the Wizarding World. He knew his young master had pledged allegiance to that Dark Lord, the one shrouded in Dark magic and devious deeds. His name struck fear not only in the hearts of wizards, but also in the magical creatures themselves. Yet the Miss displayed a magical strength unseen for centuries. He wondered which power would come out the winner: hatred or love?

He apparated towards his Master, trying to do so in the shortest time possible and still be careful to avoid the hexes Miss Bambi kept sending out. As the minutes slowly ticked by, he could feel the hexes whizzing by him losing power—the Miss having begun to grow weary from her continual casting and the emotional upheaval. Kreacher pulled Regulus away from the water, getting burned in the process as a fiery Inferi grabbed him. Doing the only thing he could, he apparated back to Miss Bambi; grabbing her before quickly leaving the cave without so much as another word.

Once they arrived at the destination, everything went black for the trio—especially Regulus and Kreacher.

The house elf just hoped he made Master Regulus proud.

"I'll kill him!" Hermione seethed as she tended to Regulus. She had more or less demanded that Snape take care of Kreacher, and although he looked disgruntled he shocked the brunette by complying with her demand. It made some of her ire leave. She knew that for all of the bravado Snape expressed, he cared deeply for Regulus. It was one of the reasons why she had not bothered to fight Kreacher when the house elf brought them to Spinners End; even knowing he also shared the same Death Eater status as Bella and Regulus.

"Stronger wizards than you have tried," his liquid drawl responded. The young witch glared at the man, huffing as she did so. The man saw her attack a bloody werewolf and live—granted she did not really recall all that much of the incident, but the point still remained—and he questioned her capabilities?

"And those who had far more rest as well," Snape pushed her shoulder gently, watching as the girl struggled to stay balanced. He scowled at her, showing her just how displeased her latest actions made him—after all, he had to clean up her mess. "You are exhausting yourself, what would Regulus say?" the dark haired male asked, knowing it would upset her; but Regulus had always been one of the few capable of controlling the witch. There had never been any doubts about Hermione Potter's magical prowess, but she acted more like a Gryffindor in her fool-hardy actions to save those she considered friends. Snape sneered at the thought; Potter had always been a fool when it came to his sister; obviously the female sibling acquired the brains. Though her intelligence seemed to have been lacking today. Snape supposed it had to be the bit of Gryffindor peeking through.

"HE WOULD HAVE DIED!" Hermione snarled, her voice higher than the wizard had ever heard before. The brunette did not know how Snape managed to remain so calm throughout this whole event—what if this had been his precious Lily? Would he be so calm then? She gulped and closed her eyes, trying to calm her emotions. Severus Snape had been nothing but helpful since they arrived.

"Be that as it may, you were foolish to be so reckless. But I must ask, if the peril were so great, then how did you manage to escape?" Snape asked, his inky black eyes staring piercingly at Hermione. Snape had never been overly fond of the girl, but ever since his fifth year he had a begrudging respect towards her. He had watched her blossom from a shy, quiet girl into a raging inferno—back at school, the female Potter gave the dungeons a strange, convoluted feel: she offered solace to those seeking comfort but retribution against any perceived wrongs. In fact, she reminded many of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"You're precious Dark Lord," Hermione spit out the name with a venom that surprised Snape, "Is a fool. For all of the intelligence and power he boasts of, he tends to forget the basics. The bond a House Elf has to their owners supersedes everything—even a magically protected cave enshrouded in dark magic." An eyebrow raised slightly, telling Hermione to continue her explanation as the one she had provided hardly gave the man any information. The only thing he had understood of her statement was that Kreacher had made escaping possible. But that did not explain why the she called the Dark Lord a fool, especially when so many would disagree with her.

"And pray tell why you would call the man a fool? He has proved himself far from one, I assure you," The elder wizard sneered. Severus had not expected the glare that Hermione Potter shot him, but he honestly should not have been surprised either. The young witch had always been very opinionated; she never held her tongue unless she felt it absolutely needed. For some, it garnered their respect. For others, it just painted an even larger target on the woman's back.

"He forgets the little details. Like house elves having a different magic," Hermione replied with a shrug, turning her focus back onto Regulus. Voldemort had forgotten many details. From house elf magic to the danger of women—he should have heeded the earlier warnings gifted to him. Those very warnings that he had brushed off might have allowed him to live. But now, now he could burn in the pits of Hell. And she would be sure his horcruxes followed him. He harmed Leo, and for that Hermione would deliver him to Death on a silver platter.

"And you claim to be any different?" Severus asked. This time his voice held a soft lilt to it, one that soothed Hermione a bit. One that also made her feel a bit guiltier for everything that had come to pass for the wizard.

"There is a graveyard in my mouth filled with words that have died on my lips. From apologies to damnations that should have been said," Hermione replied softly. She held many regrets, especially for Severus Snape. A man who worked so hard to prove himself to be better than he had first appeared; a man striving for redemption, even if the only way was to scar his very soul in hopes that it saved someone younger, more deserving of salvation.

"I will never claim to be a saint. I have a past filled with sins, and yet I still believe I'm a better person than that pathetic excuse of a Lord," Hermione replied, her voice holding a conviction that until today, only Lily had ever held. Severus had to agree with Hermione, but to be fair to the rest of the world he doubted anyone could ever be worse than a megalomaniacal psychopath intent on murdering most of the world's population.

"So what brought you to my home?" Severus asked, deciding to change the topic. He did not want a crying witch on his hand, and from the blotchy look on the young woman's face he felt positive in his assumption that she had cried enough today.

Her response shocked him into silence. "You are a good man," She replied simply, a small hand reaching out to clasp Regulus'. It still upset her to see her precious Leo like this—his light dimmed as he lay struggling for consciousness. None of this felt right. None of them deserved this harsh reality being thrust upon them. All three of them were supposed to be children—school crushes and drinking to bad break ups. But instead they were being thrust into a war, forced to don on a uniform and play child solider to both sides.

Something would be done. At this point, Hermione did not care which side ended up her victim.

Bella clenched the note in her hand, torn between familial obligation, desire, and fury. She had long ago seen Hermione as family, someone to protect. But she had also told the witch that should she do anything foolish, then they would end up on opposing sides. But for Hermione to do something like this meant the war had finally reached its breaking point; the pivotal moment between two raging titans that could possibly decide the fate of their world. Hermione had no mercy for those who harmed her loved ones, her warning still ringing clear as day in Bella's ears.

"Blood will rain, I care not whose."

Such a dangerous phrase coming from one so young, but Bellatrix knew that Hermione would make good on her threat. The young witch reminded her of herself after all. The world knew how far Bellatrix would go to make it bow; it hardly seemed improbable that Bambi would do the same.

How ironic that a name so innocent had been gifted to a witch ready to burn the world. The crazed witch looked at the letter once more. Had anyone else read it they would have merely saw a facetious poem; one with no real merit to their world other than its pretty words and relation to mythology. But Bella knew the truth.

…Queen of the Dead,
to forever reign
in the fires of hell…
a beautiful queen,
plotting against her king.

They never wanted you
to know the hunger of Persephone,
how she starved for something
other than pomegranates.

The primal thirst
that burns all women's throats…
Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart.
"You are a queen;
don't wait for a king."

The words were damning, though for whom she really did not know. Hermione Potter had basically declared war. And yet she held out one last olive branch for salvation. Bambi had conveyed that Bellatrix would never be more than a silent queen to the Dark Lord, one with his favor but none of the control. Something the young witch knew Bellatrix had sought out for years. The Lady Lestrange had been a devoted, adoring follower to the Dark Lord for as long as she cared to remember. She loved him, far more than she would ever care for her husband anyway. But despite what the other Death Eaters whispered when they thought she could not hear, Bellatrix knew her degree of loyalty had never been reciprocal.

But she had remained loyal in spite of that because without her devotion, Bella had no clue what she was outside of that. She had spent years being the support of someone else; how could she adapt to being otherwise? As a pureblood witch, she had always had to be devoted to her House and her Husband. It never mattered if that piety had been returned, at least not until she had met Bambi.

The witch who took Slytherin by storm—who cried for those that would have hexed her for simply looking at them with her Blood Traitor eyes. The witch who fiercely protected Regulus from everything possible: from schoolyard bullies to even his own family. Devotion so fierce and a love so strong, Bellatrix felt positive that the Gods themselves would weep should anything happen to the pair. It made Bellatrix envious.

She wanted that relationship—that love, respect, and devotion. Having something to protect had made the younger witch strong. But for that same respect to be returned? That just made everything all the better. Every day, the Lady Lestrange threw her life into a battlefield, knowing she could die. It terrified her because at the end of the day, Bella still found herself wanting to live—the witch had begun to wonder if she really wanted to chance her life for a man who did not care if she became just another casualty. Bambi would mourn her. Bambi would try to bring down nations to see her safe. Bambi would even dare defy a Dark Lord with followers at his beck-and-call; all to see her loved ones safe. The devotion Bellatrix had long since coveted had already belonged to her for years. It just took the woman a bit longer to realize it.

But did any of that change anything? Bella knew that for her, she was already far too deep into the trenches. She had already sold her soul in exchange to be Queen, no matter how silent. Bambi wanted her to claim a new role—one the young woman fully believed had been owed to Bellatrix if the poem was to be taken seriously. She had already marred her soul in red, killing who ever dared step in her way. But if she had to, could she really kill Bambi?

No, could they really kill each other? Their loyalties were on opposite ends, Bella felt sure of it. Despite the unreciprocated loyalty, Bella still loved the Dark Lord. Bambi, however, had different loyalties. Their sweet girl would never allow harm to come to her family, not without retribution—be that the Black Cousins or even the Potters. But who had become the target that instigated such a fury—a fiery rage so strong that Hermione felt the need to declare war to one of the most devout Death eaters?

Did one of the Potter's die?

Or did someone a bit closer to home?

"Blood will rain, indeed, Bambi. I just hope it's neither of ours," Bella whispered softly. For everyone's sake, the Lady Lestrange just prayed this blasted war would come to an end. Bella had grown tired, far too tired to continue this much longer.

Bellatrix Lestrange could be called many things. But no one would ever be foolish enough to label her a queen, let alone give her a crown. No, that title belonged to one person only: because if anyone could change the world, it would be her.

Bambi.

"You owe me a life debt, and I am collecting." The glacial tone sent a shiver down Sirius' spine. He had never heard the young witch speak so coldly, even in all the years they had known each other. The dark haired male remembered when he first met Hermione; she had so clearly adored James back then. But times have changed, and the witch before him no longer held such devotions—through no fault of her own.

Sirius had thought about what Regulus told James that day in the park. It felt odd, seeing James begin to question himself. Sirius had never thought he would see the day where his best mate actually admitted that Regulus might be right; after all, James reacted so negatively the first time Sirius brought it up.

"I do?" He questioned, quirking an eyebrow; Sirius did not remember owing the witch one. His curious gaze was returned with a deadpanned one. Witchling obviously did not like what he had just said—too bad, since he honestly did not remember owing the witch anything.

"Need I remind you of the werewolf incident back in your fifth year?" Hermione's voice held a dry sarcasm to it, which made Sirius recognize one of the many reasons this witch had been sorted into Slytherin: her devious ploys, cunning word manipulations, and that haughtiness that every Slytherin developed from an early age. But her eyes also held a warning in them. Right now, standing before him was no mere witch; instead a viper rested before him, coiled and ready to strike a deathly blow. Sirius could practically see the poison ready to be embedded into his very veins at a single mistake.

"I would hardly refer to it as an incident—" Sirius was cut off by a harsh laugh. It took him a moment to realize it came from the witch. He frowned, that laugh should never come from a woman like her. The raven-haired male knew that somewhere, deep down, she still held that soft warmth that made James worship her when they were younger. Hermione Potter still had her hope—it had just been buried.

"You nearly had another student and myself killed! Had I been Dumbledore, I would have had you all sent to the Ministry to be tried for attempted murder," Hermione spat. The brunette had long ago forgiven Lupin for the event, not like he could control it anyway. But it had still aggravated her that after all these years those dolts had yet to apologize. Oh sure they had told her that they were sorry, but they never said a word to Snape. To the teen they had knowingly sent to his death. Hermione Potter did not care what Dumbledore or that group thought—she would never refer to that incident as a prank.

"I only meant it as a joke! Besides, Snivellous deserved it: he practiced dark magic and called Lily a . . . that!" Sirius defended. The Black knew very well it had been a mistake to lure the git into the forest during that time of month—Remus had persecuted him about it enough. But it had been years ago, surely Witchling did not hold any grudges against them for it anymore; they had apologized after all. Dark, silver eyes watched as Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose once before she spoke.

"Do you know why I do not put much emphasis on petty notions of what people conceive as wrong?" Hermione's brown eyes focused on him, and it felt like they pierced his skin with the torrents of browns swirling in her pupils; occasionally flecks of blue blazed to the forefront. The witch standing before him had grown up, clearly a child no longer. "It's because during my years in Slytherin I learned one thing about the darkness of people: it serves a purpose, showing us that there is redemption in the chaos." The way she spoke sparked something in Sirius, made him question things he had always saw as fact.

Slytherins were evil, never to be trusted. Yet on two different occasions this witch had come to him, personally seeking help for one of her friends. The first time he denied her, such would not be an option this time. But Hermione Potter had always been the exception to many things, from her quick quips to her brash loyalty. For the longest time Sirus had always just assumed that Snakes only cared for themselves; after all, self-preservation had always been on of Salazar Slytherin's mottos. And then she came along and wreaked havoc on that notion, not only with her own actions but by the actions of his brother and cousin as well.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Contrary to his actions, he felt no annoyance towards the witch; but he had grown tired of her always flipping his views on their head.

"Tell me all you know about the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione replied. Her tone brooked no arguments or even a possible rebuttal. Sirius could see very clearly that she wanted the information and she wanted it immediately. The Order never specifically made its members take a Wizard's Oath; however, most of the members did keep tight lipped about anything the organization might be doing.

"I'm not sure I can do that, Witchling," Sirius told her, both hands held up in a submissive gesture. Grey eyes watched for any sign of retaliation, but none came. Instead a soft, hollow laugh rang in his ears.

"Honey, I'm not giving you a choice. I told you I am collecting a Life Debt. If you do not give me the information freely, I will show you my version of pranks." Blue flecks sparkled in a sea of brown, as Hermione Potter's eyes remained narrow. By just the way the young woman held herself, Sirius knew his earlier assumption had been right. He had no other option than to help her—this time she refused to even give him a real choice in the matter.

Would it really be so bad to help her though? She had come to him for a reason, one that had remained a mystery so far. Besides, Hermione Potter had already seen a handful of the Order members when she had come barging into her family's home during the Yuletide Holiday. If she had wanted to do any damage to them she would have already unleashed some form of chaos on them—especially since both Regulus and Bellatrix were marked Death Eaters. Hell, she probably would have told Malfoy if she really wanted them gone.

"Alright, I will tell you want I can. But only if it does not harm anything we are currently doing," Sirius told the witch. He watched as the blue faded from her eyes. What caused that strange shade to appear in the first place? He had never heard of another magical person, aside from a metamorphagus, who could change their appearance. But Hermione only ever changed her eye color—perhaps a medical anomaly? Or maybe the Gods just decided to take pity on the rest of the population and instill a warning sign in the witch?

Sirius told Hermione all the information he felt he could safely divulge to the witch; watching her eyes light up on certain pieces. Sometimes her eyes would narrow on certain words, as though Hermione Potter had uncovered a buried secret. Had he not been nervous with what she might do with the information, Sirius probably would have found her reactions amusing—perhaps even a little endearing. He could certainly see why James had adored his younger sister; but right now, that kneazle got the cream look frightened him just a bit.

"Is that all?" the male asked when he finished. He watched as a sly smile graced Hermione Potter's lips. She certainly looked like an angel with that expression—a devious one perhaps, but an angel nonetheless.

"Just one more thing," The witch responded. Before Sirius had any time to ask what it might be, a fist collided with his nose. Hands immediately flew up towards the injury, despite the shock he felt at being hit. He heard Hermione say something before she walked off. Though Sirius did not know exactly what he heard since the pounding of blood in his ear seemed deafening, the young Black thought she said something along the lines of:

"That was for Severus."

First and foremost, before I get questions on it I would like point out that Hermione is not a Powerful!Hermione with a rare magic. The Magic Kreacher referred to was not a special type of magic, it's more so Ancient magic long since buried since Wizards had focused on obtaining power and were blinded by greed. Think of Lily's sacrifice for Harry since it is the best example to use—in fact I would just say it is the same type. Both empowered by love and the willingness to sacrifice themselves without any ulterior motive.

Copyrights are listed below. I would love to hear from you guys!

"…ice, fire and rage. Like night and the storm in heart of the sun. It is ancient and forever, reaching out from the very depths of time." ©Doctor Who

"Darkness…serves a purpose, showing us that there is redemption in the chaos." ©Brendan Fraser.

"Queen of the Dead,to forever reignin the fires of hell…a beautiful queen,
plotting against her king.They never wanted youto know the hunger of Persephone, how she starved for somethingother than pomegranates.The primal thirstthat burns all women's throats…Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart."You are a queen;don't wait for a king."" ©Emily Palmero, Persephone.

"There is a graveyard in my mouthfilled with words thathave died on my lips." Emily Palmero

15. Not a Chance

First and foremost I would like to apologize for the late-ness of this chapter. University classes were a nightmare this past semester (To be expected since I am in upper divisions now) and then we had a family disaster that lasted from Thanksgiving to shortly before Christmas which ultimately resulted in the death of one of my close relatives. Pair that with my frustration with this chapter it had been a hectic few months. I tried to write mini AP related drabbles to get the muse back but it didn't work all that well.

However, you can thank the wonderful, fabulous, and all around amazing Angstar54 for this chapter. She has helped me work out my frustration with the chapter—helped me work on the flow of it and then like always, edited it for me. Can I just say once again she's fabulous? Because she really is. Like really.

Also thank you to all of those who have favorited, alerted, and reviewed this fic. I love your support and feel free to send me a tweet or a PM anytime! I would love to hear from you and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter.

Not a Chance

"Aggravating, Confounding, insufferable…." Hermione's lips twitched into a small smile as she listened to the man tend to her friend, grumbling various insults as he did so. Although the older wizard always acted as if he could not stand the two of them, Hermione knew well enough that he cared for them in his own strange way.

The brunette thought about commenting, parroting back the words even. But she saw no point in doing so. Leaning against the doorframe, watching him in the otherwise silent, dark room gave the witch a new perspective on the man. She had never bothered to know the other Slytherin: their personalities were just far too different. War changes things of course. People realize their limits, faults, and all the things they cannot change, and Hermione Potter found herself with quite a few things in common with Severus Snape.

How different would it have been if she grew up like him? If Leo left her—revoked their friendship—over a few names said in anger? Merlin knew she and Leo had argued plenty of times in the past, but Hermione could never imagine cutting him out of her life over a name—no matter how rude. What must it have felt like for him? The brunette had never actively defended Snape, knowing the older man would not appreciate her doing so. But on particularly bad days for the older man she would go and ask him a potions question, something to engage him while subtly reminding her fellow housemates that he had a useful and important skill.

It had been a tactical move on her part in the beginning. Cissa had always told her making allies with the upper years would be helpful down the road, so she had begun with Severus. But after her fourth year, it ceased to be about connections and more to do with trust. Snape protected her back out in that forest so long ago and by doing so he proved himself deserving of her protection. Hermione had strong magical capabilities which were noted and regarded with esteem in the Dungeon, but Slytherins had always valued ones connections more than their own strengths. With allies in both the Black and Malfoy family, Hermione's connections were rather solid. By pointing out Severus Snape's skill with potions, she silently claimed him worthy of a pureblood's attention.

Although never vocalized, the witch felt confident that the dark haired wizard knew exactly what she had been doing; that knowledge made everything all the more real to her. Severus Snape had accepted her offer of protection because, aside from Lily Evans, no one else had ever extended the courtesy. That someone willingly sought him out, thought of him as valuable, and even offered him a silent protection meant a lot to him. It made Hermione's heart ache at the knowledge because the brunette could not fathom a childhood so awful that they'd accept any form of recognition. With both of her friends—his protection—being Death Eaters, it was no wonder that Snape would become one as well. They offered him security, saw his worth, and included him in their group. By doing all of those things, the Death Eaters earned his loyalty because they did what so many others refused to do.

They validated his existence.

"Dwelling on your family once more, Potter?" The way he spit out her surname caused Hermione to laugh, effectively pulling her away from the somber musings. The brunette knew well enough that he meant no animosity in the way he said her name, at least not when directed towards her.

"You could say that," Hermione replied with a cheeky grin. Her brown eyes sparkled with clear amusement as she watched him turn towards her. The wizard needed something cheerful and sunny to brighten up his dull home. The dark hues and the silence grated on Hermione's senses the longer she stayed there. The air itself felt heavy with all the horrors—not that Hermione had ever pulled anything concrete out of Severus—that went on in the house.

"You are supposed to be one of the brighter witches, but you're insolence astounds me." Snape sneered, the displeasure clear in his voice. Brown eyes narrowed at the familiar statement. This had been a routine conversation between them since her fourth year. Having never grown up in a loving home, or at least this did not feel like one to Hermione, the sullen wizard would not know why she still bothered with her family. They may have problems, they may not be close anymore, but they were still significant to her. For all of his brilliance, Severus Snape just did not understand why that was so.

"They are family," Hermione replied succinctly. The brunette had no other words to explain her logic, none that he would understand anyway. After all, if one never grows up with affection or even kindness, then they can never really understand it, let alone express it.

"You purebloods and your blood mania," Snape replied in his usual irksome drawl. It caused Hermione to purse her lips in annoyance, but since they were both in Slytherin while at school, she understood his statement better than most.

"Blood makes you related, Severus." Hermione's dulcet voice had an edge of steel to it as she spoke. Although she understood why the older wizard came off as abrasive and rude, she did not appreciate the rude tone directed at her family. All issues with the Potters aside, she cared for the family that took her in so long ago. That did not mean she would choose them over Severus, however. He had been cast aside so many times before that Hermione bet the older wizard just came to accept it as the norm. "It serves no other purpose than creating a connection. Loyalty is the important part." Her voice softened a bit, the steel falling away at her explanation. Hermione did not want to be like the people in the Order. Nor did she wish to be like the Death Eaters. Hermione recognized the faults in herself, her insecurities that she refused to voice, the darkness clawing in her belly and begging to be unleashed upon the world. The young Miss Potter would never be perfect, and she had long since given up trying. Her temper caused problems, she held grudges for far longer than she let on, and no matter how hard she tried to let go and move on, forgiveness had been hard for her. She knew all of this and had been working on them—succeeding every now and then even.

But despite all her faults, a lack of loyalty would never be one of them.

"You're either loyal or you are not. It's not loyalty if you only do it to serve your own goals." Hermione expanded on her statement, knowing that Severus' interest had been piqued by her earlier statement. She had had this conversation once with Bill, talking about how there was a spot for black and white even in a world of colors. Some things, no matter the reason, would always be in black and white. Loyalty, for Hermione, had always been one of them. "Loyalty makes family."

"Is that so?" Severus drawled. Although his voice sounded like ice, Hermione knew he understood what she did not verbalize by the small smile that tugged at the left corner of his lips.

"Yes, now go make your potions," Hermione said dismissively as she removed herself from the door frame and began walking towards a sleeping Regulus.

They were Slytherins. Not all of their words were verbalized and their actions would always speak louder than any lies that fell from their lips. Hermione decided then and there that she would help Snape in any way she could because that man needed some good in his life. And she knew exactly where and who she should start with.

A Hufflepuff once told her that the strength of a family is in its loyalty to each other. It's a damn good thing she has enough loyalty for them all because she'd need it.

Especially when dealing with lions.

Curses were flying everywhere and Death Eaters just kept appearing. Marlene felt her stomach clench and knot up as she continued to fire curses. Her family had no back up—at least none that seemed to be coming any time soon. As the minutes passed, the idea of back upcoming grew even bleaker. A scream broke the Scottish witch away from her musings. The blonde's heart clenched at the familiar voice, raw with anger and screaming about vengeance. Yet another family member slaughtered by the villains. Witnessing this, living with this constant fear and wondering who would be dead next was why Marlene McKinnon never understood Hermione Potter's tantrum almost a year ago.

A bright, red stream of light whizzed past Marlene. It startled her, so much so that if not for a hand yanking her behind a brick shed, then she might have been dead. As Marlene went to thank the stranger, a hand covered her mouth.

"Do not speak," The familiar voice grated the blonde's ear, despite the face being covered in a lion mask. The Gryffindor alumna knew the identity of this person instantly. Anger boiled in her veins as she watched the other witch cast some Muffliato curse that Marlene had never heard of before. Blue eyes watched as the younger witch also cast Salvio Hexia, a Notice-me-not charm and Protego Totalum around the rundown brick shed. When the hand finally left her mouth, Marlene growled out her question.

"What are you doing here?" Although the idea of using defensive magic had not come to Marlene, she begrudgingly accepted Hermione Potter's brilliance at using them. Had she not been thrust into battle and thinking only of saving her family, she probably would have cast a few of them herself.

"What does it look like, McKinnon?" Hermione asked as she shot out a few Diffindos and a nonverbal curse that resulted in one of the Death Eater's entrails spewing out of their mouth. The corner of Marlene's mouth twitched at the sight: although disgusting, the Scottish witch did have to say it was a well-deserved fate.

"Planning our execution by helping your Death Eater buddies out?" Marlene peaked around the corner of the shed, noticing some of her family members strategically placed behind various objects. Her mother and aunt were currently attempting to take a few of the injured back into the house and, as far as Marlene could assume, down to their basement. Marlene did her best to help them out by hexing any of the dark robed figures that got too close either physically or with their curses.

"Hardly," The younger Potter snorted. This caused the Gryffindor alumna to glance at the other witch and she immediately noticed the mirth in those brown eyes. Of course the Snake would find the idea of execution to be funny. The other witch did surprise Marlene by hexing the Death Eaters that got too close to other McKinnons.

"We don't need you," The older witch snarled. At this point, the blonde was more frustrated at the situation than at the brunette. After all, Marlene had joined the Order for a reason to protect those in this very situation. So where the hell were they?

"Please, you need all of the support you can get," Hermione responded dryly. The younger witch then re-cast the three defensive spells, an action that Marlene only assumed to be the Slytherin paranoia coming out.

"Then they will come." Hermione knew exactly who they were, and she just wanted to laugh in the other witch's face because they both knew how false that statement really was. But Hermione said nothing, preferring to allow the other witch's words to sink in. She had cast a few Sectumsempras and Bombardas at some masked Death Eater. Part of Hermione cringed at the harsh hexes she cast, but these people—no matter their reason for joining—were not throwing harmless curses. These people were aiming to kill, and Hermione refused to become yet another nameless casualty in this war. In fact, she didn't want any more fatalities at all—something that would not happen anytime in the near future.

"Where is your precious Order then? I don't see any of them here!" Hermione noticed that the blonde had begun to throw hexes towards the masked fighters once again. Marlene did not want to answer her question and Hermione knew the reason why. That did not mean that the brunette would let it go."And do you know why? Because despite the entire hero-worshipping act you direct towards Dumbledore, he is a man. A man that is willing to sacrifice your life for the Greater Good. Be happy I don't share that mentality!" Hermione snarled as she watched nameless faces—people—bleed out and die in this battle. How did either side not tire of this madness?

"Why help me?"

The brunette snorted, rolling her eyes in a manner that could only be called derisive. The Scottish witch growled lowly in her throat at the sound, not pleased at the rude tone of the younger witch.

"I'm not helping you."

Marlene quirked an eyebrow at that statement and made a silent gesture, motioning with both hands to the surrounding area. The blonde continued to look at the other witch, her gaze only straying to throw another curse or duck behind the crumbling brick shed.

"Darling, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword and don your own armor," Hermione told the elder witch, her voice raw with something that startled the blonde: honesty. Marlene realized then that the young Potter did not believe in a hero's rescue, nor did she want any part in one. Marlene didn't really know what the other witch wanted in return, surely something with her being a snake, but now the Scottish witch wouldn't be so opposed to paying it either. Perhaps.

"We are not friends." The blonde witch said, a tight smile gracing her lips.

"Never," Hermione responded with a refined drawl.

"Sectumsempra," Snape snarled behind his Death Eater mask as he cast at one of the many blond males. His curse hit the shoulder of a burly man, blood spurting out of the wound. Although not one to take pleasure out of the gore of war, Severus Snape did pride himself in the effectiveness of the spell he created.

The Dark Lord had ordered the death of the McKinnon family. Most of the Death Eaters had eagerly agreed to take part in the slaughter since it would bring them prestige and a chance to enter the Inner Circle. Severus Snape had been no different than his fellow Death Eaters in this matter: he reveled in the chance to prove his worth to the man that let him be a part of a revolution.

A few Stupefys and Incarcerouses were sent towards him, and the sullen wizard did his best to avoid them; but when he dodged a red jet, he placed himself directly in front of another binding spell, causing him to topple over. Cursing under his breath, Snape managed to cast a few unsuccessful attempts at a Finite before he managed to undo the spell. Snarling, he managed to stand up once more.

"Confringo!" Severus cursed the direction to his left where he assumed the spell originated. Yelps were heard from their opponents as tree limbs crashed loudly to the ground. The dark haired wizard took a moment to take in his surrounding area: their opponents, few in number to begin with, seemed to be dwindling even lower as the moments ticked by—the Lestrange family the main executioners. Seeing Bellatrix, eyes wide with mirth and a giddy, blood thirsty smile on her face made Severus wonder what Bambi would do if she saw them now: actively taking part in the destruction of a prominent family, some of them even going so far as to murder children.

Hermione would be sick of them he felt sure. Despite the girl's attempt at making him feel deserving, Severus knew it did not matter: he chose the Death Eaters because they gave him a reason to belong. Although the sweet witch tried her best to make him feel included, part of something more than a disfigured crowd, Hermione Potter would never understand how it felt to be an outcast. The Death Eaters were ravenous, deadly, and vicious in their pursuit of power; and yet they allowed him to join them, allowed him to become more than a background, allowed him to integrate into their ranks and become valuable.

The familiar sound of Bellatrix's cackle rang from the clearing, pulling him out of his own thoughts to watch her kill yet another of her opponents. Severus watched as the body fell to the ground with a solid thud. He could not be sure of the corpse's identity, but it looked to be the McKinnon patriarch.

A small part of his stomach still churned as he looked upon his and his associates' victims. Severus could not help but hear a little voice in the back of his head that sounded like Hermione, her disappointment in the resulting violence, whispering how rash his decision to enter a war for people who would kill him to climb the ladder. Severus knew well that very few of his fellow Death Eaters would support him in a time of need—Malfoy and Regulus perhaps the only ones. He needed them far more than they needed him, and he knew it. Hermione knew it as well, and despite all the little things she tried to do, it would never be enough. He had already dug his place of rest.

Severus shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He should be dueling, not dwelling on the opinions of one witch. So he stomped towards where a few of his fellow peers were having difficulty, passing a neglected brick shed as he did so.

"He never stood a chance," Lily heard a feminine voice murmur from behind her. The melodic voice was almost siren-like, pretty to listen to, but so full of sorrow. The redhead vaguely wondered if by listening to it she would share the fate of the Greek sailors: in disaster.

"What do you want, Hermione?" The Gryffindor alumni asked, her voice harsher than she intended. Lily did not want a confrontation, especially not in a shoddy muggle pub, but now with her sister-in-law here everything went up in smoke. Anything could happen. Hermione had been known to rage and damage all that stood against her: a sea on fire, crashing the flames onto a sandy shore. The concept seemed to fit the young Potter well in Lily's mind.

"Why are you here?" The redhead knew why the question had been asked. Being four months pregnant and fighting in a war were hardly the cleverest things to do; sneaking out to Muggle London for some fresh air and to escape the nagging of her friends just screamed plain idiocy, even to the redhead. So Lily fully understood why the question had been asked. That did not mean she felt up to answering it, so the Hogwarts alumna just gave a small shrug and returned the question.

"He never stood a chance," Hermione repeated her greeting, causing Lily's brow to furrow. The statement, broad as it was, confounded the redheaded witch. A dozen questions flitted through her head, all of which were trying to discern the 'who, what, and why' of the statement. So she turned around to look the other witch in the eyes and asked, "What do you mean?"

Hermione just tilted her head slightly to the left and, as Lily's brain supplied, looked right through her. The redhead found herself shifting in her chair uncomfortably as she waited for a response from the other witch.

"He never stood a chance. Neglected at home, bullied at school, without even an adult to offer an olive branch to him. But you always seemed so surprised that he joined the one group that extended a hand and made him feel worthy of something." Although the words shocked Lily, it was the emotion in the dark eyes that grabbed her attention more. The absolute bafflement in the brown orbs had Lily reeling. The redhead just did not understand where those statements came from.

Honestly, just what went on in this young witch's head? Lily had nothing to do with Regulus choosing to become a Death Eater. The Hogwarts alumna was willing to accept that perhaps she judged him a bit harshly, especially after that whole incident at the park—but it was Regulus who ultimately chose to join the Death Eaters. No one on their side forced him to. Any of them could have chosen to say no, chose not to accept that mad man's mark. Before the redhead could respond, Hermione spoke again.

"He had no reprieve year after year and yet you think that you are better than him. You all do, and I don't understand why." Hermione's lips were pursed, a frown marring her face. It took Lily a moment to realize that the other witch really meant what she said; Hermione Potter did not understand why they felt so much hatred against these people who became Death Eaters. It perplexed Lily that Hermione did not understand, after all those people chose to be murderers. No reason they had would ever be good in Lily's eyes.

"Is it because you've never truly experienced the monster scratching at your door? Never felt all the optimism seep out of your body only to realize how hopeless it is to even bother fighting?" The brunette's breathy voice barely reached above a whisper. In fact, to Lily it almost sound like her sister-in-law was holding back a sob. By the look in the brown orbs, Hermione's attention had been absorbed by a memory.

"Then tell me," Lily found herself saying. The statement shocked the redhead since she had no clue where the confidence to say it came from. Part of Lily did not believe that Hermione understood what she said. After all, the other witch lived the sheltered life of a pureblooded princess.

"Like liquid fire coursing through your veins, the heat a constant burn but no matter what you try nothing puts it out. You scream, cry, and beg for relief and it feels like ages before it finally comes. But the fire still lingers in your blood, only the scratching has stopped." Hermione's gaze became sharper, her eyes clearer. Something shifted in the brunette's gaze, but Lily did not know exactly what did; it caused a shiver to run down her spine. The look frightened Lily because it showed so much and yet nothing at all.

"You would be surprised at just how far you would go to for protection, acceptance, and love." With that Hermione twirled on her heel and walked away. It all happened so quickly that it took Lily a moment to realize that Hermione had left the Muggle pub entirely. Given the odd exit, the redhead played their interaction in her head over and over again. After the third time the Gryffindor alumna realized something: Hermione had misspoken.

Regulus Black had never been neglected at home, not from what she learned about the boy from Sirius. Walburga Black practically worshipped the ground her youngest son walked on. Furthermore, Lily doubted that anyone in the Snake Pit would ever bully a Black that had been sorted into Slytherin. So why would the other witch say such things? Regulus Black had been treated like a prince throughout his years at Hogwarts, and Lily Potter doubted that had changed any to this day.

Memories from her fifth year flashed in the redhead's mind, casual observations that she had made from afar. Hermione Potter all prim, proper, and as aloof as she could possibly be talking to a student older than her—never for long periods of time, just a few short sentences here and there. And suddenly, Lily Potter had a realization. The other witch had not been talking about her precious Leo at all.

Hermione had been talking about Severus.

As you can see this chapter was heavily Snape themed. Figured it would be a nice tribute to the deceased Alan Rickman, whom I dearly loved as a favored actor.

As always let me know what you think of this chapter. Citations are down below.

"…Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor." Emily Palmero

'The strength of a family…is in its loyalty to each other' © Mario Puzo

'Blood makes you related. Loyalty makes you family' © found on Google Images

16. Hollow

Alright so as a few of you know, this year did not start off on a good foot and it's been rough. However because I refuse to leave this story incomplete, I have been working on the story here and there. I've actually had this done a few weeks ago, but when I got it back from the lovely angstar57, I was on vacation and no were near a computer. So I couldn't upload it.

The usual disclaim applies: If you see anything familiar from the Harry Potter series then it is of course JKR. Everything else that is not mine is copy-righted below at the end of the chapter. If not otherwise stated it belongs to me – so pretty much the plot and a few other bits.

Chapter 16: Hollow

As Lily focused on washing the dishes, the redhead began to think. Since she grew up in a muggle family, being magical held many expectations: enchantments, a world of wonders, and happy endings. Finding out about the magical world and her status as a witch brought something to life in Lily that had died long before she even knew what to call it. But those ideas of happy endings and enchantments seemed to have fallen away, giving into hatred and greed – from the tender age of eleven, she could already see the bad guys winning. Of course as she continued her education at Hogwarts, she did little things to try and make a difference, to help those unable or too scared to do so themselves. And somewhere along the way, she realized that the heroes still had a tentative grasp on the world around her. So she fought for a place in a world that did not seem to want her, she fought for a right to be seen as an equal, she even lost a dear friend along the way.

When she first took on the role of Prefect, she had tried to look at everything in various shades of grey. She wanted to be fair. But until Regulus Black interrupted her family picnic, she never truly believed in shades of grey. Regulus Black fit the description of a true Slytherin perfectly; he held an air of confidence that allowed him to extract information and carefully manipulate someone without them ever being the wiser. He even used the information he acquired to protect himself. By meeting them publically and in broad daylight, he showed an ambition of epic levels. In every sense of the word Regulus Black epitomized the term Slytherin.

Yet as he stood before them, brazenly calling them out, Lily saw traits of multiple houses within the young man. None of that really surprised Lily Potter, mostly because she had seen how the pair of Slytherins acted around each other; one would think Hermione Potter was the Universe and Regulus Black all of the stars in her sky. They fought for each other and although she could never prove it, the redhead felt assured in her assumptions to say that they had definitely lied for each other. But she also knew that just because he acted differently with James' sister did not mean he did so with everyone.

His words stuck with the soon-to-be mother though. She never questioned how they felt; the auburn haired witch doubted many of her fellow classmates or Order members did either. She had just assumed that since they never voiced any disagreements with their housemates, they must agree them. So Lily assumed that all Slytherins felt that Muggleborns were worthless—they convinced Severus of it after all. The pregnant witch simply believed Hermione Potter to be an exception to the general Slytherin stereo-type, attributing most of it to being raised by the Potters. But now, thanks to Sirius' brother, the young Mrs. Potter saw another side to it. They were Slytherin, they were self-preserving to the core. Why would they stick their necks out to defy what very prominent members of their house endorsed? They were not Gryffindors, doing the right thing and shouting out against abuse had never been instinctual for them.

But given enough incentive, enough reason, or even the right person and those very same Slytherins would take on the world and risk their lives. Regulus had essentially lain himself out before two enemies just because it might help protect his friend. A boy she had long since filed away as evil, for no other reason that who he associated with, proved that shades of grey really existed. Just because someone did not feel brave enough to speak out alone, did not mean that they were not courageous. Just because someone used unorthodox and underhanded means to protect their self did not mean they were evil. Just because Regulus Black was a Death Eater did not mean he was not a scared boy in need of help.

What if instead of Regulus, it was her own child? Would they have a Hermione to help lead them in the right direction? Would they have anyone who cared enough to at least try and stop her child from having to fight? To walk into battle with them, knowing very well that there was a chance of dying? Would there be someone there who accepted them, welcomed them into their home and just loved them; allowed them to forget the raging battles and the lackluster hopes of tomorrow? The thoughts were terrifying to her. The redheaded witch knew that at the very least Regulus had been thrown into this war, and until now he had no reason to fight for a way out.

Lily could not imagine her precious child in such a situation—she hoped that someone would have at least tried to take up for her child; to defend their innocence and not merely throw them into a battle they had no reason to be in. As a Muggle-born witch, Lily felt that she had to fight because an accident of birth made her a target. To protect her child, future children even, Lily Potter felt that fighting was the best course of action.

She had gotten so wrapped up with how the Wizarding World treated her that she never really thought to look at the other side of things. Family had always been stressed in wizarding families: a family's honor, a family's ancestry, a family's wealth—nothing and no one relied on an individual's worth in the Wizarding World. If one did not come from a prominent name, then they were nobodies. But for wizarding child who grew up in that environment, who learned that those things were everything? How could she expect them to give it up, to fight for something just because she felt it to be wrong?

Regulus Black did not deserve her condemnation; he accepted the only option presented to him to save what he grew up valuing. Lily finally understood Hermione Potter's indignation that night so long ago—how irate she became because they assumed to know Regulus' mind since a hat sorted him into Slytherin. Lily could only imagine how hard that choice was: become a Death Eater to restore the family honor that the elder brother tarnished or end up shunned from the family. Regulus lost regardless of his choice.

She had seen how devastated Sirius had been at his family's banishment. He hated them, but a part of him still hurt knowing that his family threw him away. If Sirius still felt that way, growing up despising the family, Lily could only imagine how Regulus, who adored them, would feel at the idea of losing them. The witch did not care for her sister's attitude, but losing Tuney would devastate her just the same.

The Blacks were a unique family in the Wizarding World, one full of power and influence. They were so divided in their beliefs, however, that it tore them apart from the very fabric of their tapestry. The redhead could recall how many times Sirius had mentioned a name being blasted off of the tapestry; one woven so carefully into the family's magic that Lily wondered if the assault of the tapestry had caused the insanity within the family. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black could very well fall with this war.

Lily knew the Blacks would impact this war; it hinged on them. Cousins were on opposite ends and sides had been drawn within the family. There was no question if the family would have an impact in the war; the only question was how devastating that impact would be.

"There is no aspect of our experience not molded in some way by metaphor's almost imperceptible touch," Lily murmured to herself, wrapping her arms around her protruded abdomen protectively.

Hermione knew fully well how dangerous metaphors were; how the lessons fellow peers, professors, and even strangers taught by their words or actions impacted the character people become. And it made Lily wonder just where her sister-in-law learned the lesson—because Hermione spoke it like a person who lived it.

It made her heart ache for the young witch who became bitter after learning of the world's darkness so early on. Lily had others who protected her from the negative side of things: Severus who convinced her that magic really existed, the Marauders who taught her that there is always something to laugh about, and her friends who taught her that there are people to go to for help. She never thought about her anchors though and perhaps she should have; it might have saved some of her friendships. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lily sighed and leaned against her the counter. Nothing could ever fix her lost friendship; from what she remembered of Severus, he had already sunken far too deep in the trenches of this war. There would be no guarantee that he would even accept her apology if she gave him one and she couldn't blame him if he didn't. Hell, Lily didn't even know if she would accept her own apology.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry." She whispered, sliding to the ground and bringing her knees to her chest. Tears slid down her cheeks as she thought about how wrong she had been; how messed up the entire situation was and how the worst part of it all was her inability to fix it. No glue could create even a semblance of making it whole again. No matter how many times she muttered her apologies, no matter how true she felt them to be, they would forever be the same thing:

Hollow declarations.

"Where were you?" Marlene snarled, her rage sparking as her eyes clouded with tears. Her shoulders shook as she stood, glaring through the tears at the man with long grizzled, grey hair and a grim expression. The stout man had scars littering his arms and even a few on his face; normally that would scare people, but in their field of work it made him respected. Until the day she lost it all, Marlene had respected the man. She had idolized him, spent hours studying his old cases, even wanted to be like him. Moody had always been a paranoid bastard, but he had always been there when she needed him. He had always come off as the hero.

"Where?!"Marlene asked again, her voice pitched a little higher than the first time. She hated the fact that the dark, beady-eyed auror stayed silent. The witch wanted answers, she wanted him to do something, say something, anything as long as he gave her a reason. A reason to hex, a reason to scream, a reason why. "Answer me!"

Alastor Moody remained silent because he had no words to give the witch. She lost her family and nothing he could say would ever remove her grief. She could scream, curse, throw hexes, blame the world – but it would not bring any of the McKinnons back from the dead. Up until this point, Marlene had been one of the lucky few—sure she partook in the war and she had killed, but she had never experienced the loss of a loved one by the hands of war. Alastor understood her anger, he had felt it once too. But the Dark Lord would not spare her because she shed a few tears. The war would not cease simply because she was mourning her family.

"Answer me, damnit!" The young auror screamed, her voice hoarse. Tears still threatened to spill from her eyes as she looked at the man she once admired. How could he just expect her to move on like nothing happened? Her family died. They were never coming back; she had lost everyone. And yet, Alastor Moody—her boss, her hero—couldn't even give her an answer to a simple question.

"Chin up lass, constant vigilance doesn't end 'cause yer cryin'." He gruffly replied. Alastor Moody held a fondness of the lass; she had been a good student and a good auror. But the blonde witch needed to learn how to hold herself together. Wars were not won by people crying; they were won by soldiers. The time had come for Marlene to don her armor and fight; casualties would happen in war, and she needed to learn to live with them.

"Constant vigilance can go to bloody hell for all I care!" Marlene thundered. Ire coiled in her belly and she vaguely wondered if dragons felt this way when they were about to breath fire. Words flittered through her head like a blaze; all the sneers, jabs, and foul words she wanted to say to the man in front of her came alive in a sea of flames. "I am tired of your constant vigilance and the 'Greater Good', Moody. I am sick and tired of you bloody old bats declaring war and having us fight and die for you! I lost my family, my home, and you tell me to chin up?" Her words were spat with venom as she starred down the senior auror. Disgust and anger melded into one terrifying beast that threatened to overwhelm Marlene. The witch felt sick, a lump in her throat quickly forming. She felt as if her words were being choked off; but the blonde could not stop yet, she needed to say her piece. "You are sending us to our deaths like lambs to the fucking slaughter! And all you can tell us is to chin up? Chin up, fight my battles. Chin up, you're in a war. Stick your bloody chin up until you're the next bleeding causality! Well fuck you, I'm tired of the cryptic responses and the Greater Good!"

Marlene understood that life was not fair and that it would never be fair. But this man standing before her was ruining any hope she had left in the cause she fought for. Everything she thought she knew had spiraled out of control. Marlene thought she knew what joining the Order of the Phoenix entailed. She thought it meant to protect the weak from the bad guys, to aid comrades, to make a difference by putting dark wizards in prison forever. The Scottish witch came into the war full of exaggerated ideals; she honestly thought that by joining this war she would be changing their society.

Yet now those ideals were shattered, her family was dead, and her heroes were telling her to move on. Her father always said that war revealed a man's true character. One could spout speeches of peace, of hope, of courage, of a brighter tomorrow—but at the end of the day those words were meaningless and they couldn't bring back the dead. What difference did it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless whether or not this mad destruction was wrought under a guise of peace? Of a brighter tomorrow? What difference did any of this war make?

"We are fighting to die and you do not even give a damn," Marlene whispered; her anger spent and the tears finally cascading down her face. These old men had no problem teaching them to fight, to send them off to wage war; to die for a cause that just saw them as the next victim. And all the while these men sat comfortably at home, away from the battles and the corpses, in a happy realm of safety. In the name of the 'Greater Good'.

"Dontcha dare tell me I don't care lass! I'm out there with the lot of yah! I've been the one trainin' yah! Fightin' next to all of yah!" Moody growled. He let the girl say her piece, but now it was her turn to listen. He understood where she was coming from, he really did. Losing family was tough on anyone, regardless of the cause. But he couldn't afford to have one of his best quitting on him because she finally got hit with some of the worst of war. The problems would not go away because she was unable to cope—Marlene needed to learn how to push through it all.

"Yer screamin' and hollerin; actin' like you're the only one to be in this kinda situation," Moody grumbled, taking a sip from his flask. It frustrated him to see the McKinnon lass like this: mourning, pitiful, weak even. She became so absorbed in her own loss that she forgot her family hadn't been the only causalities. Yes, he felt remorse for not going to their aid, but by the time they got the news of the attack it had already been too late. There was no excuse for it, and he had no clue why the intel did not arrive quicker. For that reason, the McKinnon deaths would always be etched into his list of many regrets. "Yer not the only one to go through this. Yer not a child, yer an auror and a damn good one at that. So yer family died, it's tragic but yer alive. There are still people counting on you to help them. So yes, I say chin up."

Moody watched the young witch blink twice, absorbing his words. They might sting and she might not want to hear them, but Marlene needed to face the truth now before she sunk too deep into grieving. Nothing would bring her family back from the dead, but she could channel her anger to help prevent another tragedy like this from happening. Looking at the witch he decided to try and reinforce an old lesson.

"The Potter lass—she is unorthodox, but she got one thing right: soldiers don't fight because they hate what is in front of them, they fight because they love what is behind them." Granted the young witch went about it all the wrong way—screaming at young folk never gained the desired result, but her message hit the senior auror nonetheless. It had been a lesson he tried to teach all the up-and-coming aurors, but one that rarely stuck. These new recruits were so focused on getting the bad guys and saving the damsel in distress that they never realized that fighting a war under the ideals of hate makes you no different than the men you're fighting against. "Your family died because they fought for what they wanted to protect—don't disgrace their death because you have yet to learn the lesson." With that said the gruff auror turned and left. He had to get back to work; dark wizards didn't lock themselves up after all.

Marlene blinked, stunned as she looked at Moody's retreating figure. She had expected screaming, curses, perhaps a temporary removal from the force even; what the blonde did not expect was to be chastised and accused of dishonoring her family's deaths. But the longer she thought about it, she had to give credit to Moody's words—her family died to protect their loved ones. They died fighting, died heroes. There were mixed emotions with that realization: anger, sorrow, and a small swell of pride. Marlene might never completely let go of her resentment for the Order's lack of arrival; but they still needed her help. There were still people to protect.

Marlene had work to do. But first, she needed a drink.

Hargrid bustled about his little cabin, searching for a quill and some parchment. It had been a good, long while since he had contacted 'Mione. He worried about the girl, always taking care of everyone around her and never worryin' about herself. She always seemed to have her hand in various cauldrons—always learnin' that girl was. The half-giant had finally heard back from some of his contacts in Romania and eagerly wanted to send the information to the young witch. It filled him with pride knowing that she had sought him out for information on magical creatures and that he could even give her a few answers. Granted the information he had was minimal and the contact did not want to release too much information to just anyone—he had had to call in a few favors to even get what he had. But at the end of the day, he managed to help 'Mione out. He just hoped that the answers he did get were helpful to the witch.

Hagrid grumbled as he continued his search for a quill and parchment, his puppy Fang not even bothering to get up and help him search. "Wha' good are yeh for, eh boy?" The half-giant groused again as he rummaged through his belongings for the needed items.

"Ah!" Hagrid exclaimed when he finally found some parchment. The half-giant continued to search for a quill, moving around various items as he did so. Feeling a paw scratching at his leg, he looked down to see his Fang with a quill in his mouth. "Thank yeh, Fang!" he replied jovially, snatching the slobbery quill from his pet's mouth and began to write.

Mione,

'ow are yeh? Doin' well, I hope? Fang here is good, don' mind the slobber—he helped me fin' the quill and all. 'm sure he sends his love to yeh! A friend responded to me about the Veelas. He sent a book and didn't say much else. Figured I'd send it to yeh.

Hope it helps.

Hagrid

Although brief, the letter got the point across. Hagrid just felt happy to help the young witch out. She had always been good to him, never insultin' or being mean; she always gave him kind words when others could barely spare that. He can't do much without a wand or O. but he could at least be happy some of his contacts were actually useful enough to provide some information.

"Alrig' I need to get this sent off, don' think the Headmaster would mind me borrowin' an owl do yeh, Fang?" Hagrid asked, patting the dog on the head as he did so. Fang licked his at his hand, slobber dripping all over the floor. With a chuckle, Hagrid took that as a yes. With a big grin Hagrid headed towards his door. The half-giant made his way out of the he small cabin and up to the castle. When he reached the owlery he scanned the room for a nice lookin' bird – one that would not be terribly aggressive in its demand for treats but still sturdy enough to fly a good distance even with some added weight. He found one, a nice tawny owl with dark spots decorating its wings. The owl looked to be sturdy so Hagrid felt confident that it could carry the weight of the book without being terribly exhausted.

"Alrig' fella, can yeh deliver this for me?" He asked the bird, extending his left hand so that the bird could climb on if it desired to; the half-giant had learned early on that the best way to get a creature to help was to give them a sense of control. It seemed to have worked since the owl clambered onto his hand within minutes of him presented it. "I don' have any owl treats on me but I do have some of Fang's treats. He won' mind sharin, I don' think." Hagrid talked to the bird, rummaging through his pockets with his free hand in search for one of the said treats.

The half-giant offered it to the bird which pecked at the treat greedily. When done, the bird extended its left leg for the parcel. Hagrid, taking it as sign of the bird's readiness, began to tie the parcel up neatly and attached it loosely to its leg. He had wrapped it so that the owl could grip the rope hoping that would help the bird carry it better. "Now, it migh' be heavy so feel free to take some breaks okay? There's no rush on this so no need to tire yerself out. Go' it?" He told the bird. As he noticed earlier the bird looked fairly healthy and he doubted the book would be too heavy for it to carry, especially since—to him—it didn't look very heavy. But the half-giant always cared about the creatures on the ground and he never wanted to be the cause for one to over exert or harm itself.

The owl just blinked at him before taking off, the parcel gripped tightly with its claws. Hagrid watched the owl fly off until it became just a speck in the sky.

He hoped it helped 'Mione with whatever she was researching.

Bill stood outside, watching his brothers, Charlie and Percy, playing in the yard. His parents had put him in charge of watching his two brothers while their mum took care of the twins. They were still too young to play outside according to their father. Not that Bill minded, it meant that he had less work to do. At least when he had to watch Charlie, they could play quidditch. Percy was a bit too young to play, again according to his father, but he could keep score well enough.

The familiar popping sound surprised Bill and he swiveled around looking for the origin of the sound. A pretty witch with dark, curly hair stood about four meters away from him. He blinked twice to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him.

"Charlie, take Percy to mum and dad and tell them we have a visitor," the oldest of the brothers spoke loud enough for the two boys to hear, refusing to turn away from the newcomer. The shuffling of clothes being the only indication Bill had that his brother did as told. He had never met this woman and had no clue if his parents had or not. The fact that she had yet to throw hexes had definitely been a good start though; it meant that she might not be there to hurt them. He did not really know all that had been going on outside of Ottery St. Catchpole since his parents have been hush-hush about it all. Bambi hadn't told him much either, aside from the fact that it was getting bad and he should always be prepared for trouble—one of the reasons he brought his wand with him even when watching his brothers in their own yard.

"Who are you?" he called out, gripping the wand in his pocket. The woman just looked at him, tilting her head as she did so and a smile slowly blooming on her face. The witch began to approach the ginger-haired boy, causing Bill to pull out his wand and point it at her with a shaky hand. The woman still approached him, but she raised her hands up in a yielding gesture.

"Don't worry, I'm a friend. I don't think we've officially met yet—I'm Andromeda Tonks." The curly haired witch introduced herself. Andromeda had yet to meet the oldest Weasley boy since he had been enrolled at Hogwarts when Charlie and Nymphadora's play-dates began. The dark-haired witch had been surprised when the young boy drew a wand on her, an action she had not expected from a Weasley child. Most wizarding families did not teach their child to hex first and ask questions later—only the most paranoid of families, the Blacks included, did so. It made her curious where he picked that trait up. "I came to speak with your parents," she added when the boy refused to lower his wand.

"William Arthur Weasley put that wand down!" His mother's shrill voice sounded from behind him. Molly had been shocked when she stepped outside, only to see her eldest son pointing a wand at someone. The fact that person had been a fellow Order member had her furious. "Get in the house, now!" Molly watched as her eldest son lowered his wand, take a glance at the other witch, and headed into the house. The ginger-haired woman took a deep, calming breath before she spoke again.

"So sorry about that, Andromeda. I have no clue what got into the boy, honestly!" The statement received a laugh from the other witch. The Weasley matriarch could tell that Andromeda really had no problem with what just happened, but she felt ashamed by it nonetheless. Her son had been raised better, he should have known not to hold someone and wand point. Yet a small part of her held a bit of pride at her son's protectiveness; it meant that he was cautious—a wise trait in today's world, what with the Death Eater's slowly gaining influence and all.

Andromeda chuckled at Molly's statement. "All is well, honest. I am curious as to where he picked up the trait though?" Andromeda questioned, her left eyebrow rising just so. She had not expected to be held at wand point by a twelve year old but with the current climate in the Wizarding World, she could not condemn the child for the action, even if it had been a surprise. At Molly's shrug, the other witch let the conversation drop. Besides she had a pretty strong inkling about who exactly taught him the whole 'wands first, questions later' policy anyway. "How are you, my friend?" The brunette witch asked Molly, kindly. Andromeda took a good look at the other witch, noting all the added lines, the bags under the eyes, and the constant pursed lips. Obviously the other woman had been under constant stress and given her husband's job at the Ministry and five children at home, Mrs. Tonks would have been more surprised if the other witch was not frazzled.

"Fine, fine—come in will you?" Molly responded with a small, tight smile. She moved away from the door and gestured to the inside of her home. At Andromeda's nod, the ginger haired woman said in a forced joyful tone, "Well come on then!" The Weasley woman had not expected the other witch to come over, and the fact that her daughter Nymphadora was absent meant that whatever the dark-haired witch wanted to discuss was important and more than likely Order business. If so, then the conversation was not one to be held outside where anyone could hear.

As Andromeda Tonks stepped into the Weasley home, Molly shut the door. The mother of five ushered her children upstairs, refusing to let them listen to what could be Order talk, as the other witch sat down on the couch. Molly bustled around the kitchen—her mind racing with all the possible topics that might come up and dread pooling in her stomach as the thoughts gradually got worse—getting some tea from the kettle. When she walked back into the kitchen, the ginger haired woman offered the other witch some tea before taking a seat herself. As she took a sip of the hot brew, Molly only had one thought:

'Let the discussion begin.'

And there is chapter 16. I'm working on the next chapter so I should have it out before August. I just ask that you guys be patient since I'm not at easy-sailing just yet. Reviews help since it reminds me that people are interested in the story. I appreciate those who PMed to ask when the story was going to be updated since you guys help fuel the drive for this story.

-Kori

"There is no aspect of our experience not molded in some way by metaphor's almost imperceptible touch," © James Geary

"Older men declare war but it is the youth that must fight and die." © Herbert hoover

"What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless whether or not this mad destruction is wrought" © Gandhi

"True soliders fight not because he hates what is in front of them; but because he loves what is behind him." © G.K Chesterton.

17. Bright

Chapter 17 finally out. Sorry it took longer, life got in the way. I'm trying to keep posting fairly soon, but it seems like everything just snowballs and gets worse and sucks up even more time. Reviews keep everything going through – it makes me remember that there are people who are interested in the story and I always try to write for you guys. Just know my usual chapter requirement is about 5k words for each chapter – sometimes more but rarely ever less. The word minimum does not include A/Ns or disclaimers either. That is another reason they take longer to update. Now if you don't mind shorter chapters, let me know and maybe we can work something out about getting a chapter out every month?

Beta: Angstar57 fantastic beta she is helped edit and bounce off ideas for me. Really you should all thank her for this chapter even being up!

The usual disclaim applies: If you see anything familiar from the Harry Potter series then it is of course JKR. Everything else that is not mine is copy-righted below at the end of the chapter. If not otherwise stated it belongs to me – so pretty much the plot and a few other bits.

Chapter 17 Bright

Dorea looked at the few people in her parlor, a grim reminder of how few people have survived the last few months of the war. The Weasleys were at home with their children, grieving the deaths of the Prewitt twins; Fenwick had been murdered last night; and all but one of the McKinnon's had perished just last week. The Order's death toll seemed to be climbing higher and higher, and Dorea just knew that the war needed to end soon, otherwise she feared there might not be any people left. If that happened, it wouldn't matter who won the war. "We need a new plan of action," she spoke, her voice soft but firm.

"And that plan would be?" Moody's gruff voice asked. He respected the Potters, more so than anyone else except perhaps Albus Dumbledore. Though unlike the rest of the Order members, Moody did not trust Albus nearly as much; nor did he rely solely on the other wizard's word. Constant vigilance was key, even among friends.

"Hermione," Marlene said. Only a few of the remaining Order members could recall the fight between the two witches around that Yuletide not so long ago; but everyone knew Marlene's dislike of Slytherins, so the fact that the Scottish witch even suggested the young Potter came as a huge surprise. At the flabbergasted glances, Marlene elaborated. "Look, the witch is a downright bint and I can't stand her, but she can help us—I know she can."

Moody nodded, he remembered their conversation vividly. It impressed him that Marlene could get past her dislike of the witch long enough to consider working alongside her. But Moody had a feeling it went deeper than that; Marlene, despite her aversion, trusted the other woman with her life. "She would be useful; she kept you alive after all." By the curious looks, the auror assumed the Scottish witch hadn't told many about the incident.

Marlene scowled at Moody for the comment. She still felt bitter about the whole situation and more often than not she barely had the strength to get out of bed. The blonde could admit that she was still having trouble getting over the death of her family and the loss of trust in her fellow comrades. But the hardest thing for her to accept was that a witch she could barely stand cared enough to fight a hoard of Death Eaters for a family she barely knew. In no way could Hermione ever manage to single-handedly save the McKinnons, but she still tried. It made Marlene question her entire view on the snake.

"I hardly see how a teenage girl can aid us. As adults we have far more experience with magic than her. Besides her temperament at Yuletide a few years ago makes me question her rationale," Elphias Doge replied, earning a scowl from Dorea and Charlus Potter. Even though their relationship was not the best, the two still cared deeply for their daughter. Having one of their friends criticize her aggravated both of them more than they thought possible though. Dorea in particular felt like hexing the man. Part of her knew she had no right to defend her daughter now, especially not with how she acted during her last visit with Hermione; but damn it, that was still her child, and she refused to let someone talk bad about her. However, before she could say anything, Marlene spoke up once again.

"At least she came to my aid; it's more than I can say about the lot of you!" the blonde witch snarled, surprising people once again as she came to the other witch's defense. "She might be young and she might be a bloody snake, but when it came down to it, she fought for my family—people she did not know—while you all were at home safe and cozy. At least with her I won't have to question if she will be there if she is needed."

"And how do you think she knew that your family would be attacked? Perhaps she was in on it and is trying to infiltrate the Order through you?" Doge questioned. The question certainly had its validity—it would not be the first time a Death Eater tried to infiltrate the Order—but given Hermione's vehemence a couple years back, Marlene could just not see it happening. Had it been any other person then yes, Marlene would fully agree with that notion. Except Hermione never followed anyone: she created her own path and damned anyone who got in her way.

"'Mione wouldn't do that," James spoke up this time. The bad blood between the two siblings had never been a secret. But having him and Marlene speak up in the brunette's defense seemed to only aggravate the situation all the more, with Doge accusing Marlene and James of being imperious-ed and then demanding that they undergo testing for the curse. Moody just watched on, partly amused and partly upset at the stupidity of it all. Yes, having the two youngsters defend the younger witch did seem suspicious, but the young Potter never showed any signs of wanting anything to do with the Order after that one December.

"Enough!" Moody hollered, finally having enough of all the screaming. "The chit might be a bit sneaky, but I doubt she would want to even be in the presence of her brother, so he's not been imperious-ed by her either way. Why she helped McKinnon, we do not know and I doubt she would ever tell us, but I can assure you that the lass is in full control of her actions. I will say that the Potter chit is far too prideful to ever consider even becoming a follower—either to Voldemort or Dumbledore." At this point, he glanced to Doge, raising an eyebrow and giving him a menacing smile. "Or do you not remember her threatening to slap her father?"

Elphias Doge stayed silent at this point, but everyone knew he did not want to let this point go. To the older man, the witch's actions and her friends all pointed to her being a bad person. In his mind, bad people always sided with Voldemort. The fact that she had connections to the Order just seemed to make it all the more scary—she could sell them all out just to save herself.

"I agree with Doge," Peter spoke up this time. Marlene's eyes narrowed at the comment. Peter never said anything during the Order meetings, always too nervous to really speak. Or at least that was how he portrayed himself. Despite being in the same house and year as him, Marlene never felt comfortable around him. He seemed too quiet, too idolizing of Sirius and James for her liking. He would be what Moody classified as a follower, someone who needed to have a leader.

"What makes you say that?" Marlene asked, a scowl on her face. Yes, she hated the Potter lass, but as far as she knew, Pettigrew never had any interactions with the witch once he graduated Hogwarts, so nothing he could say would hold any merit. Marlene witnessed Hermione fighting against the Death Eaters and as aggravating the chit had been, the blonde witch never questioned the identity of the other woman—only Hermione could ever get under her skin like that.

"Well look who her friends are: Regulus Black, Bellatrix LeStrange, and Narcissa Malfoy—all of them have ties to or are Death Eaters." Peter replied with a shrug. He never minded being the center of attention, but right now it felt uncomfortable. He didn't have much to say on this topic, he just wanted to make sure the focus never fell on him. If everyone spent more time wondering what James' bratty little sister did, then they wouldn't realize that he no longer sided with them.

A soft clearing of the throat drew Pettigrew's attention to the witch who resembled Bellatrix. He never saw her at the previous meetings, not that he had been to very many, and it made him curious as to who she was—the Order didn't just let anyone in after all. "You are forgetting she's friends with Bill Weasley and the half-giant." At the challenge in the silver eyes, Peter scowled. He already did not like this woman. She obviously had a relationship to Bellatrix LeStrange based on her appearance, but for her to be at an Order meeting meant that she more than likely did not share her sister's sentiments. Based on the resemblance and lack of prejudice he assumed the witch to be Andromeda Black: the one who married a Mudblood.

"And how would you know that? If you heard it from her, then you shouldn't really believe in it now should you?" He grumbled, earning a surprised look from his friends. He had been more vocal in this meeting than he had in any other and it made him question if he should just stop talking—he didn't want to draw suspicion after all. But as of right now, it looked like he was doing exactly that.

"My daughter is friends with Charles Weasley who knows of the friendship fairly well," the woman replied with a huff. Her posture and arrogance screamed pureblood and it made Peter slightly envious. Although a pureblood himself, he never could manage to obtain that regal air and perfection that apparently everyone else in the room possessed. "I still don't think—" Peter Pettigrew spoke, only to be cut off.

"Arguing is not getting us anywhere!" Marlene hollered, tired of the whole conversation. She just wanted to go get a drink and get reacquainted with her bed. "Let's take a vote: do we ask Hermione for some help? Say 'Aye' if you are in agreement. If not, fuck off." The blonde stated. Her last comment earned a few chuckles, helping to diffuse the situation, if only a tiny bit.

Ultimately, all but two agreed to at least consider talking to the young witch. She might not be very helpful, but at the very least she could shed new light on the matter. After all, the witch went to school with most of the people they were fighting, so she would surely know something on the matter.

Now all they had to do was work out the kinks and see if they could get her alone.

"You're dead." Hermione stated, sitting down next to her friend on the bed. The sheer absoluteness of her tone had shocked Regulus to the core. It had him blinking thrice, trying to figure out why Bambi told him that. Since he could still feel his heart beating, he was obviously alive and well even if he was a bit sore. At his blank stare, Hermione decided to clarify.

"On the tapestry. I had Kreacher fix the tapestry so that you show up dead. For all wizarding Britain knows—Regulus Arcturus Black died." Regulus digested the words for a moment before nodding. It made sense to kill him off; he had just taken one of the Dark Lord's precious objects. If he went back to that madman then he would surely be dead for real. Hell, with how much pain he'd been in, Regulus didn't even feel sure if he would recover completely from the Inferi.

"How did you convince Kreacher to listen to you?" Regulus asked, curiously. Kreacher had always adored him, so when Hermione came to his aid and brought along his house-elf he thought nothing of the situation. Kreacher would do anything to save his Master, even listen to a so-called "blood-traitor", but to blast his Master off the family tapestry would be a violation of the bond he had with the House of Black.

"Kreacher will forever be loyal to you; he recognizes that in me as well. I would damn the world if it means that you are safe and so would Kreacher. He knows that I would never put you in harm's way and so he did as I asked." Hermione replied with a shrug. The house-elf's devotion to Regulus went far deeper than the bond to his House.

"Mother will be distraught," Regulus murmured softly. Although she had disowned his brother and never said a nice word to his best mate, the wizard loved his mother dearly. She cared for him, showered him in attention and praise. His death, even if it were false, would tear her heart to shreds. She very well may never recover from this.

"Your mother can hang for all I care," Hermione replied with a snarl, her eyes flickering from blue to brown. Regulus looked at his friend bemused. She never did get along with his mother, always enjoying his father's presence more. After his marking, the situation just got worse between the two witches with Hermione all but spitting venom each time they had to talk.

Regulus bumped her shoulder, trying to make the scowl on her face disappear. "Aw, are you jealous? Don't worry, you'll always be my favorite." Regulus spoke, a teasing lilt in his voice. The scowl deepened, but her eyes returned to that soft shade of brown. She shoulder-bumped him back before speaking.

"I better be your favorite!" She replied haughtily. As if Regulus could ever replace her—she knew too many of his secrets. And she doubted he would ever even consider the idea of killing her off. He had too much lion in him for that.

At her statement, Regulus chuckled. He always enjoyed their banter, no matter how little it happened nowadays, especially with how easy his Bambi got riled up. She always pushed herself so hard and sometimes he thought she forgot to live in the present. His favorite witch just never seemed to notice when she was off in her own world, fighting monsters no one else even saw. Although she was always there to support him, he felt like she sometimes forgot that the reverse could be said as well: that she could depend on him just as much as he did her.

"You know I love you right, Bambi?" Regulus questioned, his voice soft. They never spoke of their feelings for each other, but he had always just assumed it to be there between the both of them—they were family after all. At her nod, something in him relaxed, glad to know that she at least knew he cared for her, that she would be missed if she died.

"You should get some rest," Hermione replied, standing up and heading towards the door. Regulus looked at her, surprised at the sudden decision to leave. He doubted her desire to leave had to do with his admission—it was strictly platonic after all. She paused at the door, glancing back at him.

"I love you too Leo: you're the bright to the world's rust." She told him, before slipping out of the room. Her words confused him, but he felt comfortable in the knowledge that their feelings were mutual. He had no clue what Bambi meant, but he decided to let it go; she was right that he needed to get some rest.

Tonks kicked the dirt on the ground as she took a few steps from the clothing shop her mother was in. Her mother decided to take her to Diagon Alley to meet someone after a few errands, though who she had yet to figure out since they never really socialized in the Wizarding World. Apparently her mother's family did not approve of the marriage and disowned her; something Tonks never understood because family should be cherished, right? Family was the only thing that Tonks had—kids in the neighborhood were mean—plus since they were Muggles she could accidentally reveal her metamorphmagus abilities when angry and ruin the Statue of Secrecy— and she couldn't always play with Charlie since they didn't live close to each other.

"Why are you scowling, Nymphadora?" a voice questioned, causing the young witch glance up, shocked. A pretty, pregnant blonde stood in front of her.

"How'd you know my name?" Nymphadora questioned. Bill mentioned that strangers were dangerous and that she should be cautious of them. But surely it would be okay to talk to this witch since she knew her name, right?

"I'm . . . " the woman seemed to pause which made Nymphadora scowl all the more. Backing up a bit, the young witch prepared to bolt. But the next sentence shocked the young metamorphmagus still. " . . . . I'm your Aunt Narcissa. I just recently came back in contact with your mother." Tonks frowned at that. How dare this woman come up to her and say such a thing? Her mum's family disowned her for falling in love; why would her aunt, if she really even was her aunt, decide she wanted to speak to her mother now?

"If you really are, then why did you ignore my mum?" Tonks questioned, a frown still marring her features. She didn't want to meet someone who would just throw away family. But part of Tonks felt curious: what would her mother's family be like? Were all of them mean? So far, it didn't seem like the older woman wanted to hurt her. Plus with the other witch being pregnant, Tonks felt confident that she could escape if need be.

"Sometimes it's easy to forget that you aren't alone against the world; with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Blacks it often felt like you were—I love my family dearly, but they will be the first to kill you if you cross them." Tonks blanched at this, already not liking the Black family so far. Family should protect each other, not kill them off! But she appreciated the other witch's honesty; it was nice to not be treated like a baby. "Your mother and I were very close, but when she got married, she left, and I didn't understand why. It hurts to lose a loved one, especially when you know they are alive and want nothing to do with you. So I ignored her back, hoping that if I never saw or spoke to her, the pain would go away."

Tonks nodded at that, completely understanding what the older witch meant. She had felt that way after all with both sides of her family. Her father's muggle parents never could seem to grasp the concept of magic and often tried to avoid them as much as possible. Her mother's side just sounded like mean people, and Tonks really did not feel like meeting any more of them. But this woman at least reached out to them, and she didn't sound evil so far.

"So why did you decide to contact us now?" the eleven year old questioned. Tonks honestly felt curious as to why the other woman suddenly decided that now would be a good time to contact them. Despite what her parents thought, Tonks was not a baby—she could take care of herself well enough. Plus she would be going to Hogwarts in just a few months and would then be able to perform magic to protect herself.

"You." That one word shocked Tonks even further. She had never met this witch, so why would she be the reason that the woman contacted her mother after years of silence? It did not make any sense, and Tonks wanted to know the answer so badly but she couldn't figure out how to vocalize her questions. Thankfully the look in her eyes was apparently enough because the pregnant witch elaborated.

"You're a child, and children should always be cherished. Things are getting dark in the world right now and my only goal is to protect those who cannot protect themselves. You children need to be protected at all costs," Narcissa stated, her regal voice tinted with heartbreak. She could not find a way to vocalize the full extent of the situation to the child, nor did she even really want to. Their innocence, Nymphadora's innocence, should be protected at all costs.

"Why?" It seemed like the only question that Nymphadora could even ask. A lot of people always said that children needed to be protected, and although she refused to consider herself helpless and a baby—Nyphmadora recognized that she was still young and therefore needed at least some protection. But to have a stranger reach out to her mother because of her just did not make sense.

"Bad things are going to be happening soon and I'm counting on hearts like yours to remind everyone that bad things are only temporary," Narcissa said with a small smile. "Now how about we go find your mother and get you some ice cream?" The blonde questioned. Her answer came in the form of a stiff nod and a small hand grasping her own as she got pulled into the shop in front of her.

"This is ridiculous," Snape muttered as he looked at the lengthy list the witch had given him. Though a brilliant student during her years at Hogwarts, Severus would always remain the better potioneer. This idea of hers, although theoretically sound, was imprudent at best. The ingredients she wished to mix would either have a minimal effect or have the potential to explode. He could see where her line of thinking went; with the meticulous notes she had lining the parchment, Snape could definitely see why people had called her a swot back in school.

"I didn't ask for your personal opinion, I asked for your professional," Hermione replied dryly. Regulus had told Snape about the horcruxes, and although Hermione trusted the older wizard, she did not trust him that much. Leo, however, had been adamant that he should be included since his skills would undoubtedly be useful in the long run. It had been Kreacher who suggested the use of a potion to help destroy the locket, but so far only Hermione had been the one to really take the house-elf's advice seriously. And now that she finally might have a credible solution, this prat tells her that the notion was preposterous. "Besides, Slughorn said that the theory was sound enough."

"Of course he did, Slughorn is an idiot." Snape seethed. Their old Head of House never did have that innate understanding of potions, despite his ability to pick out talented students. If he had truly been a brilliant potioneer, he would not have been teaching at Hogwarts of all places; not with the many research labs on the continent or even those in the UK. At the small curl of the witch's upper lip, the raven-haired man knew that she just said so rile him up. But knowing Slughorn, who always practiced more with theory than with actual potions, the old man probably did think this vacuous idea held plenty of merit. But theory never mattered in potions—only ingredient preparation did—and this witch wanted to blow up his basement to test in incongruous hypothesis.

"The hellebore is a common ingredient used in warding thanks to its banishment and protective properties. Pairing that with valerian sprigs would only enhance those aspects even further," Hermione argued. Honestly, the prat acted like she never did any research. Ingredient preparation was important, but it wasn't the only factor to consider, despite what Severus likes to assume. "The two are practically harmonious! Especially when diluted with pomegranate juice and peppermint leaves!" the brunette added, frustrated with the conversation: the pest in front of her had shot down every possible option she had considered. The pomegranate juice would enhance the strength of the potion, increasing the exile and shielding qualities of the potions, precisely the characteristics one needed to focus on to neutralize the horcrux.

With absolutely no previous work done on the subject matter, Hermione couldn't figure out which angle to attack from. Dark magic took on a life of its own. There was a misconception in their world when it came to dark magic. While, to an extent, the intention of the caster was important in whether or not a type magic is dangerous, one simply could not label spells as dark magic because of the fact that spells are not sentient. Real dark magic takes on a conscience of its own; takes the embodiment of copious dark creatures and creations such as horcruxes. There had been documented studies done on these creatures, such as red caps, which have no definitive life cycle and only attack people for the sake of attacking them. They do not hunt for food or a den to sleep in like most predators; they attack because they enjoy seeing blood, because killing is fun to them. Once a magical object takes on sentience and seeks only to kill, then it becomes dark magic.

"Mixing hellebore with asphodel could be disastrous," Severus said, crossing his arms as he glared down at the impotent witch. The witch may be brilliant, but she was downright incompetent when creating potions. Obviously the witch did not consider the side effects of mixing asphodel with other ingredients. When considering Greek mythology, asphodel was heavily associated with death, so much so that they were planted in graveyards to feed the dead. There was a reason it was used in a potion called the Draught of Living Death. Yet the chit couldn't be bothered to see past the possible benefits of hellebore.

"Then what the bloody hell would you recommend, Snape? We need something to remove the dark magic, banishing it might be the only way to go. Keeping it submerged in a potion would essentially work in the same way as drowning it since once the metal touches the potion the banishing spell would go into effect," Hermione said, exasperated. Normally she found magical theory and potion creation fascinating, but right now she just wished this whole thing would be over. Hellebore was a common potion ingredient, one that wouldn't arose suspicion if bought in bulk. It would be the best option to use for that reason. None of them needed the false lord to figure out what they were doing.

"Dragon's blood," Snape replied laconically. He watched as the witch in front of him blinked thrice. Her eyes were wide, doe-like even. It reminded him of Lily when they were younger, how she would listen to stories of magical creatures with wonder and how her eyes would go wide with awe at the various magical tricks he did. Even still, the two witches had only their intelligence in common and Severus knew that better than anyone. He loved Lily, would die for her even, but that did not mean he did not recognize her faults. Hermione's devotion to her friends went deep and were all consuming: she would die for them—even kill for them. But she recognized that they were human and therefore made bad choices; she recognized that even if some of them could never be saved, they deserved the attempt to at least try. Although he would never admit it, that characteristic endeared her to him.

Looking at the witch, she still seemed to be lost in thought, most likely trying to determine if his suggestion held enough merit. "It has the same banishment and protective properties of hellebore; unlike the wretched herb you are so fond of, it most likely will not react negatively when mixed with asphodel. Furthermore, the slightly basic nature of the blood would only neutralize the acidity of the Draught of Living Death," Severus explained. He still could not fathom how the brunette ever managed to get into N.E.W.T level Potions with that kind of mentality. Detailed notes aside, one should always consider every aspect of a potion's ingredients before any modifications could be made. Although hellebore could be an effective potion ingredient when prepared correctly, it was also rather deadly; dragon's blood would act in a similar fashion to hellebore, but it would also have a less likely chance of exploding. "All of this is conjecture anyway, we cannot know definitively until we test it out."

Hermione pursed her lips. Although she didn't like the idea of being wrong, Snape's thoughts held merit. They would just have to see which ingredient would prove more effective. How they would go about testing their experiment was another problem altogether. Getting the ingredients together would not be a problem, and since Snape already improved the Draught of Living Death during school, neither would the prep-work. Determining the effectiveness of the potion, however, would be their biggest obstacle; they couldn't just buy random dark artifacts and throw them into the potion—it would result in too much attention.

"Seeing as this is all conjecture, we might as well try both methods," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Although she liked Snape's aboveboard perspective most of the time, right now their clashing opinions were only making the situation worse. But Snape, more than anyone, had the right to call her out on any perceived mistake; he was bloody brilliant with potions after all. "We just need to work on getting some dark artifacts. Maybe we can raid Grimmauld place."

"Stealing? How very Gryffindor of you," Snape teased, a slight curl of his lip firmly in place. His statement caused Hermione to scowl. Although she adored Bill Weasley, a Gryffindor through and through, she still hated being compared to one. They were precipitous on the best days and downright nettlesome the rest.

"You're the one that fell in love with one," Hermione shot back. She watched as Snape's shoulders tensed, the smirk wiped off. His eyes darkened as he crossed his arms over his chest. He never liked being reminded of Lily, being reminded about how she threw away years of friendship out of sheer antipathy. Her comment had been a low blow and she knew it; Snape hadn't come to accept being a one-sided lion lover like she and Leo had.

"Look, I'll start working on acquiring the ingredients for the potion. You can look over my notes and critique my intelligence, alright?" Hermione added teasingly. The man obviously did not feel ready to talk about it, let alone accept that the love of his life was a terrible friend; so she decided to give him a way out of the conversation entirely.

"Insufferable wench," Severus muttered before turning his focus towards her notes once more. Hermione took this as one of his silent dismissals and left the room. She dropped the topic today, but one of these days she would make him see reason. There was no reason he should be beating himself up over a woman who refused to see reason.

Again thank you to angstar57 for beta-ing. Let me know what you thought of the chapter! Below are non JKR disclaimers.

Dark creature information ©hplexicon

Herb information ©thevillagewitch

Asphodel information off of google, I looked at multiple websites and they pretty much said similar things.

"You'll be bright when I'm starting to Rust", "You'll be the why behind the what", "I'm counting on hearts like yours to remind me," ©Icon for Hire Lyrics (Counting on Hearts like Yours)

18. Monster

Chapter 18: Monster

His Mistress continued to cry. It had been weeks now and his Mistress could still not quit mourning the loss of her Heir. It hurt Kreacher. He wanted to ease his Mistress' suffering and let her know that Master Regulus lived. But the Dark One would kill his Master if that secret came out. Kreacher could not allow that to happen. Kreacher had faithfully served the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black for his entire life, and he would continue to serve it by saving its heir from the Dark One. Once he was vanquished, then Kreacher could ease his poor Mistress' suffering—but only once he was gone.

"There, there Mistress. Kreacher has brought you some tea." He gently placed the cup of Earl Grey in front of the witch, adding in her usual dollop of honey before magicking it to stir. The piercing silver eyes of his Mistress were so lonely. His Mistress' silver eyes once sparkled like the world's most expensive polished silver—now they were dull, rusted even. He felt bad for the young witch he had raised. She had always been a demanding child, but she treated him well, much better than her father before her anyhow. It hurt Kreacher knowing that he had to lie to her. But his lie was protecting his Master Regulus and so it must be done. Although his Mistress loved her son, she did not have his best intentions in mind. Missy Bambi did and to protect Master Regulus, Kreacher would follow the younger witch's command and ensure that everyone in their esteemed society believed that Master Regulus was dead—even if it hurt his old heart to see the woman he raised cry about her 'deceased' son. Kreacher felt like a bad elf, but he had never felt the need to punish himself; and for that very reason, Kreacher felt good about his decision. The magic between him and the house were in agreement: Master Regulus must be saved at all costs.

"Our House has fallen, Kreacher!" Walburga woefully screeched. Kreacher nodded his head solemnly, agreeing with his Mistress. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black had indeed fallen, but it was not because of Master Regulus' supposed death. Kreacher, such a loyal servant, knew better than to place the status of a fallen house upon his Master Regulus. Kreacher had always been a proper elf, a good, loyal servant to his Mistress. But he was not foolish. Kreacher knew the truth.

As much as it pained him to even think about it, he knew the truth. He loved his Mistress; the fiery witch he raised from infancy will always have a place in his heart. But just like a parent, he knew when dear Mistress had made a mistake. This just happened to be a huge one. Her infatuation with the Dark One had caused nothing but problems. First, the disrespectful one got repudiated and then the heir got promised to the Dark One. Oh, he could not stand the disrespectful eldest son of the House of Black. Always rude, always tarnishing the reputation of this Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. But if he had not been repudiated, then perhaps Master Regulus would not have been promised to the Dark One. And now Kreacher had to lie to his poor, grieving Mistress. Kreacher's only solace came from the fact that the House Magic agreed with him on this matter.

It broke his old heart because he knew that as of right now, the House of Black had indeed fallen. But Master Regulus' supposed death did not cause the fall.

Mistress did.

'Fine, 2 PM at the Hog's Head.'

James had the words memorized by now. The words so neatly scrawled on the crumpled paper in his pocket. The Potter Heir still felt amazed that his sister had agreed to meet with him. He never expected to get a response from her—and even if he did, James never would have guessed that she would agree to meet up. But she did. Hope flourished in his chest; maybe, just maybe, he could begin to repair the damages to their relationship. The pureblood remembered Black's advice from months ago, and he had thought long and hard on why his sister had put a fence between them.

James Potter finally believed that he found out why the fence had been built. It made him sick to his stomach knowing that he messed everything up with his sister. His inactions caused him the loss of a family member. Hermione never asked for anything that he could not provide. All that she asked could have been so easily given. In fact, it should have been given. It should have been given without any hesitation. Except he never even attempted to offer it and he had no good excuse as to why. He allowed his biases cloud his judgment, and instead of trusting in his sister, he penalized her. So, he took it upon himself to reach out to her in the Order's stead.

A soft pop announced Hermione's arrival inside the pub. He never knew anyone could even apparate inside of the Hog's Head. Turning his seat at the bar around, James looked at the younger witch. Her brown hair seemed more manageable now, and he briefly wondered how she managed to tame that frizzy mane of hers. How many more events, no matter how small, did he miss because of his stupidity?

"'Mione, I'm surprised you came," His voice held a soft note to it and a little something that the brunette could not place. If the tone came from Leo she would have labeled it as apologetic, but with James, she did not feel comfortable cataloging it as such. There was a timbre of something in his voice that made her step falter just a little bit. It made the brunette hesitant; she even second-guessed whether or not she should even be there. Taking a deep breath, Hermione mentally prepared herself to face whatever struggle James brought with him today.

"Why did you ask me to meet?" Her voice held firm, surprisingly enough. Hermione felt like her insides were liquefying. The feeling of fire coursing through her veins came back at full force, thrumming with delight. She remembered what she told Lily about the monster at the door and the fire burning from inside. All logic would indicate that she should not be feeling this sense of dread pulling in her belly, that the monster at the door should not be the brother who claimed to love her. But as they stood in silence, the monster in her just seemed to claw deeper, chilling her down to her magical core.

"Look, I know I've fucked up—really, truly fucked up. I am sorry, 'Mione, so sorry," James said. His heart clenched at the look of distrust on his little sister's face. That look should never have been there, but it was, all because of him. "And I know you hate me—"

"I don't hate you, James," Hermione stated, her voice soft but firm as she interrupted the older wizard. The way she spoke, so resolutely, shocked James. With everything that had happened between the two of them, he fully expected that she would despise him. It's what he would have done in her position after all.

"You perpetuated the evil of our society and allowed it to unfold and fester to the point that it dehumanized you. Your actions made you no better than Lupin during the night of the full moon—a mindless, rabid monster." Her voice hitched a little at the end, her voice dripping with venom. She could still feel the terror pooling in her stomach as she remembered that horrible night. Even after all these years, the bitterness remained.

She watched as James' eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared at the insult to his friend. Gryffindors were always so territorial; given any other circumstances, she might have found it amusing. But right now, she didn't feel like indulging the man in front of her. So, she spoke once more before James could go off on a tangent and completely derail the conversation.

"The werewolf is a monster. And so is the human side of your friend as far as I am concerned. You, Pettigrew, and even Black were all spoiled, vindictive brats who had no sense of responsibility for all your actions. Lupin? He has always been guilty of his inaction, willing to chastise you but never truly remorseful or even willing to stop all of you. As far as I am concerned, he's even worse than you," Hermione said, a trill of malicious glee in her voice. She didn't care at this point if the truth hurt her brother's feelings or if she insulted his friends. He never cared when the roles were reversed. And although she knew that really didn't matter, that it did not justify her harshness, she enjoyed finally being able to throw back a few of the punches. They all had their bad sides, but she had to admit it loosened a little knot in her chest at finally being able to speak frankly despite the monster digging deeper.

"The Muggles call it a bystander effect and talk about how easy it is to not do anything when you can spread the blame. Lupin never did anything to stop all of you. So as far as I am concerned, he is just as guilty," she responded, her voice firm. The witch would never consider herself a hero. She was far too selfish to ever really be considered as one, she cared too deeply for those she considered hers than she did for strangers. She had no makings of a hero. But that didn't mean she had to sit by and partake in the vileness that their society loved to sow—Hermione did not want to resemble her family at all in that regard.

She did not have to participate in festering the wounds or all the drama that played out. She refused to sit by, idle and awaiting a real hero to save the day. As she told McKinnon—no hero would arrive to slay the monster.

"I don't hate you at all, Jamey. I love you—I just wish I never met you," Hermione replied, the softness in her voice returning full force. Her statement summed up so many things that she could never express to her brother. How many times did she wish that the Potters had not adopted her? It's not that she didn't love them—she did, with all her heart. But if they had never adopted her, then she wouldn't need to want them, love them, or cry over the shattered remains of their relationship. She would not have to figure out how to deal with the backlash of forgotten promises or wondering what she did wrong. If they never adopted her, then maybe she wouldn't feel this absolute heartbreak.

James didn't know what to say. How could she love him but wish to have never met him? What kind of love was that? What happened to love being forgiving and kind?

"How do you expect me to believe you love me if you say that?" he asked, his voice slightly raised. It made no sense. Yes, he expected her to hate him, especially after everything that happened between them. But to lie to his face and say that she still loved him? That was not love—it was cruelty.

"You made me feel worthless and guilty for things I had no control over, Jamey. You made me question my value as a person. It took Leo to show me that I am so much more than the insecurities you ingrained into me." Hermione's voice began to rise once more. It felt weird speaking about the little seed so firmly planted in her being. It felt odd, almost like she was digging up the already too deeply planted roots. Nothing that she had said should have ever made it out of her mouth. The words were some of her closely guarded secrets. Hermione shouldn't be telling James this, a little voice in the back of her head screamed for her to shut up—leave. Never return and never speak to James again. Pretend he didn't exist. The pain would fade so long as you leave now. But another part of her wanted her brother to know all of this; wanted him to understand what he did and exactly how he hurt her. James was a true Potter after all, a Gryffindor through and through—he would never be able to read the silent cues that she broadcasted, not like any of her fellow Slytherins would.

"I grew up, Jamey. Did you think I enjoyed distancing myself from the Potters? They raised me. They loved me and I had to leave that all behind!" At this point, Hermione's voice echoed around them—loud but steady. She felt the rage feed into the fire coursing through her veins as she spoke. So many words flew around in her head as she tried to find the ones she needed. There were so many things she wished to say to James. So many words she never had the courage to say aloud let alone to her brother's face.

"No one ever told you to leave! You were the one who chose to leave!" Words poured out of James' mouth, though he didn't know why he chose those particular ones. Hermione always overthought even the simplest of scenarios. Something convinced her that she did not belong at the manor. Whatever convinced her must have been one of the final nails in the coffin. But even if he knew what he said was wrong, James could not regret what he said. Hermione chose to leave them, she chose to not fight for her place in the family. She gave up on them.

Hermione saw a dark mauve color. Before she even knew it, she began to parrot back the words that had plagued her mind for the last couple of years, "Quit being a fucking bint and get out of our Manor." That rich color seemed to swirl about in her vision, clouding the man standing in front of her. How dare he imply that she chose to leave the Potters? That the distance between her and the people who raised her had been caused by her? As that amethyst color began to twist and localize around her peripheral vision she saw the Potter heir pale. Her words seem to have struck home. James looked surprised that she remembered those words from so long ago. As if she could ever forget them—they were etched into her very being. Potter Manor lost any semblance it had of home that day.

"You told me to leave—all because I never fit your mold of the perfect sister. Growing up is painful. Change is painful. But what's even worse than that? Staying stuck in a place you apparently don't belong in." Hermione hated feeling unwanted, like her mere existence made her a burden. She refused to feel that again. The agony of waking up and feeling worthless hurt more than anything she had felt before. The lack of purpose made her want to curl into herself and simply die. Had the Blacks not took her under their wing and helped her realize that she was far more than just a wallflower, she would probably have ended it all long ago.

"I hated waking up that way, Jamey. So, I adapted and my friends helped me bloom into something more than what you planted inside of me." Hermione's voice became soft once more. She still felt the fire burn through her veins and the mauve color still swirled around her peripheral vision as she thought of how to word her next statement. The brunette knew that she felt too heated about this conversation and that if she did not pick her words carefully, the conversation could quickly devolve into yet another verbal spar. Hermione did not want another fight between her and James. But she also wanted to get all of this off her chest.

"Back in Hogwarts, you always told your friends how you wanted to change the world. But did you ever think of changing yourself?" It might come off as an unorthodox question—especially because no one should have to change themselves for another person—but the question had been an honest one. The world did not change because people demanded it. The world changed because people disliked what they saw in the mirror and changed themselves. It was the few caring people who sought for more than just what the world considered acceptable.

"Have you ever looked in the mirror and hated who you saw staring back at you?" Hermione doubted he had. In fact, she doubted he could even see his reflection clearly. The brunette doubted that James saw anything other than a man returning his gaze. But even now, looking at him, all she could see was that mean little boy, the child who refused to believe that the world revolved around anyone else but him. The look on his face, the way he held himself, even the condescending look of pity . . . it was like they were back at school all over again.

She knew his response before he even said it. How could she not? Lily said he had changed, mentioned how that made her love him because James somehow proved through his actions that he cared about his family. Well, Lily Potter could shove that opinion up her arse. Just because James felt remorseful towards her did not mean he'd changed; it meant he realized that she no longer felt obligated to indulge him. Not that he actually felt penitent. If he had a single apologetic bone in his body, then he would feel guilty for how he treated Severus and the countless students he bullied. If he had ever felt a single micrometer of repentance, he would have the bollocks to admit that he'd fucked up with more than just her. But James' eyes still glinted in the same unapologetic way. They were glazed over with this veil of confusion—the Potter heir still couldn't grasp why she considered his actions wrong.

"You should." Her voice cracked as she spoke just above a whisper. "You should look hard at your reflection and think. Ask yourself would your child be proud of your actions? Proud to know that his father was feared instead of loved?" Hermione knew her statements might seem harsh, but she wanted her brother to understand. Back at school, people did not idolize the marauders. They feared them. Sure, some of the pranks were funny and they were just jokes. But there were times when the jokes were not funny and everyone still laughed.

She vaguely remembered her second year where James performed that awful transfiguration job on her hair. It was not the actual event she remembered clearly, but instead what that event resulted in. A first-year Slytherin intercepted her in the common room just days after that event and asked what she could do to avoid that situation. That became the brunette's moment of clarity. "Those young, impressionable minds at school would ask me how to not be a victim of your next prank. Children feared they would become the next victim of your harmless fun. Are you really so funny if people only laugh out of fright?"

James felt like someone slapped him. He never knew that his sister felt any of this. Part of him wanted to deny what Hermione said. No one ever went up to him and said they felt this way, so all of this really could only be taken as hearsay. But the resolute tone made it hard for him to just brush it off. Whether or not Hermione's statement had any truth behind it, she believed in what she said. She honestly believed that people were frightened by him.

"Regardless of how you felt about my housemates, we were human. We had skeletons and thoughts and feelings. But you couldn't get past preaching about how we were the villains. But after every prank, a student began crying. After every row, a person hated you just a little bit more. And somewhere along the way we started to collect each other." Despite feeling lighter than she had in years, the tiny whispers still echoed in her mind, telling her to obliviate him and run. Run away and never look back. Monsters did not change. She was foolish if she thought was genuinely upset. The little voice in her head told her that they only thing keeping the monster at bay was her usefulness. James didn't really care about her, just what she could do for him. The voice, even though a whisper, was the only thing Hermione could hear clearly through the pounding in her veins. Yes, it felt nice to really tell James how she felt, but that didn't stop the monster from scratching. It didn't halt the fear.

"'Mione," James whispered. Without thinking about anything else, the Potter heir pulled his younger sister into a hug. All throughout school, his sister seemed to be this collected, intelligent, and independent person. At the tender age of twelve, she had already cemented herself as this infallible being. It was hard to picture her as the little girl too short to reach the counter when she tried to sneak a biscuit or who begged him to read with her at night. Once they reached Hogwarts, it seemed like Hermione no longer need him.

Regulus had been right from the beginning: they were just strangers. That would change though, he would make sure of it.

Hermione stood stiff, unsure of why Jamey felt the need to hug her. This whole conversation had spiraled out of hand. She didn't mean to word vomit and vent about her feelings. She just came out to figure out what her brother wanted to talk to her about. Nothing else.

"What do you want?" The brunette just wanted this conversation over. She still had some errands to do for Severus and honestly, she could only handle so much lion-loving at a single time.

James pulled away from her to glance at those brown eyes that use to sparkle so easily. With everything they talked about, it did not feel right to make a request of her to help them.

"Just trying to meet my neighbor."

Snape watched as the potion boiled. It glittered in the light, a dark mauve color sparkling as the potion stirred, but it did not have the correct shading. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall before letting out a drawn-out sigh. Regulus and Hermione thankfully left him to his own devices so he could experiment with the brewing to his heart's content. Of course, presently that seemed to create more problems than solutions. Glancing down, Severus focused his attention on his notebook. The current recipe for the potion was written in his messy scrawl with various lines scratched out. So far adding straight hellebore into the potion did not produce the desired results. Neither did diluting the hellebore with pomegranate and peppermint. Of course, he knew it wouldn't work, but Hermione could not shake that obscene idea out of her pretty little head. He, begrudgingly, relented and tried to see if her method would work. Of course, they hadn't tested it on the Horcruxes, but if they did not work on the meager dark objects that they did have, Snape doubted that the mixture would successfully neutralize those demented objects.

Unfortunately for him, his hypothesis with the dragon's blood did not seem entirely successful either. It did manage to separate the dark magic from the object, but all it seemed to do was contain it, not destroy it. Snape had tried numerous variations for each potion, but thus far nothing fruitful ever came of it.

"Perhaps if a few drops of the diluted hellebore is added to the dragon's blood . . .maybe the product of the two would work in destroying the dark magic," Snape murmured to himself. Of course, with how reactive hellebore was, even in its diluted form, he had to be careful. It would take a few days to get the correct dosing, but Snape felt confident in his potion making ability.

It would take some time, but he could manage it. Soon this blasted war would be over. No more lives destroyed. All of this could just end. Perhaps he could even get out of Britain and start fresh. A change of scenery would be nice.

Glancing back at the potion, Snape let out another sigh before magicking it away. He should get started on that hellebore dilution if he wanted to get the right dosage. Severus let out a huff; he shouldn't be entertaining Hermione's idea and yet, he was.

"The things I do for that insufferable witch."

©Philip Zimbardo, The Psychology of Evil: Path one you become the perpetrator of evil, path two guilty of passive inaction. Path three, the hero. It's a great lecture and one I would totally recommend that you watch on YouTube! It's a Tedtalk.

"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." -©Leo Tolstoy

"Human…skeleton…villians….collect" -©Paramore, Monster Lyrics. I didn't use the exact lyrics but they were inspired by the lyrics so I am copyrighting them.

So here's the next chapter! Sorry it took so long to get it out-life happened. But thankfully angstar54 is a fantastic beta and a quick one too! So y'all should probably give her a big thanks! Review and tell me what you think!

-Kori

19. The Kids are Alright

Two chapters in a year? Please tell me y'all are happy with this! Hopefully I can get more out this year but beware - I'm starting a graduate program and so my writing time might be limited even more than previously. But I am going to try! The chapters may be shorter-I know this one is shorter than the rest. I liked writing this chapter, I felt like it hit home a lot of points I wanted to make in the story. My favorite one is the last segment, so PLEASE let me know what you think about that one. As always the fabulous angstar54 has been a huge beta help with this chapter. She really is fantastic, y'all should totally thank her for all of her help.

Chapter 19: The Kids Are Alright.

"Tell me what is going on."

The demand shocked Hermione. She did not know how to answer the lanky teen standing before her. The brunette had practically watched him grow up—she adored this vivacious Gryffindor. Doted on him so much that Regulus even teased her about it. The teen had never given her any trouble before, let alone demanded something from her.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, attempting to divert the topic. She did not want to be dishonest with him. But at the same time, she spent so much time protecting him: Hermione did not want to dim the light that burned so brightly inside of the teen. He was still just a child, a happy child without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.

"Don't, Bambi." The stern tone surprised Hermione even more than his previous demand. With a huge sigh, the brunette relented. Hermione has never once lied to Bill—she would not do it now. Before it had been easy to shelter him from everything going on. Of course, she knew that Bill had some inkling of what was going on around him; he was a Gryffindor, not stupid after all. But the redhead never really questioned her about it, so she did not bother to elaborate on the matter. But now he wanted answers.

"Bill, this should not be your concern. You are a child." The brunette told started off. She raised her hand in a 'stop' motion, signaling that she had not finished talking yet. Hermione did not want Bill to interrupt her. She was willing to tell him the truth, but that did not mean she would tell him everything. "But I would rather you know at least a bit. I have already taught you how to defend yourself—I did not do that just so you can protect yourself against school yard bullies."

Hermione took in a deep breath as she tried to figure out how to phrase her next words. How much did she really want to reveal to him? Obviously not enough to make him a potential threat. The Death Eaters were ravenous for blood—especially for so called 'blood traitors'. They would not care that Bill was a child. If Riddle even saw a modicum of threat in Bill, he would send his Death Eaters to eliminate him. Glancing around the tiny ice cream parlor, Hermione debated on her words. It was kind of Mrs. Weasley to allow her to take Bill out for a treat—she has missed him terribly. Hermione did not want to ruin the nice day by telling him the problem with the world, but she did not want to lie to him either.

"It's War, Bill," Hermione said, in a hushed whisper, "with a capital 'W'. This is not child's play—this is not a disagreement between two political parties despite what the Ministry might want you to think. No one wants to communicate with each other." Hermione hated having to explain this to him and wished that she did not have to. The brunette hated that war even had to exist. But it must; to prevent a million more deaths, war must exist. Even though it was pointless in the end—war never proved who was right. It only proved who was left. If that was victory, then it was a bloody, hollow one.

"Riddle will destroy every single life he interacts with—including his followers. Aside from himself, he spares no one. Someone needs to stop him before he devours us all." Blue eyes blinked slowly at her as Bill tried to process what she said. He did not know the name 'Riddle', but he knew that person was a threat by the way Hermione said it with such pugnacity. Bill hated the way Bambi's eyes seemed to dull as she talked. She used to be so hopeful about the world around, always looking forward to all the colors crashing down on her. Seeing her questioning that upset the redhead and he could feel his stomach sinking at the mere sight of her looking jaded.

"So why does it have to be you?" Bill questioned. He often wondered why Hermione always felt she needed to be the one to do everything. Surely she got tired of always being the one to fix things? Bill knew that he would be.

"Ever heard the saying 'absolute power corrupts absolutely?" Hermione questioned. At Bill's slow nod, she continued. "I don't love war. I don't love its violence. I don't love the sharpness on the weapons, or the swiftness of the wands, or even the glory that comes with victory." Bill frowned at her response. He hated that Bambi felt like she needed to be the savior. He would not call it a hero-complex because she did not want to save the world per say. Bill knew that she just wanted to protect her own and in doing so she took on the largest burden. The redhead hated that. Bambi always tried to seem infallible but in doing so she created so much strain on herself.

"You love your people," Bill stated. He understood that. He loved his family, he would do anything he could to protect his younger brothers. If he could, Bill would even take up the gauntlet and protect Bambi. But Bill was not an idiot, he knew that as a school boy he could not stop evil wizards from coming after Bambi, let alone defeat them as she intended. But he could save her from herself.

Bill's lanky frame collided into hers. His arms wrapped around her waist as his head rested just below her shoulder. "Don't forget about the world of colors, Bambi." He whispered his grip on her tightening just a bit. "You are the one who taught me that they exist . . . that the world isn't just full of ugly grey shades." Bill felt Bambi's hand comb through his hair and he let out a contented sigh. Her hand seemed to move on habit more than anything else; something he knew it did when she needed comfort. Bill wondered whether she even knew of this pattern of hers.

"I'm not sure I even believe in it anymore." The words came out as a choked sob. For a moment Bill did not know what to say. It felt like the world got turned upside down. Bambi had always been an optimist, a hoper of far-flung hopes, and a dreamer of improbable dreams. It was only when he felt a drop of liquid on his face that he knew what to say.

Looking up, he gazed into watery brown orbs. Tears were brimming in her eyes; only a few had managed to escape down her cheeks. He hated this. Bambi shouldn't cry.

"Then I'll have to have enough faith for both of us, won't I?"

Tonks scowled at the door to the parlor. Her parents were talking and they did not want her listening in. Of course, Tonks knew that she was young and shouldn't know everything, but she did not like that her parents were keeping her in the dark so to speak—especially about her own future. After all, it was her future they were discussing and therefore it should be her decision.

A soft chuckle came from her left. Tonks turned towards the sound, her lips still in a prominent scowl. "What's so funny?" she questioned her very pregnant aunt.

The woman had come into their lives only a few months ago, but she already had developed a close bond with all of them. Her mum's eyes were brighter than she had ever seen before. It was like something lost in her mum had been rekindled. Tonks liked that; she never really knew how unhappy her mum was being repudiated by her family until Aunt Cissa came into the picture.

"You are," Narcissa responded with a soft smile. Although it sounded terrible to say, Lady Malfoy was happy Nymphadora grew up away from the Black Family. Their Patriarch would have ruined the girl. Of course, her separation from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black was a double-edged sword since it meant that Andy had to raise the child with a stigma attached.

Blood-traitors, especially renounced ones, were never welcomed in their society. The ones with money, like the Potters, could get around that of course. But Andy, disowned from her family, had to struggle to support her new one.

"Your parents love you, they just want to keep you safe," Narcissa told the young girl. She watched as the child's hair turned from a vibrant shade of red into a pastel blue. The young witch has not yet managed to completely control her metamorphagus abilities. "I know you want to be treated like a big girl, but let the adults spoil you. There are reasons we do it," Narcissa said as she patted the empty seat next to her.

She watched as Nymphadora blinked at her curiously before taking the seat. Andromeda has raised her daughter wonderfully given the circumstances. Narcissa did not doubt for a second that their own childhood played a huge role in how Andy raised her daughter. The soon-to-be mother reached out to the young witch, pulling her close.

"Let us protect your childhood, Nymphadora." Narcissa combed her fingers through the pastel locks. The Lady Malfoy watched as her niece arched into her touch, instinctively doing it. The blonde remembered her own childhood, vividly so, and never once did she arch into anyone's touch. They were taught to be proper: affection was not given unless it produced benefits. Besides, those affectionate touches usually turned into corrective hands.

Narcissa hoped that the young child never had to experience a corrective hand. Although she knew her sister would never be the one to deal the blow, it did not erase the fear that it may happen. There were a lot of terrible people in the world and many who still believed in the old ways.

"I meant what I said when I told you that I wanted to protect your innocence. You're the hope for the future," Narcissa said, her voice soothing as her fingers raked through the soft, blue tresses. She did not know how to tell Nymphadora that right now her childhood was the most important thing in the world. The only way to stop this war from branching out into the next generation was to destroy the seeds of evil to prevent it from blossoming into the entire world's ruin. "It's our job to protect you, dear. So let us do this for you."

Tonks sighed as she leaned into her aunt's soft touch. She understood where the grownups were coming from, she really did, but who would protect them? Her mother smiled more. Her father laughed more. They're family grew and things were going well for them. Sure, not everything was perfect, but at least they were happy right now. "Who will protect you?" she asked, glancing up at her aunt. Her eyes changed from a soft brown into sparkling grey, matching her aunt's.

Tears pricked at Narcissa's eyes. This was the thing she wanted to protect. This innocence. This compassion. Adults did not have these qualities, not really. Nymphadora had this vibrant spark of empathy and it burned so brightly that the Lady Malfoy knew, without a doubt, that she would protect this precious child at any cost. "Oh, you sweet, precious girl, that is not your job," Narcissa said, pressing a kiss upon the young witch's forehead. "Nor is our job to force you to face this cruel, heartless world." No, their job was only to love their child and raise them well enough that the world becomes a little less cruel. It was important to teach the children how to protect themselves, how to face adversity and how to solve problems. But it should never be the child's job to absolve the sins of the parents.

"It is our job to fight for you and to make sure this world is safe. There will be things we cannot prevent in your life, but we can make it so you have all the abilities needed to handle anything that may arise," Cissa said with a soft smile. The blonde knew that shielding a child from everything was detrimental to their growth and development. But shielding a child from war had never been a bad thing; in fact, it had been an incredibly lacking trait in their society for far too long already.

"But—" Tonks started to speak but stopped when she saw her Aunt shake her head. The young witch frowned. Yes, the adults were more experienced than her. But she could help still. It was her life after all.

"No buts," Narcissa said firmly, "let us love you." The child was young. She did not quite understand how their world worked. Growing up, their home had been cold. Their parents rarely had anything to do with them, unless it looked good on the society papers or they had needed a corrective hand. Until Bambi and Lucius, Narcissa had never really known what it meant to be loved: a love so deep that it offered protection beyond imagine. Narcissa brushed back the bangs from Nymphadora's face and placed another kiss on her forehead.

"More importantly, let us be the people we needed when we were your age."

Bellatrix watched as children played. Muggles were such strange creatures, allowing their children to climb on metal contraptions and dig in sand. How could people even consider these blasted individuals human when they allowed their offspring to play in filth?

"When was the last time you spent a quiet moment doing nothing?" A familiar voice asked from behind. Bella shrugged her shoulders in response, not bothering to look away from the confounding species. The brunette gave the older witch a soft smile and followed her gaze. Hermione knew exactly what Bella came here for. Despite her disdain for Muggles and Muggleborns, the older witch had always been curious about them. Growing up she had only ever heard the bad things: how they lived in squalor, destroyed each other, and how weak they were.

"If you are searching for answers, look at the children, not the parents," Bambi said. She enjoyed coming to parks; she enjoyed the peace that came with watching children play and just seeing how happy it made them. That enjoyment for life was just so infectious.

Bella shot her a look, raising one delicate eyebrow at the suggestion. The idea seemed crazy to the elder witch—how would the children be able to provide the answers? They were young, inexperienced, and more than likely uninformed. The Lady Lestrange shifted her gaze to the children playing. She had taught Bambi how to read people, so if Bambi said the offspring could provide answers, then she would take the suggestion seriously.

"The most interesting information comes from the children," Hermione said. Brown eyes watched as the children climbed up the slide and dug in the sandboxes. She knew Bellatrix didn't know what to search for, let alone how to even ask the questions that plagued her. The older witch wanted to be a mother, wanted to bring a child into a world she could be proud of. Unfortunately, the other witch took the wrong path for it.

"They are harmless," she told Bellatrix, who scoffed at the statement. Tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear, Hermione turned to face Bellatrix.

"They are weak—but do not lie to me and say they are harmless. Those creatures grow into adults who ravage their world and tear it asunder," the curly haired witch responded dryly; her dark eyes never once left the children. Bellatrix knew that Bambi had far too much faith in the world. She expected too much out of people. It would be the young woman's downfall.

"If they had magic, would you kill them?" The question had come out of nowhere and it threw Bellatrix off entirely. The older witch glanced around quickly to ensure that no one had heard what Bambi asked. When Bella had felt satisfied that no one heard, she cast a wandless Muffliato.

"They are children!" Bella's voice came out as a harsh whisper. Part of her felt betrayed by Bambi's question. She might be a lot of things but she did not murder children. Only a vile person would ever harm a child, especially young ones.

"They are Muggles—well mostly, there may be one or two Muggleborns thrown in there," Hermione replied with a shrug. She could not deny the pleasure she felt at Bellatrix's response though. Riddle might have corrupted the witch before her, but he had yet to reach every part of her. It might be a small victory, but it still made Hermione happy.

"They are children!" Bellatrix repeated in a hiss; this time the witch pivoted on her heel to face the brunette. Stormy, dark eyes gazed into calm, soft brown orbs. The older witch took a deep breath to calm herself. She had to think about this rationally. Bambi valued life, especially the lives of children. She had a soft heart, a compassionate one. The witch she knew would never be so cavalier about the death of a child without a reason. Bella just need to know what was going through Bambi's head.

"They are. But that doesn't stop your Lord from wanting them dead. They are Muggles—you think he cares about their age?" Hermione replied with a shrug of her shoulders. Their age would not hinder Riddle's quest for annihilation. Hermione loved Bellatrix, the woman helped her blossom into someone to be proud of. The storm was growing closer and one day they may have to fight. But it did not have to be today. And Bambi would rather Bellatrix hated her for being honest than adored her false platitudes.

"What do you think your role is in the Wizarding World?" Bambi questioned. Their lack of purpose had been a common factor between the two. This fierce loyalty and drive to protect seemed to have been imbedded into their very magic. But without a purpose those traits turned on them, making them doubt everything about them. It turned a masterpiece into a walking, talking disaster.

Bellatrix pursed her lips but never said a word; instead she turned around once more and focused on the children. The question had been rhetorical—Bambi knew very well that she could not answer that question. She knew what she wanted her role to be, but what she wanted was not what she had.

"Your role in our world is to leave a legacy worthy of our children, Bella," Hermione replied, placing a hand on the older witch's right shoulder. The brunette knew that the answer had left many loose ends. But it was not her job to tie the loose ends up for Bella—the older witch had to be the one to do that. Bella need to realize she controlled what the future saw her as. The curly haired witch did not need to work in the shadows to be successful. Nor did she need to defer to someone else to be happy.

"Look at the children, really look at them. See if you can find in them what you had been refused," Hermione said, placing a soft kiss to the older witch's cheek. Hermione hoped Bellatrix found it, because the tides were crashing down against the shore and the water kept climbing further up. Hermione adored Bella, but this was not a battle the she could fight for her.

Bella would need to face this one on her own. But that did not mean Hermione could not be with her every step of the way.

"When you do, you know where to find me."

So what do y'all think Hermione was trying to get Bella to see?

Also let me know what you think of this chapter! Honestly this chapter was inspired by the Supernatural episode "The Kids are not Alright". As always, the copyrights are down below.

"…Optimist, a hoper of far-flung hopes, and a dreamer of improbable dreams." ©Doctor Who, Matt Smith

"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend." ©J.R.R Tolkien.

"War does not prove who is right, only who is left." © Bertrand Russell

"Destroy the seeds of evil to prevent it from blossoming into….ruin" © Aesop

"It's not our job to tough our children to face a cruel and heartless world. It is our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless." ©L.R Knost

"The most interesting information comes from the children," ©Mark Twain

20. Perception

A/N Rant: (the lovely reviewers can ignore and just skip to the story if you want. Whether or not the person is directed towards reads it is meh; I included this rant mostly to clarify some points for y'all AND vent.)

And the sanctimonious-but-not-so-courageous reviewer strikes again. I would respond to your review privately, except since you are anonymous I can't. So, let's break this review out bit by bit.

":Frankly, I think you are way too harsh on James and way too easy on Hermione. It's a good story, but the black and white narrative instead of the grey is cliche at this point." I'm not so nice to Hermione either. She is flawed, emotionally and mentally she's practically a wreck. Granted, I am a little harsh on James but I've always hinted that they were going to work through it. This story is entirely based around the fact that it is an AU in which Hermione is a Slytherin. Of course, that means that this will be focused and written in her perspective despite it being in 3rd person—much like how JKR portrayed Slytherins from Harry's point of view instead of a neutral view point. Now you're completely entitled to your opinion but let me tell you something – you don't need to read this. As for the whole black and white scenario –if you read the story you would know that as of right now that is kind of the going theme. If you read the story at all you would kind of know that the whole 'colors' thing is still not around since we are working on perspectives. I am writing this from a Slytherin perspective because quite frankly aside from Colubrina's Green Girl or Cheshire Carroll's Anti-Heroine no other story that I've read has really been written out in the Slytherin perspective. It's 'cliché' that the Gryffindors are always written out to be these wonderful people when most of them were complete and utter assholes.

"… James was a jokester who crossed the line into bullying way too many times. He was an as*. Changing the color of someone's hair is not bullying though or using a whoopie cushion though*, one has to be a snowflake to think that. All pranks are bullying by that standard." Okay this one annoyed me. Not only was your grammar off, but you did not spell 'though' correctly either—if you are going to critique me then please do so properly. But let's not get off topic. Changing someone's hair color—especially without their permission—is bullying, especially when there is the intent to embarrass. Aside from the fact that Hermione was a 12-year-old girl who literally took every tiny piece of criticism to heart (even in canon—need I remind you of the troll incident? Or even the mudblood incident?) she was also raised as a pure-blood. Which, for them, family meant was everything. With that in mind, tell me of a single child who would feel perfectly at easy and happy that their older sibling, the only family they have in the castle, pretty much refuses to acknowledge them outside of pranking them? No one. And the point that was being made, which you clearly were unable to comprehend, is that pranks can come off as bullying. You do not know what they're going through, you do not know how a few drops of water in an already full barrel will impact the person.

For Hermione, who had her brother read with her, play with her, sneak her biscuits to suddenly refuse to acknowledge her due to a house sorting outside of pranking or criticizing her would hurt. She would be wondering what she did wrong. And it would impact her mental health and perception of things negatively. Because that is what every person would be doing in a situation where the dynamic feels like it completely flipped. Not because they're a bloody 'snowflake'. This perspective was explained in Chapter 9 (which you probably did not read).

"… And Hermione rushing off to contact Regulus when Sirius was practically dying on the floor knowing that Sirius came from being with Regulus was beyond self centered and stupid, even if James was way out of line." Okay, now I am just convinced you are just a troll. How can you be that freaking ignorant? Did you even read at all? I mentioned in the story that Charlus was already contacting Hospital via the Floo and that Dorea was already working on Sirius (Chapter 5!). So, tell me, what the fucking hell would a 15-year-old girl be able to do in that situation? She has no healing experience, she hasn't even completed her education, and you're telling me that she was self-centered and stupid? What about James—he just yelled at her, he didn't stop to ask her what she was doing or why. He certainly wasn't helping Sirius in this situation either. The Potter's parents were handling the situation to the best of their ability and the kids were out of the way. Hermione sought out answers the only way she could have—through Regulus because that was the only way she saw to get honest answers. What would have happened if they used a curse on him that Dorea didn't know the counter to? Hermione is nothing but methodical, she tried to get answers to help the only way she knew how. James just yelled at her.

"James was a nasty bully at times in your story, but Hermione comes off like a sanctimonious nasty b*tch also" I have tried to make James as canon as much as possible—with that in mind—again the only non-marauder perspective we have is Snape's. So yes, James was portrayed as a bully because quite frankly he is one. Hermione might come off as a bitch but what woman doesn't come off as one at some point? In Chapter 8 Marlene even called her out on the petulant behavior—it's not like I was unaware of this factor, hell I included it in the freaking story.

She was hurt by his brother's actions and she lashed out. She is trying to be a decent person but it was already stated that she has favorites that she will not always make the correct decisions. I have tried my hardest to not portray her as a Mary-Sue because I hate that. But her main weakness is her emotional stability and her self-doubt; it is how she sees the world. She was very positive with Bill, she kept an optimistic outlook but in Chapter 19 it revealed that she was even struggling with that. Because to her, our main protagonist, the world is black and white and she will be a bitch at times just like James was a bully. But hey, there is a thing called character development and growth – there is a reason this is a WIP after all. Hermione will not just wake up one morning and say 'Hey, I'm totally over the teasing, isolation, and complete disregard my brother had towards my feelings and will forgive him.' Who the fuck does that? And if someone does, tell me your secrets pronto.

Now again, I would have replied to your review privately if you did not pen it under guest, but since you did I had to deal with it openly—especially since it might answer questions for other reviewers. Based on your review though I am positive we can say you would not be sorted into Gryffindor.

Standard disclaimer applies of course. And wonderful thanks to the amazing angstar54 who is a huge help to this.

Chapter 20: Perceptions

The Veela ancestry is a tricky one. Some say that they originate from the spirits of unmarried women who died before their time. The women became nymphs in death, gaining power over wind. These nymphs, known as Wilas, are theorized as being the first ancestor of the Veelas. Wilas were revered for their beauty—much like the Veelas today—along with their guises, enjoyments, and most importantly their temper. It is their ferocity that separates these nymphs from their fairy kin.

An important trait to note is that the Wilas were creatures of nature and often were lonesome. For this reason, it is hypothesized that some had sought out companionship, and since they could change their form from incorporeal to tangible, it has not been ruled out that they could not conceive. From this idea of conception, a subspecies was born. This new species was entirely human—flesh and blood with an inability to become incorporeal. This subset lacked the powerful, damaging notes that the Wilas possessed along with the ability to control the wind.

But they had an abundance of magic and the ferocity to match their mothers. Although entirely human, the daughters stayed close with their ancestors and often mimicked many of their traits, particularly in their ruthlessness, temper, and power. These descendants formed a coven: the Familiam Sirin. The coven members' emotions were turbulent at best and they had no problems entering battle; and much like the women before them, the Family had very little moments of compassion towards people. This meant that although they were active in Wizarding politics, they often either ignored the petty squabbles or eliminated their opposition. For this family, there was no middle ground.

A rare aspect about this family is that they managed to maintain their coven despite marrying outsiders. How the Family chose their partner was a well-kept secret, but historians theorized that it was predestined for them by their magic. Much like their ancestors, the Familiam Sirin has so far never birthed any males. It is from this strange occurrence that the Familiam Sirin is considered an ancestor, perhaps the most recent common ancestor, of the current Veelas. Some historians speculate that the Veela branch of the Sirin stemmed from several of the witches producing a child with other fire elementals, perhaps even an Arabian Djinn.

Veelas are classified as creatures of fire. They are both creatures and have the fire element coursing through their veins. Meaning, at the very least, that some of the coven had to have had a creature mate. Whether or not the Veela transformation stems from the dormant Wilas in their blood, or the new addition of the fire elemental is unclear.

Hermione had glanced over her notes at least a dozen times. Despite all of that, she still had questions. She remembered back in Fourth Year, remembered the book in the Restricted Section that mentioned the Familiam Sirin and how she was somehow connected to it. She scoured the Malfoy and Black libraries searching for answers. But she had gathered only tiny scraps of information. It seemed the Purebloods had acknowledged that the coven was pure-blooded if only because the blood flowing through their veins was pure Magic, capital 'M' apparently being important in some of the literatures. But outside of that . . . nothing. The coven had apparently kept a very tight wrap on things.

Even from the book Hagrid gave her, most of it was all conjecture. A rough genealogy at best, with no definitive proof. But some parts of it made sense to her: the protectiveness of those she considered hers, the fierce need for revenge, and the overall anger that she felt.

There just was not enough information for Hermione's liking.

She needed more research.

"You need sleep." A snarky drawl made Hermione blink. She hadn't even realized she spoke aloud, or that she even had an audience. Severus had always been a slippery one though, a true Slytherin through and through. He had ways of making himself seem invisible, which was probably why he managed to survive the Snake Den for so long.

"I can sleep when I am dead," the brunette retorted lightly. The look of exasperation that the potioneer shot her caused her to let out a small huff of amusement. Who knew Snape was the mothering sort? "I'm fine, Severus."

"Fine is not good enough." The sheer anger that exuded his voice surprised her. She reflected on her previous words, wondering what exactly sparked the older wizard's ire. She had used a polite, if a bit too friendly tone; nothing she had not done before, however. Before she could get another word in, an apology perhaps, the dark-haired man continued. "Fine will not ensure this project goes smoothly. Fine will not make us win."

Severus could not believe the stupidity of the woman before him. Did she not realize what they were doing? If this secret operation of theirs was exposed, if it ended up failing, they were dead. This whole project was a giant "Fuck You" to the Dark Lord, one the wizard would not allow to go ignored. This whole project could get them killed. Fine would simply not cut it.

"What do you expect, Severus?" Hermione asked defensively, although she appreciated his silent concern for her wellbeing. Bambi's eyes narrowed as she assessed the potioneer, debating on how she should respond. Her first reaction was to hex the git. The only thing holding her back from hexing him was the respect she had for him. The fact that his body language was stiff as if to prepare to protect himself—most likely thanks to the Marauder's—just confirmed her decision not to. Severus meant well, and if they were not fighting, she might have felt bad at making him feel the need to defend himself.

"I expect better." Severus snarled, his eyes narrowed as a sneer formed on his lips. The dark-haired wizard understood that Hermione had her own problems, that there were some things she had kept to herself for Merlin knows whatever reason. But he grew frustrated with this martyr disposition of hers. The brunette needed to understand that she did not have to solve her problems alone. Much like the potion that they were collaborating on, they could work together. She, of all people, should know this. And yet, the insufferable know-it-all continued to act on her own, practically wallowing in whatever got stuck in that pretty, little head of hers. "I expect for you to stop getting stuck in your head and only doing sub-par work at best!"

The comment had been a slap in the face, but it at also sparked her ire all the more. She wanted to hex the git, to show him exactly what she could do with a wand. But the Slytherin in her knew better, knew that for this type of explosion coming from the man, it must have been on his mind for a while. And although she did not want to admit it, a small part of her knew that he had been right. She had spent far more time looking up her lineage than looking for ways to defeat Voldemort. And with everything going on presently she couldn't afford to waste such time.

Her shoulders slumped at the silent admission. "You're right, there are more important things to concern myself with," the brunette told him. She would have loved to claim otherwise, to have been a kid and simply be allowed to worry about her biological parents. But people were dying and that took precedent over any of her personal questions. She wanted to know the answers to her questions, but not at the expense of lives. She would not place herself above another, no matter how tempting the knowledge might be. Hermione may want answers, but not if it would risk getting her friends killed. And right now, Severus was right. She was doing sub-par work, at least when compared to him and Regulus.

At her concession, Severus' eyes seemed to have softened but his body language was still tense. He understood how one could get lost in their thoughts, but with the feat they were trying to achieve, getting lost in one's thoughts would be detrimental at best. "What were you researching?" he asked, curious to know what could have possibly derailed her studies of Horcrux destruction.

Part of him genuinely felt bad at arguing with her about this because he knew something was troubling the younger witch. But he needed that brilliant mind of hers to work on over-drive. They would not be able to complete this task with anything less than all three of them giving it their all. The muggle-born potioneer, Alexander Fleming, who once pointed out that it was the lone worker who makes first advances in a subject. And although team work can make the details, it took that initial person's perception and thought to get it started. All three of them, although working together on this potion, had different tasks, tasks that were suited to the individual based on their unique perspectives. If Hermione was not working at her best, it would bring them all down. And Severus just could not allow that to happen. So, he would help her work out what she needed to work out, or at least let her vent.

It took Hermione a moment to respond and Severus had no doubt that she was debating the benefits of telling him. The young wizard never would have expected the answer the brunette gave him. "My lineage."

Severus knew that the witch was Slytherin enough to know how much her answer gave away. Far more than that though, the wizard knew how damaging this information could be to the young witch in the wrong hands. Although it was common knowledge that Hermione had been adopted by the Potters amongst the Pureblood families, no one knew who the biological parents were. Hermione's answer seemed to have suggested that she might—or at the very least could trace it back to a specific family.

"And why, pray tell, were you looking into that?" The brunette already had an Ancient and Noble family name, she had connections to the Wizarding World—more so than most, himself included—so Severus really did not understand why she would seek further information. Until her eyes flared that strange blue and a glimpse of something flashed across her face. And at that moment, Severus understood; no more words would need to be said.

His next action surprised them both, his body moving on its own as he wrapped the brunette in his arms. The way her shoulders slumped, and her face buried into his chest had just cemented what he thought. Potter needed this, whether she knew it or not. Although they were not very close, Severus figured that this was the least he could do for this insufferable witch. He knew how hard it was not knowing where you fit in, let alone dealing with your own perceptions of it. How it would claw away at until there was nothing left and how far that desperation would push.

After all, he knew better than most the depths one would go to prove they belonged. He had the mark on his arm to prove it. And although Snape did not understand why Hermione felt that she needed to prove herself, not with all her connections, all her friends even, he understood.

Perspective breeds perception after all.

Bill, in his 1.6 meters, stood in front of the seventh year Slytherin, glaring up at her. He didn't like bullies and he refused to ignore it, even from someone taller and older than him. The witch before him was known to be vicious in her words and especially with her wand; so, to say that Bill was not scared would be a huge understatement. But he was a Gryffindor and Lions protected their own.

"Leave him alone."

He took in a gulp of air, standing firm as jade eyes narrowed at him. If Alecto Carrow weren't so bitchy, she would be truly pretty. She had this air of confidence and her blonde hair framed her face perfectly. But she had this oily feel about her – not so different from the kind Bambi would get when she was upset— like there was a stain on her magic, dark and filled with rage. Alecto Carrow had let the oil soak into her magic and fuel the fire within her. And that made her hideous.

"And what, a filthy little blood traitor like you will make me?"

"Yes." Bill said it with much more confidence than he felt. Alecto Carrow was someone to be feared: she had a ruthlessness matched only by the Blacks. But the Gryffindor refused to back down now. He had a point to make.

"'ill, I 'ank you for the 'elp, but yeh don' gotta do 'his," Hagrid's gruff voice said. The half giant was used to being treated badly by his fellow citizens, especially the Purebloods. That did not mean it hurt any less being considered trash. He tried his hardest to be kind and helpful, but he also had given up defending himself.

"I do—you obviously won't," Bill responded angrily. Part of him understood why Hagrid decided to do nothing about the abuse, especially with the current Ministry policies; the redhead had watched countless students degrade the half giant for the sole reason of his ancestry and although he tried his hardest to prevent it, to take up the position Bambi's graduation had left empty, Bill was not always able to do so. Right now, however, he had a choice and he made his decision.

"Why even defend the creature? You're a Pureblood; act like one," Alecto said, her haughty tone grating on Bill's nerves even more. It frustrated him listening to this trash: Purebloods weren't better than anyone else. Hagrid had more worth than the witch in front of him.

"He's my friend! I'll always protect him, especially if he won't protect himself," Bill replied, mimicking the tone Bambi often used.

Alecto scoffed at the little brat guarding the filthy creature. The boy was obviously a Weasley, and the only thing preventing her from hexing him rotten was the fact that he still had pure blood coursing through his veins. "You couldn't even hex me properly," Alecto drawled, hardly worried about the child before her. The half giant was more of a threat, and he had been so thoroughly cowed he posed as much of a threat a rock.

"I don't need to hex you," Bill growled. And the next thing the blonde witch knew, she was on the ground with a smart cheek. It took her a moment to process what happened and when it finally clicked she saw red, only vaguely aware of the small arms trying to grab her arm.

"How dare you! Let go of me you filthy—" She snarled, jumping up from her position on the ground, pushing away the disgusting blood traitor. Never in her life had she been so disrespected, especially by someone with such worthless blood. Fuck it all; she would kill him for the impertinence he had shown her.

"What is going on here?!" At the voice of the Gryffindor Head, Alecto submerged her anger and replaced it with one of faux pain. As McGonagall stopped in front of them, Alecto spoke.

"One of your Gryffindor's attacked me!" She sobbed out. Cupping her cheek, the female Slytherin allowed for a few tears to trickle down her face. Her jade eyes watched as the Head of Gryffindor's eyes narrow as she looked towards her student and couldn't help but smirk. That would show the brat.

"Miss Carrow, go to your dorm. I will handle this," McGonagall spoke with her Scottish brogue. She had been surprised to see young Bill Weasley facing off with Miss Carrow. She watched as the young blonde turned and walked back to the castle. The Head of Gryffindor refused to speak until the other witch was out of sight and she turned her sole attention to the redhead. "Explain yourself, Mr. Weasley. Now."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Professor," the redhead replied with a shrug. He learned enough from Bambi to never admit any guilt. As of right now, unless Hagrid snitched on him (highly unlikely), it was his word against Alecto's. The fact that his Head of House also had a soft spot for her cubs meant that he would more than likely get away scot-free.

"I am not a fool, Mr. Weasley. I know I interrupted a fight, and now I want you to answer me honestly: did you hit a fellow student?" McGonagall asked, her tone brooking no argument. She doubted Ms. Carrow was completely innocent of the matter, but that did not change the fact that her young Gryffindor may have hit a fellow student.

"Do you think my mum raised me to hit a girl?" Bill questioned, his voice laced with a sweet tone that Bambi had made him perfect back in first year. The topic was a slight side step in the conversation but an important one all the same. He even blinked his blue eyes up at his Head of House as he gave a toothy grin. Bill could see McGongall's eyes soften just a bit at the thought of his mother, one of her favorites from back in the day.

"Certainly not. Molly would never teach her child to use such a means of violence—" Before McGonagall could continue to talk about how well-mannered his mum was, Bill interrupted.

"Then why would I ever assault a witch? My mum would skin me alive for ever doing such a thing." The redhead's innocent tone, sounding so sincere, seemed to have melted away any doubt that the Scottish witch had. Bill knew that Alecto been known to cause problems in the past and she never let age stop her from picking on a fellow student. Honestly, it would only be a matter of time before someone had enough of her ill manners, but so long as Professor McGonagall did not think he did anything, then everything would be fine. Besides, aside from the slightly red cheek, it didn't even look like the younger witch had any injuries.

"Then tell me why she had a red cheek and I saw her push you away?" McGonagall pushed. Bill knew he had to answer the question carefully. As of right now, it was still his word against Alecto's. McGonagall usually trusted her Lions over Slytherins and although Bill knew that was not exactly fair, he did plan to use it his advantage.

"She tripped, and I helped her up. My mum raised me a gentleman after all. As for the pushing away . . . she mumbled something about dirty blood touching her, " he replied with a shrug, though he made sure to slump his shoulders to indicate his hurt. Of course, he did not care a lick of what Alecto thought of him, but he knew it would appeal to his Head of House's motherly tendencies. He watched as McGonagall's blue eyes searched his expression for any hint of a lie. When it found none—and he knew she found none—she turned her attention to Hagrid.

"Is that true, Hagrid?" Minerva questioned. Bill didn't even have to ask the half-giant to back him up; he knew without a doubt that Hagrid would lie to his Head of House for him. So, when McGonagall gave them a stiff nod and left, he turned towards the half giant with a big grin.

"Thanks, Hagrid!" Bill replied happily. He watched as Hagrid shrugged his shoulders. The redhead knew that his friend appreciated the help but at the same time felt uncomfortable by it; something the young wizard just did not understand.

"No 'orries, 'ill. I 'ank yeh fo' the 'elp." Hagrid gave Bill a soft smile, but it didn't reach his eyes and that concerned the redhead.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, thinking of various scenarios as to why Hagrid might have been upset. Maybe he didn't like lying to Professor McGonagall? Bill had no doubt that Hagrid would have protected him from trouble if for no other reason than because Bill defended him, but the redhead did not think that was the cause of his friend's distress.

"Why 'elp me?" Hagrid questioned, a look of utter confusion on his face. The look on the half-giants face angered Bill. After years of Bambi going to visit him in the wooden hut, Bill would have thought Hagrid understood. So, the redhead decided he needed to be upfront with the half-giant.

"You're crazy. A round peg in a square hole kind of crazy," Bill responded with a shrug. "You have no respect for the status quo and always give a different perspective." The redhead knew that if he paused to breathe, then Hagrid would take everything he said wrong. So, he pushed forward. "You are a misfit, a trouble maker, a rule breaker. Everything that society thinks is wrong—you are. But so are we. Bambi, Regulus, all of us—you fit with us. And for that alone, I will always defend you." Bill wanted to let Hagrid know that he valued their friendship. They may have very different blood statuses, be of two very different generations, and have everything against them; but Bill wouldn't trade that friendship for anything. He just needs Hagrid to see that.

Sometimes the half-giant got something in his head and it just stayed there. It wouldn't go away, no matter who prodded it, or how much they tried to eliminate it. Bill could understand that though; after years of being treated like trash, that perception would make a nice cozy hole for itself and refuse to vacate. But of nothing else, Bill was a patient sort. He'll figure out a way to get Hagrid to see that he was more than just an unwanted half-giant. "But more than all of that, you are my friend Hagrid."

Hagrid's eyes began to mist over as he heard the heartfelt words. The young redhead spoke so honestly that it made the half-giant sniffle. He had never felt so loved, not since his da' passed away. Despite the tears, the older man was truly happy to have such a considerate friend. Hermione had always been a sweet girl and she had never let anyone talk badly either to or about him—but he didn't expect that to continue after she left (though it did). But when she left the castle, it seemed like the harangue about his blood status had been slowly creeping back into his life. It was nice to know that Bill cared enough about him to try and help.

"'anks again, but yeh did't 'ave to 'it the witch." Hagrid said, happiness radiating off him at this point, though his tone held a small hint of disapproval. Bill rolled his eyes at the slight disapproving tone Hagrid gave him, waving off the comment.

"I didn't hit a witch. I hit a bitch, there's a difference. Ask Bambi."

"What do you mean, Cissa?" Her husband's voice felt like ice water, cold and calculating, so devoid of emotion that it made her feel on edge. Nerves and a touch of fear swallowed the blonde—she hadn't planned to do this quite so soon. But Andy needed someone to watch Nymphadora.

Taking the years of Pureblood training that Aunt Walburga gave her, the Lady Malfoy straightened her spine and allowed herself to look her husband in the eye. "We are watching her, and she would not be harmed nor insulted." At the thought of harm befalling the precious girl, Narcissa found her resolve hardening. "I am not taking a no on this, Lucius."

Nymphadora stood behind her aunt, head tilted slightly as she watched the woman stand tall and proud. This was the kind of woman she wanted to be: strong, fierce, protective. Her aunt's magic seemed to stand to attention, poised like a viper ready to strike.

"She is . . . " Lucius' words seemed to have trailed off as he looked her in the eye. Nymphadora already knew what he was implying and her hair colored red.

"Say it," she snarled, baring her teeth. Tonks was surprised at the words spilling out of her mouth, but she did not regret them. In fact, she was empowered by them. Stepping forward a bit, she continued. "Go on, say it." But the blond could not—not to her face. Not in front of his lovely wife whose eyes clearly spoke retribution if he did so. Tonks knew that if her aunt had not been by her side, then the wizard might have had no problems spouting off his ignorance.

"Family. Nymphadora is family," Narcissa finished, daring her husband to disagree with her. "And we protect our family." The blonde placed a hand on the child with fiery red hair, giving the shoulder a tight squeeze as she did so. The Lady Malfoy would protect this child—even from her own husband. She just hoped that she did not have to. Lucius had been raised in a similar fashion to herself; the only difference was how much the Blacks emphasized the importance of family. No one messed with their family. And although some of her family would disagree with classifying the younger witch as kin, Narcissa refused believed otherwise. "She is, more than anything, a child." Tonks scowled at being continuously referred to by her first name, however she decided not to chastise her aunt about it, at least not in front of Mr. Malfoy.

At that, Lucius' harsh demeanor seemed to crumble. No matter how unclean the young witch's blood might be, she was still just a child: a magical child at that and therefore one to be treasured. There were so few magical children in their society today that all of them mattered, though he had the feeling that his lovely wife would have objected to that statement. Narcissa, after all, had a heart of gold. For his darling spouse, all children mattered, regardless of their ability to do magic. And although he did not entirely agree with that point, he could understand her view; miscarriages change things for a witch he supposed.

Tonks watched as the wizard's body language shifted from anger to one of resignation. "Why do you hate me?" The words were out of her mouth before she could even process what she had said. The adults, however, did not seem to have that problem. She watched as the wizard tried to form words and the hand on her shoulder tensed slightly.

"Don't lie to me. I deserve the truth, I deserve a reason," she responded, her mouth forming a tight scowl as Lucius Malfoy finally seemed to have found words. The anger still coiled in her belly; she always hated it when people were mean, like they had a right to be. And although he had yet to speak, Tonks did not want him to spout off some stupid political answer to try and side step her question.

"I do not hate you, child. I hate what you represent: the destruction of culture and tradition." Lucius responded. It felt weird trying to justify himself to a mere child. In fact, he shouldn't have to justify himself. He wouldn't have either if not for the harsh look his wife had been directing at him. Lucius did not know what changed in his wife over the last few months, but he had a feeling it had to do with the Potter girl. Then again, it could have also been the loss of her cousin; they still did not know what happened to Regulus after all. Either way, Lucius did not know how to feel about these new changes in his spouse.

Another part of him knew that Narcissa had a reason for this. Outside the need to protect her family, outside the need to protect children in general, his darling witch had something up her sleeve. She embodied the true traits of Slytherin after all, more than just the need of self-preservation, ambition, or even cunning. So, he would let finish her work, let her weave her wonderful web and reap the rewards. The less he knew of it the better—for both of their sakes.

"Why does it have to be destruction? Why not talk to us? Don't hate us for something we can't control! If we are ignorant of something, teach us," Tonks responded, her voice rising in pitch. She felt so frustrated at always being treated like someone stupid, like she was less than a person because her father could perform magic, but he was still too muggle. Tonks grew up in the Wizarding World and her mum taught her the traditions. Why did everyone just assume that she knew nothing about her mother's heritage? "For the record, even though my mother's family were prats she still raised me in her traditions. Just because someone is open to new cultures does not mean they don't appreciate their own.

"I am so tired of you Purebloods thinking that times needs to stay constant. Times change, people change, things change. It's a part of life—quit trying to remove it and just learn to adapt. Things don't have to go away because something new is introduced. After all, my mother's appreciate for her heritage did not die simply because she married my father and learned about his."

Lucius looked at the girl, really looked at her. He remembered Andromeda Black well enough. And her daughter certainly held the same regal, knowing air that Andromeda had often carried. Yet, the girl also carried herself in a way entirely her own. She had this vibrancy for life that screamed 'Look at me'. But most of all, she contained this genuine thirst for acceptance and approval.

"Sometimes, child, it is too late to change," Lord Malfoy responded with the only thing he could come up with. The girl certainly had a passion for life it seemed. And although he did not enjoy being yelled at by a child, he knew better than to start a fight with one. Especially since his lovely wife still watched him, poised to strike should he even consider harming her charge.

"Nope," Tonks replied, popping her 'p' slightly as her pitch returned to normal. "It's never too late. In fact, I wouldn't even say it's too early. There's no time limit to adaptation. You can stay stagnant or you can change—we can make the worst or the best of it." Tonks took a deep breath in as she talked to the wizard in front of her, red hair turning to the pale blonde that her aunt wore. She saw silver eyes narrow in thought as her uncle processed her words. She doubted her words would have much effect on the man, but she figured it would be a decent start.

"And why would you say that, child?" Tonks noted the use of child and scowled. She decided to say nothing though, assuming it was his way to silently remind himself that she was more than just of filthy blood. If it took being called a child to make someone see her as a person, then she would take it.

"Because I've seen colors—flowers blooming at midnight, kites flying in gray skies—and they were real close to looking like the sunrise." Her pale blonde hair turned into a vibrant orange as she spoke reverently. The passion in her voice captivated Lucius. Was this what it was like to have that spark of life flare inside of you? To have hope for the future again? He glanced at his wife, noticing the proud look she awarded her niece.

The look the little witch—and she was indeed a witch—gave him thawed a bit of his ice. He did not know what to say to her, but it looked like she didn't have to because the next thing he knew, a small body was wrapped around his torso.

"I hope you make the best of it," she told him as she released him from her hug. And Tonks meant it. She hoped Lucius Malfoy would make the best of his life and allow himself to try new things, meet new people who viewed things differently, see something startling and unique. She hoped that even if he found none of those things, he could recognize that and have the courage to start all over again. Tonks had no doubts that Lucius Malfoy would remain a prat; but maybe he could be a prat who could loosen up a bit and realize that things are more than just what he perceives them as.

Turning towards her aunt, she asked to see the gardens. Aunt Cissa had happily told her yes, probably grateful for the change in topic, and the two went off towards the eastern part of the manor.

Read and review :D

Please tell me what you think, I'd love to hear from you.

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo." © Rob Siltanen

"For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again." © Eric Roth

"I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color, but I've seen flowers bloom at midnight. I've seen kites flying in gray skies and they were real close to looking like the sunrise, and sometimes it takes the most wounded wings, the most broken things to notice how strong the breeze is; how precious the flight." © Andrea Gibson.

"My perspective will create my perception" © Neale Donald Walsh

21. Embittered

And I finally got another chapter out. Yay! Sorry it took so long, life happened, and I actually got a plot bunny for another story that hasn't left me alone in months. But don't worry I won't post anything new until I finish this story, which is hopefully being wrapped up within the next 5 or so chapters. Don't worry I'll try to not have it take 5 years (It really shouldn't).

As always, the usual disclaimer applies for this story. And always thank angstar54 for the amazing beta work. I don't know what I would do without her. Seriously she is amazing.

Chapter 21: Embittered

Dorea was worried.

She had not seen or even heard a word about her daughter since the death of the Black heir. And although their relationship has been strained as of late, Lady Potter would usually hear something by now—even if it were just an indirect comment from Molly Weasley. It had been weeks now and there was not even a mention of her daughter.

Her nose twitched as she let out a harsh sigh. Dorea worried terribly about her youngest child, and that concern continued to grow by the hour. It was for that very reason that she had decided upon a family meeting at Potter Manor. Whether or not Hermione showed up was beside the point; so long as they got this whole situation worked out—or at least formulated a proper plan— Dorea would be happy. At least then she would know or have a way to know that her little witch was alive.

She had had much time to think about the meeting and even more time to really pick at what had bugged her so much about her daughter's ties to the Black family. She had been jealous. And although completely unbecoming, it was hard to shake off. Dorea had been all but repudiated from the family for her marriage to Charlus—his blood status was the only thing that saved her from true repudiation.

Yet her little witch fought her way into their circle, becoming one of them to such a point that even Bellatrix Lestrange welcomed her with open arms. It hurt that her own family would be so accepting of another, even if it were her own daughter. The worst of it, a truth that made Dorea cringe in shame, was that it wasn't even a child of her own blood. Hermione was adopted, but the Black family received her like one of their own. It had made the Lady Potter jealous because it felt like the Blacks thought there was something wrong with her.

And how iniquitous was that? Hermione had done nothing but be herself, and yet Dorea struggled to accept that. Had tried to push away the only friends her daughter really knew. Shame swelled inside of the mother as she remembered. It had been Minerva's idea to meditate and try and find out why the relationship frustrated her so. When she found the answer, it felt like a bludger had hit her in the chest. She had pinpointed early on, back when the Black Heir had first been marked, that she was envious of the relationship—but to know the full extent just made everything worse. How could she ever look at her daughter again knowing how selfish her feelings were?

She should have been happy for her daughter. Pleased even—her daughter had obtained loyalty from a family more slippery than an eel. But she could only feel envy in her belly . . . and how inappropriate was that? Jealousy was a common trait, especially in the magical world, but to be envious of her own daughter? Dorea could find no excuse for it. Sometimes feelings were irrational after all. Hermione had told her once before that the younger Black generation was not like her own siblings; she just hadn't believed it.

But that was no more.

No longer would she allow her jealousy to control her actions. No longer would her actions weaken her words. No longer would she be this wretched excuse of a mother.

"Mum?" James' voice came from the doorway, startling her. He had always been a quiet walker. When he was growing up it took the house-elves to usually find the boy, as he was rather resourceful when he felt the need to be, something she had always enjoyed about him. Hermione had often helped him circumvent the elves once she had found out about Dorea's usage. Dorea shook her head, twitching her nose. She could think of those memories later when the realization of her behavior wasn't quite so fresh.

"James, dear, how have you been?" Her silver eyes lit up at the site of her son. It felt like far too long since she had last seen him. Looking at him now, she could barely recognize him as the boy she raised. Part of her missed her young boy . . . no children. She missed when the elves had to scold the pair for sneaking biscuits or having to place Hermione in time out because she snuck into bed with James after curfew to have him read to her. She missed what her family uses to be.

"Fine, mum. Why did you call for me?"

Dorea took her time to respond, debating on whether this whole thing was really a good idea. Her plan had so many things left to chance that it made her uncomfortable. But only so much can be done at this point. "I've talked to your father, he couldn't make the meeting due to something at the Wizengamot, and we have decided on our approach of Hermione," the mother responded. She knew Charlus had been uncertain of the plan, but due to her confidence in it, allowed her to proceed as she deemed fit. The Lady Potter knew he only wanted everyone's best interest, and although she respected his opinion, Dorea knew he just would not understand; he was just too much of a Gryffindor.

James couldn't form words, but a questioning grunt made its way from the back of his throat. He would be lying if he did not admit to being nervous. He was curious to know what his mother had planned. His mother had that usual gleam in her eye that spoke of tedious planning and at least a couple of contingencies hidden away. Usually, those plans came to fruition perfectly, but James did not know if that would really work in the case of his sister—'Mione was a bit like their mother in terms of her unpredictability.

"First, how is everything going with Lily?" Dorea asked, patting the empty seat beside her, James instantly moving to sit next to her. Her heart swelled at the sappy look at adorned her son's face at the name. Her son had found love, genuine love. It made her hopeful for the future. She listened as James talked about the pregnancy, the tummy kicks, and all the odd cravings.

"Were you scared?" Her son's question surprised her, so much so that it took her a bit to understand what he was asking. Once it sunk in, she laughed. For all his Gryffindor bravado, James really was still just a child. The question took Dorea back to the days when she was pregnant—the fear of miscarriage, the first time James kicked, or the countless sleepless nights after his birth. She wouldn't change a minute of any of it.

"Always. But I don't regret anything," she responded happily.

James was silent for a moment, obviously debating what he wanted to ask her. It upset her a little; had she really messed things up so much that even her son did not feel comfortable voicing his concerns with her?

"What is one thing you wish you did differently with us?"

Thousands of things came to mind the instant he finished speaking. Thousands of words flickered through her head, but the words wouldn't form on her lips. Thousands of ways to do things better instantly came to mind, but in the end the only phrase she could speak was "Be simple".

And just like that, the floodgates opened. Dorea could only hope that her son would listen to her.

"Be something that you love—despite everything." Quandaries would come and go, especially in times of war. The truth of the matter was that war had not scared Dorea nearly as much as the peace did. In a time of peace, she had forgotten her role as a mother. In a time of peace, she had let her anger towards her family destroy the relationship she had with her daughter. In a time of peace, she had become something she had hated.

"Be something that you can recognize." And perhaps this was the most important piece of parenthood that Dorea could think of. She had been so sure of how right she had been only to realize too late that she had become a stranger. Dorea had essentially become her mother, a fate so wretched that Dorea could think of nothing worse . . . save perhaps marrying Abraxas Malfoy. She had sworn years ago that she would never become her mother only for it to happen anyway.

The elder witch couldn't even recognize herself: her features remained the same, but she felt different. Growing up in a dark family, Dorea understood what Dark Magic felt like. Naively, she had always assumed that she would be able to tell if—well when now, she supposed—she was becoming like her parents. With her mother, the magic seemed to encase her and turn the air heavy. Her father's magic had the air practically humming a deep pitch. But for her? She never felt a thing. No indication or warning sign, nothing. It was only now as she gave this advice to James that she realized there is more than one type of darkness. And despite her original, well-meaning intentions, she had fed that envy; allowed it to coil in her belly, feasting on her jealousy as it lay in wait. Dorea refused to be a stranger in her own body. She refused to be jealous over her daughter's friendships.

From now on this snake would roar.

Hermione felt nervous as she stood before a man sitting on something like a throne. Vaguely the brunette wanted to know why most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were so flashy with jewels and titles. Honestly, if anything, it was distasteful and cliché at best. However, despite her nerves, she had not backed down at the tender age of fourteen and she damn sure wouldn't be backing down now.

"I've heard a lot about you." The voice was gruff and scratchy, obviously not used much. Not surprising since Arcturus Black had isolated himself after the death of his eldest son. Why he decided to send for her of all people, Hermione did not understand.

The young witch did not know what to say. Of course, Regulus had talked about his grandfather, the man who always favored Sirius more. Arcturus held a lot of power as the de-facto patriarch of the Black family after Walburga disowned Sirius and Regulus' "death". But more than that—his very presence screamed danger. Her very magic felt on edge.

"All good things I hope?" She quipped. Hermione could swear she saw his lip twitch. The witch knew Bellatrix, Narcissa, Regulus, and hell even Orion, would have at least listed off a few good things about her. Walburga, on the other hand, had never liked the brunette; Hermione was nothing but a corruption of the Noble and Ancient House of Black.

"Hardly," he responded with a scratchy cough. Hermione blinked once before shrugging; Walburga would always hate her. Hermione had never really understood why the woman disliked her—yes, she had been adopted by a blood traitor family, but all her close friends were members of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Then again, Hermione felt pretty damn confident in her assumption that Walburga hated anyone who was not a member of the Black family.

"You corrupted the spare." Hermione bristled at that. The spare. Regulus was so much more than a bleeding spare. But did anyone ever understand that? No. They simply saw him as something disposable. For a culture that claimed to value family above all, they were bloody terrible human beings. The family only mattered when it benefited. Hermione didn't understand how anyone could live like that: it infuriated her.

"So, it's true," Arcturus smirked. He hadn't believed Walburga when she said the girl's eyes glowed blue. But now? Now, the chessboard had been reset. It also aggravated him—Walburga had been groomed from birth to be a Matriarch for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, meaning she should have recognized the potential of this young witch, and yet she somehow missed it. His daughter-in-law's staunch support of that half-blood could prove disastrous depending on which side this young witch chose. Arcturus knew of her friendship with Narcissa and Bellatrix, both of whom support the Dark Lord. But the anger he could feel in the young lass' magic troubled him. The Head of the Black family wasn't so sure that friendship would be enough to save his House. Anger that festered had always proved to be the strongest of enemies—history has shown that plenty of times.

"Is what true?" Hermione asked, guarded. She tried to rack her brain on all the information she could on the Black Patriarch, but nothing came to mind. With this man, it could be anything. She hated the way he made her magic feel: like prey. And she hadn't felt like prey for a long time. It unnerved her.

"You don't even realize when it happens do you, Witch?" She noticed the emphasis on the word witch, noticed how his eyes sparkled in what Hermione wanted to say was amusement. She took a calming breath. If the elder man was amused, then he probably didn't want to kill her (which was good), but she still chose to keep her wand at the ready. The brunette decided to quirk an eyebrow in silent question. Now was no time to be a lion, not in the snake pit, and not when silence was more appropriate.

Arcturus decided to let the witch squirm a bit before answering. His youngest grandson had chosen his friend well: she felt like Magic and had this fierceness to her that even left him on edge. Her brown hair seemed to crackle in response to the magic of the Manor. He could feel the magic of the wards sizing her up and recognizing a potential threat; of course, his wards would take more than a mere slip of a girl to damage them. The youngest Potter was indeed sharp, as he could have easily used the wards surrounding his home to end her life. "I'm not stupid enough to kill Magic, foolish girl."

He watched as another quirked eyebrow responded, all other emotion having been wiped from her face. She had been so vibrant earlier, but now she was blank. "Slytherin House has taught you well," he praised. He knew that it wasn't the Potters who taught her that trick, even if his cousin had raised the girl. It crossed his mind that perhaps the girl hadn't known this tidbit of information. "But those blue eyes give you away, at least to those who remember the Olde Ways."

He watched as her hand twitched. A smile curled at his lips; she really didn't know when her eyes changed. Or perhaps she had grown accustomed to them and could no longer differentiate. "The Familiam Sirin had always been known as the Gate Keepers, those who could walk the two realms."

At this Hermione snorted. "The two realms?" This was probably another crack shot hypothesis about the Coven. She had read a few books supposedly about the Familiam Sirin, but all of them seemed to contradict each other. She figured it was just people making things up as they went, and it seemed that even the Head of the House of Black could fall for those toss pot stories. It upset her a bit, the bookworm in her heartbroken at all the contradictory information in books of all places.

"Ever wonder why Veela are allowed wands despite being considered creatures?" Arcturus asked in response. Young ones these days were so disrespectful. But it did concern him about their education system—was Hogwarts teaching them nothing?! Her body straightened in interest. Arcturus smirked before continuing. "They're not literal gatekeepers, but they did act as a barrier so to speak. You see Magic doesn't just go to anyone. Not all creatures can perform magic despite being aware of it, but many of the humanoid ones capable of it were believed to have been born from the Coven. Many of their policies, in fact, were in favor of protecting those creatures capable of magic, particularly the ones who didn't want to be fully integrated into the Wizarding World, hence Gate Keepers."

"And how do you know this? I have already read a book that claims I am soul bound to make my supposed Mate happy, but I just can't see myself being at someone's beck and call like that." Her eyes narrowed as she voiced her question. She still didn't really believe that book she had read at Hogwarts, though at the time it was all she could think about. She had fancied Sirius from a distance, but his total disregard for Severus' life really put a damper on that crush. But she could admit to herself that she had fallen for the idea of a soul mate and had latched onto it quickly enough. The idea of someone who could make her happy and complete her. Of course, that was when she had been a silly teenage girl. With magic, she supposed there could be such thing as a soul mate, but she wouldn't start a war for Sirius alone. However, she refused to simply settle on something because it made her Magic feel right, not when there were more important things like friendship and courage. Besides, nothing ever said she had to claim that special someone, or even that the feeling had to be romantic; surely there were some soul mates in history who were just friends. Hermione snorted at that thought and earned a curious look from the Head of the Black family. She doubted Sirius and her could ever be friends at this point—there was too much bad blood, or at least she felt like there was. How could you care for someone who had so little disregard for a person's life that they would feed them to a bloody werewolf?

"I was a teen when the last one made herself public, but we housed her for a while," Arcturus responded with a shrug. He watched as those still blue eyes widened. At that expression, he knew he had reeled her in. "Many of the books simply theorize or romanticize it – a common occurrence for something we know nothing about." Not that he liked that. Knowledge was an important and useful tool; it shouldn't be diluted down with fantasies. But he also respected why the Coven had allowed it to happen. After all, he never went spilling Black family secrets.

"Who?" she questioned tentatively. The idea of asking someone who received information straight from the source made her ridiculously happy. She loved books, but there were some things that should be asked directly. Unfortunately, she didn't get that opportunity in this instance, but this was second hand and would suffice.

"Anastasia," Arcturus replied. He watched as a frown marred her lips. The Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black was curious what could have caused such a quick response. The witch had been happy not moments ago; it was only when she questioned the identity that a possible reason why came to mind. A scratchy laugh tore at his throat.

"I promise you the girl did not start a war for the man she was bonded with, despite what some of the books might claim. She had actually repudiated him for killing her family," Arcturus said with a grin. He watched as the witch pursed her lips, still not totally pleased with the information but mollified somewhat. It really did upset her when books held nothing but lies in them—it ruined the whole purpose of a book after all.

"You realize they use her as a prime example in several books about the strength of a soul bond towards the supposed bonded partner," Hermione replied with a pursed lip. Arcturus watched as her eyes flickered back to brown as he thought about her response. The young witch seemed a bit too focused on a bonded partner, making him question why. She had a strong independent streak, so he wouldn't be too surprised if she didn't like the idea of being tied down. But it seemed more than that. A thought came to mind and he decided to voice his opinion.

"You found him . . . or her I suppose." It was a statement, not a question. Despite her silence, the stiff posture spoke for itself: he had thought right. So, the idea of having a soul mate didn't bother the girl, which was good because he would have scolded her for not believing in such what with all the rituals for it at Samhain and Beltane—but the identity of her bonded rankled. He could work with that. "Though you do have a bonded . . . perhaps not a soul bond, however, there is a connection judged by your Magic. What you choose to do with it is up to you. But you should remember that Magic knows what it is doing." He doubted the young witch would really understand and he cursed his cousin for her ineptitude. Filthy blood traitors shouldn't be allowed to reproduce if they refuse to properly educate their offspring. Magic had blessed this young witch with a bond, something not everyone could claim—granted that had more to do with the Olde Way dying out than anything else, but the point remained, a witch should have grown up knowing about the bonds Magic could bestow. Arcturus could only hope that with his reassurance she would feel more at ease; he refused to allow this slip of a girl to just throw away such a gift.

It took another moment for her to respond. Part of Hermione was simply processing the information, the other part wanted to know why Arcturus Black decided to share this information with her so freely—a Slytherin never did anything for free, especially not a Black. "Why?"

She watched as the man give a razor-sharp grin and she knew he understood exactly what she asked. "As I said, I'm not foolish enough to tempt Magic."

The snarky response came out of her mouth faster than she ever thought it would. "No, you would just allow your grandsons to be abused and branded like cattle." It had always been a sore spot for her that this man could ignore his grandchildren's suffering. She had heard the stories from Regulus, had seen what happened when Sirius said no to his mother. That this man would freely give her information because it would create a connection with her irked her. But she had always been quicker to "forgive" her own murders.

Despite coming from what many would deem a 'blood-traitor family', Hermione had still grown up with the notions that a witch should be chaste, friendly, demure, forgiving, and respectable. She had spent years working towards each of those attributes, but always seemed to fall short. Hermione knew herself well enough to know she didn't really embody very many of those traits. Respectable depended on to whom one was talking, and while she could be friendly and even chaste as needed, she had never been demure. Hermione had always tried her hardest to be forgiving and she honestly felt like she usually succeeded. But she also still held grudges despite that—many of them, in fact. Despite what she had projected to the world or even her friends, she hadn't let go of her bitterness towards either Sirius or James—though she really couldn't claim to hate them either—for that night on the full moon. Yes, they technically saved Severus and herself, but had Sirius not mentioned it to Severus in the beginning, they probably wouldn't have been almost eaten. And honestly, she didn't think an apology for almost making them into werewolf food would cut it: that's not really something you could apologize for. At the end of the day, it wasn't the words that mattered to her.

She had wanted them to apologize, not for the words but the remorse, the genuine remorse at almost killing two of their fellow students. James at least felt somewhat bad, but she wasn't sure if that was because they could have gotten Lupin expelled or because he didn't really want them dead. A little part of her still felt it was more for Lupin's benefit than her own. Sirius couldn't even fake it. So yes, she still felt bitter about it. In fact, she wanted to hex them for it because how can you hold a grudge against someone you are supposed to love? Easily, apparently. She also held a grudge towards her parents for always seeming to take James' side. As an adult, one who had lived away from home for a few years, Hermione could recognize that sometimes she could be a bit petulant. She would even go so far as to say she had possibly over exaggerated some things in her memory. But that didn't mean it hurt any less. It didn't mean that her feelings were invalidated just because she looked at things from a slightly biased perspective. It had taken a while for her to understand that. For her to realize that you can love someone wholeheartedly and still want nothing to do with them, that the rancorous feeling inside of her wasn't exactly wrong even if it wasn't very healthy either.

But she could bury those feelings, deep down inside where they weren't so easily exposed. She had spent years burying things she didn't want to deal with: when it pertained to her mental, emotional, or even physical health she could quite easily put it in a box and never let it see the light of day. So long as she didn't have to face them, then Hermione could handle herself. She didn't want to face all that pent-up anger towards the people she should have been able to trust. The brunette didn't even really want to squash the acrimonious feelings she had for her family; she quite frankly didn't want to do anything with those types of emotions. Hermione had spent so much time burying things that to do anything else would be the equivalent of fixing a sinking ship. But for Regulus? Severus? For any of the people she felt close to, Hermione just couldn't let it slide.

Arcturus, on the other hand, had to decide how he would handle the situation. On the one hand, he had grounds to eviscerate the little chit for such a presumptuous statement. But on the other, he could finally use his age to impart some truths this witch needed to hear. And so, with a heavy cough he said, "Unless a lion can write, the story shall glorify the hunter." He had the opportunity to teach a young mind a lesson that needed to be learned. So many wizards today were disillusioned by the past that they forget that each tale had a multitude of sides. Ever since Albus bloody Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald people had been labeling various magics and even people as "dark" and "wrong". It infuriated him because Magic simply was.

Arcturus watched as her brown eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from grinning. He knew of what his youngest grandson and she would call themselves in the privacy of Regulus' room. The Head of House was unsure of the response his words might generate, but even still he did not want her to speak just yet. With a scratchy voice, he continued, "You're a young woman, one who has not lived even a quarter of a century. And yet, you stand before me claiming you know better."

He would not lie and say he wasn't offended by her remark. A Black always took care of their own, even if it didn't appear so from the outside. He had kept his Heir from being repudiated. Sirius would become Head upon his death. But he would not spill Black secrets to this young witch, no matter the power. "So how do you pray for your devil, Witch?" Arcturus questioned.

It was at this moment that her youth truly showed; not when she would spout off something heated or even when her eyes shined with curiosity. It was this perplexed look. Despite what the witch liked to believe, she hadn't lived long enough to really understand the similarities between good and evil. "For you to feel so righteous, tell me, how you pray for the man your beliefs indicate need it the most?"

The witch looked lost at his question. He could practically see the witch thinking, but no words came from her lips. By her very words, Arcturus knew what really angered the witch. He himself was not a fan of the young half-blood that his daughter-in-law seemed so drawn to. He had raised his son on firm beliefs and Orion had followed them well, even if his wife did not. Arcturus would never bow to anyone, let alone a young man filled with ideas of grandeur but no real class. However, just because he didn't worship that Riddle fellow did not mean he hated all the ideals he preached. Unlike the witch in front of him, he had a better understanding of where the lines between good and evil were drawn.

"Think on it, Witch."

So, can anyone guess the songs that inspired this chapter? Clues are in the very first scene! Let me know what you think of this chapter! I'll copyright the songs in the next chapter so as not to give it away. Other Copyrights below. And as Always everything canon you recognize belongs to JKR.

"Until a lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the Hunter." © African Proverb

"But who prays for Satan? …to pray for the one sinner that needed it the most?" © Mark Twain

22. Downpour

And here is another update! The next chapter should be pretty interesting and I'll get to working on that after exams and things. So the theme of the last chapter actually came about due to Lynard Skynard's Simple man and PopEvil's Waking the Lion. But only one person even bothered to guess what songs inspired the chapter (even if she got it wrong) so I want to give a shout out to Lairenna :D :D

As always, the usual disclaimer applies for this story. Due to our hectic schedules this chapter is unbeta-ed though I did try really hard to ensure there were not many errors.

Chapter 22: The Downpour

Marlene didn't know why she agreed to this. Yes, she had recommended joining forces with the bint but the blonde didn't mean that she had to be the one who reached out. She couldn't even stand the snake. But at the same time, the more rational part of Marlene knew she had the best chance to convince the other witch. James had the opportunity a while back and he somehow bungled that up and only ended up talking to a neighbor. Marlene wasn't even sure how the idiot had managed that. Besides James and Lily were away under the Fidelius charm so it's not like the Potter Heir could attend this meeting now anyway.

So, it was up to her, the witch who the snake had decided to help. Doge had raised a valid question about Hermione Potter, namely how on Hecate's magic did she find out about the attack. Marlene knew the other witch wasn't a Death Eater or if she was then the brunette was a bloody damn good actress. But something in the blonde's gut told her that wasn't the case; the other witch might be many things but working for You-Know-Who wasn't one of them. Marlene couldn't explain why she felt like that, she only knew what her magic made her feel. And although she cannot stand the bint, when it came to this, she had absolute faith in the youngest Potter.

She felt a wand prick the back of her neck causing her body to stiffen. "What was the first thing I said to you?" At the voice, Marlene's body relaxed. The Auror didn't appreciate being held with a wand to her, but she recognized the need for safety and was frankly impressed that the other witch did too. Of course, that also made the blonde curious as to why the other witch felt it was necessary since she hadn't used this procedure prior.

"Seeing as you spread your legs more than Black enters broom closets, I think you would be the one protecting paramours, McKinnon." The blonde parroted back. It was the first time someone had called her a whore to her face, so Marlene knew it by heart; mostly because she had several plans that she (still) planned to use to get the brunette back for that comment. The wand was removed from her person and the blonde turned around to face the other witch.

"What no question for me?" Hermione asked, with a haughty grin. Marlene bit her thumb at the slag but said nothing more. It was definitely the youngest Potter in front of her; her skin was starting to itch, and she had a desire to hex the younger woman silly. Only this witch had ever sparked that kind of irking from her.

"So why am I here?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the outside of a seedy little bar in muggle London; of course, McKinnon had decided to meet when it was about to storm which would have displeased Hermione if it hadn't guaranteed to drown out at least some of their conversation to outsiders. The brunette had also ensured that there were a variety of charms to keep away prying eyes, both muggle and magical before she had approached the other witch. And she may have made the blonde wait for half an hour too, just out of spite. Of course, if asked, the younger Potter would merely claim she had been ensuring that the meeting wasn't a trap.

Marlene looked around before answering; she had scouted this place for weeks to figure out their dead times and to see how secure it would be in the long run. Deciding that there weren't any prying muggles, she cast a quick silencing and 'Notice-Me-Not' charm around the area before speaking. "We've decided to take you up on the offer of partnering."

Hermione choked on air. "Excuse me? I never-"

Marlene grinned, pleased to see she could make the other witch visibly flustered. "Actually, you did. Way back when-more specifically to the night you made me quote earlier." The blonde replied. She liked being the one on top of the conversation for once. Most of the time she would be speaking to Moody or one of the older members of the Order-especially since her rather nasty break up with Sirius- so she always felt like she was getting talked down to instead of with. The fact that she managed to outmaneuver a snake made it all the better.

"No, I told you all to grow up. Until then you were all bloody rubbish to me. Worse, actually, at least with the trash I know how to dispose of it." Hermione replied with a sniff. Her mind raced at all the possibilities: traps, trust issues, dissension in ranks. Tons of thoughts flitted through the brunette's head as she tried to form contingencies. Brown eyes stared into blue and searched for any clues. This had not been what she expected, not by a long shot and especially not by Marlene McKinnon.

"Well maybe some of us have grown up," Marlene replied truthfully, shrugging her shoulders. She felt more grown up. It has been almost three years since she had graduate Hogwarts and a lot of things had changed for the blonde. She no longer had her family or her ancestral home, she distrusted half the people she worked with, and her school friendships waned since her break up with Sirius. By no means was she content with the change, but Marlene could at least recognize that it was a part of life and was managing to cope with it all. "What about you? Still throwing temper tantrums like you did that night?" The blonde could also admit that she was a bit more vindictive when the mood strikes her. Looking back on that event now, Hermione Potter hardly acted all grown up herself. But, if it had been one of her best mates, Marlene also could admit she probably would have acted the same.

Much to Marlene's shock, the brunette looked a bit sheepish. The blonde fully expected the other witch to be cocky and self-assured as she had always presented herself to be, just like her brother.

"I'm not longer threatening to hex you," Hermione said with a shrug as she tried to feign indifference. Truthfully, the brunette would like to think she had grown up. Yes, she had acted for more like a Gryffindor that night than a Slytherin. She should have acted like a Slytherin, which would have sought out those family relationships and cultivated them instead of threatening them. But damn it that was her Leo and he needed help. Hermione refused to feel guilty for what she said that night. She meant every word she had spoken and even the ones she hadn't; though looking back she probably could have phrased most of those differently. Perhaps then Regulus wouldn't have had to fake his death. Perhaps they could have ended all this sooner.

At that Marlene laughed. "Yet you mean. I still owe you for some of your comments you bloody bint." This time there was some mirth in the smile she gave Hermione. She still didn't like the chit but right now they were on the same page. This war needs to end before they can resume their squabbling—something Marlene eagerly wanted to get back to because like hell she was going to allow someone to call her a whore and get away with it.

Hermione shrugged, agreeing with what the older witch said. They probably would be hexing each other sooner or later. "So, what did you have in mind for this collaboration?" Although she respected Marlene for approaching her, Hermione still didn't trust her or the Order. Everyone had been working so hard on their latest project and she refused to jeopardize it for some false hope. Especially since Severus, with what little free time he still had under Voldemort, had been slaving away in that potions lab working on various deviations to their plan. Hermione would not threaten their chances with something like this.

At that question, Marlene shrugged. The blonde didn't have a plan, none of them did. Even Albus Dumbledore had no master plan for defeating You-Know-Who, at least not one he divulged to anyone in the Order.

Hermione frowned. Leave it to bloody lions to come and make a pact with nothing to offer. It surprised her a bit to know that Dumbledore hadn't told them of any plan yet; he must have one, a person doesn't get that many titles from sitting on his arse all day. Dumbledore had been the rallying point for people in the Order so surely the old man would have some ideas.

"So, you came to me with nothing to offer. Why should I accept?" The brunette questioned. Her mind conjuring all the possible ways this could go wrong. First, she did not trust the Order. She also felt pretty confident that there was a leak in the group since she doubted that her old Headmaster would require wizard oaths or other magically binding confidentiality agreements Leo said Voldemort had been known to use. The old wizard was just too trusting in his belief that people would fight for what is right and light. She guessed that was the Gryffindor in him. As for the leak though, Hermione didn't know who it could be though she did have a few guesses.

"I have no plans," Marlene said, clenching her jaw. It bugged her that she couldn't at least offer up a plan of action for this like Moody had trained her too. But more experienced people had been fighting this battle for years and nothing had come of it, how could she come up with a plan? "But you know damn well that I lost my family, home, and almost my life for this bloody war. So, don't say I have nothing to offer." Her blue eyes flashed with anger as she recounted the worst day of her life. The more rational side of her knew that the younger witch was simply being a Slytherin and refusing to work with something that might hinder her plans. It still peeved the Gryffindor off.

"Perhaps you should keep in mind why you still have your life." Hermione shot back. The younger Potter knew she probably shouldn't have said that, but she just couldn't help it. It felt like they were destined to rile each other up. And honestly what kind of person comes to make a deal with nothing to offer? It didn't help that the blonde witch just got her so aggravated that she almost always ended up speaking before thinking. Besides, it's not like McKinnon had ever thanked her.

"Or maybe I should ask you how you knew that it was going on?" Marlene snarled, her voice rising with her anger. This was the very reason she hated the other witch. This petulant witch was conceited, insolent, foul-mouthed, and utterly wretched. The bloody snake saved her once and is already never letting her live it down.

"From snakes you refused to save." The brunette growled back, refusing to divulge any further information to the Gryffindor alumna. It had been Regulus who told her that Voldemort was displeased with the McKinnons and planned a "talk" with them. But Narcissa had been the one to supply her the date, even if it was just hours before the so-called chat. Still, it was people that Marlene and the Order hadn't cared about before that allowed Hermione to save the blasted witch.

At that comment, Marlene looked about ready to slap the other witch. The blonde-haired witch definitely wanted to strangle the other woman for that remark. But at the same time, it made her feel a small twinge of guilt. She could guess exactly which snakes slipped information that resulted in the McKinnon Massacre to not be a complete slaughter. She still wanted to hex the bint for that comment though. After all, it wasn't like You-Know-Who just woke up that morning and decided to slaughter her family, they had to of had ample time to plan it; which meant that the snake had sat on that information for some time. And if he didn't then Hermione did–which meant that she deserved a slap all the more.

"So, partners?" Marlene asked after a few moments of silence. She could get the other witch back for all of it at a later date. Right now, they needed to focus on the task at hand.

"For this crime anyway," Hermione replied with a shrug. The brunette honestly couldn't see the harm with working with Marlene so long as it was only Marlene right now. Perhaps down the road when she feels that Marlene is trustworthy they can add a few more people into the mix. Hermione was smart enough to know that the other witch would at least tell someone about their interactions and dealings, so they would need an oath or two to help mitigate some potential problems. "I want a witch's oath on your magic that you will not pass on any information I give you to anyone I don't approve of and who aren't willing to take the same vow."

Marlene frowned at that stipulation. She didn't like the idea of making an oath especially not to this snake, but she did recognize the need for safety. Something has made all of the Order's plans go pear-shaped and she knew her mentor suspected a leak. It would make sense that the other witch would want to be safe, she had already lost her best friend. And Marlene knew that she would have done the same for her family had she known sooner. "I will give a vow not to reveal you as my source of information and will carefully choose which information I reveal at the meetings," Marlene said instead. She could easily stage a meeting with some anonymous source claiming to have information about the Death Eaters in exchange for a pardon if and when they get caught. The blonde would have to work out some of the finer details, but it would pass for a while at least. "Furthermore, I will tell everyone today that you did not respond to my owl and that I was wrong for even suggesting you would help us."

Hermione snorted at that comment. "Make me the bad guy." The younger witch couldn't poke too many holes in that idea—although if she was given more time then she probably could find several—and figured that would be good enough for a Gryffindor—so long as they were very specific with their wording.

Marlene flashed the other witch a toothy grin, "Of course, you are a stupid snake after all." The brunette felt more surprise at the tone of voice than the words themselves. The blonde sounded more smug than hateful. Then again Hermione would bet a galleon that the other witch loved the idea of making her appear as the bad guy. Bloody bitch.

"Get bent." Hermione spat with no real animosity. She still hated the other witch, but she could see them working together decently enough at least. They both had a common goal and have relied on each other in the past (despite both hating it in the process).

As the two witches worked on the exact words of the oath, the rain began to pour.

Seven.

It all boiled down to bloody seven.

Seven days in the dark. Seven ingredients. Seven total anticlockwise stirs. Seven days of soaking. Severus hadn't expected the potion to go this way, no he was just playing around with the ingredients because nothing else seemed to have worked. Worst of all, Hermione wasn't completely wrong with her idea of mixing hellebore and valerian springs— thankfully she wasn't necessarily right either. Soaking the valerian sprigs in seven drops of hellebore diluted in a liter water worked far better than just mixing the two separately into the infusion of wormwood. But they were still incredibly volatile, and he had to contain more than one explosion even with dragon's blood being used as the base.

In the end, neither Hermione nor himself had been right; no, it was Kreacher who pointed out that most of the ingredients should be prepared in darkness, or at the very least in dim lighting, and a suggestion that perhaps the breed of dragon might also play a role in the effectiveness of the potion. To sate his curiosity more than really consider the suggestion, Severus had asked why or even how the blasted elf knew that; all he got was a shrug and a grumble about incompetent wizards getting undeserved Masteries. That put him in a foul mood and a desire to show that he as a wizard knew far more about potions than a bloody house-elf.

Apparently not.

He had tried Kreacher's suggestions on a whim, using blood from several different dragon breeds as the base. Carefully he would add the infusion of wormwood before sprinkling in the soaked valerian sprigs, shredded sloth brain, crushed sopophorous beans, and fangs of the same dragon for each potion. Most of them lead to an explosion at some point during the brewing process. He even repeated the processes in various different lightings, only to get the same result for all but one potion.

Blood from the Vipertooth apparently worked very well with the other ingredients so long as it was done in the dark. This baffled Severus as Vipertooths were known to be quite venomous and surely that would have interacted negatively with the hellebore; evidently, that was not the case so long as the room had little to no light. The Potion Master briefly wondered if light caused a radical reaction within the venom, making it explode; but ultimately decided to play around with that idea later. With this knowledge in hand, Severus then focused on optimizing the potion: playing around with how many stirs were needed and if they should be clockwise or anticlockwise, switched up the stirs in various order to determine which would produce the best outcome, how switching from very dim to absolute darkness changed the potion, and the order and preparation of the ingredients changed the overall outcome of the potion.

Deciding to go with the theme of the potion, he ran seven parallel reactions for each of the changes to monitor the outcome. Once he felt satisfied, Severus repeated the procedure seven more times to ensure no faulty data arose. The dark-haired wizard had put his whole being into this potion at this point and now he finally had something to show the other two. After countless frustrated nights, Severus finally found a way to kill Dark Magic. The Slytherin alumnus was no magical theorist and could not explain the exact mechanism of how his potion managed to eliminate the dark magic within an object but assumed the poisonous ingredients played a huge role. The only downside to the potion was that it completely destroyed the object submerged in its depths.

Severus had tested it on several dark items that Kreacher had brought from Grimmauld Place. Once the dark artifact was placed in the potion the iridescent color would turn obsidian before giving off noxious fumes. After several minutes the potion would change to a putrid green and thicken. The Potions Master had discovered after various attempts that once the potion turned a putrid green no magic worked on it and the cauldron would have to be tossed unless one of the solid gold cauldrons were used but even then, it needed a good scrub after everything was scooped out. Severus figured it had something to do with gold being rather inert but again was not entirely sure the exact reason why.

Severus looked at one of his many pewter cauldrons, all supplied by Regulus, and decided to set up the potion once again. The Slytherin Alumnus figured he might as well get to work on the next batch since it did take seven days to prepare. He did have to test it against the Horcrux after all. Plus, he needed to see how the potion handled being scaled up. Already his mind was coming up with possible problems that could arise during this scale up. Each of these ingredients was sensitive in some fashion and, although easily manageable on a small scale, would require careful planning on how to proceed when he scales it up.

Glimpsing out the window, Severus vaguely noted it had begun to pour before working on his potion.

Voldemort looked at the box perplexed.

As a powerful leader, he was not unused to receiving gifts, especially odd ones from his followers. Quite a few of them would send brandy, fine robes, or potion ingredients. Some, who knew him during their time together at Hogwarts, would even gift him rare books.

But never hair before.

It was not like he needed any, especially since he still had his own, albeit shorter, locks. So, being a Slytherin, he decided that this must be some kind of message. Perhaps one of his followers had kidnapped someone for his enjoyment? If so, then why had no one claimed this gift. Either way, Voldemort was not amused. He did not like being confused. With as much power as he had, he should never be confused. The imposing wizard knew that, although he spent years refining his knowledge of pureblood customs, there were still a variety of things about the Wizarding World as a whole he wouldn't know about, despite his trying. Either way, that did not mean he liked the confusion this gift brought him.

"My Lord?" A soft, female voice crooned. Blue eyes looked towards the witch who sought his attention. His dear Bella would certainly know who sent him this strange gift. If her answer pleased him then perhaps he would even gift the bastard to her. The witch always did like when he gave her gifts. It was not his usual way of doing this—no he much-preferred intimidation—but with her affection towards him, being the attentive lover gave him far better results.

"Bella, my dear, tell me what you know of this?" Voldemort questioned, pitching his voice just a shade deeper. He watched as her face flushed with pleasure before looking down at his gift. Whatever response he expected, the widening of her eyes and the snarl of fury that came from her lip was not it. The wizard's gaze narrowed further when she had begun to shake her head.

Anger filled her belly and her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the locks. How dare someone send this to her Lord? This wizard would pay for the insult he bestowed upon the Dark Lord. This filthy blood traitor would feel absolute pain under her wand for the slight. Various spells crossed her mind as she tried to figure out which one she would use first on the poor excuse of a wizard who dared threaten her Lord. But a nagging feeling tugged at her gut the longer she stared at the long strands of hair.

When it finally clicked, all color drained from her face.

"Bella."

A warning. He would play this game with the witch so long as she continued to amuse him. Right now, he certainly held no mirth and grew decidedly tired of this pesky game. He gave her a few more moments to compose herself. Blue eyes watched as the witch licked plump lips and nervously gripped at her sleeve.

Troubling. Not many things could make this witch nervous. Yet here she looked ready to faint. What kind of message, with hair of all things, would make one of his most loyal so nervous? Despite being decades older than this witch and certainly more well-read, Voldemort could at least admit there were things purebloods did he knew nothing about. This apparently is one of them.

Bella on the other hand frantically tried to phrase her words. Her dark eyes focused on the long strands of hair collected in a ponytail. The length of the hair alone spoke a thousand phrases, none of them something she wanted to tell her Lord. But it wasn't the length of hair that troubled the witch. No, it was the familiarity of them. She knew exactly who sent that collection of hair. But how would she explain this to the Dark Lord? A knot seemed to form on the base of her throat as she tried to form words.

Thoughts flittered through her head as she tried to come up with something neutral. She needs a plan before she said anything to her Lord because this could ruin her. She had warned the Dark Lord a while back about the consequences of his actions and how he should tread carefully. Either way, she had thrown her backing behind him a long time ago. Fear gripped her belly because it now looked like she was fighting a losing war. She fully believed in the power of her Lord. But faith in herself was a whole different story.

With a deep breath, she made her decision.

"It's a declaration of war."

So, I got the idea of the about the hair from something I saw on Facebook about how during peacetime a ruler grows their hair long, but during war they cut it short and send the strands to their enemy: "To receive long hair says that you have angered one who is slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken". Now although Hermione isn't really slow to anger I loved the idea and it stuck.

The next chapter should show the destruction of a Horcrux and the start of the battle royale. Let me know what you think about the chapter.

23. Left

And here is another update! I hope you enjoy the chapter! As usual the normal disclaimer applies as it has throughout each chapter of the story. I do hope this answers many of your questions about the hair ;).

As always, the usual disclaimer applies for this story. Due to our hectic schedules this chapter is unbeta-ed though I did try really hard to ensure there were not many errors. Once she has a chance to look over it (or if she does) then I will reupload an edited version (but ultimately the plot and everything would remain the same).

Chapter 23: Left

Their magic shifted.

Charlus had no clue what had caused it to, but he had a strong suspicion that his daughter had a hand in it. Which had led him here, to this seedy little muggle pub. How a peer of her standing found this obscene bar he wouldn't know. But then again, he didn't know a lot about here nowadays. He never would have found this place if he hadn't relied on family magic to locate her. Rarely did Charlus ever invoke his power as Patriarch, but with the way, the family magic felt he had no choice.

He could feel the sparks in the air as the Potter Magic sought for enemies; wrathful and all-consuming—hunting something that has thus far escaped its grasp.

Charlus did not know what to do with that knowledge that his family magic had a viciousness. The Potter's had always been a light family, but yet this brutality in his magic made him question even that. As a pureblood, he grew up with the idea that magic felt what the wizard did—magic, no matter how omnipotent, was not actually alive. Or at least he always thought that; but now, the swirling anger in his magical core and the desire for blood pooling in his stomach disputed that. Charlus just couldn't help but think how wrong he had been.

"Well, this is a surprise." A familiar voice said, causing Charlus to turn to his left. The first thing he noticed was that her voice lacked warmth. The second thing he noticed was that her hair was cut like a man. The third, most startingly thing of all, was that his magic practically sung at the site of her.

From that moment, everything clicked. The rage, the fire, the fierceness of the Potter magic, her hair, all of it clicked.

"What have you done?" The horror could not be kept out of his voice.

Hermione, unlike her father, felt amused. She had wondered when one of them would reach out to her. She had all but declared Riddle an enemy of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter; the family magic would have shifted as a result. "Nothing that will damage your standing as a light wizard if that's what you're worried about." The younger witch replied with a bit of heat despite her overall good mood. Bambi was obligated to attend this impromptu meeting. She had felt the summoning of her Patriarch and decided the pub down the street was the best place to meet. It wasn't like she would allow her Patriarch to enter their base of operation—not with Regulus there. Knowing the Head of the Potter family felt serious enough that he would use the family magic to meet, she was compelled to show up; the family magic demanded it. So, she apparated to the seedy pub and allowed the family magic to direct her father to her.

Her father looked like she had slapped him in the face; which honestly amused her a bit. His face showed a genuine hurt which dulled that enjoyment a smidge. He had always been a good father if a bit aloof towards the end. Hermione had never wished the wizard ill, but she hadn't let go of the bitterness towards him either. With a flick of her wand, she had silently cast a muffliato to ensure their conversation was not heard from outsiders.

"Is that what you think that concerns me? My standing as a light wizard?" Charlus couldn't help the bitterness that came out. The emotions swirling within his magic made him question which really belonged to him and which belonged to the Potter Magic; the only thing he knew definitively was that the sheer anguish came from him, because out of all the things that came to him after realizing what his daughter done, his standing was the last thing on his mind. That his daughter thought he cared more for his public persona than for her broke his heart. Lord Potter never wanted his children to think he cared less for them than his image; but, somehow, he made Hermione think that and it hurt.

At his daughter's shrug, Charlus scowled. The rage of the magic and his upset mingled into something he couldn't place. "You declared a blood feud." He saw his daughter's eyes dim; no doubt Hermione was fortifying her occlumency shields and that just angered him even more. She had used their family magic but didn't even trust him enough with why. "The Family Magic has violently shifted, constantly looking for an enemy. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"And you'll still be light at the end of it," Hermione replied nonchalantly. Charlus felt his magic spike in anger because she still did not understand. He needed to make his daughter understand what she had done. "Magic like ours is not supposed to be so angry, Hermione."

The younger witch's harsh laugh made him pause. "I get it now," she said, absently touching her left wrist, "why the magic always felt as if it liked me more." Hermione's teeth flashed a little as she gave him a mean grin. The brunette always wondered why she felt the Potter Magic so easily. Most blood adoptions were allowed by the magic for the continuation of the line or to induce vitality. But usually, those adopted never quite meshed with the magic. Hermione didn't have that problem, but then she had been adopted practically at birth according to her mother; Dorea had always theorized that due to the timely adoption the magic had just deemed her a Potter from the beginning. It made sense that the Family Magic would consider her as one of its own. But she always had a suspicion that the reason she had such a knack for magical theory was because she had recognized magic as sentient. "The Potter Magic has always been this way."

"I think I would—"

"You'd be wrong my Lord." The formal way she has answered him stopped any reply he might have had. The brunette took a moment to figure out how to express what she wanted to. Magic lived, it had a pulse outside of their body. No one could make Magic do something it did not want. Incantations and spells have been used to bend magic, but that was only because magic allowed it first. Granted that did not really explain how some of the darker magics had been allowed to flourish but Hermione liked to think it had to do with balance. Although she had no proof to support her claims, she felt pretty confident that her idea did not stray too far from the truth. Furthermore, she felt her idea was substantiated by the notion wands chose the wizard and how rituals were usually so hard to perform: because they required this faith in magic that their world, as a whole, had lost long ago. But Magic still did not feel like they did, it did not have a moral compass, and could as a result not really distinguish between light and dark, right and wrong. It had to balance itself or it would crumble under the strain.

"Magic has never been peaceful—no matter how light people have tried to label it. It's anger, passion, and death. It is by its very nature, chaos and control." Hermione paused as she felt the magic thrum around her, stead and proud. Magic lived within them but only because it had wanted to. It would not be controlled by those too foolish to recognize its autonomy; nor could it ever fit into any one label. Grabbing her father's hand, she placed it on her chest before speaking again. "But it's also beauty, pleasure, and life."

Her heart beat steadily but that was not what drew Charlus' attention. The family magic felt calm under his hand. It made no sense; as Patriarch, the family magic should be the strongest in him and his heir. But the magic in his daughter felt strong and steady, the exact opposite of his own. Normally this would not be such a bad thing, but the fact that the Potter Magic was only content inside of his daughter—the one who initiated the blood feud—spoke louder than anything. To him that just made the situation worse; his daughter did not understand the severity of her actions. "As surprising as this is, Hermione it's still dangerous."

"The magic won't be tainted…" She began but something snapped in Charlus and he just could not let her finish that sentence. The Head of the Potter family needed her to understand just what she had done. His world tinted red as he spoke.

"YOU COULD DIE!" Even if she had this special bond with the familial magic, it would still enact a price should the blood feud not be satisfied. She would not only throw the whole Potter family into a blood dispute that could last who knows how long, but she also decided to try and throw away her own life.

At that comment, Hermione froze. She knew the price of failure, but she had always trusted in Magic and she knew it would not steer her wrong. Riddle needed to be stopped and Magic had practically leaped at the chance to ensure his demise. It was why she had done the ritual instead of Leo or Severus. She never sought to control Magic, but instead worked with it. Leo had always had that aristocratic air about him that made him try to bend his magic to his will and Severus just treated it as another tool. So, although she knew the price of failure, she had never thought it would matter to anyone outside her circle. Severus didn't understand the point of the ritual. Regulus knew of course, and although reluctant, agreed with her decision to do so. Cissa did not know and Hermione had decided to keep it that way. The older witch would have a conniption. And Bella…well, Hermione would rather not think of that burned bridge. "I fail to see how that's relevant."

Tears welled up in Charlus' eyes at that statement. It hurt him to be so far removed from his child. The pain in his chest felt like his heart being gouged from his body and ripped to a million pieces. How dark was his daughter's world for her to say that? How fucked up was his family that she felt none would mourn her? "I refuse to bury my daughter before me."

Although touched by the tears more than the words, Hermione had to shake her head. The brunette appreciated the genuine emotion that her Patriarch displayed, but she also felt strongly about this situation. "That's not for you to decide." This whole situation was not even just about her or a desire for revenge or to be a martyr. Magic wanted Riddle dead. Riddle had broken the covenant between wizards and Magic when he created his Horcruxes. If not Hermione, then some other person would have been coaxed into this situation eventually, probably even under prophecy. To her, the risk of dying for the destruction of Riddle seemed a worthy price. The brunette also knew that sentiment made her a huge fucking hypocrite considering the situation with Leo. Hermione, however, didn't have it in her to care much about that.

"Like hell, it isn't! I'm your Patriarch!" Charlus bellowed, his vision still blurred by tears. At this point, Lord Potter felt confident enough to say his heart no longer resided in his chest. He refused to bury his daughter no matter what she said. They might have been estranged the last few years, although not by his choice, he still loved her damnit. He took her in and made her one of his own. He fed her biscuits and read her bedtime stories. He chased away the monsters from under the bed and even stayed up at night to guard her, just so she could sleep peacefully. But somewhere along the way he no longer held the position of her protector and that shattered what remained of his heart. Deep down, he always assumed that they would pick up where they left off and become a family again. Charlus just assumed that she was going through a teenage rebellion and that she would get over it and talk to them again.

Hermione frowned at that. Had this been anyone else she would have been furious at the thinly veiled threat. Her father had never invoked the Potter magic to punish or control them. But she also recognized the desperation in his voice. He had never called upon the family magic yet, but she was pushing it. There was this glint in her father's eyes that told her he was tempted to do so. The brunette was curious if that would even work. After all, her magic wanted the ritual to happen. If the Potter Magic was against it, would the ritual have even been successful?

"I'm not your little girl anymore." The sheer look of despair on her Patriarch's face hurt her but she knew they needed this conversation—they needed it for a long time. She paused as she decided how to word her next statement. "That doesn't mean I don't love you. Nor does it mean that I don't miss you. It hurt pulling away. It hurt thinking you wished me gone. It hurt losing the only family I knew." Hermione said, her voice breaking at the end. All the emotions she had kept buried under layers of occlumency finally started to crack. She had kept these suppressed for a reason. But now it felt like a dam broke and words just spilled out. Hermione hated it. She hated feeling this weak; hated feeling like she had no control despite spending years trying to obtain it. "But I lived with that. I moved beyond that. And as pleased as I am to know you still care—you can't fix what happened with some nice words. You can keep what's broken, but you can't just have what's left because now you want it."

Hermione watched as the tears finally traveled down her father's cheeks. It hurt her saying that because she still felt guilty. Part of the brunette wondered what would have happened if she had come to her father earlier and just cleared the air. Would they have still been close? Would he have just considered everything to be some childish problem that would resolve itself? There were so many what-if scenarios that could have happened if Hermione didn't get so absorbed in her own feelings. The young witch knew she couldn't waste her time pondering what could have been had she just not buried everything. And amidst it all, there was still some bitterness present too. Why should she have been the one to come and start the discussion? Why did she have to be the adult in the situation instead of her parents? Why should she be the one who let bygones be bygones? To her the answer was simple, she shouldn't. Doing so would essentially be saying that she had been wrong to be a teenager; that she had been wrong to feel. She might have forgiven a lot of things, but that did not mean the family could pick back up to how they were when she was eleven. Forgiveness did not mean the slate became clean; it meant she moved on. Forgiveness did not mean the brunette had to spend time with them nor did she even have to like them; it meant she no longer felt weighed down by the problem.

"I can swear on my magic that I won't let that happen." Charlus' voice cracked as he spoke, tears still cascading down his cheeks. He never knew his daughter had felt like that. The pain in his chest seemed to double. And deep down he wondered if he didn't deserve this for all that transpired within his family. How much of this did he bring upon himself?

"That's not really a promise you can keep." Charlus' shoulders slumped at his daughter's words. Despite what he might like, she spoke the truth. He couldn't promise that no matter how much he might want to. If the Potter Family magic declared her promise broken, he very well could be burying her before the year is up. But he could do everything within his power to ensure that didn't happen.

There was a multitude of scenarios and ideas popped into his head, blurring from one to the next. Potions that had to be made; safe-houses that needed to be prepared and possibly placed under fidelius. Books to be sent to those locations—or even just straight to his daughter. With a heavy heart, he looked at his little girl—no matter what she thought, she would always be his little girl—and decided the most important decision of his life.

"This war has been postponed long enough."

At his declaration, he felt his magic begin to sing.

Marlene seethed. Red tinted her vision as she heard Dumbledore trying to explain away what happened to the Bones. A daughter. Only a fucking daughter was left of Edgar's family. Even the young babe was only alive because Marlene, her mentor, and the Prewett Twins had managed to break the wards down and began killing the bastards. And now Dumbledore wanted to brush it under the rug and accuse them of going dark?

"When did using what you can become your plan?" Dumbledore had asked, disappointment clear in his voice. Like the fucking bastard didn't know. Marlene had been all for killing the bastards who wore the bloody mark and dark robes, she never silenced her opinion during the meetings. They murdered her family and countless others. As far as she was concerned, they forfeited their lives. Besides they didn't shoot harmless hexes. No, those bastards shot to kill so why the hell shouldn't she?

"When it became the only thing to save us." The Scottish blonde hissed. How dare he. Dumbledore didn't see what she and Alastor did. The Bones' blood coated their floors and walls like paint. The air smelled of copper and the blasted Death Eater's laughter echoed in the home. Marlene didn't think twice before casting the killing curse at anyone in her way as she made her way up the stairs. Alastor and the twins had done similar. They took out fifteen of the bastards before they found the young lass hidden behind a strong Notice-Me-Not charm that they had detected. Marlene had been the one to apparate the small witch away. "They try to kill us—not disarm us. What the fuck are we supposed to do, let them?"

"You should give them the opportunity to repent, something they cannot do when dead," Dumbledore replied sagely. He understood what the young witch was trying to say. But he knew from his youth how dangerous that mindset could be. Killing someone should not be your first choice, it led to a dark and lonely path. He just did not want Marlene to end up like Grindelwald.

Marlene snarled at that. "They can repent in hell for all I care!" The Scottish witch didn't give a single wit about the insufferable bastards aside from how fast they could die. "I refuse to sacrifice my life or those I care about for fuckers who don't give a bloody damn about taking it." Her calm expression belied her words. Even her magic boiled at the idea of letting those heartless bastards live. They slaughtered almost an entire family. For all she knew the young lass could be the last of the Bones entirely—no one had been able to get in contact with Amy thus far.

"Alas, sometimes you must give yourself," Dumbledore replied with a tired sigh, closing his eyes as he did so. He was growing frustrated with this young witch—the only member of the Order who actively disagreed with him at every turn. She had been a faithful follower once, at least until the death of her family. He hated that it happened, as the McKinnons had always been good people. But Marlene had allowed her anger to consumer her and it made Order meetings far more difficult than they needed to be. The blonde witch questioned everything he said or did. The old wizard understood, he really did. But he didn't kill the person who led him down that path. So, he just could not understand why the Gryffindor Alumna felt so hellbent on this topic.

When he opened his eyes again, the expression on the young witch's face told all. Her blue eyes held a fury he had yet to see in any of those who followed him. Whatever meaning he had meant fell upon her deaf ears. Her magic crackled in her blonde locks and all but Alastor and himself backed away from her. He did not know how she took his words, but Dumbledore knew she had taken them the wrong way. Before he could amend his statement, her voice echoed in his ears.

"THEN WHY DON'T YOU?" Marlene screamed. Her anger vibrated the air along with the shocked gasps of her fellow Order members. The blonde had seen how her supposed friends recoiled from her and it just grated her nerves all the more. Those bastards still had their family. Those bastards didn't witness the aftermath of, yet another family slaughtered. Those fucking bastards didn't realize how stupid they were to want to disarm Death Eaters. "Get off your bloody high horse, Dumbledore!" For the next minute, only Marlene's shallowed breathing could be heard. She had tried to calm herself down, but the rage swirling in her belly made that difficult. "All my life I had been told about the Great Bloody Albus Dumbledore. I looked up to you. I joined this ridiculous organization because of you." Her voice cracked a little at this. The older she got, the more she realized how fallible her heroes were. No hero came to save her family. No hero came to save the Bones' family. "You're no hero. You're not even a powerful wizard." Blue eyes sparkled with indignation as she calmly spoke. Her magic still crackled her hair and her face still flushed with wrath. She tried to calm herself down only to fail time and time again. These were words she had been longing to say since the assassination of her family.

"So, get bent Albus Bloody Dumbledore. Bugger you and your stupid ideals that led so many of us to a fucking wooden onesie." Marlene growled, her teeth clenching in anger.

The stricken look on Dumbledore's face gave the blonde a vicious thrum of pleasure. Instead of Dumbledore, as Marlene had expected, Molly had been the one to speak next. Her hands shook as she looked the younger witch in the face. The once vibrant, happy blue eyes looked hollow and bitter. The usually rosy cheeks were, now, always brushed with a tint of anger. Somehow, they had let Marlene slip through the cracks. The mother in her wanted to comfort the young woman and so she tried the only way she knew how. The statement she made next had no anger to it. "Those actions got my brothers killed." The softness in the mother's voice would usually have soothed some of the Scottish lass' wrath. But not his time.

As Molly had reached out, almost as if to pull Marlene into a hug, the younger witch snarled and slapped the offending appendage away. "Shut up you mangled fud," Marlene's ire built all the more at the other witch's statement. The twins were one of the few people who understood her and Alastor's decision. Yes, they died; but they died taking out seven of those murders, including one Rodolphus Lestrange. Therefore, Scottish blonde refused to allow their death to be considered a mistake. They understood what should have been fought for. "Your brothers died as better people than any of you could ever be."

Blue, narrowed eyes scanned the Order members with a mixture of violent rage and disinterest. Molly's eyes had brimmed with unshed tears and her husband attempted to console her. Marlene's ex-boyfriend seemed shocked by her behavior and had she given a damn she might have felt bad. But she had long since lost her 'give-a-damn', especially towards the friends who now rarely acknowledge her. The blonde would be the first to admit she had changed—the slaughtering of your family would do that though. The days she would spend with her friends relaxing were now spent training. The nights she spent reading raunchy romance novels were now filled with strategy and new spell books. Her whole life had been consumed by this war and Marlene didn't care a single wit. She wanted revenge and by the grace of Morgana, she would have it. Every single bastard who wore that mark will get a free ride to the afterlife with her as the train conductor. Anyone who wanted to stop that could join them for all she cared.

Her eyes glanced over the older members of the Order: Dorea, Doge, Dumbledore, and her mentor. Of all of them, only Alastor wore a grin. Of course, her mentor would agree with what she said. He had been the only one who reached out to her, who helped her. That his help provided combat training instead of emotional talks by the fire didn't bother her. Alastor understood what none of the other could even fathom. The rest of them looked at her as if she had gone dark.

It was in that moment that Marlene finally understood what that bint Hermione meant so long ago. Marlene did not want to even acknowledge that she felt closer to the youngest Potter—a witch she hated—over friends and trusted elders she had known for years. It rankled her a bit. Bar Alastor Moody, she couldn't trust anyone in this room more than she did that silly bint.

And so, she had made perhaps the biggest decision to date.

"This fly is leaving your fucking parlor."

With that, Marlene disapparated.

"Explain." Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the witch before him. He had never heard of this supposed declaration of war; surely, after all the years he spent reading ancient texts, he would have heard something. However, he wasn't foolish enough to call Bellatrix a liar. Placing doubt in the mind of one of his most devout would only create distrust. He needed the loyalty Bellatrix gave him and the money that came with it.

"Well as you know, hair rarely holds the magic of the owner very long. It's one of the reason's the hair has to be fairly fresh when using Polyjuice." Bellatrix explained. Even she couldn't resist flinching when her Lord twirled his wand in her direction. What she said was true, but it wasn't the most important part and she knew it. Although the age of the hair always mattered as a potion ingredient, there were a number of older traditions in which the age never mattered. With a sigh, she continued.

"It's a tradition from the Olde Ways, before even Morgana." Bellatrix supplied in a soft voice. The curly haired witch tried to think of how to explain this tradition properly, without her risking the Dark Lord's ire. Unfortunately, there were many derivations of this declaration and she didn't know which one would anger her Lord more. Knowing the younger witch as she did, Bellatrix could make a decent guess. Bellatrix knew the younger witch well enough to know that she would have chosen the simplest method. But the simplest method also allotted for the most change. But a decent guess wouldn't save her life. She might be the favored, silent queen but she was still replaceable; her favor only carried so far.

"A declaration of war could be established by ritualistic intent. The exact nature of the ritual depends on the strength of the caster and their resolve." At this Bella licked her dry lips. Her heart broke at the knowledge that the line had been drawn which officially declared Bambi her enemy. She had watched the witch grow up, helped her become something extraordinary; only to have to destroy it in the end. It hurt Bella; she knew of course that this day would eventually come to pass, and she had tried to harden her heart. But it was painful because in her heart she could not consider Bambi a traitor. Hermione had given her terms and once Regulus passed, all bets were off. She had known in the back of her mind that the younger witch was planning something, and Bella had hoped she wouldn't have gone through with it. But the Lady Lestrange never expected her to do this. This went beyond drawing a line or even staying neutral. But it was something Bellatrix understood well. How could she not when she herself drew similar lines? Regardless, that does not mean it hurt any less.

Bella glanced into her Lord's eyes. Just with a single glance, she knew he did not like her answer. Biting the inside of her cheek, the curly-haired witch thought over how she wanted to present this to her Lord. She tried to come up with the words that would appease him without her getting crucio'ed, but unfortunately, she couldn't. And although she was never in the ridiculous house of the brave, Bellatrix had never been called fearful. "The intent usually involves the death of the recipient."

Voldemort's eyes did not flash with rage as Bellatrix expected; nor did a curse leave his wand. This reaction sent a flood of dread through her veins. She had known that her Lord claimed to be immortal, but she hadn't really believed him. It was when his lips curled into that sly grin that ice formed in her belly. Whatever her Lord had done to ensure his immortality was not something commonplace. No phoenix would grant him their flame, even Dumbledore's stupid bird hadn't granted the old wizard that boon and he was far lighter than the Dark Lord. So, whatever her Lord had done must have been incredibly dark; dark enough that he may have crossed Magic's line.

"And there is no way to test how long ago the hair was severed?" The question surprised Bellatrix, at least until she remembered that her Lord was forced to live among muggles and unable to properly learn about the magical world thanks to Dumbledore. The witch silently cursed Dumbledore for bastardizing her Lord. He should have grown up in a magical home like his lineage required. Bellatrix was not stupid, she knew her Lord was a half-blood. Had he been less powerful and of a less prestigious lineage, she probably would not have followed him so avidly. But he had power, power that should be reintegrated into their society. And within a few generations, any offspring produced from his line would once again be pure given the right marriages. Had her Lord grown up properly, then he would have known the answer to his question. But since he did not, Bellatrix had to provide an answer, one she was sure would make him mad.

Bellatrix shook her head. "As you know, magic is always about intent. Dark or light, intent takes precedent." The witch replied, running a hand through her curly locks. The Lady tried to think of how to word the answer to questions she knew her lord would ask. As of right now, her explanation was vague at best. She did not know how to phrase her next few statements but decided to just give it a try anyway. "Depending on the intent of the caster any use of locks would produce a similar outcome even if the hair was removed yesterday." The Lady Lestrange was preparing her occulumency shields even as she spoke. Right now, her Lord appeared amused, but she knew better than most how fickle his joy could be.

"And how long ago was this practice considered commonplace?" Voldemort questioned, curious more than anything. He had always enjoyed learning more about the magical world. The fact that it would help further establish him as a wizard from an Old Family would be an additional boon. Had he not had his Horcruxes in place he perhaps would have had a different reaction; but he felt assured in the protection he had placed upon each Horcrux. Furthermore, they were all guarded by his most devout followers. No one would be getting near them without his knowledge. And anyone who tries to betray him, well they can meet the inferni as that Black heir did.

"Back when covens were revered." Bellatrix supplied her voice pitched lower than what Voldemort was used to outside of the bedchamber. He knew well what she did not want to state aloud. His most loyal of followers had made a mistake; one that she would rectify if she wished to remain in her position of power among the Death Eaters. But he was not an unforgiving Lord, especially not for one of his most devout.

"So, this came from a witch." Voldemort's glib voice stated what his favorite witch did not want to say. Blue eyes watched as the witch before him flinched. Bellatrix, always such a firm supporter, had never wavered in her furtherance of him. But she had offered protection towards a witch years ago and he wanted to let her know he had not forgotten. He wanted to remind Bellatrix that he had allowed her the privilege of protecting a young pureblood so long as it proved beneficial.

"You protected her," Voldemort said, softly as he rose from his throne. As he approached the attractive witch, he let his hand reach out to caress her face. Looking into those dark eyes, he could see the hope there. Whatever decision he made would impact this witch who had so freely given her loyalty. He had always been a merciful Lord, offering second chances when they were due.

"End her."

And here we go! As always let me know what you think. I spent quite awhile rewriting this and taking out and adding scenes. But I hope you enjoy it! So ideally the Marlene and Hermione scenes would be occuring at or around the same time and so Charlus is not at the meeting.

"You can keep what's broken, but you can't have what's left…When did a promise become so dishonest?...When did using what you can become your plan" © New Year's Day, Left Inside

"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others" Niccolo Machiavelli

24. Masks

Standard disclaimer applies.

This is where I am issuing a trigger warning: The first scene has torture in it. If this makes you uncomfortable or you have PTSD please skip it. The next three scene might be filled with some color language but that is all. Because of this first scene I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I debated including it or not, but ultimately decided to do so.

This chapter is unbeta'd. Though I have went back and edited some errors I found myself after posting.

Also note I have another one-shot posted in which Luna Lovegood is Death. It's called Rebirth, please check it out!

Chapter 24: Masks

Marlene took a deep breath and racked up all her Gryffindor courage. Before her family's death, she would have been embarrassed about this—asking for help from a virtual stranger. But things changed and the only person aside from Alastor that she could trust had been the one person she hated in school. The twins died, so any support she could have received from her friend group had perished with them.

Part of her wanted to laugh at how foolish she had been even just two years ago. She remembered planning a wedding with Sirius, even down to how and where he would propose. The blonde vividly remembered fighting with Hermione Potter and vowing to never work with her—but how the tides have turned.

Marlene did not know that much about the other witch aside from her loyalty to her ex-boyfriend's deceased brother and her Hogwarts house. The Scottish witch also knew that the other woman seemed perfect in every way and it aggravated the hell out of her. Someone that perfect had to be hiding something. But she had nowhere else to go. Marlene wanted to fight this war, but she refused to work for Dumbledore any longer. So now she stood at the other house of resistance. She just hadn't expected it to be in a weird looking muggle island in Cokeworth.

"Crucio."

The spell came as a shock to the blonde-haired witch and she had fallen to the ground limp. She got so lost in her thoughts, in the idea that she would be safe in the muggle neighborhood, that she had not paid too much attention to her surroundings. That now bit her in the arse. Marlene tried to move but her body felt like it had fire coursing through her.

"Aw, look at the little blood-traitor," the female voice crooned in pleasure, the spell still holding strong. The voice struck fear into Marlene because fuck she knew that voice. She had heard it several times while on her auror rounds and it had even the most seasoned veterans requesting back up. The Scottish witch knew she couldn't handle Bellatrix Lestrange on her own.

Marlene fumbled as she reached for her wand. Of course, the one time she didn't practice constant vigilance she gets to run into Bellatrix fucking Lestrange. If she managed to survive this, Moody would kill her. Unfortunately, the blonde did not think she would manage to survive this. She had heard rumor that the other witch was hunting the team that that killed her husband. In fact, Marlene should have been even more cautious as a result. As the pain wracked through her, she questioned if the young Potter set her up. The last McKinnon shook that thought though. If the other witch wanted her dead, she would have allowed her to be slaughtered with the rest of her family.

"You're not screaming loud enough," Bellatrix hissed as she shot a Diffindo at the girl's torso. Not anything deep, just enough to elicit some sound; she wanted to play. The dark witch never understood how the chit survived the massacre, especially since Rastaban had claimed to see her. Bella did not like when her prey escaped. However, even a cutting curse did not cause the bitch to scream like she wanted. With a flick of her wand, Bellatrix silently casted both a Petrificus Totalus and an Immobulus on the blonde.

With a deft hand, she easily removed the knife from her thigh holster and brought it up to her lips. Bellatrix watched as blue eyes widened and she allowed a grin to grace her lips. The dark-haired witch allowed her tongue to dart across the blade before dropping to her knees. "You'll scream for me, won't you my dear?" With a flick of her wand, Bellatrix tweaked the spells to allow for the other witch's head to move. She bet the blonde's screams would be delicious.

Marlene tried her hardest to break free from the spells. But her magic wouldn't work. She had spent hours reading about combat and defensive magic in preparation for something like this! So why isn't her magic working? Fuck fear. Fuck this, she needed to escape. She needed to be able to fight back. Of all the places to die, it's in a shite muggle town with Bellatrix Lestrange.

The blonde tried. She tried her hardest not to scream. But as the blade dug into the flesh of her abdomen her pain level skyrocketed to an unknown height. The Auror Corps did not train her for this. The books she read could have never prepared her for this. Her skin felt on fire as Bellatrix dug the knife into her flesh. The knife strokes were steady and planned—if the blonde had to guess, Marlene would say that the other witch was carving specific letters, though what she didn't know.

It felt worse than she expected. Her nerves seemed to amplify the pain even more and she honestly did not know how much longer she could handle it. The blonde already wanted to pass out and only her determination kept her from doing so. The last thing she needed is to be unconscious near Bellatrix Fucking Lestrange.

"Flipendo!"

Bellatrix got knocked backwards and Marlene could only sob in relief. Someone came. The blonde could not recognize the voice despite it sounding familiar; at this point she didn't care.

"Well, well…" Bellatrix voice held an odd mixture of anger and respect. "I knew you fell, but I never expected you to consort with Blood-traitors, Bambi." On the one hand, the elder witch felt furious that Bambi would betray her like this—how dare she raise her wand to protect a blood-traitor. Revenge for Regulus, she understood. But to protect this filthy blood-traitor who should have died with her family?

Bambi didn't rise to her taunt, just staring at her with her wand drawn. That only aggravated Bellatrix further because how dare this witch betray her like this? How dare Hermione Potter side with a blood-traitor over her? Without thinking, Bellatrix began to throw curses at the brunette.

"Protego." Hermione raised her shield as fast as she could, cautiously looking at their landscape as she did so. The brunette hoped to use the island to her advantage, but as of right now she was pretty much flying blind. She had to get Marlene out of here—Bellatrix would not stop now that she found something to play with. She didn't like it. Bella had always been a bit of a wild card, but usually a well-meaning one. To see her carve into someone shook the brunette. Hermione Potter did not understand how someone she loved could do something so horrible, let alone enjoy it.

"Fight me! I taught you better than to rely on defense alone!" Bellatrix seethed. A few of her hexes managed to slip past the shield charm, but none of them were particularly nasty. Had this been anyone else then Bella would have easily just thrown an Avada their way. But a small part of her hoped that Bambi—because it was Bambi before her, not a simple blood-traitor—would see reason and just leave. Leave the pathetic blood-traitor behind.

"You're not my enemy, Bella." Hermione said softly. Her eyes flickered to Marlene, lying on the floor covered in blood. Casting a whispered 'Protego horribilis' on the witch, the youngest women focused on her friend. Because she was. All the good memories didn't go away simply because she and Bellatrix were on opposite sides of the line now. Wand at the ready, Hermione began to whisper defensive spells, to help mitigate some of the spell damage that might head her way. Despite this, she still took a step forward, not necessarily towards Bellatrix, but closer to Marlene.

"But you are mine. From the moment you tried to protect this little bitch," Bellatrix snarled angrily, throwing a chain of curses at the brunette. It did not matter what the little witch said. Bambi had permanently removed herself from Bellatrix's sphere of influence. It hurt her; it really did. The curly-haired witch did not want this. The idea that she had to destroy the younger witch made her heart ache. And the widow hated it. The pain fueled her anger which allowed her to keep throwing hexes and curses towards the brunette.

"I became your enemy when you chose Riddle over Regulus." Hermione replied with a shake of her head. The truth of the words felt like a punch to her stomach because fighting Bellatrix meant fighting her family. Bella had been one of the people to comfort her—took her in when she had left the manor and ultimately been part of her foundation. But now? Now the foundation began to crack, and Hermione had no idea what to do. How do you prevent yourself from falling when the floor you stood on crumbled?

Taking another step forward, Hermione tried to steel her heart and began to throw back some of her own curses. None were of the lethal variety and honestly Hermione just wanted to get close enough to Marlene to apparate out of the area.

"Never."

"Tell that to Leo's grave." Hermione replied with an icy tone. Part of her disliked lying to Bellatrix, but the other part—the one far more loyal to Leo than she was to anyone else—knew it to be for the best. Had the older witch learned otherwise, it would be a literal death sentence. Riddle would not allow someone who betrayed him to live.

Hermione did not know how long they were fighting, just that it felt like ages. Each move she made had been done with the intention of reaching the fallen witch and get her to safety. As a result, she ignored each taunt her dear friend through her way. She ignored the pain in the other woman's eyes. She ignored the way her own heart broke, yet another spell is cast at Bellatrix.

When she finally got close enough to Marlene, Hermione had allowed herself to take a Diffindo to her right side; as fell, she reached out to the unconscious Marlene and whispered the passphrase to her portkey.

The last thing Hermione heard was the furious scream of a friend.

"Are you looking to die?" Rastaban questioned the petite woman, sitting comfortably on her couch as she held a new-born babe. The witch before him was perhaps the most cunning people he had ever met—she twisted and maneuvered people around so thoroughly that they believed it to be their own idea. All the while, sitting there looking pretty and playing it up as a society wife.

She knew all the dirty little secrets in her family and even some of those outside of it. One of the few Slytherins worthy of the house. He had attempted to court her as his own once upon a time. Before her current marriage. Before his had been sold like cattle to the Dark Lord.

This woman sitting before him was a true chameleon. She changed her colors and stripes so easily that he would be unable to read her if not for the years of practice. He remembered the ticks her parents drilled her to hide. But the difference between this witch and another society wife is that she still had depth in her. Some people in their society spent their whole life singing to other people's tunes; so much so that when you really dig into them there is nothing authentic there.

"Quite the opposite," The voice claimed with all the grace he knew had been taught to her. Although he trusted her with his life, he wondered if he should be there. If he should be embroiled into whatever current scheme she had planned. Rastaban had a feeling that he might just be getting into something he would regret.

Out of the cauldron and into the fire.

Narcissa Malfoy had always been someone to be wary of.

But his fondness of her remained, perhaps no longer the love of a potential lover; but the love of a sibling. He certainly loved Cissa far more than he did his deceased brother at any rate. She at least understood the meaning of family—perhaps that was the difference between wizards and witches. Witches nurtured those they claimed, fostered the love and wellbeing into a protected legacy while men simply traded lives as favors.

The sole-living Lestrange quirked an eyebrow at the statement, silently daring her to try another trick. He wondered of her motives; wondered of her reasons for requesting a private visit from her youngest brother-in-law.

Her simple smile belied the danger he knew lied beneath the witch. Especially now, as she cradled the babe to her breast. Currently, Rastaban posed no threat. So, she allowed herself to be smiles and polite teasing. Not that he would ever harm her—Cissa had always been one of his few true friends. One who did not see him as only the Lestrange spare. One who did not see him as just another solider. One who genuinely cared about him. He would not betray that.

"I've heard rumors about you and Andi," He stated, rocking on his heels as he looked at her. He watched her posture tense and her eyes narrow; gripping the babe closer to her body. With a ragged sigh, Rastaban allowed himself to rake a hand through his hair before swearing aloud.

"Dammit, Cissa you know better!" His lips curled up in a sneer. Anger coursing through him because now he had to bury this information. He refused to allow it to reach his fellow Death Eaters or even her sister. They would kill her.

"Isn't it so convenient that family is only family when they benefit?" She replied; her own teeth bared slightly in defiance. Narcissa Malfoy was a lady in all the ways that mattered, so Rastaban couldn't believe that she had allowed herself that little display in front of him. It warmed his heart because that meant she trusted him. Despite her words, despite her anger, she still trusted him.

"You know better," Rastaban said, his eyes were tender, and his hands bawled into a fist at his side. There were all these words he wanted to say but just couldn't it. So, he put all those words to in his gaze. Let the witch before him see in his eyes what he wanted her to know. His words weren't castigation. His words weren't censure. His words weren't belittlement. They were remorse. Regret at the society they lived in. Regret at the friendships and families shattered. Regret at the complete apathy that their society engenders.

Andromeda had been a dear friend of his before her family blasted her from the tapestry and their society. It hurt to lose that friendship, but Rastaban knew better than to fight for it. Had he done so, the middle daughter would have possibly lost her life or that of her husband's. Andi would have never forgiven him had that happened.

"She has a daughter," Narcissa said, as if that answered it all. Unfortunately, it did. Because although the blonde might have been content to allow her sister to be abandoned by the family; she would never allow a child to suffer all that abandonment entails.

"Be careful." Rastaban said. The words he did not say, however, were the ones that brought a graceful smile to the witch's lips. Lady Malfoy knew he would help her keep the sweet Nymphadora safe. Rastaban would cover up any evidence that pointed to her reconciliation with Andromeda.

"Why do you want this stupid little chalice?" The young Lord asked, changing the topic entirely. He watched as her lips quirked upwards and her eyes lit up. For some reason this blasted cup meant something of value to the Lady Malfoy. And he did not feel like denying her it. He reached into his pocket, fishing out the shrunken down cup before placing it down on the coffee table between them.

"A project of sorts," She told him, still looking like the kneazle who got the cream. Rastaban prevented a sigh from escaping his lips. He knew better than most about keeping secrets to protect those you care about; he also knew that the witch before him would sooner stun him than reveal whatever plot she had planned should he try to weasel out the information. Therefore, he would allow the secret.

"Be careful, Cissa." He warned, taking carefully measured steps around the coffee table. Once he reached her, he leaned down and place a gentle kiss on her cheek. He wanted her to know that he would support her, whatever her scheme might be. "I am going to see Lucius." With that he turned and walked out of the room.

Narcissa allowed her gaze to fall on the cup that Bambi had asked for. Of course, she did not expect it to be in the Lestrange vault nor for Rastaban to bring it to her without a ton of questions. She would ensure this got sent to Bambi just as she had done with that stupid diary her husband had. Lucius did not know she had removed that foul piece of dark magic from their Manor, nor did she feel like including him in on the fact.

Draco did not need such magic near him. Her husband would understand; besides he did say he would leave her to her conspires.

"Dobby," She called for their new house-elf. Although a bit crazy, the elf ultimately was well meaning and absolutely adored her young child. A soft pop notified her of the creature's arrival.

"Yes, Mistress? How can Dobby serve?"

"Be a dear and take the cup to Bambi." She cradled her son close to her, rocking him softly. The small grin on the tiny lips had her cooing at the adorableness of it. When the popping sound did not happen, she glanced up at the elf and frowned. Quirking an eyebrow, she asked the elf why he delayed.

"There be bads magics, Mistress."

"Then remove them." She replied. She missed her old elf, Motley. The blessed creature had so much initiative, so unlike this timid thing before her. Dobby certainly tried his best, of course and she would not begrudge him that. But she needed a servant who expected her needs and took care of them without her prompting; something this tiny elf just did not do.

"Right away, Mistress."

Pain.

All the blonde witch could feel is agony along her torso. Confusion swept through her as she tried to get her bearing. She remembered the harsh cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange as she carved into the Scottish witch on the ground in Cokeworth.

Opening her eyes, she saw a high vaulted ceiling. Her arms felt heavy at her side. Everything ached. A sound startled her, and she turned her head towards the sound.

"Feeling better?" She did not know who she expected to see but it was not Regulus Black. The wizard who supposedly died. It had to be some other wizard. Yet she could not dispute the similarity between the man before her and her ex-boyfriend. Dark curly hair, aristocratic cheekbones and sparkling, haunted mercury eyes that gazed back at her with a tenderness she hadn't seen since her break-up with Sirius.

But this man should be dead.

His mother told the ministry that he died, that the tapestry in their home had a death day under his picture. Yet he stood before here with all his pearly whites on display and obviously not a ghost. Which meant that Regulus Black survived, and that bitch had lied.

"What else has she lied to me about," The blonde snarled, trying to lift herself up with her forearms only to cry out in pain.

"You should be more careful," Regulus chastised. He, however, did not move to help her. The dark-haired wizard knew better than to rush to a strange pretty witch's aid. Especially one who disliked him. He knew of McKinnon's auror history, knew how she reacted to supposed dark wizards.

"You should be dead."

"Well if you want to kill me, you'd have to get in line. Pretty sure the Dark Lord wants first rights." The wizard replied with a shrug. He shot her a wink before adding, "Though it's not nice to kill the wizard who bandaged your wounds."

That surprised Marlene. Sirius had told her his brother had received the Dark Mark. That his brother agreed with all the hate-filled speeches against mudbloods and blood-traitors. That he had killed for that bastard of a dark lord. Yet here he stood, claiming to have tended to her wounds? How did that fit into the role of an evil man? Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Mad-eye always hypothesized that the bastard's mark could only be accepted if the subject willingly took it. Which meant that this bastard before her would have chosen to be a death eater. If that was the case, why would help her? Potter obviously brought her here for some reason, but Marlene doubted that would be the sole reason for his help.

"Does the Mark take if you are coerced?"

"If you are asking if it has to be willingly taken the answer is yes." Regulus replied with a frown. He did not have to tell her the horrors of taking the mark, nor what 'willing' really had to of meant. But for some reason he wanted to tell her. Regulus wanted this witch to know that taking the mark did not mean being evil. And so, without his permission the words spilled from his lips.

"But willingness can be strong-armed. I wanted the mark; I saw the pain my mother and cousin put my brother through—Sirius has always been the stronger one. I would have caved." Regulus didn't say that it would not have been his torture that would have broken him. Because he knew his mother would never allow the torture of her favored son. But Hermione? His mother had never approved of the younger witch. And Regulus had never wanted to take the risk that she would have been put in had he refused the Mark. Because he knew even Bella would not be able to save her had that happened. No protection they had previously offered would have been applicable.

"You should have tried!" Marlene growled. The blonde could not understand such cowardice. Being afraid isn't reason enough to accept the mark of a mad man. It isn't enough of an excuse to murder. Hell, she had been tortured at the hands of that bitch Bellatrix, and even knowing of the pain she still would refuse the bastard's mark. Yet this man standing before her stood there telling her that to avoid torture he willingly took the mark of a psychopath?

"And if they had turned on Kreacher?"

"Kreacher?" The question blind-sided her. She knew of the name but could not think of where she had heard it. She knew Sirius didn't have any other siblings. She knew that the only cousins he had were female and that his favorite uncle's name had been Alphard. His awful mother's name being Walburga and if that did not sound like a name of a rodent the kneazle dragged in, she didn't know what did. But the name Kreacher sounded so familiar to her and she just couldn't place it.

"My elf. Should I have allowed them to torture him to make me agree? To kill him because of my refusal?" The name finally clicked: the bastard elf who tortured Sirius. That is the creature this man had wished to save. Unable to help herself, she snorted a laugh. Of all the idiotic things to do, this wizard had accepted a mark to save a bloody house-elf. An abusive one at that.

"An elf. You are telling me that you accepted the dark mark to protect an elf. An abusive fucker at that." She sneered the words. His logic did not make sense. What foolish wizard would accept a mark that tied himself to a murderous psychopath because he did not want the bastard elf who tortured his brother to be tortured or killed? She remembered the stories her ex-boyfriend had told her about the elf—how he had locked Sirius in his room for days, giving him only the barest amount of food and water to survive? How he would lash at Sirius with a belt on the orders of that bitch of a mother? Regulus had always been the favored child, she knew that. Knew of the demons she had been unable to purge Sirius of because of that stupid elf. But surely Regulus Black did not believe her to be an idiot.

A cruel smile graced Black's face. His mercury grey eyes narrowed as he took his first step forward. "The thing about dating my brother is that he only tells you of his day." He replied casually. Regulus knew his brother. Even after all these years, he still knows Sirius the best out of every member of their family, even Andy or his deceased Uncle Alphard. Sirius would never tell the full story. "All you ever learn from anyone is what you see in them each and every day."

He allowed himself to pause and take in the witch still lying on the bed. He looked at her lack-luster hair which had not been washed since her arrival a few days before. Her blue eyes vibrant and angrier than he's ever seen, with her pert nose twitching as she breathed raggedly. Her body lithe but muscular, a warrior's body if he had ever seen one. Her breasts covered in a thin bra and her torso shielded from his view with bandages and dittany. They had decided to keep her shirtless in case of any complications with her wounds. The witch's lower half was covered, but he knew she wore some of Bambi's shorts underneath that blanket.

His gaze returned to the angry blue eyes and allowed himself to smirk. "All anyone is to anyone is a series of days." Kreacher might have been a bastard to his brother, but Sirius never helped the matters either. Which muggle had said that violence begets violence?

"And that has to do with what?" Marlene asked, her tone icy. She did not understand the point this man tried to make. Furthermore, she could not believe this bastard before her tried to justify the abuse his brother went through because of that stupid elf.

"You only know of Kreacher because of the things Sirius has told you—"

"HE ABUSED YOUR BROTHER," Marlene snarled, interrupting Regulus without a single disregard. How dare he try to justify the actions of the elf. Abuse is abuse regardless of the motives. Just because Regulus had been the favored son and therefore never harmed by the elf, did not mean that Sirius deserved it.

"The thing about my brother, McKinnon, is that the one part of Pureblood culture Sirius has always excelled in was his contempt of those inferior to him." Regulus replied with a sneer. Bloody lions always had to be difficult. Sirius had always been the well-groomed pureblood heir when it came to house-elves. Although always a supporter of mudbloods, Sirius has never cared for house-elves. He never cared what happened to them so long as one did its job.

"Sirius would never—"

"Real character is shown by the way one treats his inferiors more than the way he treats his equals," Regulus interrupted. "Kreacher has always been treated badly by Sirius. Had he ever shown an ounce of kindness towards that elf then maybe Kreacher would have had acted differently." His voice had grown louder the more he talked. By the end of his statement, Regulus was screaming in fury.

Because Regulus knew the stories Marlene did not. He remembered Kreacher rubbing dittany into the wounds when Sirius would pass out from the beatings. He remembered the cookies slipped to them when they were tykes. Regulus recalled the elf crying into his arms at the thought of beating the Heir and how the House Magic demanded retribution each time the elf had to punish the Heir on the orders of their mother. And Kreacher had always accepted the penalty he felt he deserved because of it. Orders were hard to disobey for elves, especially the ones loyal to the House. But Kreacher had done so when he really had to—secretly slipping food to Sirius, using dittany and other healing potions after beatings, allowing those awful Gryffindor posters to remain on the walls of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. And even though he hated the eldest son of the House of Black, the elf still cared enough about the boy Sirius had been that he helped Regulus send him to the Potters.

But Sirius never knew these things because he never even bothered to look. Kreacher had no loyalty towards Sirius, at least no more than he did towards any other House member. But Kreacher still loved the little boy Sirius had once been, the one before the bitter words and rebellious actions. The one before the sorting into Gryffindor.

"That does not excuse abuse!" Marlene growled out.

"No, it does not." Regulus said, softly, his anger only slightly abated. The house-elf had done wrong by Sirius and he refused to ignore that. But Kreacher had also tried his best to help when he could, while still following orders. "But you cannot ignore that there were good days just because you did not hear about them." Kreacher adored Regulus, and he knew that. He knew that the elf had even helped Bambi because of his adoration of Regulus.

"So, because he's a nice elf to you, you'd take the Dark Mark to protect him?" Marlene snorted in disbelief. The story just seemed too farfetched. She did not believe it for a single second that his reason for taking the mark had been to protect a stupid house elf.

"I am saying that willingness isn't just black and white. I chose to accept that mark because people I care for were at risk." The Slytherin alumnus stated with a shrug, his right-hand scratching at his left forearm absentmindedly.

"An elf isn't a person!" The blonde scoffed.

"BUT HE IS." Regulus snarled, the anger bubbling within his veins at the statement. He had tried to remain agreeable but that last statement managed to crack his facade just enough for his ire to bleed through. Gryffindors—foolish, all of them! Kreacher was a sentient being, one with feelings and dreams. Just because their society did not see him as anything more than a servant doesn't make him any less valid. Did not make is life any less valuable.

That ire, fiery and all-consuming passion is the thing that convinced Marlene that Regulus back told her the truth. For whatever reason, he genuinely thought that elf mattered and for some reason felt his life meant enough to take the Dark Mark. She watched as he took a moment to calm himself. It took only a moment for the cool, regal mask to slip back into place.

"So, what else did that bitch lie to me about?" Marlene questioned, deciding that a change in topic needed to occur. Hermione Potter probably was not the best topic change, but it would do.

"Why do you think she lied?" A regal eyebrow arched gracefully as he looked at the witch still lying on the bed. He probably should let her rest, she needed it after the last few days she had. He had fond memories of his eldest cousin, but that did not mean he was unaware of how cruel she could be. He had seen what she could do with her blade. McKinnon should be resting, and Regulus needed to get his anger under control.

Plus, it felt nice to see some life in the witch. She had been cold and lifeless the last few days as the potions helped heal her up. The fiery passion in her eyes amused him.

"Well, you are alive."

"Did she ever tell you I died?"

"Well no…"

"Then she didn't lie." His tone remained pleasant, but the blonde could still feel the anger underneath.

"But…"

"Get some rest. You need it." Regulus said, brooking no argument. With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. He still needed to reign in his temper before they could continue this conversation.

Hermione stared at the objects before her frowning as she wracked her brain as she attempted to connect the three objects. A diary, a locket, and a cup. The only connection she found was Hogwarts. The diary of a schoolboy and objects of two of the Founders of said school. But why did Hogwarts mean so much to the false Lord that he would create horcruxes around the castle?

She scowled as she leaned forward only to frown at the shot of pain that coursed through her abdomen. Tenderly she pressed her hand against her belly, attempting to ease the pain.

"Still hurt?" The voice held a softness to it that Hermione had never heard before. The brunette knew that did not mean they were friends, more so that they were two people united by a common incident. That did not mean they got along. The two witches have gotten into several fights since Marlene and Hermione were officially cleared by Severus to be out of bed three days prior. But not all their interactions erupted into a fight.

The brunette gave a nod but refused to turn away from the objects on the table before her. Why would Riddle care about Hogwarts? Sure, he grew up without magic but that did not explain why he latched onto the castle rather Diagon alley or some other magical location.

"The bitch will get what's coming to her," the blonde replied with a shrug as she sat herself down next to the other witch.

"Can you stop calling her that," Hermione asked wearily. She didn't have the energy to put up too much of a fuss with the other witch. Furthermore, the brunette still wanted to focus on locating the rest of the horcruxes; but to do that she need to find the connection so she could identify the rest.

"Why do you care? She tried to kill you." Marlene replied angrily. The blonde did no understand why she felt so angry for the young witch, but she did. For the first time she could remember, Marlene felt angry on behalf of Hermione Potter. And that raised her ire more because the Scottish witch never wanted to feel bad for the younger lass. Especially not over Bellatrix fucking Lestrange.

"She's my friend!" Hermione said, tearing her eyes away from the horcruxes to focus her attention on the witch sitting next to her. Her face flushed with anger as her brown eyes flickered blue. Tears pricked at the corners but she refused to let them fall.

"Friends don' hex each otha'." Rolling her eyes at the statement, the Scottish witch scoffed; her native brogue slipping out just a tad. "Besides she's a murder, how good of a friend could she be?" Marlene said with apathy. She did not understand why Hermione was so adamant about her friendship with Bellatrix. It wasn't like the youngest Potter couldn't just cut ties, she did so with the Potters easily enough.

"She loved me. I told her EVERYTHING. Bella helped me be more than the adopted girl, more than the wallflower. And now she considers me her enemy." Marlene wanted to point out that the Potters had done the same but for some reason could not bring herself to say so. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Potter used the phrase 'adopted girl' so causally. She remembered how as a tiny first year, James Potter so eagerly told the Gryffindor House how much they would love his younger sister next year. She also remembered how he had said not a single reverent word about that sister the next year or any year after. Whatever happened in the Potter home had done more than upset the witch next to her.

"She should be yours!" Marlene growled out, deciding to focus her anger on the topic. The blonde just did not understand how Hermione Potter still cared about the eldest Black sister. Bellatrix Lestrange tried to kill them and yet the younger witch wanted to defend her? It made no sense!

"She's not! I refuse to consider her such." Hermione replied angrily.

"Why?" Ugh. Marlene wanted to pull out her hair. Or at the very least slap the little bitch next to her.

"She's human just like the rest of us, dammit. Why can't you see that? She matters to me. How would you feel having to raise your wand against your family?" Hermione knew the moment the words came out of her mouth that they were a bad idea. Mentioning Bellatrix Lestrange and the McKinnons in the same sentence at any time, especially in front of Marlene, would be bad. But she refused to apologize for it or take it back. Bellatrix Lestrange was family to her.

"Seeing as she killed them, I can't say." Marlene snarled back.

"I never said Bella was perfect," Hermione replied with a resigned sigh. "But she was there. A solid rock, one that sheltered me and protected me. And despite all those wonderful things—I still chose to save YOU. Not her. So, don't fucking tell me how to feel, not about her."

Marlene stared at the younger lass, looking straight into those blue eyes. It freaked her out how the other witch's eyes could bleed to blue so easily when riled. She wanted to know why her eyes would change color and how she managed to do so. The Gryffindor alumna also could not deny the statement, because Hermione Potter did save her. Hermione Potter did raise her wand against Bellatrix Lestrange for her.

"What are these?" The elder witch asked, deciding on changing the subject. She knew when to push matters and right now was not the time. All it would do is stir up trouble. The blonde watched as the younger lass bit her lip, obviously debating on what she should say.

"Horcruxes." Hermione did not know why she had decided on telling the other witch the truth. Perhaps she had done so because, after all the things they had been through together, the brunette trusted Marlene not to reveal this secret. Besides the bond they made still applied, even though the blonde no longer belonged to that stupid Order.

Marlene's azure eyes widened in shock. She had come across the definition in some of her extracurricular readings as an auror; knew them to be some of the foulest magic to exist to date. Hermione Potter might be a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. So, the Scottish witch knew these objects would not be hers, which meant that they either belonged to the death eaters upstairs or they were Voldemort's.

"He created multiples?" She asked, scratching at her left wrist subconsciously. The only answer she received was a small nod.

"Who is he?" The question came out of her mouth before Marlene knew to stop it. Of course, she knew exactly who the man was—Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Hermione had clued her in on the real identity of the dark bastard. She wanted to know what kind of idiot would make not one but multiple horcruxes without considering how detrimental that could be?

"Who is anyone?" Hermione shot back. Anyone could be anything. People had all kinds of faces. Each face with its own history and its own reason for being. The hardest thing with the faces, is not wearing the different masks—it's remembering who is under them. Hermione knew that well. It was a lesson Bellatrix had taught her. The bushy-haired witch was only at the tender age of twelve when it had first been implemented in Diagon Alley. Hermione had always allowed other people's opinions to affect her, especially at a younger age. Bella was the one who told her told her to show no fear and no emotion; but also, to not allow their words to break her. Hermione did not truly understand it until she had to explain to Bill why bending backwards to appease someone isn't necessarily wise.

"Who are you?" Marlene shot back. The elder witch watched as the blue color faded from Potter's eyes. Although curious, she figured she would ask about the situation at another time.

"A passionate, fragmentary girl?" Hermione said with a shrug. The youngest Potter knew a lot of things: her likes and dislikes, her hobbies, her friends' hobbies and what her favorite scent was. But she did not have a clue about the big things. The small witch could not tell someone what her dreams were or the career she would be happiest in.

The brunette's tone implied a question; as if Hermione Potter did not truly know who she was. Marlene did not buy that for a second but figured she would not push it if the other witch did not want to discuss it.

"What's the plan now?" The blonde questioned.

"Severus has made a potion that destroys the object." Hermione replied, a small smile gracing her lips. She felt proud of Severus and of all the work he had put into it. They had tested it on copious dark objects, including inferni. It had been Kreacher's idea to test the potion out on inferni—creating inferni was some of the darkest magic, with the only way to previously destroy them being fire. Potions had not helped because they were already dead. Hexes never helped since they could still get back up unless one completely dismembered the body.

With her question answered, Marlene decided to ask another. "There's more aren't there?" She had sinking suspicion that she's right. She did not see him stopping at three horcruxes. Four was not a magical number.

"Most likely." Hermione responded. "It's why I am trying to figure out the connection between them." At Marlene's uplifted eyebrow, the brunette explained what she had come up with so far. It frustrated her that despite all the digging she had done on Riddle, she still had missing information.

"He lived in an orphanage, none of the kids got along with him." Marlene added, feeling like the information had been important. "Mad-eye had told me that Dumbledore said he even been exorcised by a priest because the Matron claimed there to be something wrong with him." The wizarding community has had a long history of violence against the muggle church. The magical community still has not forgotten that the muggles wanted to take them out—though all they did was kill their own. Still, Marlene couldn't place herself in his shoes; couldn't imagine being subjected to that kind of torture.

"It's a school though." The brunette ran a hand through her hair, grumbling even more so as her hand got tangled in it. Breathing out an aggravated sigh, used her other hand to detangle her hair.

"Or it's home." Marlene replied. "Sirius had always told me, that prior to the Potters taking him in, Hogwarts was his home; it was where he felt happiest. Safest." The blonde watched as brown eyes lit up and rosy lips mouthed the word 'home'. She had always wondered why Sirius had a hard-on for the girl sitting next to her. But as she sat next to the lass, Scottish witch could at least admit that she had a pretty face.

"I could kiss you right now," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling brightly with a bit of mischief. If she ever had to kiss a witch, she would pick a much more amicable one. Though, objectively, Marlene McKinnon was an attractive witch. The brunette just wanted to one up the other woman.

"Don't you dare!"

So there you go! Marlene is not only apart of our group of misfits now but the story is slowly starting to creep closer to the end. They have three of the five horcruxes presently made and a working way to destroy them other than fiendfyre or basilk venom. Only two more and Voldemort down to go.

"If you spent your life concentrating on what everyone else thought of you, would you forget who you really were? What if the face you showed the world turned out to be a mask…with nothing beneath it?" ©Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

"The thing about chameleoning your way through life is that it gets to where nothing is real," © John Green, An Abundance of Katherines.

"I am still so naïve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?" (Journal of Sylvia Plath)

"All he ever knew of her was who he saw every day. All I am is who I am every day. All anyone is to anyone is a series of days." © Charles Yu, Sorry Please Thank You

"Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love… Our aim must never be to defeat or humiliate the white man, but to win his friendship and understanding," © Martin Luther King. However, the sentiment has been used as early as the 1800s and is a concept in Matthews verse 26:52.

"It is the way one treats his inferiors more than the way he treats his equals which reveals one's real character," ©Rev. Charles Bayard Miliken, Methodist Episcopal, Chicago.

25. Declaration

As you can see I am working extra hard to ensure that I can finish this story up. However, I have been hitting a bit of a stall for this chapter. But things are still progressing and I hope you enjoy the chapter. The usual disclaimer of course still applies.

Chapter 25: Declaration

The topic had started with talks of loyalty. Namely why Marlene McKinnon should trust two marked Death Eaters. Trusting Hermione Potter, at this point, had been a given. Like breathing. Despite how much she could not stand the other chit, the Auror knew that when it came to Voldemort, Potter had her back.

"You are the one who left your precious Order," Hermione replied as she skimmed the book in hand. Hogwarts-A-History has always been one of her favorite reads, but this time she read it as researchinstead of simple pleasure. If that stupid pretend Dark Lord had chosen objects belonging to the Founders of Hogwarts, then perhaps he has others. But aside from the lost diadem which was obviously lost and the sword of Gryffindor, there were no other known Founder Objects. Gryffindor's family line had died out long ago—and despite some rumors, nothing substantiated the claims that the Potters were somehow related to the line.

Marlene snorted at that but could not refute it. The Scottish witch hasn't regretted her decision yet, despite her odd situation. If someone had ever told the Gryffindor alumna, she would be making small talk with Hermione Potter, she would have hexed them.

"Not that they are very helpful—there's a bunch of Potters in them," Severus responded dryly, entering the room and heading towards the bookshelf. Marlene always found it weird that Hermione Potter rarely defended her family from these two men. The blonde could never imagine doing so had they trash-talked her family. She thought that said a lot of rude things about the brunette. What happened to the girl who always got upset that the family 'excluded' her?

"Isn't there that muggle saying: Blood is thicker than water," Marlene said, shooting the other witch a reprimanding frown. She did not like how the younger woman always played the poor-me card when it came to her family, but then did shite like this. Marlene's family died at the hands of Death Eaters and she will never get them back. So, the blonde could not even fathom how this woman—who's family still lived—would not even defend the people she supposedly loved.

"Technically it's the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Regulus responded absent-mindedly, from his spot on the sofa, flipping through the page of his current book. While Severus had decided to optimize the potion and the witches were going over whatever, he had chosen to read up on ancient bloodlines. Regulus Black wanted to find out more about the Dark Lord. Namely why the name Marvolo sounded so familiar.

"What does that mean?" The blond question, a frown marring her lips. She had heard Lily say the phrase she used moments before. The young pure-blood witch did not have a single doubt in her mind that Lily Potter would know more about a muggle saying than Regulus Black. Besides his phrase made no sense.

"It means that the bonds forged from war are stronger than that of one's birth," Severus responded from his place in front of the bookshelf. The Potion's Master needed to cross-reference some of the ingredients and how the preservation spells affected them before upscaling the potion.

"I'm pretty sure—"

"Who do you trust the most in this world?" Hermione interrupted, glancing up at the blonde. She could see in those blue eyes, that Marlene did not believe Leo to be right. However, in this instant he most certainly was. So, to prove it, she decided to show her hand so to speak.

"Alastor—" The name fell from her lips without hesitation. The war-torn Auror had been the only one who checked on her after she took an official leave of absence from work, through their communication mirrors. She did not know why, but Marlene always made sure to be alone when Moody contacted her. She trusted Hermione Potter and knew that Alastor did as well surprisingly enough. But Marlene felt compelled to hide the identity of the people she currently lived with. Furthermore, Alastor would not approve of her living with two Death Eaters, despite them supposedly rebelling against their Dark Lord.

"And?"

"You." She bit out the word angrily, closing the book on Defensive tactic with a soft slam. Despite all their history and their comradery as of late, Marlene still hated to admit that she trusted Hermione Potter more than the friends she grew up with. The blonde scowled when the younger woman simply waved her hand in 'there-you-go' kind of way. But she could not refute that younger Potter had been there when she needed it. Not once but twice. Out of all the people she knew, even those in the Order and at her occupation, the sole-surviving McKinnon would rather have the brunette at her back during a battle. Blood of the covenant indeed.

"For all of her faults, Potter at least stays when the kneazle comes," Snape replied, running his left pointer finger along the bindings of the books on the shelf. He gave a small grin as he found the book he needed. Pulling it from the shelf, the greasy-haired man made his way to the sofa. Flipping open the front cover, he allowed himself to slip into his own world once he sat down.

"What does that even mean?" Marlene exclaimed in frustration, running a hand through her hair. Most of the time the trio spoke in riddles and the blonde did not know if they did so to ensure she never knew all the of the plan or if that's how all Slytherins talked.

"Birds of a feather flock together until the cat comes." Regulus once again replied, his eyes never straying from the page he currently read despite being bored. He had spent most of his childhood reading genealogy books per his family's request and would rather not do so in adulthood. However, the familiarity of the name ate away at him, so he forced himself to read the mind-numbing book about pure-blood lineage.

Blue eyes stared angrily at the man who gave no further explanation. Hermione snorted a laugh as she watched her fellow Slytherin alumni confuse their only Gryffindor. Despite living with them for the better part of a month, Marlene McKinnon did not understand all their subtly. Relenting, Hermione allowed herself to answer, "It's a warning about fair-weathered friends—"

"And you're not?" Marlene's voice colored with disbelief. Hermione Potter might have saved her life more than once, but when it came to family matters the brunette was incredibly unreliable. How many times had she allowed the Potters to be badmouthed? How many times had she given up on her family in favor of these men sitting in the room with them?

Hermione scowled at the other woman because, despite all her faults, undependable would not be a word that came to mind. "I'm not the one who left her friends to join a snake pit." She snapped angrily. The youngest Potter had allowed this woman into their den and although somewhat helpful the past few days, presently, she wanted nothing more than to hex the McKinnon heiress.

"You mangled—!"

"Marvolo Gaunt is a father to Merope and Morfin Gaunt—the last direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin." Regulus read aloud, interrupting the bickering witches. His grey alight with pleasure as the pieces finally clicked in place. The Dark Lord had claimed to be a direct descendant of the Hogwart's Founder—the only family who could claim direct descent had been the Gaunts.

"Marvolo?" Hermione questioned, quirking her right eyebrow at the other witch. No other words were said between the two, but Regulus knew that the witches were discussing something. It felt odd to not be a part of the silent conversations with Bambi. Especially since the witches had only been squabbling just moments before. Honestly, if he didn't know his best mate so well, he would have assumed the two were lovers; the hot and cold vibe from anyone else would have screamed make-up sex ploy. But Bambi for all her jesting did not fancy witches.

It was Marlene who addressed him next. "Where did they live?" She tried to remember if anything rang a bell from the records she had peaked at in the Ministry. Part of the perks of being an Auror is that she had access to the records, even if she took personal time off. She remembered that both the father and the brother committed some serious crimes against muggles.

"Azkaban currently," Regulus responded. The book did not say where the Gaunts lived, just that the son currently resided in Azkaban as an elderly man.

Hermione's lips curved in a menacing smile as her eyes bled blue. The wizarding prison might be a terrifying place; however, it also had a terrible history of being extremely accessible if you had the right connections. And the brunette had the perfect connection right in this room.

The cold seeped into her skin and Marlene could do nothing but let out a string of curses. Of all the stupid things she had to do, the McKinnon heiress had to allow Hermione fucking Potter to talk her into visiting Azkaban. But if she could get the location of the Gaunt home then that would be one more Horcrux taken from the bastard. Besides, as an Auror she had unfettered access to the island; most people did not even sign in despite the ledger specifically for that purpose. The whole island is nothing but a joke in terms of security. Without the dementors guarding the island, the prisoners would have escaped. Marlene had hoped to improve the security in the future and as a result of that goal she had become intimately aware of all it's weaknesses.

She even knew how they categorized the prisoners—a system the warden had specifically designed to prevent the well connected from being exposed to dementors for too long of a period. The mangled pillock had always been a sucker for a good bribe. The categorized system had a significant fault—namely that the warden would easily talk for the right price. This meant that the Scottish auror needed to keep her visit a secret. However, she and Potter had come up with a story on the very unlikely chance that one of the guards question her reason for being here.

So, knowing the background of the Gaunt family and how poor they were, the auror made her up two flights of stairs and down aisle H to meet the man. Marlene investigated each cell in search of the face on the photo in her pocket. When she had found the man, the blonde spoke a simple greeting, "Hello."

The old man only hissed at her. It took her a moment to even recognize the language to be parseltongue. As a non-speaker, she did not understand a single thing he said. However, she now had to figure out a way to talk to him. Or to at least get him to talk to her in English. So, the woman had decided to look at the prisoner a bit more carefully. Marlene stared at the frail old man. His face matched his name—gaunt, with eyes sunk-in and thin, dried lips. Azkaban did a number on him. The prison did not allow for frivolities or personal artifacts, so his bare cell did not give her any ideas.

The rune on his arm did though. Because there on his pale skin had been the crest of Salazar Slytherin. The more she looked around his cell she saw it drawn everywhere. Even now, this man remained so focused on his family history and it gave her an idea.

"Are you proud of your nephew? Do you hope he returns the House of Slytherin to glory?" The blonde asked, curling a strand of hair around her the index finger of her left hand. She purposely made herself unimposing, hoping to make him think her as nonthreatening.

"…not…clutch…mate!" The broken words of the man had made little sense to Marlene at first. When she realized it meant the man refused to claim Riddle, it made her smirk. At least now she knew he could speak English.

"Except he claims your family—a half-blood claims your legacy." Marlene tutted the words like she believed them to bring shame. Although the Scottish witch could care less about the status of someone's blood, Marlene had put all this emotion into her voice to ensure that he thought she did. On some level, real shame colored her voice. Because their whole society had fucked up and allowed themselves to become a part of a civil war. Because children were forced to fight in this fucking farce of society all thanks to some mad entitled brat who expected the world to fall at his feet. This man in the cell focused on his legacy so much that he carved out the Slytherin crest into the stone; so, she hoped to make him talk by playing up his relation to Salazar Slytherin.

"NO!" the man snarled, pushing his face against the bars of his cell. The ire dancing in his crazed eyes would have frightened a lesser witch. Even if the man truly were a squib, the insanity in his eye did not bode well. Marlene only hoped that it would allow her to obtain the information that she needed.

The Scottish witch smiled at the man but did not dare approach him. She pondered the words to say but came up blank. How would she get him to tell her about his home? Biting her lip, the blonde silently questioned what to do. Alastor would hex the man bloody, but that would be ineffective since Morfin had been in Azkaban and exposed to the dementors since before she had been born. So, Marlene had asked herself what Potter would do, and it scared her that she could definitively say that the brunette would befriend the man.

"I can help you remove the taint trying to claim you as family," Marlene said causally, stalling as she tried to come up with something better in case that plan did not work. But she watched as his eyes sharpened and he let out a full-bellied laugh.

"You got venom." He told her. Something curled in her belly at the praise. As an Auror, she needed some venom to her bite, or she never would be effective at her job. But it still made her uncomfortable; it was not unheard of to have Aurors be removed from duty because their minds were warped from years of exposure to dark arts—even if they only defended people against it. Marlene did not want to be like the criminals she put behind bars.

She had seen the bottom and although she did not fear it—how could she when she lived there after the assassination of her family—Marlene still refused to make her home there. She would murder the bastards who allowed Voldemort to sully their soul without hesitation. But that did not mean the witch had to allow the corruption of her own heart and beliefs.

"What…want?" He asked her in his broken English. His eyes seemed to bore into her own and the blonde felt her magic stir in response. Unsure as to whether he planned to attack, she gripped her wand in her right hand. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to decide on what to say.

"I want to prune the vine," Morfin gave a wheezy laugh at her reply. He watched her for a moment, the insanity seemingly dormant. The old man began hissing to himself for a few minutes, almost as if he were arguing with someone.

"How?" He asked and Marlene had to bite her lip to prevent herself from grinning. This had been almost too easy. Part of her worried that this would be a trap, but she doubted it. Riddle wouldn't allow his followers to know about this man—he was a squib and she doubted that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord would want that broadcasted let alone the fact that his mother sullied herself with a muggle. Besides this man, although not heavily guarded by the dementors, he still spent decades with the soul-sucking creatures. His sanity would be touch and go for the rest of his days.

"Tell me where home is—tell me where I should start the cleansing." She watched as he debated with himself once more, hissing once again.

"Den…Little Hangleton."

"You want what?" Sirius questioned.

"To set up a betrothal for you to sign," Arcturus replied. He had thought about this a lot since his meeting with the young Sirin. Although he respected the ideals of the young Riddle, the Black Patriarch refused to allow his family to perish due to the stupidity of his daughter-in-law and her brother. Whatever scheme the younger man had planned already decimated the spare heir and the witches of the family. Arcturus had no choice but to act now.

"And if I refuse?" Sirius probed. He hated the idea of being tied to some silly pureblood bint who shared his family's view. Sirius did not want to

"I will not reinstate your dear cousin Andromeda," Arcturus replied with a shrug. He did not care a bit about the witch who married a mudblood. But he knew his heir did. Should her reinstation allow for his will to be done, then it would be worth it. He had already sent for her to prove his sincerity.

"Just Andromeda?" The young wizard questioned. To be married as a Black he would have to be reinstated as well. Except that did not seem to be one of his grandfather's offers. It made the young man wary.

"You were always my heir." The gravelly voice responded with a small cough. Arcturus waved his wand and a piece of parchment flew towards him from the direction Sirius knew the study to be.

Sirius blinked in surprise at what his grandfather did not say. Growing up he had always assumed that being blasted off the tapestry meant being disowned. When his mother had done so with ease after the death of his old man, Sirius thought nothing of it. Their family tapestry had been so thoroughly infused with the family magic that to be blasted from it seemed to instantly mean disownment. Yet his Patriarch is insisting otherwise.

"Now sign here," Arcturus said, pointing to the line on the bottom left of the page. The younger wizard moved towards the document more out of instinct than any real desire to be betrothed. Ever since his break-up with Marlene he had no interest in being with anyone. He wanted a spark like James and Lily had. The Gryffindor alumnus assumed he would feel a connection with someone but the only person he ever did despises him.

"Hermione Potter?"Surprise colored his voice. Of all the families in the entire country for his grandfather to try and form a connection with, he chose the one woman who would rather dance on his bloody ashes? Though the fact he even considered a betrothal contract with the Potters as something worth wild is just as surprising.

"Grandfather," A woman voice chastised. Sirius stiffened in surprise at the voice he had not heard since his third year of Hogwarts. Despite the surprise visitor, his silver eyes remained focused on the parchment in front of him.

He knew without looking that the woman walked into the room with an air of grace he had never been able to mimic. His youngest cousin had always been the epitome of elegance and pureblood aristocracy. But a snake is still a snake, no matter how many times they shed their skin. And this woman had always been one of the most venomous. No matter how much fear Bellatrix had been able to instill into the population, Sirius knew the who the real threat was between the three sisters: Narcissa Malfoy moved mountains for those she loved. "Bambi would sooner hex the bastard than marry him."

Her blue eyes narrowed as she stood before the Heir. The magic of the House swirled around them and would have amazed her had she not been filled with anger. She remembered the stories that Bambi had cried to her about. She remembered the words that echoed in the young woman's head still.

"Cissa," this voice, filled with affection, truly shocked Sirius. Turning around, bright mercury eyes met with deep brown. A smile framed her face and the younger wizard could feel the happiness exuding out of her very being. Andromeda Tonks had finally been allowed to step into their ancestral home, something she had not been able to do so since she refused the marriage proposal of House Rosier.

"Andy," He whispered. Despite seeing his cousin every month or so since he graduated from Hogwarts, seeing her here with family and welcomed amazed him. Of course, his grandfather still had not acknowledged her so perhaps welcomed is a bit of a stretch.

"She is not the one who needs to be convinced," Arcturus replied with a wave of his hand. Narcissa had always been his favorite of the younger generation, outspoken only when needed but always planning. However, as a woman, she still had grand but impractical ideals. But he did wonder if Narcissa was right—not in the way that the younger witch would need to be convinced, but that her magic might. As a descendant of the Familiam Sirin, her magic would attract her to a bond-mate of suitable repute. If her magic does not deem Sirius worthy, then the marriage bond would not hold.

"Actually, she is—" Narcissa replied firmly. The blonde stood there with all the grace of a high society woman. As a Malfoy and a Black, she knew her worth. But more than that, she knew how to make people listen. "Bambi is a worshipper of Hekate." Technically she worshipped magic as its own entity, but Arcturus would not understand that. Her Patriarch would, however, understand worshipping one of the beings from the Olde Ways. Hekate had always been a compassionate goddess, one who took in strays and stood firm in her beliefs. A connection she knew Arcturus Black would see between the Goddess and Hermione.

"How does that play a role?" Sirius questioned. He was trying to follow the conversation, but the fact that his favorite cousin is standing in their ancestral home and still alive shocked him. His gaze kept switching between his grandfather and the older witch, who he still expects his grandfather to curse dead.

Narcissa cast a sideways glance towards her sister who simply laughed. The three sisters had always been fascinated by the Olde Ways, although none of them practiced it personally. Sirius on the other hand, much like his deceased brother, treated the faith as a joke. "Magic is everything to her. You are nothing."

"Cissa," Andy chastised even though she still had a smile on her face. She loved her cousin dearly, but she also agreed with her sister. Though she did not know the woman known as Bambi, Cissa had told her plenty of stories. She just did not see how Sirius and the other witch would ever get along, let alone for Sirius to capture her heart or passion.

"It's true," Narcissa replied with a sneer. Hermione would never sully herself with this wizard. Although usually someone big on family, the Lady Malfoy had not claimed her cousin in several years. Blood did not mean support or family. True family advocated and protected; provided comfort and peace. Yet he only produced cruelty and fear. Despite the harsh views that others had of Slytherins, they protected their own. McGonagall had said it best; your house was indeed your family while and school. Bambi had been family far longer than Sirius ever had in her opinion. "She would rather drown the sun than marry him."

"And why do you say that?" Arcturus curiously asked. He knew Narcissa knew the younger witch, knew of their closeness. Any insight she could bestow would be worth consideration. He watched the women share a glance, briefly wondering what their silent conversation meant. The closeness between the two women was an eye-opener for Arcturus.

"He allowed the death of her best friend," Narcissa replied calmly. The confidence in her tone spoke far louder than the words she spoke. Because everyone who knew of Hermione Potter knew what the loss of Regulus meant to the woman. The blonde knew exactly whose feet she had laid the death of her friend at. At Sirius' flinch, she knew he did too.

"Friendships die," Arcturus stated simply with a wave of his hand. The death of his youngest grandson did not hurt him, not as it should have, and he knew that. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black still had an heir which meant he would not lose his legacy. However, that did not mean he no longer thought of Regulus, the grandson who tried his best to please. The only fault the youngest ever had is that he allowed himself to die.

"And demons run when a family goes to war," Andromeda stated with ease. She watched as wise eyes stared intently at her. The brunette knew she struck a chord within her former Patriarch, knew exactly how he would take her words. The Black Family, despite all their talk about loyalty, did not know what it meant to be a real family. They did not understand the depths the members would go to protect their own. As a mother herself, Andromeda would murder happily if it meant her daughter would be safe. She would burn the entire world for her daughter and husband's safety. And although her sister had only recently become a mother, the witch knew Narcissa would do the same. It was instinct, one that seemed to be skipped with the rest of their relatives.

Arcturus silently watched the older witch for a few minutes. Andromeda had always been the sister with the most political mind, one he took careful time in building up before her disownment. He remembered telling her often that the minds of fools rarely differed. The elder wizard also wondered when he had become the fool to the women.

The air seemed heavy as the remaining people held their breath, curious as to how he would respond to that statement. Arcturus himself did not even know. On the one hand, he allowed her disownment since she chose a mudblood over her duty to her House. On the other hand, her daughter proved to be magical—there has not been a metamorphagus record in two centuries; by reinstating the mother, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black would be able to claim such. "And war should be declared?" Arcturus said with a slight cough.

Narcissa let out a harsh laugh, surprising the two men. Andromeda simply smirked, amused at the naivety of the statement. Both witches knew that war had already been declared—long before they had ever been aware of it. War had graced their lives like the waves crashing against the shores during a storm. War did not need to be declared. A side needed to be chosen. It had been the reason Andromeda agreed to come to their ancestral home. Both sisters had hoped to change the mind of their Patriarch, hoped that they could ensure his neutrality if nothing else.

"Choices need to be made," Narcissa said, letting the message be taken as their patriarch wished. According to Lucius, Bella has been losing herself since the death of her husband. Her thirst for blood has taken the forefront and even the Dark Lord had trouble reigning her in. Regulus had died and her other sister and cousin are considered a blood-traitors who are most likely already on a to-kill-list. Without their knowledge, the House of Black had become precariously close to fallen.

"There are no safe choices," Arcturus murmured to himself more than to the other people in the room. He saw that the two witches nodded, and he knew what the witches were trying to do; he had lived far longer than them and had taught their parents the art of scheming. However, he also understood the risk Narcissa had taken showing him their closeness. Her husband and older sister sided with the Dark Lord. Despite his request for her to bring Andromeda, the closeness the two sisters shared loudly broadcasted that she had kept in touch despite the disownment. Narcissa had done more than just declared a side, she had made a statement. The Patriarch's silver eyes searched her face for any sign of weakness, any crack that would be easily exploited. He found none. Narcissa had always been a hard canvas to read, something he respected.

"Are you going to reinstate, Andy?" Sirius questioned, desperately hoping that his grandfather meant it. He had been silent prior, searching for any clues that the old man might be tricking him. He predominately talked to Narcissa which worried the Black Heir; but since Andromeda has not been thrown out of the house thus far, the silver-eyed wizard took it as a good sign.

"I thought you would be pleased?" His grandfather responded, quirking an eyebrow as he did so. He had forgotten about his Heir being in the room. Sirius had never usually been one to be silent.

"I am, but—" Sirius did not know if he should be shocked at the idiocy of his grandfather's plan or laugh at it. Hermione Potter would never agree to a betrothal with him and Charlus would not sign one without her consent. But he could pretend to go along with for Andromeda's sake.

"Consider it a reward for following through with my earlier request," Arcturus replied. He had already promised to reinstate the witch, but would re-establishing a blood-traitor ruin their family? The addition of a metamorphagus in the family would surely be a boon.

"I'm going to retire for the evening," Arcturus told the younger generation, silently dismissing them. He had thinking to do. Narcissa and Andromeda had a valid point, one he had been thinking about since the death of his son. Would their family survive the war that Riddle had tried to embroil them in?

Adages used:

Birds of a feather flock together until the cat comes.

Great minds think alike but fools rarely differ.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

"I know the bottom. I know it with my great tap root: it is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there." © Sylvia Plath

"Demons run when a good man goes to war, night will fall and drown the sun when a good man goes to war. Friendship dies and true love lies, night will fall, and the dark will rise when a good man goes to war. Demons run, but count the cost, the battle's won, but the child is lost." © Doctor Who, Demon's Run.

"My mother used to tell me that when push comes to shove, you always know who to turn to. That being a family isn't a social construct but an instinct." © Jodi Picoult

"There are no safe choices. Only other choices." © Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty.

26. Calling Out

Chapter 26: Calling Out

"You utter bastard!"

"I don't see how this—"

"You sicced that bastard on a child." Hermione seethed her eyes a brilliant blue. Nothing short of an unbreakable vow would prevent her from maiming this wizard. She had never been terribly close to Severus, but she had respected him. The brunette's fists were clenched in a ball at her side as she prevented herself from attack the wizard. Severus is not perfect, and they were not the best of friends, but their mutual respect had made interacting with each other comfortable if nothing else. But now? Now she wanted to peel the flesh from his skin and hear him scream for mercy she wouldn't give. Despite the family values she had been raised with and her own sense of morality, Hermione Potter is every inch of the witch Bellatrix Lestrange helped shaped her into. Severus Snape had proved to her that she could be just as vicious as any Death Eater given the chance. And the attempted murder of a child is one hell of a chance to awaken the feral anger she possessed.

The witch took a deep breath to calm her fury. She needed to remind herself that despite not being a good man, Severus Snape was not evil. He had been bullied and betrayed by family and peers for a long time; as a result, his understanding of right and wrong has always been incredibly skewed. But she could not think of a single case, in which telling the Dark Lord a prophecy about a child would be the right thing to do.

"You're going to end up being the bully that picks on children." Hermione still wanted to torture the man senseless for his transgression. But it would not help the situation. The bitterness would not do anyone a single bit of good. The worst part is that she knew he had no clue what kind of hell he just unleashed; she could see it in his eyes. Severus did not have the same mentality as Bellatrix. He did not have the mindless devotion to a madman. But he had all the cruelty.

"I will not—"

"If you allow this anger to fester you will be exactly like your parents." Hermione snapped, her blue eyes sparkling with ire. The look of shock Severus' face bled to anger within moments of her statement. Frankly, she did not give a damn if it would hurt his feelings. Leo had always been careful of what he said around the older wizard, and Hermione had indulged that. But if the man wanted to broadcast prophecies to a Dark Lord then he can fucking take the punches she throws his way. "So, I'll say it again: Don't become the bully who picks on kids."

Snape opened his mouth only to have no words come out. He had no clue how to handle this enraged Potter. Had she been like her brother, a few insults hurled her way would have seen them dueling. But Hermione had always been a snake—she struck when she wanted and usually with the intent to permanently incapacitate her foe. Despite whatever the witch claims aloud, Severus Snape knew she could hold a grudge several kilometers wide. He had heard from Regulus several stories about what she did in a temper when it came to protecting what she cares about. He also knew from Rastaban Lestrange that Alecto Carrow still flinched whenever the oldest Weasley child is brought up; most likely because of the fight between the two that the brunette witch had mentioned several months back.

So, instead of snarking back at her. The wizard tried to understand why she felt so upset about what he did. Snape just simply could not understand why Potter became so irate for what he did. In the long run, giving the Dark Lord information on a prophesy benefited him and had the added benefit of being harmless in the long haul. There were several hundred prophecies that have not been triggered in the Department of Mysteries alone. The chances of the prophecy he told the Dark Lord being active was practically impossible. Didn't she understand how beneficial that would be to their mission? The Dark Lord would not question his loyalty and may even reveal a Horcrux for him to guard. "I still don't see why…"

"Do you even realize who could be the prophesied one?" Hermione asked. There were two children who fit the description and she felt more than worried. According to her father and the Daily Prophet, her nephew had just been born two weeks prior to the prophecy being told and his godbrother born the day before. Hermione did not put a lot of faith in coincidences. Especially since Magic had a way of lining things up far too perfect to be considered solely chance. "Who just recently gave birth?" She had asked the question to help prod him in the right direction.

The wizard had a peculiar reaction since his eyes narrowed in what Hermione assumed to be anger, but his complexion went also went ashen. Hermione knew he guessed exactly who the prophecy could be about. However, he still didn't have the reaction she wanted. The witch didn't think she wanted too much, just that he realized why she felt so much anger.

"And how do you think she would handle a mad man coming at her son with the intent to kill?" The brunette knew exactly what kind of response that would engender despite not being friends with the redhead. There would be no other choice. There would be no hesitation.

"The world doesn't revolve around Potter and…" He couldn't even say her name. The youngest Potter let out a harsh laugh at that realization. The dark-haired wizard seemed startled by her reaction but said nothing.

"This isn't about James Fucking Potter or Lily Bloody Evans. It's about a child!" Hermione snarled her eyes still a vibrant blue. The brunette could guess what might be going on in the wizard's head; because her brother had always been the one thing that got under Severus Snape's skin. "A child you made a target for Riddle!"

"Prophecies rarely become active!" The Potion Master snarled out, finally unable to hold his temper in check. He did not appreciate that Hermione felt like he would purposely endanger a child. Snape had been abused growing up, he would never jeopardize a kid, so he did not appreciate Hermione assuming he would. Especially after all the help and time he had given their project. She should have known better. No, the brunette should have known him better. "How could it hurt to tell him what I overheard? I gained his trust –he might even allow me access to a Horcrux!"

Hermione sighed. The anger finally bleeding all out of her. She wanted to be mad at him for risking a child's life, but she could not ignore the fact that he genuinely thought his actions were harmless. The brunette couldn't take her anger out on him. Had he told Riddle of the prophecy with the intent to hurt someone, her rage would be justified. But Snape obviously did not understand the true nature of prophecies.

"Real Seers can only speak a prophecy aloud if the subjects are living." Most prophecies record in the Hall of Prophecies were written down as a result. Only one prophecy in a thousand is spoken aloud to another person. Her partner in the Department of Mysteries, Pandora Lovegood nee Nott, had told her that during one of their Magical Theory projects. So, Hermione Potter understood why Severus Snape seemed so against the idea of the prophecy is real. That did not make it any less valid.

"Tell me something, had that child been sired by any other male other than James Potter, would you still have told that Lord of yours about the prophecy?" Hermione questioned. However, the look of horror on the wizard's face spoke more than any word might have said. Despite the animosity between her brother and Severus, the older Slytherin alum would never have purposely harmed a child, at least not physically. Thanks to her cordial acquaintance with the man she knew well enough that, given enough time to fester, he would indeed have the capacity to emotionally and verbally abuse just about anyone.

"You cannot know it's Lily's boy." Snape did not want to believe that he told Voldemort an active prophecy. He did not want to believe that a child might be put at risk because he shared it with the Dark Lord. Despite what Hermione might think, he did not hate James Potter enough that he would inflict the Dark Lord on his heir. Lily's child is exactly that, a child.

"There are only two who match the description and my nephew is one of them." The odds of it being anyone other than those two children were incredibly slim. However, she did not know how Riddle would mark the "chosen one" nor how long it would take for him to do so. Furthermore, Hermione hated the idea that fate might have chosen a child to be Riddle's equal. Children were supposed to have fun, not becoming a weapon against a dark wizard.

"How can fix this?" The sheer despair in his voice made her heart clench. Severus Snape would never be a good man, but that did not mean he had no decency. Regardless of who the child of prophecy is, they would make sure the Horcruxes are destroyed. It is the very least they can do, though if she got a shot, she would do her best to take the bastard out.

"We can't fix it, but we can use it to our advantage." If Voldemort trusted Snape, then maybe the Slytherin alum would be told of when the half-blood planned to strike.

Bill Weasley fidgeted in his seat as he waited for Bambi at the Three Broomsticks. Although looking forward to their monthly visit in Hogsmeade, the Gryffindor couldn't help but feel nervous. This visit differed from all of those previously because earlier in the day he made a trip up to the seventh floor and came across something terrifying—a whispering crown. Now, normally something like this would not terrify the Gryffindor, except for the rather large red flag of the object feeling dark. The first thing that popped into his head when he came across it had been to turn it into a member of the staff, but the only one he really trusted in Hogwarts with this was his Head of House who happened to be out of the castle for some reason unknown to him. So that left Bambi. So now he had to sit here, feigning nonchalance with a dark object in his bag, as he waited for the one person he trusted above all else. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long.

"Bill!" The brunette said cheerfully, sitting down across from the young teen. "How are you doing?" Brown eyes observed the fourteen-year-old, taking in his squirming with a small frown. Over the last few years, the Gryffindor had slowly been developing his confidence. With that said, the last time she saw Bill fidgeting had been when his uncles died, so something had to be wrong. The witch looked at him for a moment longer before asking, "You okay?"

"I found something in Hogwarts…" Bill said, playing with his cup of butterbeer. Blue eyes watched the brunette for a moment as he debated what he should tell her. On the one hand, if this item really was as dangerous as it felt, then talking about it in public would not be the best way to handle the situation. However, Hogsmeade did not have many—if any—places that would give them privacy. "Can you do those secrecy charms you normally do?" the redhead asked.

The question set off alarm bells in her head as Bill had rarely asked for her privacy spells. With a quick flick of her wrist, Notice-Me-Not charm had been placed around them with extra power behind it along with a Muffliato. Then angling her wand upwards towards the underside of the table, Hermione also cast a Repello Inimicum with a minor adaptation to the repelling charm so that the table will produce an image of them talking and drinking butterbeer. This particular adaptation had been a design of Pandora Lovegood's which ensured that anything that occurred after the shield had been placed would not be seen. In this case, anyone in the pub looking in their direction would see them talking and drinking but not anything else. Once all the charms were in place, Hermione looked at Bill expectantly.

She did not, however, expect Bill to place his bag on the table and push it towards her. "It feels dangerous…so be careful." The chestnut-haired witch opened the bag only to flinch at the malevolent aura coming out of the bag. The Slytherin alumna knew the redhead would never dabble in the Dark Arts but this item clearly felt dark. So dark that all her instincts were warning her to not pull the item from the bag, let alone touch it. Flicking her wand, she levitated the item out with a simple Wingardium Leviosa.

Whatever Hermione thought might come out, the lost diadem of Ravenclaw had not been it; as a result, the diadem fell to the table with a clattering sound The witch felt torn between being angry with Bill for bringing this object into a public setting or being relieved because another Horcrux has been found. Biting her lip, Hermione decided to settle on being angry. "Do you realize what could have happened to you?" Of all the foolish Gryffindor things to do, he brought a Horcrux out in public. Obviously, he did not know that he had a Horcrux in his possession, but Hermione still felt angry. Bill could have been seriously hurt.

Blue eyes blinked at her in confusion, but the young wizard said nothing. He took all the precautions that he could without risking a fellow student. However, the look on Bambi's face told him that the object was far more dangerous than he first might have thought. "Where did you find this? How did you get it out of the castle? Did you touch it?" Bambi continued to pepper him with questions, and he tried his best to answer them all. He forgot how the older witch tended to ramble when she felt worried or scared.

"I used Wingardium Leviosa. It felt dark as fuck so clearly, I did not touch it. I also placed it in the bag Uncle Fabien and Gideon gave me and came to meet you." After a quick chastisement for language, Bill proceeded to explain to her that the bag had auror grade protections on it because his uncles believed in something called "Constant Vigilance" so yes, the object would have been safely hidden in his bag without harming him. His uncles had been one of the few people who supported his dream of being a curse breaker, so he felt that using the enchanted bag to transport a dangerous magical artifact would be exactly what they would want him to use it for.

The fact that Fabien and Gideon Prewett gave Bill an enchanted bag did make her feel a bit better, especially since Marlene had one as well. If the one in their possession could withstand housing three Horcruxes, then the one Bill has should be fine—it also helped that he did not actually touch the blasted thing.

"Why did you not give this to a professor?" Hermione asked.

"Well, according to the portrait on her door, McGonagall is out of the office this weekend and I didn't trust any of the other professors more than either you or her," Bill replied with a shrug. Since he wanted to be a curse breaker for Gringotts he spent a lot of time reading various books in the library about dark artifacts and how to safely handle them. He also thought long and hard about what to do with the dark object. On the one hand, he could have waited for McGonagall to return to the castle, but he did not know when she would, which meant he would have to keep the item in his possession for another day or two. Considering how dark the item felt, Bill did not feel comfortable leaving it in the castle when he would be seeing Bambi, who he trusted with his life, later that day. So long as he did not touch the object, he could handle it; he spent years living with siblings and therefore mastering how to tune out the noise, so the whispering did not bother him. And once in the bag, the murmurs were silenced completely.

"Well thank you for bringing this to me—I'll be sure to take care of it," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose and letting out a sigh. She felt immensely proud of Bill for being smart about the Horcrux—ensuring that he did not touch a dark object and then using a special bag to transport it had been a brilliant thing to do. The witch wanted to feel bad about being angry with him earlier, but honestly, she could not find it in herself to regret it. Bill's safety far outweighed the value of the Horcrux.

Flicking her wand at a napkin, she transfigured it into a metal box and then levitated the diadem into the box. In a complex set of wand motions, the brunette locked the box onto her magical signature, ensuring that only she could open the box. Hermione then proceeded to cast a multitude of spells. Salvio Hexia, Protego Horibilis, and Protego Totalum were used to make a safe barrier to encase the box. Then she added the Fianto Duri to reinforce the shield charms along with a containment and imperturbable charm for added safety. The brunette did not want to take any chances when dealing with the Horcrux. Any spell aside from an Unforgiveable should bounce off the box. Then she added Reducio and watched the box shrink to the size of a small mouse before placing it into her mokeskin bag.

With another flick of her wand, all her privacy spells were taken down. The brunette debated on what to do next. On the one hand, she should probably leave and put the Horcrux in a safe spot. On the other, she hadn't been able to spend much time with Bill since her battle with Bellatrix and she missed the younger teen. After another minute she made her decision. With the Horcrux bespelled and in the mokeskin bag, no one could get to it. Besides, it's not like anyone knows she has it.

"Now, how have you been?"

Lily read the letter once again, unsure of how to respond. She had not spoken to Hermione Potter since her before her engagement to James. The two had never been friends and honestly although never hostile their cordial acquaintance at Hogwarts was in tatters after their discussion with Regulus a year or so back. Although Charlus has been in contact with Hermione, the rest of the family hasn't since the death of the youngest Black. She decided to reread the letter, hoping for an epiphany of sorts.

Evans,

Rumors are in circulation that put you all at risk. Although a Gryffindor, you never struck me as someone foolish enough to entrust your child's safety solely to that imprudent Order. Should that indeed be the case, then reconsider. I have included two medallions. The silver one will send aid and the gold is a war-grade portkey. Always keep them on you.

B

P.S Imogen Erowik has some articles you might find fascinating.

A war-grade portkey. Portkeys that are supposedly able to punch through any ward and her sister-in-law just sent one to her in via a Potter House-elf. The redhead knew without a doubt that Hermione only sent it because of Harry. Whatever issues the Potter siblings had between each other paled in comparison to the risk placed upon her young son. Despite all the current problems within the Potter family, they protected their own in different ways. Charlus had a very law-abiding mentality—he did everything to the letter of the law only. James called people out, instigating duels if warranted which—to him—it usually was. Dorea tried to kill someone socially, some cases it worked better than others, but her methods were the most ambiguous. Hermione Potter did a mixture of the three, preferring to handle it on a case by case basis. Though from the redhead's perspective, the other witch had a mean streak more than a kilometer wide. James had told her that the Potters always sided with each other, no matter the feuds they had in-house. Whatever argument he and Hermione had would fall aside to protect Harry.

The mother in her wanted to be grateful for the portkey since Voldemort's methods usually involved anti-apparition and anti-porkey wards, but she felt wary of accepting the medallions. Had this been sent via any method other than Potter House-elf, Lily would have assumed it to be a trap. But the method of delivery and the mention of the Order of Phoenix reaffirmed to her that Hermione Potter had been the one to send it. But something bugged Lily—namely how her sister-in-law gets her information. From her discussion with Dumbledore, only the Order knew about the prophecy and even their information was limited. Yet Hermione Potter knew of it? Granted Lily did not know for certain that the rumors mentioned in the letter were a reference to the prophecy; it seemed too coincidental though.

Could Voldemort have heard about the prophecy? Dumbledore wanted the Order to help protect them and they mentioned using a special charm that would hide their location. But they've only been casually discussing these options and more so as a safety precaution than anything serious. The Hogwarts Headmaster did not know who heard Trelawney give the prophecy, only that someone overheard part of it. On the off chance a Death Eater heard it, they discussed various safety plans and the young Potter family went into hiding. Hermione though had several connections with Death Eaters, so maybe this was her warning them?

Whatever the case may be, the redhead would take the other witch's advice to heart and will definitely talk to James and Sirius about possible contingency plans. They would know what to do in this situation. The mother also decided to look up Erowik who Lily vaguely remembered as writing a few articles on dark warding schemes. Wards would be helpful; a good ward would be the difference between life and death. Harry meant everything to the redhead. She would gladly sacrifice her life if it meant her son would live. Dumbledore might think the Fidelus Charm will keep them safe, but something in her very bones told Lily that this war will be the death of her. Harry needed every opportunity available to ensure he lived. If Hermione thought these wards would be helpful, then Lily will read every article and book Erowik published.

Looking at the letter once more, Lily felt firm in her resolve. Regardless of the reason, Hermione wrote to her, the Potter wife will do anything to protect her son—even if that means defying their light ideals.

It whispered to her a soothing hum and Hermione had never felt calmer.

While the peaceful effects were a bit worrisome, the large, tattered, old book seemed relatively harmless; despite the numerous protective enchantments surrounding it. Her instincts—something Bellatrix and Cissa had spent years honing—told her that the book would not hurt her. Her faith in Magic and her job in the DOM had taught her that given enough time any magical object could obtain some form of sentience from absorbing ambient magic. Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione looked for the shopkeep and attendee, both of which were focusing on another customer. With a quick flick of her wrist, Hermione used a time-spell to check when the old the artifact had been created; her eyes widened in surprise when the number 990 came into view. That would certainly be enough time for an object to obtain a minor form of sentience. However, it felt more than that. It felt like the book knew her. Like it had been waiting for her arrival. More than anything it felt like it belonged to her.

Without any hesitation, Hermione grabbed the book and proceeded to the checkout counter. The old man running the counter smirked at her when he noticed the book. "Brave of you to try that book, lass." Quirking an eyebrow, the brunette silently demanded he explains himself. She did not have to wait long; Mr. Burke had gleefully answered her. "Each person who buys that there book, brings it back. The pages stay blank and none can write in 'em. Fair warnin', you won't get what you payback." She simply gave him the money, silently hoping that whatever the book held would not be a secret to her and headed to the safe house.

Night had fallen before Hermione could take an in-depth look at the book. Once she had opened the book, the first page remained blank despite her attempts to write in, cajole, or even beg the book into revealing its secrets. All it did, however, was produce a contented hum. Placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm, Hermione allowed the fingers of her other hand to drum on the page. Why couldn't it be easy? None of the books she ever dealt with were ever easy—the cursed diary of Riddle and that stupid book in the Hogwart's Restricted section came to mind.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at her finger. It couldn't be that simple, could it? Figuring she had nothing to lose, the brunette took out her wand and used a very weak cutting curse that produced a shallow, millimeter cut on her index finger. Once the blood pooled, she pressed her bloody finger to the page

She let out a happy squeak as the page absorbed the blood and words appeared began to appear. However, none of them was anything she could translate. The language looked to be a mixture of ancient runic text that she barely recognized; however, the further she got into the page the language seemed to convert from old to middle English which Hermione knew that she could at least translate with a spell. Deciding she would go in for a galleon, the brunette cast the translation spell on the page.

The brunette spent the rest of the night reading outtakes from the tattered book; from everything she had read it seemed to be a diary passed from mother to the eldest daughter. Each daughter would add new magic into the book, including all their spells, wards, and even potions. In some cases, the daughters were seers and even recorded Prophecies. The brunette allowed herself to become absorbed in reading the entries; so much of magic had been lost with this family. Magic that could turn the tide of this war in her favor.

Unlike all the other entries she read, the last entry, however, spoke to Hermione—no, it screamed at her. Licking her lips, she reread the diary entry.

1 February 1066,

My sisters are preparing for the Imbolc celebration with gay delight.

However, I fear the war has reached our doors far sooner than we first Saw. The muggles and wizarding villages continue to fight and endanger our family. The fire-daughters have fled to France and the water-daughters remain hidden within the depths of the lake. But something tells me that this day of Reclaiming will also be one of death for us on land. The magic tells me this is a must. Only the faith in our sisters who belong to the Tuatha Dé Danann keeps me from fleeing for they will avenge us and shelter those who perhaps have enough luck to escape. I fear that won't be many.

This branch of the family will perish of that I am certain. Something in my bones tells me that we have been betrayed from within. None of the family blood would ever dare do so, but the servants have always been perfidious. With this said, I have recorded the names of all those I believe capable of ill-will. And with the knowledge of those who betrayed us will perish alongside us as their vows dictate, I will end this entry here to enjoy my last Imbolc celebration.

Anand

The first daughter of Sirin

Indeed, a list of names was at the bottom of the page; names she recognized—Rowle, Carrow, Bulstrode, Parkinson was just some of them. Overall, there were about twenty-two names most of which were extinct. The list of names did not striker Hermione as particularly important, but it did make her wonder if the families that went extinct did so because of the vows taken by the Familiam Sirin. Did the vows perhaps include a curse that saw the families destroyed for their betrayal?

The real interesting part of the entry was the underlined word vow with an arrow drawn above it and to the side. Hermione vaguely remembered that there were a few vows that the coven would make their servants take before allowing them entry into the domain. The Potter witch knew she would need to further research the vow and most likely reread the journal a bit more thoroughly to be sure any of them would be safe.

But this might be a way to kill off that self-important Dark Lord. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Hermione figured she should just retire for the night. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized that she had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. With a sigh the twenty-year-old witch closed the book and stood up, stretching out as she did so.

The brunette placed the book in her mokeskin bag and then placed it in the drawer next to her bed. Only Mr. Burke knew she had this book and from what she could gather he did not know anything about it or that it belonged to the Familiam Sirin. But she wanted to be safe; although she did not know definitively that the magic in the pages would be able to kill Riddle, she wanted to be sure that this knowledge remained safely away from him.

As she rested her head on her pillow, Hermione silently thought that all in all things were looking up.

Tell me what you think of this chapter! As always the usual disclaimer applies. Furthermore, I apologize for any formatting error, it seemed the separation bars did not want to stay put.

"I against my brothers. I and my brothers against my cousin. I and my brothers and my cousins against the world" ©Arabic Proverb

27. Hello Darkness

No beta.

Usual disclaimer applies.

Chapter 27: Hello Darkness

"I remember you."

Hermione blinked in surprise. She had never met a Veela, but the woman did not sound like she was lying. "What? When?" The brunette questioned. Her trip to France had been sporadic but needed. The book she obtained from Borgain and Burke's kept referencing the Fire-daughters and after a lot of independent research she definitively narrowed it down to the Veelas. The colony she was currently seeing had been in their mountain since 1064. Their Matriarch, Elena Delacour, had been kind enough to meet with her and, since she had proven herself as a daughter of the Family, gave her a copy of the grimoire from the UK branch.

"You're the witch I gave to the Potters." The blonde Veela said, a frown marring her perfectly painted lips. "Did they not tell you where you came from?" At the brunette's negative response, the French witch hummed. Blue eyes gave the other witch a once over. Despite it being almost two decades ago, she could still see the muggle woman that the younger Potter resembled. "You look like your biological mother—a sweet woman despite being a squib tooth healer."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Were they both nonmagical?" She never would have thought that she would be a muggleborn. If one were born to squibs, would they still be considered a muggleborn or would she a half-blood? Or would she still be considered a pureblood? Perhaps it is something she should ask Lucius. Just when did one's blood truly become muddled to the purist?

At that question, the blonde woman shrugged. She did not know. In fact, for all, she knew both could be squibs. "I knew your mother well—she spent half her life in France, but her family could be traced back to the original Family in Bulgaria." The Veela colony had detailed records of all the Familiam Sirin descendants since the massacre in the United Kingdom. The ledger magically updated each time another had been born. "She was a dear friend of mine. I wanted to keep you, but you were unable to live with us—Veela children are territorial and do not get along with non-Veela. To protect you, I reached out to the Potters. I knew they wanted another child and it seemed like Fate wanted you with them."

Truer words could not have been spoken. For it did seem like Magic had tied Hermione to the Potters. Seer blood ran through her veins, and thanks to her Veela Heritage accessing gifts was far easier than if she were a normal witch. With a flick of her wand, her tarot cards came zooming into the room and landed gently in front of her. The blonde shuffled the deck and laid out then cards face down in front of the brunette. They would see how true her assumption was.

Hermione blinked in confusion. They did not look like the normal tarot cards used in Divination. "Pick whichever three cards call out to your magic," The Veela simply said. Hermione gently moved her hand above each card, trying to see which made her magic tingle. The youngest Potter did not know how this related to the earlier question but figured there must be a purpose to it, nonetheless. When she found three, the other witch flicked her wand and the other cards went back into the deck.

"Each of the three you chose represents the future, present, and past." The pretty Veela pointed to left, center, and right as she spoke. "Curious, curious indeed." The Matriarch spoke, waving her hands over each of the cards, magic crackling in the air as she did so. The cards flipped over and went into varying positions. The Past card was flipped upside down while the present card was horizontal and the future card right-side up.

"It seems you were always destined for the Potters."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, unsure of the statement. Elena pointed to the top corner of each card which had a small family crest visible.

"Each life of yours is somehow tied to the Potters." The flaxen-haired woman said simply.

She pointed to the future card, "The Guide. This card represents someone who will have a huge influence on the lives of their cherished ones. The fact that the path extends behind the statute indicates that at some point in your future you will be a voice of reason and safety." That the Guide was the statue of a young teenager who hands a dagger sheathed on her leg told Elena far more than she had decided to share with the other witch. The future is murky and trying to rationalize it would have no benefit. Furthermore, the Veela Matriarch did not think it would be wise to tell the younger woman about how bloody her next life could be. Whatever tipping points currently surrounded the woman would be the deciding factor for the Wizarding World. The Potters would either make or break this war that rest on their soil. Should they fail, the next generation will suffer in their stead. She could only pray to their ancestors that it would end this time around. Children should never be the ones to wage a war.

Pointing to the card in the middle that represented the present, Elena spoke once more. "The Rebel," The elder witch spoke, a small smile on her face. She remembered the floo calls with Dorea who often spoke about the spunk of their adopted child. "The problem-child. The wild card with her own ideals. The one who will wage war to protect what she believes in. That she cradles the heart in her hands indicates good intentions. The crest adorning the heart shows devotion to the family that raised you and loved you despite the storm in the background. The Rebel is often faced with hard decisions, but you must not crack. "

Finally, the Veela pointed to the past card, "Death—the final adventure before the renewal. Something unique in your reading that I've only seen in the distant past is that Death holds Helleborine." Death rarely cradles a soul in her hands, but when she does it is because Fate had asked a lot out of them. It made her heart hurt for the young witch.

"What is so special about that?" Hermione could feel her magic thrum inside her body, restless but it did not pose a threat. Despite working with Pandora Lovegood in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had rarely trusted in prophecies. Most of them were wooly at the best of times and the arithmancy had always predicted the probability better. But as Pandora had often told her, true Seers were rare but not unheard of. To immediately dismiss something outright on a basis of chance could be catastrophic. So with her magic coursing in her veins at the elder witch's words, she decided to take the words on faith. She might not trust divination, but she did trust magic, and her magic agreed with the Veela Matriarch's statement.

"Well, my dear, simply meaning your destiny is always tied to the family that shares the connection to that particular orchid; which I believe is the Potters is it not?" Elena knew that it was true. Potter Manor's garden had a whole section of Helleborine. Most of the potions created by the family—including Sleekeazy—included some part of the plant. Red Helleborine was something unique to the Potters, mainly since it was Potter who grew the very first of that flower.

The brunette didn't say anything for a moment, almost as if she was trying to build up the nerve to say it. Finally, with a deep breath, she asked, "Why Death?" Hermione knew that the Potters had, historically, never feared Death. There were some rumors, but no proof, that her family did have a relationship a ship with Death, even with the invisibility cloak that James currently had. But the tarot card unnerved her.

Elena looked at the youngest Potter and shrugged. "I read the cards, child; I cannot control how they present themselves." The Veela Matriarch did not know why the cards would present themselves as they did—Magic had always been an entity on its own. The older witch thought about what she wanted to say next. "If I had to guess, Magic is telling you that there will be a choice and your decision will decide the next path. The cobblestone beneath Death suggests that She is heading towards you—whether to aid you or collect you, I do not know."

Hermione did not know either and that scared her. Because despite the hum of her magic, the words came out like a proclamation. Even if this card was technically about her past, she felt with her very soul that it somehow was connected to her present situation.

Hermione's decision had long since been made. She refused to shy away from all that she had planned and decided. She had made a pact with magic and the brunette would see it through.

The Veela Matriarch could see the resolve in the little brunette's eyes, and she knew then that whatever happens—Death had made a claim. This young slip of a witch would forever be tied to Death.

She just did not know if it was helpful or harmful.

Sirius did not know why he came here, during a thunderstorm, nonetheless. Something compelled him to but what he did not know. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps to seek forgiveness. Perhaps his very soul sought clemency. The Black Heir did not know what made him come to his brother's grave but here he stood.

Purple asters decorated the grave, the ancestral flower that had always been planted on a Black's grave. Somehow that made it more official, more real. His little brother is dead. He didn't even know why. Did he betray Voldemort? Did he get during an Auror raid? Hermione would know, but he doubted she would tell him.

Narcissa had been right. His brother's death rested solely at his feet. No matter how Regulus' died or who caused it, at the end of the day the blame could only rest on Sirius' shoulders. Nothing in the world could wash this stain from his hands.

Witchling had come to him, pleaded with him to save Regulus. But he refused and he did not have a good reason for it. He felt his brother had been dark and that redemption wouldn't be possible. Regardless of how he felt, he should have tried. It hurt nothing to at least attempt to help his younger brother. Now he couldn't.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he stared at the death date. Sirius fell to his knees and broke down in sobs. It only took his brother's death to finally make him cry. Regret weighed heavy in his heart. Memories of his childhood—the only good things about it outside of his friends—flashed through his head. Sneaking biscuits, bedtime stories, late-night discussions, even talks of their future. All the good things he just allowed himself to forget simply because Regulus wore green and Sirius took that to mean his brother sided with their mother.

But now he couldn't even make amends. He will never hear Regulus' voice again. There would be no possibility of floo calls. No owl-post. No meetings at the Hogs' Head. There are no longer even whispers on the stupid street at this point. Sirius had, since the age of twelve, been shite and communicating with his brother, but something about the grave just made his heartache.

He had always taken his brother for granted. Somehow, he always assumed that if he wanted to, he could talk to Regulus again. Not anymore. Sirius had taken his brother for granted. It hurt knowing that he caused that. Knowing that at the end of the day he ruined a good relationship with his brother over stupid notions.

Regulus hadn't deserved it.

"Regulus," he choked out the name and it felt like acid on his lips. He couldn't even formulate the words in his head, let alone speak them aloud. If he could say just one thing to his brother, it would be an apology. The words still refused to come out though. No matter what he tried to say all he could feel is the ache in his chest. The Gryffindor alum didn't know if the pain would ever go away—if anything it would probably just get worse. "What do I do?" Sirius questioned the gravestone. He didn't even know what to say. How could he make amends with the dead?

Only now, at this very moment, the Black Heir finally understood what Witchling had meant about feeling genuine remorse. Guilt isn't a simple apology to clean the slate. It is this fire burning at his belly. This heavy feeling in his chest that weighs him down. Remorse is this feeling that drowns the very soul. He had never felt like this before. He can't even seek repentance—there is no refuge for him in this world for all the stupid things he did to Regulus. And, honestly, Sirius knew he deserved that.

He deserved to live with this feeling. Had he spoken with his brother, had he helped Witchling save his brother, had he done several other things then maybe his life would be different now. Maybe he would still have his brother. The Black Heir did not know what he would do now—but one he knew one thing. He would hold on to all of those he currently loved.

He would not allow himself to make the same mistake he had with Regulus.

Marlene cursed.

"Language, sweetheart," Regulus said with a cluck of his tongue. A smile formed on his lips when the Scottish lass turned to curse at him; he knew damn well she hated that nickname. Over the last few months, he had grown close with the blonde. She would never replace Bambi as his confidant and best friend, but the Gryffindor alum had wormed her way into their friend group and became rather dear to him.

"This place is warded ten ways to Sunday!" The witch snarled. They would need a senior curse-breaker to lift these wards. Yes, she as an Auror had known various little tricks, but these wards were another thing altogether. They could probably use a ward-buster but there is no guarantee that Voldemort would not know the moment these wards break. The last thing they needed is for that Dark bastard to realize they knew about the Horcruxes.

"Is this where I pointed out how little the light families know?" Regulus questioned with a teasing lilt in his voice. Despite Marlene being a pureblood, there were somethings that she did not know in their culture simply for how light her family had been. Most light families never practiced what they consider dark—and blood magic had always been considered a dark practice. Regulus couldn't even fault the logic. Blood magic could be used to create inferni, to make a person a slave, to slowly torture a person or raise the dead. But just because something is dark doesn't mean it cannot have light uses. Most dark families used their blood to power the ward of their homes. But the downside is that if blood from at least one member of that family is freely given, then those same wards could be broken down.

The little glare the blonde shot at him just made Regulus grin at her again. From his coat pocket, Regulus pulled out the vial of Morfin Gaunt's blood that Marlene had gotten from her visit to Azkaban earlier that day. "Watch and learn sweetheart," he told her, wandlessly summoning his wand from the holster on his left arm.

Muttering a few incantations under his breath he revealed the wards for the tiny shack. They were a hodgepodge mixture, and all seemed to be teetering on failing. Both magicals studied the wards looking for weakness; in most wards, there were sections of the ward which had more power behind it than other parts. These portions of the wards appeared a darker color than those with less power behind it.

He finally found the thinnest layer of magic, which he threw the vial against. The glass vial cracked slowly before breaking entirely. Instead of dripping to the ground the wards absorbed the blood. Red cracks began to appear in the wards before they silently shattered in a span of under ten minutes.

Marlene had attempted to take a step forward before Regulus had tugged her. "Are you a bloody Auror or aren't you?" He hissed angrily. This witch could be the most infuriating at times—even worse than Bambi and he thought that said something. Just because the wards broke did not mean they were safe from danger. He knew from experience that the Dark Lord had access to inferni. As the last of the bloodline he had unfettered access to this place and the older wizard—albeit deranged—was no idiot. He could booby trap this entire property to ensure his soul was well guarded. No Slytherin would be stupid enough to rely on wards alone.

Swishing his wand to the right and down before pulling it up and drawing a triangle in the air, Regulus had checked for dark magic. Nothing showed outside the house, but something resided in the hut itself. He did not know what gave off the strong tainted presence, but he felt positive that it did not belong solely to the Horcrux. "Something is inside that hut and it is not friendly."

"Of course, it isn't friendly. Name a single thing that dark bastard has ever done that could be considered friendly?" Marlene shot back. Part of her felt embarrassed for her earlier mistake. She had just been so happy the wards were broken so easily that she forgot wards were not Riddle's only methods of containment. Using spells taught to her by her mentor, McKinnon verified that there were no other traps. It seemed like Riddle did rely on the wards as the primary defense of the shack.

But he did add extra protection inside the shack which to Marlene confirmed the presence of a Horcrux. However, they wouldn't know what that extra protection would be until they went in or at the very least opened the door. Taking a deep breath, the Gryffindor alum took the first few steps forward with her wand stretched out before her. At the crinkle of leaves, she let out a soft curse before casting a silencio at her feet and on the path stretched out before her. Blue eyes glanced at Regulus who did the same.

She didn't know what might be guarding the Horcrux but figured silencing themselves would probably be the best option. Taking another breath to calm her nerves she and Regulus began to make their way towards the shoddy shack. It probably had some shoring charms—Marlene didn't know how else that ruddy hovel had remained standing all these years.

A slight shuffle from behind the door made the two magicals pause. Biting her lip, the last McKinnon summoned all her Gryffindor courage before casting a quick alohomora. The soft snick the lock made before the door opened had been the only sound from either side. Neither magical moved for a solid minute. However, as the seconds passed and no other sound came from inside the shack, Regulus had decided they needed to be the ones who made the first move. So, he had transfigured a leaf into a small mouse before casting an imperio and making the mouse enter the wooden building.

The cracking of the mouse's neck had told them it was a wise decision, despite Marlene's scowl at the use of an unforgiveable. So, Regulus repeated the process, only this time he transfigured a leaf into a rabbit and made the rabbit push open the door further but did not let it go into the shack. The Black wizard wanted to see if he could force out whatever guarded the Horcrux by using its prey drive.

It worked.

The green body of a king cobra had inched its way towards the rabbit. Regulus knew that this would be their only chance at killing the shack guardian; so, as it went to strike at the rabbit, the wizard cast his strongest Avada Kedavra while Marlene had hit it with a severing charm. The dark-haired man then recast the imperio at the rabbit and made it enter further into the shack.

Nothing happened though and it caused the two to let out a sigh of relief. Regulus had taken the first step into the shack and took a good look at the snake. It looked like the Dark Lord's familiar, but he could not be sure as he never had an up-close look at the snake. It did, however, have the same markings and coloring. That made the wizard nervous because if it truly was Nagini then the Dark Lord would notice her absence which meant they're timeline had just drastically increased.

"Did you have to use the unforgivables?" Marlene hissed at him with a frown marring her lips.

"Would you rather be the mouse, sweetheart?" He groused out, rolling his eyes as he spoke. The only living thing he had harmed with his use of the curses had been the snake which would have killed them. He released the imperious curse from the rabbit but did not end his transfiguration spell just yet. It seemed that there had only been one snake thus far, but they could not verify that since they had yet to find the Horcrux.

Walking further into the shack, he glanced around only to see it broken furniture surrounding them. Nothing stood out to him, but Marlene had been immediately fixated by the fireplace. The pillars holding it up had been decorated with snakes climbing the wall. In the upper center portion of the fireplace, a thin silver ring adorned the stone.

Regulus had walked towards it, only for Marlene to grab his left hand and pull him back towards her. The blonde knew without a doubt that the ring was the Horcrux they were looking for. It reeked of dark magic but more than anything it had called out to her, tempting her to reach for it and put it on. It was only her training with Alastor that stopped her. If she could endure the imperious curse and keep her mind, she could resist that stupid ring.

Taking a closer step towards the hearth, Marlene had looked at the ring. A stone rested in its center instead of a jewel. The blonde flicked her wand in a complicated wand motion which revealed another set of wards guarding the Horcrux. The auror figured it would be wise to not touch the ring and instead used four severing charms, forming a box around the ring. She repeated the severing charm several more times until the little box could be safely excavated from the fireplace. Looking at the little stone square that the ring still adorned made all the blood drain from her face.

There in the center of the stone had an engraving that the last McKinnon would recognize anywhere. Marlene knew their problem had just gotten a hell of a lot bigger. This went further than just Horcruxes.

"Fuck."

"Could you ever forgive him?" The brunette asked. The question has been bugging her since she had returned to Britain. The Veela Matriarch had told her that her fate had always been tied to the Potters and Hermione just did not know how to feel about that. She could not even wrap her head around what that might even mean.

Glancing at the portrait of Ariana, Aberforth contemplated the question. It had been something he wondered himself decades ago but the bitter rage that bubbled in his chest at the mere thought of his brother had given him the answer. "No."

"Why?" the lass questioned, and it was moments like this that her age shined through. Aberforth wished that he could have that kind of naivety and kindness. But he had been embittered for far too long. Still, he took his time to formulate an answer for the witch who reminded him so much of his beloved sister.

"Remember when I explained to you about real remorse?" The barkeep asked. watched as she nodded. He could hear the soft thud of her feet kicking his bar and he gave her a soft chastisement before continuing. "Albus had never given a genuine apology." His brother would beat around the bush and give candy-coated words that he believed Aberforth wanted to hear. But in all these years, Albus had never owned up to his part in their sister's death.

Hermione frowned and unconsciously started to bite her lower lip. She had wondered herself about her relationship with the Potters. Her relationship with her father has improved since their last meeting—they had been exchanging owls and floo calls more often. Furthermore, James seemed to be trying to reconnect with her via the owl letters he kept sending to the Hog's Head. Hermione wanted to believe that he had learned from their past experiences but the doubt continued to swell in her every time she read one of his letters. The brunette had no clue what to do, but Hermione knew she did not want to be like Aberforth. As nice as he has been towards her, Hermione also knew that being angry all the time was tiring.

"Would Ariana want you to?" Hermione asked.

"Yes." The answer had been instantaneous. The older wizard knew without a doubt that his sweet, kind sister would want her two brothers to support each other. He tried to live his life with that in mind—the old man has never refused his brother when he needed help, but that did not mean he had to like his brother. Aberforth knew what Ariana would want, but he also knew the experiences that life had taught him since her death. He tried to figure out how to properly explain this to the young witch—she wouldn't know as her armor had not been fully tested. Until she experienced her dents and cracks to dull her armor, Hermione would never truly understand what he meant. The young lass has been through her shares of battles, but she has—to this day—always been shielded from the worst of things by someone else. "But life is not always kind, Hermione."

"I know that," she said softly. She knew that very well. Hagrid had been kicked out of school with his wand snapped at the tender age of thirteen. Severus had been beaten at home and emotionally tormented by her brother. Regulus had been forced to take the mark of a psychopath all to please his family. And, perhaps the worst of them all, to Hermione anyway, was Marlene had lost her family and home. The blonde had lost the people she could go to for help; she had lost the home she had grown up in. Hermione couldn't imagine being left bereft of everything she had held dear. That Marlene could, had shown Hermione why the other witch had been sorted into Gryffindor.

"I love my brother—but I do not like him," Aberforth explained. Picking up the rag to his left and the glass on his right, the barkeep began to clean the glass. He did not know how to explain this next part to her. He knew that she would understand part of it, but he did not know if she would be able to conceptually understand the rest. "I really do not like him. Sometimes, I feel like it boils over into hate. It's this dark part inside of me claws at me every time I see my brother." Aberforth knew that, still, to this day he would have preferred that Albus had been the one who died instead of his tender-hearted sister.

He scrubbed at the glass with the rag just a little harder to give him something to do. "Remember how I told you that darkness serves a purpose?" The brunette nodded at his statement he let out a sigh. "It's that anger and resentment that allows me to experience the twinkling of the stars." It's the dark aspect of those emotions that help him appreciate his sister all the more and to some degree, it helps him appreciate his elder brother as well. As he said earlier, he may dislike the man but he has always lent a hand when he could. Aberforth has never turned him away.

But the resentment still lingered no matter how many decades had passed. The barkeep did not think it would ever go away and he was perfectly fine with that because his elder brother deserved it. He chose Grindelwald over their family, over their sister. Albus might silently bear this burned on his shoulders but Aberforth has yet to see any indication that the Hogwarts headmaster truly felt remorse.

"Stars?" Hermione tilted her head slightly to the right as she asked.

"They're beautiful are they not?" Abeforth responded. He meant it too. During the night when he couldn't sleep, he would go outside and just stare at the sky above him. The twinkling of the starts helped calm him. He liked to believe that his sister was up in the stars watching over him and his brother.

"Yes," Hermione replied hesitantly. She still didn't know fully what he meant by his statement of how anger allowed him to see the stars though. Hermione had figured that the anger and resentment would symbolically make the light of the stars harder to see.

"If it was always sunny, the stars would have never been seen," Abeforth replied. This is the truth that hurts the most. It is perhaps the most accurate description of life that he had ever experienced. Life would never be kind. It would allow you light for the way only to cruelly snuff it out without the barest of efforts. It would give you a lighthouse to light the way, only to snuff it out and ravage your ship in an all-consuming storm.

But the darkness allows one to see the stars. And those stars made the darkness worth it. it made all the anger and the rage at his brother worth the ire his sister might bestow on him should he ever see her again—because they sparkled so beautifully and proved that light could travel vast distances.

If light can shine in the darkness of space, it could shine anywhere.

But the darkness is needed to see it.

"A Knight in shining armor is a man who never had his metal truly tested," © online blog

"There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance." ©Gilbert Parker

"I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn't. ©Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner.

Brother © Falling in Reverse

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift." © Mary Oliver

"I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars," © OG Mandino

Let me know what you think

-Kori

28. Secrets

A/N: It's be a long time! This year has had its ups and downs. I lost my dad and got married. I had to pass my qualifying exams for continuation of my degree so this has all been an extremely hectic past few months. I do have an outline of the remaining chapters (there should only be 3-4 left!) so this story can hopefully be finished.

This was not beta-ed. However I am looking for one so if you are interested please let me know in a review and I will contact you. If you reach out to me solely by PM I won't get a notification (anyone know why?). I have this story that needs to be edited and another WIP for the future.

Happy Yule everyone!

Edit: I updated the dividers since not all of them were saved apparently. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 28: Secrets

Hermione stared at the elf in disbelief.

"What do you mean he let Dumbledore borrow it?" Of all the bloody, stupid things to do her brother had to just go let go of an extremely useful tactical advantage. Did he not realize how unique that invisibility cloak was?

"I dunno Miss," the small elf said, wringing her hands together as she did so. The Potter elf felt distressed over her inability to answer the question. The little Miss had always been her favorite and she adored pleasing her.

"Ixie," Her voice softened as she squatted down, "I'm not mad at you." She never wanted her old nanny elf to feel the need to punish herself despite orders not to. "My brother is just extremely stupid."

The elf nodded at her young Miss solemnly. The Heir certainly could do stupid things, not that she would ever say that aloud to anyone other than her kind Miss.

Hermione dismissed the elf which apparated away.

The brunette thought about the best way to proceed with this knowledge. She had originally requested the cloak so that she could see if the story held any truth—after all, they currently had the stone. Although a good cloak made with quality Demiguise hair could be passed down a couple of generations, the Potter cloak had been passed down for centuries. By all other accounts, its abilities should have faded. Now, it could be an artifact that gets continually replaced every other generation and the family just pretends it's the same one.

But with the presence of the stone, well that makes Hermione question whether they do have one of the Hallows. If they do, then that is two of the three Hallows in their possession. But it also meant that Voldemort had corrupted a Hallow.

That thought terrified her.

To be able to corrupt something that belonged to Death. Power like that—how would they be able to combat that? She had always thought that most of Riddle's power stemmed from his charisma and cruelty. He can make a person feel like they were special and most of them rallied behind him readily. Once his charisma ensnared them, the cruelty kept them. Fear could be a powerful motivator and Hermione understood that. A lot of people would rather keep the man happy so that they could keep their life.

But to know he did have the magic to back it up made this whole situation more real for her. Hermione knew they planned to destroy his Horcruxes, but they do not know whether nor not he would feel the destruction of his anchors. If he did, they would surely be fighting for their life.

Perhaps it had been foolish to assume he had an average magical ability, or maybe just a fervent wish of a young witch. Although unlike, she had fervently wanted to believe there wouldn't be any casualties within their makeshift group.

They would need to make plans within plans. Contingencies to battle strategies and to choose locations. They couldn't afford to be lax in their battle planning now that the Horcruxes were all collected.

They were friends now, despite what they both say. Hermione knew that when Marlene joined their fight against Voldemort, she had become one of their motley crew. She had helped with finding and storing the Horcruxes and had helped them plan various raids against prominent Death Eaters. The blonde's help had been vital to their success thus far. Despite all that, Hermione and Marlene were not all that close to each other; but a tentative friendship has developed, nonetheless.

This conversation had been a long time coming.

"I just don't see how you hate them," The blonde said. She had been ranting for the last twenty minutes over the stupidity of Hermione's logic. James had fucked up and his friends and wife were not much better, Marlene could admit that. She had been friends with each of them after all—she knew their faults better than anyone. But Marlene could not understand the way Hermione just casually disregarded the Potters for Regulus and the Malfoys. The blonde witch had never chosen her friends over her family, but this witch had done it so easily.

"I don't hate them," Hermione protested.

"I miss them." In a moment of vulnerability, Marlene allowed herself to talk about this whole family ordeal. The blonde hand never spoke these words allowed until today; let alone in front of anyone. "Every fucking day this ache in my chest grows larger and larger. It's been almost a year now since they died, but when I have good news the first person, I want to floo call is my mum and I can't." Marlene said, taking a shuddery breath. Tears were already forming in her eyes and she hated being this exposed, especially in front of Hermione. But she wanted the other witch to understand this. The blonde wanted the younger woman to recognize just how lucky she was that her family was alive. "Whenever I have a problem and need advice, I still go to floo the Manor so I can talk to my da' and I can't." Her voice had raised in volume as she continued to talk to the other witch. By now, tears were streaming down her face, ruining her makeup, not that she cared. "So that you can just stand here and cozy up to Regulus and Snape when your family is alive, and it just blows my mind."

Hermione blinked thrice.

The brunette had not expected this turn of the conversation. She hadn't expected Marlene to open up to her ever. Out of the three Slytherins, Marlene had cozied up to Regulus more. Leo had always been the calming influence, the one to go to when emotions ran wild—so it made sense that the Gryffindor Alum had formed a strong relationship with the youngest Black. Yet, Marlene stood in front of her, with tears pouring down her face and essentially ripping her heart out. For this reason, Hermione felt out of her depth.

"I don't hate them," Hermione said firmly. A small sliver of her wondered if she meant that. But as she dug within herself that small, simmering flame of resentment that she spent so long nurturing burned out. The younger witch just felt tired—this fight with the Potters had gone on far too long. At the end of the day, Hermione had been a child when everything went wrong with her family. She had lashed out towards them and sought refuge from others. Hermione knew that all she had wanted from them was the devotion and support they had shown James. When they didn't, it hurt. The brunette does not feel like she was wrong for being hurt or for not being the one who instigates mending the relationship—she had a right to feel however she did about a situation and as a child, she should not have been the one pressured to fix it all. But recently James and her father have been trying their best to rekindle that relationship, and it felt nice. It felt nice to be wanted by your family.

So no, she didn't hate them. Hermione could genuinely say she did not detest her family. Not like she did Regulus' mum. Not like she did Riddle. But that did not mean everything could just be swept under the rug and pretend like it never happened. But she could also see what Marlene meant. Had she not thought Marlene lost the most thus far? No one that Hermione was close to died yet—but Marlene had lost everyone. She watched her family being murdered while she had to fight for her life. Her friends had abandoned Marlene during all this due to her unorthodox coping mechanisms. Plus, everyone in the Order—aside from Alastor Moody—had written the Scottish witch off. Yet the Gryffindor Alum had still chosen to fight despite everyone either dying or leaving her to fend for herself.

And now the flaxen-haired witch had decided to open her very soul to Hermione. The younger witch couldn't imagine what she would do had the roles been reversed. The youngest Potter still cared for her family; they may not get along with each other and they may fight. But she would do anything to keep them safe.

"Then why are you so hesitant to reach out?" The blonde asked, sniffling a little as she tried to pull herself together. Marlene had never liked crying, but sometimes the sadness just swells inside of her and bursts the carefully constructed dam. When that happened tears were inevitable, even among someone she'd rather not cry in front of.

"The thing with families, McKinnon, is that the only family that ever horrifies you is your own," Hermione replied. The Potters were not perfect. Not a single person alive or dead could claim that they were. But since they were having a heart-to-heart, the younger witch decided to be forthright. She licked her lips before speaking again. "I'm not a Potter by blood—they adopted me when I was only a few days old. The Family Magic had accepted me pretty easily though and so I became a Potter."

Marlene had nodded at this information since none of it had been unknown. The blonde did not understand the importance of this statement until the brunette spoke again.

"Growing up we were all pretty close and they tried to include me as best they could. But the older I got the harder it became to connect to them." Hermione said. She tried to figure out how to phrase her next statement without sounding completely barmy. "I relied on Magic for everything—who to trust, what to study, how to feel, and even what to do. My family never understood that. But Leo and Cissa did. Bella did. Severus did." Hermione did not know if any of that made sense to Marlene. It didn't make sense to her. Blind faith in something intangible was exactly that—blind.

"How does that factor into the rift between all of you?" Marlene questioned, still confused.

"Take Sirius' situation. His family believes in blood purity, correct?" The question was rhetorical of course. They both knew that most of the Black family believed in blood-purity. Hermione also knew that only the older generation focused on blood purity versus magical purity specifically, well excluding Bella. "But his family thinks he's a radical—wrong even for his belief that purebloods are not any better than muggleborns."

Hermione looked the blonde in the eyes and tried to see if she could connect the pieces. The two situations were only loosely tied at best, but the principle idea was still the same. Her faith in magic bordered on radical to her family. "I trust Magic more than my family. I have always trusted Magic more than anything. And I don't think my mother ever forgave that. I don't think my family ever really understood that."

And perhaps there laid all the problems. The brunette loved her family dearly. She may be having issues with them, but she still loved them. She still wished for their happiness and wellness. But Hermione never relied solely on her family as James had. The youngest Potter relied on her magical core and the Family Magic for a source of comfort and strength and direction on an important life event. Furthermore, she had relied on Magic for who to trust. When her magic had directed her towards the Blacks, well her mother did not appreciate that. It had created friction between them both. Hermione did not understand her mother's logic—despite the various theories she and Cissa had shot back and forth—but she knew where her anger stemmed from. The brunette's problem had always been the biological child had—at least it to her—received more faith. His choice in friends, his class schedule, his society training, all of it had been on James' terms. Whereas Hermione's choices had always been questioned. It made her self-esteem tank and furthered her doubt. She hated that feeling and instead of directing that anger at herself, the youngest Potter had directed it at the people who made her feel that way. James being a bullying prat with a cocky attitude had also not helped the situation. Perhaps had the relationship between her and James had been better, then her relationship with her mother wouldn't have soured. "My magic told me who I could trust but my mother didn't trust my magic."

"And you took that to mean she didn't trust you." The blonde could see where the problems would arise. It also gave her a new perspective. Marlene had always assumed that Hermione Potter simply acted out because she did not get her way. But to grow up at a tender age believing your mother didn't trust you? The Gryffindor alum did not know how she would have behaved in a similar situation. Would she have tried to push past that to keep the relationships she cherished fresh and alive? Or would she have slowly begun to prune the vine to save her heart from further pain? Marlene didn't know. She couldn't even give them a hypothetical because her family lies buried beneath the willows in makeshift graves.

Tears pricked at her eyes once more at the thought of her family. Grief, resentment, hatred, and everything she had ever felt churned in her stomach. She missed them so much. Marlene would do almost anything to have more time with them or to even hear their voice just once.

The older witch took a moment to collect herself, taking several shuddery breaths. When she finally felt ready, she spoke once more, "I miss the late-night conversations we had at the kitchen table with a cuppa." The Scottish witch used her left arm to wipe her eyes. She missed the tiny details, the things she had always overlooked while her family still lived.

"Well, we're certainly no substitute but I think we can all go for some midnight tea." Regulus had said from his spot at the doorway, surprising both witches.

Marlene had let out a soft chuckle which turned into a sob. She felt more than saw Hermione cast a slight cheering charm on her. It warmed the blonde's heart to despite the lack of words, Hermione tried to show she cared in her way. Despite all their disagreements, Marlene felt that she finally found a place to belong.

She finally found a new home.

"I'm here for the cloak," Hermione said firmly.

"Your brother has agreed to my using it," The old man told her, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Too bad he doesn't get to decide that." Technically not true. As the Potter Heir and future Patriarch, James did get a say in who could use the family heirlooms. However, it would have had to be discussed in a family meeting which she knew did not occur since her brother was in hiding. Furthermore, the family magic strongly disagreed with allowing the cloak to be outside of the family; she could feel it churning restlessly in her core at the mere idea of Dumbledore using it. "So kindly hand it over."

"And if I don't?" Dumbledore questioned genially.

The brunette simply responded by non-verbally summoning the cloak with the Potter magic. The cloak was intrinsically tied to their family magic and therefore could be summoned by tapping into it. The cloak came zooming from behind her and into her outstretched hand. "I will take it anyway."

"You realize I could simply prevent you from leaving the castle," Albus pointed out cheerfully. He knew that the conversation had the potential to devolve, but Miss Potter had always been courteous, and he firmly believed they could keep the conversation civil.

"Hypothetically you could," Hermione agreed. She could also, theoretically, disarm Dumbledore and use Kreacher to go home. Although she hadn't tested it yet, Hermione believed Kreacher could apparate into Hogwarts and then take her home. Of course, it would be easier if she could just walk out of Hogwarts with the cloak. "I could also disarm and incapacitate you."

"Violence is never the answer, Miss Potter." Dumbledore chastised; his previous merriment gone. The old man did not take threats lightly.

"During peace perhaps, but wars tend to have different rules, Headmaster," Hermione said. Violence is never the first response, but sometimes it is the only one that worked. The brunette did not know if it was due to his time as Headmaster or due to his fight with Grindelwald, but Dumbledore had always placed too much emphasis on atonement and not enough on fighting back. Those who wish to repent shall, but those who rejoice in the suffering of others should be put down like the savages they are.

"A Revolution forged by blood can justify any kind of violence as long as it proclaims its cause," Dumbledore told her solemnly. He did not think it wise to allow her to justify murder. Nothing made the death of another acceptable. "The only person who can save our country from that fate is the one who calls for a bloodless revolution."

"You?" Hermione gave a harsh laugh at the idea. None of the people she associated with would agree with Dumbledore being the pillar they stood behind. Regulus and Severus had told her about all the bloodshed they were required to partake in and how little resistance they had come across—either from the Aurors or the Order. She knew the Death Eaters were essentially allowed free reign of their society. Sending stunners their way wouldn't stop them.

People like McKinnon who saw firsthand the depravity of the darker factions, would not agree with his statement either. Torture and mutilation were just one of the many barbaric practices that the Death Eaters partook in. The death of the innocent is something those vile people sought readily. Were they supposed to just allow themselves to be victims? To simply not put up the fight and just roll with the hexes? Were they supposed to die so that those bastards might repent?

That's utter bullshit.

Who the hell was he to dictate that? She knew all about his friendship with Grindelwald and how well that turned out for the Continent. Oh, sure he took a stand there at the end—but it wasn't a peaceful talk that ended it. All this talk about a bloodless revolution is nice in theory, but that is simply not possible in the real world. Blood has already stained their hands. Whether they took a life or not. People have already died.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"End it." No more fighting to a stand-still. No more chess moves between two kings. No more innocent casualties.

"It is not that easy," The old wizard said, running a hand through his beard. He understood where the young woman got these ideas—she had never experienced a Dark Lord before. The witch had these naïve opinions on what war should be. The Headmaster wished she could have kept those notions, but it is just not possible. It would be easier for her now to simply divest herself of that opinion now.

"You've lived too long Dumbledore," Hermione said. The brunette knew the moment it came out of her mouth how wrong it sounded. The way the Hogwarts Headmaster drew his wand and pointed it at her reinforced that. "Put that down old man! It was not a threat!" She snapped at him.

Brown eyes watched as the wand was lowered. But something about that wand screamed at her senses.

"And how am I supposed to take a statement like that?" Dumbledore asked, his wand lowered but still pointing in her direction.

"If you don't die a hero then you end up becoming the villain." The auburn-haired witch replied with a shrug. She meant what she said. Dumbledore had lived too long. He sees himself as knowing best, and although that might normally be the case, the fact that he is human remains. He has already made copious mistakes—people have already died because he decided to wait for Voldemort's move.

"You believe I am going dark?" The wizard asked in disbelief.

"Dark? No. Responsible for people's death? Yes." Hermione said idly. Her focus was on the wand. Why did it seem so familiar?

It felt familiar, felt like it called out to her magic. She frowned as she tried to remember what it felt like. As she clenched her fist, she felt the silky fabric of the cloak between her fingers.

The cloak.

It felt like the cloak. It was at that moment she realized the wand didn't call out to her magic—it called out to the family magic.

Her eyes widened at the implication and Marlene's voice echoed in her head.

Surely not?

Hermione decided to go for broke. The brunette did not know if the Headmaster would be honest with her, but she figured if she surprised him then perhaps, he would respond more honestly.

"How long have you had the Elder wand, old man?"

"This is unexpected," Charlus murmured, eyeing the man sitting across from him. He did not expect to have Arcturus Black in his home office. Let alone offering him his heir—which the Patriarch of the House Potter was surprised to see being Sirius Black—in a marriage contract.

"I've been told that sitting on the fence would be to my House's detriment." The words were not false, but they did only hold a grain of truth in them. His house was precariously close to falling as Bellatrix and Regulus had taken the mark, Andromeda had been disowned and Sirius had little to no marriage prospects thus far. Narcissa had given birth to a son so theoretically there is some hope for the Black legacy. But Arcturus saw a chance for a better future, one that had political and magical power.

"I am not so sure that she would accept," Charlus said. He knew damn well that Hermione would pitch a fit of epic proportion should he sign a marriage contract on her behalf. "She does not have the friendliest relationship with Sirius—the marriage contract you are wanting us to enter into would bind their magic together."

Arcturus quirked an eyebrow at that, silently asking why that would be a bad thing. Most marriages were like that in the past, it was a common belief back then that the stronger the binding the more blessed the couple would be. "She would rather lose her magic than tie herself to him," Charlus clarified.

Arcturus scoffed. He doubted the brunette would choose to lose her magic over going through with the marriage contract. No, if anything she would kill his heir instead. Charlus did not know his daughter all that well. "Your daughter is a follower of the Olde Ways."

The Potter Patriarch blinked thrice. Neither his wife nor he followed the older traditions. That held true for most of the pureblood families. Charlus could not think of anyone he knew to partake, well except for Arcturus. But even the Black Patriarch was an outlier considering no one else in his family followed those traditions. "She is not—where would she have even learned of those?"

"Are you forgetting that one does not need to learn it to follow it?" Amusement colored the older wizard's tone.

"People don't just stumble upon religion!" Charlus protested. You could not just stumble upon ancient folklore without any research into it. Considering that most of the Olde Ways are either presented orally or written in family grimoires, research into those practices were hard to come by.

"Is that now how all religion begins?" Beliefs are an odd thing; Arcturus knew that better than most. He would not consider the Olde Ways a religion, but that would be an opinion more than anything—those that practice, while respecting Hekate, do not consider her their patron like most religions have. To him, labeling the Olde Ways as a religion was just too muggle.

Charlus was at a loss for words, so he redirected. "How would you know that about her?"

"My grandchildren are close to your daughter," The older male responded dryly. Arcturus paused for a moment as he considered his next statement. He had wondered if the Potter family knew more about their daughter than they claimed. Had they feigned ignorance this whole time to hide it away or did they truly not know? "Furthermore, her lineage guarantees her devotion to the Olde Ways."

"Hermione doesn't know her lineage—none of us do. A family friend just told us she needed a home," the Black Patriarch let out an uncouth snort. Leave it to a Gryffindor to just accept a new child into their home without any background knowledge.

"I assure you; your daughter knows her lineage—" Arcturus took his time on elaborating. He wanted to enjoy the look of shock on the younger wizard's face as he revealed the secret the young witch seemed to have kept hidden from her family. With glee, he finally shared, "She is of the Familiam Sirin."

Charlus just looked at the other man in shock. No words formed in his head or on his lips. He remembered the children's stories about the Familiam Sirin, the stories he had always considered fairy tales and nothing more. They were the story parents had told children to teach them the Olde Ways—they were considered the origin story much like the Peverell family was the origin of the Tale of Three Brothers.

"I see you understand," Arcturus smugly replied. Her descent from the Bulgarian family would mean that she felt Magic differently than the average witch or wizard. Each Family has its specialties and talents—the gifts first bestowed on them. For some, it's a talent in a specific field, for others it's special aptitudes like Seeing, and for some, it's a special connection either to specific magical creatures or as in the case of the Familiam Sirins, magic itself. It is an ability within her very being—Hermione Potter would always follow the Olde Ways on an instinctual level.

"How do you know this?" Charlus' looked at the older wizard with skepticism. Yes, Arcturus' grandson had been Hermione's best friend prior to his death, and the new Lady Malfoy still had a close friendship with his daughter. But he did not see either of those two talking to their Patriarch about her.

"Kreacher is rather fond of her," Arcturus replied. It was a half-truth as Kreacher did keep him up to date on the young witch's welfare. He considered Hermione to be the next Lady Black and so he had ensured that Kreacher monitored her safety. He did not care to point out the obvious to the younger man. "Do we have a deal?"

"I need to talk to her before I sign anything," Charlus decided. He has only recently begun to regain the trust he lost; he would not let that happen again.

Hermione had decided to take a chance on this meeting. It had nothing to do with the Horcrux hunt, but everything to do with her family. Her talk with Marlene had made her realize she had a lot of potential for regret—what would happen if they died before they could fix things? She had replayed various scenarios a thousand different times and Hermione just knew that she did not want to live with—or die as the case could be—full of regret. As a result, she had asked her father to meet with her in a small Scottish village on the northern edge of the island.

"Hermione," Charlus Potter greeted her with a hug. She returned it hesitantly, not expecting it. The brunette did consider it a nice surprise though. She didn't realize how much she missed these hugs. "How have you been?"

The two made small talk, both realizing the awkwardness of it but not wanting to stop it either. They recognized that this would be one of the hurdles they had to overcome to regain the relationship they lost. Hermione had told him vague details of her work while he updated her on the rest of Potters.

"I'm glad you reached out to me," Charlus told her with a smile on his lips. His talk with Arcturus had made him consider things and look back on past events. Knowing what he now knew, the Patriarch felt like an idiot. All the signs were there, and they ignored them. "I need to ask you something—"

Suddenly a red light struck Charlus Potter. Without any thought, she began casting her strongest shield charms around them. "Daddy!" Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees and clutched her dad's body to her chest. She felt his very shallow and uneven breathing and the knot in her stomach loosened just a tiny bit.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stood and summoned a house-elf. "Ixie! Take him to St. Mungos!"

Once she heard the small pop of apparition, she adjusted her shield charm and began to cast several spells in an offensive chain to try and get the advantage in the fight. Taking a good look at her surroundings, Bambi felt her heart plummet to her chest as she realized who had initiated the attack. Of all the people, of all those stupid followers, it had to be her. Bellatrix had been her mentor for many things, including dueling. The younger witch knew that a simple expelliarmus would not be enough to win this duel. Silently, the brunette had cast several shield charms in between her offensive spells.

"You broke my trust, Bella." Brown eyes watched as some of the curses hit the older witch when she couldn't twist to avoid them. However, none of the spells that landed did much damage. The older witch most likely decided to take the hits of the weaker spells to minimize her use of magic. It was a brilliant tactic, but also something the Lady Lestrange had taught her.

"You broke mine!" The older witch snarled. Part of her hated this whole situation, being pitted against Bambi made her heartache. But another part, a more volatile part, wanted to tear the other witch to pieces for siding with blood-traitors. How dare she choose them after everything she had done for her.

Hermione felt a sharp pain on her left arm before a warm, wet feeling dripped down her arm. The brunette winced but did her best to ignore the pain of the piercing curse. Bellatrix had always been driven by emotion; the angrier she felt, the stronger her hexes and curses tended to be. Hermione cast several charms on the area between them to induce a heavy fog to minimize their visibility. This allowed her to hide behind another house and formulate a plan. Hermione hissed as she pressed her fingers into the cut on her left arm, covering them in blood. Instinctively she began drawing a set of runes, allowing her subconscious mind and magic to decide the layout and the runes used. The youngest Potter found it a bit morbid that she was using her blood to drawn runes first onto her body and then onto the ground several feet away from where she hid. The brunette then made her way back towards Bellatrix.

"Aw, is Bambi scared?" She heard Bellatrix's soft coo and flinched. Hermione knew that she did not stand a chance of dueling Bellatrix and winning if she played fair. So, trusting in Magic and her instincts she decided to take a different approach to this duel. The brunette shot a spell towards the direction she heard Bellatrix's voice before retreating into the direction of the runic array she had drawn into the ground.

"You should be, you betrayed me." Bellatrix hissed. Even from a distance, Hermione could tell all sanity had been lost at this point. The crazy eyes looked odd on a pretty face like Bella's. But for some reason that just made Bambi angry.

"Do not blame all of this on me! You dug your own grave, Bella. You allowed a monster to reside in your heart and your magic." Hermione snarled; her teeth bared at her one-time friend. "You did this—you were the one to renounce Magic's gift by ignoring all her warnings." Her chest burned with this ire because Bella had been the one who taught her to trust in her magic and to rely on it. But when she finally needed to put it into practice, Bella ignored all her instincts. Instead, the older witch allowed herself to get swayed by pretty words and a pretty face.

"If Magic disagreed then why is he so magical?" The question was asked as Bellatrix used a blasting curse to break apart a building behind the brunette and transfigured some of the debris into a set of hands which began reaching out towards Hermione. One managed to grab her right ankle and Hermione did the first thing that came to mind—she doused the hand in some fire, singeing her leg briefly before using an aguamenti.She would have a nasty burn on her lower leg when it was all over with, but she could deal with that later. She shot several blasting curses at the surrounding environment, causing branches to come crashing down around the older witch. This forced the Lady Lestrange closer to the runic circle and Hermione.

"Magical ability fades Bella. Can't you feel the grasp on your Family Magic already starting to shred?" The question came out as more of a taunt than anything else. Cissa had voiced her concerns to the younger witch about the fading of Family Magic within the Death Eaters. According to the blonde witch, it's not that they are losing their magic per se, it just felt more like the Familial Magics were going dormant within them.

Bella's eyes narrowed but she said nothing. The older witch did not know how Bambi knew that. Her grasp on both the Black and the Lestrange Family Magics' was tenuous at best as of late. The magic from her core felt sluggish as it entered the wand before the casting. But the strength never wavered so she usually ignored it. She had just assumed that she had outgrown her current wand, something known to happen within the Black family. The battlefield still had fog sitting above the ground, so the elder woman took careful steps forwards when she didn't have to dodge a hex or two.

"Cissa has told me that Lucius and a few others have already noticed. Regulus felt that at first too, but his grasp has gotten stronger as of late." Hermione responded casually as she sent a chain of piercing and blasting curses towards the older witch. Most of her spells did not hit her opponent since she was more so aiming behind Bellatrix, blocking an exit for her and to lure her within the runic circle she had created with her blood. When the Lady Lestrange got closer, Hermione repeated her earlier charms to increase the amount of fog before casting a silencing charm on her feet.

"As of late? He's dead Bambi—are you sure you aren't a bit touched?" Bella cackled. The ground underneath her began to shift and crack causing the dark-haired witch to twirl her way forward to steady ground. It seems that Bambi was finally starting to take the match a bit more seriously. The widow was impressed with her protegee, it seemed that Bambi did take all her lessons seriously. In terms of experience, however, Hermione was leaps and bounds behind Bellatrix—but she did try to minimize her disadvantages, and had she been another Death Eater it probably would have worked.

Suddenly a chill ran up the older witch's spine and rope wrapped around her throat and hands. Something wet dripped down her torso and it took her a moment to realize that it was blood. Judging by the pain in her chest it was hers.

"I lied," A soft voice whispered in her ear. The statement came out gurgled as if someone were choking on some blood. It took another moment for her to realize it was Bambi who sounded like that. Her body felt sluggish like it was disconnected from her mind. The fog seemed to have cleared a little, enough for the curly-haired older woman to realize they both were in the center of a runic circle.

"What did you do?" Horror tinted the Death Eater's voice. She did not recognize all the runes, but she did see nauthiz, algiz, and wunjo which she knew represented constraint, protection, and joy. Perhaps the thing that shocked her the most was the rune drawn at the base of Bambi's throat—uruz—in what Bellatrix assumed was blood. They were just a breath apart from each other. She felt it then—the way her magic began to drain out of her body and into the ground and the now glowing runes made the older woman began to panic.

"I won," Hermione said with a grin, her teeth were smeared with her blood. She had to bite her tongue and cheek to get enough to power the ritual rest of the ritual. "And with Regulus' help, I will kill your precious Dark Lord, Bella. We already have all of his Horcruxes." The ropes around Bellatrix's throat tightened.

"Why are you telling me this?" She never expected this outcome of their duel. She had told Bambi once before that the outcome would rely on their motives and beliefs. But she had always expected to be the victor in the end since Bambi had a tender heart.

"Because two can keep a secret if one of us is dead."

Let me know what you think! Again if you are interested in Beta-ing please tell me in a review and I will respond!

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." © Nietzsche, Beyond Good, and Evil

"You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," © The Dark Knight

"People are pretty forgiving when it comes to other people's families. The only family that ever horrifies you is your own," © Douglas Coupland

"A Revolution forged by blood can justify any kind of violence as long as it proclaims its cause. The only person who can save our country from that fate is the one who called for a bloodless revolution." © Sinbad, Magi the Labyrinth S1:E16

"Because two can keep a secret if one of us is dead," © Secret lyrics from the Pierces.

29. No more Fences

I should apologize for how long I have sat on this chapter. I have been saving it to post with all the others for when I finish them; however I am in my last semester and am currently trying to write my dissertation and have been working on finishing projects to make that possible; which means I do not have time to focus on this story for the foreseeable future. So I am posting this chapter for you all and then letting you know that this story will not be abandoned but will be on hiatus until I pass my defense and can finish up the remaining chapters.

Chapter 29: No more Fences

"What do we do?"

The question had more weight than anything they discussed thus far—despite their nearly two-decade friendship. Had she not already thought about this, Narcissa would probably panic along-side her brother-in-law. But the blonde knew far more than her husband and his fellows would ever expect. Her side had been chosen the moment her son had been born.

"Shed our skins," she palmed her wand discreetly in her left-hand. She trusted Rastaban with her life, but not that of her son's. This game she had been playing with her sister and her husband's associates must be ended—the line has officially and clearly been drawn. There were no fences to sit on any longer. Andromeda's family had already been moved into one of the safe houses; although the reasons were not favorable, Narcissa felt delighted that she would once again be living with her sister. Of course Bambi refused to allow anything less than for the home to be warded tighter than Gringotts and under a fidelius charm viciously guarded by a rather devoted house-elf.

"And do what? The Dark Lord will not forgive this," Rastaban raked his right and through his hair in a mixture of frustration and nervousness. His magic swirled restlessly inside of him and had been since the death of Bellatrix. It wanted a decision, and he did not know how to appease it. As the last Lestrange he had to make the decision for the House he grew up in.

"And why should we ask?" She arched a delicate blonde eyebrow at him, and it took him a moment to process what she said. The young woman knew how to play the political game. She knew how to make people do exactly what she wants, all the while making them believe they thought of it first. He usually adored that about her, but now as he watched her, he realized just how thoroughly the blonde had played them all. He would be impressed had he not felt an overwhelming amount of fear.

"Please tell me you're joking," he begged. But the look in her eyes and the way she held her wand—which he now saw at her side and directed towards him—the sinking feeling in his gut got worse. Rastaban would not be able to protect her from this should anyone find out. Lucius would not tolerate the betrayal of his wife, nor would any of the others had they realized that a viper in their midst had chosen to side with the enemy.

"She killed your sister. She sent her head to the Dark Lord." It had been perhaps the most gruesome declaration of the century, and Rastaban included Grindelwald's war in that. He had never expected for his sister-in-law's severed head to be sent via an owl-howler to the Dark Lord. But it had and everyone knew who did it. He could still recall the message clear as day.

"What is your plan for when the beasts come calling?" The voice had a soft cadence as it crooned the words, one most of them knew well. She had been a part of their society after all; many of them shared the same Hogwarts house with her; hell, he had supper with the woman more than once. But it was the chilling howl of what sounded like a werewolf that followed which really spoke volumes to Rastaban. It felt like Hermione Potter wanted to taunt the Dark Lord. A way to say, 'look at how a real predator behaves'.

Perhaps in the first time ever, Voldemort lost his calm composure in front of the Death Eaters. Rage came after the shock for many of them, but Rastaban knew that the damage had already been done for the Dark Lord. This put a kink in the plans—it was not that the Dark Lord feared a girl not even in her twenties; no, it was that she did the unexpected. It was not the fact that a young woman from a light family killed a woman well known in Voldemort's ranks for her cruelty and viciousness. No, the chilling aspect of it had been that the Potter girl had the audacity to send Bellatrix's head to the Dark Lord. The stunt would be something their faction would be expected to do, not someone supposedly on the 'light' side of things.

"Bella died a long time ago," the blonde woman snapped, rage bubbling within her at the last comment. Nothing would change her mind on this. Not her husband, not her brother-in-law, not her parents—not a damn thing would convince her to change her position. And after this conversation, she would no longer be in the Manor nor would her son. Narcissa would not and has not fought this war publicly, she couldn't. Children were involved and she had vowed on her very magic to protect them. So, she had helped where she could in creating safe houses, runic arrays for warding, providing information she had gleaned from various conversations, and building a supply of healing potions.

Narcissa Malfoy had always known where her loyalty laid; it had never wavered and those who thought something like this would make it falter were fools. Bambi had been there for her throughout various miscarriages and marriage troubles. The younger witch had been there for her during some of the darkest parts of her life and the love she had shown Draco rivaled her own. Hermione Potter would sacrifice her very life for the Malfoy Scion and Matriarch without a single second of hesitation; the blonde knew her sister would have never done the same. Had her biological sister ever questioned her loyalty to the Dark Lord, Bella would have cheerfully murdered her.

The witch knew her eldest sister well; the blonde knew that on some level the deceased witch loved her. But that sisterly love paled in comparison to the love Bellatrix had for the Dark Lord. Bambi's love was not so fickle though and neither was hers. The loss of Bellatrix broke both witches' hearts, but the deceased Lady Lestrange had brought it upon herself when she initiated the fight. Furthermore, as a pureblood heir, Rabastan would never understand the tender heart of a woman. He would never understand the silent nuances of their lives, their convictions, nor the depths they would go for love. More importantly, he would never understand how sometimes all that love, all that care, simply wasn't enough. There was not a single thing that either Bambi or she could have done to save Bella from herself. It did not matter how badly they might have wanted to. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to let those you love to take the road you cannot travel with them. Sometimes, Narcissa thought bitterly, one must be the one stop the evil they had been so carefully ignoring. Love and devotion hadn't been enough to steer Bellatrix from the path her dedication to the Dark Lord had led her. In the end, death had been the only way.

"Will she protect you?" Rastaban's eyes searched the pretty face of his dear friend. At the small nod, the wizard took a few steps forward before dropping to his knees in front of the blonde and he just sobbed.

They both knew which side he would be on.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Hermione snarled at her brother as they stood in the foyer of their childhood home. Things were tense between her and her family since her father had been taken to St. Mungo's. On the one hand they appeared to be relieved that both she and her father were okay, but on the other hand, were surprised by the lack of passive patricide, which only served to infuriate her. She hadn't told them who attacked her Patriarch, nor had she told them what happened to said person. It would be a secret her family would never learn. The brunette refused to allow her stubborn and rude sister-in-law to try and hold that over her head. Unlike Evans, she knew true friendship and loyalty.

One cannot control what people turn into. Hermione knew this well after all. She couldn't control her brother when they were younger; could not mold him into a better person. She loved Bella, perhaps she always would. But, sometimes, love did not matter; sometimes love would never be enough. Hermione wanted to remember the vivacious witch who took her under her wing, who taught her spells and so much more. She did not want to remember the woman who tried to kill her, the woman who could never be described as anything more than a shell of her former self.

"First you come out of hiding—while understandable is completely reckless and stupid—and then, then you fucking say you should switch secret keepers?" Magic crackled in her hair as her eyes became the familiar icy blue James had begun to attribute to rage. Panic began to stir within him before rage tried to take over. He wanted to get angry at her accusations and insults. He wanted to scream right back at her. However, if the past had taught him anything, anger would never help when dealing with his sister. So, he tried to look at it from her point of view.

The Potter Heir knew his sister still cared about the family; her defense of their father proved that. That means it stood to reason that she also still cared for him, why would she be so mad now if that were not true? Which meant that she saw something that remained invisible to him. Anger and horrible communication caused him to lose the close relationship he had with Hermione prior to their start at Hogwarts. Now that they were slowly starting to rebuild it, he would not let the same flaws be their downfall once more.

"You don't like Sirius though," James said slowly.

"Brilliant observation, mate." Hermione replied with a voice full of sarcasm and her nose crinkling a tad. "But he is loyal to you. He would die before betraying that secret."

James blinked his brown eyes in surprise at her defense of Sirius. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised; Hermione had always valued loyalty, had always given it in spades to those she cared about. "And you think I would allow him to die for me?" The wizard clenched his fists at his side at the thought.

"Would he thank you for sparing his life at the risk of your own?" The question pierced his gut like a sharp knife. He knew the answer to that. Sirius, like the youngest Potter, valued loyalty; valued the friendships he made above all things. His best mate would gladly die to protect him. That made his stomach sink with dread at the possibility.

Hermione spoke once more, her voice cold and distant. "Would you risk the future Heir of our House?" It took James a moment to realize what his sister implied and the anger that overwhelmed him made it hard to keep his voice steady and polite when he responded. "Everything I do, I do for my son." His teeth grounded together as his nails drew blood from his palms. Harry meant more to him than anything—more than his life, his heritage, his magic, and more than anything else he could imagine.

Icy blue eyes stared at him unblinkingly. Her head tilted slightly before she took a step forward. Instinctively, the Potter Heir took a step back; despite being a stag animagus, he had never felt more like prey than he did in this moment. "Then start thinking." Her voice reminded him of the society wives who gossiped in whispers at the old pureblood functions they attended when children. But magic vibrated in the air around them, crackling in her hair, as it grew heavier; James felt as if the magic was cocooning around them. All his instincts were screaming for him to run. The sweet, soft voice his sister spoke with made something in his brain itch. It felt familiar and foreign all at once. Tentatively and without any conscious thought, his magic reached out.

Calm.

Everything became calm and he realized that his sister hadn't been the one speaking; or at least she hadn't been the only one speaking. The Potter family had been in the wizarding world for centuries. Centuries of ancestral magic had imbued this manor; he had only thought that meant in terms of the wards and the leys being powered. James had never considered magic to be sentient, nor that it would talk to him through his sister. "Why are you so opposed to me changing the secret keeper?"

"Why are you so insistent on Pettigrew." The ambient magic grew heavier, and James had a hard time deciding on whether his sister or the magic had spoken. On the one hand, Hermione had never liked the fourth marauder; on the other, her eyes still shone that brilliant blue and her voice had the same tone as earlier.

"He is my friend—no one would suspect him." The brunette quirked her left eyebrow upwards, and doubt began to feel like lead in his stomach. Scenarios flickered in his head of all the times Hermione had expressed her distrust of Peter. But with this new information about his sister and the family magic, it made him wonder if it was more than jealousy; did the family magic play a role? He tried to remember a time in which Peter had been at the manor but could not think of an instance which would indicate a dislike for his friend. Nothing came to mind. The frown that graced his sister's lips made him doubt his emotions more than anything else. "Who would you suggest?"

Her head tilted to the right again. A few minutes passed in intense silence before the young Potter spoke. "Will you trust me?" James nodded almost instinctually; perhaps it was the family magic, perhaps he wanted to show his sister that he has always trusted her, or perhaps his fatherly instincts won over—if this change in secret keeper could harm his son, then he would do anything to prevent it. His sister and the family magic seemed to think this switch would end in disaster.

James Potter would swear in that moment that his sister's strange blue eyes glowed as the ambient magic in the air grew even heavier and something in the air started humming. The heir had no clue what was happening now, but he assumed the family magic and his sister were having a silent conversation.

"Me."

Magic had sung her to sleep. It had permeated her very being. All her life it had been a comfort beyond measure. When it spoke, she listened. All of this happened on an instinctual level; Hermione Potter could never pinpoint exactly when it started, nor could she ever recall doing something in opposition. She trusted magic.

So, when the hallows had begun to call to her, she listened; even if that meant that the brunette sat on the floor of her room in a runic circle written from her own blood. Mugwort, sage and juniper smoke filled the air as the herbs crackled in a fire within the obsidian mortar in the center of the ring. The journal from the last Sirin laid in front of her as she read the vow aloud.

"When born, the steady earth became my body, the hard stone became my bones, the vengeful sea became my blood, and the strong wings filled my lungs and became my breath." The runes began to glow a dull red color and the air became heavy. "When I pass into the Otherworld, that which you have called forth will be returned for you were the one which called them forth to create my form, so that I may do as you did before."

The scent of mugwort became heavier and the crackling dulled into a whisper. Hermione could feel the magic in her core flow through her body, coursing through her veins and bringing this sense of calm. The brunette knew that invoking not only Magic but also the Sacred Worlds could be deadly, but that meant nothing to her; the Alpha knew all would be well for her, the hallows called and she had answered them in the only way that spoke to her magic.

With her eyes still focused on the text she continued to speak, "By wand, by blood, by choice I pledge myself to you." The floor beneath her warmed up despite the air chilling around her. The runic array did not glow any further but the magic in the room shifted more and more until it felt like another presence stood within her circle.

"It is rare that one's offering is oneself," a melodic voice crooned softly in her ear. The young witch felt like a child cowering from a troll at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. She felt small, weak, but also safe. The contradiction of emotion would normally frustrate her, but in this moment of time, Hermione couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

"But you are not just anyone are you my dear?" No, the small witch who stood before her is no mere mortal. Her life is fleeting of course, as all of those who call this realm home. But this little witch standing in the carefully crafted runic circle had the blood of Hekate within her veins. Strange that one such as her would be surrounded by death magic more than that of even her torch bearing Mother. But Her hallows had willingly allowed her summoning—a feat which had not occurred since Samhain 1066 when her daughters in Tuath Dé Dannan had sacrificed several villages which instigated an Imbolc massacre of a fellow Goddess' den. "No, you are a daughter of transitions and the crossroads, and it seems that your path has brought you to me."

Hermione's throat tightened, even as the air returned to a normal pressure, as she thought about what to say. Magic guided her to this moment, and she did trust it on a level that some would consider obscene. Despite all of that, though, she stood in the presence of the Death Goddess and that made a sliver of fear pool in her belly. "The Potter Family has kept your cloak safe for centuries, my Lady." The young witch spoke softly and carefully—not out of fear, but out of respect. "My friends and I have collected your remaining hallows and have safeguarded them until now."

The sound of footsteps walking within the circle alerted Hermione to the movement of the Goddess; but she did not dare to rise from her seat on the floor. "You have indeed reunited my hallows." The lyrical voice murmured softly, and the brunette felt a hand tilt her chin upwards. Brown eyes met red ones. Unlike that arrogant dark bastard, these eyes were gorgeous and sparkled with flecks of gold. Magic crackled up and down the Goddess' arms in a glorious display. Hermione felt her heart hammer in her chest but still did not speak. "You are not stupid enough to try and control me, which makes me curious as to what you want from this meeting."

Hermione knew a command when she had heard one and licked her lips subconsciously. The brunette knew what she wanted to say. But wanting to say something and saying it were two different things, especially in the presence of the Death Goddess. As a Slytherin alumna, Hermione knew that words held power—she also knew that the way the words were spoken would be the deciding factor; especially when one dealt with the spirit realm. It would not do her any service to be seen commanding Death; those that tried before always regretted the decision. "My Lady Mora, I ask to be your hand on this plane and for your guidance to end this war."

Red eyes scrutinized the face of the young witch, whose chin was still tilted towards her. The Raven Queen tightened her grip on the young mortal's chin and pulsed her magic outwards towards the edge of the runic circle. All the memories, ideas, goals, and dreams of this slip of a girl were laid bared before the Death Goddess. How much would this mortal girl be willing to sacrifice? What limits could be pushed? How easily would this child break?

"My hand on the world already exists," the Goddess Mora replied loftily. Brown eyes flashed blue for a moment and the little being before her practically growled.

"Your hand is barely a toddler." Hermione snarled out. Respect could be thrown out the window at this point because she would not let her nephew fight this war. Foolish adults started this war, raised child soldiers for this war; the brunette would not be one to continue that cycle of abuse.

The hand holding her chin tightened its grip. The Goddess' lips pursed out in a moue of distaste. The Raven Queen did not appreciate the disrespect, but she did value the tenacity. "You are all children as far as I am concerned." Red eyes glinted like rubies as she stared at the mortal before her. All deference seemed to have left the tiny woman who bravely met a Goddess' gaze. The limits of the witch were unusual to the Lady Mora; instead of cowering in front of Her like many have before, she stood firm and adamant in defense of the weaker child.

"Make me the hand—I swear to be true..." Hermione repeated her request again; steel tinted her voice, making it clear she wouldn't back down from this request, not even for a Goddess.

"A prophecy has already been made," Lady Mora stated sharply. Magic pulsed around the runic circle again only this time the air became heavy once more. The Goddess had plans for her mortal hand and contingencies in place to see them through. Although this witch has certainly always been a part of those plans, it did not mean that she must play center role.

"Damn the prophecy! He is an innocent toddler!" The witch stood from her place on the floor as Hermione snarled loudly, her magic crackling in the air around her. Fear gripped her heart at the idea of her nephew fighting in a war. That fear far outweighed any she might have had at pissing off an immortal being.

Anger stirred briefly within the Goddess before she forced herself to calm once more. The mortal witch before her had the blood of a Sister within her veins, that did grant her some leeway, especially with her righteous defense of a weaker being. Hekate had indeed guided this witch who listened to her blood so well. "You are certainly a daughter of Hekate and your defense of those unable to defend themselves is admirably like your Mother's."

Silence echoed in the room for what seemed like hours. Scarlet eyes watched the young mortal who seemed so conflicted with her thoughts. Like an open book, the Raven Queen could see the horror which crossed with young witch's mind and that it warred with a strong desire to protect, even if it meant going against Death. The details Lady Mora gleaned from these thoughts interested her. Mortals had broken so easily in the times before. They turned on each other, sacrificing precious blood without thought. It had been one of the many reasons she and others returned to the Otherworld—the mortals with fickle loyalty did not deserve an audience after all. But this little witch amused and intrigued the Raven Queen. "Fine. You will be my hand—you have until Samhain to destroy the being which flees so readily from me." Lady Mora released the young witch's chin and took the stone in her hand before blowing out a string of fire shaped like ravens, which cawed angrily before gobbling up the black sludge oozing out of the ring. A screech had been briefly heard before silence reigned once more.

Hermione's eyes widened and she let out a shaky breath, collapsing to her knees at the Death Goddess' feet. She offered profuse thanks to the eternal being. All other emotions were drowned away with relief. Her nephew would not be the one to end this war, at least not if she could finish it first.

"Listen to me well mortal born of Hekate, for you will not get this chance again: Samhain is your deadline, should you fail then the boy becomes my hand once more. You will never get this chance again. However, should you succeed, I will allow you to take his place forevermore." The Raven Queen wondered how the mortal would take this deal—her failure would not only result in her death, but it would also result in bloodying the hand of a child she had tried to protect. For the noble cause, the Goddess would not allow her suffering in the Otherworld—but the young witch would also, unknowingly of course, be forced to repeat her attempts to end this war as a guiding hand to the boy the Goddess had claimed. "When the time comes, I will take you with me until then you and yours will wear my Hallows." The silent regardless rang clear in the air.

Lady Mora would not make this offer again; Hermione knew that. The brunette also knew that this deal was far more than she could have ever hoped for. Magic guided and protected her within this circle, and for that young witch would be forever grateful. But knowing she had a measly ten days to prepare scared her. "Your Will shall be done my Lady Queen."

With a flick of her wrist the runic circle and the Goddess were gone. But the smell of mugwort still hung in the air and a faint whisper rang in her ear. "My grim can be true if given a chance, my little bird." Her left wrist began to burn, and she grasped it automatically; when she looked down a raven flew around her wrist.

The deal had been finalized.

"We need to destroy them on the Witching Hour of Samhain." Hermione had told the group at breakfast the next morning. Regulus looked at her with a furrowed brow as he tried to decipher her statement. Her Leo knew her well and she had never kept a secret from him, at least not very long. When he raised a curious brow, Hermione simply answered with a sharp nod.

"You are giving me barely a week to prepare," Severus scowled at her. The Slytherin witch had been adamant about the destruction of the horcruxes on early hours of Halloween morning but hadn't fully explained why. The potion could be made easily enough with the optimization he had done in the past several months; but the secrets infuriated him.

"This is our one shot to do this, Snape." Hermione subconsciously rubbed her left wrist. She could feel the ten raven moving along her wrist, warming with each pulse of her heart. A constant reminder that she had a deadline to meet.

It had been the Gryffindor among them that caught the small gesture. The blonde's lips slowly mouthed something Hermione couldn't read before she had felt the other witch grab her wrist and look at it. "You've made a deal with Cailleach," McKinnon's cornflower blue eyes were wide with shock. She had heard stories growing up about the old wise woman, her family gave offerings to the Goddess who tenderly raised mountains and hills and allowed their crops to flourish. Unlike many of the light families, the McKinnons' had always recognized Death and Her magic as something necessary and natural. Even the plants needed to rest in the winter so that they could bear fruit come the spring.

"We gathered the hallows," Hermione murmured softly. Lying wouldn't change their circumstance. Perhaps she should have talked to the others before making the deal, but the idea of a child barely into the toddler years just felt like cursed blades to her stomach. The Family Magic warred within her as well because that was the future heir. But more than any of those reasons, Harry Potter shouldn't have to face a monster that her parents' generation never bothered to eliminate. Why allow a child to finish an adult's war?

"And forced her gaze to land on us." Marlene's grip on Hermione's wrist tightened as her eyes closed. She had chosen her side when she left the Order. These Slytherins were actually making changes. They were fighting to save people, creating safe havens, and supplying gold and potions to ensure less blood had been spilt. They were not raising an army to fight in their stead. Dumbledore may mean well but his name still brought acid upon her tongue and a bitterness that has yet to relent. "What do we need to do?"

Brown eyes focused on Severus. To the older wizard it felt like she was gazing into his heart and judging him for every single miss deed. He felt like a child standing before his angry father, terrified but still wanting some validation. "You will brew the potion and you will be the one to destroy the horcruxes." A small frown formed on her lips as she watched the older man. He told Riddle about the prophecy so he will be the one to eliminate the horcruxes. Snape had willfully joined the bastard, now he needed to turn on him. Sure, he helped her take care of Leo and kept their secrets thus far—but right now he still had the mark and she wanted to ensure he would not abscond with the horcruxes and return them to Riddle.

"You doubt me," Severus said with a scowl on his lips. He wouldn't betray Regulus nor the witch before him. They had always been kind to him even if he rarely wanted to receive or return it. Snape had wanted to fit in, it had been all he ever wanted.

"I want to see your loyalty," Hermione said with a shrug. "We can no longer have anyone sitting on the fence awaiting to see who's the victor." They had two cat-worshippers and a cat within their midst. The older wizard had been the odd man out so to speak and she wanted to ensure everything went smoothly. Even if that meant insulting one of their own.

Snape glared at her, but he did begrudgingly admit to himself he would have done the same and swore himself to the destruction of the horcruxes of Tom Marvolo Riddle. The moment the vow settled a huge smile graced the brunette's face and he felt his shoulders sag in relief. Potter simply wanted the lines drawn and he could respect that. "When the Witching Hour is upon us, you will don the cloak and submerge the horcruxes within the potion."

Dark eyes stared at the youngest member of the group in disbelief. She had told them all stories of how her brother and his friends managed to sneak around at night. Once Regulus and McKinnon had come back with the tale of the hallows, they all pieced together that the cloak was the invisibility cloak. And this little witch was entrusting it to him.

Brown eyes than looked to those familiar silver eyes of the youngest Black. "Finite," Hermione whispered revealing a necklace made of carnelian beads with the resurrection stone embedded in the center. "You will guard him as he destroys the horcruxes, Leo." Hermione then took it off and held to towards her best mate. Regulus grabbed the necklace with wide eyes and a shaky hand. He knew why Bambi gave him the stone. He had no one he would wish to see, nor did he have any desire to use it. But he also knew what hell it was to bring back the dead.

Hermione summoned the elder wand from her thigh-holder and looked, lastly, into the other witch's eyes. "You and I are going to do the most reckless, irresponsible, Gryffindorish thing," the witch said with a nervous chuckle. Marlene also chuckled but it was a brittle one since the older witch saw where this new path will take them. "We're donning our armor," The brunette said softly, repeating the phrase that had led them here, as she handed the death stick to Marlene. The Scottish lass did not hesitate to take the wand with a bloody history. It felt oddly light considering its gory history, but Death had always been the most natural thing so she really shouldn't have been so surprised.

The plan for the witches didn't need to be said. They had fought together before, and this battle plan would be nothing new.

"Fear makes the wolf bigger," © German Proverb

"God may be in the details, but the goddess is in the questions. Once we begin to ask them, there's no turning back." © Gloria Steinem

"Listen child lest you forget, I shall watch you hidden in the shadows. I shall challenge you for your understanding of self and when the time is right, I shall take you with me. For I am the Morrigan, I am the Raven Queen." © Journey to the Void.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would love to hear what you think of it. As a reminder this story will be on hiatus - not abandoned. I except for that to last until at least January of next year.

Kori