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Chapter Text

Being a portrait was an indignity that often felt like a burden too difficult to bear.

For one, Phineas Nigellus Black had to process and accept that he was dead and no longer possessed an actual consciousness like he had when he'd been alive and in possession of a body. No, he was merely a series of tricks, impressions and memories meant to portray the character that he had been when he was in life. And, while he could move from portrait to portrait, there was no way for him to step out of it and into the real world, where he might have some actual freedom for a change.

The second part, which was significantly more galling, was that his essence was goaded into being bound to give aid to whoever the acting Headmaster was at Hogwarts. Salazar, he hadn't even wanted to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts when he was alive! He certainly didn't wish to spend the rest of eternity (or as long as his paint remained vibrant and true) answering to whatever stuffed up wizard was in charge of the school at any particular time.

Yes, with the benefit of hindsight, Phineas could see that agreeing to take the post of Headmaster was absolutely a mistake. He'd been mostly tricked into it, with the promises of the social cachet that came with the appointment. It was meant to elevate his status — something every member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black ought to do — and give him the ability to shape the bright minds of the student body. Not that he did any of the hard work himself, no that he saved for the Deputy Headmistress.

But, the real reason that he'd agreed so readily, if he were being honest with himself, was to get out of Grimmauld Place and away from that shrew of a witch that he was saddled with as a wife. Ursula and Phineas got along like oil and water, despite what their five — no four, he would not think of Phineas, even now — children might have suggested. The less time that he was forced to spend with her, the better.

It was helped that his children were at Hogwarts while he was the Headmaster, so he could keep an eye on them. The eldest, Sirius, named for his departed brother, was there for only a few years, but then came Phineas, Arcturus, Belvina (son petit bijou), and finally Cygnus. As Headmaster, he could ensure that they all kept the family's ideals, all ending up in Slytherin house, all keeping with other purebloods.

All except for Phineas, who'd eschewed his family in favor of muggleborns, those horrid beasts.

Though maybe now, in death, Phineas Nigellus Black could acknowledge the pain of losing his second son for his differing opinions.

But, instead of contemplating that, he was left to listen to Armando Dippet, the old wizard stooped at his desk, reprimanding students, talking about lesson plans with the professors, and courting the Board of Governors... all things that he used to do in life. And, should Dippet deign to ask Phineas for advice, he was meant to snap to attention and give his opinions...opinions that he was bound to give to help the school.

Only, what was this, he wondered? Dippet had more or less raced into the office in the middle of the night, with the matron and a sobbing girl in uniform, before he was firecalling the Ministry. Phineas didn't bother to pretend like he was asleep like all the other portraits, not when this was the first interesting thing to have happened at Hogwarts since he'd died.

It took a while for Dippet to be connected with the Auror in charge and Phineas took the time to observe the girl. She seemed to be a young teenager, maybe a second or third year, though her uniform did not look like what the students wore currently. She had on a Gryffindor colored tie (really, a tie on a girl?) and she was furiously wiping her snotty nose on the rolled up sleeve of her white oxford shirt. Her brown hair was rather ordinary in color, but it seemed to have a life of its own, wild curls that were frizzy to the point that one might describe it as bushy.

She hadn't stopped talking since she'd been ushered into the room and he could see the matron struggling with a vial of Calming Draught, one that she hadn't decided to give yet. "Please, I'm so sorry," the girl kept repeating over and over. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to."

Phineas could scarcely imagine what it was that she'd done that was so awful, but it didn't seem that he was going to get any worthy details until Dippet got hold of the Auror. Once he did, he started to spill all the sordid details, little words whispered into the flicking flames of the fire — found in the castle, claims to be a student, something called a Time Turner, 1993, Hermione Granger.

Salazar, Phineas could hardly stop his mind from spinning, thinking about all the possibilities of what this meant. This girl — this witch, Hermione Granger — represented a special tool that should only be in the most careful of hands, lest she cause undo changes because of her future knowledge. It did not take Phineas long to decide that the only family that should have that sort of power would be the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Dippet had barely gotten through arrangements to take the errant student to the Ministry where they would decide what to do with her before he was racing back to his portrait at Grimmauld Place where his son Sirius still lived.

"Sirius!"

"You must wake up, master!"

"Sirius!" the furious hiss continued. "Wake up, you damnable lush! I am still your father and you will listen to me."

Sirius Black blinked awake, groggy and confused. He shoved away the little hand that was tugging at his dress sleeve, frightening his father's former house elf. He looked around, he must have fallen asleep in the library again, where he'd been drinking well into the night. His neck ached something fierce. He was really too old to keep doing this.

"Scrope!" he barked, blearily staring at the house elf that was still on his arse on the floor. "I thought I told you to help me to my bed if I fall asleep in the library."

"I tried, master," Scrope cried. "I will go punish myself."

"You will do no such thing," the booming voice from the portrait growled.

Sirius scoffed. "You do not control him anymore, father," he said with a smirk. "Scrope is bound to me and me alone now."

"We do not have time for this," his father's portrait hissed.

"Well, get on with it, then," Sirius ordered. "My head aches fiercely and I'd rather be sleeping this off."

He didn't often overindulge with alcohol, but it was getting more and more frequent, to the point that he had his gibson every evening before dinner with its delightful little onion garnish, elf wine with his meal, before retiring to the library for a generous pour of whiskey. And he so loved the cocktails that they had at the Knotgrass Club, made with their signature mead, so he would sometimes stop in after concluding his business at the Wizengamot.

"Salazar help me! My son is a drunk!" Phineas said with a sneer.

Sirius couldn't disagree more with his father's assessment. Who cared if he liked his drinks? It wasn't as if he had a wife to keep happy anymore — Hesper having died over a decade prior. And, all of his children were grown and out of the house. Besides, since he had his bout of Dragon pox, the one that had nearly taken his eyesight, he had decided to live life to the fullest. And that meant enjoying himself. And he enjoyed drinking.

"I can always put your portrait in storage," he threatened, even though it was little more than an empty threat. He enjoyed speaking with his father too much, on the rare occasions that Phineas appeared at Grimmauld Place.

"There is no time to explain," Phineas said. "They have taken a girl to the Ministry. You need to go there and claim her."

"A student?" he questioned, wondering just what his father could want with a girl.

"In a way," his father said, cryptically. "But, they will find someone to take custody of her and you need to be that person, Sirius. She should be in the hands of the House of Black."

"You aren't making any sense," the younger wizard said, with a scowl on his face. He looked at the clock and realized the time. It was the middle of the night. "It's the hour of the wolf. I hardly believe that anyone will be at the Ministry."

"I knew that I should have gone to Belvina," Phineas said, rubbing a hand across his forehead, even though he was a portrait and he could not feel it.

"You know that her husband doesn't allow her to keep your portrait at home," Sirius said, a bit too gleefully. "A bit controlling of him, but after all, you did arrange the match."

"Sirius! I am ordering you to go do this," he insisted, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I am Head of House now, father, or have you forgotten?" Sirius asked, arching an eyebrow. But, at the same time, he knew that something had obviously gotten his father this riled up so it probably deserved looking into. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to find when he got to the Ministry, but he hoped that it would be worth it. "At least I am already dressed. I can leave right away."

He stood up from his spot on the settee and grimaced at the wrinkles in his dress robes. A quick flick of his wand had eased the offending puckers and brought his grey hair into a neat fashion once again. He grabbed a bit of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace, towards his uncertain future.

His father had been shouting instructions at him the whole time, so he knew that he would need to go see the Head Auror. Sirius walked there directly, his steps echoing in the empty halls of the Ministry. An unsettling feeling took over him.

When he arrived, he could see a group of wizards huddled together, in quiet conversation, while a small witch sat on the other side of some observation glass. Quite the impressive group of wizards had congregated — Head Auror Adams, Hogwarts Headmaster Dippet, Chief Warlock Gamp (Hesper's insufferable cousin), Minister for Magic Spencer-Moon, Wizengamot Minority Leader Brutus Malfoy (that slippery snake) and of course, Majority Leader Shafiq.

"Black?" Malfoy called out, upon seeing him. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"I heard that there was a child here without a home," he said, nodding towards the little girl. "I've come to claim her."

"Claim her? That's highly unusual, Black," Spencer-Moon hemmed and hawed.

"Yes, but under provision 5, subsection F of the Statute of Filial and Dependent Magic, it's within my right to take custody of the witch," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why?" Shafiq demanded, suspicious as ever. Salazar, he hated the wizard.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, not really able to come up with a suitable excuse. He couldn't very well say that his father demanded he do it. "The Black family has long been interested in ensuring that wizarding youth are properly cared for, especially since my father, the late Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black saw the power of shaping the bright minds of the next generation," he lied through his teeth.

"So it has nothing to do with the fact that she's a time traveler?" Gamp asked, skeptical as well.

"She's a child, I am sure that she will forget about that fancy soon enough," Sirius reassured him. "She needs a home. Allow me to provide one to her."

"Oh please, Sirius. What do you know about raising a child?" his former cousin-in-law sneered. "You must have some ulterior motive."

"You got me. Clever as always, Archibald," Sirius said, with a smirk. "Truth is, I've been so lonely since Hesper passed and the girl can be my companion."

"I find this all very strange," Brutus said, looking like he knew something that Sirius didn't. "After all, a muggleborn being claimed by the House of Black. Forgive me, but your family's opinions on muggleborns is well known."

Blast, Sirius thought. Of course that would be it. How could his father not warn him that she was a mudblood? A lesser man would have flinched, but Sirius had a firm grip on his reactions since he was a child and didn't even hint that anything was amiss.

"You have my vow as a wizard that I will not harm the girl," he said honestly, needing this conversation to be over. "Now, no one else has claimed her, so you must relinquish her into my custody. Or would you like me to begin quoting provisions again?"

Adams sighed, but he nodded in agreement. "He is right about the law," the Head Auror conceded. "I will go let Hermione know the news."

Sirius smiled broadly, pleased that he had at least one person on his side in this fight — and really the only one that mattered. He was sure that Malfoy or Shafiq even would have tried to snap her up if they'd thought through the implications of having a time traveler in their hands (even if she was a muggleborn as Brutus claimed).

He rocked back on his heels, a serene look plastered on his face, while he waited for them to collect his new charge so that he could take her back to Grimmauld Place.

It was nearly dawn by the time that Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place with his new charge — Hermione — in tow. She must have been exhausted, her face haunted and stained with tears, because she didn't even put up a fight about being toddled off with some strange adult man. Maybe it was the more kindly Dippet giving her a pat on the head and promising that everything would work out that had done it.

Sirius wasn't entirely sure what to do with the girl once he got her back home. Archibald hadn't been wrong. It had been decades since he'd last had children in the house and when he had he'd left the childrearing to Hesper (though, perhaps to his detriment).

He stared at her, in her odd looking Hogwarts uniform, and realized that if she was going to be living with him, she would need some place to sleep. He'd called for Scrope and ordered the old thing to prepare Belvina's old room for her. Hermione had been affronted at him owning a house elf and had said as much, which made Scrope clutch his chest in horror, before he stomped away, muttering about having the honor to be Apollonia Black's house elf and then the great Phineas Nigellus before being saddled with the drunkard.

While they waited for Scrope to have the room prepared, Sirius poured her a nip of firewhiskey and himself a more generous finger. She'd stared up at him in horror when he pressed the heavy glass in her hand. "I can't drink this," she said seriously. "I'm only thirteen."

Sirius snorted into his glass. "Drink up," he'd ordered. "It will help you sleep."

She waffled for a bit, but she ultimately did as she was told. That was good, he decided. He'd stupidly trusted his father and taken the girl in, but if she was going to be mouthy and combative then he was in for several years of fury. When she was done, he walked her through the gleaming townhouse, up the stairs to the top most floor.

Belvina's bedroom had the best view of the garden. Nothing but the best for his father's favorite child. What was it that he'd called her? Bijou? Belvina was no more a treasure than she was a harpy. After all, she'd eagerly left the family to marry that horrid Burke and then she carelessly threw their father's love away. It was still much untouched, as none of Sirius's four children had wanted it, but maybe now that it was going to be Hermione's, he could remove the traces of his sister from his home for good.

Hermione was bone tired. She barely even flinched at Scrope fluffing the pillows on the bed before she fell into it, lightly snoring to herself.

Sirius finally retreated to the library then, feeling his lack of sleep as well. But, he would rest when he was dead, he decided.

His father was waiting in his portrait when he arrived. "Well?" he demanded, barely giving Sirius a chance to pour himself a drink. "Where is she?"

"Asleep. I put her in Belvina's old room," he answered, unable to stop his smirk at the purplish color his father's face turned. He really ought to look into magical paintings so that he could figure out how they got the reactions to look so natural. "She's out like a light, though, so don't expect me to go waking her to speak to you."

"Good," his father answered, pleased that things had gone to his ultimate plan.

"She's a mudblood, did you know that? Salazar, I have taken a mudblood under my protection and now she sleeps under my roof!" Sirius said, feeling his blood pressure rise as he thought through all of the implications. What would the rest of the family think when they heard the news? "What in the hell am I supposed to do with a mudblood?"

"Well, what did you tell them at the Ministry?" the painting questioned.

"That I was lonely and in need of a companion," Sirius said, flopping onto the settee.

"Let her be your companion, then," Phineas shrugged. "Give her a little time to adjust. Then, find out what she knows from her future. Extract any information worth knowing, anything that might bring our House to greatness. This is simply an opportunity that we cannot give up."

"And, if what she knows proves useless? She's only thirteen. She probably doesn't know much of anything at all," he said, with a frown.

"Once you've gotten everything that you can out of her, then cut her loose," he said, ambivalently. "I don't care what you do with her. She's only a mudblood, after all."

"Right," Sirius said, before yawning. "I better go to bed. I'll have to be up in only an hour or two."

He didn't wait for his father to answer, fleeing the library as quickly as he could. Something about the cavalier way his father suggested throwing away Hermione made his stomach twist. He barely knew the poor chit, but she was just a child, with big doe eyes. She had no idea where she was or who had taken responsibility for her. He was sure that she would have asked to go to anyone else if she knew his family's reputation.

No, throwing her away didn't sound like a suitable option for Sirius. He would just have to find a way to make her useful.

Chapter Text

His new mudblood ward slept through the whole next day. While Sirius wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, he'd ultimately decided that time travel must be exhausting work, especially considering that she was meant to have fallen through decades if Dippet and his father were to be believed. She was supposed to be from the 1990s, a year so distant in the future that it was almost difficult for Sirius to wrap his head around.

He certainly wouldn't be alive in the 1990s. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for a wizard to live into his 100s, but Sirius could just tell that he wasn't going to be getting there. Dragon Pox had weakened him somewhat, though he would admit that fact to no one, and he wasn't exactly helping matters by getting pickled whenever he fancied (which happened to be most days, as it was).

After he'd gotten a bit of sleep himself, Sirius found himself looking forward to the idea of talking with the girl about what the future had in store, if not for himself and his family, but then generally. Of course, the Black family would be going strong, as it always had, but there was no denying that her future knowledge could help them get an even bigger leg up.

But, he was even more curious about what things would have changed. Obviously mudbloods were still allowed at Hogwarts, but his mind swirled with possibilities of the future. Did they manage international portkeys? What new Transfiguration had been crafted? Obviously they had developed a way to move through time, but what frontiers had been crossed in love magic, death magic? What had become of Brutus Malfoy and his awful little son, Abraxas? Did anyone still know their names?

Finally, he was beginning to understand his father's vision and insistence that having Hermione under their control would be a crucial asset. He could only imagine if she had gone with Brutus.

Sirius was surprised to realize that he was more than a little bit relieved when Hermione trudged down the stairs on her second morning in Grimmauld Place, looking delightfully rumpled still in her strange looking Hogwarts uniform. She stilled when she saw him step out into the hallway.

"Mr. Black," she said in greeting, her brown eyes wide.

"You may call me Sirius, Hermione," he said, softly, like he didn't want to scare her away like a skittish animal. Though, that's sort of what she was, he supposed. "I trust that you slept well?"

She stared at him, chewing on her lower lip while she considered his question. "Yes, Sirius, thank you," she said. "Though I feel a bit like I was hit by a truck."

"A truck?" he asked, sounding amused.

"It's a muggle mode of transportation —"

"I know what a truck is," Sirius huffed, feeling annoyed that this little chit thought that he wasn't a learned man. "I am familiar with the muggle war machine."

Hermione looked as though she were fighting off a goofy little grin. "Well then... I just mean, I'm still exhausted and a bit sore," she explained.

Sirius nodded. "Not surprising, considering you've traveled nearly half a century through time. I imagine that would be hard on the body," he conceded. "And I suppose, you might be hungry as well?"

Her stomach betrayed her, growling loud enough so that he could hear it. Hermione's cheeks flushed a pretty color of pink and she nodded. "Yes, I'm famished," she agreed.

"Scrope!" Sirius shouted, even as the young girl flinched. The house elf popped to his side immediately. "You may now serve breakfast for Hermione and myself."

Again, the girl looked like she was going to say something about his use of a house elf, but she obviously thought better of it, if it meant the difference between eating or not. Instead, she followed dutifully behind him, making note of where the dining room was in relation to the main staircase. Sirius showed her to what was going to become her spot at the table and she sat at it, looking like quite the demure witch.

Well, at least she had some manners, he thought to himself.

Scrope reappeared after a few minutes with a massive plate of Belgian waffles, topped with a pat of butter and swimming in syrup. Hermione gave the surly elf a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Scrope," she said, politely, before lifting her fork and tucking in. The poor elf had no idea what to do with the polite words being directed towards him. Blacks were not thankful for the work that house elves did, as a general rule. If Sirius wasn't wrong, he thought that the elf might even be blushing!

The girl was hungry, hardly pausing to breathe between bites, but she quickly gained control of herself and slowed down. Sirius felt that he could see the wheels turning in her mind, even as her gaze remained fixed on the plate.

She looked ordinary, but pretty, with brown hair and eyes. Her hair was a bit wild, sharing some of the curls that ran in his family. Perhaps with a bit of help, her hair could be tamed into something better, he mused. He would need to ask Lycoris, though he knew that his daughter was not likely to be helpful about this. Funny thing, bloodlines.

"Tell me about yourself, Hermione," he found himself ordering. He was curious about this little time traveler — more curious than he cared to admit.

Hermione set her fork down delicately. "My name is Hermione Granger. I was born in 1979. My parents are muggles," she said, her cheeks bright red. "I just started my third year at Hogwarts. I'm a Gryffindor. I had a time turner because I wanted to take two classes that were held at the same time, but the chain got tangled in the turning mechanism and —"

"You enjoy your studies?" he asked, pleased that she seemed to at least have half a brain.

"Yes, very much, but the fact that this whole mess was caused because I felt the need to take Divinations makes me so mad!" she said, petulantly.

Sirius chuckled, hearing that. "You don't care much for prophecies and fortunes?" he asked.

"No. It all seems very false to me. I find it incredibly dubious that our Professor actually could teach someone if they didn't have the Sight," she explained.

He nodded, considering her words. "Well, lucky for my family, we have a genuine future teller now," he said.

"Mr. Bl— Sirius? Who?" she asked, looking so small at the massive dining table.

"You, of course," he said. "Who better to tell us our fortunes than someone who has lived the future?"

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth again. "Who is to say that the future I came from is even to come to pass now that I'm here? Maybe my presence will change everything so terribly as to make it unrecognizable," she said, after a beat.

"A philosopher, too," he mused, thinking that she did have a good mind, if nothing else. "What is of most value to me and my family is to hear about ourselves. Surely you are familiar with the Black family, even in 1990?"

"1994," she corrected, before thinking over his words. Then she shook her head slowly. "No, sir. I'm afraid that... well, the only Black that I've ever heard of is Sirius Black. And he's only known for being in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Sirius demanded, wondering if it was him or some unfortunate future namesake. "Whatever for?" Certainly there was no way his family would allow one of their own to rot away in Azkaban prison.

"Mass murder," she said gravely. "He killed a bunch of muggles. And this year, he became the first person to escape from Azkaban. He's on the run, still. Oh Godric, Harry!" she added, pressing her hands to her face.

Sirius knew that it was probably polite to ask who had her so worried, but frankly, he didn't care. What he cared about was learning that his family was obviously in far more dire straits than he ever could have imagined! How was it possible that the only Black she knew was a criminal? The Blacks should be running the Wizengamot! Leading the Board of Governors of Hogwarts! Moving the levers of power anywhere that they could!

"Sirius?" she asked, her voice hollow and small. "Why did you take me in?"

He wasn't entirely sure how to answer that. He didn't think that his ego could suffer telling this child that he'd only done it because his father — a bloody portrait — had told him to. "I didn't want your knowledge to fall into the wrong hands," he soothed after a few moments of silence. "And, I think that you can be happy here, at Grimmauld Place."

That was decidedly not the reason that he had done it, but she certainly didn't need to know that.

When her plate was cleared, he realized that she hadn't had the chance to explore her new home yet and so he ordered her to follow. He walked her through floor by floor, showing her the parlor and his study and the dining room, of course. He showed her the small conservatory at the back of the house. He showed her the library and didn't miss the way her eyes lit up at the brief sight of all the books, but he didn't want to chance running into his father's portrait again, and so he promised her free reign later. He showed her the floor that contained his room, and all the guest rooms on the floors between his and the one she resided in, which had housed his own children at one point. They stopped in front of her own room and Sirius pushed inside so that he could show her the closet and wardrobe that she might not have noticed as well as the en suite bathroom, complete with her own tub.

"I had Scrope bring out some of Belvina's old trunks yesterday and locate any clothing that would be suitable to you," he explained.

"Belvina?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Ah, yes, my sister," he explained. "You may help yourself to any of these robes that you like. I wasn't sure what would fit you, so I will leave the choice up to you."

"Thank you," she said, looking at him wide-eyed, before he realized that she might want to be alone before changing. Obviously, she didn't want to get dressed in front of a strange wizard that she hardly knew!

"I will leave you. When you are changed, you may meet me in the parlor to begin your lessons," he instructed.

"Lessons? Oh — who is this?" she asked, practically squealing when she saw the little grey creature on her bed. She ran over to the small cat and gave him a scratch behind the ears. The cat perked up, his golden eyes staring at his new companion and started to purr so loud, it seemed to reverberate through the room.

"Mercurius," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes. "He seems to think that he is the master of this house and may go wherever he pleases. You may remove him from your room if you wish."

"Remove — oh! No, he can... he can stay," Hermione said, a small smile on her face, completely wrapped up in the cat, who had rolled onto his back so that he could be scratched on the belly.

Sirius grinned in spite of himself and left Hermione and Mercurius to her new wardrobe.

Grimmauld Place was a strange home, Hermione decided. She'd only been living in the posh townhouse for a few days, but she already felt like she had gotten used to it. It was a rotten sort of feeling, how easy it was to adapt to this new life, away from her friends and family.

The wizards at the Ministry had told her that there was no way for her to be returned to her proper time, no matter how much she wished for it, so they were going to find a family for her to live with. Sirius Black was not the sort of family that she was expecting to find and Grimmauld Place was not the home she'd envisioned, either.

It was a perfectly lovely home, with plenty of space and luxurious appointments, but it felt like it was fading somehow... Well, not somehow, Hermione thought to herself. It was obvious why it was fading. Sirius lived here all by himself (not counting Scrope, which she did) and mainly puttered between two or three rooms. The rest of the rooms were not often used or aired out, as evidenced by the dust she found in several of the guest rooms.

Even the parlor, where she and Sirius spent several afternoons reviewing the gigantic family tapestry that was hung up, had a shabby sort of quality that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She had been excited to hear that Sirius was going to begin to give her lessons, but she had been disappointed to learn that she was going to be tutored in Black family history. She didn't particularly care about the Black family, even though she was under their care now, but she did have some innate need to do well — to be the best — so if Sirius wanted her to learn about his family, she supposed that she would be the historian.

She would sit on one of the settees and stare up at the massive tapestry while Sirius walked her through different branches of the family tree, waxing rhapsodic about the oldest generations of Blacks. Artemisia Black had been a widely respected practitioner of blood magic — one of the last greats to practice since the Ministry had cracked down on the branch. Licorus Black had ruled the Wizengamot with an iron fist (and is who Sirius had chosen to name his daughter after).

Hermione was tickled to learn that the tradition of using celestial names had been started not by a Black, but by Lyra Nott, who married Helius Black. According to Sirius, it took a little bit of convincing, but she had so many children that she eventually named one Cygnus and it all spiraled from there. The first Sirius showed up in the next generation and then another Cygnus, an Arcturus, and so on. Sirius himself had an Arcturus and a Regulus to go along with the previously mentioned Lycoris, his only daughter.

It seemed that the room she was living in had previously belonged to Sirius's sister, Belvina. She had gone on to marry a wizard called Herbert Burke and when Hermione asked if it was the same Burke who owned the antique shop in Knockturn Alley, Sirius looked at her with a pleased grin.

"Yes. Can you imagine something so common for a daughter of the House of Black?" he asked, sounding perfectly scandalized. "But I suppose Herbert paid father a lot of money for her."

She was aghast to hear that. She picked up the cat that had been settled on her lap and pulled him close to her chest. It was Vesper, she thought, but she always got him and Lucifer confused, since they both had soft, white fur.

Belvina also had two sons and a daughter. Apparently, Burke claimed that their bloodline went back millenia and had the names to prove it: Caractus, Morcant, and Guenbrith. From what she could tell, Sirius had a lot of mixed feelings about Belvina. It had become clear that she was doted on by her father and he was a bit resentful of the fact, but he'd obviously cared enough about her to keep all of her childhood things untouched, though she did not think that Belvina would like to hear that a muggleborn was now wearing all of her dresses.

"And this here is my brother Cygnus's branch," he said, pointing in the direction of a particular tree.

Only, Hermione noticed with a wince, it wasn't Cygnus that he was pointing to. It was Arcturus. She bit her lip for a second, wondering if he was going to realize his mistake or if she should correct him.

"He passed two years ago, but his wife Violetta still lives, as do their four — no, wait, three?"

He struggled for a moment, wondering why there were only three children instead of two, but it was of course, because Arcturus had only three children to begin with. Sirius squinted at the family tree, trying to work out where he'd gone wrong and it was then that Hermione realized that he must be struggling with the small print on the wall.

"Excuse me, Sirius, but that is Arcturus's family and his wife Lysandra," she said, softly, hoping that her voice was completely non-judgemental. She knew that it wasn't unusual for older people to struggle with their sight and she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable that she'd noticed either.

"Oh, right," he said, deflating a bit. It was unusual to see the normally proud (bordering on arrogant, if she was honest) wizard looking so dejected. But then he squared his shoulders, ran a hand through his greying hair, and continued with his lesson. "Arcturus and his wife Lysandra have three daughters. Callidora, who married a Longbottom. Charis married a Crouch if you can believe that. And the other one —"

He floundered for a moment, trying to remember the name. Hermione looked and saw that it was another person who'd had their face burned away, even if the name remained. "Cedrella," she provided helpfully.

"Ah, yes, Cedrella," he nodded.

"Why are some people's faces burnt away?" Hermione asked, looking at the tapestry with a tilted head. "Was there some sort of fire here? Couldn't it be repaired?"

"Ah, yes, well, those are people who have been disowned from the family," he said, solemnly.

"Disowned?" Hermione asked, thinking that it sounded like an awful sort of concept. "What for? What did Cedrella do?"

"She married a Weasley," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "They're blood traitors."

"Oh," Hermione said, a vice tightening around her heart when she thought of Ron and Ginny and even Fred, George and Percy and how she would never see them again. Or Harry. Godric, it still made her cry herself to sleep every night when she thought of how alone she was. Except for Sirius, she supposed. "And what did... What did your brother Phineas do?"

Sirius had skipped right over his brother Phineas in the tree and no family information was available. It felt a bit impertinent to ask, but she was curious.

"He was a great supporter of muggle rights," Sirius said, with a frown.

Hermione felt an unexpected nervousness twist in her belly when she began to put two and two together of why family members were disowned and what that meant for her. "Aren't you worried about being disowned now that you've taken a... a muggleborn ward?" she pressed.

Sirius laughed for just a moment, before he came to join her on the settee. Saturnus, the little grey striped cat (and Sirius's favorite of the six, though he would never admit to it), came and pressed himself against his legs. "No, because I am the paterfamilias — the head of the House of Black. Whatever I say is what the rest of the family will do. I am in charge," he explained, gruffly. "They cannot tell me what to do."

"What if they picked a new paterfamilias?" she asked, uncertain of the concept.

"I will hold the mantle until I die and a new paterfamilias is selected," he said. "It's not merely ceremonial — it's magical in nature and they couldn't wrest it from me if they wanted to. They would have to kill me and... it's considered extremely bad luck to kill a family member."

"Okay," Hermione said, feeling a little bit better, but not entirely. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to live as a muggleborn in this muggleborn hating family.

"So, you do not have to worry," he said, giving her a little pat on the knee.

But Hermione did worry. She knew that her position in this world hinged on one wizard: Sirius Black. And she would need to keep him happy if she wanted to remain well cared for. She decided then that she was going to do whatever it took to keep him happy — starting with memorizing this insane family tree.

"Shall we continue with Cygnus's branch?" she asked, looking at him hopefully.

Sirius gave her a pleased look, before he stood up and began pointing at the family tree. "Yes, my brother Cygnus. As I said before he is married to Violetta and they have four children. Pollux, the eldest, is married to Irma and they, in turn, have three children — Walburga, Alphard and Cygnus."

"The third Cygnus?" Hermione asked, helpfully, wanting to show that she was paying attention.

"Excellent eye, Hermione," he said, giving her that pleased sort of look again. "I'm glad to hear that this is all sinking in. I expect you to have the family memorized from front to back — same as any other child of the House of Black."

He didn't quite say that she was family — real family — but it was enough of a crumb that it gave Hermione hope that she might bed down and find a life here in 1945 after all, even if she was a muggleborn in a family that seemed to despise them.

When Sirius announced that they would be dining that evening at the Knotgrass Club, Hermione felt a flutter of excitement in her belly. Since she'd been released into Sirius's care, she hadn't been allowed to leave Grimmauld Place. Well, it wasn't as though she had asked to leave, but Sirius had not offered to take her with him when he had his meetings outside of the house. Instead, he left her to Scrope's watchful (suspicious) eye.

Her days had devolved into studying the Black family tree, though she had met no other Blacks outside of Sirius. Still, she would sit at attention, absorbing all of Sirius's lessons about his various family members until she felt like she knew them.

But, she couldn't pretend like she enjoyed the lessons. Sure, it was fine in the beginning, but it had been days of the same now, and she was eager to get out of the house, even if she had no idea what the Knotgrass Club was or why it necessitated Scrope picking out a dress for her. He'd selected a high collared dress in navy blue, fitted in the torso but with voluminous sleeves and an even more voluminous skirt. She felt a bit silly, but then again, she didn't know much about wizarding fashion in the 1940s.

"Do I look alright, Mr. Scrope?" she asked the elderly house elf, tentatively, and she only received a scowl in return. Mercurius batted at her skirts as she left her bedroom to meet Sirius in the parlor.

Sirius himself seemed pleased enough to see her in her dress, so she assumed that it must have been okay. She took his offered arm and allowed him to side-along apparate her to Diagon Alley. She sighed in relief at seeing the familiar locale, even if many of the buildings were different. There were still some familiar facades that made it feel a bit like coming home.

First, they stopped into Kraken's, where Sirius had some expensive ink on order. Truly, even for her own time, the price would have been considered exorbitant, but Sirius Black did not bat an eye. And the shopkeeper did not bat an eye at the strange witch that was trailing after him, taking the parcel from his hands without question.

Then, they slipped into the tobacconist, where Sirius looked over various cigars, asking to see different ones and smelling them carefully for the quality of their contents. Here, he haggled a bit with the shopkeeper before settling on a price a bit lower than what was being asked for. Sirius bought her a piece of the confectionary that the man had behind the counter, too. She was unaccustomed to getting sweeties — her parents detested them — but she popped it into her mouth all the same, enjoying the lavender flavor that she was not expecting it to have.

Finally, they made their way to the Knotgrass Club, when the air was starting to grow a bit colder. Hermione trailed after Sirius like a puppy, not wanting to get separated, and nearly bumped into him when the valet stopped them abruptly.

"She is not welcome here," the valet said, not even bothering to look at Hermione.

Sirius just frowned. "She is my ward. She may go wherever I say that she can," he said, looking at the man imperiously.

"The Knotgrass Club does not allow women," he said, more firmly than before.

"Well, good thing that she's not a woman, then," Sirius said, smugly. "She's just a girl. Come along, Hermione."

Sirius breezed past the valet and Hermione hurried after him, not wanting to face what would happen if the valet were to try to stop her. She turned back to look at him and found him looking concerned, but ultimately not willing to go up against Sirius Black.

She had known that Sirius must be important. If he'd managed to convince the men at the Ministry to just hand her over to him, he must have some kind of power. But even here, that he flouted the rules at a social club like this? He must not have a single care about what the repercussions would be, which meant that there weren't likely to be any. She filed that away.

As she noted, the Knotgrass Club was a social club for influential wizards. The main bar area was smallish, but extremely luxurious — gleaming, polished wood table tops and buttery, dark leather chairs, white table cloths and pale green accents, the same color as the plant the club was named for. The lighting was kept low, so it was difficult for Hermione to recognize many faces, but it seemed as if Sirius was well-known there. Almost everyone that they walked by nodded to him, though she saw one wizard that tried to keep from meeting his eye.

Further, Sirius seemed to have a regular table, in a back corner, away from the hustle and bustle near the bar. He sat at the table gracefully, but did not have the forethought to pull out her chair for her. Hermione stood awkwardly until he indicated that she should take her place across from him.

The barkeep approached them as soon as they were seated. He looked at Hermione warily, before he turned all his attention to Sirius. "What can I get you tonight, Mr. Black?"

"I'll have a Knotgrass Club," he ordered, like he didn't have a care in the world. "And, if you have any left in the shaker when you are done, bring the extra to her. And she will have water."

"Sir?" the barman asked, looking at Sirius like he'd grown a second head.

"Just pour the extra in a little glass and bring it to the table," Sirius groused. "I know that you usually have a heavy hand."

The wizard walked away in a flash and Sirius smirked at his retreating form. He leaned over towards Hermione and gave her a conspiratorial look. "How is your palette?" he asked.

Hermione wasn't really sure what he was asking. "I don't know what you mean. I don't drink," she said, remembering that they'd talked about this once before. "I am only thirteen, though I'll be fourteen soon."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "You don't need to drink to develop a palette. How are you and tasting individual notes, flavors? Can you scent potions ingredients?" he asked, looking at her skeptically.

She relaxed a bit. She looked around, thinking about Knotgrass and how she'd used it to brew polyjuice potion in the girls' lavatory only a few months prior. That was a NEWT level potion. "I'm an excellent potioneer," she told him, simply.

"And humble at that," he countered.

"I don't see the point in being humble about something that is a fact. I've never seen the point in dimming the areas where I shine," she said, jutting her chin in the air.

Sirius studied her carefully, before he nodded in approval. "Good. Keep that in mind, it will serve you well," he said. "So, you can brew."

"I've already brewed polyjuice potion on my own," she said, furrowing her brows, feeling like she could get in trouble for admitting it, even now. "I can easily identify potions by scent and sight."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, before he schooled his features. "I want to figure out how to make this Club's cocktail. They've been hoarding the recipe for too long," he told her after a moment. "So, take little sips. Make note of what you taste."

Before they could discuss it more, the bartender was back, with a coupe glass and a strange looking cocktail for Sirius. It was an opaque, pale green with a pure white foam on top and a little garnish of knotgrass resting across it. He set a slim glass in front of Hermione, with just a bit of the pale green liquid and a slight layer of foam on top — maybe only enough for a swallow or two.

"We have our new menu tonight, as well," the barman said, before handing it to Sirius. "What would you like this evening, Sir?"

"Well, I —" Sirius hummed and hawed.

Hermione watched as he stared at the menu in front of him, squinting at the small text. She bit her lower lip when she realized what was happening. She had suspected, due to a few incidents at Grimmauld Place, that Sirius could not see very well. And, a new menu in the low light and small text, she could just tell that he was worried about making a mistake in front of someone else.

She made a calculated decision. "Excuse me, Mr. Black, but could I see the menu? I haven't eaten here before," she said, before plucking it out of his hand and looking it over. "I am sure I should ask you for your suggestion, as you are certainly familiar with the menu. What would you suggest? The steak frites or the prime rib and mash? Or perhaps the roasted chicken with seasonal vegetables? Or the sole? What do you think I should get?"

The barkeep now turned his attention to the small witch who simply should not be there, babbling away, and Hermione clammed up, hoping that she hadn't completely overstepped. He took the menu back from her with a sneer. "I did not think the Miss would be eating," he said with a frown.

But, her gamble had paid off. Sirius was looking at her with a calculating sort of appreciation. "I will have the prime rib," he said, before adding, "and the Miss will have the sole."

Hermione was not used to having food be ordered for her, but she was grateful to have Sirius do it. She didn't want to risk ordering something that was too expensive or... just not right for her. She was certainly not used to eating at establishments like the Knotgrass Club.

The barman left with a sniff, not happy at having to serve her, but certainly not willing to go against Sirius Black. Sirius did not say anything to Hermione about her little save, instead, turning his attention to the room. He waved over one wizard and they spoke in hushed tones about something to do at the Wizengamot that she couldn't quite follow. But, when Sirius's friend left, her curiosity got the better of her.

"You are a member of the Wizengamot?" she asked, taking her first tentative sip of her drink, mentally calculating the tasting notes she could sense. It was an explosion of flavors, but the most prominent was, of course, the knotgrass.

"Yes, I represent the Ancient and Noble House of Black," he explained. "One of the seats that is granted via inheritance."

"And how many inherited seats are there?" she asked, wondering who else had a seat granted just by being born.

"Forty-two. The remaining fifty-eight seats are elected," he said, with a scowl. "Don't they teach you anything about the government at that damned school?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing," she said, wondering why that was. "I don't know how a muggleborn would even learn how it all works."

"Sirius Black, as I live and breathe," a voice cut into their conversation. Hermione looked up at the wizard who had approached their table. He was average height and build, but that white blond hair and pointy, angular features made him immediately recognizable as a Malfoy. "They told me you bullied your way into bringing a witch in here, but I wouldn't dare to imagine it was your mudblood."

She immediately bristled at being called a slur, almost like she wasn't really there.

"She is my ward, of course I brought her with me," Sirius said, all smiles and doing absolutely nothing to defend himself or his behavior. He didn't see the need for it, obviously.

"I didn't think you were serious about keeping a muggleborn pet," the wizard said with a sneer.

"Brutus, I worry when you think anything at all," Sirius answered with a sneer. "Leave the ruminations to more intelligent wizards."

Brutus (Malfoy, again, she assumed) bristled at being called out, but before he could think of some witty retort, their plates were deposited on the table in front of them and he seemed even more aghast that Hermione was eating there. "Salazar, and you are spending money on her?" he asked, before staring at Hermione. "You, girl, do you have any idea how much this meal costs?"

Hermione copied Sirius and sneered at the intruding wizard, before looking at her guardian. "For as much as Malfoys love to throw around their money, he sure seems awfully worried about how you spend your money," she said. "Maybe his pockets are not as deep as he would like you to believe."

Sirius barked out a laugh and Hermione preened, glad that she hadn't overstepped too much. Brutus went an odd shade of puce, but had no easy retort for her. "Are you going to let your mudblood speak to me like that?" he demanded.

"She might be a mudblood, but she is a ward of the House of Black," Sirius said. "And she can talk to you however she'd like because of it. Now, leave us, Brutus. I would like to eat my meal in peace."

Brutus stood there awkwardly for a minute, before he stomped away, obviously still furious. Hermione could feel Sirius's grey eyes studying her. He had a fond sort of smile on his face. "Ah Bijou, you are familiar with the Malfoys, then, are you?" he asked, knowingly.

Hermione felt her cheeks go pink at the term of endearment and wondered if he'd even realized he'd called her that. "Yes, and they are still unpleasant in my time," she said, thinking about Draco Malfoy and his smug face, always bleating about his father and what he could do. But, she got the feeling that Lucius Malfoy's political cache paled in comparison to that of Sirius Black's. He certainly didn't go around announcing to everyone who he was. He simply did what he wanted.

"They can't help it that they are so ghastly. They come from new money and they can't help but want to flash it," he explained, like she would know exactly what he meant. "Brutus thrice great-grandfather bought one of the inherited seats in the Wizengamot a century ago, but we haven't forgotten. How is the sole?"

"It's the best fish I've ever eaten," Hermione said, honestly. Knowing that Malfoy thought it wasn't meant for her only made it taste better. "The drink is excellent as well — I like the balance of the sweetness and the bitterness of the knotgrass."

"Ah, that's the knotgrass mead," Sirius said, sniffing at his drink. "I am sure you haven't had it before, so I will have to give you a nip when we get home."

Yes, Grimmauld Place. That was home now, it seemed. And, with Sirius as her guardian, she thought that she might just be able to find a place in this time, if she could make herself invaluable to him.

Chapter Text

It was August. When Hermione had been pulled back through time, it had been mid-September, not even her birthday yet. But the time turner did not care where it dropped her and so it had been summer when she arrived unceremoniously in 1945.

Was she technically fourteen now? Did she have a new birthday? Hermione contemplated trying to work out the number of days to determine when she should celebrate another 365 days on Earth, but she decided against it. She had already had to shed so much about herself when she came to the past, she wasn't going to give up the day she came into the world, too.

The longer she stayed here, the easier it was to forget the future that she'd come from. As the weeks wore on, she became less worried about Harry and Voldemort or even about never seeing her parents again. In the early days, she had fantasized about figuring out some way to get back to her proper time. She knew that it was a silly idea, especially considering that time turners hadn't even been invented yet. Still, there was something intoxicating about the idea of coming home — how relieved Harry and Ron would be to see her, glad to have her back because they were completely helpless without her.

But now... now she knew that it was silly to dwell on. The longer she stayed in the past, the further apart she would be from the girl who'd first come back. How could she return a year or two older than she left and expect to slot back into place? And if she went forward, past the day she left, so that she was still of an age with her friends, could she cope with having missed the time apart?

So, Grimmauld Place became home.

And Sirius Black became like... well, something of a mentor. He wasn't a natural father figure that was certain, not even to his own children, based on the way that he talked about them. He didn't seem to like any of his three children and it was no secret that none of them had stopped by for a visit or a floo call in the weeks that she'd been living there. Though, that wasn't to say that Sirius spent all of his time with her. She supposed he could be seeing them when he went out and left her under Scrope's watchful eye.

So, not very paternal.

That wasn't to say that he didn't care about her in his own way. He seemed to enjoy taking on the master role to her apprentice, genuinely pleased when she would learn about whatever topic he selected for the day. He spent time with her in the library, indulging her in her endless questions about the Wizengamot or wizarding society generally. And, he enjoyed experimenting on cocktail recipes with her. They hadn't quite figured out the Knotgrass Club just yet, but Hermione made a promising breakthrough when she figured out a simple syrup made with knotgrass was also included. He brought her little candies home when he remembered her and brought her along with him when he could.

Then, there were those times when he'd been drinking and his dark eyes grew a little misty and he might call her bijou...

Only to ask her to bring him another gibson with an extra cocktail onion, because she knew how to make them just how he liked them now. He could be very selfish and he had the tendency to drink, even when Hermione advised that maybe he should not have another. He could be careless with his words, never once realizing how painful it was to be called his mudblood again and again and again — not seeing how she swallowed down the hurt because she had no other option. And he never once asked about the life that she left behind, unless there was some way that he thought it could benefit the Black family.

And ultimately, Hermione knew that was the truth of it. She was only as useful to Sirius as long as she was useful to his family. So, she would keep making his gibsons just how he liked them, practice mixology in the library, and memorize his family tree to the best of her ability, hoping that one day she would become invaluable to him.

Hermione almost hadn't imagined what meeting all the people on the family tree in the parlor would be like. They were all odd two-dimensional caricatures at this point, they hardly even seemed real. So, when Sirius told her that she would be joining him at the Black family manor for a family reunion of sorts, she felt her heart hammer against her ribcage, worried at how all of her knowledge would be put to the test.

Scrope dressed her, as she would hear no argument otherwise, giving the old house elf numerous compliments that slowly wore him down over the day. He did not pick something overly grand, but then again, almost all of Belvina's robes seemed overly grand to Hermione. With the ruffled collar and full skirts, she felt like some sort of Victorian doll. But, Sirius looked pleased when she joined him in the library to floo to his family's estate, so who was she to complain about it?

She resisted the urge to hide behind her guardian as they stepped out into the grand receiving room. She gawked at the opulence of the home as she looked around, uncertain. Where Grimmauld Place was dark and oppressive at times, the family Estate was airy but forbidding, all white polished marble and golden accents. She felt a bit like she was stepping into Versailles. She never thought that she would say it, but she was happy to be in Grimmauld Place and not... here.

Sirius swept through the hall as if he owned the place (though, she supposed that he very well might), leading the way through massive doors out onto the terrace where it seemed the rest of the family was already convened.

"Oh Daddy, please tell me you didn't," came the horrified voice of one of the women.

Hermione looked at her. She looked to be in her late thirties and kept her dark hair relatively short compared to the rest of them. But of course, this could be no one else but Lycoris, the only daughter to Sirius and Hesper.

"Didn't what?" Sirius asked, a smirk already on his face.

"Bring her with you," she hissed back.

"Of course I brought her," Sirius said, pressing his hand to her lower back. "Hermione, I believe the rest of the children will be around the side of the house, if you'd like to join them."

Hermione did not particularly want to join the other children, not having been introduced to any of them formally before. She could barely make friends with her classmates in her own time, it felt completely overwhelming to try to break into a previously established group as an outsider. And, a group that was likely to be hostile to her because of her blood status, based on the looks the rest of the family was giving her.

But, Sirius did not give her a chance to argue. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and pushed her forward, until her feet began carrying her around the terrace.

She didn't immediately see where the other children were, but she followed her feet down the gravel path, leaving the annoyed voices of the adults until it was transformed into different murmurs. She spied a grand gazebo, decorative curtains fluttering in the August breeze, with similar appointments as the large manor house she'd come through.

"Hello?" she called out, standing in front of the doorway.

The voices inside hushed, before the curtain was being pulled aside, revealing the occupants. Hermione sighed when she realized that none of them could really be considered children. Most were older teenagers and she didn't think that anyone was younger than she was.

"Who are you?" the wizard asked with a sneer on his face.

She wet her lips. "Hermione. Sirius said I should join you," she said, closing her eyes, hoping that they would allow her to come in.

"By all means, come in, then," he said, dramatically sweeping his hand inside. "Whatever Sirius wants..."

Hermione wasn't sure what to make of her welcome. It wasn't exactly friendly, but at the same time she did not think any of them wanted to upset Sirius. She remembered him telling her about his status as Head of House.

"So this is the little mudblood grandfather brought home?" another occupant — a witch — said, with curiosity on her face. She had the same black hair and dark eyes that many of the Black family shared and must have been about twenty, and she'd called Sirius her grandfather, which meant she must be Lucretia.

"I prefer Hermione," she said, sternly, not wanting to be looked at like she was some sort of freak.

"I'm sure you do," the witch answered with a laugh. "I'm Lucretia. Sirius is my grandfather. We all thought that he'd gone a bit odd, with his age, but who are we to question him?"

"He's not that old," Hermione said, dropping her gaze to her feet for a moment. She wasn't sure why, but she felt the need to defend Sirius, the wizard who had taken her in.

"I suppose not," the wizard who'd invited her in said, after sharing a look with Lucretia. "I'm Alphard."

Alphard, Hermione remembered, was the eldest son of Pollux and Irma. Which meant that the blond wizard was his brother Cygnus, who had gotten his lighter colored hair from his mother. And the other witch — the witch who was glaring at her — could be no one but Walburga, the eldest.

"Cygnus Black," the blond supplied after a moment. "And my sister Walburga."

"I don't know why I am expected to talk to a mudblood like it's no problem at all," Walburga complained to the others, her fury simmering under the surface. "I'd sooner pretend that she doesn't exist if I'm forced to be in the same place as her."

"You could always join the adults, Wally," the final wizard said, amusement in his voice. "If you find her so detestable."

"Oh, and I suppose you don't mind talking to her, Orion?" she argued back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course I mind," Orion answered. "But, I am also smart enough to know that grandfather must tolerate her for a reason. I'm not going to do anything that would jeopardize that."

Hermione shrank inwards, hating the way that they were talking about her, like she wasn't even there. She could feel tears prickle in the back of her eyes. "None of you need to speak with me," she bit out. "I don't fancy being here either. I am just doing what I'm told."

"Nonsense, Hermione," Lucretia said, glaring at her cousin. "Come sit next to me and have some of the wine Alphard brought us."

"As long as you leave enough for me," Alphard quipped.

"Oh, I don't think I should be drinking," Hermione said, eyes wide, wondering what was wrong with this family. Did everyone drink? "I'm not of age."

Lucretia laughed, but poured her a glass anyway. Hermione was too nervous not to take the offered seat and she wouldn't dare not to take the offered glass. She would try to make herself invisible, so the Blacks would have no reason to scold her or rat her out to Sirius.

Sirius hated attending these laughable family reunions, playing pretend that everything was well and like they were a real family, when all he could see was incompetence and rot simmering underneath the surface.

Not like when he had been a boy. No, when his great-grandfather had been paterfamilias, they had seemed solid, unshakable, as one. The Black family flourished, its branches strong and many. It had felt like he had cousins coming out of the wood work and they would have to magically enlarge the dining room to seat everyone at the table. But then, his great-grandfather died and his grandfather gambled too much, and his Uncle Sirius died too young, and more and more family members were disowned, until he was left with this bunch.

He had felt the undercurrent of mediocrity for a long time in his family, but hadn't shared his worries with anyone. In some ways, Sirius knew that it was down to his own disinterest in being paterfamilias, but someone had to do the job, and it had to be the right person. Who else, if not him? Surely not his younger brother, Cygnus. He'd always had grand ideas about how the world worked, but never grounded himself in reality. And certainly not his brother Arcturus, with his three daughters (one of whom was disowned now anyway).

And now he had to deal with Pollux peacocking about ever since his brother Cygnus had died two years prior. Sirius wasn't entirely sure why his nephew thought that somehow elevated his voice to the same level as his or Arcturus's (or even Belvina's for that matter), but he was tired of Pollux acting like he was somehow the heir apparent to the family when he couldn't even keep his own children in check. (Though, whoever thought letting a thirteen year old father a child was just as insane, he supposed).

No, the heir apparent was his son, Arcturus, if he'd only look around himself for once in his life.

Sirius sighed, looking around the table. Now that he knew from speaking with Hermione that the House of Black was not as mighty in her time, Sirius could see the situation clearly. When he passed, the matter of who would be the next paterfamilias was going to be difficult. It would make or break the family. And Sirius needed to be sure that he was backing the right horse.

If only they would worry about important things, rather than his ward.

Lycoris had not given up for even a moment. "Daddy, I just don't understand," she said, pressing a hand to his arm. "If you need the extra help, couldn't you just get another house elf? I'm sure Scrope is starting to falter. He's so old after all."

"Come now, there might be some things that the mudblood can do that a house elf cannot," Regulus said, with a hiccup. He'd been drinking again, but he never knew how to carry himself — it was always abundantly clear when he was drunk. "She can do real magic, after all."

"Can mudbloods do real magic?" Pollux asked, disgust clear on his face. "All the mudbloods I've known have paltry magic, so much so that they could hardly be called magical beings."

"Hermione is quite capable," Sirius said, sharply, wondering why he felt the need to defend her magical prowess, especially when it was so untested. But, he'd come to realize in the few weeks that he'd had her that his charge was quite intelligent. She was very logical, caught on quickly, and was always thinking. "And she listens, unlike some of you."

He glared at his brother Arcturus, who was too busy cooing over his new grandchild — the one that Charis had inexplicably named Bartemius. He was a Crouch, not a Black, so he shouldn't even be here, by all rights!

"Tell him, Arcturus! Tell him that this is a horrible idea," his daughter begged.

"Lycroris," his son said with a sigh. "Father may do as he pleases. He is our Head of House and I don't see the point in arguing over something I have no say in in the first place. It will be fine. In another year, I bet he'll be bored of her."

Melania, his daughter-in-law, put her hand on his son's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze and him a gentle smile. The message was clear — shut down the disagreement quickly. If there was one thing that Melania disliked, it was disagreement, which was unfortunate, considering she'd married into the Black family. At least her distaste had not rubbed off on his grandchildren, he mused. Lucretia and Orion could argue with the best of them.

"Yes, Lyc, do shut up," Regulus said, his disparagement punctuated with a hiccup and a giggle. "Let's eat our dinner, shall we? Might as well get on with it."

Sirius sighed deeply, feeling older than his age.

Orion listened to his cousins and sister chatter away about this or that, filing away little details that might be useful at some future time, but if he was honest, his attention was much more captured by the strange young witch that had infiltrated his family. How could he listen to Walburga's seething or Alphard's clumsy attempts to avoid answering questions about his social life, when he could instead watch the way that his grandfather's mudblood took in everything they were saying with those wide brown eyes of hers?

He wasn't sure what exactly he expected she would be like. His father and mother had been talking about the scandal of it all since they had found out the truth and Orion had been right there with them. The Black family disdained mudbloods and even halfbloods, but then, here his grandfather was — not even warm to his own children — living under the same roof as some sad little mudblood orphan. In Grimmauld Place no less!

And, dressing her up in hand-me-down clothes, it appeared. Orion didn't care much about witch's fashion, but even he could tell that her dress robes had been out of fashion for at least two decades. Walburga had been snickering about it the whole time, but the witch was either too stupid to realize it or she was so skilled with her expressions that she didn't let it get to her.

"And, we should toast to Orion," Alphard said, suddenly grabbing his attention, at the mention of his own name.

"For what?" Orion asked, unused to praise from his older cousins.

"For making prefect, of course," Alphard answered, with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

Orion scoffed. "Oh, that," he said, like it was hardly a consideration. Because, honestly it was. He was expected to get prefect, so he had. "Any Black worth their salt would be a prefect. Even you were, if I recall."

He watched Cygnus go red, his lack of prefect status having been quite the cause of consternation. "Of course, Orion deserves it," he said, his voice dripping with resentment. "You didn't have to contend with Tom Riddle."

Orion saw the witch's face drain of color at the name of the charming Head Boy and wondered if she knew of him somehow. Did she think that he was just a mudblood like her and feel a kindred spirit?

"You are going into your OWL year?" the witch — Hermione — asked, suddenly on the edge of her seat with curiosity. "How many do you plan to take?" she followed up, sizing him up like a competitor.

Orion turned his attention to her, barely resisting a sneer, wondering how she could deign to speak with him so directly. How could she even imagine that such a thing was allowed? Just because his grandfather tolerated her did not mean that Orion was going to abandon the values his family had raised him with for the last sixteen years.

But she just wouldn't stop staring at him with those big, doe eyes.

"Nine," he revealed eventually, hating himself for acknowledging her.

He wasn't sure if he expected her to be impressed, but he certainly didn't expect her to scoff at him. "That's not enough," she said. "I'm going to take eleven OWLs. Maybe even twelve if they let me. I know that you need to get special permission."

"Who would give a little mudblood like you permission to take twelve OWLs?" Walburga hissed. "You don't understand magic the way that real witches do."

"I am a real witch," Hermione insisted, her nostrils flaring in fury.

"You'll probably fail them all," Walburga continued, meanly.

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe you're just worried that I would do better than you," Hermione said, standing up abruptly.

Walburga gasped and drew her wand. "How dare you speak to me that way!" she shouted, before sending a curse Hermione's way.

Later, when he would think over it again, Orion would be impressed with the speed that Hermione blocked that first curse, sending it flying to the side, narrowly missing Lucretia and destroying the curtain that hung. He might even be impressed that she was quick enough on her feet to send a retaliatory curse Walburga's way. Not many people wanted to go up against his cousin, especially knowing her temper.

He couldn't decide if it was foolishness or recklessness, but Hermione sent a simple jinx back towards Walburga — nothing serious, just a flipendo. Orion nearly laughed, when Walburga swatted it away, knowing that his cousin had probably been able to do that jinx since she was first able to hold a wand, and Hermione had attempted it in a duel.

She must have known that she was in over her head, her eyes wide as she tried to block the barrage of curses that Walburga sent her way, only to get caught by a diffindo on the arm. He caught sight of her red blood dripping down her arm.

"Enough, Wally, you've made your point," he said, with authority in his voice. Orion didn't really care about the girl, but he did care about the punishment his grandfather would dole out if his precious pet were killed and they all just stood by and did nothing to stop Walburga.

"It's not enough," Walburga hissed, chin jutting in the air. "Stay out of it."

Another spell knocked Hermione back, sending her sprawling against one of the columns with a hard sounding thud. But, Orion saw nothing but fire in her eyes when she hopped up on her feet, still not giving up yet. Blocking another spell, she quickly went on the offensive, using a jinx to stick Walburga's tongue to the roof of her mouth, effectively muting her and rendering her completely unable to cast another spell towards her.

The sound of spells hitting stone pulled the attention of the adults towards the garden. "Dueling?" Melania gasped. "In my garden?" She hopped up onto her feet and started walking quickly towards the direction of the gazebo.

Sirius snorted, wondering who had gotten into it this time. His family always argued and duels were not uncommon. Still, he was up on his feet, knowing that if it was between Arcturus's children and Pollux's children, he would need to act as the arbiter, to put an end to the nonsense. At the end of the day, they were still family.

He was shocked to pull back the curtain and find that it was Hermione dueling with Walburga. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the noise.

Hermione looked at him and let her wand arm drop, though he saw that she still clutched her vinewood wand tightly in her hand. Walburga didn't take her dark eyes off of Hermione for a moment, though she remained uncharacteristically silent.

"Your mudblood obviously attacked my daughter, Uncle," Pollux sneered, having joined them. "She should be punished."

Sirius snorted. "Walburga is no longer a child, Pollux," Sirius said with a smirk. "She should know better than to go fighting like one. And if she can be bested by a mudblood who hasn't even gotten a single OWL, well..."

Cygnus removed the curse from his older sister, letting her speak for the first time. "I wasn't bested by that filth, father!" she insisted and raised her wand again. "If you won't handle her, I will."

But Sirius was quick with a shield. "Nonsense, Walburga. Like you've all so rightly pointed out, Hermione is my mudblood. So she will come with me," he said. "Since she cannot behave away from the adults, she will join us for dinner."

His nephew did not look especially pleased to hear that, but he wasn't wizard enough to go against his paterfamilias. Sirius put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and guided her into the dining room where the rest of the family had remained, house elves bringing out platters of food.

"You will sit here silently and eat," Sirius murmured to Hermione, not exactly pleased with her behavior. "And then we will return to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione huffed, but she did as she was told, eating what was put on her plate, fingers going white around her utensils, ignoring glares and not-so-subtle jibes from Pollux and Irma, wanting to stand up for their daughter. She didn't say anything when Arcturus tried to ask him for details about Wizengamot legislation or when Charis's little spawn shrieked in anger at having a roll taken away from him. She barely glanced up when Cassiopeia and Dorea showed up late, his younger niece making excuses.

"Sorry for the delay," Dorea said, breezing over to give Pollux a quick kiss on his cheek. "Cassiopeia has been courting, as you know, and Selwyn just could not bear to part with her."

A lie, Sirius could tell from Cassiopeia's flushed pink cheeks and dazed expression. The two sisters barely tolerated one another, since Dorea had gotten married two years prior, while the elder remained unwed. If Dorea had gone to get her, Cassiopeia had not appreciated it.

"And where is your Potter tonight?" Pollux asked.

Sirius noticed his ward stiffening and kept her eyes on his dark-haired niece and wondered what that meant. It must be significant — something from her future. He would have to parse that out later.

"You know Charlus," Dorea said with a laugh. "He doesn't want to intrude on family."

"At least the boy has some sense," Sirius said, gruffly, glad that Charlus Potter hadn't tried to join them. It was bad enough to talk to him in the Wizengamot, he didn't want to have to play pretend when he was in his own family estate.

Sirius watched the rest of the dinner dissolve into bickering and gossip and he found himself bored once again. He was glad when dessert came and went and he could pluck Hermione up from the table and retreat to his home, away from the wants of his family, with precious silence once again. He gave his thanks to his son and daughter-in-law for hosting and they thanked him for coming, though Melania gently suggested that he did not bring Hermione along again next time. No one really tolerated a mudblood eating at their table.

He let out a tremendous sigh when they stepped through the Floo together into the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place. Sirius led the way to the library, sitting down heavily in the settee. "Get me a firewhiskey, Hermione," he ordered, pressing his hand to his forehead to rub at the headache that was forming behind his eyes.

She didn't say anything, but he could hear her tinkering away at the bar cart and in a few moments, a heavy crystal glass was being pressed into his hand.

The older wizard drank it all in one go, before handing the glass back to her for a second pour. "Might as well bring the bottle," he told her with a shrug. "You know, you've probably made an enemy for life of Walburga."

Hermione turned to look at him, her face completely transformed by hate. "Good," she said, with a sneer on her face.

"What did you do to make her duel you?" he asked.

"What makes you think I did anything?" she asked, clearly frustrated. "She was the one who started it. If she is so intimidated by me, I fail to see why that's my problem."

"Walburga has many years of experience on you. Not exactly the wisest choice to antagonize her," Sirius countered.

"So I am just supposed to sit there all night and listen to your family call me mudblood, filth again and again and again?" she asked, pushed to the edge.

"Yes," he answered, plainly. "And I hope that one day, you can learn that there are better ways to get even than to go dueling someone you have no business dueling because you can only end up hurt."

Hermione did not soften an ounce, not even acknowledging the fact that he did not wish to see her hurt. He'd been her guardian for only a few weeks, but he already felt responsible for her. He'd come to enjoy her presence in his previously hollow life.

"What do you make of the rest of my family?" he asked, wanting her opinion. She was a fresh pair of eyes.

"I hate your family," she answered. "They are all horrible people."

"Really?" Sirius asked, sounding amused. "All of them?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "And now that I've met them, it's no surprise to me that your family is completely irrelevant in my time."

Sirius knew that she was trying to hurt his feelings, because her own feelings had been hurt. Still, he wanted to hear her outside opinions, unclouded by blood and years of familiarity. "What do you make of them?"

"Where would you like me to start?" she asked, sounding amused.

"Pollux."

"Pollux would usurp you if he could. He clearly doesn't respect your authority," she said. "And his children do not fall far from the tree. Walburga has the worst temper, she's hateful. Alphard is more worried about material things and what your family money can buy rather than how he could use your family influence. Cygnus — ha, he is a jealous fool, envious of everyone, full of excuses for why he doesn't have what they do."

Sirius was a bit stunned to hear her unleash completely. She was definitely not holding back. "And Pollux's sisters?" he prodded.

Hermione snorted. "Cassiopeia isn't courting, she's fucking," she said, harshly. Her cheeks turned pink at the use of the word. Sirius guessed she was not used to using it. "And worse, she isn't trying to hide it. Her palms had carpet burn on them and she didn't even bother to use a charm to try to hide it. She is flaunting it."

"A secret to her brother only, perhaps," Sirius conceded, trying to hide his amusement. Cassiopeia had been a thorn in his brother's side and Cygnus had not been able to secure her a betrothal before he died.

"Dorea is fine," Hermione said. "Though she knows she's the favorite and that's not exactly a likable trait."

"My brother Arcturus doesn't matter," Sirius said, waving her through that branch of the family. "His daughters have been absorbed into other families and no longer care about the House they came from."

"Really?" Hermione asked with a sneer. "Maybe they don't care about their family because their family has written them off for being witches."

Sirius felt his belly twist in discomfort. Was that true?

But, Hermione wasn't done yet. "Speaking of daughters, Lycoris is a disdainful shrew. Why should she be so horrified by what you do when she doesn't even bother to visit you?" she ranted, throwing her arms in the air. "Regulus is a lazy drunk — and I thought you drank too much."

Sirius did not like hearing the barb from his charge, but he couldn't stop himself from indulging his curiosity. He needed the unvarnished truth about everything. "And what about my heir? Arcturus?" he asked, cocking his head to look at her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Arcturus is completely spineless, averse to any conflict," Hermione told him. "He has so little ambition I almost can't believe he was ever sorted into Slytherin. Lucretia... Lucretia is impulsive. She does things without thinking them through."

"And Orion?"

Hermione chuckled under her breath. "He's the worst of them all," she told him.

"Really?" Sirius asked, surprised to hear her say that.

"Yes," she hissed. "Orion... the rest of them looked to him, even though he is the youngest. He could be quite impressive — he is smart enough, but he is not living up to his potential. He's a prefect, but he's only taking nine OWLs? He should be taking ten at least, if not twelve. He could be a leader if he pushes himself. But until then, he is nothing more than wasted potential."

Sirius didn't know what to say to that. For a long time, Sirius had known that Orion was the best of the bunch. He did have the potential to be great and he was decisive in a way that his own father could not be. Orion could be the future of the family, but not if he let his ambition wither on the vein, snuffed out by Arcturus and Melania's parenting.

"I suppose I shall have a front row seat to see how he does when we are at Hogwarts. Cygnus, too, though I'd rather never speak to him again, if I had the choice," Hermione mused. "He's most jealous of Orion."

"What do you mean by front row seat?" Sirius asked her.

"Well, I'll be headed off to Hogwarts soon, of course," she answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Hermione, you aren't going to Hogwarts," he said, firmly. "You'll be here with me."

"What?" she asked, her voice so small, he almost didn't recognize the fury that was radiating off of her.

"Of course not. You are a mudblood. You do not need to go to Hogwarts," he insisted, wondering what his father would make of it. He had tried to make it harder for muggleborns to attend while he was Headmaster, a policy suggestion that had not made him the most popular wizard.

He could feel the weight of her stare, molten and brown. It was suffocating. She stood up abruptly and walked over to the bar cart. She picked up one of the glasses and he thought she might pour herself a drink, only to have her smash it down on the ground, sending shards of glass everywhere. "You have to send me to Hogwarts!" she shouted her fury. "I belong there! I deserve to be taught magic! I am not a mudblood!"

"That's right!" he shouted back. Sirius stood up and stalked towards her. He caught her by the jaw and forced her to look at him, not letting her pull away. "You are not a mudblood. You are a ward of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. You belong to the House of Black and you belong to me. If I tell you to do something, you will do it. If I do not allow you to do something, I will not hear a single complaint. You will live, breathe, bleed and die for the good of the House of Black. Do I make myself clear?"

There were tears shining in her eyes by the end of his speech, but her mouth was still twisted in a frown. "I hate you," she spat at him, before jerking out of his grasp and marching out of the library and up the stairs. She punctuated the argument by slamming the door to her room, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Text

It was unexpected, but Sirius was disappointed at the pall that had seemed to settle over Grimmauld Place, especially knowing that he was the cause of it. Ever since that cursed day of his family's reunion, the one that had ended with him telling Hermione she would not be returning to Hogwarts, she hadn't deigned to speak to him and would hardly even look at him.

Without realizing it, he had grown accustomed to their friendly banter in the weeks that she had been living with him, and if Sirius was honest with himself, he had enjoyed having someone else around to haunt the empty rooms of his home. Upon reflection, he had certainly not enjoyed being a father to his own children, and while he didn't feel fatherly towards Hermione, he could admit that he had a certain growing... fondness for the girl.

Now, he knew that she could hold a grudge like the best of the Black family.

He had waited patiently, hoping that she would eventually break and come to him for something that she needed, but as September 1st came and went, she had only dug her heels in more firmly. He couldn't tell if it was spite or stubbornness or a self-sufficiency that none of his own family members possessed, but she was not going to be breaking down anytime soon. In fact, anything that she did ask for was usually sent for via Scrope, the old house elf grumbling that he was not a messenger service.

Not that he was fooling anyone. Scrope had also grown fond of the young witch who always addressed him as Mr. Scrope and was polite as can be, always asking for things with a please and a thank you. For the elderly house elf who was used to being screamed at and punished, it was a welcome change, one that he was not likely to give up if he had the choice.

Sirius had figured out that he should stop inviting Hermione along with him to Diagon Alley or the Ministry, because every time he asked if she would like to accompany him, she just stared at him with those big brown eyes, a sneer on her face, refusing to say anything.

The longer the silence went on between them, the deeper her insistence that she hated him cut.

And when September 1st came and went, it only got worse.

Seeing her looking so depressed, moping around Grimmauld Place day after day after day, was nearly enough to have Sirius rethinking his decision to keep her back from Hogwarts. But, he didn't need Hermione at Hogwarts. He needed her there, with him, guiding him in whatever way that she could to restore his family to the Great House that it once was.

Already, her being there had made changes, he was sure of it. Before Hermione had been thrust into his life, he would have been content to spend the rest of his life drinking, completely exasperated by the other members of his family he was meant to be guiding. However, hearing her cold, exacting assessment — though he knew she'd only shared it to hurt him —of each of the family members' deficiencies had quickly removed the scales from his eyes.

He'd already begun making changes. He'd ordered Pollux to get a hold of his younger sister, mentioning that her habits of chasing after eligible wizards had become well noticed enough to be gossiped about. He knew this would keep his nephew busy enough that he wouldn't be able to focus on his career ambitions, either. He'd found Alphard in a den of debauchery, two wizards draped over him, and ordered him to find something worthwhile to spend his time on. He'd tried to quell Lycoris's fears about his ward, but his daughter remained stubborn and proud, unwilling to see anything that wasn't her first assumption about the situation.

And, for what it was worth, he informed his son that Orion would be taking twelve OWLs, and even selected the further three subjects that he expected his grandson to complete. Hermione was right. Orion was extremely intelligent, capable, ambitious — he was a Black, for Salazar's sake. It was time that he acted like one. Arcturus, spineless as he was, didn't even balk at the suggestion.

Sirius would tell Hermione about his various dealings with his family, hoping to show her that she was useful here, at Grimmauld Place, where she could make a real impact on the future of the family. But, knowing that he valued her insight did not manage to change anything about their frosty interactions.

She even stared blankly at him when he brought home a small cake for her birthday, grumbling that she didn't feel like celebrating when she wasn't at home.

Sirius wanted to rage at her — this was her home, whether she wanted it to be or not!

She surely made herself at home. She enjoyed spending most time in the library of Grimmauld Place, finding old tomes that likely hadn't been read in decades. Sirius never minded. She always treated the books with the utmost care and the breadth of her interests was truly astounding.

It was not a surprise to find her curled up with a book on the settee, while the fire in the fireplace roared, when he came home. What was not expected was to hear her talking to someone, especially knowing that it could not possibly be Scrope, considering the elf had taken his cloak when Sirius returned from another evening at the Knotgrass Club.

He crept along the hallway, long ago having learned where all the creaky boards were, until he was standing just on the other side of the door, listening in on her conversation. With a start, he realized that she was speaking with his father's portrait.

"— must forgive Sirius eventually. He isn't used to being a father."

"Well, he isn't my father, either. I didn't ask to be his ward. Couldn't someone else have taken me in?" she asked. Sirius could practically hear the sneer on her face.

"Why would you want to be taken in by anyone else? Do you know how important this family is?" his father asked, aghast.

"Why would I want to live with a family that calls me mudblood filth? That looks down on me when I literally did not ask to be included. It's not my fault that Sirius insists on taking me everywhere."

"You will grow a thicker skin," his father insisted. "Over time, you will understand that words are just words."

"Are they? I understand in your family being a blood traitor means being disowned — pretending like they never even existed," Hermione said viciously. "I know what you did to your own son. I know what you did to your grandson — a squib? Godric forgive."

It seemed that his father did not have any retort to that. Sirius could hear him huffing and puffing.

"Sirius has taught me the family history well. I fail to see why my intelligence should be put to such rubbish ideas," she continued. Sirius peaked through the silver in the open doorway and saw her jutting her chin in the air, in defiance. "I should be at Hogwarts, not rotting away here with such a hateful family."

"Mud—muggleborns do not have a place at Hogwarts," his father insisted, modifying his language, if only because he knew how furious the word made Hermione. "You do not have a place at Hogwarts. Can't you see, your place is here, helping my family?"

Hermione laughed, low and bitter. "It must really rankle to have to rely on a mudblood to help fix your family, huh?" she demanded.

"I would have chosen a different person to rely on, yes," his father agreed. "Though, truthfully I would rather my family not have found themselves in tatters to begin with."

"How can you even believe anything that I have to say?" Hermione asked, sounding smug. "I could be telling you lies. Maybe your family isn't terrible in the future. Maybe, I hate your family just as much in the future and want to bring it down. How can you trust the word of a mudblood?"

That shut his father up rather quickly. He didn't seem to know what to make of Hermione's suggestion at all and he could see the fear creeping in. Sirius, though, knew that Hermione was not cunning enough to do anything of the sort, after knowing her these weeks.

"You wouldn't — think of all the good your knowledge could do for the family," his father insisted.

"All I am hearing is what I can do for your family. I am hearing very little of what your family could do for me. Why should I help you? Out of the goodness of my heart?" Hermione asked, with an undainty little snort. She might look as pureblood as Belvina once had, but she certainly did not act like it.

"We took you in! We gave you a home!" his father insisted, growing more and more irate. "You ungrateful little mudbl—"

But, before the slur could even leave his mouth fully, Hermione had her wand raised and had silenced his father's portrait. He watched as his father floundered, completely aghast that someone should consider something like that. Sirius wondered if anyone had ever dared to silence his father before. Truthfully, he was rather tickled by the idea.

"Hermione," he barked from the hallway, once he had regained his composure. "To me."

Hermione at least had the decency to look suitably guilty. She spun her vinewood wand in her hand, but walked towards him nonetheless, teeth gnawing on her lower lip. "I won't apologise," she insisted, once she stood in front of him. "He had it coming, if you ask me."

Sirius gave her a little smirk. "What? No, I have something to discuss with you in the office," he said, turning and leading the way out of the library. He would let his father's portrait deal with the consequences for a while longer. The spell would wear off sooner or later.

Hearing Hermione talk with his father had opened his eyes to the situation at hand. Yes, things were not helped by him withholding her from Hogwarts, but he had learned what it was that she actually wanted. It was not enough for her to give everything of herself to this family. He could not just insist that she was part of the family — a ward of the family — and not give her any benefits. She would not see the reward in simply helping them. She wasn't a house elf, after all.

She needed to be given something, something special, in exchange for her devotion.

Sirius sat behind his dark desk heavily. "It's time that we begin your lessons, Bijou," he said, drawing his own wand.

"Lessons?" Hermione asked, blinking owlishly at him. "No offense, Sirius, but I am sure that I have learned your family front to back at this point."

"We are done with the family history," he said. "I was thinking that we would start on Charms. As I understand, that was a favorite subject of yours and it is a Black family speciality."

"Charms?" she repeated dumbly. "But I thought that... that you weren't going to let me go to Hogwarts."

"And, do you seem to be at Hogwarts?" he asked, amused. "You couldn't possibly have thought that I would completely neglect your education? A mind like yours would be a terrible thing to waste. And this way, I can teach you magic that is actually important, rather than that drivel they teach at the school."

"It's good enough for your heirs," she said, disdainfully.

"And, they also learn at home," he agreed, with a nod. "To fill in the gaps. So — charms. Shall we begin with the flagrante curse?" he asked, looking at her seated across the desk from him.

"That's a dark curse," she said simply.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, daring her to follow that up with another statement. "The flagrante curse is extremely useful in that it is difficult to defend against. There is no obvious telltale that the curse is on a particular object and —"

Hermione stared out of the window of her room in the top level at Grimmauld Place. After a mild December, it seemed that they would not be having the white Christmas that she'd wanted for herself. The garden remained stubbornly brown, if she could see it through the fog that had rolled through the London streets.

Not that the Blacks celebrated Christmas. They celebrated Yule.

Still, there was some overlap there. Sirius had given her a budget (a wildly large budget) and the direction of Scrope to decorate the townhouse in the way that she saw fit. She'd sent the house elf out to find the best looking Yule tree that he could. She wanted to put up tinsel, but it turned out that was a terribly muggle custom, and so she'd settled for purchasing little starlight charms that would glow until after the New Year.

Scrope suggested holly boughs, pleased that his master was finally putting some effort into the house after so many years. Hermione helped him hang it up on the banisters of all the railings.

For her own room, she let herself indulge in the muggle decorations that she could conjure — robin figurines, garland hung over her fireplace with tons of tinsel, and a tiny Father Christmas that she left on her bedside table, just like the one that her mum put on their mantle at home. Over time, her room had slowly morphed into something that was her own, erasing Belvina's presence from before.

Sirius was happy to see her settled, even if he did not say so. He was pleased that she was settling in, making an effort to 'be part of the family.' Thinking of belonging to the Black family still made her heart ache. She feared that she would never truly belong — could not belong to a family that saw her as less than for her blood status.

But Sirius... well, she knew that he saw her true potential, after all of these weeks of him instructing her in magic. She was learning far more than she could have ever hoped to learn at Hogwarts. There was no piece of magic that was off limits to Sirius Black or Hermione Granger. He knew that she was powerful and wanted to help her grow, if only because of what she could do for his family.

She thought... maybe... she could let herself belong to Sirius. He was still not very paternal, but... he was trying with her.

Pushing away from the window, Hermione made her way down the stairs to get some egg nog from the kitchen. She knew that she could have just asked Scrope, but she thought she might poke her head inside Sirius's office and see if he wanted some, too — with a bit of brandy in it for good measure.

She was surprised to hear that the office was already occupied. She could hear Sirius talking to someone, his voice agitated. She halted on the landing above the floor that housed Sirius's office and sat down, holding her breath so she could hear what was being said.

"She's already accepted," a voice said, full of dismay. "There is nothing that we can do about it now."

"She never should have agreed to something of this magnitude without my leave, let alone yours, Arcturus!" Sirius said, sounding furiously. "Must I make you take control of your children's lives again? It was bad enough that you were going to let Orion waste his talents."

Ah, so it was Arcturus, Sirius's son. Hermione supposed that she should not be too surprised at his furious tone, then. Sirius's children — and Arcturus's lack of a backbone — were huge points of contention in his life, especially knowing that Arcturus was his heir apparent. He'd bandied the idea of skipping over Arcturus and giving the nod to Regulus instead, but Hermione reminded him that his younger son was so pickled in drink, he was likely not to be clearheaded enough for the job.

She nibbled her lower lip, realizing that they were talking about Lucretia. Hermione liked Lucretia, perhaps most of the Black children. But, she was a rather impulsive witch, going off and doing whatever it was that she wanted without really thinking through the consequences. Hermione wondered what the pretty witch could have done now.

"I could talk to Claudius — call it off. Say that she did not have our blessing," Arcturus suggested with a heavy sigh.

"How foolish you truly are, Arcturus," Sirius said, disdainfully. "Do you have any idea how weak we will look if it is revealed that a daughter of our house made such agreements without the blessing of her paterfamilias? The wedding will commence as planned."

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. So Lucretia had agreed to marry someone. Who could it be, she wondered? It must not be someone completely intolerable if Sirius could agree to it. Claudius, Claudius... Hermione racked her brain, trying to think if she knew who it might be. But it was a fool's errand. How was she to know some Claudius who'd been born almost half a century before she'd been.

"They would like October, for the wedding," Arcturus said softly. "To give them time to plan."

"Absolutely not," Sirius said, furiously. "The wedding will be no later than August, no earlier than June. Orion will attend his sister's wedding. Obviously."

"August, yes, I will tell Lucretia," Acturus agreed, spineless as he was.

"And, Hermione will attend with me. I will hear no arguments from you or your wife on that front," Sirius added, almost as an afterthought.

"Father!" Arcturus said, for the first time daring to contradict what his father was saying. "Must you bring her? You know how much unpleasantness this will cause. I will never hear the end of it from Lyc and you know Pollux will hate it, too."

Sirius laughed. "I will handle Lycoris and Pollux as I always do."

"But Father, think of what... people will say," Arcturus continued. "What people already say. You, living here alone with a mudblood ingénue! Oh Salazar, if only grandfather knew."

Hermione's stomach twisted uncomfortably, wondering what exactly it was that people said about her living with Sirius. It wasn't exactly a secret that he'd taken her as his ward, so what more could they possibly say?

"Don't worry about me," Sirius ordered, his voice imperious as ever. "Just be happy that Lucretia can have her little wedding to Ignatius and start planning. I won't speak of this again."

Arcturus stormed from the office half a heartbeat later, looking frustrated. He caught sight of Hermione sitting on the stair landing — eavesdropping — and gave her a disdainful look, before flying down the stairs, his cloak swirling after him.

Hermione crept forward, entering the office after he'd gone. "I didn't mean to overhear. I was just coming to ask you if you'd like some egg nog," she said, giving him a soft smile. "With extra brandy."

"You were sitting there for most of the conversation," Sirius answered with a knowing smirk, indicating that she should sit down. "Yes, I think this calls for a brandy," he added, running a hand down his face, before calling for Scrope to bring them their drinks.

"So you've heard that my granddaughter has foolishly agreed to wed Ignatius Prewett," he said.

Hermione sucked in a breath at hearing the name Prewett. It didn't take much for her to remember the connection to Molly Weasley, nee Prewett. And of course, Percy's middle name had been Ignatius. Could Lucretia and Ignatius be Molly's parents, perhaps?

"Something you want to share with me?" Sirius asked, looking at her knowingly.

"My friend's mum was a Prewett," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"And that friend's name?" Sirius prompted.

"Ron Weasley," she supplied. It had been months since she'd said Ron's name out loud. Or Harry's for that matter. She'd never told Sirius about Harry Potter, though.

"Salazar save us," he said with a frown. "Another Weasley."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really know anything about the Prewetts," she told him, looking him over. Sirius had a new streak of grey beginning at his temple and it seemed that dealing with his family more had been pushing him to an earlier grave. Either that or the drinking. "I don't need to go to the wedding." She bit her lower lip.

"Nonsense," Sirius said, waving his hand. "I need you by my side. I don't care what the rest of those fools think."

And then, all discussion of weddings and Weasleys was done, as Scrope brought them their steaming egg nogs. Sirius asked her how Yule preparations were going before telling her about the Yules he'd had as a boy, right here in this very townhouse.

It was some time in the spring when Hermione found Sirius sullenly in the library at Grimmauld Place, well into his cups even though it was only mid afternoon. "Sirius!" she asked, surprised to find him there. "What happened? I thought that we were going to work on Potions this afternoon."

At some point, Sirius had decided to test her assertion that she had already brewed polyjuice potion when she was in second year, giving her full access to his private laboratory in the basement at Grimmauld Place, instructing her to do it again. Hermione had worked on it for weeks, but when she was finished, she'd produced a potent mix that her guardian had been impressed with.

From that point, they continued on with brewing. They were meant to be working on a modified calming draught, even though Hermione was excited to tackle more complex potions like the Draught of the Living Dead. Sirius had laughed at the request, telling her he had no doubt that she would be successful in her brew, but that it was important to understand why the potion worked, and for that, they needed to make a few more stops along the way.

Sirius said nothing and waved her away. "Be gone. I wish to be left to my thoughts," he said, pulling his little cocktail glass to his lips and taking a sip. The liquid inside was chilled and clear and Hermione wondered if it was just straight gin.

"Sirius, just tell me what's the matter," she said, ignoring his request. She walked into the library, shutting the door behind him and plunking herself next to him on the settee. She tried to remember what it was that he was meant to be doing today. He'd gone to the Wizengamot, but she couldn't tell him anything else. "I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"Who says I want your help anyway?" he asked, uncharacteristically petulant.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "You are expressly the person who said that I am meant to be helping your family," she argued back. But he did not acknowledge her very sound logic. "Fine. Shall I ask Scrope to get someone for you? Lycoris perhaps?"

"No!" Sirius said, looking at her sullenly. "For Salazar's sake, leave her out of it. I don't want her knowing..."

"Knowing what?" Hermione asked, pressing a dainty hand to his arm, wanting to give him reassurance.

"I can't... Merlin above," he said, trying to find the words. "I am having trouble reading. More like... trouble seeing."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. "I don't want to upset you, but... I'd noticed."

He turned to look at her, like he'd been touched by some red-hot poker, a secret that he'd long thought well-hidden perhaps not as secret as he'd hoped. He ran his hand down his face, shame clear as day on his visage.

"I don't think anyone else has," she told him. "You do quite well, but... well, we live together. And I'm — I'm observant after all."

"It's the damned Dragon-pox. I got it many years ago and my sight was damaged then. It's gotten steadily worse," he revealed, not keeping anything back now that his secret was out. "It hasn't been a problem. I'm able to pay attention at the Wizengamot, when we debate bills, but there was a clause slipped in at the last second and I approved it without knowing what was in it."

Hermione bit her lower lip, wondering what could have been so horrible in the bill, but she didn't want to compound his worries. "I could... I could start reading the legislation out loud to you, if it would be a help," she offered, wanting to ease a small burden from him, especially if it meant that it would help her learn more about the world, too. "You would just have to bring it home. No one would ever know."

He frowned, before he drank the rest of his tipple. "Perhaps it is not all as doom and gloom as I'd feared," he said, patting her leg with his big hand. "If you could be my eyes, I will not have to delegate this important task to my useless family so soon."

"I'd be happy to, Sirius," she said, giving him a small grin. "Now, shall we ask Scrope to see about some dinner? I think that he was going to make a soup this evening, but maybe we could find something more substantial."

Sirius laughed at her. "You are just trying to sober me up," he groused, all fake seriousness. "Alright, lead the way to the kitchen, witch."

Orion Black leaned back in his chair, watching his sister dance with her new husband. In her wedding robes, Lucretia looked truly stunning. It was no surprise — the entirety of the Black family was generally good looking, thanks to generations of good breeding, but even amongst the bunch Lucretia was truly beautiful, having inherited their mother's soft brown hair, but their father's dark eyes.

In comparison, Ignatius Prewett looked rather dull, with his ruddy cheeks and dark brown hair. Orion frowned, wondering just what about Ignatius had made Lucretia crazy enough to agree to marry him. He was a decent enough sort of wizard, Orion supposed, but he did seem rather dull compared to Lucretia's luminance. He just hoped that she would not dull her sparkle to fit into her new family.

Lucretia Prewett, Black no longer.

Although, not entirely, he supposed. His grandfather had agreed to bless the marriage, but only on the condition that Lucretia would remain beholden to the Black family legally. They did not essentially sell her off, like his cousins Charis and Callidora had been to their new husbands. He wondered how exactly his grandfather had come up with that idea. It would keep their power concentrated within the Black family, and even though Orion was only going to be a sixth year at Hogwarts, he knew it was a good idea.

That didn't stop Cygnus and Alphard from snickering away, wondering if Prewett didn't want to pay for his sister. Orion had nearly drawn his wand to hear the awful things that they were suggesting, but he was well-bred enough to know that to do so in a public place with non-family members present was enough to infuriate his grandfather.

Orion wandered around the reception — held outside in the garden of his family home — and snagged a champagne from one of the passing house elves and took a long drink. There weren't very many people his own age in attendance, so he was feeling a bit out of sorts in his expensive dress robes. Ignatius had several brothers, but most of them were older, like Quintus, who was sitting with his wife, each with one of their twin sons on their laps.

There was Aurelius Prewett, who was a seventh year Hufflepuff, that Orion supposed he could speak with.

He scanned the crowd, wondering if he would find his classmate, only to find him huddled up in a dark corner with his grandfather's ward.

Oh, that had been scandal enough for his father and mother when they were helping Lucretia to plan the wedding. Apparently, his grandfather had made it some sort of condition that she be allowed to attend with him and it had made his mother furious that he should demand it. But, his grandfather was paterfamilias, and it wasn't as if his father had the guts to stand up to him.

Orion wouldn't have rolled over so easily, he thought to himself. He would tell his grandfather in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be ordered about, especially on an event so important as a daughter's wedding. He wouldn't let Hermione within a thousand feet of a party like this!

Especially, considering that Orion was fairly sure that she was the reason he'd been ordered into taking twelve OWLs by his grandfather! What was next? Was she going to select his NEWTs as well? Where he took his mastery and in what subject? Why his grandfather would listen to a measly little girl was beyond him. Maybe there was some truth to what his Aunt Lyc said about him going crazy.

Though, he supposed that it wasn't all terrible. He had passed his twelve OWLs, after all, and received the endless praise of his Head of House, Slughorn.

His gaze skipped over Aurelius Prewett, where he was whispering something into Hermione's ears, and let it fall on her instead. She was blushing a deep color of red and she had her own champagne in hand. Did grandfather really let his pet drink, he wondered? She couldn't have been older than fifteen, so it seemed a madness to waste such expensive wine on a mudblood.

It was his first time seeing her out of her pinafore, but her robes were still terribly old fashioned. She looked like a child playing dress up in her mother's clothing, what with the low neckline, showing off her decolletage, the straps of the dress just slightly off-shoulder. It was fitted tightly in the waist, showing off a gentle curve to her body that Orion had no idea existed. She almost looked pretty, with her long brown hair swept up off her neck.

He watched as Aurelius swept in and pressed a kiss, first to her pink cheek, then to her jaw, then to her neck, lingering on the soft skin there. What the hell was Aurelius thinking doing that in public where anyone could see? Didn't he know that she was a mudblood? Didn't he know that she was far too young for such an act? Didn't he know that she belonged to the Black family?

Orion stood frozen there, uncertain of what to do. At a minimum, he was sure that his grandfather would not like his ward seducing perfectly good wizards, especially at a Black family function. He would certainly reprimand her for behaving in such a way, knowing that it could reflect poorly on the family. The tight leash that he now kept on Cassiopeia was evidence enough of that.

His feet were carrying him across the garden before he realized it. He stood in front of the pair, drawing Aurelius's attention with a noise in his throat. "Aurelius, what do you make of Hufflepuff's chances at Quidditch this year?" he asked, hoping that his voice came out sounding normal.

"Quidditch?" Aurelius asked. "You interrupted me to speak about Quidditch? Don't you see that I am busy here with a lovely witch?"

Orion let his gaze dip to Hermione once again, for just a brief moment. She looked mortified. Then, he looked back out at the party. "Oh yes, Hermione," he said, nonchalant. "I believe my grandfather was looking for you. It's rather late and I believe he wants to be leaving soon."

Hermione squeaked in surprise, but hopped up from the garden bench and hurried back towards the other revealers. "Thank you," she said softly, on her way past.

The tall wizard did not know what to make of her gratitude. It wasn't as if he'd done it to be nice to her. Just to... get her away from Aurelius without causing some sort of scandal.

"Does she..." Aurelius stopped himself, perhaps not entirely certain what he was asking.

"She belongs to my grandfather," Orion said, keeping his eyes on the party. Lucretia looked so radiant. "She is his ward and lives with him."

"Oh," Aurelius said, sounding shocked.

Hermione must not have explained who she was exactly. Interesting.

"Well, I guess... I think we will do alright this season," Aurelius said, after a beat of silence. "I mean, we have to replace our Seeker now that Anderson has graduated, but our Chasers will remain the same."

Orion sneered at the older wizard, rolling his eyes. "I don't actually care about Hufflepuff's Quidditch team," he said. "I was just trying to give you an out before you offended my family."

"I didn't know," Aurelius said, in a rush to reassure him, sounding genuinely worried that Orion might use this against him.

"I don't really care," Orion answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Now, I am going to go dance with my sister."

He didn't wait for Aurelius to try to say anything else and instead swept over to the dance floor, cutting in for Ignatius, seeing as Lucretia had already had several dances with him. He swept his sister around and around, dancing beautifully with her as he'd been trained to do, making her laugh with snide little jokes about their cousins and parents, before pulling her off the dance floor to make certain that she got a slice of cake and a fresh drink. He would always make certain that his big sister was well taken care of, even if she technically was a Prewett now.

He didn't see Hermione again for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

It started out slowly after she made the offer. Sirius Black was still a very proud wizard and she knew that he wouldn't have admitted to the truth of his growing blindness if he hadn't been deep in his cups. In fact, for nearly a month after, he tried to pretend like the conversation had never happened at all.

He was helped by the fact that everyone else was none the wiser about how bad it had gotten. He had lived in Grimmauld Place nearly all his life and could navigate it with a blind fold on, even avoiding all the creaky steps. He was extremely familiar with his usual haunts, too — his family home, the Wizengamot, the Knottgrass Club — that he could move about with relative ease. It was only when small changes were made that he might get tripped up, like when Eos, his little ginger cat, would run between his legs on the stairs, or when Melania moved his favorite armchair just a few feet to the left, that he might make a mistake.

And those things were easily solved with yelling. He berated his daughter-in-law until she sunk back in absolute mortification at changing anything about the Black Family home and wouldn't dream of touching it again. It's not like Arcturus was sweeping in to stand up to his father.

Hermione had said nothing, no judgement for her keeper at all. She just stood there patiently, with gentle brown eyes... waiting for him to ask for her help. She had lived with Sirius long enough to know that he wouldn't outright ask her. It would be simpler... unspoken requests that she was waiting to fulfill.

He didn't tell her that he couldn't read the menu at the Knotgrass Club, he invited her along again whenever it changed. He bullied her way past the host, same as he had in the very beginning, and let her sit close to him in his favorite booth, so that she could whisper the changes in his ear. He taught her complex anti-eavesdropping spells so that no one would hear her do it. He would reward her by buying her a drink of her own, even if she was still only fifteen and didn't really have the taste for it. Hermione would take sips of her Knotgrass Club with a smirk on her lips while she stared at the bartender who didn't care for her, but who wouldn't dare say a word against Sirius Black.

He didn't tell her that he couldn't read the fine print of the opinion section of the Daily Prophet. He would slide the paper towards her once he was done with it, knowing that she would read every word that was printed. They would sit in the sunshine in the library in separate chairs — Hermione sat sideways with her legs dangling over the arm, while Vesper and Lucifer played with her stockings — and read together. Sirius would ask what people were saying these days about this bit of legislation or that person running for election and Hermione would give him the summary, reading out key quotes when needed.

He didn't tell her that he needed help balancing the family's finances. Sirius would sigh dramatically once she'd completed the hardest arithmancy he could produce for her, posit that they would need to find a more advanced tutor at some point because she'd passed NEWT level, and shove the financials in front of her. "I suppose this will have to hold you over, while you wait," he'd say, like he was doing her the biggest favor in the world.

Hermione wouldn't fuss or complain while she poured over all the things that the family was spending their money on. "Alphard has a nasty spending habit," she would tell him with derision. She liked Alphard enough — he'd been genial in the handful of times that she'd met him — but he seemed insistent on spending every last knut that he could get his hands on. "Why hasn't his father curtailed this habit?" If there was anything she loved to do, it was to make Pollux look bad. She didn't trust the wizard for a second.

Sirius would laugh. "I will have a talk with him, Bijou" he'd promise, patting her on the hand. "Pollux can hardly be called a father. He was barely thirteen when his first was born. He didn't know how to raise children... just spoil them."

She made a noise of disgust. No wonder Walburga had turned out so rotten. "How is that even possible?" she asked, thinking of having a child at thirteen. He should have been at Hogwarts.

"You are digging into things that ought not be asked about," Sirius warned. But then he sighed. "To be honest, I am not entirely sure. Could be that my brother is the actual father of Walburga and he made his son marry Irma to cover it up. Or else, Irma wanted to secure a wealthy, influential wizard and got to Pollux before we could make clear to him how to protect himself. I'm not entirely sure. My father was still alive at the time."

Hermione sneered at the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. He didn't like to come around very often now that she occupied Grimmauld Place. "I will have to ask him next time I see him," she answered with a sneer. Even if she didn't like Pollux, neither of the options was appropriate. She almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Sirius didn't tell her that he could no longer keep up with all of his correspondence. Instead, he would hand her an owl from Melania and wave his hand at her. "I can never read her penmanship. What does it say? Another garden party invite?"

"Orion has made Head Boy," Hermione told him, with a frown on her face.

Godric, to think that that useless wizard had made Head Boy was enough to make her furious, especially considering that she was planning on being Head Girl, back when she had still been allowed to go to Hogwarts, in her proper time. And now, the honor was being heaped on someone undeserving, save for his impressive family name. To think that she'd almost been grateful for him once... when he'd rescued her from Aurelius Prewett, who she thought was friendly, but who'd pushed her too far, too fast... only to act as if she were some sort of evil temptress, leading Prewett astray!

"I suppose you wouldn't expect anything less," she added with a snort, knowing how highly the Black family thought of themselves.

"We have had a number of Head Boys and Girls in our family, but it has been a depressingly long time since the last one," Sirius revealed with a sigh.

"Has he at least decided to take an acceptable number of NEWTs this time, or is he just going to skate by with a pathetic number?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like five?"

"I believe he plans to take seven, but he is still considering an eighth," Sirius answered, barely looking up from his own papers. "I believe he plans to get his Charms Mastery when he finishes school."

It grated Hermione to know that Orion was doing well in Charms, a subject that she quite excelled at as well, but then she remembered that the Black family generally did well in Charms. It must have been some kind of shared quality in the family's magic that lent themselves to the subject. "Well, I suppose he's not a complete idiot then," she said, the nicest thing that she could come up with.

"He's not an idiot at all," he said with a laugh. "In fact, I think it was you who said he could be the best of us. Perhaps he is just... finally stepping into the role he was always meant to have."

"It's not hard when your competition is someone like Cygnus," she countered with a sneer. Cygnus had graduated the year prior and proceeded to do nothing at all of note. He'd gone on a long holiday with some of his mates, and had made no effort to find a job or further study. Perhaps he simply intended to spend his family's fortune for the rest of his life.

"Speaking of Cygnus," Sirius said, a gleeful tone in his voice. "I must write to Pollux about arranging his marriage. The next generation of Blacks need to be secured and Salazar knows that Alphard won't be stepping up to the plate any time soon."

"Though, perhaps you ought to find some hapless family to pawn Walburga off onto first," Hermione said, crossly, still remembering the way that Walburga could fly off the handle. "Imagine having that for your sister-in-law."

"You've gone too far," Sirius warned, his voice deadly still. Hermione felt her heart stutter when she realized that she'd overstepped. Sirius generally loved to talk down about his family, but remind him too much of all the family's ills, especially the ones that he could not easily fix, and it would send him into a mood.

"I didn't mean anything by it," she soothed. "Only, Walburga gets so furious. I can't imagine that she is improving Cygnus's chances of making a good match."

"Any witch should be thrilled to marry our Cygnus," Sirius insisted, before waving his hand at her. "Be gone with you now. I won't speak of this any further."

Hermione knew better than to stick around where she was not wanted, especially with Sirius in one of his moods. She would retreat to her bedroom, with Mercurius and a book, and entertain herself until he was in need of her help once again.

Orion could not remember the last time that he had been to Grimmauld Place. Of course, there had been times when he visited the home that his father had grown up in when he was a boy — holidays, dinners, quick visits. He remembered staying there with his grandfather and Grandmother Hester when his parents went on a long vacation. He and Lucretia had stayed in rooms across the hall from one another and spent the weeks finding all the secrets that the townhouse had to hide.

But, then his grandmother had died and there was less occasion to go to Grimmauld Place. His grandfather detested something as trivial as party-planning and so the task fell onto Orion's mother, who was only too happy to open her home up to the family, especially knowing that it made Irma extremely jealous. But then again, Orion knew that his father was tapped to be the paterfamilias once his grandfather died and so it wasn't too surprising that they would begin stepping into the role in fits and starts. Only, he knew that his father wasn't exactly looking forward to the headache of being paterfamilias.

He supposed that must be why his grandfather had grown so miserable over the years — having to deal with this family. Yes, they were all fiercely loyal to one another, but it was no secret that they each knew how to drive the others mad. And, being that they were Blacks, each accustomed to getting exactly what they wanted, he knew that some of his cousins could be... unreasonable, to put it mildly.

Each year, his grandfather retreated more, hiding away in his townhouse, drinking more and more to distract himself from the little fights in the family that he really should be taking care of. It was only once Hermione had appeared that his grandfather took a firmer grip of the family once again, laying down edicts that they were forced to follow.

Even Orion had not been immune. Despite having excellent marks, his grandfather took a renewed interest in his education, hand selecting his OWLs, and then once Orion had passed all twelve of them, selected a terrible number of NEWTs for him to take as well. He'd never admit it, but the workload was overwhelming, on top of being Head Boy, but there was no way he could even dream of turning it down, not when it was just another thing to hold over Cygnus's head.

And now he was being summoned to Grimmauld Place like some sort of dog, expected to come when called for. His grandfather hadn't even done him the courtesy of saying what this meeting was about, so he could only assume that he was going to be interrogated about his studies again.

Orion was surprised to walk through the floo and find Grimmauld Place decorated pleasantly for the Yule holiday. It wasn't the same as his grandmother's work, but it made the townhouse feel more alive than it had in years. Figuring that his grandfather must have given Scrope the go-ahead to decorate, he resolved to compliment the elf if he saw him.

"Grandfather?" he called out, taking a brief moment to look at the family tapestry that hung on the wall in the parlor where he'd come through. He saw Lucretia's leaf was now twined with Ignatius Prewett, and he could already see the furls around Cygnus, which must mean that arrangements were being made for his eventual marriage. Walburga and Alphard's remained stubbornly barren, the former's visage sneering at him for looking.

He did not hear a single sound in the townhouse. Walking slowly, he stepped out of the parlor and into the grand hallway, staring at the holly boughs and bright red ribbon on the bannister to the main staircase that wound up through the heart of the house. "Grandfather?" he repeated, a little louder this time.

Still, he heard nothing, not even the scratch of Scrope working away in the kitchen. Orion scowled under his breath. He'd been summoned here and his grandfather couldn't even bother to show up at the appointed time.

Orion stomped up the stairs, his long legs making short work of the first level. He ducked his head into the library, finding it similarly empty to his growing frustration. He couldn't resist slamming the door behind him, before trudging up the stairs to his grandfather's study, where he must be waiting.

Really, Orion knew that he was his grandfather's to command, but he was also a Black and he didn't like being made to do something he didn't want to. If he was going to be summoned, he should have been greeted and fawned over when he arrived by the house elf at the very least. But, he supposed his grandfather had grown used to his own company and didn't know how to properly treat a guest in his home, least of all one as important as Orion.

That argument was on the tip of his tongue when Orion wrenched open the door to his grandfather's study, expecting to find him inside. But he did not find his grandfather behind the desk. Instead it was the witch — his grandfather's mudblood.

He had not seen her in over a year, the last time being at his sister's wedding, but he found her much changed since then. While she still wore her strangely out of date dresses with pinafore included, it could no longer hide the womanly form that she was growing into. If anything, it was almost more grotesque that she should wear such childish robes. He had tried not to learn anything about the strange witch his grandfather insisted on keeping around, but he knew that she must be fifteen or sixteen at this point.

Her brown hair — wild and curly —was barely contained in a twist held in place by her wand... an irreverent symbol that showed how little she actually appreciated magic, something he'd expect from a mudblood. She held a quill tightly in a hand that had been heavily stained by ink, which meant... yes, she had been writing something at his grandfather's desk — in his private study.

It did not take Orion long to piece things together. It was clear that she was sneaking around in here, possibly spying on his grandfather or the family, writing down whatever it was that she could. He had his wand in hand before she'd even recognized who it was who'd come into the room.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent a stinging hex at her wrist, the one that held the quill, making her drop it. She hissed in pain, her brown eyes meeting his. Fury radiated in her glare. Before he'd even realized it, she pulled the wand from her hair, letting it tumble around her shoulders, and sent a dangerous curse his way, one that he just barely blocked.

Orion was shocked, if only because he recognized the curse and he knew that she should not know it. It was a curse taught to members of the Black family, not taught in the likes of Hogwarts or elsewhere. A mudblood should have no chance of ever learning about it, unless...

The realization settled like a rock in his stomach. Of course, his grandfather must have shown her the curse, the same way that he would have taught the rest of his children. But what right did he have to share this knowledge with a mudblood as though she had the same claims to it as his father, uncle and aunt? Anger radiated through him as he crossed the room, stalking closer towards Hermione.

Her eyes remained trained on him, her knuckles white around her wand while she waited for him to make the next move. She expected him to use magic, to curse her again, but she was not expecting his hand to dart out, grabbing her around the wrist. "Where is my grandfather?" he demanded, his voice deep and commanding — a voice he'd perfected scolding the First Years with at Hogwarts.

She tugged her arm back towards her body, but he was not going to let her go free, not so easily. "He went to his room," she sneered back.

"Oh, and you thought it was the perfect time to help yourself to his papers?" Orion asked sharply, a spark of glee in his chest when he thought about revealing her true nature to his grandfather. How quickly would he kick her out on her arse? How much adoration would the rest of the family have for him getting rid of the pesky witch?

"I wasn't helping myself to—"

He cut her off with a tug, dragging her towards him, not willing to hear another word. "Let's just see what he says when I tell him about your treachery," he countered, feeling rather smug.

The witch raised her chin in the air. "Be my guest," she said, though he could practically hear her voice shake with false bravado as he pulled her from the office and up towards the staircase.

Orion marched up the stairs, not bothering to stop when Hermione stumbled on the steps as he dragged her along. He knocked once on his grandfather's door before he pushed it open, practically tossing Hermione inside.

"Grandfather," he said, sternly. "When I went into your study to look for you, I found her taking notes at your desk. I don't know what she was doing, but I can only assume that she was looking for something to use to her advantage."

Hermione laughed from her spot. "What? Do you think I am some sort of spy?" she asked, clearly amused.

His grandfather's stare was heavy on him, but Orion didn't back down, keeping his spine as straight as it could be. He knew what he'd stumbled into and it wasn't so innocent as she would have him believe. "I brought her to you so that you could punish her yourself," Orion said, knowing that it needed to be done.

"Hermione," his grandfather said calmly. "Return to your room. I will find you shortly."

"But Sirius! I won't let him stand here and slander me, suggesting I'm a thief or a spy of some sort," she insisted, imperiously.

How his grandfather allowed his mudblood to speak to him like that was beyond Orion. Maybe his Aunt Lycoris was right about her — she had always been suspicious of her father's need for a mudblood ward. Orion hadn't cared too much about it either way, but if this was the nature of their relationship — if she was allowed to speak to him in that way — maybe things had gone too far.

"Go to your room!" his grandfather ordered.

Hermione turned to glare at Orion once more, before she took leave of the room, calling for one of the cats to follow her. The white thing hopped down from its place in the window and went trotting off behind her.

"Grandfather, I know it might be hard to believe, but I know what I saw with my own eyes," Orion insisted. "She was going through the papers at your desk and writing things down."

"I know," Sirius said, with a nod.

"Oh," Orion said, surprised at the relief that flooded his body. "For a moment, I thought you were going to take the word of a mudblood over that of your own flesh and blood. What will you do with her?"

"Did you ever take a moment to consider... perhaps... that she was going through papers and writing things down on my orders?" Sirius asked, his lips upturned at the corners, like he was fighting off the urge to smirk.

"What do you mean?" Orion asked, feeling his blood pounding in his ears.

"That the only reason Hermione would be in my study, at my desk, writing things down would be because I asked her to," Sirius explained. "There is no way that she could get into that room if I hadn't given her permission. No matter how talented she is with magic, she is no match for the blood magic woven into this home."

It felt like a punch to the gut to hear his grandfather call his ward talented with magic — acknowledging a mudblood's inherent talent was tantamount to blasphemy in pureblood circles.

"A bit disappointing that you think that I have so little awareness of what is going on right under my nose in my own house, but I know that you were ultimately just looking out for the good of the family," Sirius said, after a few seconds.

"You are disappointed in me?" Orion asked, feeling like he had ice water in his veins. How could his grandfather be disappointed in him when it was his actions that were endangering the family?

"Yes, because I know that you've been taught well enough to know that there are better ways to use this sort of information," Sirius said, a shrewd look in his eyes. "Or has Hogwarts ruined you so that you think that the first thing you must do when you see someone else's misdeeds is to run off and tattle to your superiors? Have you forgotten to think like a Black?"

Orion's stomach twisted, realizing that he was not so much being scolded for jumping to the wrong conclusions about what Hermione was doing, but rather, the way that he'd come running, eager to see her be punished. He thought about the casual way that Hermione had cursed with, without any fear of repercussions.

He took a step closer to his grandfather. "I haven't forgotten how to think like a Black," he insisted. "Your ward tried to curse me with a very dark curse. One that I am sure she wouldn't have found in any standard book of spells."

"Come out and say it," Sirius challenged, daring him to say what it was that he really meant.

"You've been teaching her Black family magic," he said, his voice a low warning. "Don't try to deny it."

His grandfather chuckled. "I won't deny it," he said, sounding amused. "You thought I was going to make Hermione my ward and just not teach her any magic? How could I not, when I realized how much talent she truly has?"

There was that word again — that insistence that Hermione was special in some way. "Mudbloods don't have talent," Orion insisted, though he was beginning to question himself. If Hermione had been able to wield that spell...

"She is not a mudblood," Sirius insisted and for a second Orion felt his heart stop, wondering if his grandfather knew something about her lineage that was not known to anyone else. "She is a ward of the House of Black and I will nurture her as I see fit, including teaching her magic that might be useful to her — to our family."

Orion shuddered, wondering what to make of his grandfather's words. He was more convinced than ever that his Aunt was right. But, his grandfather was still paterfamilias and his words were law. If he was claiming Hermione as a member of this family, well... he didn't really have any choice but to accept it.

Though he didn't have to like it.

"The rest of the family would be furious if they knew what you were up to here," Orion said, not sure if he was warning his grandfather or threatening him.

His grandfather's smile grew broader. "I hardly think that it's any worse than what they are imagining all on their own," he quipped. "At least you are learning. You have valuable information — if you know when to use it."

Orion did not have time for games like this. Was his grandfather wanting him to use the information against him? Or was just the knowledge that Orion could and of course would not use it enough to amuse him? He did not like not knowing. He wanted to be gone from Grimmauld Place, back to his own home.

"Why did you demand for me to come here?" Orion asked, wanting to leave Grimmauld Place and his confusing thoughts as quickly as he could. "To show off your ward's talents?"

"I hoped we could talk about your mastery," Sirius said. "Is Charms still your intended subject?"

Orion frowned. "Yes, I have not changed my mind in that regard," he confirmed. "It's my best subject and the subject I enjoy the most. Seems it would be the most obvious choice to go with."

His grandfather looked at him, assessing the words for a second, before nodding. "I've begun speaking with Fortunatus Muller to take you as an apprentice," he explained.

The younger wizard was shocked. "Surely you must wait for my NEWT results before I can be accepted by a Master," he said, surprised that such things were already in motion. He didn't recall his grandfather working to place any of his cousins, but perhaps being that he was Sirius's direct descendent he was more concerned.

"Fortunatus and I go back a long way," Sirius explained. "And I trust that you will have sufficient marks on your NEWTs not to ruin your chances. I will give you a bit of time after graduation, but you should begin making plans to move to Lucerne to begin your mastery in September."

He knew that it was an honor to even be considered to work with a master such as Muller, but Orion didn't like the way that his grandfather just had everything worked out for him, without taking his wants into consideration. Move to Switzerland? Away from his family and all of his friends? He didn't like the idea of leaving his parents alone. He resented the way that his grandfather's word was law and he was just expected to go along with it. He missed the time that his grandfather was too deep in his cups to worry about the rest of the family.

"Fine," he said, with a huff. "Now may I go? I wish to spend Yule with my family."

"Of course, Orion," his grandfather answered, nodding his head. "I expect great things of you. Happy Yule."

"Happy Yule," Orion bit out, though he wished that his grandfather was miserable alone here at Grimmauld Place, separated from the rest on his throne.

Though, while Orion was walking back through the floo, he was reminded that his grandfather hadn't been alone for several years now. But, instead of being with the rest of the family, he'd be tucked away, insulated from the others, with just his mudblood for company.

Hermione remained in her room, absolutely furious over the way that Orion had manhandled her — accused her of some subterfuge, really. She sat in her windowseat, a book open on her lap, but the words in front of her could not keep her attention, not when she was so mad.

Even the veritable menagerie of cats in her room could not improve her mood. Mercurius had taken up almost a permanent residence in her room since she moved in, frequently sleeping on the end of her bed, even though it made Scrope grumble about cleaning up the cat hair. During the winter, stately old Caelus could be found sleeping in front of her fireplace, the heat of the flames warming his black, furry belly. Vesper had fled Sirius's room when he banished her to her room and his twin, Lucifer, followed not much longer. Only Eos and Saturnus remained elsewhere in Grimmauld Place.

She was not sure how long she remained cloistered away, but eventually Sirius walked into her room. "Orion has returned home," he said simply.

"Oh no, I thought we would celebrate Yule together, just the three of us," Hermione answered, sarcastically.

"You and Orion do not get along," Sirius said simply.

Hermione felt a bit dumbstruck that Sirius was even asking something. "I've spoken with him less times than I can count on one hand," she said. "There is nothing to get along about."

"I shall rephrase," Sirius said, smirking at her attitude. "You and Orion do not like each other. There is animosity."

"Well, what do you expect? I'm supposed to want to be friends with someone who calls me mudblood filth and accuses me of being a spy in my own home, and manhandles me, practically dragging me up the stairs?" she demanded, holding up her arm so he could see the reddish mark left behind on her wrist. She could have healed it easily, but she wanted to show Sirius what his grandson had done, in the hopes that... well, she didn't exactly know? In the hopes that he'd feel some outrage on her behalf?

Sirius made a little noise, crossed the room and took her hand in his larger one. She sighed, feeling the gentle pulse of his magic sinking into her skin, soothing the ache. "That was rather muggle of him," Sirius conceded. "I just thought that... well, you and Orion are of an age with one another. Perhaps you might have something in common."

Hermione couldn't help but snort. Thanks to Sirius's training, she knew more about Orion than she would otherwise. While he was the closest in age to her, he was still several years older — eighteen and ready to graduate Hogwarts. If Hermione was at Hogwarts, she'd only be in her OWL year. If they were both in Hogwarts together, Hermione was sure that she would have been intimidated by the older wizard. Certainly, he must be popular, with his good looks (that all in the Black family seemed to be blessed with) and his family's social standing. And she would just be... Hermione. She'd probably be as friendless as she was now.

"Don't worry about my socialization at this point, Sirius," she cautioned. "I've plenty of company between you and Scrope."

"A half-blind old man and a house elf," Sirius said with a snort. "Merlin weeps at the thought."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, wrapping her arms around her leg. Yes, it had been difficult to adjust at first, but now that she was helping Sirius she felt like she had a purpose — something that she was working towards. "I presume you didn't tell your grandson what I was doing in your office?" she asked.

Sirius had brought home some proposed legislation — something that was too dangerous to leave to chance —and asked her to read through it, sifting through every line, looking for anything that might be included that shouldn't. As usual, she would take notes for him, writing in large, looping letters that were easier to see, summarizing the details.

She knew that later, they would likely spend a day or two in the library, with her reciting the text in front of her while Sirius listened carefully, making her go back and repeat lines until her voice would be sore and cracking. Scrope, who still pretended that he did not care for her, would appear in her room later, grumbling about listening to her, but carrying a steaming cup of tea with a generous drizzle of honey.

"Orion doesn't need to know about my weaknesses," Sirius said, scornfully.

Hermione knew that it was scorn for himself, upset with his body for failing him. "It's not weak to ask for help, Sirius," she said, sagely. Hermione would never say it out loud, but she liked feeling important —being needed by Sirius.

He gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. "In any case, I know what's in front of me. I will not be paterfamilias forever and I must face that. There will be a time when I no longer lead the family," he said with a heavy sigh.

She felt her stomach twist in worry, wondering what was making Sirius face his mortality. Wizards routinely lived to be older than 100, so surely he had many decades left. But there was something in his face that kept her from questioning it.

"And, once I am gone, someone will have to take control," he continued. "I want to give my house its best chance to go forward."

That was what he'd been doing, though, since she'd come to the past, knowing that the Black family was so wholly irrelevant in her correct time. Only, now it was becoming clear that he was taking a particular interest in Orion.

"Please don't tell me you think Orion is the person to succeed you," she said, dismay in her voice.

"Orion is the future of this house. Even if he does not become paterfamilias when I pass, he will be at some point," Sirius said, his brows furrowed together. "It is important to have a strong, steady hand at the helm. And that is Orion. I'd rather it skip over Arcturus altogether. He's too weak to guide the family where it needs to go and would rather it die in complacency."

"But why Orion?" Hermione asked, her disdain for the wizard well known. She did not want to think what would become of her if Orion was in charge. Hopefully, that would not be for a long, long time, when she could get out from under the Black family all together.

"You once said that he was the worst of them," Sirius said, amusement on his face. "But it was only because he wasn't living up to his potential. I've pushed him further and will continue to do so. But, you also revealed the most important thing. Even though he was only a teenager, the rest of his cousins listened to him — looked to him. That is the sort of leadership that the family needs."

Hermione frowned, knowing that Sirius was probably right — that she had probably been right. But, that did not mean that she had to like it. Still, she had committed to helping Sirius and the Black family and if he thought that Orion was the right choice, she supposed she could be supportive.

"Well, let's hope that all this worry will be for nothing and you will have many more years to prepare him," she said, a bit snarky, but Sirius was used to it at this point. "Because he is going to need to do a lot of learning if he is going to become Head of House."

"I think that we can get him there," Sirius said, with a gentle smile. "Between the two of us."

Hermione felt her chest warm, knowing how much Sirius really did rely on her — how much he needed her. It was nice to be needed, she decided. And some day... some distant day in the future, Orion might need her too, if he wasn't too stubborn to take the help. She'd just have to see if he could step into the shoes that Sirius set out for him when the time came.

"Now, shall we retire to the library? I believe Scrope will be finished with Yule dinner soon and I thought that we might share a brandy before then and discuss potential arguments for the bill."

She took a deep breath, her mood very improved at the thought. She picked up Vesper and tucked him under her arm, wanting to take the cat with her. "Let's," she agreed. "I have thought up an argument that I think the moderates might find very persuasive."

Chapter Text

Orion Black, recent graduate of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, with nine NEWTs to his name, stared around the party that was well in swing. It seemed as if everyone and their mother was here, but he supposed it was being touted as the wedding of the century.

Unlike Lucretia's own ceremony, a few years before, no expense had been spared for the union of Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier. But then, Lucretia had impulsively played her hand, agreeing to a marriage to Ignatius Prewett because their father wanted her to marry their second cousin, Mortimer MacMillian, she'd later confessed to her younger brother. Lucretia hadn't even been in love with Prewett, he'd just been preferable.

Druella Rosier on the other hand — well, that was a family worthy of the Black family name, as Pollux was only too happy to remind all of them, loudly. Druella was beautiful, too, Orion could admit, but there was something in the triumphant way that she smiled that made his stomach twist. Like she'd been gunning for this marriage and had managed to finally get what she wanted. But, he had no illusions that it was Cygnus she wanted... just the prestige.

Cygnus, for his part, was a willing participant in the arrangement. He didn't seem bothered that his father told him who to marry and when to marry. He was too pleased by the brown haired witch on his arm for the evening, feeling as though he had the envy of everyone at the party. For once in his life, he had something that other people wanted.

Orion frowned. He wondered why his life and his cousin's were on such separate tracks. Cygnus was only a year older than him, but no attention had been paid to his lacklustre academic achievements. There had been no question of Cygnus getting a Mastery, though Orion had no doubt that he'd be able to. His cousin might have been passed over as Prefect and Head Boy, but he was no slouch with magic — same as any other Black.

Perhaps this was what awaited him when he returned from Switzerland after completing his mastery.

"Well, he looks like a pig in filth," Lucretia whispered from her spot next to him, a mean little smile on her face. "Please promise me you won't marry a girl like that."

Druella was soaking in all of the fawning well-wishes from guests in the receiving line, her smile growing wider as the present pile increased in size.

"Don't worry," Orion told her. "Grandfather said that I am to focus on my studies right now. There is no wedding in my near future."

"Good. You are only nineteen anyway," she said. "There is no need to go rushing into things. You should enjoy yourself for a while."

"Famous advice from a witch who married the first wizard who smiled at her," he quipped affectionately.

"Learn from my mistakes," she said, pointedly.

"Well, I don't see any point in worrying about it. I am sure that Grandfather will pick someone for me and I will have to show up, just like Cygnus, when I'm commanded to," Orion said, wondering if Lucretia could hear any of the bitterness in his voice. He wanted to make his family proud, of course he did, but he also dreamed about having a life of his own to live.

Lucretia snorted. "The choice of a Rosier has Pollux's fingers all over it," she said with a sneer. She smoothed her hand down the front of his dress robes. "I am sure Grandfather will pick someone with substance. After all, you will need to produce the next Black heir, same as father did."

Orion wanted to choke at the idea of having not only a wife but a child as well. But, he knew that Lucretia spoke the truth. His grandfather would want someone with the right sort of magical power and the right sort of temperament and mind for the mother of the next generation. Orion could just hope that she was pretty. "I suppose I only need to see her for a while," he said with a shrug. "Then we could go our separate ways after there are children. Like Callidora."

"Don't be silly, Orion," his big sister soothed. "Any witch would be lucky to have you. You have a good name, you're powerful and intelligent, and you are the best looking wizard at this whole party."

"Your husband is at this party," he reminded her.

Lucretia rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, thank you for reminding me. I should probably go save him from Cassiopeia. She is rather looking at him like he is a piece of meat," she said with a snort. She gave Orion a contemplative look. "You should go mingle, too. Have a little fun before you leave for Switzerland tomorrow."

Orion nodded, watching his sister glide away, in search of her husband. He appreciated her advice, but he didn't think that he would try to dance with any witch that wasn't in his family. He didn't want his grandfather to look at him and hear wedding bells.

Instead, he found himself seeking out his mother. She was seated at a table already, some elf made champagne in hand, huddled away with his Aunt Lycoris, whispering furiously about something. He pulled out a chair and slid into it, giving them a mischievous sort of grin. "Who are you gossiping about now? Abilene Parkinson, perhaps?" he asked, knowing that Lycoris had been... not quite enemies with her at school.

His aunt looked at him with a sad sort of smile. "What I would give if it was only Abilene and her terrible robes," she said, pressing her hand to her heart like she was going to die.

Orion looked to his mother, her grey eyes heavy on him. "Your grandfather has brought... his ward with him again," she said, shutting her eyes tightly.

The wizard didn't care to think much about the witch called Hermione who lived with his grandfather and had wormed her way tightly into his life, so trusted that she was presumably allowed to sit in his study unguarded. It had been nearly a year since he'd told on her and been scolded by his grandfather. It still smarted to know that his grandfather was disappointed in him and hadn't scolded his ward for trying to injure a true member of the House of Black.

So perhaps that was why he felt his breath hitch when he finally set eyes on them. His grandfather stood tall as he always had — looming large in life as he did in Orion's childhood memories — though his hair was more grey than dark at this point. He laughed at something that Faris Shafiq said, sparkling champagne held delicately in his coupe glass. And on his arm was the witch — Hermione.

It seemed that over the last few months, she had transformed from a gangly sort of teenager, stepping into her womanhood, with soft curves that were fully on display in her pink party dress. Her shoulders, gently sloping, were bare, and Orion found himself mesmerized by the line of her throat. Massive puffs of pink fabric, floating just off of her shoulders, made up the sleeves of her dress, and revealed her decolletage. Her waist looked tiny, nipped in by the bodice, before it flared out in a tremendous confluence of pink fluff that made up her skirts. The silhouette was not fashionable — none of the sleek polish that the rest of the women were wearing — but there was no doubt that she was drawing the most attention at the wedding.

Her face should be plain. Her normally wild brown hair had been transformed into sleek waves in a pretty updo, pale pink flowers in her hair. But there was something in her expression that was intriguing, some special brightness that transformed her into something beautiful. And when she tugged his grandfather's arm so that he would bend for her, so that she could press her plump lips to his ear, whispering something—

Orion felt a shiver run up his spine.

She said something to Shafiq and then she was guiding his grandfather elsewhere in the party, her hand carefully tucked on his arm. But he could tell that it was Hermione leading him wherever they were going.

Aunt Lycoris made a horrible sort of choking sound. "It's so awful! Does she have no shame?" she questioned, sounding almost like she might cry. "She's got her talons into my father, alright and —"

"Hush, Lycoris," his mother said, though she looked scandalized as well.

"Everyone thinks so, Melania," his aunt hissed back, undeterred. "Regulus can see it, too, and he's half out of his mind with drink most of the time! Oh, I can't stand to think of him living there alone in Grimmauld Place with no one but her for company."

Orion felt an uncharitable sort of feeling twist in his stomach. His grandfather had been all alone in Grimmauld Place for a long time before Hermione showed up. And, it wasn't as if anyone in the family had done anything about it. His aunt and uncle had not opted to move back into their childhood home, preferring instead to live at the Black manor, where Orion was raised. Everyone just went on expecting his grandfather to keep carrying on, as he always had. So, could they really fault Hermione for being there?

"You mark my words, the ungrateful little mudblood has slithered her way into our family and she thinks that she will have a share of our wealth," Lycoris continued. "Even now, look at her wearing Aunt Belvina's old dresses! I bet she would wear mother's jewels if she didn't know that I would sooner cut off her hands than see a ring on one of her bony fingers!"

Lycoris was really growing quite hysterical and his mother just sat there looking worried, her face pinched as she tried to think of what to do. Despite being married to his father for over twenty years, his mother had not grown up with a Black and she still didn't like being subject to the whims of their mercurial temperaments.

"You mustn't worry, Aunt Lycoris," he said, soothingly. "I've spoken to grandfather a lot recently and he remains sharp as ever. He's even more invested in the success of this family, as evidenced by the marriages he's making and the keen interest in my education. I don't think a simple mudblood could hoodwink him."

His aunt tucked her black hair behind her ear, blinking at him in surprise, snapped out of her panic. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice croaking.

"Yes. And, she couldn't get her hands on our wealth if she wanted. It's the Black family fortune, which means that it will stay in the family," Orion continued. "And if he cares to gift her with his personal fortune, you mustn't worry about that either. It's merely a drop in the bucket compared to the vast galleons that we hold as a family."

"I still don't like it," she said, though perhaps convinced enough not to fret anymore.

"Now, if you don't mind, I think that I will go and speak with my cousins," Orion said, standing up from the table. "They look like they are at a funeral rather than a wedding."

His mother flashed a grateful smile at him. "Perhaps you should offer to dance with Walburga," she suggested gently. "She is bound to be upset that her baby brother is married before her."

Orion laughed. "I don't think that being asked to dance by her teenage cousin will improve her feelings, in that case," he said.

He snagged a whiskey from the bar before he joined Walburga and Alphard, who were standing on the periphery, each of them openly ogling the bride's older brother, Felix. He shared his sister's big blue eyes, but Orion knew that he was dangerous underneath the pretty looks. And, that he almost certainly wouldn't give either of his cousins the time of day.

"Close your mouths," he chided, a bit embarrassed at the way that they were behaving. "You'll catch lacewings."

Alphard turned towards him and took a sip of his champagne. "What good are the Rosiers if they can't be gawked at?" he asked, smirking.

"I hear that's a question that you should be asking your father," Orion answered, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

"Oh, I understand my father and Emrys have been cooking up a union between our families for years now," Alphard answered. "Too bad for Wally here that Felix didn't want her."

"Shut up, Al!" Walburga hissed, gripped by fury as she shoved him.

"Get a hold of yourself," Orion hissed back, sensing that they had drawn the attention of several guests. And that's the last thing that they wanted to do.

"You aren't exactly making yourself seem anymore eligible with that temper, dear sister," Alphard continued to tease, never knowing when to leave well enough alone.

Walburga was hardly old at age 24, but there was some nagging sense that she wouldn't make a suitable bride. As Orion understood it, there had been several attempts to engage her, but they had all fallen through. It was unfortunately becoming a common thread that several Black daughters now shared — Cassiopeia, Lycoris, Walburga.

"And you aren't making yourself seem more eligible by hiding out in backrooms with Archer Thorne!" Walburga argued back, her shrill voice caring far beyond their little circle.

Salazar, the evening was devolving rapidly. Orion decided that he did not want to be there any longer. He would make his leave, deciding that he'd been there long enough to make an impression, citing his need to take an early morning portkey. For the first time, he was almost looking forward to heading off to Switzerland, away from his family drama, for a few months anyway.

It started out slowly, but once it started, it moved quickly. Sirius quickly became used to leaning on her for assistance and Hermione was only too happy to step up. At first, she would simply read aloud to him in the library and review his correspondence, but soon, she was handling almost everything for him.

She was the one who read over Orion's progress reports from his Master, managed the allowances for the more useless members of the family, and balanced the ledgers at the end of the month. It was her that roused Sirius from his slumber when owls came in the middle of the night to request someone come pick up Regulus off the floor of whatever establishment he'd gone to. She was the one who was at his side at practically every function, slowly becoming his eyes as his eyesight grew progressively worse.

While it could not be said that Sirius was doddering, it was becoming increasingly evident to Hermione that her guardian was slowly becoming more and more frail as time wore on. While his mind remained sharp, the rest of his body was failing him. He often lamented to her, while they were at the Knotgrass Club (a place which now always had an open door for her, despite her sex and her blood status), that he was forced to deal with his family's problems when he should be enjoying his remaining years to the fullest.

Hermione wanted to tell him that he was silly. He was enjoying his years to the fullest, spending most of his days leisurely, doing whatever he wanted. And, doing whatever he wanted usually involved a bottle of gin and a cigar (no matter how much Scrope groused about the smell clinging to the furnishings). He never had to worry about money, he could never work another day in his life and he'd be fine. He only was so involved at the Wizengamot because he wanted the power to shape the wizarding world.

But, Hermione would never complain about it, because that was the part that she enjoyed most of all. She found, in her years living with Sirius, she'd learned so much more about the ways that the Wizarding world truly worked, parsing through bill after bill, listening in to arguments, and ultimately seeing the way that the wind blew. She had quickly seen that it was not people just trying to do the right thing, as she'd believed when she was at Hogwarts. Even the people who supported muggleborn rights were dreadfully self-serving. It left her feeling a little bit jaded, if she was honest.

And, she quickly learned that decisions were not made in the Wizengamot Chambers. They were made in Sirius Black's office at the Ministry, when different wizards stopped by to talk, to barter. They were made in the Knotgrass Club, when people slid into Sirius Black's favorite booth to speak frankly, get to the heart of what people really wanted.

They all wanted to enrich themselves.

For better or for worse, Hermione had bedded down in that philosophy as well. She wanted to do what was best for her survival and she was intelligent enough to know that the continued influence of the Black family was best for her because she was no ordinary muggleborn. She was a ward of the House of Black, as much a part of the family as Cygnus or Lucretia or Arcturus. Sirius had seen to that.

Maybe she was even more a part of the family than some of them. At least she cared about the family's fortunes.

Sirius had rewarded her well in exchange for her counsel and assistance in all matters. He took time out of every day to teach her magic, until she'd far surpassed what Hogwart's curriculum could offer. She knew more about Magical History than Binns could ever hope to impart, because Sirius knew what had really happened, not what had been sanitized for public consumption. Her Runes work now covered several alphabets that were not taught at Hogwarts and her Arithmancy had even surpassed what Sirius could teach her. They tended to some herbs in the small conservatory on the back of Grimmauld Place and used them in Potions, with Sirius encouraging her to learn why certain ingredients produced certain results, rather than rote memorization. She liked to think that she'd even give Snape a run for his money now.

It was no secret that Sirius found Transfiguration to be a bit of a trivial discipline, but he taught her well, forcing her to practice non-verbal spells at a young age. There was no reason, he'd explained, for her to wait as the skill was easier to acquire the younger you were. He even humored her interest in becoming an animagus, though he would not yet give her leave to attempt the process.

While she'd been a bit... uncomfortable with the idea of learning the Dark Arts at first, she had taken to them like a duck to water. Of course, you could not wield dark magic indifferently. You needed to be certain you knew how to control it, or you could find yourself hopelessly overwhelmed. When she no longer feared the magic, she found that defending against it was almost trivial.

But Charms was by far her favorite. Sirius had explained that the Black family had a certain affinity to Charms and it seemed that she was no exception. She probably shouldn't have enjoyed it so much, but she had such pride every time she could master some charm that was known only to the Black family. And Sirius was pleased to have such an eager pupil.

She'd made herself invaluable to him, her hand always at his side, guiding him. She sat next to him in his office in the Wizengamot, reading through lines of legislation together shoulder to shoulder when it grew too tiresome to stain his eyes to read the small words written on the parchment. She had become simply an extension of himself, so much so that he didn't have any sense of shame when Brutus Malfoy abruptly walked into the office, clearly startled to see them sitting so close together.

"Oh!" he said, his white blond eyebrows raising in surprise. "Sirius, I didn't realize that you had company."

Hermione had met Brutus Malfoy several times and she could say that Draco Malfoy had not fallen far from the tree. They were similar in looks in the ways that it counted, but where it was most evident was in the sneer that Brutus perpetually wore when he was breathing the same air as her. Sirius promised it wasn't personal — Brutus always looked like that, according to him.

In fact, she and Sirius had enjoyed on several occasions discussing the Malfoy family that she knew from her time. She eagerly explained how Lucius Malfoy threw his weight around at Hogwarts as he was on the Board of Governors and how Draco Malfoy strutted around like he owned the place. Sirius, who had complicated feelings about Hogwarts seeing as his father had been Headmaster there, could not abide by the Malfoys' power being unchecked at Hogwarts and immediately ordered his youngest brother, Arcturus, to take a seat on the Board.

"Brutus," Sirius answered, amused. "Why are you haunting my office on a day like today? I thought that I'd already seen you for our allotted amount of time."

"Ha, very funny," Brutus answered, not liking Sirius acting like he didn't matter.

Because, as Hermione quickly learned, Brutus Malfoy desperately wanted to matter. He thought himself a real critical piece of the machinery of the wider wizarding world, but she had quickly realized that the Blacks hardly noticed his efforts at all. Yes, he was the Minority Leader, but he was a useful tool. Have him handle all the hard work, while it was Sirius Black (and others more well established) who was really making the decisions.

"You know, I was just stopping by, hoping that we could discuss some of the sanctions being discussed against the —" Brutus stopped himself short, his gaze lingering on Hermione. "Er, do you mind if we speak privately?"

Sirius stared at him like he had a second head. "I promise you anything you say in front of me, you can say in front of Hermione," he said.

"Yes, but, I'm not really sure if this topic of conversation is appropriate for a mud— excuse me, a muggleborn's ears," Brutus continued, speaking like she wasn't there, like she couldn't hear the slander against her. "You really can't be too careful, Sirius. They can be so treacherous."

"Ah yes, I understand that you are very familiar with mudbloods yourself," Sirius quipped. Hermione did not know what he was referring to, but she took note of the way Brutus's cheeks went red at the implication. "In any case, Hermione is not a mudblood, she is a ward of the House of Black and she will be respected as such."

"Sirius, listen to yourself," Brutus said, growing frustrated with the situation.

Sirius did not bother to head the scolding. "And, any detail that you share with me in private, you can be certain that Hermione will hear from my lips directly as soon as I return home, so..." he trailed off.

Brutus Malfoy, proud as he was, did not budge from his position. He stared at Sirius, like he was really seeing the man for the first time.

The older wizard sighed and rolled his eyes, standing up. "If you insist that this must be spoken of privately, the least that you could do is buy me a drink," he insisted, grabbing his outer robes from the hook on the wall, pulling them on. "We'll go to the Knotgrass Club. My usual table will be available and they will ensure that we are not overheard."

"Good," Brutus said, relaxing a fraction of an inch.

Sirius turned to Hermione and gave her an indulgent smile — one she knew he was doing only to get under Brutus's thin skin. "Bijou, be certain that you lock up my office before you apparate home," he said. "I'm sure that I will be late, so have Scrope take care of you."

"Of course, Sirius," she promised, knowing that she would do nothing less.

Brutus looked almost more affronted than he had before. "You'll let your mudblood remain here alone? Unaccompanied?" he demanded. "And you've taught her to apparate? How? Is she even of age?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, looking more than a little bit smug. "She'll be of age in a few months," he explained. "But, as I've already told you, Brutus, she is of the House of Black. The Ministry was only too happy to bend the rules a bit to keep me happy. And now I can send her out to get my cigars and I don't have to bother with it."

The blond wizard made a choked sort of noise. "I hope that you know what you are doing, Sirius," he warned. "There might come a day when people aren't so willing to bend to your rule."

Her guardian laughed, throwing a wink at her over his shoulder before he swept out of the office, leaving her to her own devices. Hermione didn't bother to hide her answering smirk.

After living at Hogwarts for so many years, Orion found himself unexpectedly lonely in Lucerne. Yes, the landscape was undeniably beautiful, but he did not have anyone to share it with. All his spare time was spent studying, practicing, theorizing about charms with his exacting Master, who seemed determined to work him until he couldn't take it anymore. Even thoughts of his family, who many months prior he'd been eager to leave behind with their troubles, now made him ache for the comforts of home.

So, when his master offered him a few days off for a break, so that he might celebrate Yule with his family, Orion had jumped at the opportunity, arranging for his portkey home the same afternoon.

When he was back home in his childhood bedroom, hearing his aunt lamenting about this or that, or hearing his uncle stumble up the stairs drunk, or the pinched way his parents spoke of Lucretia and the fact that she was not yet with child... Orion began to wonder just why he'd missed them so much in the first place. He wanted some sort of connection, but... he wasn't sure that this was it.

An invitation from Graeme came on the third day that he was home and he found himself agreeing to meet up with some of his old friends from Hogwarts, even though he hadn't bothered to keep up with their correspondence while he was away. Even trudging into Knockturn Alley, into the oppressive gloom of Bottle & Glass, could not dull his spirits, for a little while at least.

Orion smiled genuinely when he saw them all seated around the table. He signaled to the bartender to bring him a drink, before he sat down with them.

"Well if it isn't the conquering hero," Graeme Greengrass, his friend for many years, said with a smile. "We weren't sure if you would remember us peasants after your time abroad," he teased, with a grin.

Though it hadn't even been a year, Orion could swear that he could see the evidence of time's passage on Graeme's face. For one, his hair, once blond, now seemed a lighter brown than it had before, and he looked in stark contrast to the white blond hair of Abraxas Malfoy, who sat on his other side, a knowing sort of grin on his face.

"I'm sure he's enjoyed sampling the local maidens at least," Amatus said, with a wag of his eyebrows, the metaphor not quite as elegant when he said it. Flint wasn't exactly the most intelligent wizard there, but what he lacked in brains, he more than made up in brawn.

"'Course he did," Svein Rowle said with a smirk, his brown hair now well past his shoulders. "Everyone knows that the Blacks have one weakness: witches."

Orion snorted into his whiskey, wondering what had given them that idea. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had kept focused on what was really important: getting good marks and being a good representative of his family. That wasn't to say that he lived like a monk — far from it, in fact, as Fawn Selwyn and Antonia Nott could attest to — but he did not let something stupid like a witch distract him.

"What has my family done now?" he wondered out loud, knowing that most of the gossip had not been fit to make it to him via owl. He knew it could not be Alphard causing trouble with witches. "Is Cygnus already so unhappy in his marriage that he's stepping out on Rosier?"

"That's Black now, surely," Graeme said with an arched eyebrow.

Orion rolled his eyes. It might be her name now, but Druella would never be a Black. Not in the way that it really mattered.

"Not Cygnus," Amatus said, knowingly sharing a look with Svein.

"Go on, then, tell me," he said, his voice taking on that imperious quality that he'd been bred to.

Svein couldn't hide his glee. "I can't believe you haven't heard," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Everyone has been talking about your grandfather."

"Sirius?" Orion questioned, feeling utterly perplexed. His grandfather hadn't even looked at another witch since his grandmother had passed, too deep in his cups to look up. "You must have it wrong. Are you sure you aren't thinking of Pollux? Or Great-Uncle Arcturus?"

"You know," Svein continued, grinning. "Your grandfather and his little mudblood mistress. He's been hiding her away in Grimmauld Place now for many years, but no one is blind to what's going on there anymore."

Orion was absolutely stunned. "You don't know what you are talking about," he said, firmly — wanting to cut off all possible discussion about this because it seemed so preposterous.

"It's true," Abraxas said, leaning forward, looking like he was enjoying himself far too much. "My father told me that he's seen them in Sirius's office at the Wizengamot looking extremely cozy. It sounds like he tells her everything. And, he takes her to the Knotgrass Club almost every week. She has him completely wrapped around her finger, but what more can you expect from a mudblood?"

He could not believe what he was hearing. Did they really think that his grandfather was sleeping with his ward? With Hermione? Hermione?

Orion thought of the little girl he'd first met, at his family's estate, with her bushy hair that nearly had a life of its own. The witch who'd proudly stated that she planned to take twelve OWLs when she went to Hogwarts. The impertinent little witch who'd dared to draw her wand against Walburga, and somehow held her own against his older cousin, not even flinching in the face of her wrath.

He thought of the witch who'd dared to use his own family's magic against him when Orion had found her at his grandfather's desk. The girl who'd been sat so casually at Sirius's desk, writing notes with a quill that he knew was possibly more expensive than anything she could dream of affording.

Impossible.

But then he thought of her at Cygnus's wedding, her pale neck exposed, her hand heavy on his grandfather's arm. He thought of her lips, pink and perfect, pressed against his ear as he whispered something unknown. He shivered, imagining those same lips against his own ear.

He imagined her laid out on her side on the settee in the library to Grimmauld place, her back bare and tantalizing, odalisque. He thought of her looking over her shoulder, teasing and playful, a smirk on her face. He thought of her ensconced in his grandfather's bed, naked amongst the sumptuous sheets, her hair around her head on the pillow like a halo. He thought of her lips parted, panting over and over, a flush on her cheeks, down her neck and...

Suddenly, some of his Aunt Lycoris's fears came more clearly into focus. He'd never understood why she was so worried about her father being alone with Hermione. Her aghast questioning, wondering what other people would say, came into sharp focus. Did everyone in the family know about this but him?

Orion snapped his eyes back up to his friends, realizing that he'd gotten quite swept up in the daydream. He sneered at them, hating them for putting the idea in his head at all. "You are wrong," he insisted. "Your father is just stirring things up because even though he is the face of the Minority, everyone knows that he is nothing more than a figurehead. Perhaps he thinks if starts an ugly rumor about my grandfather, he could take control."

Abraxas bristled at being called a liar. "My father —"

"Your father miscalculated though. Nothing could run my grandfather away, not even a scandal about having a mistress," Orion said, rolling his eyes like it was nothing. "But in any case, there is no way that Hermione is his mistress. She's been his ward since she was a child."

"All the better for a mistress then," Amatus said with a lascivious grin, taking a drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a wreath. "He can be certain that she was untouched, unspoiled. And, he could train her to be just what he wanted. Open your mind to the possibilities, Orion."

Orion recoiled again, thinking about his grandfather and Hermione together in that way. Was it possible that he didn't know his grandfather as well as he'd thought? The worst was knowing that there was some part of the suggestion that did make sense. It would certainly explain some of his grandfather's more eccentric behaviors where his mudblood was concerned.

"Don't be a pig, Amatus," he scolded, not liking the idea of anyone talking about Hermione that way. She was — she was his grandfather's ward. Was she more?

Shaking his head, he finished his whiskey. "Don't let me catch you talking about this bullshit again," he ordered, knowing that it was imperative to protect the reputation of the Black family, even if they did not concern themselves with gossip. "Now, let's talk about something else before I decide to head home. I don't have time for this."

That threat seemed to be enough for his friends and they quickly switched topics, asking Orion about living in Switzerland and when he might be home for good. In turn, they told him about their work at the Ministry or at Gringotts or the life of an indolent bachelor. It was easy to slip into the conversation, but Orion's mind was still miles away, thinking about the witch who'd appeared out of nowhere yet seemed to worm her way into his family.

Chapter Text

As she had grown older, Sirius had seen fit to allow the responsible Hermione to enjoy more personal freedoms. Sirius had instructed her personally on how to apparate and then he had paid off someone at the Ministry to get her to test early. Now, he was happy for her to run all his little errands for him when he wasn't up for it. And, he was happy to have her go out on her own if she told Scrope when she would return home.

It was strange to go out into the world all on her own. It wasn't as if she had anyone to see, really. No one was inviting her to lunch or to dinner or to tea. And, it wasn't as if Hermione had anything to do really. She didn't have a job. She was consigned to a life of service to the Black family. But if she could get away for a few hours and walk around Flourish and Blotts or other less known bookstores, she felt a little more normal, a little more like her old self.

The girl that had been left behind in 1993.

The Black family fortune was vast and Sirius didn't seem to have any idea how extravagant the allowances he gave her were. Hermione had a whole bunch of leftover galleons in a box with an undetectable extension charm on it on her desk in her room, leftover when she couldn't possibly spend them all. She knew she should consider opening a bank account at Gringotts now that she was of age, but it felt too scary, too independent.

Maybe when she had enough she could leave the Black family behind and make her own way in the world.

But then, she would return to Grimmauld Place, dutiful as ever, and the fantasy of disappearing into the night would fade when she saw Sirius shuffling around from library to office or back again, barking orders at Scrope. She could not leave him, not now when he needed her so much.

She returned from a trip to Knockturn Alley (a place that no longer frightened her at all) with a trio of new books under her arm and a candied orange in the other hand, only to find that Sirius had company. While they were not yelling at one another, the voices were raised and tense enough that Hermione knew it could be no one else but a member of the Black family.

"Scrope!" she called out, waiting impatiently for the little old house elf to appear.

"Yes, miss?" Scrope asked the second he appeared.

"Please take these up to my room," she said, handing over her items. "And, who is with Sirius this afternoon? I don't remember him having anything on for today."

Scrope gave her a look. "Master Pollux decided to stop in," he said with a tight look on his face. "He's been here since after lunch."

Hermione frowned, but started her way up the stairs to Sirius's office, wondering just what Pollux could be up to today. If there was one member of the House of Black that she trusted the least, it was Pollux. He always seemed to be scheming, planning, waiting in the wings, and though Sirius reassured her that he couldn't do anything, she knew that Pollux would usurp him in a heartbeat if there was a way.

It was unfortunate that his nephew caused him such distress, especially since Hermione knew how close Sirius had been with his departed brother. Cygnus had been the baby of the family and it seemed that everyone had wanted him to have a pampered life, making excuses for his misbehavior. Sirius always framed them as such sweet little stories, but Hermione saw the truth behind them. Cygnus had been a spoiled, mean little wizard.

She opened the door to the study and found Sirius sitting behind the desk, stooped over. He used to be so proud and upright, but in the last few months he seemed to droop. Pollux sat across from him, a leg crossed over his knee, looking far too pleased with himself. It was hard to believe that he was only going to be 40 years old that year, especially considering the three grown children he had, but Hermione had never learned the truth behind his marriage to Irma.

"Pollux, I had no idea that you were coming today," she said in greeting, a smirk forming on her face, knowing how much he detested how familiar she was with all of them. "I hope between Sirius and Scrope you were well taken care of. Do you need tea?"

Pollux sneered back at her — a look that Walburga had certainly inherited, whether from him or his father that was uncertain. "I don't need anything from you, witch," he said, disdainfully. "So leave us."

Hermione was just pleased that he hadn't called her mudblood. Over the years, the word had become almost forbidden to use in her presence and she knew that Sirius was the reason. He would tell any of his family members that she was a Black family ward and deserved the respect that came with that.

"Sirius, would you like me to leave?" Hermione asked her guardian, giving him a sharp look.

Sirius looked exasperated. "No, Hermione, you may stay," he said.

"Well, then. I'll stay," she said, walking over to the open chair next to Pollux and sitting down, smoothing out her hands over her skirts. "What were we talking about? Are marriage bells ringing again now that you've made Cygnus such a wonderful match with Druella?"

Hermione found Druella to be particularly vapid, but she was mostly harmless. She didn't talk to Hermione at family functions, always staring at her like Hermione smelled rotten, but she didn't go out of her way to be rude like some of the other family members did.

Pollux's face fell even further. "No, nothing like that," he said.

"Oh, really? But Walburga and Alphard must be thinking about settling down now," Hermione said, enjoying twisting the knife. She knew that Pollux had been unable to find anyone for Walburga to marry and Alphard remained stubbornly devoted to his hedonistic lifestyle.

The wizard stared at her, before he turned and faced Sirius. "Are you really going to let her insult the House of Black so blatantly?" he demanded.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "I hardly think that Hermione has said anything insulting," Sirius said firmly. "It would be such a weight of my back to know that Walburga and Alphard — my brother's beloved grandchildren — were happily settled in marriage, the next generation of the Black family growing strong as it always has."

"You know that I have been trying to handle that for years —" Pollux hissed.

"Pollux, tell me now if you do not think you are up to the task. I can manage it as Head of House, though I of course deferred it to you as you are their father," Sirius said, sounding supremely magnanimous. "However, if you do not think that you can manage, I don't know how you begin to think that you could manage something as complex as my work at the Wizengamot."

So that's why Pollux was there, Hermione thought to herself. He must have been demanding that he begin helping Sirius at the Wizengamot — which would mean slowly pushing the older wizard out of the role so that Pollux could do whatever he wanted.

Pollux sputtered. "I was trying to help," he insisted, his hands flexing into fists. "So that you could spend your remaining years in leisure."

"You speak about me as though I am on death's door, Pollux," Sirius said, sounding amused, though there was no denying how much he'd aged since Hermione had met him. "And, such is the life of the paterfamilias. I will toil for this family until the day that I die. And, if I need anything, I have Hermione to assist me."

She gave Pollux a rather saccharine sort of grin that only incensed him further.

"If you are so worried about marriages, perhaps you should look to your own family. Orion remains unwed," Pollux spat. "Perhaps he should be finding a match rather than gallivanting across Europe."

"Orion is exactly where I want him to be," Sirius said, firmly. "He will get married when the time is right. For now, I wish for him to continue his education, so that he might serve our House, the same way that all of us must."

Pollux's ears started to go red at the tips. "Yes, I suppose we all must have our place in the family," he said with a sneer. "Some of us must be the public face and others must make the deals behind the scenes. Some are rewarded with continued education and others must put aside their personal aspirations."

Hermione could feel his gaze lingering on her and she knew that he was talking about her. Even though she knew that he was trying to get a rise out of her because she had not been allowed to attend Hogwarts, she could still feel the anger twisting in her belly that it had been kept from her. It was another reason why she could never leave Sirius's side. She didn't have a single NEWT to her name.

She was in her own thoughts when Pollux stood up and swirled out the door. "What did he really want?" she asked, once they were alone.

"He thought to tell me how to handle the Magical Deficiencies Act," Sirius said, steepling his fingers and looking her over.

Hermione hummed, knowing that they had spent a lot of time pouring over that Act, formulating little loopholes so that pureblood families would not be responsible for their squib family members forever. Sirius had been thoroughly against it from the start, but had been persuaded to support the Act once Hermione fibbed a little and over exaggerated the successes of a squib uprising. With her future knowledge, Sirius trusted her implicitly.

"Pollux is a fool," Hermione said, frowning. "But a dangerous wizard nonetheless, if he is so openly scheming to take power from you."

"You leave Pollux to me," Sirius said. He stared at her, his grey colored eyes heavy on her. "You mustn't let him get to you either. He only wants to unsettle you."

Hermione sighed. "I know that he's just trying to stir up trouble because he knows how close we are," she said, dropping her eyes to her lap. "But... have you ever thought about letting me take my NEWTs?"

She could not look him in the eye, unable to bear whatever pitying look he'd wear on his face. Of course, getting her NEWTs was only the start of her dream. The thought of getting a Mastery — of traveling Europe like Orion — in almost any subject was heady.

"Hermione..." he trailed off with a sigh. "It would be too difficult. You don't have any OWLs, either."

His words made her want to snarl, because whose fault was that? Not her own. "So? Blacks don't have to follow the rules that everyone else does. Isn't that what you always say?" she questioned. "You got me my apparition license early. Surely there is some way that I could sit for my NEWTs."

"Perhaps in a little while, we could look into it," he said, placating her.

But deep down, Hermione knew that if it was Orion who needed a way to sit his NEWTs, Sirius would find a way to make it happen. Godric, he'd probably do it for Alphard or Cygnus, too. But her role in the family was not to have an education. It was to be Sirius's companion and nothing more.

"I have nothing to my name," she said, standing up, feeling hot tears prickling at the back of her eyes. "What will become of me when you die? When I am forced to rely on Arcturus or Pollux or any of the rest of them for protection?"

Sirius looked aghast, like he truly hadn't thought about that. "You must not think that way, Hermione," he said, firmly. "You are a ward of the House of Black and this House will continue to protect you, even after I'm gone, you have my word."

Though his word was not quite enough to erase her worry, Hermione knew that she wasn't going to get anything else from him, not after a draining conversation with Pollux. She stood up and nodded, darting her gaze to his face, hoping he wouldn't see how upset she was. "I, um, I got a new book while I was in the Alley today," she said, simply. "I think I will go to my room now to read it."

He did not try to offer her any further reassurance, just watched her leave him behind in the study.

His time in Switzerland was coming to an end soon, Orion knew. It was strange. When he was first sent packing to Lucerne all those months ago by his grandfather, Orion had been frustrated. Not at being made to complete his mastery — no, he was certain that he would have completed one regardless. Instead, it was the fact that he was being told what to do, without any input himself.

Naturally, Orion would have selected Charms for his continued study. The subject had always come to him easily, and while he enjoyed learning about hexes and curses the same as any self-respecting Slytherin, he had a particular interest in warding. And of course, he knew that the Master his grandfather had found for him was an expert in blood wards, but still... at first the choice to decide his own future was a frustration.

Now that he is nearly a Charms Master himself (and at such a young age, it is certainly something to boast about), Orion knew that he had to begin to re-establish himself back home in England. He can not remain in this exile forever. He will have a role in his family, another role that his grandfather chooses for him, one that he will have to embrace sooner than later. He began to visit with more frequency, just little trips here and there when his Master can spare him for various familial events, no matter how trivial they seem.

Like being recalled for Cygnus and Druella to announce that they are expecting their first child.

Orion was almost frustrated when he came home for this family dinner, not knowing what to expect, only to have Druella bursting with the detail, like she was birthing the next Minister for Magic! He should have known it was nothing important when his grandfather was absent from the announcement, despite everyone else piling into the family manor.

But then, Orion was already home, and there was really no way to talk himself out of dinner with Cygnus and some of their old friends from Hogwarts. Not Orion's friends, exactly, seeing as he was a couple years younger than his cousin, but wizards important enough to know nonetheless. Cygnus was practically vibrating out of his skin at the thought of telling his friends that he was going to become a father, so much so that Orion almost found it... sweet in a way.

"Are you sure that Druella wants you to share the news?" Orion asked, gently, while they walked into the posh restaurant that Cygnus had selected. "You've only just shared it with family. Isn't it meant to be hush hush until things are more... certain?"

Even though Orion was a wizard, he knew that there were certain stigmas around pregnancy and their inevitable losses.

His cousin just rolled his eyes, a sneer on his face. "I don't particularly care what she thinks," he answered, puffing out his chest. "I'm the one who made it all happen, aren't I? I think it's my news to share."

Orion frowned, but didn't bother to rebuke him, no matter how immature he thought Cygnus's response was. He was glad to be saved from it by the arrival of Cygnus's friends — Edmond Lestrange, Alfred Nott, Evan Rosier, Emeric Mulciber, Abraxas Malfoy, and Tom Riddle. Orion gave them curt nods, letting himself be ushered into the booth where they would all be sitting while Cygnus loudly called for a bottle of firewhiskey and two bottles of champagne to be brought to the table as they'd be celebrating.

Salazar, Orion felt his stomach sink when he realized that he had ended up pressed furthest inside the booth, right across from Tom Riddle himself. He knew that Cygnus tolerated the wizard, but there was always something about him that didn't sit right with Orion and it wasn't just that he was a mudblood that had found his way into Slytherin house. No, there was something in his dark eyes that made Orion's hackles rise, even though he seemed charming enough.

He forced himself to talk to Edmond Lestrange, who was sitting beside him. Lestrange was an alright sort of fellow, though Orion had always thought that he was too content to skate by on his family name and not enough on his own intelligence. That was made all the clearer now, when he learned that Lestrange was doing fuck all with his time after Hogwarts and that he seemed utterly baffled by Orion's choice to continue his studies.

"But, all this time away from London, to what, learn a couple more Charms? It seems boring," Edmond said, smirking behind his bushy, auburn coloured mustache. "But, you always cared too much about school, didn't you."

Orion resisted sneering back at him. "Well, Edmond, someone has to have a fuller understanding of magic to come up with all the bills you'll be voting on in the Wizengamot some day," he answered, knowing that that was the future fate had in store for him. Even if he didn't always see eye to eye with his grandfather, he knew that Sirius Black held a lot of sway in politics and Orion would be lying if he said he didn't want the same for himself, unlike his father.

"Don't be so hard on him, Edmond," Riddle butted in, giving Orion a look, like he was only just seeing him for the first time. "He's a wizard who is going places and has taken the proper steps to get there."

The younger wizard bristled. He didn't like the idea of Tom Riddle approving of anything that he did or thinking that Orion cared for his approval. He didn't need Riddle to step in and argue in his favor with a simpleton like Lestrange.

Orion was saved from responding by the arrival of the champagne. Cygnus made quick work of opening the bottles, not bothering to avoid the obnoxious pop of the cork to draw attention to himself, pouring drinks for everyone and passing them around.

"Alright, alright, what is so important?" Abraxas asked, picking up his glass and taking a quick sip, uncaring that it was gauche to do it before the toast.

"Shut up, everyone, before I have to silence you," Cygnus warned, standing at the end of the table, looking absolutely giddy.

"Out with it!" Emeric shouted, a massive grin on his face.

"I'm going to be a father!" Cygnus announced cheerfully, raising his glass in toast. "Druella is with child."

A cheer went up and down the table, glasses pressed together and champagne drunk down in gulpfuls before a second round was poured.

"Didn't know that you had it in you," Alfred said, smirking at Cygnus. "Thought you might be more like your brother than you let on."

That got a rather loud laugh from the group, one that made anger bubble up in Orion's chest. He didn't like the idea of these wizards speaking disparagingly about Alphard, but even worse, he detested the fact that Cygnus was laughing right along with them.

"Please, have you seen Dru? I knew exactly how to handle her," Cygnus said with a laugh. "And she was only too happy to go along for the ride."

"Hey, fuck you, that's my sister you are talking about," Evan said, furious. There was enough rage in his eyes that Orion was somewhat surprised it wasn't going to come to wands being drawn. He was sure that he should defend Cygnus — it was the right thing to do for the family, of course — but he didn't particularly want to.

"Don't be hard on the witch," Alfred said with a laugh, giving Evan a nudge with his shoulder. "You know that's what she came into the marriage to do, usher in the next generation of little Blacks. The heirs to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

There was a strange bit of silence then and Orion felt as though everyone's eyes went to him. He could see little spots of pink on Cygnus's cheeks that were not down to the champagne and he knew then that Cygnus had made the same mistake that his father had... thinking that he was somehow going to be the man to lead the family once Sirius was gone. Not for the first time, Orion began to realize that his house was full of snakes and at some point, individual family members had put their own ambitions above the good of the family.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to say anything. Orion simply had to stare at his older cousin and he could see Cygnus wilting.

"Now you've gone and jinxed it, Alf," Edmond said, chuckling. "Now Cygnus is doomed to have nothing but daughters." Edmond was the only other at the table to have a child, so far, a boy called Rodolphus born earlier in the year, and he was obviously pleased at having secured his heir.

Cygnus made some sort of noise about having a daughter first and that only set Evan off more, at the thought that any child his sister could give Cygnus would not be good enough. They bickered back and forth, and firewhiskey was passed around the table and conversations began to bubble up, and Orion was able to retreat back into his own thoughts.

Yes, his time in Switzerland was coming to an end, but perhaps it was time for him to come home. Who else was going to keep them all in line — Cygnus and Alphard, Walburga and Lucretia — if not him?

"How is Muller as a Charms Master?" Riddle asked him, amusement glittering in his dark eyes.

Orion snapped his head to look at the older wizard, frowning that he would deign to speak to him. "Excellent," Orion answered, tersely.

"He has a particular interest in blood magic, no?" Riddle pressed further.

Orion could feel his eyebrows furrow. "Yes, it's his specialty and the Swiss are less precious about it," he explained. "I've an aptitude for it as well."

Riddle smirked at him. "I always knew that you'd specialize in Charms," he said, conspiratorially, as though he were trying to make Orion feel special that he was being singled out, praised — noticed. "You even beat my score in the OWL while we were at school. That's no easy feat."

"Jack of all trades, master of none," he answered, unable to resist throwing a barb. Riddle deserved to be taken down a peg or two.

But, the jibe didn't land. Riddle gave him one of those perfect smiles, one of the ones that charmed all the teachers. "I might not have an illustrious master to continue my education, but I'm quite capable when pressed," he answered. "You'll be back in a few months?"

Orion wouldn't back down from the challenge. He leveled his stare at the other wizard and nodded. "That's the plan," he said.

"I'm sure we are all ready to welcome you back," Riddle said. "When you return, there is a group of us that get together to talk about politics, how things ought to be done. You might consider joining. Cygnus is a regular, of course, but I know that you have more... influence in your family. I think that you'd like what you'd hear."

Orion didn't even have to think about it. He could hear his heart thud in his chest. "I think I'll pass, Riddle," he said, firmly. "I don't know what Cygnus has led you to believe, but the Black family doesn't just follow along and do what they are told, especially not from someone who works for a shop in Knockturn Alley."

Riddle's smile faltered for a second, but then snapped back into place. It was evident that he didn't like being denied, having grown far too comfortable with the rest of these wizards agreeing to his every whim. "Well, if you should change your mind, at least you will know where to find me," he said. "At my little shop in Knockturn Alley."

Later, when Orion had to drag Cygnus from the bar and see him to his home, he needled him knowing that his cousin had had too much to drink. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded.

"Dunno what you're on about," Cygnus slurred, stumbling a bit as he walked.

"Letting them talk about Alphard that way," Orion said, reluctantly throwing his arm around Cygnus's shoulders to steady him.

Cygnus laughed. "As if it's some secret that Alphard prefers the company of wizards! He likes flaunting it. He knows it makes people mad," he said, indignantly.

"You cannot allow Alphard to be the butt of jokes and not retaliate, Cyg," Orion said, imperiously, wondering how Cygnus had missed this lesson at home. Pollux wasn't a good father, but surely even he would have something to say about his eldest son being a laughing stock.

"Why not? I tease him all the time," Cygnus countered.

"Because he is a Black and no one gets to speak down about a Black without retribution," Orion hissed. Even if he had different sexual proclivities, Alphard would always be a Black and that meant something. Suddenly, his grandfather's repeated insistence that his mudblood was a ward of the House of Black made a little bit more sense. She wasn't a mudblood, because she was of their house.

"Fine," Cygnus said, bitterly. "I'll do as I'm told."

"And what the fuck was Riddle on about, you having some secret group where he tells everyone what to do?" he continued, grateful for Cygnus's inebriated state.

Cygnus stopped suddenly, looking at Orion with wide eyes. "You really ought to hear him out, Orion. Riddle is brilliant — he has such ideas. The wizarding world will feel our might!" he said, fervently.

Orion looked at him. "Blacks are not followers," he insisted. "Especially not to uppity mudbloods like Riddle."

His cousin snorted in derision. "Unless the uppity mudblood is a girl with her hand around the cock of your grandfather," he said.

He could not help himself. Orion sent a curse at Cygnus, one that had him gasping in pain. "You forget yourself, Cygnus," he warned. "Don't speak of such things."

"Fine, Orion. Fuck," Cygnus said, blinking owlishly and holding his side. "Salazar, I liked you better when you were off in Switzerland."

"Well, you had to know that I was coming back eventually," Orion said. They reached the apparition point. "I think you can get yourself home from here. Hopefully you don't splinch yourself."

Cygnus looked irate, but nodded.

In the blink of an eye, Cygnus was gone, leaving Orion alone in the alley. He took a deep breath, staring up at the night sky and the stars blinking down on them. He found his constellation easily enough, tracing the three bright stars in the belt, before finding the shield. Then, he was drawn to Sirius, winking away brightly, and he wondered how his grandfather had managed them all over the years. He didn't want to, but he felt a new appreciation for his paterfamilias.

Sighing, watching his breath fog in the cool evening air, he knew that he needed to tell his grandfather about what he'd learned tonight. He would head home and right to him immediately, even if it was in the middle of the night. They had to speak before he returned to Lucerne.

Sirius Black cursed under his breath as he made his way through the bustle of Wizarding London, wishing that he had Hermione with him to act as his guide so it wouldn't be so obvious that he was stumbling around, but this was a task that he had to complete on his own. Hermione had become an invaluable crutch over the years, seamlessly intertwining into his life until he could not imagine life without her, the same as he could not imagine life without his wand arm.

Luckily, no one else noticed his unsteady gait. He was Sirius Black and most regular people didn't deign to meet his eye when he was out and the people who he was familiar with would have not noticed the gradual decline over the years, though he felt the cruel sting of it every day of his life. Each day when he looked in the mirror, he could see his shoulders grow more stooped, more grey than black in his hair, and he knew that he was not long for this world.

As he reached the office of his solicitor, Domenic Pucey, he ducked inside, relieved to have gotten there without incident. It was better if Hermione was not here. He did not know what she would make of what he was going to do, but he didn't want any argument from her either way.

"Sirius," Dominic greeted him, genuinely pleased to see him. "Please sit. Do you want tea before we begin?"

"I'd sooner take a gin, if you had it," Sirius mused, sitting in the open seat.

Dominic grinned at him. "Is it still your intent to update your will?" he asked.

Sirius let out a long breath. "Yes," he agreed.

"Then the gin will have to wait until it is over. I do not want to have to deal with irate Blacks when they learn of whatever changes you make and have them suggest that you were not of sound mind and body," the solicitor answered with a grin.

"As if they could suggest that," Sirius said, rolling his eyes — a habit that he had picked up from his ward. "My mind has never once slipped." If Dominic noticed that he did not say anything about his body, he did not mention it.

"So, what is it that you wanted to change?" Dominic asked, leaning back in his chair, his shrewd hazel eyes looking Sirius over for any tell of what was in store.

"Nothing to change, just an addition," Sirius said. He sat up a bit straighter. "My ward has served me very faithfully over the years and I want to ensure that she is looked after once I am gone."

Dominic grinned. "You can never be too careful," he agreed. "But, I am sure you will be able to ensure that for many years to come."

Sirius gave his old friend a tight smile. "Yes," he said, though, it was not quite clear that he believed it.

"Go on then," Dominic instructed, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill.

Sirius cleared his throat. "I leave Hermione Jean Granger, ward of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the residence of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, to do with as she pleases. I also relinquish control of the House Elf, Scrope, to her," he said, speaking clearly, so that Dominic could get each detail. "I ask that she take care of the six cats — however many remain at the time of my death — in my possession."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Dominic's lips. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes, I instruct the executor of my Estate to ensure that Hermione Jean Granger is paid a monthly allowance, the amount of which is up to his discretion."

"To what end?" Dominic asked, his quill scratching away on the parchment.

"Until her death," Sirius said, with finality.

Dominic stilled, looking up at Sirius with interest in his eyes. "Are you sure that you want to do that? It could be over a century before the witch dies," he said. "I suspect your family will not be happy to hear about it. It could be a lot of money."

"Yes, I am sure. This is one thing that I can do for her," Sirius said, his mind completely made up. "And I would like this letter be delivered to her." He slid the folded piece of parchment, which would remain shut until it was in Hermione's hands, thanks to his personal seal and magic towards the other wizard.

"Alright, and is that all?" Dominic asked, looking him over carefully.

"On the matter of Hermione, yes," he agreed. "However, there is one other small change that I would like to make."

"Yes?"

"I would like to update the Executor of my will," Sirius said. This was the big thing, the thing that was really weighing on his mind.

Hermione remained uncertain that Orion was the wizard to guide the family once Sirius was gone. She had seen the potential that he had, but Sirius knew that she was annoyed that Orion did not seem to have the drive to be great. Sirius had known, with just a few nudges and hints here and there, that Orion would come to the conclusion that the weight of the family was on his shoulders.

For a time, Sirius wondered if Hermione was right (as she so often was). Orion had seemed bitter at being sent away to Switzerland for a while and Sirius wondered if he'd made the wrong choice in sending him away. But then he started to see the little seeds here and there that something special was growing under the surface.

And then, a month prior, when Orion had sent him a note in the middle of the night requesting to meet, Sirius knew that he was making the right choice. Orion's revelations about Cygnus and Alphard and even this wizard called Tom Riddle were enough to cement the choice in his mind. Orion would lead the family when he was gone, but he would still be so very young and he would need someone to guide him. It would be a dangerous time, after Sirius died, for all the wizards in the family while they grappled for control. Who better than Hermione, who had so effortlessly fallen into the same role for him? If Hermione could be convinced to help Orion, Sirius knew that the dismal future of the Black family from the time she came from could be avoided.

And, if he knew Hermione, he was quite sure that she would feel obligated.

"Orion Arcturus Black shall be the Executor of my will," he declared.

Dominic did not say anything for a while. "It's... highly unusual to surpass Arcturus as your Executor," he said eventually.

"Arcturus will allow the others to convince him not to serve out my will faithfully. He just goes along with things to not cause disruption," Sirius sneered.

"What about Regulus, then? Or even Lyrcoris?" Dominic pressed.

Sirius laughed, despite himself. "All of my children disappoint me in various ways," he admitted. "I left too much of their formative years to Hesper and she molded them into unimpressive creatures. I understand that it is unusual, but I know that I can entrust this task to Orion."

Dominic scribbled away on the paper. "So mote it be," he said, when he was done, using his wand to melt a bit of wax, letting it drip onto the codicil.

Staring at the deep green liquid pooled on the paper, he waited a moment before pressing his signet ring into it. He took the quill offered by the solicitor and signed his name with flourish — Sirius Phineas Black. And, for a bit of good measure, he pulled out his wand to leave a magical seal as well, so that no one would even attempt to argue with its contents.

And then it was done.

Chapter Text

Seventy-five was certainly not especially old for a wizard to live to, but Sirius knew that he was not going to make it to his 100th year. Perhaps that was what had him caving and agreeing to his daughter's requests that they be allowed to plan a party for his next birthday, even though he'd rather spend it alone in this library, with just a bottle of gin and perhaps Hermione to check on him now and again.

At least, she was kinder about it than Scrope, the old, miserable bastard.

The party planning committee consisted of Lycoris and Melania and he was sure if Regulus had bothered to marry at any point, that nosy daughter-in-law would be involved as well. Lycoris and Melania would manage to plan a perfectly fine party that would look the part and invite most of the right people, but if Sirius was going to be forced to show up to a party, he wanted it to be a party that he would enjoy.

He wanted all of his friends there, not just the ones that Lycoris approved of. He wanted to drink until the small hours of the morning, when he would have to stumble home through the floo because he was too fucked to apparate. He wanted to feast, the way that they used to when he was a child. He wanted to eat a decadent chocolate cake — one that he would demure and say he couldn't possibly have another slice, before taking one. He wanted pretty witches to look at, to ogle, and maybe pull into his lap if he were in some forgotten corner. He wanted dancing and music. He wanted everyone to have a good time and for them to say for many years after he was gone what a good party it was.

But, he was not going to get that from his daughter and daughter-in-law.

"You asked to see me?" Hermione asked, sweeping into his office, her drab green robes swirling around her. In her arms, she carried Mercurius — the old cat having picked up a terrible habit of pretending he couldn't walk up and down the stairs so that she would do it for him.

"Yes," he said, nodding his head. "Lycoris is planning a birthday party for me."

Hermione gave him a shy smile and sat in the chair across from him, smoothing out her skirts before arranging Mercurius just so. "It is a milestone birthday, Sirius," she said, playfully chiding him. "You can hardly blame her."

Sirius leaned back in his chair. "I suppose she does still hold some affection for her father after all these years," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Most girls do," Hermione answered, sagely, and he wondered, if not for the first time, if Hermione saw anything like a father figure in him.

"It's not so much the party that I am worried about," Sirius admitted. "I enjoy being feted as much as the next wizard. I suppose I just worry that... Lycoris's idea of fun any my idea of fun is not exactly simpatico."

"Ah," Hermione said, nodding. "If she had her way, there wouldn't be a drop of gin in sight and then how would you enjoy yourself at all?" She was teasing him, Sirius knew, by the little quirk of her lips, trying desperately to fight off a smile.

"I'm pleased to know that you understand," Sirius said, brightening. "That is why I would like you to assist Melania and Lycoris with the party planning. Make sure it's actually worth my while to show up to the damn thing, so I don't have to just grin and bear it."

She made a frustrated little noise, running a hand down her face. "But Sirius, you know how much Lycoris in particular hates me," she said, with a frown. "And then Melania will just sit there and simper while I'm being berated."

"But I know that you can handle yourself around them," Sirius promised her. "You and Lycoris have more in common than you think — and you are both stubborn as all get out. Only..."

"Only?" she asked, expectantly.

"Only, I'd put my galleons on you to outwit her," Sirius said, speaking of her fondly. "And, if she is being truly awful to you, you have my permission to put her in her place. Though, I warn you, once they see what you can do with your wand, all the mystique will be evaporated."

Hermione sat up a bit straighter, pleased with the praise. "Alright, you've worn me down," she agreed, knowing that there was no arguing with Sirius most of all (where did he think Lycoris got it?). "When am I supposed to meet with them?"

"This afternoon," Sirius said, smiling brightly, utterly pleased that he'd gotten his way once again. "I took the liberty of having Scrope put out suitable robes for you. You know how obsessed they are with decorum, even if it's a random Thursday."

Her brown eyes narrowed at him. "Alright," she said, standing up. "But you owe me." And, before he could extract whatever favor he was promising to her, Hermione was swirling from the room, knowing that she would have to leave if she was going to make her tea with the two witches.

The floo at the Black Ancestral Manor was open to her, so Hermione supposed that was a good thing. Sirius must have at least told Melania to expect her. So, she hoped that half of the battle must already be done. The house elf that greeted her and walked, a horrible little thing called Kreacher, muttered under his breath the whole way about being forced to deal with her. Hermione could barely bite her tongue from reminding Kreacher that she was still above a house elf, even if she was muggleborn. She didn't agree with the concept, but after so many years living with purebloods, she knew it was the truth in their minds.

Melania and Lycoris were sitting in the conservatory having tea and their conversation stilted when Hermione appeared.

"Er — Hermione, welcome," Melania said. Apparently the need to be a good hostess outweighed any personal distaste that she might feel for her.

Lycoris stared down at the table, not saying a word.

"Thank you for having me," Hermione answered, sitting down in the open spot. "Your flowers look especially lovely this time of year."

"Thank you," Melania answered, after a beat of silence. She picked up the teapot and poured Hermione a cup, even if it was clear that she would rather not be serving a muggleborn.

Hermione took the cup and half a spoon of sugar, before taking a dainty sip. "So I understand that preparations for Sirius's birthday party are underway," she said, broaching the topic at hand, wanting to get out of here as quickly as she could.

Lycoris's head snapped up, her dark eyes smoldering as she stared down the younger witch. "Yes, and we have them well in hand, so I fail to see why you are needed," she snapped, too proud to accept help from an outside source.

The younger witch smiled softly. "I am sure that you and Melania have made a wonderful start," she said, diplomatically. "But Sirius has asked me to advise you to ensure that his wishes are met."

"What would you know about his wishes? I've known my father longer than you've been alive," Lycoris sneered. "I know him better than you do."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Hermione said, gently. "I've lived with Sirius for many years now, speaking to him practically every day. And, quite frankly, I don't recall you visiting Grimmauld Place even once in that time, though Sirius has had visits from other family members. I think that I know what will make him happy for his party."

She could see the muscle in Lycoris's jaw work as she fought to keep from saying the first thing that popped into her head. She took a deep breath, before a cold look came over her face. "Yes, I'm sure you are very invested in keeping my father happy," she said. "And apparently he is invested in keeping you happy, too. How long did it take you to begin coveting the family jewels?"

Hermione's hand went to her hair, where an elaborate sapphire hairpin was placed by Scrope himself. "I don't care about your family jewelry," she said, cautiously. She really did not give a fig about any of the expensive jewelry that Belvina had left behind that Sirius had made available for her use. Aside from a few dainty earrings, she never even touched them. But the hair pin... "Sirius gave me this on my seventeenth birthday, as a coming of age gift."

Lycoris made a strangled sort of noise. "That belonged to my grandmother Ursula!" she hissed.

"And now it belongs to me," Hermione snapped back, unable to stop herself. "Now, can we cease discussing mindless things like jewelry and get back to the topic at hand so I can leave here. I assure you that I have no desire to be here anymore than you do."

Lycoris slumped back in her chair, the discussion over for now. Melania, who looked quite pinched during their argument, seemed relieved to have something neutral to discuss. She began explaining how they planned to hold the party at the Black Manor.

"I understand now why Sirius wanted me so involved," Hermione said, stopping her before she got ahead of herself. Instead of having it at their home, Hermione directed Melania to reserve the grand ballroom at the hotel that was just next door to the Knotgrass Club, knowing that Sirius and some of his friends might wish to slip away there at the end of the evening.

She also declined the idea to have just light hors d'oeuvres, instead opting for a more grand buffet with all of Sirius's favorites. When Melania hemmed and hawed about the cost, Hermione reminded them that they were the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and that they should easily afford it. A worse fate, she cautioned them, would be if the guests would perceive them as cheap. That could lead to a situation where people might think the Black family coffers were not as deep as they seemed. And that would diminish their influence and make them seem less than the powerful family that controlled the wizarding world.

Similarly, she told the pair of witches that having an open bar with all the best quality liquors was imperative. "With lots of gin. That is Sirius's favorite," she told them, sweetly.

"But, an open bar will encourage poor behavior of the guests," Lycoris said, sounding a bit hysterical. "I wouldn't want anyone to embarrass themselves."

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. "Yes, but they are adults and they are responsible for themselves," she gently reminded the woman. "I promise you that Sirius will not embarrass himself."

"But, what about Regulus?" Lycoris asked, sounding a bit sad. "He's... he can't control himself when drink is involved."

The younger witch took a deep breath, knowing that Regulus was such a sore spot in the family. He truly could be such a drunkard. "Regulus is his own person, Lycoris," she said. "We cannot make him control himself around drink, but I won't put him above the enjoyment of all the other guests. Perhaps you could ask someone to keep an eye on him. I am sure between you and Arcturus, he could be kept in line."

Lycoris's shoulders slumped then and Hermione almost felt a little bit bad for the woman. Unlike her brother's, her dark hair had begun to go prematurely grey and she knew that Lycoris worried a lot about the family. She just wished that worry could be put to worthwhile concerns, rather than the fact that Sirius had taken her in. Did Lycoris worry about her position of daughter being replaced?

"Fine," she said, after a moment. "But you are wrong about not being able to stop him. I'm not above using the Imperious curse if I need to."

Hermione laughed, impressed with Lycoris's determination to keep her brother in line. She thought that they might actually really get along if Lycoris could ever look past her blood status.

With the major details sorted, Hermione gave her blessing on the color scheme, decor, plates, band, cake design, until Melania was beaming, pleased that her decisions were not all non-starters. Sirius's daughter-in-law even deigned to walk Hermione back to the Floo rather than calling for Kreacher and thanked her for her valuable insight into the mercurial Sirius.

"It sometimes seems like Arcturus barely knows his father anymore," she said, softly. "Just the memories of his childhood. I am glad that Sirius has taken such a keen interest in Orion."

Hermione gave her a tight smile. "Well, I am sure he is very pleased with Orion's progress," she said, even though she would rather not say anything nice about the tall, intelligent wizard. "Sirius knows that Orion is a good representation of the family."

Melania nodded, her grey eyes softening — the same color that Orion had — at hearing confirmation that her son was favored. "I will owl you about the guest list once we get a little closer to the party," she promised, reaching out and giving Hermione an awkward sort of half-hug.

"Perfect," Hermione answered, though she was sure that Melania would handle that well on her own. Saying goodbye, Hermione stepped back through the Floo into Grimmauld Place and she finally felt as though she could breathe again.

Scrope informed her that Sirius had gone to the Knotgrass Club, so Hermione grabbed her cloak off of the wall and apparated to the apparition point nearest to the club. She walked inside, her chin high in the air as she strode past the host, the way that Sirius had told her to. Even the bartender, who she was certain still did not like her one bit, did not bat an eyelash when she stopped by the bar.

"I'd like a bijou, please," Hermione asked, giving the bartender a pointed look. Even though she'd been having small tastes of Sirius's drinks for years now, it was still a novel thing to order her own drink, even if she had been of age for two years on now.

There was a wizard sitting at the bar, who turned at hearing her voice, giving her an appreciative sort of glance. He looked too big for the seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him and the brawn of his arms leaning against the dark wood. He had brown hair, worn much longer than was fashionable, but then again, when did Hermione care about fashion? But most noticeable was his startlingly blue eyes. He gave her a little smirk and a tip of his head, obviously not expecting to see a witch in this club, before the bartender was back, practically shoving the drink into her hand.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed the man a galleon for his trouble, before grabbing her drink and slinking off in the direction of Sirius's table.

She found him, sitting alone, with a plate of steak frites in front of him. "Good afternoon, Sirius," she said, snagging a chip off of his plate and popping it into her mouth.

"Hermione," he answered. "Would you like dinner? I could call Louis back over."

"That's alright," she answered, taking a sip of her green cocktail. "I was just stopping in to tell you that I've sorted things out with your birthday party. You can rest assured that it will be a night of drunken revelry even up to your standards."

Sirius snorted, but smiled, obviously pleased. "And the cake — chocolate?" he pressed.

"As if that is really something worth worrying about," Hermione countered, crossing her arms over her chest. "But yes, it's a chocolate cake with a chocolate buttercream and some cherries on top." Thinking of the cherries, Hermione plucked the cherry out of her drip and ate it, enjoying the flavor.

"Ah, thank you, Bijou, I knew that I could count on you," Sirius said, pleased. "As I do in all things."

Hermione could feel her cheeks going pink and she hated how much his little praises made her feel — like she really mattered. "Lycoris behaved herself," she said, after a beat. "And, Melania was almost halfway pleasant."

"Hmm," he said, sounding almost amused. "Perhaps she will not balk when I bring you with me to celebrate Yule."

She looked down. "I wish you wouldn't insist on bringing me to those things. You must know that none of them really want me there," she said.

"You are a part of this family, whether they want to admit it or not," Sirius insisted, as though his words could change the mind of all his stubborn descendents. "And, having you there pleases me. So, I will continue to bring you."

Hermione sighed, imagining spending a quiet Yule in Grimmauld Place, where Scrope would make a roast turkey and heaping piles of mashed potato and gravy and she could listen to muggle Christmas songs in the privacy of her room (well, she was somewhat limited to the music that had been released, but she did love White Christmas), fire crackling away while she read in her reading nook with a cat or three curled up with her. Instead, she was going to be forced into the nest of vipers, her hackles up all evening while they insulted her to her face.

But, she did live to please Sirius, so she figured that it must be done.

Orion was home again, his visits increasing in frequency as his Mastery program wound down to the end. In the spring, he would perform his final examination — something to do with undoing a blood curse — and he found that he had little tolerance for the frivolities of his home life when he could be holed up in his flat in Lucerne, watching the sunlight die again on the lake while he studied and studied and practiced and practiced, until he didn't want to see his wand ever again, until his every dream was consumed with charms.

But, he also knew that avoiding Yule celebrations with his family was not possible, even if he framed it as some sort of final absence before he returned home for good and took up his rightful place in the family. Besides, it would upset his mother if he avoided his home again, and he so disliked upsetting her.

So, he descended on the Black Manor, the same as the rest of the family had done, being that it was the only one of the family homes large enough to hold them all comfortably. Even Lucretia had somehow managed to get Ignatius to join the festivities with their family, leaving the rest of the Prewetts behind.

"Oh, they will hardly even notice that we are gone!" Lucretia said over breakfast, a rather Slytherin sort of smirk on her face. "Ignatius's parents are too caught up in the gaggle of grandchildren they have. The twins are absolute little terrors and Molly is forever throwing these awful tantrums. I tell you, if she were my daughter, I would put an end to it. We Blacks know how to discipline children."

"Good thing that you are not her mother, then," Ignatius said, tartly, clearly unamused to have his niece and nephews gossiped about.

"And then, they just had another baby, and they've named him Bilius!" Lucretia continued gleefully. "Honestly, I thought our family had some... interesting names, but perhaps not if I have a nephew called Bilius!"

This amused Orion endlessly and made his heart ache for the simpler times, when he and his sister were still younger. Salazar, she had the sharpest tongue and a way of speaking to him that made him feel like it was only them in on the joke. Judging by the look on Ignatius's face, that just might be the case.

"Well, now you've got to endure an evening with baby Bellatrix," Orion answered, thinking of his cousin who'd been born just a few months prior. "So, you didn't even get that far away from screaming infants."

"At least she will have everyone fussing over her," Lucretia answered. "Pollux seems to think that she is the reincarnation of Morgana, even though all she does is eat. And Druella hardly puts her down."

Orion wasn't sure what to make of his new baby cousin. He'd sent his congratulations and a cigar after her birth was announced, but he didn't really have any knowledge about children, being that he was one of the younger cousins. He hoped that no one would ask him to hold her.

"If you say so," Orion answered, hoping that Druella would just take care of her the whole day.

It was sometime after the noon hour that his home was descended on by the rest of his family, until there was no way to escape the loud conversations, each Black thinking that their words were the most important. It was enough to send Orion's head spinning after so many months of near-solitude. He poured himself some of the heavily spiced and quite alcoholic punch that his mother had directed the house elves to make before finding a spot towards the back of the formal living room to take everything in.

His great-uncle Arcturus had come with his great-aunt Lysandra, who looked more severe every time he saw her, so painfully thin that her skin stretched tight across her face. They were accompanied by their youngest daughter, Charis, and her young son, Bartemius — or Barty as he was introducing himself to everyone else. Orion was glad that Charis had left her husband at home. Their eldest daughter, Callidora, was celebrating with the Longbottoms as she did every year, and no one asked about the middle daughter, Cedrella.

Even though she was meant to be disowned, Orion still heard about his cousin, who'd married Septimus Weasley, a love match if it was to be believed. He understood that she'd just given birth to a third son, called George, to go along with William and Arthur. He wondered if his great-aunt would dote on them the same way that she did to Barty, sneaking him sweets off the table when his mother wasn't looking, enjoying watching him get chocolate all around his mouth.

His great-aunt Belvina was not yet in attendance, but Orion had heard from his mother that she was probably going to stop by sometime after dinner to grace the family with her presence. Orion could already imagine her now, her black hair done up with holly before she swanned in to make a blood offering to the house as she did now and then, absolutely certain that she was still the apple of the entire family's eye, the way she had been when she was a girl.

Only she didn't seem to realize that adoration had died with her father, Phineas Nigellus.

Pollux and his family poured in, as well, taking up residence on the settees closest to the Yule tree, demanding various things from the house elves, clearly expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Irma sat next to Walburga and seemed to be in fierce conversation about something. Alphard was merry and cheerful as usual, ribbing Cygnus repeatedly about his odd green velvet dress robes.

Druella sat with baby Bellatrix on her lap, looking around the room expectantly waiting for anyone to fuss on her, to talk to her about what it was like being a young mother, to fawn over her and the child she'd produced. No one dared to argue with her when she lamented having a girl first or her intentions to get pregnant again as soon as she was able to give Cygnus the son he deserved. But, the only one who seemed to be paying her any attention was Pollux, her father-in-law keeping an unexpectedly close eye on her, right under Cygnus's nose. It made Orion's stomach turn.

At least Bellatrix seemed to be well behaved enough, though she spent most of her time chewing away on a chubby fist and staring at all the pretty lights on the tree.

The undisputed center of the family's universe was Sirius Black, who sat in his usual chair by the fireplace, holding court. Orion's own father had pulled up a chair to sit next to him, smiling while they chatted away, showing his deference even though Arcturus was the owner of the house. When Cassiopeia arrived, she made a beeline to Sirius as well, eager to share her grievances with the only wizard who might actually be able to do something about them.

But, Orion was unable to keep his gaze off of the witch who sat perched on the arm of his grandfather's chair. She'd worn a deep red set of robes for the occasion embroidered with golden thread. In her brown hair, she wore a crown of golden holly leaves and bright red berries that made her look like the spirit of Yule itself. He almost wondered if she would have purchased the robes herself, but there was no mistaking the out of fashion cut of the sleeves.

He wondered if there might be something wrong with him because he was coming to rather enjoy the cinch at her natural waist, full skirts that exaggerated the sharp curve of her body. And the way that she was balanced on the chair's arm, as though she were riding aside, it was nearly impossible not to notice the way the fabric clung to her behind.

While she was more than pleasing to gaze upon, Orion could not deny that the most intriguing thing about her was actually the way that her face lit up with a wicked sort of smile when she was talking to Cassiopeia. An odd sort of pairing the two of them made, but there was no denying that Hermione had made his spinster cousin laugh, something that she did not usually do in front of family.

The moment was broken up by his Aunt Lycoris, who had insisted that Cygnus, Pollux and Druella join her to play cards. She swept away any demurring by Druella that she could not play whilst holding the baby by calling loudly for Hermione to join them. "Hermione will hold the baby, won't you, darling?" she asked, all saccharine in a way that she had never been with her father's ward. "She is much better than a house elf, you understand. She'll just sit right here and hold the baby."

Hermione was hesitant, but eventually she stood from his grandfather's side and made her way to the settee, holding her arms out to take Bellatrix from her mother. Bellatrix fussed for her mother only for a second or two before Hermione bounced her on her knee and drew her attention to her, smiling softly.

After Hermione's hands were full, Lycoris made some noises about not being able to play cards after all and shoved Regulus towards the group, before she descended on her father's chair, taking up the spot most recently vacated by Hermione and began speaking to him in hushed whispers.

Orion wondered if his Aunt knew that anyone could see through her machinations, as she hadn't even tried to be subtle about getting Hermione away from his grandfather. It was a bit pathetic, if he was honest, that she'd had to go to such lengths as using a baby to get what she wanted.

To his surprise, though, Hermione didn't seem to mind holding Bellatrix. She was talking to the little girl softly, with a sweet look on her face, while the baby reached for the golden leaves in her hair. She even reached up and pulled one free, so that Bellatrix could play with it. She did well with a baby, he noted, not at all awkward like he would have been. He wondered if there was some part of her that wanted to be a mother. If she really was his grandfather's mistress, as so many people said, would he ever give her a child if she wanted one? Not soon, of course. He thought she might only be twenty, or perhaps even nineteen. He wondered what his family would make of that, if she did carry a Black child.

But then, all these questions and what ifs only made his stomach twist in strange ways. It was no good trying to predict the future. All he could do was face what fate gave him. He determined that he should stop staring at his grandfather's ward and refill his punch.

Hermione had never held a baby. She was the only child of two only children and so she hadn't grown up with cousins or siblings that she might have taken care of. So, she knew that she should be awkward or uncomfortable holding Bellatrix, the pride and joy of Druella Black. But, she knew that she could not act as though she didn't know what she was doing, lest Cygnus accuse her of some kind of sabotage, so she pretended like she'd been holding babies since she was old enough to walk.

To her amazement, it seemed that it had worked with Bellatrix, who seemed content in her arms, even though she was more or less a stranger.

Then again, Bellatrix was hardly a newborn anymore. She was nine months and sitting up on her own, with excellent control of her own neck, which took a lot of the guess work out of it for Hermione. It was easy to talk to the little girl, who at her young age, had no opinions or prejudices about Hermione's blood status to judge her with. If anything Bellatrix seemed fascinated with Hermione, reaching out to grab at her fancy holly crown.

They amused themselves for a while on the settee, before Hermione decided to get up and walk around, to give Bellatrix a change of scenery. Popping Bellatrix on her hip, she carried her around the room, stopping now and then to look at various things. The Yule tree was endlessly fascinating to the baby, who reached out to feel the needles of the evergreen, only to get frustrated at the sticky feeling of the sap on her fingers. She giggled when Hermione used her wand to clean them off.

Hermione turned around the room, looking for someone in Bellatrix's immediate family to hand her off to, but Irma and Walburga had made themselves scarce and the others were still playing cards. Alphard was talking to Dorea and her husband Charlus (who disappointingly looked nothing like she imagined Harry would at that age), so he was out, too.

"Well, Bella, it seems that you are stuck with me for a while longer," she said to the baby. "I hope you don't mind."

Bellatrix babbled in answer, endlessly amused at being spoken to like a real adult.

Sirius was still speaking with Lycoris and Arcturus and Hermione knew that she should probably check in on him, but she didn't feel like butting into a conversation that she was clearly not wanted in. Knowing that Sirius could handle himself, she would leave him be until he asked for her.

Eventually, her gaze came to Orion, who was standing awkwardly at the punch bowl, looking rather unsure of himself. Hermione sighed, even though her feet were already carrying her to him. If Sirius thought that Orion was the future of the House of Black, she decided that she would make an effort with him. And, she supposed, she had the excuse of getting some punch for herself.

Hermione stopped in front of the punch bowl and grabbed a glass for herself. "Happy Yule, Orion," she said, cordially. She reached for the ladle, but it was awkward to do with Bellatrix still on her hip, trying so hard to 'help' her new friend Hermione.

Orion saw her plight immediately and plucked the cup from her hand. "Allow me," he said, graciously, before filling her glass halfway. "Oh, the same to you."

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling slightly amused at how flustered he was. She was sure that he was warring between his manners and the disdain he must feel for helping someone like her — someone lesser than him. She took the glass back gratefully and took a quick sip. "Sirius told me that you will be completing your final examination soon?"

He turned to face her completely at the question, his eyebrows drawn together before he relaxed. "Yes, it's been scheduled for May," he answered.

Hermione bit her lower lip, wondering just how much effort to put into this conversation. "I am sure that you have been extremely busy revising for that," she said, after a moment's silence. "It's lovely that you were able to find some time to visit your family."

She could see him bristle. "Completing a mastery is actually quite tireless," he said, gruffly.

"Oh, I know," she said, quickly hoping to soothe any hurt feelings. "I was not mocking the effort you so clearly put into your education. I just meant... well... I am sure your mother is very happy to have you at home for the holiday."

Some of the tension in his broad shoulders relaxed. "Soon I will be finished and they will have me around all the time," he answered. "I don't think a few years away is terrible when looked at in its totality."

"And, I am sure that your whole family will be proud of you for accomplishing a mastery. Sirius certainly is," Hermione added, craning her neck up to look him in the eye. She didn't remember their height difference being quite so pronounced. Was it possible that Orion had grown? Or was this merely the first time that they were speaking face to face?

Orion's face was nearly unreadable. "I am only doing what's expected of me," he said, solemnly.

"You didn't want to get a mastery?" she asked, surprised to hear it.

"No — no, I did, but..." he trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. "I just know that getting the mastery was also in the best interest of the family. My role to fill, I suppose."

Hermione hummed. Perhaps Sirius did have the right of it after all. Maybe out of all the Black family, Orion was the one who was willing to put the family before himself. "When you put it that way," she said, giving him a little smirk. "At least your role isn't merely getting married to an heiress, though I suppose that will come someday. You can do something of some actual substance in the meantime."

Orion cleared his throat. "I am the heir. I know it is my fate eventually," he agreed, his grey eyes going somewhat stormy.

"So, what will your defence be on anyway?" she asked, sensing that he'd prefer a change of topic. "Warding?"

"Didn't my grandfather tell you?" Orion snarked back. "I thought he told you everything."

"I didn't ask Sirius," Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders. "But I am asking you. I thought you might like to talk to someone who might actually be capable of understanding your mastery, but if not —"

"No!" he cut her off, suddenly. "I... no one else has asked me. I hadn't considered the possibility of warding. I had an affinity for blood magic that Master Muller and I explored. I had assumed that my defense would have something to do with a blood curse."

"Very interesting," she answered, feeling her heart flutter a bit. It had been a long time since she had talked to anyone remotely her age about interesting magic. "Your family is quite reliant on blood warding. Perhaps that will be a further avenue of study for you."

"Perhaps," Orion agreed, his dark eyebrows furrowed, looking at her like it was the first time that he'd really seen her.

Hermione did not know what to make of the strange feeling in her stomach, like she was treading into something dangerous. Luckily, Bellatrix gave her an out when she began to wiggle in Hermione's arms and whinge, making her voice heard. Hermione cleared her throat and gave Orion a tight smile. "I suppose I should get her back to her mother," she said softly. "I wish you luck in your endeavors."

Chapter Text

Hermione was still in all her Yule finery when they returned to Grimmauld Place after the dinner. Sirius had wanted to leave before his sister Belvina showed up, even though it meant that they would not remain for the blood offering to the Black Manor — a mysterious ritual that Hermione had not actually witnessed, though she'd read countless accounts of in the library.

"Surely, you should give your blood to the ancestral seat of your family?" Hermione asked her guardian cautiously. "You are the paterfamilias. Your blood matters more than others."

Sirius smirked at her, as though he thoroughly agreed with her. "Right you are, Hermione," he praised her for piecing that together.

"I could have gone home alone if you were worried about Belvina seeing me," she said, biting her lower lip to stop her from completing what else she wanted to say — worried about Belvina seeing her in the former's forgotten clothes.

"No, that I might like to see, Bijou," Sirius answered with a smile. "She is trying to talk to me about her husband's shop. Some sort of permitting that she wants to Wizengamot to allow. But, I will not use my family to enrich the Burke's."

Hermione hummed in the back of her throat in agreement. She'd only visited Borgin & Burke's once, when she was younger, with Sirius, and she'd found Mr. Burke as odious a man as Sirius obviously did. She couldn't imagine what it was like being married to him as Belvina was.

"Besides, Grimmauld Place still needs its offering as well," Sirius continued, pressing past the thorny issue of Belvina. "The same blood wards at the Manor exist here as well and they must be strengthened once a year with Black blood, or else they will weaken and crumble over time."

"Oh? Have you been doing this all this time?" Hermione asked, surprised. She supposed that the ritual must be a touch more anti-climactic than she was expecting.

"Every year," Sirius said, grinning. "Come, you shall join me — make your first offering as well to strengthen the wards."

Hermione felt her heart skip at being offered to join in something so sacred to the family. "But I do not have Black blood," she said, wondering how it worked. Still, she followed him down the stairs.

"Still, I have told you, you are a part of the Noble and Ancient House of Black," he answered.

"But not in the way that it actually counts," Hermione said, wondering if he could hear the painfully bitter tone in her words. "We do not share blood."

Sirius stopped when they reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the cellar, turning to look at her. She could see the crows' feet around his eyes as he smiled at her, amused. "The wards will be exceedingly pleased to receive an offering from such a powerful witch as yourself, even if you are not blood related. Do you think Melania does not make an offering at the Manor?" he asked.

She swallowed, wondering if he had forgotten what she really was. "But, Melania is a pureblood and I am a mudblood," she said, stumbling on the word, hating using it to describe herself when she did not agree in any way. "You shouldn't want my blood anywhere near yours. Toujours Pur, right?"

Sirius led her into a small room in the cellar that was probably meant to be a root cellar of some kind. In the corner, she could see the stones of the foundation, stained a rusty brown color, the result of hundreds of blood sacrifices over the years to feed the magic that made Grimmauld Place run. It was a part of the house she had never explored, even as a child, because of the oppressive aura that permeated the air.

He turned to look at her. "As far as the house is concerned, magic is magic, blood is blood," he said, with a strange sort of look on his face. "If you do not want to participate in the ritual, I do not mind, but if you do, I would be honored to have your offering. After all, Grimmauld Place is your home as well. You belong to the wards as much as I do."

Hermione was filled with such mixed feelings, hearing a pronouncement like that from Sirius. To hear him say so boldly that blood was blood while she still knew he was actively legislating to keep the pureblood families in power made her stomach twist. Even worse was knowing how much she longed to contribute her own blood — to muddy up their centuries of purity — in this little ritual. That if she just closed her eyes tight enough, gave enough of herself, that she might be considered to belong, to truly be part of the Black family.

"Of course, I will participate," she assured him. She wasn't going to turn away from learning about the ritual when she was only just asked to join in after nearly a decade living as Sirius's ward.

As it turned out, it was not a particularly complicated ritual. The wards were only in place and they were only... feeding them, in a way. Giving them a bit more of their magic to keep them strong as ever. Still, Hermione watched as Sirius pulled out a ritual knife, stunning in its simplicity (she had imagined an emerald encrusted blade, if she was honest), and cut open his own palm. He pressed his hand to the cornerstone of the house and made a solemn oath to maintain and protect Grimmauld Place and all who lived in it.

Then he offered the knife to her. Hermione's teeth found her lower lip when she used the knife to cut through the skin of her left hand. Drops of blood welled up in the cut like rubies, before she pressed her hand to the rock, her blood mingling with Sirius's. She gasped, feeling Grimmauld Place taking from her while she made her oath to it.

The Black family, and thus Hermione, was no stranger to darker magics than she had thought possible when she had been at Hogwarts. She knew that all dark magic had a cost and that was no truer than with blood magic. Still, it was another thing entirely to feel the pull of it, desperate and hungry, ancient and forbidding. These wards were far older and far stronger than anything she had ever imagined.

When it was done, she felt drained, utterly spent. She couldn't imagine Sirius doing this alone year after year for decades with none of his family to share the magical burden. She lifted her eyes to look at him, feeling a bit awed of the older wizard.

"Now, we retreat to the library for a night cap to warm up and replenish our strength," he said brightly, though she could see the strain around his eyes. "I usually have Scrope warm some brandy, but I could have him slip it into an eggnog for you if you'd like."

Hermione smiled softly at him and shook her head. "I think I will take it straight today," she said, feeling depleted from the tiny bit of blood magic that she'd done.

She followed him back up out of the cellar and into the library, which had become her favorite room in the whole old townhouse over the years. It was where she had Scrope set up the Yule tree and it looked positively cheerful compared with the rest of the dreary building. Sirius waved his wand and soon a large fire was crackling in the fireplace, giving off much needed warmth. Hermione slumped into the settee and pulled a blanket over her to further stave off the cold.

"It won't last much longer, Bijou," Sirius promised her, looking at where she'd nestled herself into the settee. "And, the first is always the worst. It gets easier over time."

Hermione nodded. "I'm not worried, just... surprised," she explained. "I feel as though Grimmauld has taken a bite out of me."

Sirius laughed. "You are not quite wrong about that," he said, calling for Scrope and requesting their drinks. "Blood magic steals a part of you, but that is not to say that you are not made whole after."

"Damn your family for being so obsessed with blood magic. Does anyone else even still do these rituals?" she asked.

"I think a few of the truly old families. The Notts and the Flints, perhaps. It is not exactly spoken about," he said. "But, it's no less vital for our way of life. Have I ever told you how the selection of the next paterfamilias goes?"

She scrunched her nose in confusion. "No," she answered. "I just assumed that it would go to Arcturus. He is your son and heir, after all."

Scrope interrupted them with the warm brandy. Hermione hummed when she took her first sip, feeling it seep into her very bones and begin to drive away the cold.

"Not exactly," Sirius explained. "Usually, there is a strong heir and preference and everyone will be in agreement as to who should take up the role. Other times, there is dissent."

Hermione wet her lower lip, thinking that there was likely to be dissent when Sirius eventually passed. "And if there is dissent?" she asked.

"The next paterfamilias is selected with a series of blood oaths, similar to the one that we partook in tonight. Whichever male descendent who is of age that retains a majority of the blood oaths of eligible family members first will become the paterfamilias."

Hermione was surprised to hear that it was as complicated as that. But her mind was already whirring with the possibilities of what that could mean. She knew that Arcturus was not the most forceful of family members — almost indifferent to having any sort of ambition — and there were other family members like Pollux who might fancy themselves for the role, if it was that easy to grasp. "And which family members are eligible?" she asked, wondering how many would be needed to reach a majority.

"Any member blood member of the Black family may give their oath," Sirius said, simply.

She chewed on her lower lip, thinking it over. "But that would mean Bellatrix could make an oath and she's not even one year old!" she said, aghast.

"Well, it's not quite that easy. If a child is not yet of age, their father can make an oath on their behalf," Sirius explained. "Should a new paterfamilias be selected before Bellatrix is of age, Cygnus would be able to make a selection for her."

"But, Pollux would not be able to make a selection for Walburga?" Hermione asked, wondering just how far this paternalistic streak went.

"Well, he could certainly try to assert his will on her as his father, but the choice is ultimately her's," Sirius explained. "Daughters will usually do as their fathers tell them."

"Not always," Hermione snapped back, before she was able to help herself. "What about Cassiopeia and Dorea? Their father is dead. Who would they look to if they did not want to make their own choice?"

"Cassiopeia is free to make her own selection, though I suspect that Pollux would probably try to strong arm her into going along with him," Sirius mused. "Dorea is not permitted to make an oath, as she is not a Black any longer. Upon her marriage, she became a member of the Potter family. Same as Callidora and Charis."

Hermione thought about it, but she supposed that it made a bit of sense. Their focus was likely on their new families once their name changed. "Except for Lucretia," she said, after a bit of thinking. "You ensured that she retained her status as a Black even after her marriage."

Sirius looked entirely too pleased with how quickly she caught on. "Exactly," he said, with a nod. "A wise witch reminded me that if we did not give our witches a reason to care about the future of the family, they would have no incentive to do so. So now, Lucretia represents an extra vote for whomever the next paterfamilias may be."

She shuddered a bit, wondering just who Sirius thought that would be. She swirled her brandy in her glass before draining the remainder, pleased to feel the heat down to the tip of her nose. What a complicated situation facing the next paterfamilias.

"You should get to bed," Sirius said, looking contemplative. "You will want to be sure that you can recover your magic. Happy Yule."

Hermione knew when she was being dismissed and decided to leave Sirius to his musings. Standing, she walked to him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Happy Yule, Sirius," she said, a knot forming in her throat. "I hope you will let me help you with the warding again next year."

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but couldn't meet her eye.

Orion returned to his flat in Lucerne with a renewed interest in blood magic, after his talk with Hermione. During his brief stopover home, she had been basically the only person who had shown any interest in his Mastery. Not even his mother or father had bothered to ask more than surface level questions, more concerned with his eventual return home.

But Hermione had surprised him. He hadn't expected her to know basically anything about blood magic or charms in general, but she'd identified a potential area of examination that he hadn't really considered. It was a bit silly in retrospect. Obviously, his grandfather had seen fit to teach her family magic, so she must have had some aptitude. He'd found himself wanting to talk with her more about wards and curses and other sorts of magic. What did she make of human transfiguration? Could she produce any of the unforgivable curses? Was she an Occlumens?

It added another layer of depth to the very interesting witch who'd captured the attention of his grandfather, a formidable wizard in his own right. It made him a bit jealous that his grandfather got to see her and speak with her everyday, though there was no one who could get Orion to admit to that.

He resumed his revision and his study of charms, knowing that his time with Master Muller was quickly coming to an end and unless something went horribly wrong, he would only have a few more months there before he returned to his family in London.

Orion began packing up his flat. Once he was actually working to pack his things in trunks, he realized his life in Switzerland was not as empty as he'd imagined. He'd settled here much more than he thought, parsing through little ephemera from museums and operas and restaurants. Some, he would keep, but the rest he would throw away. He cleaned for himself, not bothering to call for Kreacher, even though it was house elf work. He was still a wizard grown, and if he couldn't master some cleaning spells, what good was he?

His mother wrote to him frequently, mostly about little banal things — Cassiopeia had caused some sort of embarrassment to Pollux, Walburga remained unwed, Lucretia thought she was with child, Lucretia was not with child, Belvina thought no one could tell that she was dying her hair, the Wizengamot had passed this bill, Irma said something to offend her, Lycoris and Regulus were fighting again, Uncle Arcturus wanted to retire from the Board of Governors at Hogwarts and his father was likely to take the post at his grandfather's urging. It wasn't all his family, though. Sometimes he heard about a Greengrass garden party or a tea with the Malfoys or a charity event hosted by the Notts.

The young wizard felt most guilty when he realized he poured over the letters, looking for any hint of his grandfather's ward. They were few and far between, but he caught glimpses of Hermione in his mother's letters, usually in relation to his grandfather's upcoming 75th birthday party. Apparently Hermione had been 'most helpful' in planning, which was high praise, coming from Melania, though there was some sort of dust up with Lycoris over the guest list, which Hermione had won. (Orion never doubted her).

His mother would sometimes add complaints about the state of Hermione's robes. Orion thought about it often. Did his grandfather not give her an allowance to purchase her own robes or did he perhaps enjoy seeing his mistress in the clothing that was fashionable when he was a young man? Or maybe Hermione just didn't have anyone to show her new witch's fashions? He wrote back to his mother, gently suggesting that she might help Hermione with her robes. Like it or not, Hermione did reflect on their family and Melania was hardly the first to notice. His mother did not make any response to the idea.

Most strangely, perhaps, was the correspondence he'd taken up with Alphard. His older cousin was the only family member who'd actually come to visit Orion while he was abroad, even though he mostly used the flat as a touching down point, intent on enjoying the night life as much as possible while he was there. Orion liked Alphard. He admired the way that Alphard had fun, utterly content in himself, even though he could not be deaf to the whispers about him. But, Orion knew that he could never be the same. There was a sense of duty that fell on his shoulders as the heir of the heir.

But, he also felt protective of Alphard, even though Alphard was older by about four years than him. He'd reacted strongly when he heard the way that Cygnus and his friends were disparaging him. Alphard was different, but he was still a Black, and while they might rib him at home, there was absolutely no way that could be tolerated by outside forces. Orion was determined to keep a close eye on Alphard once he returned home, under the protection of the Black family, as it always should have been.

Alphard in turn was a great correspondent, though he gossiped as much as Orion's mother, just about the younger set. Abraxas was apoplectic because it was revealed his father had a muggleborn mistress (the too was implied, as everyone knew Brutus had begun circulating the rumors about Sirius and Hermione), the Greengrasses had rejected another troth for Walburga and she was upset, Amatus and Geraldine had to get married because Geri was clearly pregnant, Alphard was seeing a half-blood wizard called Kier.

To Orion's immense surprise, there was even mention once in a letter about Hermione herself and he found himself lapping up every word. He'd gone 'round to visit Sirius to speak of some other matter and found him gone, but Hermione available. They'd gone to a wine bar together and split a bottle between the two of them, but Hermione could apparently hold her drink — not a surprise after living with grandfather all these years. But then Walburga had shown up and she hated Hermione, so Hermione had left.

Orion found himself wanting to ask all sorts of questions about their impromptu 'date'. It was probably the longest anyone of them would have spoken to Hermione outside of Sirius, but he knew his cousin well enough to know that would invite some judgement. So he ignored it and picked up a charms book instead.

By the time that his Mastery defense finally came around, Orion felt like he was a Master of Charms. There was practically no charm that he could not accomplish at this point, and he was quite versed in dark curses of all varieties. Master Muller brought him to a rather large, rather antique looking armoire and told him that it was his defense.

He had almost smirked when he realized that the blood curse on the armoire — already difficult enough to remove even for a future master such as himself — had further been compounded with blood wards. If he had not spoken to Hermione at Yule, he was certain that he would have stood there, floundering, while he tried to figure it out. Salazar, he might have even thought he'd removed the obvious curse without understanding the interlocked warding and then he would have cursed himself and the rest of his blood line!

But because of her little mention, he'd spent the last five months investigating all branches of blood magic, including the wards, and he felt perfectly prepared to remove it. That was not to say that it was easy. It took Orion nearly all day, not even breaking for food, to unravel the blood magic on the armoire, but in the end, it was curse-free and able to be opened. He explained his process to Master Muller, answered about a hundred questions, and in the end, the status of Charms Master was conferred upon him.

Orion allowed himself a brief celebration at the little bar around the corner from his flat, having a pint of beer and a spot of dinner, before he returned home to finish packing his remaining trunks and organize the portkeys home.

He'd been gone for years, but it was time to return home. His formal education might have ended, but now he knew he was due to begin his political education, likely under the watchful eye of Sirius Black.

Hermione arrived at Sirius's birthday party early, before any of the other guests had arrived, just to be certain that everything was as perfect as it was planned. But, as soon as she walked through the doors of the grand ballroom, she should have known that she didn't need to worry. Melania had executed everything last detail perfectly and where there were any issues, Lycoris was barking orders at the staff to fix things.

"Oh! Hermione," Melania exclaimed, surprised when she turned to find her there. "You didn't have to come early."

The younger witch felt her cheeks go hot at her presumptuousness. "I just wanted to make sure that you had everything in hand and offer to help anywhere I was needed," she said, stumbling over the words. It felt stupid to say them aloud, because of course she knew that Melania would likely never admit to needing anything from a witch that she saw as a mudblood. "But I should have known that you and Lycoris had everything sorted."

Melania preened, appreciating being acknowledged. Hermione was beginning to suspect that Melania was rather used to being ignored in favor of the louder personalities in the family. She did a lot and perhaps did not receive the appreciation that she should. "Well, the suggestions that you gave us surely elevated the party," she said, gesturing to the room, immaculately decorated. "The Manor is familiar and grand, but I don't think that we could have pulled something like this off at home."

"And now you don't have to worry about guests overstaying their welcome in your own home," Hermione added, gently, letting herself enjoy the conversation.

Clearing her throat, Melania looked Hermione over. "Is this what you are wearing to the party?" she asked, hesitantly.

Hermione looked down at the golden robes that Scrope had pulled out for her. Belvina had been taller than Hermione was, so she had charmed the hem so she wouldn't be forever tripping over it. "Yes," she said, standing up a bit straighter.

"It's just — well, it's a lovely dress, just that the silhouette is a bit... dated. Where did you get it?" Melania wondered.

"I believe it was Belvina's," Hermione explained, willing herself to remain strong, though she did not feel it. "As are all of my robes."

"Do you mind if I...?" Melania pulled out her wand and began to do little alterations to the dress, handling household transfigurations that Hermione had never bothered to learn. The length was shortened and the skirts became more full, the sleeves shrank and the bodice changed, until it could almost pass as new robes. "A few tweaks and now you look like a young witch ready to enjoy herself."

Hermione wasn't sure what to make of it. She slid her hands down the skirts. She never bothered much with fashion, but she couldn't deny that she felt quite pretty with the changes. "Thank you," she said, her voice stilted and awkward.

"Well, just avoid any rouge finites this evening and no one will be the wiser," Melania said, cheerfully.

She bit her lower lip. "I shall have to return home and work on a modified stasis charm, so your work won't be undone until I will it," Hermione said.

"A stasis! Why I never would have thought of that," the older witch said with a little grin. "I'll have to tell Orion that there is a fashion use for charms after all."

Hermione laughed a bit and had to stop herself from asking if Orion would be at the party that evening. She knew that he'd completed his Charms Mastery — she read almost all of Sirius's correspondence at this point — and had planned on moving home, but she hadn't seen him since Yule.

"Well, I had better head home. I will return with Sirius in a while," Hermione said, deciding to leave before Lycoris tried to pick a fight with her.

She apparated back to her room in Grimmauld Place, standing in front of her mirror and looking at her reflection. She really did look pretty, she decided, with her hair coaxed into pretty waves, secured with her little hair pin present. She hoped that evening that she might be able to actually... blend in a little bit with everyone else, even though she knew that was not likely. Everyone liked to gawk at the ward of Sirius Black, whispers and curiosity following her every step these days.

It took a few tries, but Hermione managed to charm the robes to remain as they were. Once she was done, she went down the stairs and knocked on Sirius's door. He called for her to enter and she found him standing in front of his own mirror, while Scrope made adjustments to his jacket. He cut a handsome figure in his black dress robes. He turned to grin at her and she was amused at how he seemed to ooze wealth without even trying, unlike wizards like Brutus Malfoy who tried to cover themselves with gems and gold.

"You look beautiful, Bijou," Sirius said, looking at her fondly.

Hermione couldn't help but snort. "Do I?" she asked. "Because as I recall your eyesight isn't what it once was. Perhaps I look terrible."

"You do look like a sort of... golden orb," Sirius answered, amused. After years of building up trust between them, Sirius could look at his growing blindness with a certain level of humor. "How does she really look, Scrope?"

Scrope regarded her with a sharp eye. "Miss is looking... better than usual this evening," he said, grumpily.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "That's high praise from you, Scrope. Thank you," she said, sincerely. "Well, I do not think that the guest of honor can show up that late. We should really be going."

Sirius offered her his arm, even though Hermione knew that it was as much for his stabilization as it was to escort her. They walked down the stairs with one another, before using the fireplace in the parlor to floo to the hotel. Hermione discretely drew her wand to spell away any lingering ash from their robes, before she led Sirius to the waiting ballroom.

The party was in full swing when they walked through, despite arriving only thirty minutes past the start time. Sirius wore a broad smile as he walked through the gathered guests, who all seemed genuinely delighted to see him, stopping to pull him into handshakes, continental kisses, and hugs as they wished him happy birthday. Hermione stood at his side the whole time, a constant presence.

When he spoke with Malcolm Selwyn, she spoke with Selwyn's wife, Serafine, asking after their two Hogwarts aged children. When she saw Wulfric Abbott coming their way, she discreetly whispered to Sirius to remind him of his main arguments against the Herbologists Welfare Act. She ignored Brutus Malfoy when he came over to boast about some silly trip that his son, Abraxas, was going on and she glared at him when he gave her a veritable once-over. When the house elves brought champagne, Hermione quietly ordered him a gibson, with extra cocktail onions, knowing that he would start with something harder before the tipples of champagne came out, though she happily took a glass.

Eventually, Sirius found a seat further away from the band, pulled into a conversation with his nephew-in-law, Harfang Longbottom, who as far as Hermione could tell was not an obvious relation to Neville, but perhaps was his great-grandfather. It was strange, Hermione could not remember the last time that she'd thought of Neville and it was making her melancholy.

Sirius, engaged as he was in the conversation about vampire migration across Europe, must have noticed the turn in her mood, because he patted her on the hand affectionately. "Why don't you go ahead and enjoy yourself, Hermione? I'm not that old that I need a chaperone for every second of the party," he said. "Take a turn about the room."

Hermione felt out of balance, like a newborn fawn, as she stood and surveyed the party guests. While she knew many of Sirius's contemporaries, she had not spoken to many of the witches or wizards her age. She had never been good at making friends and making friends at this party felt like a hurdle that would be impossible to clear. Her brown eyes scanned the room, only to find Orion standing with two other wizards by the bar. He was so handsome that night in his fine dress robes, as most in the Black family was, but there was something about him that really caught her eye. Perhaps it was the sharp line of his jaw or his fine, aristocratic features. Maybe it was the slight curl to his black hair or his mercurial eyes — his coloring not shared by many of his cousins.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth before deciding that she would go order herself a drink from the bar, where Orion was standing. Hopefully he would notice her and speak with her, maybe even introduce her to his friends. Then she would at least have someone to talk to.

Her steps her determined as she cut through the party, but her attention was elsewhere, so she was nearly knocked over onto her arse when she bumped into a large wizard. His hands shot out to catch her, giving her a grin as he steadied her. His large hand remained on the curve of her waist. "I'm awfully sorry, Miss," he said. "I'm afraid I wasn't watching where I was going."

It was the dark haired man from the Knotgrass Club, she realized. The one with the sharp blue eyes. "Oh, no, it was my mistake," Hermione said, in a rush. "I wasn't either."

"At least you wouldn't have knocked me over," he said, wryly. "I sometimes underestimate my size."

Hermione felt her cheeks go pink and she wasn't entirely sure why. "Well, no harm done," she answered.

"You're Sirius's... girl, right?" he asked, looking at her like he was trying to place her.

She laughed, hoping that Lycoris wouldn't have heard that. "I suppose you could say it like that," she answered. "Yes, Sirius was kind enough to take me in. My name is Hermione."

"Svein Rowle," he answered, offering her a quick handshake. "Do you think I could take you to get a drink? I'd offer to pay, but the Blacks have been kind enough to get the tab. You liked a... what was it called? A bijou?"

Hermione nodded shyly. "I would like that," she agreed, taking his arm when it was offered. "Yes. You have an excellent memory."

"What's in it, anyway?" Svein wondered. "I've never heard of it before."

"It's gin, vermouth and chartreuse," she explained. "Sirius and I are quite partial to gin and well, I like the chartreuse."

Svein ordered for her and got himself a firewhiskey. Hermione looked to the other side of the bar while they waited and she felt strangely disappointed to realize that Orion was nowhere to be found. Well, at least she had found someone else to speak with. She happily took a sip of her cocktail when it was given to her.

"Cheers, to Sirius Black," Svein said, clinking his glass against hers. "May he have another seventy-five years."

Hermione would drink to that, even though she could easily see how the years had worn on her guardian, not that she would ever admit it to a veritable stranger like Svein was.

"So, Rowle... are you related to the Edvard Rowle who sits on the Wizengamot?" she asked, recognizing the name.

"Ah, yes, he is my father," Svein explained. "I hope that he hasn't done anything to bias my family in your eyes."

She smiled, surprised that he would care what a muggleborn witch thought about him or his family. "I've only crossed paths with him briefly. He can be quite blunt," Hermione said. "But, I quite like someone who actually says what they think." Unlike Malfoy who tried to talk circles around you, just to confuse you.

"Yes, he can be quite brutal with his opinions," Svein said with a laugh. "But your way of saying it is much nicer."

"What do you do?" she asked, wondering if he was assisting his father with his work at the Wizengamot.

"I'm afraid I have a rather charmed life at the moment, as the second son," Svein explained. "My father doesn't really talk to me about the Wizengamot, so I am filling my time with a little job at the Games Department of the Ministry. Really, it's just an excuse to go to Quidditch matches. Do you like Quidditch?"

Hermione could feel herself smiling, before explaining that she hadn't been to a match in many, many years. She wanted to tell him about her friend who'd been an amazing Seeker, but that would mean explaining her circumstances, and while she wasn't forbidden from revealing her origins, she didn't really want it getting around, either.

Svein was quite patient with her, sharing a bit of gossip between the top two teams thanks to a new bit of regulation that the first place team had suggested. Even though she did not care for Quidditch, she was tickled to hear the administrative details of the silly little sport. He was just about to suggest that she join him for a match when her attention was snagged by Lycoris standing looking rather stricken in one of the doorways.

Realizing that something was wrong, Hermione sadly excused herself from her new friend. "I'm sorry, but there is something that I have to help with," she said. "It was lovely to speak with you, Svein. You may bump into me any time." She didn't wait for his response, worrying that she might have overstepped her bounds.

When she got to Lycoris, the witch was white as a ghost, completely unsure of himself. "Lycoris," Hermione whispered, with a smile plastered on her face. "What's wrong?"

Lycoris looked at her for a moment, as if contemplating saying something nasty to her, before she folded. "It's Regulus. He — I don't know what to do," she explained, nearly hysterical.

Hermione's face hardened. "Let me help you," she said, knowing that whatever it was must be beyond Lycoris's own capabilities.

"Help? You can't help? How would you help? You're just a…" she trailed off. "A mi—"

"I won't know unless you just show me what is wrong," Hermione snapped, cutting her off before she could call her a mudblood or something worse. "Take me."

Lycoris waffled for a moment, before nodding and leading through the door. "I don't even know how he did it, he's so drunk, I—" Lycoris took her into the alley behind the hotel where Regulus was struggling to stand, trying to find purchase on the brick wall.

But what was really appalling was the other wizard, bloody and unconscious in the street. Even though his face was a bloody pulp, it was clear that the wizard was Rutledge Travers.

"Regulus, what did you do?" Lycoris begged her brother, ducking under his arm so that he could hold him up.

Regulus mumbled, too far gone to make sense.

"Some sort of pulverizing curse," Hermione said, before pulling out her wand. "But I can set him right."

"Set him right? But then he'll surely come after Regulus! He can't defend himself in a state like this!" the witch whined.

"Obviously he can," Hermione snarked, already undoing the bloody mess of Travers's face. "Don't worry, I'll leave him asleep until someone else can find him. And I'll obliviate him for good measure." When his face was back to its usual, ugly state, Hermione obliviated Travers as she said, so he wouldn't remember anything about his fight with Regulus.

"But what do I do with him now?" Lycoris asked, looking at Hermione with wild eyes. Regulus was fighting her off, trying to throw his arm off. He was practically dead weight. "We can't bring him back in like this."

Hermione sighed, wondering how Lycoris had gotten this far. She ducked under Regulus's other arm. "Can you apparate the three of us back to your house?" she asked. "We will put him to bed and return to the party."

Lycoris apparated them without warning and in a moment, Hermione was standing in Regulus's room. They tipped her back on the bed and Hermione pulled his boots from his feet, her nose wrinkling at the smell. She summoned a bit of sleeping draught before forcing it down Regulus's throat.

"That won't hurt him, will it?" Lycoris asked, timid. "He's already so drunk."

"Didn't you pay attention in Potions?" Hermione asked. "No, it can't hurt him. But I wouldn't give him any hangover cure in the morning. Maybe the lesson will sink in."

Lycoris snorted, staring at her sleeping brother. "It never has stuck before," she said darkly, before turning to look at Hermione, her face haunted. "Thank you, I was rather hysterical. I wouldn't have been able to handle that as artfully without you."

"Don't mention it," Hermione said, knowing how much Lycoris would have hated that. "Now let's get back to the party. I want to see if there is any cake left."

She didn't wait for Lycoris to apparate back to the entrance of the party, determined to remain at Sirius's side until it was time to return home.